#none of these acknowledge art being fuzzy and it upsets me

[paul-simon-juggling]

I asked an AI to physically describe Paul and Art and it is 👌adamant👌 that they are both over 6 foot for some ungodly reason.

[imma-lil-teapot]

TMNT 2003/2k3 Headcanon: Crying - (Leonardo)

Feel free to scroll past this first part if you’re not interested in my silly rambling and nonsense. I won’t mind. Promise. ;)

Okey-dokey then, with the global epidemic that is the Coronavirus well in action and most of the world stuck in lockdown (starting this Friday for us too), felt like getting the ‘ol creative juices flowing with a little headcanon-y thingy in preparation for -possibly- more fandom writings to keep myself busy during the house arrest (well... it kinda is!) and hopefully my mind off all the bad news. :( 

Also, this is totally my first one on the blog! WOOT! Please bear in mind that I’m SUPER rusty! Haven’t written in ages so there are bound to be typos and all matter of general errors scattered throughout the post. Don’t pet them! They bite!  

Anyhoo~ Despite attempting to create and share with the goal in mind to uplift spirits, I decided to start on a rather upsetting subject (PLEASE DON’T LEAVE! They end on happy notes ;) ) because, Imma just come and say it, I enjoy seeing my favourite characters shed tears (not for just any old reason -their personality plays a huge role in this- and CERTAINLY not for sadistic reasons, land sakes no! But... well, you’ll see~ ;) ) It makes me all gooey and fuzzy inside to see them display such raw emotion and I just wanna leap into the TV screen to hug and console them. I dunno why. Maybe I’m nuts like that. (Remembers Raph crying at the farm when Leo was badly injured and wishes she could just hug them all and take away the pain) Oh well, if you enjoy visualizing the same, then *High Fives*. :)

So yeah, if you read the title, you’ll know this is based on the 2003/2k3 series (my favs). Hope you all enjoy~ :D Grab tissues cause sad turts ahead! :’(

Jibber jabber stops here~

TURTLES~

LEONARDO - You are here

RAPHAEL

DONATELLO - Coming soon

MICHELANGELO - Coming soon

WARNING(S): Because of the subject, Angst and Hurt/Comfort will be present.

RATING: G (General)

WORD COUNT: Don’t have the foggiest.

ANYTHING ELSE TO ADD:

And apparently gifs too, so without further ado: (Completely unintentional but in actuality, totally intentional rhyming)...

TO THE HEADCANONS~~~~

~LEONARDO~

-- It’s no easy feat to make the leader in blue turn on the waterworks. Leo won’t cry for any old reason. It’s not because he has no emotions, far from it, but being the leader of a small ninja clan -who happen to be family as well- is no easy task in itself: he has a lot on his young shoulders and deals with many issues on a daily basis few his age ever have to.

-- It’s because of these reasons that Leo doesn’t cry often. One of the lesser likely to out of the four brothers. But when he does, it’s an emotionally distressing sight to behold. 

-- Leo tends to cry whenever those closest to him -namely his brothers, his father/master and truest friends- are severely injured or are in a dire situation. Remember his angry/moody arc? The thought of losing any of them causes him great pain and distress, especially if he were the cause of any of it, and when that happens, he can’t stop the dampness that forms around his eyes and soaks into his mask. 

-- He’s not fond of crying, especially in front of others, even though he fully comprehends its normalcy. He feels he needs to be everyone’s rock, their fortress of physical and emotional stability to turn to for strength when things get rough... So when the tears start to fall, he feels he can’t show them, can’t allow them to watch him crumble under the gripling weight of helplessness and anguish.

-- He frantically wipes at his eyes and desperately attempts not to sniffle, but it’s a hopeless battle, for his tears are already a steady stream. 

-- He’ll try to hide when possible, usually retreating to his room to allow the worst of the emotions to spill over before returning to the others... Though he may be in there a while: when Leo lets his emotions go, it can be just as powerful as his red-banded brother’s rage. 

-- He spares no time in making sure the coast is clear for the tears are already streaming by the time he reaches his futon, and there’s no stopping them now as he lets himself drop to his knees, only halfway onto the mattress. He purposefully leaves the room unlit, cloaking his form in the darkness. 

-- He sniffs a few times as he shuffles up against the wall, sitting upright against it, bringing his legs up and hugging them loosely and droops his head against a single knee pad. 

-- His voice desperately wishes to escape. To express its misery. But he won’t allow it to, often placing one hand over his face in a bid to quell the sadness and remain silent in the battle against his own inner turmoil. He refuses to let anyone see him in that state of utter sorrow and vulnerability.

-- He whimpers ever so slightly and coughs a few times as breathing becomes difficult. He knows this episode won’t be over any time soon. Fortunately, he keeps some tissues next to his bed for such rare occasions and tries not to blow too loudly. He thinks back to the last time he cried so hard... It’s been a while. It felt like a build up. 

-- Time has been forgotten as he’s lost in deep thought. By the time he slips a hand across his eyes, only the material of his mask is still slightly damp. He clears his nostrils a couple of times before considering whether he was ready to return to his family. He’d of course straighten up his bedding beforehand, and would also require a trip to the bathroom to wash his face. A true ninja leaves no evidence. 

