#like singing or writing

[phoenixyfriend]

OMG until your poll as someone doing Office Admin I hadn't thought of it as being like Donna because I'm not a "Temp" but now I see it listed that way in your poll and I've got something in common with her and it's made my day. [even if I'm too shy to say it off anon]

Hell yeah!

I had a few goals with this poll, the primary one being to point out that the vast majority of New Who characters have been some form of working class (I'd say the only real exception is Martha, maybe Clara since she was doing the nanny work as a favor/thank you instead of out of need, though she did later end up a schoolteacher so she stayed in a related field), even if some of that work is white collar.

(The other was to casually point out that one of the most prominent New Who companions was a sex worker, and I am phenomenally happy that nobody's talking shit about it. It's important to recognize, and important to respect, and nobody's making comments about it.)

[astearisms]

fionna and cake drawings before and after watching the episodes so far. it’s nostalgic and somehow cathartic and poignant and relatable and—it just started

[ministarfruit]

day 10: love is devotion ♡

(femslashfeb prompt list)

[dcxdpdabbles]

Red Yummy

Based on the post by @spacedace. Basically it's a joke that Red Robin (the restaurant with the little jingle: Reeed Robin: Yummm.) Isn't a thing in the DC world but is one in the Phantom world.

The rip in the multiverse was an issue the Justice League was not at all prepared for. Sure they had incidents where visitors from an alternate universe have crossed over to their side or they have gone to one. There are times when they meet doubles of themselves, both as allies and as enemies.

They have been to different Earths, with different histories, different countries, and that one particular time, even different beings that ruled the planet.

It's always been an adventure where at the end of it, the doorway to both worlds is sealed shut, with little or no chance of it opening again. The friends they made. The sights they saw. All gone. Fine. Over.

That was, until a villain from a different world, attempted to attack Clockwork's Tower. The Justice League was not aware of Clockwork- Master of Time, Weaver of Realms, The Concept of Between- but they noticed that he had been attacked when other worlds started spilling into theirs.

People were falling through glowing green portals, stumbling into buildings that weren't there before. People who were just going out for walks would be zapped away and replaced with their confused counterparts.

Parts of the sky glitch into others, replacing the soft blue with brown or black, little patches scattering around the world. Cities vanish for a few hours, sometimes replaced by others sometimes not, and animals never before seen running amok.

It was a mess.

The League did everything it could to help, but it was hard to stretch their reach to the help then world when all reality was being thrown into a mixer and set on chaos.

A lot like busted pipes, the Leaugers would run to cover a leaking pipe only to have the water build up in another and burst there and then scramble to cover that one before the rising water drowned them all.

Thankfully the Justice League Dark was able to use magic and find the source of the leak. The Infinite Realms known as the web that linked all universes, are usually only accessible by the dead, or in Constantine's case having friends in high places.

"Ghost Writer owes me a favor," Constantine said while the rest of the Leauge watched a flouting green book descend from the sky. It flipped open, expanding into a gateway. The smoke of the book curled into little missy hearts.

"Ghost Writer?" Zatanna gawked "How did you get such a powerful, and notoriously recluse, being to owe you anything?"

"Let's just say, we both appreciate the finer things in life and that ghost has a rather fine ass" Constantine leered. No one had asked for any more detail, although Zatanna had the expression of someone who had bitten something sour the whole time.

Ghost Writer had given Constantine a warning that his power would only be able to protect five living souls. Any more would be at the mercy of the Infinite Realms'.

Humans that wandered into the Realms were more often than not driven into madness, became hopelessly lost, or had their souls swindled by beings that dwelled there. Not that it wasn't surprising.

After all, the living did not belong there, so of course they were a danger to the Realms' structure. Hell, there were rumors that a living being could produce fresh uncorrupted ectoplasm when killed or even kept like livestock.

Constantine did not want to find out if the rumors had any truth to them.

To be able to travel safely they had to fall under a powerful ghost's protection and Ghost Writers let them know to pick their five best.

It was decided that Constantine would go as their expert, Batman as their strategist, Wonder Woman as their diplomat and protection, Superman as second protection, and Zatanna as another magic user that could combat the dead.

The rest of the league remained, doing their best to hold their universe together as the team of five rushed off to put everything to right. It was agonizing not knowing what was happening or how the mission was going but they did what they could and placed their trust in the five.

Many of the Justice League didn't say it, but it was the remaining Bats that sort of kept everything afloat in their father's absence. Each one leads a group of young heroes, easily countering and controlling their self-appointed sectors of the world.

Nightwing and Titians.

Red Robin and Young Justice.

Red Hood and the Outlaws.

Oracle and the Birds of Prey

Robin and the Blades.

All five groups agree to use the Watch Tower as a central base to coordinate their defenses against the world falling apart. Trading information with each other quickly and efficiently, and using this new information to prepare for more ripples of universes, showcasing that Batman had taught them well.

Following their example, the rest of the Justice League did what they could to minimize the damage. It was on the second day of constant relief efforts that everything was snapped back to normal.

A giant wave of sound- the noise sounding a lot like a grandfather clock strick repeating over and over again- as things that were not meant to be in their world vanished and their own people and things returned.

The shy's patches were removed and the right color returned.

Even property damages that were caused by the incident were reversed as if reality falling apart was nothing but a dream. No wreckages to clean up, no people had gone missing, and best of all, no casualties had been taken.

The Leauge gathered around Ghost Writer's book watching it open as the five returned, cheering and screaming, giving them the proper hero's welcome. Then right behind their teammates, a second group followed through.

Three glowing figures, all dressed in the same black and white outfits, and a ship carrying four humans. Batman introduced them as the allies who helped defend Clockwork's Tower and keep the multi-universe from collapsing.

He did admit that just because it was no longer falling apart, it did not mean that the rip had been closed. In fact, it was the only thing left to do but it was proving to be difficult due to Clockwork himself not understanding why their world wasn't healing.

Clockwork couldn't leave the Realms for too long- if no one was there to keep Time running the same thing would happen all over again- but he did give them equipment that could in theory patch things up on their side.

They just needed someone who understood the equipment.

Team Phantom, led by Danny Phantom, one of the flowing figures was happy to volunteer. They would be staying for three years, to strengthen and rebuild their Universe structure.

Team Phantom consisted of Dan Phantom, Danielle Phantom, Jasmin Fenton, Tucker Foley, Samantha Manson, and Westley Weston. All young, kind, strong- Batman vouched for the non-powered members claiming they could go toe to toe with his kids- and all much to the joy of many young heroes- attractive. They played an essential role on the team, doing whatever their people and kind did to help Clockwork, staying out of the League's way.

They all seemed happy to live as close to civilians as possible and despite their strength and combat training, Team Phantom was more like a research party instead of a hero.

Since they would be there for three years- more depending on the Speed Force's effect on the timeline grumbles Tucker- the seven had chosen to set down some roots within their dimension.

