#or re-intro I suppose

[fadetouchedsilk]

i know in my soul the solavellan pandering is about to be off the Charts but im wondering if it'll even be enjoyable for them lmfao

[fideidefenswhore]

teenage dream (2023), olivia rodrigo / the spanish princess (2020) / the private lives of the tudors, tracy borman (2016) / the six queens of henry viii (2016) / the vaux passional / the six wives of henry viii (2001) / the lovers who changed history (2014) / blood, sex & royalty (2022) / blood, sex & royalty (2022), gif @fabledenigma / the cross (2014) 

[dandy-lion]

Larger than a man, smaller than a dream

Hiya! Welcome, fellow Shark Friends!

Yes, I now have a fanblog for Shoot From the Hip. Dunno how active I'll be. I guess we'll find out together? ~Change~

My favourite:

Long-form? They're all so good, but I'm going to have to go with either the Dark Moons of Slough (which is just so chaotic, I love it!) or the Leftenmost Window (which I wrote a novelisation of!)

Game type? Either Flurry or Timewarp. I'm a doctor who fan at heart, which may have had some impact here.

Member of the group? An impossible question to answer. (Yesterday it was Luke, today it's Tom. Guess who it'll be tomorrow, I dare you.)

Fan-work to create? I'm transcribing plays! There's a small group of us working through them

Seriously, if you haven't seen Shoot from the Hip already, go watch them.

Wander, vibe, and have fun! - Luci (gender is chaotic neutral, whichever pronouns is fine)

Now, I shall head back to Tiny Giraffe Park. We're playing spot-the-gm ones. It's not easy, let me tell you.

[bweirdart]

EVENT OVER! THANKS EVERYONE WHO JOINED IN U ALL DID AN AMAZING JOB <3 SEE YOU AGAIN NEXT YEAR IN MARCH FOR #mARTch OR NEXT OCTOBER (2024) FOR A NEW SET OF PROMPTS!!!!!

OC-TOBER 2023 PROMPTS!!

general tag: #oc-tober / my prompts: #bweirdOCtober

F.A.Q:

Do I have to draw EVERY DAY?

NO! I highly encourage skipping as many days as you need to avoid burnout! There are 10 main days in the event (marked with a ⭐ star) that you can focus on if you don't feel up to doing every day, or you can choose your own adventure and just do the prompts you personally like!

Do I have to DRAW?

NO! You can also write fanfiction snippets, repost older art that fits the theme, tweet headcanons/backstory, roleplay in-character as your oc ... genuinely anything that fits the theme is OK!!

Can I start early?

YES! I understand some people work at a slower pace and might need a head start! So long as you wait until October to post it, you can start working as early as you need!

I missed the start of the event .. do I have to catch up?

NO! Please don't stress about days you missed, you're allowed to just skip to the current prompt!

RULES:

1. MAKE FRIENDS! The community is the best part of this event .. please try to follow new people, ask questions about ocs you like, compliment people's styles, ask friends to create with you, etc!

2. TAKE IT EASY! Skip a day if you're tired, busy or just not interested in the prompt. You don't have to catch up on it later. This is supposed to be fun, not work!

3. BE KIND! Please think about the people around you - don't give people unwarranted harsh criticism, content warn for themes/imagery in your work that could trigger someone, don't create anything hateful, etc

MORE:

text version / tips and ideas on bweird.art or below ↓

star = main prompts | no star = optional

INTRO WEEK

1: FAVE OC ⭐

-Which of your characters is your favourite right now?

2: NEW OC

-Who is your newest OC?

-Design a new OC right now

3: OLD OC ⭐

-Do you remember the first OC you ever made?

-Is there an OC you haven't drawn in a long time?

4: RE-DESIGN

-An OC who has changed a lot over the years

-Take an old OC and update their design right now

 

BACKSTORY WEEK

5: RELATIONSHIPS ⭐

-Who is important to your OC?

-Do they have a partner?

-Do they have a best friend?

-Are they close to their family?

6: SYMBOL

-What imagery do you associate with your oc?

-Are there any colours, flowers, animals or concepts that symbolize them?

7: PERSONALITY ⭐

-How does your OC behave?

-What are their positive traits?

-What are their negative traits?

-Are they extroverted or introverted?

8: PAST

-What was your OC like as a child?

-Where did they grow up?

-Are there any significant moments from their past that shaped who they are?

9: FUTURE ⭐

-Does your OC have a goal they're working towards?

-What will your OC look like when they get older

-Do you have a planned ending for their story?

PALETTE WEEK

10: pumpkin patch palette

#251604 #1E3807 #5B5E1A #A2A657 #EBA00F #F3ECCC

11: hot cocoa palette

#520B13 #BB382E #E27E6D #88392C #AF5D40 #E1AFA4

12: midnight zone palette

#000007 #000049 #183885 #004D4F #0E8788 #FFF1C0

13: peachy palette

#DE6450 #DB9171 #FFC1AE #FEE1AD #FFF2E0 #D9D8D8

14: haunted house palette

#552506 #6E25AA #ED690B #F925A0 #8F8BA7 #A6C1AA

FUN + GAMES WEEK

15: MEME ⭐

-Post memes that remind you of your OC

-Draw your OC as a meme

-Fill out a character meme (classic deviantart style)

16: FOOD

-What is your OC's favourite food?

-What is their least favourite?

-Can they cook?

17: EYES-CLOSED ⭐

-Draw your OC with your eyes closed! No cheating!

-Write a scene without looking at the keyboard! Keep the typos in!

18: SWAP

-Swap the style or aesthetic of two of your OCs

-Species or gender swap AU

-Invert an OC's colour scheme

19: INSPIRATION ⭐

-Is your OC inspired by any pre-existing characters?

-Are there any particular songs/lyrics that inspired something about one of your OCs

-Do you have a dedicated pinterest moodboard for your character?

20: INVENTORY

-What does your OC carry around with them on a daily basis?

-Are there any objects that have sentimental value for them?

-Loot drop for your DnD OC

 

FRIENDS WEEK

21-25:

There's no specific daily prompts for this week, but here are some ideas you can try ...

-Art trades with friends who are doing the event with you

-Your OC interacting with a friend's OC

-Gift art for someone whose OCs you like

-Work together and collaborate on something with a friend

-Roleplay an OC scene together with someone

 

HALLOWEEN WEEK

26: FEAR ⭐

-What is your OC scared of?

-Draw one of your OCs trying to scare the others

27: MONSTER

-Do you have any monster OCs? (eg: vampires, werewolves, creatures, ghosts...)

-Draw a human OC as a monster

-Design a new monster

28: TRICK

-Play a trick on an OC

-Do you have an OC who would play tricks on people?

29: TREAT

-What is your OC's favourite halloween candy?

-Give an OC a special treat to make up for yesterday's trick

30: MAGIC

-Do any of your characters have magical powers?

-Give an OC a magical or cursed artifact

-Create a magic-using OC like a witch or wizard

27: COSTUME ⭐

-What is your OC dressing as for halloween?

[hannie-dul-set]

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline) — PREVIEW.

SYNOPSIS. having fought tooth and nail out of high school, university, and law school, only to end up working for a law firm that basically serves as a clean up dog after the biggest organized crime group in the district, you thought you couldn’t get any lower than this. 

the bar is in hell, and yet you’ve managed to limbo six feet beneath that. alternatively— na jaemin is the personification of hell, and your very existence just makes him even worse than he already is. 

PAIRING. na jaemin x female! reader. GENRE. gang! au, lawyer! au, office! au, comedy, drama, romance, very light angst, this is a sitcom, hate to love(?), a somewhat questionable power dynamic, asshole! jaemin (my beloved…my kryptonite…) but he’s also an idiot, jaemin has an eye contact thing, inspired by the manhwas “weak hero” and “study group.” WARNINGS. an abundance of criminal activity (including but not limited to organized crime, fraud, blackmail, DUIs, unethical and illegal occupational practices, etc.), blood and violence, suggestive themes, eventual non explicit sex, jaemin with a tattoo, legal inaccuracies because i am not familiar with south korean laws, so i’m just using my own country’s as reference. also because this is just a stupid thirst fic. who gives a damn.

WORD COUNT. preview: 2.8k | this will be a chaptered fic. TAGLIST. open. send me an ask/dm/reply.

NOTE. this is the side effect of having a clinically insane brain that has to make a fic out of everything, including the law readings that i am subjected to every day. i have also been re-reading weak hero and i’ve projected my favorite feral dog (keum seongje/wolf keum) to the sweetest man alive (na jaemin). i’ve also based their org structure to the Union’s, just for full disclosure. meaning, a whole lot of dream 00 line (criminal) shenanigans are underway. 

this intro note has become a mouthful. anyway, hope you enjoy! 

IT’S SUPPOSED TO BE YOUR OFF DAY TODAY. You’re on sick leave— that is, sick and tired of drafting legal papers, meeting clients, reading piles and piles of documents every single damn week, so you decided to use your once-a-month get out of jail free card to stay in bed playing Stardew Valley. It’s pre-planned. You’ve already faked sneezes and coughing fits at the office yesterday. You’ve already called your Division Chief this morning. Kim Doyoung can’t do shit when you’re allegedly bedridden and downtrodden with a fever. He can eat his own ass and suck it.

“You have a new case,” he informs you over the phone. “It’s from Nalkkeutta.” 

Or so you thought.

“Hah,” a weak wheeze squirms out of your throat. “Sure. Okay. Got it.”

Motherfucking son of a bitch. Those two lines spring you out of bed immediately as though your bones have just been tased. God dammit. You’ve just managed to snag Sebastian into wedlock. How dare he throw another job at you right now? How dare he ruin your sweet, sweet honeymoon with the emotionally constipated 2D man of your dreams? 

