#and then sometimes i see something i feel real embarrassed about in retrospect and go. hmm. past me. no

[weidli]

scrolling through my own blog like wow this girl has good taste and agrees with me on everything

[the-anxious-skeleton]

Hi! I don’t know if this should be a question or if I just wanted someone to listen, but I appreciate you having asks open.

So I have really bad anxiety, both general and social anxiety. It’s usually manageable in real life because I have really good friends that are emotionally supportive. But this situation feels kinda stupid to bother my friends about and I was embarrassed. They also don’t use Tumblr, so it would’ve been harder to explain.

I started a Tumblr blog a couple of days ago. It was just a small thing to write about characters for games and shows I was into. I made a pinned intro including groups I didn’t want to interact with the blog. I think the exact wording included “racists, homophobes, transphobes, furries - basically anyone with anything gross / hateful / offensive to say”. I didn’t see a problem with this at the time, however, not too long ago I got an anon ask that read “Seriously? Lumping furries with transphobes and homophobes? What’s wrong with you lmao”

In hindsight, I can totally see their point. I was undermining the severity of other hateful groups because, obviously, furries aren’t anything comparable to those things and have nothing to do with them. Even if I didn’t intend that in anyway, it could still undermine those sensitive topics and offend another group of people that have nothing to do with those things.

However, due to my anxiety, I guess I got triggered and panicked. I deleted my blog not too long after I read the message. I already have a lot going on with tests and stuff and I didn’t think it through. I should’ve apologized and held myself accountable. I would say it was be removing myself from a situation I wasn’t mentally prepared for, but I feel like I just ran away from a situation even though I knew I was in the wrong. I feel guilty.

I feel that my anxiety makes it so I cannot handle an online space. I am a creative, both an artist and writer, so I crave validation for my work from a large amount of people. But if I do so much as make a small mistake or do something unintentionally, I panic and isolate myself again. And then I feel worse because I feel like I’m running away from my problems. It’s like a bad cycle.

I’m sorry if this ask is too long or rambling, but I felt like talking to someone from the same platform would make it a bit easier for them to understand. I’m probably making this a way bigger issue than it is or maybe not. I get so in my head sometimes it’s hard to tell, and I hope that makes sense. Thank you once again and I hope you have a very nice day :)

Hey. I'm so glad you reached out!

I encountered a situation very similar to this on my main blog. I basically posted something very triggering to some people and didn't tag it properly. I added broad mental health related tags instead of more specific tags that would have appealed to a niche group that would have understood what I was talking about without being triggered. Someone submitted an anonymous ask, very kindly brought the inappropriate tagging to my attention. I was wildly embarrassed and wanted to curl up and die. I deleted the post and apologized in response to the ask. This really hurt my feelings and made me feel really stupid. In retrospect, I really appreciate that person pointing out the issue in a respectful manner. It helped me become more aware of how the Tumblr community works and helped me understand that I needed to be conscious of other people's situations. The best thing you can do at this point is to rebuild a blog for your work, and if you aren't sure about something you're posting, ask a friend, or of course, send me a message and I can help. I hope this was helpful and made sense. I am very proud of you for recognizing your mistake and growing from that. Everyone makes mistakes, but not many take the initiative to grow from them. Again, let me know if there is anything else I can help you with! Everything will be alright, you got this!

[uraltalk]

This year I have gotten real with myself about many things, so this is going to be everything that is too hard to admit. Well, this is going to be everything that I am too proud to admit. It was always difficult for me to spew and spew completely because more times than not people just don’t really seem to care or I am too proud to admit things. Sometimes, the thought of someone reading something that I have written gives me second hand embarrassment just thinking about it…or would it be the first person since I wrote it in the first place, well anyway… 

I do not think that I have officially gotten over you. There, I said it. I have never admitted that out loud or on paper. And it’s not that I am still in love with you, it is more because I have a hard time leaving things in the past. I don’t know bygones. So I haven’t gotten over you, I have more so moved past you. But here is another thing that is so fucking hard for me to admit. I moved on because you made me. If you hadn’t shot it dead right then and there we would probably still be carrying on to this day. I had some weird, sick soul bond to you. Now in retrospect, I think that is what they call a trauma bond. So as it happened, I broke up with my ex boyfriend for a new boy I was talking to who is now my husband, but in between that break up and start of a new relationship, I knocked at your door one last time. You didn’t open that door. So I moved on my way, out of the neighborhood–leaving you no forwarding address. I was so jaded. You didn’t want me in that moment, and that stung. I blocked you on everything, so maybe you could have changed your mind and tried to talk to me again, but it didn’t matter. That ego strike was enough for me to leave you in my fucking dust. 

But here is where it gets complicated. I have always had such a hard time with not having closure. That is not what I would consider closure because there was no defined clean break. Even two sentences ago and four years later, I am still speculating. The real grit is that I think of you still. Not so frequently or not so often, but I do still think of you. And that feels like a problem to me. I want to forget about you and all of the things that happened, but I didn’t realize until this past month really, that you doing that was one of the best things that could have happened to me, and to you, I’m sure. And I’m not saying it in a condescending “thank you for setting me free from your shitshow of a love”, but more so in a genuine thank you. Because I would have not gone and git. Four years, and I am still learning things from this. That is special. Our time together taught me more than I can ever put into words.

I look at negative experiences and try to draw positive conclusions from them, and that is what I find myself frequently doing on the subject of you. Five years. That is how long we kept each other in suspension. And just until recently, I would have said five years you kept me in suspension, but I am taking ownership for it now. You see, I was looking through my old journals and because I am so desperately cringey, I wrote some of our not-so-finest moments in there, texts. And I realized that I was as much to blame as you were. But I have a martyr complex that I am trying to work through as well. I used to have such bad self-confidence that I couldn’t even imagine that I did as much damage to you as I perceived you did to me, but now, I am sure that I did. How could it be possible that in five years, I didn’t hurt you at all? It’s not. At least not in my world. It could have been bad self-confidence or it could have just been me not wanting to admit that I had done a deal on someone else too. Maybe.

I follow my intuition closely these days. It has never steered me wrong, and I mean that wholeheartedly. But not even my intuition drew me towards the conclusion that I had drawn up…you are mad at me. You are mad at me for moving on so quickly. I would be too if I were in your shoes. How I move on from situations makes people feel like they are nothing to me. I am cold. I always have been. I made you feel like you were nothing to me. You thought that everything that I said to you was a crock because I was able to move on so quickly. But really what it was, is I found someone less complicated than you. And this someone I found, I ended up marrying, and I will stand by their side until I am no longer breathing. The way that I stood by you for so fucking long, that is how I am going to stand by him. Except with him, there are no situations where I am going to come knocking, and he isn’t going to answer. And our situation was so completely different than this one, but that is really the why. I didn’t have to fight tooth and nail just to be seen; I was just automatically visible–something I don’t think you and I were capable of doing for each other. 

There is also a part of me that sometimes thinks that maybe it was just the wrong place and wrong time, that somehow our trauma bond doesn’t exist and really we are some type of twin flame. Really, I have thought of everything. But it just doesn't matter anymore. You setting me free is the singular best thing you have ever done for me and yourself. We would have been stuck on that merry-go-round; I just know it. 

I thought that love was supposed to sting and burn. I thought people were made to hurt each other and to just learn how to deal with it because you loved the person so much. But I have found something so pure and so sweet, that it almost doesn’t feel real sometimes. And I’m not trying to throw things in your face, I am trying to express my gratitude towards you. And I really, really hate to admit it, but I still don’t think that I am in a place to wish something like that for you. I want to be, and I am working at it every day to wish those things for you. But my ego…oh Christ, my ego. I want to be all you ever think about for every moment for the rest of your life. I want you to know that I got away and to hate yourself for it. That comes from the darkest and deepest parts of myself that I loathe and even more, and that I loathe admitting to. 

I don’t take a hard look at myself in the mirror often. I pretty much think that I walk on water, so I am trying my hand at humbling myself whilst still maintaining some shred of self-confidence. It is a thin line for someone who was once as fragile as I was. I am a narcissist. That is for sure. On a very surface level, I want you to be happy and fulfilled, but deep lurking below, I am happy to see that you are still single. Because to me, it looks like I won. And I never struck myself as a competitive type, but I guess that I am. I want to be the one to walk out of this the most unscathed. I want to be the victor. 

It stopped being about love a long time ago, and now it is all strictly ego.  P.S. If you read all of this then maybe just pretend that you didn’t. And if this finds you in some wild way of the world… hey, it’s Kate.

[transamorousnetwork]

[VIDEO] Doing Nothing Gives The Best Dating Results

The best way to create a better dating life starts with learning how to do nothing. When people discover the power of doing nothing, life really starts taking off. And dates people have get better and better.

This is especially true for those looking for that perfect mate. Transgender and trans-attracted people struggle finding love because they’re caught up in the “doing disease”. It literally feels like that. Dis-ease.

We think all we need “to do” is do more of what others are doing and we’ll find our mate. So that’s what we do. We go to bars. Maybe we ask friends to hook us up. But the one thing so many do while infected with “doing disease” is pursuing a partner via online dating. 

I know that path personally. Over the early part of my life I probably spent something like seven thousand dollars subscribed to various online dating sites. That includes transgender-specific ones. I spent another five thousand or so on other match-making alternatives. That was before I discovered a far more powerful way to fall in love: telling powerful stories.

Doing is drudgery

Before that discovery, I was caught up in doing too. And doing had me doing what everyone else did. It worked. Sometimes. Looking back, though, the success rate of all that doing wasn’t very high. It wasn’t any fun either in retrospect.

No one really likes getting on dating sites in order to find love. It’s a lot of work and money. But it’s crazy how many people go there. So few actually find what they want that way, yet, so many go that way and struggle through sucky experiences. 

I’ve asked my clients which they’d prefer: meeting their match in their daily life, on the way to the grocery or while in a park, for example, or meeting them on line. Every one agrees they’d prefer meeting them in real life.

Why do so many go through that drudgery then? Maybe it’s because they’re trapped in the doing the disease like I was. I’m glad I found the antidote. The antidote being doing nothing. It seems crazy, but it’s true. Here’s why.

^^So many people tire themselves out by trying to get what they want through action. But doing nothing begins a path where things happen far more easily. No struggle required. (Photo by Adrian Swancar)

You match what you’re getting

First, the reason why so many seek their partner through doing, yet fail to find them, is because they’re trying to get something they don’t believe they can have. I talk about this with every client. A person can’t find something they think they can’t find. That’s the case for keys, lost gloves and partners one think doesn’t exist.

How can someone find a partner if they think that partner doesn’t exist? That’s the belief in which many transgender and trans-attracted people stand. So many transgender people think they can’t find a guy who will love them for what they are. So many trans-attracted guys think transgender women of the kind they want, don’t exist. And yet, both parties do, do, do, while not knowing their doing doubles down on their negative thoughts about what they want.

Worse still, how can a person find someone to love if they believe they themselves aren’t lovable? Many transgender women struggle with believing they are worthy of what they want. A lot think they love themselves. But track what comes out of their mouths and in short order overwhelming evidence would pile up. That evidence would show what that trans woman really feels about herself. 

Same goes with trans-attracted men. Although it’s much easier seeing the evidence. We trans-attracted men struggle with shame and embarrassment about our attraction, but also about our desires. We’re insecure about what our desires tell us about ourselves. And so we struggle too.

Insecurities proceed us all

The fact is, if a person doesn’t think their partner exists, or they don’t think they deserve finding them, they’re not going to.

So when such a person goes online to find their partner, armed with such beliefs and insecurities, they draw to them experiences confirming their beliefs and insecurities. They meet skeezer trans women, cavort with call girls and escorts and get had by gold diggers. Or they meet men who only want to sext, see dick picks or ghost the minute online conversations turn to meeting in person.

When people get these responses, they ignore what these experiences tell them. Instead, they try harder, do more, push, struggle more. They think if they do all that, they’ll finally get what they want.

It doesn’t work that way. Especially in love.

^^Finding love is easy when you give up the struggle. Even if you’re trans or trans-attracted. (Photo by Juliette F on Unsplash)

Doing it different?

Doing nothing begins an important process. That process reverses inertia created when a person keeps doing the same thing over and over, but expecting different results. When someone calms themselves, relaxes and focuses inward, powerful processes get underway even though it seems like nothing happens.

And the more that person relaxes into doing nothing, the more effective they get. That’s because every person, trans or trans-attracted, receives guidance through their intuition. Doing nothing tunes one into their intuition.

What really happens is, by doing nothing, the person calms down noise in their head. That way they start hearing clear signals their intuition sends all day, every day.

In time, the person realizes some profound insights. Like this client:

Uncovering such insights take a while. And this is the challenge. So many people in our lives tell us doing nothing is lazy and time wasting. But it’s not that. It’s a profound state of being which tunes one back into their deeper knowing.

But if you listen to society, parents, educators and all those loud mouths in the peanut gallery, you’ll hear “stop being lazy”, “work harder”, “success is in the struggle”.

It works but it’s tough

Such approaches work. But do you really want to struggle through life? I don’t. I’d rather enjoy life while seeing my life bringing me everything I want with little effort.

People who struggle claim it’s worth the struggle. They look at and display scars they “earned” on the way to their success. I say give that approach up, especially when it comes to finding love.

Instead, figure out how to become a match to the relationship, that lasting, loving, true love you want. It’s far more fun, easier, and when it shows up, will be a better match. That’s because on the way to receiving it, you’re becoming a match to it. You’re becoming happy. You’re letting go of your pessimism and joylessness. You let go of blame and judgement.

And when all that happens, you can’t help but meet someone who is just like you. After all, in all that doing to find a partner, the judgement, pessimism, and joylessness you experience is what you get in return in the form of partners matching all of that.

A better way exists. It starts with doing nothing, which really is doing a lot. Learning to do nothing transforms lives. My clients know this. It’s time for you to know it too.

[anasticklefics]

Unsaid

Fandom: Star Wars

Characters: Poe/Finn

Summary: They land on a planet that has a field that tickles anyone who comes near, and Poe is having one too many feelings about it.

A/N: My first fic back from hiatus! Honestly I’m only posting something because I wrote more than half of this while I was gone, but felt inspired to finish it today. I hope you like it, I’m very proud 🥺

Words: 2k

A breeze of heat ruffled Poe’s hair as he stood at the edge of the Field of Laughter on a planet that had too much of an orange tint for his liking. It reminded him of dry, unforgiving land full of sand and nothing but sand, but mostly it reminded him of the times he’d been stranded, so thirsty he could die, running for his life over the scorching ground. Just last week, that is. It reminded him of being near death, and of watching Finn and Rey getting dragged just out of his reach.

“It’s okay, you know,” Finn told him now, watching Poe as Poe watched the field. “If you want to try it, I mean.”

Poe chanced a glance at him, wondering what the orange tint made his blush look like. “I’m good.”

“Poe.” Finn had mastered the knowing smile he occasionally shot his way wonderfully. An amusement to it, but also something kind that made Poe all the more embarrassed whenever it was aimed at him. Vulnerability, even during the war, was always something that terrified him, even more than the war.

“Really, I’m okay,” he said, averting his gaze back toward the dancing blades of yellow grass. They’d been told the field was bigger than it seemed, twisting and turning behind the mountains and the trees Poe had been surprised to find here. They all looked dead, but were apparently perfectly fine.

“If you’re worried someone will see or hear you we could go further.”

“Why do you think I want to try it?”

“Oh, come on now.” Finn bumped their shoulders together. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

The Field of Laughter was said to be a very ticklish experience; so much so that the natives who lived by it had developed a thicker skin, quite literally so, in order to survive having to cross it. It had saved them valuable time, not having to walk around it, and it only got a couple of giggles out of the younger ones now.

Poe was absolutely certain he would never escape the dancing blades, whose only purpose in life was to tickle whomever walked over and through them. They were kept regularly short, cut with hovering blades and quick hands, as they could probably tickle someone to death if they were able to trap them. A field of torture for most, but something else to Poe.

“I promise to pull you out if it becomes too much,” Finn continued, but Poe could tell he wasn’t going to push it more. It was up to Poe to decide whether he was brave enough to be vulnerable in more than one way.

They’d landed there by accident. A mission gone wrong, but not so wrong it had really cost them anything. Just time, which they sometimes couldn’t afford and other times were swimming in. They’d been fortunate, for once, to be rich enough to give it away so easily to a planet that neither attacked them nor wanted to help them. Proud of their history, but wary of their grounds, meaning they told them everything but let them see little. Poe knew of the group that had settled not too far away from their makeshift camp, keeping an eye on them and making sure they didn’t stray past the point they’d been allowed to see. Poe wasn’t sure why they’d been forced to stay by the Field of Laughter of all places, but he’d been thoroughly on edge for the past two days because of it.

“Better be careful,” Jess had said, pointing to the field. “If you piss me off I might throw you in.”

Poe hadn’t replied, his ears still ringing with the story of the field they’d just been told. Lab-made. Torture device. Impossible to stop. It had made him want to peel his skin off to hear it.

“Poe.” Finn, his one and only confidant in this, hadn’t teased him like Poe had feared, but that knowing look had almost been worse. “Come on, let’s take a walk.”

One thing you should know about Poe Dameron: he had absolutely no idea how to handle any type of feeling that involved vulnerability, which included embarrassment and fear and love and lust. Unfortunately his feelings about tickling had traces of all, to a certain point. It was embarrassing to love something most people hated. It was terrifying to love something to the point of sensuality.

Finn had found out by accident, too. A drunken night, Poe too touch-starved and exhausted and in love with him to keep quiet, and while whatever they were was still unsaid and only shown in quiet fingertips to skin, Finn was all too eager to give him what he wanted after he’d let it slip. Poe refused to talk about it now, all of it unsaid and quiet, all theirs but barely.

Finn hadn’t mentioned the field as they’d started their walk, but Poe couldn’t look at him as they’d walked along the edge of it, maybe too close to it for comfort. One misstep and he could fall in, and then he’d have to face one too many truths at once.

Truth was, he almost wished someone would push him in. Just as an excuse.

“It almost doesn’t look like the blades are dancing,” was the first thing he’d said. “There’s no rhythm to it.”

“I’m sure they’re trying their best,” Finn had replied and Poe had laughed, nearly hysterically, as if giddy at the idea of having them dance over his skin.

“How does it even work?” he said now, two days later, the evening sun still bright and orange, but fading ever so slightly by the minute. “Like, do they go for your feet first or trip you or what?” He was only able to ask because it sounded so stupid to ask it.

“No idea.” Finn tilted his head at the field. “Does it work if you’re dressed and wearing shoes?”

“No idea.”

“Maybe we should ask someone. I’m sure they’d be willing to share.”

“We’d look too invested.”

Finn grabbed his wrist, squeezing once and calming him instantly. “We don’t have to.”

Poe went to bed untickled, tangled up in Finn’s embrace.

*

He only went because he’d dreamt of it and had learned to take dreams seriously years ago. In his dream it had been intoxicating, the sensation unbearable enough to have felt real, and so he went, wondering if he would leave or die there, laughing until it hurt him. That was the most fascinating part. Where did the line go between pleasure and pain when it came to something like this? How much could he take? Were Finn’s occasional prodding hands enough or was he capable of handling more?

In retrospect there was probably a safer way to figure this out, but Poe stopped by the edge of the field, feet bare and pants rolled up to his calves, with a relief he rarely ever felt regarding this. The early morning sun was more of a soft canary yellow than orange, and Poe felt he could breathe more easily.

“Hello,” he said, his voice a murmur as he bent to get closer to the grass. “Aren’t you causing a lot of commotion.”

He didn’t feel stupid to speak to it. Somehow he felt it was alive, just communicating differently than him. He’d walked as far as he’d been able to, but felt as if his laughter would still be heard if it caught him. Many years ago, when he’d had too much pride to admit to vulnerability, he’d been captured by a rope and remained hanging upside down for longer than was comfortable, squirming, struggling, but refusing to scream for help. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep quiet during this.

The blades did nothing to acknowledge his presence and Poe longed for a thick forest - preferably a dark green one - to hide him from view when he reached out a finger to hover above it. An idiot, they would call him if they saw him. An idiot that’s asking for it.

If only they knew how desperately he was really asking. How loud and persistent and starved his pleas were, in the midst of a war that gave him no privacy to be candid.

“Would you let go of me if I asked nicely?” The blades were just out of reach. He could imagine them suddenly reaching forward and gripping him by the wrist, pulling him in and under for the rest of his giggly eternity.

But of course, they merely kept dancing. He wiggled his index finger over them. “Are you ticklish yourselves?”

The silence around him was deafening. If he fell he would be heard by the whole universe.

If he didn’t fall he could pretend he had. Say he’d been sleepwalking, hence his lack of proper footwear, and had ended up in this ticklish awakening.

Finn would know, naturally, but Finn would never tell. Would only try to gently coax the answers out of him and Poe would blush and blush and blush until he would say something stupid that would have Finn either laughing or rolling his eyes. Finn would drop it only momentarily, for it was too big of a thing to do on your own for him to never bring up again.

Poe wasn’t surprised when Finn appeared a moment later, his steps quiet but not non-existent. “Hi.”

Poe sighed and straightened, turned to glance at him quickly to hide the already spreading flush. “Hi.”

“I knew I’d find you here.”

“Dead or alive?”

“Hmm, either. Happy it was the latter.” He stopped beside him, letting their shoulders brush as they gazed over the field. “Are you gonna do it?”

“Not sure. Honestly I might’ve stood here for hours if you hadn’t arrived.”

“I can hold your hand. Pull you back out.”

Poe looked at him. Finn, with his own worries and dark circles under his eyes from how little he actually slept and his ever present way of reaching out without expecting anything back. If he trusted anyone with this it was him.

“Okay.”

Finn met his gaze. “Okay?”

Poe held out his hand. “Okay.”

Finn took it.

*

In retrospect it was both an overwhelming and underwhelming experience. The idea of it, the actual act of stepping his bare foot onto the field, still made his heart race. But while it did tickle it wasn’t the hysteria he’d been imagining. To be fair, he only let it go as far as to his calf before he decided he’d had enough, but for someone as sensitive as him it should’ve been worse.

It did tickle, though. It tickled a lot.

“I think you’re just too used to the sensation,” Finn told him after they’d returned to their quarters.

Poe huffed in embarrassment. “Not like that.”

“Oh, come on. I’ve pinned you plenty of times.”

“Not like that,” Poe said, quieter.

“That sounds like a challenge.”

As he’d stepped onto the field, Finn’s hand tight over his, Poe had felt fear and excitement and shame and acceptance, all at once, as the blades started dancing over his skin. When he’d realized, after the blades had started tickling between his toes, that he wasn’t able to actually remove his foot from the grass, was when he’d started laughing and couldn’t stop.

“I’ve never heard you laugh like that, though,” Finn said now. “I’m actually offended. I’m definitely taking this as a challenge.”

“How did I laugh?” Poe asked, because yes okay sometimes embarrassment made him stupid.

“Desperately. More high pitched than usual.” Finn’s smirk was intoxicating and fucking terrifying. “Want to try to recreate it?”

“People will hear us,” Poe said, already laughing stupidly, nervously, too smitten for his own good.

“I have a perfectly good palm to muffle it.”

And so the rest of Poe got tickled, too.