The three Phantoms needed Ectoplasim to live- a rare substance in the Justice League's universe- so they chose Gotham as their new home. Batman was more than willing to allow them into his city, as long as they knew not to interfere with his work.

Things settled, The Justice League moved on to other missions and other issues while Team Phantom ran tests, gathered information, and worked on the timeline.

The only real issue Bruce had with Team Phantom, was that a majority of his kids were romanticly interested in them.

Dick's love-struck sigh, whenever Dan wandered by, would often lead to useless backflips in an ill-fated attempt to impress him.

Jason would conventionally be lifting weights shirtless whenever Jazz came by with an update report. Then he would mention some novel or other that had the girl's attention far better than his abs.

Steph had taken a very large interest in gardening and at the same time, started wearing shorter shorts and tighter tops because Sam seemed to adore flowers.

Cass meanwhile found every excuse there was to be dressed in the prettiest dresses she owned whenever Wes was anywhere near her. She even wore light makeup- a real sign of how much she was interested in the conspiracy theorist.

Duke seemed over the moon whenever Tucker asked for his personal help on anything technical-related. It did his son wonders that someone thought of him first when it came to tech- Duke has always been a bit self-conscious of his place among geniuses- would be all but speaking in poems to the bemused teenager.

Damian's crush on Ellie did melt Bruce's heart a little. It was his baby's first after all, but he wasn't sure if Damian's approach was doing anything. Put him on the battlefield and Damian could lead to victory. Put him next to a pretty young girl and all his son was capable of doing was stare and babble.

The only one that didn't seem to have a crush on Team Phantom was Tim. Which should have given him reassurance except for the small little detail.

"Red Robin" Danny sings upon Tim's arrival at the cave. Officially tonight they are all going over the results of the latest tests on the universe's structure. Unofficially Team Phantom had been invited over for dinner by Alfred and they were looking over the Batcave as their butler finished preparing the main course.

At once every member of Team Phantom raises their head, turning away from his love-struck children to his flustered son and singing "Yum" with wide smiles.

Tim's face goes bright red.

Apparently, Tim was their universe version of Adonis and Team Phantom had no issue with expressing how yummy they found Tim. Now Bruce isn't saying that he would be against Tim having more than one romantic partner- he has made sure to look up proper healthy poly relationships and given Tim a PowerPoint version of it.

It's just that he isn't sure how he's going to handle supporting one of his children while breaking the heart of another. Tim seems unsure how to handle so much romantic attention- he's had plenty of relationships before- but said attention is picking him before any of his siblings is a first.

Bruce knows that deep down Tim still struggles with thinking he's not as good as the others. That he really is just a placeholder in the long run.

Then there is the fact he isn't sure how their culture works. Is the singing like a mating call? Was there a chance they would earn the irk of Clockwork himself if Tim accidentally accepted their advances? Why was it always Red Robin and not just Tim himself that made Team Phantom go yummmm?

"Hi guys" Tim greets at least and Danny grins wider.

"Reeeeed Robbbbbin" " The ghost boy says throwing an arm over Tim's shoulders. Sam and Tucker surround them, making their voices sound strange as all three start singing, rocking Tim back and forth in a strange little dance.

"Yummmmm!"

From the corner of his eyes, Bruce makes out Dick's protective Older Brother's face, as his eldest starts marching towards the group with the intent of breaking them apart. He's been very vocal about putting an end to Team Phantom's flirtations if he saw so much as a hint of Tim's unease.

Except that Tim looked utterly bliss being pressed up against Danny. Maybe he should rethink Tim's disinterest in Team Phantom. The rest of his children looked murderous as more members of Team Phantom gathered around Tim also singing.

Bruce had to deal with this for three whole years. He can physically feel his hair turning greyer.

[idiopath-fic-smile]

this one goes out to all my Singin' in the Rain ot3 truthers—

Cosmo Brown had always known it would end like this.

Cosmo was a lot of things—in fact, you could argue he was too many—but he wasn’t dumb.

From the early years, when Cosmo and Don were just kids playing for pennies in pool halls, to their stint dodging rotten vegetables on Vaudeville stages across the very backwaters of America’s backwaters, to their first real breath of success in Hollywood (and then the second and the third and the fourth), Cosmo would catch a glimpse of his handsome, charismatic friend from the corner of his eye—a flash of dark hair, that perfect tooth powder ad smile—and know that for all Don’s protestations, someday the guy was gonna meet a wonderful girl and get married, settle down, and very gently slip off to the far edge of Cosmo’s life.

So yes, Cosmo had seen Kathy Selden coming. Not the details, not her sense of humor or her musical little laugh or the madcap way she really threw herself into dancing with them around Don’s place at 1:30 in the morning—and okay, certainly not the part at the beginning where she had jumped out of a cake at a party, but he thought a fella could be excused for not correctly divining that. 

The general outline of the thing, though, how Don’s eyes followed her around a room...he had been preparing for Don to propose to Kathy ever since she’d tried to throw a pie at Don’s face. And when the happy day came, Cosmo had been ready with his best man suit, his best man speech, a slightly updated version of “Here Comes the Bride” that’d had Don and Kathy laughing all the way down the aisle.

Don and Kathy would buy a house together. They would have a swimming pool and a dog and then inevitably, a small parade of adorable little snot-nosed kids who would call him Uncle Cosmo, and they would spend less and less time with him, not on purpose but busy with the rest of their lives, and ultimately Cosmo would learn to make his peace with it because he’d have no other choice and he would have to try to move on and not live too much in his memories. He could picture it so clearly, he figured if the songwriting gig with Monumental didn’t pan out, he could always return to the backwater circuit with a new act: The Amazing Cosmo of the Cosmos—ladies and gentlemen, he sees the future, he reads the stars, he silently pines for his best married pal and all the while tap dancing!

Don and Kathy inviting him along on their honeymoon, though—that part was a surprise.

“What?” said Cosmo, hands frozen over the piano keys. He’d been busy with a brand-new assignment; on the heels of The Dancing Cavalier, offers were pouring in and he’d taken the first one scoring a movie that didn’t star anyone he was secretly in love with.

Don had looked a little wounded when Cosmo broke the news last week, but a guy had to start making his own way in the world. Besides, orchestrating layers of strings to swell as the camera zoomed in on Don and Kathy blissfully locking lips in radiant monochrome, oblivious to the rest of the world—well, Cosmo knew that dance, he had mastered the footwork, and he didn’t especially feel like a reprise.

It wasn’t lost on him that Kathy had dropped by his rehearsal space alone today. Of course, he had no idea what this meant—he didn’t think it was about the new job; Don didn’t tend to stay sore at him for that long—but Kathy was acting perfectly natural, and so probably the smart thing was to follow her lead.

“It’s a two-week transatlantic cruise,” she said now, gracefully dropping beside him on the piano bench. “We thought it would be nice to see Europe, take in the sights, get away from all the cameras.”

