#-ish. Really this picture is brought to you by me getting a new heater that gets the room warm enough that I can be comfortably nude again 🥰

[tsuchinokoroyale]

Well, now that Dec. 25th is over and we’re slowly marching to the end of the year, I have a confession to make.

I, in fact, DO have incredible calves 😔

[austarus]

HR Wells x Reader Scars Across Time

**A/N: The picture/edit/gif does not belong to me. It belongs to @acewest360

Word Count: 6245

*Hey everyone! Please remember to hit that reblog button as well as liking and following! Sharing the content makes the world spin~ This is probably going to be the last fic I post until winter break. Things have not been going too well for me, I rarely have time to sit down for myself and write or play pokemon at all. But I promise I’ll be back with more fics and series parts with the winter season

“I can’t feel my fingers.”

“And this is why we keep our gloves on,” you emphasized, taking your gloves off and handing it to him to wear as the two of you walked to your apartment, “especially during a snowball fight.”

“But you’ve got to admit, I nailed BA pretty hard.”

“You did,” you giggled and pecked his rosy-cold cheek. “And I’m proud that you did. Knock some sense into him and Harry while you’re at it.” You mumbled the latter part to yourself. The other Wells doppelganger was still having trouble with his daughter, who’s back on Earth-2. She had ‘kicked him off his own Earth’.

“It’s too bad Jesse wasn’t here; I think she would have liked it.”

“She’s still upset with Harry, HR.”

HR did a half shrug, side-glancing at you as he took your hand in his, “She missed all the failed igloos and speedy snow angels, the laughs and arguments we all ended up having on who cheated or not.”

“She’s busy on her Earth being the Flash, though. That must be taking priority over everything else.”

“I know,” he sighed, taking your hand into his. You felt how frigid they were through the knitted gloves you had given him. His eyes met yours are the two of you walked, the chilly air piercing the layers you have on. The novelist hoped that his doppelgangers daughter has been taking care of herself as she takes care of her city. “Harry shouldn’t have avoided her and the issue between them though, that’ll only create a greater rift between them. I know he’s not good with emotions, but… Something doesn’t feel right, like… it just doesn’t add up.”

You only offered the novelist a half-shrug, not really knowing what to say. “I think they’ll end up talking it out, whatever it is that happened between them. They’ll eventually get through it together.” You unlocked the door to your apartment and pushed it open. The door creaked nastily from its hinges; you’ve been meaning to fix that. “Now, let’s first get you inside and thawed out, I’m pretty sure I have some cold sludge stuck down the back of my shirt.”

The two of you entered your cozy apartment, kicking off any spare snow remnant that had clung onto your boots and clothes. Both you and HR left your boots by the door. A shiver ran down your spine, the ice-water mix shifted in your shirt as you moved uncomfortably through your home. You attempted to not track any water on the hardwood floors, eagerly locating some dry towels while HR brought a laundry basket from one of the rooms. The taller man returned with one as you handed him a fluffy towel. You and HR stripped off the winter-y layers of clothes, placing them into the basket. Your long-sleeve shirt clung to your skin, the cool damp cloth making you a bit antsy to get out of it. The Earth-19 being took the basket to throw in the washer, adding in the appropriate amount of detergent and softener. He whistled throughout completing his task, towel around his neck. HR started drying his hair off as he walked back to the living room.

You turned on the weather channel, overhearing Iris mention something about a serious storm going to hit. Flipping through the channels, you finally landed on the Central City News station and just in time for the weather spokesperson to come on screen. The woman fully articulated the severity the storm could cause as well as how many inches of snow to expect with an estimated time. HR’s ears had perked up, eyeing you from behind the couch as you watched the news. You ran a hand through your damp-ish hair before deciding to set it in a towel turban. Well, it’s a good thing I went grocery shopping yesterday. I should still have the portable heater that Cisco made just in case. The candles and matches should be in a spare drawer somewhere.

You glanced over your shoulder to see HR with chaotically messy hair and the collar of his shirt soaked. You nibbled on your bottom lip while setting down the TV remote. “Hey, um… HR do you want to stay over the night? There’s a winter storm coming and stuff,” You sheepishly wrung your fingers for wanting to ask him to stay the night when you knew he probably had an upcoming deadline to meet. Am I being selfish? I’m mean… we’ve been together for almost a little bit over a year now. Gah, fuck, I’m overthinking again. Stupid past relationship trauma and emotional distress. You just didn’t want to inconvenience him.

You will never deny how safe you felt around him, how you didn’t need to be careful of how to act. You can be you. And HR can be the dorkily cute novelist that he is with no filter in regard to his ideas and thoughts and expressions. The two of you complimented each other, two wounded souls just fixing and adoring each other. It took a couple of weeks for you to open up about your past relationships to the novelist, which he listened with understanding and concern taking hold in his eyes. He had done the same thing you had done. HR had proposed to ask three questions and you would need to answer fully and honestly with the reward in return. A reward of something you had long forgotten because having HR understand your past like you had done with him caused your heart to swell to a grand scale.

HR’s gaze softened at you, a gentle smile gracing his lips. “I don’t mind staying the night.” It’s so much better than sharing space with one grumpy scientist back at the labs who’ll probably hurl objects at me if I do anything out of line in his eyes. He saw that bit of insecurity eating at you, and he would do all he can to brush it away. Your insecurities had lessened over time, but every now and then it pops back up. But it’s understandable, you were trying your best to be a good and considerate girlfriend.

HR’s heart melted when you perked up, a bright smile crossing your face as if your sullen thoughts had washed away in an instant. “That means we can even make s’mores tonight!”

“How-“

“-I bought this handy dandy electric s’mores maker-”

“-Birdy, we’ve talked about this. You can’t buy every single thing from Amazon.”

“But… but the s’mores.”

“Do I need to take your debit card from you?” HR joked at the pout you had given him, the both of you knowing he would actually do no such thing. But he worried of these little impulse buys you get yourself into. Especially when prompted by Cisco, Iris, and Caitlin.

“I will fucking fight you.”

“No, you won’t.”

“You’re right, I love you too much.”

“Was it really necessary though?”

“… Yes, the state of my survival depends on it.”

“Liar,” HR sighed to himself. “I’m guessing Cisco and Iris happened to be browsing through Amazon again when they got bored? And you happened to be with them? Browsing from page to page, especially the bargains section.”

“… Maybe~”

“…”

“Don’t worry, I made sure I paid my rent and taken care of the apartment before deciding to buy the s’mores maker.”

“Good.”

“Plus, I really bought it for you.” HR felt the tips of his ears warm a bit. “You said it was one of the things you used to make with your mom, but now you just don’t have the time to camp or be by a fire to make them. So… I got this for when you’d come over and stuff…”

“How did I ever get so lucky to have someone as precious as you in my life, my little birdy?”

Your giggle allowed his heart to jump through hoops. Hail started pounding on the windows of your apartment catching both your attentions. “We should probably go wash up. I think I still have some clothes you left when you slept over a few times.” An idea lit up brilliantly in your mind, your brain already gathering the necessary materials.

A smile graced HR’s face, feeling his heart flutter as you shuffled to gather his clothes. I would do anything for you. The taller man looked out the window, observing the outside world ravaging in the heaviness of white fluff. The power might go out soon. If we’re lucky, then it doesn’t. But mother nature doesn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon. “Which drawer are they in?” He questioned, padding off to your bedroom but throwing a glance at you.

“I think they might be in the top left drawer,” you lied to him, needing to buy some time. “I’m not really sure. But if not, you’ll have to look around for them in my closet or something.”

You hurried to the bathroom once he was out of sight, stepping closer to the closet. Twisting the handle, you were greeted with towels on one shelf and scented candles on another. Now, what to choose. You opted for the scents of Balsam-Cedar and Autumn Leaves from Yankee Candle. Scattering the small candle containers around the tub, you made sure they were positioned in a place to avoid any fires. This is going to look simply divine. You mused a cheery hum from your lips as you worked fast. The electric lighter was in a drawer along with the bath bombs for relaxation. You contemplated whether the tiny flower petals were a bit overkill, then figured that it would be. I’m extra as fuck anyway, so why the hell not. You pulled out the mason jar filled with pastel pink-blue hydrangea and hibiscus petals. With everything set up, you just had to fill up the tub with water and work your magic. Shutting off the bathroom lights, you shuffled over to your room right as HR let out an ‘aha!’ when he found his checkered cotton pajama bottoms.

“Come take a bath with me,” you started, taking his hand and squeezing it meaningfully with jubilant warmth within your eyes. “We can warm up faster in less time before the storm cuts out the power.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to…” He trailed off; his other arm held his clothes to his chest. You knew what he meant and nodded assumingly. An ex many years ago had tried to drown you once, but… Your ex isn’t HR. The man in front of you is considerate, kind, dorky, and quirky. The man in front of you is more wholesome and beautiful inside and out than any other man you had been with. You knew the novelist would never dream of hurting you. We’ve proven that much to each other in the past year, we wouldn’t hurt each other no matter what.

“I trust you, HR.” You leaned up and kissed his nose gingerly, “You know I feel safer around you.”

“And I, you,” the taller man allowed you to tug him to the bathroom once you had pulled out your own pajamas and undergarments.

“Before we go inside, I’m going to need to you wait out here for a few moments.”

“Interesting. What are you planning, little birdy?”

“Who? Lil ol’ me? Nothing really!” You responded with a cheeky grin before entering the bathroom. HR just kept that boyish smirk on his face then sneezed. God, he loves you, but he needed to get out of these clothes soon. Another sneeze left him when the sound of water graced the silence in the apartment. The hail had stopped, but heavier clumps of packing snow fell onto the city.

“Done~” you mused with childish delight, opening the bathroom door and ushering him inside. HR held his breath as the scents of the forest greeted him. The candles were beautifully lit around the tub, flickering and wavering as it cradled the bathroom with a dim glow. The bathroom lights were off to allow the candles to work their magic in the darkness. Neither of you would deny the warmth the candles brought as the flames danced happily in their respective glass communities. Scents of cedar oak, maple trees, and autumn leaves flourished in the air, but it wasn’t overbearing. The running water moved gently as you had begun to strip down and out of your clothes. Your movements shook HR out of his trance, tugging his own clothes off, but stopped short of shrugging his pants off when he saw all of you. Your eyes caught his intense gaze. A tight knot formed in the pit of your stomach.

“HR?”

“You’re…” He couldn’t find the right words. Any word couldn’t justify the beauty in front of him. “You’re elegantly divine.” Is what he settled for as he felt hot oil splash onto his cheeks.

“It’s not something you haven’t seen before.”

“It’s something that I hope I don’t have the misfortune to never see.”

You screamed on the inside as your mind started spinning at his desire. A smug grin grew on his face as you looked away, stumbling over to a jar on the sink counter. HR fully stripped, coming up behind you with his arms encasing you and strong hands resting on your hips as he watched. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. You leaned back into him, dropping a good two handfuls of flower petals into the water. His body, while chilled from your earlier winter-y activities still provided your own with a spectacle of warmth. Goosebumps gradually ran over every in of your skin. The taller man watched you with tired eyes.

“You know you’re going to have to let me go so we can wash up, right?”

HR pouted, to which you leaned up on your tippy toes to try to kiss his pout away. “Fine, but I think we both deserve some time to cuddle.”

“I was going to trap you in bed, regardless.”

A quiet laugh left his lips. Breaking away from his sturdy limbs and wonderfully sculpted body, you rifled through a drawer for a bath bomb. Milk and Honey~ Unwrapping it and disposing of its bindings into the trash, you set it down into the water as it instantly fizzed.

“Wait, you like bath bombs?” HR questioned with an arched eyebrow.

“Yeah, but only the organically made ones- that way it doesn’t irritate my skin.” You shut off the hot water and pulled out the necessary towels for the both of you.  “Also, they smell phenomenal!”

“They do.”

“What’s wrong?”

“One year on this Earth and I hadn’t even noticed that you had bath bombs too. Do yours also release an underwater firecracker?”

“An underwater firecracker??”

“Yeah, little ocean sparks underwater that also stimulate the water to move like the waves as if pulled from the effects of the moon.”

You just stared down at the slowly fizzing bath bomb in disappoint. “Why don’t you do that? Rude.” The novelist craned his head down to kiss your cheek with a snicker at your evident disappointment.

You stuck one foot in, the warmth enticing you as a hum left your lips before going all in. A wave of relief washed over your muscles as a tired groan left your lips while shutting your eyes. Leaning back, your skin touched the cool marble of the tub as the water drifted in multiple directions. The water rose to just above the top of your cleavage. HR had followed suit once you fully entered, sitting across from you with his legs crossed. A sigh had left him as he felt the tension in his body break away, the scents also helping him ease into relaxation. After a moment he pulled you in between his legs and you humored him because his were so long that they needed the space. Your eyes finally adjusted to the brightness set by the candles from your position.

