#[ because i am terribly self conscious and there was never a proper chance for to me slide one into my queue due to all the four IC slots ]

[unladielike]

what things would immediately reveal Vivian's origins / home place? (ex. like a typical meal, accent, etc?)

                UNPROMPTED ASKS. » always accepting!

I already mentioned some of her Canadian habits over here, but one thing that would probably give away the fact Vivian is from North America is probably her bringing up 'poutine' in conversations, if only because that's a very distinctly Canadian dish and is street food that's commonly sold there.

Like, if she ever reminisces about poutine, one would be correct to automatically assume she is either Canadian or has lived in Canada at some point. Aside from that, though, I can see others figuring out where she's from by her mentioning that Thanksgiving is only celebrated in October and how not being invited to the cottage or cabin is the societal equivalent of not having a date for the prom, with the latter being something I headcanon she brought up to @more-than-a-princess's Sonia at some point.

Honestly, with Vivian being such a chatterbox, I could see her telling her that Canadian middle class adults usually owned cottages, with them costing thousands to maintain, but their usability is strictly seasonal, meaning people would only travel 'up north' (specifically Muskoka, Shawnigan Lake, or the Laurentians) to visit one between June to August. Because she's not a normie, though, she would make it very clear she was never invited to one while acting as though it's no big deal... but secretly, she feels very bitter and left out nobody had ever invited her to their cottage or cabin.

anonymous

[beabnormal24]

Hi! For the shipping asks: 👅 💖 💔 (if you want to!)

Oooh, good one. i love answering asks.

1. 👅 (ship that you find most sexy)

I mean, Charlos, of course. I guess I don’t even need to explain myself on this one, but I guess I’ll do it anyway. I will say that in my personal opinion Carlos is the sexiest, in the sense that he has that sinuosity in his movements and that elegance and finesse in his gestures that just makes him incredibily sexy.

If you want to look at it in a figurative way, I see Carlos like Matthew Macfadyen in Pride and Prejudice, so hot in his austerity.

And Charles? Prettiest boy ever, so delicate but also clumsy and silly and sexy in that completely self conscious and self confident and effortless way that attractive people who are constantly giggling their asses off are. He’s the epitome of babygirlism and sassiness, but you should not doubt him - which is exactly what Carlos never does.

Figurative example? Jonathan Bailey as Tim Laughlin in Fellow Travelers during the ‘50-‘60s episodes.

Together? Sexiest ship alive.

2. 💖 (Ship that needs more love)

Since I am deeply undecided, I’ll offer two options.

First one, George Russell and Max Verstappen, also known as Gax. Why, do you say?

Their dynamics would be incredible, apart from the entire obvious enemies to lovers mechanism, let’s spend some time talking about their characterisation - because you all know how much I like that.

George, your next door British boy, curses in lower case and says Blimey and Crikey like it’s normal. He cares about his looks and his appearance. He’s thirsty for competition, neat, honest, proper, terribly impatient although he tries his very best to not let it show.

Now, Max? Curses in bold, replaces Hello and Hi with Shit and Fuck. Doesn’t care about his appearance as much as he cares about his own cats. He’s thirsty for competition, neat, honest, proper, terribly impatient and he lets it show.

Conclusion: they’re basically the same person, just in different fonts, similar in their dissimilarities.

One is Calibra Light, the other is Calibra Bold, and they’ll clash their horns against each other like angry deers, but then they’ll notice how good they actually look together, how good they work together, how good they match and boom…

No chances for anyone else, two puzzle pieces completing each other.

Uh, I might write something about that.

Anyway, second one? Alexander Albon and Logan Sargeant. And tell me if I even need to explain myself on this one.

They are the ship, they have everything!

Logan blushing furiously and falling for Alex’s teasing and looking at him longingly and smiling like a lovesick fool whenever Alex gives him attention or jokes about his obsession with America. He’s so enamoured with Alex that he even started copying some of his attitudes, because he’s that in love.

But let’s be clear, Alex is falling just as hard, because Logan is so cute and he likes the way there’s someone who actually looks up at him - not only figuratively, lol, because Nicholas is tall - and he blushes in such a cute shade of red when he calls him Logie Bear.

Alex might be a little bit obsessed with him.

I need to write about them.

3. 💔 (ship that makes you sad)

I honestly don’t know how to answer this one, I guess it is based on personal interpretation.

I would probably say that the one that makes me a little bit sad is Dando.

Ironic, you may say, but let’s think about it for a second.

They started to bloom a little late, because Lando was still attached to Carlos and Daniel isn’t as careful around boundaries as he should be in certain situations, and although Lando has clearly grown into an overconfident young man that we love to see thriving, he does initially still need some limits - like Carlos and Oscar had religiously respected.

But then they had bloomed, they started getting along like a house on fire. People do not realise how hard it actually is to become so close in such contexts without having any strings from before - like Alex and George or Charles and Pierre or Oscar and Logan and so on.

Lando went to his house in Perth, voluntarily, just to spend time with him and do crazy stuff on his farm and have the time of his life with someone that is ten years older than him.

But they get along so well that who does even care about age differences?

But just as they started to really develop through their relationship, shit happened and they got separated.

I’m really glad they still bloomed - sharing clothes like in Monaco and sharing jet rides and visiting each other and going to dinners together and stuff - but it does make me a little sad the thought that, in some twisted way, things still tried to put themselves through their building affection.

It also makes me sad the fact that, because of all of that, they didn’t get to shine as bright as they deserved.

That’s it, hope you liked my answers and please Ant let me know about yours, too! 🩷🩷

[psychewritesbs]

Question I have BC I love your opinion and I think you have a great understanding of these characters (and jjk as a whole) what do you think about yuji and megumi's relationship and the parallels between them and suguru and gojo?? BC personally I think it's EVIL and hurts me so bad but also just.....idk I'm terrible with words so I can't exactly express why I think it's done so well but i do so just curious on what (if you even do) you think abt it?? I think parallels in jjk are honestly crafted so well in general and gege truly has such a clear idea and understanding of what and where he wants the story to go. Apologies if you've been asked smth like this before there's a very good chance I've missed it but I hope you have a good day and I hope megumi comes home soon bc it's getting pretty dark out 😞😞😞

HOLA anon. Thanks! I appreciate the vote of confidence 🫡

So I feel like your ask needs a thorough re-read of jjk, which I am unable to do at this time.

I also have to admit that I had never paid much attention to "parallels" in general, so that makes it a little harder to look back and pinpoint exact moments for a proper analysis of Megumi/Geto parallels. But I HAVE thought about this in passing before.

So, while I don't think I can do your ask justice, YES! I think aside from parallels, I'd also say that it feels like Geto's story is also meant to be a cautionary tale for Megumi.

Let's taco'bout it under the cut...

I'll start by saying that jjk has been exploring the idea of "intergenerational trauma that is passed down from generation to generation". So there's something that feels extremely cyclical about jjk right now--like a cog.

That said, the Megumi/Geto parallels are most likely meant to underscore how, due to the nature of the work they do, the same tragedy keeps happening time and time again.

If I were to pull a quote by Jung that encapsulates this, its the idea that "until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate."

Now, jjk has also felt like an exploration of the "corruption and redemption of the self" for some time now. To me, this means that a sorcerer is often confronted with the question of what is aspirational about his human nature and what isn't, but more importantly, the choices they make as a result of being confronted with this question.

In Geto's case, the aspirational values he chose were actually quite twisted. After all, he chose to justify committing genocide with his love for sorcerers. Similarly, Megumi had no qualms killing indiscriminately if it meant protecting Tsumiki.

They have both made a choice where protecting someone (aspirational value) justifies something not aspirational as a necessity (killing others is a turning away from aspirational values). In other words, you could say they have both "sinned" for lack of a better word.

This is where "saving" others who are ready and willing to be saved comes into play. Gojo couldn't save Geto because Geto wasn't asking to be saved; on the other hand, Yuji is trying to save Megumi because Megumi asked to be saved.

Megumi asking to be saved is relevant af because it means Megumi acknowledged something Geto couldn't or didn't acknowledge about himself.

The thing is that Yuji also had to be receptive to the idea of saving Megumi. As of ch143, Yuji had had his sense of self bruised and battered by Sukuna's rampage in Shibuya for which he felt responsible for. And now Megumi is asking him, a mass murderer, to save him.

It's almost like Megumi is absolving Yuji of his sins by asking to be saved. This is Megumi validating Yuji's desire to save others. So, who's saving who, really?

On the other hand, while Geto was descending into a corrupted state, Gojo had his head so far up his ass with the whole "The Strongest" identity, that the best he could do was ask Geto if he had lost weight.

So I feel like this is where the parallels turn into a sort of continuation of what could have been possible if Geto would have come to Gojo and asked for help, and if Gojo was emotionally available to this bid for connection when it could have made a difference.

In retrospect, given the emotional state Megumi was in during the Yorozu reveal and how anxious he appeared to be during his fights inside the colony, I think that in asking to be saved, Megumi was asking for a lifeline from the bottom of his heart. He was asking Yuji for the strength and unwavering conviction that he was missing in himself.

I like to think Megumi knew he would have to kill others, and that he would be willing to do it if it came down to it. This meant Megumi might have been aware that he'd have to set aside his humanity and any aspirational values he might still be hanging onto.

So who better to ask than the one person he knows to have unwavering humanity?

Geto never asked the same of Gojo.

So I am not sure whether Gege is trying to say that because Megumi asked to be saved it is more likely that he can be saved.

But here's the thing...

And I am very much aware that this is my personal preference, but I believe that Megumi (and Geto since we're on the topic of parallels) has to save himself.

While I LOVE the religious symbolism behind the idea of Yuji "saving" Megumi and think it's super bromantic, waiting to be saved absolves Megumi of responsibility for himself. And right now, at the core of Megumi's arc, is the idea that his sense of self was suppressed by Sukuna precisely because there was a hole in Megumi's sense of self that Sukuna could exploit, therefore arresting Megumi's development. To continue that development, Megumi has to choose himself.

So I am curious of where Gege takes it from here.

Now, on the topic of saving others, there's actually REALLY juicy symbolism around the idea of "saving" in chapter 236 and 238 where Sukuna is technically absolving characters in their last moments.

So that's a nice parallel and commentary on the idea of saving others.

Anyways, did this make any sense? lol. I read and re-read this thing several times and I kept making edits so I hope I was able to express my thoughts properly.

Hopefully the tangent made sense.

I think parallels in jjk are honestly crafted so well in general and gege truly has such a clear idea and understanding of what and where he wants the story to go.

Thank you for sharing your jjk-love. Yes, I couldn't agree more that, not only does Gege know where he's taking his story, his attention to detail on how he wants to execute these themes is fantastic.

Thank you for stopping by anon :)

[pressedinthepages]

Family Business

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Eskel/Jaskier

Rating: T

Masterlist

a/n: Another day, another collab with Maragret @sometimesiwrite cause we just cannot stop. And this one will have cHaPtErS!!!!!!

(There is a link on my page where you can be added to my taglist :D)

Modern Coffee Shop AU. Eskel and his brothers run a coffee shop. Jaskier pops in one morning. Neither can anticipate what is to come.

The bell above the door of Happy Goat Coffee and Snacks tinkled quaintly as Eskel returned from the corner store, carton of almond milk in-hand. He slipped the receipt into the till and opened the milk fridge, taking stock to see if there was anything else that couldn’t wait for Wednesday’s delivery. All seemed to be in order—Barista Blend soy and oat milks, a few bags of regular milk. He didn’t like carrying almond (bad for bees), but it was the only thing some customers could drink so… here it was. 

He turned to make himself another coffee, taking stock of their baked goods: chocolate zucchini muffins, banana bread, blueberry muffins (a few missing, Geralt’s been here…), and an assortment of granola-based snacks. The overall business plan was plant-based and/or sustainably sourced in the hopes of filling a void left by the larger chains that were the only other options in the neighbourhood. It wasn’t a bad plan, and with the increasing number of conscious-consumer parents, they were establishing a strong and loyal customer base.

    Lambert carried a tray of sourdough paninis around the counter and began transferring them into the display case, arranging them as neatly as his energetic hands would allow. It had been hell working with him for the first little bit. Lambert took after their sainted mother only in being a morning person. His general pissy attitude skipped a generation and came directly from their grandmother. But the prickly bastard knew what he was talking about, and after some… heated negotiations, they managed to agree on finding a local butcher who could provide pork belly which Lambert would turn into proper bacon in the back. They barely had the space, but he somehow made it work, and it sold very well as an add-on. I mean, he wasn’t wrong. It did taste better.

    Of course, this didn’t stop the young brother’s grumbling. He simply did it while chewing. “Lambert, could you please, please, stop eating the bacon?”

    “I’m sorry, I must be doing this wrong. Do I look like I give a fuck???”

“No, you don’t. That’s why I’m doing it for you. Just...” he sighed “don’t eat us into bankruptcy.”

“What, so Geralt can drink all the fuckin organic ass lemonade he wants but I can’t have a piece of gods-be-damned bacon???”

“Geralt drinks the—oh my God you guys are killing me—look, I will talk to Geralt about the lemonade, you can have some, some bacon, and I’m going to try my hardest not to put my head through the fucking wall. Capiche?”

Lambert watched over Eskel’s shoulder as Geralt chugged the remainder of the lemonade from his cup through narrowed eyes in his direction.

“Fine.” Lambert growled, turning back to the kitchen. “You’ve got a fucking customer, by the way, boss.”

“Don’t call—oh never mind. Hello, sorry, welcome to the Exasperated Goat. I’ve changed the name.”

“I love it,” the young man on the other side of the counter crooned, cocking his hip with a smile. “Think it’ll really capture the true essence of the neighbourhood.” Eskel was struck dumb immediately, his words falling flat on his tongue. He was trapped in a pair of dazzling blue eyes and the brightest, most open face he’d seen in a—well, a depressingly long time, if he was honest. The young man was eccentrically stylish with bright splashy colours and patterns that had no business going together as well as they did. 

Eskel wasn’t the only one transfixed. His vivacious new customer was too busy marvelling at something inexplicable behind the proprietor’s hazel-green eyes and his… aura? Was that even a thing? How long have I been standing here? Oh God, am I staring? Shit. 

Geralt swaggered behind the counter and bumped into Eskel's shoulder pointedly.

“What can I get you?” He fumbled, working hard to regain his senses.

The young man recovered more smoothly, “Cappuccino, dry please. And a chocolate zucchini muffin. Please,” he added with a cheeky grin, holding out a twenty.

Eskel took the money and their fingers brushed, just the tiniest bit—was that a linger?—but he felt the sparks fly under his skin nonetheless, and as he got to work steaming milk, he desperately tried to remember how small talk worked. The young man beat him to it. 

“How’s the morning so far?”

Eskel sighed, glancing up at him. “Not...terrible,” he said, peering over his shoulder to find Lambert now munching on a mini quiche. “Lambert keeps eating the merchandise, but I suppose it could be worse.” 

Eskel was caught up in the man’s smile again until the rapidly rising temperature of the milk that brought him back to himself. He tapped the pitcher to settle the foam and wiped the steam wand, “How’s your day been...?”

“Can’t complain,” the man shrugged, taking a sizeable bite out of the side of his muffin—an act that Lambert would have seen as a criminal offense. Eskel disguised an amused grimace. “Had a gig last night, decent turnout. One or two people I didn’t know actually showed up on purpose.” Eskel knocked a portafilter empty, cleaning it with a well-practiced twist of the wrist. The man’s eyes drifted to the espresso-stained microfibre cloth that was currently being handled so expertly and found his mind wandering, jarred back to reality as the grinder kicked on. He jumped a little. 

“Ah, you’re a musician, then?” Eskel asked over the noise.

He nodded, swallowing thickly as he took in the breadth of Eskel’s shoulders. “I like telling stories,” he called back.

“Ah, you write your own stuff, then.” Eskel knocked the edge of the portafilter against the palm of his hand to settle the espresso and Jaskier was lost again, watching large, graceful hands working with strength and precision, all in the name of a decent cup of coffee. Eskel looked at his mesmerized conversation companion, “Or do you prefer to cover?” 

“Hm? Oh, well, a bit of both. I like to cover because it gives people a sense of familiarity, like they can trust you with their evening. It sets the tone. Then I do my own stuff once I’ve got them on my side.”

Eskel cut the shot as the rich caramel colour of the dark espresso began to run lighter, and he gave it a sniff, ensuring the extraction was good before pouring in a little milk, and dolling out large quantities of foam. He passed the drink to the young man. “Extra dry.”

“Ah, my hero,” the young man wrapped his hands around the cup and brought it to his lips. “Mmm, delicious as always.” 

“Always?” Eskel asked, tearing his eyes away from the young musician’s long, slender fingers. “Y-you’ve been in here? I don’t—I’d’ve thought I’d remember you.” 

“Mhm, I usually pop in in the afternoons though, it’s typically Geralt over there who’s working.” He waggled his fingers over Eskel’s shoulder and he heard Geralt grunt in acknowledgment.

“Ah, yes. He takes over from me so I can go home and sleep. Well, rather forces me to. It’s hard to remember there’s a home when you spend most of your time at your own business. You hear people talk about self-care? Mine’s Geralt.”

And the young man, who Eskel thought was incapable of being any more charming, laughed so brightly and earnestly that Eskel could’t stop the grin that spread to his own face—not that he’d’ve wanted to. 

"I suppose that's what partners are for, isn't it?" he said flippantly, adding a dash of nutmeg to the foam in his cup and stirring in a little honey. 

"Pardon?" 

"To remind you there's something other than work, you know, house and family and—" 

"Oh, uh, no—business partner. Geralt's just a—well not just. He's my brother." 

"Ah! I'm so sorry, I just assumed... You know, urban cafe, tasteful decore, and then you mentioned he’s your self-care. Most people aren't that close with their siblings is all." 

Eskel nodded, "Our other brother's in charge of the kitchen. It's... a long story, but, here we are!" 

Eskel watched as the young man took a deep breath through his nose, seemingly steeling himself. He was then met with those striking eyes again as a napkin was slid across the counter, just barely brushing his fingertips. “In that case...would you like to get dinner sometime?”

"I—what?" Eskel shook his head, not quite believing what he was hearing. 

The young man smiled again,"It's alright. I'm just giving you a napkin with my number on it. You can use it to communicate with me. You know, texting? Call me? Maybe eat some food?" 

"But I—I don't understand, why?" 

The young man playfully rolled his eyes, "If you're not interested, you can just say so."

“No! No, I absolutely am, I’m ju-“ Eskel stammered, trying desperately to keep from sticking his foot in his mouth and driving the young man away,“I’m just not sure why you are.”

The young man just laughed brightly, his blue eyes flashing beneath dark lashes, "Because you're handsome, hard-working, and the way we've connected just now gives me a hunch. Besides, how long has it been since you had a chance to get away and go to dinner with someone?" 

Eskel eyed his customer, thought for a moment, and tapped the napkin before picking it up. "Walk first, then dinner. I hate starting dates like a third-degree."

