#i would draw shitty art that would go with the lyrics

[angryborzois]

i feel like ive grown up with Eve's characters and it's actually cool thinking abt that

[polarisbibliotheque]

97;Vergil!!

You have NO IDEA how much I started laughing when I saw this was the song for the first one of the Spotify Wrapped Special requests xD

I mean, the lyrics kinda go pretty well with Vergil, but the chaos and viciousness of the song is directly opposit to the blue devil. Nevertheless, pulled it off: started dumb and ended on a sweet note!

Spotify Wrapped Special: 97, Vergil - Reckless Life, by Guns n' Roses

Pairing: Vergil x Reader

Summary: Dante gets bored easy - specially when Vergil keeps reading his poetry in silence. It's time to go out and have some fun: the red devil has a thing or two to show you about your beloved blue devil.

Author's notes: I once saw a drawing on pinterest with Vergil answering the phone at the shop while having drumsticks in his hands and drummer Vergil has lived rent free in my mind ever since. I didn't pin it and have no idea who the artist is (pinterest being shitty with people pinning other's art and not crediting it), so I'm writing this to curse you all with the image of drummer Vergil as well, enjoy :)

About the Song: Reckless Life is from Guns n' Roses' album, Lies. It features Slash screaming at the beginning, it's kinda short and fast-paced. Gn'R has a lot of punk influences, Duff (their bassist) being one of the guys from the punk scene in Seattle before moving to LA and joining Gn'R. Even if there's a lot of blues in their music, more so on Use Your Illusion 1 & 2 albums, they always have the crazy, fast-paced, vicious, quick punk rock songs - this is one of them. The lyrics are about their reckless rock n' roll lifestyle, so it kinda suits the song in general.

This isn't researched, I just thought it'd be nice to leave my two cents on the songs that end up here. I'm a crazy music lover and could talk about it all day, so feel free to skip these "about the song" bits if it isn't to your liking ^^

97, Vergil – Reckless Life, by Guns n’ Roses

“Man… You gotta learn to have a lil’ more fun in that life of yours!”

As always, Dante was sitting on his huge chair, leaning on the desk while looking at his brother. Vergil, in the other hand, had his legs crossed, sitting with a perfect posture on the couch – limiting himself to only raise his silvery eyes from the pages of his current read.

“I am having fun.”

As he muttered in response, Dante just glanced at you with exasperation in his sky-blue eyes.

“Hey, he’s your brother. Don’t look at me like that.” You shrugged, leaning on his desk while skimming over the magazine that was left there for half a year.

“Hell sure wrecked your sense of fun…” Dante sighed, slapping the desk while suddenly getting up. You and Vergil just stared at the red devil. “We’re goin’ out! C’mon, get yourselves ready!”

“We don’t have enough money for whatever you want to do, Dante…” Vergil just rolled his eyes, turning them back to his book.

You held back a laugh. They were perfect for each other; you would always stand by that.

“We don’t need money, ass-hat!” With that, Dante gently kicked Vergil’s foot, making his brother stare at him as if summoned swords would suddenly pin Dante on the wall. “Gotta show ya how to live this life, c’mon. Let’s go!”

You didn’t argue. Leaving the magazine back on the desk – which would probably stay there for another half year – you took your leather jacket and waited by the door.

“You’re going along with this, huh…?” Vergil’s words were slow, and his eyes were piercing, but you were already used to that, just shrugging in response. He sighed, heavily. “I am going to regret this…”

*

“Hey, wanna see somethin’ cool?”

A slight smile appeared on your lips as Dante leaned by your side on the bar and nudged you with his shoulder.

“Why do I have the feeling it involves vexing Vergil…?” You looked back at the red devil with a smart look in the corner of your eyes, making Dante flash you a positively mischievous grin.

“Because annoying him is usually cool.” Dante winked at you. “Since we were kids, sweetheart.”

Vergil came back with a couple more drinks for each of you – both had done a job for the bar owner and the poor man wrongfully gave the Spardas the honor of never having to pay for anything in the bar.

Indeed, you didn’t need money to have fun that night. Point for Dante.

“Ya know, I can play the guitar like a beast…” Dante suddenly started talking a little too loud, obviously for Vergil’s ears. “But I bet Shakespeare over here completely forgot how to play something cool instead of only his boring violin songs.”

“It isn’t boring, it’s classical music.” Vergil glanced at his brother with an icy look. “You should try it sometime. It might get something into that foolish head of yours.”

“Believe it or not, I’ve already heard Dante blasting classical music.” You had to point that out. Of course, it wasn’t the brooding music type Vergil enjoyed, but the more energic ones. Mozart was an all time favorite of the red devil. “No. It wasn’t Bohemian Rhapsody, although I do count that as a classical song.”

“Who doesn’t?” Dante agreed but kept on speaking as soon as Vergil opened his mouth to argue. “Anyway. Bet’cha can’t play drums like the good ol’ days, smart pants.”

You immediately glanced at Vergil, mouth slightly open. The blue devil noticed your glare but didn’t give in: he had only a stern look to his brother.

“You play drums…? Really…?!” Oh, yes. That night was surely turning into something very interesting.

“I don’t find it that surprising.” Vergil had one of his eyebrows raised, his icy look still in his eyes. The rosy tone on his cheeks, on the other hand, gave away how the alcohol was starting to affect him – even if just a little.

“We used to have a band when we were kids, sweetheart.” Dante leaned on the bar again; his cheeks also rosy. His behavior and cocky smile gave away how much the alcohol was getting to the son of Sparda, though. “The Hell Brothers. Dad laughed a lot when we told ‘im the name.”

“Mom thought it was terrible.” Vergil chuckled as he reminisced alongside his brother. Not something you would see every day. “I thought it was fitting.”

“On that, we agree!” Dante laughed at him, but scoffed right after. “The good ol’ days are gone, now. Smart pants over here probably forgot everything.”

“Well, for your information…” As soon as Vergil started talking, you had to hold back your laugh. He didn’t let that side of him come out much, but the mix of alcohol and Dante taunting him, made Vergil lift one of his fingers and get this professorial look while standing tall. You had to say, you loved it. “I do remember. I even picked up a few songs after we grew apart.”

“Really?!” You and Dante asked at the same time, leaning towards Vergil with an unsurmountable amount of interest in your eyes.

He was a sitting duck, willingly entering the predator’s nest – you and Dante. Poor Vergil didn’t even see it coming.

“Bet’cha can’t play on stage with me.” Dante smacked the bar; his sky-blue eyes fiery like his devil trigger. “You don’t have the balls.”

“I don’t, huh…?” Vergil’s silvery eyes carried Dante’s taunt, with a different fire – one filled with competition.

Both of them had that issue – but Vergil held on to his pride even to survive. It was his pride that dragged him out of Hell – and it was his pride that made him fall into the stupidest of bets alongside his brother. Vergil’s beautiful strength but ultimate fatal flaw.

You couldn’t help but smile. Such a dumb, wonderful powerhouse of a man-demon.

“Never had, Verge. You’d say you don’t want to look foolish…” While talking, Dante threw his hair back, making his voice darker and raspier, impersonating his twin. You snorted while drinking, having to spit it back in your glass – definitely not one of your most wonderful moments, but that lit something inside Vergil: he was being made fun of and you couldn’t hold back your laugh. The game was on, right then and there. “But we both know it’s ‘cause you don’t have the balls to go on stage and show your skills. Must be all old and rusty.”

Vergil didn’t even answer. He just took off his coat.

You stared back at him, eyebrows furrowed. It was rare, but there was Vergil wearing his leathery vest, arms completely free and hands covered only by his old gloves. He usually sported this look while training with family – you and everyone in the crew included – but it was very unusual for him to have bare arms on the streets. He gave you his treasured coat, making you immediately hold it.

“Save it for me, please.” With that phrase, Vergil turned the glass with his drink in one shot, drinking it as if it was water. You looked even more baffled. “So. Are we going or what? Don’t you have the balls, Dante…?”

You turned back at Dante – eyes wide and a surprised smile on your lips; but no surprise was better than the one stamped on the red devil’s face. Dante finished his own drink in one shot as well, laughing in the process.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ about! C’mon, smart pants!” He got up, clapping in excitement. Turning back at you, Dante winked while talking. “Get ready to see The Hell Brothers, sweetheart!”

You watched in awe as Dante had a word with the band playing that night. When they looked at Vergil – arms crossed, just staring at them – the men shrugged and figured why not. After all, everyone there knew Dante and a favor could be collected as a favor later – in case they had any problems with demons.

The bassist and vocalist went to the band area with the Sparda brothers – Dante using a pick from the guitarist and Vergil with the drumsticks from the drummer. You could hardly believe that was happening, in all honesty.

“Hey, bitches! Pay attention, we got new guys playin’ this one with us!” The vocalist took the cigarette out of his mouth to scream on the mic, making everyone turn to them. “They call themselves The Hell Brothers, a mouthful, huh?! Let’s burn this place down then!”

“Wat’cha wanna play, Verge? What do you remember?” Dante turned to his brother, who was testing the pedals while the vocalist was speaking. Vergil just lifted his silver eyes to his twin; a smirk playing in the corner of his lips.

“You know this one. Try to keep up.”

With those words, Vergil hit the cymbals four times before releasing all his strength on the snare drum – Dante immediately smiled, knowing very well which song was. He didn’t expect that from Vergil but hey, he didn’t even expect his brother to accept playing with him again either. As soon as the cue for the guitar came in, Dante began the fast and vicious riff of Reckless Life.

“I’m reckless and feelin’ no pain, you know I’ve got no need to control! Livin’ with the danger, I’m always on the edge now, with million dollar visions that I hold!”

Fast and vicious was a nickname for both of them – although, as soon as the vocals started singing the screamed lyrics, you noticed Dante was able to slow down to simple chords, but Vergil remained on the same speedy beat, setting the quick punk rhythm for the whole band. He didn’t stop and it seemed he didn’t lose both rhythm and strength.

That was another thing you noticed while watching him: Vergil followed his twin brother and played like a beast, almost as if he envied Tommy Lee himself. You argued the drummer of Mötley Crüe was one of the most entertaining to watch just from the sheer strength he used to play, but Vergil… He wasn’t much different, if you had to admit.

There was something raw, brutal in the way he played. Nothing like the refined emotions Vergil could sing with his violin… That was his baser instinct, his devil coming out. Indeed, they were the Hell Brothers: you could see a facet of Vergil he so very rarely let out.

On the brink of the riff, Vergil already had sweat dripping from his forehead – arms slightly glistening from it. You opened a bright smile when you saw him singing along to the lyrics just before the riff, closing his eyes as he played with his feelings overflowing.

“Livin’ like this never ever tore my life apart, I know how to maintain, ‘cause it’s comin’ from my heart!”

There was something of beautiful about his fangs slightly showing and the savage light on his eyes as Vergil opened them again – meeting yours for a brief moment. You smiled back at him, singing along the lyrics. And that, made him smile back – a cocky smirk, but nonetheless, a beautiful one.

“I lead a reckless life! And I don’t need your advice! I lead a reckless life! And you know, it’s my only vice!”

It was one of your favorite parts of the song really, just how the drums followed perfectly the guitar solo. As Dante shredded as well as Slash himself, he turned to the drums, finding Vergil’s eyes. The brothers smiled at each other for a glimpse of a second – something that made you scream, rooting for them. Dante was going all out on the guitar, and Vergil was following it – you didn’t want any of them to have a sudden moment of logic that could spiral them into their usually depressive thoughts. They were having fun, as brothers, after so long.

You could only imagine how Eva and Sparda were proud of them playing together as kids even if they weren’t that good when they were young – something you doubted wholeheartedly.

Planting one foot on the bass drum, Dante kept soloing while Vergil quickly rolled his eyes – either way, he kept on playing, never allowing Dante to slow down for a second. He kept the vicious rhythm, complimenting Dante with cymbals and snare drums whenever the song called for it.

You could swear the drum was going to fall apart at the end, really.

“Reckless life! I lead a reckless life!”

A small pause on it made Vergil rest the drumsticks on the snare drums, throwing his head back so his hair could go back to its place – the white locks were dripping with sweat and his neck was glistening as it seemed like he had just come out of a swimming pool. Vergil could try all he wanted, but his hair was already coming down his eyes – but it didn’t really seem like he cared at the moment.

With a breath for the last riff, the fierce rhythm came back, only to wrap up with him smashing the cymbals and snare drums in the same rhythm Dante stroke his chords, the bass drum never stopping for a second. You could see how both of the Sparda brothers could vent their frustrations and endless energy on rock and roll.

As they wrapped up the song, you got up from your bar stool, raising both arms and screaming as if you were seeing Guns n’ Roses themselves. The whole bar was fired up with energy, screaming and applauding, asking for more. Vergil left the drumsticks on the drum snare and threw his dampened hair back once more, as he always did.

“Hey guys, that was great! Wanna go for another song?” The vocalist covered the mic, turning to the twins as you approached quickly with Vergil’s coat in your arms.

“Eh, I dunno. Mister frowny face here doesn’t really play anymore, this was probably a one-time thing.” Dante pointed at Vergil, who just observed his brother for a while. “Thanks, though. It’d be nice.”

“Hey! You guys playing more?!” You had a huge smile on your face, eyes glistening in the dimmed lights of the bar.

“They don’t seem like they will, angel.” The vocalist sighed, placing one of his hands on his waist and smiling at you. He looked back at Dante and Vergil. “That’s ya dove?”

“Yes. That is my dove…” Vergil murmured in response, throwing his hair back one more time. “You would like to hear more, love…?”

“Hell yes I would!” The excitement in your answer made Vergil let out a quick laugh, turning his eyes back to Dante.

“Can you keep up?”

“Hell yeah I can, ass-hat!” Dante laughed, taking off his coat now. It was hot and the night was just starting. “Keep an eye on this for me, sweetheart?”

“No worries, red devil.” You winked back, placing Dante’s coat alongside Vergil’s.

You ended up on the table with the other members of the band – who were quite happy to take some time off and drink while listening to good music for a change. No one would mess with you, obviously, after knowing you were the Hell Brothers drummer's partner.

As the vocalist announced their next song and they tuned their instruments, Vergil still kept his gaze on his brother. It was something he had forgotten about – that feeling of playing with Dante, of having a brother. Of course, Vergil loved music and playing his violin was always satisfactory – but playing with Dante in a band had a different dynamic; a dynamic that couldn’t be replaced by any instrument in the world.

The songs they played together might not be the most refined and beautifully composed in the world, but they spoke to a baser instinct only they knew was there – and only they would understand in each other.

“I missed this.” Vergil’s tone was dark as always, but Dante’s ears were attuned enough to his brother’s voice, making him turn back to Vergil immediately. His twin’s eyes, for a change, looked like molten platinum. “I like playing with you, Dante.”

“I like playing with you as well.” Dante smiled back, his sky-blue eyes carrying the love he never stopped feeling for his brother – even after the most despicable things Vergil did, Dante would never stop loving him. “I missed you so much, Verge.”

As a spectator, you could only see the genuine and heartfelt smile that painted Vergil’s lips – and how his eyes were vulnerable. Looking back at Dante, he carried the same expression – as if both brothers would allow some tears to fall before playing; sharing something only they knew about.

You could watch them playing together for the rest of your life.