“Ah yes, such a wallflower, our dear Don,” said Cosmo solemnly. “Besieged on all sides by the love of his public, a tragedy of our times, up there with Lear! Hamlet! Caesar! The one with all the Greeks and the giant wooden horse, nay, nay, neigh.” He played a tragic little trill, for effect. Kathy huffed a laugh and smacked his arm.

“You know that’s not it,” she said. “Being watched all the time—we can’t always do what we want. It’s rotten.”

Tell me about it, thought Cosmo.

He was sort of seeing a fight choreographer named Archibald, who came from old money and was a “the third” or a “the fifth” but nice enough Cosmo might even forgive him for that. Archibald was trim and athletic, with dark brown hair that was just starting to go gray at the temples and enough discretion that Cosmo didn’t think they’d get caught. The only problem was that he didn’t laugh at Cosmo’s jokes, seemed to just tolerate them.

“What do you two even talk about, then?” Don had asked, when Cosmo had let this slip over drinks the same night he’d explained about the new movie project. (Cosmo had been trying to spend less time with Don and Kathy since the wedding but Don had said, “C’mon, pal, we miss you” and Kathy had laid one hand on his arm and peered up at him with her big green eyes and Cosmo was only one man.)

Cosmo had frowned, because Don hated Archibald, for reasons that were frankly mysterious. Then he’d looked up and grinned a grin he didn’t exactly feel and said,

“Tell you when you’re older,” and then Don had choked on his dry Martini even though Cosmo knew Don knew about Cosmo’s tendencies. It wasn’t something they discussed, and Cosmo had never properly gone with a guy before, but whenever a big-shot producer started complaining about all the degenerate queers in showbiz, Don always sharply steered the conversation someplace else. It was all very gallant and noble and knightly, and someday Don would play King Arthur and Kathy his lady Guinevere—

“Honestly, sometimes it feels as if we’re living in a fishbowl,” said Kathy now, in the present.

“And so your solution is to relocate,” said Cosmo, “to the biggest fishbowl on this here magnificent earth. The mighty ocean!” He struck up a sea shanty. “Oh blow the man down, blow the man down / way ay, blow the man down…”

Not everyone appreciated his musical flights of fancy, but when Cosmo turned, she was leaning with her elbow on the side arm of the piano, watching him with her chin on her hand and laughing. 

“Just for two weeks,” she said. “So, are you coming?”

“With you two,” said Cosmo, just so there could be no misunderstandings. “On your one and only honeymoon.”

“Yes,” said Kathy.

“As what, your first mate?”

“Sure.” She grinned and threw him a quick salute. Cosmo was almost never attracted to women but in this case, he understood the appeal.

He swallowed. “You are aware of that ancient saying, ‘Two’s company and three’s a fast track to divorce court’?”

“You’re hardly a threat to our marriage, Cosmo,” she said, and he agreed, of course, in both directions, even, but it still stung to hear her say it out loud. For want of anything better to do, he gasped, clutched a hand to his chest and reeled backwards so hard, he threw himself off the piano bench, landing in a somersault on the floor.

Kathy spun around fluidly on the bench to face him, pleated skirt whirling a little, heels of her shoes clicking together. 

“Oh, I said that badly,” she said. “I only mean that it’s more fun when you’re around. We have a better time, Don and me both. Remember the night we decided to make Dueling Cavalier a musical?”

“Do I remember the best night of my life?” Cosmo peered up at her from the hardwood. “Why yes, madam, now that you mention it, I believe it might ring a bell or two.”

“The best—” She frowned for a moment, and he remembered then that as a newly married woman, a newly married woman to Don Lockwood, no less, she’d no doubt experienced any number of evenings that blew that one out of the water.

Even besides that, it felt awfully revealing all of a sudden. Cosmo threw an arm over his eyes. He felt naked. He wished he was naked, because that might at least distract from whatever his face was doing.

“So it beats your time with Archibald, then?” said Kathy shrewdly.

Cosmo uncovered his eyes. He forgot, sometimes, that new as Kathy was to the moving pictures business, she was still a city girl, with a city girl’s worldliness. Also, Don had probably told her; that seemed like the kind of second-hand secrets married people shared with each other. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Hardly a topic for mixed company,” he said.

There was a pause.

“So yes,” she said and smiled with a smugness that would’ve been unbecoming were she not as cute as a button.

“What do you and Don have against the poor man anyway?” he groused. “He’s never done so much as sneezed in your direction, and if he did, I’m sure he’d use a handkerchief.”

“For one thing, we know you could do better,” said Kathy, folding her arms.

Cosmo elbowed his way back to sitting, brushing himself off with dignity. “Well, better’s not exactly knocking on my door right now.”

“This town doesn’t have an ounce of sense.” She reached down to offer him a hand up, pulling Cosmo to his feet; she was stronger than she looked. “Listen, two weeks away, it’ll be good for you.”

“What about you two?” Cosmo protested as he reclaimed his spot on the bench, Kathy sliding to make room.

“What about us?” said Kathy with wide eyes.

“Two newlyweds might want some alone time?” he offered weakly.

Kathy shrugged. “I told you, there won’t be reporters or cameras. It’ll be plenty private.”

“What about your matrimonial needs?”

“Which needs?”

His eyes narrowed; she was a terrific actress but suddenly he wasn’t sure he was buying it. Kathy wasn’t dumb either.

“You have to know what I mean. Don’t make me play Cole Porter at you,” said Cosmo. She hesitated, and Cosmo began to pluck out a melody: “Birds do it, bees do it / even educated fleas do it…” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“Let’s do it,” sang Kathy, finishing the stanza in her lovely alto, “let’s fall in love.”

Cosmo stopped playing.

“I do know,” she said simply, “of course I do, and we’re not worried about it, alright? Listen, do you want to go?”

Cosmo, who had been carefully not asking himself that question, stared down at the piano keys. Did he want to go? He thought back to that night at Don’s, the three of them giddy with excitement and inspiration and sleep deprivation, running through the house, clowning around and dancing with no audience except each other—he hadn’t felt like a hanger-on then, like a third wheel or an extra limb or a chaperone. He’d felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be, one note of a perfect chord.

Still.

“I can’t swim,” he said.

“They’ll have lifejackets,” said Kathy.

“I’ll have to work.”

“We’ll bring a piano.”

“All my houseplants will die,” said Cosmo.

“All your houseplants are fake,” she said. This was true, although he wasn’t sure how she knew since she’d never been to his house. She sighed. “Remember the night of that first screening, when you were about to expose Lina and instead of explaining what was happening, Don told me I had to sing, that I didn’t have a choice?”

He winced, thinking of Kathy’s heartbroken, tear-stained face before they’d pulled up the curtain and revealed who was really singing when Lina moved her lips.

“Yes, and I feel just awful about it.”

“Well, Don doesn’t,” said Kathy. “Because he knew it would take too long to convince me to do something that mean to her.”

“Mean?” Cosmo echoed. “She tried to trap you in a lifelong contract and steal your voice. A common sea witch wouldn’t stoop so low.”

“But there wasn’t time,” she pressed. “And anyway, he knew how it would end.”