-- Leo tries to put the horrifying images out of head before leaving his quarters. He doesn’t wish to be weighed down again and thus maybe cause his emotions to come out a second time. He knew someone would catch on that time. Instead, he holds his head up high, focusing on the there and now to carry him forward.  

BONUS EXTRA~

-- Failure is also one of his greatest foes. Leo despises it, but not in the irrational sense; he fully comprehends that in order to grow, one has to lose in order to learn and thus, succeed in turn, and while it can frustrate him when he’s unsuccessful at mastering a martial arts technique for example, he understanders it’s part of the process and that no one’s perfect. 

-- It’s when his slipups could spell casualties or death to his family and/or friends is when it weighs down on him like a boulder strapped to his shell. 

-- A really big one. 

-- And it hurts. So much so that it causes him to become despondent and often teary-eyed when no one’s looking.

-- Boi Bloo might also cry from especially sad movie scenes. He gets seriously into the story, and when the scene is just right -perfect music, perfect timing etc.- you may just catch Fearless with watery eyes. 

-- He can’t help it. After all, he’s a leader, and very caring and kind-hearted individual, so movies showing children or anyone/anything defenceless getting hurt has him not only visibly upset, but also angry at the cause. He’s a softie like that. 

-- He won’t have a meltdown, of course, but the tears are definitely there. Just don’t tease him too much; he’s easily embarrassed by it. ;) 

BONUS EXTRA EXTRA FEMALE READER OR S/O EDITION~ (Can also use an OC/FC insert if you wish, up to you)

You had figured something was up by the time you’d finished greeting everyone in the Splinterson household except for the Turtle you’d long to see most and he hadn’t made his presence yet known. 

The idea that he must’ve been practicing or meditating swiftly vanished when Mikey told you he’d been in his room in the dark for the past few hours. “The guy hardly ever naps, and even so, never this long.” He’d told you. “I dunno, (Y/N), we were about to check on ‘im when you arrived, but maybe you should be the one to. Think he’d really appreciate it.” And there was absolutely no argument from your side as you were already making your way up to the room.

You didn’t know what to expect as you neared the doorway. Could he possibly still just be sleeping? Meditating in the dark instead of his usual spot by the training area? Or... was he sick? The latter now had you concerned and you picked up your pace... Only to pause mid step when an unmistakable sound reached your ears: a sniffle.

Had it come from within his room? It was the only logical explanation as everyone else was downstairs. You were truly perturbed now as you stood outside the doorway and called out the ‘eldest’ Turtle’s name.

There was some shuffling to be heard but you were unable to tell for sure what he was doing -probably trying to neaten up his bed- “(Y/N)? Just a second, okay?” he responded in a rather awkward verging on frantic tone, and you were certain you heard another sniffle escape him. 

That, along with the way he’d replied really didn’t help to put your mind at ease. “Leo, are you alright?” Nor was the pitch blackness in which he remained concealed in.

“Yeah, just... l-looking for something.” There was some more shuffling as if to prove his point, but you were having none of it.

“Then maybe this,” you began, turning around to flick the light switch, “will help?”

“No! Wait!” But it was a split second too late for as soon the brightness illuminated the entire room, you had caught the telltale signs of an emotional meltdown in progress plastered on his face before he quickly turned away and briskly wiped an arm across his face, attempting to hide the shame... or perhaps embarrassment? 

“Leo...?” your heart and voice softened, “Hey, what’s wrong?” You automatically walked to him, closing the gap he was now trying to form. 

“Nothing,” he lied, and acknowledged it was a fruitless attempt but still couldn’t stop himself. Autopilot panic mode was enabled now. “It’s nothing.” 

Unfortunately for him, autopilot mother hen mode was activated for you as you reached with both hands to his carapace and shoulder, gently turning him to face you. “I can see that it’s something.” Your words were gentle, and you wanted nothing more than to take away his pain. “Look at me, Honey.” His body was turned but his head remained to the side. It was clear he didn’t want his obvious distress on display, even to you. “Please, Leo?” You tried again, and slowly but surely, his eyes met yours, and you felt your heart sink further.

The fabric of his mask was wet and eyes were still red with fresh tears that threatened to fall. He appeared so broken and helpless as he stared at you, and even though he uttered no words, you could practically hear him despairingly ask “Is this what you wanted? To see me at my lowest?” from his expression alone. 

Never had you witnessed the leader of this band of mutant brothers cry. At times you had wondered if he ever did, and yet here he was; the incredible pillar of strength and dignity you had come to know and adore, in tears and so dejected that you couldn’t stop your own eyes from becoming damp the more you gazed at him. “Oh, Sweety...” You whispered as you felt your soul shatter. It was too much to bear. You slowly wrapped your arms around him, one around the midsection and the other over his shoulder, and buried your face into his leathery neck, offering every ounce of comfort you could muster.