The young man set down his coffee and held out his hand, beckoning to Eskel over the counter. As he came around, he offered his hand in return, and was shocked by the—could he call it intimacy?—of the musician’s hand gently closing around his. It may as well have been an embrace. “I-“ and of course his voice cracked. Eskel cleared his throat with a chuckle, finding those beautiful baby blues once more. “I’m Eskel.”

"Julian. Stage name is Jaskier. You can call me either, it doesn't really matter." 

Eskel smiled warmly, "It's nice to meet you, Julian." 

"Likewise, Eskel. I, uh, I should get going. But. Text me, we'll make plans."

Eskel watched as Julian left, his stride long and confident. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, staring into empty space, but at some point Geralt once again appeared to nudge against his shoulder. “Better save that napkin, brother.”

Eskel nodded at the flimsy paper in his hand, looking at the digits like they were an ancient cipher that needed decoding. "Better yet..." Geralt said, surreptitiously grabbing Eskel's phone from off the counter, unlocking it, and texting, Hope you have a good day.

"Here you go," Geralt said, handing the phone back to Eskel before pouring himself a drip.

Eskel’s stomach simultaneously lept into his throat and fell onto the floor. “Geralt,” he breathed, watching the *read* message pop up, “well now what? By the way,” Eskel suddenly turned, wagging his finger at the end of Geralt’s nose, “quit drinking all of the merchandise!”

“First off, now he can actually text you back instead of waiting to hear from you all day, which is exactly what would happen if left to your own devices. Secondly... Lambert said he wouldn’t tell you.” 

Eskel shook his head, mouth agape, “Unbelievable.”

Eskel’s fingers itched as he continued about his morning business, his phone silent in his pocket. He had nearly given it up as a lost cause when it finally chimed, and then he almost sent the phone flying across the store in his haste. 

So sorry for the late reply, Eskel. I was on the metro and then I had to run off downtown and then, alas, my phone died. I should really get one of those portable battery things. Ah well. Thank you for the well wishes!! It really brightened my day once I finally got them 😍😍😍

Eskel exhaled deeply. Okay, this was okay, this was good. He typed and deleted. Retyped. Deleted. Geralt reappeared over his shoulder, glancing at the text no worries, wanted to make sure you had my number. Geralt shook his head and took a sip of coffee before grabbing Eskel’s phone and typing, no worries, glad you got it sorted. Hope the metro wasn’t too much of a disaster. Geralt handed Eskel his phone to peruse the message.

“When did you get good at texting?” Eskel murmured as he pressed ‘send.’ Geralt merely shrugged as he ambled away, clearly in search of something to snack on as he finished inventory and ordering. Eskel called over his shoulder, “Would you please make more lemonade since you drank it all?!?!” 

As Geralt’s hum in the affirmative hit his ears so did the chime of his phone.

Not bad at all! Only one shouty person, and he didn't even hurl obscenities after me :D Although a mother with a very large stroller gave me a rather impressive side-eye as I sat down with my guitar tucked between my feet and mumbled something about manspreading. Some days it's the little things that get you through 🙃

Eskel replied, That sounds about right for 2 in the afternoon. Too bad you didn't see the Singing Man, he'll really give your day a kick you didn't know it needed.

You know what would give my day a good kick? A lovely walk with a lovely man ;) 

And Eskel blushed. Full on blushed. Lambert snorted from where he hovered in the doorway. 

“Go on, lover boy,” Lambert smirked, taking a bite out of another goddam slice of bacon. “We’ve got it covered.”

He rubbed his face. It was hard to think straight. He'd been up since 4:30, and part of him just wanted to go home and sleep, but it was also the first sunny day they'd seen in what felt like over a month, and the idea of a nice walk with some light conversation wasn't unappealing in the least. He frowned at Lambert, "How do you even know it's him that texted?" 

"Because you just turned three shades of pink and stared at your phone like it's a piece of alien technology." 

Eskel grumbled and turned back to his phone. Would be nice to get some company and fresh air. What part of town are you in? Meet in the middle?

Meanwhile, Julian was on the metro. Again. His leg bounced where he was sitting, reading the same paragraph of some random book over and over again. He knew it was a long shot coming all the way back to the coffee shop—Eskel might be done for the day and gone home or out doing shopping or—but it could be worth it. He lept off at his stop and bounded up the stairs, and his phone dinged with a delayed notification. He smiled at his phone and stowed it away, walking as fast as he possibly could until he saw the familiar sign of the coffee shop. Julian slowed down so that he didn’t cross the line from ‘windswept’ into ‘desperate’ and peered into the little window. He spotted Eskel immediately, his back to the door and speaking with another man behind the counter, presumably Lambert. Julian smiled and pushed open the door.

"Whoa-ho-ho, Pretty Boy at twelve o'clock." 

Eskel looked up from Jaskier's Spotify account and quickly closed his phone. "I suggested halfway, I hope you didn't come all the way across town."

Now it was Julian’s turn to stammer a bit, his tongue feeling too large for his mouth as his eyes swept across Eskel’s form. Since this morning, it had clearly been a busy day. His cheeks were flushed and his hair curling at the nape of his neck, and he had even caught a glimpse of luscious chest hair peeking out from the sharp v-neck that pulled across his chest. “I-“ Julian grinned to himself, come on, keep it together, “I was already on the metro when you texted back, so I figured I’d just...come here!”

Eskel narrowed his eyes and hummed. "Want a drink before we head out?" 

"Oh sure, we can't eat the merchandise but you can give away free drinks to anyone who flirts with you?" 

"I—You—would you just..." 

Jaskier cut in, "I think you'll find that actually exactly how it works. Bit of an unspoken code. People have started taking advantage of it to get free coffee, though. Makes it hard for those of us who mean it..." Julian's eyes met Eskel's for a lingering second and Eskel had to remind himself to breathe. "London Fog, please, Eskel. But I'm happy to pay. I know tea is less expendable." 

"Hm. See, Lambert? It's a barista thing."

Lambert rolled his eyes as Eskel steeped the Earl Gray in a bit of hot water, added vanilla, and steamed some milk. He carefully slid the finished beverage over the counter, one of his hands finding the tie at the back of his apron. “So...” he said, trying to decide between meeting or avoiding Julian’s intense gaze, “would you like that for here, or to go?”

"I think you'll find it's already in a to-go cup," Julian said, raising an eyebrow. 

"That's because we're getting the hell out of here," Eskel said, and—much to Julian's instant pleasure and amusement—fluidly traversed the service counter, landing deftly on the other side. "I just need to change my shoes, and I'll be up in a second." Julian looked down to see Eskel's black work shoes covered with espresso and nodded, blowing on his tea as he watched, leaving him with the Prickly Brother, staring at him as he chewed his bacon. 

Julian sipped his tea and peered over the rim at Lambert, who had been scowling at him the entire time. Though he didn’t take it personally, it was likely that was just his face. “So,” Julian started, thrumming his fingers on the side of the paper cup, “you’re the one who’s been eating all of the merchandise?”

Lambert scoffed and scowled sideways, the last piece of bacon sticking out from the corner of his mouth. He nudged himself off the back counter and swaggered close to Julian. "Listen. I don't know what your deal is. But if you fuck him over, you will have two very big, very pissed off brothers to deal with. Got it?" 

"Fuck him over what?"

"'Scuse me?" Lambert said, scowling harder. 

"You said not to fuck him over, but didn't specify what."

It took Lambert a moment, but he granted himself one singular chuckle for the little shit. “Alright, kid. Just- be careful with him.” 

Julian smiled gently, peering over Lambert’s shoulder to where Eskel was striding back into the shop. “He seems like the kind of guy that I will certainly be trying my best to keep around.”

“Better believe it. You can spend your whole life looking, you won’t find a better guy than Eskel. He’s a fucking goldmine. But he’s our goldmine. Take his shine, you answer to us.”

“Yes, sir,” Julian mock saluted as Eskel handed something to Lambert. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was a piece of bacon. 

“Geralt’s in charge,” Eskel rumbled (which Julian found enticing) and with that, he turned on his heel and pulled open the door. He held it open and Julian smiled as the two of them stepped into the evening sun.

Eskel took a deep breath as soon as they stepped into the fresh air, letting the warm sunlight spill across his face. It was beautiful to look at. His hair glinted with little chestnut highlights and his arching eyebrows became even more pronounced in contrast with the brightness of his skin in the evening glow. Julian watched the muscles of his face relax, the pressure of greeting people slowly dissolving. His shoulders dropped, and he looked truly exhausted for a moment before opening his eyes and smiling softly. “So, Julian. Do you like dog parks?”

Julian braced an excited hand on the swell of Eskel’s arm (and my gods it was firm), “I would love to go to the dog park...but will it be odd if we just show up, without a dog?”

Eskel laughed and Julian felt his knees go a bit wobbly and he tucked his arm around Eskel’s for support. He noticed Eskel glance down. Ah, right, a bit forward. Easy Jaskier. Julian smoothly transitioned to holding his cup with both hands and Eskel smirked privately, appreciating the non-verbal understanding. “No, not really. We can find a bench if it’s not too cold, lots of people come by and watch. Not everyone in the city can have an animal, people are pretty understanding of onlookers.” Julian still looked skeptical, “c’mon, it’s not like going to a playground. I promise we won’t be creepy.”

“Well...” Jaskier smiled, flipping his hair out of his eyes, “lead the way.” 

Eskel walked slowly, stretching their time (and his legs) as much as he could. They made polite, easy small talk, finding little details about each other as they walked.

It turned out that they had surprisingly similar tastes in music, and Jaskier was both pleased and intimidated to learn that Lambert doubled as a DJ on weekends at one of the more popular clubs downtown. He was further surprised to learn that their father owned and operated one of the oldest Italian restaurants in the city and was quite famous because of it—he’d opened it as an homage to his Italian wife when she passed away unexpectedly—and while Papa Vesemir himself was Polish, he’d learned to cook from the best. 

It seemed they were a culinary family, in fact. Both Lambert and Geralt had trained in professional settings—Geralt had a background in baking, while Lambert had trained on the line with his father. Eskel, it turned out, preferred to be behind the bar. He liked people. Enjoyed making drinks. His father always joked that he had the “magic touch.” Every drink he made always came out tasting better, even if he followed the recipe to a T.

“So, why the coffee shop?” Julien asked as they rounded the corner of the dog park. They both smiled as they saw fluffballs of all shapes and sizes bounding around, and Eskel led them to a small bench.

He kicked his feet out in front of him and sipped his own coffee thoughtfully. “It was something we all knew how to do, and we saw a niche missing in the neighborhood. We had originally wanted to make it a bit more of a hub for artists and public resources—you know, host workshops, put up fliers, put artists’ work on the walls to sell. It isn’t quite where we want it yet, but it’s our old neighborhood. Wanted to give something back to the community. Plus, we like having regulars. You don’t get the same thing with restaurants. Cafes, though, you can get to know people better. Build loyalty.” 

Julian sat for a moment, looking at Eskel with a deeper appreciation than he already had. “You’re amazing,” he breathed, the words spilling from his lips without so much as a second thought. 

Eskel flushed even deeper, his neck a very pretty shade of pink. “I wouldn’t say all that...” 

“But I would,” Julian nodded, downing the remainder of his tea. “You’ve created something beautiful in a place that’s meaningful to you with your family, that’s amazing. And I’m allowed to say that, because I personally decide what is and is not amazing.”

“Fair enough,” Eskel raised an eyebrow and hid a smirk behind another sip of coffee. “It’s just... well everyone’s gone and opened up a coffee shop now, and it’s getting harder to see where our niche still sits. It’s a diverse neighborhood, we don’t want to alienate anyone, but we have to stay open... ah, I dunno. I suppose anything seems unremarkable if you’ve been waist-deep in the logistics for long enough.” 

“Do you have open mic nights?” 

“What?” 

“Open mic nights, you know, local artists bring their instruments, read poetry, play music, promote new albums while people buy alcohol and food?” 

Eskel tilted his head, “Huh...” 

“Yeah. Huh.” Julian nudged Eskel’s shoulder playfully. 

“The only issue with that is hours. We’d have to hire more staff and/or open later in the day so we can stay open.” 

“You could man a proper bar again,” Julian sang, jiggling his foot at the end of his crossed leg. 

Eskel reached an arm up and over and around Julian’s shoulder, “Julian, either you’re a remarkable person and I don’t know what on earth you could possibly want with me... or you’ve been sent by one of our competitors to play a long con and put us out of business.”

Julian tried valiantly to hide the shiver that ran down his spine just with the proximity, the weight of Eskel’s arm resting comfortably on his shoulders. “Well, if I told you that, then I’d have to kill you,” Julian smirked. Eskel threw his head back and laughed, reveling in the rejuvenating aura of the delight of a human that had deposited himself at his side.

“Hmmm, shall we keep walking? Or—I don’t want to keep you if you’ve got things to do,” his gaze on Julian was sincere and unassuming and the young musician was certain he’d never had less sense of any ulterior motives than he did in this moment. 

“I should drop my things home before work, actually. But we can walk for a bit in the same direction if you like.” 

Eskel shrugged, “Sure! Which way are we headed?” 

“I’m an Eastender,” Julian smirked. “Off we go!” He offered his elbow for Eskel to take, which he did—a little tentatively and far more gently than Julian would ever have expected from someone so... physically imposing.

Eskel could feel the persistent thrum of blood under his skin, but not in a way that signalled any particular desire. He felt comfortable, more content than he had been in a very long time, and he felt like he could easily waste an entire day doing exactly what they’d been doing for the last hour. Walking, talking, laughing... 

“What are you thinking about?” Julian asked, looking up at Eskel and stealing his breath in the same movement.

“I’m—uh—“ he cleared his throat again, “I’m thinking about how pleasant this has been and... also how comfortable I feel. I—well, I get the jitters, usually. With this kind of thing Which is not to say I haven’t still got them but,” they stopped walking for a moment, and Eskel turned to face his date, “what I’m trying to say is you’re very comfortable to be around. And that’s new.” 

“Wow... honesty. I wasn’t expecting that.” 

“I’m sorry did-did I...?” 

“Just make me more impressed?” That damn smile, “yes, I’m afraid you did. How tragic.”

Just like that, Eskel was lost again, caught up in those eyes that shone with an enigmatic innocence and penetrating observation that kept him looking and left him speechless. And Julian... well Julian was uncharacteristically at a loss for words in front of this stunningly kind, unbearably-gentle man he'd impulsively taken a chance on just a few hours ago because of a hunch. 

Eskel wondered whether Julian had leaned a bit closer during their few seconds of silence and countered, leaning forward a little himself. But he didn't want to make the young man think he was in it for the wrong reasons. The fact that he was older and larger wasn't lost on him, and the last thing he wanted was for Julian to feel any pressure. Those bright blue eyes flitted to Eskel's lips, and he swallowed, waiting. But Julian's intuition was too strong—Eskel was hesitating. Instead of following his eyes to the full, soft-looking lips in front of him, Julian placed his hands on Eskel's chest and dispersed the tension. 

“If we don’t keep walking I’m going to freeze my ass off,” Julian finally said. 

Eskel huffed a small laugh. “Come on then,” he jutted his chin, and the two started walking again. 

After a brief silence, Julian spoke, suddenly worried that Eskel felt rejected in some way, “For what it’s worth, I also feel quite comfortable. With you, I mean.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I find I’m starting to move away from the Village scene. It’s always nice to have a community, of course, be able to go to a bar and know you’re in good company but... in the city, everyone’s trying on identities and—it’s all well and good, they should, but it’s just... well, it was fun for a while. I just want to play music and make people happy.” 

“Hm. I can relate to that.”

Julian stopped at the top of the street that would lead him to his apartment, not really wanting the evening to end, wondering whether Eskel was aware exactly how much he’d brightened Julian’s day. 

“C-would you...I mean, if I- or-“ Eskel stuttered, his fingers fiddling at his sides. 

“Go on...” Julian crooked his head with a gentle smile. 

“Would you mind if I came to one of your shows?”

Julian closed his hands around Eskel’s shoulders and looked directly into his eyes. “Good God, please come to one of my shows so I can look at a face that wants to be there instead of my bored friends.” 

“Well, I’m sorry it has to be my face,” Eskel fumbled in his self-consciousness, hearing the sound of his own distasteful insecurity. He grimaced inwardly. bad form, Eskel. 

“Hm. Clearly, you haven’t met my pimply weak-chinned-not-at-all-utterly-dashing friends.” It was so easy. Ludicrously easy, the way Julian made Eskel smile in that moment. It truly was a remarkable feat, one that none of Eskel’s former failed romances had ever navigated as easily, or as quickly.

“Thank you,” Eskel said quietly, only for Julian’s ears. 

“Whatever for?” Julian’s brow crinkled adorably and Eskel wanted to smooth the creases away with his thumbs. 

“For...for being bold. Because I know I wouldn’t have.”

“Oh please. This is all stage presence and bravado. I’ve been on the verge of a nervous breakdown since I wrote my number on that napkin. Listen, I’ve—ahh I hate to do this but I really have got to run. We can text later or I’ll pop by the cafe tomorrow and—“ 

“Absolutely, do your thing, I don’t want to make you late. Let me know when you’re free and we’ll grab dinner.” 

“I’ll check my schedule tonight. Should be free in the next few days. Have a good night, Eskel. I mean that.” Julian turned to go, but turned back, quickly pecking a kiss to Eskel’s right cheek, leaving the man standing with a half-smile of surprise on his face as he watched his new love interest scurry into his apartment.

Eskel walked back to the coffee shop, his cheeks pained from the smile that still hadn’t faded. The little bell above the door chimed and Geralt looked up from where was wiping down the counter, and Eskel heard a loud clang as Lambert dropped a metal pan and came running to the front of the now-empty cafe.

Eskel stood in front of his brothers. Geralt’s hand stopped where it was mid-wipe and Lambert fidgeted where he stood, hands on his hips. “So??”

Eskel hadn’t seen Lambert this energetic in a long time, and stood silently, drinking in his little brother’s excitement. Geralt came out from behind the counter, “Eskel. I don’t want to beat it out of you, but you’re leaving me with very few options.” 

“Nah, Geralt, you gotta use smaller words. He’s clearly having a stroke. Eskel!” Lambert clapped loudly, “How did. It go. With Pretty Boy. C’mon, we’re tryna close up here!”

Eskel finally spoke, “I—yeah, it was great. I, uh, I really like him.” 

“Fucking finALLY, BROTHER, THAT’S FUCKIN’ AMAZING!” Lambert practically jumped on Eskel, and Geralt sauntered over to put an arm around his shoulder. “You call Dad yet?” 

“No, I want to wait. I want to make sure this time. Don’t wanna get his hopes up. Plus he’s... well, he’s a bit younger—“ 

Lambert cut him off, “Whoa, I’m gonna stop you right there. What do you always do?” 

“Self-sabotage.” 

“Exactly. So shut up with that shit. You like him, yes?” 

“Yes. Definitely, very much.” 

“And he likes you.” 

“Well I mean—“ 

“That wasn’t a question. He likes you. End of discussion. He’s an adult, let him decide what he wants. Geralt?” 

