#no input mixing board

[electronicdwarf]

as a new year's resolution I decided I was going to make an album.I guess you could think of it like my first chapbook.I have been working for the past eight months to make a coherent artistic aesthetic…thing. It's FFO Tim Hecker, The Body, and Toshimaru Nakimura. I hope you will listen to and enjoy it.

[teethdreamer]

teeth dreams // 26th May. 2023

Static 0pen // Footscray, VIC

[aeide-thea]

if you didn't bother searching btw I'm pretty sure the author whose metaphors lydia davis is dragging is khaled hosseini lol

yes, specifically and the mountains echoed!

to be clear, i haven't actually read either author myself—though i do know davis is, like, a ~writer's writer~ whereas hosseini is bestselling, with everything that implies—and it's very possible that i'd prefer davis' work to hosseini's! i just was really struck by the level of doublethink davis was displaying there: absolutely wild, imo, to say “I don’t like to knock other writers as a matter of principle” as a preface to… doing exactly that?? not that many of us aren't hypocrites, of course, but one does sort of hope a writer would be more careful and honest in their observation of human foibles, even when the foibles in question are their own. (naive of me, i know.)

i think i'm also just a little startled that goodyear (the reporter) seems to take davis' self-assessment at more or less face value, and agree that "to be curmudgeonly was not the point"? i mean, goodyear does put the moment on the page, obviously, where it can speak for itself; but later on in the article she remarks, "as a person, davis is tactful if particular," and i just. i question this characterization, tbh! i don't think someone tactful ('considerate and discreet,' says american heritage) would have gone on record picking apart the work of a living author, in a way whose coyness actually makes the assessment seem more damning, imo—as if hosseini's writing were so shocking it could only be whispered about behind one's hand. which isn't to say it mightn't in fact be that shocking, don't get me wrong! but it's just such a passive-aggressive approach to criticism, and yet, somehow, doesn't seem to register that way with goodyear (possibly because it's at least less overt naming-and-shaming than is goodyear's own style, lol! but i digress).

that said, i do want to reiterate that i don't necessarily think davis has an obligation to be tactful? i can see arguments in favor of prioritizing kindness here and i can also see arguments in favor of prioritizing truth, as i said originally; i think it's easy to hate on women, in particular, for not behaving in ways that are sufficiently conciliatory, and i hope i'm not doing that here. but i guess i just also think—if one can't be both honest and kind, it's probably better to pick one and abide by it than to, in attempting to strike a balance, fall short of quite being either.

[eureka-its-zico]

Residuals Pt. 4

Ongoing Series

Synopsis: You and Robby spent seven long years together until the day it ended. You’ve done your best to create space; to become invisible. You can’t miss what you don’t see. Unfortunately, the universe (Gloria and the Board of Directors) seemed to have missed the memo.

Pairing: Michael ‘Robby’ Robinavitch x Reader

Genre: Established previous relationship, slight age gap (by about 15 years give or take), a little bit of tension mixed in with a little bit of hate yearning, cause she’s a saucy angsty fic ok

A/N: First, I read an article on burns to try and make this as accurate as possible, (article here by the NIH) but it’s still not terribly accurate. So, please, I tried lol. Secondly, I’m still screaming at the amount of love you guys have shown this series. Truly, I appreciate it more than y’all know. Thirdly, enter in a little extra dash of drama by Gloria (who redeemed herself in ep.12 but we ain’t there yet) and ya girl is just having a rough-ass day. Fourthly, yeah…she’s a thick chapter. Hopefully, it's still good because I’ve edited it as much as I can. As always, I hope you all enjoy. Thank you for the support and for being here. Much Love, Jenn

Warnings: Mentions of death, language

Words: 10k +

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Whitaker proved to be an adept student. He followed directions well and answered whatever questions you threw his way about proper wound care at home and possible infection risks around the burned areas. When you’d finished with the first patient, you ensured he knew to return to the emergency room immediately if they experienced any new or persistent discomfort, like pain or tenderness in the area, increased warmth, discoloration, or advanced swelling. 

“If the infection is invasive and takes hold of the wound, what is the main course of treatment, Dr. Whitaker?”

“We would contact surgery.”

“Correct. Why?” 

“The need for surgery would be based on the high concentration of the bacteria levels found present in the wound.”

“We’d check for signs of possible sepsis and a full check-up to narrow down if it's gram-negative or positive bacteria, which tells us further about our treatment plan. What is the chief cause of burn wound infections?”

“Staphylococcus Aureus - MRSA.”

“How would we verify the patient had MRSA or any other type of possible bacterial infection?” 

“By taking a sample from the area for testing -“

“You guys aren’t about to cut me up or anything, are you?”  

The sudden input from the patient caused a nervous tick from Whitaker. It halted his hands from finishing the last few loops around with the gauze. The patients' eyes darted nervously from you to Whitaker and back again. You gave your best reassuring smile while making sure the dressing was secured on his chest and shoulder.

“Well, Kyle, the faster we get you out of here, you take the antibiotics I prescribe you, and make sure you keep your burns dressed and away from exposure to possible germs, then no. We won’t be ‘cutting you up’ today.”

“Okay. Cool. Because that sounds really uncool.”

Dilaudid truly did wonders for conversations. You’d have to make sure the discharge papers were clear on his care and warning signs to look out for. Plus, add extra emphasis on trying to make sure not to share any items in the frat house bathroom. 

In truth, it wasn’t him, but his fellow frat boy neighbor in four that had you worried. So far, he showed no obvious signs of infection, but once the adrenaline of the moment wore off he noticeably seemed to slip into shock at having half his face, eyelashes, and eyebrow singed off. Not enough shock, however, to keep from asking if he’d make a handsome Harvey Dent for Halloween. 

The burns to his neck and chest indicate to you he was closer to the fire pit than his buddy Whitaker currently patched up. You’d ordered blood work, x-rays, and a culture swab on two-face and his friend just to rule out any surprises. 

You did your full assessment, asked questions, and directed Whitaker the best you could. You wanted to be the good mentor like Adamson and Singh had been for you. A good mentor like Robby was too. You would never admit it out loud but a small piece of you wanted Robby to see how capable you were. A silent bid to prove he could trust you with his interns and medical students. Between Robby, Abbot, and the previous attendings you knew you could teach. 

It wasn’t a hidden thing that you’d both meet here during your residency. Yes, it was Adamson’s circus, but Robby thrived under Adamson’s direction and the insanity the Pitt offered. He was funny, charismatic, incredibly smart, and showed a level of empathy that bordered on worrisome at times. A tidal wave of grief encapsulated him and carried him under if he wasn’t careful. Robby was exactly the physician any patient should want taking care of them when they arrived in the ED. 

And hell, you weren’t blind. Anyone with eyes could see that Robby was handsome. Painstakingly, stupidly, egregiously, fucking handsome. It was fucking criminal. 

Robby taught you so much in the time you’d spent here and you knew he probably still could but that would mean being around him. The two of you standing closer than you’d been in years was proving to be a dangerous thing. He’d fallen back into the habit of stealing touches and you’d fallen back into the habit of shamelessly teasing him with things he’d usually make you pay for later trapped between his body and whatever surface in your house.

It was a dangerous game neither of you realized you were playing, and both of you were losing fast. Instead of having your focus one hundred percent on the patients and being back in the ED for the first time in years, your focus repeatedly returned where it shouldn’t. At first, you could lie to yourself and say you were simply scanning the hallways and nursing stations to make sure you didn’t see him. Of course, that’s what you wanted to believe; to coast through this shift without any additional emotional trauma following you home. 

It was fucking impossible.

You could continue to lie to yourself all you wanted, but the truth was blatantly clear. Your eyes didn’t comb over the hallways and desks in hopes of not finding him. You didn’t quickly peer into rooms in anticipation that he wouldn’t be in one. You wanted to see him just as much as you denied that you didn’t. 

The day you left, you made sure to do it while Robby was working because you knew, that if he’d been home and asked you to stay, you would’ve. And if he didn’t fight for you - never uttered a singular word of pleading to keep you from leaving, you weren’t sure you could survive it. 

So now you found yourself hopelessly looking for him in all the places you swore you’d never go again. You may have chosen to leave, but it never meant you stopped loving him. The fact you were still in love with him made seeing the lost look in his eyes sting harder. You watched as he spoke to the parents of the kid who overdosed with no possible hope of waking up again, and you wanted to go to him. It was the shattering look of grief that made you forget how to move. Robby knew what was coming better than anyone else did. 

How many times was Robby the one in charge of giving the heartbreaking news that loved ones weren’t coming home? Shouldering the burden of listening to the breakdown of their world and being the pillar of strength and comfort while families struggled to rearrange? 

You hadn’t realized the black hole of anxiety was leading you down a rabbit hole until the sound of Whitaker calling out, “Dr. Fullerton,” at your side left you practically jumping out of your skin. 

Shit. How long had you been zoned out? Hopefully, you hadn’t said anything weird. Or incriminating.

“Sorry,” he swiftly followed up. “I was trying to ask where we were off to next, but, uh, you seemed a little…preoccupied.”

“Oh, yeah, no sorry. You can go back to the red zone. I’m just going to help McKay up in triage.”

“Did I do something wrong?”

“What? No, not at all. You’ll have more of a chance to learn with Langdon and Collins.” What you actually meant was to see more if that was what he was into. “Also, maybe check on your last patient I pulled you away from earlier.”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” You watched him take your advice and, in real time, get ready to dispute it. “Why am I checking back in with Mr. Milton?”

What should you tell him? In the Pitt, it was easy to be thrown from one patient to the next - forgetting their faces and names as the minutes blurred into hours. Easy to forget they were waiting on test results that needed to be read by you and needed a treatment plan discussed and planned by you. Major issues could present as something small, something easily missable until further testing exposed the truth of the situation. If you went just the smallest amount of time without checking the results, without popping your head in for a visual, well, it wasn’t hard to imagine how sometimes those major issues finally presented themselves and everything got much, much worse. 

“Look, Whitaker. As much as the powers constantly stress about getting people in and out quickly like this is a drive-thru, we have an obligation to each patient to give them the best care we can. It means staying on top of orders and checking in regularly. Trust me, Whitaker, things can change quickly down here.”

“Okay, yeah. That makes perfect sense. Thanks, Dr. Fullerton.”

“You bet. See you around, Whitaker.”

He gave you an awkward wave and didn’t move right away. It wasn’t until you turned away from him that you heard him shuffle on his feet. A part of you was curious if you glanced behind you he’d still be standing there, deciding where to go.   

All that mattered to you was that you currently needed a new patient. It didn’t matter what the chief complaint was. Ideally, for the all-seeing eye of admin, quick and easy ones would look better. At this rate, you were positive your Press Ganey score was dipping. You were seeing patients at the speed of an R3; two patients per hour and they were after fast and loose results. But you wanted something with the capability to keep you occupied for hours. Preferably something that would require so much of your attention it would force you out of your head. 

