#oh no… my hands… carpal tunnel…

[vivalabunbun]

NOBOOOODY UNDERSTANDS THE ART OF YEARNING AND SLOW BURN MORE THAN U DO A ND I LOVE IT

NOO UUUU 💕🫶

Listen listen listen to me please

My word counts are only getting bigger and bigger bc I realize…

I can only write slow burn bc I can only think of slow burn, I yearn for slow burn 🧎‍♀️

Ahh but hopefully the ridiculous word count of my works doesn’t turn too many people away… but for those who push through…. Thank you 🥹🥹

[heph]

Could you draw more of fat Gale?

Heya! Thank you so much! I'm not going to lie to all of you though, I am swamped with projects and commission work and I only have these nice little posts to post when I'm not working on those 🛌

Know that in my heart all I want to do is sit down and draw chubby Gale all day every day, and expect it sometime in the future, but I really don't have the time at the moment and I'm sorry 😔

[lavenderyulu]

Day one - Pokémon Catching

rockruff beloved

[allfortheandreil]

RAINBOW CRATE ANNOUNCEMENT HOW ARE WE DOING AFTG NATION

[z-o-r-a-k]

I think I would probably draw a lot more often if I didn't get pain and cramps in my thumb and wrist and aching knuckles after like... ten fucking minutes

How the fuck do you people do it I'm doing hand stretches and everything how are people who still do art regularly as an adult not in pain every day

[decibat]

i wish my controller would come right now because im so. fucking. bored

[godhasforsnakenme]

BOOK REVIEW 📖

Last year I kept track of the series & films I watched; this year I've decided to keep track of whatever books I read! So this one is for the month of January – I'll share these sometime after the month is over, or if I read more than one book during the month, I will do their reviews as soon as I finish the book :)

[telemiel]

it's fun to be 26 with shooting, aching pain in most of my joints while no doctor ever takes me seriously

[bitchapalooza]

Tomorrow is my orthopedics appointment so here’s to hoping it’s just simple trigger finger or arthritis, anything but carpal tunnel like my nurse practitioner from two years nearly misdiagnosed me with and put it in my head for a while that I did have it until I realized she was fucking stupid!

[devotedlystrangewizard]

me when i finally start to get some breakthroughs when it comes to digital coloring and then IMMEDIATELY when i turn off my laptop get symptoms

[astraltrickster]

Also one more disability vs. art post - I get the...distinct impression that a lot of people do not know how much nerve entrapment such as carpal tunnel syndrome can fuck you up.

Sure, every artist knows what carpal tunnel syndrome IS, of course, and all these lovely infographics about exercises to help prevent it or slow its progression pop up on my dash from time to time and it's great to see, but...the way people talk about it aside from that often makes it sound like it begins and ends at, oh, your hand will get tingly and your wrist will get sore and it'll suck :((((

And that is absolutely not the case.

Carpal tunnel syndrome can cause SEVERE pain that lasts long after you stop doing the activity that caused it, permanent nerve damage, and even partial to total paralysis of some parts of the hand. Cubital tunnel syndrome, caused by a similar nerve entrapment in the elbow, can cause the same thing but even further up, potentially leading to total paralysis of the entire hand. Severe cases often require surgery - and orthopedic surgery has a high rate of complications that cause new or worsened chronic pain.

Oh, and if you have EDS or another hypermobility spectrum disorder? You're more likely to get it, AND have it be more severe than our less bendy counterparts, AND some of the exercises recommended for most people to prevent, slow, or relieve it may only make it worse because they're conceived with a normal range of motion in mind.

So what is the point of me saying this?

1: If you work intensely with your hands, PROTECT YOUR WRISTS AND EVEN YOUR ELBOWS, THE CONSEQUENCES ARE WORSE THAN YOU PROBABLY THINK

2: Believe people when they say carpal tunnel syndrome prevents them from doing things. Yes, it CAN be that bad.