Still. It doesn’t matter if you just got married or have a collapsing lung right now. You haul your ass, get dressed, get out, and get into your car to drive to your district’s police station in a hissy fit, as per your boss, Kim Doyoung’s, instructions. This damned firm is working you like a dog, but you can’t bite the hand that feeds you. And neither can Kim Doyoung.

“Yes, sir, I’m on my way. Are the files ready? Can you send them to me?”

This case came from Nalkkeutta. NCT. Nal. Day. Kkeut. End. Ta. To burn. The day ends in flames. It’s a name that haunts the streets of Yeongdeungpo. It’s a name that’s synonymous with loan sharking, weapons dealing, and coughing up protection fees unless you want to get your shit rocked on an unfortunate walk home— under the guise of an honest to goodness security company to service your protective needs. 

In the early 90’s, the government had a massive crackdown on gang activity and organized crime, subsequently snuffing out any emerging organized crime presence by officially criminalizing the mere act of joining a gang under the Revised Penal Code. But Nalkkeutta is relatively new. That scorching sunset symbol suddenly emerged in the district one day, around eight to nine years ago, and it’s marred the district of Yeongdeungpo with burn marks ever since.

And your life. You haven’t been lucky enough to be spared from that damned gang’s mess. In fact, you’re currently entangled with one of their messes right now.

The glass doors of the Yeongdeungpo Police Station shut behind you. You’re smacked hard in the face far too artificial lighting and sickly white walls and the words Patriotism, Justice, Honor mocking you in embossed silver. You grimace, cross your arms, divert your eyes with an impatient tap of the foot— and your arrival doesn’t exactly come unrecognized by the front desk and the others scattered around the lobby. One officer takes immediate initiative upon seeing your familiar sour expression, rustling out of a conversation to attend to you. 

“Hey, attorney. How may we help you?”

You eye the man. You’ve come to know him by name— Jung Jaehyun— even without needing to take a peek at his uniform’s name tag. You spare him and yourself the small talk and jump straight to business. “I’m here to see my client,” you inform, followed by under-the-breath swears as you fumble through your phone for the e-file Doyoung had just sent because Nalkkeutt had the gall to demand you to run and fetch the bone they left behind here without even giving you the chance to look at it. Seriously. If they want you to do a good job, they should be more punctual than this. “His name is—”

Huh. You read the top line of the document. A lump forms in your throat. You read it again. Once more. And the letters neither shift nor fold, confirming with absolute certainty that you read the name of your client correctly.

It’s a name you haven’t heard of in a while. It’s name that stalked the corridors of the place you’d bid good riddance to eight years ago with a spit on the concrete ground. 

“Na Jaemin.” There’s a bitter taste on your tongue when you pronounce his name— like your very digestive system can’t stomach it, rejects it, and wants to vomit it right back out. “His name is Na Jaemin.”

A nod from Jung Jaehyun. He turns his heels and leads you further into the station.

Empty footsteps echo against the slowly dimming hall leading to the private visiting rooms. The silence pricks at your memories— an uncomfortable sound you’ve grown accustomed to in the two years you’ve spent at Ganghak High School. It’s been eight damn years since you’ve graduated, yet one mention of a name reels you back into the past with a vividness that’s still as clear as the present.

In your memories, Na Jaemin was the guy who carried with him a pungent air of animosity and violence in his wake. On paper, he is your client, a member of the power-drunk gang that you’re tied by the noose with, and someone you have to defend. At present, he is sits right before you— tight-browed, tight-lipped underneath the singular light bulb hovering above the center of the table, looking as though he’s one clock tick away from flipping the table over (the only thing maintaining a safe distance between the both of you), and leaving on his own accord.

Your eyes meet. Your head snaps down to avoid his gaze.

“Good day, Na Jaemin-ssi,” you manage to choke out. “I will be your lawyer for the case against Yoon Naksung and company.”

You’re not sure how you feel when there isn’t even a click of recognition on his part when you introduce yourself and mention your name. You realize that what you’re feeling is a mixture of fear, relief, and absolute revulsion when he responds with, “So, when the fuck am I getting out?”

There’s a ring in your ears.

It’s the sound of your heart trying to escape from your chest.

You inhale sharply. Fuck. You’re not sure if you have the willpower to push through this, and you can’t even ease your nerves or melt your frozen bloodstream with a sigh because he’s staring right at you— impatient, as though he’s counting down the seconds in his head after a one-sided declaration that you have a limited time to willingly answer before he forces it out of you by the throat.

That fucking looking in his eyes. That damned stare that instinctively triggers you to look down, look away, look anywhere else but directly at him. It’s a habit that everyone in Ganghak used to have. It’s a habit that’s still deeply instilled in your psyche, in your muscles, in your instincts to the point that despite being the person in authority at the moment, you have your head down, throat dry, and doing your damn best to read his case file despite the letters looking all wobbly from your anxiety.

Disturbing the peace. Three counts of physical injury. Less serious. Thank fuck. That makes things a little bit more hopeful, but that doesn’t mean you’re free from hell. Hell is sitting right in front of you, handcuffed because the cops have deemed his very existence a threat to public order and safety. You muster up a bit more confidence knowing he can’t reach over the table to sock you in the face.

“You’re an alleged offender, Na Jaemin-ssi. You’d have to be detained until the trial.”

Na Jaemin sneers, a kick against the table leg with a grunt. “Fucking useless,” he spits. His chair is tipped back, head turned away. You firmly press your lips together. You wish he’d just completely tip over and crash his skull and die.

For someone currently detained for a possible criminal offense, Na Jaemin sure seems very much unbothered yet annoyed at the same time. He sits relaxed on the foldable chair, shoulders slumped as if he owns the place, and he stifles out a lazy yawn— drawing attention to his busted lips and handful of scratches littered all over his cheekbone, temple, and forehead— a stark contrast to the vibrant purple splotch painting over his right jaw. You make a mental note to schedule a physical examination on his ass to record his injuries. 

“But…I can make sure you don’t get arrested” You proceed with caution. His evident annoyance is flecked with momentary interest. You suck in a deep breath. “Were there any other people involved besides you and the three witnesses? Was anyone else there?”

You’re not sure what you were expecting as a response. Whatever it’d be, you just hope you get some useful information. Any sort of information. However, it seems like you just asked the wrong question.

“The fuck? Hell, if I know.”

All that interest is eradicated by a sharp glare. Na Jaemin lets out a huff and a sneer. You’re stressed. You’re beyond stressed. This is impossible. Of all people, why did it have to be him? Back then, you’d always had a feeling that he was part of something sketchy, whether it be some ragtag juvenile group or whatever the fuck. You didn’t care enough to find out. But, christ jesus, he just had to be in fucking Nalkkeut. 

That sun tattoo sprawled on the back of his impatient hand— the gang’s symbol, sun rays etched into the bumps of his veins and calloused skin— tap, tap, tapping on the table with the clunk of his handcuffs tells you that he isn’t just some disposable grunt either. The urgency in Kim Doyoung’s tone when he called earlier confirms that dreadful conjecture as well. He’s up there. Way up there, and you have no choice but to fight back the urge to swallow your own tongue.

“I—I understand. That’s fine. Then…can I ask what events led to the incident?” you tentatively try to prod, taking a peek at his expression to see if you’re greenlit to ask this. His face brightens up. One corner of his mouth twitches upward, revealing a sliver of teeth. You flinch. He looks deranged.

“That bucket wearing dumbass looked me in the eye,” he starts, smiling. “So I punched him right in the socket. Then his friends decided that they wanted a beating too.” 

Na Jaemin is leaning back on the flimsy plastic chair as if he’s reminiscing a happy memory. Jesus christ. He’s always been like this, but it never fails to scare you shitless. You’ve always wondered why he was so insane, but the fact that he currently is and has been in Nalkeutta explains a lot of the things you’ve seen in high school. No high schooler had any business pulling up the gate with a BMW, nor was it reasonable for anyone at your age at the time to afford at least five Cartier watches considering the neighborhood you were in. Yet Na Jaemin and his lackey’s always showed up in the days that he thought was convenient in some sort of Chanel tracksuit and dozens of gold and silver accessories.

You were lucky enough to have never gotten punched in the nose with the absurd amount of rings on his fingers— a taste which he seems to carry until today, you notice while keeping your eyes down and trained on the table. They aren’t allowed to keep any personal belongings in the holding cells, jewelry included, fucking obviously. How this guy managed to keep his is beyond your imagination. 

“So, it wasn’t one-sided,” you try to confirm, try to get a good enough testimony to help his and your sorry ass in court. “Can you testify their participation during the trial?”

Wrong move. Very wrong move.

You jump in your seat when he suddenly lurches forward, chained palms slamming against the rocky table with a loud thump and a clink. “Hey, Little Miss Attorney. Listen very carefully,” he rasps. He’s leaned in closer now, making it a hundred times more difficult to keep your head down and not look him in the eye. “I beat all three of them half to death, and that’s all that matters. This question and answer bullshit is pissing me off. Are we done here? Can you fucking leave now?”

You’re scared shitless. You really are. It’s two years worth of trauma suddenly jumping you from behind a wall and throttling the air out of your lungs— of course you’re fucking terrified, and Na Jaemin can smell it like the rabid dog he is.

The problem is, he isn’t the worst of your fears. This mutt is leashed to an owner that would have your head as a dinner treat if you don’t manage to get him out of this stupid cage. So you don’t have much of a choice in the matter. Damned to hell if you do, damned to an even deeper hell if you don’t.

“Na Jaemin-ssi,” you start. Your jaw is tight. It takes everything in your power to force it open and speak. “I need you to cooperate with me so I can get you out of here. Help me help you, alright?”

You’ve really been trying your best to phrase your sentences in a way that doesn’t sound demanding, that you’re leaving it hp to him because you know this bastard doesn’t like being told what to do. But your careful attempts don’t matter against a volatile son of a bitch. “Why’d you even need my help? Ain’t that shit your job?“ he barbs, a slight scoff hanging off at the end. “Seems like Mark hired a useless fucking lawyer.”