[corpsentry]

january: an art retrospective

i did some stuff last month (but it’s a lot of stuff and there’s a photodump + some Serious Fucking Reflection, so it’s all below the cut)

so ok, let’s start with this. here are some heads. each head has a red arrow. that red arrow is what i call the red line of the devil. it’s the slope of the face from the side of the eye to the cheekbone and then down towards the chin. up until like 2 weeks ago, i couldn’t draw it. i couldn’t fucking draw it. i would edit over that part of the face over and over again until i was frustrated and tired and i had a raging homosexual headache and it still never looked right. notice that each head is different. notice that each head looks wrong.

at the start of 2021 i finally admitted to myself, as per the image above, that i was deeply, deeply unhappy with my art. what was the problem? i dunno. but i decided i was going to fix it and i was going to do so via another one scribble a day event wherein for every day of january i would find a photo of a human head, and i would draw it.

january 1st, 2021. i was embarrassed to tweet this even on my private account where like 5 friends and a rock would see it. in retrospect, you can also see all of my bad habits emerging like dicks from a hole in the ground. it’s disproportionate. the brows look flat. the eyes are slanting upwards. the entire drawing looks flat, like this isn’t a 3d person but a caricature of one.

january 2nd, 3rd, 4th:

on the 2nd i decided to start a separate thread for doodles and applied learning. here’s the first set of tests

the rest of the week is kind of uneventful so we’re going to skip those. fast forward to january 11th

this one is especially bad. i am acutely aware, suddenly, that i am not changing anything at all. i’m stressed and miserable about it because i’m still trying to see people as people and trying to draw people that look attractive and proportionate and hot. my friend, leny, reminds me that i need to think about faces in terms of planes. i have a moment. my other friend masha sends me some links to anatomy tutorials. i have another moment.

january 11th. applied sketch

january 13th is when i start the troubleshooting process. the link above drives me mad because i’m pretty happy with the face but then i realize that there’s something very fucking wrong with the shape of the head LOL and then i realize that i’ve never had any idea what the proportion of the face to the rest of the skull is so i grit my teeth and i open a new canvas and i

bald studies. it seemed like the right thing to do. can’t draw heads? ok draw some heads. look at some photographs. i traced each photo but tried to stick to straight lines so that i could replicate the shapes more easily. i broke each face down into shapes. i thought about airplanes

i got really excited. i started doing studies, then applied studies, then stylized studies.

sketches. i’m not sure what’s going on (as always) and it’s very rough, but they look different from the sketches i did on january 2nd. that’s a start

january 16th’s daily study. looks more like a person now. juuuuuust a bit

more applied studies

on the 18th i take a break and go stare at some lips because i don’t understand how the fuck they work. again, i focus on shapes, on volume, on the fact that these things exist in 3d. holy fuck lips exist in 3d. holy fuck we are real

january 19th. i’m working on it.

january 22nd. some sketches + a daily study. it has finally occurred to me that heads can tilt up and down and that things look different accordingly. yes i was not aware of this before. yes i have been drawing for over a decade.

january 23rd. by this point after doing my daily sketch i almost always go back and do an applied study which is basically to say i drew a lot of fucking links. this one looks kind of okay. i’m kind of proud

january 25th. links. trying to make sense of everything i’ve learned

26th, 27th, 28th. daily studies

january 1st. january 31st

The End Of The Photo Dump (dab)

ok NOW i get to talk about what i discovered while studying the shit out of human beings

FIRST OF ALL, there is something precious and magical about drawing shit without the explicit knowledge that you’re going to tweet that shit out to 45 people later. it takes the burden of perception off your shoulders and that does something to you, or at least that’s my theory. i told myself i wouldn’t post any of this stuff until the end of the month (if i wanted to post it at all) and kept everything off my public social media accounts and that meant i could draw ugly as hell without worrying about who would point and laugh, which i absolutely fucking did. a lot of these are fucking trainwrecks. most of these are fucking trainwrecks. why do they look like that?? why??? this doesn’t look like the work of someone who’s allegedly been drawing since they were in kindergarten, does it?????

here’s why: because that person took a huge motherfucking swing at everything they’d ever known about art and spent a month building something new in its place. the abstract explanation is that i grew up on shoujo and weird old anime and my understanding of anatomy was unironically kamichama karin and while i love kamichama karin, when kamichama karin is your rule even if you try to break it, you’re going to end up going nowhere. “you have to know the rules to break them”, yeah? well i didn’t know shit. the abstract explanation is i’ve been miserable about my art for a few years now because i saw other people doing things effortlessly which i couldn’t and instead of going back to the basics, i tried to do what they did (not plagiarism, mind you, i mean i literally tried to copy the red line of the devil i mentioned above because i couldn’t even make that happen) and then i fucking failed.

the simple explanation is this. i had to unlearn everything, and relearn it again (like some kind of new renaissance clown, what the fuck is this?)

take this for example. all my life i’ve drawn faces in the order: eyes, nose, mouth, face shape, head. this works for some people, im aware, but it was something central to how i had always drawn, so i decentralized it. i said fuck you to the old me and changed the order up. now i start with the nose, then the eyes, mouth, the chin line, and the sides of the face. now i force myself to think about the human head as a series of parts interacting with each other instead of a bunch of disparate features which i want to look pretty.

or let’s use this zelda from last year. something about this looked wrong last october, the way something about all of my drawings looked wrong, but i couldn’t pinpoint it for hell the way i couldn’t articulate Any of my feelings about the visual arts. now, looking back, here’s what i see. that nose is sticking out far too much given how she’s not really facing very far away from the camera. that ear at the back shouldn’t be there. her forehead is too big. she doesn’t have a forehead. what the fuck is up with the shape of her head?

so apparently reject modernity embrace tradition has its roots in alt-right terminology and i’m not very horny for the alt-right (you understand), but the spirit survives here. you know sometimes you have to admit that you have no idea what the fuck you’re doing and draw people for 31 days. i’ve spent my whole life drawing stylized people and while again there are artists who have no issue with this, i veered off the track of the Good and the Holy and couldn’t get back on. i had no point of reference because i’d never thought about what an actual human being looks like, so i had no way to fix what i knew in my gut looked wrong but wouldn’t come out better.

this was hard. this was like oikawa tooru swallowing his worthless pride and admitting that ushijima wakatoshi had gotten the best of him for the last time in his high school career, but in haikyuu!! by furudate haruichi oikawa tooru fucks off to argentina and then joins the argentinean national team, and you know what, i think i’ve made it to argentina (not the team just the country). as per the golden rule of dont fucking move until you’re at least two thirds of the way through the month, i only started trying to draw Shit shit on like the 22nd or something, but i was happy with that i created. i am happy with what i’ve done. i’ve posted like 2 things this month that involve people with what i now call ~applied Knowledge~~ and they’re, like, not perfect obviously (perfection is an unattainable ideal), but i’m fucking proud of them. i didn’t spend 5 hours hunched over my laptop adjusting the red line of the devil because it’s not a devil’s line anymore. because i finally sorta get how people work. because i sat down and i said ‘we are not going to fuck with this misery shit anymore’ and then i did that. it’s just a line now.

here are 2 collages tracking my painstakingly carved out progress from january 2nd to february 2nd because i’m a slut for collages

and here’s what i’ve done to my art! the same person drew these but also Not Really! you know! for the first time in a year i don’t immediately hate what i’ve drawn. you know what guys? art is fucking fun. zelda’s forehead doesn’t scare me anymore because i know how foreheads fucking work now, and i don’t know everything, and i’m going to keep troubleshooting stuff as i go (i want to draw a skeleton. like a. i want to draw a goddamn skeleton guys) but i’m honestly and genuinely proud of what i’ve done in the span of a month, and i’m also in disbelief. i started this month-long challenge out as a last ditch effort to make peace with my art because i’ve been tired for a long time and i was ready to kick the bucket on drawing people altogether. i didn’t think anything would happen. nothing’s happened for years. i’ve been miserable for years.

this was the caption for january 1st, 2021. i was super, super fucking embarrassed and it looks like super fucking shit, but you know what, i think i did in fact triumph over the bullshit. surprisingly enough, when you put in consistent effort into something, You Will See Results. didn’t see that coming, did you? i know i didn’t.

this isn’t a success story. it’s a happiness story. i never gave a shit damn about the institute of art or whatever, i was just mad at myself because what i saw in my head didn’t match up with what was on the canvas. and now it’s getting better. now i’m calibrating the compass. now drawing not just backgrounds but also people is exciting to me, and i can stick my links in your face and tell you ‘they hot’. i’m going to keep doing that. i’m going to keep going until i drop off the side of the earth and then spiral towards mars like some kind of fairy, and then i’m going to create something beautiful.

thanks for reading. here’s a pr department link for sticking around until the end

[penguintransporter]

Every You, Every Me (a Leon Goretzka story) chapter II

I know it’s been a while, but I re-wrote this part maybe seven, eight times, only to settle on something completely different. Hope you like it, and I apologise if it is a bit too long (you know me). Tell me what you think about it, every heart, message, and reblog means much more than you can imagine. It needs some editing, but I will get around to do it sometime later. 

Part I

Sofie rested her hands on her waist, overlooking the mountain of clothes piled on her bed — different shapes, colours, patterns and prints, interlacing and weaving in an incomprehensible bundle on top of her comforter. She didn’t know where to start, and for a moment, she wished she could wipe it away with a snap of her fingers, and be over with it.

She was tired after having a sleepless night, and she was hungry, but she had been putting it off for too long, and she knew it had to be done. 

Shaking her head a bit, Sofie picked up a pair of black, over-the-knee boots from the top of the pile — the soft leather feeling smooth against the skin of her fingertips. She remembered the day when she bought them, matching them with a strappy top and a mid-calf, satin skirt — cashing out the last cents of her scholarship money in the outfit, hoping to catch his eye.  

The confidence she felt when she made her way through the crowd in the outfit she couldn’t afford and with her makeup and hair immaculately done, trying to fit in with the people he invited to his birthday party — it all felt ridiculous and a bit childish in retrospective. The glances they shared across the room, the smile on his face when he opened the present she got him, the random touch of his fingertips against her bare back when he guided her to the bar, and the clearest of them all, the bitter taste in her mouth when he left with Yvonne — the girl he ended up dating for the next six months. 

As she watched his figure walk out with his strong arm around the pretty blonde in luxurious dress, Sofie knew that the best thing would be to just give up, as any sane person in her place would, but she just couldn’t bring herself to listen to her brain. Instead, she booked a hairdresser the next morning, dyeing her hair in lighter colour and waited for him to notice it, feeding on the crumbs of his attention and sticking to it like a moth to the flame. 

Yet, she was blind, diving deep into the pit of unrequited love, shedding the layers of her real self along the way, not thinking about consequences or the future.

Sofie breathed out a sigh before lifting up a dress from her bed — short and covered in sequins, and she couldn’t help but narrow her eyes at the mere thought of owning it, let alone wearing it. There was nothing wrong with the dress itself, but the cut, length and style of it, it was all, but something she felt comfortable wearing. Folding it gingerly, she glanced back at the clothes in front of her — realisation of how much she had changed herself for Leon hitting her like a train. 

Sofie knew better than that.

Sofie was about to throw the dress behind her, in the same pile with her overpriced boots when her phone buzzed loudly on her dresser, startling her. Dropping it back on the pile, Sofie made her way towards the device that was hidden among one too many notebooks and course books resting on the IKEA piece before picking it up and smiling at the name written across the screen. 

“You actually did it!” Elle screamed from the other side of the line causing the other girl to twist her lips and move her phone away from her ear for a second. If there was one distinctive separating the two of them, it was the different levels of their loudness at any given moment. “Turn the fucking camera on, and let me see it!” her best friend demanded — her voice still too loud for Sofie’s or anyone's comfort. 

“Language,” Sofie laughed, fumbling with her phone, “you are not on the pitch, Ellenore.” Sofie finally turned on the front camera, pulling a face at Elle as her friend squealed with happiness upon seeing her hair, or rather lack of it. “I guess you like it then,” Sofie muttered, patting the top of her head, feeling slightly embarrassed with the attention she was getting. 

“I love it,” Elle breathed out. “I was worried at first when you texted, but you have one sexy head, Sofie. How does it feel? Naked?”

“Light and cold,” Sofie responded with a shake of her head, “almost had a heart attack when I woke up yesterday morning and saw myself in the mirror.”

Elle laughed softly, adjusting her large bag across her shoulders as she walked along the small street that led to her apartment block - the red jacket with the Bayern Munich logo zipped all the way to her chin. 

“What’s the mess about?” Elle changed the topic, making Sofie turn her head away to look at the clothes and shoes strewn across her bed. 

“I’ve been—” Sofie paused to make herself some space before sitting down at the foot of her bed, “decluttering. Or something like that.”

Elle’s face dropped for a second, but she quickly masked it with a supporting grin that Sofie more than appreciated. If anyone knew about the heartbreak and the identity crisis that Sofie was going through, it was Elle. 

“Are you getting rid of everything?” Elle asked. “Will you sell it or give away?”

“I don’t know what to do with it yet, but I know that it has to go,” Sofie admitted. She felt the tears glaze her vision, but she quickly gave Elle a small smile, trying to stop herself from being too pathetic. “I’ve made such a mess out of my life, Elle,” she paused, giving herself a moment to bite back her tears, “I could have travelled half of the world with the money I spent on frills and sequins, and I hate frills and sequins.”

“I think you are being too hard on yourself, Sofie,” Elle said as Sofie stretched her legs in front of her, “and travelling half of the world is more expensive than you think. Unless you are someone who is comfortable wearing the same harem pants and baja hoodie for more than two and showering once a week,” she added with an innocent smile, and Sofie couldn’t help but smile back at her.

“I am just disappointed that I let myself go this far,” Sofie admitted, focusing on the slippers on her feet - soft material worn out and discoloured. “Plenty fish in the sea, and I was pulling on the biggest catch. How silly of me.”

Elle was quiet as Sofie got up, making her way out of the room and towards the kitchen, closing the doors behind her. One thing was keeping herself busy with it, and completely different to stare at it and do nothing.

“Did you talk to him? Or Serge? They are back from Trentino, or at least that’s what I’ve heard from the girls at the training.” Elle stopped to unlock her apartment doors. 

Despite seeing that Elle was concentrating on twisting the locks, Sofie nodded, pouring some of the juice from the container into her glass. “I had a missed call from Leon on Tuesday,” she took a small sip of her drink, relishing the coolness trickling down her throat, “and I called back. I know I shouldn’t have,” Sofie whispered, rubbing at her eye with her free hand, placing her glass at the edge of the sink, “but he didn’t mention anything about coming back early. Then again, I didn’t ask either, maybe I should have. And why am I being so pathetic, it's not like we had something going on? It was me running after him...”

“Sofie,” Elle sighed quietly — her voice careful, “I know it’s not easy to deal with the heartbreak, and you shouldn’t keep it inside. I am here, you know that?”

Sofie nodded, trying to ignore the feeling of emptiness in her stomach despite the juice. “Yeah,” she answered slowly, “but, I hav—” Sofie stopped, running her hand across the top of her head, finding comfort in the simple action of touching it. “How was your training session?” she asked, changing the subject clumsily as the doorbell rang out throughout her apartment. Sofie’s stomach grumbled at the mere thought of eating lunch soon.

“Did you order food?” Elle smirked, “sushi? Noodles?”

“Indian actually,” Sofie replied, walking towards the doors through the small hallway before unlocking the massive doors, only to stop in her tracks — the smile she had prepared for the delivery person faltering as quickly as it appeared.

**

“You know, Serge,” Sofie grinned as she twirled the last remaining of her already cold tea in her cup, “staring at me won’t make it grow back any faster,” she spoke, downing the leftovers of her drink while grinning at her friend over the lip of her mug. He only laughed in response, and Sofie rolled her eyes playfully before glancing briefly at Leon.

Ever since Sofie welcomed them in her apartment, Leon had been acting strange, quietly sitting at the edge of her couch — leg bouncing as he glanced at his phone every few seconds. He wasn’t as talkative as Serge most of the time, but having him say only few words was not a common thing. Sofie felt that there was something on his mind, and that he was going through something, but she didn't know how to approach him without being too noisy.

“I wasn’t staring at all,” Serge replied, still grinning, “and if I did, it’s because it looks really good.”

“Do girls drop their panties for you all the time, Gnabry?” Sofie asked, sarcastically. “Your charm is amazing.”

“I am being honest here,” Serge clarified, trying to contain his laughter, “it does look good. Right?” he admitted, looking towards Leon, but his friend ignored him — eyes still trained on the shiny device. Serge smiled in disbelief, glancing at Sofie with a goofy face before leaning closer to his friend and teammate, nudging him with his knee, “Leon? I am talking to you. Are you even here?”

“Hmm? What?” Leon suddenly asked, looking up from his phone, startled at the sound and motion coming from his left. “Did you say something?”

“Sofie’s new haircut. It looks good, no?” Serge repeated, much slower, stretching out every syllable for the confused German. 

“Yeah,” Leon started, giving Sofie a long stare which made her heartbeat accelerate, “yeah, it does,” he repeated somewhat quieter, glancing at his phone again for a millisecond. “Can I make some fresh coffee, Sofie? I feel like some coffee?” he asked suddenly— eyes never leaving hers, and for some reason Sofie felt scrutinized under his gaze.  

Sofie was a bit confused with the urgency in his voice, but nodded quickly, watching him get up and straighten his dark jeans in a hurry and putting his phone in the back pocket. He gave her a small smile in response before moving around the coffee table and walking out of the room, not looking back when Serge commented something that Sofie didn’t catch. There was a strange feeling inside of her stomach as she watched him walk out, before she leaned forward in her seat, giving Serge a quizzical look on which he only shrugged with his shoulders. 

“I’ll go and check,” she whispered, getting up as well, and quickly following Leon into the kitchen. 

He was resting his large hands against the counter, watching Sofie’s cheap coffee machine drip the liquid in the large container. In the small space of her kitchen, crammed with the table, uncomfortable chairs, and way too many plants and random knick-knacks, Leon’s physique was overwhelming. Sofie stood in the doorway, quietly observing him, and nervously bringing her hands together, unwilling to speak out and ruin his peace. 

“You’ve been really quiet,” she finally said, moving away from the doorway and stepping inside the room and beside him. She wasn’t the shortest girl out there, but he was still towering over her, especially now that she was only wearing her slippers. 

Leon briefly glanced at her — his eyes moving from her eyes to her hair, and down to her lips for a split of a second before looking back at the coffee machine again, making her heart soar. Up close, she could see the fine smile lines around his eyes and lips. He was beautiful.

“I didn’t sleep well,” he answered quietly, rubbing at the stubble along his chin, “didn’t help that Serge chatted my ear off on our flight back to Munich either. He sat with Hummels, but he shooed him over to my seat,” he added, giving her a small, one-sided grin.

Sofie smiled as well, turning around and leaning against the sink — the aluminium chilling her back through her worn-out tee. “He’s got enough energy for the entire squad, no?” 

“Indeed he does.”

There was a moment of silence between the two of them, and the only sound was the coffee machine loudly filtering the bitter liquid in the scratched pot. Sofie took a deep breath as she stared in front of herself, focusing on the rotting banana in her fruit basket on the dining table, and before she could stop herself, the words that she was supposed to suppress and keep inside, left her mouth. 

“If you want, you can stay and take a nap on the sofa as usual,” she suggested, and almost instantly regretted it. She had created a list of unwritten rules that were supposed to help her get over Leon, and offering him couch to nap on was not one of them.

“Thanks, but I think I will head out whenever Serge makes a move,” Leon quickly answered, and Sofie felt a pinch at her heart. “You seem busy too.”

“As you wish,” she nodded, moving away from the sink as she watched him pour himself a large cup of coffee, dropping a cube of brown sugar in it before taking a small sip. “You sure you’re okay, Leon?” she asked again. 

“Yeah, all is fine, don’t worry,” he smiled, giving her another long stare, and under his gaze she yet felt naked and exposed. “Shall we go out for dinner tomorrow evening? Would be nice to catch up. It’s been a while,” Leon asked as she was about to walk out of her kitchen and back to where Serge was sitting, but stopped in her tracks upon hearing Leon’s voice behind her.

Sofie took a hesitant breath — her heart starting to beat faster in her chest, but she still managed to smile when she turned around, giving him a small nod. “Sure. Sounds like a plan.”

Wrong answer, Sofie.

Wrong answer. 

tags: 

@footballerimaginess, @littlebitofbluelittlebitofcoffee, @jordanspetkovics, @disneydaddyevans​

If there is someone I forgot to tag, please let me know. 

[mymedicine]

Alocasia

or, 7.5k words of blushy harry and sassy y/n

moodboard/inspo tag + my masterlist

sum - y/n doesn’t like people, but she likes harry—even though he keeps fucking this up

warnings - language, alcohol, mentions of sex (not explicit), lots of banter, excessive use of parentheses, umm... veganism?

notes - hiii! for once i don’t really have anything to say other than welcome, to a very fluffy and kind of chaotic one shot. hope you give her a chance and a reblog if you enjoy! <3

Upon moving into his charming downtown apartment, Harry was feeling a lot of things.

He was excited at the prospect of living there, of waking up in his cozy new bedroom, of flipping pancakes in the kitchen with a stunning view of the city skyline, and of lounging on his soft gray couch while watching reruns of Criminal Minds. He was also anxious, and a little annoyed. There were groceries to be bought, chores to be done, bills to be paid (Fuckin’ landlord was an ass for refusing to include utilities in the rent). The cabinets in the bathroom were a little creaky (Do I need some WD-40? Can I afford WD-40?!) He even had to walk up four flights of stairs to get to his door, a task which Harry was keen to count as his daily exercise.

Above all, Harry was lonely. Living alone was a blessing and a curse, he reckoned. He could lounge about without any clothes, dance in the kitchen to the sounds of Folklore (a guilty pleasure), and watch creepypasta videos on YouTube until three am (and consequently stay up til dawn, for fear of nightmares) without worrying about anyone but himself.

But after just two days in the new place, he was concerned that the cost of privacy may not be worth it. Loneliness and boredom weighed heavily on his conscience as he laid on the couch and stared at the ceiling. Not only did he live alone, but he also didn’t have any friends in the city yet. No one to see, nothing to do. Lost, he decided. No direction, no purpose…Only four walls and a bunch of empty cabinets.

And yet it wasn’t even social interaction he craved necessarily—it was purpose, company, and…perhaps some cuddles. He briefly considered the idea of a pet. Maybe a friendly little French bulldog to chase around and be responsible for? Or a fluffy Maine Coon kitty to scratch behind the ear and snuggle at night?

But the bills…the responsibility…The prudent adult deep within Harry knew he was hardly ready to support himself, let alone a helpless animal. He’d have to feed it and walk it and make sure it didn’t shit all over the floor—not to mention the landlord would raise hell if he found out.

Meanwhile, the soft, gentle, maybe a little naive man who dominated Harry’s conscience was craving a friend. Pets were a no for now, so what’s the next best thing? He grappled with the question…Surely, a person was the obvious answer. He wouldn’t mind a pretty body to warm his heart—or, at least, his bed.

Harry stretched his legs out over the arm of the couch—the only furniture he had at the moment aside from his mattress on the floor of the bedroom—and snuggled into his cozy corduroy blanket, craving warmth in the cold apartment. A rainbow cardigan adorned his chest today, draped over a plain white turtleneck that warmed his neck. He liked to keep it cold so he could be snuggly wrapped in his sweaters without sweating bullets. He dug around in the pocket of his cardigan for his phone, eager to receive affection from something other than his clothes.

In retrospect, Tinder had given Harry far more unfortunate encounters with other people (lots of younger girls just looking for a plug and toxic guys who left him on read) than pleasurable ones. But hindsight was always 20/20 and isolation had already planted the seed in his head.

He quickly examined his own profile. It consisted of two photos of him smirking softly (not too serious, but not too eager either), one with his sister and his mum (to show he’s a family man), and a group one with his mates (because sure, he was lonely, but he didn’t want people to know that). There were also one or two shirtless photos (thirst traps, according to Niall) that he’d sprinkled in between the tame ones even though it made him feel kind of icky. Weighing the odds, he’d decided that desperation for matches outweighed the cringey-ness of it all.

His very last photo was the only one where he felt like himself. He was smiling wide in it, wearing a baby blue sweater with a little chick popping out of its egg on the front that Mitch had teased him for back home. His bio, too, showcased his wholesome values.

Harry’s eyes widened as he observed on the first person he saw upon opening the home page—Y/N. She only had two photos—a shot of her perched on a car hood and smiling wide and one far away one with her figure drowning in a sea of…plants. Fittingly, her bio read: “I love plants and I hate people.”

She was beautiful and every bit as anti-social as himself. It was perfect.

Harry laughed softly to himself and swiped right immediately. He was giddy when the familiar It’s a match! popped up on the screen immediately. His thumbs hovered over the keypad, brow furrowed as he frowned at the screen. Matching was one thing, but actually starting a conversation was another entirely.

Ultimately, he decided honesty was the best policy:

you had me at ‘i hate people’ :D

Now what? Matching was one thing, starting a conversation was another, but having a whole conversation was another thing entirely. He hated the waiting, especially when he had absolutely nothing to busy himself with in the mean time, aside from fiddling with his fingers and doing laps around his living room.

Seven minutes later (not that he’s counting), a ding came through on his phone.

y/n: you had me at ‘treat people with kindness,’ mon petit :)

Harry smiled wide. He was pleased she’d noticed not only his bio, but also the sweater he was wearing in his favorite photo of himself. It was the perfect response from a perfect girl.

harry: so what do you do?

y/n: i work at a plant shop on Main

Figures, he thought. He imagined her carrying a watering pitcher, tending to a plant with gentle fingers. She’d be surrounded by them like she was in the photo on her profile, green on all sides. God, he thought. What a beautiful scene with a beautiful star.

harry: wanna go for drinks tonight and talk about plants?

y/n: sure ;)

Nightfall brought a chill to the air that made Harry desperately want to curl up into his warm bed and snuggle into his pillow. But here he was, shuffling his feet outside the crowded bar and absently wearing another tiny hole in the sleeve of his striped sweater. It was a decent bar in town. They didn’t water down the drinks and they kept the lights dim so she wouldn’t have to see him flushed beet red after one drink. That is, if she would show up at all.

“Hey, you’re Harry?”

He turned quickly toward the sound of the voice, and there she was. And holy shit, he thought. That is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Her two profile photos did not even begin to do her justice. The idea of a mere photo on a screen couldn’t even compare to the real thing. He would never be keen to look at a photo again, he reckoned. It wouldn’t make his heart bloom and flutter like the vision of her in front of him did. Was this love at first sight?

“Y-yeah,” he stuttered, and not because the chilly night, “Y/N, right?”

Harry didn’t think he really believed in love—certainly not love at first sight, but this girl was throwing him into another world. Before, he couldn’t seem to stand still, but her presence in front him planted his feet firmly on the ground.

“Yep, that’s me!” She smiled wide, speaking cooly and confidently. It was obvious she knew how beautiful she was and, even more evident, how enamored Harry already was with her.

“I—you’re absolutely beautiful,” The words slipped out of his lips before he could catch them—not that he was really making any effort to hide his attraction for her. Still, he enjoyed the way her eyes brightened and teeth gently nibbled at her bottom lip in response to the compliment

And suddenly, the idea of merely kissing her soft flesh, tickling her sweet bud, and ultimately burying himself inside her tonight didn’t seem like enough. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to smell her hair and hear her laugh. He wanted to make her pancakes in the morning and kiss her lips, sweetened lightly with maple syrup. He wanted to love her.

No, he couldn’t possibly ruin his chance with a girl like this by fucking her on the couch in his cold, lonely apartment, never to see or hear from her again.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“Of course.”

One hour and four and a half drinks later, (whiskey cokes for Y/N, vodka crans for Harry) the cramped bar was hot and they were floating on air. He’d learned that she worked at Main Street Nursery, usually by herself, sometimes with her cousin who owned the place. She was an avid vegan, but only because she hated meat and dairy made her sick. She’d learned that Harry was new in town and lived only a block away from Main. Also, Y/N managed to learn that Harry had no friends here and was very lonely in his new apartment, but only after his third vodka cran when the already weak filter in his throat began to crumble and embarrassing things spewed out of his lips like a spout.

“Let’s dance, H.” Y/N requested, gently caressing his bicep from where she sat beside him.