[lowkeyrobin]

Can you do headcannons for them with a reader who crochets

Like maybe being on stream with them and just sitting next to them while they're yelling and you're just sitting there crocheting

Sorry if I made to complicated English is not my first:((((

omg I love this prompt!!&#*@&jdjsjs ; also don't worry!! I totally understand don't worry 🫶🫶🫶

MCYT ; you crochet

includes ; tommyinnit, ranboo, tubbo, badlinu, nihachu & quackity

masterlist

TOMMYINNIT

he'll be streaming like a just chatting stream or whatnot and you'll be off to the side doing your thing

some people in chat are watching you more than they're watching Tommy LMAO

you'll be crocheting a little plushie for him (a mini raccooninnit) and he'll look back at you every once in a while because you're pretty quiet and he's just checking up

you like punt it at the back of his skull when you're done and it lands back in your hand and he turns around with a "whatthefuhck?"

you hand it to him this time tho dw

he quickly shows it off to stream and does a little 360 of it

gives you a little kiss on the hand and thanks you with a lil hug

he's not huge w pda so you'll take what you can atm LMAO

he loves that you crochet, he thinks it's so cool because he doesn't have the patience for it

you've crocheted plenty of things for him that stay in his background or act as little easter eggs

you even made him a whole blanket that says "TommyInnit" with the little smiley face like on the HTBAB tour logo thing

he uses it religiously, that things in the wash every weekend because yk damn well he's not letting it get nasty or ruined

TUBBO

he'll be streaming on the qsmp and you'll be in the background crocheting

sunny already met you a while back, but she was talking to you through the signs and tubbo would tap you on the leg or shoulder to get your attention and you'd verbally answer into the mic

you were actually making tubbo a mini-crochet sunny that he could use as a keychain or just carry around for the hell of it

the hardest part were the little feet because the 90 degree angle on them ankles was fucking you up for some reason

and. the sunglasses are detachable and you were working on some accessories and stuff

once you were done near the end of the stream, he instantly showed it off and sent a picture in the qsmp Discord so everyone could see as well

literally tackles you in a hug

you've also made him a few beanies and blankets and a couple little plushies

in the background of his stream there's a little like thing on the ceiling with some minecraft bees on strings so it looked like they were flying around

you made it for him like 3 years ago but it's fine LMAO

he's super intrueged by crocheting but he doesn't have the attention span and gets confused by all the looping and this and that going on

just not a skill he has lol

RANBOO

loves having you in the bg of their streams just chillin

you usually crochet them beanies, plushies, blankets etc

you'd be crocheting a new blanket, matching the theme of their new brand

once you finished, you'd throw it over them and scare them

"Holy shit! Y/n!"

you giggle while he looks at it and admires it with a smile

he shows it off to stream and gives you a big hug and shit

he'll often wear the clothing items you've made him on stream as well

"where's this from? oh, y/n made it for me!"

like Tommy, their bg is filled with little easter eggs of you

before the rebrand you even made him a little crown and he wore it religiously because it was honestly really comfy

he's tried to learn crochet on stream before but it wasn't going well LMAO

sometimes you'll be chilling and doing your thing and chat will focus more on you than them 😭🙏

FREDDIE BADLINU

you've made him so many bucket hats that if you make one more you will gain carpal tunnel

he absolutely loves that you crochet and that you make him things tho

he'll send you new patterns like "I saw this and thought of you"

if you're chilling in the back of a stream, he'll just leave you be and bother you every once in a while

"watcha making?"

"little plushie"

"ooo"

again, his bg is littered w little easter eggs

and his room and closet are filled with blankets and pillows

you use the nice yarn that isn't itchy too 🙏

he'll post pictures of you crocheting online and stuff it's adorable

straight up made him a jacket and he looks so good in it

just straight up throwing crochet gifts at him is normal dw

he loves and cherishes everything you make him

NIKI NIHACHU

you've made her everything in the book and she's posted about it LMAO

you made her a blanket and she cuddles up in it on chill streams 24/7

you've made her a bunch of tops which she always knows how to perfectly style too

like you'll even get her input when you're chilling in the bg while she's streaming

"niki, purple or white for the tiny flowers?"

