#still under theeeee covers

[okcoolthanks]

Ughghgughghhhhugg

[goldrushzukka]

aidays playlist breakdown: chapter 4 weekend at momo's

happy birthday aidays!! you know the drill by now let's go girls

here's the fic

here's the playlist

let's get married by bleachers

its not on spotify but the mitski cover of this song is actually what i intended for this chapter. nothing against the original it's just that the mitski version makes me want to bash my head against a wall

(ID: "Change me at all costs / Starlight and star-crossed / Take me so breathless / We could be reckless / Why don't you change me at all costs? / Starlight and star-crossed / Take me so breathless". End ID)

they are changing each other. they are growing with and because of each other. like, sokka has his life in order. he has a decent apartment, a good job, and the best people in the world. he's got everything exactly how he likes it. nothing needs to change. and then along comes zuko, this whirlwind breath of fresh air, and he starts to realise maybe change doesn't always have to be bad! sometimes it's good to let people in! because what if you fall in love! AND ZUKO..... zuko finally admitting to himself (and ty lee i guess) in this chapter that he likes sokka as more than just a willing body, after he's spent so long with that part of himself closed off! he's found someone who wants him, in more ways than he realises at this point, trauma and all.

a loving feeling by mitski

ok so. this song is technically about a one-sided/secret relationship, which is not what aidays is. but. it makes me crazy.

(ID: "Holding hands under a table / Meeting up in your bedroom / Making love to other people / Telling each other it's all good / Kisses like pink cotton candy / Talking to everyone but me / I'm staying up late just in case you come up and ask to leave with me". End ID)

for me this verse is about them saying again and again this thing is casual, while doing things that clearly suggest otherwise. it's a booty call on a saturday afternoon, a hookup in a dirty bar bathroom, a quickie in the shower before work. but it's also a key, a standing coffee appointment, a jacket as a blanket. it's sleeping together and it's. well. sleeping together.

(ID: "What do you do with a loving feeling / If the loving feeling makes you all alone?". End ID)

this is the anxiety. the dark cloud hanging over the fic. they've set these boundaries, and they've both quietly broken them, so where does that leave them? what do you do with love when you're not supposed to have it?

crush by tessa violet

this is theeeee "i like you more than i probably should" anthem!!!!!!!!!!! im falling in love and its so embarrassing dont look at me!!!!

(ID: "You think I'm tepid but I'm misdiagnosed". End ID)

this is the problem sokka and zuko face. they are both falling fast and hard while convinced the other is still fine and respecting the no-strings-attached rule. "if he wanted more he would say so" you want more, are YOU saying so? didn't think so, stupid

(ID: "And I'm just tryna play it cool now / But that's not what I wanna do now". End ID)

imagine you are zuko. your very casual sex friend (who you are stupid crazy about) gives you a key to his apartment and basically gives you an open invitation to be with him in his home whenever you want (which is always). and then you spend a weekend alone in said apartment surrounded by his cat and his pictures and the smell of his shampoo, and when he comes home he asks you to stay in his bed with him. and you are expected to be normal about this because one time in a bathroom at a dive bar when you were trying to get back into this guy's pants you said you would be.

(ID: "You make it difficult to not overthink / And when I'm with you I turn all shades of pink, ah / I wanna touch you but don't wanna be weird / It's such a rush, I'm thinking wish you were here, ah-ah". End ID)

this is the nature of a crush: every crumb of maybe, every inch in the right direction, hyperanalysed and overthought until you feel like you might explode. what did he mean when he said "how's my baby?" can he tell he makes me want to scream? is it okay to touch him, is it okay to hold him, is it okay to want him?