You eyed the scar on his chest, teeth raking over your bottom lip. The one where Savitar had left his mark. Those thoughts came back. Your throat dried instantly. Swallowing thickly, your mouth moved on its own accord. “I almost lost you.” HR froze as he leaned his broad back against the tub, an arm on the rim of the cool marble. You reached out a hand to trace over the scarred skin. The closer you had gotten- the more you looked at his upper body- was the more you mentally berated yourself under the soft glow of the candlelight. Scared paths and crossroads of tinged undertones on his skin, some faint- others dark and deep. A few were clean and a few others were messy. Even the scar, perfectly hidden by his left eyebrow seemed to be clearer to your eyes now. Your heart sank in your chest, frustration and anger and hurt welling up inside you at the pain HR must have endured over the years. But mostly, anger and hatred towards yourself. How have I been so blind? How many times have my eyes overlooked these? How pathetic and ignorant have I become? HR shivered under your touch, under your gaze over the ugly reminders on his body. “We’ve been together for a year,” you started, “a little bit over a year- and I’m a damned fool for never truly seeing how hurt you’ve been.”

“I…” The words died in HR’s mouth. The sullen look in your glassy eyes, the pained expression on your face. His heart felt heavy, yet it oddly thrummed loudly in his chest. The warmth of the water didn’t help how you were feeling.

“And for that, I’m sorry.”

“Just being by my side and seeing who I am- how I’m worth something, exceeds any grim reminder of my past.”

“But, I didn’t-”

HR took your hand and intertwined your fingers together, “You’re the light of my life, you allowed me to forget my past and accepted me, all of me. I don’t hold it against you that you didn’t notice, we’ve been going through one hoop after another with these crazed villains. Hell, I forget the scars are even there when you’re with me… I feel whole when you’re with me.” The novelist strained emphasis on the last sentence. You felt the tears start to riot in your eyes before streaming down your face. HR gently cupped your face, wiping the tears away with a dry hand. “I’m happy that you overlooked them. I’m happy that I could shed them when I’m around you.”

You were silent for a few seconds. “I’m still mad at Iris,” you whispered with a sharp sniffle, your fingers finding the scar over his heart once more. “No, I’m pissed that she didn’t the willpower and guts to speak up when she had a chance. We… we could have prevented… both of you could have-”

“-We could have gone through a million different avenues, but the results would have led to the same road.”

“Wouldn’t it? You, at least, couldn’t have been hurt if we had done something differently.”

“Iris could have been hurt.”

“You were hurt!” You snapped as your voice wavered. “You were going to die, had it not been for Julian and Cisco and Barry. I… I can’t lose you. Every night, a dark thought slips into my mind. You could have died- You could have died right there when you were just starting to live a life of your own. All because of Barry and Iris.” Your cheeks felt wet and only then did you realize that the tears had pooled up and escaped. His gaze softened at you, nonetheless, the tears didn’t take away from any frustration that you had presented.

HR recognized the bitterness in your voice. The fiery anger within your eyes as you looked up at him with desperation. The same anger that he had long disciplined himself to distance from. Anger blinds all gates of logic within the mind. Because in a way, you were right. Iris could have easily said something when she was disguised as his persona. Instead the queen of the castle seemed reluctant in sacrificing herself, instead allowing the pawn to take the fall. HR had thrown it all away to save someone who didn’t really care to know him and treated him with disdain at first. All to prove to the others that he was worth being on their side. To prove to Savitar that he wasn’t a coward like the projected future had revealed. But most importantly, to prove to himself that he’s capable of more than just standing on the sidelines as backup. The anger and distraught and hate. HR worked tirelessly to move past them. You were his future now. You and the fact that in the end he seemed to earn his spot. Sadly, even at the expense of his own life. At the end of the day those were the cold, hard facts. Ones he willingly chooses to not give in to.

“But I’m here.” HR wrapped his long arms around you, pulling you closer to him. You choked back on a sob. Your anger waned at his gentle touch. “I’m here and I’m alive,” he let out roughly, letting you cry it all out as he rubbed your back soothingly. HR knew everything you had said had been true. And even if it did work out in the end, he didn’t want to imagine a reversal of the situation. If it had been you who had traded places with Iris instead of him. The novelist can only hope that the team wouldn’t have to put anyone else in a situation like that. That Barry and Iris wouldn’t have to play close to this dangerous game of chess again. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you sniffled, calming down with a stutter. You knew that anger blinds judgment. You didn’t hate Iris, but you resented her inability to save both her live and HR’s. HR wet his hands and cleared your face from any remnant of tears. kissing your eyelids sweetly.

“Interesting that you put hydrangeas and hibiscus petals.”

“How so? And how did you know?” you raised a questioning eyebrow at HR.

“The jar’s labeled.” You facepalmed at yourself. Of course, the jar’s fucking labeled, I’m such a dumbass. “But also, I studied the language of the flowers as well as the language of the colors for my writing.”

“So, what do hibiscus plants stand for?”

“From what I recall,” HR scratched the back of his neck in recollection, “they stand for love and affection between family members, friends, and others. A perfect statement of gentle feelings towards the others. It can even symbolize passionate relationships.” You had placed both hands on his shoulders as he spoke, mesmerized by his knowledge of the flower. He wiggled his eyebrows at his later statement, causing you to giggle with flushed cheeks.

“What about the hydrangeas?”

“Ironically, heartfelt emotions,” he kissed your cheek, rubbing the skin of your lower back as he continued. “Gratitude for being understood.”

“I would call it more of a fateful coincidence,” you mumbled, pressing your lips to his for a chaste kiss. But truthfully, he just wanted to roll around in bed with you and kiss you silly to his heart’s content… amongst other certainly heart-fluttering bedroom activities. When you pulled away, your eyes drifted over his figure. “Can- Can I ask you about them?”

Them. HR knew what you were referring too. That curiosity of yours is one day going to land you in trouble, birdy. HR mused to himself with a little noise of thought. He was well past the mental pain, taking up meditation and various things to acknowledge and push past it. But the idea of you feeling the need to know didn’t rub him the wrong way like it should have. Rather, it stirred something deep in his heart, a playful glint hidden in his eyes. “Depends on what’s in it for me, little birdy?”

You thought deeply for a minute and HR remained silent, running patterns over the skin of your arm. You felt warmth build up on your skin with every contact. “One night.”

“One night…?”

“One night, you can do anything to me- within reasonable bounds. You decide when the night can be.”

The Wells doppelganger immediately licked his lips and felt his blood rush at the notion. “Is that your final condition?” Because if it is, this big bad wolf’s going to make sure to devour his little red riding hood all night long. HR tilted your head back, a hooked finger under your chin as his lips skimmed over yours. There’s much planning that needs to be done.

“Y-yeah.”

“‘Yeah’ isn’t a word of confirmation.” Learned that one from a law buddy back on Earth-19.

“Yes,” you won’t deny the anticipation in your voice. The murky white waters retaliated with every movement from the two of you. “One question, one scar.”

“One question, one scar, one night.” The novelist smirked down at you, a cocky look on his face.

“Fair enough.” I essentially ordered one love romp of a night… I’m so fucked, literally and figuratively. I just hope I don’t have to come into the Labs the next day, neither of us.

HR watched you closely, grabbing the body wash as you decided with a focused look on what scar to choose. Your eyes roamed his body. You already knew of his mental scars, and he knew of yours. The novelist waited patiently as you quietly processed the image of them on his skin. Some scars on his body were from hitmen, bullies, or muggers- mainly during his young adult life or when he was creating STAR Labs with Randolph. That bastard probably sent some after me, wouldn’t be surprised since he knew I would be executed if I crossed dimensions. Bath sponge in hand, he lathered your body wash on the sponge with every intention that he would help wash you while he reiterated a scarred tale.

“What’s the story behind the one on your eyebrow?”

That one took HR by surprise; usually human nature would be intrigued with the most noticeable of things- big things. Instead, you pinpointed the one that was easily concealable in plain sight. Settling for the smaller scar in comparison to the others. The novelist took your arm, scrubbing your skin with lips pressed thinly. You opened your lips to ask if he’d rather you choose a different one, but HR cut you off in a matter of milliseconds.

“I got it back during my university years. I was an English Arts major,” he paused for a moment, switching to your other arm to give it the same treatment. “My father obviously didn’t approve, but I didn’t care. I just wanted to keep going with my literary studies, taking up photography in my spare time. One day, I was just walking through the city in the late evening. Dismal and dark, with fog everywhere.” HR rinsed off your arms, gesturing for you to turn around between his legs so he can start on your back. He plucked off the PanOxyl Foaming Wash bottle from beside a candle, using a different sponge specifically for the backwash. You had told him that sometimes you unfortunately get acne on your back and shoulders, so you use this backwash to keep it clean and acne-free. To your surprise he wasn’t revolted in any way, instead he admired your constant diligence with wanting to keep good hygiene, especially since so many factors can trigger different responses from the human body. You silently waited, listening intently as he continued. “I heard whimpers. Cries coming from down the alley. There was this… this small puppy- I-I can’t really recall what breed it was, but it looked hunger and tired and scared.” You looked back at him, heart aching as you saw his eyes show the pain in his heart too. “I thought to myself. How could someone leave a helpless baby animal to starve in the city’s alleyways? Why couldn’t someone have the heart to nurture it?”

“What did you do?”

HR ran the water over your back to remove any bubbles or foaming wash from your skin. “I saw myself in the puppy. Lost. Abandoned. Alone.” he whispered as he raised his chin, eyes finally meeting yours as you fully turned to observe him. Your gaze softened; your wet hand reached out to cup his jaw. Droplets of water fell from your skin into the colored water as he nuzzled into your touch. “I approached it, I wanted to keep it safe and warm. It didn’t object when I picked it up, cradling it like it the baby that it is. It trembled and shivered in my arms.” His heart dipped remembering the way the puppy felt in his arms. One of his larger hands held onto yours, the one cupping his chiseled jaw. “I had to do something, couldn’t just leave it there.” I couldn’t abandon it.

“There’s a ‘but’, isn’t there?”

“There always is…” He let out a mirthless laugh. “Things went south when a couple of drunk guys found me and the puppy. Turns out these were the same guys that had been harassing the little one through the alleys. They had been trying to use the puppy in illegal cage fights.” HR bowed his head slightly. “One thing led to the other, there was a knife and I was running like hell with the puppy. Until they cornered me, hence…” He trailed off, gesturing to his eyebrow scar with a free hand.

“HR,” you whispered, but he squeezed your hand as he took it off his face. Your other hand tightened into a fist in the water. HR’s eyes caught the movement but didn’t say anything.

“They roughed me up pretty good- I’m wasn’t- I’m not a fighter, but I would have been damned if that little puppy had been hurt. I ended up finding the little guy a home where he can be looked after and well-fed and safe.” You unclenched your fist, gently listing it to stroke his stubbly cheek as he concluded. HR ran his fingers down the length of your arm.

“You’re safe.”

“I know. You’re safe too, my little birdy.”

“I know.”

You twisted your body, stretching an arm out as you reached for his Old Spice body wash. It was your turn to help wash him. You started working away at his sturdy chest, obviously doing your best to not ogle at his abs and his entirely toned framework. But he caught your eyes drifting off more than once.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For always listening to me.”

“I love you, HR. And I would do anything in the multiverse to keep you safe and loved. You’re my one one one after all.” You winked at him, eliciting a deep chuckle from his lips. Music to your eyes, smiling as the corners of his lips lifted upwards. “There’s that radiant smile I love so much.” The man blushed but continued to grin.

HR ran a hand through his hair before catching a glimpse of his hair in the mirror. He squinted a bit as he held a lock between two fingers. “Looks to be about that time of year again.” Your fingers threaded through his hair once he released the strand.

“I’m assuming a haircut is needed.”

“Yup”

“I will never understand how men ask for their hair to be done.”

“It’s honestly really easy, with the provided visuals of course. I should take you with me once.”

“I’d be okay with that.”

“Probably going to need to dye my hair black again.”

“I think I have some leftover dye in a cabinet somewhere. You know… I wouldn’t mind seeing silver streaks on you. Makes you look like a sly silver fox to me.”

“… I’ll keep that in mind for next time as long as you allow me to learn how to do those intricate braids in your hair.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Mr. Wells.” You leaned up to kiss his lips.” The novelist smirked against your lips as he ran a hand over your bum. Neither of you had noticed that the water was starting to become lukewarm, the candles and warmth of each other distracted the two of you. “It’s a done deal.”