“What’s your point?”

“We already bought your tickets,” said Kathy.

Cosmo gaped at her.

“We’ve cleared the trip with everyone at Monumental and anyway, like I said, we’ll have a piano on the boat.”

Distantly, he was aware his mouth was still hanging open. Kathy reached over with one light finger under his chin and gently closed it. 

“That’s better,” she said, folding her hands daintily in her lap. It was around this time she seemed to realize it wasn’t some routine, that Cosmo really was well and truly stunned. “Of course, nobody is going to force you to go with us if you truly don’t want to,” she said into the silence.

“These tickets,” he said at last, “are they refundable?”

“Gosh,” said Kathy easily, “I can’t imagine they are, no.”

The thing was, none of them were hurting for money or work anymore, so the fact that Don and Kathy might be out even a few hundred dollars didn’t catch at him the way it might’ve some years earlier. No, the thought that really seized his imagination was the mental image of Don and Kathy planning this together, Don and Kathy discussing the matter with each other, maybe over breakfast—toast and coffee in their dressing gowns, so sure it was the right thing to do that they’d decided to just go ahead and make preparations: oh and a ticket for Cosmo, of course.

He could do it, he realized. He could go. He wanted to go. It was foolish, but Cosmo was an entertainer; he’d been doing foolish things in front of a roomful of witnesses since he was in shortpants.

“I’ll pack tonight,” he said.

“Perfect!” Kathy hopped off the bench and straightened out her dress. “And bring something nice to wear at dinner for a night or two; it doesn’t need to be black-tie formal, a good suit will do.”

He nodded. “I shall leave the top hat and monocle at home. Two weeks, you say?”

“Yes, and another half-day on either side flying to the harbor and back.” She reached into her coat pocket, and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “The itinerary,” she said. “Don and I are so glad you’ll be coming.”

“Uh-huh,” said Cosmo. “Say, where is that fella, anyway? What’s the big idea, can’t even stick around to ask his best pal to his own honeymoon?”

“He’s planning the trip,” said Kathy brightly. “Last-minute details. Anyway, he thought you and I should have a chat, one on one. He thought it might help.”

He blinked. “Help what?”

“Help us,” she said.

It was all starting to feel like a farce, like one of those old Vaudeville acts with a lot of fast talking.

“Did it?” he asked.

“I think so,” said Kathy warmly. She turned and began to walk towards the door. “See you at the airport tomorrow. Six AM sharp.”

“Six AM,” he said, and then, foolishly, “You know, I can see why he likes you.”

Kathy dimpled. “Oh, likewise!” She tossed him another smile and then she was heading out of sight down the hallway, shoes clacking rhythmically on the tile.

“Well,” said Cosmo to no one. He felt pole-axed, he decided. He wasn’t sure he had ever felt pole-axed in his life before, but there was no other word for it.

He played a chord, then another chord, then a few more.

“Pole-axed,” he sang, “out of whack, when you are near there’s only one drawback: I can’t be clever, no I lack the knack, Darling, I’m pole-axed, out of whack around you!”

It wasn’t exactly Cole Porter, but he’d take it, he thought, reaching for his pen. There was still an hour or two left before he’d need to race traffic home and dig out his suitcase. Apparently, he had early morning plans.

(ETA: if you didn't see, there is now a second part here!)

(ETA THE SECOND: the whole finished thing is now here!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Turtle Takedown Teamwork.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[mee1414]

Solar farmer

Day 11 - Pearlescentmoon

[apoetsworld]

Sorry to all those "sirius can sing" stans...but headcannon sirius black sounds like a dying cat singing in the shower and he thinks he sounds angelic...and james changes the subject when he brings it up, peter runs out of the room and remus never shuts up ab how he actually sounds like he's being murdered when he sings "Is there Life On Mars?" by David Bowie

[repmet]

Alex's cowboy hat appreciation

[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: if you have stuck around and waited u are INCREDIBLE thank u so much for ur patience <3 esp cos i'm still testing it with my slowburn lmao + tell me what u think lovelies and as always, enjoy

word count: 4.1k

synopsis: Azriel's shadows find a new way to torment their master. The question of forgiveness follows you. Cassian gets you in the ring, testing out newly learnt skills.

CHAPTER TEN :: SHADOWS

Azriel is a spy by his very nature.

It makes sense; the gift of Shadowsinger is never bestowed so lightly so that it could ever leave any doubt of the user. Shadowsingers are spies, even well before their gifts revealed themselves. Always watching. Always listening.

It was, then, a tad against his disposition to keep his nose out business that wasn't his — as that was precisely what Azriel did best.

But his decision was resolute. Azriel had promised himself he would not be the first to break the distance between you two.

However, for a fae over five-hundred years old, it's quite unsettling to yet again feel the pangs of impatience. Years of practicing restraint and then, in a mere few months, his hard earned patent for patience begins to fray at the ends. You'll be his undoing, he's sure of it.

Like a young and fresh-faced warrior itching for battle, it's almost embarrassing how Azriel can't seem to stay away from you. His feet wander and all paths lead to you.

His shadows are not helping.

Azriel thinks they've managed to get more insistent, which he hadn't really believe was possible. They've proven him oh-so wrong. When he walks the halls of the House of Wind, the dark wisps dart out, as though trying to tug him along.

He had trusted them all of two times before, face flushed and with an ungraceful but thankfully unnoticed exit, he learned just where they were leading him.

They were following the invisible thread between you, taking him to see his mate.

When it became clear he wasn't going to be coerced along, his shadows had only got more devious.

It's a particular brand of torture, Azriel thinks, to be delivered little parcels of knowledge of the person he's not allowing himself to see.

And they're ruthless about it. Whispers about how you're healing and the growing steadiness of your feet, the way you stand a little taller each day, about the tentative trust extended to Cassian.

Gods, that one had made his hand jerk across the paper in surprise, spilling a patch of ink onto the report he was in the middle of.

You were talking to Cassian— no, you were nearly friends with Cassian. The magnanimous hope had ballooned within him before Azriel remembered to stomp it back down.

Mor had teased him for the black stains on his hands during dinner.

He studies them now, nearly washed away completely, before he lifts his head. In the cool air of dusk, Azriel surveils the training ring from the shadows of the door, eyes scanning across the balcony.

It's empty, as expected. The rising moon is his only company.

You've stuck to training in the mornings, of course.

He's relieved and disappointed all at once—then Azriel forces that disappointment out of his system with a frustrated huff.

He is not allowed to be disappointed. Your trust is something he still needs to claw his way back to, to earn, and that required waiting and accepting that.

Azriel would see you... when you wanted to see him.

Despite his resolve, the thread between you still gives a futile tug before he can stop it. Scowling at himself, he rubs at his chest meanly, banishing the feeling. He steps down onto the balcony and heads towards the equipment.

As his scarred hands reach out and pluck one of the training staffs off the rack, his shadows twirls and trill, an almost teasing motion. It takes one pointed whisper, one tug on his heartstrings —they used that one just earlier today— before his hands are glowing warm from the second-hand touch.

