#Anyone else got odd writing/creativity brainstorming routines like this?

[80hd-selkie]

I've developed a routine completely by accident that feels very silly. I get in the shower. I'm washing my hair. The writing ideas start flowing. I basically daydream a whole lot of shit. I get out of the shower. I sit on the bed in my towel and write everything down in a Google doc.

Why is the shower where I have all my good thinking time????? Why has this become so consistent???

Anyway I just wrote the first super rough draft/outline for chapter 1 of my Jeweller AU. This shit is really happening!

[fearfilledvirgil]

Ivity and Anx: part thirteen

Summary: Patton has an internal struggle. Since he is bent on not remidying it himself, Roman gives him a way to solve the problem.

Warnings: abandonment issues, crying, self-depreciating thoughts, lowkey guilt tripping, pondering on thoughts, song writing

Word Count: 2708

Paring: Slowburn Prinxiety

A/N: I love how vauge I can make my summarys, okay? But. This is it. This is where things get interesting. Sort of. Sorry for the long wait again! I now have chapters written and planned out, so there won’t be a long wait again. Enjoy! (Taglist under the cut)

masterlist

Taglist: @rileyfirstname @verymuchanidiot @definentlynotjustanotherlemon @silversmith-91 @kanejandkruge @sander-fander-sides @lovecrazyjennybear @the-incedible-sulk @hexdream18243 @crows-with-hats @monikastec @definenormalifyoucan @i-am-absolute-fandom-trash @applecannibal @cats-with-blogs @bubblycricket @gay-girls-do-it-better @bunnyartie @quietlypondering @elusivefalsehoods @hghrules @royallyanxious @quietwords-loudthoughts @squishynonbinarytwink @sortablue @illogical-anxieties @savingshae @a-fander-named-skittles @thelowlysatsuma @ughthatsprettygay @im-so-infinitesimal @certifiedtrashxx @karmels-stuff @littlelogicstillcounts 

The most practical next step of action was simple. Patton understood that. It was very easy to understand, but for the most idiotic reason, he couldn't. It wasn’t logical at all, but then again, logic was never his department. It was always Logan’s, and Logan was the problem. Not him himself, but he was heavily involved. The real culprit was time and education, although it was bad to blame anyone for the current situation. Patton liked to place blame, whether it be on himself or something else, because then who was right and who was wrong could be clear. In this situation, though, no one was at fault, so maybe that was the very problem.

Another sinking feeling in Patton’s chest made him open his mouth ajar, almost gasping for a breath. The sensation twisted itself into his gut, prompting Patton to screw his eyes shut, clench his jaw, and shake his hand. No, the problem wasn’t that simple. It wasn’t cut and dry. It was Patton, sitting criss cross on the floor of his bedroom in the dark with his phone in his hands, lit up, with his thumb hovering over Logan’s contact.

Patton felt a prick of pressure begin to build behind his eyes, the pressure traveling into his sinuses and making his nostrils flare. He didn’t want to cry, but here he was with his phone screen blurring. It was silly, really. Logan had only been gone for a few months or so, but the contact that the younger had with him tapered off into something nonexistent. The sinking feeling reared its ugly head once again, this time traveling farther into his throat instead of his stomach.

He really needed to get a grip on himself, considering that as he had this thought, his sleeved hand moved to his mouth to cover a sob. Patton was not good with change, nor was he good with people leaving him. The therapists called this “abandonment issues,” but Patton’s negative thoughts just told him he was insufferably clingy. That’s why he had let his and Logan’s texting routine die. He didn’t want to be a bother. Like Patton had thought before the waterworks started, this all could be stopped by sending a simple text. It was currently early morning where Logan was living in his dream collage, so it wouldn’t be a problem. Logan was such an early bird, always sending “Good morning, Patton. Was your sleeping satisfactory?” texts at 8:30 a.m. on the dot. The thought of those texts and the conversations sprung from them made a smile come to Patton’s face.

They would talk about how they slept after that: how many hours, if it was deep sleep or not, and if either had any dreams. Logan never had dreams, but he loved to hear about what crazy dreams Patton had during the night. The younger always loved those conversations, mostly because he loved to baffle the older. Patton thrived off of the confusion, having laugh attacks frequently. When he tried, Logan was absolutely hilarious. That wasn’t even mentioning how endering his fun facts were, nor was that statement saying how adorable Logan got when he was passionate about something. Patton let himself give a bittersweet smile between the heavy breathing that came with crying.