Twice. He just called you useless twice. The sheer level of offense you feel momentarily overpowers your nerves— a biting tick near the side of your temple, and you dig your fingers into the clothed skin of your thigh. 

The Mark he’s referencing did not hire you because you’re useless. In fact, that guy regularly asks for you specifically whenever his gang is caught in any civil or criminal trouble because you’re the only damned attorney willing to get her hands dirty to find an out— and competent enough to pull it off in exchange for an extra zero on your commission. 

Meaning, this bastard is at your mercy. And he has the audacity to piss you the fuck off.

“Strike a nerve?”

Apparently, you failed to hide the scowl polluting your expression. When you sneak a glance at Na Jaemin, he appears to be amused at his successful non-attempt to get under your skin, a lazy, lopsided grin on his face. 

You get it together. Mark Lee, that fucking bastard. It had been fine for the past few months when all you’ve had to mediate were petty settlements and bails and lesser criminal offenses, but you’ve never had to deal with one of his executives directly before— who just so happened to be your high school bully, at that. You close your eyes shut, press your lips together, and release a deep breath from out of your nose as you stand up.

“I’ll handle it. There’s nothing for you to worry about, but I will need to arrange a meeting with you again before the trial.”

Na Jaemin simply shrugs and waives you off. Your tight lips force themselves into a smile as you nod and stomp your way out.

Fucking bastard, fucking piece of shit, fucking, god damn it—

You leave the station with a jumbled up head and with all your five senses screaming themselves into oblivion. Shit. Fuck. What the fuck. Had Kim Doyoing emailed you the file a lot earlier, you wouldn’t have gone here and welcomed yourself directly into hell. You could try to settle with the victims, but in case they won’t agree to a compromise, you’d have to pull a defense out of your ass considering that your client is the most uncooperative asshole you’ve ever been cursed to deal with.

It doesn’t help that spending two years in high school with Na Jaemin is reopening pages and pages of trauma that you thought you’d successfully managed to file away— stored in a safety vault in a little corner of your head that need not be reopened. But just meeting him— talking to him directly when you’ve never even dared to before— brought a rusty crowbar to that vault, mercilessly ripping it apart.

Having cancelled your off day, the car ride to your office building is spent thinking about how to scrape up a case to defend the bastard you thought you’d finally been freed from eight years ago. The bastard who’d made the last two years of high school a literal level hell of dread and desperation.

Even for Nalkkeutta, this has got to be the worst kind of torture anyone could ask for.

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline). © hannie-dul-set, 2025.

[omniphilic]

hiya soileil!!!! i wanted to ask if you have personal hcs (headcanons) for mark and how you generally like to imagine him when you write him!

thanks for the ask! 🙏🏾 next time if you're not sure how to spell my name, copy and paste it from my intro post or let autocorrect do its thang (fun fact: my name is sun in french :3), but to answer your question because i think about this A LOT.

I like to combine Comic Mark and Show Mark personality wise. Not to say the show version of him is the greatest person alive, but I choose to keep of his poorer traits or qualities from the comics rendition of him to give him more dimension. Overall, I follow the order of events as they occur in the show.

In my opinion, Mark is extremely Golden Retriever. I think he’s very personable, gentle and affectionate with those he loves, but I also see him as someone who can be stubborn, reluctant to change, impulsive, and self-centered. He isn't met with a lot pushback ever. In the comics this is more prevalent, as the only characters to openly disagree with Mark are portrayed as villains or become evil (Cecil, Robot) over the course of the run.

In the show, Debbie has the balls or the sense to actually nip Mark's nonsense in the bud. When Mark tells her to "Make me" after she tells him to come inside and stop flying. When she says "Is this what you need?" she's forcing him to confront that sense of self-righteousness. Amber is another character that does this, when she gets mad at him for 'ditching them' and leaving them to fight the Re-Animen.

I think Amber was justified in her irritation because he is essentially playing in her face, choosing to maintain the lie of him just disappearing instead of coming clean then and there or at any other point before. He lies to her throughout the majority of the relationship when the rest of his close companions already (William and Eve), choosing to leave Amber in the dark. As she goes on to reveal she knew his secret, I can understand her frustration. How are they supposed to be going steady when he's withholding a quite vital part of himself for.... literally no reason. She would've been safer had she have known, she would have never been mad at him if she had known. There were more benefits to telling her than not telling her.

Eve pushes back the hardest before they get together, like right before Omni-man fucks Mark's shit up and she tells him to stop moping about quitting hero work. He's presumptuous about her life, assuming he knows why she quit as opposed to asking directly, looking to follow in her footsteps because he's overwhelmed by a situation he himself created.

Overall, I don't think Mark is a very nice person. Going back to his conversation with Debbie on the back porch, I find it utterly insane he doesn't apologize to Debbie for essentially threatening her, and there are other instances of him not having others best interests at heart so he can maintain a sense of security—a big one being when he ditches Earth to go coddle her over a broken leg while the whole Invincible War is going on the background.

I think his self-centeredness doesn't allow him to deeply engage with the feelings of others, but his persistent, almost pervasive sense of conscientiousness is what keeps him on the straight and narrow for a large part of his time as Invincible. I feel like his sense of obligation is derived from guilt as opposed to love for humanity.

When Mark is around people he loves, or connects with emotionally, he is more comfortable divulging his true feelings. I find him to be both self-deterministic and rejection sensitive, averse to truly absorbing the opinions of others unless he feels that way himself, as well as being afraid of being told he's doing something wrong.

All of that to say... I don't think he's consciously being a bad person, he's just limited by those he's surrounded by, they don't tell him about himself regularly enough to get him used to that kind of push back.

For the most part I think he's on the level, tries his best to be a good person where he can. He has some capacity for pettiness, but it isn't often his first resort. Some of his biggest moments of growth occur when he's learning of the realities of the world, like during the first Flaxan invasion, where he realizes how brutal the life of a superhero can be, but he rarely ever has moments of self-discovery, understanding and reconciliation. TLDR; this boy needs a therapist.

He has nobody to relate to because nobody is exactly on his level, and the people who should be concerned with his emotional wellbeing (Eve or Debbie) and they don't encourage him to open up.

Often what happens to him in sensitive moments, when he does genuinely try to open up (to Eve, when he is trying to communicate what happened with future Eve) he is very strongly shut down, which would further reinforce his insistence on not communicating his true feelings.

This happens a lot. I think the reason is because of bad writing, honestly— Some people (primarily female characters, like Eve and Amber) act as is needed to move along the plot, I believe, but despite this shortcoming in the narrative I chose to just... bake it into his character.

Mark's upbringing (as a white dude who is written by a white dude) means he not only navigates the world differently but is socialized differently than most likely me or you, so he has a different sense of entitlement, a different understanding of right and wrong, and a lack of curiosity.

i think he would be more knowledgeable in his like. mid-later twenties (wait until I make that Dilf! piece with @wingfleur) but he's bumbling for a fair bit of his late teens early twenties.

He's just a loser trying his best!!! anyway this turned into a ramble imma dip out—

[shiftingdisaster]

My Percy Jackson DR Intro ★*•.

About me

ᯓ꩜ Alvaro Willow, Child of Auroea.

ᯓ꩜ In this dr I’m 12 years old, going along with the ages of the main characters. Whats the fun of shifting to a dr if not to experience it at the same age it’s depicted in?

ᯓ꩜ I have brown curly hair with faded teal streaks, mostly just leaving green and yellow left, I love my hair being dyed but I love swimming in the lake and warm showers more than maintaining the color. Blue eyes with brown central heterochromia and tanned skin.

Godly Parent

ᯓ꩜ I’m a Child of Auroea, a goddess I made up, in this reality at least. Auroea, pronounced (Oar-re-uh), is the goddess of mystic powers. The powers that come from the planet itself, rain, earth, wind, and magic. She was one of the first Titan-Goddesses, born of a piece of Gaea that Helios found and crafted into a god. She’s the goddess who first created the mist that separates the magical world from the mortal one. She has powers in most the domains of the olympians, though less of a connection to them as they do. Her magics are what caused many animals and people to have access to magic, despite not being of godly descent or creation.

ᯓ꩜ Auroea’s sacred animals consist of Humming Birds and Manta rays. She’s the mother of the first fae and nymphs. Auroea is also known to be a protector of heroes, specifically but not limited to child heroes, so despite not being an olympian and not having demigod children anymore, she has a cabin at camp half-blood to honor her.

ᯓ꩜ Auroea doesn’t have many children anymore due to so many greek demigods dying by monsters hands, or claws, at young ages. She makes few exceptions over the millennia, one of which being me. The last child she had before myself was in the 1400’s and lived as a reclusive warlock in the woods.

Past

ᯓ꩜ I grew up in southern california with my older brother and dad, running around in the sun and going to my elementary school that was at the beginning of the street I grew up on. My life was fairly normal till I was 6, when I started getting visions. After having them a while, my dad concluded that it had to do with my mom and decided to take me to camp.

ᯓ꩜ Once at camp, I met Grover who ended up taking us to the big house where we were introduced to Chiron and Mr. D, They tried to figure out what was happening, because then we didn’t know they were visions, but since I hadn’t had a vision since coming to camp, they weren’t sure. But, despite that, barely a couple days after arriving at camp, I had a dream. Apollo showed up and told me what was happening. I was a prophet. My powers were supposed to show up earlier, but he held them off as long as possible so I could have a semblance of a childhood without constantly seeing the future. He told me about how he blessed me to hold off my powers, and now the blessing would work to help me have more control of my powers.

ᯓ꩜ Days later, a week into my first year at camp, I was the turning point in a game of capture the flag and once I was given a golden laurel for winning, My mother claimed me.