It didn’t take him long at all to sink into the embrace and return the action. Beyond the point of concerning himself with showing the pain he felt -or the wetness now soaking into your shoulder when he placed his forehead against it- he sniffed and finally allowed the tears to fall once again as fresh waves of emotion surged throughout his body.

And this time, he couldn’t keep the whimpering to himself.

“Shh~ It’s okay, it’s okay,” you soothed, lightly patting and rubbing along the scutes of his shell as he weakly sobbed, finally letting go of all the sadness that gripped him. 

You weren’t even aware of what was wrong, and you most likely wouldn’t find out til later once he calmed down, but right now, he just needed you to hold him. Hold him until the hurt was gone... And so you would. 

AND THAT’S ALL SHE WROTE!

ALL THE FEELS!! I EMBARRASS!!

OMGosh, this turned into a monster! The mother of all HCs!! :O No seriously, this wasn’t meant to be this long! I was suppose to squish all four into one itty bitty little post, but then it just grew... and grew... and GREW! Personally, I blame the Reader Bonus but I’d be damned if I didn’t enjoy writing it! ;P You guys here on Tumblr got me slightly addicted to them and have wanted to attempt some myself so... Anyhoo~ I can’t really say if I’m entirely content with the whole thing, I dunno. I feel some parts are better than others (writing style-wise) but yeah, I really need to get back into the swing of things...

Speaking of which, I DO plan on adding my two cents on the other bois as well, but judging by how this one turned out, they’ll most likely all be this length, more or less, so each Turt will get his own post so I can really jot down those details with all the freedom in the world! That being said, I can’t say when they’ll be added but hopefully soon-ish. :) Raph's next on the list!

Thank you all so much for the read and hope you enjoyed~ :D

~Drag0n Mistr3ss’ Random Fandoms*

[nabateann]

Blaise x Theo + #4 or #15 (whichever you'd prefer to write ^-^)

haha it’s thlaise so,, both but i did choose and whoops did it turn angstyword count: 2717 // ao3send me a prompt!!

No one had noticed that anything was wrong. Not that he would want them to, but the point still stood. None of them had bothered to notice his anger or his hurt or any of his feelings for all eight years they had been together, so he didn’t know why he expected them to do so now. Even though Vincent was now gone, Gregory and Draco were still in their own little world, and Blaise was, as always, a blundering idiot.

Well, not blundering. Nor an idiot. Blaise always knew exactly what he was doing.

Theodore snuck around these days, ghosting into and out of his lessons, sequestering away in the corners of the library, stealing his meals in the kitchen long after everyone had gone to bed. He spent days sometimes without returning to his rooms, not wanting to look at the symmetrical arrangement of four beds in their dorm instead of five, not wanting to feel the fear and paranoia that followed him around the halls of Hogwarts, not wanting… He didn’t want the last year to have happened at all, to be honest. He wanted it to be sixth year again, when his dad was in prison and he was left alone for once in his goddamn life. But instead he was stuck here, at 18, robbed of his coming-of-age year, left floating and alone in halls that he should feel safer in than anywhere else. And now he had lost his last—

Theodore wasn’t sure if he was ready to even think anything about—whatever he and Blaise had been. He could still smell Blaise on his sheets; sometimes he woke up feeling Blaise’s arm trailing over his shoulder or Blaise’s eyes resting heavy on the nape of his neck and Theodore was craving the contact that he had stupidly, forgetfully, obnoxiously allowed himself to sink into, grasping at the straws of comfort that were offered to him like a newborn who had never experienced rejection before in his life. But Blaise was, of course, who he was, and had done what Theo should have expected from the beginning.

Theodore Nott didn’t get lucky. Theodore Nott had a shitty father, a shitty personality, and a shitty attitude. He was, all at once, too privileged and too neglected to be ready to take advantage of that, too pushy and too quiet, too smart and yet not smart enough. And yet, at this point in his life, he just felt like an idiot. There were probably people laughing about him, if they cared enough. They probably didn’t. Blaise loved lording his conquests over the common room, to brag about the “untouchable” boys and girls that he’d dragged into his bed. Theo was probably a common room story by now, a way to forget the green and red screams that filled the corridors for an entire year.

The common room was always dimly lit these days. None of them could handle the brightness anymore, and even the first years had their hands hovering over their wands. They were eleven, he thought sharply to himself, staring at the rain barreling down the windows next to him. He had been like them, eleven and scared and cold and tired, too much and too little and not enough. Draco, Blaise, and Gregory had never been like that . They had owned the world, silver spoon in hand since they had first sat up. And it still showed, even after last year.

There was a difference, Theodore mused softly, between a life of terror and a year of it. With a year, you knew who you were outside of the fear, but if you had only ever felt it, who were you without it? You couldn’t “bounce back” from it, because there was nothing to bounce back to. He couldn’t joke around about what had happened, because it was—not normal, but not outrageous. He couldn’t accept triviality anymore, and Blaise had just—fucked with him, to be crass. His father would have hated that. Theodore Nott, Sr. had officially died in an accident involving a portkey and illegal dark artifacts. That was what the aurors had decided when they showed up to the manor the next day to collect the disgraced death eater for his trial. Theodore hadn’t seen the point in arguing, but had simply nodded and accepted the new title.