“Surprisingly sound logic, coming from you. Frightening, actually.”

Eskel nodded along as his brothers bickered back and forth. He felt like he was floating on air, without a tether to the ground. 

“Oh, fuck, he’s really gone for him isn’t he?” Lambert muttered, watching Eskel’s eyes glaze over once more.

Eskel smirked and shook his head, “Fuck off, Lambert.” He playfully shoved his brother’s head to the side and went to count out the till and take it downstairs. He just sat down by the safe when his phone pinged.

Free for dinner day-after-tomorrow, playing a gig tomorrow night and Friday. Which would you prefer first?

Eskel smiled and typed out a response of his own, sending it before he could rethink it. Could I come to tomorrow’s gig and take you to dinner Thursday? I really want to see you again.

He felt his breath immediately quicken, but his hand was steady as he waited for a reply. 

*...* 

*...* 

*...* 

Oh Jesus God please just reply...

Gig tomorrow is at 8:30, Gibson’s Pub in Corktown. $5 cover and also $5 Mill St. on tap. Dinner on Thursday it is. Not fussy, but nothing too spicy. Your choice 😊

Not quite sure what we should do for dinner, but I’m sure I’ll think of something. I won’t miss it for the world. Meanwhile, Eskel knew exactly where he’d be going for dinner. He shot off a text to his father and requested a quiet table for 2 at his restaurant. Papa Vesemir never asked too many questions, but he knew he’d have to explain later.

If you have the opportunity to save the world rather than listen to me play Wonderwall at someone’s request, please do. You can hear that literally any time you want.

For my favorite son, what wouldn’t I do?

Eskel replied to both: That’s a tall order. Watching you begrudgingly play Wonderwall could let me die a happy man.

Thanks, Pops. I know you’re not working that night, just tell Giulio nothing fancy, okay? Just a normal two-top.

Eskel’s phone dinged twice more: Oh my gods, you really are trying to kill me aren't you? You’re too sweet ;)

Mhm.

Eskel continued on with Julian, content with leaving Vesemir to finish his night. Don’t get me wrong, there would be a deep amusement in knowing how much you definitely hate that song by now.

Oh, I absolutely despise it and it needs to go die horribly in a dumpster somewhere. At least now I’ll have a confidante tomorrow evening. You know, someone to really share my suffering with.

Will you play any of your originals? 

Would you like me to?

Only if you want. I understand if you’d rather not share them right away. 

Julian was quickly realizing the extent to which he had, very much, struck a gold mine. Part of him couldn’t help but wonder what was waiting around the corner to make things not work out This Time. But he shoved those thoughts back. I share my music every week with people who’ve either heard it all before, or are too distracted to really care. Mostly Tinder dates trying to gain hipster points. Please. I would be so happy to know you’re there and actually wanting to listen.

Eskel felt his heart flutter in his chest as he rested his elbows on the desk with a crooked smile. 

I can’t wait, I’m sure they’re wonderful :) Eskel wasn’t really one to use emojis, but this one just kinda...slipped out.

He was whistling by the time he got to the top of the stairs and his brothers were already waiting for him, jackets on, lights out, floors mopped, door ready to be locked. 

“Dinner? Eskel said, trying to wipe what he knew was a stupid grin off his face. 

“Where to, lover boy?” 

Eskel deferred to Geralt, “Hmmm. China down?” 

“Mother Dumpling?” Eskel offered, pulling his collar up as they headed out, Geralt and Lambert sounding their agreement. With the cafe door closed and locked, the three brothers headed out into the evening.

[princess-of-inarizaki]

Maybe we could be more than just friends?

🦋 Blaine Anderson x fem! reader ,, triggers: mentions of doubting one's sexuality.

hello loves! I've not been well these past few days, stress has been getting to me. So I've temporarily put all projects on hold in order to prevent myself from overworking. I'm writing this now because it's something *I* want to write. Will be putting up a Masterlist for non-haikyuu characters soon. Love y'all 💞

Blaine was everything to you. You didn't know how it happened, or why, but every fibre of your body seemed drawn to him. You loved him. You were inexplicably, undeniably in love, with your gay best friend, Blaine Devon Anderson.

He was the sun in your life, lighting it with radiance and meaning. He was the ocean you often found yourself getting lost in. But mostly, he was Blaine. Just plain ol' Blaine. The dork who lived for Katy Perry top hits, and bow-ties.

“I'm not feeling well” he whispered softly, in a husky voice. Your heart tugged as you gently adjusted his bow tie and smoothed the creases in his cardigan. His preppy sense of style was one of the cutest things about him, but today, he looked like he got dressed with his eyes closed.

His hazel eyes were hooded, and he looked one coffee away from passing out.

“Is it a cold?”

He nodded groggily and slammed his locker shut. “Yeah, I just, need to sleep it off, I guess.”

You followed him down the hallways and found your heart beating faster with each step. Sometime this week, I am going to tell him how I feel.

How you love him so much, you feel like you can barely breathe sometimes.

You blinked out of your thoughts and gently kissed his cheek. “You'll be okay, Anderson. I'll make sure of it”

That night, in Blaine's room, the music from his stereo enveloped the both of you, as the hammering in your heart became unable to ignore.

After making him a warm bowl of soup, he quietly watched you, as you practiced strumming your guitar to the music.

“Have you ever been with a girl, Blaine?”

He smiled fondly at you. “Never. I guess I've always known I was... I was gay, you know?”

Disappointment was evident on your face. You smiled as tears threatened to fall.

“But I think girls are wonderful. They're kind, and sensitive, and they have beautiful bodies and gorgeous smiles”

You bit your lip “You don't have to say that.”

He smiled lopsidedly as he rubbed the small cough syrup bottle you had brought for him earlier, and placed it on his bedside.

“Girls are wonderful, y/n. But you? You're the most important girl in my life. So funny and sweet, I don't think I've ever felt closer to someone.”

Don't. You don't know how much I've longed for you to say this.

His eyes started drooping as the cough syrup seemed to have started taking full effect.

“You're so perfect. Why do you make me so confused?” was all he trailed off before succumbing to sleep.

The guitar seemed to weigh more in your hands as you gently placed it away and pulled a tub of vaseline from your bag.

That hopeless angel. You gently unbuttoned his plaid shirt and unraveled his bow-tie. He had a serious addiction to those. Whilst spreading the vaseline on his muscled chest, you blinked away tears.

Now that he was asleep, they finally came out. Your silent sobs were the only noise in the room as your hands were on Blaine's chest, soothing his laboured breathing.

I love you.

Just once, I want to know what it feels like, to be in your arms. What Kurt might've taken for granted, Blaine I don't even care if you'll never have sex with me, I just love you, so much. Being with you is enough.

You placed your head on his heart and laid there, silently wishing he'd get better soon. Silently wishing he'd love you back, soon.

🦋

Before leaving, you pressed a kiss to his temple and ruffled his hair. The gel had worn off and his natural curls were untamed, and oh so adorable.

Running your fingers through them, he pulled your hand to his chest. “No, not the hair.”

You chuckled at his sleep-talking. Even in slumber, he was so self conscious about his hair. He also made it so hard for you to leave.

“Alright Borat, goodnight. I love you.”

“Mhmm...”

In school the next day, Blaine Anderson looked as bright as a penny. “Hey y/n, thank you so much for taking care of me last night. I feel amazing now.”

But you could barely even listen. It was horrible, falling in love with him like this, and feeling terrible because you knew he could never see you in the exact same way. It kept you up all night.

“Y/n did I say something wrong?”

“Blaine...”

his hazel eyes, those gorgeous irises settled on you.

“I love you. I know it's crazy, you're gay, and you'd never think of me in the way I want you to, but my heart breaks a little every single day because I want you so bad. Us being friends? It's the best thing that has happened to me, but I need to know, is there even a small chance you'd think the same of me?”

He looked stunned, and gently reached out for your hand.

“Y/n”

“Blaine say something or I swear I m-might cry.”

“Oh y/n.” his grip on you felt so comforting, as his strong arms wrapped themselves around your figure, pulling you close to his chest. He smelled like mint and vanilla, scents you never knew you craved until you hugged him like that.

“I'm so confused these days too” he whispered softly. You were in the hallway, but the world seemed to melt away as the only thing you could focus on was his soft voice.

“I'm confused because I'm starting to fall in love with you too. You make me rethink everything about myself and you do it with the sweetest smile, and most beautiful eyes.”

You choked back a sob as you listened on.

“This world doesn't deserve you, and I less so, but I want to try. I don't understand how someone as wonderful as you even liked me in the first place, but y/n I will not break your heart.”

He finally pulled away and wiped the stray tears from off of your face.

“Aw babe, you're supposed to feel honoured. After all, you kinda made me, the gold star gay, doubt my own sexuality”

You chuckled and kissed his lips. A proper kiss. Not a stolen one, or one exchanged between friends.

A kiss with Blaine, the guy who loves you back.

“You're sure, right?”

“Yeah, now I won't be "bi" myself anymore” he laughed with a small blush “Just getting used to my new label, babe”

You turned away so he couldn't see that your cheeks had a blush not unlike his. Ah Blaine Anderson, you colour me pink.

[infinitestarsintheskye]

Writer Meme

I was tagged by the ever lovely @besidemethewholedamntime Thanks Rebecca! :)

What’s your all-time favourite ship? 

FitzSimmons, easily. I just love them so much and writing them is just easily one of my favourite things to do. 

How many works do you have on AO3? 

47, which bugs me because I really hate odd numbers. Need to actually write something and even it out lol.

What’s your total AO3 word count? 

369,771, most of which was written in the last 14-ish months. 

What are your top 5 fics by kudos? 

1. When I Kissed the Teacher (Steggy)

2. The Lady and the Chauffeur (FitzSimmons)

3. I’ll Always Be With You (Steggy)

4. Four (FitzSimmons) 

5. Our Love Lasts So Long (FitzSimmons) 

Do you reply to comments, why or why not?

 I always reply to comments! I treasure comments truly so much and I just like to show my appreciation to whoever took the time to write something about my work! I am usually good at replying fairly quickly but also I am terrible at leaving them for ages and responding to about 10 all in one go, partly because I love the ego boost of having a full inbox lol

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? 

Other People easily. But that wasn’t my fault, blame Sally Rooney. Plus I wrote a cute epilogue so it kind of cancels out. I cannot end with angst. I just cannot do it. I go with the Jane Austen motto that “My characters, after a little bit of trouble, will get everything they desire.” 

What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending? 

My The Lady and The Chauffeur verse by FAR. Absolutely not a flying chance in hell was I going to make that the same as the Downton Abbey canon. It’s been near enough a decade and I still cannot watch THAT episode. I watched it once, it broke me, I will not do it again. In giving FitzSimmons the most incandescent of happy endings, I vicariously gave Sibyl and Branson the ending that they deserved to have to, in my opinion. 

Do you write crossovers? 

Nope! Crossovers have never really been my thing, not even to read! I just cannot get into them for some reason. 

Have you ever received hate on a fic? 

Only once and it shook me to my very core. I responded rather diplomatically, in my opinion, as the commenter was taking issue with an enemies to lovers plot I had going on with FS and honestly responding made me feel more confident in my premise. I am, just because of that one stupid comment, really self conscious about that fic to this day, which is sad because it is based in something I love so much. 

Do you write smut? If so, what kind? 

I do! But I’m never very confident in it, for a myriad of reasons. I kind of chucked myself into the deep end with Other People and tried to push my boundaries out a little bit, which I think is always good as a writer. It was never anything deeply graphic but enough to warrant an E rating haha. I did write a couple of E rated fics after that, but again it was all fairly on the tamer end of an E rating in my opinion, and currently I don’t have any plans to write any more smut in the future. I only every tried to put it in if I felt it added something to the story. 

Have you ever had a fic stolen? 

Not that I’m aware of. I would hope that someone would tell me if they read something that they knew was mine. 

Have you ever had a fic translated? 

Nope! 

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not really, although Rebecca (@besidemethewholedamntime) did help me leaps and bounds with The Same Bewildering Dream, but I have never properly collaborated in the actual proper writing of a fic with someone before! I think it would be really fun though! hmu if you wanna collab lol. 

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? 

Sighs. I have been trying, for about a year now, to write a FS Pride and Prejudice AU and I just cannot seem to make it work. I really want to follow the same structure that P&P does and I just cannot seem to get these characters to fit into that world. It would be easy to just modernise it but I really REALLY want to do it regency style and it just isn’t working and it’s so frustrating because I have so many good ideas for it. 

What are your writing strengths?

I truly have no idea. If I had to say anything I think I’m good at writing emotions, trying to get across things that maybe aren’t specifically verbal, like anxiety and worry but also love (requited or no) and just internal things like that. That’s at least what I enjoy writing.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Speech and transitioning between scenes, and just like the little bits between dialogue. I will often go just big chunks of dialogue without adding anything inbetween because I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT TO SAY

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Absolutely go for it if you can! As some who is painfully monolingual I would not even try to attempt that myself unless I had someone who I could ask to translate something for me. I could maybe do phrases here and there but nothing bigger than that.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Oh god I don’t even remember. It was so long ago, on a long abandoned ff.net account that I made when I was like 12 or 13. If I had to say it was either, Harry Potter or Hunger Games. All terrible. All should probably never be read ever again.

What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

Oh god. I have favourites but all for different reasons. I loved writing Our Love Lasts So Long because I just had such a clear image of it in my head and just knew where I was going with it the whole way through. I also really love The Lady and the Chauffeur because it was the fic that really just got me back into writing fic properly, it was my first ever long form-ish fic and I just beyond loved writing it and the reaction to it was just so warm and welcoming and it was just everything good and wonderful. Other People is also SO dear to me because it just got me through a really disgusting time in my life. My Grandad was very unwell with covid and sadly died as I was halfway through writing that fic and it was just my place to escape, it allowed me such a great amount of catharsis, I was just able to channel all of my feelings into that fic and I’m so grateful for that. It honestly kept me sane and level during that really god awful time and it just means the world because of that. I also just beyond love the story. Ever since I watched Normal People, I was just kind of waiting for someone to write a FS au of it because it just fit them so perfectly in my mind. Eventually I got bored of waiting and pulled a Thanos and just went “Fine I’ll do it myself.”. The reaction to that fic also just sent me to the beyond and I’m just so beyond grateful for all the love it received.

I willing tag (if they want to of course!): @nazezdha321 @kitthekazoo and @agentofship

[anthropwashere]

our indestructible days ch 3

ch 1 | ch 2

=

Stubborn child! Tenacious little brat!

Pride seethes as he carries his new container up through another ruined, empty floor of Father's home, teeth gnashing at stone and metal. How could one inconsequential human soul cling so stubbornly to its body? Especially after being absorbed into his Philosopher's Stone?

It's lucky the little alchemist is such a mad acrobat, otherwise Pride wouldn't have been able to climb to the surface as quickly as he has, even with his shadows to assist. There's only a floor left between him and the parade field. The light from Father's attack has faded now, but he's still wary of jumping out without having a better idea of the situation out there. The light alone hadn't been enough to damage his Stone, but it had been an altogether painful experience for his true form.

A part of him hates to let those survivors scurry off—all those long years guarding Sloth's tunnel, no doubt—but now isn't the time to hunt down vermin. His Stone has only barely stabilized thanks to those few soldiers he'd consumed. He was able to grow this container a new leg without much strain, but he doubts he'd be much good in a proper fight. He's made the mistake of underestimating humans before. It's not a mistake he's keen on repeating.

He slims his shadows to a few cautious coils, tasting the air. Even up here he can smell the living humans below, soaked in blood and snaking away from the epicenter of things. They could reappear virtually anywhere in Central but he doubts they'll go that far, not with how injured they are. Aside from them there's nothing but corpses down there, which won't do him any good. Thanks to absorbing Gluttony he finds the meat delicious, yes, but it's souls he needs. 

Aboveground is a far different story. He sniffs again and can't help but smirk. There's dozens—no, hundreds of humans gathering up there, rushing around with their hearts racing and sweat salting their warm skin. He smells too, all the silly little guns they're hauling around in some vain hope of stopping Father.

Pride licks his lips, eager now. They want a fight, do they? He may be weak, but he thinks he can at least provide Father a distraction.

He's careful to keep his container out of sight as he peers over the last crumbling edge, curling tendrils into the air and squinting in the brightening daylight. Behind him Central Command is in ruins, as if some enormous hand had come along and taken a scoop out of it. He can smell only a handful of living humans there, most of them bloody and bruised and terrified. Before him a triangular stretch of the parade field is charred black, heat to sting the razor edges of him still rising from it. Greasy smoke smothers the air, reducing visibility to a frustrating few feet. From here he can only make out the woman sacrifice, sprawled nearby and barely conscious. He can smell her pain, the new bruises and welling blood, but it's nothing serious. There's no urgent spike of adrenaline in her blood, no sour snap of broken bone nor the damp heat of exposed organs. She'll live, for now.

The wind shifts. He narrows his eyes, sniffing, and finds the shredded remains of Alphonse Elric's armor a little further off. Beside it is the troublesome Xingese girl, weeping loudly. Has the younger Elric's blood seal broken? Either way, he won't be taking part in this fight any longer, not in the shape he's in.

The woman sacrifice—Izumi, wasn't it?—wakes, coughing roughly. "H-Hohenheim," she forces out, and as if summoned by her voice Father appears before her, so quickly that neither Pride’s eyes nor nose sensed him move. A strong hand grabs Van Hohenheim out of the dust that had obscured him as well, knocking him aside like so much refuse. He lands in a heap some distance off. Pride pays his piteous groaning no mind, relieved to see that Father still has God's power within him.

"Father!" He cries, springing out into the open to present himself. Izumi twitches nearby, straining to see him over her bloodied shoulder.

"You're first," Father says, raising his hand. Red light arcs between his fingertips. Too late, Pride realizes what he means to do—

Pain riots through his container. All his thoughts collapse to panicked static. His newly acquired lungs and heart seize, his every muscle spasms and his every joint locks. He would scream if he could because to have true flesh is to be set on fire. He'd thought the leg bad before, but he'd retreated into his Stone at the first white-hot shock of hurt and here he's pinned in place, nerves flayed, choking on ash—he can't, he isn't, how is it possible to—hurt—so completely? Defense—he—he must defend against—shadows—his self—all gone, he can't think, he can't—

Father is going to kill him—

A gunshot cracks in the distance, and a wound appears in a fizzle of come-and-go alchemical light at Father's temple. Father's concentration breaks. Pride nearly falls on all fours, sucking in dirty air with a relief that unmoors him. He doesn't hesitate, falling back on the instincts of this taken flesh. His hammering heart says run, so he runs. He sprints through the thinning smoke, wanting distance, needing time to get his bearings, needing to understand why Father just tried to kill him—

He ducks behind some heap of rubble near Central Command's wall, pressing his spine against it and shutting his eyes against the acrid sting. He's—he's panicking. He is, isn't he? He's never one to panic. He is first of the homunculi, oldest and strongest and cleverest. He won't—can't—be cowed so easily as this. Even if—even if it was Father that came so close to—

He is one part of a greater whole. This is something he's always known. But it's never occurred to him that Father might one day want that part back.