Yeah, that would be good. It was too damn early still to be spiraling into a midlife crisis just because you had to work with your ex. An ex, you realized, who was wearing the damn navy blue hoodie you’d bought him on his last fishing trip to Canonsburg. 

No. No. Nope. You weren’t supposed to be thinking about him or stupid hoodies or the gold chain of his necklace that used to drag over your collarbone. How your fingers curled around the thin chain, using it like a lead, to bring him down on top of you on the couch. Absolutely not - you were at work and he was your ex. He was your ex and you shouldn’t fucking care how you could still tell after all these months he was sleeping like shit. 

You were almost back to Dana’s station, the monitor looming overhead like a beacon to salvation when you noticed Whitaker walking in tandem beside you. You cocked a brow in question that Whitaker rushed to answer. 

“The board is this way, so…”

Right. You knew that. 

“I was trying to talk to you but I think you were in deep thought or something. Again.”

Or something. God. That was twice. Twice your head was everywhere else but where it needed to be, which was at work. You should’ve fought harder when Gloria came to reassign you, but none of this should’ve mattered. 

You were a damn good doctor. You’d trained under the best, learned from the best, and kept progressively learning and didn’t stop. You spent years of your life on this because helping people was your passion. It shouldn’t matter where you were placed if you were down here to help for days, months, or years. 

Yet, in the matter of an hour, your mind waded into memories that were better off left for dead with your eyes searching for someone you shouldn’t. 

You didn’t know how to answer him. “Sorry, I should remember where everything is but find myself stuck daydreaming about the past and looking for signs where I shouldn’t and sexually fantasizing about your attending”, didn’t seem appropriate to tell a med student. So, you ended with a weak, “Sorry about that,” which passed for understanding. It made you feel like an ass, but you didn’t trust yourself to speak. 

You came to a stop just a few feet from Dana’s desk. Her back turned to you as she went through folders preparing patient's charts for transfer upstairs. Her eyes shifted up at the board and over to a newer resident you hadn’t met yet. 

Her gaze was fixed on the monitor; eyes scanning rapidly down the chart as if there was a code that needed cracking. You knew that look. It was a shared one you’d no doubt mirrored only an hour ago. 

“What do you need, Fullerton?”

Your head swiveled back to Dana and found her now facing you, her glasses removed, and waiting for your answer. 

“How’d you know it was me?”

“Are you kidding?” The question fell out of her in a chuckle. “You’re the only one I know who goes around taping on every damn surface when they’re thinking. You act like my five-year-old grandson, just less noisy. Barely.”

“That’s offensive,” you pointed out. 

“For who? You or my grandson.”

You felt the first crack in your defenses tug at the corners of your mouth. If you weren’t careful, Dana’s whip-smart comments were going to make you fold back into a routine you hadn’t been a part of in a while. It wasn’t just you who was slipping at this point, and you clocked the moment Dana began to realize it too. 

She was supposed to be upset with you - grumpy, mean remarks only. You were supposed to take them and dish them back so you could comfortably stay in your bubbles of denial and anger. The denial of what, exactly, was achingly easy to see. 

You both missed each other. More than either of you were willing to admit. 

Your reply sat cocked and loaded on your tongue when you remembered what transpired half an hour before. As much as you missed one another, you had to be careful with what you shared around her. It was obvious, whatever the ‘It’ may be, Robby would magically seem to find out. 

“Any quick ones up here? It’s only 8:30, and Robby’s already on my case for being too slow. I can usually at least make it to lunch before he starts hounding me.” 

Your attention swiveled back towards the resident. Her gaze fixed on the board before glancing between Dana and you. Hopefully, her question wasn’t meant for you to answer. You weren’t very good at picking off the board either. 

“Cut him a little slack today, ok? It’s the anniversary of Dr. Adamson’s death.”

Of course, Dana would cover for him. Intercept all incoming rapports of Robby being prickly and sometimes downright mean to bury them under the rug of understanding. 

Yes, it was the anniversary of Adamson’s death. It always would be. Grief wasn’t easy. It was messy and unrelenting in the moments it chose for sights, smells, and touch to materialize memories that recalled moments you wouldn’t get the chance to share with them again. A constant reminder of all that we lost. Time didn’t seal up that cavern their loss created; it just became more manageable over time. 

Robby never coped. Never allowed himself to grieve, heal, and thrive in the good memories he did have. The doubts and guilt haunted him every day in every step, every decision, he made. He housed it inside him like a ghoul in a cemetery feasting on the remains of who he was before Adamson’s death - before the pandemic. 

“That’s sad. But it’s still no reason to take it out on me. I’m just saying.”

You liked her. She got it. You wanted to properly introduce yourself. By the look on Dana’s face, you need to do it quickly before she breaks out into a lecture. Luck wasn’t on your side because Whitaker beat you to the punch. 

You didn’t want to eavesdrop on their conversation but you also didn’t want to go back to having a conversation with Dana, either. It left you the only option of staring back up at the beloved board. You’d just decided on 7 North when Dr. Collins walked by, her hands digging in the glovebox on the wall to retrieve a pair. Her eyes were on Whitaker and yours were on her. 

It wasn’t a secret that Robby and Heather had dated. Well, maybe to those in the Pitt, and not including Perlah or Princess because they suspiciously seemed to be psychic. Or just really loved to gossip. No, you’d learned about them when a friend spotted Robby and Heather out on a date. You’d only assumed it was a date because she repeatedly kept using the word cozy. 

And why should you have cared? It’d been almost a year since you’d left. You chose to leave and that meant making him free to date and find new love or whatever. You didn’t have a right to lay claim to him just because he’d been yours. And Heather? She was gorgeous. She was fucking brilliant, with a beautiful smile, and it suddenly made you feel uncharacteristically subconscious. 

Whether it’d been a date or they just seemed cozy (it was a damn date) you shouldn’t have felt jealous. You were fine. It was perfectly fine and healthy for people to seek out relationships and companionship. It was normal and you were fine. You weren’t any saint either. You’d dated someone briefly and, if you were honest with yourself, you could’ve stayed in that relationship. It was nice and easy. Simple. But you didn’t love him and you weren’t sure if you ever could. 

The problem of loving Robby - still being in love with Robby - was that he stood witness to your most intimate memories of love. There were stories woven into your bones that bore witness to the man he was and how he loved you. They were told in joy and tragedy, laughter and sadness. When Nathan kissed you, the earth kept spinning. He didn’t taste of bourbon or smell of leather and sandalwood. He didn’t spend time in the backyard sanding down tables or staining decks. He didn’t wear glasses that somehow slid minute by minute inch down his nose until he subconsciously tilted his head back to see.

In the end, you left because of one glaring fact: Nathan would never be - could never be - Robby.  

Dr. Collins told Whitaker to come with her for a teaching experience - an unconscious unhoused man was being brought in. Whitaker quickly moved to follow her lead in grabbing a pair of gloves just in time for the paramedics to wheel in the gurney. Said man was very much unconscious and appeared very much unhoused. 

Your time playing the gawking bystander had come to an end and you needed to get to 7 North. You pushed away from the counter when you were stopped by the resident from earlier barreling into your line of sight. 

“Dr. Fullerton? I’m Dr. Samira Mohan - R3. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Dr. Mohan stuck out her hand and you accepted it warmly. Besides the obvious annoyance from Robby hounding her existence, it seemed Dr. Mohan was friendly. She held a kind air about her that reminded you of Robby - only now that kindness held an edge of grumpiness because his empathy was playing an overwhelming game. By the sleepless bags under his eyes, you could tell he was losing. 

You wanted to point the probability of this out to her, maybe offer her a consultation for Robby’s apparent hard-ass demeanor, but quickly shoved it off. 

“It’s nice to meet you, as well, Dr. Mohan.”

“Would it be okay if I could confer with you later?” Dr. Mohan’s eyes shifted to where Dana stood only inches away. “In private?”

You weren’t sure if you should be flattered or wanting to run for the hills. Dana’s eyes practically bore into the back of your head, waiting to hear your answer. You knew no matter what you chose to say this was getting back to Robby. 

Fuck it. 

“Of course, Dr. Mohan. I’ll come and find you after my next patient.”

“Thank you. I look forward to speaking with you.” 

She cut a cautious glance over her shoulder and turned on her heel towards the south hallway. It must have been nice to make an easy exit. It was definitely something you were down to try but Dana stood closer to the counter, her glasses down the bridge of her nose, and accused you with a look of being a troublemaker. Your only defense was a shrug. 

“What?”

“What the hell was that about?”

Your brows converged together as you shrugged again. 

“How am I supposed to know, Dana? I haven’t even talked to her yet.” 

“Talked to who about what?”

Fucking kill me. 

What was with today? Were you unknowingly walking around with a ‘Kick Me,’ sign written by life? You’d gone over two years without ever running into Robby and within an hour in a half, you couldn’t seem to avoid him. 

And why was he standing so fucking close again? 

You didn’t need to glance over to your left to know he was close. The heat of his body, the nudge of his elbow against your arm informed you at breakneck speed you were close. Too fucking close, Michael. 

“Mohan seems to want to speak with Fullerton. In private.”

“You couldn’t just wait for me to answer, Dana?”

The words rose up your throat like bile, acidic with its irritation. You couldn’t help it. You didn’t need this shit. You didn’t know what Dr. Mohan wanted but the cryptic way she asked wasn’t doing you any favors. It was at this moment you finally chose to look in Robby’s direction. He was leaning into his elbow that rested on the counter. Even with his body slightly slouched the height difference was substantial causing you to crane to look up at him. 

The problem with this? He was close enough that your temporal lobe was overloaded with thousands of memories of his thumb gliding across your lips. Large hands taking hold of your neck and tilting you back at just the right angle for his lips to claim yours. 

When you were no longer held hostage to the sensory manipulation your brain concocted, you prayed to whoever was listening that you didn’t look as lovestruck as you felt. By the dark glint in Robby’s eyes, you were doing a piss poor job at being Switzerland. 

“What? So you can conveniently disappear by the end of the shift without any context or explanation? No, thanks. Been there. Done that. Not a fan of the outcome.”

“This bipolar verbal assault is getting real tiring, Dana,” you huffed. 

“Alright. Alright, enough!” Robby cut in. “I expect this behavior from patients, not my staff. Now, Dr. Fullerton, what did Dr. Mohan want to discuss with you?”

“Jesus Christ,” you sighed, “I have no fucking clue, okay? She just asked if she could speak in private and seeing as how she did ask for it to be private, I don’t see why you need to know.” 

“Ugh,” a dry huff of what might have passed for a laugh - a cough maybe? - exited his lips. His brow was drawn tight while he looked at you. No doubt wondering where you’d gained the audacity. “Because this is my emergency department. I’m in charge of the entire thing and I think I need to be aware of what is going on with my staff.” 