Apollo’s blessing

ᯓ꩜ Apollo first noticed my presence after I was given to my dad, sensing that I was going to be one of his prophets. I had a natural knack for my powers when I was barely a year old, which was when he first decided to bless me. He made his blessing so I wouldn’t come into my powers too early into my childhood and when I did eventually come into them, they wouldn’t be too powerful to where I had no control of them.

ᯓ꩜ My prophetic powers don’t have much of a physical impact on me, but they do tend to cause me to glow somewhat when in use. My visions tend to make my eyes emanate what looks like sunlight, while when I tell a prophecy my whole body emanates or rather, glows, the same light.

Powers

ᯓ꩜ My powers from my mother consist of weaker versions of her own godly ability over her domains, I can control rain and move storm clouds at will, manipulate winds to move certain directions or speeds, I can manipulate plants to grow at different paces and what directions they grow in, along with most forms of earth (dirt, rocks, etc).

ᯓ꩜ I can do advanced magics such as telekinesis, casting spells and curses, enchantments and mist manipulation. Although, I’m better at light and sun magic than others because of Apollo’s blessing.

Prophet related powers

ᯓ꩜ My visions are the more typical occurrence, my visions essentially take up what I’m visibly seeing and they show me images of something thats going to happen in clips that can feel minutes long but really my visions dont last more than 8 seconds.

ᯓ꩜ My premonitions happen constantly, they work like basic gut feelings, but much more intense. I’ll usually get goosebumps and then a STRONG urge to do something that I usually can’t ignore.

ᯓ꩜ I get prophetic dreams that are rare, but when I do get them they essentially show me extremely important details on whats going to happen soon, though they usually don’t show the right order in which things go down.

ᯓ꩜ I get trances make me act like an oracle when I tell a prophecy. I go into a vague trance where I’m still in control of my body, but my voice changes to a deeper tone and I get the obligation to go tell whoever the prophecy is for, their prophecy. I can usually go a couple minutes ignoring it if I’m in a fight but the second I’m not in mortal danger, I have to go to the person the prophecy is for and tell it to them.

Family

ᯓ꩜ My dad’s name was Gene Willow, he was 41 and died when I was 11. He was a doctor.

ᯓ꩜ My older brother’s name is Tenko Willow, and he’s currently 19. He has custody of me, even though I live at camp most of the year. He still lives in California, in an apartment that he keeps a room for me in, despite me only living with him one month a year, and he goes to university to get his degree in coding.

Items

ᯓ꩜ My main weapons that I use are my rings. I have two rings that I keep on both my middle fingers, black and white with small gold details, my rings, much like percy’s sword, can transform. If I make specific hand motions, snapping my wrists in certain directions, my rings will transform. If I snap my wrists outwards, my rings will transform into dual blades. My swords are thin and gold, with one having a black and one having a white hilt. If I snap my wrists inwards, my rings will transform into twin daggers. They look the same as the swords, but have more detailing on the hilts.

ᯓ꩜ My other weapon that I primarily use is my bow, because of Apollo’s blessing I’m almost as good as his children at archery. My bow is golden with detailing all along the base.

ᯓ꩜ My satchel is the main bag I take with me when I go anywhere, it has an extending charm I put on it so I can fit 3 times the amount of stuff that I should be able to in it.

ᯓ꩜ I constantly wear two necklaces, my camp necklace and my pendant necklace. Both have a black leather string, my pendant one just has my birthstone on it, while my camp necklace has 6 beads on it for every year I’ve been at camp.

Extra

ᯓ꩜ I have my cat, Luna, who stays with me in my cabin. She’s a tortoiseshell cat and 2 years old. I got her as a kitten for my 11th birthday.

ᯓ꩜ Hobbies include cassette making, journaling, reading, and jewelry making.

ᯓ꩜ Drself drawing!!

📍2016-!!

[nizhspo]

and this is just the intro.

chapter one: i hope you find somebody more toxic.

m.list | next

synopsis: you were supposed to outgrow him, supposed to outgrow everyone and leave that small town behind, but somehow, he outgrew it too, and instead of growing apart, you fell right back into orbit—same gravity, same pull.

pairing: atsumu miya x f!reader

january 19, 2024

miami, fl

your apartment smells like takeout and tension.

pad thai gone cold on the kitchen counter, noodles stuck together in a limp heap, the peanut sauce dried into a matte crust along the edges of the paper container. your chopsticks are still sitting beside it. you’d dropped them mid-sentence, mid-snap, mid-something, right around the time your voice cracked and his eyes stopped looking at you.

the window’s open just enough for the humid miami air to creep through. the AC hums in the wall, rattling like it’s working too hard. the light above the stove flickers every few minutes. and your phone? it’s been lighting up off and on for the past forty minutes, screen face down, as if that might stop the reality of tonight from bleeding into the rest of your life.

it started with lateness. like it always does.

he showed up twenty-six minutes after your reservation.

didn’t call. didn’t even text.

just knocked on your door smelling like cologne and apology, muttering something about traffic and suna and how his phone died on the way.

you hadn’t even gotten fully dressed.

just stared at him, as he stepped inside like nothing was wrong. kissed your cheek like you weren’t already stiff.

“you really blowin’ up over a dinner res?” he’d muttered.

you didn’t answer.

you just walked back to your room, grabbed your robe and your slides, and told him to order takeout since he fucked the whole night up anyway.

it’s thirty minutes later and he’s standing in your kitchen, leaning against the island like it’s holding him up, arms crossed over his chest like your frustration is some kind of inconvenience. the takeout sits untouched. the rice has congealed.

“you’re mad at me for somethin’ that literally wasn’t even my fault,” he says, tone low. almost bored.

you scoff. “you could’ve called.”

“and i told you—”

“you always tell me, atsumu,” you snap, rounding the corner, pointing with one painted finger. “you always tell me after the fact. like you think you being sorry is the same thing as me not being disappointed.”

his jaw ticks.

“i was sorry.”

“yeah,” you spit, voice shaking. “and now you’re annoyed that i don’t just fold like i always do. like every time you fuck up, i’m just supposed to lay down and take it—act like it didn’t hurt, like you didn’t mean it.”

you’re pacing now, hands moving, every step sharp.

“you always do this. you push, and push, and push until i snap, and then you sit there and act surprised like you didn’t throw the first punch. like when you lied about those girls in tokyo. or when you fucked that girl on new year’s and said it ‘wasn’t cheating’ ‘cause we weren’t official.”

his jaw clenches, but you don’t stop.

“i’m so sick of having the same fucking argument. sick of loving someone who only ever wants to win. and there are people out there—there are men who would kill to have someone like me, and you throw me away like it’s nothing—”

“okay,” he cuts in, sharp. “then why don’t you go find one?”

you blink. your mouth opens, fury rolling in hot waves. he laughs once, cold, humorless, through his nose.

“maybe he’ll yell at you louder,” he mutters. “maybe he’ll actually match your fuckin’ mouth instead of lettin’ you win every time just to keep the peace. maybe he won’t fold when you start pullin’ that guilt trip shit.”

you stare at him. and he still doesn’t stop.

“maybe you need somebody that’ll knock you down a fuckin’ peg,” he says, stepping forward now. voice rising, jaw clenched, hands still on the counter because he knows better. “somebody who’ll call you out on how mean you get when you feel insecure, how fuckin’ unfair you are when you’re scared.”

you don’t speak.

his chain glints under the kitchen light. his shoulders are rising like he’s lifting weights that don’t belong to him.

“you treat people like they’re disposable,” he says. “like we’re all here to prove to you that you’re hard to love.”

that’s when your throat closes.

you turn away—not because he’s right. but because it’s cruel that he’s saying it like this.

he grabs his keys like punctuation and the door slams thirty seconds later.

and you’re left standing in the middle of your apartment, barefoot, arms crossed over your chest like your own body might cave in.

the TV is still on, playing a rerun of some dating show you can’t bring yourself to mute. background noise. distraction. anything to drown out the tension wrapped tight around your ribcage.

the blanket on your shoulders smells like eucalyptus. like your hair. like him. you tug it closer.

your phone buzzes against the kitchen counter.

once. twice. three times.

you stare at it.

then it buzzes again. a fourth time.

a voicemail.

you know you shouldn’t listen—but you will anyway, because wanting to hear his voice has always been your worst habit. so you walk over slowly, each step heavy, and pick up the phone like it might burn you if you hold it for too long.

tap play.

“i genuinely hope you find a man that’s worse than me.” his voice is low, tight. like he’s speaking through the driver’s side window. “i hope he argues with you over dumb shit. hope he calls you out on all your little games, and i hope you actually listen to him, since you never did that for me.”

pause.

“i hope he wrecks you. not even ‘cause i want you hurt. just ‘cause you need to know what it feels like to give everything and still be the one who walks away with nothin’.”

you exhale slowly, face still, eyes dry as you press delete without flinching. another message loads before you can set the phone down, and despite everything in you that says don’t; you tap play again.

“i ain’t sayin’ i was perfect.” his voice sounds different this time. hoarse. smaller. “but i showed up. even when i wanted to disappear. i pushed past every wall you built. every time you iced me out. every fuckin’ time you made me feel like i had to earn your softness all over again.”

beat.