[dairy-farmer]

Tim is trending in arts for some reason, nobody's sure why until they find out that an artist takes to making Tim Drake his muse. The artist draws Tim like... like he was a goddess bathing in the woods, unaware of the eyes seeing him. The artist draws Tim like he was the love child from pureness, naked with just a sheet covering his lower half as his fingers trace over an apple. The most famous picture is the one where Tim is looking at the viewer, smiling so innocently, so purely, so beautifully. A smile no one has seen since years ago, decades ago, a time before wayne. The art gets sold in museums, the artist well-known and face well-spread so it's to only mild shock when the artist meets Tim Drake for the first time and immediately gets down on one knee to propose.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖💖 I LOVE THIS SO MUCH!!!!

an artist and his (unknowing) muse!!!! i love the idea of this artist not having to know anything about tim personally, what his life is like, all the good and bad things he did- those don't matter to him. all that matters is tim. tim alone is what drives him, what fuels his art, what gets him up in the morning. he is the endless fountain of genius and artistic love that this artist has.

tim doesn't have to do anything but exist for this artist, they don't even have to have met before and it was tim's existence alone that brought forth so much success and depth to this person's art. so this artist getting down on one knee and proposing to tim!!!

the two of them would be like all those famous art couples only not toxic.

except for tim's family.

at first when tim was found to be trending on social media it was a little funny. just one of those things to laugh over dinner when one of them becomes mainstream enough to be referenced in pop culture. like how bruce is used in rap lyrics or songs when a man wants to talk about getting bitches, or how dick was used as a famous orphan in a countdown youtube video that included people like Annie and her 'daddy warbucks'.

tim's is just something that they chuckle over and laugh about, pulling up photos of the painting and ooing and aahing. it's only when they're going around the table and reach damian that they start realizing something.

damian is tensed with his jaw clenched, eyes locked on his phone and staring intently on a collection of gallery photos belonging to the artist that had boldly proclaimed timothy drake his muse even though tim was sure they'd never met. afterall the artist was someone based in maine, one of the few states tim had never set foot in.

not that it would matter. there were photos of tim on google totaling in the millions. that didn't even count the ones he posted on his instagram to keep in contact with all his civilian friends who were prepping for college.

it's not until jason makes some jab at the artist about choosing a 'shitty' muse and being a two bit talent hack that damian puffs up in defense of his fellow artist. it's one of the times that they're all avidly reminded of how closely damian follows the art circuits, he's likely knows more about this artist's work than all of them combined.

damian goes on some long tangent, slapping his phone down and scrambling for his backpack where he'd cleared his homework away when the dinner table was being set.

damian launches into a lecture like a college professor as he breaks down an analysis of one of the artists' most recent paintings. he explains how anyone, with enough dedicated time and practice can be a skilled artist.

"but do you know why those youtubers who do realistic colored pencil portraits of celebrities don't have their work hanging in the guggenheim but this person does?" damian is glaring at all of them at the dinner table that's suddenly a lot less light hearted in the face of damian's fierce indignance. "soul! depth! passion! meaning! anyone can create a souless bit of art with enough technical skill to get a few admiring sounds but this is real art!"

damian launches into another tirade of how artists used their crafts the same way a writer does their pen, to transmit meaning, deliver an understanding, a revelation, make a statement about something.

damian punches his finger against his screen so hard they're all surprised it doesn't break. the painting that just went up in a gallery somewhere in new york features tim dripping with rich animal furs, each of their heads visible as he cradles a bowl of pears close. the painting shows juice dripping from tim's red lips, his mouth parted and opened for another bite as he glances away from the viewer, staring at something in the distance.

the painting is done ins browns and greens, dark colors aside from tim's skin and the bowl that he's holding which shines brilliantly with gold leaf.

damian is almost frothing at the mouth and frustrated with them for not understanding the layers upon layers of meaning and depth packed into this one work alone. the pears! a fruit that across many cultures is known to mean abundance, to signify divinity, and femininity! the shape of the pear alone implies the soft slopes and curves of a woman. it's no coincidence that the artist chose pears rather than apples and oranges! look at how timothy in this painting has bitten the pear from the bottom, how juice drips down his lips- if the pear signifies femininity and timothy is eating it with visible evidence streaming down his lips- do they think that's a coincidence! then the furs! the animal heads are clearly perked up and alive! the foxes ears are at attention and listening to timothy, presumably as he chews. timothy is eating a divine fruit and wearing a coat made of living animals. the bowl! golden and made with gold leaf! gold leaf has been used very sparingly in the past and only for something of deep meaning or importance. such as the tombs of kings. but the artist was an anglo-christian raised in america and studied art in italy, meaning the golden bowl was not a bowl but rather a nimbus, a golden disk usually used to imply divinity- popularly seen in depictions of mother mary and her son jesus christ.

can all of them truly be so blind to what the meaning here is!! the artist is trying to convey that timothy is a god who descended among them, cast away divinity to be among mortals and walk as they do!

damian is almost trembling with fury and eventually turns and stomps away because he 'cannot stand to be surrounded with such idiocy for much longer!'

after that dinner is quiet, everyone too into their own heads to notice how tim is blushing so hotly.

after that the family is paying much more attention to this new artist. more than a few of them have bruce shifting uncomfortably because they have tim near naked on a stretched canvas. bruce resists the urge to call up his lawyers and have them contact this artist because timothy is still very much a minor and bruce's son.

but damian would likely protest. he said something about how art deserves a pass and cannot possibly be subjected to the ever-changing sensibilities of society. the rest of the family is discomforted by this artist and their near...obsession with tim.

damian insists that they just don't understand. they don't get it.

this man has found his muse. his muse.

the thing that powers his mind, that guides his brush, and leads him to create.

every time a painting is put up for sale bruce is tempted to buy it...just so no one else can have it. after all what kind of person wants a near naked painting of bruce's son hanging in their living room.

some of the paintings are bordering on obscene even though the internet and this artist are intent on lauding him as a genius.

to bruce they're just....inappropriate.

this stranger shouldn't need to reveal so much of his son's body in such a public way just to convey his "meanings". dick is of the same opinion. very much firmly grossed out by this near fifty year old artist who's developed an obsession with his little brother.

jason is more silent on the matter and bruce isn't sure what to make of that. he's walked past the library and the sight of jason with an open laptop on that artist's website and a book on analyzing art.

when the gotham museum is holding a big charity event and invites both their wealthiest donors and artists- bruce doesn't even need to look at the guestlist to know who will be there.

this artist has made a killing selling his paintings of tim, what few he does sell because even though he's an artist he's apparently very reluctant to part with some of his work.

bruce doesn't like that.

it just gives him a strange...feeling about it.

he instructs dick to keep tim in his sights at all time at the party. bruce needs to mingle and feign getting drunk. he can pay attention to tim but tim is slippery and bruce has more than once lost sight of him at an event.

and it's not strange for bruce to do that. often times bruce will pair dick or jason up with damian and tim to make sure they all keep each other in check.

something must go wrong.

because bruce is mid-swish of some dessert champagne when soft gasps run through the crowd like a wave, people gathered in a circle around something and murmuring to each other.

if anything unusual is happening that's usually a sign for bruce to check it out so he shoulders and stumbles his way through, apologetically grinning and jovially slapping people on the shoulder until the sight reveals itself to him.

the sight of that....that artist that bruce had spent hours digging up information on.

kneeling. on the marble floor of the museum. cupping one of tim's hands so tenderly and reverently, staring up at tim who was frozen and wide-eyed.

bruce sees the man mouth words but with the hushed silence of the room he may as well have yelled it.

"marry me."

bruce isn't sure what he's more shocked at.

the man's proposal. or tim's response.

a soft, breathless "yes".

[scaredgirlsilly]

ok I know you asked for asks on the other blog but. if you could make everyone in the world listen to one song what would it be

oh jesus thats. a really good question HDKSHDJSJ

so at first my mind jumped to just songs i liked. yk maybe basketball shoes by black country, new road yk that song is prob one of the best songs like. ever jflsjdksj or maybe a jeffrey lewis song?? idk im Fucking Obsessed with ine of his albums its a comfort album for me

but then i thought and my choice is Do You Know What Im Saying by applied communications (really id recommend the album but you just said song and thats my fav song on the album hfksjdjs)

so ok. this song (and the whole album but again just the one song for this) is not like. good on a technical level. the guy made the album when he was 16 after his mom died. but to me it is like. the epitome of amateur art.

the instrumental is poorly constructed with random drums and a droning base that just feels *slightly* off, the lyrics are weird and pretentious and sung (not even sung more like said) in a very odd way, randomly layering over each other in a weird cacophony of teenage angst. but that all i think adds to it. listening to it, at least for me, i can *feel* the emotions behind this song so palpably, and thats really all art is for right?? making you feel something. the artist has some feeling they want to share, and so they make art so that you the audience feel that same or similar emotion. everything else is extra.

i know i and many others get caught up sometimes in worrying about doing art "well" but i think this song and the album in general is like. my go to example of amazing art that is, on a technical level, not the best. and im not even saying bad cause like straight up its a banger i fuckin love it hfkshdksj but its v obviously not made for everyone. its not what some would think is well made music. but i think if i wanted to show everyone a single song, it would be this so i could just show them that art can be shittily made and still be amazing, and a world with mountains of shitty art is infinitely better than a world with only art from people who are """good""".

any time a friend has shown me art they have made, whether its drawings or paintings or music or writing or literally anything, it has been almost a transcendent experience. this person i love has taken the time to pour their heart and soul into something that is so unique that i couldnt find anything like this anywhere else. you can find songs like black country new road or jeffrey lewis around, but you cant find songs like you would make when you have no or little skill. and obv getting better at any given artform is always great we love that obv but like. idk shitty art is amazing too and i just want everyone to not be scared to make shitty art cause sometimes shitty art is the best and most heartfelt art there is

[druidonity2]

Your art makes me so nostalgic for 2014, it reminds me so much of the art of anduin (and wrathion too) that would be produced at the time.

I loved your mind electric animatic a lot!! Ive got so many wow videos in my beain i would love to get out like that someday 😔

Interestingly not the first time someones said my art reminds them of 2014. I think that's pretty cool. I wasn't around for the WoW fandom then but I for sure am trying to make up for it.

and THANK YOU!! <3 <3 I'm so happy people liked the mind electric animatic, I really want to work more on it but I'd have to start overrr agh. Then I look at my giant Anduin playlist and I want to animate alot of those but aagh thats incredibly unrealistic and I have motivation issues. I will say, if you ever do try getting some of those videos out someday, I discovered with this animatic that spending a few hours to throw together a shitty mspaint storyboard in which half the frames are just text saying what should be happening actually helped me keep motivation for longer when drawing the frames. Helped me remember where I wanted to go with certain lyrics.

[browzerhistory]

List 5 things that make you happy, then put this in the askbox for the last 10 people who reblogged something from you! get to know your mutuals and followers <3

1. thunderstorms <3 we haven't had one in a while here and i miss em so bad

2. shitty music. i love when music is rough around the edges... i love you bad mic quality i love you bum chords and missed notes i love you amateur lyrics i love you group of friends recording music in a basement somewhere not caring how it sounds <3

3. when you and a friend/mutual/other person on the internet are the same variety of Insane about a character. like that image of two people gripping each other's shoulders going "DO YOU UNDERSTAND" "I UNDERSTAND"

4. when i feel really dysphoric and gross and i go out in public and a little old lady calls me a handsome young man!!! it's happened twice this past week i am truly living the transguy dream

5. when a drawing comes out better than you meant it to/thought it would. i made what was supposed to be a one-off doodle for an art project and it looks like THIS.

[id: a photo of a sketchbook page, mostly in shade but with a bit of sunlight on it. the sketch on it, shaded with crosshatching, shows a sphynx with a calm expression and slight smile looking at the viewer. behind it, a deer skeleton wearing a veil stands tall and walks past. in the background, the sun rises over some hills. the drawing is labeled, "death and the sphynx at the break of dawn." end id.]

thank you for the ask! it means a lot :3

[glimmerbugart]

What’s Your Word?

Over the years, I’ve tried to come up with a “word of the year” to keep me moving forward in a New Year. Each year it’s been a different word. Some past words that I’ve used are:

Hope

Focus

Organize

Positive

Love

And a few more that if I really think back, they’ll come to me. These words have helped me grasp a “theme” that I want to continue during the 12 months of the year.

My word for 2024 is:

Share

I’d like to spend more time this year “sharing” with others. And I’m really going to focus on sharing my art with others, through happy mail, random acts of kindness, mail art, leave behind pieces and cards. I think it’s a good way to bring positivity to my surroundings and people in my life, as well as those who I have never met.

It used to drive my father nuts when I would make things for people for special occasions, like birthdays, anniversaries or just to be nice. I loved sewing cross stitch patterns, making quilts, drawings and handmade pieces of art in my 20s and would spend hours creating special gifts. Most of these handmade gifts were for close friends and family and since I was in college and my early 20s, I didn’t have a endless amount of cash to blow on gifts for people.

He used to get so irritated because he’d tell me that I should just make things for myself because the people that I was making gifts for and spending all this time on really wouldn’t appreciate the effort and love that was put into something handmade. Yet, I trudged on, continuing to make things for others since that was really all I could afford after paying for college and working as many hours as I could get at my jobs.

And that started to ring true after a while. I started to realize that the handmade pieces that I would spend hours and hours working on, were often just cast aside and that made me feel really unappreciated and shitty. In fact, I can remember back when I worked at JoAnn Fabrics in my early college days, making about $8 an hour. My brother and his girlfriend had just gotten a little black Lab puppy, that I adored and couldn’t get enough of. On one of the delivery trucks, a new supply of fabrics arrived and, wouldn’t you know it, there was a few bolts of cotton fabric that had black Lab puppies on it! So I used a good portion of my paycheck the following week to purchase the fabric to make a “quillow,” which was all the rage back in the 90s. It was a quilt, that folded up into a pillow so you could use it for either purpose. And nice Sandy the fabric lady would stay late at work after we’d close to show me how to make my projects and help me with questions. It took me weeks to work on it! But I was sooo excited to give it to my brother and his chick for Christmas.

Fast forward to after Christmas, after I had painstakingly spent hours and a good amount of money on this project. I’m over at his house and I go to bring the trash outside, and what’s in the trash bin? My beloved “quillow.” Thrown away, like it was a piece of shit. All rumpled up and stuffed into the trash can. I was heartbroken. Sad. Angry.

And that’s when things started to shift for me… slowly. After several other creative projects that I handmade for said brother and now what was his second wife, all ended much with the same demise: The cross stitch that I made with his wedding song and had framed had a photo swapped out, to keep using the frame but the hell with the lyrical cross stitch (which, by the way, was done old school with a recording from the radio and me stopping, starting and pausing as I had to write down the lyrics to that shitty Bryan Adams song). And let’s also not forget the times that I’d be asked to hand make their kids Halloween costumes, fly them down to them in Alabama, only to have the kids decide they changed their minds and didn’t want to wear the costumes that I spent hours and hours on. Yeah, I got burnt out from being shit on by them.

Now that my parents are both gone and I’ve pulled the plug on the sibling relationship (which was the BEST decision I’ve ever made), I’ve gotten back into making things for people that I love and care about, and am pleased to say they appreciate. It’s nice seeing and hearing appreciative comments from the recipients, and makes me realize that I was simply focusing my maker energy on the wrong goddamn people!

So now, with it being a new year, my word is SHARE. And I am excited to start sharing more of my art with those around me!

What’s your word for 2024?

[this-is-where-i-hide-my-bullshit]

hey, im the anon that sent the (other) long ask. the stuff on your other blog is fun! and you can definitely see your improvement from then to now. I especially love your sculptures and the potion box you made is so cool.

I second what another anon said about adding lyrics, or maybe some story in the caption to make the art come alive. for example, drawing frank in some speedos would be hot, but adding 'he only goes swimming to stare at lifeguards all day' or something dumb like that turns the art into a character, instead of just frank in speedos. it adds personality to an otherwise flat 2d character. it leaves things to the imagination.

I understand the pressure that wanting to make money from your art puts on you - I want to make money from my writing one day, but I know that in the creative industry it's mostly about luck. I know you've tried Instagram, but have you tried other ways to broaden where you post/the audience you're trying to reach? try posting to twitter for a month, or try making progress posts on tiktok. I know it's shitty, but if you're serious about making money from it you have to throw a lot of shit at the wall and see what sticks. I think looking at what has been successful for you so far and replicating elements from those pieces would be helpful too - what did people say in the tags? what kind of blogs reblogged it? what are other 'popular' artists in the fandom doing?

I know it's so easy to get worn down, and it sounds like you're having a really hard time with this. I'm not your therapist, but I strongly recommend taking some time out of posting if it's affecting you a lot. draw some stuff that you have no intention of anyone else seeing, stuff that you want to keep all to yourself, and see how creating that makes you feel.

you ARE good enough, your art is truly incredible and you've clearly worked hard to get your skill level so high - maybe your posts just need tweaking, or maybe you just haven't found your audience yet. I wish you all the best, and I hope you take this all as constructive ❤️❤️

Thanks.