(ID: "But I could be your crush, like, throw you for a rush, like / Hopin' you'd text me so I could tell you / I been thinking 'bout your touch like / Touch, touch, touch, touch, touch / I could be your crush, crush, crush, crush, crush". End ID)

the predicament zuko and sokka have put themselves in is that they want each other so badly that they cannot imagine making the first move. because what if it goes wrong? what if they say the wrong thing, do the wrong thing, and then the whole thing is ruined forever and they can never see each other again? they're both in this state of knowing that if it turns out their feelings are reciprocated, this is it, they are in this for the long haul, 104 years old dying in each other's arms -- but also knowing that if the feelings are NOT reciprocated, they are in for the worst heartbreak anyone has ever felt ever in the history of heartbreak. both equally terrifying options.

kill the director by the wombats

you know when you have a crush and everything is just pain all the time but youre also having the time of your life. yeah

(ID: "I've met someone that makes me feel seasick / Oh, what a skill to have, oh, what a skill / To have so many skills that make her distinctive / But they're not mine to have, no they're not mine". End ID)

i think one of the most important things in any ship dynamic is for both of them to think the other is the most divine creature to ever walk the earth. unfortunately for them (but fortunately for me) this is a perfect breeding ground for anxiety and "oh woe is me my beloved is a magnificent angel and i am but a lowly slug how could they possibly return my affection" type internal narratives.

365 by katy perry & zedd

katy perry literally always gets it right like every time she steps into the studio she becomes vessel for god

(You make the weekend feel like year / Baby, you got me changing / 24/7, I want you here / I hope you feel the same thing". End ID)

(ID: "I want you to be the one to stay / And give me the night and day". End ID)

I think this speaks for itself:

When Sokka crosses the room and slips under the covers beside him, Zuko says, “I can leave, if you want. I can go home.”

He says it, and doesn’t move a muscle. 

Sokka reaches across him to turn off the light. He finds the switch, and then there’s the moment of eyes adjusting to the dark, and then Sokka realises that his face is barely an inch from Zuko’s.

A small voice, rabid and impulsive from sleep deprivation, whispers in the back of his mind. Kiss him. Kiss him. Kiss him until you can’t breathe.

Sokka doesn’t kiss him. Instead, he tests the flexibility of casual another way.

He asks, still barely hovering over Zuko, “What if I don’t want that?”

Zuko swallows. “I can stay.”

“So stay,” Sokka says, and lays his head down on Zuko’s chest.

-

Sokka steps over his discarded shoes and slips into bed beside him.

“I can leave, if you want,” Zuko says, and doesn’t move an inch. “I can go home.”

Sokka reaches across him for the lamp, and now they’re chest to chest, and Zuko can barely breathe. His eyes drop to Sokka’s mouth.

The light goes out.

“What if I don’t want that?” Sokka asks. Zuko can’t see much in the dark, but he can make out the shine of Sokka’s eyes and the pleading shape of his brow.

Hesitation creeps up his throat. Zuko swallows it.

“I can stay,” he says. His blood pounds in his ears.

Sokka moves then, shifting downward. He lays his head on Zuko’s chest and whispers, “So stay.”

Zuko stays, and lets himself fall.

[mourne]

(( an old story from Burning Crusade- ‘Twain Shall Meet’))

1.

It was evening and the moon hung low in the sky,drifting towards a proud stone edifice. The soft light beamed through tall, narrow windows, spreading diamond shaped patterns on the floor. Paneled in dark wood, swathed in heavy, green velvet curtains, the eastern outer corridor of Baron von Morningfire's summer estate brooded quietly in the moonlight.

Soft footsteps tapped at the silence of that hall. One long shadow crept into the room, stretching as a black streak over diamond patterned floors. As the shadow loomed larger, the edges of the shadows began to blur and tremble, as if pulling towards each soft footfall- though some would call it a mere trick of the moonlight scattered below.

Then the source of the shadow's desires walked into view. Kohl-smudged green eyes glowered in a too-pale face. Delicate, refined features were carved there in flesh, framed in ebony hair. The smooth locks trailed down to matching dark robes. Only the tiniest glints of silver thread and silver bells in the hair gave any light.

At the end of the hall the elf wrapped in black paused. There before him was a heavy, oaken door. One slender hand turned the handle, and the elven shadow slipped inside. Here the tall curtains were closed, and all the lights were extinguished- save the flickering of the fireplace light. Warmly it spread over the two large chairs arranged by the fire.

The only one seated within gazed quietly at the fire, watching the dancing flames. Green eyes more often gleefully impish were subdued. The noble-featured head was bowed low, brilliant scarlet hair unbound and hanging loosely. Lips commonly in a grin were oddly set in a thin line as he turned his head towards the door.