Oh god. No amount of alcohol would let him embarrass himself like that. “I don’t really… uh—“

But Y/N was having none of that. She thrust his half empty glass in his face, eyebrows raised in a pointed look. “Come on, baby!”

He hesitated for only a moment. Her fingers were soft and warm and distracting against his arm and it was very dark in the crowded bar, but he could easily see her bright eyes and the mischief dancing around in them. Somehow, she looked just as beautiful after putting away five whiskey cokes. Ah fuck. How could he possibly say no to her?

Harry tipped the glass against his lips, downed the bitter beverage, and finally let her tug him to the middle of the room.

A few people were dancing raunchily to the loud music, and the combination of the alcohol and the darkness and Y/N’s effortless beauty gave Harry the confidence to join them. He placed his hands gingerly around her waist, nearly flinching at the warm feeling of her skin against his. Y/N flashed him a blissful, slightly drunken grin and squeezed his bicep more firmly, relaxing in his hold.

Y/N led them in a giggly dance, letting her hands wander Harry’s body and ultimately settle around his neck. Brain foggy with an alcohol induced haze, she swayed her hips against his.

Minutes turned into an hour or so and Y/N had grown quite comfortable in the circle of Harry’s arms, fronts flushed together impossibly close.

“Wanna get out of here?” Her whisper in the shell of his ear was alluring, seductive, sweet, and almost irresistible. But Harry was on a mission—one that only included seeing her again after tonight and, ultimately, making her his. Five vodka crans weren’t quite enough to outweigh his desire for something more. No, this plan didn’t include fucking her. (At least, not tonight).

“Um, I think we should…er—slow down…”

“You don’t...you don’t wanna hookup?” She looked up at him with something like disappointment (or maybe anxiety? insecurity? He wasn’t sure) in her eyes.

“No, it’s just… I—I wanted to get to know you?”

Y/N subtly stepped away from him, just an inch or so, but more than enough for him to notice and consequently panic. “Oh um, It’s okay...I just thought—well, I didn’t think we’d really be getting to know each other…”

Ouch. She obviously was not on the same page as he was with the whole I WANT TO LOVE YOU thing he had going on at the moment. The alcohol thickened his skin a little, easing the sting of her words.

“But if I’m like...not pretty enough or nice enough I—uh...” she was rambling a little—and oh god, she must be wasted if she’s questioning her beauty. Harry’s heart hurt. How could she not see that she was perfect inside and out?

“No, Y/N! You’re perfect…it’s just—“

“I get it, um...”

“I’m sorry, you don’t understand!

“I understand, Harry…I guess I’ll just—go home now.”

Well, fuck. In an effort to prolong his time with her, he’d managed to cut it short and blow his shot to see her again at all. He kicked himself for hoping. Hope for the best, expect the worst, he reminded himself. He was just fine at the hoping part, but the disappointment in the aftermath bit even deeper than his desperate loneliness.

Back to square one.

I’m going for a plant…if Y/N happens to be there then…Harry thought as he approached Main Street, then Y/N will be there. His heart skipped a beat at the thought. He tugged nervously at the sleeves of his sweater—this one white with a “my life is crap” graphic that he found quite funny—wearing another tiny hole in the fabric. He absently regretted not taking a shot or two before impulsively jogging across the block to the plant shop, but he pushed the thought out of his mind. I’m just here to get a plant.

Truthfully, he didn’t know shit about plants, but how hard could it be? Surely, all it took was a little water and a sunny spot. Optimistic, he wandered into the cute little shop. Upon entering, he found it wasn’t really indoors at all—just four walls of greenery with only a few wooden beams as a ceiling, allowing rays of mid-morning sunshine to illuminate the space quite beautifully. Harry couldn’t help but notice how one such ray shone directly on the most beautiful creature in the shop.

The scene was even more delightful than he’d imagined. She looked ethereal doing even the most mundane tasks, he thought. The way her skin glowed in the sunlight in front of a backdrop of lush greenery? Heavenly. He took a few more moments to absently admire her as she lifted a watering can above her head with skilled hands, squinting at the sun while reaching up to water a large, leafy looking plant that hung from one of the beams.

The plant was hanging just low enough to block her view of Harry, so when he gently cleared his throat to call her name, she leaped backward. A loud thud rang out and suddenly, the watering can was no longer grasped between her fingers and her pale pink apron was stained crimson—completely drenched.

“Oh my god!” they both screeched at the same time.

Harry felt the weight of the world on his shoulders as he ran over to her. “I’m so sorry angel,” he said, picking up the now leaking can from the floor. “I really didn’t mean to scare you, oh my god, are you okay?!”

She looked a mess, quite honestly. But even covered in water and sprawled out on the concrete floor, she was cute to him, like a little bud sprouting out of the pot. She looked up at him with a contemptuous stare.

“Harry!” She cried from the floor, “What are you doing?”

While he did appreciate how adorable she looked, Harry was horrified. He hadn’t known her long, but he’d never heard her stutter or seen her blush like that. Even in their brief text exchanges and one night together, she’d always seemed so confident, so effortlessly graceful and calm. “I’m so sorry love, I really didn’t mean to—“

“Why are you here?”

“I-I just...I just wanted a plant and—and… I know you love them, and I thought there wouldn’t be anywhere better to go...”

Y/N’s expression softened as he rambled. “Okay, well, feel free to look around,” She stumbled to her feet, murmuring as she went. She wiped her hands on her soaked apron, trying to clean them but actually just spreading the wetness. “And um…Let me know if you need anything.”

She pressed a tight lipped grin on and her voice went a tinge too high pitched. She was clearly putting herself in customer service mode, but Harry caught a playful glint behind her bright eyes.

Harry flushed red and turned away from her, kicking himself for being so clumsy. He craned his head around the shop, feeling hopelessly overwhelmed. He wanted to ask her for help or at least a gentle push in right direction, but he figured he’d already bothered her enough.

Even with his back to her, Y/N’s presence was distracting. He could hear her feet shuffling around softly, the light clang of the metal watering can against the counter, even the pinging sound from her phone as he wandered the store.

Harry made a few aimless circles around before particular plant caught his eye. It was a modest looking plant, no where near as big as some of the hanging vines and rubber trees that littered the store. It had large, dark green leaves with jagged looking edges and sat pretty in a terra cotta pot near the front of the store.

He decided this plant would suit his needs perfectly (what are those needs again? He asked himself, company? responsibility?). He ultimately ignored his thoughts and the fact that he wasn’t even himself clear on what he wanted and picked up the plant in both arms. He shivered upon realizing that Y/N was probably watching him the whole time as he brought the plant to the counter where she was waiting. Watching him struggle and make a fool out of himself, that is.

“Did you find everything okay?” she asked cordially.

Harry nodded stiffly, unsure what to say. “Mmhm.”

“Have you got others?” Y/N continued making conversation while punching some numbers into the cash register, smiling and avoiding his gaze.

Harry looked up at the same time she looked away from the register. He was a little startled by her question, not expecting her to actually speak to him after what he’d done earlier. “Uh, no. I just moved here, remember?”

“Oh, right—well, you know this is an alocasia?” she said it very gently, with a patient smile. He didn’t like that she was avoiding his gaze before, but now that she was staring at him unwaveringly, he felt like he was under a microscope. Heat rose is Harry’s cheeks. Did the name of the plant matter?

“Uh, yeah? I mean, uh—I had a few back in my old place…” Why Harry? Why is your first instinct to lie?

“So you know what to do with this kind of plant?’

“Um…yeah?” He stammered, speech as rushed and clumsy as the beating of his heart. His sweaty palms further confirmed the obvious—Y/N made him nervous. She wasn’t just beautiful, she was perfect. He felt desperately out of place in front of her here. How could he possibly impress her? After he’d already fucked up more than once?

“I, well—nevermind,” Y/N replied finally, shaking her head. She was still smiling, but now he felt like she was giggling to herself because she knew something he didn’t.

“Did you want to add some Miracle Potion to your purchase today?” she asked, back in customer service mode once again.

Harry did not know what the fuck Miracle Potion was, but it sounded like a rehearsed line she was required to say during every transaction. She was looking at him so pointedly though, and the brightness of her eyes was distracting. How could he say no when she was looking at him like that?

“Yeah, why not.”

And seeing her beam at him with that lovely smile was so worth the extra eight dollars.

Harry cradled his new plant—Franklin, he’d decided—in both arms, awkwardly body-slamming his apartment door to get it open without his hands. First order of business after setting Franklin down on the coffee table was to quench his thirst. He still hadn’t gone on a real grocery trip for the new place, so he’s been living off of trail mix and kombucha. Harry craved kombucha like plants craved water.

Which brought him to the second order of business: research. He sat on the couch with his trail mix, kombucha, and laptop, quickly opening up a search for “alocasia plant care”

And suddenly Y/N’s behavior made sense.

Of course, of every plant he could have chosen at random, Harry’d gone for one of the most difficult, demanding, and definitely-not-for-beginners house plants in the shop.

He had a funny feeling it wasn’t the last time his optimism would get him in trouble.

Harry was frustrated.

It’d been less than twenty four hours since he became a father, and his once green-leafed baby was already browning at the edges. He frowned, peering at Franklin’s crisp leaves as he meticulously sprayed the Miracle Potion into the soil. The once dry dirt was starting to look a little better, but—holy shit!

Harry leaped away from the table, dropping the spray and nearly knocking himself onto his ass. His eyes were wide and his heart was pounding. He felt betrayed and horrified. Y/N never mentioned that there’d be bugs crawling in the soil! But Harry could not unsee the tiny worm-ish looking guy slithering up from the depths of the pot and onto the base of Franklin’s stem.

This was a mistake. A huge mistake. Who has he kidding?

He couldn’t help himself. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his phone, dialing the plant shop’s number without a second thought.

“Hello, you’ve reached Main Street Nursery! We’re not available right now, please leave a message and we’ll call back as soon as possible.”

“Y/N! S’Harry and, oh my god there’s a bug in Franklin! I was sprayin’ the potion stuff on the soil like ya said to but then there was a big worm thing and I dunno what to do now? I’m scared Y/N, why didn’t ya tell me there’d be bugs?! Holy shit, Franklin’s gonna die, what the fu—“

A beep interrupted his ramblings, which Harry would later be grateful for. He was always a sort of ramble-y type, but adding a pretty girl and a bug-induced panic was more than enough to make him insufferably talkative.

He begrudgingly opened the Tinder app, his only other means of communicating with her. He typed out a lengthy message with rapid fingers, explaining the bug situation in between a series of colorful emojis.

thought you knew what you were doing? Y/N’s reply came in three and a half minutes later.

harry: I lied :(

(No use in lying now).

y/n: that’s alright bub. just relax, I’ll bring you some bug stickers

Bug stickers? What the fuck? He’d already made a fool of himself, so he might as well ask, he reasoned.

harry: why would I want a bug sticker?!!

y/n: just send me your address

He did as she asked, blushing profusely at the thought of her being in his apartment. Oh shit, he realized. She’s gonna be in my apartment. Realistically, he knew she probably wouldn’t even come past the front door. She’d just give him the damn stickers and then go off to whatever better things she had to do. But if Harry has any dominant personality trait, it’s optimism.

So he quickly started to tidy the living space—careful to avoid the coffee table where Franklin and his new worm-ish adversary sat. The plant aside, it’s a cute little place that screamed an unemployed single man lives here. Once the kombucha bottles and gum wrappers are thrown out, he puts way too much effort into swiping the trail mix crumbs off the couch and carefully arranging a throw blanket across the arm of it—she won’t even be coming near the couch, Harry, chill out.

When would she be coming? She hadn’t given him a time. She’d asked for his address…did that mean she was coming immediately? Maybe she’d asked for it to come by later? Or tomorrow?—

A loud knocking at the door interrupted his thoughts.

He should have expected this. Even after only meeting twice, he should’ve known she’d barge right into his living room, skirting right past him to find Franklin. The first thing he learned about her was that she owed plants and hated people.

“Um, hello love,” he said awkwardly, trailing behind her. “Thanks for coming over.”

Y/N looked up from where she was examining the plant’s leaves as if she’d just noticed him lurking behind her (very on brand for her, Harry noted to himself). He was taken with her sudden eye contact. Her eyes had that same sparkly glow as they did in the shop—they got that way when she talked about her veganism and her cousin and her plants.

“I’ve got a bone to pick with you, mister Harry Styles. You’re a liar.” she said plainly. She was frowning at him (Is that a playful frown? He hoped so) “You’re a liar and it almost cost Franklin’s life.”

Harry was, once again, horrified. If he hadn’t proper fucked it up the first two times they met, he’d surely done it now. Y/N loved plants more than she loved breathing, and he’d almost killed one. And he lied to her! Fuck you’re such an idiot Harry...get it together.

Y/N must’ve seen his turmoil, (how could she not? He always did wear his heart on his sleeve) for she cracked a happy grin and smacked him playfully on the arm. “I’m just kidding Harry, for gods sake!”

“But...but the plant—“

“—will be fine.”

“And the...the bug?”

Y/N turned back to the plant and squinted into the soil. She put her hands on her hips over the fabric of her wide pants (Palazzo? Harry wondered absently. They were like those gypsy looking pants that looked super comfy—like, one step above pajamas...and damn where could I get some of those?)

“Is the bug on my ass, H?”

“W-what?” He replied, snapping out of his reverie with wide eyes. No! He blubbered, tearing his eyes away from the yellow fabric to her face, where her lips were pursed and her eyebrows were raised accusingly. He didn’t even mean to be staring at her ass (though it did look cute and peachy in the palazzo pants, he couldn’t help but notice now), but, feeling caught, he blushed sheepishly anyway.

She dropped the accusatory glare, replacing it with a wide smile. “Only joking,” she interrupted his ramblings. “Still reckon you were lyin’ about the bug jus’ to get me over here, though.”

Harry sighed exasperatedly, heart racing as he meandered around the couch toward the table where she was leaning. She kept him on his toes and it was as exhausting as it was enticing.

He got right up behind her and peered over her shoulder at the soil. “There!” He cried, almost having another heart attack at the sight of the little black bug. In a rushed attempt to show her the worm so she could get rid of it, he’d probably put himself way closer to her than necessary. He could feel the fabric of her long pants brushing his toes and her sharp breath hitch against his chest.

“Oh Harry,” she laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls of his apartment like beams of light. Looking away from the danger, he focused his attention on her instead. He couldn’t help but notice how her hair smelled like flowers and freshly mowed grass and ...honey? Something sweet and enticing and natural, like the earth. Like a sprawling meadow or rose garden or—

He’d been effectively distracted by her that he’d almost forgot the reason for his fear, the reason she was even here. That is, until the little bugger was out of the soil and crawling on her finger.

Harry screeched and leaped backward, and this time, he did fall on his ass. Right in front of the couch he’d cleaned for her while she giggled profusely. The gentle melody of her laughter and sweet little coos at the bug softened the sting of embarrassment—a little.

“Aw he’s so cute!” She prodded her other finger at the creature, which really was no bigger than her fingernail, but horrified Harry anyways. “Can’t believe Harry wanted me to come and kill you, sweet little thing.”

He was once again struck by how gentle and nurturing and sickened-sweet she got with plants and animals. Meanwhile she laughed at him and teased him ruthlessly for his dramatics.

“Here,” she said “Hold him.”

She thrust her finger into his hands from where she stood above him. Harry flinched away, but couldn’t move far enough from where he sat with his legs folded and feet planted on the ground. The worm fell into his palm. The tiny impact of it on his skin ignited an explosion of fear through him.

A millisecond passed and it crawled through the hole in the wrist of his sweater, causing his panic to quadruple.

He screamed out loud while Y/N continued laughing at him. “AH!” Harry screamed and flapped his wrists violently, throwing himself against the couch with wide eyes as he felt the horrible tickling of the creature crawling on his skin.

“Stop! Stop Harry, let me!” Y/N stepped closer, ducking between his outstretched legs. She shielded her face with one hand and desperately groped around for Harry’s wrist with the other. Finally, he paused to breathe and Y/N caught his arm in both of hers.

She wrestled his arm to still and calmly plucked the creature from his skin. “Thank God,” she sighed dramatically in relief, holding it on her finger between them. “The little fighter survived your temper tantrum!”

“No!” Harry cried, now shielding his own face from the wrath of the worm.

He watched her get up and drop the bug back into Franklin’s soil, all the while laughing at him.

“You’re such a baby, Harry,” she cooed as she turned back to where he was still sat on the floor, “And no wonder you’re so cold in here. You’ve got holes all in your sweater!”

“I’ve got holes in all my sweaters. My mum used to fix them f’me.” He frowned, missing her and his friends suddenly. Living alone was hard.

“You’re hopeless,” Y/N shook her head as she bent down to sit on the coffee table next to Franklin and sent him endeared smile. “I could fix them for you?”

Harry reeled back and blushed, “You—you could do that for me?”

Yes, living alone was hard and lonely and boring. Harry had been shamefully making excuses to see her for several days now, and yet he was completely oblivious to her doing the exact same thing.

“Sure! Come over tomorrow and bring all your sweaters.”

Harry saw absolutely no reason to object. He could never say no to her, anyways. “Okay, then.”

“In the meantime, take these…” She reached into her pocket and fished out four yellow squares of what looked like...tape?

“These are bug stickers,” she explained. “You tape them around Franklin’s stem and it’ll catch the gnats and aphids and stuff. Won’t kill your new little friend though.”

Despite her teasing tone and his lingering fear, Harry couldn’t help but smile at her while she demonstrated how to tape the bug sticker on. He’d deal with all the goddamn bugs in the world if it meant she’d be pleased with him.

She finished taping it on and turned back to him with an adorable little flourish, as if to say ta-da!

“Can I offer you some kombucha for your trouble?” Harry suddenly blurted.

What the fuck Harry? Who the fuck says ‘can I offer you—‘

“Ew, no!” She interrupted his self-loathing, face twisting in disgust, “Kombucha tastes like dish soap.”

Hurt, Harry reeled back again and a shocked expression graced his face, “You don’t like kombucha?! Don’t vegans like, live for that shit?!”

“This vegan has taste,” she replied with a snarky smirk. “And besides, I’ve got to get back to the shop for work like, now.”

“Oh, okay no problem.” Harry stuttered, “Thanks again.”

“Sure thing!”

And as quickly as she’d busted in, she was gone, leaving the apartment as cold and lonely as ever. Harry frowned, feeling as if he’d blown it once again. No ‘see you tomorrow’ or ‘thanks for having me.’ Chance after chance and still he made a fool out of himself. She hadn’t even told him where she lived! Maybe the offer to come over and get his sweaters fixed had been a pity invite and she actually wanted nothing to do with him ever again. The thought made his stomach churn. Where was his customary optimism when he needed it?

Grumbling, he grabbed a fresh kombucha from the fridge, wishing it was something stronger.

Franklin and his little worm friend’s (Harry didn’t think the bugger deserved a sweet name like the alocasia did—it was still a disgusting creature that made his skin crawl) company did little to satiate the aching loneliness he was feeling throughout the following day.

Finally, a message came through his phone from an unknown number.

unknown: hey harry, it’s y/n! did you still want to come over today?

harry: howd you get my number

Even through a screen, Harry managed to blurt out the first thing that popped into his head. Fuck. Shit. She’s gonna think he’s avoiding the question! He rapidly began composing a second message, but the three little dots appeared and interrupted his flying thumbs.

y/n: your message on the answering machine at work.

by the way, that was hilarious

harry: right, well. sorry for that

and yes, id love to come over.

y/n: no worries, i saved it to listen to when i need a laugh.

haha cool here’s my address

harry: should i bring food or wine or something?

A new wave of anxiety washed over him as he looked at the address she’d sent. Now what? What would they do? Would he just drop off his sweaters and leave? Or would she invite him in? What would he say then?

y/n: just bring yourself and your sweaters, mon petit!

Harry was speechless. Much like the shop she worked at, Y/N’s apartment could rival an actual jungle. Greenery of all different shapes and shades and sizes lined the walls, and while they had the exact same floor plan, it was an entirely different world than the one Harry was living in.

Y/N, meanwhile, effortlessly sauntered deeper into her space. She looked like she belonged there, obviously, but Harry felt like a fish out of water.

“They won’t bite, you know,” Y/N giggled, noticing his apprehension. She was watching him patiently with something like fondness in her eyes. Harry felt her careful gaze on him, but the magnificent green scene around him claimed his attention—but not for long.

Gently, Y/N took his fingers between hers and pulled him deeper into her space. Harry stumbled over his feet, craning his head to look at the plants hanging from the ceiling. How the hell did she even water those?

Y/N couldn’t help but smile. He looked adorable, like a child at Disneyland. She swore his eyes were actually twinkling as the greenery in the room made the color pop against his skin even more than usual.

“This is…incredible,” He said, finally turning back to meet her eyes with his own. “You’re incredible.” He set down his bag of sweaters on the floor by his feet. They could certainly wait.

Something about the praise and the way he was looking at her like she hung the moon was making Y/N absolutely swoon for the man. It was impossible not to notice how much he adored her. He looked at her the same way she looked at Delilah, at all the things she loved. Things. She wasn’t sure she’d ever actually loved a person before. But this man with the holes in his sweaters and the permanent flush in his cheeks was planting himself deep in her heart.

But she’d never let him see that.

“…I make lots of my clothes myself…” She was talking about how she learned to sew from where she was sitting on her couch. Harry noticed that she’d arranged her living room differently than he had. While he had a single gray couch in the middle of the room, her sofa was against the window, inviting the evening sunset to gently warm the pale pink cushions.

“Did ya make those pants you were wearing the other day?” He asked with genuine curiosity, continuing to poke around the plants and knitted blankets and woven fruit baskets that littered the entire space.

Harry turned to face her just in time to catch her flashing a knowing smile. “Yes. Should I make a pair for you as well?”

“Yes, please.”

“I’m sure your ass will look great in them, too.”

“Ah—shut up!” Harry laughed, fiddling with the leaves of one of her hanging plants. He recognized this one.

An easy smile still graced his lips as he murmured “It’s a philodendron,” half to her and half to himself. Now that some of the extensive plant research he’d been doing over the past few days had indeed stuck, it was easy for him to identify by its telltale heart shaped leaves.

Y/N’s eyebrows shot up, “That’s right,” she said, sounding impressed. “She’s called Delilah.”

Harry hummed, unable to focus on words when she was giving him her full attention like that.

“She’d be cute next to Franklin, don’t ya think?” She continued, tiptoeing closer to him. She stood behind him, peering over his shoulder at the plant much like she’d done to Franklin a few days earlier. The fabric of his brown sweater was soft against her fingers as she wrapped her arms around him. Harry tensed. He had longed to do the same thing to her when their positions had been reversed a few days ago, but chickened out. But as always, Y/N’s actions were confident and smooth. The thought of her face against his knit-clad back and the feeling of her soft hands around his middle made his head spin.

Yes, he thought, she’s cute next to everything. She’s fucking adorable…

And again, Harry was struck with the thought that he should have seen this coming. It was such a Y/N move—the way she confidently pressed on his shoulders to sit him on the couch and proceeded to smoothly kneel over his thighs. His heart raced as she sank to his eye level, straddling his lap.

“You’ve got pretty eyes,” Harry said almost absently, as if lost in them. Y/N looked kind of surprised that the words came out of his mouth. She’s sort of confused by him, by the way he makes her feel. He had this nervous, chaotic energy surrounding him, as if his mind was going a mile a minute at all times. It didn’t make any difference to him though—a racing heart didn’t stop him from enjoying the feeling of the insides of her thighs against his.

Y/N suddenly grabbed one of his flushed cheeks in her palm and turned his face to hers, letting him get a good look at her eyes. “Think so?” She grinned with a hint of her customary cockiness.

Harry nodded in response to the playful question, caught up in her smirk. He reckoned it was the hottest thing he’d ever seen. Once again, she proved him wrong when she licked her lip. She studied him seductively while his own eyes, of course, flicked down to where her tongue was swiping over her lips. Her tongue was pillowy, gentle, and…distracting…In the next instant, she’d pulled his face to hers and met his lips with her own.

Despite having been mentally begging for her to kiss him since the moment they’d met, he was still a little caught off guard. Quickly, he began to relish in the feeling of her warm hand holding his cheek and soft lips pressing tenderly on his. He kissed her back gently, but with urgency—as if he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He let his hands wander slowly from her knees up her thighs, her hips, settling comfortably on her waist. His heart skipped a beat when she pulled back a millimeter.

“Is this okay?” Harry let out a concerned whisper.

Y/N smiled effortlessly and nodded. Of course it was okay, it was better than okay.

“Thought I’d proper fucked up my chance with you ages ago,” he murmured against her lips. Now that he’d gotten a taste of her sweet lips, he was truly a fucking goner.

“I thought so too, frankly,” she laughed fondly at him, “But you reeled me in with your charm and wit...” She shook her head and furrowed her brows sarcastically, “...Your true gift for horticulture, your brilliant sewing skills, your excellent taste in beverages...” she continued lecturing him in between sweet pecks on the lips.

Harry giggled at her mock-compliments, tugging her impossibly closer by the waist. She relaxed her chest into his and easily wrapped her own arms around his neck.

“You’re an absolute pest you know?” Harry teased her, confidence growing as she caressed his skin, “I oughta get a buncha those damn bug stickers to catch you!”

“You sure about that?” She smiled bigger, eyes wide and innocent as sat back on his legs. She continued to feed him sweet words as she trailed her fingers down his sweater, the mock compliments melting into sincere ones. Harry’s own smile grew as she mumbled how she adored his soft hands and blushy cheeks and gentle disposition…

Her words were innocent, but her fingers began tracking a sinful course downward, and he twitched in his sweatpants as she cheekily palmed him through the fabric. He was putty in her hands, reduced to a pile of mush by her eyes that twinkled with playful innocence and mischief and unmistakeable lust. The soft hands and gentle, innocent praises falling from her lips were making his cock bloat and head spin. Just as he was getting into it—moaning and whimpering for her to please don’t stop…she shoved her arms between his body and the couch cushion and delivered a firm squeeze to his ass.