No. Never mind that. Father had his reasons. He always does. Surely Father only intended to siphon Fullmetal's soul away, to tear the stubborn child out so Pride could have unfettered control over this container—

[Coward.]

Pride freezes—still panting for breath, damn this flesh—and glares with several pairs of eyes. That voice. It shouldn't be possible, and yet— "Just how many of you damned insects are clinging to sentience within my stone?!"

[Oh, it's just Fullmetal and myself in here, and he's not doing too well at the moment.] Kimblee's laughter grates for all that it's not, technically, real. [He doesn't enjoy the company as much as I do.]

In the distance Pride can hear-smell humans shouting, soldiers making a perimeter in some feeble-minded attempt at hemming Father in, barking out nonsensical orders to one another over the bustle and clatter of all their useless weaponry. A man shouts over a megaphone that Fullmetal is not to be confused with Father, which is a relief and in some small way, terribly funny. He watches the clamor with his container's eyes, peering carefully around the crumbling edge of what might have been a bit of the east wing. If he focuses he thinks he can very nearly feel the pinpoints of solidity within his Stone, Kimblee as fine and bright as a needle, Fullmetal a stolid lump fumbling his way back to consciousness at a snail's pace. "I suppose you'll be wanting to fight me for control over this body next?"

[Oh no, not at all. It'd be a poor fit, I think. And besides, I already have a front row seat to the glorious battle going on right now. Just listen to it!]

The attacks are certainly concussive, if nothing else. From his position on the field it only looks like the soldiers are wasting a great deal of ammunition for nothing; Father's glimmering shield is protecting him even from the heat and dust of the blasts. Some soldier down there belts out a command to take cover and scarcely a moment later a gout of flame rushes down the same charred path as Father's earlier attack to engulf the majority of the parade ground in an inferno. It seems that despite his newfound blindness the Flame Alchemist remains unwilling to sit idly by while there's murder and mayhem to sow. Still, it'll take more than that to slow Father down now.

"They stand no chance against him," he mutters aloud. The plan has fallen apart, perhaps disastrously so, but Father will win. It's only a matter of time.

[No chance?] Kimblee asks, pausing when another gout of flame explodes across the parade field. This one Father catches as easily as a child's toy and sends it right back. Even after that display, amusement curls Kimblee's voice. Infuriating creature. [You say there's no chance, that you homunculi are so much better than humans, but what's Greed without his human vessel? What are you?]

"I am Pride the Arro—"

[Just the two of you left now, and that only thanks to the humans you've attached yourselves to. You claim to be higher life forms, yet you're really nothing more than parasites. How disappointing.]

"I won't die here! Whatever the cost, I refuse to die today!"

[And if your Father willed it otherwise?]

He flinches, and loathes this treacherous body all the more.

[He seemed eager enough to kill you a moment ago,] Kimblee goes on cheerfully, [Yet you turned tail and ran away the second you could. You were named for your dignity as much as your arrogance, yet all you've proven today is that you're a hypocrite and a coward.]

"BE SILENT, KIMBLEE!"

[Mmph.] The Fullmetal lump shifts within his Stone, waking up properly. Pride very nearly throws his hands up in exasperation. [Ah, hell. That hurt. What happened?]

[Welcome back, Edward. I wasn't sure you'd be joining us again.]

Pride curls his mouth irritably, digs dirty nails into the stone's crumbling edge. The automail arm only twitches at his side, still stubbornly resistant to his will. "How many times must I put you in your place until you stay there?"

[Ha. At least one more. Where are we?] 

Pride has no chance to reply before his control is tugged away from him. Edward Elric wavers, bracing himself with both hands against the same stretch of scorched stone. Pride's connection to the container and all its startling sensations remains; a sour tang of nausea burns their shared throat, dizziness makes their pulse pound in their ears, a line of sweat down their spine makes them shiver. Edward directs their eyes about the parade field and back to Central Command, taking in the splendor of Father's power. Their ears ache with the ceaseless crack and boom of gunfire.

"Holy shit,” Edward breathes.

With a growl of displeasure Pride pushes back and retakes control. The boy's too stunned to put up more than a token resistance, one that's easily brushed aside. Pride smiles, licking the new configuration of his teeth. "Do you understand now? Do you see what Father is capable of, despite all your little tricks? Are you still so certain you'll win?"

Kimblee whispers, so quietly that Edward seems not to hear, [Are you?]

[Of course I am,] Edward retorts, and while he's unable to wrestle control of his body back he does manage a few of the eyes circling at their feet. Their shared vision wobbles and blurs, and Edward grumbles. [Jeez, how can you stand this? I think I'm gonna puke.]

"Then stop it."

[Nah.] Their shadow twitches, an inelegant lurch that nevertheless forces one of their eyes to loll, and in just such a way that it glimpses Edward's bare left foot. Through their mutable connection of his Stone Pride feels the stuttering evolution of Edward's reaction—dumbfounded, denying, horrified, furious. Their mouth opens against his will and Edward's snarl froths out. "My—my leg. It's—the automail—it's gone. You—you son of a bitch! You really cut it off?!"

[It was slowing me down,] Pride replies calmly, content for the moment to take refuge in his Stone. It almost feels as he did in his Selim container this way; placid, unflappable, controlled. [You're welcome, by the way. I saved you the trouble of trying to get back the original one.]

"Wh—That's not the point! Al and I made a promise! After we found out the cost of making a Philosopher's Stone we promised not to use one for ourselves! We never wanted to be so selfish as to use another life to fix our mistake! Al and I—we—I didn't...."

Edward's inhale is a shaky mess. He sways again, gritting his teeth. It seems he has a new tendency to speak through more than one mouth if he lets his anger get the better of him. How interesting. Pride certainly hadn't manifested one of the three thin mouths in their shadow. Edward bends at their waist to brush their left hand across their new knee cap, draws a line down their shin, splays their toes on the sun-warmed concrete. Pride feels each sensation like a static shock, which isn't half so bizarre as the curdled snatches of Edward's thoughts he absorbs secondhand. Nerve damage—phantom pain in the night—gone, it's gone, he shouldn't feel anything because it's gone—Granny said the cold would be harder on him—cold night spent lying awake, teeth gritted, muscles aching—no amount of massaging around the ports ever helped—Al's metallic voice, "Did you dream about Mom again—"

Pride retreats deeper into his Stone, startled by how real that felt. The ever-groaning souls inside him keep their distance from his toothsome shape—all but Kimblee, who sidles up to him with an overly familiar grin. 

Outside, Edward reins in his anger enough to ask, "Where's Alphonse?"

[In pieces,] he replies sullenly, and finds base satisfaction in the diminished jolt of panic he feels from the boy. [The Xingese girl has been using what's left of his armor as a shield—]

Red light crackles in their shared vision and a feeling not unlike a brand burns his Philosopher's Stone. He writhes within and without, as much from shock as from pain. When he can see clearly again Edward's braced against the rubble, breathing raggedly. "Shut up," he growls.

[You're so willing to be free of me you'll hurt yourself to do it?] Pride marvels. 

"Shut up," Edward repeats, a mouth splitting in their shadow to hiss the same. "You too, Kimblee."

[I didn't say anything.]

"I can feel how much you're enjoying this." He spits, wiping their mouth with the back of his automail hand, then begins a clumsy half-jog back into the thick of things. There's no telling if it's the new leg or their shadow nipping at their heels giving him more trouble.

[Where are you going?] Pride demands. [What do you intend to do?]

"I'm gonna find Al, then I'm gonna make that bastard pay."

[If you confront him, Father will take my Stone for sure!]

"Good. Let him take care of you for me!"

[He'll kill you too!]

"I don't care!" Edward picks up speed, keeping low and favoring their new leg. When Pride opens a train of eyes in their shadow Edward trips, slapping a hand over their container's eyes with a curse. Nausea tongues his Stone, altogether unpleasant. "I gotta make sure Al's okay!"

[Damn you!] For all that he tries to wrest back control Edward just hangs on to himself harder. Pride rages, scattering souls like gravel beneath the wild sweep of his awareness. Edward snarls back and picks up speed.

[Such dedication!] Kimblee exults, a white sore in his Stone. [Such drive! He really is an admirable creature, isn't? Put a fire under him and he'll burn himself gladly for the chance to keep those he cares for out of it!]

[Be quiet!]

Kimblee calms, raising one unimpressed eyebrow. [Why should I listen to you? A pitiful homunculus who couldn't keep a single human under heel?]

Pride seethes.

[aysall]

on Jin, and his story.

A sort of analysis retracing Twice’s journey. It’s long and convoluted, but I wanted to give him a proper goodbye. 

[P.S. seeing a lot of discourse lately I want to specify that mine is not a moral analysis. I’m not interested in discussing who’s right or wrong in the conflict. I understand why other people do it, it’s just not me. Hope you enjoy.]

The parable of Twice’s character has been explored throughout the story of My Hero Academia in an extremely conscious way. His first appearance in chapter 77 occurs briefly and unexpectedly; unlike the other villains, he’s not depicted in a disturbing or dangerous light and that’s why at first glance he’s easy to categorize as unimportant (in hindsight, this sort of unique introduction should’ve said a lot about him). While the Forest Training Camp Arc reaches its peak Twice reappears several times in an increasingly comic light helped by the continuous, incomprehensible at the time, contradictions with himself. Still not scary, besides the funniness, he begins to be endearing.

A jump, and here comes chapter 115, the first to be completely dedicated to a villain and it really is interesting: hero society is seen through different eyes and its supposed “moral goodness” is questioned. Our gaze turns briefly towards the outcasts upon hearing «Heroes only save good people», is it really so? And why is a comic-relief character revealing this?

Jin Bubaigawara’s face is devoid of comedy as much as Twice’s mask is full of it: empty eyes marked by fatigue, a scar that divides the forehead in two, a story about losing oneself and their sense in the world. A double meaning, it’s early to comprehend it fully but My Hero Academia is opening to the other side, willingly listening and we listen with it. «By helping the League that accepted me as I am … I want to think that I am okay with the way I am, too» Mh. Okay. Let’s go on.

Twice’s development continues along the Overhaul Arc, as it opens with an error on his part which leads to Magne’s death, and from there it unfolds, in guilt, comfort and resoluteness. Toga, who until then was quite the flat character, cartoonishly depicted as creepy and psychotic, accompanies him showing a different side of herself through the first act of kindness we see from a villain. It’s worth underlining how, in regards to Twice, many of the bad guys soften, showing more delicate and empathic gestures: Giran welcomes him, Shigaraki allows (and uses at best) his sentimentality, even Dabi puts aside his indifference to encourage him. I think it’s because such dedication drives others to respond in kind.

Anyway, «I’m human too y’know… Shigaraki!» (ch.148) with this sentence, what previously was only speculation becomes clearer in the reader’s eyes and seals the promise of a conscious and attentive development: Twice’s role is aimed at opening a gash on the villain’s inwardness, invisible until that point, and it’s thanks to him that we begin to observe them in a more understanding light. Magne’s death has shaken up the League, and they find again their balance with new, stronger bonds, sealed by Shigaraki’s affirmation that they’re acting for their own sake. With Twice pouring out his feelings they’re able to build trust, work in tandem, emerge victorious. He was (and will keep being) useful, pity he doesn’t notice it.

Several and too many chapters later: My Villain Academia Arc. Twice’s humanity is confirmed yet again when he throws himself into the fray, first to save Giran, then Toga and then all his companions. In murmuring that the Legue is his home, another piece falls into place and it’s here, among other things, where we connect the most with him and his past: who has never lived a moment of loss and solitude, where the mistakes add up to one another to the point that one day you look in the mirror without knowing who you are, aware only of the ugly parts, thinking that maybe that’s why the pain doesn’t go away. You probably deserve all of it. 

Twice’s path is cathartic in regards to rejecting this view of himself because, partly by chance and partly by voluntary action, he began to recover when he built certainties in his life, realizing that it’s worth struggling for a connection with people and how much dear that becomes to you, how terrible the idea of ​​losing it (losing them) can be. The plot rewards him for his struggles.

«The important thing is to know who you are, what you want to become» isn’t it poetically perfect that when Twice decides not to run away from himself, he finally realizes that he is the original? The ground has stabilized under his feet because now he knows what his mission is, therefore the “real” Jin Bubaigawara can go back to being whole—or at least united enough to pursue the goal of protecting his home with all his power. Which is pretty fucking powerful.

Many have said that Twice is the heart of the League of Villains and I agree, he is a summary of the “good” (even if distorted) feelings that led every single member into joining the group. Misery does love company, the excluded sought each other because when one is alone reality is too scary to face. 

But a villain, however emotional, must have his tools to defend himself or his strenght will become his weakness. That’s why Twice is both the strongest and the most vulnerable and is twice (hah!) punished for this condition; the second is fatal. Despite this his narrative arc ends with a reaffirmation and reinforcement of everything he is and represents: he sees himself in Hawks and thinks he can help him (empathy), then he is betrayed and mourns and fights for his companions (self-sacrifice), he regrets his mistakes, he is ready to die (kindness). And he dies many times: protecting his home, full of anger and sadness, exposing the hypocrisy of people who are many things but perhaps not heroes—which is good, as Twice shows again and again, the world is not black and white, heroes and villains intertwine and maybe they do become “just human”. He dies without doubting himself nor his feelings, he dies in an attempt to reach his loved ones and he also dies reaching them. His last death happens in the arms of the girl who first showed him kindness, from whom he was sure he would have never received any comfort ever again. So he dies realizing that he was wrong, despite Jin Bubaigawara being the “Sad Man”, Twice is full of energy and affection to give, and these feelings are repaid by the very individuals who shouldn’t be able to do anything but inflict terror and fear. Again, that’s still because the world is not black and white and “Twice” and “Jin” are no different, one in the same.

Twice rejects Hawks’s words about his unfortunate condition. In doing so he rejects the words of himself to himself in chapter 229 «[you went wrong] when you were born without luck» and this stance can be connected to what Toga said against Curios «I’m not unfortunate at all!» (ch. 226) and Shigaraki’s response when he remembered his childhood «That was no tragedy.» (ch.237): all of them reject the inherent misfortune of their past to embrace who they are in the present, they abandon the self-pity. Therein lies the message that the choices they made are theirs alone and that no one should have the right to judge them with pity. These are all positive teachings that we are used to get from the good guys’ side, now that they’re seen through the villains everything becomes grayer and, in my opinion, more interesting.

And so, yet again, everything seems to be screaming that his death is not a tragedy because while he was looking for himself, he found a place to belong and learned to be happy with it. I like to think he also teached the League a thing or two but we’ll have to see, this is a point of no return for them; maybe it’s the start of their downfall, maybe they will change in something stronger, but Twice will keep having an impact on how things are.

I think he absolved his role.

This world doesn’t grant a just end to the outcasts, yet perhaps there is no need, if in the journey you can carve out a small space of happiness together with those who accepted you, with the good, the ugly and the incomprehensible parts all together.

I respect this, because I think there is nothing more important in the world. 

[monchikyun]

XII. baby, it’s cold outside

The cold water does nothing to quiet his distressed heart, it only succeeds in putting him even more on edge, just as he is afraid it might. As his body slowly succumbs to the sweet feeling of numbness, he goes over the events of this night in his head, thinking whether he should just give in and let himself be selfish. As long as they're here, in a place far away from their everyday lives, what could stop them from enjoying a little harmless make-believe.

Except when his playmate is Connor, nothing is ever risk-free and safe. Gavin should lock himself in the bathroom till the morning, then drive them home and never talk to the android ever again, for both of their sakes. A plan that has more holes than a colander. First of all, he’s really fucking tired and a bed, no matter how uncomfortable, is something he’s physically unable to turn down. Besides, they are work partners, if nothing else, and he doesn’t want to entrust Connor to some stranger. Not that he’s worried the tin can won’t handle himself, it’s just… he got so used to having him around to help him with the stuff his stupid human brain isn’t equipped to carry out that he can’t even imagine being on his own. He’s never had a partner last this long, and frankly, it would be a shame to ruin their job-efficiency just because one of them can’t keep his mouth shut.

His very smart thoughts get interrupted by an uninvited cough, serving to make him aware of his partially clogged sinuses threatening to make the following days hell if continues treating himself like a war criminal. He has no choice but to cave in and turn the faucet handle the opposite way. No one fancies catching cold and Gavin isn’t an exception.

❄️ ❄️ ❄️

“Ahh phcking shower!” 

A scream coming from the bathroom halts Connor’s unnecessary tidying session, making his stress-level rise significantly. 

He runs to the door and knocks on it without letting his head construct any possible scenarios. Remaining calm is the priority.  

“Are you okay?” he yells through the sound of running water, ready to barge in if there is no reply. 

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine, just almost got boiled alive.” He rests his back against the wall as relief washes over him. There is a myriad of possible responses he’d like to use behind his closed eyes, but all he manages to say is a silent “Hurry up and come here.” 

The devil on his shoulder is enticing him to go and take a peek, the door isn’t locked after all... the main reason for which is the faith Gavin has in him. He knows Connor would never invade his privacy unless specifically asked, so he resumes dusting the empty closet. It’s important to make sure the environment here is best suitable for his human’s health, for he heard the cough coming from the next room. Nothing escapes his sensor, not even the fact that Gavin’s body is well on its path to a proper fever if someone doesn’t take care of him. The man himself is the least like to do just that, so it’s up to Connor to prevent him from getting sick. And if he fails, at least he’ll have an excuse to get close to his friend without it having the additional implications they like to avoid so much. 

After he’s done with cleaning the room, he changes into something resembling pyjamas, just so doesn’t carry around the dirt gathered by his usual clothes. It does provide a sense of comfort as well, and not only for him. Surely, Gavin would be pleased to see a more human-like behaviour from him. 

He sighs and sits upon a bed closer to the window, hugging his knees in need of grounding himself a bit. It’s snowing heavily behind the drawn curtain, he doesn’t have to see it to know.

 It goes together with the blizzard inside his mind, giving him the only other acceptable company.    

Connor doesn’t regret letting his affection show, he doesn’t wish to take it back, but it still doesn’t sit well with him. It feels like he’s done something terribly wrong, something that would destroy the slight bond between them. 

Nevertheless, he doesn’t let it bother him when Gavin emerges from the bathroom dressed only in thin sleepwear, his eyes tearing up as he yawns. Connor doesn’t waste the opportunity to annoy him and throws at him the ugly Christmas sweater he packed specifically for this reason. 

“What am I supposed to do with this?” the man stares at the thing incredulously, about to chuck it back where it came from. 

“You need something to keep you warm during the night.”

“Thanks, but no phcking way I’m wearing that.” But he doesn’t return it, instead, he casually lays the sweater on top of his bag and goes to turn off the light. 

Before he has the chance to argue, the detective buries himself under his blanket and whisper an almost inaudible “goodnight.” Connor detects him shivering, sees how he curls into a ball to gather the smallest amount of heat.  

