just know i mean it

why it sounded like a good offer was anyone’s guess, but owen quickly realized his mistake at tristan’s tone. in his position, he wouldn’t have wanted the pictures either - he was uncomfortable enough with them in his own being, and he was a feature in most. “they’re probably out of order or something, you probably weren’t born yet in a lot of them.” it was a hollow reasoning, and owen was almost embarrassed to spew it, but it was easier than admitting that maybe he could understand why tris felt so strongly in his insistent that owen was the golden child in and out of albums. the answer came quickly into his head. ”because he’s a miserable fuck.”  grimacing for a short second at the proof before knuckling shut the cover once and for all, he sighed. “he’s never liked his picture taken,” he instead verbalized, shrugging as he returned to his bed.

oxy.

there were enough conspiracies bounding around owen’s head as to why the displeasure was so immortalized, but knowing the concrete reasoning wouldn’t do anything for the situation - or the relationship, so it was back to blissful fingers in ears, ignoring the problem like their mother taught by example. maybe they’d done a little better than owen thought, if it took an album of evidence to realize. “okay well... i don’t have the shirt, but you can take the pictures.”

owen: it is, hence it not being my responsibility

owen: he wondered if bianca knew she was getting under his skin with her line of question, but really would it make much difference? the answer came quickly, and with a sour expression. "you put it on so it hurts him more when you punch him in the dumb face."

owen was the one that asked, but was a little dumbstruck by the elaborate answer clare had to offer, staring back at her until she finished. “oh.” he chirped simply, not knowing how to reply that wasn’t un-studious... or offensive. “guess this is the right school for ths book after all.”

owen can only grimace as tristan so passionately disputes his claim. he expects him to hold the conspiracy he always had, really since he was old enough to formulate (bitter) opinions. but that wouldn’t mean owen would ever agree. “he looks pissed in the ones he is in,” he conceded, reaching over to flip through a final few pages.

owen: though a rarity, there were times when the boundaries of their ambiguous relationship blurred, and this was a toe dip into such terrain. he couldn't rightfully forbid her from the project, he didn't own her, but that didn't mean he liked thinking about it. "no," he decided with a sigh, "just don't go marrying the dude or anything."

owen: why is it up to me to fix

She’s taking her sweet time getting Martin a taste of his own medicine.

a sea of idiots, owen was surrounded. younger, lazier, more annoying. zig was the poster child for such. he knew he’d never get through zig’s thick skull why he didn’t approve of the path he was aiding his brother down, so there was no use explaining. it was a cardinal sin, a little weed, and god knows owen was in no place to condemn it, but he knew that baby steps could go wrong, and fast. “you,” he answered plainly.

the moment the idea was verbalized, owen wished he could recant. the existence of a second album would have been shoved in his face on day one, instead the lone token was sprung on them both to understand. “they’re your parents, they don’t just not care about you,” he sighed, always prepared but never willing to endure tristan’s dark insistence.

“jesus, they gave Easy A as homework to a shitload of horny deviants?” it wasn’t the classiest wording to express his surprise, but it wouldn’t be owen otherwise. “what are we supposed to learn from this book, exactly?”

owen: grumbling to himself, he relented. even if he did want the sorry, he knew better than to expect it, or for it to be sincere. revenge was a better idea, and bianca was a rehearsed seeker. "i'm listening. how far is this going, exactly?"