“Well, maybe if you stopped acting like an ass to said staff they wouldn’t be seeking outside counsel.”

A mirthless laugh exploded from between his lips. The sound carried part of the disbelief his eyes showed while he took you in. He was no longer leaning against the counter but had his arms crossed against his chest. You weren’t sure if he was looking at you like he wanted to throttle you or found you unbelievable. Neither option would make you a winner if you guessed right.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” he grumbled under his breath. “Are you a fucking counselor all of a sudden?”

“And what if I was? I would ask if you’d require my services, but we both know you’re allergic to seeking help.” 

You should’ve stopped while you were ahead. You were bringing up personal shit - inviting a possible fucking mess to happen - and yet you couldn’t help yourself. You kept poking the proverbial bear and damn it, you weren’t exactly sure you felt bad about doing it. Were you so desperate for a reaction from him - after all this time? What the hell was it going to prove? 

You watched the storm of emotions roll in. The deep set of his forehead and the dark clouds that zapped all residual warmth from his eyes. You weren’t sure if Robby was even aware he’d taken a step towards you, jaw flexing, and body slowly seeping into whatever free space you had left. 

Whatever words he would’ve said died in the aftermath of hearing shouts a few rooms down. It jarred you both out of your staring contest and sent him into action. One minute he was standing in front of you, the next, he was running to see what the commotion was. 

The second Robby was removed from your space, you took a deep breath in. Why did it feel like you were in a constant state of fight or flight? Your answer came in a set of blue eyes who homed in on you the moment Robby was gone. 

“When’s your next smoke break?” 

“Who says I still smoke?” 

“Dana, be serious. The day you quit smoking is the day hell freezes over. So - when?”

She regarded you for a moment. The scale in her mind no doubt weighed if this was going to be worth her time or possibly ruining her nicotine break. 

“I usually take it around 9:30. Why? You suddenly have the urge to open up?”

“Do you want to talk or not?.”

She could bitch, make jokes, and moan and groan all she wanted. You knew offering up a chance to talk would be all Dana would need to agree. Was it something you honestly wanted to do? Not really. Were you willing to do it so that at least you had one less person hounding you the rest of your shift? 

Abso-fucking-lutely.

“Ah, what the hell. I’ll see you on break kid.” 

A sigh of relief eased through you and you prayed Dana hadn’t noticed. You didn’t think she’d agree but, now that she had, you had a tiny ounce of hope this day wasn’t going to be so much of a shit show. 

“What was all that screaming about?”

You knew the question wasn’t directed at you. Robby must have made his return and the soft laughter wasn’t what you expected to hear. 

“We seem to have involuntarily just admitted rats,” he replied. 

“You’re kidding?” Dana scoffed. 

“If only I was. Whitaker was saying it was about three or four of them.” 

“And on that note,” you drummed your hands on the counter, “I am going to 7 North.” 

It wasn’t until you went to take a step forward you noticed the weight on your left foot. A weight that felt like something was sitting directly on it. You looked down just in time to watch a rat - a damn rat - scurry off your foot to run around the edge of the nursing station. 

What you did next wasn’t your proudest moment. You even used to pride yourself on being rational when it came to rodents. The shout that clawed its way from the depths of your stomach proved you wrong at lightning speed. 

You felt your body jump backward and collide with Robby. His hands were on your hips to steady you. You were bouncing back and forth on your heels, eyes scanning the area to make sure no further surprises snuck up on you. Your arms were bunched up at your sides and you were trying to talk yourself down from sweeping the remaining area with your leg. Just for good measure.

It was the feeling of his hands on your waist, the soft sound of his chuckle touching your hair that brought you careening back down to earth. Robby was close. Not like last time when your arms touched - closer than when he followed behind you into Allan's room. Even through your scrubs, you could feel the scorching heat of his palms spreading like wildfire through the fabric that sent your heart racing. 

He should’ve let go by now. The threat of you possibly knocking him over or you both tripping and falling was over. He could let go. He could just let go, but Robby’s hands were holding you firmly in place with neither of you willing to move. You refused to look behind you - afraid of what he might see if you did.

You were afraid of what you might see if you dared to look too. 

Slowly, you took a step forward, disengaging his hands from you. The sensation of loss was instant and you almost stepped back into him. Your body and mind were at war between desire and being rational. Fuck being rational. There was nothing rational about the way your heart brutalized your ribs. The need to ask stupid fucking questions that no longer mattered. The consuming way your body craved for him to wrap his large hand around your throat, whispering words of filth into your ear. 

You had to get away before you made a mistake. 

“Sorry about that. I’m going to just, ugh, go do my rounds now.”

You didn’t turn around while you softly spoke. You may have been delusional at times, but you weren’t crazy. If you looked back and Robby’s eyes gave away any hint of emotion - anything that sparked that dying ember of hope inside you - you would crumble. 

You should’ve fought harder to stay upstairs in family medicine or threatened Gloria with firing you. You were safer there. Now, you were rushing off to remember what patient room you were going to with Robby’s cologne clinging to your skin. 

You were a pain in the ass. But you were his pain in the ass. 

Used to be, his mind reminded him. 

Could still be, came his stupid heart's reply. 

Robby used to love it when you challenged him; called him out on his bullshit. You weren’t afraid to stand in the current of his disapproval or to openly have a debate, especially when you could see he was missing something. You challenged each other to be open-minded to change, because it happened so fast, and to accept that being wrong wasn’t failure but a moment to grow and learn. 

When you both stopped being open with one another, and being honest with yourselves, was when the challenging energy took a turn. Everything felt like a confrontation. Even in moments when the constructive criticism came from colleagues - from you - it felt like an attack he had to defend against. 

Robby saw it in you too. The small hints of walls slowly being built to keep the inquiries at bay. When your responses become short and brief or not at all. 

Now, before nine o’clock, you were in the Pitt not only wreaking havoc on his already fragile mental state but accusing him of…what? When you’d thrown the counselor's comment at him, Robby wanted to rage. How many times was it the main part of your arguments near the end of your relationship that he needed to talk to somebody? Anybody. How many times did he deny it? 

You’d thrown it in from the sidelines and it jarred him so much, Robby felt disoriented. For the briefest moment, Robby forgot that you were no longer together. His mind reflexively thought you were arguing about the same old tired thing. He’d taken a step toward you and wanted to ask, “And what about you?” 

You who wasn’t as honest and open with yourself just like him. There were things left unsaid between the two of you - the things that eventually buried the hatchet too far in to safely remove. 

What about all the times he’d found you in the bathroom sitting against the tub crying in the middle of the night? Your panic attacks and OCD tendencies that started after…

Every time Robby reached out to be there for you, your response was always the same. 

“It’s nothing, Michael.”  “I’m fine.”  “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

Sure, Robby wasn’t open and was guarded in his own right but neither were you. Where he used to read the transcript of your emotions so delicately on your face, you’d closed yourself off to him and he no longer knew how to get in. 

An angry shout from down the South hallway thankfully tore his attention back to reality. His feet were already moving him robotically forward where he could see Olson entering Central 15. 

“Whoa, whoa what is going on?”

Robby directed the question specifically to one of his many team members in the room. Thankfully, Kiara started to explain or, more appropriately attempted to explain but he couldn’t fucking think through all the damn shouting. 

“Ok, ok, okay ENOUGH!” Robby couldn’t believe he was already raising his voice. Yelling at grown-ass adults like they were children. “This is a hospital. This isn’t ‘ The Jerry Springer Show’.” Although it was really, really starting to fucking feel like it with the morning he was having. “Ma’am, nobody’s trying to take your child. So why don’t you stay here with him while your husband talks to our social worker outside and straightens all this out?”

“Well, I don’t want him speaking for me and my son.”

It was clear by the wavering of her voice, that this was a tough spot for the mom to be in. Robby could sympathize but what he couldn’t sympathize with was starting a miniature war zone in one of his rooms. 

“Well, it is either you or him. Your son is not leaving, but you can be escorted out and even arrested if you refuse to cooperate. Nobody wants that. So you tell us. What do you want to do?”

Robby knew the answer before she replied. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that this mother didn’t fiercely love her son. Whatever situation the husband did to get them in this position was unfortunate, but the only option they had now was to press forward. 

“I’m staying with my son.”

“Ok, great. You do that. Are we all on the same page here?”

The last question he sent out was rhetorical. A feeler to see if anyone else was confused about what was about to happen and if further clarification was needed. God, Robby sincerely hoped it’d all been made crystal clear what the only two real options were; the only choice being to cooperate. 

“You okay?”

Robby could see Langdon was shaken up. It could be a lot dealing with a combative patient - harder when it was a parent just trying to make the right choices for their child. You were always the best at coming in and soothing cases like this one. Somehow able to give relief and comfort while giving the most gut-wrenching news of a parent's life while calmly explaining the next steps. You were able to keep people from feeling lost in the bad news and prepare them for the onslaught of change. 

Robby waited until Langdon confirmed he and Dr. King were good before he walked out of the room. Regarding parents with kids, Robby almost forgot Teresa asked to speak with him about David. 

Central 12 was just a few steps away from Langdon’s patient. It was close to being comfortable but too close to give Robby time to think. He felt out of his element here because he was running out of options. He wanted to help Teresa, because, while she did this to help her son, she knowingly put her own life at risk to get him the help he needed. 

But isn’t that what parents did?  

At times, they blindly waded into the fire if it meant that their child would be safe. 

All Robby could do was watch and listen while he told her about how he left. While he followed up her questions with his own and did his best to try and ward off the sick feeling burying itself inside his gut. 

“Do you think David would hurt anyone?”

Even allowing the question to come out of his mouth made a rush of nausea swell back behind his tongue. He didn’t want to ask it. Nobody wants to ask any parent if they think their child - a fucking child - could be capable of harming another human being. 

Robby carried his thoughts on the reasons why young men are more prone to violence these days. With idiotic podcast hosts spewing their hatred for women who were goal-oriented and not focused on babying them like their mothers. Boys who were told to bottle up their emotions: “Don’t share your feelings. Don’t get caught crying,” unless you want to be told that you were weak. There was so much bullshit in the world for kids to have to contend with these days that Robby didn’t find it surprising a lot of them were overloaded - overwhelmed by a constant flurry from the world to be someone different than who they are. 

Robby had plenty of talks with Jake about these things. He found it easy to lean into him with the both of them connecting during shared trips and quiet nights at the house. Robby made sure his stepson knew that Robby would always be a safe place for him to land. When the world got too crazy and if he couldn’t tell his mom Janey, Robby would be there. 

Because that’s what parents do - willingly walk through fire if it meant their kid would be okay.

“The nasal swab came back negative for COVID, RSV, and Flu - which is a good thing.” 

“Then what’s wrong? What about her eyes?”

The her in question was a three-year-old named Jasmine who was vocally letting you both know that she was not in a good mood, which was very fair. Nobody liked being sick. The only issue with her actively voicing her bad mood was that any high octave screams were soon followed up by a violent cough. 