"Lord." The red-haired elf's voice held a hint of subdued amusement.

"Baron." The reply was soft.

"Cirdath, please, have a seat." At a glance from the darker elf, he smiled. "Mourne. Ah, forgive me, I cannot help old habits."

"My thanks, Reowen." The hunter was rewarded with a gentle smile as the priest moved to stand before the fire.

The hunter slowly rose, his movements silken as he moved to the shadow. One arm curled around his waist, and lips moved to whisper lowly in an ear. "Shall we begin?"

And the priest smiled.

2.

"I call thee here in visible shadow- with binding of Names-"

Tapestry hung walls, velvet curtains, gilded furniture of gold warmly glowing under the flares of magical sconces made the most unlikely setting for unhallow rituals of the dead. Yet any who merely dabbled in the dark arts would blanch in recognition at the interlocked circles drawn in arcane fire upon the luxurious rug- symbols among the most foul of necromancy and summoning.

"The Three, the Seven, the ONE beyond..."

The dual circles glow in bright blue fires, sigils of dark portent along the edges. At each cardinal point, save where the two joined, a candle of strangely non-flickering blue flame burned. At the southern circle- the shadows pulled and swirled around a thin, pale elf.

"...  to thee, Unconquered Sun, Lamented Moon..."

Swathed in black, the top portion of his robe was pulled down to hang loosely from his waist, revealing the wide bands of tattoos upon his torso and arms. Matching sigils bordered the bands, and one may swear in the flickering light they wavered as he intoned lowly.

"By the Three Hidden of the Gates ...from the Tomb of the Reborn... By Will of the Seven- pierce the Veil, it shall be torn before me for as long as dust shall eat the days."

A plain, cruel dagger of cold aura was in his hands, and the dark-haired elf idly cut his finger. He started to trace sigils in the air with that bloodied digit, blazing in bright fire as they hung in the air as the blood was consumed. His voice grew louder, and forbidden words echoed along the sumptuous walls.

"By the Grace and the Damnation, the Fourth of the Seven calls. Dark calls to Light, Light calls to Dark, and He Who Seeks bids an Answer."

And then- only then- did a thin mist start to arise in the other circle. The room grew cold, until the breath of the dark elf and his scarlet-haired watcher could be seen. As the mist grew thicker, Mourne bowed low as a welcoming gesture- and the mist shimmered, seeming to bow in return.

"...heeeeeeeere... I coooome to theeeee..." The tone was but a hissing whisper, an audible shiver of frost hanging in the air- of thin, crystalline notes.

"Lord Brightgold. As requested, your heir was cleared and restored- recorded within the Annals of Silvermoon. The Dame is once again in a state of grace befitting her, and the young heir is under the watchful eye of the Baron." Mourne smiled pleasantly, unfazed by the chill. His breath hung in clouds before his lips, a glimmer of frost began to try and form upon him- yet near his sigils of his flesh it melted and steamed away.

He held open his hand, a tarnished sigil ring of House Brightgold resting on his palm. "Thus proof. So- the Lord Whitemorn who ruined you- the papers that are proof of his wrongdoing he wished to have so badly- you will reveal the location now?"

A howl of mist swarmed towards the ring on Mourne's open palm, swirling about his hand. The shadows at his feet rose to meet it, starting to push it aside, but a small gesture from the priest's other hand set the shadows down. For a moment the mist lingered about the ring- then suddenly swirled back to the second circle, taking shape one again.

"...theeee ruins of ouuuur... estaate... west tower. Top floooor... thiiiird beam. The ring is.. the keeey, tuuurn thriiice towards the riiiising suuun....intone the Pale Name...Seeeeeker..." The shrill words carried through the chill air. At this Mourne turned, clutching the ring in his hand, and nodded towards the red-haired hunter standing to the side with a questioning look on his face. Reowen nodded in return.

With a gentle smile Mourne spoke, inclining his head to the spirit. "Vengeance then, shall be done. You are free to go."

"...at laaaast..." The words grew thankful, tender- the mist rapidly dissolving. Suddenly- every source of light- the candles, the sigils upon the floor and hanging in the air, the glow of the circles and magical sconces in the wall- all went out. The room dropped into blackness.