"mmm purple!"

she even has chat decide things for you when she can't LMAO

you made her a whole crochet sign for her bg that says Nihachu, it's basically just a tapestry but you spent hours on it lmao

making her a bunch of little jellyfish and stars>>>

you even make her a little empanada keychain and she ADORES IT

she uses it as a little squishy for when she's a bit anxious too

you made the waffles like interchangeable too its like a whole toy

ALEX QUACKITY

he has no idea wtf you're doing but he likes it

you made him the little quackityhq duck years ago and he still treasures it, its right on his desk so he can always look at it lol

he loves just watching you crochet

will genuinley zone out watching you as well

again, punting gifts at him is normal

and they will ricochet off his head back into your hand 💀

"bro you got a long ass head"

"WHAT?"

you crochet him new beanies too

he wears them a lot as well

loves all the blankets dearly like they're his kids

you made a little qsmp world plush thing as well, only the world w the debatable qsmp logo bc all the stuff on top would've killed you

crocheting random shit just to throw it at him >>>

[goodluckclove]

On Not Writing

Hi! I'm back. i had a fun two days of doing absolutely nothing writing related, including scrolling this blog. Wife and I played a lot of Valheim. Took a lot of bike rides. Watched Interstellar for the first time - pretty good, kind of silly at the end. It was my first two-day weekend in probably three months, so it was much-needed, hard as it was.

And it got me thinking of some things I wanted to say to the community here. It's especially targeted towards younger writers, of which I used to be one, but I think it can apply to anyone who finds themselves despairing over how much they aren't writing.

Let's imagine you're sitting with me in this coffee shop. It's an overcast Portland morning and I just inadvertently vivisected a croissant. And as we sip our drinks (I ordered a lavender latte), you lament to me. I don't know what to do, Clove. I just haven't been writing!

You know what I say to that?

Good.

This is a new hot take of mine that I, once again, worry about upsetting people with. Because I see a lot of guides here about how to write, or how to write consistently, or how to write through writers block. But I haven't seen a single person talking about the inverse - how to not write. Or - perhaps more accurately - how to exist as a human being separate from your identity as a writer.

This is a problem for me.

Listen - I started young. I was 12 when I wrote my first novella, and 13 when I completed my first novel the next year. Adults in my life were impressed by the big-eyed child writing so many words. They encouraged me. I wrote two more novels, and they continued to encourage me. Because of the potential, right? I could be successful. I could be famous.

People stopped pushing me to try other things. I saw I was getting validation as a writer, so that only pushed me to continue fixating over something I was already enjoying and getting pretty good at. Dad had me writing two thousand words every day, because that's what Stephen King did. At 16 I finished four full-length novels, which everyone thought was really cool and interesting. I was also sporting dual hand braces every day throughout the winter to cope with the carpal tunnel I still struggle with to this day.

There is encouraging a person in their passion. There is also poisoning them with the belief that their self-worth comes from pursuing that passion. This is entirely, absolutely, even more true for younger writers and artists.

I am enraged for the young writer in my heart and in my head. Because they worried about a lot of the same things I see people worry about on here. Oh, if I don't write I'm not a writer! And to an extent they're right, as to be a writer you need to at some point write some stuff.

But here's the fucking thing, Young Clover - a child should not strive for the work ethic of a professional adult. You did not need to write 2k words a day to be a writer. You were a writer as soon as you updated that terrible Invader Zim fanfiction you wrote when you were 10.

And more than that, though, the most important thing to a person should not be their job and aspirations. If you don't write every day, you're still a writer. If you've never written anything, you aren't - and that's fine. You might write something later down the line, or you might not. Either way you are still entitled to exist on the planet and capable of living a full and passionate and wonderful life.

Hear my words: being a writer is not more important than being a human being.

If you aren't writing right now, maybe you're not supposed to be. Maybe you're meant to be nurturing your relationships, or nurturing yourself. Maybe you're supposed to be volunteering. Or meeting new people. Or gaining a new field of knowledge. Or getting really good at making focaccia bread. Or watching every Mark Wahlberg movie.

I don't like to hear this any more than you do. If I was told that I, for some reason, was not allowed to write for the rest of my life, I would be miserable for maybe a long time. After that passed it's my hope that I would move on and do other things, because my worth is not dependent on being a writer. I like doing it. I like being it, and I hope to be one for the rest of my life. But I never want it to be the first thing people see when they look at me. I don't even like bringing it up in conversation with people I don't already know.

