@playedbetter // Lyric Starters; Without Mythologies By The Weakerthans.

@playedbetter // lyric starters; without mythologies by the weakerthans.

Maybe the scariest part of seeing Kim with a fever, hot-cold all the time and aching, was less about the fever itself; it was about seeing how that sickness pried back the composure on him like skinning a beetle of its shell, it was less the times he was asleep and more when he was awake; often irritated beneath a reluctance to engage at all and murmuring barely there mostly through the breath of wheezing, it was more about the times he murmured at all.

The Lieutenant's apartment is clean, and maybe it would've reminded you of the Pox if not for the fact you were allowed within it's walls where many weren't, and the various small details that filled itself in on it's own lived in qualities. Clean but imperfect, and unable to escape from the fact of the city you both lived in ━ Revachol whispering on the paint cracked window-sills as summer heat leaked in through them, on the smell of maybe something rotten. gasoline. vaguely something plantlike, like trees bending their leaves up to break up the noise.

There are exactly 11 trees along Kim's street. Maybe you would've noticed in the way here, or maybe not, since Kim invited Harry over after struggling; frustratingly inattentive; throughout the day on a case, and the first time Kim had handed over his place at the wheel of the Kineema so willingly since the beginning of it's service at the station ( it might've been the station's vehicle, one he was lucky to have been able to take with him when transferring over to station 41 after a major amount of string-pulling, ass kissing, and excuses about repairs, but in the end it was always Kim's baby ) to Harry. ━ so naturally, there were many other things to notice when one is entrusted with the golden ticket of a sick man almost begging him not to crash the damn thing than the amount of trees on Kim's street. But there are still 11 trees, and one way or another, you'd gotten home.

And in this home, Kim lays on his back on his couch, glasses removed and eyes covered with a cool wet cloth as a radio plays some random station quietly enough to be unintrusive but still filling a white noise ━ something classical, or at the very least, instrumental. the voices of the piece if you focused on it no more than a distant kind of cloud that wasps over hazily on compressed air waves ━ and occasionally he murmurs to himself, quiet and voice shot. this was the scary part, what he'd say. what it'd tell you. this was the scary part, to hear him through the softest electrical hum...

" si je pouvais, je ferais de toi une rivière déchaînée avec des rapides en colère alimentés en pluie, pour que tu puisses toujours serpenter et pouvoir toujours t'enfuir… " ━ breathe in. ( if i could, i would make you a raging river with angry rapids supplied with rain, so you could always meander, and forever be able to run away… )

sings to himself, rather, here. sings to you? the language hangs on his tongue, syllable after syllable.

" sans lutter… contre les mythes mal interprétés, contre la douleur… " ━ breathe out. ( without contending… with myths wrongly interpreted, with pain… )

he does, sing to you. the only person you can remember who would, regardless of intention. he breathes with the music, and with it comes over with the terror of an honesty so grandiose it becomes small again; marble-like; like an unfulfilled wish he offers out, downy feathered, anyways, because the sentiment matters more than whatever it is now. maybe he doesn't even realize he says it out loud to begin with, but he does, whispers in the gentle shuffle of the apartment's small spaces, composure a dream he hasn't woken into, rarely; rarely, a heart on his sleeve. ( like speaking in your sleep. like honesty when you don't realize it, laid back on the worn cushioning of a couch, allowing himself not to see, allowing himself to merely be, be there. to drive him home. trusting. trusting you. )

See I like Sans but not in the funny meme sexyman way I like him in the way that he promised Toriel to protect a child that was going to be served as a sacrifice from the start because he couldn't find himself to say no to her genuine laughter and sense of humor at every dumb joke they told each other, how he cracked jokes and pranks to make this child feel comfortable while warning them to be careful and reminding them that people loved them and having a gentle heart doesn't make you weak like to this day I still think about "Take care of yourself, kid. Cause someone out there really loves you." and "You didn't gain LOVE, but you gained love." Sans is our friend actually