Taking his Old Spice Shampoo in hand, you squeezed a good amount out meanwhile he tilted his head down closer for you to reach. HR’s hands settled on your hips, steadying you on his lap to have your legs wrap around his waist. You scrubbed and massaged his scalp, creating a bubbly hairdo for him. You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your lips. But once your bright eyes met his baby blue ones, you felt your heart skip in your chest.

HR felt your hands slow as you retracted them but made no effort in submerging them in the water to get rid of the bubbles. Instead your smaller hands rested on his broad shoulders with the tips of your fingers doing a sort of feather-light dance against his skin. The novelist found himself mesmerized by your radiance, never mind the candlelight that continued to flicker around the both of you. You felt hypnotized by his baby blue eyes, pulling you into an ocean of wonder. HR licked his lips with half-lidded eyes as you moved to kiss him deeply, your lips slowly moved against his with a sensual kind of dance to it. The doppelganger breathed you in slowly and he pressed forward. His palm rested on your cheek while his other hand took one of yours to hold onto. The kiss broke but was soon reconnected. Over and over again. The moment wasn’t rushed. There was no hurry to get to the finish line. It was just you and him and the wisps of fire around the two of you. HR nibbled on your lower lip before you reluctantly pulled away. Your tongue ran over your swollen bottom lip.

“We should probably finish up before the power decides to run out,” you started in a low-ish voice. HR noted the slight jitter in it and his heart swelled at the effect of his kisses on you.

“I don’t think it might get to that point. We’d probably end up snowed in, but there’s a chance that the power might not go out.”

“It’s better to be safe than sorry.”

“I know. If we must, then by all means,” The novelist murmured, nuzzling his nose with yours before the two of you finished washing up.

HR stepped out first from the foamy waters of the tub, stretching a fine limb over for some dry towels. He handed one to you when you had stepped out after him unfortunately a little less graceful as you almost slipped on the tiled floor. HR’s hand reached out to steady you. Giving him a sheepish smile, you whispered a thank you to which he returned with a wink. He knew you could be clumsy at times, but nevertheless he’s grown to love that about you. HR had come to realize that him being able to catch you from tripping over your feet or stopping you from running into things would give him a sense of ‘being your hero’ or ‘saving you’. It was just a small thing that made him happy. A ‘your hero in-the-moment’ kind of thing.

You wrapped the towel around you to rid your body of the water and bubbles. The two of you had cleaned each other well which made you sigh in contentment because feeling clean and being clean made you feel satisfied and relieved after a long day. You couldn’t help the stare you had fallen into as your eyes roamed over your boyfriends’ body as he dried himself off. Subconsciously, you licked your lips at every dip of skin, every inch of muscle. Wrapping another towel around your hair, your eyes never left HR until he turned towards you. You blinked for a split second and hastily busied yourself with pulling your undergarments from your clothes pile. HR walked back past you with his pajama’s on. The novelist had every intention in extinguishing the candles that were left only to land a soft smack on your ass. You let out a little yelp in surprise at the impact.

“See something you like?” He teased as he blew the fire out. He knew. There was a large mirror in the bathroom after all. A smirk finally settled on his face, one that he had been repressing until he smacked your ass. The heat had stayed on your cheeks from the bath and getting caught.

“Maaaaaaaaybeeeeeeee.” To be honest, it was a nice ass.

HR chuckled, “Well, since you’re done why don’t you get that cute ass of yours in bed while I go and get the smores maker?”

“How can I ever refuse such a generous offer?” You hummed, leaning up to kiss him. The Wells doppelganger nipped at your lips in return then broke away from you. He stepped towards the door. “HR?”

“Hm?” He turned back to you with curious eyes. There was a soft glow that had settled within your eyes. The sight made his body tingle.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[planetkookie]

Don’t Throw Out My Legos

Summary:  When Virgil moves out, he's a little nervous. Thankfully he has people there to comfort him.

Warnings:  Kinda anxiety attack ish? Swearing

Words: 5351

Notes:  Hey again! I had this idea when listening to AJR and I think it's really cute soooooo yeah Title and Song come from Don't Throw Out My Legos by AJR: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pdOIHNF2vJc  Hope you enjoy!

Link to ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19094320 

-My new address is hard to remember

So I wrote it on the back of my hand

'Cause I leave the nest, this coming December

To make it as a grown man

I'm about to lose my only defenders

I'm packing up whatever I can-

Virgil stared at the door to his new apartment, gripping the keys tight in his hand. Smudged ink pen written on the back of his hand matched where he was at the moment, about to open the door to something he owned for the very first time. His cheeks were flushed from the bitter cold of midwestern winter and the nervousness of a young adult moving away from home. He had worried about this day so many times as a teenager, but now that he was here, it was so much worse.

He had lived with his parents -bless them - throughout college. Having gone to a local college, it made logical sense to him, and they had insisted that they wouldn’t mind. Still, he had felt like he was depending on them. And so, here he was, staring his new life in the face. He didn’t know if he could do this. He could hear his dad’s voice in his head, encouraging him to take that one step forward. And he could hear his pa’s voice as well, telling him there was nothing for him to be worried about, and that no matter what, he’d be fine. Putting the key in the lock and turning felt like the hardest thing he had ever done.

Sitting down by the heater he had plugged in, Virgil took a break from unpacking for the day. His chest felt tight, and his breathing was coming in short breaths. Taking out his phone, he tapped on the first name he saw, listening to the sound of it waiting for the other person to pick up. Suddenly a face appeared on his screen, and he smiled partly down at his phone. Roman, his boyfriend, grinned up at him.

“Hey Hot Topic! How’s moving going?”

He felt the tension in his chest lessen. “It’s fine. Hard. It’s crazy to think I’m moving out. When do you think you’ll be down here?”

“Not too long, why? You miss me?”

Rolling his eyes, he looked away from the screen, feeling his cheeks heat up. “Definitely not. Just mentally preparing myself for when you actually get here and I have to deal with you again.”

“Te amo tambien, V.”

They laughed and talked for a while about everything they could. As Virgil watched the sun sink down through his window, a lump formed in his throat. Biting his lip, continued to watch the sunset, half listening to Roman’s rambling. He remembered back when he lived with his parents they would go out once a week and just sit and watch the sunset. He would grimace at his dad being affectionate with him and his pa, secretly cherishing it. Not that he would ever tell. His pa would point out the constellations as they appeared with the darkness, and he loved to teach Virgil and his little brother, Emile, all about space. Sometimes they’d bring picnics and blankets to lay on during the summer, and he remembered that he’d fallen asleep many times under the stars, his dad’s fingers running comfortingly through his hair. And whenever the sun would get to just a sliver of light on the horizon, his pa would carry him to the house and return him to his bed. Something wet dripped down his cheek.

“-gil? Virgil? You okay?”

Suddenly he was brought back to reality. It registered that he was crying- shit why did he always have to cry?! When did it get this warm? Swallowing, he looked back down at the phone. Roman stared up at him, his brow furrowed in concern. How long had it been since he had checked out?

“V, what’s wrong?”

“I miss them already. Isn’t that pathetic?”

Roman’s brow furrowed as he observed Virgil. “Who?”

“My parents. And my little brother too, I suppose.”

“That’s not pathetic at all! They’re literally your family. Hey, maybe you should call them. Maybe that’d help you feel better.”

Roman smiled that soft smile that Virgil couldn’t resist, and he couldn’t help but smile back. “Yeah, okay. I think I’ll do that. Sorry I’m cutting the conversation short…”

He saw Roman roll his hazel eyes. “Oh stop. This is for you, okay? I’m not blaming you for moving out and missing your parents, ya dork. I get how you feel. I’m terrified to move away. But we will do this together, okay? Now go talk to your parents. Tell them hi for me, yeah?”

“Okay.”

“I love you, mi amor. So much. I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah, I love you too. Don’t get into too much trouble.”

Virgil clicked the end button and scrolled down to the picture that indicated his dad’s contact. He smiled wistfully at the dorky picture of him and his dad and clicked the call button.

-Been waiting for today but

All I can think to say is

Oh no, don't throw out my Legos

What if I can't let go

What if I come back home, back home-

Almost immediately, the phone screen showed the face of his dad. It was clear he had been cooking as the kitchen was visible behind him and his glasses were fogged up. His curly blond hair was a little messy, faint dustings of flour apparent in it. The countertops of the kitchen behind him were covered in bowls and ingredients for what Virgil recognized as peanut butter pie. Virgil could basically smell the aroma of the treat, having had eaten it on many occasions. It was one of his favorites. His dad was phenomenal at making treats like that, and suddenly, he felt the strong tug of longing to be back in his old home, the warmth and love of his family surrounding him.

He remembered the last time he and his dad had made something together. It was for Emile and his pa’s birthdays, and they were making thumbprint cookies filled with Crofters jam. They were his pa’s favorite cookies, and it was basically the millionth time that he’d help make them, but for some reason, he could remember feeling that this was special. As he mixed together the ingredients, his dad bustled around the kitchen, preheating the oven, gathering ingredients for dinner, and every so often, giving Virgil tips on what to do. His pa came in from outside, hugged his dad close and pressed a kiss to the blond curls. Virgil had rolled his eyes with a smile as Emile stumbled in from outside right behind pa, his glasses lopsided and a wide grin on his face. They had been planting flowers, and Emile had chased Virgil around with his dirty hands as Virgil ran around the kitchen, screaming like a kid. He missed that.

“Hey, bud! How’s moving going?”

“Fine, I took a break for today. I got most of the stuff set up that I need, like bathroom stuff and my bed. I’ll probably work on decorating and stuff tomorrow.”

“Sounds good. Is Roman there yet?”

“No. He said he was coming soon though.”

“That’s good.” His dad smiled and turned his head slightly to look behind him. “Logan! Come say hi!”

His pa came into frame, squeezing next to his dad. His stoic expression was broken with a soft smile, one Virgil knew he and his dad and brother were the only ones who got to see. He was struck again with that sense of longing. He missed them so much. Choking up, he turned his head away so the two older men wouldn’t see his face.

“Hey, pa.”

“Hello Virgil, how is moving into your new apartment?”

“It’s good.”

He could see out of the corner of his eye his dad’s eyes narrowing as he inspected Virgil. “Bud, are you sure you’re doing alright? You don’t have to put on a face in front of us, you know that.”

Virgil knew that all too well. His parents always preached being open about feelings and ideas, and that nothing you ever thought was inherently stupid. That philosophy helped him in so many ways, and because they tried to never put down any of his ideas, he felt comfortable telling them about what had been going on with him.

He remembered telling them about his anxiety at around 12 years old. He remembered being so sure that they would brush off his feelings, just like his friends had. Just the thought of telling them made his chest feel tight. Knocking on the wall next to the kitchen to announce his arrival, he had walked into the kitchen and asked to talk to them about something. Having taken after his pa when it came to information, he told them point blank how he was feeling, and to his surprise, they wrapped him up in a hug and promised to do whatever they could to help.

He remembered when he came out to them for the first time. He was 15, a freshman in highschool, and he had just asked if he could get his hair cut short. While they had agreed, it not being a big deal, his pa still asked if he had a reason. At the time he had said he wasn’t ready. In the salon, when he saw his light brown locks strewn across the floor, it stumbled out of his mouth. A simple, “I’m transgender.” The weight of the secret was lifted from him as he sat in the chair, staring at the ground. At first, he had thought their silence had indicated that they either hadn’t heard him or were upset, but when he turned around, his dad was crying and once again, they hugged him tight and asked what they wanted them to call him and what his pronouns were. It was one of his most cherished memories.

He remembered coming out a second time as well. His boyfriend at the time had been pestering to meet his parents, and although he knew that his parents wouldn’t care, for some reason he didn’t feel ready. Damien, the boyfriend in question, had insisted and insisted to the point that Virgil had it all planned out. The day he was supposed to tell them he had a panic attack. He could remember the fight to get air into and out of his lungs, he could remember sweating and sweating and sweating so much even though his room was air-conditioned and he was in a tank top and shorts. He couldn’t see anything. His pa had come into his room to bring him down to dinner to find him panicking on his bedroom floor. After calling his dad up, his pa had sat down next to him, talking to him softly to try to get Virgil out of his own head. Curling further into himself, he had bit out the truth that he had been panicking about in the first place. “I’m gay…” They stayed with him until he stopped crying, letting them know they loved him and always will. Afterward, he had promptly broken up with Damien. He hadn’t felt comfortable with him anyway.

He sighed in resignation, turning back to look at his parents. “I miss you guys. So much. I’m having a hard time letting go.”

-Oh no, don't throw out my Legos

What if I can't let go

What if I come back home, back home

Can we keep my Legos at home?