“That’s for calling me a pest, you pest!”

She roared with laughter and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tight to her chest.

Harry’s desperate, high pitched whine quickly melted into joyous laughter. He couldn’t help it—she was so lovely and beautiful and playful and cheeky and of course, he should’ve seen a stunt like this coming. She was a pest indeed, but Harry had already decided to love her. Perhaps decided wasn’t the word—no, his love for her sprouted and grew like a strong and beautiful vine holding them together.

“Now how about I make you come for real and then fix the holes in those sweaters like you fixed the holes in my heart?”

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

thank you for reading <3

talk to me about harry and y/n and franklin and delilah!

[lovelivingmydreams]

A might have been

Because I needed my @kingcreativityau fix and my brain does not shut up.

So… What if King didn’t split before Instinct formed? Does that lead to a happily ever after for all?

Instinct opened his eyes. He had eyes now. And there were many eyes staring back at him.

There was only one pair that mattered right now though.

“K-king?” he asked, not quite clear on how he knew it. He just did.

The familiar eyes lit up and the figure they belonged to, warm and bright and… good, turned to a cool presence and shook it.

“He recognizes me!!!” he exclaimed. It was loud but familiar, so instinct was able to ignore the initial urge to jump back at the sound. King turned back to him while he blinked away the last bits of disorientation and confusion. Trying to identify more things. King was moving from one foot to the other excitedly, but biting his lip and clenching his fists to give him the time. It made him smile. He was right. King was his friend.

There were two other sides flanking King, and one standing a bit farther to the back.

“Yes, yes…” the cool side grumbled as he straightened himself out before directing his curious bespectacled gaze to Instinct. “It is rather fascinating. Never before has a side shown any indication of retaining any kind of memory of before his manifestation.”

Instinct took note of the tone of voice and found a name to go with it. “Logic?” he asked. This surprised the side. “I… Yes…” he confirmed.

“Oooooh! Me next!!!” the shortest side giggled.

Instinct frowned, it wasn’t as clear in his mind as the other two, but a title eventually came, much to his relief. He didn’t want to disappoint anyone.

“Morality?”

The excited squeal told him he was right.

“Perhaps he simply knows more because he formed later in Thomas’ life,” Logic suggested.

“Come now Logic. Why is it so hard to believe that he learned all about us through king?” Morality objected.

Instinct felt very lost right now. Why were they talking about him like that? Could they still not see him?

He thought he manifested right. He wasn’t as tall as most of the others but he was here right? Was he not finished? Maybe he was just a shadow and a voice? Not good enough to be considered one of them yet…

“Don’t mind  them. They still have to get used to you being here. Wanna go play in the imagination with me? I have so much to show you!” King gushed reaching out a hand, but waiting for Instinct to take it. The newly formed side lifted a trembling hand and reached out. Once the appendage came into view Instinct felt a little bit more encouraged, he was visible it seemed and then his fingers touched the offered palm.

And just like that instinct relaxed completely. He was here after all.

The two other sides paused their conversation and Morality looked like he felt very bad, even Logic seemed too embarrassed to meet anyone’s gaze. “Oh I am so sorry instinct! We didn’t mean to ignore you. It’s all just so exciting, we tend to get carried away,” the short, bespectacled side assured him.

“Indeed. My apologies as well. I should have realized that you are now here and more than capable of understanding and answering any questions we may have.”

“After I show him around!” King stated firmly, but then he seemed to catch himself and looked back down at Instinct a little sheepish. “Unless you want to stay here for a bit first?”

Instinct thought about that. He didn’t feel like being around a lot of people right now.

And getting to know the mindscape a bit more sounded like a good idea.

“I’ll come with you,” he stated before turning to Logic and Morality. “We’ll talk later okay?”

The two sides nodded and waved them off, the other side who hadn’t talked to him yet -was that Deceit?- was walking away. Instinct didn’t have time to ask. King pulled him along, pointing things out and telling him all about them, often getting of track until Instinct pointed at something specific and asked about it.

Instinct soon settled into the mindscape.

He kept a close eye on Thomas and ensured they didn’t get in danger, or got anyone mad at them. He was very careful about upsetting the others as well. That didn’t mean he never messed up.

“I’m sorry Morality! Please, don’t cry…” he whispered soothingly as he hugged the slightly smaller boy.

“Instinct what is going on?” Logic asked as he and King appeared in the common space.

“There was a scary shadow and… I thought…I didn’t mean to upset Morality I promise!” Instinct pleaded. He directed his eyes mainly at King.

He was keeping Thomas up with his worries. Meaning he was keeping him from dreaming. King was going to be mad, he just knew it.

“You feared there was an intruder and you went to Morality for comfort yes?” Logic deduced.

Instinct nodded, wringing at the corners of the hooded blanket King gave him when it became clear that soft textures and hiding away his face made Instinct feel more comfortable at times.

“Oh, Instinct. Why didn’t you come to me? You know I’ll gladly get rid of any creeps that lurk in the night?” King wondered.

“I… Yes, but you were hard at work making a dream for Thomas and…”

“Then why not come to me? I could have explained any shadows or sounds like usual…”

Instinct knew all that. He didn’t know why he’d gone to Morality. He knew that wouldn’t end well. It never did. But…

“I already bothered you enough today and…” And now he’d bothered them even more. Instinct tried not to be in the way too much. But everything made him wonder.

How did they know the bike would keep steady? Why was Shea crying? Would the teacher be mad if they asked that question? How could they make Mom smile?

“King will you take care of Instinct? I’ll talk to Morality,” Logic suggested.

King nodded and put a gentle hand on Instinct’s back to lead him away.

“Sorry,” the youngest side muttered one last time.

“It’s no problem Instinct. What did you say to send Morality in such a state though?” King wondered.

“I… I told him about the shadow and I tried to do what Logic does. I tried to ‘reason’ and say that if it was something bad, mom and dad would protect us. But… But then I got afraid something would happen to them and… Morality didn’t like that,” he muttered. Why did he have to bring up those scary things all the time?

“Well… You are right. Something could always happen,” King nodded slowly.

Instinct cringed at the thought. “But… Dad is very brave. I don’t think there is any challenge he couldn’t overcome,” the creative side assured him.

“Really?” Instinct asked hopefully.

“Really. And mother is very smart, I’m sure she can outwit any bad guy.”

King was so certain of it that Instinct couldn’t doubt him.

“Thank you King. I’m sorry I kept Thomas up,” he muttered.

“No worries. Let’s go to the dream room, I’m sure now that you and Morality are calming down, Thomas will be needing a marvelous adventure soon.”

Instincts eyes widened. “You still want me there? What if I mess up again?”

“You won’t. At most you’ll come up with exciting challenges for us to overcome. Logic did say that dreams can help us overcome the worries of the day right? So you have to be there!”

Instinct chuckled as King pulled him to the dream room.

Logic did manage to calm down Morality, who ensured Instinct that he wasn’t mad with him in any way. But they all agreed that it was better that Instinct relied on the two older looking sides when he needed reassurance for the time being. Morality was very comforting and understanding, but he could easily be swept up by his own emotions. Logic predicted that as they got older, this would change.

So instinct stuck to asking Logic his questions. Though he often had to turn to King anyway if he needed to truly be reassured. Logic had a way of… Stating the odds. And while knowing that the chance of getting struck by lightning was really small was enough reassurance for most. In Instinct’s mind any chance was too risky sometimes.

King however could coax him from under his cover and let them all enjoy the way the light danced across the sky as he told silly stories about the thunder.

And as Instinct, and therefore Thomas, started to rely on creativity to soothe his fears some of King’s old power returned.

“So you see, you are actually the bravest of us all! A real royal knight!” King exclaimed with a flourish of his hand. Before Instinct could argue, his soft sweater and hooded blanket changed into a knight costume, baring King’s sigil.

Instincts eyes widened in awe and King was speechless.

“Ah, king I wished to discuss… What is going on?” Logic wondered as he found Instinct staring down at himself and King looking at his hands stunned.

“My powers are back…” he muttered.

“I am sorry. What?” Logic asked confused.

“Not as they were… but…” Then King grabbed Instincts hands and started dancing around with him. “My powers! Oh Instinct! Such joyous day!”

Morality was happy about this development as well. Logic however was slightly concerned. With the strange outbursts King kept having… Was it safe for him to have that power again?

He’d thought Instinct was only helping keep King in check.

He’d noticed a significant increase in Thomas’ ability to concentrate, since Instinct often pleaded with King not to distract Thomas. Fearing sever punishment should they get bad grades. Logic had to admit he didn’t put as much effort in rationalizing those worries as he did others. It was selfish, he knew, but he could finally work in peace.

On occasion King even helped visualize the material in ways that made it easier for Thomas to understand and remember.

In retrospect this might have been a long time coming. Thomas was using his creativity in more daily tasks again, even if it was in more practical ways. To deal with his studies, to deal with his emotions… King might no longer be able to convince Thomas that reality was something different than what it was. But he had once more gained the ability to change the mindscape, change them, to some extent. Which wasn’t too terrible, King seemed to have learned to take others into consideration when making decisions… But those outbursts.

King’s first order of business turned out to be to give Instinct a way to deal with his worries on his own. “It’ll be good for you to conquer Thomas’ fears on your own! Just visualize, and then turn them into something harmless.”

It’d taken a while for Instinct to manage to turn the shadows he could only yell threats at until they dissolved into bunnies, puppies and kittens. But he managed.

Now if King and Logic were busy and couldn’t help him out he could just catch whatever it was and that made him feel in control.

One afternoon, King was helping Thomas with a drawing and Logan was preparing for a math problem after, when Instinct found himself struggling with a rather large ‘stress bunny’ as they’d dubbed them.

“Oh, no you don’t! I won’t let you hurt Thomas!” Instinct insisted as he chased the creature. Determined to succeed, even though it whispered doubts and worries into his ears that made part of him want to run up to king and beg him not to show anyone the drawing.

“If they hate it, it’ll hurt him!” the whisper insisted.

But instinct was focused on catching the bunny. King wouldn’t show anyone anything if he wasn’t completely satisfied. Besides he often asked their opinion on it before showing it off anyway. If it was really a problem, Instinct could handle that later. After he took down this damn Bunny.

“Need a hand?” a smooth, pleasant voice wondered. Instinct froze along with the bunny.

Once he realized that the bunny was distracted, the young side jumped on the bunny grinning in triumph as it dissolved. He had confronted the thoughts and showed them who was boss!

Now, who had helped distract them?

Instinct looked up and took the side in. He looked like a preteen. Older than him and Morality, but younger than King. Maybe more Logic’s age?

Not that that meant anything. If they looked their age, Instinct should still be a baby.

Or they’d all be around six years old like Thomas.

Anyway. Instinct knew who this was, the same way he’d known everyone else. He smiled brightly and waved in greeting. “Hi Deceit. Finally decided to meet me?” he wondered.

Why, he didn’t know but this was the first time he’d seen him up close since he formed. He could sometimes see him hanging at the edge of his peripheral. Sometimes human sometimes as a snake. But never anywhere near any of them.

“Maybe,” Deceit muttered, looking around tensely.

Instinct got up and reached out a hand in greeting. “I’m instinct. I keep Thomas safe,” he greeted.

Deceit hesitated, looking from the hand to his face and back. Slowly he reached out…

“Instinct!” The side in question jumped at his name being called. He looked around and there was king. Oh! Wait until he heard about this!

“King! You should have seen it! It was a stress bunny half my size and it was so fast! But then Deceit distracted it and I got it! I wasn’t even a little afraid!” he exclaimed proudly.

“That’s… Great Instinct. Why don’t you go tell the others. I want you all to check over the drawing Thomas made before we give it to Mother.”

Instinct nodded and waved goodbye to Deceit who waved back. “Until next time, Instinct.”

Once Instinct was out of earshot King turned to Deceit with a glare.

“Forgotten to tell your pet to stay away from the big bad snake did you?” Deceit taunted bitterly.

“Instinct is my friend!” King bellowed. “And you will never speak to him again if you know what’s good for you!” his eyes flared red with his passion.

“Why haven’t you told him to stay away?” Deceit wondered, pretending like the whole conversation didn’t both hurt and terrify him.

“Telling him about you means telling him about Logic. And he needs the nerd to calm down on occasion. If he can’t rely on him… Besides, the nerd has actually tried to be decent. And he never pretended to be my friend.” That got Deceit’s attention.

“I was… I am… Why can’t you see that that day wasn’t about us!?” Deceit pleaded, façade dropping.

“There is no us… Maybe there never was.”

Deceit latched onto the hurt in King’s voice. Twisted as it may be. The fact that it hurt King too meant that it had meant something. Which also made this new normal hurt so much more.

“So what? You’ve replaced me so I can rot away on the sidelines all by myself?” he bit.

“Don’t you dare compare yourself to Instinct. He actually has an opinion. He is shy about sharing it sometimes, but he will tell me when he has doubts about my ideas. Which is what it means to be a true friend! They tell you when you are getting in over your head and stop you from doing something that makes everyone turn against you!”

Deceit staggered back with the force of the outburst.

“This is the last time I’ll let you get away with this. I see you anywhere near him again…”

King’s eyes flashed green and he didn’t finish his threat. He just squeezed his eyes shut and stalked away.

They all knew there were still things they needed to learn about Instinct. And that Instinct would most likely grow into other things over time. Knowing that something was coming sooner or later didn’t mean they were prepared for it though.

“I don’t think they are really friends with Christian,” Instinct muttered.

A group of older kids had approached Thomas as he was playing in the front yard. They said they were friends with his older brother and asked him to go get their ball for them a few houses over.

“Even if they’re not… We should help them though right?” Morality suggested.

“But won’t the old man get mad that we trespassed?” he tried again.

“The plan they proposed is very thoroughly planned out.” If Logic was on board, usually that would calm Instinct down but… This still didn’t feel right.

“But we’ll need their help to get back over the gate. What if they run off?” he insisted.

“That would be dishonorable and cowardly! If they dare, we’ll make our way back over the gate ourselves and get reinforcements!” King declared.

Instinct looked around frantically. No. This was wrong. All wrong he couldn’t let this happen.

“No!” He yelled so loud and forceful that it bypassed all of them and came out of Thomas’ mouth just as commanding. Surprising the boys and alerting mother.

“Thomas? What’s going on?” Mother’s voice called out in alarm.

“Run!” one of the boys shouted and they all fled the scene while Thomas burst into tears.

Instinct was still reeling from his own outburst and looking around at the others, worried he’d overstepped.

“S-s-spider!” Morality whimpered. Instinct looked around in a panic. Spider? Where? The others were scared of spiders. He had to get rid of them if there… Then he saw the arachnid legs in his peripheral. He felt them. He was the spider.

Only now did he notice his senses had sharpened. He could feel so much. He could even feel the other’s breathing.

And they were all frightened. Of him.

He shot off. Running as fast as he could. And with four extra legs he was very fast.

He went farther away from the central consciousness than he ever had in his life.

He collapsed under a gorgeous willow at the edge of the mindscape.

He only registered the willow because he couldn’t not see. He saw and heard and felt… It was almost overwhelming.

He also saw the snake curled up in the tree, but he didn’t care. He collapsed and curled up on himself nestling against the trunk, hidden by the leaves. He sat there shaking. For a second, a minute, a year…

He was so full of doubt and self-loathing. Time was irrelevant.

“Will you at least be quiet? Some sides like to wallow in peace.” The snake, Deceit, hissed.

“S-sorry,” Instinct whispered, trying not to upset the snake even more.

“Oh, my. That’s quite the transformation. A complete 180 from cute ten year old wouldn’t you think?” Instinct looked up. Deceit was curled up in a hole in the tree above his head and looking down on him.

Instinct shivered. “I didn’t… Mean to... I just… Thomas was… Something bad was going to happen and I just had to. Do something.”

“Is he still in danger?” the snake wondered as he made his way down the trunk and righted himself in front of Instinct.

“Well…” Instinct thought about it. Mom was with Thomas. Everything would be okay now.

“No…” he admitted.

“Then why not drop the scary act? We both know you aren’t that tough. Or maybe the cute kid is the act. I don’t know. What do you think?”

“I don’t want anyone to be scared of me. I never did!” Instinct insisted. He wanted everyone to be safe. That was all.

“So, what is this then? Didn’t they listen to sweet little instinct, so you had to be a big bad spider to protect Thomas?” It wasn’t accusatory. And… Maybe a little right.

“I didn’t do it on purpose,” Instinct repeated.

“I believe you. You wouldn’t be able to lie to me anyway,” Deceit assured him.

“I… Thanks.” Somehow, someone believing him, helped. And just like that he felt himself going back to normal. And then Deceit was in front of him in his human form.

“Good job,” he praised gently.

“Why don’t the others ever talk to you? You seem nice,” Instinct frowned. He didn’t know how he got so bold, but the question had been plaguing his mind since day one.

“I’m Deceit. I can’t be trusted… They probably have a point not wanting to be friends with me. Not unless they need something.”

Instinct thought about that. “Well…” he sat up straighter.

“Maybe I can talk to them? If they don’t kick me out for earlier that is.”

Deceit gave Instinct a sad smile. “That’s nice, but I’d rather you didn’t. You are alright Instinct. I should be going…”

“Instinct?! Instinct where are you?”

Instinct almost called King over, but then saw Deceit stiffen.

“Hide,” he mouthed instead as he walked out from between the tree branches.

“I’m here,” he announced softly.

King let out a sigh of relieve, hurried over and knelt down to talk more on Instinct’s height.

“I’m so glad you are safe,” he told him. “King! Oh goodness! You found him!”

Morality exclaimed as he and Logic joined them.

“I told you this would be where he’d go,” King pointed out slightly smugly.

“Yes, you did,” Logic nodded as he turned to Instinct.

“Instinct. We wanted you to know that Mom is not upset with Thomas.”

“She said it was brave to say ‘no’!” King exclaimed in excitement.

“I’m so sorry I got scared!” Morality rushed worriedly.

“I think that was the point actually,” Logic suggested.

“I didn’t want to scare you!” Instinct exclaimed, horrified that Logic would suggest that.

“I am sure that was not your conscious intension. But I meant… It has been clear for some time that you are more than just a base instinct. You are fear. In general.”

Fear… That, did sound better.

“Yeah…” He looked at king. “Would it be okay? If I am Fear? Are we still friends?” he asked timidly. He had been rather forceful. Maybe King didn’t like Fear as much as he did instinct.

“I promise I won’t do… I won’t abuse that thing I did back there. I don’t even know how I did it…”

King pulled Fear in for a hug. “Of course we are still friends. No matter how often your name changes, that won’t.”

Fear relaxed at that.

Morality squealed at the sweet display.

“This calls for cookies! Maybe even double servings!” he gushed as he led the way back to the central consciousness. King let go of Fear, who darted out to the front to talk with Logic about what he thought his role was exactly. Of course he wanted to understand as much as possible right away.

King held back a little. His eyes flashing red.

“I know you’re back there,” he growled.

“I didn’t do anything. I was here when he came storming in…” Deceit pleaded.

“You expect me to believe you stayed hidden? That you didn’t say a word?” King growled, not looking back.

“I… I just helped him calm down enough to put his spider form away. Nothing else!” Deceit swore.

“Stay away from him you slimy two faced snake!” King looked back and Deceit could see one eye, looking down at him with pure hatred. Glowing red and then green as a wicked grin split across his face.

“Now that would be funny,” he chuckled cruelly to himself, before he turned fully, eyes wide in horror. Deceit doubled over as he felt his left side burning and itching… What was happening?

King righted himself. “I warned you… You did this to yourself.”

Lie, it was a lie. King tried to act like this was intended, but even as Deceit’s vision twisted and he saw the scales appear on his left hand, he could tell that King was just as shocked as he was. “Please!” he begged, but king turned and started walking away.

“I’ll take it back when you’ve learned your place!” he barked before leaving him behind.

King didn’t tell the others about what happened. Not even Fear. Even if part of him wanted to talk about it. He didn’t have to worry anyone. He just had to get control over these… Thoughts, ideas. What if he’d done that to someone important? To a dream? To Fear?

No he wouldn’t. Fear was his friend. He wouldn’t hurt his friend.

Or so he thought.

There had been slip ups of course. Saying a weird thing, or a suggestion that was dangerous or ‘bad’.

In the moment they seemed brilliant but one look at the incredulous faces of the others made him realize just what he suggested and hurriedly corrected himself.

“I’m kidding! Of course we can’t do that!” he’d laugh.

He was pretty sure Logic didn’t buy his excuses.

He could handle Logic’s suspicions, his attempts at getting King to talk about it and the way he and Morality would look at him like he’d gone insane. But Fear, he looked terrified by those suggestions. He hated that he did that. He was supposed to make things easier on him. Not worse.

And of course, Fear was around when he made a real big mistake.

As good as the young worrier had gotten at conquering fears, he still preferred to find comfort with his friends. Today he was worried about going on their first big bicycling trip with the family.

“We aren’t ready! What if we can’t keep up? What if we fall and cut open our knee?” he fretted. King had thought that this was a case were Logic would be better suited, but he wanted to at least try to comfort his friend. He would come to regret that decision.

The image of bleeding knees stuck with him. Exposed bone, infections…

All kinds of horrid, disgusting thoughts sprung from that and he didn’t realize he was saying them out loud until Fear used his spider voice.

“Stop!” King wasn’t forced to be quiet this time. Fear was holding back his influence it seemed. But the raw emotion was just as effective.

“I don’t like this game King! Please stop!” he cried shakily.

King immediately fell to his knees to comfort his friend. “I am so sorry Fear. I was thinking out loud. I didn’t even realize. I never… I’m sorry,” he chocked. He had upset him. He’d upset Fear. He didn’t have it under control. He needed help.

King looked up. And the last thing he saw was Fear’s pleading eyes overflowing with tears.

“Oh…” Fear breathed as he whipped away the tears and calmed down, relieved his friend was back to himself.

“I get that. My thoughts do that too. It’s okay. Logic has been teaching me to manage it.”

King nodded. Yes. Logic would know what to do. Maybe they could handle these thoughts like Fear’s worries. Push them out and take them down. Just more permanently.

“Good idea, I’ll go talk to him right away.”

“I can help too!” Fear insisted. “I can teach you what I’ve learned.” The younger side was eager to help his friend for once instead of the other way around.

He was brushed aside though, assured that it wouldn’t be long.

Fear didn’t manage to stay away though. A feeling of dread filling his stomach. King wouldn’t do something stupid would he?

Ice filled Fear’s veins. King would absolutely do something stupid.

Fear kept him from jumping from too high. Fear kept him from looking in dark alleys.

Fear started running. He had to stop him. Whatever he was doing, it wasn’t going to be good. “King!” He called out. He was caught by Morality in a normally soothing embrace. But now it was only a restraint. “It’s okay kiddo. We all agree this is best for Thomas,” he heard muttered in his ear. Fear shook his head.

“I didn’t agree! I disagree! Please! Please King don’t!” he begged. But he could see that it was too late. King was buckled over with whatever he was doing to himself, Logic only two steps away trying to talk creativity trough whatever crazy plan they’d come up with.

Time passed and due to a joint effort of the twins Fear forgave himself for losing King, coming out of a self-imposed isolation after a few months. He also forgave the others. Knowing that they truly only wanted to do what King asked. And if the twins weren’t angry with them, he had really no place.

He and the boys got along even when the twins were fighting.

Said fights were often put to an end by him putting his foot down and getting them to talk things out. They were brothers after all. No one understood what it was like to be them like them.

King sort of kept his promise. It didn’t matter that King was now Roman and Remus or that Instinct was Fear, Anxiety or Virgil. The three of them stayed friends.

Bad horror movies with Remus, Disney marathons with Roman… Virgil would always miss his first friend, but he wouldn’t trade the twins for anything.

Thomas still struggled a little with his social anxiety at times, but he had a good relationship with Virgil on the whole. While Virgil told the others his name right away, it took him a while to tell Thomas. Mostly because he just… Well he was nervous. None of the others divulged this information for him, respecting that he had his reasons to wait.

Things got bad though. He ducked out. After months of dealing with Thomas’ issues as a group Virgil came to the conclusion that he was the problem, despite his best efforts.

  Virgil opened his eyes. Something had knocked him back pretty hard. Had he been knocked unconscious? For how long?

That train of thought was put aside by the group immediately collectively breaking down his door and almost begging him to never leave again.

When Janus showed up for the first time there was some tension between him and Roman. Things were always tenser between him and the good creativity than the bad.

And after two rounds of manipulating Roman for his own agenda Virgil is not a fan of him either. Impersonating Patton and Logan was one thing, but upsetting Princey?

Until that moment they’d been friends, even if Virgil spoke out against him a lot on a professional level, they got along great. He even suggested trying to talk to the twins about reversing king’s accidental curse, though Janus had declined.

Now however Virgil felt like he was forced to choose. And he resolutely chose for Roman.

Roman and Remus both at one point swore to Virgil to never leave him after he had a nightmare.

The last thing the twins see is Virgil looking on in horror and betrayal.

He looked up and found two figures in front of him… Patton? Why was he sitting like that? Was he hurt? Who would…?

Virgil looked up and gasped, drawing the attention of the imposing figure that was towering over Patton’s shaking form. No… No… This couldn’t be happening. He’d mourned and put all that behind him! And this… This was a mockery of everything any previous creativity stood for. This had to be a sick nightmare.

“Ah, Fear. How are you doing my old friend?”

[random-french-girl]

BroTP ask meme

Toni and Fatin 😬

Anon, I appreciate you <3

What in-jokes do they have with each other?

I kinda want them to have a fun, playful running "fight" about astrology honestly. Like Toni always makes fun of Fatin for it ("Oh, sorry, I can't go on a water run with Fatin, her moon is in gatorade right now so our energies don't match.") and Fatin constantly refers to her Aries qualities (half of which she makes up on the spot).