I don't know about Twitter for the mcr stuff, because the idea of Frank stumbling on all my drawings of him is terrifying. But maybe I could try it with my other stuff, if Twitter doesn't completely fall apart as a website. I've never actually posted on Twitter before so I'd have to learn how exactly it works. And how to avoid the kinda stuff I saw last time I tried checking out mcr stuff on Twitter.

My stuff that does the best seems to be the stuff with some sort of joke or punchline, but I don't know how to be funny on command. I didn't sit down and try to come up with silly ideas, the silly ideas just happened on their own and then I drew them. So if I'm going to try to do more of that then I need to learn how to be funny, without it looking like I'm trying to be funny. Also there's no guarantee that any joke will land, it's a gamble every time. But it at least gives people more motivation to hit reblog.

My problem with comedy is that to be marketable I'd need to be a silly birthday party clown, but I always end up as one of those sad black and white clowns.

I want to try new things, but also there's the fear of "what if this doesn't work? What if I try everything possible and still fail? What do I do then?"

People don't really say much of anything in the tags besides a vague "this is great!", if they even say anything at all. It's hard to guess what they liked about it, if there was even anything in particular they liked and they didn't just reblog it to be nice. It's usually the same few blogs that reblog my work, and I do appreciate it, but sometimes I wonder if I'm not really that good and that's why there isn't a lot of different blogs or blogs that don't already follow me who reblog my stuff.

The popular artists are all drawing Gerard, but I don't think that there's anything I could draw of just Gerard that hasn't already been done better by someone else. I drew Joan of arc Gerard but nobody was all that into it. Probably because I was trying to emulate a specific style from one of my favorite comics and I don't think I did that great of a job. But yeah I don't have any Gerard ideas for drawings, and I'm not a Gerard centric blog so anyone who follows me for that would be disappointed.

I've done little comics with multiple band members but I don't know if doing more of those would help or not. Maybe, but I'd have to come up with ideas. Also it's hard for me to draw Ray and Mikey without accidentally turning then into my brothers because they look similar.

I need to make my drawings less stiff and polished and I meed to be funnier. If that doesn't work then I'll officially be out of ideas.

[eroticcannibal]

Hey Risu I think ud have some sound advice about this... I want to learn to draw n be an artist (digitally) but my brain screams when I try cos I'm new n not good at all and idk how to counteract the brain so I can draw shitty things until I get good.... It's hard to have fun when my brain is saying I'm shit and should quit :( Any advice? (I love ur art on ur art blog BTW... Ur art is good but like, not what I'm used to seeing and it's kinda nice to see how a hobby artist art looks cos I'm so used to more professional artists who take comms on twitter)

I was thinking of doing some of my shitty art to song lyrics (they're some of my fav, I draw my ocs in some sort of pose and then slap the lyrics on top in fancy font text or write it on my drawing tablet by hand) - and just don't care how bad it looks but I'm unsure if I can get my brain to not scream at me for not being enough long enough to do it :(

Any advice would be nice <3 p.s. My art is so bad it's like a kid trying to draw (derogatory but only at me) n I don't really have anyone in my life for support cos if it's not good they don't care :/// (well I have one friend, he's also a hobbyist as well, rarely draws cos he has the same issue of not being good and perfect type deal)

Oh hey its how I feel about my art 24/7 (and how most artists do!) So I will run u through all the things I find helpful

Listen. Brains are little bitches, ok? They LIE. They are MEAN. You need to practice telling ur brain to shut up. Like "hey, thats not fucking nice, I'm not listening to u until u have something helpful to say!" And its hard, cus its you, but with practice it gets easier to ignore ur brain being on one. Treat it like a toddler who is kicking off and calling u mean names cus u won't give it chocolate. "Thats nice dear im busy with my art". Like u gotta remember, for anyone trying to get started with art, it looks like a kid trying to draw because that's when most people stopped drawing. Same with any other skill u stop in childhood. My kid struggled so much with handwriting due to being ND that it switched to typing and guess what? Still has the handwriting u would expect from a small child. Because it stopped writing as a small child. I have the coordination with running and throwing of a young kid cus thats when I stopped doing sports. People who stop reading books young will find it harder to read books for an older audience. U do those kiddy drawings, do lots of them, you WILL get better.

Another thing. Heres a secret. For every artist, the majority of what they produce is shit. No really, all of them. Not just the crap you have to produce to git gud, but like, every amazing piece of art you have seen has like at least 5 fucked up sketches that got scrapped. Whole bits of painting that got covered up. All art is made up of mistakes and fuck ups. And even if u are sat there going wow this is perfect! The artist is DYING because they can see a hundred little mistakes that u cant. Art is all about perspective and honestly the perspective of the artist is the worst one. We are too familiar with the details to see our art for what it really is.

The thing that helped me most tho was when I went to art museums in Paris. I saw so much "good" art and im like. OK. This is technically good I guess? But it was kinda meh. The museum of modern art was the most disappointing cus, and listen I stan modern art ok there was some good shit in there, but there was a fucking rack of skis. Someone gone bought some skis and put them away and thats art. Hello? Oh someone painted some squares and came up with some deep meaning and im meant to be impressed. And then I go outside for a fag and I open tumblr and see some crappy 2 minute MSpaint vent art and u know what? It made me fucking feel. It make me feel like NOTHING in that museum had. Who is fucking deciding what "good" art is? I dont remember being consulted! I dont think I fucking agree that "good" art is good! I think shit art is good! Some fucking ship art scribbles has more meaning for me than the fucking mona Lisa, yknow?

And then I went to an exhibit of Picasso's sketches and doodles. Napkins with little scribbles on and shit. And they were so normal. Nothing impressive. And it was wonderful. I've done better sketches! I promise u u have done better than some of that stuff. Honestly so many artists aren't even "better", they're just successful. And idk but I think success is a poor way to measure arts worth.

There is a genuine magic to a hobby artist just. Doodling what makes them happy. Not for money, not for fame, not for skill, just because they want to. Art for arts sake, yknow?

Also I understand it can be very hard to share ur work but I would encourage u to do so with ppl u trust to give u fair feedback. Feel free to send me what u make I will be more than happy to tell u how great it is

[hyunsracha]

now or never — bang chan

word count: 4.5k

summary: liquid courage lets you jump at your last chance to tell him how you feel.

one.

Han Jisung might just be your least favorite person on the planet. You think this when he leans over your shoulder, your thumbs paused above your phone’s keyboard. Your phone was open to Instagram as you struggled to think of a caption for this particular post. It wasn’t anything special, just a picture of you and Chan at the annual fair over the weekend. The two of you had gone together every year since you were little kids. It was one of your favorite traditions.

“I have an idea.” Jisung took the phone from your hands, his fingers quickly getting to work as you yelled protests at him, “Relax! It’s nothing bad.”

Oh, but it was.

“We look like a couple here?! Jisung, are you serious?” You cried out, yanking the phone back from him and editing the post before anyone (hopefully) saw. The boy next to you cackled. 

“It’s not like anyone would be surprised. Everyone already thinks you’re together.” He nonchalantly shoved fries into his mouth as he spoke. Jisung ate like a pig, but you didn’t complain about it anymore. Last time you did that, he got all up in your ear and started chewing with his mouth open. Disgusting.

“Shut up, Han.”

“Yeah, shut up, Han.” You don’t even flinch when Chan and Changbin take their seats across from you. You could practically sense when one of the three boys was going to appear. Changbin said it was because your friendship was so strong, but in reality, they all wore such strong cologne, you’d be an idiot not to sense them. 

“I literally did nothing and you’re attacking me.” Jisung whined, kicking Chan’s shin under the table. Chan gasped, kicking him back with more force. They would do this for hours if you didn’t stop them.

“Guys-” You started, but you stopped yourself. Jisung deserved to be kicked. 

The four of you were hardly quiet when you were together, so you ate your lunches and talked about your day. Jisung got the chance to tell Chan and Changbin about him spilling folic acid all over his crush in chemistry, which he told you about on the way to your shared history class.

“It was mortifying! He’s never going to want to talk to me again!” He cried, hiding his face behind his hands, “I was even planning on asking him to prom! Now what am I gonna do?” 

Suddenly, everyone’s attention was on Jisung. 

“Prom?” Changbin yelled, his eyes wide.

“Yes?”

“We were supposed to go to that together, you dick!”

“It’s my senior year! I wanted to shoot my shot!”

“Yeah! Senior year! That’s why we were going together!” Changbin shook his head, false disappointment evident on his face.

“Well, since we’re asking people to prom now,” Chan started, folding his hands on the table. He bit his lip, darting his eyes around the room, “Y/N...do you maybe...wanna go to prom with me?”

You felt your heart drop to your stomach. Your fingers twisted themselves around each other as you pulled your lip between your teeth, willing yourself not to smile like a lovestruck idiot. This was your best friend, asking you to prom as his best friend. You pulled yourself together, heaving a sigh before you replied,

“Yeah, totally. It’s a date.”

“IT’S A DATE? Have I lost my fucking mind?” You fell back onto your bed, staring at your ceiling in disbelief. Jisung cackled from his seat at your desk, obviously very pleased by your choice of words at lunch. He invited himself over to your house, wanting to discuss prom plans with you, but you two were getting nowhere. As soon as you got home, you ran to your room to wallow in your own peril. You remembered how Chan had smiled at you when you accepted his proposal, his eyes managing to sparkle even under the shitty fluorescent lights the cafeteria provided.

“I’ve only been waiting four years for one of you to slip up. I’m glad it was you so we can talk about it. That asshole Chan still hasn’t confessed his undying love for you to me. But I bet he told Changbin. Fucking traitor.” He started to ramble, his eyes drifting across the paintings on the wall, “Hey,” he pointed to one in the corner, “this one is new.”

You nodded, gazing at the painting yourself. You had only hung it up a few days prior. You smiled, remembering the night you painted it. Chris was at your house, taking up all the space on your desk with his laptop, portable keyboard, and hard drive. He was working on a 3RACHA song, like he usually was. You always found those days with Chan so relaxing. The two of you didn’t need words to communicate with each other, you had your art. He would make music and you would paint, and your art would always end up reflecting the other’s. The song he was working on that night, Alchemistry, showed itself in your painting, swirling clouds of grey in a fading sky of purple and black. 

“Since we’re not going as a group anymore, I need to find a way to ask Hyunjin to prom.” Jisung sulked, opening up one of his one thousand notebooks. Jisung was a notebook kinda guy. He wrote every little thought down, just in case something could be used in a future song of his. And if he wanted to find something specific? Get ready for notebooks being tossed at your head as he sifts through every single one because he doesn’t label or organize anything. 

“Write him a song.” You suggested, gaze still trapped in that painting. Now that you were thinking about it, most of the paintings on that wall had something to do with Chan. It was like he had seeped into every corner of your life, including the darkest and most personal ones. 

“That’s your answer for everything I do.”

“Because your songs are good?” Not that you were lying. Your three best friends made up the rap trio 3RACHA. Were you a little bit jealous that they didn’t even ask if you wanted to be part of it? Yes, but you designed their album covers, so you forgive them.

Jisung was silent for a second, pondering your idea. Then he nodded, flipping to an empty page in the neon green notebook. He started scribbling, and you can’t really tell if it’s lyrics or drawings. But you looked away, letting Jisung do his thing. Pulling yourself up from the bed, you made your way to your closet, flinging the doors open with a huff. You scanned the rows of clothing before deciding that you definitely needed to go prom shopping. 

“I need something new, something that screams-”

“Please date me?”

You scoffed, “Han Jisung, you’re going to be the death of me.”

two.

Your room was an absolute disaster. Clothes were strewn everywhere, makeup and hair products settling on every surface. You hardly noticed the mess, you were so...excited? Anxious? You didn’t really know.

It was the big day.

Changbin was laying on your bed, no doubt texting Chan about how dramatic you and Jisung were being. Jisung was three inches away from your mirror, sucking in a breath as he applied a line of dark brown eyeliner. You were on the other side of the room, running your hands through your hair as you decided what to do with it.

“Just leave it how it is, Y/N, who cares that much?”

“I care that much, Changbin!” You huffed, deciding to leave it how it was anyway. 

The only reason Chan wasn’t with you guys is because he was now your date. Jisung had banished him and Hyunjin from the room as soon as you started getting ready, claiming that he wanted your looks to be a surprise.

“I’m giving you guys ten minutes before we leave, alright? I’m getting a fucking drink.”

“Your favorite juice is on the bottom shelf.” You called out as Changbin was leaving the room.

“I know where the juice is!” He shut the door firmly, leaving you and Jisung alone.

“Y/N,” he sighed heavily, having just finished his wing, “I think I’m going to piss myself.”

“That’s a rented tux-”

“I didn’t mean it literally! I’m just...really nervous.”

You nodded, moving from your spot to go comfort the boy, “If it’s any consolation, you look super hot. And I’ll make out with you if Hyunjin doesn’t.”

He laughed, and you could feel the nervous energy around him dissipate a little bit.

Once the two of you were ready, Jisung opened your bedroom door, calling out to the boys below. He linked arms with you before walking out the door and down the stairs slowly.

Chan turned around when he heard movement on the stairs, his eyes nearly popping out of his head. His face turned bright pink as he adjusted his tie. He cleared his throat, extending a hand for you to take, “You look...um...really...n-nice, bunny.”

You breathed out a nervous laugh, feeling your stomach churn at Chan’s nickname for you since you were children, “Thank you. You look...nice, too.”

Jisung unhooked your arms and wandered over to Hyunjin, and you could hear them mumbling soft compliments to each other, both of their faces tinged pink.

The car ride to the school seemed to be the most normal feeling part of the night. You all talked to each other, awkwardness temporarily thrown out the window. You laughed at Jisung’s impressions, trying to avoid the weight of Chan’s hand in yours. It felt nice; right, even. His grip was tight, but in a comforting way. Every once in a while, his thumb would gently graze over your skin, causing goosebumps to appear on your arms.

Once you got inside the gym, it all changed again. Now, Chan wasn’t just your best friend. He was your date, and you got all dressed up for each other, and everybody was looking at you two. He sent a charming smile your way, half bowing and extending yet another hand for you, “May I have this dance?”

And it was okay again, for a little while. The two of you danced, all worries about keeping face and feelings out of your mind. Your friends joined you for some of the songs, and you finally got to see Hyunjin dance. For months, Jisung would rave about how amazing he was. And you agreed; he certainly deserved his spot as co-president of the dance team. 

An hour or so into the dance, a slightly sweaty Chan pulled you away from the dance floor and over to the refreshments. Confused, you asked, “What’s up?”

“Oh, nothing. I just want some punch.”

“And you had to take me away with you. Felix was just about to throw it back!” You whined, feigning disappointment. In reality, you were kinda glad to be out of the dance circle. High school kids really didn’t understand the concept of personal space when it came to these things. And besides, you wouldn’t mind some alone time with Chan.

“Let’s go outside,” You suggested to him, “we’re both sweaty. We could use some air.”

He nodded, taking your hand again. Pushing open the gymnasium doors, the two of you were met with a cool spring breeze. You sighed, letting your eyes shut for just a moment. In that one moment, Chan’s eyes were trained on you, fondness practically seeping from his pores. He took you to his favorite spot on campus, the music hallway. It was his favorite place to study, and the acoustics were dope, just in case he felt like bursting into song. Jisung did that sometimes.

The two of you sat on the cold cement floor, giggling at each other like little kids. You weren’t worried about what your friends inside the gym would think. You were just thinking about Chan. Chan and his dimpled smile and his sparkly eyes and his calloused but still gentle hands and how he was getting closer and why he was getting closer and - oh, his lips tasted like peach. You always liked peaches. So you kissed him back, because he tasted like peach. Not because you’ve been head over heels for him since the 7th grade. Absolutely not. Although, to be fair, 7th grade you would be absolutely geeked at how good of a kisser Chan was. How those calloused hands still managed to hold your face like it was made of porcelain while he sucked on your bottom lip like he would die without it.