'Cause I wanna move out

I don't wanna move on-

He saw his parents smile back, and his dad said, “We miss you too, buddy. Trust me, Lolo can totally vouch for me that I absolutely sobbed when you moved out. We’re in the same boat as you. But you’re doing so good. You’re everything we could have asked for in a kid. Though don’t tell your brother that.”

His pa nodded, adjusting his glasses. “Patton is completely right. You are much more than what I expected in a child. We’re both extremely proud of you, Virgil.”

The lump in his throat was stuck tight, and all he could do was nod. He saw his dad’s eyes soften as he fought back tears. He had cried enough tonight. “Virgil, you know you’re welcome here any time you need, right?”

In reality, he had known that. He had known without a doubt in his mind that his parents would let him come stay whenever he needed. If he had a bad day, if he just wanted the company, anything. But he had become an adult. And with adulthood came the idea that going back to your parents for anything was weak. He had told himself quite often that he shouldn’t be missing home. He shouldn’t want to go back. If he went back, he would probably end up wanting to stay. Even if he only went for one night. It’s not like he hadn’t wanted to move out. He did. And now, he was free, he had his own life now. That should feel liberating for a young adult with nothing he had to do except his job. But now that he was hearing it from them, the truth of it all was shoved in his face. It wasn’t weak. Of course he’s going to miss his parents. It’s not like he had been moved out for years. Quite literally it had only been a few days. He had driven out to his new apartment on Monday. It was normal to miss the place he had called home all his life.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Good.”

Virgil clenched and unclenched his hand, trying to distract himself from everything inside of his head. He wanted so badly to just be fine with moving out. Fine with letting go. Fine with growing up and leaving everything he’d ever known. But for some reason, everything inside of him told him no. Virgil knew he had wanted to move out- he still did! He was proud of himself that he was moving out and becoming an adult! But he couldn’t get out of his head that he wasn’t ready. That he was making a mistake and leaving the safe place he had called home for all 22 years of his life. Now that he was out of college, the whole “moving on” thing was coming too fast.

“Hey dad, can you do something dumb for me?” Fidgeting with his sleeves, he stared at the wooden boards on the ground. “Can you, uh, would you mind…” He shook his head, making his dyed purple bangs fall into his face. He swept them away with a brush of his hand and continued looking anywhere but the screen. “Nevermind. It’s nothing.”

“Virgil,”

“Where’s Emile?” He was desperately trying to change the subject, and he was sure his parents could tell. “He out with friends?”

His dad chuckled, expression softening. “Not really friends, just one ‘Friend.’"

“Ohhhhh! So what’s the kid look like? What’s their name?”

“Virgil,” his pa cut in again with a sharp look. “Stop changing the subject.”

He could feel his chest tighten. Looking over at his pa, he pleaded silently with him to just let it be for once. His pa grumbled quietly before turning away with a small, “Fine.”

His dad looked like he was going to burst from excitement, and Virgil could tell that he was bouncing on his feet. “Okay okay okay!! So, their name is Remy. They’re really sarcastic and straightforward, just like Logan, but they were so sweet with Emile. They brought him flowers! Isn’t that so cute?! Oh, I can’t believe Emile’s on his first date… Reminds me of when you first introduced me to Roman!” Their family didn’t talk about Damien. “He was so kind and such a gentleman as well. I’m happy you found him, Virgil.” His dad smiled wistfully, and Virgil could see little sparkles of tears in the corners of his eyes. “You and your brother are growing up so fast… I’m so proud of you two, I hope you really do know that.”

“Thanks, dad…”

He could feel his heartbeat in his throat when he finally hung up the phone.

-People want shirts with the band name on it

And suddenly we ain't so bad

Saved up enough to rent an apartment

Far away from mom and dad

My Christmas card looks like a mugshot

'Cause suddenly I'm getting sad-

Virgil tugged on his My Chemical Romance shirt as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He forced himself to turn away from his bed, the soft looking comforter devilishly calling his name. Shuffling to his new kitchen, he started his coffee and prepared for another day of unpacking. It had been three days since he moved in, and he had two more boxes to finish unpacking before Roman got here. Which should be today. He should really hurry.

Downing the coffee, he placed the mug into the sink and dragged himself over to the two stacked boxes. Taking a pair of scissors to the top of the box, he opened it carefully. Trinkets and posters among other things stared back up at him, a glaring reminder of his childhood that he left behind. Taking them out one by one, he placed the stuff he had brought from his old room around him. Pokémon stuffed animals, cartoon posters, and little toy cars that he’d kept over the years surrounded him as he sat on the floor, getting lost in the memories of the past.

The door opened and Virgil bolted up, his cheeks flushed from surprise. Too many thoughts were rushing through his head. He could’ve sworn that he had locked the door. Nobody else should have a key. Except… Roman. His heart rate slowed as he turned around to see who it was, and thankfully it was who he thought it was. He breathed out a sigh of relief as he ran across the room to his boyfriend, enveloping the taller man in a hug. A kiss was pressed to his head as Roman wrapped his arms around Virgil as well, and Virgil melted into the hug, breathing in the sweet smell of the taller man. Everything, all his worries and anxieties, drifted away for the moment.

“Hello, mi amor. I told you I’d be here soon.”

“I missed you…”

“I knew you did.”

Virgil shoved Roman away from him, laughing. “Oh shut up! You’re lucky I don’t have the couch set up yet for you to sleep there.”

“We’re already going there huh? Oh, such a shame! Not the couch! Don’t subject me to the couch!”

He turned away from the dramatic antics of his boyfriend, walking back into the living room where his stuff was still on the floor. He could feel Roman’s presence behind him, observing the apartment. He heard Roman say something but the words didn’t register in his head. Staring at the floor where his things lay, he sighed, trying to pull the shirt around him tighter. Maybe he should just throw all this stupid junk away.

No… He’d never be brave enough to do that.

Virgil could feel the nervousness of being on his own settle in once more. He supposed that he should probably get used to it. It seemed like it was going to be a normal occurrence. But he was an adult, and he had to do adult things, and one of those things was moving out and moving on. It seemed simple enough on paper, having written it down right before he started looking for apartments. But now that he was here, everything scattered around him like a tornado had hit, it was much more difficult than he could have ever imagined.

-Been waiting for today but

All I can think to say is

Oh no, don't throw out my Legos

What if I can't let go

What if I come back home, back home

Oh no, don't throw out my Legos

What if I can't let go

What if I come back home, back home-

The apartment was finally finished. Little touches of Roman and him were scattered throughout, a perfect mix of ridiculously emo and fantastically Disney. Or at least that’s what Roman had said. They had taken all of the extra stuff they had left over and put it in a box in their storage closet. He hadn’t wanted to part with anything in the box but he wasn’t going to flaunt the stuff all over their apartment.

The black cloud that had hung over his head for the first few days or so had finally departed. It was a relief to wake up and not be miserable with the fact that he had moved. He found it kind of funny, as soon as his sadness and homesickness had gone away, Roman’s had shown up. He had woken up to him curled up on the side of the bed, quietly sobbing. Virgil knew this had been a long time coming. Roman was the oldest of five, and from what he had seen when he had visited the Hernández family, all four of his little sisters looked up to him like he was the Sun. It was pretty cute.

Currently, Roman was in the kitchen making dinner for that night. Both his parents and Virgil’s were coming over, as well as meeting for the first time. The siblings were joining too, so they had a lot of mouths to feed. Virgil had been banned from the kitchen since earlier that morning, with Roman shooing him out because he was ‘a disaster waiting to happen.’ He supposed Roman was right, he was pretty terrible at cooking. His specialties lay in baking. That’s what he would have been doing now if his dad hadn’t insisted on bringing something to contribute. Oh well.

He could hear Roman singing in the kitchen. That was something he found extremely endearing with his boyfriend, that whenever he was doing something, from cooking to exercising, he was always singing something. As of right now, Virgil identified the songs as show tunes from one of Roman’s favorite musicals- Wicked. And though he knew his voice wasn’t the best, he sang along with his boyfriend quietly, adding in the parts that Roman didn’t in the duets. He and Roman made a pretty good Glinda and Elphaba if he did say so himself.

“BOO!”

Hands grabbed onto Virgil’s shoulders as he jumped with a loud squeak. He turned around and glared at his boyfriend with mock anger as he calmed himself down. “That was mean!”

“What? Can’t scare my own boyfriend? Lo siento my poor poor prince.” Roman snickered, patting Virgil on the shoulder. “I heard you singing along with me, by the way. Not too bad for an emo like you.”

“Aw, what a compliment. I’m so very flattered.”

“As you should be!”

Virgil reached up, pulling Roman down into a soft kiss, tangling his fingers into thick dark brown hair. They were interrupted with a knock at the door.

-Can we keep my Legos at home

'Cause I wanna move out

I don't wanna move on

Can we keep my Legos at home

'Cause I wanna move out

I don't wanna move on-

The door opened to show Roman’s parents and sisters, all smiling widely at the two boys. Age ranging from 10 all the way up to Roman’s dad’s 48, they were all tall like Roman, and as Virgil led them inside, he couldn’t help but feel so small. The Hernández family was also big on hugs, unfortunately for him, and he was enveloped by the biggest group hug he had probably ever been in. Another knock at the door gave him his escape.

His throat closed up as he opened the door, and he could feel tears prick at the corners of his eyes. While it had only been a few weeks since he had seen them, it felt like seeing his family after months without them. Willing himself not to cry, he let them in. As soon as they were all inside, his dad crushed him in a hug, and the tears that he had held back flowed down like a waterfall. He had missed his dad and his pa and Emile so much. It felt so good to be back in his dad’s arms again. He felt safe and secure as if nothing would ever hurt him again. He was home.

After the two pulled away, teary-eyed and smiling, Virgil saw that Emile hadn’t come alone. Standing next to him was a short person with sunglasses and a Starbucks cup. Their stance was confident, but Virgil could tell from the slight tremble of their hands that they were nervous to be here. Emile had his hand closed around who Virgil assumed to be Remy’s free one, and Emile pulled them forward with a small tug.

“Virgil, I’d like you to meet someone.”

“It’s Remy, right? Nice to meet you, I’m Emile’s older brother.”

The pink haired boy gaped widely at his response. “But- how- DAD?!” He turned towards their dad, eyes blazing. “I told you I wanted to tell Virgil myself!”

His dad smiled with a small shrug of his shoulders. “Whoops!”

Shaking his head, Virgil turned back towards Roman and his family, smiling at the group. “Well, Mrs. Hernández, Mr. Hernández, and mini Hernándezes, this is my family.” His dad leaped forward, eyes shining with a wide smile on his face, grabbing Roman’s dad’s hand and shaking it. “Hey! It’s so wonderful to meet you finally. I’m Patton Taylor, Virgil’s dad. And back here, the really tall stoic one,” his dad laughed at his husband’s expression, “is Logan, my husband. And the other one with glasses is my other son, Emile. The person standing next to him is his partner, Remy.”

Mr. Hernández smiled warmly. “It is nice to meet you, Patton. I am Marco, my wife is Alisha, and these are our four daughters from oldest to youngest, Adelina, Carmen, Josefina, and Mariposa. Say hello, girls.”

The four grinned widely and said hello. Two, Adelina and Josefina were wrapped up in Roman’s arms, Mariposa was standing next to her parents, and to Virgil’s surprise, Carmen had bolted up to him after he greeted his family and wrapped her arms around him.

Roman grinned down at the two in his arms. “Shall we eat?”

A chorus of yes followed them to the kitchen.

-It's cold out there, you're standing there

You're trying to face your greatest fear

You're shivering, you're trembling

It's warm in here so come back in

Oh no, don't throw out my Legos

What if I can't let go

What if I come back home, back home-

After dinner, they were all sat in the living room, the Hernández sisters playing on the Wii against Emile and Remy as the parents talked. Virgil was curled up into Roman’s side, half listening to the conversation and half not. He was trying focus, truly he was, but his mind was drifting too far away.

A squeeze of his hand brought Virgil back to reality. Roman was smiling softly down at him, his hand running through Virgil’s hair delicately. The siblings along with Remy and Emile were still playing video games, but now they had moved on to Mario Kart, where Mariposa was absolutely demolishing everyone. He brought a free hand up to his face, rubbing at his eyes and pulling the hand back with a small “Shit!” as he remembered he had eyeshadow on.

“Well, good morning Sleeping Beauty!” Roman chuckled to himself. “I was wondering how long you’d be asleep.”

Virgil could feel his face flush as he looked away from his boyfriend’s gorgeous hazel eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know I fell asleep.”

His dad laughed. “Oh Virgil, that always happens when you’re cuddling. You should know that by now, silly. Plus, we don’t mind. I could tell you needed some rest anyway. You look exhausted.”