But Blaise’s mother was still alive, and he was still allowed a childhood at age eighteen. He still thought it was funny to play with people, to mess with them and manipulate them like marionettes. He still thought it was funny to pretend to like people, to make fun of them, to laugh at how attached they were compared to him. Had he not been there when they saw the bodies writhing on the floor? Had he not felt terrified of being next? Pure blood meant nothing to the Carrows, and Blaise hadn’t exactly been successful at endearing himself to them. How, after that, did he find satisfaction in emotional manipulation? It was small, petty even, and completely unproductive. And yet he did it to everyone.

Theodore cursed quietly at himself. He had fooled himself into thinking he was different, something special. Had fooled himself into thinking that Blaise would look at him and see something other than the exhaustion and bitterness and cynicism, perhaps even something beautiful or—or lovable oh god Blaise was—was such an asshole, fuck.

It wasn’t funny to lie to people about that sort of stuff. Not that Theodore was small or defenseless, and he should have known better, but trying to make people say things you can lord over them for personal enjoyment. Saying that you love someone was not something to do like that. Not when—not when you knew that no one had loved them before. Not when you had held them at age thirteen in your bed and rocked them for hours until their gasping sobs had subsided when they admitted this. Not—

Theodore was wrong. It was something to do. It was something he’d seen Blaise do before to other people and he hadn’t blinked. But he’d trusted Blaise. He’d thought that he was maybe special. And yet Blaise had retreated back into his shell of lies and false flattery and Theodore had thought that it was a defense mechanism. He’d allowed it. But this had gone too far. Theodore could handle the false flattery and the fake smiles because of the sincerity in Blaise’s eyes, the whispered truths in the early morning when Blaise thought Theo had finally drifted off, sent into the dark room to be stifled by unconsciousness. But telling Theodore that he loved him—not even that, that he was in love with him—had been too much. Theodore had run. Everyone in his life wanted him for their own goals. He refused to let himself be taken in by that, ever. Not again. He had promised that to himself when his mum had died, and he wasn’t about to break that vow.

He’d told himself that he didn’t want to talk about Blaise, but there he was, thinking about Blaise anyways. Why did Blaise have so much power over him? No, why had he let Blaise have so much power over him, that was the real issue. He turned his face back to the window, resting his cheek on the paned glass, feeling a strip of metal dig into his cheekbone. The cool glass was a welcome respite, and he could pretend that the tears he felt leaking out of his eyes were the rain coming inside. That was a good idea.

He rotated, violently flicking his hand at the windows. They slammed open, sending a gust of wind and rain into the library, probably damaging the now mostly empty shelves. The books had been burned last year—he’d seen it from the Dark Arts classroom, where he was overseeing a detention. The blaze had lit up the grounds a sickly shade of red. He would have snorted if he’d had the energy to—the Gryffindors would’ve been appalled if they’d seen the twisted application of their house color. All that was left of that was grass that grew slightly greener in the fire’s wake by now, although you couldn’t see that through the mud.

Hogwarts really did bounce back stronger, Theodore realized. They may not have everyone they did two years before, but they had a will to survive. Everyone was the same, on the inside. They had changed, sure, but inherently they were still who they’d been: hopeful and bright and children. They were healing.

Maybe Blaise was, too. Maybe Theodore was expecting too much of someone who’d never been all that mature in the first place. He took a second to acknowledge that as someone who hadn’t talked in two weeks and was sitting in an open window during a thunderstorm at three in the morning, he might not be the best person to judge maturity, before shaking his head softly. He was going to have another sleepless night, he knew. He should probably have been more upset about that than he was.

Theodore felt Blaise coming before anything, a fuzzy feeling in the back of his mind that expanded into a pulsing knot of magic as it grew closer. Theodore recognized it, knew Blaise’s magic very well. And he could hardly escape, in the corner like he was. And so he pulled his sodden robes up and swung his legs around, turning to face the boy—man now, he reminded himself, looking at the squareness in Blaise’s jaw and the long, jagged scar running down his cheek. His feet were bare, and his hair was dripping water into his eyes.

Theodore gently closed the windows behind him, stretching with his mind and being overly careful with his control. He needed to show Blaise that no matter what situation they were in, Theodore was more than capable of handling himself. He stared at Blaise, not willing to give up the upper hand silence lent him. Blaise pressed his lips together, looking nervous and ashamed. Blaise hadn’t looked ashamed since he was twelve and his mother had chewed him out in their chateau in France. Theo remembered; he’d been there. This looked like that—real, genuine apology, rather than the show Blaise put on for their teachers. It was a bit softening, if Theodore was honest with himself, but he couldn’t let that influence him.

“I’m sorry,” Blaise gritted out eventually, the words looking difficult to force out. Theodore laughed internally. What, did that hurt, you fucking asshole? Did that feel like you had your heart clawed out, like you couldn’t go on? Good.

But, instead, he stared at Blaise, measuring him up. “Why?” he asked calmly, cocking his head and raising an eyebrow. He had been given all the power in this situation, a decision that he was marveling at. What exactly was Blaise playing at?