So yeah, if you have "writer's block", maybe consider putting down the pickaxe and getting some rest. Step away entirely from the large boulder that stands between you being the next Stephen King or Brandon Sanderson or Teen Dystopia Writer no. 2321. Take a break, and I mean an ACTUAL break, not the kind where you spend the whole time sulking about work.

I am legitimately begging the writers on here to have developed lives and interests outside of writing. I am begging because I do not have that and it has consistently been one of the hardest things of my life.

You prioritize living outside your writing and it will improve the quality of your writing when you get back to it, as it'll allow you a frame of reference that extends beyond our niche industry. Or it might make you realize that, while you enjoy writing, what you really love is ceramics. Or game developing. Or mutual-aid activism. Or the movies of Mark Wahlberg.

It is not your job to treat yourself like you already have a dozen deadlines and an audience teetering on the edge of disappointment. That's ultimately not going to help you. Your job on this earth is to exist fully, for the sake of the universe that wants so desperately to live vicariously through you.

So breathe. Breathe and calm down. You aren't a failure and there's nothing you have to prove. All you have to do today is drink some water and have a nice snack while you look at a cloud.

Please be kind. All of us need to be kinder to each other and to ourselves.

That's all I want to say. I love you dearly. Please let me know if you need anything.

[brotherblaze]

lemon shark —kuroo tetsurō

—summary: When you admit to quitting your high school club, Kuroo pauses, takes the decision in, and recalibrates his stance. He doesn't understand quitting like that but it's okay, you'll figure it out together. He'll always have your back, just as you'll always have his.

—cw: none

—wc: 1,9k

AO3 version

He finds you where always does when you’re not home and there are no other pressing responsibilities: the arcade.

“You’re going to develop carpal tunnel like that,” Kuroo says, peering at the backglass of the pinball machine over your shoulder. Half of it is an incomprehensible mess of a ruined city skyline with a tall figure standing at the forefront, a gun in his hand. It’s very pointedly not the backglass of a pinball machine. Or maybe the nigh-incomprehensible art there and on the sides is a feature, not a bug. The score on the display board on the bottom of the backglass keeps ticking up. He can hear the pinball in the machine dashing up and down, bang against the obstacles littered on the map, and the flippers at the bottom.

“No, I’m only moving my fingers.” You don’t look at him, stare at the pinball in the machine, press the buttons on the sides to make the flippers jump. The pinball bangs against one and is sent catapulting back into the playfield.

Kuroo steps around you and stops next to the machine — he knows better than to lean against it. His hands are buried in his denim jacket pockets. The pinball isn’t overly difficult to follow but he still gets thrown for a loop every now and then when it ricochets off one of the bumpers underneath the glass in an unexpected direction.

It’s really no surprise you’re this good at pinball. With the amount of time you spend in this place, he’d expect you to be able to clean out the shelves of cheaply-made toys and weird little useless gadgets with ease. Regular arcades are fun, he’ll admit it, but this one, American in style with its ticket system some hail as a scam (and claw machines with butterfinger claws that are definitely a scam to boot), he doesn’t see the appeal in this specific arcade.

Somehow, you do.

The pinball in the machine drops. The lights on the machine blink rapidly.

“What are you doing here, anyway? Don’t you have practice today?” You pat down your pants’ pockets for the points card and swipe it through the machine.

Kuroo raises his brows. “It’s 7:30.”

“What? No, it’s not.” The argument is immediately on your tongue because it isn’t 7:30 PM. That’s impossible.

He pulls one hand from his jacket pocket, presses the power button on the side of his phone, and turns the screen to face you. 7:36 PM.

“Oh.”

Kuroo glances at his phone screen, then slides the device back into his pocket. “How long have you been here?”

You shrug. “Like… 11.” You look away from him, opt to stare at the painted side panel of the pinball machine. It depicts one long white hot lightning strike with a blue aura. Yeah, there’s absolutely no way this frame was originally for this specific pinball game.

When you look up, he’s narrowed his eyes at you, lips tilted into a frown. It’s that look he gives a particularly difficult English homework task. Analyzing. Solution-oriented. “So, what, you skipped swim practice?” Because he knows how long those run. He knows when and where and how and who. It’s embedded into and around his own club schedule.

“I quit, actually. Yesterday.”