The moment you stepped inside the room you’d been worried about RSV, especially because of her age. Lungs sounded clear with slight wheezing indicated in the upper left lobe. Thankfully, all major possible viruses came back negative. The unfortunate thing was that this specific viral infection just meant mom was going to have to ride it out.

“It’s still a viral infection. The conjunctivitis, since it started coming from both eyes this morning, it’s from the infection and sinus blockage. The whites of her eyes aren’t red in any way. The best thing to do is apply a compress every few hours on the eyes to help with drainage, saline drops, or spray on the nose to help clear up the congestion and suction as often as you can. Over-the-counter cough medicine is fine unless you need a prescription?”

“No, no, it’s okay. We have some at home. So, she’s okay?”

“Yes, perfectly fine. I just recommend having her sleep elevated to help with drainage and if you have a humidifier, use it. Follow up with her pediatrician in two to three days or come back to the ER if any new or persistent symptoms occur.”

“Thank you so much, doctor.”

“You’re so welcome. Make sure to wait for a nurse before leaving. I hope you feel better, Jasmine.”

 You gave them both a wave before exiting out of the quiet of the room and back into the noise. The nurse assigned to the room came over and held out a tablet and pen for you to take. Quickly, you scribbled a signature down, because doctors were notoriously known for sketchy penmanship, and began to walk towards a nursing station. 

Technically, you did have a second option you could take before throwing yourself into the next patient room. Dr. Mohan asked to speak with you. She didn’t necessarily give a time or a preference. It was more focused on secrecy, which you found a little odd. This was Pittsburgh Medical Trauma Center - it was a rare thing to have a private conversation here. You were curious to find out what it was Mohan wanted, a bigger part of you wasn’t ready for the headache of Robby undoubtedly finding out later. The worst option: is if you were the one who had to tell him to be the advocate for his resident.

The scent of his cologne still held tight to the fabric of your scrubs. Slowly, it was beginning to fade but if you leaned in close enough to your right shoulder you could almost get a hint of -

“Dr. Fullerton.”

You were a millisecond away from calling out, “I wasn’t doing anything!”. Was it too early in the shift to consider a name change?

Glancing over your shoulder, you find Gloria making her way towards you. Each step in your direction sent your fight or flight raging back into gear because fuck no. Between Gloria and Robby, the two of them were about to have you so damn stressed out there was a high chance for premature balding to occur. 

“Oh no. I’ve had enough surprises from you today.”

“I just wanted to have a chat - “

“And definitely enough of those,” you shot back. 

You weren’t exactly sure why you kept moving. If previous experiences told you anything, it was that she would follow you until you stopped on your own or she got you into a corner. At least stopping to face her was a choice compared to being cornered with no way out. 

Resigning to your fate, you took in a big meditative breath through your nose and turned around. 

“What can I help you with, Gloria?”

Your voice was so monotone you sounded like a robot. 

“I’m glad you’ve decided to stop running and actually talk to me like an adult.”

“I’m sorry, Gloria. You brought me down here to assist in decreasing triage wait times and that is what I am doing. Stopping to have a chat with you will reflect poorly on my scores.”

“Cute,” She bit back. The smile on her face was too harsh to be genuine. “Well, it’s funny you mention scores. I’ve been keeping an eye on the numbers and the system is showing barely any signs of process or improvement. Can you explain why that is?”

The simplest answer you could’ve given her came with one name, one word, and one human being. Robby. Robby was your fucking problem; the bane of your existence. 

Gloria shoved you down here not knowing all the variables that could hinder productivity. There were moments of clarity where your brilliance shined through and in a matter of seconds it evaporated again. Realistically, it was your fault. Your inability to control your stupid fucking emotions - you didn’t need to react every time you saw him. 

How could you not react when Robby did exactly the same? 

You weren’t stupid. You’d spent years, months, days, and hours with him. Every minute is accounted for in conversations and touch. It wasn’t insanity (although the jury was still out on that one) that made you believe - to fucking notice - Robby was affected too. 

But no way in hell were you divulging any of your innermost thought demons to Gloria. 

“Look around, Gloria,” you said, arms opening up to motion around the Central rooms. “There are no beds available. You ask for solid care, for good patient satisfaction scores and that requires multiple factors. To be a good doctor you have to listen to the patient's chief complaint that they’ve been waiting almost eight hours to tell you.”

“I am well aware of the current wait times in triage, Dr. Fullerton.”

“Oh, that’s awesome. Problem solved then because once we assess them and decide they need monitoring and tests to ascertain the issue, it’s only another three to six-hour wait. Maybe longer if it’s life-threatening. Not to mention if any trauma patients come rolling through the red zone adding another twenty-five to fifty minutes on their time.”

“I don’t see what any of this has to do with not having any beds. Not every situation in triage necessarily requires a bed to be seen.”

“Gloria, your precious Press Ganey scores are going to stay low if a patient doesn’t get back to a room. You can make beds available by sending people upstairs or how about removing the deceased guy in nineteen who’s been posted here since before I arrived?” 

“Robby is in charge of contacting the coroner's office about picking up the deceased.”

“And yet, the body is still here,” you pondered. “I know Robby, Gloria. He wouldn’t knowingly leave someone’s loved one here if it didn’t mean the coroner is backed up, which means our morgue must house him until then. And why are you complaining to me like I'm attending here? Robby is the attending - “

“I’m well aware of that - “

“You keep saying you’re well aware, Gloria but the fact is it feels like you’re not. It’s easy to come down here making demands but the reality is without the proper staffing and moving boarders out of the emergency department to free up space the numbers will never fucking change. Sending one doctor down here isn’t going to change shit.”

“Are you just about done, Dr. Fullerton?” She did a dramatic pause to allow you time to cut in. “The board and its administration are well aware of the pressures that staff face down here in the emergency department - that all hospitals are currently facing shortages. The fact of the matter is studies show close to seventy-five percent of ER visits are non-life threatening, which means more than half of those patients could be fairly seen in triage without needing a room.”

You could feel your mouth opening; primed for a response that Gloria was not going to let you detonate. Her hand waved to warn you not to cut her off. 

“I don't want to hear any more about boarding or staffing. I want to see the results, Dr. Fullerton. It’s already bad enough that there are rats inside.”

“To be fair, they piggybacked on an unconscious unhoused man, so,” you shrugged. If looks could kill, you’d have dropped dead right then and there. “Not helpful?”

“No. Not helpful,” she confirmed. “I do, however, have a proposition for you.”

You sucked in a sharp breath through your teeth. The earlier annoyance at seeing Gloria twice in less than two hours of your shift changed course. Dread ice cold and paralyzing coiled in the pit of your stomach. You didn’t like where this was going. 

“Is there a pass option?”

“This is an offer from myself and the administration. So, no, there isn’t a ‘pass option.’ How would you like to be considered for an attending position?”

“No.” 

The word barreled out of you without thinking. You didn’t need to think about this proposition Gloria, the administration, or whoever was trying to dangle in front of you. It was any doctor's dream to become an attending at a facility - it made you the doctor. 

You didn’t want it like this. 

“You didn’t even hear the terms.”

“I don’t need to hear them to know that you’re trying to be sneaky.”

“Robby is failing to meet standards -“

“Robby is a fucking good physician.” You fumed. “He’s one of the best physicians in trauma medicine you have here outside of Abbot.”

“No one is disputing that, Dr. Fullerton. The board is open to having you both down here during the morning shift, maybe even making a swing shift for you to help between shifts.”

You raked your hands over your face scrubbing hard to try and cut off a mirthless laugh that came out in patches between your fingers. 

“No - you want me to be a Judas. It’ll be a swing shift until you can get whatever data you need to confirm whatever fucked up plan you’re making.”

“Dr. Fullerton -“

“No!” You didn’t mean to shout the word at her. Or maybe you had. Whatever it was, it surprised you both. You should be quieter - don’t draw attention but your heart was thrashing wildly. Your hand swiped through the air to cut her off before she could attempt to continue. You didn’t want to fucking hear it. “Robby is a damn fine physician and to try and - I don’t fucking know, get rid of him because he doesn’t kiss the boards or your ass is fucking stupid. I don’t know half of what Robby or Abbot knows. I’m not them and it would be beyond idiotic to lose him.”

“Your opinion will be taken into consideration and I’ll dismiss your…outburst, for now, because of the current situation. But make no mistake, Dr. Fullerton this will move forward with, or without, you.”

You wondered if any natural disasters were named Gloria. It seemed possible since she came and created an instant upheaval of your day, completely devastating it in a matter of minutes and once she was done simply went about her day like nothing happened.  

She left you to deal with the aftermath. The rushing thoughts with a million questions - thousands of things you should’ve said to defend Robby. There were dozens of ways you could prove her wrong about him - that he fucking cared about his patients and was such a damn good doctor, phenomenal at times, that to equate all that he was and all that he did down to a simple metric of numbers was fucking ridiculous. 

All the sound in the room began to drown out around you. Somewhere in the background of the hum you heard a shout for help. It could be Code Blue. It could be anything. You tried to get your body to react, but the hurricane of anxiety was sweeping in fast and you were running out of air. 

You needed to sit. You had to act normal because the last thing you needed was Princess or Dana or fucking anybody else coming over to speak with you. Your hands used the counter like a rope to pull you along to the nearest computer. You quickly sat down and swiped your credentials to enter the computer, quickly clicking on anything just to appear busy. 

“How are you holding up today?”

The last person you expected to see at that very moment was Heather Collins. What did you expect? This was an emergency room and doctors worked inside of it. She offered up a close-lipped smile that matched the kindness in her eyes. She was genuinely wanting to know how you were doing and for the first time, you hated the question because you couldn’t answer it. 

Not truthfully, anyway. Who was ever truthful in answering that specific question?

So, you painted on a grin that more than likely resembled a grimace and prayed you didn’t look as tired as you felt. 

“It’s been…an adjustment.”

“What’s taking adjusting?”

Good god, this man was fucking everywhere. 

Robby came into view as he moved across the station to get to the opposite computer. The question was thrown out carelessly; he didn’t expect a response. He was pulling out his glasses and sliding them over his nose, his full focus on the screen. Test results thankfully took priority over your response. 

You were quickly forgotten by Collin’s who walked over to where Robby read the test results. She waited until he removed his glasses and stood to his full height. 

“Please don’t tell me you are going to intubate that poor old man?”

“It’s what the family wants.”

“So what? They want to torture him?”

“I explained all that.” 

It was painfully obvious this was a case you knew nothing about. By the sound of it, you were willing to bet five dollars that it was one of the elderly patients from a home who came in a little after 7:30 that morning. It meant it wasn’t your case. You didn’t need to know the information and you could continue counting down backward from ten while you reminded yourself that no, you weren’t Judas and -

“Dr. Fullerton, if a family came in -“

Fucking hell, you needed to stop zoning out. You brought your attention back to the two of them, wondering what you missed.