That won’t do. He stands up from his own bed and slowly walks over to his cold friend, gently placing an extra blanket over him. Androids don’t usually perceive the effects of temperature, so it’s only fair Connor gives his to the detective. Doesn’t mean he has to tuck him in like a baby and wish him sweet dreams, but who ever will stop him. 

❄️ ❄️ ❄️

Gavin planned on staying up all night, savouring the rare moment of peace when Connor’s there with him but not too near to make him self-conscious. So, of course, he had to fall asleep as soon as the weight of a second blanket made him warm and cosy enough to sublime. 

He wakes up without remembering any of his dreams, which is for the best. His head doesn’t hurt like it normally does in the mornings and he even dares to think that he’s well-rested, which would be a first this year. Connor greets him with a cup of coffee in his hand and a bright smile on his face, which is the moment he decides he doesn’t ever want to leave this place. Or maybe just for a couple more days. 

“Good morning, Gavin.” No “detective” this time, huh. Perhaps he really will spend the rest of his life w̶i̶t̶h̶ ̶C̶o̶n̶n̶o̶r̶ here.  

“Mornin’,” he mumbles, too flustered to address him in any way. 

“I bought you breakfast. Your favourite.” 

“Coffee and aspirin?”  

“And croissants." Gavin has to hold himself back as not to say something stupid like 'I love you', so he just takes the offered items while muttering a quiet "thank you". 

"It has been snowing all night." 

He sips on the bitter hot delight while listening to Connor's heavenly voice, a scene belonging to his fantasies, yet a part of his current reality. 

"I don't think it's a good idea to even step outside, least drive. The temperature is too low, and the piled-up sn-" 

"Yeah, okay. We'll stay here until the weather clears up." That is definitely too eager of a reaction, but he had to get it out there before his self defense mechanism kicks in. 

He glances out of the window only to notice it has frozen over, limiting his view to the outside world. Still, the snowflakes dancing in the wind have a way of letting themselves be recognised, so Gavin sends them soundless gratitude and bites into the still-warm pastry. 

It’s not Christmas yet, but he already knows he won’t ever forget this year’s holiday, no matter where he ends up spending them. 

@a-convin-new-year 

[eremiss]

Soft starters are so cute! Gonna keep that in my drafts! How about “You’re not in bed. I came looking for you.” for Gwencred? I am a weakling for things like that. :B

Set some time between 2.2 and 2.4...

Someone is playing a lute, the notes of a tune Gwen hasn’t heard before traveling steadily through the hall. The Stones is quiet and mostly still at this hour, but the tune is calm and not overly-loud, so no one is taking issue with it.

Gwen slowly unwinds her braid as she follows the music down the hall. She tries to concentrate on the sound and not the nebulous discomfort and restlessness that have been pinching at her thoughts all day. Even after a bell in front of her journal she still hasn’t been able to find a concrete cause, leaving her to think today is simply ‘one of those days,’ which does little in the way of helping her settle out and go to sleep. 

She huffs softly to herself, supposing she should be glad it’s nothing rather than something. 

The music draws her to the library, through the shelves and off to the right, where towering bookshelves obscure a few desks, chairs and a couch. 

She’s fairly certain she knows who’s playing and hopefully he, or his songs, can help put her mind at ease.

As Gwen nears the final row of bookshelves the song abruptly changes, picking up into a lighter, more whimsical tune that she recognizes. 

“‘Twould seem I’ve attracted an audience,” Thancred’s voice says from the other side of the bookshelf.

She rounds the corner and finds him laid out on the couch with a light-colored lute balanced on his chest. He greets her with a lopsided grin, “Recognize the tune?” 

Gwen hums and nods, hovering indecisively for a moment before perching on the arm of the couch by his feet, following along in her head with the lyrics he isn’t singing. She watches the way his hands move gracefully along the strings, never faltering or hesitating as he crafts a song out of thin air. 

Watching him play, his experience and practice manifesting in the form of casual skill and near-thoughtless ease, stirs a feeling of longing that’s equal parts admiration and wistful desire.

Gwen doesn’t know how to play the lute--or any instrument, for that matter. The entirety of her musical experience comes down to poking the keys on a piano and plucking at a harpsichord a time or two. She didn’t have the means to pay a teacher, nor acquire an instrument and teach herself, and she’d kept herself so busy she wouldn’t have had the time to practice, anyway.

But, she thinks idly, things are different now. Maybe I could give it a try? It wouldn’t be terribly difficult to save up enough for a beginner’s instrument and a few lessons, if she felt truly inclined. And there are plenty of musically-inclined Scions who would probably be happy to help her get started if she decided to teach herself. That would mean she’d need to decide which instrument she wants to learn, though.

Could the Echo help? It let her comprehend and internalize magic and combat techniques more quickly than normal, so perhaps that could apply to learning music, too? It doesn’t seem like that much of a stretch.

...But, that wouldn’t be a very practical use of the Echo, would it? She’s supposed to use Hydaelyn’s gift to protect Eorzea and from Primals, Imperials and Ascian schemes, not play music.

Thancred strikes the last note with a flourish.

Gwen replaces whatever expression she’s wearing with an appreciative smile and applauds. His valiant attempt at a gracious bow from his reclined position leaves them both chuckling.

She gathers her hair over one shoulder and curls her fingers in it, “I haven’t heard you play in a while.”

Thancred shrugs, reaching for one of the tuning pegs. “It’s become a rarity, I admit. I’m more given to song and story these days.” He pulcks at the corresponding string, the note bending upwards ever so slightly when he twists the peg.

She realizes she hasn’t heard him sing in a while, either. 

“I haven't played in moons,” he goes on, “but, happily, my skills have hardly suffered despite the neglect. I’ll be back in proper form in no time, should I make a habit of practicing.” He plucks the string again, humming with satisfaction once the rebellious pitch has fallen in line.

Thancred starts on another little ditty that sounds vaguely Lominsan and Gwen watches with rapt attention as his fingers move along the strings with lazy precision, quick and confident despite his obvious inattention. Even as she watches his hands move she’s left wondering how he could play so many notes and make so many sounds all at the same time--especially when his hands barely seem to move at all. 

If she did decide to learn an instrument, would she ever be able to play with that same sort of ease? Eventually, perhaps; after plenty of time and practice. Learning an instrument is one thing, but mastering it like Thancred has would be a long-term commitment.

It sounds far more daunting than it should.

“When did you get,” she nods to the lute, “this?”

“I borrowed it from F’lhaminn for the evening. She hasn’t had a great deal of time for music these days, either,” he replies with a shrug that somehow doesn’t disrupt the song in the slightest. “Tis a shame to leave such a fine instrument collecting dust.”

When Gwen has nothing to add but an absent nod, most of her attention still on his hands, he adds, “Ah, but I ramble. You sought me out for music, not prattling.”

I ‘sought you out’ because I’m too restless to sleep and you weren’t in bed, so I came looking for you. I thought chatting could maybe help get my mind settled. Gwen keeps her correction to herself, absently combing her fingers through her hair. “I don’t mind chatting.”

He hums thoughtfully, studying her expression. He brings his song to a rather abrupt end, laying his hands on the strings to fully silence the fading notes.

Confusion and mild disappointment flicker across her thoughts. She meant chat while he played, as he seemed to have no trouble managing both. Perhaps she should have been more specific.

He pushes himself upright, then offers her the lute with an inviting smile.

Gwen stares, nonplussed.

“You’ve been staring rather intently,” he teases. “And I would fain not deny you.” 

Well, she has been paying rather close attention to his hands. But enough to give him the impression she wanted a chance to play herself? Apparently so.

When a suitable way to decline the offer fails to materialize on her tongue she merely shakes her head.

He looks faintly amused as he turns to sit properly and make space for her on the couch. “Pray don’t deprive yourself on my account, dove. I don’t mind, truly.” 

She shakes her head again with a small, self-conscious laugh. “Really, it’s alright. I’d rather listen.”

Confusion flickers across his features and vanishes. He shrugs and rests the lute in his lap, rescinding the offer. “If you’re sure.”

Gwen slides down from the arm to the cushions. Then she shifts over to properly sit beside him. Not as close as she’d like, not close enough to lean on him or rest her head on his shoulder, but she doesn’t want to be a hindrance when he starts playing again. 

If he starts playing again, she corrects herself. She hopes he will, as both the music itself and watching him play had been pleasantly distracting.

“I appreciate the offer, though,” she says.

Thancred flashes her a smile and shrugs. A look that’s both thoughtful and faintly teasing comes over his face before he adds, “I forget how unfond you are of having an audience.”

He’s not wrong, but he’s not right either. She sinks back into the couch with a noncommittal sound, studying the far wall and hoping he’ll start playing again. She isn’t much in the mood for quiet at that moment, unpleasant things threatening to resume bothersomely nudging and tugging.

“What do you play, by the way?” he asks conversationally. “It occurs to me I’ve never asked.”

Gwen considers how to answer for a moment, then settles for a simple shrug. “Nothing.”

“Oh?” Thancred looks honestly surprised, even though she’s never implied that she had any musical skill. 

She feigns a forlorn sigh and makes a bigger show of another, more hapless shrug. “There was a harpsichordist who didn’t mind letting me pick a few notes every now and then, but I don’t think that counts.”

“It didn’t appeal?” Thancred asks.

“No, I...” She tilts her head one way, then the other, thinking. “It wasn’t really an option.”

He considers that, then nods. “Instruments are costly and picking flowers isn’t the most profitable of professions?” He suggests knowingly.

Gwen’s lips pinch into a pout and she narrows her eyes at him.

He replies with an easy grin. “Am I wrong?”

“Hm.”

Thancred grins for half a moment then looks down at the lute, thinking and drumming his fingers on the neck. Wondering what to play next, maybe?

His expression suddenly brightens, “Well, fear not,” and he pushes the lute into her hands, “that’s a problem easily solved.”

More concerned about dropping or damaging the lute than protesting, Gwen clutches it awkwardly, delicate but firm as if it were fine glass rather than wood. She makes a vague sound of dissent before finding proper words, “I don’t really-- I didn’t wasn’t trying to--” she shakes her head abashedly, “Really, I just wanted to listen.”

Thancred merely chuckles as he shifts over and settles just beside her, her fumbling protests inspiring nothing but amusement. He pulls one of her hands to the neck and the half-formed objections suddenly settle on her tongue and fade away. She stills, unsure if she should maybe try and make room for him or just let herself be moved. 

He leans into her and wraps an arm around her shoulders so his free hand can find her other, nudging his way half-behind her. “Here, hold it like this. Gently, now.” He pauses, “Well, I would say ‘like a lady, not a weapon’ but I don’t know if that would be terribly helpful.” 

Gwen sputters ineffectually, skin prickling --not unpleasantly-- under the weight of his arm and the press of his side. Her back is ramrod straight, but she manages to not quite go rigid. A smidgen of curiosity nudges its way to the front of her thoughts, tempted by the chance to play. 

Undeterred by her sudden motionlessness, Thancred sets about getting her hands into place. “Hands here and here, light but firm. Ehh, you’ll get it. Now, straighten your fingers out-- I didn’t say splay them, dove, you won’t be able to play like that. Yes, that’s better. Here, put your hand in mine and push back against my fingers. Not too hard, just a bit.” 

She tentatively presses back against his hand, firm but not so much that he can’t readjust her grip. She’s reminded that his hand is larger than hers, though not by much. 

He has to adjust a bit so he can properly press down on her fingertips with his own, and her fingers bend along with his. Their layered hands curl a bit awkwardly around the neck to hover over the strings, but they manage it. “Good. Try to maintain that. So, first things first, this,” he shifts their hands a bit and presses her thumb to the top string, “is the E string.” 

He rattles off the letters for each string, pushing her fingers to touch each one in turn. Gwen can barely hear him, too distracted by his presence, the heat of his hands on hers, the pressure against her back, his chin brushing her shoulder and the occasional whisper of his breath through her hair or against her cheek. Somewhere in the back of her mind she wonders if there is any benefit at all to trying to teach like this, or if it’s solely an excuse to be close and touch. If it’s the latter she… doesn’t mind, really, though a bit more warning would have been appreciated

“Let’s start simple, shall we? Careful not to touch the other strings.” He spreads his fingers and hers belatedly follow, then guides them to pin two of the strings under her fingertips. “Curl your fingers up a bit more. More.” 

She has to shift her arm and crane her wrist at an awkward angle to arch her fingers over the neck and avoid the other strings. She wonders how he’d made it look so natural, even comfortable, when he’d been playing. 

“Good. And now,” his free hand finds where hers is sitting, forgotten, on the body of the lute, and guides it to the strings, “strum. Ah, but don’t use your nails. Use,” a nudge, a little twist, and he presses the outside of her thumb to a string, “the side of your thumb here. Alright, give it a try.” 

At a loss, she lets her thumb fall down the strings in a way that’s a bit like someone staggering down uneven stairs. 

A tottering chord blooms in the air, the notes choppy but all in harmony. 

Thancred hums approvingly, “Again, one fluid motion this time.” 

Gwen strums again, her touch a little heavier and smoother, and the same chord rings out louder and more steadily. Played properly, she recognizes it as one of the chords from that little shanty song he’d been playing.

Oh. That’s...rather simple--or simpler than she had expected it to be, somehow. But that’s how a lot of complicated things work, isn’t it? The individual pieces aren’t difficult, it’s when one tries to make something of them, or use many at once, that things become complex. Notes and chords might be simple and easy enough on their own, but being able to actually play is something else entirely.

“And look at that, you’re already playing,” Thancred says approvingly. “Not so hard, is it?”

“It’s not,” Gwen agrees, studying the position of her fingers and the two strings she’s pinning.

Thancred’s fingers ease off and hers lift with them. “And then here,” he moves their hands down the neck, pressing down strings with her index, ring and little fingers. The bottom string --E? No, the top one was E, wasn’t it? Are there two? She should have listened-- is noticeably thinner than the rest and digs a little more sharply. “Arch your fingers. Good. And…” 

At a prompting nudge she brushes her thumb across the strings again, making a new note. 

Gwen smiles to herself, a modicum of tension leaking out of her shoulders and back. 

“You’re a natural,” he hums.

“I’ve played two notes,” she replies.

“Chords,” he corrects. “And you played them well.”

Gwen shoots him a sideways look and stiffens when she’s reminded his face is only ilms from hers. He grins guilelessly in reply.

She shakes off the minor surprise and works her expression into something skeptical before casting a meaningful look at their hands: hers on the strings with his to guide them.

Thancred rolls his eyes, “Fine, don’t take the compliment. Now, here...”

He guides her to the next note, and the one after that until they fall into a steady, slow rhythm. The lazy pace and gaps between each note made it a little odd-sounding, but the fact she hadn’t yet managed to hit a wrong note boosts her confidence.

Gwen lets herself be absorbed in the moment, concentrating on her hands and trying to remember which strings to press or strum for which notes. Her mind starts to haze over a little as she gradually relaxes, growing more comfortable and content with the press of his arm and his hands around hers with each note. 

She finally notices that his hands are calloused and rough like hers, and then realizes she’s not wearing her gloves. That’s probably good, actually, as they likely would have gotten in the way of playing.

She shifts a little, resettling a little more comfortably, and he does the same. They manage to not upset their slow song, and she smiles to herself.

The notes start to come more slowly, the pauses between them stretching longer even though the song isn’t over.

Gwen doesn’t notice when they stopped altogether until the last note has fully faded from the air. She blinks the haze away and lifts her head, feeling oddly groggy, “Hm?”

“Oh, you are awake,” Thancred says with a laugh. “And here I thought you’d dozed.”

“Ah, sorry.” She realizes how heavily she’s leaning against him and sits up, heat sparking in her cheeks, “I, ah, heh, seems I’m more tired than I thought...”

He gives her an easy smile, “Tis the nature of music to let time get away from you. Mayhaps we should call it a night?” 

He releases her hands and takes the lute as he leans away. The places she’d been pressed against him feel a little cold. It’s easy to distract herself from that, as the wrist she had craned around the neck is complaining enthusiastically and her fingertips stinging from the strings, each with a small little dent in them. “My wrist would appreciate a break,” she says with a laugh, rubbing at the ache.

Thancred chuckles sympathetically, “Ah, right. You’ll get used to that if you keep up with it. We can continue our lessons another time, but...” he catches her hand and ducks his head to brush his lips against her knuckles.

Gwen stiffens again, the nearly-extinguished sparks bursting into a full blush. 

He grins, a little smug, “...Perhaps at a more reasonable hour next time?”

-------------------

do not ask me how long I’ve had this 85% complete because the answer is SO. FUCKING. LONG. adlfjaskldfjasoidfjalskdnfa

Endings are hard lol but I think this came out alright!

Thanks @rhymingteelookatme for beta-ing! forever ago OTL lmao

Is this even a semi-legitimate way to teach someone guitar??? Probably not

[dailytomlinson]

After Louis Tomlinson’s recent show in Madrid, some fans got the chance to meet him. One girl wanted to talk to him about his song Two of Us , which he had written after the death of his mother. The girl had lost her dad, and wanted the singer to know how much his lyrics had meant to her. He’d never had that in his band One Direction, he says. “We wrote cool songs, but they were love songs. It only goes so far, and to have someone say that I could help them with my…” He pauses. “It blows my mind, that shit. I was proper proud.”

It has been a hard few years. Tomlinson’s mother died in 2016, just as he was about to launch his first solo single. In March this year, his 18-year-old sister was found unconscious at her flat in London and couldn’t be revived. We will come to that, but, professionally, Tomlinson was struggling too. One Direction – that supernova of a boy band – broke up in 2015. Or announced they were taking a break. Or “‘hiatus’ or whatever word we use”, he says with a smile.

At the time, Tomlinson, now 27, was finding his place as a songwriter. “I wasn’t singing a lot, I wasn’t the frontman. Without being a sorry little bastard, I thought: ‘How do I do better, how do I make something of myself, an identity?’” In the last 18 months of One Direction, he says, “I felt like I knew who I was in the band, and I felt a real worth for who I was.” The break up, he says, “rocked me. I wasn’t ready for it. I felt like I was getting to be a better songwriter, singer, a more confident performer, and all of a sudden, when I felt I was finally getting some momentum …”

We meet at a bar in north London. Tomlinson greets me with a hug as if I am one of his fans (I am not, particularly, although I am by the end). He seems open but not vulnerable, and more self-aware and modest than you would expect from a man who was once part of the biggest boy band in the world. He is friendly and relaxed, dressed in a black tracksuit, with a beer in front of him.

Tomlinson’s personal tragedies also meant his solo career has had a bit of a stop-start quality, but now it looks as if there is focus and momentum. He released his single Kill My Mind earlier this month; an album will follow next year. Kill My Mind is an indie-pop delight, not so huge a departure as to alienate his fanbase, but it sounds like the music he grew up listening to – Oasis and Arctic Monkeys – and his South Yorkshire accent brings more than a hint of Liam Gallagher-style northern vocals. He sounds confident on them, more so than on the previous singles he put out, a couple of fairly forgettable collaborations. “I think, in hindsight, that was me trying to find my place in the industry and making music I thought I had to make to get on radio.