You raise your gaze to meet his, hold it, wait for his reaction.

Kuroo’s face spasms, fleeting expressions cycling so goddamned clearly until he pulls himself together, and puts up a nonchalant facade. His brow twitches and his expression morphs just slightly, finally settling on neutral. It’s almost eerie. He pulls his gaze from you, lets it drop to the pinball machine side panel as if he’s processing or looking for the right words to continue, then looks up at you again.

“Why?”

It’s a measured response. His voice is carefully neutral.

You tilt your head to the side, look over his shoulder at the distance, then tilt it to the other side, stare at the claw machine behind him. Your mind races, thoughts colliding and avoiding collision by near-misses, traveling parallel to each other, splitting at intersections. Possible outcomes on top of outcomes race with them, anything and everything from a prolonged lecture on the importance of perseverance, to disappointed resignation, to quiet acceptance. All of them horrible in their own way.

You settle on a half-truth with a shrug of your shoulders. “Got boring.” You don’t want to see his expression morph into the outcome of his choosing and turn away from him, scan the room for one more victim to acquire enough tickets for the top-shelf prize at the prize counter. “Quit while you’re ahead, or whatever they say.” A victim appears; a lone Street Fighter copycat game tucked right by said prize counter.

Kuroo falls into step with you. “That’s for risky stuff.”

“Like?”

“I don’t know, the stock market.”

“What do you know about the stock market, Romeo?”

You dare a glance at him from the corner of your eye but his expression remains carefully blank. It would be infuriating with anyone else. But Kuroo knows how to read people, how to play to their strengths, what to say and what not to say. You think you can read him well enough; he’s keeping his composure neutral to probe your thoughts and/or feelings on the subject so he's able to give the most effective response. It's almost clinical. The thought leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

He positions himself next to you but he doesn’t take up the player 2 slot on the arcade game. You don’t comment on it and hit play.

Your character dashes, jumps, kicks.

The opponent A.I. dodges, jumps, dies.

The game screen flashes GAME OVER in large blocky letters. You swipe the points card, cross your fingers, and saunter up to the prize counter.

You have an abundance of points, it turns out. The woman behind the desk grabs a hook on a stick and with the help of a step stool, pulls a yellow shark plush down from the high shelf. You point to a small raccoon plushie keychain to drain the rest of your acquired points.

Kuroo stares at the bright yellow shark plushie. Its eyes are embroidered hearts filled in with glittering thread. Its felt teeth are bent. “That’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen,” he lies. “It’s a horrifying monstrosity; you could get a better one from IKEA.”

“As per usual you have no taste.” You turn the large plush in your hands and tap the pad of your finger against the glittering eye. No residual glitter catches to your skin. “Well, since you hate this, you wouldn’t happen to want the raccoon, either, huh?”

“Never said that.” He holds his hand out, palm up and you place the small gray and brown raccoon into his waiting hand. He lifts it to eye level, stares back at its large vacant acrylic eyes.

“C’mon,” you jerk your head towards the exit, “you can continue gazing into each other’s eyes soulfully on the way home.”

The summer evening air is slowly cooling as the sun sets. Its orange rays glint off the skyscraper windows.

Rush hour draws to a close and the crowds on the train ease up. You manage to snag two seats near the front of the train as an old couple disembarks.

Your newest companion is sandwiched between your neck and the window, its face pressed flat against the glass. You angle your body slightly so its first dorsal fin is pressed against your throat, your knees pressed against Kuroo’s.

Kuroo spends the ride scrolling through social media. Every now and then he swaps apps, texts someone. You catch Kenma’s picture at the top of the messages. Another time you catch sight of the picture for the volleyball team’s group chat.

It’s hard to lean your head back against the cool window, the best you can do with the shark propped behind your head is turn your face towards Kuroo. It gives you the perfect angle to stare at his profile. He’s slightly slouched, shoulders lax. His posture straightens ever so slightly, jaw tensing, brow creasing. His fingers fly across the screen to type out a response in the group chat with you, him, Yaku, and Kai.

You let your eyes wander his face, the curve of his nose and his lips to —

To the thin scar running along the slope of his cheekbone.

“What?” he asks then, looking up from his phone. He locks and pockets it. You tap on your cheek where his scar is. “Does it bother you?” he asks.