“You don’t need to ask her,” Robby interjected.

Collins continued like he’d never spoken. 

“And they had durable power over an elderly family member who had a pre-existing DNR. His family wants to intubate. It’s not what he wants. Whose choice do you honor?”

“What are you doing?” 

A singular brow of hers arched in defiance. 

“Asking for a second opinion.”

“I didn’t ask for one.”

They continued to bicker about the decision Robby made to not fight for a dying man’s wishes. You would’ve told Collins to let it go because once Robby’s mind was made up, it was like talking to a wall. Maybe she already knew that. 

God, what fucking twilight zone episode were you stuck in? You actively wanted the floor to open up and swallow you whole. Your eyes darted to the time on the bottom of the screen and you had to fight to keep your forehead from landing with a thud on the keyboard. It was only 9 o’clock. There were ten more hours of this day and you needed it to be over. 

Robby released a sigh that reflected how exhausted you felt. It wasn’t a physical exhaustion but one of the soul; a weariness that vines grew thorns and were beginning to tear you slowly open. You could feel your legs wanting to shift out of the chair and go to him. The urge was so strong your hands scrunched into fists to keep from moving - to quell the urge because he wasn’t yours anymore and you weren’t his. 

“Shit.”

“What?”

Robby’s best magic trick? Deflecting. Whenever he wanted the current conversation to end, and didn't like where it was heading, he diverted it completely into something else. Anything else that kept him from having to continue down a conversation he wanted no part of. You knew that trick all too well. 

“I got to go tell those parents their 18-year-old son is brain-dead.” 

“You want me to go with you?”

It should’ve been you offering to go with him. A comfort to the harbinger of bad news because it was never easy to give it. Never easy to stand in the storm of grief and simply be a bystander while their world ends in a matter of words. 

What did it matter who went with him? Who offered? At the end of the day, a family was forever going to be encapsulated by a loss too many people unfortunately knew. 

Vaguely, you caught the end of their argument. Robby wanted to perform an apnea test and a cerebral perfusion study. Dr. Collins didn’t agree. It offered the family false hope but Robby was right - maybe it did offer a false sense of hope, but with each test completed and results read off it was a graceful way to ease a family into acceptance. It gave them the time to process and grieve and come to the very heavy realization their son wouldn’t be going home with them. 

“They need time to process before they can accept what’s happening.”

“You ever consider taking that advice? Physician, heal thyself.”

Dear floor, please fucking open up wide so you can just swan dive right on in. Thanks a bunch. 

Heather knew. She fucking knew about the wall of grief - of acceptance - Robby himself was unable to accept. The King of dishing out advice left and right but unyielding in taking it. Suddenly, all the cool reserve of not caring about them dating evaporated in a crushing wave of heartbreak you shouldn’t have felt in the first place. 

Did he tell her about you? Did he share with her about…about what happened? Was he able to open up to her in ways he stopped doing with you? Their relationship was gone, but the respect and care were still there. 

The irritation came off him in waves. You should’ve told her Robby’s least favorite thing is being told to take his own advice. Or to heal for that matter. Oh, and to also maybe seek therapy. All three of those would turn his mood sour and aggravate him to peak levels at hyper speed. 

He shoved his hands down into his hoodie. His head swiveling between Collins and probably anywhere else in the ED. 

“Don’t you have patients?” 

There it was. The dismissal. The, in not so many words, “I’m done talking to you about this and everything else,” so he could make a quick exit. The magician's last trick before his temper was lost. 

Don’t look up. Do not look up. Don’t fucking do it. 

You didn’t need to look up. There wasn’t any reason to do so. You weren’t on their radar the last half of their conversation. You were just a bystander to a miniature car crash. The issue with crashes? Everyone who drove by couldn’t stop themselves from looking. 

The itch between your shoulder blades was your first warning sign. The weight of his gaze was bearing down on you. You didn’t have to react to it but it was a reflex to look up for him. To search for him in every crowded room and find yourself wishing he was there when he wasn’t. 

Your eyes found he was still looking at you. An in-house debate flashed across his features. If it was whether or not to come to you, you hope he chose not to. You just need a few moments of space. It was too much. You’d run from him and now he was just here all the time and -

“Why are you looking at puppies? You getting a dog?”

“What?”

For the first time since you’d opened the computer, you realized whoever was on it last left it open to an ad for a puppy. 

“Oh, no. This wasn’t me. Hey, earlier did someone shout a Code Blue?” 

You could also perform your own magical change of subjects. Robby took a moment to answer before giving a curt nod. 

“Whittaker’s patient that’d been placed in the hall. If you heard it, why didn’t you go assist? All hands on deck for a code, you know that.”

God, was he chastising you right now? A flood of irritation rippled over your skin. You wanted to snap at him. You weren’t a med student. But he was frustratingly right - you’d heard it and instead of running you’d kept yourself here. 

And Whitaker. It was his first patient of the day. He’d been so excited that he’d done good. He’d gotten praise from Dr. Robby about his work up and Whitaker wouldn’t shut up about it. It meant something to him. 

“I’ll go see if they need someone to switch.”

You went to get up but Robby was too close. If you got up from the chair you would bump straight into his chest. 

“You okay?”

The sudden care behind the question jarred you. How did he expect you to answer? There was no way you could be honest with him - not at that second. He was supposed to go break the worst news a parent could ever receive and he was worried about you. He should be worried for himself. You could warn him about Gloria but what good would it do if he thought you might possibly be in on it with her? Your sudden reappearance, while inconvenient, hadn’t raised suspicion like an ulterior motive waited in the wings just yet. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. You?”

“Never better.”

His smile held every worn line of fatigue that signaled his lack of sleep. His attempt at strength in a moment he refused to seek outside help. You found the same words Dr. Collins asked moments before crawling their way up your throat before you swallowed them back down. He wouldn’t change his mind and agree just because it was you. 

You wanted to be there because whether he voiced it or not, this kid whose family was seconds away from being told was gone wasn’t that much older than Jake. A single accident of taking non-prescribed Xanax ended his life. Jake was a good kid. You wanted to reach out and take his hand and tell him Jake would never - Jake was different. 

Jake was still a kid. 

Robby didn’t wait for you to reply before he headed towards the room. You kept telling yourself to get up and move. Go find Whitaker and the team performing cpr on his patient and do your part. Between everything that’s happened this morning: being forced down with Robby, seeing Robby, Dr. Mohan requesting to speak with you, Gloria’s ultimatum and now the news this young kid didn’t make it you were officially mentally exhausted. 

You needed to move but by the time your legs finally lifted out of the seat, Robby told them. The mother’s wail of agony resounded through the room and rose in octaves. The soul-wrenching loss of her child, her baby, turned the Pitt into a mausoleum of mourning. Her cries followed you down the hallway until you reached the curtain where Whitaker and others were on their third round of Epi, and you could see the continued despair evident in the room. 

It was barely 9 AM and you already wanted to fucking go home. 

As always, thank you so much for reading! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3

Tag list: @whatdoesntkillyoumakesyoustrange @travelingmypassion @jupiter-sky @catsgoogander @rosiepoise88 @It-jakeseresin @blackpopcorn @celmentine111002 @dcgoddess

[yyuangss]

MORE GIRL TALK ! ( STAR RAIL MEN )

SUMMARY ! march 7th finds out you like someone. and as your best friend, it’s only right that she has to give her input on whether or not she approves of him.

NOTES ! part one of girl talk (dan heng, caelus, sampo, jing yuan, and argenti). need hoyo to give the biggest girl’s girl they’ve ever created a bff asap. she deserves it after everything she’s been through 🫡 this goes out to that one anon. if you’re reading this, i added a bonus for you <3

TAGS ! reader is not the trailblazer. contains gepard landu, dr. ratio, aventurine, and boothill. possible spoilers for penacony quest in aventurine’s part, tried to keep it very vague and minimal. feelings are mutual on both ends.

march 7th’s thoughts on . . . GEPARD LANDAU !

the biggest mistake you’ve made is telling march you have feelings for the captain of the silvermane guards. because now she’s made herself the conductor of the express, switching course to jarilo-vi, crash landing terribly, and running all the way to serval to ask if gepard has feelings for you. march always assumed there might have been some mutual pinning from gepard’s side. he probably thought he was the best at hiding his feelings, except it didn’t help that he constantly shielded you whenever you were at risk of being at harms way. which in her opinion means he’s willing to protect you no matter what. this trait was very important and she will not let you pass up on that opportunity. according to serval, gepard had already confessed to his sister how he felt towards you and was too shy to admit it. once she confirmed his mutual feelings, serval and march are on matchmaker duty.

march 7th’s thoughts on . . . DR. RATIO !

march does think that ratio is mean and extremely talkative. she also believes him to be selfish. there’s already a negative perception of him in her mind. though, her opinion on him is only based off the first time the express met him. compared to you, she hasn’t gotten the chance to truly know him (not that she really wants to). so, march says her judgement is biased and null in this case. she hears a different side when you’re in her room, telling her all about him and how he’s incorporated you into his very busy schedule. and it’s proven to her whenever ratio boards the express for the sole purposes of visiting you. or he’s arriving at the space station around the same time the express gets there, despite having prior plans made. march is very suspicious how the two of you aren’t dating yet. actions speak louder than words and ratio’s actions make her very impressed.

march 7th’s thoughts on . . . AVENTURINE !

march won’t lie, she has heavy mixed opinions for aventurine and still doubtful of him. it’s possible that the entire astral express would share these mixed opinions if you told one of them. on one hand, she’s grateful for all the help he aided with. had he not been there, you all would’ve never gotten into penacony. she’s surprised to hear you ran into him several times when you were exploring. it’s where you got to know him while he showed you around, taking you to all the best sight seeing locations. aventurine didn’t waste a second to express his interest in you. even after what happened with him before the final battle in penacony, he still showed that same interest. which is why march doesn’t know why you’re wasting time telling her about your feelings towards him when you should be admitting them to aventurine instead. her mixed opinions will still be present. once she gets to know him like you did, they’ll eventually fade and she’ll be less on the weary side.

BONUS !

dan heng’s thoughts on . . . BOOTHILL !

“oh.” is all he says. dan heng is not very vocal, so his expression and body language tell you all you need to know. in this case, a raised eyebrow and a skeptical look forming on his face. he’s not really interested in this type of talk and that’s one of the main reasons. still, as your closest friend, dan heng doesn’t want you to think that you and your feelings aren’t important to him. his quiet demeanor makes him more observant. watching you and boothill interact makes dan heng realize how truly oblivious you are. it’s clear as day that the interstellar cowboy is interested in you. unless he’s the only person who has caught on to the mutual feelings. but there’s no way especially with all the darlin’s and sweetheart’s boothill calls you. either way, in his opinion, you should be with who makes you happy and dan heng won’t stop you from that. will bluntly expose yours and boothill’s attraction if either of you take too long.