By now, Robin really should've been used to preparing for all kinds of weather given how long he's been doing this thing. ━ Bruce had never really been a take a scarf kind of guy, though, more of a check you have the essentials type, so maybe the little things couldn't be helped as much as he 'should' or 'shouldn't' have already been ready for a surprising cold-shock this early into the season. ( he's pretty sure he's already spotted ice beginning to form on the skins of uncovered pools and rivers, even if snow hadn't come just yet )

That still didn't make the cold air biting at his nose any kinder, though. the handful of thin layers between him & the chill, gloved hands tucked into his letterman jacket and curled into fists in efforts to shake off the icy feeling, weren't exactly the most promising. the white eyes of his mask stiffen into some kind of wince at the intensity as they step out of the building they'd been in, chasing leads, finding dead-ends, as his breath turns into a fog the second they pass through the doors. it was the usual kind of work for Robin, though he was mostly accustomed to doing it alone lately.

Maybe that's part of why he's unexpecting that the comment made just after breathing a flame of swirling fog from his nostrils as though proving a point ( though mostly just for fun ) was answered with such an unhesitating response, unseen eyes snapping to look at Bart in surprise as he offers out his coat. He can't help but blink.

" Yeah, I like coffee, " Robin offers the answer as he, a little tentatively, takes the jacket " Learned how to make it pretty young, so you kind of get used to it either way after a while. "

" But what about you? " the eyes of the mask take a harsh squint, head cocking on an angle, he gestures a little with the jacket; not straightening it out just yet to put it on " You're going to freeze without it, or does it not effect you the same way? " ━ an honest question! he wouldn't be all that surprised if Bart's heartrate was innately fast enough that the cold didn't quite get it's claws in him the same, but he'd rather be certain before casting him to the chilly air, too. ( or at least, be able to plan ahead to right it later. )

@quillheel / Robin : I did not dress warm enough for this…

bart gave him a funny look, brows furrowed with a little frown . and in the blink of and eye, his own jacket is taken off his shoulders and OFFERED up .

❝ say something sooner next time, dude !! it’s freezing . ❞ bart didn’t seem bothered by the cold despite that fact . ❝ here, take it . we can get some coffee or something, too . you like coffee, right ??? ❞

fp and moon

I love rough animator, I used tumblr's logo as the brush because it allowed any image to be the texture, surprisingly good

Bonus 2 lazy animations zoz, you can never guess the right one <- sarcasm

The shaken nerves permeate a little further instead of being settled in the uncertain taken-aback pause, and the more insecure, conscious part of him puts up it's hands for rejection to a heart bore honestly and puts forth the too-little-too-late consideration that maybe he should've waited. Maybe he should've, he considers it again, same as 'maybe he did' just in another skin, but this time the problem wasn't as vague as something being wrong, the problem was just him. him, so loud and urgent and lighthearted all at once, unanswerable, uncomfortable, putting her on the spot. he thought through it before, figured out the best way he could offer, but he always jumps the gun, doesn't he? when the pressure's on, he turns into a blazing thing that couldn't be contained, couldn't be accounted for, couldn't follow rules, couldn't do what they needed him to━━ Stop.

She didn't say no. He knew the freefall he was getting stuck on, and he knew how unhelpful it was. ( bite it back ) ;; Sure, maybe he should've, but he did, and in the end he loves her enough to fix it if it does need fixing the same way he would with anyone; anything else, ignorance not a crime so much as something he tries to mend, and tries not to fall into twice. ━ have a little patience. have a little faith. ( she's not gonna bite you for who you are. she never would. you found out that feeling like you did a broken leg, and it was a terrible one, but you know better. she's not the same. she never could be. )

anxiety was always like a lightning strike, like splitting dead wood, like the shiver of doing something wrong but his heart is louder, the side she brought out of him, and it rings when he realizes she's accepted, when patience pays off.