His fingers spring apart and the staff hits the tiles with a loud clatter. Even though it's just him out on the balcony, he still casts an awkward glance around him. Gods

If his brothers could see him now, Azriel thinks dryly.

He swats at the shadow that had unhelpfully fed him the information. It dances away from him, swooping down to circle the staff on the ground with its others, a mass of black surrounding it.

Azriel bends down and gingerly picks up the staff, his hazel eyes staring at it for a long moment. Where your hands have been.

After a moment, his fingers curl around it. His marred hands feel like they're glowing again, warm and tingling, even if he knows it's all in his mind. Even so, he swears the golden thread between you hums, just ever so slightly.

He'll allow himself this, just this once, Azriel decides. His grip tightens and he heads to the ring, preparing to train, his hands where yours were just mere hours before.

—

The day after you had met Cassian, as the dawn breaks over sky, you find him on the training balcony before you.

You're a little later than you'd normally be, the sun actually rising before you do. You're moving a little more sluggishly too, but for once it's for a better reason.

Sleep, normally light and fitful for you, had actually been a reprieve last night. You slept deeply, falling into dreamless slumber and resting properly.

When morning crept in, dragging your eyelids up had felt like a mountainous amount of effort. Part of you wonders if it's because of the male across the balcony from you.

Allies, you had agreed upon.

It's a little easier to rest when you've made one less enemy.

Watching him now, stretching his supple and bulging arms, you have to force down the instilled anxiety that festers up, a force of habit that's kept you safe all these years.

You're not in Exordor anymore. You're not keeping any secrets.

Cassian clocks your hesitant stance in the doorway as he turns, a wide grin breaking across his face. His wings perk up, a genuine sign of his excitement. He stops his stretching momentarily to wave.

"Morning!" He calls out, despite the fact the distance between you doesn't require him to do so.

"Ally." He adds pointedly, leaning over to give an over the top wink.

Somewhere buried deep inside you, a laugh almost wants to wriggle free, but it's smothered before you can think too hard. You give him a wry smile instead, the best you can manage, and take a tentative step down onto the balcony. Your wings give a tiny shiver in the passing breeze.

"Good morning," You manage to return, the words sticking in your throat on the way up. It's awkward but nothing in Cassian's friendly demeanor changes to indicate he's noticed. Your feet lead you over towards the weapons rack.

It's as you reach them do you realise your heart is rabbiting wildly, pounding in your chest, stewing you in discomfort. The hair on the back of your neck rises, prickling with unease. Your back is turned to a fierce warrior, one that could very well attack you.

And worse, you'll be training next to him, still not healed, still stumbling on your feet—revealing all the ways to strike you down.

You—you haven't done this, ever. You haven't trained with someone completely as yourself, with no facade to hide beneath. It suddenly becomes incredibly vulnerable.

Your hand trembles as you reach out for the training staff and you try your best to swallow down your nerves.

Cassian has kept his distance, resuming his stretches, but you don't miss how his eyes dance over to you every couple of seconds. For a moment, it alarms you but as you find a place and settle into your stance, you steal another glimpse.

It's more like... a dog wagging its tail, you think faintly.

You press down the urge to smile and begin your exercises.

There's all of ten minutes of silence before it gets broken.

"How do you like Velaris?"

You pause in your motions, huffing to catch your breath as your grip the training staff loosens. You cast a glance over at Cassian who's now picked up one of the broadswords, beginning to throw its weight around easily.

You blink and for a moment, your eyes dart out over the edge of the balcony, to the city teeming with life, so close and yet so far from you. A part of you aches fiercely to see it.

"I... haven't been into the city." You answer honestly. It comes out curt and doesn't exactly answer his question.

Eyeing his sword nervously, your force your aching muscles through another series of exercises. You're a sliver better than the day before but when your ear twinges loudly, you still stumble, a minuscule motion. Your heart lurches up your throat, frustration welling like a tidal wave within you.

"Okay, then how do you like the House of Wind?"

You pause again, looking over to Cassian tentatively, the pain in your ear momentarily forgotten. The rising frustration in you dissipates at the distraction. He waves a casual hand over to the house you've been residing in since you arrived in Velaris and smiles once more.

You swallow thickly. What is his angle here?

"I haven't..." You struggle to put your thoughts into words. It's... different. New. Unsettling. You don't want to say the wrong thing. For all you know, this may well be his home.

Eventually, you find your voice. "I like my room. It's—" Several words ping to the front of your mind. "—big."

You cringe. Some compliment that is. You're too honest even if it is true; you're far too used to the familiar cramped space of your own cabin. Even sharing walls with others is foreign to you and you're incredibly thankful you haven't run into anyone unexpectedly in any corridors yet.

It doesn't occur to you that it might entirely be by design, thanks to Rhys' strict instruction.

Cassian grins. "Yes, I recall Illyria being hardly known for it's roomy cabins."

He swings the sword around with a flick of his wrist, more like an idle motion than anything. Your eyes still flicker down keenly, watching for any threat, just in case.

"So, you haven't explored the house much then?" Cassian continues, feigning a stab forward with the sword, his eyes on his motions but his attention still focused primarily on you.

You follow his lead and swing the training staff again, in an arching whoosh. You shake your head in answer to his question.

"Do you want to?"

"Do you always talk this much during training?"

The words come out before you can think to check them, sucking in a sharp breath as you realise how snappy that sounded. Like you're looking for a fight.

You ready yourself to sink into a defensive stance, before you realise that Cassian has only laughed in response. A curl of his tied back hair comes loose as he shakes his head, the action almost... fond.

"Only when I'm trying to make friends." He grins warmly, eyes flicking up to meet yours. "Sorry, I'll stop prying."

You swallow and nod slightly, hoping it won't be read as rude. Though you'd had a hard time believing it, Cassian had been true to his word; no fighting unless it was in the ring. You hadn't dared to go near it yet.

Readjusting your stance, you prepared to go through the motions once more. It's still a bit more of the juvenile exercises than you're used to—forced back to the basics as you retrain your body—but also because you're solitary training. You're used to sparring with others.

Stealing a glimpse at Cassian, you ponder if—if you might, eventually that is, train alongside him as you had done with Azriel.

Moving the training staff deftly, you thrust it forward and twist your lithe body to dart forward again, a small patter of your feet on the stone.

It's maneuver used for rushing opponents, throwing them off their balance and driving them backwards. It works for you, mostly, but the way your wings cut through the air, the slightest whistle through the holey scars, makes you a little unsteady.

"You fight like you're bigger than you are."

Straightening up, you breathe heavily and peer around the edges of your wings back at Cassian—who apparently isn't done talking at all.

He nods to you, in reference the maneuver you've just performed. "That is a move usually far better suited for someone of a larger stature."

You clear your throat, wings curling in a bit closer around you. "Yes. Azriel, he- he was trying to rectify that. There's only one way to train Illyrians, as I'm sure you know."