“and now you’re probably out with some dude who gets to eat off a plate i made. that’s crazy. i made you worth it for somebody else.”

this one stings.

you clutch the phone tighter, knuckles whitening, thumb hovering over the delete button like it’s the final word in a conversation you never wanted to end—but this time, you don’t press it. not yet. not this time.

you throw the phone into the couch cushions instead.

april 10, 2022

miami, fl

your place was smaller back then. one bedroom. all tile. a little drafty.

he brought you breakfast after a night out: iced chai and an egg sandwich, still warm in the bag. you hadn’t even wiped off your makeup yet, bonnet still on, eyeliner smudged beneath tired eyes as you leaned against the back of the couch.

you told him you weren’t hungry. that your stomach hurt. that lately, nothing tasted right.

that’s when he snapped. voice tight, sharp. he said he was tired of guessing how to take care of you, tired of the way you shut down and made him decode every quiet mood swing like a puzzle. said you were always sending mixed signals and expecting him to read your mind.

you cried into the throw pillow. he paced the kitchen barefoot, rubbing his face with both hands, walking in slow, frustrated circles on the tile floor.

the argument stretched for hours—back and forth, clipped voices turning to shouts, then back to silence.

eventually, he sat beside you on the couch. quiet now. he peeled the foil from the sandwich and held it up to your mouth. fed you, slowly, bite by bite, pausing in between to press his lips to your forehead like it could erase everything.

“just tell me what you need next time,” he said softly.

you nodded.

you never did.

january 20, 2024

miami, fl

it’s midnight now, and your phone is back on the charger.

face down. silenced. muted.

you don’t want it glowing in the dark.

you’re on your back, staring at the ceiling, counting the rotations of the fan like they might slow your heartbeat, like they might shut your brain up. they don’t. it’s cold in the room but you haven’t moved to pull the blanket up. you’re too still. too raw. too fucking awake.

you keep replaying it. not even the beginning—fuck the beginning. it’s the end that’s got you gutted. the way he said it, like it was a joke, like it didn’t punch a hole through your chest and twist.

“maybe you need somebody that’ll knock you down a fuckin’ peg.”

he didn’t raise his voice when he said it. didn’t even flinch. just stood there with that blank look on his face, like the kind he gets when he’s losing a game and already knows it. like he’s already halfway gone.

you didn’t even answer. just blinked at him, arms folded, throat tight, feeling your body go hot and cold and hot again.

and now you’re here.

you think about his voice. not the yelling, not even that line, but the way he sounded the night before. when he was pressed against your back in bed, half-asleep, mumbling into your shoulder.

the way he sighed after sex, deep and shaky, like he was exhaling his soul.

the way he said your name sometimes, slow and careful, like a lyric he didn’t want to mess up.

you think about what he whispered once, maybe a month ago, maybe longer.

“you ruin me,” he said, nose brushing your collarbone. you were soft with sleep, sore in all the right ways, tucked under his arm like you belonged there.

you remember laughing. called him dramatic. rolled your eyes even though you were smiling.

he kissed your sternum.

“nah. swear. you could break me with a look.”

you didn’t believe him, and maybe that was the problem.

you think about that now. about how he looked at you tonight, like he was daring you to ruin him for good.

and you wonder—

if maybe that was always the plan.

[opinions-about-tiaras]

Thoughts on Dropouts two big game shows and their host:

I get that both Game Changer and Make Some Noise aren't anywhere near as free-form improvisational as they appear. Sam Reich is playing a character in almost the same way Stephen Colbert used to. They edit the episodes, they cut things and move things around, and so on. It isn't straight-up reality show fake, most of the materiel actually is improvised on the spot. The bits aren't rehearsed.

But like... I would bet a lot of money that Sam did not actually trap three people in an escape room; the cameras almost certainly stopped after the intro was shot and they were all asked to give consent to the scenario, for example. You know? For insurance reasons if nothing else.

Having said all that, I've been rolling something around in my head for a couple-three years now... either as part of his genuine managerial and aesthetic preferences, or as part of the bit they're doing, Sam Reich REALLY seems to absolutely hate it, like REALLY hate it, when people get creative with his tasks and prompts, when they deviate from what he is expecting of them.

Which is really weird for what's supposed to be balls-to-the-wall improv comedy.

If he gives people a deliberately free-form task or prompt, he's fine with weird, out-there responses to that. "Sam Says: Go!" and Ally Beardsley is "You tell me to go? Cool, I'm flying to New York City like right now, tonight." But if any of the contestants try and get creative outside the bounds he sets, he shuts that right down.

A number of Make Some Noise contestants have, for example, tried to get clever by violating the spirit of the prompts they're given in order to either adhere to the letter of the prompts in a clever way, or re-interpret them to flip the bit on its head.

Brennan Lee Mulligan is asked to re-create sound effects for a movie clip using old-fashioned foley gear, and instead improvises a disaster sequence that actually does match what's going on on the screen. Vic Michaelis is asked to re-create the sound a musical instrument makes as closely as possible, and instead of trying to do it with their voice, they badger the musician brought in to demonstrate to play it again. That sort of thing.

Those people never, ever win the point when doing this.

Same deal on Game Changer. "Bring me a duck!" Instead of building a pile of boxes to retrieve the pile of rubber ducks that are way up high, the contestants draw a bunch of ducks for Sam and present them to him. They've fulfilled the task as requested! ... and he rips up the ducks and goes "no points for anyone."

Ally Beardsley responds to the prompt "Who can make the loudest noise on a gong?" by answering the question correctly: Brennan Lee Mulligan can. Nope! Shut down hard.

It was the Season 7 premiere of Game Changer that really crystallized this for me, honestly. Vic Michaelis completes the task "Take this standee of Sam Reich to the most remote location you can" by assembling over four hundred TV remote controls and surrounding the standee with them. This is clever, funny, fulfilled the task as presented, and they put in genuine effort to do it, all things you want from a Game Changer task... and Vic loses a point for doing it.

They colored outside the lines and must be penalized for it.

In fact, Reich referred to Vic's responses in a Polygon interview as "irrelevant to what I asked for," which is absolutely not the case for many of them. Sure, burglarizing his home is absolutely not finding the coolest free item on Craigslist. Everything else, though? Nah. Maybe Vic doesn't win the point, but they shouldn't be losing them either.

It's not a big deal, but it's so weird. Like, is he doing this out of a sense of fairness, "I can't give you a point for going way off the reservation when everyone else obeyed not just the letter but the spirit of what was asked." Is it "if I let these guys go any more crazy than they already go this is gonna cross the line from 'hilarious farce' to 'just plain farcical.'"

Or maybe I'm overthinking it, seeing something that isn't there. That's a possibility to.

[onyxbird]

I've seen a lot of posts encouraging people to call their Congressional representatives about... you know, everything, and that sounded like a nightmare to me. My area has all Republican representatives, and I hate 1) calling strangers on the phone, 2) trying to make an argument about things I don't feel I fully understand, especially to a hostile audience, and 3) situations where I don't know what to expect in general.

So, FYI for others who hate not knowing what to expect, my experience with calling my reps was:

The local (in-state) office numbers, during regular work hours, were answered by a person. The person was only there to take a message--I didn't have to have any kind of back-and-forth discussion.

They had a rote "thank you for calling __'s office" type intro, which was kind of mumbled (couldn't readily recognize the name they said, but I had triple-checked the number, so whatever).

I led with my name and that I was a constituent from [zip code] and had my talking points ready to go written down in front of me.

At some point in each call, I was asked for my phone number. They never asked for me to repeat or spell my name or for any other identifying information, so I'm guessing they either somehow cross-reference with the phone number or they don't really care about getting an identifiable name.

They said they would pass the message along, but asked no questions except whether I had anything else to add. It was a live human, but they were just taking a message.

They never asked me to repeat anything, so either they got everything the first time or (I suspect) they are only noting down the basic gist.

They sounded deeply tired and uninterested. (It's gotta be a shitty job answering the phone taking down messages from upset constituents.) So I'm guessing if your call is less than polished, they probably could not care less as long as they are able to note down whatever they're supposed to log.

The Washington, D.C., office numbers, I got voicemail even during a normal workday:

One of my senators had a full voicemail when I called.

Voicemail message for the other asked for a name, phone number, and brief message; I actually just ran out of time with what I wanted to say, but the system gave the option to hit a specific key to re-record.

[boyfridged]

Hi! Would you mind elaborating on the differences in how Mike W Barr wrote Jason vs how he wrote Dick? I re-read Barr's run with Jason on TEC recently and concluded that he pretty much gave Jason the standard Robin Personality(tm) for almost all of it, so I'm curious to hear about the distinction (haven't really read Barr's work with Dick before)

hi:) why not read it? batman: full circle is a really good one... it's a sequel to year 2, and my beginning and my probable end is an intro to year 2... it's all interconnected.

"robin personality(tm)" is a category that makes sense only if you look at the wide batman media, but doesn't mean much when discussing specific titles, authors and runs... and i've seen plenty of people saying "well, jay in barr's run is just a carbon print of dick," just as people say "well, pre-crisis jase is just a carbon print of dick," but both are simply wrong if you care to read more and compare.

dick in batman: full circle has a much stronger personality than barr's jay does, and goes openly against bruce's orders, tricking alfred to leave the manor and follow bruce. and bruce is so much stricter with dick too. it does, of course, have to do with the tone of those stories—full circle is much darker than the silver age-esque series that jay stars in. but that also tells us something about how barr views their respective relationships and batman "eras" in general; in his interpretation, early years of batman were challenging and there was no space for leniency in the field. bruce was still burdened by many moral dilemmas that did not crystallize into his strict moral code yet, and let him at times slip into the 'darkness' of the cases he was working. but later, when jay comes into the picture, the modus operandi is already set; bruce has many allies and little doubt in his heart. jay is also his second kid (and parents often get more lenient with their younger children) and barr's version of him, similarly as much of jay's early robin run is both at times insecure, and eager, his innocence shining through the shadow of his backstory.

it is true that barr did not seem very interested in working with jay's background itself; a huge loss! but it's not that he was writing just any robin either; it's supposed to reflect a specific time in the batman mythos.

of course, both archetypes—jay's compliant little self and dick's stubborn "recklessness," were and are keenly (and often completely randomly) distributed to different robins at different times by different writers; but barr did make his own choices here.