“I had this epiphany when I was thinking about the music I grew up with,” he continues. “I kind of had a bit of a word with myself and worked out what I want – to be happy and proud of what I’m doing. I love those early singles, but I never really felt proud of them, because it didn’t feel too true to me.”

As a child, growing up in Doncaster with his mum Johannah, who raised him alone until she married Tomlinson’s stepfather, he loved performing. “I liked to be the class clown, I liked to make people laugh, to show off, all that.” When his younger twin sisters were cast on TV dramas, he would sometimes go along as their chaperone, earning £30. “Where I’m from, we don’t have anyone who’s been on TV or anything like that, so it was super-exciting,” he says. He ended up picking up work as an extra. “The pinnacle of my acting career was one line on an ITV drama. I don’t even know if they used my scene,” he says with a laugh.

When he was 15, he joined a drama group in Barnsley, which his mum would take him to when she could afford it. “I think I was confused, thinking I wanted to act when actually what I wanted to do was perform.”

At school he joined a band, where they sang Oasis and Green Day covers, and when The X Factor came up, he made it on to the show in 2010 on his third attempt. He queued from 3am to make sure the producers wouldn’t have audition fatigue before they saw him, and he got his goal – to get in front of Simon Cowell “and just have a professional opinion on how I am as a singer. I was so flustered. Going from school performances to performing in front of professionals, TV cameras, a 3,000-strong audience. I wasn’t present. I sang terribly. I remember coming away from it thinking: ‘I wonder if I’ve got through as one of those lads who looks all right but isn’t really a good singer.’”

Yet he ended up in One Direction, the band the show put together in its 2010 series. For six years they sold tens of millions of records, broke America and each made a rumoured £40m-plus fortune. Their fans, Directioners, are another level of devoted. I don’t know how he coped with the attention, or the pressure.

There were really only a few times when it got too much, says Tomlinson. They were in Australia and a local news station had got a helicopter and a photographer was trying to get pictures of Tomlinson in his top-floor hotel room. “I think I was naked, or just in my boxers, and even in my hotel room there was no escape. I could feel the pressure.” He tweeted about it – “your standard bratty celebrity tweet” – and was attacked. “At times it did stress me out but never was I allowed to whinge, allowed to be a human and say: ‘Today has got too much for me.’ I found that difficult at first.”

But he is keen not to sound as if he is complaining. “There was much more positive that outweighed that.” And he never blames the fans for their intensity. Theirs is a special relationship, he says. “So many people have bullshitted about what they feel about the fans, but they’re like family to me.”

Even when Directioners have got a bit too ardent – there is a conspiracy theory, for example, that he and his bandmate Harry Styles have long been in a secret sexual relationship – he seems more bemused by it than annoyed. Although he is wary, he says, of adding “fuel to the fire” by talking about it. “I know, culturally, it’s interesting, but I’m just a bit tired of it,” he says. The HBO drama Euphoria recently showed an animated sequence of Tomlinson and Styles together, as imagined by a smutty fan-fiction writer. Was it annoying that a show had taken something fairly niche and given it new mainstream life? “Again, I get the cultural intention behind that. But I think …” He trails off, trying to work out what he wants to say. “It just felt a little bit … No, I’m not going to lie, I was pissed off. It annoyed me that a big company would get behind it.”

Why does he think he never went off the rails during the band’s heady period? “My mates and my family, really. It’s from my upbringing and where I come from. If I went back to Doncaster and I was dripping in Gucci or whatever, I’d probably get whacked. I’m always very conscious of not acting too big for my boots. It’s the people around me who keep me sane and normal, because they give me insight into real life. Some celebrities, in pop in particular, only surround themselves with amazingness, and all they see is good, good, good, which is lovely, but you don’t understand the real world then. I have the luxury of my mates around me, just reminding me how fucking good I’ve got it, really.”

The day of One Direction’s final concert in November 2015, Tomlinson and his bandmate Niall Horan sat together “and had a little cry, because it was such a journey we had been on. That day in general was so poignant. As much as you try and prepare yourself, it’s a whole other thing when it comes.” Because they had worked so much with few days off, he assumed that a break would be exciting. “But it wasn’t like that. When you’re used to working however many days, it’s all that more evident when you’re not doing something. Especially in the first six months. My life became –and I don’t mean this to sound derogatory – very normal, from being a life of pure craziness.”

At the same time that Tomlinson was trying to work out what to do with himself, his mother, to whom he was intensely close, had been diagnosed with leukaemia; she died in December 2016. He performed his first single on The X Factor just a few days after her death, then seemed to half-heartedly continue with his solo career, releasing another single in 2017. It would be another two years – during which he became a judge on The X Factor – before he released Two of Us, a raw and beautiful (and under-rated) song.

“After I lost my mum, every song I wrote felt, not pathetic, but that it lacked true meaning to me,” he says. “I felt that, as a songwriter, I wasn’t going to move on until I’d written a song like that.” He knew he needed to get it out of him, but there was a lot of pressure – he felt he should be an experienced songwriter before he attempted it. Two songwriters he worked with played him the chorus. “It was like the song I always wished I’d written. I went in and put my personal touch to the verses. It was a real moment for me in my grief, and as part of the creative process, because it felt like it was hanging over me.”

Earlier this month, an inquest found that his sister Félicité had died of an accidental overdose; she had been taking drugs, including anxiety medication, since the death of their mother. He has been through some terrible times, I say, which must put a perspective on a pop career. “Exactly,” he says, a little quieter than before. “That whole dark side I’ve gone through, it sounds stupid to say, but it gives me strength everywhere else in my life, because that’s the darkest shit that I’m going to have to deal with. So it makes everything else, not feel easier and not less important, but, in the grand scheme of things, you see things for what they are, I suppose.”

His fans have been crucial, he says. “I’m sure every artist says this, but I do believe it. We’ve been through some dark times together and those things I’ve been through, they carry a weight, emotionally, on the fans as well. And I felt their love and support. I remember really clearly when I lost my mum, that support was mad.”

What have the experiences of loss he has been through taught him about himself? He thinks for a second. “I keep going back to it, but I don’t know if it’s a combination of where I grew up and my mum’s influence, but I just have this luxury of being able to see the glass half-full no matter what.” He is the oldest of his mother’s seven children, which is grounding and means, he says, “there’s no time for me to be sat feeling sorry for myself. I’ve been to rock bottom and I feel like, whatever my career’s going to throw in front of me, it’s going to be nothing as big or as emotionally heavy as that. So, weirdly, I’ve turned something that’s really dark into something that empowers me, makes me stronger.”

He gets up to go to the toilet, which I think is his polite way of asking me to move on, although when he gets back he says, by way of a final word on the matter, “I don’t want people to feel sorry for me. That’s not how I feel for myself. Somehow it fuels me.”

One Direction will get back together one day, he believes. He still speaks to the others. “We’re not texting each other every day, but what we do have, which will never go away, is this real brothership. We’ve had these experiences that no one else can relate to.”

Styles has become quite the superstar. The others seem to have steady solo careers. Tomlinson says he’s embarrassed to admit that, when he first went solo, he would have been devastated had his album “only” reached No 3, so used is he to everything he did with One Direction going to the top. Is it hard not to measure himself against his former bandmates? “Oh, naturally,” he says. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. I’ve never been competitive like that, but, naturally, you think: ‘If they’re getting this then I deserve that.’ I think, the longer time goes on, I can see it for what it is and just be proud of them.” And success means something else to him now. “It means I’m happy with what I’m doing.”

[hlupdate]

Louis’ full interview for The Guardian - 25/09/19

After Louis Tomlinson’s recent show in Madrid, some fans got the chance to meet him. One girl wanted to talk to him about his song Two of Us , which he had written after the death of his mother. The girl had lost her dad, and wanted the singer to know how much his lyrics had meant to her. He’d never had that in his band One Direction, he says. “We wrote cool songs, but they were love songs. It only goes so far, and to have someone say that I could help them with my …” He pauses. “It blows my mind, that shit. I was proper proud.” It has been a hard few years. Tomlinson’s mother died in 2016, just as he was about to launch his first solo single. In March this year, his 18-year-old sister was found unconscious at her flat in London and couldn’t be revived. We will come to that, but, professionally, Tomlinson was struggling too. One Direction - that supernova of a boy band - broke up in 2015. Or announced they were taking a break. Or “‘hiatus’ or whatever word we use”, he says with a smile. At the time, Tomlinson, now 27, was finding his place as a songwriter. “I wasn’t singing a lot, I wasn’t the frontman. Without being a sorry little bastard, I thought: ‘How do I do better, how do I make something of myself, an identity?’” In the last 18 months of One Direction, he says, “I felt like I knew who I was in the band, and I felt a real worth for who I was.” The break up, he says, “rocked me. I wasn’t ready for it. I felt like I was getting to be a better songwriter, singer, a more confident performer, and all of a sudden, when I felt I was finally getting some momentum …” We meet at a bar in north London. Tomlinson greets me with a hug as if I am one of his fans (I am not, particularly, although I am by the end). He seems open but not vulnerable, and more self-aware and modest than you would expect from a man who was once part of the biggest boy band in the world. He is friendly and relaxed, dressed in a black tracksuit, with a beer in front of him. Tomlinson’s personal tragedies also meant his solo career has had a bit of a stop-start quality, but now it looks as if there is focus and momentum. He released his single Kill My Mind earlier this month; an album will follow next year. Kill My Mind is an indie-pop delight, not so huge a departure as to alienate his fanbase, but it sounds like the music he grew up listening to - Oasis and Arctic Monkeys - and his South Yorkshire accent brings more than a hint of Liam Gallagher-style northern vocals. He sounds confident on them, more so than on the previous singles he put out, a couple of fairly forgettable collaborations. “I think, in hindsight, that was me trying to find my place in the industry and making music I thought I had to make to get on radio. “I had this epiphany when I was thinking about the music I grew up with,” he continues. “I kind of had a bit of a word with myself and worked out what I want - to be happy and proud of what I’m doing. I love those early singles, but I never really felt proud of them, because it didn’t feel too true to me.” As a child, growing up in Doncaster with his mum Johannah, who raised him alone until she married Tomlinson’s stepfather, he loved performing. “I liked to be the class clown, I liked to make people laugh, to show off, all that.” When his younger twin sisters were cast on TV dramas, he would sometimes go along as their chaperone, earning £30. “Where I’m from, we don’t have anyone who’s been on TV or anything like that, so it was super-exciting,” he says. He ended up picking up work as an extra. “The pinnacle of my acting career was one line on an ITV drama. I don’t even know if they used my scene,” he says with a laugh. When he was 15, he joined a drama group in Barnsley, which his mum would take him to when she could afford it. “I think I was confused, thinking I wanted to act when actually what I wanted to do was perform.” At school he joined a band, where they sang Oasis and Green Day covers, and when The X Factor came up, he made it on to the show in 2010 on his third attempt. He queued from 3am to make sure the producers wouldn’t have audition fatigue before they saw him, and he got his goal - to get in front of Simon Cowell “and just have a professional opinion on how I am as a singer. I was so flustered. Going from school performances to performing in front of professionals, TV cameras, a 3,000-strong audience. I wasn’t present. I sang terribly. I remember coming away from it thinking: ‘I wonder if I’ve got through as one of those lads who looks all right but isn’t really a good singer.’”

One Direction in 2012 (from left): Niall Horan, Zayn Malik, Louis Tomlinson, Liam Payne and Harry Styles. Photograph: IBL/Rex Shutterstock Yet he ended up in One Direction, the band the show put together in its 2010 series. For six years they sold tens of millions of records, broke America and each made a rumoured £40m-plus fortune. Their fans, Directioners, are another level of devoted. I don’t know how he coped with the attention, or the pressure. There were really only a few times when it got too much, says Tomlinson. They were in Australia and a local news station had got a helicopter and a photographer was trying to get pictures of Tomlinson in his top-floor hotel room. “I think I was naked, or just in my boxers, and even in my hotel room there was no escape. I could feel the pressure.” He tweeted about it - “your standard bratty celebrity tweet” - and was attacked. “At times it did stress me out but never was I allowed to whinge, allowed to be a human and say: ‘Today has got too much for me.’ I found that difficult at first.” But he is keen not to sound as if he is complaining. “There was much more positive that outweighed that.” And he never blames the fans for their intensity. Theirs is a special relationship, he says. “So many people have bullshitted about what they feel about the fans, but they’re like family to me.” Even when Directioners have got a bit too ardent - there is a conspiracy theory, for example, that he and his bandmate Harry Styles have long been in a secret sexual relationship - he seems more bemused by it than annoyed. Although he is wary, he says, of adding “fuel to the fire” by talking about it. “I know, culturally, it’s interesting, but I’m just a bit tired of it,” he says. The HBO drama Euphoria recently showed an animated sequence of Tomlinson and Styles together, as imagined by a smutty fan-fiction writer. Was it annoying that a show had taken something fairly niche and given it new mainstream life? “Again, I get the cultural intention behind that. But I think …” He trails off, trying to work out what he wants to say. “It just felt a little bit … No, I’m not going to lie, I was pissed off. It annoyed me that a big company would get behind it.” Why does he think he never went off the rails during the band’s heady period? “My mates and my family, really. It’s from my upbringing and where I come from. If I went back to Doncaster and I was dripping in Gucci or whatever, I’d probably get whacked. I’m always very conscious of not acting too big for my boots. It’s the people around me who keep me sane and normal, because they give me insight into real life.” He lives with his girlfriend, Eleanor and his best friend, Oli. “Some celebrities, in pop in particular, only surround themselves with amazingness, and all they see is good, good, good, which is lovely, but you don’t understand the real world then. I have the luxury of my mates around me, just reminding me how fucking good I’ve got it, really.”

With his mother, Johannah, in 2015. Photograph: Dave J Hogan/Getty Images The day of One Direction’s final concert in November 2015, Tomlinson and his bandmate Niall Horan sat together “and had a little cry, because it was such a journey we had been on. That day in general was so poignant. As much as you try and prepare yourself, it’s a whole other thing when it comes.” Because they had worked so much with few days off, he assumed that a break would be exciting. “But it wasn’t like that. When you’re used to working however many days, it’s all that more evident when you’re not doing something. Especially in the first six months.” He spent time in Los Angeles with his son, who was born in 2016, after his relationship with a stylist, Briana Jungwirth. “My life became -and I don’t mean this to sound derogatory - very normal, from being a life of pure craziness.” At the same time that Tomlinson was trying to work out what to do with himself, his mother, to whom he was intensely close, had been diagnosed with leukaemia; she died in December 2016. He performed his first single on The X Factor just a few days after her death, then seemed to half-heartedly continue with his solo career, releasing another single in 2017. It would be another two years - during which he became a judge on The X Factor - before he released Two of Us, a raw and beautiful (and under-rated) song. “After I lost my mum, every song I wrote felt, not pathetic, but that it lacked true meaning to me,” he says. “I felt that, as a songwriter, I wasn’t going to move on until I’d written a song like that.” He knew he needed to get it out of him, but there was a lot of pressure - he felt he should be an experienced songwriter before he attempted it. Two songwriters he worked with played him the chorus. “It was like the song I always wished I’d written. I went in and put my personal touch to the verses. It was a real moment for me in my grief, and as part of the creative process, because it felt like it was hanging over me.” Earlier this month, an inquest found that his sister Félicité had died of an accidental overdose; she had been taking drugs, including anxiety medication, since the death of their mother. He has been through some terrible times, I say, which must put a perspective on a pop career. “Exactly,” he says, a little quieter than before. “That whole dark side I’ve gone through, it sounds stupid to say, but it gives me strength everywhere else in my life, because that’s the darkest shit that I’m going to have to deal with. So it makes everything else, not feel easier and not less important, but, in the grand scheme of things, you see things for what they are, I suppose.” His fans have been crucial, he says. “I’m sure every artist says this, but I do believe it. We’ve been through some dark times together and those things I’ve been through, they carry a weight, emotionally, on the fans as well. And I felt their love and support. I remember really clearly when I lost my mum, that support was mad.” What have the experiences of loss he has been through taught him about himself? He thinks for a second. “I keep going back to it, but I don’t know if it’s a combination of where I grew up and my mum’s influence, but I just have this luxury of being able to see the glass half-full no matter what.” He is the oldest of his mother’s seven children, which is grounding and means, he says, “there’s no time for me to be sat feeling sorry for myself. I’ve been to rock bottom and I feel like, whatever my career’s going to throw in front of me, it’s going to be nothing as big or as emotionally heavy as that. So, weirdly, I’ve turned something that’s really dark into something that empowers me, makes me stronger.” He gets up to go to the toilet, which I think is his polite way of asking me to move on, although when he gets back he says, by way of a final word on the matter, “I don’t want people to feel sorry for me. That’s not how I feel for myself. Somehow it fuels me.”

1D face the fans: the band’s last performance was in 2015. Photograph: Sportsphoto Ltd/Allstar One Direction will get back together one day, he believes. He still speaks to the others. “We’re not texting each other every day, but what we do have, which will never go away, is this real brothership. We’ve had these experiences that no one else can relate to.” Styles has become quite the superstar. The others seem to have steady solo careers. Tomlinson says he’s embarrassed to admit that, when he first went solo, he would have been devastated had his album “only” reached No 3, so used is he to everything he did with One Direction going to the top. Is it hard not to measure himself against his former bandmates? “Oh, naturally,” he says. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. I’ve never been competitive like that, but, naturally, you think: ‘If they’re getting this then I deserve that.’ I think, the longer time goes on, I can see it for what it is and just be proud of them.” And success means something else to him now. “It means I’m happy with what I’m doing.” Kill My Mind, by Louis Tomlinson, is out now on Arista. His debut album will be released in 2020

[louistomlinsoncouk]

Louis Tomlinson on loss and love: ‘The dark side I’ve been through gives me strength’

The One Direction singer has had to battle a series of personal tragedies while launching his solo career. And it’s his fans and friends who have kept him going.

After Louis Tomlinson’s recent show in Madrid, some fans got the chance to meet him. One girl wanted to talk to him about his song Two of Us , which he had written after the death of his mother. The girl had lost her dad, and wanted the singer to know how much his lyrics had meant to her. He’d never had that in his band One Direction, he says. “We wrote cool songs, but they were love songs. It only goes so far, and to have someone say that I could help them with my …” He pauses. “It blows my mind, that shit. I was proper proud.”

It has been a hard few years. Tomlinson’s mother died in 2016, just as he was about to launch his first solo single. In March this year, his 18-year-old sister was found unconscious at her flat in London and couldn’t be revived. We will come to that, but, professionally, Tomlinson was struggling too. One Direction – that supernova of a boy band – broke up in 2015. Or announced they were taking a break. Or “‘hiatus’ or whatever word we use”, he says with a smile.