Are they the “I’ll pay this time if you pay next time”-type friends, or the “I’ll pay for my food and you’ll pay for yours”-type friends?

Fatin tries to pay all the time after the island, and sometimes Toni decides it's her turn to pay for their meal/drinks, but mostly she's like "Yeah, pay up, you rich motherfucker! It's called redistribution."

Who’s more prone to pranking, or otherwise messing with, the other?

I don't know if either of them is super big on pranks, but probably Toni?

How do they text/message each other? Proper punctuation and capital letters, egregious overuse of emojis, mostly in meme format…?

So. Many. Emojis.

Do they exchange jokey birthday presents, or deeply thought-out and meaningful presents? Or both?

Fatin keeps buying Toni sex toys, which is both funny and embarrassing. Shelby sends Fatin a thank-you note, and also sweetly asks her to stop, so Fatin switches to birthday cards with horrible sexual puns.

They go on a road trip together. Who drives, who picks the music, who’s in charge of snacks?

Fatin drives, because Toni technically doesn't have her driving licence. ("Technically!" she argues. "I know how to drive!" But Fatin does not budge.) They both agree on the music - Fatin leans a bit more pop, and Toni a bit more rap, but in general they enjoy the same stuff. And Fatin also puts on some classical music for Toni, who is surprised to discover she kind of likes it. Toni is in charge of snacks, which means there's not a single fruit in sight. Fatin has to make a mandatory stop to buy herself a green smoothie halfway through the road trip because she goes into avocado withdrawal. ("Californians," Toni says, shaking her head. But she tries the smoothie and has to admit it tastes good.)

What do they think of each other’s family?

They're both very protective people, so I think they both have very strong negative feelings about each other's parents and their failures... Toni is forever suspicious of Fatin's parents, even when Fatin reconciles with them, and Fatin is forever angry at Toni's mom, even after Toni reconnects with her.

Do they have any nicknames for each other?

I don't think so, actually? But I can see Fatin mockingly using pet names for Toni. Like, she calls Martha "angel" with absolute sincerity, but then she calls Toni "sweetheart" because she knows Toni hates it. Toni calls Fatin "one-percenter" when she's mocking her, and "class-traitor" as a term of affection.

Who’d be the first to try and patch things up if they had a fight?

Both? They're trying so hard to be better at apologies and anger, and they both care too much to let a fight fester. I actually think that among all the girls, Fatin and Toni, stubborn and prompt to anger as they can be, are the most mature when it comes to making amends.

One of their phones goes off in the middle of the night. Who’s calling whom, and why?

Fatin is at a party and accidentally butt-dials Toni.

What’s their favourite funny story about something that happened to the two of them?

The island :/ Specifically, the mussels incident. It's funny in retrospect.

Would they do a joint cosplay? If so, who would they dress up as?

Nope.

Do they have any TV shows that they watch together? Are there any shows they have wildly different opinions on?

They have zero shows in common...

Which one is the “fight me” friend and which one is the one who tries to keep the peace and prevent their friend from punching a total stranger?

I mean... canonically, Toni is the "fight me" friend, but tbh Fatin is ALSO the "fight me" friend? The real answer is they both try to fight people, and Dot has to stop them from punching strangers in the face.

One of them comes up with an ill-advised but mostly harmless idea. Does the other one egg them on because they think it’ll be funny, or try and talk them out of it?

Probably egg them on if it really is harmless.

Who would win if they arm-wrestled?

Toni, for sure. Basketball arms.

Who’s better at what type of video games, and how competitive are they when they play together?

I can't see Fatin playing video games, so Toni is by default better at all of them. And more competitive, even though Fatin literally does not care about winning at Mario Kart but does anyway, through sheer beginner's luck.

One of them ends up in hospital for something serious but not life-threatening. What does the other bring along when they visit in order to cheer them up?

Picturing Toni bringing Fatin the biggest bouquet of flowers she could find, and the thing is an absolute MONSTROSITY. It's HIDEOUS. Toni has never bought flowers before and has no idea what's supposed to be ~~~tasteful. But Fatin loves it, and takes great joy in watching her mom wince every time she looks at this floral abomination.

How huggy are they?

Not very physically affectionate with each other in normal times, but after serious conversations or during difficult emotional times, they'll definitely hug each other with no restraint.

What was the moment when they first realized that they’d become friends?

In canon, I think probably when they're all high. Like suddenly they're playing in the water together, and laughing, and it's like... oh, wait, we're actually friends now.

[onlyonekenobi]

this was a half-formed idea I’d imagined for them for years, but after reading a post from @good-things-do-happen-dean​ yesterday, I was inspired to actually write it out! just some good old fashioned post-canon domestic fluff, 1.9k - link to read on ao3

Dean’s fingers held lightly to the crystal vial around his neck.

It was almost cool to the touch, he thought, like just the idea of a breeze. He remembered when Cas had given it to him, only a few weeks after Dean had gotten him back from the Empty. The angel had turned to him one night, right smack in the middle of Tombstone, and said, “Dean, I need to tell you something.”

Words had rushed out of him then about wanting to be human (and was that okay with Dean or would it bother him, because “I don’t want it to change anything for you, but-”) and Dean had simply replied, “Cas, I- of course you can be human if you want to be human, that’s your call, all the way, but why in the hell would you want to do that?”

The depth of Cas’s eyes had seemed infinite then, in the dark, as he worked up to what he had really wanted to say all along.

“I won’t lose you again.”

Dean remembered how his whole body had seemed to melt in that moment as the sincerity of Cas’s words-- mostly simple reasoning, though with an undercurrent of self-imperative gravity-- washed over him.

“Okay,” was all he had said in response, and then Cas had twisted his knees underneath himself to lean forward across the little space between them. It wasn’t their first kiss, but from the way Dean’s heart had tripped over itself, it could have been. Even now, when he thought of how Cas’s hands had felt that night, so careful at the nape of his neck, it threatened to fall out of step again.

He hadn’t known at the time what Cas’s intentions for his grace were. Truthfully, he just hadn’t really thought to ask-- which seemed deeply misguided in retrospect, but at the time just felt respectful.

So, it had come as a shock when Cas returned home one afternoon a few days later (he had left in the morning with an implication-heavy “I’m going for a walk.”) and marched right up to Dean with his fist clenched tight and a sheepish smile on his face. He had looked different, somehow, Dean thought. Softer, maybe. Or like his eyes had gotten brighter, as if that were possible.

“I was wondering,” Cas had said, presenting his hand, “if you might want to wear this. You might hear it ringing a bit sometimes, but just think of it… think of it as me telling you I love you.”

-

Now, Dean worried a thumb over the vial while, in his other hand, he cradled a small band of stainless steel. It had seemed only fair, he thought, to give Cas something back. And while he didn’t have anything as deeply personal as his own actual given-up-to-be-with-you-for-as-long-as-we-both-shall-live angel grace, he did have a box of old, thrifted rings from when he had wanted to be Mick Jagger back in his early twenties.

So, he had rummaged it out from the drawer of his nightstand last week, carefully moving a newer photo of Sam and Mary out of the way, and tried each band on again for reference. He had then been very careful, over those next few days, to compare his fingers with Cas’s every chance he got. (Cas had discovered him once, as he stared with what must have been bizarre intensity at their clasped hands, but Dean thought he had successfully played that off as an “I’m just still so overwhelmed with this great new thing that is happening” moment.)

Eventually, after what was almost definitely a great deal of overthinking, Dean had decided that this ring was his best bet. It was mostly unadorned, but care had been taken to crimp slightly raised edges running along each side. Looking at it had always reminded Dean of a road.

A road, he thought now, that would always lead home.

-

He heard a door close in the distance and knew Cas must be getting home from his new routine of sunrise walks. Dean’s heart accelerated wildly at the sound, and he took a steadying breath, laughing at himself. It’s not like Cas would turn the ring down, he reassured himself. Sure, he was still maybe a little embarrassed at the inequality of his offering, but he knew that Cas would recognize the meaning behind it. And anyway, if the grace was from Cas’s past life, the ring was from Dean’s just the same. They could give each other these pieces of their old selves for safe keeping while they made their new selves together. And in that way, at least, it would be a fair trade.

He held his breath to listen, and he was just able to make out the sound-- so much closer than the approaching footsteps, but magnitudes softer-- from the pendant hanging at his chest.

I love you, I love you, I love you, it rang softly.

Dean let out his breath.

When he looked up, Cas was standing in the doorway, tufts of dark hair sticking out wildly from under the new beanie Sam had given him. The lobes of his ears and tip of his nose were just slightly pink, and he wore a smile that radiated up through his crystal-bright eyes. Mornings always suited Cas.

Dean couldn’t help but let up a smile of his own at the sight of it all, but then he remembered the ring in his hand and practically jumped from where he had been sitting on the edge of the bed.

Cas’s eyebrows drew up in shock, but the smile stayed in place. Great start, Dean thought to himself. You probably just looked like an idiot. He tried not to let the creeping embarrassment slow his momentum, but Cas had already stepped toward him, his smile now replete with one of those quizzical head tilts Dean loved so much.

“Is everything okay, Dean? You seem… startled.”

When Dean opened his mouth to speak, he found that only a very small choking sound came out. Get it together, man! he screamed at himself, but Cas was laughing again. The former angel stepped lightly toward him until their chests were just barely not touching and his eyes were locked up on Dean’s. How anyone could look at him with such wonder-- such open adoration-- Dean might never understand.

“All well?” Cas asked gently, and he meant it, no teasing. He was always so earnest in his wanting to know every detail about Dean, and the softness in his voice was relaxing enough that Dean could breathe out a “Yeah,” and mean it back. He tried to maintain his hold on his words.

“It’s just, uh,” he stammered on, “I have something for you, and I’m not real good at this part of things, so I just, um…” His mind was going blank again, despite having rehearsed this roughly a dozen times while Cas had been out walking.

“Here, sit down,” he ventured next, and Cas graciously allowed himself to be turned around and nudged gently into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. His face was expectant, but he was practically leaking patience into the air. He was always being so goddamn multifaceted that way; Dean remembered being intrigued, actually, to realize that this nuance wasn’t an angel thing, but rather… just an endearing Cas thing. With that thought back in his mind, a fresh wave of resolve settled over Dean’s heart.

“This is for you,” he gushed, thrusting his hand toward Cas to reveal the ring sitting on his now open palm.

Cas’s mouth partled slightly in surprise, but he didn’t otherwise move or speak. He just stared at the ring, frozen. Dean felt a heat creep over the back of his neck. Had he misjudged this?

But no sooner had he let the doubt cross his mind than Cas had sprung back up and swiped the ring from his hand in an astonishing blur of motion. And then he was kissing Dean, still-cold fingers a relief against his flushed skin.

Dean’s hand had been clenched shut so tight for so long, it felt good to let it rest open against the small of Cas’s back. Well, it would have felt good no matter what, but it felt extra good now, like this.

After several moments, Cas finally drew back. There was an expression of heartbreaking tenderness on his face.

“Thank you,” he said, quietly.

“I know it’s not much-” Dean started, but Cas cut him off, already fiddling to see which finger it would fit on.

“It’s perfect.”

Dean caught Cas’s eye then, and Cas leaned up to brush another soft kiss across his lips.

“It’s from when you were young,” he said fondly, no hint of a question.

Dean was taken aback. “How do you know that?”

“Well,” Cas answered, all tilted smiles once more, “I didn’t. I inferred.” The ring, Dean’s heart swelled to see, was now placed snugly on the middle finger of Cas’s left hand. He kind of liked that it wasn’t quite the “traditional” placement. It added another layer of balance to the symbols; this was for them, and no one else.

“But you told me about your rings once, do you remember?” Cas went on eagerly. “We were driving back from Sun Valley, and, er, ‘Gimme Shelter’? ….came on the radio, and you told me about how you used to sneak away from your father to go look for them at second-hand stores. You said that in the end you had more than enough for one per finger, because you wanted ‘options.’”

Always, always the details.

“I do hope you paid for this, once, though,” he added, a note of cheek in the afterthought.

Hands raised in mock defense, Dean asserted, “Course I did.” (It was anyone’s guess.)

“But anyway,” he went on, the hint of a tease in his voice, “I guess I don’t really need options anymore.”

Cas smiled lightly again, and Dean felt him twine their fingers together. He instantly loved the new sensation of the ring pushing into his hand.

(Sometimes, when Cas held him, he was afraid it was a dream. Or a trick of the light, like if he blinked wrong, Cas would disappear. Dean knew he wasn’t alone in that, though. They had been through so much, it was really no surprise that they now took turns waking up in cold sweats, clutching for each other, murmuring, “I’m here, I’m here,” until they could fall back asleep.)

So, as the metal bit gently into his finger, he relished the bracing feeling.

It’s real, it said.

Dean mused that he might have to get them matching rings after all, just so Cas could have that feeling, too, if he wanted it.

“I guess not,” Cas answered playfully, and his voice was so full of love, Dean knew he could never have dreamt it. He turned to rest his forehead against Castiel’s and felt his hand get squeezed gently in return.

He would savor this moment. Let it anchor him, overwhelm him, do anything it wanted to him.

He tried to breathe steadily, listening for the soft ringing emanating from the vial around his neck.

I love you, it said.

He shifted his focus down to his hand, where he could feel Cas’s fingers wrapped in his, the edge of the ring pressing into his skin.

It’s real.

[caffeinated-cryptid]

you got an ego so big (it'll eat you alive).

roman-centric hurt/comfort (w/ remus, patton and virgil). 

11.7k words | AO3 link | warnings: self-hatred, semi-intentional self-destruction, various injuries, arguing, remus-typical jokes and topics.

“At the best of times, Roman’s job was a tightrope act between maintaining a healthy amount of self-confidence and the ability to adapt and take criticism. Throughout his life he walks this line many times, always with the expectation that if he were to fall one way or the other, no one would be there to catch him.

But sometimes when you’re up miles high, it can become difficult to see the safety net on the ground below you.

(aka an expansion on the premise that a bruised ego causes literal injuries and the issues this could cause when you're an insecure prince with a need to please and the weight of the world on your shoulders).”

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

To be overly aware of your own self is often associated with negative traits, such as narcissism, self-consciousness or a sensitivity to mistakes. Although to some with a proclivity towards the spotlight, it can become an inadvertent consequence of over-analyzing yourself in order to achieve those flawless performances. Naturally, gaining any sort of notoriety and attempting to retain that positive image means becoming intimately aware of your faults and staying open to change, taking criticism to heart all the while keeping relatably humble. On the other hand, it may also mean letting that same criticism become your one sole focus, tearing you down instead of becoming a rung in the ladder that's supposed to take you to higher places.

Roman often found that navigating these gray areas was a momentous task. To be proud of his work, but not be too unbearably egotistical to the point that it blinded him. To accept criticism but not allow the pursuit of perfection to destroy him.

His role was truly a balance; a thin tightrope he constantly had to traverse.

And on occasion, he would end up slipping.

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

I - bonds that tie us.

Roman first learned of his job as the ego when Thomas was young. With Remus at the helm of most of the subconscious and instinctual stuff as his id, perhaps he should've assumed that he would have a similar mirrored purpose beyond simply confidence, however it hadn't ever really come into play until one afternoon when the two of them were busy playing in The Imagination.

They had just concluded a close duel against each other and were putting their weapons away (cardboard ones, since Feelings didn't want them running around with real weapons once he found out they were using them to fight, and because Fear and Lies often fretted about them doing something stupid and getting hurt). Usually neither of them held the lead for long during their matches since they were so well-matched, but today Remus had won easily, which Roman chalked up to him feeling off ("Yeah right. Don't be such a sore loser." "It's true!"). Either way, Remus would be bragging about the victory until the next time they got the opportunity to duel, and that meant he was already rubbing it in as they prepared to leave.

On their way to the exit, Remus had taken the lead at some point and was throwing out ideas about they should do later when Roman unexpectedly paused and doubled over, clutching his head. Remus didn't notice that he'd stopped until he heard a groan and turned around.

"What's wrong? Didn't hit you too hard, did I?" He asked with a grin as if he assumed that Roman was still playing- perhaps trying to make up an excuse for his terrible loss.

"I- Dunno. My head hurts…" Roman cringed, eyes screwed shut.

Remus' smile faltered when he realized it might not be a joke and he walked back, peeling Romans hands away from his forehead. Underneath was a large red patch of irritated skin which looked set to bruise. His frown deepened because he definitely didn't cause that, nor did he witness any incidents during the day which would be the cause. "How'd that happen?

"Dunno!" He repeated, eyes going blank for a moment while he caught up with what was happening outside. The two of them were usually much too distracted when they were in The Imagination to pay attention to everything that transpired in the real world, especially on weekdays like this when Thomas would be in school and Creativity wasn't exactly needed during most classes. "...Thomas was told off for slacking in front of the entire class and he got some bad grades on his report card… He's feeling embarrassed, I think.

Remus was confused by how this was relevant until he pieced together that the two events were linked to what was happening to his brother. His eyes widened in realization before they settled into determination. "Then I'll fight him until he stops feeling bad."

That startled a laugh out of Roman, until his head started pounding and he cut himself off with a grimace. "...’Can't do that."

He laughed too, in hopes that it would lift Roman's spirits again. "Can too! I'll figure it out, then he'll be too busy worrying about his broken bones to care about what some dumb teacher said. Maybe then he'll get to skip school for a while and do something funner like-"

"Remus." Roman hissed over him, overcome with a sudden dizzy spell. His hand found Remus’ shoulder for purchase, which stopped his twin in his rant.

Remus stared at him in alarm. This seemed serious, and he didn't do too well with handling serious things. "Do... Do you want me to get Feelings? Or Learning? Or Lies?"

"No. None of them. I just wanna go home." He whined, leaning more and more against Remus for support.

' Home' in their case was what they called their shared room. It was where they always returned to at the end of a long day, and no matter what had happened, they could always feel their troubles wash away as they sat in their own little world once more. Roman longed for that feeling, to escape the too-bright sun of The Imagination which now felt like it was blinding him and just lay down for a while.

Remus nodded hesitantly, the plans he had spun of pulling a prank on Fear and Lies forgotten. Normally the two Creativities preferred to find the door of The Imagination manually (they claimed it made the experience more immersive when they were out on an adventure), but instead he reached towards the exit and the world twisted around them, ejecting them out together. They came out the other side back in their room, next to their bunk bed. Instead of climbing up to his bed on the top, Roman just about threw himself onto Remus' sheets. Somehow he managed to ignore the weird smell of the fabric that he always complained about, which spoke greatly about his current well-being.

Remus hovered behind him, unsure of what to do, when Roman let out another pained noise and curled up tighter. "What now?!"

"Thomas...parents.

Since that didn't really explain anything, Remus decided to check up on what was happening outside himself. Thomas' parents had asked to see his report card and they were giving him the 'not mad but disappointed talk', while Thomas was shrunk into himself in shame. Yikes, Learning mustn't be feeling too hot about this either. But right now his focus was on his brother, who the sight of in such a sorry state filled him with rage.

"Now I want to fight them too." Remus muttered darkly. "Take the knife from the kitchen that dad uses to cut up turkeys and make them stop talking forever. Then we won't have to deal with this again and you won't-"

Oh right, Roman was still injured. Focus, Remus. Concern. Right, he was concerned for his brother, who was hurting like he had never seen, even after their fights. What could he do about this? He was always so much better at destroying things than fixing them, so having to deal with a situation like this without any sort of guidance made him nervous.

"You can't hurt them." Roman protested weakly.

"Maybe if I want to enough I could!"

Remus walked around the bunk bed and settled down on the side Roman was facing towards. From this angle he could see new bruises spattered along his brother's arms. In a grotesque way, the different shades came together like a watercolour painting. Except instead of a canvas, they were on a body- Remus shook his head. Focus! He could draw sickly yellow and purple-inspired pictures later, when Roman would be in the mood to be more good-humored about it.

"You shouldn't, then. It's bad."

"...Alright then. What should I do Ro-bro?"

Roman cracked open one eye and looked at him. "Stay? Until Thomas feels better?"

Considering he was just grounded for the weekend, Remus wasn't sure how long it would take for this hit to Thomas' self esteem to blow over, but despite knowing this he nodded anyway.

"Okay."

He laid down next to Roman, not commenting when he hid his face against the covers and started sniffling, or when he eventually fell asleep, curled against his side like how they would sleep when they were newly-split. When Learning knocked in their door to tell them that dinner was ready, he made a weak excuse that they were busy and would eat later.

Without even asking he knew Roman would want this to be kept between them, despite how the others would undoubtedly fuss and nurse him back to health. And perhaps that was the reason why. His brother always wanted to appear infallible to the others and did so replicating the heroes from the stories they read, which often meant refusing to admit when he needed help and trying to do everything himself. If you asked Remus, he was trying way too hard to be like the Creativity that came before them, which was silly because they were different now and as they were, they needed each other.

Remus closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep too. This seemed like a big deal, so Roman's pride would have to pass eventually for him to seek help. Right?

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

II - even without dying you're dead to me.

In retrospect, Remus had underestimated Roman’s ability to keep a secret (maybe because he was so quick these days to run over to Feelings, now Morality, whenever Remus did something to upset him. Tattle-tale).

Now that they were older and their roles were more defined, their once shared-room had separated into two to adjust to this change. Even though it had been long enough that he should be used to the feeling of being alone, there were still times where Remus had to try to not let it bother him when he looked up at night, expecting to see the familiar underside of a top bunk and instead only finding the ceiling he had painted an underwater-themed mural on.

On nights like this, far too sentimental to enter a peaceful rest, they would go sleep in each other's rooms, saying nothing as they tried to pretend they were as close as they once were. Remus groaned into his pillow, fighting that annoying urge to seek comfort. He was a teenager now, he didn't want to be so attached at the hip to a side who had started looking at him with disgust and fear instead of the fondness they used to share. Sometimes he couldn't help it though, clinging to the days when everything felt simple and the biggest thing they had to worry about was finding time to create the things they enjoyed. At the very least he was glad that Roman didn't mock him for his occasional bouts of uncharacteristic sentiment; that would solidify for him that there were no remnants of the relationship they once had left.

With that depressing thought, he rolled out of bed. He couldn't sleep tonight so he was going to make that Roman's problem; that always cheered him up. Perhaps if he hadn't made such a disturbed face when Remus had talked about the brazen bull he had made earlier that day, he would feel a bit more sympathy for waking his brother up in the middle of the night. Buuut he didn't and he was feeling petty, so without a second thought he sunk out and into Romans room.

"WAKEY WAKEY~!" Remus clashed two cymbals together like one of those nightmare-inducing wind-up monkeys, only to belatedly realize the bed he was facing was empty.

He blinked, both in confusion and to adjust his eyes to the unexpected light of the room. Both of them may be night owls, but Roman would usually be asleep by 2am at least, and it was way past that hour. Looking around the room, his eyes latched onto the vanity where his brother was sitting, looking incredibly startled from the deafening crash of metal against metal.

"Get out!" He yelled once his shock faded into indignation, glaring at Remus.

Remus didn’t respond, staring at the medical supplies spread across the surface. Roman was in the middle of wrapping a compression bandage around his thigh, which he abandoned as soon as Remus had entered.

"Did you get something stuck in your ear again? I'm not in the mood to deal with you tonight, Remus. Leave ."

"What happened?" He blurted out before he could even think about the question.

"Doesn't matter. In case you've forgotten, the door's right there. Feel free to use it at any point."

Instead of complying (because when had Remus ever done that for anyone? No no, it was always more exciting to do the opposite of what people ask and see what happens), he crossed the room, ignoring how Roman increasingly looked like he wanted to punch him the longer he lingered.

"Bitch, it obviously does matter, otherwise you wouldn't be looking like you got trampled by a cracked-out horse."

"Lovely imagery." Roman gritted out.

"Lovely avoidance." Remus retorted sarcastically. "Aren't you best friends with Morality and Logic now? Why aren't they here sucking your d-"

"If you don't go back to your own room I'll run you through with my sword." Roman warned with an air of finality.

Remus snorted.

It was hard to be intimidated by the same side who had once cried when he had accidentally smashed an imaginary caterpillar cocoon with his morning star. In his defense he had forgotten to make the handle weighted when he first made it, so he was still getting used to the uneven distribution of the weapon...not like that stopped Roman from getting upset with him. Supposedly he had spent the last week trying to raise butterflies and wanted to show them off to Logic after they had learned about chrysalis in class, but Remus found that somewhat laughable considering he could just create a fully-formed butterfly if he wanted to. So he did laugh, calling him dumb for getting upset over nothing, and through tears Roman pushed him to the ground and told him he hated him for the first time. (After that, he may have spent the next week killing any butterflies that crossed his path, but that was neither here nor there. The point of this tangent provided a lá Remus Sander's brain was was that Roman could be a big baby and therefore he couldn't take anything he said too seriously.)

"Sounds like a good time! Save that idea for later though, because if you don't tell me I'll summon them over here to ask them myself."

"Don't. They don't know about this, alright? For once in your life can you just let it go?"

Huh. Remus tilted his head. It had been years since they first found out about the fun little quirk Roman had, and he just...never told? He figured at the very least it would be a good way to milk even more attention from the others; something Creativity had been seeking more often after Fear turned into Anxiety during middle school and gained a much larger role in Thomas' life. "Why?"

Roman huffed in frustration. "They don't need to. I can handle it myself."

"...Wow! Careful not to summon Lies, because you're full of shit and you know it." Remus fired back. He didn't even know why he was getting so mad. Minutes ago he was cursing his brother's guts for how their relationship had soured, and now all of a sudden it was if all of that dislike had faded into the background for something else. Concern? He hadn't felt concern for anything in years. Roman always made it seem like he could take care of himself, so that's what Remus had believed at first too, though perhaps stumbling across this situation was evidence of the opposite. Reasonable self-care didn't exactly look like 'patching yourself up at 4 in the morning'. At least, that sounded like something Lies would say which probably meant it was accurate.