Cassian nods again, lowering the sword to hang at his side. "That I do. However, I feel Azriel may have been taking the wrong approach given... the information he was not privy to at the time."

Your brows knit together, something wrong twisting tightly in your chest.

"Because I'm..."

Female.

"Not a male?"

The words come out sharp without meaning to.

Cassian's picks up on your defensiveness, his expression softening. He gives a little so-so motion with his free hand, his wings rustling behind him. "A bit, but not for reasons you may think."

When you don't speak, he continues, his explanation unfurling.

"Your centre of gravity is different to ours. That actually changes the best way for you to fight. More of your strength comes from these—"

He slaps his hands down onto his thighs with a grin.

"—than from your arms. For that reason, there are moves you will be better at than what you've been taught."

Cassian cocks his head, his dark eyes squinting for a moment, deep in thought. "Azriel likely switched your training to agility based, didn't he?"

You nod gingerly. You had no idea if what he was said was true. If there was a fighting style suited to females. That would require... female warriors which, for all you've ever known, is a highly unlikely thing to exist.

Though, being he is the General of the Night Court's armies, you'd likely assume Cassian knows what he's talking about.

He nods, that same easy smile. "He was right to do so. Most camps focus on brute strength and stamina. Makes for good warriors that can take hits and keep going. You can train that way if you still wish but you might find you excel when your efforts are put elsewhere."

It takes a long moment before you realise exactly what his words mean.

An offer. He's offering to train you, to teach you.

Pleasant surprise blooms inside you, warm, curling up behind your ribs like a purring cat. Cassian's eyes are light and friendly, his body language relaxed as though if you turn him down, it'd be of no consequence to him. Merely an offer.

You turn it over in your mind, back and forth. The gentle wind from the mountains caresses across your cheekbones, a warm touch.

Inside, deep in your chest, there's something telling you to trust. To take the step forward, to accept Cassian's outstretched proposal. That you might regret it if you didn't.

"How?" Your eyes skirt up and down on instinct, still on alert for a threat that isn't coming.

Cassian grins infectiously, not even attempting to hide his glee. He rolls his shoulders back and assesses you once more.

"Have you ever heard of the headscissor takedown?"

—

Flesh hits stone, a large shuddering bang that echoes out the courtyard. In the distance, a couple birds take flight, squawking loudly. Pain ricochets through your knees, a warbling and jarring pain that has you gritting your teeth.

"You're..." Cassian's breath comes out raggedly. "Incredible!"

He beams from where he's pinned beneath you and your pain dashes away in a moment, something gleaning and prideful taking its place.

There's a rivulet of blood under his nose, his hair knocked loose, and you know hitting the ground as hard as he did won't have been nice. He continues on as if he hasn't.

"That was perfect form. You're a Cauldron-born natural!"

You huff a breath that might be an actual laugh this time and quickly retract yourself, standing to your feet. You waver momentarily, hesitance poisoning your thoughts, before you decide. Holding out your hand to help, Cassian is quick to put his hand in your own and use it to lug himself up.

When he gets to his feet, his grip loosens but he doesn't let go altogether.

"Hey," He says, more serious this time. His fingers around your wrist, soft and warm, still make your pulse jump nervously. You force yourself to meet his gaze, still friendlier than ever. "Seriously. You're very skilled and you're a fast learner. You've got the makings to be lethal. The Night Court is lucky to have you on our side."

His hand slips back, grazing your wrist, and you wonder if he can feel the way your heart skips a beat.

No one has ever been... lucky to have you. It's so foreign that hearing someone say it aloud makes you forget to breath for one long second.

"I—" The word pushes out before you think about it. "That's... You-"

Praise is not a part of Illyrian training. You fumble with it, feeling entirely out of your depth, feeling oddly proud of yourself. It feels like your cheeks are warmer than usual.

Cassian chuckles, wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. "You're welcome." He says pointedly, making you realise you're supposed to say thank you after someone compliments you.

You flounder for another second, making Cassian laugh again, louder this time. He reaches forward and lightly taps you on the shoulder, a faux punch.

"You'll get used to it." He says. Part of you really, really wants to. "Now, c'mon. Let's go again. Hit me."

—

You think that now Cassian's got what he wanted—the two of you training together, learning the plethora of new moves, stances, blocks he has in his repertoire—he wouldn't have anymore questions.

You're sorely, sorely, wrong.

Two mornings later, the pair of you prepare for some sparring with the swords in the ring. Cassian's purposefully picked one of the heavier ones for himself, broad and long, but he'd put aside a blade for you.

It's smaller, lighter. It reminds you of Heartstriker.

Which reminds you of Azriel.

The mere thought of him has your heart humming, miserable and elated all at once. You're still not sure if you'd like to see him just yet, the confusing twist of betrayal too fresh, but still, some part of you seeks him out, consciously or not.

You want to wander the halls until you find the door to leads to him.

It's because he was your first friend. You reason, as you step up towards the sparring ring. He was the first person you trusted. Was? Is—maybe.

Do you still trust him?

Cassian is already in the ring, waiting as patiently as he can. His rustling wings give him away, even as casual as he looks leaned up against one of the corner posts.

His wings are stretched out, towards the sun's rays that are just beginning to slip over the horizon, trying to steal some of their warmth.

A yawn slips past your lips. The night of restful sleep was an outlier it seemed, the tendrils of a calming, easy sleep stolen away just as quickly.

Fingers curling around the hilt of the short sword, you step gingerly into the ring, eyes casting across to your opponent. You roll your shoulders back, warming up the muscles a bit more, and give your own wings a little shake. A shiver wracks through you in response, the chill of the morning touching on sensitive scars.

"Is there a particular reason Azriel is avoiding you?"

Your head snaps up at the sound of Cassian's voice, cool and calm.

He hasn't shifted, though his wings are tucked back in now. His sword is still relaxed at his side, his worn hand tucked around the hilt of it freely.

The usual chattiness that Cassian has been able to coax out of you these last few days shrivels up. Azriel is avoiding you? You hadn't wanted to see him but this—something curls up inside you, sour and foul. You swallow hard.

"I hadn't realised." You murmur, unable to keep the bitterness from seeping into your words.

Cassian blinks and seems to realise his mistake. He waves a hand dismissively, as if it can scratch away his last words. "I misspoke. I believe he is... keeping his distance."

He furrows his brow, face pinched, picking his words carefully. "For your sake." He adds.

You... don't know how you feel about that. On one hand, you're relieved. It's not by pure chance that you haven't seen him yet, it's purposeful—he's keeping out of your way, giving you peace.

On the other hand, something twined in your chest pangs sorrowfully, mourning the distance between you.

While Cassian's presence as an ally (or perhaps, you'll even admit, a friend) is comforting, you'll admit it does not fill the same shape in you as Azriel does. You miss him, quite terribly so.

"What makes you think he's avoiding me?" You ask.

Cassian gives an little shrug, his head tilting to the side just a bit. He smiles in a way that tells you he knows more than he lets on. Or maybe, he simply knows Azriel far better than you do.