Blaise scrunched his face, looking unsure. Theodore sighed in disappointment. Blaise was looking for forgiveness here, not to apologize. Theodore had no more use for this conversation. He went to jump off the ledge, ready to bypass Blaise and leave this doomed conversation.

“I know you’re not… used to affection. Not like I am. And I knew that boundary was there and yet I kept crossing it. And I’m sorry.” He said the words haltingly, rushing them but stopping abruptly. It was jarring, and took Theodore a minute to understand.

“Explain,” he said bluntly. He hated not understanding things. Knowledge was safety, and Blaise had just tried to reconstruct the entire situation. Theodore needed to understand what was going on better.

Blaise looked straight at Theodore, taking a deep breath. The bookshelves he was between framed him nicely, bringing attention to his shoulders and waist, although there wasn’t all that much light falling on him even now that the storm had abated and the waxing moon was peering into the library. He was backlit now, and Blaise could no longer see his face peering from the ledge he was seated on.

“You deserve everything. You deserve someone to tell you that you look nice, that you’re smart, that you’re an amazing conversationalist and the things that you say about Malfoy are, quite frankly, the funniest shit I’ve ever heard. You deserve the world, Theodore. And you, for some ungodly reason probably relating to that asshole father of yours-”

“You speak badly of the dead?” Theo looked down at Blaise, a slight smile on his lips.

Blaise snorted humorlessly. “I do when they were abusive dicks to you. Thank Merlin he’s dead. And yes, before you say it, I am entirely aware that Merlin was a Slytherin, and the next time you tell me that I swear to God I will make sure you can never find work again.” Theo huffed. They’d had this dialogue many times, and its familiarity was comforting. But it wasn’t what Blaise was here for, so he let the thread drop. Blaise understood this and continued. “You don’t think you deserve that. You don’t think you deserve affection. I get that. You’re allowed to have your hang-ups. I understand that, God knows I have mine. And I overstepped those limitations. And for that, I am very sorry. If there’s anything I can do to make up for that, please let me know.”

Theo narrowed his eyes at the man below him before speaking in a measured voice. “You lied to me.”

Blaise blinked, surprised. “I’m sorry, what?” He shifted his weight, a nervous tick Theo knew well. He was confused, caught off-guard. Was he startled that Theo had called out his falsity, or did he not understand? Theo chose his next words carefully.

“You do what you did to your… conquests. You’d take me out to, try to… woo me? And then you’d flatter me. And that was okay. I understand that you need some front, something to hide behind. I get that. But then you—” He took a shuddering breath before continuing, trying to get his emotions under control. “You said you loved me. That was too far. You can lie to me, about me, about what I do to you, sure. But—” His face completely crumpled at this, and he brought his hands up to it, smoothing his brow, trying to get his emotions back under control. When had he gotten so bad at this? A small voice in the back of his head said, when you stopped sleeping, but he ignored it. “But not that.” There. He’d said his piece. Let Blaise do with that what he would.

“I did—” Blaise stopped here, sounding choked up. Theodore thought, rather vindictively, that he was happy he wasn’t the only one struggling here. “But I did mean it. And I know you don’t believe me, and that’s okay. But I’m willing to wait until you do.”

“No one could ever love me, Zabini. Don’t be an idiot.”

“No.” Blaise didn’t sound defensive, or angry, or anything of the sort. Instead, he sounded tired, like he was convincing a small child of an obvious fact. Theodore wasn’t sure how to react to that. “I do. And if you don’t believe me, sure. If you don’t want me to, too bad. If you can’t ever love me back? I’m okay with that. But you needed to know.”

Theodore hopped off the ledge, letting the sodden weight of his robes carry him down to the floor. He brushed past Blaise, making his way down the aisle, feeling Blaise’s magic fade behind him as he drew farther out of sight. At the very last moment, Theodore turned around to wait for him, leaning against the shelf. He kept tabs on his awareness of Blaise’s magic as he started to try to dry his robes without moving. Eventually, Blaise turned away from the window to make his way out of the library.

When he passed by, Theodore fell into step beside him. Blaise looked at him and raised an eyebrow slightly. “Still here?”

Theo, almost entirely dry by then, smirked slightly. “Unfortunately. You took forever.”

Blaise snorted, and Theo closed his eyes, sensing his way into the dungeons and only walking into a few walls on the way. Blaise barely mentioned any of them.

[karabites]

so like. have y’all seen this picture? bc I wrote a fic kind of based off of it (unfortunately I’m not ok with writing smut yet so not the happiest end possible for Chibita. he’s ok tho)

At the Whims of Fate (ao3)

Karamatsu sends Chibita a dick pic on accident.  What happens next will warm your heart.