"Ugh- Shut up. I've been doing just fine so far, without you or them, so you can take your fake pity and shove it up your you-know-where."

Remus didn't rise to the opportunity to poke fun at that statement, his mind going blank (and what a strange and unusual feeling that was). The idea that anything could have been hidden from him seemed unthinkable given how they used to tell each other everything. He hadn't even considered that that habit had become one-sided, given how it had never stopped being true for him. "...Roman, what does that mean? Has this been happening a lot?"

"..."

"Why did you never tell me?! This isn't something you can just keep a secret! If you won't say anything I will-

Remus' mouth snapped shut as Roman ejected him from his room. He landed back on his own bed and when he scrambled onto his feet to tried to rise up again, he found that his efforts were blocked. Roman had kicked him out and locked the door behind him. He never did that, no matter how much they fought or annoyed each other. It was the one thing they did that showed they still cared.

Remus trembled with adrenaline and shock. Taking his pillow, he summoned a knife and stabbed it and stabbed it and stabbed it until all of his pent up feelings were gone and there all that was left was the fluff covering his floor.

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

III - interlude.

As it turns out, he'd never get the opportunity to tell, because shortly after that, the newly appointed 'dark sides' were pushed away into their own corner of the mindscape after an explosive argument between the sides (during which Remus tried to ignore how closely Roman stood at Morality's side, sword brandished towards him. He didn't want to think his twin had a hand in their separation, even though it made so much sense).

When he argued about going back with Lies, now Deceit after being appointed the new leader of the unwanted and unloved, he was told through clenched teeth and pained eyes that he shouldn't. Not until Thomas was ready for him. For all of them.

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

IV - to the death of me, i'm just fulfillin' my destiny.

After that, Roman adjusted, and did so alone. Teenage years came with many challenges, ones he didn’t always escape unscathed. Despite the occasional rejection here, an unfortunate setback there, he felt as if he had grown a thicker skin for the trials they faced. Into adulthood he wore his ego like a suit of armor; Thomas was outgoing and likable, so of course it became easier to brush aside random negative experiences as minor blips, things that didn’t represent their worth.

This was challenged somewhat as he began pursuing creative outlets more seriously. This meant more work for Roman in general (Woo! Suck it Logan), but it also came with more opportunities to feel ashamed of a messed-up performance, embarrassed by a note sung wrong, hurt by an ill-intentioned piece of feedback.

So he tried to compensate at times. Sue him. Between the nights he spent nursing his wounds and wondering how to do better next time, perhaps he deserved to be a little self-congratulatory about the shining achievements he won for them. There was a certain safety in placing himself up on that pedestal, so high above that it felt like nobody could ever reach him; that he was above it all. But the reality was that this pedestal, gold-plated as it may be, was founded on an interior of paper mache, one wrong move from away from collapsing and sending him tumbling back down to earth.

It was a good thing that pretending came naturally to Roman. So natural that the fear of falling sometimes didn’t register with him at all.

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

V - the calamitous corollary of being considered.

Except, it may have been too much to expect nobody to ever realize there was something up with him. The fact that the sides had to work closely together alone meant that the excuse of being busy after every troubling experience could only work for so long.

The first one to find out was Patton, because of course it was. Sometimes Roman felt as if Patton wasn’t given enough credit for his intelligence. Even though he could be a tad slow on the uptake on other things, his ability to detect the slightest change in mood and discern how people were feeling could be uncanny at times. Emotions just happened to be Patton's strong suit, and while that was very much appreciated when it came to sharing excitement or talking through a heated problem, it was not so grand when you were trying to get away with hiding something.

The first time he let something slip was a few days after Thomas had been flat-out rejected when asking someone out on a date. It wasn't that big of a blow, considering they had barely known the guy for more than a month, but Roman had been insistent that they throw caution into the wind and give it a shot, sure that he had been receiving signals that proved that this guy felt a similar interest. Turns out, he didn't, and was very-much straight. At least the rejection had been somewhat carried out gently and he didn't seem too put-off about staying friends afterwards. Nonetheless the wound was still fresh, and Thomas kept internally cringing whenever he thought about it, which didn't help matters. Whatever. Roman dealt with the bruises that arose from the incident and dabbed a little foundation on the ones he couldn't hide with clothing. They'd get over it in a matter of weeks.

It was after the awkward feelings had finally begun to settle when it happened. Roman and Patton had been in the kitchen preparing dinner when Thomas received a message on his phone, and when he went to check it, he face-planted on the couch in mortification.

'Hey man, I just remembered that my cousin is coming to town this weekend. He's gay too so I thought you two could go on a blind date if you're still looking. :) Lmk your thoughts.'

Patton frowned upon sensing the sudden wave of embarrassment, pausing to check what had happened. "Well...That's thoughtful of him!" He chuckled, tone trying and failing to be positive. Roman couldn't share the same sentiment.

"Thoughtless is more like it! He wants to set us up with the first gay person he knows? Who's not even in the city?  Does he think Thomas has no standards at all?! How dare-" Roman's indignant protests cut off as he felt the skin around his collar grow tender and swell slightly. He let out a slight whimper when he pressed his fingers into the bruise to double check its location. Why now and in such a visible place?! He's going to get Thomas to drop that guy if it's the last thing he does-

"Ro! Are you okay?"

Right. Patton was still here. Don't panic.

"Y-yeah! I just remembered an injury I sustained earlier. But not to worry, 'tis but a flesh wound!" He joked.

"A flesh wound?!" Patton cried, reference flying over his head. "Let me see."

Gently, Patton moved his head upwards to get a better look at the bruise. It mustn't look good, because Patton, squeamish as he was, grimaced on sight.

"How on earth did that happen? I don't remember that being there just now."

"Uh." Come on Creative skills, work your magic. "A stray whomping willow in The Imagination? You know how they can be. I suppose it merely took a while to develop, bruises can be funny like that."

Luckily it seemed to work, because Patton sighed. "I thought you got rid of them all after that time one almost threw Logan into a lake. Did Remus make more?"

Heh. Good times. That was a slight lie on his behalf when he had told the others he had gotten rid of the trees; he had kept a few of them around because they were once a gift from Remus to quote 'spice up his boring forests'. Not for any sentimental reasons, of course, but because he thought it was funny and it kept him on his toes. "I guess."

Patton made a small 'tsk' noise, mouth still drawn in a frown but he didn't comment further. "Come on, I'll help you treat that. Does it hurt?"

"Of course not." He smiled. "Do you really think I could be bested by a mere tree?"

"Never! I do wish you were more careful when you go on your little adventures, though. It makes me awfully sad to think about you in 'pine'."

Roman knew it had been a flimsy excuse and even though Patton seemed to accept it, there was a hesitation in his eye which spoke of hidden disbelief. After some first aid and many more tree-related puns later, they went back to cooking, finishing up 30 minutes later. When Logan came down to dinner, immediately questioning the bandages around Roman's neck, he repeated the fake story, distracting him with a request not to go into The Imagination with the whomping willow around and packaging the thinly-veiled jab at the way Logan had once freaked out when he was swung around by the semi-sentient tree as a warning. Logan's concern quickly faded and he shot back a sharp retaliation that Roman didn't care to remember. He just laughed, feeling as light as a kite with the crisis averted.

The next time didn't go over as gracefully.

Thomas had found a different partner eventually, one that wasn't some friend's cousin. They dated for months, and just when he had been thinking about inviting his boyfriend to move in so he could be closer to his workplace, he'd been broken up with. On Valentines Day of all days. There was no better way of putting it; they had planned to go out to dinner, managing to book a table at a fairly classy restaurant, exchanged gifts, and near the end of the night his boyfriend had leaned across the table with a sad smile, thanking him for the evening before admitting he didn't see them working out anymore. He said it quietly, as to not cause a scene among the other diners, but that didn't stop Thomas from immediately bursting into tears. The scene had caused his (now ex) boyfriend to leave early after paying his half of the bill. At least the waitress had taken pity on him and brought over more complimentary bread rolls (which he took because he was not a complete fool, heartbroken as he may be), though even that didn't stop the confusion and embarrassment of it all.

As expected, the whole incident caused nothing but chaos; the right-brain sides were devastated, Anxiety was in a state of panic, and Logic had been metaphorically thrown out the window. As Thomas made his way home, they were at a complete loss for what to do. They had started the day, hoping to take a step forward in their relationship, and ended up with nothing at all. What worse is that they didn't even have a clear idea why (admittedly, that could have been due to, as mentioned before, the inconsolable crying).

It seemed like the most sensible thing to do at the moment was to throw the Valentines gifts away and gorge on the ice-cream that had been sitting in the back of the freezer for who-knows how long while watching a comfort show and trying to forget the whole evening. So that's what they did. As Logan tried to sort through what happened and rationalize what to do next, Patton wallowed in his misery as he dealt with the giant mix of feelings Thomas was going through.

After a few hours working through the brunt of it, enough to where his mind began wandering elsewhere, Patton realized with a start that he hadn't seen Roman since the start of the evening. He must have been so devastated too! Patton recalled how excited he was about the day ahead of them, how he spun fantasies of Thomas' boyfriend accepting the proposal to move in and then the future proposals that could come after that-

Patton mournfully sobbed. He needed to stop thinking about this, or else Thomas could start spiraling again. The best thing to do right now was distract himself, and to do that he should go check on Roman. Perhaps they could talk and have a mutual catharsis over the whole thing. Or better yet, he could put his energy towards someone else and he won't have to fall back into the thoughts that had been clouding his mind ever since they had left that stupid restaurant.

Splashing some water on his face to clear up some of the blotchy-ness, he left his room and crossed the hallway towards Roman's. He couldn't hear any noise coming from inside, so he tentatively knocked. "Kiddo?"

For a few moments there was silence, and Patton almost turned away, assuming that Roman might be blowing off some steam in The Imagination, until a voice cleared inside the room and answered. "Pat? What do you want?"

Patton was taken aback for a second, not expecting such a straight-forward answer. It almost sounded like Roman wasn't upset at all, but Patton sincerely doubted that to be true. His tone was almost too normal, and for anybody else he wouldn't have questioned it, but the lack of dramatics or flowery language was always a clear red flag for the Creative side. "I wanted to check on you since um- You-Know-Who took 'dine and dash' a tad too seriously." He chuckled humorlessly. "...Can I come in?"

There was some shuffling and muffled curses. "Why? I'm fine. Worry about yourself."

"'Why?'" He repeated, eyeing the door warily. "I'm concerned! I haven't seen you in hours and I- I know you must be upset about this too. Can we please talk?"

"I'm not exactly my most princely presentable self right now. Anyway, it's late. Surely this can wait until tomorrow?"

Patton looked down at himself. Instead of his usual garb, he had thrown on some more comfortable clothes hours ago, and they were currently crumpled from laying in bed, sobbing his eyes out. "I'm hardly my best-self either right now, Kiddo-" Before he could go on a spiel about how it was best to not bottle up emotions when they're fresh (and ignoring the hypocrisy of that sentiment), he heard a thump on the other side of the door followed by a quiet hiss of pain. Patton began to panic, and his hand flew to the handle. "I'm coming in!"

Before the other side could even consider protesting, Patton flung the fortunately unlocked door open and stepped into the room, gasping at the sight he was met with. Roman was on the floor, wincing as he clutched his leg. Although he was still dressed in his usual outfit, there were enough injuries on his visible skin that Patton could only wonder how far they went. He covered his mouth and stared in horror as Roman turned to look at him nervously.

"What- How did this happen?!"

Roman licked his dry lips, eyes darting away as he searched for an excuse. "I- The Imagination- This is from earlier-"

"You told me this morning you were going to spend the day helping Thomas write a love letter." Patton said, voice strained with panic and disbelief. "Tell me the truth, please."

Shoot, he had announced his plans earlier that day, hadn't he? He internally cursed his inability to keep his mouth shut, before lowering his head in defeat. "Can you keep a secret, Pat?"

Said side shifted uncomfortably, but his tone was resolute when he nodded. "If it means you'll let me help with whatever this is."

"Okay..." Roman inhaled. "Okay."

And then he explained. Or rather, gave a shortened version of the truth which was less likely to give Patton a complete heart-attack: that bruised egos were something he experienced, but it was never this bad (true) or all that common (also true), and that they weren't something to worry about because he could usually take care of them himself (technically true). By the time he had finished, Patton still looked concerned, but had become less frantic with the information.

"You'll let me help in the future if you need it, right?" He asked, so close to shedding tears that Roman had trouble keeping eye-contact without becoming choked up with guilt.

"If I need it." He agreed.

Finally, Patton smiled, and went to fetch the first-aid kit hastily. As he helped patch him up for the second time that year, the look in Patton's eyes was so pained that Roman vowed to let him see this side of him as little as possible.

For a while, he kept true to this promise to himself, and on the occasions when Patton would drop by to check if everything was alright, if Roman had encountered any bruised egos since, he relished in the relief on his face whenever he would lie and said he hadn't. Distantly he wondered sometimes if this was how heroes were supposed to feel; protecting people by letting them live in blissful ignorance and bearing the burden of the ugly truth alone.

(It was thoughts like that that kept him going.)

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

VI - high highs and low lows.

And then came the videos. Youtube had been an excellent ego-boost for Roman. Similar to how life-changing Vine was, the instant gratification of likes and feedback and people liking what they made was enough to send him over the moon, and oftentimes it was able to ward away the downsides that came with it too; the stress of staying relevant, the occasional hate comment, the portion of dislikes that didn't explain what about the video was dislike-worthy-

Overall it seemed like a great idea, especially when the sides became involved. It gave them all the chance to gain their own spotlights, which most of them appreciated. Sometimes this wasn't always so good though. With the videos came more introspection than usual, which meant deeply examining each problem to try to find some kind of moral. And right now, Roman didn't want to do any sort of thinking exercise about how badly he messed up. At this point in their career, a simple audition should have been a cake walk, instead it was an ache walk...Okay, admittedly he wasn't on his best game right now. The point was, he had potentially thrown the whole audition by forgetting something so simple as the lyrics, and now the casting director would definitely only remember Thomas by the way he froze under pressure, which wasn't exactly an appealing trait in somebody looking to go up on stage where the pressure was set to 100.

After everything was said and done, Roman had no choice but to approach Patton for help. In his current state, he was much too dizzy on his feet to even contemplate showing up and trying to play it off cool, which would've been an laughable endeavor anyhow considering how outwardly embarrassed Thomas was. Betrayal from his own-- well. It was a bit too harsh to blame his current predicament on Thomas, after all the fact of the matter was that it was Roman’s fault for not being better prepared.

Anyway, that's how he ended up in his current position, being swaddled in a too-warm bed, injuries patched up and having soup spoon-fed into his mouth. The whole thing felt...strange. Usually during times like this he would be grinning and bearing it, the inner satisfaction he got from fooling everyone with his performance pushing him through the day, but he supposed this was unavoidable. It was better that only one side had to see part of the problem rather than exposing it to everyone, and out of all of them, at least it was Patton. It still didn't sit well that his secret was now out in the open, a throwaway joke to be used before moving along, but hopefully that would play to his favor and they'd view it as his usual dramatics. Not like he preferred to be seen as too incompetent to care for himself, even if it fit with his persona. He supposed it just went without saying that princes are supposed to have someone at their every beck and call, they're supposed to be indulgent and spoiled and ridiculous. But princes were also supposed to be leaders, someone who was caring and brave and ready to face any challenge.

Roman sighed, a wave of self-loathing washing over him. He didn't feel very princely at all right now.

“Kiddo, are you doing okay? Does something hurt? Is the soup too hot?” Patton asked, eyebrows drawing together in concern. He was such an open book when it came to the other sides, which meant that Roman knew exactly when he had worried or panicked the fatherly figure. Honestly, it only made him feel worse. Being doted over seemed like a good idea until it meant being the subject of pity and other people’s hurt.

“No no, I’m fine Padre. It’s fine. I was just taking a trip into thought city for a second there.” He cracked a smile, trying to ignore how the bruise at the corner of his mouth pulled at the motion. If only he could think of a more original nickname, perhaps that would be more convincing. He was simply drawing blanks today it seemed. “What do you think the others are up to right now? I’d bet 5 bucks Logan is losing his mind having to deal with Anxiety alone.”

Patton didn’t look entirely convinced, but the sudden change of subject encouraged him to stop any further questioning.

In the end they talked until the others had finished filming. Whatever happened during the discussion must have helped Thomas grow past his feelings, because one-by-one the injuries on Roman's body grew smaller until they had faded entirely. Seeing this, Patton noticeably livened up again, and he cheerily declared that he would take the empty bowl back to the kitchen and check in with the others.

As soon as he was gone, Roman’s face dropped, tired from all the smiling he had been doing, and he slid down further into the sheets. Perhaps he should consider himself fortunate that the others had helped out, but all he could think about was how they now knew about his biggest weakness and how embarrassing that was. Logan and Anxiety were the last two sides he wanted finding out about this, if not for their often-tumultuous relationships, but because they'd never fully understand. Neither of them were as dependent on validation as much as he was. Despite what others thought about them, they would just keep on going, meanwhile Roman couldn't truly thrive without some kind of feedback; he was too shackled to expectations and the need to please for that sort of self-indulgence, it was practically written in his existence. It simply wasn't enough for him to be great, he needed to be great and be appreciated. Without that, he felt as if he would burn out, like a candle who's supply of oxygen had been cut off, leaving only smoke and the charred wick behind as a reminder of the fire that was once there. And sometimes that made him feel pathetic, that so much of his esteem depended on what people thought of him. Other times it just made him envy the others who had no one to please but Thomas himself and what he deemed important.

...He was tired, but he needed to keep going. The least he could do was keep up the image of egotism so that those horrid thoughts of being lesser weren't picked up by the others. If they started thinking of him the way he thought about himself (if they didn't already), he wouldn't know what he'd do. He wouldn't stand to be pitied or mocked or anything that validated what he already knew about himself. He just wouldn't.

Rolling out of bed, he practiced his smile in the mirror, fixed his clothes, and sunk out to make his grand appearance.

He couldn’t let this happen again at all costs.

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

VII - an agreeable sort of self-destruction.

More and more often, Roman was glad that he and Remus didn't share a room anymore. From the nights he hunched over scraps of ideas and worked without distraction until the sun was on the horizon, to the days he woke up with tears clinging to his lashes and breath coming out in labored pants, until he realizes the dream about him messing up so badly that he's split apart a second time was merely a cruel trick of his mind.

Currently, there was no greater time to be grateful for their separation than the moment he hastily returned back to safety after Remus' debut to Thomas. If only his brother could see the way he paced back and forth and tugged at his hair, he was sure his other half would merely gloat and poke away at his wounds instead of doing anything to help. Or worse, use it as ammunition in front of the other sides as some sort of proof of his imperfection.

Speaking of, the video was disastrous. He had been out-cold the entire time so he had no idea what was said and had no way of directing the conversation at all, which was possibly the most aggravating part of the whole situation. Beyond that, there was so much that Remus could have told the others without his knowledge. Once upon a time, the two of them were two peas in a pod, and that meant they knew an unnameable amount of secrets about each other. (Like how Remus always used to sleep with this crudely-knitted octopus Roman had made for him when he discovered crochet. Remus claimed to have set fire to it when they were teenagers, but Roman had seen it tucked away on a shelf the last time he had been in his room, before the Great Divide). The room swam a little when Roman thought about it too much. Perhaps he was being paranoid, but it wasn't as if he'd done much to earn Remus' loyalty. Why would he take the higher road and keep all of that to himself now, when he had the prime opportunity right in front of him to make himself seem like the better twin?

Hold on... He was thinking about this all wrong. Remus didn't care about good and bad the same way he did. Sure he was adamant that his version of being creative was more interesting, but he never tried to convince any of the other sides that he was inherently better or more worthy of attention than Roman, at least not to the same extent he did. The realization hit Roman like a train on it's way to a damsel tied to railway tracks (for lack of a less Remus-y simile): had he been wrong to push his brother away when he was just trying to help? All this time he had expected nothing but the worst from him, all because he was loud and unapologetic and had gone about his concern in a way that frightened him. Though just because Roman had been scared, surely that didn't warrant the dark sides being pushed aside in such a manner, and clearly the repression wasn't any benefit to Thomas...And was that partially his fault? He had been the one who encouraged Patton to divide the sides up. He had come up with the name for them: light and dark.

When he really thought about it, there wasn't much 'light' about him, not when he had been the source of so many problems.

Making Virgil feel unwelcome and continuing to trample on his boundaries.

His insults toward Logan and attempts to diminish his importance.

Leading Thomas and Patton astray in his pursuits for romance.

Being too quick to side with Janus when he should’ve known that the deceitful side only stood for selfishness and not the fair-played ambition Thomas valued.

And now: his treatment of Remus for most of their lives. Pushing him away, pretending he didn't exist, trying to erase their memories together.

How could he have the gall to claim that he saw Remus as an awful reflection of everything he didn’t want to be, when the whole point of looking into a mirror means facing you and you alone?

Even his metaphors were hypocritical.

It was a shock that nobody saw through that statement or called him out on how he had wronged just about everybody. How truly unfortunate it was that he had been declared the hero when he had done very little to live up to that title. Heroes weren't mean. They didn't make people feel bad about themselves for merely existing. They're supposed to defeat the bad guys, yes, but every time he had thought he was accomplishing that, it turned out that he was always off the mark. At least this time he had it right with Deceit, but still, that didn't erase the history he had with misjudging what was acceptable. He couldn't help but wonder what sort of reflection that must have on Thomas' content. If his creativity, which was supposed to be a force of pure good, had made a countless number of errors, what did that say about the things they were proud of? How many things had they put into the world that were imperfect? That had a misleading message? That was problematic and hurt people?

The realization had his throat tightening in panic. How could he ever have confidence in his work when he had such a flawed system of right and wrong? How-

...Wait.

Roman's spiraling thoughts were fortunately put on pause as he passed by his vanity, being pulled back to reality in an instant and finally noticing the splash of colours that had made themselves welcome on his skin once more. He gaped at his own reflection. It wasn’t as if he was unused to the sight per say, but he hadn’t realized anything had happened today that would affect Thomas’ ego. Remus’ appearance perhaps? He had the feeling that if there was any discussion to be had in light of that it would be on the goodness of his character, which could be a worthy-enough explanation. But if anything wouldn’t that what the large gash on the back of his head (fittingly) represented? So where had the others come from? Unless…

Was it him?  

His own self-criticism had never left a dent on his pride before. Usually his injuries tended to be the result of outside sources; the kind of things that come out of nowhere and hit at you harder than you could ever expect. Did this mean that his own words were on par with Thomas’ harshest critics?

Roman shakily sat down. This... was a good thing, right? Perhaps he was finally gaining some self-awareness. He had been trying to make amends for where he had fallen short in the past, so this could be the sign he was making progress.

Yes. This was good. And if it wasn't, then perhaps this was just apart of his repentance. At this point he was sure everyone would agree.

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

VIII - the art of learning to let go.

The thing about tightropes is quite interesting. Like most other skills, it is something that needs to be honed. At first you try on a smaller scale and fall off more times you can count, but it's alright because that's why you practice in a safe environment. And then you progress to something more risky, and this time you have other tools to help keep you steady. Before you know it, you're up doing the actual thing; a rope suspended tens of feet in the air and thousands of eyes watching your every move, each one wondering if you really will make it across, or if they're about to watch a great tragedy take place before them. When you misjudge your own abilities and are thrust upon that rope when you're unprepared, however, all of the practice you gained can feel as if it has slipped away. As soon as you take your first step, the rope wobbles and you know somewhere deep down that your fall will be inevitable. But with so many expectant eyes baring into you, what else are you to do but continue forward? Continue until you're halfway across and your balance is so shaky that all you can do is watch as the rope swings backwards and forwards beneath your feet until you give up on trying to steady yourself entirely and-

Roman let go of the rope he had been clinging onto.

There was no grace in the way that he fell. It wasn't even a matter of choosing a side; ego or change. At first he fell so gradually that he didn't feel it at all, placing all of his thoughts and opinions into a neat little box and shoving them aside. Trying so hard to adapt, trying to be feel comfortable clinging to reasoning that contradicted his role, his meaning, his existence- and before he knew it, he was plummeting towards the ground because even then, that little piece of purpose he was forcing himself to mold his worth around did nothing but feed into the self-righteousness that must've always been there, hiding away under the surface.

Roman could only describe the feeling as air-sickness when he sunk out, his very being thrown into weightless uncertainty. Once he appeared back at his safe place, the place he wanted to be most, he felt his body connect with the ground once more as he collapsed onto the floor, body shaking with sobs and wounds he already knew were appearing.

He had been so stupid. Every step he took was littered with mistakes. Just when he thought he had learned, to try to be more accepting, to know when to give up, to listen to others instead of forging his own path, another thing came along and knocked him back to where he started and he was thrown back into the cycle of trying to atone for his actions. A cycle that never seemed to end.

His arm fractured and started to swell.

For once he thought he finally had it figured out. If he just followed the person who should've known what was best for Thomas, even if it meant going back on his own desires, surely then he would be on the right side for once. But all of a sudden that was wrong and now it was all his fault that so many bad outcomes had come about as a consequence of his lack of assertion. He may not have loaded the gun, but he had pulled the trigger, and that made him more culpable than anyone else.

His nose ached as if hit by an unseen force and began dripping blood.