At the time, Tomlinson, now 27, was finding his place as a songwriter. “I wasn’t singing a lot, I wasn’t the frontman. Without being a sorry little bastard, I thought: ‘How do I do better, how do I make something of myself, an identity?’” In the last 18 months of One Direction, he says, “I felt like I knew who I was in the band, and I felt a real worth for who I was.” The break up, he says, “rocked me. I wasn’t ready for it. I felt like I was getting to be a better songwriter, singer, a more confident performer, and all of a sudden, when I felt I was finally getting some momentum …”

We meet at a bar in north London. Tomlinson greets me with a hug as if I am one of his fans (I am not, particularly, although I am by the end). He seems open but not vulnerable, and more self-aware and modest than you would expect from a man who was once part of the biggest boy band in the world. He is friendly and relaxed, dressed in a black tracksuit, with a beer in front of him.

Tomlinson’s personal tragedies also meant his solo career has had a bit of a stop-start quality, but now it looks as if there is focus and momentum. He released his single Kill My Mind earlier this month; an album will follow next year. Kill My Mind is an indie-pop delight, not so huge a departure as to alienate his fanbase, but it sounds like the music he grew up listening to – Oasis and Arctic Monkeys – and his South Yorkshire accent brings more than a hint of Liam Gallagher-style northern vocals. He sounds confident on them, more so than on the previous singles he put out, a couple of fairly forgettable collaborations. “I think, in hindsight, that was me trying to find my place in the industry and making music I thought I had to make to get on radio.

“I had this epiphany when I was thinking about the music I grew up with,” he continues. “I kind of had a bit of a word with myself and worked out what I want – to be happy and proud of what I’m doing. I love those early singles, but I never really felt proud of them, because it didn’t feel too true to me.”

As a child, growing up in Doncaster with his mum Johannah, who raised him alone until she married Tomlinson’s stepfather, he loved performing. “I liked to be the class clown, I liked to make people laugh, to show off, all that.” When his younger twin sisters were cast on TV dramas, he would sometimes go along as their chaperone, earning £30. “Where I’m from, we don’t have anyone who’s been on TV or anything like that, so it was super-exciting,” he says. He ended up picking up work as an extra. “The pinnacle of my acting career was one line on an ITV drama. I don’t even know if they used my scene,” he says with a laugh.

When he was 15, he joined a drama group in Barnsley, which his mum would take him to when she could afford it. “I think I was confused, thinking I wanted to act when actually what I wanted to do was perform.”

At school he joined a band, where they sang Oasis and Green Day covers, and when The X Factor came up, he made it on to the show in 2010 on his third attempt. He queued from 3am to make sure the producers wouldn’t have audition fatigue before they saw him, and he got his goal – to get in front of Simon Cowell “and just have a professional opinion on how I am as a singer. I was so flustered. Going from school performances to performing in front of professionals, TV cameras, a 3,000-strong audience. I wasn’t present. I sang terribly. I remember coming away from it thinking: ‘I wonder if I’ve got through as one of those lads who looks all right but isn’t really a good singer.’”

Yet he ended up in One Direction, the band the show put together in its 2010 series. For six years they sold tens of millions of records, broke America and each made a rumoured £40m-plus fortune. Their fans, Directioners, are another level of devoted. I don’t know how he coped with the attention, or the pressure.

There were really only a few times when it got too much, says Tomlinson. They were in Australia and a local news station had got a helicopter and a photographer was trying to get pictures of Tomlinson in his top-floor hotel room. “I think I was naked, or just in my boxers, and even in my hotel room there was no escape. I could feel the pressure.” He tweeted about it – “your standard bratty celebrity tweet” – and was attacked. “At times it did stress me out but never was I allowed to whinge, allowed to be a human and say: ‘Today has got too much for me.’ I found that difficult at first.”

But he is keen not to sound as if he is complaining. “There was much more positive that outweighed that.” And he never blames the fans for their intensity. Theirs is a special relationship, he says. “So many people have bullshitted about what they feel about the fans, but they’re like family to me.”

Even when Directioners have got a bit too ardent – there is a conspiracy theory, for example, that he and his bandmate Harry Styles have long been in a secret sexual relationship – he seems more bemused by it than annoyed. Although he is wary, he says, of adding “fuel to the fire” by talking about it. “I know, culturally, it’s interesting, but I’m just a bit tired of it,” he says. The HBO drama Euphoria recently showed an animated sequence of Tomlinson and Styles together, as imagined by a smutty fan-fiction writer. Was it annoying that a show had taken something fairly niche and given it new mainstream life? “Again, I get the cultural intention behind that. But I think …” He trails off, trying to work out what he wants to say. “It just felt a little bit … No, I’m not going to lie, I was pissed off. It annoyed me that a big company would get behind it.”

Why does he think he never went off the rails during the band’s heady period? “My mates and my family, really. It’s from my upbringing and where I come from. If I went back to Doncaster and I was dripping in Gucci or whatever, I’d probably get whacked. I’m always very conscious of not acting too big for my boots. It’s the people around me who keep me sane and normal, because they give me insight into real life.” “Some celebrities, in pop in particular, only surround themselves with amazingness, and all they see is good, good, good, which is lovely, but you don’t understand the real world then. I have the luxury of my mates around me, just reminding me how fucking good I’ve got it, really.”

The day of One Direction’s final concert in November 2015, Tomlinson and his bandmate Niall Horan sat together “and had a little cry, because it was such a journey we had been on. That day in general was so poignant. As much as you try and prepare yourself, it’s a whole other thing when it comes.” Because they had worked so much with few days off, he assumed that a break would be exciting. “But it wasn’t like that. When you’re used to working however many days, it’s all that more evident when you’re not doing something. Especially in the first six months.” “My life became –and I don’t mean this to sound derogatory – very normal, from being a life of pure craziness.”

At the same time that Tomlinson was trying to work out what to do with himself, his mother, to whom he was intensely close, had been diagnosed with leukaemia; she died in December 2016. He performed his first single on The X Factor just a few days after her death, then seemed to half-heartedly continue with his solo career, releasing another single in 2017. It would be another two years – during which he became a judge on The X Factor – before he released Two of Us, a raw and beautiful (and under-rated) song.

“After I lost my mum, every song I wrote felt, not pathetic, but that it lacked true meaning to me,” he says. “I felt that, as a songwriter, I wasn’t going to move on until I’d written a song like that.” He knew he needed to get it out of him, but there was a lot of pressure – he felt he should be an experienced songwriter before he attempted it. Two songwriters he worked with played him the chorus. “It was like the song I always wished I’d written. I went in and put my personal touch to the verses. It was a real moment for me in my grief, and as part of the creative process, because it felt like it was hanging over me.”

Earlier this month, an inquest found that his sister Félicité had died of an accidental overdose; she had been taking drugs, including anxiety medication, since the death of their mother. He has been through some terrible times, I say, which must put a perspective on a pop career. “Exactly,” he says, a little quieter than before. “That whole dark side I’ve gone through, it sounds stupid to say, but it gives me strength everywhere else in my life, because that’s the darkest shit that I’m going to have to deal with. So it makes everything else, not feel easier and not less important, but, in the grand scheme of things, you see things for what they are, I suppose.”

His fans have been crucial, he says. “I’m sure every artist says this, but I do believe it. We’ve been through some dark times together and those things I’ve been through, they carry a weight, emotionally, on the fans as well. And I felt their love and support. I remember really clearly when I lost my mum, that support was mad.”

What have the experiences of loss he has been through taught him about himself? He thinks for a second. “I keep going back to it, but I don’t know if it’s a combination of where I grew up and my mum’s influence, but I just have this luxury of being able to see the glass half-full no matter what.” He is the oldest of his mother’s seven children, which is grounding and means, he says, “there’s no time for me to be sat feeling sorry for myself. I’ve been to rock bottom and I feel like, whatever my career’s going to throw in front of me, it’s going to be nothing as big or as emotionally heavy as that. So, weirdly, I’ve turned something that’s really dark into something that empowers me, makes me stronger.”

He gets up to go to the toilet, which I think is his polite way of asking me to move on, although when he gets back he says, by way of a final word on the matter, “I don’t want people to feel sorry for me. That’s not how I feel for myself. Somehow it fuels me.”

One Direction will get back together one day, he believes. He still speaks to the others. “We’re not texting each other every day, but what we do have, which will never go away, is this real brothership. We’ve had these experiences that no one else can relate to.”

Styles has become quite the superstar. The others seem to have steady solo careers. Tomlinson says he’s embarrassed to admit that, when he first went solo, he would have been devastated had his album “only” reached No 3, so used is he to everything he did with One Direction going to the top. Is it hard not to measure himself against his former bandmates? “Oh, naturally,” he says. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. I’ve never been competitive like that, but, naturally, you think: ‘If they’re getting this then I deserve that.’ I think, the longer time goes on, I can see it for what it is and just be proud of them.” And success means something else to him now. “It means I’m happy with what I’m doing.”

Kill My Mind, by Louis Tomlinson, is out now on Arista. His debut album will be released in 2020.

[sariastrategos]

“People are staring” Lambert muttered, dropping his shoulders and curling in on himself. He was gently hoisted up by the arm he had linked with Jaskier.

“Of course they are darling, we’re gorgeous.” He replied, staring straight ahead, apparently paying no mind to the turning heads.

“Jaskier-“

“Lambert.”

This was a terrible idea. The singular worst idea he’d ever had.

“They’re not staring because we look good, Jaskier”

“Whatever gives you that impression?”

“Gee, I dunno, could be the confused fucking looks they’re throwing at us. Or maybe the muttering right after? How about the snickers?” He replied darkly, hunching back in on himself at the disgusted looks an older couple had openly plastered on their faces “what the fuck are you looking at you wrinkly old farts? Never seen a man in a fucking dress before? Get the fuck outta here!” He snarled.

Jaskier places a hand on his upper arm and hauled him back on course. “Calm down, dear.”

Easy for him to say. Walking without a care in the world despite his minty green, flouncy dress, coral kitten heels and matching purse. Man was wearing a choker and pink lip gloss for fucks sake.

He’d been feeling more confident lately, mostly thanks to Jaskier and his brothers’ support. They never flinched when he came out all done up after three hours of Jaskier’s meticulous attention. Didn’t blink when he wore leggings and a loose top or lounged around in skirt.

Well, besides telling him to close his damn legs, they didn’t need to see his balls airing out.

But yeah, aside from that the only comment they made was to tell him he looked nice, the colour suited him, his legs looked great in that outfit, etc. Nothing but supportive, even if they teased him. If anything the teasing helped, made everything feel normal. So yeah, he’d been feeling confident. Comfortable in his own skin, even.

He mentioned to Jaskier as he practiced his makeup that he kind of felt good enough to maybe leave the house. In his makeup. And a dress. Maybe some cute heels.

Jaskier had leapt on the idea. Gushed about how pretty they’d look, walking down the street in the spring sunshine. He wasn’t shy about anything, he and Geralt went out all the time with him dressed up. Even if he was just wearing makeup he didn’t care and neither had Geralt.

So they’d decided on a small outing. Nothing big, no malls or clubs or anything, just...out for ice cream and maybe a stroll through the park. Nothing too far from the house.

Jaskier’s enthusiasm had certainly been a deciding factor in this little outing but he wasn’t feeling as confident now. He knew he wasn’t getting as many looks as he thought, not even a quarter of the people on the street spared them a glance but he felt every. Single. One.

It was the last straw when a group of fucking frat fucks openly stared and laughed.

“I can’t do this. Let’s go back, those little shits are actually laughing in our faces.”

“Do you know them?” Jaskier asked, looking at him quizzically, completely ignoring the bastards with a death wish on the bench they were passing.

“No, the fuck? Should I know them?”

“No.” Jaskier said simply, turning and looking straight ahead again, chin tipped back and head held high “they’re not worth knowing.” He continued, tugged their linked arms to get his feet moving again when he tried to stop and turn around. “And if they aren’t worth knowing, their opinions aren’t worth your consideration.”

He let himself be tugged along as he considered this thought. Compelling argument but it didn’t stop the curl of shame and fear that twisted his guts when one of them wolf whistled and the others laughed.

The growls he heard rumble behind him startled him. He looked behind, catching Jaskier’s grin on the way, to see both Geralt and Eskel glaring daggers at the boys. Every line of their posture was menacing, from the snarls on their faces to the wide set of their feet. The boys on the bench, so brave a moment ago when they were jeering, fell silent and stared, wide eyed, at the two enormous men.

“It is helpful to have twin mountains of muscle ready to tear out throats with their teeth walking behind you.” Jaskier said, throwing a fond look and sly grin behind them. “I’ve thought several times that they should rent themselves out as escorts for this very purpose.”

They watched as Eskel and Geralt took two menacing steps in the boys’ direction and they went tripping over each other to bolt the other way. It was satisfying to see them run, comforting to know he had their support but also depressing that he’d not been the one to scare them off himself.

He suddenly felt ridiculous, all trussed up in a purple wrap dress, meticulously applied makeup and a wig Jaskier had picked up somewhere. Jaskier had offered him some contrasting yellow heels but they were a little too bright for his confidence level and he’d settled on a black pair instead.

He looked alright, his silhouette was a fuckin mess without the proper padding or a clincher but he thought he looked at least a little nice before he left. His makeup was fucking flawless.

He’d shaved off his goatee for this.

But all it took was some awkward looks and mocking from some little shits who’d barely come out of puberty and every ounce of his good mood had been fucking shattered. Everywhere. He was walking on the debris of his budding comfort with his super cute shoes. He could see the purple nail polish from his pedi through the peep toes of his heels as he crunched down on the remains of his hope.

He hadn’t realized he was spiralling until the arm linked with his tugged him forward and another snaked around his shoulders. Both gave him a light squeeze and he blinked to see the arm around him belonged to Eskel who was giving him a smile.

“Fuck ‘em, Lam, their shit ain’t worth yours.” He gave him another squeeze “you look great, they just don’t know how to handle how confused you made their sexuality.”

He snorted and let himself stand up a little straighter, marveling at the extra inch of height he now had on his older brother. “Yeah, I’m sure they’ll be jacking themselves to thoughts of me tonight”

“I will be” Jaskier commented mildly from his other side, wrapping his free arm around Geralt’s, who was still glaring after the boys. “You’ve got such lovely legs, dear heart, I wish you’d show them off more.”

“Yeah I’ll just throw out all my jeans and fill my drawers with Daisy Dukes and leggings for you.” He rolled his eyes and let himself keep walking, trying to ignore the people around them. They really weren’t that bad, hardly anyone looked their way but it felt like everyone was looking at him. He couldn’t pull this off as well as Jask with his big, bright eyes, long lashes and soft features.

“Don’t tease, darling, it’s cruel” he replied and planted a smooch on his cheek. “Before you fuss, your makeup is fine.” He was grinning from ear to ear, walking like a natural in those shoes, with a practiced sashay to his hips that did wonders to catch the eye. It sure kept catching Geralt’s eye as his skirts swished and his hip bumped his regularly. There was a reason he’d chosen to walk behind them at the start of this after all.

“How do you do it?” He asked “how do you walk like that?”

With a confused look Jaskier watched him for a moment “the same way you do darling, lots of practice and sore feet-“

“No I mean how do you walk like you don’t give a fuck? You don’t feel all the eyes burning into you?”

Jaskier paused and considered his answer “Well that’s just it darling, I don’t give a fuck.” He smiled brightly “their opinions don’t mean a damn thing to me, chances are I probably won’t see any of these people again and if I do we won’t remember each other.” He hugged his arm to him tightly “and what’s more is it’s my life, not theirs. This makes me feel happy and fulfilled and their opinions don’t, so which matters more?”

That took some time to process. They continued to walk and Lambert dimly recognized the warmth of the sun, the conversation flowing around him, the weight of his brother’s arm, as all secondary to his thoughts as he took Jaskier’s words in. He was right, the logic was sound, but it didn’t stop him from curling in on himself whenever he heard people muttering as they passed by. For fuck’s sake they probably weren’t even talking about him but it felt like they were.

He had to restrain himself from lashing out twice before Eskel tightened his arm around him again and leaned over to whisper in his ear. “Remember, confidence is key, little sister”

He almost got whiplash with how fast he snapped his head around to look at him. He’d never called him that before, no matter how much makeup or what skirt he was wearing. His eyes must have been saucers but Eskel just gave him a bolstering grin, the same look he’d give him when he was practicing footwork or frustrated with a brew that wouldn’t turn out. It was comfortingly familiar. “back straight, head up, no more of this self-conscious hunching, it doesn’t suit you”

“It really doesn’t” Geralt chimed in “The Lambert we know is proud, loud and obnoxious. Let that Lambert back out.”

It took a little bit, but eventually he straightened his spine, Vesemir would have killed him to see him slouching like that. A coaxing smile from Jaskier and he tilted his chin up a little more.

“That’s better.” Eskel grinned “the rest of the world can go fuck itself, show them what a fierce bitch you are.”

Lambert gave him a cocky grin that he was actually starting to feel “I am a fierce bitch. Fuck ‘em I am, I’ll claw their fucking eyes out if they don’t like it.”

“That’s the spirit darling! With the right nails, anything is possible!” Jaskier, always a font of support and violence.

“Fuck, thanks Eskel, now they’re fucking feral and it’s your fault” Geralt looked up at the sky like he was praying for strength. Jaskier and Lambert could feed off each other’s destructive energy for hours.

“You’re just jealous you’re nails can’t cut throats”

Jaskier and Lambert ignored them, discussing the merits and drawbacks of stiletto nails.

He still had a long way to go before he’d leave the house in makeup without at least one of them, but he felt good for today.

[thechildoflightning]

Growing Roots Ch4- Cotyledon

Title: Growing Roots [Masterpost]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairings: platonic Prinxiety, background Logicality

~~~

Chapter Title: Cotyledon- Chapter One

Summary: 

A plant, much like friendship, doesn’t grow in a day. To grow, a plant requires the right nutrients, proper soil conditions, correct lighting, to grow to its full potential. Even with this perfect balance, not every plant makes it. A friendship is much more delicate, and a lot more complex. 

Or: How exactly did Roman and Virgil become friends?

Warnings: Self-Harm (mentioned), PTSD, Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, Topics of Abuse and Sexual Assault (mentioned, does not happen/has never happened), Self-Worth Struggles, Shame, Mental Illness Stigma (discussed)

[ao3 link]

~~~

Cotyledon- Chapter Four

Roman may have now been dedicated to building his and Virgil’s friendship, but that didn’t mean it was easy. 

The day after Virgil had told him about his history with self-harm, Virgil had insisted that he was fine and that Roman should go to his classes. Roman had been hesitant at first considering everything that went down the night before. But Virgil had promised he was going to be okay and that he would stay safe, and Roman was going to trust him on that. Virgil did, of course, still had him take the box. 

It wasn’t for another week until Virgil asked for the box back. Roman texted an affirmative, and then showed up at his dorm with the box in his hand.

“Are you sure you can have this back?” Roman asked. He firmly held the box, not yet willing to hand it over.

“Yes Roman,” Virgil confirmed, “I’m doing a lot better. And anyway, I really need to shave.”

The comment startled a laugh out of Roman and the tension he had been carrying released. He hadn’t even realized he had been carrying tension in the first place.