"He usually trains in the morning." He explains nonchalantly. "He's taken to training at night since your arrival."

You frown at the new information. You don't want Azriel to be changing things for you, to bend and warp his routines in his home, just for you. You don't want him to avoid you either, even if you're beginning to think you might never be brave enough to face him.

He left you. He was your first friend and the betrayal of that is entirely too new— but you don't know where to draw the line.

You don't know for how long you're allowed to be upset — or how long you can let this go on before you're punishing yourself just as much as you are him.

Flexing your grip on the sword, you stare across at Cassian and when you open your mouth, the words tumble out with warning.

"He..." Your breath hitches.

Something awful hooks into your chest, remembering the way he had folded himself into shadows, away from you. The look on his face.

"He left me. When I needed him more than ever." You admit.

Your voice doesn't waver but Cassian can still see the slight tremble in your shoulders, rolling in. Your eyes have dropped to study the floor of the sparring ring, seemingly lost in the memory.

Cassian's face softens, his heart aching for you. You don't even notice how your own wings have begun to curl in, a soft, comforting blanket around yourself.

It's clear you're struggling to juggle the myriad of emotions that haunt you and he gets it, Mother, does he get it. It had been hard the first time, during those first tentative months of friendship with Rhys, before Azriel was even in the picture. Cassian had one emotion that served him any purpose and that was spite.

Spite kept him alive. Spite told him who to knock down and who to put down.

Friendships and spite are not the greatest combination. When Rhys had done something Cassian had vehemently disagreed with, it had felt like a deception, stinging as badly as the backhand from Lord Devlon, sneering the word bastard.

It took time to undo the messy tangle of emotions, to learn that not all betrayal fell into the same box. That forgiveness for some people was not weakness at all.

So, Cassian asks. "Did he come back?"

You glance up at him, eyes flickering with emotion at the question. After a moment, you swallow and say. "Yes. He did."

Cassian nods. He stretches his wings out a bit and reaches up to push a stray piece of hair behind his ear.

"Alright. How long do you intend to punish him for that mistake?"

You freeze at that question and Cassian can tell he's hit the right spot. You're unsure how long you should—because all you know is that you're hurt. And when you're hurt, you don't know any other way to deal with it.

There's only one pathway ingrained for when someone hurts you. Cassian realises suddenly, Mother help him, that he must try to be good at the talking side of things. He needs to show you there's other ways you can go.

"Because," He continues, not waiting for your answer. "I can assure you that Azriel will punish himself for far longer and far harsher than you ever will. I've known my brother a long time. If there anyone who understands the gravity of his actions and will torture himself over them, it's Azriel."

A hesitant expression shutters across your face, your brows furrowing slightly. Cassian doesn't need Rhys' daemati gift to understand the conflict that's battling within you.

"You think I should forgive him."

You don't pose it as a question. A little bit more of that iciness has bled back into your voice, on guard again.

Cassian can tell that, like him, you don't take well to being told what to do. That's fine; Cassian has no intention of doing that whatsoever.

"I think that is your decision entirely." Cassian says, letting the words breathe so they truly sink in. He watches as your eyes narrow momentarily and then your shoulders relax, sinking down an inch.

"But," He says gingerly. "If you avoid each other, you might never move past this. Might never move forward. It might be worth considering what you really want at the end of the day."

The sun has properly broken across the mountain ridges, no longer just sparse rays. You turn your face, facing towards the warmth. There's still that scrunch between your eyebrows, betraying your deep thought, but Cassian has said enough for now.

He moves his sword and taps the end of it against the stone, a soft steel ping grabbing your attention. You whip your head back to face him and Cassian grins, raising his sword.

"Enough talking. More fighting."

You smile, a little hesitant but entirely genuine, and raise your sword in response. That's one thing you're sure you know how to do right.

tags below!

@strangerstilinski @janebirkln @itsswritten @mischiefmanagers @hnyclover

@waytoomanyteenagefeels @idkitsem @illyrianbitch @jeweline16 @fightmedraco

@iamjimintrash @maendering @spideytingley @aneekapaneeka @cassianswh0reeee

@viciane @astarlitsoul @mybestfriendmademe @archiveofcravings @reputaytionn-13

@bionic-donut @chessebookgirl @itseightbeats @littleblackcatinwonderland @twsssmlmaa

@fanworrior @skysayhi @vintageoldfashion @tequilya @fabulouslyflamboyant5

@rhysandorian @laughterafter @brieftriumphnightmare @hirah-yummar @some-person-somewhere

@scooobies @sfhsgrad-blog @cherry-cin @bookloverandalsocats @megscabinetofcurios

@doodlebugsblog @landofpetrichor @acourtofdreamsandshadows @florabelll @tanyaherondale

@aomi-recs @letmejustreadthanks @problemfinder @sevikas-whore @doodlebugg16-blog

@meandmysillywriting @justingnoreme @krowiathemythologynerd @hanatsuki-hime @sunny747

@coffeebeforewater @kalulakunundrum @marina468 @moonbirde @yellow-birdy @sheblogs

@shinyghosteclipse @randombibitch @itsjustwinter @emryb @books-all-the-way13

@thatsassyhufflepuff @nerdyalmondlawyerauthor @lilah-asteria @rcarbo1 @bobbyisbored

@historygeekqueen @roseodelle @assriels @rem-ie @storiumemporium

@lovingkelj @itsswritten @breadsticks2004 @marina468 @sapphena

[siyelius]

boy you better not be belobog’s indestructible shield

my unyielding ass:

[insomaniacat]

orv spoilers

tbh I'm so happy there is no explicit romance in orv (minus the brief stuff that happens with jhw and lhs) and because of that I feel like I've been able to appreciate kdj in such a profound way as a character

like sure i like joongdok and yoohankim but to me at least kdj has this level of asexuality to him that I don't usually associate him with anyone that romantically. And their relationships are still as complex and has such a great depth that they are like THE foundest of families and I can return to the kim dokja company at the end of the day as all of them being my comfort characters. you know that saying like 'i love you so much i'd make the world burn for you'? it's meant to be this dramatic line about how much you love someone (romantically), but kdj's company fully encapsulates this in a platonic way that just isn't cringey or anything like that

they are all so platonic but they love each other to such an unconditional way that they ALL decide to relive through all the scenarios again in the hope of finding kim dokja again. and later, they all help to write and spread a story - stories, the thing the reader loves - again, in hopes of bringing kdj back home. they aren't sure if it'll work, but it is through this love they all have that they don't give up and put their hope in this seemingly impossible method

and this is also what makes them fundamentally different from kdj. unlike kim dokja in the apocalypse, they do not have any sort of proof their methods will work. kdj has twsa - the novel he grew up reading, the novel he fantasized living in, the novel that he's spent 13 years following, learning every nook and cranny and probably even planning out his own way to survive the apocalypse from this lengthy novel. he has some sort of assurance his methods will work, with the amount of time hsy put into describing the settings (remember that twsa was not popular and one of the complaints was that tls123 put too much emphasis on the settings that deterred people from reading it, when really, that too was a way to ensure kdj survived the apocalypse later on). he has had time to reassure himself and plan for it, and probably had yjh case test them all

but kdj's company had no assurance - they did not grow up with a book that confirmed their methods of bringing kdj back would work. they did not have any 'third plans', no 'ressurections', no 'restarts', that kdj had in the apocalypse. all they had was their own hope - something kdj didn't have when he was fifteen sitting in that hospital bed after that failed suicide attempt, feeling like the whole world was against him. Until he searched up those three words on his phone. Those three words that were probably 'Ways of Survival'.