He pulled away first, the popping sound of your lips disconnecting making you blush.

“That was - I - I’m sorry-”

“Sorry for what?”

“I just kissed you!”

“I don’t mind.”

“Oh,” He gaped, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck, “it’s just that, yanno, I dunno. The prom...energy...got to me...haha.”

You stared at him, running your tongue over your bottom lip, trying to push the feeling of his lips out of your mind. You forced a smile, “Totally! And we...don’t have to mention this to anybody if you don’t want to.”

“Yeah...that would be best...let’s go back to the gym.” He stood and pulled you up with him. How he can stand to still hold your hand after crushing your heart like that, you couldn’t understand. But you let him.

You would always let him.

three.

It only takes two weeks for you to tell someone about the kiss. Granted, you’re drunk. And it’s Jisung. And he’s offended it took so long.

“I said I wouldn’t tell anyone!”

“I’m not just anyone, Y/N! Let’s not forget, I told you about my first kiss with Hyunjin when it happened!” He was practically yelling.

“You guys are dating! Chan and I are not dating!” You cried out, your grip on the plastic cup in your hand tightening. You weren’t really sure what was in the cup. Changbin had brought you one of his concoctions, promising to get you fucked up. And you just graduated high school, you deserved it! Thank whatever higher power that Choi Lia’s parents were on route to Canada right now. 

“You guys still aren’t together? That’s so embarrassing.” Jisung hiccuped. He had the lowest alcohol tolerance you had ever seen, and you knew Lee Felix. You smacked his arm, apparently harder than you thought, because he yelped in pain. Or maybe he was just being dramatic. You pouted, staring at the neon green liquid in your cup. Sighing, you downed the rest of it, your face contorting at the awful taste. You figured you needed to be wasted to deal with Jisung’s bitching for the rest of the night. You loved the boy to pieces, but he sure had a mouth on him. 

Seemingly out of thin air, Hyunjin appeared next to Jisung, immediately slinking an arm around the shorter’s waist. Jisung giggled, “Hey, handsome.”

“Don’t do this in front of me.” 

They couldn’t hear you, “I’ve been looking for you all night, babylove. Should’ve guessed I’d find you with Y/N.”

“Was the glittery silver blazer not enough for you to spot him? He looks like New Year’s Eve in May.”

Still ignoring you, Jisung poked Hyunjin’s chest teasingly, “Sounds like you missed me.” He bit down on his lip, and that was the last straw for you. You huffed, making your way to where Changbin was in the kitchen.

“Hey, Y/N! How was the drink?”

“Absolutely horrible. Make me another one.” 

Changbin took the cup from your hands, pouring random amounts of various liquids into it. He handed it to you with a sly smirk, warning you to drink slowly. Not that you ever listened to Changbin. You pulled yourself onto the kitchen counter, sipping on the horrible substance while making conversation. You ignored the dark cloud seeping into your mind while he spoke about college. Chan, Changbin, and Jisung had all made it into the same university, as they had submitted 3RACHA songs with their applications. You weren’t a musician, so you were going to a different university that focused more on your kind of art. It was only two hours away, but that was two hours farther than you had been from them in years. 

“Hey,” You interrupted his tangent, your voice barely above a whisper, “You guys aren’t gonna...forget about me, right?”

His smile dropped, “Of course not. We’re still gonna be best friends, aren’t we? And we’re gonna see each other every weekend, and when we come home for holidays, we’ll be together all the time.” He closed the gap between you two, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. It was awkward positioning, but Changbin’s hugs always made you feel secure. You swallowed your tears, mumbling a shaky, “thank you,” into his ear. 

When he let you go, you quickly finished the rest of the drink and tossed the cup into a nearby trash can. Your last drink was starting to hit you, big time. A sudden determination filled your veins, “Hey, Binnie?”

“Mhm.”

“Have you seen Chan lately?”

“He’s probably with Seungmin somewhere.”

You nodded, jumping off the counter and starting your pursuit. It shouldn’t be that hard. How many guys did you know with fried blond hair?

After a few minutes of searching, you found him sitting on the couch with Seungmin like Changbin had said. Seungmin made a joke, and Chan threw his head back as he laughed. God, he was so...stunning. A gasp escaped your lips as you watched him. You felt your determination wither for a second, but you pushed through. This is your last chance, Y/N, you thought to yourself. It’s now or never.

“Can I talk to you?”

A look of alarm crossed Chan’s features as he nodded. He sounded unsure as he spoke, “Yeah, totally. What’s up?”

“I mean,” You glanced at the boy sitting next to him, “alone.”

A soft oh left Chan’s lips as he stood. He nodded to Seungmin before gripping your hand like he’s done so many times before. You could just barely hear Seungmin’s laughing as Chan pulled you away. Wait, you were the one who asked him to talk, why was he dragging you around?

To be honest, Chan didn’t know either. For him, taking your hand and leading you to secret places just seemed...natural to him. He led you up the stairs and into the first room he found. Lia’s room. Lia wouldn’t mind; she was a good friend. He closed the door behind you two, locking it just to be sure. 

“What’s up, bunny?” 

Your heart began to pound in your chest as you sat down on the bed. You sucked in a breath, making eye contact with Chan as you folded your hands, “I’m in love with you.”

He just stared at you, not even blinking. You watched his chest rise and fall with his breaths. An excruciating minute passed, which felt like hours to you, before he made his way across the room and next to you on the bed.

“Y/N…” He had hardly finished saying your name before your heart shattered, “we’re going to different schools next year. You’ll be focusing on your painting and I’ll be producing probably non-stop. I...wouldn’t be a good boyfriend to you.” 

You tried to hold in the tears, you really did, but you were drunk and the boy you’ve been in love with for like 5 years just rejected you and you’re cold. So you couldn’t really help the choked sob that comes from your throat, and you had to restrain yourself from throwing yourself at him for comfort. He started to stutter, “N-No that’s not what I meant! I mean, it is, but don’t cry!” He clasped your shoulders and pulled you to him, allowing your tears to flow freely on his nice black shirt, “Y/N, you know I have feelings for you. I just...won’t be able to be there for you like you need me to. I want to be with you, I really do. It would just end in heartbreak. I would rather still be your best friend and only that than have you hate me as a boyfriend, okay?” 

“I’ll wait for you.” You barely managed to get those words out through your cries.

“No, you won’t. Please don’t. Please move on, bunny.” You removed yourself from his hold, scrunching your nose up to sniffle the tears away.

“Can we just...go to bed?” 

The smile that he gave you in that moment broke your heart again; so sad and sincere.

“Of course.” He laid you down, holding you close enough to hear his heartbeat. He was so warm. 

God, how you wished you could stay like that forever.

four.

Chan couldn’t tell if he was more excited or nervous to see you. Your group hadn’t seen each other as much as you had hoped. At the beginning of the semester, you met up every weekend, excitedly chatting about your new classes and the new people in your lives. But as life continued, it got in the way. You hadn’t seen each other face to face since October, opting for texts and FaceTime sessions instead. And he missed you terribly. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, right?

He found himself thinking of you often. Even during songwriting sessions with Jisung and Changbin. They laughed at him when his lyrics became sappy, threatening to pull their phones out and text you Chan’s adoration. He regretted what he told you back in May; that he wouldn’t be good to you. 

He sat in the living room of his childhood home, fidgeting in his seat. Changbin was scrolling through channels on the TV, a bored expression on his features. Jisung and Hyunjin were in the kitchen, making hot chocolate for the third time that night.

He couldn’t focus. You were going to knock on that door any moment, your parents in tow, and he didn’t know what he was going to do. Cry? Run into your arms? Fuck, try and kiss you? He stood abruptly, scaring the boy next to him. 

“I-I’ll be right back.” He excused himself, hurrying to lock himself in his bedroom to breathe.

Changbin opened the front door, his eyes lighting up at the sight of one of his best friends, “Y/N!” 

“Is Y/N here?” Jisung yelled from the kitchen, the pitter patter of his feet telling you that he was running your way. Two pairs of arms wrapped around you. They walked you through the door, with Changbin yelling something to your parents about where the other parents were. You felt your mother’s hand on your back, a way for her to tell you that they were going. When the boys finally released you, they noticed one other figure in the room.

“Oh…” Jisung gasped. Changbin just stared, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Um-” You coughed, trying to relive some of the tension, “where’s Chan?”

“In his room.”

You nodded before heading that way, lightly tapping on the door three times, “Channie? It’s Y/N.”

The door swung open, a breath-taking smile on the boy’s face. He wrapped you up in his embrace, swinging you around as he yelled your name.

“How have you been? How are you? Wow, you look so pretty!” His hands cupped your face, lightly dragging his thumbs over your cheekbones. You placed your hands over his, a dull heartbeat in your chest as you watched him speak. 

Chan’s heart was pounding in his chest. He thought you could hear it, and that’s why you were looking at him so...analytically. They’re right here, he thought. You lost your chance last time, but maybe it’s not too late. Now or never, Chan.

“Listen, Y/N…” He sighed, “about what I said after graduation, at that party-”

“No, don’t-”

“Please just let me say this.”

You nodded, allowing him to continue, “I was wrong, okay? I shouldn’t have rejected you like that. I should’ve just...given us a shot. I can’t stop thinking about you, Y/N. You can ask the guys, all my lyrics have been about you, and they’re ridiculously cheesy. I know I told you to move on but...maybe I still have a place in your heart? And...maybe we can...try this?”

You couldn’t breathe. You shook your head, pulling away from him, “Chan, I-” 

Seven months ago, you would’ve jumped for joy at his confession. Taken him into your arms and kissed him until you were dizzy. But now…

“Baby! How long were you gonna wait until you introduced me?”

Chan froze. Baby? Who the hell was calling you baby?

You took a few steps back, glancing over at the boy next to you, “Channie...this is my boyfriend, Minho.”

Boyfriend. You had a...boyfriend. You went and did exactly what he told you to do, but his heart still shattered. But he plastered a smile on his face anyway, shaking Minho’s hand, “I’m Bang Chan. One of Y/N’s best friends. Welcome to her second home.”

And the night continued like that. Your best friends focused their attention entirely on you and Minho. They asked him an endless amount of questions, from where he grew up to his favorite kind of bean. Sometimes, you would notice Jisung or Changbin giving Chan a sympathetic glance, but you ignored it. Minho was a good boyfriend, and you were genuinely happy with him. You didn’t expect your feelings for Chan to leave you so quickly, but distance doesn’t always make the heart grow fonder.

The five of you spent most of your winter break together. The only day you didn’t see each other was Christmas, which was spent with your families. The next day, you had your own Christmas, like you did every year. 

The hardest day for Chan was New Year’s Eve. You had a party at Changbin’s house, with as many kids from your graduating class as possible. It reminded him of that night after graduation. Jisung still wore that ugly silver blazer, drunk and attached to his boyfriend all night. Changbin still made horrible, hangover inducing nightmare drinks that he persuaded poor college students into drinking. You were drunk again, too. But instead of crying into Chan’s chest like before, you were giggling up a storm with your new boyfriend. Chan watched from afar, jealousy pumping through his veins at the way you draped yourself across his lap, and how he looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky. That should’ve been him.

10 seconds before midnight, he felt sick. Everyone around him was so giddy, so excited for a new start. He couldn’t peel his eyes away from you two. Your hands were locked together, staring into each other’s eyes as you counted down the seconds. The TV at the front of the room screamed, “Happy New Year,” as he watched Minho’s lips crash against yours, a smile evident on both of your faces. He stalked out of the living room, making a beeline for the bar. 

He had to get over you, the way you had so easily gotten over him. And he had to get over you now or never.

[struwwelzeter]

So I read your reply to Nyarisu's comment on Lionheart and I'm really intrigued by your comments about how people understand punk compared to what it was initially. Could I possibly ask you to expand on this? Pretty please?

Yes you could! This is a very (very?) personal point of view and I know a lot of people will disagree, but here goes nothing, I guess. If you disagree with me (and somebody will), that’s fine, but I will not engage with anything that’s not a constructively put argument. I’ve spend too much time thinking about this for a “I don’t like what you’re saying and that’s why you’re wrong” anon to change my mind. Just putting that out there - with love 💜.

The thing is, especially on tumblr but I think just in generally aswell, the idea of punk is presented as this ... Robin Hood kind of thing. Beat the system, stand up to bullies, live your own truth, all of that, but it always is presented as something that is supposed to come from a ... dare I say, nice place? Like those pictures of people in studded and sprayed leather jackets rescuing puppies. All of that, you know? And I don’t want to say that is wrong, because it isn’t, and I love the idea of that, it’s just not the entire truth.

Especially in the early to mid 70s, when arguably punk started, there was a lot of fatigue between an old and stuffy establishment and the lovey, dovey peace and love “let’s all be happy” movement of the hippie scene. I was at Force Attack in 2006, which is a punk festival (and possibly dirtiest place in the world) that got established in the early 90s and went on til 2008 (?), and even then some of the “death to hippies” sentiments ran pretty deep. And I know the counter argument to that will be a well meaning “well, that’s not real punk,” the problem is that I think it actually partly is. (Please keep the partly in mind for the rest of this argument.)

The problem with having the exact choice between “get a good job, built a nice house, think of what the neighbours will say, and don’t ask me about what I did in the war” and “we’re all a big part of one human family, and isn’t nature beautiful, lets all make peace, and btw we would have never done what our parents did” is that both models aren’t a sustainable life style for everyone. That’s why you get alot of people saying this is all fake bullshit, and they start being purposely offensive. This is why you get alot of Swastikas around the sex pistols, you get all these artists singing about suicide and incest and rape. It’s not that uncommon for some of those early acts to play with Nazi imagery, or claim that homosexuality is disgusting (despite the scene always being full of LGBTQ+ people), or idk, thinking it’s fun to piss on someone while they’re asleep. It’s alot of outcry, of saying life actually is this shitty and disgusting and I am gonna be that because in a way you will hate me either way. And it’s not always nice. Disdain and hate and petty selfishness are common human emotions and many of them are low and unhealthy, and honestly not nice or helpful or inclusive, but they are there, and I think alot of that early spirit was just about stopping to pretend that they don’t exist.

I think a reason for why we don’t think of the scene that way anymore is that many people very quickly outgrew that, and said “actually, we’re better than that, that’s not who we actually are. I sadly can’t find that interview right now, but Die Ärzte are actually a good exemple of that and they even admit it themselves, that there was a sense of “enough with the happy hippie bullshit, let’s disgust them” and then later going “uhmm - maybe that went a bit far.” I mean offensive or not, but ultimately a scene that is centered around artistic expression always ends with that question of creation, maybe like “if the world isn’t like what we want it to be, how do we make one we like?” - and then you end up with having to come up with answers that are more than just destruction. And then it turns into something else - something that I think is alot more like what tumblr seems to think punk is. And that’s a wonderful thing. Still - a side of punk, whatever that is, has always been what people like GG Allin (please read the wiki for context) have taken and pushed to the limits, and it just - isn’t nice. And here is where things get a bit tricky.

Because against that backdrop, things like John Lydon (Johnny Rotten) suddenly being a dirty old Trump supporter aren’t that surprising anymore. And then you get these 20 year olds “cancelling” the Sex Pistols, and I think there is just a bit of ... missing the point going on. I’ve read a comment on here recently, that basically said something like Richard should stop supporting the Sex Pistols (because he has that album in the back of the studio), and it’s just ... asking for a history to be erased that has rightfully been made obsolete but has still happened and was necessary at the time. You can take any of these early bands and pick their lyrics apart and find something that from our perspective now is disgusting, mean, exclusive, or outright racist. Songs about Fucking? Part of that record is a mysogynisy shitshow, something they were very aware of even at the time, and they still did it anyway because being disgusting was part of the point. The thing is though, the Sex Pistols were hugely influential, and alot of the positive things that grew out of that wouldn’t have been possible if kids like young Richard, or any of the bands you love that were influenced by them, wouldn’t have gotten that moment of “finally a place where I can put all of my petty hate”. It matters, and just because that moment is overcome, it doesn’t mean it should be forgotten, or stops existing in the people that lived through it.