“I’m not- I’m not exhaust-” His sentence was cut off with a yawn and he looked down, embarrassed. “Okay... Maybe I am a little tired.”

“Oh mi amor, you silly boy.” Roman laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of Virgil’s head. “You’re fine. Plus I got to hear embarrassing little Virgil stories!”

“WHAT?! DAD WHY?!”

“Why are you blaming me? It was all your pa!”

“PA?! Betrayal. I can’t believe you. How dare.”

His pa just laughed and shook his head. “It made for good conversation material, seeing as you were sleeping. Next time, don’t fall asleep, V.” “Oh wow. Okay. Geesh, you think you can trust someone-”

“Oh stop being emo, Virgil.”

“PA! What the heck?!”

Laughs went around the group as Virgil’s cheeks burned redder. Mrs. Hernández interrupted with a small, unassuming smile. “Roman had an emo phase too.”

“WHAT?!”

“Mamá no! Don’t bring that up!”

She passed Virgil her phone and staring up at him was a picture of his boyfriend but younger, in all black and with bangs falling in his face. He couldn’t help the laugh that came as he compared the picture to the man holding him. “Damn, Ro. You were committed to that style! Makes me look a little pathetic if I do say so myself.”

“Shut up!”

“Nah.”

-Oh no, don't throw out my Legos

What if I can't let go

What if I come back home, back home

Oh no, don't throw out my Legos

What if I can't let go

What if I come back home, back home

Oh, no, I'll come home when I'm grown

It won't be the same though

I can't even go home, go home

Can we keep my Legos at home?

'Cause I wanna move out

I don't wanna move on-

The Hernández family left after a few hours. Mariposa had a soccer game to go to and the girls had to be torn away from Roman. After a teary goodbye, everything seemed much quieter. After having been engaged in conversation with his boyfriend’s parents, he had nothing else to say. At some point he had migrated to the couch where his dad sat, his head on his dad’s shoulder as the rest of them talked.

“Dad?”

“Yes, Virgil?”

“...It’s stupid. Nevermind.”

“Falsehood.” His pa interrupted the conversation with a vigor that Virgil didn’t expect from him. “Nothing you have needed to talk about with us has been stupid, so why would this be any different?” He sighed. “It’s just… I don’t know. Um. It’s not as important as all of the other things that I’ve told you. And plus it’s just kind of a dumb request anyways.” He shook his head, curling further into his dad’s side. “Sorry I brought it up.”

Roman walked over, taking a seat right next to where Virgil sat. “Mi amor, you know they won’t judge you for anything you say. Don’t let your anxiety win because you think it’s dumb.”

“Yeah… You’re right Ro. I hate that you’re right.” He coughed, his face burning. “So… Um… would you mind keeping the Legos that I still have at home? I know it’s silly, I know, but just in case I have anxiety while I’m there or something, or even just because…” He picked at the nail polish on his fingernails self consciously. “I don’t know. It’ll be nice to have something there that is a reminder of my childhood. Or whatever. Uh… Nevermind. Forget I asked.”

His dad chuckled, ruffling Virgil’s hair affectionately. “Is that all it is? I was worried it was something bad. Of course we can do that for you, V. It’s no problem. Plus, it’ll give the kids something to do.”

“Kids?”

“Yeah! You know, when you and Ro adopt or Emile and Remy or whatever!”

“DAD?!” Emile looked up at him in shock, his face bright pink against his freckles. “What the heck?!”

“What? What did I say this time?”

“Oh gosh…”

Taglist: 

@tacohippy56900

also @stars-and-rose cause I think you’re gonna like this one ;P

[discord-of-laughter]

100 IMPORTANT CHARACTER QUESTIONS: Damian

Thank you so much @myriad-ocs / @myriadimagines for tagging me!!! 💛 

PART 1: THE BASICS

1.      What is your full name?

Damian. I was found wandering the streets close to an orphanage when I was still too young to know my last name… and I reject the last names of my foster parents. So, all there is, is Damian… no middle name, no last name, no birth certificate or birthday.

2.      Where and when were you born?

I suppose I might have answered that already. It’s possible to assume that I might be around 30 years old… but the day I usually celebrate my birthday on is the one I was brought to the orphanage because I don’t know the true year, month or day I was born at.

3.      Who are/were your parents? (Know their names, occupations, personalities, etc.)

I wonder… but then again, I don’t want to know either. It feels better not to be sure that they were the disappointment I expect.

My foster parents on the other hand… I don’t want anyone to remember their names or to associate them with me. They were scum… leeches… they could cash some money with me, could use me for bait and sympathy… I was a cheap help and bait with big, sad eyes.

They sent me to lure well-meaning people into dark streets… a well-placed hit over the head… sometimes a few kicks too if they felt like it… that’s what they did. Fed themselves on the willingness to help of others… and their wallets. Nearly exclusively themselves though.

I don’t want to know if they had an occupation aside of it or a personality… or family… I don’t want to know anything and all I know is already too much.  

4.      Do you have any siblings? What are/were they like?

I don’t know… maybe. For a few days way back, I felt like I had a brother for a bit more than a week… but that was nothing and means very little… but seeing who I am, my condition, my personality and all. I can only hope that no, I don’t have siblings.

5.      Where do you live now, and with whom? Describe the place and the person/people.

I live alone. It’s a small apartment. Nothing fancy but at least towards the yard so it’s kind of quiet. One room for pretty much everything and a bathroom. A big window in the main room, the heater in front of it… I can sit on it while blowing smoke into the cold morning air. It isn’t too rundown. Most of the neighbours work hard. Lots of people from different places I usually avoid most of them in the hallway. But there are three of them I think of a bit differently. One of them sometimes makes me breakfast… and the harsh detective lady let’s me crash on her sofa when things are too shitty.

I have a bed, a sink, a fridge, a microwave, a toaster, a sorry excuse for a wardrobe and a small table for everything… those are the most important things… it’s often kind of darkish in my apartment but I don’t care… it’s good for sleeping in… and cheep enough for someone who earns his money like I do.

6.      What is your occupation?

I’m a… musician? I’d like to be a musician and a singer… I beg for gigs at small pubs… but it barely pays for anything… I’m not shy to take any help that is offered to me… pride is overrated. And I have a bit of money at the bank from a previous job… or was it a job? Because I am definitely skilled and talented in the only thing my foster parents taught me.

7.      Write a full physical description of yourself. You might want to consider factors such as: height, weight, race, hair and eye colour, style of dress, and any tattoos, scars, or distinguishing marks.

Really? I don’t own a bathroom scales… so whatever. Sometimes I forget to eat, sometimes I’m too drunk to eat… sometimes I gorge myself… I’m comparably lean I think… not much physical activity and a generally considered “unhealthy lifestyle” with little sun might lead to that. And my ashen skin. I suppose there might be a hint of olive under the greyish pale of it but I’m not sure. My race is up for debate as well… something Mediterranean Caucasian probably, generally considered white. Short, black hair, blue eyes… dark rings under my eyes, thin lips but still enough for a sweet kiss. I’m not especially tall either but hadn’t had a chance to get to know my height for a while… and I suppose I forgot about it if I ever knew it.

I like to dress casually, jeans, a t-shirt, sometimes a shirt. Usually combined with sneakers, nothing fancy. A small leathery bracelet on my right arm, on the left a silvery bracelet providing info to medical care personal if needed. I have a bunch of scares… none too big, absolutely none too interesting. I never fought in a war in- or outside the country. I never had a notable medical procedure done to me but accidents, impulsive and reckless behaviour happen… and foster parents.

I don’t have a tattoo either, just a burn scar on my left side… if you have to identify me that is the only thing to go for because otherwise I’m plain, uninteresting. But apparently despite all and my heart condition still interesting enough to attract attention once in a while. Oh… and I have a mole on my left hand. Slightly below where my thumb and my palm connect. A small dark brown dot you can only feel but not see. And a few freckles between my left ear, my hairline and my neck… look closer…. closer… well hello love, are you trying to seduce me? Because if you keep breathing on my neck it will work.

8.      To which social class do you belong?

Lower class probably… maybe not yet… I honestly don’t care as long as I’m alive, getting by and there is music you might as well say I’m scum class and I would just give you the finger.

9.      Do you have any allergies, diseases, or other physical weaknesses?

It’s not an allergy but an intolerance they say when a big violet lump forms on my skin when a wasp stings me… but that doesn’t happen too often. I’m usually too afraid and gentle with them… but it’s a hassle when it happens.

And I do have a heart condition… there is a name for it but let me explain it simply instead so that we can move on. My heart more or less beats irregularly, sometimes it stops. It already did two times so far and I’m still here, so that’s the good news. The bad news is that to fix even a part of it costs money – a lot of money. That I obviously don’t have, so I’ll probably live and die with this ol’heart of mine. No excessive physical exercise or it might stop… and so on and so on… all you need to know is that the pump is kind of broken but there still is a lot space for you and some others and a lot of love left. But better don’t go for the deal because death is my eternal companion always peering at me from a distance and waiting for it to happen… wondering if three times really is the charm?

10.  Are you right- or left-handed?

Left-handed.

11.  What does your voice sound like?

Very rough and raspy… kind of lowish I suppose but less when I speak than when I sing.

Here… how about you listen to this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oo-FlLQ6Gls

12.  What words and/or phrases do you use very frequently?

I honestly never though about that. Stuff with a double meaning maybe? Sweet, nice and honeyed phrases to charm someone. Excuse me… maybe? -ish stuff? Stay away… urgh I really don’t know who the hell even cares about that enough to notice it?

13.  What do you have in your pockets?

Keys with a bottle opener attached to it, lighter, cigarettes, comb, mints, some spare money and a pretty old and worn phone I probably had for 5+ years.

14.  Do you have any quirks, strange mannerisms, annoying habits, or other defining characteristics?

Baby, I’m a walking collecting point for annoying habits. Smoking, drinking, lying, at least two times so far dying. Flirting with women I know are out of my league. Diverting tactics when someone is about to actually get close to me because suddenly all I can think about is… how much it might hurt them if I just die then and there… and I want to die alone… I don’t want anybody to cry because of me… does that count as well?

Other defining characteristics… I can talk myself in and out of nearly everything. When nervous I like to rub one of my bracelets between my thumb and index finger… I put them on before leaving the house because they are my shackles keeping the person I am inside to allow a more society friendly mask to take its place… don’t call me if Trish Talk is on… though I suppose that is kind of obsolete… and don’t expect me to pick up before noon either.

Is hating hospitals a quirk? I have such a hard time standing even entering one… I don’t know something about them just makes me feel death’s hand on my shoulder press down… not really but you get what I mean… right?

 PART 2: GROWING UP

15.  How would you describe your childhood in general?

Wanna take a wild guess? Shitty.

16.  What is your earliest memory?

The cold and mud on my feet… the cold and mud everywhere while I wander dark streets… everything is damp, and the lights are so bright. Dark, dark, light, dark, dark, light… nobody on the street… cold wind howling through the empty streets… a dog barks somewhere.

There is just fragments and feelings left… though. Not the whole picture… it ends there. I don’t remember how I made it to the orphanage… the next thing I remember is hot water in a shower… in an otherwise cold bathroom. And an oldish woman trying to scrub the mud off me… the brush hurt…

The earliest complete memory is from a few days later… singing to the blind and afraid boy until he stopped crying… all while he listened to my heartbeat… going on until he fell asleep. I felt safe and warm… it was so long ago.  

17.  How much schooling have you had?

I suppose I have no kind of degree at all. Sometimes I think it’s a wonder that I can read and write… and know enough math to con people. I don’t really know what kind of education or schooling I received before that night of my first fragmented memory.

The nuns taught me a bit afterwards… but from the moment on I went into my foster parents care that was over. At first, I was still sent to school sporadically, but they soon gave up on that too… and claimed they home-schooled me… claimed being the important word here. Because nothing like that ever really happened. I learned a thing or two from TV shows though… and taught myself to play guitar eventually.

18.  Did you enjoy school?

I don’t think so. Not the few months in my foster parent’s care at least… I enjoyed being taught by the nuns though… but before that… I wish I knew.

19.  Where did you learn most of your skills and other abilities?

From them… I did learn stuff on the streets or from TV or because I did my best to teach myself… but most of what I’m able to do… most of what I’m good at… I learned from them and their example… how to lie, steal, hurt, deceive, cheat, defraud, fool and con. But I think I might have just always had a talent to use my words precisely and as my weapon of choice.  

20.  While growing up, did you have any role models? If so, describe them.

I had anti-role models if that counts. People I knew I never wanted to be like… but I never felt compelled to follow the path of some hero either. Or wanting to be like someone I saw on TV or on the streets. I always just wanted to be me… a better me… but that was kind of stupid too I’d say.