[cyberhughes]

— 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐑𝐔𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈 ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪ jack hughes

chapter 8: infrunami.

last chapter | next chapter

*:･✧* 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: jack hughes x fem!oc

*:･✧* 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: swearing, casual drinking

𝓐𝓾𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓻𝓼 𝓝𝓸𝓽𝓮: CAN YOU COME BACK TO MEEEEE CAUSE I WAS BLIND TO SEEEEE THAT YOU WERE RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME. ok sorry here’s the make up chapter…lowkey feels all over the place to me but i didn’t want to have to write 5 separate chapters just for them to get together like guys just HOP TO IT????

series masterlist + character intros

jack groaned as he woke up, body slightly sore and head pouding. he rubbed his eyes before turning over and grabbing his phone to immediately check his notifications. the first thought in his mind the second his eyes opened was to check if naomi had replied.

she hadn’t.

he ran a hand over his face, and got up from the bed heading over to the washroom. his mind had been in constant battle since last night, he didn’t know what he was supposed to do. he splashed his face with cold water to refresh his mind.

he walked out to the kitchen to see luke and quinn making breakfast.

“morning, asshole.” luke said, cracking an egg into a pan. jack rolled his eyes, “don’t even start.” he sat down at the counter and played with his fingers.

“you gonna talk to her?” quinn didn’t look at his brother when he asked his question, eyes focused on the meal he was preparing.

“i don’t know… i tried texting and calling her last night but she didn’t answer.” he shurgged and quinn whipped his head to look at him.

“hold on, what the fuck did you text her?” he walked over to his brother that was now pulling out his phone. jack opened the messages and re read them, letting out a groan at his stupidity.

“i swear to god…” quinn mumbled as he read over the drunk messages, cringing at the typos and pleads. “quinn what do i do?” jack whined as quinn shook his head.

“you have to explain to her in person, texting her this bullshit isn’t gonna do anything. she already feels terrible, so receiving drunk texts probably made it worse.” quinn explained as jack nodded, formulating a plan in his head to go see her today.

“and get her flowers, i think girls like that.” luke added, pointing a wooden spoon and jack, earning an eye roll from him.

“you better not fuck anything up more than you already have.” quinn added, giving his brother a soft look. “but i swear to fuck every time you guys interact it takes ten years off of my life.” he finished, rolling his eyes before going back to cooking and letting his brother think on things.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

the sound of jack knocking on naomi’s door echoed throughout the house as he stood on her front steps, a bouquet of roses in his hands as per his brothers suggestion.

his palms started to sweat and stomach churned as he waited for the door to open. he had spent the entire drive to her house rehearsing his apology but it suddenly flew right out of his brain.

his eyes widened when the door creaked open, but instead of naomi it was her mother.

“hi mrs hill…is naomi home?” his eyes looked past her into the house to see if he could spot her.

“she’s in her room…” she said hesitantly, looking at the flowers in his hand and then sighing, a faint smile on her face. “you can go see her.” she opened the door wide enough for him to enter and he thanked her.

as he took his shoes off, naomi’s mother spoke, “jack i don’t know what happened, what she did or what you did, but…all i know is that girl loves you, okay? so go on and fix it.” she placed and hand on his shoulder and his heart melted, nodding. “i promise.” he placed a hand on the one that rested over his shoulder before quietly heading upstairs.

her door was closed, and he probably stood there for a good two minutes with his heart racing before he knocked lightly.

he heard a disgruntled “yes?” and twisted open the door open with sweaty palms. naomi was in her bed, her cushions and comforters practically engulfing her. she had a grey hoodie on with he laptop rested on her lap, watching a show.

“what the hell are you doing here?” her eyes widened as she saw the boy standing at her door. she couldn’t believe it, how did he have the guts to even stand in her room after what happened last night.

everything that he had rehearsed had flew right out the window and his face turned red. “i…i came to apologize.” he said, lifting his hand the held the flowers to show her. she cocked a brow, not yet impressed.

“apologize for what? wasn’t it all my fault anyways?” she looked back to her laptop, not necessarily focusing on the screen but rather just avoiding the eye contact with him.

“no, you didn’t do anything wrong.” he bit his lip as he tried to formulate the right words, not wanting to make things worse. “i was an asshole.” he placed the flowers on her dresser and walked towards her, taking a seat on the corner of her bed.

“i was jealous, and i was such an asshole.” he ran a hand through his hair as he looked at her, but her eyes didn’t budge from the screen.

“yeah, you were.” she mumbled before pursing her lips, recalling the events that went down. the way he looked at her, the hate that spilled out of his mouth. “you know, the whole time during that kiss, i was just thinking about you. and then i went to tell you, and you just yelled at me.” she finally looked up, tears welling in her eyes. “you should have seen the look in your eyes, jack.”

jack could feel his heart drop as he watched the girl in front of him. “i know… i know…” he reached a hand over to wipe a single tear that fell down her cheek, and she didn’t know whether to turn her head away, or lean into his touch.

“naomi i don’t ever want you to feel like you did anything wrong. it was all me, okay? i never should have yelled at you like that, i was just…” he breathed out as he mentally prepared himself for what he was about to confess. “i was really jealous that you were kissing james and i took it way too far, i took it out on you. i know i get angry easily, but it never should have been directed towards you like that.”

“naomi, i’m so, so sorry.” he grabbed her hands and stroked his thumbs soothingly over the back of them. another tear fell from her eyes and she looked back up at him. “i know.” was all that she whispered before she scooted to the side slightly, signalling for him to join beside her.

he moved beside her, wrapping an arm around her as she rested her head onto his shoulder. the two had fallen into a comfortable silence, just soaking in the comfort of eachother’s presence.

it was an odd feeling for naomi, seeking comfort from the one who had hurt her. but she knew deep down that he was truly sorry. and while she would give him hell later for what he did, she was glad that he had come to fight for her rather than to never speak to her again.

she could feel her eyes get heavy as she felt the soothing touch of jacks fingers drawing on the back of her hand, and she’d soon fall asleep in his arms.

while their situation hadn’t been completely resolved, it was a step forward. and that was all they needed right now.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

two weeks had passed by, and naomi and jack had returned to their normal selves. no matter what happened to them, they’d always find their way back. they were each others person, and everyone knew it.

the group was currently having a bonfire at naomi’s house, chatting and having a drink or two. naomi and yasmin had ran to the kitchen to grab some marshmallows and chocolate for smores while the guys stayed sitting by the fire.

“so… you and jack are what now?” yasmin sat on top of the counter, taking a marshmallow from the bag and eating as she watched naomi search for the chocolate and crackers. the moment feeling somewhat reminiscent of their moment in the bathroom at the club that one night.

“i…i don’t know. friends still?” naomi shook her head, avoiding eye contact as she dug through the cabinet, mumbling something about her dad probably eating the chocolate. “come on naomi.” yasmin groaned as she hopped off the counter. she couldn’t believe that after two weeks and their heartfelt moment that they hadn’t just started dating. “what?” naomi finally looked up, furrowing her eyebrows.

“now i still slightly hate jack for what he did,” yasmin prefaced, biting another marshmallow. “but it’s so clear that you guys love eachother. i mean shit, you look at him like he’s dessert and you’re telling me you don’t want him?” she quirked a brow, awaiting an answer.

naomi felt her face flush at her best friends words. of course she wanted jack, she just didn’t know how to go about the situation. she knew that he liked her as more than a friend now, but he hadn’t brought that up so she felt like she couldn’t either. “girl you better let him know before he pulls some bullshit again.” yasmin shook her head, leaving naomi in the kitchen alone to think.

naomi frowned, maybe she should say something, after all she was going to confess to jack that night, so why was she holding back now?

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

trevor eyed the way jack stared at naomi through the kitchen window, nudging cole.

“what?” cole whispered to trevor, turning his attention to look at jack. “what’s up with them?” trevor asked and cole shrugged. “jack and naomi?” he asked for confirmation and trevor nodded. “most sus thing I’ve ever seen, i don’t know what going on with them now.” was all he said before leaning back into his seat, taking a sip of his drink.

“can you two just like, fuck already?” trevor spoke out loud nonchalantly and jack whipped his head around “what?” his eyes went wide.

luke and quinn had burst into a fit of laughs at trevor’s comment and jack glared and them.

“i mean like, this tension is really weird. i thought you guys would be official by now.” trevor raised a brow, confused at jack’s ignorance. “dude shut your mouth.” jack retorted, slumping into his chair.

of course he though they’d be official by now, but naomi hadn’t brought it up since he went over so he didn’t want to make her feel like she was rushing into anything.

he never actually responded to trevor, but just stared into the fire as he thought about naomi, he didn’t want to hurt her again. he couldn’t risk tearing apart the relationship they had just mended.

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊

it was 1:30 am, and everyone was starting to head home. jack being the last to leave of course. he was leaning against the front door, arms crossed as him and naomi chatted. if he was being honest, he wasn’t really paying attention to the words that were coming out of her mouth, but rather the way her lips moved and the way her eyes lit up.

“jack?” she noticed his dazed expression and waved a hand in front of his face. “what’s on your mind?”

you. he wanted to say.

his thoughts flicked back to what trevor had said during their bonfire. his heart beat quickened as he tried to sum up the courage to talk about their relationship.

“naomi what are we doing?” was what he breathed out and her eyes widened at his sudden question. “uh, what do you mean?” she responded.

jack was terrible at formulating his thoughts, as most could tell. he rubbed a hand on the back of his neck and his cheeks turned slightly pink. “i mean…friends don’t do what we do right? so, i guess i’m asking what are we?” naomi had to suppress a giggle as she watch jack become flustered.

she took a step closer to him, “and what is it that we do that friends don’t?” she teased and watched his cheeks grow redder. “i— well— like you know…” he fumbled with his words, not expecting her to be upfront like that.

“i don’t think friends want each other the way i want you.” she said, voice barely above a whisper and jacks eyes went wide at her confidence, mind lagging as he tried to process what she had just said.