I understand that the question of how much we should justify things with “it was the time” and how we deal with the result is an ever ongoing debate and their are many good arguments for why maybe we shouldn’t try to defend the wrongs of the past that way, and I want to point out that while I rarely agree on that in the first place (because I understand history as a natural learning curve where people aren’t perfect at the first try and it’s doing a disservice to humans just doing their best, but I digress and that’s a bit of another duscussion), I want to point out that I don’t want to defend anyone, rather I want to say “actually, being that horrible was often calculated, part of the point, and if you don’t like it, just leave it, fight it or debate it, but don’t pretend like it was a “missstep” or just a few black sheep of a scene that was never as nice or perfect as you want it to be.” You don’t get to erase half of a movement simply because you wish it wouldn’t exist the way it does - or well. I guess in this case mostly did - past tense.

The ugliness is part of the story to me, and it’s actually the bigger part of why I love this scene. I don’t need “punk” to define my politics, I need it to soothe my soul, and so did many, I think. The Sex Pistols breaking happened 20 years before my time, but I still feel connected to that world, and in particular the ugly parts of it. I often feel like I look at the world, and there are people that seem honestly shocked by the idea that maybe sometimes I find doing the right thing really hard, that I want petty, self serving revenge, that I don’t find it easy to not be selfish and unkind or sometimes want to hurt people because I am hurting myself and see an opportunity to do that. Obviously those aren’t nice things and I don’t want to be that way, but are you honestly telling me you don’t feel that? I find that hard to believe, and it leaves me with an ongoing question of if I am just worse than most people or if most people are just more fake. Both scenarios are equally shit. The ugly side of punk provides - not an answer to that - but maybe a partial solution, at least for me.

Another discussion we have all the time is about how what we consume or allow in artistic expression is influencing how we act as people in real life and how we want the world to be. Where do we draw the line? What is still ok? If I put me entertaining ideas about murder on a canvas, is that still good? what if it’s racism? What if it’s rape? We argue alot about how providing a safe space in art for those feelings is actually preventing us from acting on it in real life, how it’s an outlet of something we would never actually want or do, but then where is the limit to that? I am putting this intentionally controversial, but if we admit that most of us grow up with internalized racism and mysogyny, by that logic, why can’t I paint something that is blatantly hateful if I have those feelings? Maybe that is my way of fighting it, you don’t have to look at it? Not saying that’s what I am doing or would want to do, but what if? For some people Rammstein singing about not wanting to be Angels is crossing that line, for some of us that line is drawn alot later. Who is right? Isn’t that just personal sensitivity? Can you honestly rationalise that? Isn’t it just processing our different levels of petty hate in different ways? I don’t have the answers to any of that, it’s just questions I often have and that I think have to do with this, because alot of the nasty bits in punk will justify it exactly that way, as artistic expression. Alot of it isn’t as political as this scene is made out to be, it’s simply asking those things. I personally relate to that alot, as someone who arguably would draw the line of “we should stop doing this” in art very, very, very late - and certainly later than my own personal comfort zone.

I’m not sure if any of this makes any sense at all. I hope it does - and if it doesn’t it’s probably because I don’t know either, or because I don’t want to fully blow this up into an essay (sorry, too late?) or because I suck at making a point, or maybe because we simply disagree. All I know is that I sometimes see these posts of “what is punk and what isn’t” and it leaves me with this taste of “you’re describing a utopia and it’s cute and I want that too, but it’s not everything punk as I know it is, and it feels like you don’t want to see something that mattered too - even if it was brutal and disgusting.” And everytime I see it I feel alien, like something that mattered to me so much as a teenager and young adult gets taken away from me and made into something so sleek and pretty it becomes something unattainable to be that I simply don’t manage to live up to in the way I would like. I guess that is a petty, selfish way of looking at it too.

«It's a repressive society where you can't be horrible, I'm not horrible, they made me horrible, I'm just honest.»

- John Lydon

[kasiopeia]

//

gosh. finding things i used to go insane over that i dont even remember even as recent as october 2020 is so..... hmm.

anyway i just had a wave of nostalgia after finding one kaeya art that i completely forgot about. 

gosh. i say october 2020 as if its so recent. been almost a year huh? 

i remember during this time last year, i was starting out genshin. i frequently co op with my university friends, and then i basically began collecting acquaintances to co op with, eventho we barely knew each other. like if i saw that they knew genshin from like the chats in class gc, i would personally dm them and asking if they’d like to co op with me and my friends. gosh. how did collecting people like that became so easy for me. 

i somehow remember... there was a lot of joy and love end of 2020. me and my friends were doing our first final year project. my vr lecturer lent me an oculus go because i was taking vr class. and then lockdown hits again and i still have the oculus go in my possession atm. 

i got a new phone. i was reading the genshin webtoon. i was so insane over kaeya. 

i know i was probably in a lot of stress too because i had to do a lyric video for one of the assignments, creating a vr application, and also yknow the whole final year project thing. but right now, i only remember the good things.

arghhhh. i really. really. really miss those days. i want to go back. just a little bit.

i’ve graduated now, yknow?

no more projects, no more anything.

and i feel so lost. 

i should be fixing up my resume and applying for jobs. or find a place to continue studies.

but its just........ something is so off, yknow?

and i guess its also a mistake to pick up genshin again recently after near half year of not playing. because now i feel like im stuck in that time in october 2020.

and i dont want to leave. and everything is so foreign to me.

i remember feeling a different way after the recent internship. like probably should be more prepared to face this.

but i dont remember it. nor am i sure if i can reach that again.

i always held this belief that everything that happens, is leading me towards a better future. or preparing me for an obstacle i will be facing. yknow like how game progression works.

but these days, or maybe even right after high school, i realised sometimes bad things happen because bad things happen, and theres no lesson to be learnt. like theres no bigger revelation to it. things are shitty sometimes.

and thats a really hard reality to face. that things can just happen as is and its not going to lead you anywhere. as if its just there to hurt you, becoming something so pointless.

call it naivety or whatever, but that belief had been my pillar of strength. how i can ‘forgive’ my abusers and let things slide because it’s all going to mount to something, right? i think the only time i really reacted against the abuse was in secondary school, when someone clearly realised what was going on and how pointless everything they did were. 

i call it ‘delusion’ at the time because the mind believed something so hateful and unbelieveable, like it came out of nowhere. 

“these people hate you, deeply”

i thought it was teenage angst. or rebellion. i mean , its normal, right? to be an angsty teen.

i forgot where i was going with this. anyway

i dont remember much about my secondary school days. i only remember getting my ears infected and no one believed me when i said my ears hurt and only took me seriously when there were like pus flowing out from my ear :/

i also remember drawing a funny christmas card for art exam. and the time they found a snake in one of the trees right outside my classroom. 

at home i remember sneaking out and going all the way to the pharmacy to get makeup........... like that was insane. the pharmacy was far from home how did i ??? even pulled it off. i really wanted to cosplay.

i dont remember saying mean things to my sister as she claimed i did. i dont remember it one bit. nor do i think i actually hated her back then. i just didnt like that she was a tattletale. 

why am i going so far back into my memories pfft

anyway. im gonna go watch some stuff now

[lenniewip]

Unknown (A Sterek Wrong Number/Celebrity AU)

11.09 PM Unknown Number

>I’m writing songs about you again.

11.20 PM Unknown Number

>its stiles btw.

>in case you deleted my number

>I did.

>I mean I deleted yours.

>but I still remember it apparently

11:41 PM Unknown Number

>I only have 2 lines so far

11:57 PM Unknown Number

>I bleed you from my veins.

>I grieve you like I love you.

>alone.

>its better with the chords.

>u were always better at writing lyrics than me

12:34 AM Unknown Number

>u were better everything than me

2:00 AM Unknown Number

>I hate that I miss you

2:07 AM Unknown Number

>do u want to hook up?

>I promise not to propose again

2:15 AM Unknown Number

>im sorry.

>ignore me.

>im drinking

Derek blinked bleary eyes. His phone screen was the only source of light in his room, as he read through the flurry text messages.

What the hell is a Stiles?

2:17 AM Unknown Number

<I think you have the wrong number

>Lydia?

<no

>oh thank fuck

>I mean

>I’m sorry

>for disturbing ur sleep

>but im just glad I didn’t drunk text my ex all of this

>bullet dodged right?

>is this what near death experiences feel like?

<I wouldn’t know.

>of course

>hey

>seeming as I have you here can I ask you a quick q?

>all my friends are asleep

<probably because its 3am

<everyone’s asleep

>2.39

>and ur not

>asleep that is

>so?

>I’ll take your silence as a go ahead

>what do you think?

>of the lyrics

<im the wrong person to ask

>never experienced heartbreak?

<no

<all song lyrics just look like bad poetry to me

>oh

>yeah I guess it does

>not everyone can be Rupi Kaur tho right?

<do you want to be rupi kaur?

>sure

>not to be dramatic or anything

>but

>I want to be anyone but me

>think id rather be someone like regina spektor tho

<regina spektor?

>singer/song writer

>shes my fucking inspiration

>her lyrics are like poetry to me

>you should listen to her music

<I dont really listen to music

>what the fuck?

>are you an alien?

<no?

>nice fucking try ET

>thats exactly what an alien would say

<…you got me there

>akdjfen

>is this you admitting I was right?

<no

<but this is me going to bed

<because its now 4AM

>already?

>fuck

>ive got an early start tomorrow

>good night random stranger

>and thanks

>for listening

>or reading ig

<good night

//

“You’re late.” Laura frowned, arms crossed.

“Are you going to let me in?” Derek grumbled, still feeling the affects of having stayed up until 4AM the previous night.

Laura didn’t argue she just stepped aside to let him through into her flat. “You’re grumpier than usual.” She noted.

“Didn’t sleep well.”

Derek hated the look she gave him then.

The look that said he was broken. The look that said she wanted to fix him.

“Is…Is it the nightmares again?” Laura’s voice dipped to a whisper, like the question alone would be enough to send him over the edge.

“No.”

An awkward silence defended over the two of them, neither knowing what to say.

Derek clung to the silence like a blanket, wishing things could go back to how they used to be. Back to when they knew how to speak to one another.

But this was enough.

It was enough to know that they were both trying. Failing. But trying.

//

2:40 PM Laura

>I’m here if you need to talk.

//

Derek isn’t good at art, but sometimes it’s the only way he can express himself. Words had never been his forte.

So instead he doodles.

Shitty toddler level doodles that he never shows anyone.

Sometimes he thinks if he could bring himself to show Laura she would like it. Maybe she would even understand it.

But there was a bigger chance that she wouldn’t, and he would feel even more like a stranger to his own sister than he already was.

//

10:18 PM Unknown Number

>I don’t remember it anymore

<You have the wrong number again

>No

>This is ‘not Lydia’ right?

<right

>So here’s the thing.

>I always thought if I needed to text her I could

>And I thought maybe I got her number wrong because I was drunk

>But I can’t remember it anymore

<Oh.

>I have some of her things still

>I don’t think I’ll ever get to return it now

>Unless she messages me first

<When did you two break up?

>Last year

>and I know what you’re thinking

>’it’s October’

>and I should be over her by now

>Trust me I know

>So you don’t need to lecture me

<I wasn’t going to

>Oh

<Stiles?

>That’s weird

<what is?

>I forgot I told you my name

<You should throw away the stuff she left behind.

>you’re right

>I don’t like it.

>but you’re right

>…thanks

<What for?

>for listening

>reading**

>my friends are pretty sick of hearing me complain

>so this is nice

<sure

<anytime

>dope

>no take backsies

<am I going to regret this?

>for definite

>you’re stuck with me now

//

That night Derek saves Stiles’ number as ‘Bad Poet’.

//

Stiles keeps messaging after that.

Stiles messages like they’ve been friends for years, and Derek very determinedly does not analyse why it is he always responds.

Even when there are messages dated from Laura from three days ago that he hasn’t even been able to bring himself to open yet.

He also ignores how when he’s messaging Stiles the gaping pit that had made residence in his chest feels just a little less inescapable.

//

Derek can’t bring himself to tell Stiles his name. He can’t bring himself open up, even though there’s a large part of him that wants to.

He’s not above admitting he’s scared.

//

Derek draws Stiles sometimes.

More accurately he draws a vague pair hands texting on a phone, because he has no idea what Stiles actually looks like.

Derek refuses to let himself dwell on that though, because they are happy drawings.

The pictures of Stiles are pretty much his only happy drawings right now.

//

They don’t always talk about Lydia.

Sometimes Stiles messages Derek song lyrics he’s working on.

Other times it’s memes, or just a bunch of emojis.

Once Stiles had just messaged him what Derek could only assume was a list of everything he had eaten that day.

Sometimes Stiles messages in rambles - and Derek can’t always keep up with the boy’s run away thoughts, but even then he never feels lost the way he does when he’s trying to interact with literally anyone else.

And sometimes it’s 2AM. Those are simultaneously Derek’s favourite and least favourite texts.

//

2:02 AM Bad Poet

>sometimes I feel like too much

>and too little

>at the same time

>u ever feel like that ET?

<not really

>its like I’m infinite, and meaningless

>like a never ending echo

>or a recurring decimal

>I just stretch on and on forever but theres no point to it

>I have no depth

<youre not meaningless

<you’re a rhythm.

<like breathing

>…

>was that a regina spektor reference?

<it might have been

>I thought you didn’t listen to music?

<well someone said her lyrics were like poetry

<so I thought I would check out a few songs

>well fuck

>what did you think?

<she’s good

>you spelt ‘amazing’ wrong

<I still prefer poetry

>of course you do

Derek stared at the texts an ache filling his chest.

Derek was the opposite of infinite. Everything he touched turned to flames.

//

10:30AM Bad Poet

<my sister bought me flower seeds

>I didn’t know you had a sister?

<she’s everything I have

>oh

<and I think she’s trying to trick me into therapy somehow

>…with flower seeds?

<yes

>you sound extremely paranoid

>maybe therapy wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world for you?

<shut up

>noted.

>keep me posted on how your gardening goes

>also

>as a side note

>you know you have me too right?

>if you ever need to talk or anything, I’m right here for you

<thanks

>anytime

//

On Derek’s birthday Laura insists the two of them spend the day together, and Derek knows better than to argue.

She buys him a cake and they spend hours sat next to one another silently. Two strangers desperately trying to keep hold of one another but with an ocean dividing them.

Once their family had been so alive.

And it was all Derek’s fault that was gone.

They both knew it.

Sometimes Derek wondered if Laura hated him as much as he did.

He was too scared to ask.

//

That night Derek chased the ache in his chest away with a drink.

And then several more followed.

//

1:14 AM Bad Poet

<seh haars me

>sorry bud, you’re going to have to try again

>try spell checking before hitting send

<she.hates mee

>who?

<larn

>are you drunk?

<yeh

<tyongs ndrf

*Out Going Call: Bad Poet*

The phone rings twice before being picked up. “Sorry. Stupid keyboard is so small. Impossible to type.” Derek mumbled, his words slightly muffled by his cheek being pressed into the sofa cushion.

“Wow. You’re really sloshed huh?”

“No.” Derek denied. “Just tipsy.”

“Right. So what was it you were trying to tell me? Someone hates you?”

“Laura.”

“Who’s Laura?”

“My sister.”

“Oh.”

“She looks at me like she wishes she could fix me.”

“That doesn’t sound like she hates you, bud.”

“She should. I can’t be fixed.”

“You’re right, because you’re not broken.”

Hearing Stiles say that Derek could almost believe it to be true.

“I mean it. You’re not broken. You’re just a different shape than you used to be. But the shape you are now is beautiful.”

Derek closes his eyes and lets the words wash over him. “Do you sing?” He finds himself asking.

“What?”

“I know you write songs, but do you ever sing?”

“Oh…” Stiles sounds uncomfortable. “I guess… Yeah. I do.”

Derek hummed in the back of his throat. “I bet you have a nice voice.”

“Th-thanks.”

Derek tried to say something else, but all that comes out is a yawn, which makes Stiles let out a jittery laugh.

Derek tries to memorise the sound of It, but it’s so fleeting, it’s already slipping away from him.

