Anyway I think more video game quests should make you uncomfortable and guilty and mislead you and corner you between a rock and a hard place and offer hollow victories. There's nothing more annoying than quest writing that scrambles to assure you that you're niceys and good and nothing you put your hand on can ever have negative consequences. "You cannot save everyone" and I cheer and whoop etc.
Normal groceries like milk or bread or whatever running out is whatever. Just anotha day. But when stuff like salt or cooking oil or rice runs out it feels like You’re supposed to be here for me and you’re leaving. You’re just like everyone else
thank you pearl!! <3 this is longer than i planned on and also. the first time i've written anything for infamous but i was Gripped
31) breeze
August is not used to seeing Nayeli struggle with music.
Everything she does—from jaw-dropping vocal runs to seamlessly accompanying someone on acoustic guitar or piano to knowing exactly how to produce a song—she makes it look easy. They know it’s not, of course; they have not seen all of the work she put in to get to where she is now.
Until this moment, that is.
She huffs an exasperated breath as her grip on their spare drumsticks falters once more. She had asked them to teach her how to drum as a way to take her mind off of all the madness in the press. Lessons have been slow going with the demands of their schedule, but August always looks forward to having more time alone with her when they can manage it.
In the comfortable silences and increasing number of inside jokes they share, though, it is getting more difficult to pretend that they’re only bandmates.
Returning to the task at hand, August instructs, “Turn your hands up a bit.”
“Like this?”
August slowly shakes their head, anticipating another exasperated sigh from her. Nayeli responds as predicted and rolls her head back to look up at the ceiling for good measure.
“Can you show me?” Dark brown eyes meet their own when she asks and that now-familiar shiver begins crawling up their spine. If anyone else asked, August would think it was a line, an easy way to get August’s hands on theirs, but Nayeli is genuinely invested in their lessons and they know she hates not knowing how to do things more than she is flustered by them.
(She is flustered by them pretty frequently, though.)
August nods once. They stand behind where she is seated at the drumset, catch the faint notes of her citrus perfume, and softly grasp her wrists. Nayeli’s breathing hitches and she audibly swallows—a small smug smile tugs at August’s lips and they’re grateful she is not looking at them—as they trail their hands down to cover her own. They adjust her grip, savouring how soft her hands are, and demonstrate how she should hold the drumsticks by moving her hands with theirs.
“Like this,” they explain.
Nayeli takes an uneven breath. “Oh. I see.” She clears her throat. “Thank you.”
They nod again. “Maybe you’ll be out-performing me in a year,” August offers offhandedly as they withdraw from her.
Nayeli turns around to look at them, searching their eyes for something. “No I won’t. You’re incredible—I still think about you during our first performance—and I’ll still need you as my drummer. And… I like having you around.”
It’s August’s turn to catch their breath. She is so earnest at unsolicited times it catches them off-guard, and they haven’t learned how to find their balance yet.
They meet her honesty in kind: “I like being around you too.”
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