And then he found his hope in twsa. he found his hope in yjh, the protagonist made just for him. he found hope in the story that he believed in for the next thirteen years. the story that got him through high school, the CSATs, the military. his hope was in this tangible book that carried him through the apocalypse.

kdj's company had none of that. they only had their hope in kim dokja - the man they survived the scenarios with. they could only put their hope in their memories of surviving with the man that saved them, even though there was no evidence he lived in their world anymore. they had to put their hope in the fact that they remembered he existed, even though they had to acknowledge that they didn't know everything about him.

sing shong touches upon this idea a lot throughout orv - does something really exist if no one knows about it? or, in a more modern saying, did a fallen tree in a forest really fall if no one heard it? what proves the existence of something? what proves that something truly happened? sing shong seems to make it pretty clear that the existence of something can be represented metaphorically like a 'story', and stories need a 'reader', some sort of spectator that witnesses it, for the 'story' to exist.

for kim dokja, his final sacrifice, where he split into infinite little pieces scattered across the universe, was to ensure that everything existed. that open ending, as tragic as it was, was meant to be comforting. that his sacrifice was supposed to be so existences like you and me, are real. no matter how lonely we may feel throughout our lives, a metaphorical 'kim dokja' is looking at our own stories, spectating our own stories, even living our own lives himself.

and what i hate to say sometimes is that kim dokja is not really a character - he is an idea. he is an idea of some being affirming our lives, that it's real, that what we do from day to day, even something as simple as getting up in the mornings and brushing your teeth, or thumbing through a store catalog, matters. and this is why kim dokja sacrificed himself. for all the stories that may have not 'existed' if no one was watching it.

and it's out of love. this tragic, terrible love for the world, that eats away at yourself until you are nothing. but at least you exist.

[beneathsilverstars]

been thinking about the differences between SASASAP and ISAT lately. because looking just at ISAT and the two hats ending, you'd think loop went through the exact same house as our siffrin, but looking at SASASAP, it's different. it's mixed up. it's obviously a condensed prototype.

but. that doesn't have to mean it's a different universe entirely.

maybe that's just what happens after a thousand loops.

the house warped in act 5. siffrin lost their shit and the house got changed and corrupted, far past its baseline king uncanniness. so it wouldn't be too out-of-the-question for it to be able to warp in more subtle ways as well, due to a more subtle breakdown.

like a jpeg uploaded and downloaded a thousand times, siffrin changed, and the loops changed. over a thousand loops of efficiency, the house got more efficient. rooms combining. items moving. data compressing. and of course, run in a changed house, the script changed as well. it did so slowly, one bit at a time, over a thousand loops of zoned-out half-listening – and by the time siffrin would have noticed each difference, they were already used to it. (and in the moments that they did look at a room that was less familiar than it should be and realize that they had no idea where to find the key, well. that's just classic siffrin, isn't it.)

through sheer repetition, siffrin was corrupted, and the loops and the house along with them. all purpose lost, all signals distorted, until finally they couldn't recognize the meaning in any of it. it was all noise and despair.

so they made a wish. and the loop restarted. not just a reboot, but something more complete.

the data was backed up onto a star – a guide, a warning, a reference – and the loops were factory reset. and for the first time in a thousand loops, siffrin woke up to a clear mind and the crisp sound of birdsong.

[luminique]

and when cheesetopia holds an open mic event and lighter gets confident to sing sappy country love songs in front of you and he gets shy after seeing YOU get shy because his singing voice with a hint of a southern drawl made your heart go crazy

lighter only does so after the girls convince him to (and many rounds of nitro-fuel). they knew that he wanted to sing for you but just never found the confidence to. so with some planning, kasa is able to hold cheesetopia’s first ever open mic.

as patron after patron sang, burnice hands the mic over to lighter. he didn’t know it was part of a big plan with the rest of the girls, he thought it was just burnice wanting to tease him. either way, nothing could be more embarrassing than some other customers’ questionable songs and singing abilities so he decided to give it a shot.

you arrived just in time for lighter’s turn, with caesar immediately pulling you by the hand to the best seat for the show. you weren’t too far away from him but it wasn’t directly in front of him. this didn’t matter however, as the moment he began singing, it was like he was a different person.

he was unaware of your presence in the beginning, singing his heart out and instead had his eyes closed behind his shades. he was imagining you, all the moments he had spent with you. right after he had sang the chorus, he opened his eyes and saw you straight in his line of sight. your cheeks were flushed and you were trying your best to hide your flustered smile.

that made his mind go blank for a second that he almost missed the entry for the next verse. just a few lines after, his voice cracked out of embarrassment but nobody seemed to care. everyone else seemed to be in their own little bubble, barely paying attention to him, but you seemed so entranced by his singing. swaying and softly clapping, while trying to hide how attractive his singing voice was.

even though he had messed up a little in the middle, he ended the song with his smooth voice. the song complimented his baritone vocals so perfectly that the original doesn’t even compare to his singing. once done, he made his way to you, completely dismissing the next person in line for the open mic. seeing your reaction, up close, the redness of your face, the ends of your lips turned up in a little smile as you praised him. his heart rate was increasing rapidly, maybe he had one too many drinks for the night.

once it had all ended, kasa and the girls deemed tonight a success. not just because they had made lots of profit from the event but also you and lighter were seen together long after most customers had left. maybe they should consider holding similar events more often in the future…

[idiopath-fic-smile]

13k, complete. cosmo/don/kathy

summary:

Don and Kathy would move in together. They would have a dog or two and then inevitably, a small parade of adorable little brats who would call him Uncle Cosmo, and they would spend less and less time with him, not on purpose but busy with the rest of their lives, and ultimately Cosmo would learn to make his peace with it because he’d have no other choice and he would have to try to move on and not live too much in his memories. He could picture it so clearly, he figured if the songwriting gig with Monumental didn’t pan out, he could always return to the backwater circuit with a new act: The Amazing Cosmo of the Cosmos—ladies and gentlemen, he sees the future, he reads the stars, he silently pines for his best married pal and all the while tap dancing! Don and Kathy inviting him along on their honeymoon, though—that part was a surprise.

featuring multiple original showtunes, polyamorous shenanigans on a boat, feelings, romance, the worst knock-knock joke you've ever read, confessions, and some dawning realizations.