“I think you need to go sleep, ET.”

“Yeah.” Derek agrees.

“Goodnight bud.”

“Wait.”

“Yeah?”

“Could you stay on the phone? Just for a bit longer.” Derek clutched on to the phone like if he could grip tightly enough it would make Stiles stay.

I don’t want to be alone. The words die on Derek’s tongue.

“Sure.” Stiles didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

“Thank you.”

Sleep pulled at Derek’s consciousness, unravelling his grip on reality.

“Stiles?”

Stiles hummed in answer.

“Your shape is beautiful too.”

A small whimper came from the other end of the phone. “Thanks.”

//

7:50 AM Bad Poet

>how are you feeling today?

<better

>good <3

Derek holds his phone tightly and wishes that he had more to say. Just to keep the conversation going.

He also wishes (not for the first time) that Stiles was more than a faceless entity on the other end of the phone.

But it’s the first time he feels the want like a physical ache in his chest.

Derek had never been good with words, but if Stiles was here in front of him Derek would probably give him a hug.

But everything Derek touches eventually dies, and a larger part of him is relieved for the distance.

//

Derek plants the seeds his sister got him that day.

//

9:48 PM Bad Poet

>would it totally weird you out if I wanted to do another phone call?

>don’t feel like you need to say yes

>I just enjoyed talking to you

>and hearing your voice

>ugh.

>why are words so hard?

<I wouldn’t be opposed to a phone call

*Incoming Call: Bad Poet*

“Hey.” Derek feels breathless as he answers the phone, anxious excitement clawing it’s way up his throat.

“Hey.” Stiles sounds equally out of breath, and that helps.

Derek chews on his lip, scrambling for something to say. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know.” Stiles admitted. “Anything.”

“Helpful.” Derek said sarcastically.

“I mean. There’s one thing. I didn’t want to ask when you were drunk because it felt a little like taking advantage. And I don’t want you to think you have to answer-”

“Stiles.” Derek interrupts before Stiles could break into a full blown ramble.

“Tell me your name.” Stiles breaks. “Please.”

Anxiety grips his heart. But… he couldn’t stay scared forever.

“It’s Derek.”

“Derek.” Stiles repeats his name in a reverent whisper, as if committing it to memory.

And hearing Stiles say his name makes everything worth it.

//

Phone calls become a regular thing between the two of them over the next month. Always between late in the evening and the early hours of the day.

//

The next time Derek spirals he doesn’t drink before he calls Stiles, but he does cry on the phone.

The next morning he wakes up to a text from Stiles.

6:42 AM Bad Poet

>you need to talk to your sister

And Derek knows he’s right.

//

It’s not easy confronting Laura. He has two separate anxiety attacks on the walk to her apartment alone.

But he forces himself to take the dive.

“It’s okay if you hate me.” He tells her, even though it’s not okay. Laura’s hate might be the only thing in the world that could break him beyond repair.

Laura looks horrified as she stares at him. “I don’t- Obviously I don’t hate you Derek.”

“It’s my fault that they’re gone.” Derek addresses the elephant in the room.

If he hadn’t fallen in love with Kate.

If he hadn’t broken up with her, just to try and prove a point when she refused to say ‘I love you’ back…

There never would have been a fire.

Their family would still be here if it wasn’t for him.

“Fuck that!” Laura let out a harsh noise. “Derek, none of this was ever your fault. You were a kid, and even if you weren’t… You never set the fire.”

“I might as well have.”

“No. If anyone… I was your big sister- am your big sister. But I was so fucking wrapped up in myself. I didn’t even know about Kate.”

The last time Derek had seen Laura cry it had been at the funeral, so it took a second to fully sink in what he was seeing.

He found himself crying to.

“I’m so sorry, Der.”

Derek stumbled forwards pulling Laura into a crushing hug. Laura hugs him back just as tight.

They spend hours refusing to let go of one another.

//

He realises he fell asleep on Laura’s sofa when he woke up to the sound of his phone ringing. But he had no idea where it was, and he was too tired to move.

He feels Laura moving and the sound of the phone ringing gets louder before cutting off abruptly.

“Hello?”

“No - Derek’s asleep.”

“Maybe call at a more reasonable time?”

“Who is this?”

“Your voice sounds familiar.”

“Right.”

“Okay. Bye.”

Derek let sleep over take him once more.

//

2:29 AM Bad Poet

>sorry for calling so late

>you’re asleep so I’ll just take to you tomorrow

//

9:07 AM Bad Poet

<sorry, I was really tried

>no worries man

>you’re allowed to have a life outside of me

<was something wrong?

>no I was just bored, and didn’t realise how late it had gotten

>im fine

>how are you?

<im good actually

<I spoke to Laura

>yeah?

>I’m proud of you

>how’d that go?

<we both cried

<a lot

<and I ended up falling asleep on her couch

>look at you, opening up and shit.

>think I might cry now

<shut up

>literally never

>better men have tried and failed to silence me

//

2:40 PM Laura

>Want to see a movie on Friday?

<sure

//

One night Stiles calls Derek just to say his name in stupid ways, and laugh himself stupid after each one.

“Duhreek.”

“Doreck.”

“Fuck. I’m getting a stitch from laughing.”

“You’re so fucking dumb.” Derek is smiling as he said it.

“Deeruk.” Stiles wheezes out.

Derek just closes hie eyes and listens.

“I’m so fucking glad I know you, Stiles.” The words fall out of Derek’s mouth without much thought.

He only realises the weight of his words when Stile’s laughter pulls to a stop.

“I uh-” Stiles stammered. “Me too. Fuck. You’re the best thing to happen to me in…so fucking long. I’m glad I know you too Derek.”

//

Derek finally admits to himself that night that he’d fallen at least a little in love with the stranger from the unknown number.

//

He keeps trying to draw Stiles, but he can’t. Vague shapes just don’t cut it anymore.

He wants to map Stiles out with his eyes and translate it onto the page.

He wants to be able to see the smile behind the laughter.

He wants.

//

1:58 AM Bad Poet

>do you think you day we’ll actually meet?

>maybe not intentionally

>maybe one day we’d pass each other in the streets and not even know

>maybe we already have

Derek couldn’t imagine a scenario where he wouldn’t notice Stiles.

<is there ever a moment when you’re not talking?

<I think id recognise your voice and know it was you

>maybe your face would make me speechless ;)

<I think id still know

<but if you want to be sure… I could send you a picture?

<of me

>dkfajd

>for reals?

>you would do that?

>you?

<well…not for free

>there’s always a catch

>what do you want?

>my soul?

>a blood debt?

>you can have whatever it is

<I meant you’d have to send me a picture too

<geez stiles

The next text takes an unnervingly long time to come through.

>I could do that

>a photo for a photo

>I kind of look like shit rn

>so no judging me

Derek spends the next two minutes fussing and fidgeting to take a good photo. No matter what angle he took it from the bags under his eyes were noticeable, and so was the week’s worth of stubble he had yet to shave off.

And maybe this was a terrible, awful, idea.

But Derek would send one hundred bad pictures if it meant getting to see one of Stiles.

He forced himself to press send on the last picture he took.

As he pressed send another photo came in.

Derek’s fingers shook as he hit the button to download the image.

His heart stopped.

Stiles was beautiful in every sense of the word, and Derek found himself unable to look away. Even when he heard the small dings of incoming messages.

But he couldn’t ignore them for long, because it was Stiles. And when ever Stiles messaged Derek had to answer.

>Fucking hell

>are you for real?

>you gave me a heart attack

>am I being catfished right now?

>when do you think you were going to tell me you’re the most fucking beautiful man to exist ever?

>how the hell to you look like that as 2AM!?

>Derek

>oh my god

>you gotta respond my dude because I’m freaking out a little bit

>still there?

>did my selfie scare you away?

>I would have tried harder for a nice photo if I knew I was talking to an adonis

>Derek?

<still here

>of thank fuck

>so…

<so?

>come on

>your going to give me a complex

>the selfie…was it okay?

>I know it’s not much

>but we can’t all be greek gods

<its beautiful

<you’re beautiful, stiles

>oh

>thanks

//

Derek is so far gone that he makes the picture of Stiles the home screen on his phone.

//

9:49 AM Bad Poet

<Laura wants me to meet her boyfriend

<this is all your fault

>how is this my fault?

<because she never wanted to introduce us before

<and then you got me to talk to my sister

<and now she wants me to meet him

>…and this is a bad thing?

<yes

>because?

<I don’t make good first impressions

<it’s going to be awkward

>yeah probably

<you’re not helpful

>I wasn’t trying to be ;)

>have fun, Derek!

//

Meeting Laura’s boyfriend wasn’t as awkward as Derek thought it was going to be. But it was strange.

Derek hadn’t been expecting to meet someone so soft and kind. He was nothing like any one that Laura had dated before.

But he also wasn’t used to seeing Laura smile as much as she did around him.

Maybe not all change was bad.

//

Derek tells Laura about Stiles by accident. Or more accurately he mentions Stiles once by accident (not even by name) and Laura had badgered him until he admitted that he had made a friend through a wrong number.

“There’s a lot of weirdos out there.”

“I know.”

God did Derek ever know.

But Stiles is different.

“Just…be careful.”

“I am being. I promise.”

Laura reluctantly lets it go after that. “So…what’s he like?”

“He’s…he’s like bad poetry.”

“Oh god. You’re in love with him aren’t you?”

Derek can’t bring himself to deny it, but he does tell Laura to shut up.

//

Derek fully embraces being in love with Stiles on the day he tells Stiles about his drawings. He’d never told anyone about them before - not even Laura. But telling Stiles had been easy.

‘It reminds me of line art’ Stiles had said when Derek had sent him a photo of the doodle he had been working on. “I love it’.

A warmth flutters through Derek’s veins.

//

It all goes sideways on the day Laura goes on Derek’s phone to check the time.

She’d raised one eyebrow at him looking amused.

“I thought you didn’t listen to music?” She said, a teasing note to her voice.

“I don’t.” Derek shrugged.

“A huh. So why do you have a picture of Stiles Stilinski as your wallpaper?” She asks.

It’s so startling to hear Stiles name coming out of Laura’s mouth that Derek’s brain refuses to function properly. “How do you know Stiles?” He asks weakly.

Laura laughs. “He’s not exactly a niche celebrity Der. He was a really famous YouTuber before he started selling albums.”

Derek doesn’t know what to say to that. He blinks as his world slowly unravels before him.

No.

She had to be wrong, because Derek couldn’t be in love with a celebrity. Stiles couldn’t be…

“Hey are you okay? You look really sick?”

“He’s famous?” His throat is dry.

“Yes? Are you okay? What’s wrong? You’ve got to speak to me Der. Use your words.”

Derek just shakes his head because he can’t.

“It’s him.” He manages to get out.

“What are you talking about?”

“Laura. It’s him.”

It takes a moment to click but Derek knows when it does because a look of thunderous wrath takes over Laura’s face.

“I’ll kill him.” She seethes, shaking with anger. “What kind of fucking punk thinks that this is a good prank to play?”

“What?”

“No one is getting away with catfishing you, Der. I’m going to hunt this fucker down, and then I’ll rip him so many new ones that he going to look like SpongeBob when I’m done with him.”

And god, Derek hadn’t even considered the thought that Stiles might not even be Stiles. The thought of Stiles being a liar…

The gape in his heart grows a little bit bigger.

And it all falls apart.

//

It takes hours before Derek can convince himself to confront Stiles.

11:08 PM Bad Poet

<you’re stiles stilinki

>fuck

(And yeah, it was really him).

>how did you find out?

<Laura

>I was going to tell you

<Were you?

>Yes

>I’ve wanted to for ages

>It just never felt like the right time to bring it up

<I wish you had decided on the right time was sooner

>Me too

>I’m sorry

>Please don’t hate me

Derek did not think it was possible for him to hate any part of Stiles.

<I don’t

>Thank fuck

>seriously

>can I call you?

<sure

Derek closed his eyes after sending the text and waited for Stiles to ring. A heartbeat later his ringtone sounded off.

“Hey.”

“You believe me right?” And Stiles sounds more frantic than Derek had ever heard him before.

“I believe you, Stiles.”

“Are you sure, because I can prove it if you want? I can do a video call? Or I can tweet literally anythi-”

“Stiles.”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

Stiles lets out a small whine, that reaches through the phone line and yanks at Derek’s already tattered heart, unraveling him just a little more.

“Meet me.” Stiles said, taking Derek by surprise.

“What?”

“Please. I meant to throw a please in there, I’m just really fucking nervous right now. Meet me please. In real life. I uh- I was going to ask when I finally told you about the whole being a celebrity thing. It’s still weird to say that out loud. That’s part of why it was so hard to tell you. But the point was you beat me to the punch with the whole reveal thing, but I still wanted to ask.”

“Stiles…”

“And it’s not that I was trying to use my influence or fame to pressure you into meeting me. I just wanted to be in a space where we were one hundred per cent honest with one another before I asked you. You can still say no. Of course you can, I don’t know why I’m- my point is I hope you don’t say no.”

Derek feels his heart break in two.

“Stiles…I can’t.”

“Oh.”

He hadn’t fully realised just how many worlds apart the two of them were when he had fallen in love with Stiles. It felt even more impossible than it had before.

“I’m sorry.” The words leave him feeling hollow.

“No. Don’t apologise. This is just me getting carried away. It’s okay.”

I love you. The words never leave Derek. They can’t leave him.

There was no way this could work, and he was far too scared of breaking the tentative connection they had with his useless words.

It was better for him to just… fall out of love.

//

6:17AM Laura

<it’s really him

>are you sure

<I’m sure

>what are you going to do?

<nothing

>Derek you’re in love with him

<I’m aware

<it doesn’t matter

<it wouldn’t ever work

>I’m sorry

<don’t be

<I’m going to be fine

>Im coming over with wine

//

That night Derek fills pages and pages of his notebook with drawings of Stiles.

When he gets a message from Stiles at 11PM- for the first time since they started messaging- Derek leaves it unopened.

//

He never ignores a message again after that, and life moves on. Stiles still messages him all the time, but he never asks to call anymore.

Derek misses his voice so much that he goes onto youtube and listens to his music.

He buys all three albums Stiles released and it still doesn’t feel like enough.

//

He fills an entire notebook with doodles of Stiles.

It’s still not enough.

//

1:11 PM Bad Poet

>I wrote you a song

>I know you don’t listen to music

>but it felt weird to not a least send you a link

>bad poetry at 2:00am

The link leads Derek to a youtube video of Stiles holding a ukulele and staring with a soft smile at the camera.

“Hey guys. It’s been a while, huh? But I guess I finally found inspiration. So here we go.”

The song is beautiful, but even more beautiful than that was Stiles.

When the song reached the end Derek doesn’t hesitate to hit replay.

He listens to the song ten times before he realises he’s crying - and he knows that he’s never going to ‘get over’ Stiles because he doesn’t want to.

//

3:00 PM Laura

>have you seen the video?

<he sent me a link

<he wrote a song for me Laura

<I love him so fucking much and he wrote a song for me

>fuck

<what do I do?

>what do you want to do?

<I don’t know

>I think you should look at his twitter

<?

>I wasn’t going to say anything because you said you wanted to get over him

>but I think you need to see it

>@stilesstilinki

//

@stilesstilinski

I want to hug him

@stilesstilinski

Get you a guy that will stay up with you until 4AM talking about literally anything

@stilesstilinski

Why do I alway fall for people so far out of my league? rip me I guess.

@stilesstilinski

He makes me want to write poetry

Derek spends hours scrolling through Stiles’ twitter.

He scrolls far enough back that he gets to the part of his timeline where his twitter is littered with pictures of Lydia, which causes the ache in Derek’s chest to grow. But he can’t stop looking because Stiles looks so happy.

And Derek falls impossibly more in love.

He lets himself acknowledge for the first time that Stiles might love him back.

And everything else?

It’s worth it.

Because Stiles is worth everything to Derek.

//

2:00 AM Bad Poet

<so I looked at your twitter

>fuck.

>how much did you see?