               Oh.  Of course. Karamatsu stared at his phone in disbelief.  Then anger, bargaining, depression, and finally acceptance.  Fate never seemed to smile on him for more than a minute and today was no exception.  Today, Fate had brought him a text from that lovely woman he met the other day.  She’d seemed down on her luck, a little ragged, very tired, but she had a sense of humor about it.  The spring air was cool and delicious, gracing them with the sensual aroma of blooming flowers, though that may have just been her enchanting perfume. Her makeup was delicate and soft on her face, though it had been scraped rough by exhaustion and stress, and at the moment she’d dropped that beautifully crafted pastry on the dusty city sidewalk, desperation and loss carved their way into her dainty features as well.  As a true gentleman meets a damsel, Karamatsu couldn’t help but offer her his services, console the sweet thing and walk her to the nearest confectionary shop to gift her with a fresh treat, warm and, as he had said with a flourish and a deep, smooth bravado, “as sweet as her smile.”

               She’d laughed at that, and a lot of other things he’d said, and thanked him and sat with him to talk for a while.  The warm light of the sun had filtered in the shop like a godly curtain to grace the curves of her face, illuminating her as the true goddess she was. Ah, it truly was beautiful.  Fate must have been in a particularly good mood for him to make acquaintance with such a beautiful creature.  And its mood must have persisted as she exchanged phone numbers with him and waved him off with a smile, then dropped dramatically when he got home and found all the strings on his guitar had been snipped.

               But then! Then today his good fortune had returned with her message! Oh, glorious Fate! Blessing him again with her correspondence, with the chance to speak with this angel among men again! And the conversation was going so smoothly, so destined was their connection, that he knew it was time for the next step.  A gift to her to show not only his appreciation for her, but his commitment, his virility!  He snuck into the bathroom and snapped some flattering dick pics.  Artful, of course.  He’d taken many pictures of his endowment and he knew his best angles. How to suck in his stomach to show a more chiseled physique, how to pose his hand like it was slipping down his happy trail to touch himself, how to angle the camera dramatically to make it look just ever so bigger.  Karamatsu Matsuno was a master of seduction.

               But there was one problem.  Fate was a fickle goddess and it seemed her mood had taken a sudden and extreme downturn the moment before he pressed “send.”  Because at the same time that he was texting his newly met muse, he’d been texting, with equal excitement, his long-familiar companion about what a dramatic episode last night’s The Bachelorette was.  In his excitement, he’d replied to the last text he’d gotten, which happened to be “I fuckign KNEW she was gonna boot him off tho.  if she listened to you shed b stuck with losers.  ya got no taste.” So, without thinking, he sent his incredibly seductive and well thought-out photograph to Chibita.  

               Maybe Fate felt she had been slighted by him personally, because he’d sent the message “like what you see? B)” along with it before he’d realized his mistake and now, if he was being perfectly honest, he wished a divine power would kill him right then and there.  Shit.  Karamatsu stared at his phone in his hands, a weapon more powerful than any rifle, an inconspicuous object capable of destroying lives, of destroying dignity.  He watched as those three torturous dots appeared on Chibita’s side of the conversation and held his breath for the impending less-than-friendly insults. Depending on how Chibita took it, maybe he could play it off as friendly banter? Maybe a “at least if I was a contestant, I know who she’d pick (me)”? No, that didn’t seem right.  Maybe--.

The dots disappeared.  He waited but they didn’t return.  He didn’t really feel like sending his masterpiece to his female friend after that, so he just texted her back “I am more of a cat person, actually, but I like dogs too.”

  --

               It was late when his phone buzzed again.  He’d ended his conversation with his new lady friend an hour or so ago, and he’d been quietly playing his re-stringed guitar up on the roof, pretending that nothing had gone wrong that day and maybe he was dead. The cool evening air flowed around him gently, the stream of life carrying him along through this dark hour, with the fuzzy glow of city lights illuminating the path.  Though, his metaphorical path was only lit by the harsh blue light of his phone screen at the notification from Chibita.  He stared at his phone until the screen blacked out again, rolling over in his mind just how ruined his steadily developing friendship with Chibita was.  After a minute or so of fatalistic musings, he sighed to the wind (possibly his only remaining companion after this) and opened up the notification.

               “closing the cart.  meet me in 10.”

               Oh.  So no text-based berating. That could either be very good or very bad.  Very good because it would give him a chance to use his finely-trained body language to help convey just how much of a terrible accident this was and please pretend you didn’t see that Chibita.  Very bad for of course, very obvious reasons.  Odd though, that he’d need to meet in person just to clear up a misunderstanding, or to poke fun at him for it (which was more likely).  But then again, Chibita was a very odd guy.  He was learning this more and more as he got to know him.

               Karamatsu sighed and stood carefully, preparing himself to face the metaphorical music.  If he was a Shakespearean character he knew he would’ve taken this opportunity to take his own life over the inconvenience, but though he was committed to the theatric arts, he also was committed to not having his family find out he died because he sent his childhood friend a picture of his penis.  So he shot him a text back, “At the cart or your apartment?” before clambering down from the roof and readying himself to go.  