21.  While growing up, how did you get along with the other members of your family?

I hate you… and you should know by now… I got along with those people outsiders would call my family by lowering my head and gaze, keeping my head down and saying nothing that could distract them from their victim or TV show… and before that… who knows and after that… I haven’t had a family since then… and likely never will have one.

22.  As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?

I don’t know… someone not like them? Someone not like me? Someone who does the right thing and helps people maybe? Or makes them happy? A musician possibly… or a singer… not like them at the very least.

23.  As a child, what were your favourite activities?

I loved singing… I loved just being able to go outside without being bait… but I also liked the drives to other places before… work. I loved watching TV and when I got the chance to get some sweets to hide in the park and eat them all… music… just listening to new music in the shops that allowed it on and on and on… I suppose I never was very much of an active child and that kept my heart going comparably smoothly for a bunch of years. I also loved to sit outside on the fire escape ladder late at night… watching both the stars and humans… but that isn’t especially active as well.

24.  As a child, what kinds of personality traits did you display?

I… don’t know… and I don’t think I care very much… more kindness probably because I felt compelled to comfort Matt back then. But they made sure to knock that out of me… to make me quiet and angry and dreading when they actually took interest into me… which may be one of the reasons I feel so much safer when I know someone won’t actually take interest into me… I suppose before that I was kind of an intelligent child, sympathetic, compassionate… wanting to help maybe? Not too shy either I suppose… but that seems like nothing, but a thin veil of memories left from a past life.

25.  As a child, were you popular? Who were your friends, and what were they like?

Maybe I could have been popular. I kind of felt like I was during the time in the orphanage… but I don’t think those kids were really my friends… except for Matt. And then after he was gone… I don’t know I think I did withdraw myself a bit… and before that could change again there were my foster parents and I did not get to see many kids anymore and honestly, I didn’t want to either… I didn’t want them to learn anything about what was going on… or worse their parents might have ended up being victims of them… I couldn’t risk that.

I suppose that was when I was over and done with being popular… what a shame, especially now when I look back with the guitar in my hand trying to beg for a job or being able to perform at the next bar.

And Matt… Matt was deeply hurt, stubborn, clever, determined… and very, very afraid and weak when I met him… I wanted him to feel better and to be there for him. Because he could be so nice and caring… and he was the only one who knew about my heart before even I did.  

26.  When and with whom was your first kiss?

Some girl… I don’t even remember her name. Not even her hair colour. People place so much value on their first kiss… but I don’t know it was nothing but good fun at best. I think she giggled and her mother nearly had a meltdown – something like this.  

27.  Are you a virgin? If not, when and with whom did you lose your virginity?

No and probably and probably some girl I walked home after meeting her at the bar or wherever… she offered me a coffee… probably… the details are a bit fussy. I just remember making her little sister breakfast the next morning before sneaking out of the house to not get caught by her parents.

28.  Describe any influences in your past that led you to do the things you do today.

You are asking for a long list. All my life lead to this for better or worse and if I tell you of every account that brought me closer to here we’ll still be here tomorrow. Mostly I think I influenced myself… the few people I ever cared about did… losing them did… and my overall shitty childhood. And probably meeting you! Can we move on now?

 PART 3: PAST INFLUENCES

29.  What do you consider the most important event of your life so far?

Dying… probably three or more times up until now though I only remember two times. If you let me fall in love with you I might finally be able to change that though… how about it?

30.  Who has had the most influence on you?

Our kind and benevolent saviour in the sky! Or you know… like the people who messed up my childhood… like… I did tell you how many times before now?

Can I ask you something? How important is the past to you? Do you think it is all that defines us? Then what am I to you? Because very obviously it doesn’t matter to you what I did yesterday or today… or how much I tried… because at some point someone had the most influence on me and that is what you are going to ask about! Maybe… just maybe people like Matt, Jess, Bo and the others haven’t had the MOST INFLUENCE on me. But sometimes quality is still worth more than quantity. But I doubt someone who asks 101 questions in one go would understand.

31.  What do you consider your greatest achievement?

Not dying and staying dead yet?

32.  What is your greatest regret?

Not dying yet! No, scratch that. Allowing people close enough again so that my death would hurt them. Because I am a shitty human being like that.

33.  What is the most evil thing you have ever done?

You heard my life story, you tell me. But I think throwing the flowers meant for a very much injured friend in the thrash can because I couldn’t stand hospitals ranges pretty high… right after luring people to be robbed, beaten up and sometimes left to die of course… but you know that’s one of the things I usually did before breakfast though I’m not sure that counts!

34.  Do you have a criminal record of any kind?

Yes – go and request inspection if you want to know more. But know all my friends are well enough aware of it.

35.  When was the time you were the most frightened?

What is fear even? Maybe when I woke up, mud all over, cold and damp, in a place I didn’t know, with no memories and no one to turn to… I think I have never been more frightened than the night my life began… or the part I remember faintly at least.

36.  What is the most embarrassing thing ever to happen to you?

Who knows… I probably have enough drunken slip ups to fill a book. But losing to Jess after challenging her to drink probably is on top of the list. The next thing I remember is being held under the cold spray of water from the shower half-naked… barely kept upright by Malcolm and Bose because they were afraid that I’m about to die of alcohol intoxication… but at least they have never seen Jess so wasted either, so there is a bit of pride about all of this as well.

37.  If you could change one thing from your past, what would it be, and why?

I don’t know… maybe to get hit by a car the first night I remember before reaching the orphanage would be a good change to make? Or to run away during the first days of foster care? Honestly there are a thousand things I would consider.

But in the end, I just want the two of them to be alive. Both of them… because she is the only person I ever met who understands… and he… he’s…

38.  What is your best memory?

It was such a random morning actually… blowing smoke into the cold air outside while the warmth from the heater keeps me warm… there is so much fog and everything is quite… probably a Sunday and holiday… going over to one of my neighbours and having breakfast with him… getting the sign right when asking him to hand me the sugar. Going for a little walk outside and to smoke a cigarette while he goes for a run… talking to another neighbour there… meeting up again later to just sit on Jess’ sofa and listening to music while nothing else happens… nothing… a good day.  

39.  What is your worst memory?

…dying?

 PART 4: BELIEFS & OPINIONS

40.  Are you basically optimistic or pessimistic?

Neither. I suppose I’m just a -mistic person. Expect… but not only the good or only the bad makes life less surprising and less disappointing.

41.  What is your greatest fear?

What is fear even? It is to leave or to be left in pain – emotional, physical, whatever. So… pain.

42.  What are your religious views?

If there is a god, we will never know, and he probably doesn’t care.

43.  What are your political views?

That something is going very wrong right now and no one really wants to change anything for the poor and huddled masses as long as it keeps them from being part of it.

44.  What are your views on sex?

I miss it. The nicest thing two consenting adults can do to and for each other… and nobody’s business but their own.

45.  Are you able to kill? Under what circumstances do you find killing to be acceptable or unacceptable?

Maybe… but I’m better at dying. And that depends… there is no absolute in something like taking or sparring a life.

46.  In your opinion, what is the most evil thing any human being could do?

Risking the life of hundreds and thousands of innocent people and their children for money and getting away with it… genocide, slavery, sex trafficking of children. Honestly, it’s hard to choose the ultimate evil. Especially when some individuals might just come up with a new most evil thing any minute of any day.

47.  Do you believe in the existence of soul mates and/or true love?

Do you believe in the existence of fairies, dragons and spinning gold from straw my sweet summer child? See… neither do I.

48.  What do you believe makes a successful life?

How should I know? Obviously I suck at it. But maybe staying true to what you believe in would be a good starting point? And hopefully it is the right time and place for it and the world agrees instead of making you feel guilty… no I honestly don’t know what makes a successful life. You tell me, I apparently need any advice on it I can get.  

49.  How honest are you about your thoughts and feelings (i.e. do you hide your true self from others, and in what way)?

Hahahaha… you have no idea.

50.  Do you have any biases or prejudices?

Who doesn’t?

51.  Is there anything you absolutely refuse to do under any circumstances? Why do you refuse to do it?

Give me the right circumstances or reasons and I’d do anything…

52.  Who or what, if anything, would you die for (or otherwise go to extremes for)?

Considering I did already die for nothing at least twice. Any reason would be a good one… or at least a better one.

 PART 5: RELATIONSHIPS W/OTHERS

53.  In general, how do you treat others (politely, rudely, by keeping them at a distance, etc.)? Does your treatment of them change depending on how well you know them, and if so, how?

Trying to keep them at a distance – failing too often in the end. But I don’t think it’s possible to generalise how I treat others… people I don’t know or want to buy groceries from… professional I guess. It’s different for friends of course… but I have a hard time to really… let someone in on things. And whenever I notice too much that I already know them well… that we might be close. I might as well feel the need to get some distance between us… I don’t know I just… I just don’t want anyone to be sad when I’m gone. So for them to not care seems like the best option, even though I suck at keeping to it.

54.  Who is the most important person in your life, and why?

That is… embarrassing. Matt probably… okay? Because he… knew another me, a better me. And in a way inspires me to be… better…

55.  Who is the person you respect the most, and why?

Respect the most? No one… respect at all, a bunch. Nobody is perfect though, quite to the contrary so there is no such thing as respecting someone the most for me.

56.  Who are your friends? Do you have a best friend? Describe these people.

I hope there is nothing like a best friend… maybe Matt comes closest. But it would be hard to tell because, there are also Jess and Bo. And to a bit of a lesser extend Malcolm and Trish. They are a stubborn bunch, but they mean well – all of them in fact. And they bear with me.

57.  Do you have a spouse or significant other? If so, describe this person.

No, there is no such person and it’s probably for the best.

58.  Have you ever been in love? If so, describe what happened.

I’d like to think so. But I think the person I would fall for deserves to be given a heart that… is better than mine in pretty much every aspect with the potential to make them happy instead of ensuring tragedy.

59.  What do you look for in a potential lover?

That they only stay for one night?

Actually, I don’t know. Someone better than me, probably out of my league… inspiring me to be a better person maybe? I know it’s not fair to expect anyone to settle for less or settle for me though.

60.  How close are you to your family?

How familist to assume everybody has one!

61.  Have you started your own family? If so, describe them. If not, do you want to? Why or why not?

No and no. Because.

62.  Who would you turn to if you were in desperate need of help?

Jessica probably. She’s seen some shit herself and I guess she would ask the least amount of questions which is probably good. Besides it isn’t like she would close the door in my face. She pretends to be tough but refusing someone really desperate for help isn’t really like her.

63.  Do you trust anyone to protect you? Who, and why?

Matt, Jess and their friends. And the friends of their friends too, all of those ladies are probably better at kicking ass than I’ll ever be. Pretty much everybody actually. I’m not picky if I need someone to protect me. Bo and Malcolm too, I mean I trust them well enough when I’m drunk. But it all depends on the situation, usually there is not really anything I need to be protected from I’d say.  

64.  If you died or went missing, who would miss you?

Hopefully no one…

65.  Who is the person you despise the most, and why?

Narrowing it down to a single person isn’t possible. But there is a bunch of people over whose death I wouldn’t shed a tear.

66.  Do you tend to argue with people, or avoid conflict?

I don’t avoid conflict. If they fucked up they are better ready to hear me tell them so. But I won’t go back and forth with someone forever. Honestly argue isn’t even the right word… I’m not interested in their point if what they did sucked big times.

67.  Do you tend to take on leadership roles in social situations?

Nah, why should I? Social situations aren’t my thing anyway. But if it’s needed to pull of something I might as well. During a normal day there is no reason for me to take on any kind of leadership anyway.

68.  Do you like interacting with large groups of people? Why or why not?

It’s okay. Sometimes it’s needed, and large groups allow for a certain anonymity which can be nice if you want to avoid attentions. I just really don’t care about large groups of people in general.

69.  Do you care what others think of you?

Maybe. But more or less only what a few others think. The whole world in general? Or society? Only if it interferes with or obstructs with what my goal is.

 PART 6: LIKES & DISLIKES

70.  What is/are your favourite hobbies and pastimes?

Music, preferably listening to it with others. Singing. Smoking. Having a drink with a friend or without. The sport course I go to.  

71.  What is your most treasured possession?

My guitar maybe? Actually… probably a memento from my childhood. Nothing special though but from a time where things were… different.

72.  What is your favourite colour?

Red.

73.  What is your favourite food?

Coffee and anything made from liquorice – especially liquor. Oh, and the fried eggs Bo sometimes makes when I’m really badly hungover. I wonder what his secret is.