Even his attempts at keeping his ego in check were all for nothing because the moment he felt threatened he lashed out towards Janus, the side who now all of a sudden deserved a seat at the table because he had gained Patton's favor (nevermind that he had agreed with him first. Oh no, that was just Roman being naive and easy to sway if only you stroke his ego a little. What importance could his opinions possibly have?). But that was the thing, wasn’t it? In the end he just couldn’t win, no matter what he did. When he tried to silence his voice it was too obvious and attention-seeking, and when he chose to project his thoughts it was too loud and abrasive. When he spoke out he was punching down, but when others did the same they were punching up up up. It left him wondering how much more he had to fall before it was no longer deemed okay to kick him while he was down. Was it his fault for choosing to sit atop his golden pedestal, making himself seem forever untouchable and unable to be hurt? And would things be different if he was sensitive like Patton? Complicated like Virgil? Respectable like Logan? Had he been making a mistake all along by pretending to be stronger than he was? But how was he ever supposed to let go of the walls he had built, knowing that the second they crumbled, all the things he had been trying to protect himself from would pass through and destroy everything he had worked so hard for? Maybe it was time to accept that this was all he could be; that there was no way for him to change, no way to soften his edges or stick firm to his beliefs that wouldn’t end with him in a losing position.

His ribs ached, bending unnaturally until he felt a snap in his chest.

Perhaps Janus was right by calling him evil. He had proven it time and time again that he was no good for Thomas. In fact, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to say that he was worse than Remus. At least he couldn't help the way he was, didn't have control over the problems he caused unlike Roman. He was supposed to be the half with all the bad parts removed. The 2.0 version, new and improved. He had no excuse for being as flawed as he was, not really. All this time spent thinking he was the good twin, and it was nothing more than an act of self-delusion. The grandeur of a side with nothing to show for it beyond his words.

His eyelid puffed up and mottled with colour.

...He was bad. Unneeded. Evil.

The capillaries across his knuckles burst and stained them a violent red.

Everything would be so much better if he just-

"Broman?" Oh shit.

Romans eyes flew open. And he realized belatedly that he wasn't looking at his floor; his floor had intricate Persian rugs and a soft fluffy carpet. This one had various stains and burns and felt scratchy against his fingers.

"What the fuck. Princey? You good?"

1) He wasn't in his room. 2) Wherever he was, Remus and Virgil were here too.

"M-my mistake! I must have accidentally sunk out to the wrong place. If you'll excuse me-" He tried, but his voice was hoarse and clearly not okay. Of all times for his acting skills to have failed him.

"Oh no you don't."

Before he could sink out through the floor, two arms latched under his armpits and hoisted him upright. He choked back a gasp at the sudden movement, senses flashing white as his injuries were jostled. He barely heard the shocked exclamation in front of him before the two voices discussed something hastily and he was deposited onto a soft surface. The ringing in his ears faded, just in time to hear Virgil speak.

"What happened? " He asked, voice layered with anxiety and sounding on the verge of a panic attack. Roman would have tried to reassure him if he didn't feel like his entire body was on fire.

"It just happens sometimes, when Thomas’ ego gets bruised." Remus answered bitterly when it became clear his brother wasn't in a position to explain. He then muttered under his breath: "Though this time is different, huh?"

"What? I thought- I didn’t know it got this bad.” Virgil whispers, horrified.

"Sorry you have to see this, Finding Emo." Roman croaked once he began slowly coming back to his senses. He would regret not being more composed later, but right now he couldn't really bring himself to care about anything. “I’ll be as good as Gucci soon.”

"No. Shut the fuck up, you don't get to say that." Remus said angrily. Why did he sound so mad? Roman tried to crack open his eyes to check, but the world was still spinning too much for him to really recognize what was he was seeing. On top of that it seemed one of his eyes was swollen shut. Joy. That'll make it more difficult to patch himself up later.

"'Told you before, I can handle myself." He finally managed.

"Yeah? Was that you 'handling yourself' when you dropped in and started bleeding all over my floor? Or when you stopped talking to me and kicked us 'dark sides' to the curb because your sense of superiority was more important? Or when you started acting like a royal prick to everyone just so they wouldn't know you spend your nights licking your wounds?"

"Stop." Roman pleaded, shamefully curling into himself as much as his body allowed in its current state. Remus paused in his tirade before continuing, more quietly.

"If you're uncomfortable just from that, you should try watching your brother slowly self-destruct for years and not being able to do anything about it. That's fucking uncomfortable." Roman heard a sniffle, and his body went cold. He hadn't heard Remus get upset since they were kids. Sometimes he forgot that there was more to his brother than his disgusting unpredictable persona, and the thought that he could've been hurting Remus all this time was something that had never even crossed his mind.

"I'm..." Sorry? Was he sorry? Apologizing was practically second nature at this point, but he couldn't even tell if the words would be genuine if he said them. Was he sorry for his actions or for hurting Remus, or was it the fact that he had been caught at all? If he had it his way, none of this would be happening, so perhaps he wasn't as apologetic as he thought. He really was the worst, wasn't he?

Remus seemed to pick up on what he was thinking about saying, because he laughed; not in his usual cartoon-ish way, but resigned and hurt. The sound pulled at Roman's heart. "Save it. Here's what's going to happen you Walmart Prince Eric knockoff. You’re going to accept our help whether you like it or not, and if you try to pull any self-sacrificing BS at any point, I’m going to eat your entire makeup collection.”

“...You wouldn’t. You don’t like the way glitter sticks to your teeth.” Roman argued weakly, just for the sake of being contrary.

“Try me.”

Roman sighed. He really didn’t doubt that Remus would be petty enough to go through with his threats, especially since he knew it how much it would bother Roman to summon a new set. In any case, he wasn’t in a position to do much of anything at the moment, and now that it was too late to pretend like this never happened, he figured he might as well roll with it. Future him could deal with the consequences later.

“Okay.” He said after a moments pause, looking to the Virgil-shaped figure, as much as the crick in his neck would allow. “...Just don’t tell Patton about this. Not yet.”

The figure shuffled, out of what was probably awkwardness after having watching the twins argue. “No worries dude. We’re not exactly on- uh. Y’know what, nevermind, I’ll just go get the medical kit.”

During the moments that Virgil had shuffled off, there was an empty silence. Roman spent it trying to blink his uninjured eye back into focus, until he was finally able to spot Remus standing across from him, an uncharacteristically glum look on his face. "You look like you're going to a funeral."

"Don't even joke about that. I don't need more thoughts about-"

"Death? I thought that was pretty par for the course."

Remus smiled wryly at him, sarcastic and mocking. "You dying, dummy. D'you think I never imagined it? Something happening and you disappearing because you never let anyone help you- and me not even knowing it happened? Finding out much too late? Being alone?"

Roman didn't know what to say to that. "Sorry." He blurted out, and this time he felt like he meant it. "If it means anything in retrospect, I wouldn't have ever let it go that far. I think."

"'You think.'" Remus repeated. "God, you need some self-care. It's a shame you and Jan-jan weren't friends before. It's supposed to be his job to make sure this kind of thing doesn't happen, you know."

Roman felt himself flinch at the mention of Janus' name before he could control it. If Remus noticed, he didn't get the chance to comment on it, because at that moment Virgil came bustling back with a first aid kit.

"I didn't know what else you needed, so I got some water, balms, bandages, frozen peas, and creams. Just in case." He spoke, noticeably out of breath.

"Water?" Roman asked as a glass was held towards him. He pushed himself upright with some effort and accepted it.

"For painkillers." Virgil replied, handing him some pills once he had set the other items down. "Also your throat sounded kinda rough, and when you cry a lot you can get dehydrated, so..."

Surreptitiously, Roman wiped at his face and tried to not feel too embarrassed that the two of them had heard him wail like a toddler who'd had their favourite toy taken away. Before he knew it, he had taken the pills and downed half of the glass while the other two sides unpacked the medical supplies. Virgil really had thought of everything he might have needed.

Roman blinked as he watched them, stunned that he would go to so much effort. "This is very thoughtful of you, Medic Parade."

Virgil paused as he pieced together the nickname, and then scowled. "Mayday doesn't even sound anything like medic- and it's not. I just didn't want to- y'know- get the wrong things and make it worse."

Remus elbowed Virgil in the side, perhaps in an attempt to cheer him up. "Hey, you can't do any worse than what we did the first time Ro got a booboo."

"...And what was that?" Virgil's hesitant tone indicated he wasn't sure if he want to know.

"Nothing!" Remus grinned.

"I'm pretty sure that was just a concussion." Roman stated before Virgil got the wrong idea and thought they were totally stupid, looking upward as he tried to recall the incident Remus was talking about. It felt like forever ago now. "Not like anything could be done, to be fair."

"'Just'-" Virgil made a strange choked sound. "Is this what my life's gonna be now? Having a worry-induced heart attack every 5 minutes?"

"Welcome to the club!" Remus cheered, offering a fist bump which Virgil ignored in favour of burying his head in his hands.

"Goddammit. Alright- let's get this show on the road I guess. Roman, take your shirt off." When Remus' eyebrows started waggling, clearly about to make an inappropriate comment, Virgil waved his hands wildly to stop him. "So we can look at the damage! Shut your mouth Remus!"

"I didn't say anything." He intoned, looking overly smug before turning to Roman expectantly.

Said man frowned, placing the glass of water on the bedside table next to him. Before he made any move, he glanced at Virgil who was looking red either out of Remus-induced embarrassment or frustration. Mood. "You don't have to stick around for this part if you don't want to. It can be a bit much, so I wouldn't blame you."

"I'm not a baby, Roman." Virgil retorted, crossing his arms. "Making sure you don't die or something is way more important than my comfort. I can't promise you'll be safe from me calling you an idiot until you're better, though."

Roman looked away again. Was that condescending of him to ask? He opened his mouth to apologize, before closing it in resignation. No need to make this into an issue; he'll ask Virgil whether he felt belittled later. "...Okay. That's fair."

Instead of going through the pain of trying to remove a shirt with a possibly broken rib, he snapped and it disappeared. He heard a sharp inhale, but in response to what, he didn't know. Roman looked downwards to check. Among the remnants of previous attempts at self-healing (some messier than others), the area around his right rib was inflamed and a large portion of his stomach was splotched with purple. Noticeably, his left arm was also burning red, but luckily it seemed like the fracture there was non-displaced, which hopefully meant it would heal quicker. Other than that, there weren't any major injuries besides his black eye and bloody nose that needed attention. Could be worse, considering how god-awful he felt! 

Remus whistled. "You look like someone took a dalmatian and made it the colours of the bi-flag."

"Yeah. That's- weirdly accurate." Virgil winced. "What hurts most?"

"Uh- My arm and my ribs I suppose. They're a little... on the broken side."

"That's what I thought." Virgil muttered under his breath, grabbing the items to make a split. "I'll deal with those first, Remus you help with his nose and the bruising. And if you want to make yourself useful, hold these peas to your eye, dumbass."

"Your bedside manners are impeccable." Roman said sarcastically, taking the bag of peas and exhaling as he adjusted to the cold feeling pressed against his face. "...Here I thought there would be a grace period before you started calling me names."

"Just calling it like I see it." Virgil hummed. With deft fingers, he held the splint under Roman's forearm and began winding the bandages around it. "You should probably make an actual brace later when you're up to it, but hopefully this should keep it in place and remind you to not use it for now."

"But that sides my dominant arm-" Roman whined, about to complain about how he was supposed to get work done until Remus pinched the bridge of his nose none too gently, and he yelped. "Ow! Remus."

"Think of that as payback for the last 15 years." Remus replied lightly. "Tilt your head back."

Begrudgingly, Roman complied, resting his head against the headboard.  He stared at the ceiling as his brother and best friend silently worked their way around his injuries, applying topical ointment to his bruises and applying band-aids to small cuts. He didn't even realize they had finished until Remus bonked him on the head.

"All done! Shame it's not Halloween. You could go as a mummy again."

"Ha ha. What a comedian you are." Roman replied in a deadpan, but fought to keep a smile away anyway. The irony of how much he resembled that costume right now definitely wasn't lost on him.

"...I'm sorry for ruining that, by the way." Virgil spoke up suddenly from where he had been packing everything away, breaking the thoughtful silence he'd been in for the past few minutes. "Your costume during the Christmas video, I mean. And saying all of that harsh stuff to make a point."

Roman only stared, taken aback. "All of that happened half a year ago. I'm not upset about that."

"I know, I know. It's just... I've been thinking about it recently, all the times I haven't acted very...good." He bit his lip, averting his eyes. "Especially now, knowing that kind of thing literally hurts you."

"Virgil." Roman sighed softly, taking his hand. Virgil startled but didn't pull away. "You don't need to be 'good' all the time. Wasn't that the point you were trying to get across back then? All of us have made mistakes in our pasts, some more than others, but if you can forgive us for that, then you deserve the same acceptance for your less-than-stellar moments."

"Oh." He said, eyes glassy. His hand tightened around Roman's. "I'm still sorry, if I've ever made things worse for you or if I haven't been supportive enough."

"I- You have-"  Roman spluttered worriedly, sitting up.

"It's alright, I already know that we kinda work against each other at times. Part of the job." Roman's mouth closed with a grimace. "Still, it's unfair on you. You shouldn't be expected to perfect, especially not with an asshole like me there to tear into your work. So just...know that it's okay to tell us when you're struggling, okay?"

"Right..." Roman bit his cheek. Virgil seemed well-meaning, but showing that sort of weakness was a concept he still found difficult to accept, even if he had given in this time and allowed himself to be completely seen. Virgil noticed his lackluster agreement and patted him with his free hand.

"Hey. In almost any case we'd embrace you."

"...No one hates you."  Roman finished a beat later with a small smile. Virgil's face lit up and moved closer to his side. Upon seeing this, Remus unceremoniously squished himself between the two of them, careful not to bump against Roman too much (although Virgil definitely got the brunt of Remus crawling over him, to his dismay).

"Look at you two, my favourite dorks, bonding over feeling insecure!" He declared, throwing an arm around both of them. "Couldn't be me, but I still love you."

Roman poked Remus' side. "So that wasn't you admitting to being worried earlier?"

"Nope! New phone who dis?"

"You're insufferable." Virgil rolled his eyes fondly. "...I love you guys."

And Roman sighed contently, feeling safe and cared for. Things weren't perfect right now; he still needed time to heal and Remus and Virgil would undoubtedly want him to open up about what happened sooner or later, but for now he was was able to hear that he was loved and believe it to be true, and that was enough.

"I love you both too. Thank you."

[writingsbychlo]

Fluffy fftommy idea. Nurse readers cat gets stuck up a tree and runs to the fire station across from her house asking for help. Tommy helps her but the cat isn’t very nice to strangers and nurse reader patched him up after getting the cat down. Fluffy?

it would actually be newt that spots you first

he’s unpacking the ambulance and you’re pacing up and down in front of the firehouse and staring at it, which in retrospect, you realise probably made you look like a threat.

but then he realises he kinda recognises you from the hospital, he’s pretty sure you’re one of the nurses he sees sometimes when he drops people off.

he comes out and asks you if he can help you with anything, and you just kinda break down.

“I did something really stupid, and you’re probably going to laugh at me, which is okay, but I need help, and I didn’t know where else to go-”

“did you set something on fire? because we am handle that, it’s what we do, but we should probably get to it.”

“not exactly.. i opened my window.”

he just kinda stares at you for a minute to explain

“I have this really old indoor house cat and I opened my bedroom window because it’s hot, and he jumped out into a tree and I can’t get him but now he’s stuck and I think he’s going to fall!”

he’s trying not to laugh

“okay, um,-” checks your name tag, still can’t read it and actually lifts it up. “(Y/N). you’re a nurse, right? I’ll send one of our guys over, what’s your address?”

you list it off, right around the corner, and newt is smirking a bit as he watches you go.

because thomas has been hung up on teresa for months now, even though she left him a year ago, because he thinks he has no game left and nobody will want him, and you’re exactly his type. cute and funny, and you need a knight in shining fire truck.

so, he sends thomas over to save a little old lady’s cat, not a hot young nurse. otherwise thomas would have diverted to minho.

thomas stutters a little bit when he walks over and you’re standing there staring up into a tree with a pout on your lips and your hands on your hips, trying to tell a cat to sit still and be patient.

“I-Is this your g-grandma’s cat?”

he’s already setting up a ladder, and he decided you might have the prettiest damn smile he’s every seen as you jump a little and turn to look at him.

“nope, my cat.” thomas just kinda makes an ‘o’ face and blushes, and then you’re giggling a bit, and damn, if that isn’t the prettiest sound he ever heard

and he thinks that nobody, never mind strangers in pale blue scrubs and messy ponytails, should be able to have him whipped this fast

“did you draw the short straw? it would be less embarrassing if I was a little old lady, wouldn’t it? what kind of woman can’t get her own cat out of a tree?”

“the cute ones, apparently.”

he has no idea where that came from, and he kind of wants to choke on own breath, or just keep climbing up into the tree and get stuck with the cat, but then you make that cute little laugh again and he feels better

“well, if I didn’t, I’d never be able to call on handsome firefighters to come to the rescue, huh?”

he slips, and hits his forehead on a branch. he can’t stop smiling though, even when you’re asking him if he’s alright and he should probably be more embarrassed

his head hurts though

when he finally gets the cat, it freaks out, and scrabbles a little bit in his arms, and there’s a fair amount of scratches on his shoulders, arms and jaw when he finally touches ground again, and hands the furry ball of stress to you.

you put him down inside and close the door, and thomas disassembles the ladder, kinda wishing he’s worn a jacket and not just his ‘FD’ t-shirt now.

“you want me to patch you up? those are some mean scratches.”

scratch that, he wishes he’d worn no shirt at all, and taken a little longer bringing the cat back so you had more to patch up.

you invite him inside, and exchange names, and he thinks your perfume smells amazing when you stand close to him to start cleaning up his cuts. it stings a little, and he kinda wants to reach out and grab your legs as you stand between his looking down at him, but he resists the urge.

instead, he asks you about how the cat got into the tree, and what you said to newt when you came by, and about the hospital, to which he promises to say ‘hi’ when he sees you next.

after that, he leaves, and he’s half-way down the road before thinking ‘fuck it’ and making a U-turn and coming right back.

except, you had exactly the same thought, and right as he’s about to knock on the door, you open it, and you barely dodge in time before getting hit in the face.

he holds your face in his hands, looks absolutely mortified at almost having punched you for a second, before the two of you are laughing.

“are you going out?”

“to see you, actually. is that embarrassing?”

he just shrugs a little bit, shoving his hands in his pockets when he realises he’s still holding your face and if he doesn’t let go soon, he might just kiss you.

“you lost your cat in a tree and i hit my head on a tree branch because you called me ‘handsome’, I think we’ve reached out quota for embarrassing. I have none left. which is why I have no shame about walking all the way back here just to ask you out. I didn’t want to wait until I got to see you again at the hospital.”

“a date?”

“that’s what I was hoping.” he does that cute little neck scratch thing as he starts to get shy.

“I was really hoping you’d ask that, actually, but then you left, and I’m not really one to chase after a guy, but I was about to walk all the way to the firehouse again, so, definitely yes.”

he has this cute little bashful grin on his face, before you exchange numbers, and arrange something. dinner, two days from now, real casual. just pizza and a walk around the park. that’s it. and you love it.

before he goes, you place a little kiss to his cheek, and he turns his head, catching your lips instead and grinning when he feels you press back into him just as eagerly. he pulls back before it gets any further.

when he gets back to the firehouse, for real, newt is waiting there and so is everybody else, who newt let in on the plan after he left.

“how’d it go?”

“it was a cat in a tree. I got it down.” everybody sighs a little bit, clearly disappointed, and thomas goes straight to the coffeemaker, back to them all, not seeing their reactions when he smiles to himself and says. “oh, yeah, and I also got a date.”

[kpoptrashlord-007]

Spark;; KJN

Word Count;; 1k

Genre;; Fluff! 

AU;; Firefighter

Pairing;; Jennie x Reader

Summary;; You find yourself in a state of distress when you can't remember if you turned your stove off this morning. Your fears are put to rest by none other than Ms. Jennie Kim, your local firefighter who you find yourself crushing on a little harder with every passing day.

Warnings;; No warnings! Pure fluff!

Notes;; Not my best but I wanted to write something for our lovely Jennie's birthday! I listened to Hold On by KARD on repeat for this one.

My Masterlist

   "Did you try to start a fire just to see me?" Jennie teased, leaning against your oven.

   "No! Of course not!"

   Her eyes lingered on you for a moment, her full lips turning upward into a slight smile before she joined her coworker back in the entry hallway. They gave your home the all-clear after a quick inspection and were getting ready to head out. There had been no damage, after all - it was just a false alarm.

   It was an uncommon occurrence but not unwelcome. They'd take a false alarm over a real fire any day. At least that's what the other firefighter told you. His attention was elsewhere but his tone sounded sincere. It made you feel a touch better after having wasted their time so early in the morning.

   "It's better to be safe than sorry," Jennie chimed in. "The operator you talked to seemed worried about you. It's a good day when we're able to help, but an even better day when we're able to prevent an incident before it even occurs."

   You had been halfway across town when you called the non-emergency line, worried that you had left your stove on after making breakfast that morning. It was unlikely… but what if you really had? With traffic piling up, you knew you couldn't get back in a timely fashion and the thought of your home going up in flames had you hyperventilating. The operator was very kind, reassuring you that a team would check and make sure everything was safe and that you had nothing to worry about. It did naught to ease your skyrocketing nerves, however.

   By the time you returned home, palms sweaty on your car steering wheel and legs trembling every step to your front door, the crisis had been averted. Your landlord informed you that two firefighters were already inside but said little else, leaving you to handle the situation on your own. Preparing for the worst, you burst into your home filled with despair and overwhelmed with worry, the endless churning of your stomach uncomfortable and bordering painful.

   There had been no yelling, no smoke, no fire - just the occasional chatter between the two firefighters, one of which you recognised by her voice alone.

   Ms. Jennie Kim.

   Relief washed over you; you knew you were in good hands with Jennie around. The tension left your body as you turned the corner, entering the kitchen where both firefighters stood near your stove. While she had noticed you the second you arrived, she chose to remain still, filling out her paperwork a bit slower than usual as she waited for you to find her.

   Every inch of her body was covered by her heavy uniform, save for the peek of smooth skin her neck offered. Your eyes snapped to the exposed expanse. It was a small stretch and yet it felt endless. It also marked the transitional space between her career and the dainty features of her round face, between her professional stance and the fierce fire within her eyes.

   If given the chance to break free of the hypnotising glow of her skin and the intensity of her stare, your gaze would fall to the somewhat safer outline of her form. Her uniform had always been appealing to you. It signified bravery, but she made it beautiful. She shone brighter and burned hotter than any of the fires she battled day in and day out on duty.

   You couldn't keep your eyes off her, not when she commanded the room just by breathing.

   It wasn't your first encounter with Jennie. Every time you saw her, you appreciated the opportunity while simultaneously praying that it wouldn't be the last. Her station was close to your home so you saw her and her team shopping at your local grocery store quite often. It had taken quite some time for you to gain the necessary courage to approach her. She had such an intense aura about her. In retrospect, given how soft and gentle she really is, you found your hesitation humorous.

   Even so, after many weeks of admiring her from afar, curiosity deemed stronger than cowardice and you introduced yourself. You were rewarded with a brief conversation within the produce aisle and an invitation to tour the station. Though shy, Jennie was quite warm and you could talk to her at length. A tour turned into a visit and soon after you found yourself pulling into the station with baked goods and hot beverages on a weekly basis.

   "We're all clear here," she said, pushing herself away from the stove. "You'll be happy to know that the stove was off when we arrived."

   Close on her heels, you walked behind both firefighters as they moved toward the front door, their footsteps much heavier than yours. "Oh, God. I'm so stupid. I'm sor-"

   "Don't be so hard on yourself. It's a legitimate concern. I'd rather your cute little slippers not burn in a nasty fire."

   "My cute little…" you trailed off, following her line of sight to the fluffy pink slippers by the front door and groaned.

   "They suit you. This whole place suits you - cozy and cute. It's very you. I like it."

   Smooth.

   Everything about Jennie was smooth like a shot of whiskey.

   "O-oh, thank you," you stumbled through the short phrase, fighting off the tinge of embarrassment that threatened to crawl across your skin. Jennie watched you in amusement, enjoying your reaction.

   "We've got another call," her coworker stated, shaking his head at her blatant flirting before heading out the door.

   "I've gotta go but-" she grinned, looking around your quaint little abode, "-maybe you can give me a tour sometime. I'd love to see more of you."

   There was a giggle on her lips and a soft blush on her cheeks as she walked backward to the door, her eyes lingering on you once more, taking in every last detail. Her gaze alone had been more than enough to send your heart into a flutter, but the playful wink that accompanied her shy wave was the final nail in your coffin.

   Ms. Jennie Kim would be the death of you and you couldn't think of a better way to go.

[ihatetaxes99]

A Brief Retrospective Look At MVA (In The Anime)

Well. Here we are. Every end of the time is another begun. After what has felt like years of anticipation (mostly because it actually has been years), My Villain Academia has been fully animated. Well, "fully" may be the wrong word here, but that's something I'll get into later.

To honour the end of the arc, I decided to do two things: One, I re-read the entirety of the arc in the manga all in one sitting; Two, I rewatched all five episodes of the anime's adaptation back to back once again. My life is pain and I know not of sleep. Anyway, the reason I did this is because of a little project I proposed to myself back just before the first episode aired; Once MVA was done and dusted, I would go back and give my own retrospective on the whole thing. Because why the hell not, sounds like fun. This will also hopefully be less emotional than my thoughts I shared as the episodes were still airing, but who knows?

So, let's begin. And I wish to start by stating that My Villain Academia is my absolute favourite arc in the manga. It did a lot of things right. It focused entirely on my favourite faction, the villains. It offers a glimpse into their lives and goes a long way in humanising them, particularly Spinner and Shigaraki. It sets up key points for others too, such as Mr. Compress' habit of thinking more about the bigger picture than the others, which would factor into his major reveal during the Paranormal Liberation War and of course the formation of the Front itself. It introduced us to Rikiya Yotsubashi, one of my favourite characters in the manga, even if he honestly peaked in this arc and was never as good again. And it gave us a large-scale, grueling fight for supremacy in which I found myself actively rooting for the League. It is, in my mind, the very best of BNHA, the only arc I would want them to do well in the anime. They could screw up literally everything else and I would be happy if MVA was even just as good as the manga, it didn't even need to be better. I would have been delighted to have an excuse to experience the arc all over again, seeing my favourite moments with the sublime soundtrack and voice acting.