               The text came back worryingly fast.  “apt. taking the cart home”

               He let out some tension in his shoulders.  So it would be just a friendly reprimand then.  Perhaps Chibita had grown weary of the trials and tribulations of texting and mis-texting and accidentally getting dick pics sent to him and was opting to speak with Karamatsu face to face.  He imagined he’d have other things to chat about as well, maybe a new recipe he was excited about or a particularly difficult customer (Iyami) or a particularly obnoxious customer (Osomatsu).  He’d probably offer to share some beers and laugh about the whole debacle and watch some terrible low-budget movie with him for laughs. Yes, things would probably be okay. So with renewed confidence and calm, Karamatsu strolled through the night to Chibita’s apartment.

 --

                 Karamatsu only realized this might not be the best time to be leaning coolly against the doorframe like he normally did about two seconds before Chibita opened the door.  Consequently, he was in the middle of readjusting his pose when the door opened and a very confused and uncertain Chibita stared out at him.  He’d resorted to leaning back with his hands on his hips, staring into the night mysteriously, as if Chibita hadn’t seen him frantically pulling himself into that very pose.  

               “Heh!  An enchanting night tonight, is it not?”

               Chibita peered around him disbelievingly.  “Uhh sure.  C’mon in, Karaboy.  It’s cold out in all that enchanting-ness,” he said.  He moved to hold the door open for him and Karamatsu strolled in.

               “Go ahead and make yourself comfortable.  Uh, in the living room.”

               Karamatsu nodded stiffly and tried to pretend he didn’t see how uncomfortable Chibita looked, shifting on his feet and looking away from him as much as possible.  Not on purpose he failed to acknowledge Chibita mumbling something like “jacket looks real good on you,” as he walked by, barely registering that he said it until he was already sitting on the couch.

Chibita followed him in, stopping just next to the arm of the couch.  He’d changed out of his work clothes into some more casual clothes, slightly damp from what Karamatsu presumed was a hasty post-work shower.  That was… a little odd.  Usually Chibita would wave off any complaints Karamatsu had about how gross he got from working over the boilers all night and tell him he wasn’t allowed to complain until he got a goddamn job himself.  He wasn’t about to start complaining about him cleaning up, then. Maybe he’d had a change of heart about what Karamatsu had told him in response, that proper hygiene was an invaluable part of caring for the vessel for his precious soul.  Probably not.

               Chibita coughed into his fist and gave Karamatsu a sideways glance.  “So.  I guess you know why I asked you to come over.”

               Karamatsu nodded, feeling his ears redden.  He was glad he left his sunglasses on, no matter how hard it made it for him to see.  He could still see well enough to see Chibita nod in kind, though.  He could see his cheeks darken and the way he was twisting his fingers in nervousness.  Oh, he really was an unforgiveable soul if he made his friend this uncomfortable. Curse his immense charm and charisma and incredibly sexy body!  If he had none of those, he surely wouldn’t be in this predicament, confusing and upsetting his socially awkward and very dear friend.  So absorbed was he in his thoughts of woe and self-depreciation that he missed seeing Chibita move and suddenly he was sitting next to him, very close.

               Karamatsu adjusted his sunglasses and looked down and away.  He could feel Chibita pressing against his side, pressuring him to admit to his grievous faux pas.  He cleared his throat.  “I-I must apologize, Chibita.  Though I’m certain the image will be forever burned in your mind, I had no intent of sending such a salacious message to you.”

               He felt Chibita stiffen and still next to him.  “You what?”  

Something in the tone of his voice was unexpected, and it struck Karamatsu as a very peculiar reaction. He didn’t sound like he had misunderstood him, more that he hadn’t been expecting Karamatsu to say that.  He pulled his glasses off (less dramatically than he was wont to, though surely with just as dramatic an effect) and looked over at him.  Chibita was incredibly close, his body pressed flush to Karamatsu’s side and his hand hovering barely a centimeter above Karamatsu’s thigh.  His face was very, very red.  Like a beet, but with eyes that were very, very wide.

“It was… an accident?”  Chibita’s voice was tight and squeaked as he seemed to force the words out.

Oh.  Oh my god.

Karamatsu felt himself mimic Chibita’s expression of shock and launched himself backwards across the couch.  He scrambled to sit upright. “O-of course it was an accident! Chibita!” In his panic, the bravado dropped from his voice and his voice cracked through almost every syllable.  “What were you going to do?”

Chibita straightened back on his heels and held his hands down in his lap, holding his back stiff as a board. He swallowed and steadied his voice. “Suck your dick.”

Karamatsu’s voice was not steady.  “Suck my dick?! Chibita!”

“Well what else was I supposed to do?” he huffed as he crossed his arms and his face somehow got even redder.  “I mean you send me something like that when I’m at work and can’t really use it and ya expect me to just—just what, think you don’t want me to do anything like that?”

“Yes!” Karamatsu nodded wildly.  “Yes, exactly! Chibita, I expected you to think it was a mistake!  You’re very dear to me but—.“ A thought occurred to him and he paused, narrowing his eyes in thought.  “Did you… did you say ‘can’t use i—‘… Chibita were you going to jack off to my text?!”

Chibita hugged his arms tighter around himself and looked off to the side.  Karamatsu could see his fingers digging in to his arms.  “Well…” Oh my god.  “I mean, it was a good picture…“

“CHIBITA!”