“you…i…well so then—“ she rolled her eyes and cut off his rambling. “kiss me?” she tilted her head to the side and batted her eyelashes. jack felt as if he couldn’t move, the words that he was dying to say wouldn’t come out of his mouth. “you want me to…kiss you? for real? you’re not joking?” he felt like he was in a dream.

she sighed and was starting to get impatient. he was always so cocky and flirtatious but now that she was the one initiating it he went speechless. “you’re so insufferable sometimes. i said kiss me.”

this time, he didn’t have to be told twice before he grabbed the side of her face, pulling her in and locking their lips. she wrapped her arms around his neck and he kept one on her jaw, one on her waist.

the tension from their years of friendship had finally exploded, and as cheesy as it sounds, they could feel the fireworks were all around them.

here they were, just the two of them. finally indulging in their wishes and pushing past the barrier of friendship.

naomi pulled away, jack slightly chasing her lips but she rested her forehead onto his, staring into his eyes. “it was always you, jack.”

“you were right in front of me.”

©cyberhughes; do not copy, translate or repost my work without permission.

[flos-obsessivus]

I love your characters, your art, and your story so much, so consider this a carte blanche ask to lore dump as much as you want! I would love to know more about your fairytale guys and their worlds <3

Oh goodness... Well I can lore dump on the Fangs duo (Ivory and Severin) but not so much on the Lily duo. But I will say something, Lilian and Maleficus are supposed to be for a dating sim game that I was going to make, which is why I cannot lore dump too much, though I also haven't been working on that but I will still like to keep that somewhat of a secret.

For the other two though, they have definitely not been thought that much, I literally made everything up right after that post of a yandere snow white idea I had. And since I am a very indecisive person, there might be some stuff changed, but I myself are unsure what it is. There is a Lore fic I wrote for the ORIGINAL intro for the fangs duo, I haven't touched that for a long time though, honestly I haven't touched their lores (for both duos) for a long time. The lore fic is currently on 2.8k words give or take, if I were to re write it, it might be longer.

But here's some stuff for the Book of Fangs:

The seven dwarves are changed into the seven nobles, each representing a crystal that corresponds to their roles in the kingdom. I am still unsure if this will be the final list, but here it is;

I actually wanted to invite you guys to make your own ocs for the 7 sectors of the kingdom, but you know, I'm lazy so here hasn't been any movement in regards to that.

Each 7 noble families are actually used in the ritual to transform Ivory into a vampire. There is a reason why he is able to walk in the sunlight without repercussions.w

Ivory gave his heart to Mirror, but Severin confiscated it and put it somewhere that nobody other than him and Mirror. (His heart replaced the apple, it's the only way to kill him but nobody knows how to.)

I forgot if I put this in the intro but Severin is the grandson of the huntsman that was ordered to destroy the mirror.

Severin was not planned, it was only supposed to be Ivory but I don't want him alone so I made Severin too.

Ivory now lives in the cabin in the dark woods that was owned by Severin's grandfather. Ivory is the reason why the dark woods had turned into that and multiple monsters now live there.

The 7 nobles/dwarves were originally going to be thralls that Ivory controlled.

Mirror also has a crystal that represents them ;)

[nights-at-crystarium]

Fragments - episodes 41-46 author notes

You can find similar breakdown posts on older episodes in my pinned!

Get comfy and reread with me the finale of the Il Mheg arc and the intro of a certain loser.

First off, I wanna emphasize how important this arc’s for Vivi. Had he not liked Il Mheg in general and Feo Ul in particular, the rest of the story would play out very differently, and not in favor of the sundered. His initial positive impression of the First is pretty much the only thing that saves it.

We've reached a high, physically and emotionally. You know what that means, as per the shb rollercoaster rule :>

Pan pride pixie blesses Thancred, ca. 2024, colorized. I accidentally gave them the pan colors but hey it works. ALSO! Stars in his eyes.

Re: distant nightmare, I’ll let you in on a secret, or a third party perspective if you will. Vivi's full of shit, he's too focused on the big picture. He’s narrating this whole story, but his perspective is, well, just that.

Initially this was Vivi's inner monologue, then I thought that I should just let them talk, and it wrote itself.

More under the cut~

Drawing a buncha vivi-lookalikes that act soooooorta but not really like him, just slightly off, was a surprisingly fun exercise.

Luckily for Thancred, though, he sniffs out the pixie magic, and knows better than indulging them.

...Still, what a shitty fucked up day. Sorry, Thancred :’>

This here’s an example of a moment where I’m uncertain if I’m being too subtle and if this flies over some readers’ heads. He refers to Alisaie’s “job” of dragging Vivi back to msq, which she recently started lowkey dreading (episodes 32-33)

...Though she goes back to her “duty” in episode 43.

She's pointedly SILENT throughout the episode, doing her best to hold back.

Thancred's a man who can say no to begging dogs.

Gridania mention! Vivi’s gridanian! He never speaks ill of the elementals, he's wary of them even a world apart.

This pixie's life is something Feo Ul's willing to sacrifice. Episodes 42-43 tell this story in reverse order, yes this’s the pixie that was supposed to agree with Thancred and go with the Scions to the Crystarium.

As to why there’s a dozen of vivis popping up as a backup: they needed just one fake Vivi to go with the Scions, but try organizing the pixies. Their plan’s already failed when this first pixie-Vivi refused to play their part.

“Yeah no, our guy’s special, but not as special as to explode in confetti”

I love his first ingame appearance in that Varis cutscene, this moment has similar energy: barely enters the stage, instantly gets impaled on a long object. This’s not foreshadowing, no, why would you think that-

The “camera” is perfectly still, there’s even some symmetry, demonstrating how calm and prepared Emet is. He didn’t expect much and he’s still disappointed.

This’s a super old comic. I spent the first half of 2022 testing and trying to find a style for Fragments, back then I had no plans, none, zero, absolutely no interest to give Emet a role bigger than a mention. The earliest version of the script had very few Emet scenes, which, looking back on it, was gonna be a disservice to his character. Well, that changed rapidly in late 2023 when I fell for him so hard that I broke my neck, and now I look back on a lot of what I did with Vivi with new eyes. THE EYEROLL. After spending two years developing a guy for a fun wolgraha chemistry (at the same time I was perfectly aware that Exarch and Emet are foils. I made a foil for Exarch, what on earth did I expect-), I’m going through a mindblow after mindblow as I realize HOW GOOD VIVI IS FOR EMET (and vice versa ofc) and how many things they have in common. This wasn’t always the case, Vivi just gradually got more cynical, tired, ✨grey✨ and everything else that makes a guy consider hitting it with The Other Old Man.

They’re off to a great start.

From Emet’s pov, this must really hurt, as in how many other shards of Azem might’ve snarled at him like this. Even though he must be numb to it by now, who says that there isn’t the tiniest flicker of hope when he approaches yet another not-Azem. He may deny and hate and try to snuff out that spark, but the fatal Soulmate Magnet keeps doing its thing.

Parallels to episode 2.

Apparently, Vivi’s first reaction to encountering his to-be-most-prominent boyfriends is to attack them somehow.

This’s really, REALLY dumb of him, and he even comments on it shortly after. But yes, his isekai tale in the First was rather pleasant just until now, and it lulled him into the false sense of security. OF COURSE there are ascians everywhere, not just on the Source. Vivi just forgor.

Emet tests Vivi's reactions to insults/being treated as a lesser, silliness, flirt.

I regret to inform you that both Vivi and Alisaie have been disarmed so easily. The tone quickly shifts, the weapon’s lowered.

Alisaie makes bad puns/jokes in canon, I thought it'd fit if she laughed at that kinda jokes too, and in the least fitting situations, to top it off. Alphinaud’s disappointed, even if he can hardly be called an expert in humor.

“It’s up to you”. Emet stops fooling around, assuming a more serious tone. He may not respect Vivi or his agency here, but he provides him with a choice that's guaranteed to give him some trust points, and uses "we" for an illusion of unity/equality, a not really subtle nudge towards cooperation, it's not me vs you anymore, it's "us".

Whether Vivi picks up on the manipulation or not remains to be seen, but Emet gets his way here.

Forgive me this lil tangent, but I’m so giddy and excited to write Emet. If Exarch’s decently emotionally intelligent but still obtuse at times, Vivi’s a tier or two above him, he’s not a stranger to manipulation, he registers it being used on him, and doesn’t hesitate to use it too when it suits his fancy. He's quite good at people-ing. Emet, though, Emet’s THE emotional intelligence personified. He’s had literal thousands of years to practice, he leaves everyone else in the dust in this regard. It’s daunting but so exciting to write him, I hope to do him justice.

Let’s just talk.

𝓛𝓮𝓽’𝓼 𝓳𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓽𝓪𝓵𝓴.

Mark this moment, remember this line for meme value. If these last words aren't famous yet, they WILL become that when we see what they talk their way into <w<

Yes I'm going all in on tragic irony of Emet's situation.

Accidental Emet rp, with the hunching over and all. Or maybe Vivi already unwittingly mirrors him. Or maybe he always did- *kicked and dumped in the trash bin*

Man. I'm guilty of enjoying drawing Vivi in genuine distress. He’s so fun when he’s agitated.

Hidden Angst Time! It's all hehe haha until you realize that this might be a product of the hectic wol lifestyle forcing him to speedrun his emotions like this. Either speedrun, or be left with no opportunity to process them at all.

Also, the sandwiches! The framing’s deliberate, they’re on the foreground all the time, and Vivi only notices them in the very last panel.

I! Love! This! Face!!!!!! A rare neutral, relaxed, thoughtful face, he isn't performing for anyone here.