Patton didn’t know why he was reacting in such an extreme way. It wasn’t like he was dead, or like he didn’t have the power to text him at any moment. The problem, though, that was still very present was the fact that it was extremely hard for Patton to reach out first. He felt too clingy when he did that. It was the actual, real problem here. Not Logan, not time and education, not no one being at fault, and not even Patton fully. No, the problem was not talking to Logan anymore, and it was ripping a hole in Patton’s chest. It hurt the younger more than he could imagine because in the end, he knew Logan would leave eventually along with everyone else. Except Roman, apparently.

An incoming text shook Patton out of his mind spiraling down into the deepest, needist part of his mind. He blinked a few times, trying to get the remaining tears to get out of his eyes. At the same time, he furiously wiped the tears away with his sleeve. He sniffed, pulling down the notification window on his Android phone. He and Logan always had that in common, while their friends had iPhones.

Prince Roman: Padre? You good? You didn’t respond and I know how you worry

Pappy Padre Patton: I’m diddly darn dandy!!!!!

Prince Roman: You know I know that 5 exclamation points means a cry for help What is wrong, mi hermano más cercano?

Pappy Padre Patton: Logan and I haven’t talked in a few days

Patton was already feeling a bit lighter, now that he was starting to talk about his issue. Roman knew full well his “abandonment issues” that sprouted from being in the foster system, so he was probably going to pick up on his current conundrum fairly quickly. A small smile presented itself again on Patton’s lips when he did a quick translation of what Roman said in his head. My closest brother. His friend was such a sap, but the younger absolutely loved it.

Prince Roman: Text him!! If you don’t, I’ll give you a reason to text him

At that comment, Patton got very confused very quickly. What was Roman going to do, kick him out of his life? Do something so stupid that even Patton needed help on how to tell him he was wrong? There was so many possibilities and ways that the sentence Roman just sent could go, so Patton decided in about 0.001 seconds that it would be best to ask.

Pappy Padre Patton: What do you mean??

Prince Roman: I’ll write an angsty song and post it Without asking the label

Pappy Padre Patton: Roman!! That could get you into serious trouble! Think about the contract! You already follow it to a T. They are already waiting for a chance to reprimand you so no! Do not!

Prince Roman: I won’t if you talk to Logan

Roman was a dirty, dirty negotiator. He never tried to compromise with people he didn't know, just for the reason that he didn’t have leverage on them yet. He would find what his friend is most worried for him about, then use it to his advantage to get something he wanted. Luckily, the usually chivalrous boy did not use these powers for evil, but only used them to motivate people into doing something that they should be doing. Most of the time, that is.

Pappy Padre Patton: Fiiiiiiiiine You are a dirty negotiator

Prince Roman: You know you love me

Pappy Padre Patton: Te amo hermano always!

Patton smiled softly to himself, silently hoping that he didn’t mess up the translation of saying ‘i love you, brother.’

Prince Roman: That makes me happy Now make me happier by texting your Logan?

Pappy Padre Patton: Ok ok I def will!

And then he didn’t. Roman knew for a fact that his friend didn’t talk to Logan after their conversation, because there was a very specific series of events that happened after the two talk. It would start with Patton sended Roman many exclamation marks, then would turn into an explanation of the punctuation. Usually it would be something cute that Logan said, but sometimes it would be because Patton said something odd himself. Then the younger would go into the conversation in more detail, highlighting the cutest moments and becoming very flustered when Roman would ask questions about his feelings. It was routine, and Patton was not one to stray from routine since he started talking to Logan.

That was why as the sun started to get low in the sky, Roman got his guitar from it’s holder and his writing notebook from his desk. He splayed them out on the floor, sat down, thanked whatever was out there that his moms weren’t home, and began to brainstorm for a song. Brainstorm meant a very specific thing for Roman, as he was finding out. He was sit criss cross on the floor, his elbows on his knees and head in his hands. He would string his hands through his hair, rarely pulling on it when he got upset enough with this odd part of his creative process. He would collect his thoughts, focus on what he was feeling, and then go and do one of two things. The first would be to go through his notebook and see if there was any one liners or small sections of lyrics that he could expand on. If none of these felt correct to do in the moment, then he would ponder some more and write something completely from scratch. Latter options rarely happened.

Roman was feeling frustrated, to say the least. He wanted to talk to someone about anything, but he knew that Patton was off the grid for the moment. Anytime that boy faced a problem with texting someone, he turned off his phone and hid it under his many pillows. Patton was the soul person that he could talk to about these kinds of emotions anymore, considering that Anxiety had completely shut him out. Anxiety was honestly the main reasons for most of these emotions. Roman was sad that he was gone, mad at himself for all that he said to Virgil, and just generally frustrated with the whole situation. It would have been so much easier if he never signed up for the Sarrahs Project, but then he would have missed out on the amazing late night conversations that he and Anxiety had. Now that those were over, there was a empty spot in his chest that was waiting to be filled by confiding in Anx again.