74.  What, if anything, do you like to read?

Something that makes me feel better? I really liked The Old Man and the Sea by Hemingway for some reasons… probably because there is no bad person in the story and humans are just that – humans.  

75.  What is your idea of good entertainment (consider music, movies, art, etc.)?

Movies with friends that aren’t depressing. Even better if they are so bad you can totally slander them. Getting to know knew songs a friend likes. Even or especially when I hate them at first. And I like to listen to the radio because the more trivial shows calm me down.

76.  Do you smoke, drink, or use drugs? If so, why? Do you want to quit?

Smoke – yes. Drink – yes. Do drugs – no, never even once in my life. And I can see the surprise on your face, no use in hiding it. It’s because I want to and no, I don’t want to quit and I won’t quit even if you would like me to – thank you very much.

77.  How do you spend a typical Saturday night?

At a bar with a drink or a completely cosy with a bottle while hanging with friends… sometimes alone to relax and forget… just me the radio and a bottle.

78.  What makes you laugh?

Dry jokes, understatements and sarcasm.

79.  What, if anything, shocks or offends you?

When someone mocks people’s needs or what they believe in it offends me. The same is true for people mocking my friends for whatever reason.  

80.  What would you do if you had insomnia and had to find something to do to amuse yourself?

Music… or fight the insomnia with alcohol, which I kind of do already and with quite the success as I want to remark.

81.  How do you deal with stress?

Not well. More often then not with a drink or just curling up on the sofa of a friend.

82.  Are you spontaneous, or do you always need to have a plan?

Spontaneous mostly – making plans on the long run doesn’t really make sense for someone like me.

83.  What are your pet peeves?

When people I’m on the phone with don’t pay attention but do something else. But also, when people I’m with are constantly on the phone. I guess I just like to have the people’s attention I’m with while I’m with them. And when someone tries to tell me all the things I should probably change… that and to be woken up much too early.

 PART 7: SELF IMAGES & OTHER

84.  Describe the routine of a normal day for you. How do you feel when this routine is disrupted?

Sleeping in and sleeping it off. On good days finding something to eat before even getting dressed. On not so good days getting decently enough dressed to walk over to Bo’s apartment and hope he has mercy on me and some breakfast left over.

Then getting some work done, going for a walk, practicing or annoying another one of the unlucky people I call friends. Maybe going to my sport course depending on the day of the week. Then getting home again, listening to the radio and sometimes taking a nap before I leave for the evening again.

Hopefully for a gig in some pub or something alike or to help out a friend or acquaintance with work or whatever else. Getting a few drinks in the end before heading home. With some luck actually making it home and into my own bed… rinse and repeat with smoke breaks in between.

I don’t care about the routine being disrupted most of the time. Sometimes I might even be glad about it… mostly though the routine is fine enough… safe enough.  

85.  What is your greatest strength as a person?

I have nothing to lose and I’m able to get people to trust me easily enough. Or in other words I’m a very good liar, which allows me to clear the path for others or cover their back. Also I’m available most of the time if they should need me at all.

86.  What is your greatest weakness?

My questionable life expectancy? Not letting people close? All my bad habits? Take your pick.

87.  If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

Everything.

88.  Are you generally introverted or extroverted?

Ambivert.

89.  Are you generally organized or messy?

Messy. I leave the cleaning up for tomorrow… if I actually make it that far.

90.  Name three things you consider yourself to be very good at, and three things you consider yourself to be very bad at.

Singing, lying, alcohol tolerance.  

Sports, being a good person, getting my life together.

91.  Do you like yourself?

Good question… I suppose so, or I wouldn’t be so scared of actually suddenly being gone one day.

92.  What are your reasons for being a hero? Are your real reasons for doing this different than the ones you tell people in public? (If so, detail both sets of reasons…)

I’m not a hero. I’m not even a sidekick. I just… … … want that the hero knows he is needed. That I support him, and his work is appreciated. I think even a hero needs to know that. I don’t think someone like me can suddenly make a change the way they do. But I… I don’t know, I want them to know I have or try to have their back. And my only reason for it is… that I feel like it. No secret second reason. I just think it’s the right thing to do.

93.  What goal do you most want to accomplish in your lifetime?

Surviving for as long as I can would be good and bad enough. But if I can manage to make people I don’t know smile? While I’m here and keep them from crying when I’m suddenly gone I think that would be enough.

94.  Where do you see yourself in 5 years?

Alive hopefully. And otherwise in the same place, with the same people at least… maybe with more people to share my love for music with would be nice. But I’m not picky. And no hope means no danger.

95.  If you could choose, how would you want to die?

Alone in a place where they don’t find me for years to come. Until no one remembers me anymore… so that no one would cry.

96.  If you knew you were going to die in 24 hours, name three things you would do in the time you had left.

Every morning is like knowing and not knowing that it might be that last day. But if I knew that I only had 24 hours left… I’d tell everyone that I’m done with them, that I’m done with this city and that I’ll start some kind of business far away from here… and then leave the city to find that place where they don’t find me for years to come. While everyone goes on with their life thinking I’m an asshole but alive in some far away place, doing my own thing.

97.  What is the one thing for which you would most like to be remembered after your death?

I… don’t know. I don’t want them to remember me but probably being drunk. I hope it’s that, it seems like… such a fair thing to remember me for.

98.  What three words best describe your personality?

Walking, manipulative disaster.

99.   What three words would others probably use to describe you?

That drunk guy.

  100.   If you could, what advice would you, the player, give to your character? (You might even want to speak as if he or she were sitting right here in front of you, and use proper tone so he or she might heed your advice…):

Carry on. Ily Damian. Surprisingly enough many people do. Because you are more honest than you admit. While you try to do the right thing, you are just bad at it… but it doesn’t have to stay that way. There is more hope than you can see right now… and while you are right “no hope means no danger” maybe you need to step out of your comfort zone a bit more… because hope as well as no hope also means so much more.

[raisingsupergirl]

The Literal Literary Hermit

I often hear that "the world" says we can't do things. We can't follow our dreams. Or we can't be who we want to be. And on the surface, this sounds pretty profound. But I did something this last week that reminded me that the world is a pretty big freakin' place, and most of the time it's our own mind telling us that we can't do something. And you know what that is? It's an excuse. It's an excuse to avoid hard work, a little bit of planning, and the possibility of failure. But let's rewind. My revelation started in a hole in the ground.

In fact, I'm sitting here, right now, looking out the window of my 200-square-foot hermitage, watching ice chunks flow by in the Mississippi river. I've been here for five days, and other than calls home to my wife and daughters twice each day, I've had two conversations since I've been here. And both of them lasted less than two minutes. So, why am I here? What have I been doing? And what have I learned. Well, to answer those questions, I need to go back just a little bit farther.

First, you need to know that I'm thirty-two years old, I'm a full-time physical therapist, I have a lovely extroverted wife and two "lively" daughters (one and four years old), I'm the owner and editor-in-chief of a fiction magazine (shameless plug alert: GoHavok.com), and I've been writing fiction novels for almost a decade now. I'm also a Christian and a Freemason, and I, unlike my family, am not an extrovert. But the thing to take away from all of this is that I'm a writer. I've written seven novels (four independently and three collaboratively). And yet, I've never published anything over 1,000 words. Why?

Well, the short answer is that I haven't yet written anything that a big publisher has considered "sellable." Sure, I've had some hits from smaller publishers, and I could self-publish like your cousin's friend, but, for me, there's just something in my soul that needs that first book to be read by more than twelve people, and it’s worth the wait... mostly (and to be clear, I know plenty of writers who have done extremely well indie/self-publishing, and I know others who don’t have any desire to sell tens of thousands of copies as long as their family and friends can enjoy what they’ve written. I give both groups due credit and respect. But I’m not them). The problem is, statistically, most authors sell their first book in their early thirties (remember that I'm thirty-two). And I'm starting to realize this is because, by the time someone hits their thirties, they've pretty much settled into who they're going to be. And with each passing year, it gets harder for me to justify "wasting" time on stories that nobody's going to read. So, we finally come to the inciting event of the first act—the point of no return.

I wrote a book in November 2017. I thought it was great. Relatable characters, exciting plot, inspiring message, an out-of-this-world setting. But, apparently, it was a mess. Yes, it received positive feedback on a number of levels, but in the end, it needed a lot of work. And I was heartbroken because this was the novel to make or break me. If it didn't force the stars to align, I just couldn't make myself commit to another 200-hour paperweight. So what did I do? I sat it aside for a year and let it build into a source of anxiety and frustration. Every time I thought about it, it made me mad. Why? Because I knew it had huge potential. I knew I had the talent to make it shine. But I just. Didn’t. Have. The. Time. Until a friend of mine told me about a place called Visions of Peace Hermitages.

$40/night or $200/week. Forty minutes from my house. Seven hermitages (literally dug into the earth) overlooking the Mississippi river. No internet. No TV. No YouFaced TwitterSnapstagram. In short, no distractions. And suddenly, I knew my novel had a chance. Just one more hurdle to overcome—convince my wife to be a single parent for six days while I kicked back and followed my dream. Turns out, she's amazing. Not one single word of protest came out of her mouth. Apparently we'd been together long enough for her to finally understand my passion, even if she didn't understand my stories.

So, for a total of $300 ($200 for the hermitage and $100 for the food) and 40 hours of paid time off from work, I set out on a Sunday and made one last run at the thing that I'd literally dreamed about all of my adult life. I was going to re-tell the novel written on my heart. And here's what happened…

Day 1 (Sunday): Snow-covered highways and single-digit temperatures brought me to my fortress of solitude. I arrived optimistic and more than a little nervous. I spent the first few hours unpacking, organizing, reorganizing, and generally "settling in." I spent some time in prayer and some more time walking the grounds to take pictures and familiarize myself with my surroundings. And then, unable to contain my excitement, I sat down to the first chapter. I wrote and edited for four hours that first day, then made myself a simple dinner, read a little Walden, and turned in at 10:30, determined to get a good night's rest before my first full day. Unfortunately, I tossed and turned all stinking night. For a hole in the ground, that place had more noises than a haunted mansion. I really don't know how it sounded like people were walking around upstairs and playing music next door. There was literally no upstairs or next door. The bed was hard and small, three space heaters on full blast weren't enough to keep me from freezing, and my mind would not stop. And did I mention that there were train tracks 200 yards away from my front door, or that the barges on the Mississippi don't shut down at night? Yeah, not a great start. 

Day 2: I awoke at 6:30am, made a cup of coffee, a PB&J sandwich (team crunchy, hoorah), some strawberries, and a glass of OJ, and then watched the sun rise over the river. Well, I watched the sun rise through a veil of clouds over the river. But despite the overcast conditions, a fresh bed of snow had fallen, painting a breathtaking backdrop for me to write my Great American Novel. And I spent the next eleven-ish hours doing just that. Writing. Again, a small lunch and dinner, short calls home at 12:30pm and 7:30pm as scheduled, but no Walden. I was in it to win it. Another hour of writing before bed, and it was lights out again by 10:30. Then, another bad night of sleep. My skin was dry and itchy due to the space heaters.

Day 3: 6:30 wake-up. Yummy breakfast (PB/honey/banana sandwich, OJ, coffee), another cloudy sunrise, calls home at the same scheduled times, simple lunch and dinner, and another successful day of writing. I was getting in a serious groove, and all my romanticized notions of afternoon jogs and evening musings were now just distractions that I didn't have time for. Before bed, I boiled water on the stove, which seemed to help the dry air, and thus my itchiness. I slept a little better, but still not great.

Day 4 (Wednesday): THERE'S A REASON PEOPLE CALL IT HUMP DAY. 7:00 wake-up due to sleeping poorly the past few nights, cloudy sunrise, banana/OJ/coffee. No lunch (pistachios and strawberries at some point in the day) and a simple dinner. Calls home at 12:30 and 7:30 as always. I barely got through half the chapters I'd planned. Overall, very bogged down and feeling like this was a mistake even though the work I'd done so far was better than I'd hoped for. In bed by 10pm, and lo-and-behold, I slept BETTER! My brain shut off, I stayed warm, and I slept through most of the night. Hallelujah!

Day 5: What a day. A bright, clear sunrise over the mighty Mississippi. A quick banana/OJ/coffee breakfast while I started in on the day's writing. Another snack lunch and quick family call at 12:30 because I was on such a roll, and I made up for my lack of productivity the day before and then some. I called home at the scheduled 7:30 time to celebrate my news with the family and… nobody answered. I called literally six more times over the next ten minutes. Nothing. My wife knew the scheduled time and she didn't care. She didn't care about me. She didn't care that I was gone. She didn't care if I ever came back. And when she FINALLY called me back FIFTEEN minutes later, she said she didn't realize that it had gotten that late. And she didn't even feel bad that she'd made me wait FIFTEEN minutes! She didn't care! So, obviously, being confined away from one's family in a 200-square-foot hermitage does weird things to a person's mind, which resulted in a less than encouraging phone call. But hey, other than that, a great day.