Nevermind Ardbert getting brutally ignored here x’D

The fact that a guy that Vivi had briefly considered as partner material shut himself away in the Crystal Tower for what could be the rest of his life has stuck with Vivi for good. Or should I say for bad. He might not necessarily care about ARRRaha, still it upsets him that he kissed someone who practically killed himself some days later.

I recently talked a lil more about the Bitchless Liar. This’s how Vivi remembers him forever, take it or leave it. But hey, this cool Exarch guy has big balls probably <- in-universe hc \o/

This episode taught me to draw BREAD.

Even though Exarch’s been nothing but sweet so far, one thing’s to acknowledge a fact with your brain, another thing’s to wrestle with your trauma and paranoia that have all rights to exist and fester. Ever since HW Vivi doesn’t accept food and drinks from anyone except the few trusted sources. This isn’t really covered in this episode, but hopefully hinted at just enough.

He takes a leap of faith. Or maybe he’s simply sick and tired of living Like This. Maybe sandwiches kill him, and he doesn’t really mind. And, when they don’t, he goes through a visible shift in attitude towards Exarch, as we’re able to see in the following episodes.

This’s all I’ve got for now, thanks for reading till the end~

[genericpuff]

Ive read a few of your LO esaays (all of which are really well written!) But I was wondering something.

Many people talk about how Rachel loves the story Lolita, and has talked about it before, but nobody has ever shown screenshots. I was wondering if you had any or knew where to find any. This is just being curious, not doubting your statements

Ah so I actually responded to a comment just like this a while back on reddit with all the receipts (it was particularly someone who was claiming it was all "made up" because like you, they couldn't seem to get any proof of it, which is totally valid) so I just had to go and dig those back up haha

DISCLAIMER: I want to make it clear that a lot of people tend to run amok with these suspicious pieces of evidence towards Rachel either "thinking Lolita was a romance" or being a pedophile. I want to make it clear that I do not think any of this is proof towards either of these claims. I do not think that she blatantly thinks Lolita is a romance, or that she was trying to perpetuate pedophilia in any sort of way, just that she may have wanted to have her cake and eat it too by acknowledging the age gap but embracing it anyways as she does throughout LO. I think, at best, she's a terrible writer who's still using the things she liked when she was a teenager / young adult as inspiration without actually going back and re-analyzing those things with an updated 38-year-old viewpoint (as she does this with a lot of things, not just Lolita). Claiming that the following receipts is 'proof' of Rachel being some kind of sex pest / pedophile is at best not constructive at all for the real discussions to be had concerning LO's subtext, and at worst, a serious claim that can ruin someone's life if thrown around without cause. Let's please be responsible and level-headed in how we approach this topic.

Old MySpace + DeviantArt bios with her interests listed:

Her old art site where she labels herself as a "lolita vamp" artist:

Her intro post from a lolita-themed forum she ran:

She does express that it's not THAT kind of lolita, which I'd like to think she never intended in the first place, but it's really telling that LO still manages to be that kind of lolita in a lot of ways, to the point that there are many scenes in LO that feel a little too similar to scenes from the 1990's Jeremy Irons adaptation, such as seen here.

(the above image are song lyrics written about the book, Lolita)

Also despite Rachel saying it wasn't "that kind" of lolita, she still made it clear back in the 2017/2018 run of the comic on Tumblr that Hades is, indeed, a "grown ass man", and that Persephone is a teenager.

And of course the proof is in the pudding, the comic itself is well aware of Persephone's age:

(either Rachel has been using Apollo as a mouthpiece for criticism for years, or she seriously thought this was supposed to make Hades look like the better partner for Persephone because "look at how mean Apollo is" when... he's deadass spitting facts LOL)

As I mentioned in my disclaimer, I don't think Rachel herself is in any way a sex pest or a pedo or whatever you might jump to assuming. Rachel has a history of being inspired by things she watched when she was a child without ever actually going back to re-analyze it or ask herself if what she read was credible or real-

(this isn't the only proof there is of her behaving this way, there's also the fact that she was clearly a huge Disney fan as a child but never asked herself why those movies worked as a piece of written media).

So again, I think at best she's just sort of dated herself by not going to the effort of researching the things she was into when she was a child, she tends to just throw things in that she likes haphazardly without a single thought as to why they worked in the first place or whether or not they would work in LO. Though this is a bit of a saltier opinion, I think when it comes to the Lolita thing specifically, I have a feeling she never actually read the book, just sorta did that thing where she watched the movie adaptation from the 90's and assumed that counted as reading the book and so she put it down as her favorite book / Nabokov as her favorite writer.

But none of that speculation really makes much difference because the evidence is 20+ years old. What does matter is that despite her tastes being what they were 20+ years ago, they're still present in LO and it's not even subtle, there are so many times Rachel has outright said both within the comic and outside of it that Hades is a "grown ass man" and Persephone is a literal teenager. Her fans, of course, will still go to the effort of explaining it on her behalf ("they're gods! ageing isn't a thing for them!" "how old you are doesn't matter when you can be immortal!" "well she probably doesn't mean LITERALLY 19, just like, the god version of it..."), but you can't deny what's coming from the horse's mouth - Hades and Persephone are in a relationship based on an intentionally massive age gap. Regardless of what completely speculative parallels we can draw between H x P and that of Lolita's Humbert Humbert and Dolores using 20 year old MySpace bios as evidence, Hades and Persephone having a massive and intentional age gap is undeniable fact made canon by the creator herself, no matter how you try and slice it.

[scary-grace]

EtGB!League having a karaoke night and Dabi and the reader absolutely belting MCR (I’m thinking specifically This Is How I Dissapear tho) I think that both of them probably had an MCR phase tbh.

I think you're right! Do I think Dabi would believe that Saintess had an MCR phase? Absolutely not, and it inspired a little bit of a fic. Apologies if it's not what you were thinking of, but the ask got my mind going for sure.

EtGB snippet, set between Chapters 20 and 21.

You're not sure whose idea a karaoke night was, but as soon as Tomura said the words, Re-Destro sent out a few members of the PLF to find, purchase, and set up a popup karaoke booth. You expected Toga and Twice to be into it, but even Spinner's done a song or two, and so far, you've sung backup for everybody but two people: Tomura, who wants to listen but not sing, and Dabi. And Dabi finally picked out a song you know.

You're holding out your hand for the mic, but Dabi won't give it to you. "Bullshit," he says. "You don't know this song. I mean, look at you."

"What is that supposed to mean?" You look down at yourself. You're out of costume for once, wearing the normal clothes members of the PLF retrieved from your apartment. You don't look weird. Maybe that's the problem. "Are you saying I'm not edgy enough for this song?"

"If the shoe doesn't fit --" Dabi shrugs. "You can sing cute songs with Toga and Spinner. I know you're only saying you like this shit to impress Shigaraki."

You were starting to get annoyed with Dabi for a second there. Now you're just laughing. "You think I'm pretending to like My Chemical Romance to impress Tomura?" Dabi nods, still holding the mic out of reach, and you decide to settle this quickly. "Tomura, are you impressed?"

"Huh?" Tomura's been waking up during songs -- with the way the League sings, it's hard not to -- but he always falls back asleep while everyone's trying to pick the next song. You're willing to be that he caught less than half the conversation. "What did I miss?"

"Me and Dabi are going to sing," you say. "Are you impressed that I like MCR?"

"What's that?" Tomura asks blankly. The doctors have been tapering down his painkiller dosage, but it's still kind of high. "I'm impressed. When are you coming back?"

"After I sing this song," you say. You've been sitting with him whenever you're not singing, and knowing how little time is left before you have to hand him over to the doctor, it's hard to pull yourself away. "As soon as Dabi gives me the mic."

Dabi glares at you, but he finally passes the mic over. "Just hum along," he says. Spinner presses play on the karaoke machine, and Dabi keeps talking over the intro. "Since you don't know."

"I know," you say, and you steal the first line right out from under him. "To unexplain the unforgivable -"

You can see why Dabi thinks you wouldn't listen to songs like this. And you aren't really edgy. You never were. You hung out with friends who pushed the boundaries, who got in trouble, but you never acted out. That didn't mean you didn't have things going on where no one could see them. Blasting MCR in your headphones on your walk to school, in your corner of the room you shared with Isuzu and Haru, wasn't much of a self-expression. It was a release valve more than anything. This song in particular.

Your singing voice isn't good or bad. Dabi's sort of tone-deaf. As far as the songs tonight go, the two of you are decidedly mid. You're aware of Dabi glancing over at you, clearly surprised, and once the song is over, he doesn't set the mic down. "Next song."

"No," Compress says. "It's Toga's turn."

"Toga had two turns." Dabi is scowling. "Next song."

"We're not gonna let you sing through the whole Black Parade album with Saintess," Spinner says. "You can do the next song later."

"Besides," Toga says, hopping up to take the mic from you, "Tomura-kun wants Saintess back now. He's lonely."

"I'm not lonely," Tomura mumbles. "Come back."

You settle back in next to him while Toga takes her time choosing her next song. Tomura leans against you, his head tipping onto your shoulder. "How come I never heard you sing before?"

"We never did karaoke before," you say. "I don't even sing in the shower, really. I usually don't like singing where people can hear."

"We can go for karaoke. In the new world." Tomura yawns. "I'm not going to sing. But you can."

"If it's just me singing, than it's not really karaoke," you say. "The rest of the League can come, too."

"Hey," Dabi says from across the room, where he's mixing a drink. "Your next song. Pick The Sharpest Lives."

You don't really care what you sing. It's nice just to be here, listening to Toga start up an oldies song ever so slightly off-key, cheering her on. It's the kind of night you haven't gotten in a long time, the kind you never thought you'd get with Tomura. The kind of thing you'll remind yourself of. This is what it'll be like. Singing MCR karaoke with Dabi and all.

"The Sharpest Lives," you agree, and Dabi grins. "I know all of them."

"I'm impressed," Tomura mumbles, and you laugh as you lean in for a kiss.