“Fair enough,” Roman said, and he handed the box back over.

Virgil took it with a quite, “thanks,” and stepped back into his room. Roman thought that meant he was probably supposed to leave now, but before he could, Virgil was turning to look expectantly back at him. With a shrug, Roman entered the room.

Virgil set the box on his desk and turned back to Roman.

“Key?” he asked.

Roman didn’t move.

Virgil cocked his head.

“So, I might have forgotten the key,” Roman said slowly, “But I can go grab it right now.”

“You forgot the key to a box of dangerous to semi-dangerous items?” Virgil asked. He stared at Roman with an unreadable expression.

Great. Roman had messed up again. He had told Virgil he could watch over it and now Virgil wanted it back and he couldn’t even return all the pieces. Sure, the key was just back at his dorm but Virgil had asked him for a simple thing and Roman couldn’t do that. Now Roman was inconveniencing Virgil and dragging this whole thing on and why couldn’t he just get anything right?

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “I can go grab it.”

That’s when Virgil laughed. Roman withered, feeling humiliated at such a stupid mistake.

“Don’t worry about it,” Virgil said, “Totally something I would do. Did Patton ever tell you that we met because I locked myself out of my room?”

“You did?” Roman asked as he perked up slightly.

“Yep. And, as you know, I’m in a single. Meaning no roommate to let me in.”

Roman laughed at that, and the previous humiliation and tension fled.

“Yeah. Not my best moment,” Virgil admitted, “Now let’s go get that key?”

“Yeah,” Roman confirmed, and the two of them plus Trixie left Virgil’s dorm to head to Roman’s instead.

They were about half way there when Virgil brought up the subject.

“Hey, uh, thanks,” Virgil started, “I know, I know it was probably scary, or annoying, or just- I dunno. I know it’s not easy having someone tell you that they think about hurting themselves and then I put you in charge of the box and- Well I just wanted to say thanks, okay? You’re a good friend Roman, I appreciate it.”

Roman’s heart glowed a bit at the validation.

“Of course,” Roman confirmed, “I’m here to help the best that I can. Uh, like you said, you’re my friend. I care about you man. And I know I’ve been kinda doing a terrible job at that, but I am trying to learn and stuff. So thanks for giving me so many chances.”

“Wait, what?” Virgil asked. He came to a stop in the middle of the path and turned to face Roman, forcing him to stop as well. “What do you mean I’ve been giving you chances?”

Roman froze at that comment, because wasn’t it obvious? Roman kept fucking things up with Virgil. Sure, he was trying to get better but that didn’t mean he didn’t make mistakes. Mistakes that Virgil kept forgiving him for. Roman didn’t get why. If he was Virgil, he would of just kicked himself to the curb by now.

But Virgil still seemed to be expecting an explanation, so he gave it his best shot.

“Well I just- I mean I know you have PTSD now, and that helped me understand things a lot. But- I mean I keep fucking things up all the time. I say the wrong stuff at the wrong times or I do the wrong things when I should be doing something else. And like- that night we had movie night? And you said you didn’t want to watch Cinderella and I just blew up? And completely invalidated everything you had been through without even considering your point of view…” he trailed off with a shrug.

“I just, I make a lot of mistakes,” he continued, “And you keep forgiving them and giving me extra chances. Which I really appreciate, because I really do want to be your friend I just can’t seem to do any of it right,” Roman attempted to explain. He thought he was maybe rambling, but he didn’t know a better way to explain the vast amount of mistakes and errors he had made over time. How else could he explain it?

“Roman,” Virgil said, and then again, “Roman. What the hell?”

Roman hung his head and moved to continue walking. Maybe Virgil hadn’t realized all of his mistakes before. Now that Roman had laid them all out plainly, Virgil was sure to get rid of him.

He walked forward, leaving Virgil behind. He’d just get back to his dorm, get the key for Virgil, and then they never had to talk again.

Virgil raced forward a little bit to catch up, eventually matching strides with Roman once more.

“Roman, that movie night was two months ago.”

“I know. Doesn’t make it okay. Especially considering I haven’t really improved.”

“No- that’s not what I- okay we’re addressing that next. No, I meant, have you really been thinking about that night for two months?”

“Yes,” Roman answered easily, because of course he had been thinking about it. He had made hurtful assumptions and been an ass and he had failed at being a good friend. What else was he going to do? Forgive himself? 

“That’s- Roman you apologized for that. And I accepted. Because you meant it. It was obvious that you meant it. You felt horrible.”

“I do.”

“Still do?”

“Yeah,” Roman answered swiftly as he approached the entrance to his dorm building. He swiped his ID on the entrance and then grabbed the door to let both Virgil and him in. They both fell quiet for a minute, neither wanting to discuss the topic when the semi-crowded common room could overhear. 

When they swung down the right hall, Virgil spoke again.

“Roman- I- I mean I don’t know how to not make you feel about it. But I do want you to know that you don’t have to feel bad about it. You apologized. I accepted. People make mistakes. We both did that night. We’ve moved on.”

That was thing- Roman hadn’t moved on. He wasn’t sure how to.

“What do you mean you made mistakes,” Roman scoffed, “I was in the wrong that night.”

“Okay, okay yeah, you were, but I could've done things differently. I never took the time to explain the things that made me uncomfortable or explain that we had a system running to show that. And instead of storming out, I could’ve tried to discuss more productively. I just- well you grabbed my shoulder and that’s one of my triggers.”

“Right,” Roman said automatically, “I’m sorry about that by the way.” He grabbed his ID again to open his dorm's door. His dorm building was newer than Virgil’s, meaning that he could use his ID to open the doors instead of old keys.

Virgil let out a frustrated huff from behind him just as Roman opened the door.

“You don’t need to be sorry Roman, you already apologized for that. Two months ago.”

Roman ignored him, going straight to the computer draw on his desk and grabbing the key that lay on it. He held it out triumphantly to Virgil. Virgil took it and Roman turned to leave the room.

“No- Roman, can we, can we sit for a moment? And talk? I want to figure this out.”

Roman shrugged but did as requested, feeling a bit self-conscious. He had obviously done something wrong but he wasn’t really sure what this time. (He was never sure).

“I mean, I don’t think there’s much to figure out.” Roman shrugged. “I just wanted to thank you for giving me so many chances.”

“Yeah, but see, that’s the thing I’m confused about,” Virgil insisted, “I still don’t get what you mean by that.”

“Like I said- I keep messing up and you keep giving me chances.”

“What do you mean by ‘messing up?’”

Roman groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face.

“Now we’re just going in circles,” Roman insisted, “Like I said, I keep on doing things that make you uncomfortable and-”

“Okay, you do realize how genuinely impossible it is to make me not uncomfortable, right?” Virgil insisted. “So many things people do make me uncomfortable.”

“Yeah,” Roman said, “But I can change a lot of those things to make you more comfortable.”

“Yeah, you can,” Virgil agreed, “and you’re doing that.”

Which yeah, Roman was doing that. He just didn’t think he was doing very well at it. He voiced as much to Virgil.

“Roman, we’ve been friends for just a few months. You’re not going to be perfect at all of this in that short of time. It’s okay. Look- even when we’ve been friends for a long time, I still understand that there’s going to be moments where I could still freak out. I have PTSD, and it affects my life pretty severely. I’m constantly learning to manage it and I have Trixie to help, but even so it’s still going to impact my life.”

Roman could maybe get that.

Virgil hesitated and spoke again, “I know that I haven’t been super open about my PTSD and that probably makes it hard to understand and work around. I don’t fault you for slipping up or unintentionally triggering me when you didn’t even know that it was something that could trigger me. And the times where that has happened you’ve been amazing about learning from it and correcting what you can. Roman you’re- ever since that one movie night you’ve been amazing at it.”

That warmed Roman’s heart a bit and he started to maybe feel like he wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe Virgil was right. Maybe Roman was doing his best, and it seemed like his best wasn’t half bad.

At that same time there was that little voice in Roman’s head that was constantly screaming ‘failure.’

“I- thanks,” Roman said, “But, like, I don't- you don’t need to explain your PTSD to me, I don’t want you to feel like you have to. I mean, some, some better boundary explanations would be helpful maybe but I get that you were in a bad relationship or situation or something of-”

“Wait what? Relationship?” Virgil asked, looking completely lost. Roman gave him a look. Was Virgil really going to make Roman spell this out?

“Yeah,” Roman gulped, “Uh, I mean that night out on the lawn? When that guy was trying shit with me? And you stepped in? I mean you don’t have to explain anything but I got that you had, y’know, been in a situation like that before.”

“Oh. Oh!” Virgil said, eyes widening in realization, “Oh shit. You thought- You- Okay yeah, no. Roman I wasn’t in an abusive relationship or sexually assaulted or anything like that.”

“You weren’t?” Roman blurted out before he could stop himself. He immediately reprimanded himself for being insensitive.

“Uh,” Virgil stuttered. He seemed to think, and in the process, dug his nails into his arm. Roman caught sight of the action, now much more aware of it after patching Virgil up earlier that week. Before Virgil could do any harm, Trixie nudged his arms apart.

“Okay, so,” Virgil started, “I- Okay. I uh have PTSD because I was kidnapped by a cult as a kid. I lived with them for seven years. That’s- yeah, that’s all I’m gonna go into for now.”

Roman’s mind froze. Virgil had been what? Roman had not been expecting that. Even more odd, now that he had heard it, it sounded startling familiar.

“Uh, any chance you're from Utah? Because I’m pretty sure there was an exact case like this a little more than five years ago,” Roman mentioned, because he had absolutely no brain to mouth filter.

“Yeah. That was me.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.”

Roman vaguely remembered something about kidnappings and deaths and rituals involving dissecting humans, sometimes live. Most of all, he remembered the story of a child not much older than him who had almost died after being stranded for days in a cellar. Before he could learn any more, his dads turned the news off.

“I’m sorry,” Roman said immediately, “I keep- I keep making assumptions and they keep hurting you and I’m- I’m sorry I didn’t mean to make you talk about this if you didn’t want to. But because I keep- I just- I keep putting you in positions where I make you and-”

“Roman, you’re not making me do anything I don’t want to,” Virgil interrupted, “Look, I know I’ve been vague as hell. I don’t fault you for making what are some pretty reasonable assumptions.”

Roman shifted uncomfortably. That was- well that was fair and Virgil had a good point. But Roman still felt miserable.

“But I could of approached some things differently,” Roman insisted.

“Are we talking about the movie night two months ago?” Virgil asked.

“Yeah,” Roman responded meekly.

“Okay, Roman, yeah, yeah you probably could have approached that differently. But there’s no telling if I would have responded perfectly in that situation either. Again, we both made mistakes, and it’s in the past now. I- You’ve gotta forgive yourself for that Roman.”

Why did Virgil have such good points? It made it a lot harder for Roman to stay mad at himself.

“Okay,” Roman replied, because what else could he say? “Yeah I can try.”

“Yeah?” Virgil replied. A faint smile started to cross his face.

“Yeah,” Roman confirmed, even though Roman had no idea how he was even supposed to start the process of forgiving himself.

“Awesome,” Virgil said, “And I can try to be clearer with boundaries and stuff. I know it’s probably been really confusing on your end, and a good part of that is on me. I- It’s still really hard for me to talk about a lot of this and- and I’m not really used to people being super supportive and the three of you are like my first friends ev- and I’m working on being more open and stuff.”

“Okay.”

“But just- Roman, I want to make sure that you realize that you’re a really good friend.”

Roman just snorted in response. Virgil may have had a lot of good points, but this last one had no chance of being true.

“I’m serious,” Virgil insisted. “Like, that night with the movie in the quad? I- That was the worst flashback I’ve had in a long time. I- You really helped me and you- Roman most people don’t do that.”

“I had to call Logan,” he protested.

“So?” Virgil responded, “You’re acting like that's a bad thing. You didn’t know what to do in a situation and so you asked for help. That’s a strength, not a weakness.”

That was a new thought. Roman had never looked at it that way. He had never thought that asking for help was actually a thing that made him strong, instead always seen it as a weakness, a personal failure. But maybe to Virgil’s point, asking for help was the best thing Roman could of done for Virgil in that situation. Roman had done a genuinely good thing that helped Virgil, all by just asking for support.

“I just feel like I’ve been a bad friend.”

Virgil sighed, “Yeah, I realize that. And- well I mean I don’t know how to change that mindset for you, I can’t change what you feel, but I can try to positively reinforce the things you are doing well. I haven’t done a great job at that, so it isn’t surprising you’re only seeing me respond negatively,” Virgil paused and his tone shifted from something more sure to slightly hesitant. “Would, do you think that would help?”

It sounded so childish. Positive reinforcement? What was he, 12? Roman didn't need reassurance or affirmation that he was doing things well. He was an adult, he shouldn’t need things like validation. He should be able to do all of this himself.

But he couldn’t. It was obvious that he couldn’t. (Why couldn’t he?)

“I’m not a little kid Virgil. I don’t need you to cheer me on for the littlest things,” Roman grumbled. He felt almost a bit insulted at the idea that Virgil thought he needed validation. Did Virgil really think that he was that immature?

“Positive reinforcement is really important y’know. For adults too- not just kids. It increases morale, productivity, and positive repeated behavior. I’m sure Patton could explain the science behind it, I can just give the overall psych view of recognition makes you feel seen which makes you feel validated which is a strong- generally positive- emotion that can help encourage healthy behavior and thought.”

Roman gritted his teeth. Once more Virgil was making so much sense but how could Roman begin to believe any of this? Because believing this meant that Roman had been doing everything wrong this entire time. He’d usually default to feeling like a failure in these situations, but he couldn’t even do that because apparently he was supposed to be forgiving himself? What kind of person?

“So… positive reinforcement? Yay or nay?” Virgil asked.

Roman knew his answer. The issue was admitting it.

“Yes,” he said after mustering his courage.

“Okay,” Virgil said, “We can work with that. Hey uh, Roman? How are you feeling?”

Roman’s brain was buzzing, working overtime. There was a weight in his bones and an exhaustion that seeped everywhere.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Virgil shifted and looked away. His hand fell to pet his dog a few times.

“Uh- how do you feel about the whole ‘you actually are a good friend’ thing? Are you- did this help at all?”

That was a good question. How did Roman feel about it?

“I’m not sure,” he said honestly, “It’s- It’s a lot to take in. A whole different mindset, y’know. But I think- I mean. I don’t- jeez this sounds so stupid-”

“It’s not stupid,” Virgil replied automatically. Roman gave a nod in recognition to his words.

“I guess- it’s a new perspective. And I’m not- I’m not sure I believe it yet. But I also think I want to believe it. And it makes sense. A lot of things you said make a lot of sense.”

“Y’know our campus has some pretty good mental health services,” Virgil approached gently, “I- It doesn’t hurt to just talk to someone for even ten minutes y’know? You don’t actually have to be mentally ill or anything. Tons of people go when they're just stressed out about exams or stuff.”

Roman stiffened immediately, but he wasn’t quite sure why. He recognized the importance of mental health and erasing the negative stigma around mental illness. He was all for people getting help if they were struggling with anything related to their mental health. Roman had been raised that way and had seen both his siblings struggle with issues both short and long term. He knew that if he ever needed help, he had his family’s support.

Roman just didn’t think he’d ever need the help. (Because was that what this was? Issues with his mental health?) 

Roman also believed and knew that if you struggled with your mental health you should get help, just like with any other health issue. But for some reason it was hard to apply it to himself. Because was he really doing that poorly? Was it worth it to take up other people’s time and space when he should just be fine?

It was in that moment that for the first time in maybe forever, Roman recognized the errors in his thinking.

“Yeah. Okay. I’ll check it out. Thanks,” Roman answered. It was forced through gritted teeth, but entirely truthfully, which was the important part.

Virgil gave him a smile, and the mood in the room shifted. Without saying anything, the two of them decided that the conversation was over and it was time to move on.

“Well, again, I need to shave. Badly. But if you come with we can do something after? All my classes are over for the day, and if I remember correctly, so are yours,” Virgil said to shift the topic, holding up the key Roman had handed over earlier.

“Sure, yeah, sounds good,” Roman replied, “But yeah, you should definitely shave first. Not a good look on you.”

“Wow, thanks,” Virgil bit sarcastically, and the two left the room.

A week later Roman made his way to the mental health services on campus. In the space of two months he talked to someone three different times, discussing the intense feeling of inadequacy and failure that seemed to stick with him whenever he did something that he even perceived as a mistake. 

There ended up being no easy answer to learning to forgive himself, which Roman hadn’t been expecting (but was admittedly wishing for).

He wasn’t sure if he’d ever stop feeling this way. But maybe he could work on managing it better. At the very least, he had Virgil at his side. Virgil- Virgil was a pretty good friend. And if Roman thought Virgil was a good friend and Virgil thought Roman was a good friend, well maybe Virgil was telling the truth. Maybe Roman could even slowly start to believe it himself.

~

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[musashi1596]

4, 8, 18, 38, 40, 51, 70, 82, 96, 124, 137, 149, 177

4. What is the longest your hair has ever been? 

Just a little bit longer than it is now, which is hanging slightly lower than my butt.

8. How grammatically correct are you when you text?

I always type in longhand with proper grammar (as far as I understand it at least), which I’m sure probably comes off as pretentious but it just feels right to me.

18. How many things can do with your weaker hand?

All the things, I’m ambidextrous. 

38. From 1-10, rate your singing ability.

Oh, that’s probably a solid 5? I’m usually too embarrassingly self-conscious to sing so I don’t have a lot of perspective, but I’m not completely terrible on the rare occasions I sing to myself. There are worse voices on the radio.

40. From 1-10, rate your cooking ability.

I think a 5 again, but I’m also a better cook than I think I am because I always keep the horror stories in mind. I don’t cook a lot, but I am making an effort to do more and improve.

51. How long have you known your best friend?

I don’t think I have one anymore.

70. Have you ever dyed your hair?

Yes, I tried it for the first time just a couple of months ago. I got some blue highlighting, which I really like. I think I’ll get some more done when salons are operational again.

82. Worst habit?

My annoying compulsion to overthink everything. It’s not healthy.

96. Are you still friends with anyone from high school?

Yes, but we don’t get much opportunity to see each other anymore. I still train with a good friend from school who I saw every week until lockdown, but I wouldn’t say we were close exactly.

124. Have you ever left a movie theater before the movie was done?

No, I wouldn’t really say there’s anything I’ve seen in a cinema that I really hated, but even the things I’ve been pretty indifferent to (such as the Robocop remake) I always feel like I need to give it the chance of seeing it until the end.

137. Where did you go on your last vacation?

Bolougne, Italy. Very nice place and most people were quite friendly. Good few years ago now though, I am long overdue a holiday.

149. Name one item from your bucket list.

I’d really like to visit one of the large American national parks, like Yellowstone. And many other suitably beautiful places.

177. How many drinks get you tipsy?

That is something I’m yet to discover. I’ve never been drunk.

Thank you kindly for the questions, I really appreciate it. It’s nice to get an anon who isn’t telling me to kill myself for once.