Day 6: Did I mention that being secluded for prolonged periods does weird things to a person? Well, I rewarded my previous productivity by again sleeping in to seven, and another crystal clear sunrise pulled me from a deep, restful slumber. And then I saw my first sign of life for several days—a little ladybug crawling across the ceiling over my bed. "Hallooo, lady bug!" I said as I wiped the sleep from my eyes. "Or are ye a MANbug?" And I proceeded to have a five-minute conversation with the little guy in an Irish accent. I mean, the ladybug didn't have an Irish accent. Just me. And I resolved at that moment to watch Braveheart and Brave when I got home because the accent had so inspired me that morning. I could do it! Just a handful of chapters left. Let's go!

And then at 1:58 pm, I finished my novel. I could write another blog post on the supreme sense of victory that finishing a novel evokes, but let me just briefly say, "YAAAAHOOOOOOO!" and be done with it. I then spent the rest of the afternoon walking down by the river and FINALLY appreciating the quiet magic of that place devoted to God's majesty ("Be still and know that I am God."). Though, I will say that after a week of creating an alternate reality in my head, I found it impossible to turn off the narrative. I constantly found myself creating conversations, describing poetic scenes, and outlining plots based on everything I saw during my walk. Kind of annoying, really ("You never want to cross the Muddy in the shallow places. The undertow will pull you right under. No, find the deepest spot and paddle like your life depends on it, because it does.").

So here I am, on the evening of day six, writing this blog because when I go home tomorrow, there's NO WAY I'm going to be on my computer. I'm going to cuddle with my family until I squeeze their eyeballs out. But before I wrap things up, let me just share a few final thoughts that I jotted down during my stay here.

1) My location truly was amazing. I've never been somewhere simultaneously so secluded and connected. With trains and barges gliding by at regular intervals, I was constantly reminded of the outside world without being distracted by it. I was a silent observer. It was an introvert's dream.

2) The body isn't meant to be sedentary. I wrote for eleven to twelve hours per day for five days straight. That's around sixty hours, most of which was spent either sitting or lying down, usually in five-hour intervals without changing position. Even with brief sessions of stretching, pushups, etc. each day, my body was absolutely wrecked (anybody know a good physical therapist?). In case you didn't notice, my appetite dwindled, as did my waistline, but I also lost muscle mass, my digestive system was an absolute disaster, and when I went for a walk on that last day, I almost passed out from the sheer lack of cardiovascular health. There IS a reason professional writers only write four to five hours per day. Trust me.

3) What I did was NOT sustainable. Aside from my physical health, my mental health suffered as well. In case you didn't notice, I started having conversations with bugs and getting mad at my wife for being fifteen minutes late to a phone call. And in the latter half of the week, all I wanted to do was quit. I enjoyed the story I was living in, but nothing about it was "fun." It was a constant struggle to keep engaged, and at times, the only thing that kept me going was the promise of deer chili and a Bulleit old fashioned, with which I plan to reward myself right after I finish this blog.

4) I did a lot of counting. Maybe it had something to do with my mild OCD or my seclusion, or maybe it was a coping mechanism to keep myself on track, but I broke down everything possible into fractions and percentages. Half way through the braunschweiger on day two? I'd better slow down. Averaging 2,000 words/hour for the first two days? That means I should finish on time if I write ten hours per day for the next three days. I did more measuring and math in those five days than I'm comfortable admitting. 

5) I had everything I needed in those 200 square feet… I think. Like I said, I was only there for a week, but I totally see how those tiny house minimalists make it work. Less to clean. Less to keep track of. More appreciation for what you do have. Then again, I'm not sure I could have fit on that twin bed with my wife and two daughters.

6) I missed a lot of opportunities, but it's okay. As I said, this place is amazing. I could have spent a week just walking the grounds, enjoying the sunrise, and generally observing the VOP Hermitage's "rule" on the plaque that was hanging in the chapel—"Listen well and produce nothing." The problem was, I had come here to produce. And that's what I did. This place can be used for many things, and I plan to come back again.

7) I may not be an extrovert, but man, I miss my family. I really do. There's not a lot more to say about that. I appreciate them. I appreciate their energy. I appreciate the fact that they love me. I appreciate the fact that my wife allowed this whole life-changing retreat happen. And I can't wait to see them.

 8) My book is done. I'll send it off to beta-readers one more time. I'll make some adjustments based on their feedback. And then my agent will send it off to publishers. And I'll wait. I don't know what will happen, and that's okay. I edited 80,000 words and wrote 20,000 more over the last five days, and I also grew a lot through the experience. Even if this book doesn't work out, I'm not sure if I'll give up on the dream. Maybe I will, and maybe I won't. Or maybe that dream will just look different than it did before. I don't know. But as my main character says in the final lines of my novel (and I'm paraphrasing because copyright/first rights laws): "A lot of things make a person. And in some ways, nothing does. We are who we are, yesterday, today, and forever. It's simple, really. Live life and regret nothing."

[oceansandroses]

Paris

So Im gonna write a basic travel thoughts page per place I went starting from Paris. I’d try to recall how lapland was too in hopefully future entries but so here goes!

Paris. 

The city of love and romance. 

But also sadly, the city of pee. 

No city smelt as bad as Paris did, each train, metro, bus and even at the Sacré-Cœur Basilique, with that amazing view, the smell of pee nvr left. Okay, I gotta try to start being more positive about things and stop looking at things from a negative point of view. But I really felt I had to get that point out. 

Great amazing things about Paris: the architecture stole my heart, it just enveloped my entire being. Everything, every place and every building or house was just so unique, tasteful and just a wonder to me. Each had their own flavor, taste and vibe. Whether was it a nice, quiet restaurant with people just sitting to people watch and chill with the oh-so-wonderful weather (it was a perpetual 18 degrees there, probably just 10 in the evenings) my down jacket was rather excessive but I guess it was alright, there were plenty of tourists in Paris that were cold even in that ‘warmth’-funny how Sweden changed me so much, to tolerate the cold. So the buildings were just so beautiful, I remember taking the train out of the airport and looking out of the window only to see many landed houses with different and varying numbers of windows. differently colored and different types of bricks or materials used in its assembly. I was sold. 

The weather as mentioned was great, warm and sunny, a nice warm but cooling breeze which Ale and I were really grateful for. Oh and Asian food!! On our first day there, besides having to skip going to the outlet stores because we didnt have much time to get from our airbnb to the outlets since we got pretty lost without internet (note to self to always get internet that works internationally) so we went to explore the city. Day 1 was lunch at 2/3+ before going off to see the Sacré-Cœur. The climb was alright but what made me weep tears of joy was my fav carousel right at the bottom of the basilique. The vibes of the place overall was really nice and pleasant. There were many people chilling, drinking a bottle of wine or beer or just chatting on the grass patch on the climb up the stairs to the church. Tourists were everywhere as with every tourist attraction but somehow the place didnt feel overrated. it wasnt swarmed with tourists and there was a unique and magical vibe to it. The street artists who were all around trying to earn their daily bread through caricature sketches, the nice restaurants that sold mussels and oysters in buckets at 14 euros (I was really so tempted). But there ale warned me about people who might pickpocket us, there were people who held different colored strings and she said they would hold the string out to us, the moment anyone touched it, they would ask you to pay them money or pickpocket us etc. It was kind scary but we hurried along. Oh, right at the top there was also a choo-choo train! it was pretty cool

Ale and I also bought 12 postcards at 2 euros yay! Next was the Arc de Triomphe, we managed to snap a few pictures but due to no reduced admission rates for us and to go up was 12 euros, I was pretty hesitant. Sharm did recommend us to go up but Ale said the weather was pretty cloudy and we prob could try tmr so we gave it a miss. From the Arc, we saw the Eiffel so both of us decided ourselves that it was quite near so we walked towards it. It was actually quite a walk but it felt kinda fun since we were ‘chasing the tower’ lol, always finding it amongst the buildings and its spotlight that shines throughout. The nightview of the Eiffel was really nice but there was not much magic vibes to it, maybe bcos it felt a lil overhyped. After which we got a little lost, took the wrong train from the wrong side and hopped on the dirtiest train i’ve ever been. The seats were fabric but they were so black and dirty. The red cushion seats were all blackish and they looked kinda mouldy. Much #grossness 

Anyways Ale always having a great directional sense brought us back to the right path after one wrong stop, and we met Sharm at Quatre Septembre to go hunt for some Ramen that people recommended her. It was a chinese-ran restaurant that sold jap food. The gyozas were good but the ramen pretty much tasted like yellow noodles in a chinese broth. The cha siew was good thou i must admit. After that we had Grom gelato (only bcos I said it was a good brand that Robz & I tried in Italy) before sharing a jar of 50cl of white wine. Ale taught me a bit of how to drink the wine while we sat under a heater in one of the most popular and happening streets of Paris. Oh another thing thou, Deliveroo exists in Paris and the delivery guys ride bicycles! So i guess it feels weird that with SG being a much smaller place, rarely do you see people in bikes as in bicycles but rather its just bikes and cars. #thatswhyCOEhighlor the green olives they served there was really nice thou, the black ones tasted like they were soaked in water or just oil. The olive oil in the black ones were barely visible.

it was a great chill hangout before we left and rested up for the night. We started our next day early with the Lourve tour which we paid 24 euros for but ended up feeling very disappointed and cheated since he just shared some short story about how this Lourve came about (from a small tower and a wall elsewhere) to this-he hates the pyramid design so obv not much talk was given about this pyramid before leaving us to walk to the entrance and enter it ourselves. #sobz #byemoney 

Inside the Lourve thou, it was a brand new story. We started off with the French sculptures and boy was it beautiful. Each sculpture felt like there was a life to it, its own story and feelings. Its lines were so beautiful, intricate and just so perfect in their own way. There were many students or people just chilling there and drawing life sketches of the sculptures. After that we kept getting lost but we saw the Napolean collection, the crazy Chandeliers around, the furniture before we attempted to see the French paintings. But bcos we kept getting lost, we ended up looking at the Egyptian collection. Much thanks to Ale for being alright to go to the Egyptian part of the museum with me. After the Lourve bcos there was free wifi, we decided to go hunt for bubble tea. We got lost and spent 1.5 hours around town before finding our Chatime! we had a crepe outside the Lourve too after getting lost half way and walking past it for like about the 3rd time. 

After Chatime, we went to primark to shop for a bit. The collection was rather big but okay ish like no feels to splurge on anything. We went to Bershka too before we rushed to the nearest post office to mail our postcards. The mail lady didnt speak a word of english and boy was she inefficient. She had to flip thru her stack of stamps thrice and recount sets of 5 stamps before letting us pay and all. 10 stamps were pretty pricey and costed me 15.8 euros but oh wells. crap I just realized I forgot to write daddy a happy birthday post card:( but wait its in April okay, ive got time. phew. 

It was a mad rush back home and we had to pass thru a black zone, there were so many blacks and police there, it felt like the entire atmosphere was really tense. The moment anybody made a mistake, the police were right there ready to arrest. We also saw some blacks making a living with a supermarket trolley as a bbq pit to cook kebab meats which I felt was pretty innovative and cool. I also love the buses here, uncles here stop when they see people running for the bus which doesnt really happen alot in SG. sigh. SG buses do come more frequently thou, but still that doesnt make up for bad behavior. 

After dropping our things, we took a train to the concert. Broods was the opening act before Tove Lo and i didnt do much research on her so I nvr knew Tove Lo was so sexualized. Every song she was shaking and grinding her hips to it and she eventually flashed her tits at the audience too. I bought an autographed CD from her but it was weird bcos while heading back Ale was sharing with me about how Tove Lo was being pretty illuminati and Satanic and that Beyonce was the head of the illuminati. I was very thankful for her religious sharig althoug I have to admit after hearing all that i was kinda scared. 

We ended the night cooking our only ‘meal’ of instant noodles before resting and heading to the airport by uber the next day. Thank god for uber for getting to our airbnb and to the airport. the public transport train ticket was far too ridiculous-10 euros for a single trip to the airport and we didnt even stay that far. Uber was just 11 euros per person-.-

Also pretty disappointed with the Paris duty free airport since the collection was so small, I couldnt get mommy’s and huijun’s clinique products. Ale and I each bought a crossaint there thou! It was really yummy

okay done for Paris its 1.45 in the morning here in LKP so im hungry and sleepy and tired and upset so i shld try to get some rest 

Ciao