[rexandbalances]

NIMB #3

Around 2 months ago I became aware of no-input mixing board music. It is what it sounds like it is. There are no instruments in the traditional sense. This music is made from largely forcing electronics on itself in a way. The method is done with hardware but I am trying to learn more about how it works because I had an incident in software around a decade ago.

One of the songs I created in a software DAW unpredictably made itself feedback loop for about 3-4 minutes. I am not sure what caused it. It’s possible that I didn’t know enough about what I was doing. I’d say it was a happy accident. The software *is* supposed to behave in the same way that hardware does. 

[snapscube]

I was a guest on BIG GAME HUNGER today!!!

Big Game Hunger is a podcast where Jenna Stoeber and a guest take 3 random ingredients and mix them up into one concept for The Next Big Video Game, and today I came on the show to create "HOLLEY'S TROLLEYS", a video game that allows you to ponder one of the most famous philosophical problems with zero direct input on the outcome! This episode was such a blast to record and I would love to know that yall gave it a shot! Definitely check out the rest of the catalogue too cause there are some fantastic guests featured across the board!!!

[isnt-that-wizardd]

dbda headcanons

hello i'm bored so here are some dead boy detective headcanons for you!! all are gen (no specific ships) though i do also have some payneland specific ones if anyone is ever interested

The boys own so many copies of Clue because they SUCK at keeping track of all the pieces. Inevitably they lose a character piece or accidentally rip one of the cards or do something like throw the board off a roof when they get frustrated and can’t find everything when they try to pick it up. So they just buy a new board. Only three of them still have a full set of things for the game, and one of them has only the pieces and cards but no actual board. A couple of them are mismatched because when they first started they thought to just pull the things they needed out of the new box so they could continue using the old one, but then they just lost track of what was where. 

Charles usually wins when they play games, unless it’s trivia. He still has an edge up on Edwin on pop culture, but only if the game is old enough. They both stopped paying attention to that kind of thing in the late 90s, so half the time if they are playing a trivia game, they’ll just take out that category all together. 

Niko has made it her life’s mission to catch them up on everything, though, so they have a regularly scheduled group movie night - Edwin and Charles get absolutely no input in anything they watch, so they are at the complete mercy of what Crystal and Niko think that they need to watch. Both were surprised at how much Charles ended up LOVING Legally Blonde. 

After he finds out that Crystal got a girlfriend, Charles goes through a whole thing for a while about how he’s the “token straight friend”. Crystal, Niko, and Edwin are all just standing there like “....so who’s gonna tell him.” 

Edwin eventually tries to ban Crystal from eating in the office because he’s sick of hearing Charles complain about how jealous he is. If he hears about how much Charles misses spaghetti one more time then he’s banning Charles next

Edwin and Crystal have a deeply sibling-like relationship where they antagonize, torture, yell, and generally act like they hate each other but at the same time they would both absolutely fight, maim, kill, etc for each other. Charles had given up trying to meditate because he realized that fighting is actually their love language

Edwin also becomes a protective brother type for her where he is constantly making sure she's taking care of herself (eating, sleeping, etc) but acts like it is the biggest hindrance in the world. He berates Crystal endlessly when he realizes she hasn't eaten all day and complains about how much of an annoyance it'll be if she passes out on a case while simultaneously making her tea and a sandwich. He complains about how she relies on her powers too much on cases and tells her she needs to "actually learn to do some real detective work" and then conveniently leaves books around that will be helpful to learn more about the supernatural, casually explains certain things when she just happens to be in earshot, and just generally passive aggressively teaches her so that she'll be better protected and knowledgeable on cases

Both Edwin and Charles are opposed to “getting with the digital age”, as Crystal and Niko put it. They’ll borrow one of the girls’ laptops maybe every once in a blue moon and they will gladly watch movies and shows, and Charles does like the music access that stealing Crystal’s phone gives him, but there is no chance that they are bringing in all this digital tech to the agency. They’ve been working with pen and paper since they started and they are going to stay that way, thank you very much. The internet is too messy with everyone’s different opinions and theories to give them accurate research on what they don’t already know about the supernatural world, and honestly, ghosts and digital technology don’t actually mix super well. The Night Nurse is fully on their side, so any internet needs are kept to a minimum and are entirely the girls’ domain 

Charles is chaotic and ADHD but between the two of them, he's far more orderly about things. He has his magic bag organized to a T and is cleaning up after Edwin all the time when he leaves books lying about. It seems to entirely counteract his personality and for a long time Edwin just brushes it off as a little quirk, but after the Devlin house he finally learns that Charles keeps himself so neat and organized all the time because his dad would punish him when things were out of place

Edwin is surprisingly good with children. Charles never knows what to do with himself when interacting with a kid, but Edwin will crouch down to their level, speak to them normally rather than using any sort of baby talk, listen to them rant about their special interests, etc and just generally treat them like just Another Person in a way that has kids just immediately attaching to him like baby ducks. Edwin does not understand why kids seem to like him at all, and Charles just laughs when he asks, happy to simply sit back and watch the cutest interactions he's ever seen

Edwin and Niko have weekly "date" nights where they just hang out in her bedroom and watch shows (she's determined to get Edwin into at least one anime), chat, play go fish for hours on end, and things like that. It gives both of them a designated time to relax over the week and to catch up/gossip about things they haven't gotten a chance to tell each other yet. Crystal and Charles are absolutely Not Invited to these dates, a fact that both of them pretend to be outraged over

Charles is nearly always perfectly content with just remaining on earth and interacting with the living plane and never ever seeing any of the afterlife-associated locations/offices (Lost & Found, etc) but since finding out it exists, he is Determined to figure out how to get to the Dead Letter Office. He doesn't understand how it works or exists or how the postman always finds them and His Brain Needs To Know. So far he's bothered both the postman and the Night Nurse for information but both are way too cryptic/annoying to be of any help

Charles and Niko rarely end up alone together and are not as close as any of the other dynamics in the friend group, but that isn't to say they don't absolutely ADORE each other. They think that the other is just about the neatest person ever and when they do end up just the two of them, their mutual chaotic energies collide in a way where they either are absolutely brilliant and accidentally uncover something essential to a case or they just completely dissolve into hysterical laughter and can't get a thing done

[lurkinglurkerwholurks]

For the ask game - what are your headcanons for Bruce?

I feel like my life revolves around headcanons for Bruce, to the point that they're integral to me and maybe I don't realize they're headcanons. 😅

Headcanon 1:  Realistic

Bruce is little more than a figurehead in his own company and has no input in its daily operations. He has an eye for people who do good work and are known for their integrity and is aggressive about headhunting them to fill his ranks, and they do the company-running for him. His role is to be the public face, but he is only a face, not the hands.

That said, as Gotham's largest employer and a key economic driver, Bruce pays more attention as Batman to his own company's policies than its shareholders or board might suspect. As Wayne E leads, so their competitors must strive to keep up, so Bruce is vigilant about making sure their stated policies, procedures, and driving vision, as well as how all are enforced, remain beneficial, equitable, and socially conscious.

Headcanon 2: May or not be realistic, is definitely funny (at least to me)

Bruce Wayne is the weirdest mix of hyper-rich privilege and dead-broke ignorance in anyone you've ever met. He has no middle-class touchpoints in his lived experience.

He only flies on his private jet! He once snuck onto a baggage car and hobo'd his way across half of India because he didn't have the fare.

He has eaten foods too expensive for the common person to even know exist, his pantry is stocked with ingredients that would mean nothing to anyone normal but would make a Michelin chef weep for joy. He was a freegan who knows how to source still-probably-safe food in the dumpsters of behind local restaurants.

He has acquired skyscrapers and entire urban blocks. He has never refinanced a mortgage.

Headcanon 3: Evil and heart-breaking why would you do this

I don't think Bruce is one who sits with what-ifs for too long. That is, I think he feels responsible for so much, too much, and when those what-ifs come, they drive him to do better, plan better, be better. But what-ifs in and of themselves are not something he invites in to linger. He also doesn't find them enjoyable thought exercises. They arise from his own guilt and self-recrimination, he sucks their marrow dry for information and logistics, and then he moves on.

But sometimes...

Sometimes, when he sits quietly on a little bench in front of two still mounds, or when an anniversary creeps up and leaves him feeling lost, cold, and alone, or even sometimes when he is surrounded by those he loves, full to the brim with love and gratefulness, he wonders...

What would his life have been in his parents had never died? If they had survived the mugging or never turned down that alley at all, if they had been by his side to watch him grow, if they had continued their own (different, but no less ambitious) mission to improve Gotham for her people, if they stood in front of him now—older, grayer, with laugh lines framing their eyes, but alive...

What would have become of his children?

And what kind of father was he if he dare, even in the small secret heart of him, risk them even in the breath of an I wish...

Headcanon 4: Doesn’t align with canon (or maybe even reality) but I do what I want

Any canon in which Bruce Wayne raises a hand in anger to a child—any child, but especially one of his—is not canon to me. Full stop.

Once, in the early days, Dick made him so mad that Bruce bellowed at him and immediately felt so bad that he looked dyspeptic on the spot (actually, he was trying really hard not to cry because oh no, he's ruined everything, he's a Bad Caretaker.)

[vanessagillings]

I love your art so much!!! I've also been starting to paint with gouache, and I'd love to know a little more about your process! What kind of paints do you use, do you sketch first or start with paint, do you paint in layers over several day or all at once?

Hi and thank you! I hope you don't mind me answering this publicly and apologies for length, but:

MY ART PROCESS!

Supplies: I use winsor and newton gouache and arches cold press paper blocks, usually 140 lbs (the lime green ones) and sometimes 300 lbs (the teal green ones). Even though this paper comes pre-stretched in blocks, I actually take the sheets off and stretch them myself because I've found arches' glue isn't as strong as it used to be. This is how you get watercolor paper to lay flat! I recommend youtubing some videos on how to do it -- there's a lot of great tutorials out there. Also, I use princeton brushes, and kraft paper tape and these boards to stretch my paper. (these aren't affiliate links, I just shop at blick)

A word about art supplies: these are the exact tools I use but everyone uses supplies differently and two people with the exact same supplies might get different results! A lot of it is about what works for you and what you like, so I always suggest that gouache/watercolor beginners just buy a few tubes from a couple of different paint companies and some small pieces of paper from different manufacturers to see what you like. Just changing one ingredient in the above has created massively different results for me, but maybe that'll end up being something you'd like! The first step in learning a new medium imo is to play. Just have fun!