fuck whatever people wanted to assume. ━ this was what meant something, not rumors, not gossip, not assumptions on something he couldn't find in him to prioritize higher than he did her. maybe it'll bite him in the ass, when reality comes back to intrude, but the victorious feeling in his chest rings out like a bright brass bell and overwhelms it entire. too loud to hear, too loud to care about. ━ he'll handle it when it does ; always itching to move in the moment while he had it ; he'll take the teeth when it finds him, he'll take it because it made her happier, and that's enough for him. it'd always be enough. ━ maybe being called sweet adds fuel to that impulsive part of him, lit alive by approval & praise like a shock to the system. call it sugar-rush, but hell, he couldn't mind the feeling, not when it was from her

" Hell yeah!! " the words bubble out of him as partial agreement but mostly cheer, laced with a sincere elation that he couldn't help as dark eyes gleamed with it. but the blonde catches himself, aware enough to at least lower the volume, and tucks away his free hand into his pocket as an effort to contain his enthusiasm. his leg bounces with a better kind of electricity as he answers proper, grinning as he thinks for a second, and has to acknowledge that yeah ; maybe he's a little more out of his depths than he thought he was. ━━ " I mean- if you're cool with that! I don't know if there's some kind of shopping rulebook or whatever on if guys can come with, but I'm game if you are! "

" plus, " he adds, almost conspiratorially, like this was kind of heist and not just going to get a new outfit " I don't mind breaking a couple rules if you don't, neither, so why not? "

Sure, maybe he doesn't know the etiquette of how to refer more traditionally feminine clothes, and maybe he never really went out of his way to go pick up shopping things for Ann before, but you could never say he didn't have enough energy to make up for it twice over!

When her expression changes to one of surprise, smile vanishing, Ryuji can't help the pang of worry in his stomach that he did something wrong.

Maybe he did, a part of him murmured, you did just make a scene then proceed to ask if she wanted clothing coupons in public, you know? Maybe that'd be embarrassing for her, both in the ways of her disliking such attentions; her efforts to keep her head down royally dashed by sheer virtue of her befriending of him, not to mention the metaverse as a whole; and in the ways of what thoughts it might inspire. ( while Ryuji hadn't first known, hadn't first realized, the concept passed right by him entire until pointed out with pen and paper like an assignment he missed the date for; how many others shared that first unawareness? how many other people would judge her for it? their peers so often tore her apart as it is, a feeling Ryuji was so familiar with. was this feeding the vultures? was it baiting them in? if not appearance in one way, then they would always find another. they would always find something different, they would always find something. )

for a split second, his center of gravity shuddered just enough to make his nerves feel shaken, and he tries not to look too worried. it was just surprise, and if she did turn it down, really turned it down, he could give them to someone else; the sentiment, hopefully, not a bad one. not a lost one. ━ but he hoped she'd take them. he couldn't know what it was like to be who she is trying to outlive who she used to be known by, but he wanted to help, even if he couldn't. wanted her happy, even if it was fleeting. he knew that always, always, she'd deserve that much. ( so he hoped she'd take them. he really hoped she'd take them... )

but Ryuji almost gets blindsided by his own momentary past self as he straightens out properly with his breath regained, not expecting to be caught red-handed in his half-step falter of language; he should've, Akari was quick, quicker than anything, and he finds himself kind of glad for it, but also a little embarrassed at being called out

" Oh! Uh.. " the bleached-blonde falters, not untruthfully, and scratches at the back of his head, openly unexpecting of it, as the other arm he holds the coupons with bends & lowers only slightly in his thought, the offer still blatantly on the table despite the motion " Reason I asked is 'cause, well… I wanted to know if you'd wanna go together! "

might as well be honest! ( double down! )

" I don't really know how to style an outfit like you or the others, a-and I don't know nothin' 'bout girl clothes, " Ryuji bounces his leg by the tip of his shoe, scraping it against the ground, bluntness overpowering the anxiety beneath it " but I like hanging out with you anyways, no matter what we do, and you deserve something nice! "

Ryuji's conviction of the statement is honest, heartfelt, unhesitating. he doesn't even need to think about it to believe it, like it's just a fact to him, like simple truth. he waggles the coupons like it's proving a point, flimsy paper slips shivering in the wind " and if I gave 'em to Ann, I'm pretty damn sure her closet would explode at this point… "