“Well!” He unwrapped his arms and stood up in his place on the couch, seeming to puff himself up.  “You’re the one that sent me that-that picture! A-and the message too! You shouldn’t send people that stuff if you ain’t gonna follow through!”

“Chibita, I only did so on accident! Listen!” Karamatsu pushed himself back a bit and stood beside the couch, now eye-level with the most dangerous and now personally wronged creature he had ever met.  He hoped slowing down and dropping his voice again might help tame the tempest of a man before him.  “I intended that message for a young woman I met the other day, and only by an unfortunate mistake sent it to you instead.  I-I’m dearly sorry to have caused you such embarrassment, but—Chibita we were talking about The Bachelorette, why would I send you something like that on purpose?”

As he spoke, Chibita seemed to lose a lot of his fire and his shoulders began to sag.  The embarrassment and indignation in his eyes was replaced with dawning realization, with an unwelcomed truth that softened and exhausted his eyes.  His voice was softer and a bit raw when he spoke, “Well I—I said you had no taste and you asked me if I liked what you sent, so I thought you were maybe…” He licked his lips and cleared his throat.  “Did you say… you were trying to send that to a girl?”

Karamatsu relaxed a bit and leaned back. He nodded and hummed in affirmation. The awkward quiet in the room felt incredibly heavy and thick, and Karamatsu thought if he were to try to move, it would be like through honey.  

Chibita sighed, looking down, and hopped off of the couch.  “Alright. Well, um,” he scratched the back of his head and grimaced.  “Sorry, I guess.  You can go. If that was too weird, uh, you don’t gotta talk to me anymore or, uh—“

Karamatsu suddenly sunk down to his knees before him.  “Chibita, no!”  He clasped his friend’s hands in his own, earning a very bewildered face from Chibita as he snapped his head back around to look at him.  “Chibita!  My sole companion on this twisted road of treachery we call life!  My dear friend and trusted confidant! My occasional mentor in the culinary arts!  I could never abandon you over such a misunderstanding.  Even if you completely misunderstood my intentions and interpreted my overtures as sexual, you are still very dear to my heart.”  He dropped his voice a bit lower to heighten the drama and sincerity of his performance. “My heartfelt bond to you could never be broken over something so trivial.”  He considered kissing his hand, but thought better of it so as not to confuse his message.

Chibita looked… well, if he was anyone else, Karamatsu might say he looked close to tears.  But the emotional boy he’d once been had grown into a much more reserved man than Karamatsu had and whatever he looked to be holding back behind his watery eyes and his lip reddened from chewing, it was almost certainly not tears.  Chibita cleared his throat and choked out, “You mean that?”  

Ah. So maybe it was tears.

Karamatsu nodded emphatically and looked into his eyes intensely.  “Of course! Also! Did you say my picture was good!”

Chibita snorted and looked away, pulling a hand away reflexively to scrub away some errant tears.  “Yeah, it was pretty good,” he laughed.  “It was real hot, actually.”

“Thank you Chibita!” He earned another snort of laughter from Chibita, who pulled his other hand away and motioned for him to stand.  Chibita walked him to the door and leaned against the wall as Karamatsu slipped his boots and his sunglasses back on.  He supposed this encounter would sting for Chibita for a while, but at least there wouldn’t be any lasting consequences for either of them.  Ah, unless—

“Actually, Chibita, before I go,” Karamatsu began, turning to him with his hand on the doorknob.  “Would you… care to critique my work in the future?”

Chibita’s fond smile that he’d been wearing twisted into a confused scowl.  “What? Small words, Karamatsu.”

He took a breath, pushing himself to stand a bit straighter in the face of a proposition surely almost as risky as Chibita’s had been.  “Can I send you more pictures?  F-for artistic comment on my technique.”

Chibita’s eyebrows shot up and his cheeks began to heat again.  “Really? You heard the part about thinking it was hot, right?  Not talking about art sexy, like actual sexy?”

Karamatsu coughed and looked off mysteriously into the distance (at the wall).  “Art can serve a purpose and a critique on the fulfillment of its purpose is a perfectly valid critique of the art.”

“Karamatsu I wanted to masturbate to your fucking nudes.”

“Th-the highest compliment I could receive.”

Though he couldn’t see Chibita’s face, he could hear him humming indecisively as he thought it over.  Finally, “You sure?”

“Of course.  I could trust no one else to have such a discerning eye,” he said.

“Then hell yeah!” He thumped his fist against the wall.  “Go right ahead! Whenever you want, Karaboy!”

Karamatsu smiled and cleared his throat. “Thank you, my dear, dear friend.” With a wave, he stepped outside and began his victorious walk home.  Perhaps it wasn’t the best outcome, but a valuable one nonetheless! At the very least it gave him all the more reason to look at himself naked.  It wasn’t until about halfway home that he realized he’d walked away from his first realistic opportunity to lose his virginity.

Shit.  Well, maybe Chibita could help him choose a good picture to send to that girl from before.  That would be just as sure to get him laid as any friendly blowjob!