ALSO: gouache isn't super light permanent, check your tubes for which ones hold up to sunlight. Here is winsor and newton's color chart explaining which ones will fade when exposed to sunlight -- all manufacturers will give you this. I only use the colors rated A and AA, and I still frame my pieces with UV glass just to be safe. Not all gouache is re-wettable, but winsor and newton is. I just put it in my palettes and refill my palettes if it runs low. AND SOME PAINT IS TOXIC. A lot of paints have cadmium and cobalt in them. I don't use any of the toxic colors, but if you do, make sure you don't eat while working and wash your hands thoroughly afterwards. This information is also usually available on manufacturer's websites. As more people are rejecting cadmium paint, you'll see more tubes labeled things like cadmium-free yellow. This is why. More artists should be aware that their tools can be dangerous. You don't need that many tubes of paint to begin, just a warm and cool red, warm and cool yellow, warm and cool blue, white and black. I have around 50 colors and use 20 regularly. I always mix all my colors myself, and never use straight tube paint. Most of my colors have about 5-6 different tube colors mixed together. If you use re-wettable paint a tube of paint will last you years; even as a professional I only buy new paints every 5 years or so.

Process: I ALWAYS start with a sketch first. Not everyone has to, but because I do illustration work -- where sometimes a client gets input on a drawing -- I always do a lot of preliminary work before I even begin to paint. At this point, even my personal work usually involves the exact same process:

I start with a 3" or so thumbnail that I scan (left; I traced it quickly digtally for clarity to myself here) and then either clean up digitally or print out and clean up traditionally with tracing paper (right):

Then I scan the cleaned sketch in and color rough it digitally (left, this was for a gallery show, so no one had to approve my color roughs, so it's messy!) then I transfer my sketch to my paper (with either carbon transfer paper or a light table), stretch my paper, and paint (right):

I obviously changed my mind about the color of the ribbon in the trees, ha, and made everything a lot more vibrant. The benefit again of gallery work is no pre-approval!

You are correct, I paint in a series of washes, going from lightest to darkest, where I apply the same color beneath all shapes that are the same warmth (cools under all upcoming cools, warms under all upcoming warms). I paint a piece usually in one or two days, depending on complexity. I didn't take pictures of the above painting, but here's a different painting to show you a little bit what I mean:

I painted the peach color under everything (and twice for skin tones), and the gray color of the sky under everything that would be grayish (the rocks, trees, her pants, her skirt, and coat). I do this to stop me from getting darker lines where two different colors butt up against each other, and also for color harmony. I have step by step photos of this in my process stories highlight on my instagram; also check my FAQ and tip highlights for more info on all this stuff. Most pieces take around 25-30 washes before I start adding in the details (sometimes I add in face details early though because if I mess those up it's not worth finishing the rest of the painting! 😅)

All this might seem like a lot of work (...it is) but I do it so that I can show clients previews of the final piece and so I don't have to repaint the finals. I also used to pre-test all of my washes on scrap paper like this:

I still recommend doing this if you're just beginning! But at this point I only do it when testing techniques because I know my paints really well. (the above was my test for the pine boughs in this piece)

Painting by far is the longest part of the process, so I do more work up front to not have to do it twice. Every piece takes about 6-24 hrs of actual work time to produce. Stretching watercolor paper takes about 24 hrs to dry, and because I sell most of my originals in galleries, they need to be flawless, so planning ahead is useful and in the end saves me time.

And to conclude this novel of an explanation, don't be overwhelmed by all the information I've given you! I put it here so that people at various stages of their artistic journey can maybe find something useful in it. But seriously, the first step to learning how to paint whether it's traditionally or digitally is just to have fun. Try it out, see what's working and what isn't, and then try to solve specific issues that you're struggling with. I've been doing this for a loooooong time at this point, but here's my first watercolor piece from when I was re-teaching myself how to paint traditionally nine years ago:

Obviously, I was destined for greatness. Ha, yeah, no. If you scroll back through my tumblr archive, you can see me learning how to use these paints in real time. And keep in mind that I'd been working digitally for years before then, and years before that where I didn't post my work online at all.

So for anyone who needs to hear it: there's no such thing as talent, just hard work, patience, and trying again and again and again...and sometimes again. What I do is a skill and anyone can learn it. Sometimes, progress is slow. I'm 38. I only really feel like my art was half-way decent starting a few years ago, but I've been making art my entire life, and I went to art school at 18. 20 years later I'm kind of figuring it out.

The best advice I can give, whether it's about art or not, is find the thing you love so much that you'll keep at it even when you suck at it, because most skills you'll suck at to begin with -- and perhaps for a long time. I sucked at art for yeeeaaaaarrrrs. On top of the usual learning curve, I struggled with fine motor control and dexterity. But I loved it so much I kept trying every time I failed. If I can do it, so can all of you, no matter what stage of art you're at now, and no matter how old you are.

Anyway, thank you to those still reading this deep in. I wish you all the best on your artistic journey. Art can kick your butt sometimes, but it's also pretty dang rewarding 💛

[electronicdwarf]

Tell me why it took me two years to realize the audio utility in VCV Rack is also an output

[reubeningall]

Improvisation using no-input mixer, stylophone, loopers, and my drum synth (pure data on raspberry pi) + midi controller. I have updated my drum synth patch to add a (non-quantised) tap-a-pattern function for the kick drum hence the wonk.

The visualisation is a Lissajous figure, produced by software called PrettyScope.

[daretoassume]

hello, i hope you're doing well. my english is not the best so i apologize. i've been on the loa side of tumblr for some time and one thing that has stuck with me the most is "once you know you've the ultimate power, you will view your imagination as your true reality" and the thing is that i understand his and i understand that we're conditioned to be realistic and believe the opposite of what loa teaches since day 1. but what i don't understand is how do you or anyone who has been successfully manifesting be in *that* state where things happening in your reality doesn't phase you? how do you be so sure of your imagination that you surrender to it? majority of the people i see here view loa as a back up option of some sorts. it's like "if i don't complete this assignment by today, i'll just manifest that the deadline extends" instead of "i don't have to complete my assignment because the assignment is already completed/doesn't even exist in the first place". i really struggle with understanding and being on board with the contradicting opinions and actions of people on the same subject. i've manifested some things but even today in order to be in that state or mindset, i need to listen to a subliminal or do mediation. so, i'm really curious as to how it all comes naturally to everyone. i'm so sorry for the long ask but i hope you can provide your input.

hellooo angel, one thing i always remind myself is that i shouldn't apply logic to something profound. try to take everything you are learning lightly. be so light about it.

1. to be in the state where things don't bother me, no matter what is happening, was a habit i developed over time. i understand that i must constantly choose the reality i prefer, and for me to do that, i can't be phased by whatever is happening outside of me when everything i ever wanted is already done, already experienced, in my inner world.

this was a hard lesson for me (it was tied to my core belief). of course, that's just how i went through it, and i want to be transparent because it's not just about the law of assumption—i mixed in everything i learned about personal growth and loa.

now, i’m not saying you or anyone else has to go through the same process, but that's how i molded my beliefs.

2. when it comes to back-up options, it's all about preference— what you prefer to experience in your reality. some people place conditions or limitations on their reality, so they might choose what feels like the path of least resistance. either way, it's done.

3. if you believe subliminals or meditations help you, and if you think they are the path of least resistance, then go ahead. but you really don't need them. your desires—everything you want to experience—are already yours. it's done, it's solidified. you don't need to impose these unspoken rules on yourself to experience it. you are already experiencing it in your imagination. these unspoken rules and conditions are only holding you back.

i hope this helps you!

[howlingday]

Hey so like, this is definitely something you don't get (or won't usually get from me)

But like I want someone's input, so.

I've been planning on doing a Rwby rewrite right? And I decided to write bios for each character and while I would love to post it on my profile I feel like I won't get the feedback so if you feel like responding.

I want your input on a bio for Weiss's Character (she's the one of team Rwby I changed the most honestly)

Enjoy reading.

Weiss Wilhelm Schnee

Age:18-20

Sex: female

Aura color: White

Semblance: “glyphmancy”. Weiss can manifest strange shapes known as glyphs which granted a variety of abilities, especially when mixed with dust, she can also use her glyphs on her allies, granting them advantages they might need in battle. There are the standard white glyphs which have the ability to summon foes Weiss has slain, however it drains a chunk of her aura to summon it, meaning she will be more vulnerable during combat. There are her black glyphs which work as traps, stopping enemies in their tracks physically, letting her attack as much as she can, however the black glyphs have a second function, any moment they had before being stopped will resume after a minute, catapulting them, as well as adding any moment Weiss places upon the glyph or through damage she dealt to her opponents, however once times up Weiss suffers from a lag, leaving her exhausted for a time. While those are her only options without dust, she can infuse them with dust to create unique reactions. 

Weapon: myrtenaster (a rapier forged for her by her family.. technically by her father, who may have secretly implanted limitations upon it) this weapon has a revolver chamber in the place of its cross guard, instead of bullets it uses the elemental properties of dust to deal a variety of effects.

Background: the family name of “Schnee” is synonymous with the word “oppressor” nowadays and Weiss hates that, she has grown to want nothing to do with her father's illegal practices and wishes to take him down, however she doesn't have the power yet, while she may be a Schnee the ones who hold her family's resources is her father.. and her mother who she has a strained relationship with. And without those resources, Weiss doesn't have enough funding to pull an investigation against her father and the board of advisors her father has erected. So while she could wait to inherit the company and throw them out, she instead takes a different route, huntresses and huntsmen being the most prominent people who defend against the grimm tend to be very popular, especially with companies, as well as have high authority in court so long as they believe the person they are accusing is participating in illegal practices.. with a major risk to the huntress or huntsmen of losing their license if the accused is innocent. Weiss began to scheme, become a huntress and gain not only sponsorships but also the authority to lead a coup against her father and remove him and his board from the Schnee dust company. All in the hope that when he is out, Weiss can make her company a much kinder entity, to both the lower class of atlas, and the faunus who her family has oppressed.

If you don't want to respond that's totally fine, you can just delete this and ignore it if you don't feel like giving your input.

Have a good rest of your day my friend.

Hm... Interesting.

So, here's my thoughts on RWBY rewrites, because guys in the Discord are gonna call me a hypocrite or a liar or some other such thing because I have a hard stance on RWBY Rebooting. So, to clarify, I don't think RWBY should be rebooted. The writing isn't great, I agree, but I firmly believe we should finish the story first before making any big decisions to reboot the ENTIRE franchise. That said, I DO think rewriting RWBY is a great creative practice and I highly encourage people to rewrite scenes and episodes and everything else in an attempt to flex your creative muscles, and to sort of express your criticism in a constructive way that isn't just soapboxing.

But enough about me, let's talk about you... r Weiss.

I'm kind of curious why you gave Weiss the middle name "Wilhelm". Usually, I do the fan bandwagon and give her the middle name "Kara" after her voice actor. Regardless, I do think it's a neat little detail, though I'm not certain why that is. I'd love to see your thought process, even if it's something as simple as "Eh, why not?"

Giving Weiss black and white glyphs with unique abilities really plays into her versatility and her restrictive nature. I feel like it could play into her "defiant" nature, as Blake called it, and which we will see later in your description.