Yeah… 

But before I get to that, let us take a little trip of sorts down memory lane to see the road to MVA, what led to it. So, 2021 rolls around. What a fun year. It's just 2020 without the excitement of everything being so uncertain, and frankly it's been really fucking boring as a year. However, BNHA Season Five was announced. In February, we get the first trailer for the upcoming season. It's... It's fine. Obviously, it focuses heavily on the Joint Training Arc (in fact, that is all it shows) and although I despise that arc with a passion, it's not too bad. I had not watched the anime since Overhaul ended, so my plan was I just wouldn't watch JTA and would wait until the big attraction, MVA. And so, Joint Training starts. And it goes on. And on. And on. I checked back almost two months later to discover it still wasn't over yet. Now I found this odd. Joint Training Arc was horrible for many reasons, but the big one was that it dragged on for so long as a result of Horikoshi's health complications, which is by no means his fault. But, surely the anime, which would consistently release on a weekly basis, wouldn't have the issues associated with this. Episodes of BNHA have always encompassed around three to five chapters, and Joint Training's were shorter than usual, so why was it taking more than ten episodes to adapt it? 

Very strange, but I didn't question it much. Then, the key visuals released, confirming that MVA was at the very least happening. Great, wonderful. I love it. We've got the whole gang there, seeming like they're in Deika, looks pretty good.

Wait, did I say whole gang? Yeah, my bad, there was someone missing. Spinner. Now, I am not the biggest Spinner fan so I wasn't prepared to riot over his exclusion like I would have been if Compress wasn't in it. But this was starting to get strange. Spinner was the main narrator of MVA. Even if his importance was not on the level of Shigaraki, Twice and Toga, it was certainly more than Dabi and Compress, who did both appear in the art. Why was he excluded? Obviously, I bet you're all having a good old chuckle to yourselves right now because in retrospect, this makes perfect sense now.

Alright, then. I heard from a friend around June time that Joint Training was finally over. Awesome, great, time for the good stuff- why is there a Christmas episode here?

Yes, this was probably what really started to get the alarm bells in my mind going. The Christmas episode- in June. Very, very strange. Also, absolutely no mention of Rikiya, which even if they were reshuffling things, I would have expected him to appear in the episode of Bakugo and Todoroki getting their licenses, since it directly ties in. Concern levels rising, I shrugged it off and waited for next week.

Bam. Major reshuffling. Now, Endeavour Agency comes first, fuck you if you want context for who the hell the PLF are or the significance of Destro's memoirs. This was really starting to worry me now. I told myself that the key visual meant that MVA had to be happening, but it was starting to seem like the villains were being shafted. A fact not helped by the new OP.

Look, I'm sorry. I don't mean to complain or whine, but season five's second OP is just bad. The music is fine, I have no problem there. But the visuals are just awful. Not only is there an extended focus on that stupid bloody trio of Midoriya, Bakugo and Todoroki, not only is there more screentime given to characters who don't appear in MVA or EA than the main cast of the former, but the animation itself is just so stiff and lacking. It had potential, but the visuals are the worst out of any recent anime opening I've seen in a good few years and this was what got me really panicking.

Boom, a beach episode smack in the middle of Endeavour Agency to promote the upcoming movie. Boom, adapting two chapters per episode during EA. Boom, the Shirakumo episode, which I always thought was part of the War Arc and not EA. But finally, mercifully, the title leaks came and it was revealed that episode 20 of season five would be the start of MVA.

20. Out of 25. And it was pretty obvious that they weren't going to end the season with MVA, so really, up to 24. Ohhh no…

But hey, I'm an optimist sometimes. I was excited to just finally be clear of all this nonsense and get to the real good stuff. Hell, in preparation, I watched the entirety of the season up to that point. I finally realised why JTA took so long and it's one of the most depressing things I've ever learned, in a bad way. Were all those flashbacks really necessary? EA was okay, as someone who as a manga reader, already had the necessary context for the PLF stuff. The beach episode, I watched half of, got too bored and skipped the rest of. And you know what, I liked the Shirakumo chapters. They weren't as good in the anime, but it was nice to see.

And then, finally, in comes episode one of My Villain Academia, on a cold, dark August morning. I even bought Crunchyroll Premium to watch it as soon as possible, I was excited. All the messing around, all the crap, it was finally over and the time had come to enjoy what this season was really all about.

I can now safely say why Bones kept pushing back MVA, because if I was them, I would be embarrassed to show this.

No, that's not fair. I promised I wouldn't get too snarky, so let's reek things back in. As a whole, MVA has been… fine. Just fine. Not good enough to justify the bullshit, but not horrendous (mostly.) In fact, right now, I'll give a ranking of the episodes, my worst to best:

5) Episode One 

4) Episode Two

3) Episode Three

2) Episode Five

1) Episode Four

Yeah. So, there's a clear pattern here, that things more or less got better as time went on. From just straight up bad, to still not great, to alright, to the final two episodes being what I would comfortably call good. This is not a good look. I'm sorry, but Episode One, an episode that I just called bad, is still one of the season's best in spite of that. That spells out awful things for this season as a whole. But what exactly made this such a disaster?

Well, cut content is the big thing. MVA in the anime cuts out:

The League's battle with the CRC

Their struggle with poverty

The sushi joke setup

All of Spinner's character

All of Rikiya's character, including most mentions of Detnerat and Miyashita

Fairly integral pieces of Skeptic's character

Most of Giran's integrity and bravery

This doesn't look too bad at first. It could be far worse. We got basically everything else from the arc, so what? Well, I would already be annoyed about all of these cuts, but the issue is that they cause a knock on effect. Without the establishment of the League's poverty, the payoff of Toga's duffle coat now makes no sense. Without the setup of Spinner's characterisation, his battle with Hanabata now feels hollow. Rikiya's surrender to the League now makes even less sense, as his love of human life and desire to cause no more death is completely non-existent. The first time Rikiya being a CEO is mentioned is in the closing minutes of the arc. The sushi scene is hamfisted into a two second flashback just so that the payoff makes some sort of sense, but again, it is hollow without it being at the start (this is also the first mention of the League's poverty and it literally happens just as they are freed from it.) Can you see how these little seemingly unimportant cuts spiral into bigger problems? I would have been pissed even if they hadn't caused some tremendous cascades, but the fact that they did just makes this from a subjective issue to an objective one.

Yes. They did some things well. Toga's backstory is mostly intact, SMP is just as satisfying as the manga, Tenko's backstory is one of the best things the anime has ever done, the awakening is very well done, I adore the PLF formation as much as I did in the manga. Everything important is intact, but as I keep saying, you cannot just keep the bare minimum and expect it to work. How about in the next arc, they decide to cut everything involving Bakugo out, and only keep him jumping in front of Midoriya because it's the only absolutely necessary thing he does in the arc? People would be pissed, and it's the same thing that's happening here. It's a problem, it's not just a bad adaptation, it leads to bad storytelling in general.

The animation. Now, I do not believe this is a be all, end all. BNHA's anime is never going to look as gorgeous as Horikoshi's art, that is a fact and I do not begrudge them for that. They have a week to draw hundreds upon hundreds of frames, it's not a process that lends itself well to good looks and the animators and artists do their best with what they have. This does not change the fact that it is extremely hit or miss. Some things, Tenko's backstory in particular, look fantastic. Other things, mostly every action scene, make me laugh at how bad they can look and some things, particularly Twice and Re-Destro's hideous designs in the anime, make me cringe. The lighting is also an issue. Garaki's lab looked fantastic, but every other scene is just boring mid-afternoon with dull, basic lighting. I don't expect huge detail, but sometimes, it fails to achieve competency and as an extremely popular show, I don't think that's okay. I don't blame the animators, I blame the higher ups. And while I wouldn't mind the poor animation and art in an MVA that at least has all the story content, this does not have that and so I am even harsher than I would have been.

MVA was rushed. That's not up for debate. It took forever to get to it and once it came, things moved so quickly that they gave me whiplash, with no time to think or lament. Now, this could be attributed to the story structure of the arc, which is essentially a series of big fights, and it just isn't as bad in the manga because I can stop at any time to catch my breath. But I think it's worth noting that the anime at least highlights these issues. Curious dies in the same episode where she first appears, really driving home how pointless she was in the end. Episode Two alone tries to cover everything from the journey to Deika up until Jin finding Toga's body. That's a lot of content to fit in one twenty minute period and it was bound to feel messy in the end. I will say that, much like everything aside from the animation, this did get better as time went on, with episodes three, four and five adapting more reasonable amounts of content, compared to one giving us almost nothing and two giving us too much.

At the end of the day, that was it. The show's over. MVA has been closed in the anime. It will never be given a chance to improve, to go from just fine to anything even close to the manga. Why did this happen? I don't think we'll ever truly know. Some blame the new movie, others the studio's lack of faith in the villains, and there are those who say that it's just how fate turned out. I personally think it's a combination of all of these things. Without the movie, that beach episode wouldn't exist, giving more time to MVA, without the studio's hesitation, we'd perhaps get stuff like an actual good OP and perhaps some more general hype for it (I mean, MVA didn't even get a trailer.) Whatever the reason is, we got what we got. My verdict is something that's very overplayed as of late, but seriously, just read the manga with the fantastic soundtrack playing in the background. The anime's adaptation of MVA is not worth the time investment, when you could read the manga in roughly the same length of time and get more content, a more coherent plot and beautiful artwork.

So, what may come next for Season Six? I don't know. Season Five has definitely been one of the most unpopular seasons in the anime, with a lot of people speaking out against it, but this mostly seems to come from the Western fanbase, so it's up in the air if Bones will learn from their mistakes. Since they'll have a full season to do presumably the War and Rouge Deku arcs, then I feel like they'll put on a better show. But we just don't know. Spinner had his spotlight stolen this time around, will Compress suffer the same fate in Season Six? Dabi and Toga will probably be handled well, since they have inexplicably high amounts of popularity, but with his own lack of recognition rivalling Spinner's, I can see Sako ending up much the same way. Time will tell, I suppose.

[yoondoze]

make a wish | jjk

jeongguk doesn’t know it, but his wish came true.

pairing: jeon jeongguk x reader

word count: 3.5k

genre: angst, best friend!au

warnings: mentions of sex, language

a/n: uhh been in a jeongguk mood recently, so i’m riding it out through writing angsty drabbles :’) this is lowkey unedited so shh

You’re sick of sharing birthdays with Jeon Jeongguk. 

Yeah, your perfectly timed entrance into this world on the same date was the basis of your friendship, but every year? It made sense when you were kids and had to invite the entire class to your parties since everyone had the same friends. But now you’re sixteen, and things are different. 

While the two of you have always been close friends, what with growing up around the block together and spending the dog days of summer crossing between the sandbox and the pool with one another, you also have put together your own separate friend groups at school. And now that all of them are here together, it’s an awkward intermingling of teenagers that don’t have much in common, other than that they all suddenly forget who they’re here for when they see an attractive person their same age. 

The only good thing about it is that Jeongguk invited his cute guy friends. Not here for you, per se, but the attention is all the same. Especially when it’s coming from Park Jimin. The way he wished you a happy birthday earlier was the most charming thing you’ve ever seen to date.

Jeongguk, bowl cut and all, is having the time of his life. The fact that its his 16th birthday doesn’t matter as much as the fact that it’s his birthday. He doesn’t feel much different like he thought he might. Maybe it is because every cool YA protagonist he ever idolized was saving the world at 16. By now, he’s decided that all the romanticized versions of teenage lives he’s been sold on up to this very moment is a scam. Nonetheless, he’s a simple boy. He’s just enjoying the time bowling with his friends.

 ...Until the moment he lays eyes on you.

The alley is dark, and though it obscures your features, he knows you well enough to see you’re upset. Your friends are barely hanging out with you, seeming to have left you behind for his friends, who coincidentally left him behind for yours. He also knows you compromised for this party. You wanted painting, envisaging a lovely evening with your companions, seated behind easels and letting your creativity flow onto a canvas. You were eight hours older and therefore the one in charge of making the decisions - it was a no-brainer, in your eyes.

But Jeongguk, never one to give in, insisted on bowling. Your parents were forcing a shared party again this year, and with how you eventually accepted that Jeongguk would throw a fit if he had to paint on his birthday, you reluctantly agreed under the obligatory condition that he invited his friend Jimin.

Who he was starting to hate, by the way. You gave more attention to the kid you were crushing on from history instead of the best friend you’d grown up with your entire life. Every time he saw you stare longingly at some stupid boy that was as mature as a cucumber, he wanted to scream that the real pickle was standing right in front of you!

Give him a break. It’s the only analogy his sixteen year old mind can think of. 

The caring boy he is, he walks over to where you sit solemnly by yourself. All you’ve been doing for the past five minutes is tapping your feet to the overplayed pop music flooding the joint and continuously picking at your fingers - an unquestionably fantastic time. He shoves out his hand for you to take, which you willingly do in hopes for a cure for your boredom, and he drags you over to his lane. The way you roll your eyes at his enthusiasm only makes him like you more. That’s because it’s always accompanied by a fond smile, and he loves to see your dimples.

He’d never tell you, though. He’d definitely never tell his mom, because he knows she’d get too eager and tell your mom, and then she’d tell you. His mom has been rooting for the two of you since day one. She always was saying things like, “I’m not letting you date anyone unless it’s Y/N,” or, “I can’t wait until you and Y/N go to prom!” 

At one point he wondered if he actually liked you or if it was the result of his mom’s wishes manifesting into real life after such diligence. He has since then accepted his feelings as his own, but won’t deny how the ideas sometimes made his cheeks flush.

In the time since the party has started, your “friends” have disappeared to the bathroom twice. His friends are over getting snacks without him, but it doesn’t upset him anymore. He didn’t really want their company anyway. It’s just the two of you, how it’s always been, and how he wanted it from the start.

“Watch, watch, okay?” He says, excitement dripping off every syllable. He figures he can maybe lift your mood if his is high enough to share some with you.

“Okay, I’m watching!” you exclaim. Jeongguk swells as he watches your cheeks bounce.

He seats you behind the machine and hurries to pick up a fourteen-pound ball swirled with blue and purple.

Now that he actually has to do it, Jeongguk’s heart races just a little bit. He just doesn’t want to embarrass himself, that’s all. His skills have improved from practice and the bowling team at school and it would suck if he screwed up. Especially considering that the reason he was so certain about a bowling party was so he’d have the chance to show off to you. But then he thinks it might make you laugh if he embarrasses himself, so his reassurance is that it’ll be a win either way.

He takes a deep breath. He draws back skillfully and with four purposeful steps, his right foot slips behind him and his arm swings fluidly toward his target. The ball hits the waxed floor rolling. The tension in his body is stiff as it heads right toward the pins, and boom! All ten fall in a domino effect, the rough clattering echoing in the alley. A perfect strike. 

His fists pump into the air as his chest fills with pride. He spins on his heels, eyes sparkling as he hopes to find a smile on your face when he gets there -

But you’re not even paying attention. His ecstatic expression falls as quickly as his spirit does. Your head is turned from him, and when he follows your gaze, it lands on none other than fucking Park Jimin. There’s a subtle smile resting on your lips as you focus on his mindless laughter as opposed to Jeongguk’s imposing strike. Jimin is standing at the controls of a claw machine, working the joystick as his friends direct him to grab some stupid inflatable basketball the size of his palm. If it were Jeongguk, he’d go for the plush bear in the machine over and get it for you in one try.

“C’mon guys!” Your mom yells, breaking you from your infatuated stare. “Cake!”

The boys give up on their escapade and the girls magically apparate back from their fifteen minute long bathroom break. Thrilled jeers and whoops sound from everyone now filtering into the party room, somehow more excited about it than the birthday boy and girl themselves.

As you get up from your seat, you meet Jeongguk’s eyes with a quick raise of your brows, oblivious to the fact you just obliterated his heart without saying a single word. Then he’s trailing behind you, brushing his hair from his face with a sigh while everyone gathers around the table and lets you take your place at the head.

Amidst the singing and the cheers from your peers, Jeongguk can’t stop himself from glancing over to you. Right away, he knows the smiles you’re tossing out to your friends are forced. He regrets having this party in the first place. He hates seeing you disappointed and upset. He’ll choose painting any day if it means you won’t be like this.

You, on the other hand, are trying to get a peek of Jimin at every second possible. You can make out his voice among the others while singing. It’s just happy birthday, but his voice is actually really pretty, so you jot it down to reference in your next day dream.

“Make a wish!” 

He thinks hard, imagining everything he could want at this point in his life. The spot for team captain, to ace his next Chemistry test, for a new bike. But wishing for something like that seems silly when he already knows what he really wants. 

A big breath of air - “special for your 16th!” - and the two of you are blowing out the candles. One is all it takes for each of the waving flames to flicker out.

Jeongguk wishes that you’ll like him back.

You wish that Jimin will like you back.

☆☆☆ 

In retrospect, maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to shift your relationship with Jeongguk into something more than platonic friends. At this point, he’d call it friends with benefits. You’d call it getting your heart ripped out every time he dialed your number. Even worse, it was undeniably voluntary.

It was an awkward start. Both of you got drunk one night in his apartment, sitting on the cold tile of the kitchen floor, started asking heavy, slurred questions, and maybe admitted, “yeah, I’d fuck you,” on a whim. And then maybe you did just that.

It was supposed to be a one-time event. A weird moment in your timeline of friendship that you’d agree on forgetting. Something that you both would pretend never happened so things wouldn’t change.

However, Jeongguk’s life had been a roller coaster recently. He moved to the city with the intention of freedom only for things to get more complicated. His career was struggling, his girlfriend broke up with him, his friends barely spoke to him anymore. 

So it was just you and him again, like it had always been. You were the only one who still visited, who still called, who still cared. That’s what friends are for. Help when times are rough and be there when needed. That’s your part of the deal. 

Sex isn’t always included in said deal, but it is this time around. 

It’s not much different. You come over for a regular movie night like you used to, but sometimes it ends up in his bedroom, that’s all. To him, anyway. You’re not sure how he hasn’t caught on yet. He’s so preoccupied that he probably chalks your racing pulse up to being horny, or interprets the emotion in your kisses as neediness. The way you hold onto him or say his name as pleasure.

It’s that endless love you have for him taking its many forms. It’s dropping off extra meals to stick in the fridge and checking in to make sure he isn’t beating himself up to the point where he can’t get out of bed. It’s also letting him fuck you when he needs to feel something. 

He’s just in a rut. He just needs some time to get his life together and figure shit out. And from there it’ll be peaches and cream. When his life is on the upturn, he’ll realize you’re the one who’s always been there and who always will be, and then he’ll fall in love with you too. You’re not scared, you’re just helping your best friend through a tough time. But then he’s panting, rolling off you to take a shower right after.

It stings every time. Even when you think it will be different.

At the end of the day, if it makes him feel better, you’ll endure it a thousand times over. On a bright side that’s not all that bright, for the moments you spend intertwined, you can at least pretend he’s yours. You can imagine it’s just another hot night shared in your apartment as you live out your dreamy domestic couple’s life. It sometimes seems that way with how much you take care of him, but he’d never see it as anything more than platonic.

Jeongguk knows you love him, of course, but he doesn’t know the extent it reaches. He doesn't know that your heart shatters every time he gives you a kiss on the cheek and says he loves you. He doesn’t know that when you say it back, you don’t mean just as friends. He doesn’t know you’d drop everything and run if he asked you to. You didn’t even know it for a while. Because falling in love with Jeongguk is slow and comes day by day without realizing, until suddenly you’re stuck neck deep without an inkling in your mind of trying to escape. It’s a gentle, spellbinding bloom you wouldn’t trade for the world.

From this view on his bed, you can see a glimpse of his figure behind the foggy glass of his upright shower. You tug your t-shirt back on for some modesty as if it still matters, swallowing down the tightening in your throat. If he feels your eyes lingering on him, he doesn’t show it. For whatever reason, watching him wash his face in small circles makes your stomach sink inexplicably.

Jeongguk at the fresh age of twenty-one is a lot different than Jeongguk at sixteen. Gone is the bowl cut, in comes long wavy hair that hangs in front of his face, always seeming to fall perfectly to frame his features. His shoulders broadened along with his horizons. His personality hasn’t changed, but it’s easy to think it has with the dark cloud that seems to follow him wherever he walks nowadays. You never realized how cute his dimples were until they started showing less and less.

You toy with the idea of maybe just confessing tonight. Get it off your chest once and for all. It would save you a lot of heartbreak, but you can already picture yourself sputtering it out for tense silence to fill the air, and for you to walk out and never come back. You can’t decide if it’s really worth risking when he’s the only thing you’ve got. There are a myriad of directions your life could take, but you wouldn’t want a single one without him in it, even if it crushes you.

A deep sigh escapes you. It’s your birthday today - shouldn’t you be enjoying it instead of being so morally torn?

How is it that you had him so close for so many years yet still missed your chance?

The memory of wishing for Jimin’s returned affection as a teenager resurfaces and makes you wince. While he did end up liking you back, it was a mess of a relationship that left you moping back to Jeongguk after just a few months. It should have been obvious back then that it was him all along.

He was always right in front of you, doting on you, leaving his everlasting mark on your life without even meaning to. Charming and humble and telling jokes to make you laugh rather than to make you think he was funny, being kind out of the purity of his character rather than to be rewarded. Apologizing to ants when he had to kill them and then sulking the rest of the night, learning to braid your hair while watching movies, listening to your every rant and ramble with the utmost attention as if it was the only thing that mattered to him.

Then it hits you that it’s not just about you and never was. It’s Jeongguk’s birthday today, too. You wished it to each other when you walked through the door, but that’s not a celebration, and neither is sex. You’re reminded that your job is to be a friend regardless of how you feel because you know he’d do the same, and good friends wouldn’t spend your special day wallowing in their own self-pity.

With renewed vigor, you’re pushing yourself off the bed and padding out to his sorry excuse for a kitchen. There’s barely enough space to move around comfortably and you can’t imagine how he does it on a daily basis. The view beyond the counter-top and out the balcony connected to the living room is beautiful, though. It’s miles upon miles of shining lights and skyscrapers that embrace the velvet dusk of the sky. That’s broke city living, you suppose. You flick on the light, dim but just enough to see. 

His cabinets are an absolute mess. There’s no organization to it at all, no method to the madness. It’s blatant even from the unsteady view on your tippy toes. You catch sight of some peanut butter, bags of chips, packets of ramen, a box of cinnamon frosted pop tarts…

You almost lose your balance as you shift everything around, but the feeling of joy when you see that signature box is indescribable. It’s exactly what you need. 

The blue and white packaging of the Hostess CupCakes has been opened, and considering it was sitting at the back of the top shelf, probably forgotten about. However, you’re sure it’ll be enough for him.

You find the lighter fairly easily, pulling open all the drawers out and rummaging through them. As expected, there’s no organization either. Measuring cups and pens in one, scissors and a single oven mitt in another. It’s the third and final drawer you tug open to find something to possibly substitute what you’re looking for.

Not that you expected him to have birthday candles lying around, but you didn’t think you’d be using an old red crayon in ones place. It’ll make do. It has to, considering that the noise of Jeongguk shutting off the shower is already reverberating off the walls. It won’t be much of a surprise if he walks out here and asks what you’re doing before you can even finish.

With delicate fingers, you press the end of the crayon into the cake just enough for it to stay upright. The lighter takes a couple tries, as does getting the wax to melt down enough to reach the paper, but eventually a small glowing flame takes shape. Flickering orange and everything you need it to be. You can’t put your finger on why your eyes start to tear up when you look at it, but then Jeongguk is calling your name.

“One sec! Just sit down,” you say loudly, ready to shout at him to stay back if you hear a creaky foot step coming your way.

“...Why?”

“Just do it!”

“Alright, alright.” He surrenders, the weariness coating his tongue one that you hope you can wash away within the next few seconds. “I am sitting.”

Hands as stable as an anchor, you slide the cupcake into your palms and walk carefully so as to not put out the dwarfed blaze. You turn your back to push open the door with and glide into the room with an atypical but much appreciated vivacity.

His eyes widen and an open mouthed smile tweaks at his lips as he perches at the edge of the bed. The flame is already halfway down the paper, but he seems impressed with your extempore candle. It’s the only source of light in the room, and his face underneath the gentle glimmer is a sight that you know you’ll lock away forever to look back on with adoration.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you...” you begin to sing, not bothered with the worry of embarrassment. Your lawless, flimsy tone elicits a bubbly laugh from Jeongguk. Suddenly, the bright Gguk you grew up beside returns, the one you love more than ever.

“Happy birthday dear Jeongguk-”

His voice harmonizes with yours, but he sings your name instead of his. He doesn’t even have to try for it to rattle you to your core. Your name off his tongue is by far the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.

“Happy birthday to you.”

You extend your arms out so he can take in the makeshift festivity for all it is. His damp side-swept bangs reflect the pale gleam like black gossamer, and his eyes swimming with sentimentality.

“Make a wish,” you say, suppressing the wild flutter of your heart.

Jeongguk cups his hands under yours, pushing them back until the cupcake is equidistant to the both of you.

He says it firmly, not to be argued with. “No, together.”

You pretend to wipe the sweat from your forehead, thinking of what you might want this year. A job opportunity, to win the lottery, an easier semester at school. You don’t have to ponder for long. How could you, when what you really want has been sitting patiently at the forefront of your mind for almost a year?

Jeongguk sighs. If he could have anything in the world right now, what would it be?

In unison, you suck in a deep breath and close your eyes. You blow with all your might, extinguishing the flame together in one as the room falls dark again.

You wish that Jeongguk will like you back.

Jeongguk just wishes that life will get easier.