<all of it

>tight

>please excuse me while I go die now

>bye

<don’t leave yet

<I had something I wanted to ask you

>did you want me to delete the tweets?

>I can do that

>I’ll just delete the whole account

>I am my own worst enemy so this won’t be a problem

>actually Jackson Whittemore is my worst enemy

>but I’m a close second

<stiles?

>yup?

<Will you go on a date with me?

>alkdjf

>yes?

>Ofc yes?

>are you being serious?

>because this would be a cruel prank if you’re not serious

<I’m serious

>yes.

>yes. yes. yes. yes. yes. yes.

>holy shit

>theres no fucking universe where I say ‘no’ to that question from you

>im so fucking in love with you

>is it too soon to say that?

>I don’t even care

>I’m speaking my truth

>you obviously don’t have to say it back

>im going to woo you so hard Derek

>you’ll have to love me back eventually

>I’m going to write you poetry

>hell I’ll even read poetry for you

>ill give the whole fucking moon to you

<why would I want the moon?

<im not gru?

>despicable me

>that was a despicable me reference.

>you don’t listen to music, but you watch despicable me?

>you’re such an enigma to me Derek

>god I love you so much

<stiles?

>too much?

<no

<I don’t think I could ever have too much of you

<I love you too stiles

<so much

<I just don’t want you to get your hopes up

<I might not be able to live up to it in real life

>impossible

<seriously stiles

>I am being serious

>I’m already in love with you Der

>you don’t have to do anything more than you’ve already done

>you could wear a potato sack, and spend the whole night not saying anything at all

>and I would still be in love with you

>all you have to do now is show up

<…I can do that

>perfect

//

TWO YEARS LATER

@stilesstilinski

Hey @JacksonWhittemore, remember when you told me I would die alone? Well I just got engaged to the love of my life. So checkmate fucker.

[otagen]

ok this is totally random but i came across your piper changeling art from november and saw the comment about it being an au and i would be so happy to learn more about that? if you want to share

first of all THANK YOU! i love drawing trickster and im so glad you like him. 

second of all: I’D LOVE TO TALK ABOUT MY AU. warning: this is such a long and silly explanation. it’s really long-winded and. needs a lot of explanations but luckily i’m happy to go off about it. there really is no name for the AU, but i have been calling that “changeling” hartley... “Fartley”. short for Fake Hartley. altho his actual name is Hartley Star (which i’ll get to). the lyrics are just in reference to a fan song i really like that i thought fit

the rest is going under a read more because it got extremely long: (there will be a TLDR version

so, this au takes place in a dc roleplay server with my friends (we post funny logs here @dcordchat ) and we have different AUs that we just name different earth. one particular earth we have is Earth-223, which is actually an expansion on a canon storyline! the “future flash” storyline (flash 2011 starting at issue #30) that really isn’t well written but a bit part of our server is that we take a lot of ideas and characters that dont get a lot of love (or some who do) and give them a lot more personality and thought. you don’t have to read that arc to know about hartley because the basics are: It’s 20 years in the future, and barry is going through it. he starts time traveling to fix all the mistakes he couldn’t. he’s lost hope. most of the rogues are dead. 

a loooot of things have gone to shit, and a lot of people were lost. including hartley rathaway. i don’t remember if hartley dying was canon to this arc (because i didn’t finish it because it really is... hard to get through.) but that’s fine because this is where things start to deviate. hartley is mysteriously killed. his husband, david singh, has not been coping and has secretly taken up vigilante-ism on the side, going by the name Orpheus. (music motif... homage of a myth/fairy tale like the pied piper- of the guy who loses his wife.)

barry obviously isn’t coping well at all either. the rogues are almost like his family, if not completely, at least hartley and he were really close friends. so...

IN COMES... MONDAE STAR!

if you’re new, mondae (aka Nightmare is my oc!) mondae use to be a canon character that i’ve twisted so far into aus of aus that she’s now my oc and is probably indistinguishable from her canon counterpart (they... don’t even look alike at all, unless you have been following me for a long time.)

anyway. mondae is sort of... barry’s roommate in that shitty future world that barry lives in. along with parallax, bart and thaddeus, Lee Allen, Marco Mardon, Josh Jackham, and an array of different animals including raccoons and a polar bear. Mondae is a sort of whimsical dream entity, almost like a diety in fact! but not quite, because she was made fairly recently. what she does is that she eats nightmares and makes dreams... and... can create dreams in the real world. as long as you can imagine it and dream it, mondae can pull that out of the dream realm and make it a reality! she often does this with animals or little gifts or things that are as big as a house.

however, she can also make... people! the first person she made was Lee Allen,, who is the brainchild of the kid that barry never had but always dreamed of having with Leonard Snart before he died(shameless shipping but... we can do whatever we want). this kid never existed before, they are entirely made out of all the wishes and dreams that barry had, and were given fake memories. Lee was made because barry is Mondae’s best friend and she wanted to do something for him! even though she didn’t think it through. despite the problems they had and the troubles adjusting, barry did eventually welcome lee as a father... and grew happier and regained much of the hope he lost before.

now. Mondae takes a look at Orpheus, who is still struggling to cope with the death of his husband. so Mondae figures... “why don’t i do what I did for Barry? I could just MAKE a new hartley.”

i’m sure you see what happens from here. 

mondae takes all the dreams and memories that everyone’s ever had of Hartley Rathaway and makes a new Hartley! the problem is, the real Hartley is dead and she doesn’t have access to all of his memories. but hartley remembers all these things and vague memories... he doesn’t remember the experience, his point of view is like. having the Supercut version of his life in his head. he has all the basics but not the details. the important things but not the things in between. everything that mondae didn’t cover in there, she sort of... winged it!

especially with hartley’s powers. mondae is made out of magic. hartley’s powers, the superhearing and the musical hypnotism... those both have scientific explanations. but mondae doesn’t get the science behind it, so this new hartley has powers that are mondae’s INTERPRETATION of his powers. meaning he can sing and play music that can perform miracles and control people like magic, and he can talk to animals like a Disney princess. this “fake hartley” aka Hartley Star (she sees him as a son!) is a living breathing fairy tale character. just like the real pied piper!

barry allen was horrified. more than him... ORPHEUS was horrified. his dead husband came back from the dead, except it’s not actually his husband. he still hasn’t finished grieving the first time, and the fact that this hartley is like his but it JUST different enough to... be noticeable... it’s too painful to witness.

hartley star is devastated and as you can imagine... has a lot of identity issues. thus: the piece of art i first drew with all his different iterations.

feeling dejected and hopeless, hartley star decides to live on his own. or at least tries to. he ends up running off to prime earth. when prime flash catches wind of this, he and a bunch of other characters try to bring him in. then... joe gardner comes in and saves him! and now they’re roommates... they bond over being clones!

hartley star is now just trying to deal with being a fake and having all these weird feelings about identity. eventually, they will make a name for themself! and their future vigilante name will be “symphony”... possible designs for that i haven’t posted yet:

TLDR: 20 years in a horrible future, hartley and many other rogues are dead... a new hartley is made out of HOPES AND DREAMS by a dream diety, but only has half his memories; which makes it hard for his old friends and husband to accept him. he has a lot of self-esteem and identity issues... but he is trying his best!

sorry this got so long but... i’m very happy to share it. 

[gentlethorns]

1-31

JKJFLKJGDKLS did you mean. 1 through 31?? like. all of them?? LMFAOOOOOO okay but i’m sticking them under a readmore bc that is gonna be SO long

1. what is a genre you love reading but will probably never write? mysteries/crime. i love the technique and expertise it takes to expertly lay out and set up a plot twist, but i don’t think i could ever do it aptly myself.

2. which writer has had the greatest stylistic influence on your writing? probably stephen king, if we’re talking fiction, but even then i don’t think he’s influenced me a ton - my writing voice is pretty distinctive (or so i’ve been told). as far as poetry, i think reading @candiedspit‘s work has really caused me to stretch my expectations of where words can go and what they can do.

3. has a specific song/lyric ever inspired a work of art for you? absolutely! i’m super inspired by music, bc music is really important to me as a means of emotional expression. back in sophomore year of high school i was working on a story where all the chapters were inspired by songs from folie a deux by fall out boy. it didn’t pan out and i never finished it, but i still think the concept was neat.

4. a writer whose personal lifestyle really speaks to you? lmfao not to talk about him again, but stephen king’s lifestyle really appeals to me. his writing is widely known and renowned, but he just chills at home and watches the red sox games and takes pictures of his corgi and keeps turning out stories. that literally sounds like paradise to me.

5. do you write both prose and poetry? which do you prefer? i do write both! and i can’t say i honestly prefer one over the other - my interest bounces between them and waxes and wanes, but i don’t consistently indulge one more than the other, i don’t think. last year i went through a huge fiction phase in october and cranked out eight or nine different short stories/flash pieces, and then in november/december i went through a poetry phase and wrote multiple poems a day for a long stretch of time. it just depends on my mood and my mindset and what i need from writing (a kind of escape vs. emotional expression/release).

6. do you read both prose and poetry? which do you prefer? i do read both, and again, i don’t think i have a preference. i definitely read fiction more, i think, but like writing, it kind of depends what i need at the time.

7. which language do you write in? which do you want to write in someday? i write in english, since it’s the only language i know. i’d like to learn spanish at some point, but i don’t know if i could ever write in spanish - i’m so firmly married to english grammar and structure that i don’t know if i could ever exercise the same control and mastery over spanish that i could english.

8. share a quote or verse that has been on your mind lately. “you said i killed you - haunt me, then!” from wuthering heights.

9. a writer/poet whose life you find interesting. *sigh*. stephen king. i’ve read his memoir/writing workshop book (”on writing”) and his success story always fascinates me. i just can’t imagine living in a shitty one-bedroom apartment with your wife and two kids and working days at an industrial laundromat and spending nights writing on a shitty wobbly desk in the laundry room, and you get your first manuscript accepted for publication, and eventually the paperback rights go up and you think you might get $60,000 if you’re really lucky, and then one day while your wife and kids are visiting the in-laws you get a call from your agent telling you that the paperback rights for your book sold for $400,000 and 200K of it is yours. that’s just literally. unfathomable to me lmfao.

10. what do you feel about the idea of someone unearthing your unseen or discarded drafts someday, long after your death? what about your personal journal? it’s really hard for me to imagine that happening, i think bc i tend to see myself as really like. insignificant or unimportant in the grand scheme of things, so i can’t imagine any part of me lasting beyond my life. also, it’s very hard for me to imagine someone i don’t know personally reading my work, probably because my work (especially a personal journal) is a window into me, and i have a hard time even letting people i trust see into that window sometimes, much less a stranger.

11. do you prefer to write in silence or listen to something? what do you listen to? i definitely prefer music in the background, although i can work in silence. i tend to gravitate to music that goes with the scene i’m writing, if i’m writing fiction (often i work music into my fiction, so if there’s a song playing in the scene, i’ll listen to that song), and if i’m writing poetry i tend to just listen to laid-back music (unless i’m writing from a place of grief or sadness, in which case i listen to sad music lmfao). i do also love writing when it’s storming outside and just listening to the rain and the thunder as i write.

12. has an image ever impacted your artistic lens/inspired your work? absolutely! less often than music, but visuals can inspire me on occasion. i once wrote a poem based on this image. i just couldn’t get it out of my head, so i decided to figure out what it was saying to me.

13. how would you describe the experience of writing itself? as in putting the words to paper, not planning or moodboards etc. do you agree with the common idea that the satisfaction lies in reading your work after you are done with it, rather than the process of writing itself? i think the process can be arduous sometimes, and other times it can be incredible. sometimes i write very slowly and haltingly, sometimes i write at a normal pace and it feels like the work it is (bc i am trying to write professionally), but sometimes the magic tap in the mind turns on and it starts flowing. that being said, i don’t necessarily agree that the satisfaction lies only in reading your work rather than also in the process. there’s a certain fulfillment in watching everything come together and knowing it’s going to be good.

14. how often do you write? it varies. i would like to write more often than i do, now that i have a full-time school schedule and work part time friday-sunday, but i think i still get a decent amount of writing done, when i can actually sit down and motivate myself to get the words out.

15. how disciplined are you about your writing? not very, in the creative sense - as discussed above, i don’t write as often as i should/would like to, and don’t hold myself to much of a schedule. however, as far as the business side of it (submitting to magazines/contests), i’m pretty disciplined, and i’m usually pretty good about keeping all my “good” pieces in circulation at a couple of places at a time.

16. what was your last long-lasting spurt of motivation? maybe last night? i worked on a couple of pieces and then submitted a few groups of poems to some magazines. i also did some decent work on thursday while i was in my campus starbucks waiting for my zoom class to start.

17. have you ever been professionally published? are you trying to be? i have been professionally published! i got my first acceptance back in 2018, and now i’ve had poetry published multiple times and fiction published twice. i’m still trying to publish more of my work, but i think i’ve had a decent start.

18. do you read literary magazines? not regularly, although i entered a fiction contest for into the void last year, and since it came with a year-long subscription, i’ve been browsing the fiction there periodically. into the void tends to publish good short/flash fiction, so anytime i feel like reading some new stories, i head there.

19. a lesser known writer you adore? idk if she’s necessarily “lesser-known,” but i loved ally carter’s gallagher girl series when i was younger. the first four books were immaculate (although i do remember that the last two books seemed almost unnecessary, and the ultimate end of the series was anticlimactic).

20. do you write short stories? do you read them? i write and read them! up until october of last year i could never figure out how to write a short story and effectively resolve a conflict in 5000 words or less, but then suddenly (like. literally overnight), a switch flipped in my head and i could do it. as far as reading them, i don’t read a ton anymore bc of my busy schedule ( :( ), so sometimes if i’m in the mood to read i’ll opt for a short story online or a book of short stories instead of a full-length novel.

21. do you prefer to involve yourself with literary history and movements or are you more focused on the writing itself? any favourite literary movements? i’m typically more focused on the writing itself, although i do love to learn about the horror boom from the 50s-80s (if that counts as a literary movement lmfao). i also do particularly love work from the era of deconstructionism, which i think took place in like. the 40s-60s, if i’m not mistaken. i enjoy that era bc of its symbolism and abstract nature - a lot of the work leaves the reader to draw their own conclusions.

22. are you working on anything right now? not particularly? i have a few works in progress that i tinker with now and then, but i’m not seriously working on anything in particular.

23. how did you get started with writing? i honestly don’t even remember. i remember the first time i realized that i really liked writing and had fun doing it (in fourth grade, for a school competition), but i know that even before then i was writing stories and poems.

24. do you have any “writer friends”? most of my mutuals are writer friends! but i don’t have any irl. i almost made one in my math class last semester, but we lost contact when our university shut down in march.

25. what is your earliest work you can remember? the earliest work i can remember is when i was really young (maybe like. five or six?). it was about our dog being pregnant (which she was at the time) and able to talk (which she was not).

26. have you found your writer’s voice yet? does your work have a distinct tone? absolutely. i’m very confident in my style and the distinctiveness of my voice - it’s been there pretty much since i first started writing. i’ve improved since then, honed my voice and made it more sophisticated and effective, but at the core, it’s still me, like it always has been.

27. do your works share themes/are commonly about certain topics? or are your subjects all over the place? in poetry, i think i tend to write about grief or loss of some sort or another often, bc it’s something i tend to feel often - either that or a false bravado (but ig that’s more of a tonal device). as far as fiction, i like to write about religion gone wrong (false religion, religion as a front for personal gain and corruption, religion gone too deep into obsession and mania, etc.), and i like smart underdog-type characters that fight and have a lot of grit to them.

28. what does writing mean to you? to me, writing is catharsis, a bloodletting. this particularly applies to poetry, but it also applies to fiction. poetry shows you the things you’re regurgitating up-front, but fiction does it slyly, in a mirror or through a distorting lens. regardless, both stand to offer release and healing.

29. in an alternate universe, imagine you had not found writing. what do you think would be your fixation otherwise? honestly, i’m not sure. probably acting or theater. something creative, for sure.

30. do you feel defined by your work? maybe a little, but not to a large or limiting extent. like, in a new class, my interesting fact about myself will probably always be “i’m a writer and i’ve been published a few times,” but i think that i’m a well-rounded person and that once people get to know me, my writing is just a part of me, not my whole identity.