It wasn’t fair that Roman had been lead astray to ridicule Virgil and make him feel like he had to be someone he wasn’t. Then again, Roman felt that way a lot of the time too. That’s why Anx and Ivity worked so well together, but it’s also why it hurt so much to not have each other around anymore. Roman wished that he could tell Virgil all of this, and just unload all of the truth onto him, but he understood that the other wanted distance. It was hard to put the pride that Roman always wore as Princey aside and let Virgil see that Ivity wasn’t a lie. That none of it ever was any kind of fabrication.

Roman breathed deeply, taking his hands out of his hair and looking down at his notebook. With all his feelings and emotions inside sorted, he could now try and sort through the one liners he already had written in his book. Rough, calloused fingers reached out for the leather notebook, ready to search to his heart’s content. He unbound the elastic holding the large and old book together, beginning to search through its yellowing pages for the lyric to make the next Princey single. Most of what he passed used too many masculine pronouns, but he passed those for a reason. Some name-dropped Virgil, and Anxiety, so those were also a line to stay away from. After pages upon pages of searching, Roman finally came to a halt.

“Can you be psychic for me? Please? That would make this easier on both of us.”

As soon as he saw the lyric, a million different words and emotions flooded through his head. Roman stared at the words for several more seconds, trying to process the sudden influx of ideas. It was rare that he had this many ideas at once, and even rarer so that they were all about mostly the same thing. Roman grabbed a water bottle that was sitting nearby, chugging half of the available liquid before grabbing his pencil. Upon further inspection on the page, there was also a few gems like “If you were in my mind, some scary things you would find (yes that rhymes score)” and “If only 2x or 4x (or something x).”

After Roman got all of the lyrics squared away, he put the book down flat in front of him. It was always easier to start out with lyrics, then add a chord progression, then work out the melody. At least, it was to Roman. Some would disagree, but they weren’t the ones writing songs all by themself getting into the Top 20 Hits. Momentary peddiness aside, Roman now had his ‘67 C-O-Classic Gibson guitar resting on his leg. He took a moment to run his left hand up and down the neck, then his right over the face of the body of the guitar. It was his grandfather’s guitar, the one he learned to play on by the same man before he died. The label tried to get him to play a different guitar, a newer one with “better sound,” but he couldn’t give up the sentimental value of this one. Especially with the emotion fueled lyrics of this one, Roman needed a guitar that he knew better than the back of his hand. Roman knew and understood this guitar better than he understood himself, and playing it brought emotions he harbored to the surface for him to handle. This guitar had gotten him through a lot, and it would get him through this night as well.

Roman started out with strumming a few simple chords, changing the order of three different ones, adding a fourth, removing two, and just generally playing around with chords until he found a good sound. Eventually, after he started fiddling with a good picking pattern, he narrowed it down to three combinations. While playing the different options, he sang the “If only” bridge that he wrote into the song. He tested the waters with a few different tunes and combinations for a while. Before he could comprehend it, the sun was set and he had a solid picking pattern and chord progression. He could hear his grandfather saying that technically the chords weren’t actually chords because he wasn’t playing all of the strings. A sentimental smile tugged on Roman’s expression of concentration, but he shook it away quickly in favor of attempting to sing over the song.

Surprisingly, Roman was able to get through the song he just wrote with few complications. He stumbled a few times, and stuttered on the lyrics occasionally, but it was overall a good first try. After, he tried again, making the wobbly parts in singing more and more stable. He was proud of himself for that, as sometimes there could be parts where he couldn’t get down until the fifth or sixth try. Luckily for Roman as of right now, the song which he was mentally calling Physic was an easy one to play and sing. Roman never said that the song he would be posting was a difficult one, but then again, he didn’t realise that it would be this emotionally powered.

As Roman placed his guitar steadily on the ground again, he pondered what the lyrics actually meant. While he attempted to balance himself on numb jelly legs, he went line by line and evaluated what he meant by each. It was clear to him as he grabbed his camera equipment that this song was obviously about Virgil. It was so clear that it was painful. There wasn’t any cleverly masked words or heavy emotions only hinted at in a word or two. This song was putting himself out in the open, bare and stripped of all the fancy editing that the studio does. This song would be a plea for help, a cry for someone to come and tell him that everything will be alright. It was a question, a desperate ask for Virgil to let him explain. If the dark and lovely one didn’t let him after this, then maybe all that time with Anx actually was a waste. And Roman desperately didn’t want it to be.

The Prince set up the camera and it’s microphone quickly and experienced, ready to make the worst–or best–decision of his lifetime.

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