Having Myrtenaster made by Jacques but with limitations is such a great way to play into the "Daddy's money" stereotype as well as giving her a reason to defy her father and yet remain under his thumb.

Reading her background reminds me of her song, "This Life is Mine" and I LOVE THAT. Weiss being helpless to do anything without her father's resource and resenting him for it, and her mother for not doing anything to stop it, fits so well with her character! Also, Weiss having the goal to help the Faunus and lower class as a way to atone for her father's cruelty is such a great take on her that I wish the show actually explored, rather than canon which had Weiss despise the White Fang for what they did without regard to why they do or worse, what Ice Queendom did which was just have her flat out be racist and assume Sun was already a member of the White Fang.

I'm liking what I'm seeing, and I only have one question left to ask...

Do you have a name for this ReWrite~?

[fenya-scribbles]

Collide - Part 7

<<prev | series masterlist | next>>

Pairing: Non-Idol!Dancer!Hyunjin x Dancer!Fem!Reader

Other Characters: Non-Idol!bff!Minho mentioned, Non-Idol!Jisung, Non-Idol!Bangchan, Non-Idol!Changbin, Non-Idol!Felix

Summary: A plan is set in motion, and you learn the real consequences of your cowardice. 

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, rivals to lovers

Content warnings: crying, guilt

Word Count: 1,524

A/N: sorry loves, this is what my current insomnia is getting you. <3

14 days. That was the - admittedly somewhat short - timeframe you and the other remaining contestants had been given to prepare for the final showcase. 14 days in which you were not allowed to hang around Minho, at least not at the dance studio,  to “avoid any accusations of favouritism", as he'd put it. Luckily for you, that would not be an issue in the first few days due to Changbin's plan. 

You'd never been at a recording studio before, but Jisung was absolutely ecstatic to show you around. "And this is the recording booth. It's totally sound proof!" His eyes were alight with the purest, most honest excitement. You couldn't help but smile at him, as you followed him around, even if your mind was still occupied with Hyunjin and the hurt you’d caused. Despite Jisung's disposition, you were still not 100% sure this plan would work, but his optimism did give you hope. 

"So, are you gonna sing?", Chris asked with a curious smile when you sat on the couch next to Jisung a few minutes later. Chris and Changbin occupied two office chairs next to a board with an intimidating amount of buttons, nobs and sliders. You let out a short laugh and violently shook your head. "Hell no", you said, “not if we want the plan to work!” Jisung giggled next to you, having been witness to your singing skills when he dragged you to a karaoke bar once. "Yeah, no, I will sing", he said with a grin. You’d actually begged him to sing, as you knew he’d carry the emotions across just right.

And just like that, the first decision was made. It didn't take long for the next ones to follow - beat, rhythm, genre. Despite never having created any music whatsoever, you found the process quite enjoyable. You were able to give input on the tempo and style of beat, since you'd be the one who had to create a whole dance based on the song later on. And of course, you were the driving force behind the lyrics, spilling your guts once again, being even more honest with your feelings, and watching how Jisung, Changbin and Chris magically created pure poetry from it. The whole experience brought you closer to all three of them, making the rest of the process a lot easier.

It took you three entire days. Three days of spending multiple hours with the three of them, eating take out at the recording studio, trying out different lyrics and beats and chord progressions. You went through several iterations of the song, some tempo changes, adding and removing a key change, only to add it again in the end. It was a fascinating process and you earned a whole new appreciation for the passion of the three, as well as their talent and technical skill. 

They put in the hours, staying up late every day, tweaking things, re-recording lines, mixing and mastering, while you went home early enough to already start the work on the choreography. You'd fall into your bed after a quick shower every night, falling asleep almost instantly. In the mornings you'd get curious messages from Minho. Even if he wasn't going to meet up with you. he still wanted to know how you were, and how things went. You were thankful that so much was happening, preventing you from dwelling on the guilt that still sat in your stomach. You barely had time to think about anything but the song and dance, unable to spiral or panic or even cry. 

In the late afternoon of day 3, you found yourself on the studio couch again, between Jisung and Changbin, listening to the last few notes of the song. It still baffled you that it had only taken you - but mostly them - three simple days to finish it. Once it was done, Chris pressed a button to avoid replay, and looked at you with raised eyebrows. "So, what do you think?" A smile creeped onto your face, a warm positivity filling your chest. "It's perfect. I really think, this can work." And you did. 

The song said everything you wanted Hyunjin to hear. It talked about the intensity of your feelings, how you'd been scared to let them fully unfold, scared to make yourself vulnerable and open your heart to him. But the lyrics developed into a promise, telling him that you were ready to jump into the unknown for him - with him. And underneath it was a beat you could easily move to, the choreography already roughly planned out in your head. Now you only had to practice. At the dance studio. Without running into Hyunjin. 

***

By day 6, you'd been in and out the dance studio several times - but you hadn't seen Hyunjin once. It gave you a weird feeling, like a stone sitting in your stomach, weighing you down. You'd seen glimpses of Felix, coming and going, but he never caught you - probably because you were actively hiding from him. Meeting him was not as scary as facing Hyunjin, but you would still avoid it at all costs if you could. Felix likely knew what happened, and he likely had something to say about it. 

But eventually, you had to face him. The day had gone fine so far. You'd shown up early to the dance studio, occupying one of the smaller practice rooms. You went through your stretching routine and then started to work on the choreo until midday, when your growling stomach forced you to take a lunch break. You stepped out of the room - and froze. There he was. Felix. And Hyunjin. The taller one had his back to you, but you still hid behind the door, only peeking around it a bit. You watched, as they quietly talked for a moment, before Hyunjin nodded and disappeared into the room they were standing in front of.

Had the circumstances been different, you would've managed to react quick enough, hiding away in your practice room, but seeing Hyunjin for the first time since the incident had you frozen in place, and with Hyunjin gone, Felix’s eyes landed on you. He narrowed his eyes and made his way over. You were fully aware, that it was way too late to try and avoid him now, so you stepped out from behind the door. "Hey Y/N", he said, trying his best to sound like his usual sunshine self, but there was an uneasy strain to his voice. It made your heart drop. Was he mad at you? You wouldn’t blame him.

"Hey Lix", you said almost too quiet for him to hear. "How are you?", he asked, sounding surprisingly genuine. You shrugged, eyes flicking down to your shoes, and he nodded with a hum. An awkward silence settled between you for a moment - until your curiosity got the better of you. “How is he?" Felix sighed. "Listen, I don't know exactly what happened, but it really hit him. He almost dropped out of the competition." "WHAT?!" Your eyes went wide with shock, heart clenching painfully in your chest. "Yeah, I managed to talk him out of that, but now he only has 8 days to practice. And he's not in a good place, Y/N." You felt tears fill your eyes as the full consequence of your foolish panic-induced flight reaction hit you. 

"He wanted to drop out?", you said, unable to process what Felix was telling you. Tears were running down your face now. It was the first time you cried since your breakdown in Jisung’s arms, and it felt like a dam was breaking. A silent sob shook your whole body, as the gravity of the situation started to fully weigh down on you. Hyunjin loved dancing. He'd been the first to sign up for the competition, and he was very obviously the favoured competitor for first place. The only reason he would drop out of the whole thing now, would be...to avoid you. So you'd been right. He didn't want to see you. He wouldn't talk to you, let alone listen. Everything hinged on that soul-bearing song - and your choreography. 

Felix stepped closer and wiped your tears away. “Oh honey”, he said, as he pulled you into his arms. You had a feeling of Deja-vu, as you sobbed into his shirt, just like you had with Jisung those few days ago. “I know”, Felix said, “you’re also hurting. It’s okay.” Your arms wrapped around his chest, holding on for dear life, as the emotions you’d kept buried over the last days, finally surfaced. “I fucked up, Lixie”, you sobbed, “I’m so sorry.” He let out an understanding hum, gently rubbing your back. Eventually, he moved back a bit, motioning for you to look up. “Do you love him?”, he asked, wiping away more tears with his thumbs. You nodded, unable to admit your feelings verbally just yet. “Then you have to fix this, Y/N. He's in love with you, and he's hurt. You have to make him listen." You nodded again. “I will", you promised.

Fenya’s Masterlist

[lightofraye]

I had this as an ask--I think the person was going around a bit to get some folks' input, which doesn't bother me. But I decided to grab the full screenshots and point to the part that had sparked a conversation among some folks. I even had a couple of followers ask for my thoughts.

Now... this did come up in a little group chat amongst me and a few others. We all have thoughts on it.

Oh I should probably go to the part I'm talking about. My bad.

The tweeter--HanmeiCui--tried to capture all that was said during Radio Company's little BBQ dinner during AustinCon. And folks were intrigued by Number 8.

"Fans asked him what he misses most about Texas and he said, I don't? I am still here all the time. I am here now, I was here a few weeks ago and then a few weeks before that. My whole family's still here my mom and dad are in Dallas I often visit them."

HanmeiCui also added: "So I kind of… I didn't catch what he said after that but I got the idea that he thinks of himself more like commuting, instead of permanently moved out."

Given he doesn't have any property (none that we have to officially verify ourselves with public records anyway) in Austin or Texas as a whole... FBBC is... something. Sold, not sold, either way, the brewery won't be back. Maybe a small taproom to keep incompetent brother-in-law Gino busy after he ran FBBC into the ground. Ahem. Yes, there is a house on the FBBC property but... near as we can tell, no one lives there.

The Ackles sold the rest of their properties--the condo, the lake house, etc. Also sold the Colorado condo.

Near as any of us could tell... no properties in Texas.

It had been largely assumed that if Jensen did visit his parents, it was likely without Danneel in tow. So if Jensen does visit often as he indicated, he may just be staying at a hotel, a friend's guest room (Steve does have a place in Austin), or the like.

I mean, Papa Ackles is 75 now. (Oh dang, his father is just a couple of years older than mine.) I imagine Jensen would want to see his parents a bit more. And for a while, he had the free time to do so.

A lot of folks have interpreted the statements in a few ways. One was a kind of professional "He's trying to keep the ol' boy Texan persona" going. Another was "Maybe he's trying to get re-established back in Texas without the wife." A third was "Maybe he has a place in secret in Texas"!

My thoughts?

I want to believe it's number two--getting re-established in Texas without the wife. (Come on, you know I'm an anti-Danneel. Why are you reading my stuff?) He's certainly made a few decisions this past year and a half that have me poking at the game board of life and going "Hmm...."

Such as his Social Media changing from a mix of family and business to strictly work posts (and frustrating his stans in the process, heh); such as Danneel going completely radio silent on her IG (but still commenting on others, hmm); such as selling all of FBBC without a new location in place; buying a mansion across the darn country and so far away from most of his friends and family; to seemingly abandoning CMP to Danneel to destroy.

There's still a few things we're not seeing. A few things we're not aware of. I could speculate until my face turned blue. For now, I'm content to sit and wait and observe the chess board.