31. have you ever written/considered writing under a pen name? if you would be okay saying, why? no, i don’t think i have. while a pen name can be a good tool, depending on your goals and what you’re writing, i have a Thing about getting credit where i’m due credit lmfao. i don’t think i’ll ever use a pen name bc if i know something i do is good, i want my name on it.

[getalittleclosey]

under 50k larry fic rec

hi! i’m becca and i read...so much fic. these rec lists are an accumulation of fic that i’ve read or reread and extra loved from 2016-now. there’s a wide range of stuff here and i think there’s definitely something for everyone!! i divided them up by length so you can check out all those categories below!

please make sure to read tags and warnings on all these fics!! the only things i think i can guarantee is that these are all larry, there’s no non-con, no age play, no eating disorders, no mentions of bg, they end happy, and they’re mostly aus. oh and they’re all on ao3 and some are locked so you’ll need an account! anyway i hope y’all enjoy!!!

under 5k

under 10k

under 25k

under 100k

100k+

☆ the beginning of everything by thedeathchamber 31k

“How do you take it?” Harry asked, pouring tea into a cup.

“Just a dash of milk, please,” Louis cast a look over the small table, filled to capacity. “They’re very fond of you.”

Harry ducked his head, grinning. “They’re trying to impress you.”

Louis smiled, shaking his head. “Why would they want to do that?” he asked as he took the cup Harry passed to him, their fingers brushing for an instant.

“Empathy,” Harry said under his breath.

--

A Belle Époque AU set (mostly) in Paris in which Harry is a struggling artist, in more ways than one, and Louis is a successful theatre critic and a failed writer, more or less.

☆ to kill the mess we’ve made by misandrogyny 43k

And when he's finally standing, Liam fussing over him, rubbing his hand at the red mark blooming on Harry's forehead, does Harry learn two things:

One, he wasn't actually hit that hard, and Tommo--or Louis, rather--is just as pretty when Harry is staring at him head-on and,

Two, Louis is the Adidas model he's going to be working with on today's photo shoot.

(or: AU where Harry and Louis are both models, and they decide being friends-with-benefits is a great idea. It isn't.)

☆ heart open, bloodstain on my sleeve by silkbombs (mulberrygrey) 36k

“I couldn’t help myself,” Harry admits, one hand coming to rub the back of his neck, “I stared at you for a good while before I finally got the guts to come up to you. You looked so pretty sitting there, with your little ankles and your pencil in your mouth, so enthralling… art in front of art.”

Louis’ not sure what to say, so he just kind of sits there, eyes bugging out as he stares at Harry.

“I mean, like you’re not an object!” Harry rushes out, babbling.

“I just, there’s something about you that’s so captivating, and maybe it’s the way your eyes are like a watercolor painting of the sea, or how delicate your hands look when you draw, but I just wanted to get to know you. It’s not like I pick up random boys at art museums usually, I swear. Not that I’m trying to pick you up! Unless you want to be…God, fuck I’m sorry this is so awkward now. I can go, um, if you want."

--- Or, the one where Harry's the long limbed, gangly, sweetheart who just happens be a high profile art thief who conducts heists for a living and Louis' the loud, pushy art student who just happens to steal his heart.

☆ a king beside you by stylinsoncity 26k

When the aliens invade, the last thing Louis expects is to fall in love.

☆ the boys of summer by afirethatcannotdie 45k

“I mean…we’re gonna have to sneak around anyway, yeah? Like, with that whole rules thing that I guess we’ve decided to ignore. Might make it a little more fun this way.”

AU. In which Louis is a reluctant sports coach, Harry's a fellow counselor who wears tiny yellow shorts, and camp rules say they're forbidden to date.

☆ don’t let the tide come and take me by kiwikero 29k

The aquarium in the lobby has been there as long as Louis can remember, and so has the merman inside. That is, until the day Louis loses his job and decides to set the creature free.

They set off on a road trip to the sea, learning to communicate more and more each day. Their destination is LA, but the closer they get and the more Louis gets to know the merman, the more he dreads having to say goodbye.

Or, the one where Louis decides to set a merman free and ends up finding his own freedom along the way.

☆ introduction to dynamics by juliusschmidt 29k

Louis Tomlinson is the outspoken omega in the 'Introduction to Dynamics' course Harry wishes he didn't have to take. He's nearly certain to present as a beta, after all. Things will be simple for him.

☆ saved tonight by objectlesson 31k

Harry is the world's most persistent seduction-baker, a questionable dog-sitter, and Louis's biggest fan. Louis hasn't written in years, is trying to pass loneliness off as cynicism, and absolutely hates his fans. It's probably destiny.

☆ once upon a dream by objectlesson 27k

“M’not gonna half-ass our fake relationship,” Louis almost snaps, voice sharp with a defensive edge, like Harry wandered too close to a bruise with needy fingers. “Now kiss me again. We’re gonna make every shitty tourist here wish they had stayed in the Midwest. We’re gonna burn Disneyland down with our gay. ”

Harry shuts his eyes and opens his mouth, because he can’t fucking say no to Louis.

--

Or, a fake dating AU where everyone is lying and they happen to be at the Happiest Place on Earth.

☆ rivers ‘til i reach you by embodied 29k

Louis can’t begin to understand how he’s always this close and still can’t manage to make Harry his. He stands up and gets another beer. AU. Louis studies astronomy; Harry studies Louis. They spend their summers on the water and it shouldn't be complicated (spoiler: it is).

☆ life was a song, you came along by rainbowninja167 38k

It's embarrassing how long it takes Louis to recognize his own song. Niall had sung it as a bright, hopeful love song, and that’s honestly how Louis had always assumed it should sound. But this new voice, slow and rough, stripped of any backing instrument, has infused the lyrics with just the tumultuous mix of fear and defiance that Louis can remember so clearly from the night he wrote them. It’s not a comfortable thing, to feel like someone is singing all your secrets back to you.

Louis is a songwriter trapped in a lie that could ruin his best friend's career. Harry owns a record store, distrusts everyone in the music industry on principle, but loves Niall Horan's newest album. A modern retelling of Singin' in the Rain.

☆ learning to eat by photo41 29k

Celebrity chef Louis Tomlinson has a problem. He’s opening his first restaurant in 9 weeks, and he has yet to hire a pastry chef- apparently people think he’s ‘standoffish’ and ‘rude’ and ‘quick to temper’. Whatever. He ends up saddled with an annoying, happy-go lucky rookie who also happens to be obnoxiously good looking. His tv presenter and pop star best friends only add to the drama, and for fucks sake would everyone please stop quoting Julia Child?!

Kitchen AU where Harry helps Louis re-learn how to eat. (METAPHORICALLY)

note: just to clarify this is NOT an eating disorder fic don’t worry

☆ runner on third by kikikryslee 40k

As Harry stood there, the other man turned around, and he knew he was correct in who he thought it was. “Louis?” he asked, still not quite believing it. Louis blinked. “Harry? Wh– what are you doing here?” “I work here,” Harry said. “What are you doing here?” “Um, I’m picking up my brother. The nurse called and said he was sick.” Harry felt like he was going to be sick. “Wait, Ernest is your brother? Since when do you have a brother?” “Since about seven years ago, I guess. Wait, how do you know Ernest?” “I’m his teacher.” “You’re his what?” Louis exclaimed. Harry gulped. This was going to be a long year. --- Or, the AU where Louis and Harry were best friends growing up, but lost touch after Harry moved away. Ten years later, Harry has moved back to town, but he and Louis don't pick up where they left off.

note: there are four fics in this series that total to 60k

☆ roots by cherrystreet 43k

There aren’t many things that make Harry Styles nervous. He’s spent the past couple of years on and off various stages, filled with screaming fans, all chanting his name, loud and adoring. He’s done countless interviews, some even on live, national television, never faltering over his words, answers meticulously planned out, smooth and steady. He’s signed countless autographs, taken just as many photos, and even when he sat in his label’s studio, waiting to see how high up on the charts his single made it, he didn’t feel uneasy or uncomfortable. It’s all been unbelievably fun. No, there aren’t many things that make Harry Styles nervous.

Enter Louis Tomlinson.

☆ once upon a dream by thedeathchamber 33k

Louis is psychic and gets caught in the middle of a murder investigation led by FBI Special Agent Harry Styles.

aka. the Medium/Criminal Minds-inspired AU no one ever asked for.

note: there’s a 24k sequel for this!

☆ the melody you never heard by bananasandboots 30k

It's one last adventure. One last chance to be young and carefree. One final weekend before they take up their internships, their corporate positions, before they enter the real world, fresh out of university. Niall's his best mate. Liam's been there for him since they were lost, little freshmen, trying to find their ways through an overwhelming first year. Harry can't disappoint them, even if it means enduring four days with Louis.

Louis, who he does share a history with, a history he's never told anyone about, not even Niall, a history he hasn't brought up in three years because it's stupid and embarrassing and confusing.

Or, the one where Harry gets roped into a four-day camping trip with the boy who kissed him and never called back.

☆ born to make you happy by objectlesson 26k

Harry makes a quiet vow to himself that he will be the very best girlfriend Louis has ever had, even if he never actually gets to be Louis’s girlfriend.

note: i literally had to take a break and reread this cause i love it so much

☆ close to nowhere by angelichl 35k

“I will kill you in your sleep,” Louis threatened as he quickly stepped out of his jeans.

“I don’t think that would work very well baby, seeing as you talk to dead people all the time.”

“I’ll kill you in your sleep and ignore your ghost. And don’t call me that.”

Louis and Harry are psychics who kind of hate each other. They go to Tennessee to investigate a haunting.

☆ adrenaline by reveries_passions 38k 

“Harry Styles,” Nameless Boy who now has a name says. Louis is too busy having an internal crisis to realize the boy has just introduced himself as Harry Styles. Harry Styles, only son of Des Styles, PhD, Dean of Harvard Medical School. Harry Styles, known by everyone and their grandmother. Harry Styles, star rower. Harry Styles, youngest enrolled student in graduate school at Harvard University. Oh my god, Louis thinks, mortified. I just slept with Harry Styles. As he reaches out tentatively to shake the boy’s hand, another thought hits him. Oh my god. Harry Styles is gay.

~

louis tomlinson, college dropout, up and coming dj, and gay activist, is the notorious owner of exclusive underground gay club, adrenaline.

harry styles, med student by day, partier by night, child prodigy and seemingly heterosexual son of harvard professors, is the youngest and arguably the smartest student at harvard medical school.

or: a one night stand wasn't supposed to become the greatest love story of the 21st century.

☆ bloodsport by tofiveohfive 40k

“You know how our next game is against the Cardinals, right? You remember how vicious those guys can get. I wanted us to come up with some plays, maybe work on a block from the left—”

Louis stops when he hears a chuckle.

He doesn’t think he’s said anything particularly funny, so he turns to Harry, waiting for an explanation.

“‘S funny, ‘s all.” Harry throws his finished bottle somewhere near the other discarded ones. “This is the first time you’re talking to me in eight months, and it’s still about football.”

☆ the haunting of louis tomlinson helloamhere 31k

“I'm not afraid of ghosts,” Louis said.

Every single magnet unstuck itself from the fridge and fell to the floor in a clattering cascade.

“I'm only a little afraid of ghosts,” Louis said.

*** OR: Louis is a plucky Gothic Heroine, Harry is a Mournful Spirit, and Big Country Houses are full of mystery and suspense, as Big Country Houses ever are!

☆ can i not like you for a while? by larryshares 43k

louis tomlinson is awful. harry is just as difficult, and they're both terrible to each other. it makes being in the same acapella group together quite complicated.

☆ delight in masques by kassio 28k

Popstar Louis Tomlinson has been pulling one over on the mortals for years. In the five years since he put on a human illusion and tried out for the X Factor, none of them have realised that he’s one of the Fair Folk – a cat shapeshifter, to be precise – and he’d like to keep it that way.

When he returns to the X Factor as a guest judge, the last thing he expects is for some half-Siren fool to use magic on the judges. Unfortunately, that’s exactly what Harry Styles does. Now Louis has to track down some rogue changeling before he exposes them all. Even worse? Apparently, Harry doesn’t even know what he is.

(An urban fantasy adventure, set in the world of - but not crossing over with - the October Daye book series. No need to be familiar with those books; I just want to give credit where it's due on a lot of the worldbuilding.)

☆ no love like your love by rearviewdreamer 43k

When it comes to saving the world from itself and convincing rich CEOs of environmentally harmful companies to go green, there's nobody better than Harry Styles. That is, until Louis Tomlinson, his ex and former Alpha, is involved.  

note: i love vegan harry styles

☆ for neither never nor ever by fairytalelights 29k

Then Harry looked down. A newspaper was on the steps in front of him, looking new, like it had only just gotten delivered but no one had bothered to carry it inside yet. That, in itself, wasn't unusual. The unusual thing was the headline, Chernobyl - Half a Year Later, and the date in the corner. 5th November 1986. He looked up to stare at the girl in the doorway one last time, before he did the only logical thing his body knew how to do in this situation. He bolted.

or, the one where Harry travels through time and has to come to terms with losing everything he's ever known. Louis might be the only thing that feels real.

☆ worth dying for by whoknows 45k

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Louis says, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. In the center of the table, a set of three glossy photos stares up at him, mocking him.

“A security detail is non-negotiable, Louis, you know this,” his mum reminds him, tapping the middle photo with two fingers.

Louis doesn’t look back down at the pictures, gesturing towards them wildly, over-dramatically. “This is not a security detail!” he protests. “This is a lanky college student. In what world do you hire someone like this kid to protect me?”

☆ listen to your heart by lovelarry10 35k

Are you kidding me right now?

I… No? Louis frowned, feeling angry now. It wasn’t fair, he knew that, but at the same time, he couldn’t help his feelings. It felt like this had been brewing for weeks, and this was it. Give it a rest, Harry.

Why are you such a brat? Why can’t you just be happy for me for once?

You think I want to hear about you kissing James? Really, H? There’s things I just don’t need to know, okay? I’m your best mate, not your fucking relationship advisor…

*****

Louis has always been comfortable being Harry’s one and only. When Harry starts to branch out, Louis has a hard time letting him go.

Harry is very lucky to have someone who listens to what he has to say, despite the fact that he’s deaf. He’s finally feeling like he’s coming into himself, but Louis seems bothered by his newfound confidence.

☆ another day gettin’ into trouble by whoknows 26k

Harry’s drunk when the idea occurs to him. He’s also a pop star, so sometimes his drunk ideas turn into actual things instead of just ideas. The clone-a-willy kit is one of them.

In Harry’s defense, when he first thinks about it his intention is just to buy the kit and give it to Louis to make his own dildo with, because that’s what he wants anyway, right? To have a penis filling him up?

Then he realizes that it would be weird if Louis made a copy of his own dick to fuck himself with. It’d be super weird. Louis fucking himself? That’s a weird idea. Harry’s pretty sure Louis wouldn’t like that.

Clearly the only solution here is to use his own dick for the mold.

☆ all the right moves by cherrystreet 32k

This is the third game in a row that Harry has been distracted by the noisy boy in the stands, five rows back.

There’s really no reason that he should feel compelled to stare into the audience as frequently as he is, but he can’t help it. This boy is a nuisance. And he’s loud. Even from basketball court with nine other players running by him, shoes squeaking on the shiny hardwood floor, and thousands of cheering college students, Harry can hear this boy nearly shrieking, his laugh more like a cackle than anything.

It’s seriously obnoxious.

☆ play the odds by alivingfire 26k

Harry and Louis are best friends since childhood who, after a night of drinking, find themselves locked in a bet: first one to kiss the other a thousand times wins. Wins what? They don't know. Glory, Harry supposes. Bragging rights, though those don't do much in this economy. All Harry knows is that this is one bet he can finally win. What he doesn't expect, though, is what happens when he starts kissing his best friend on a daily basis.

Namely, he doesn't expect falling head over heels in love with his best friend.

Now all he has to do is make sure the bet never ends, so he never has to stop kissing Louis.