The Baron von Morningfire simply strode to the wall of windows facing east, pulled aside heavy velvet curtains, and threw the windows open to the gardens beyond. The cooling evening air rushed inside, and the fading light of the sun both filled the room. Turning, the scarlet haired hunter smiled at the raven haired priest. "We can gather it tomorrow. It shall do nicely."

Mourne glanced around his feet, checking to make sure all the circles and sigils had completely vanished. Catching Reowen's questioning eye, he merely replied with a sardonic grin. "Indeed. And worry not for your rug, Reowen. 'tis well."

The dark priest glided over to the baron as they strode onto the patio, facing the gardens outdoors. Far to the east the sun was slowly being overtaken by a dark, thick storm cloud. In the heat of the summer eve- the far off patter of rain was faint. The rich, earthy smell of rain first hitting earth waved over the two standing there, passing by to purify the newly opened room with the wholesomeness of nature.

"The storm is coming."

Quietly the two nobles stood, slowly watching the wall of rain blow in from the east, the patters growing louder- the hiss threatening to overtake all other sounds save the crackles and rumbles of thunder. Mourne leaned upon Reowen a moment, the weariness growing, and the redhead wrapped a warm arm around him as the rain started to pour upon them.

Mourne smiled as he closed his eyes, tilting his face up to the rain.

"Nay... the storm is here."

  3.

The rain continued to patter loudly against the flagstone patio into the wee hours. Drawn back curtains and open windows let the bright flashes of lightning into the bedroom, shadows sharp in that instant. When they faded from that moment's strike, the soft glow of one lamp resumed, casting gentle light upon the figures entwined below.

"... still nothing of those years?"

A slightly calloused hand traced dark sigils tattoo'd into flesh- gliding over sinewy contours. Scarlet hair fell over skin as the hunter pressed a kiss to the sigil on the priest's shoulder. "You were missing since that day, Cirdath... even I could not find you until you showed up in Silvermoon again as Mourne."

"That day..." Mourne idly wrapped his fingers in the damp, scarlet hair. Wrapped around his fingers, it brought up disturbing echoes of blood on his hands- causing him to frown as he spoke. "Before that day there are glimpses of Cirdath's memories. And my own waking 6 months ago. But 'tis all darkness in between."

"It took a lot to cover it up- and why not? Hundreds, maybe thousands- of living and unliving went missing that day. Gods, you should have seen him." Reowen shuddered in a moment of weakness the memories brought back. "After the Scourge came through... He was found wandering his empty estate. And his eyes were changed..."

"Change enough to do as he did to me... and others. A little recalls him now." Mourne turned the hunter's face towards him, pausing to delicately nibble on the offered lower lip. The priest was rewarded with a muffled, throaty purr wrapped in a deepened kiss.

"Yet you still..."

"Yes, still." Reowen leaned back against the pillows, a wry, apologetic smile flickering over his features. A hint of memory tugged at him, the last time him and A met.

You just won't let go, will you?

The hunter shook his head, confessing softly to the priest. "He won't let me any other way. But sometimes... there is a tiny moment I can pretend."

Mourne quietly smoothed a hand over the hunter's ear, murmuring a quiet mind soothe spell. Reowen turned to him in relief, an oddly gentle look in his eyes. "Reo... he told me I crossed all boundaries. Not a warlock, nor a priest- but something beyond. That I summoned demons, and undead, and elementals- broke all laws in my quest for power."

Mourne chuckled quietly, shaking his head. The small silver bells tinkled merrily. "I do not even know what I sought... truly, I had hoped to place all those dark magics behind me, as Mourne. But when I opened the way to bring back Kiirei- I was caught once more. Those that Cirdath swore himself to- they embrace me gleefully."

"Him - a few times ago when we spoke- he said I am still Cirdath, no matter what name or protests I hide under. And it was Cirdath’s mark that showed upon Mortakai." The raven-haired priest continued softly, eyes downcast. "...it was not mine."

The baron's voice was soft. "... we shall have to wait, then, and see."

Silence hovered, and outside the storm slowly faded away. What was left of the night's darkness crept over the figures, hiding all from view. All was still.