“Sometimes.” Because it does. Sometimes.

“As far as first meetings go, it’s probably on the more interesting end of the scale.”

“You’re the one who yanked me from behind.” Because he did.

“Would you have preferred death by way of a moving vehicle?”

You roll your eyes playfully and look away as you always do when he brings that up. Sure, it’s the logical conclusion to you literally trying to run into oncoming traffic way back then; but that doesn’t mean he needs to say it out loud. He doesn’t. It’s the logical conclusion.

“Yeah, well, what a story to tell your grandkids in 60 years.”

You peel yourselves from the seats once your stop arrives and you tuck the shark under your arm. Kuroo keeps to the road side on the sidewalk. The crowds grow even more scarce as your street comes into view.

You pass Kenma’s house; the blinds aren’t drawn and you can faintly see the glow of the TV from Kenma’s room. The lights in Kuroo’s house are on. Some houses on the street are completely dark, others completely alight. There’s a window cracked open somewhere, broadcasting a football match.

You pause in front of your gate, almost at the end of the street, and make no move to cross the threshold.

“I got half the family sicced on me because they’re not fans of me quitting, y’know? Word travels fast.” You stare at the lit living room window obscured by a cream-colored blind. “Somehow they’d gotten it into their heads that I was going to go to the Olympics and now they’re…”

“Pissed?”

“That’s putting it lightly. Pissed and everything else under the Sun.” You purse your lips. “Probably gonna hear how I wasted my Olympic potential for the rest of eternity. I think they’re delusional for thinking I could ever make it that far.”

There’s a lull in the conversation. Birds swoop down from the sky, land on the power lines draped above your heads.

“You wanna stay over tonight?” Kuroo asks, jerking his head in the direction of his house. “Dad’s making pancakes first thing in the morning.”

You shake your head with a small smile. “Thanks, but I might as well get lecture number three million about how I can ‘still save my Olympic career’ over with. Good night.”

“Night.”

Kuroo lingers by the gate as you step through and take the short cobblestone path up to the house. He watches you pause at the door before you slot your keys in and throw it open. Still, he stands there as the door closes and stares at your bedroom window. It doesn’t take long before there’s movement, the blinds being rolled down and the lights turning on.

Only then does he take off towards his own house, clutching the raccoon keychain in his pocket.

part 2

divider by @/kafekitsune

[sergle]

i had someone tell me chiro wasnt real and wasn't doing anything for me in the same breath they told me to try cbd oil 🫢

SCREAAMMMMM I wouldn't be surprised if someone told me to just go align my chakras instead. also god I love being told by other people that it isn't Doing Anything to me. like DAMN THAT'S CRAZY... Ig when I've fucked my neck so badly that I can't turn my head to the right, and I'm able to finally get range of motion back again only after getting a chiro adjustment, that must be like a sugar pill thing or something. Or when I have a tension migraine that won't go away for days and days but dissipates after an adjustment. Or when being bedridden with back pain was a common occurrence before I started going to a chiro regularly and now I can go on walks and hikes without my lower back seizing up. Or how my carpal tunnel improved when she started loosening up my wrists. But I guess it doesn't "do anything". I must be fully imagining it. It must just be some woo-woo mind shit. I should probably just smoke some weed and that will physically heal my entire body. I should probably just drive to oklahoma city and pay some extra for a PT to tell me to do some of the exact same stretches my chiro advises me to do, and advise some of the exact same habit changes my chiro has mentioned, and to perform some of the exact same adjustments, but call them "manual therapy" instead. Oh, PTs don't do "adjustments", they simply put their hands on you and manipulate your muscles/joints to alleviate pain, loosen you up, and feel for small misalignments. Which is fucking exactly what a chiropractor does.

[ilovetheriddler]

The Carpal Tunnel Of Love.

(Gotham) Edward Nygma/The Riddler × F!Reader.

(Takes place in between seasons 1 and 2 of Gotham. Also, this is my first ever fanfic. So i hope it's okay!)

Word Count: Slightly over 700.

Contents: Unrequited Feelings, just a small bit of Angst.

You honestly couldn't begin to even act like you had any clue as to what Edward was currently up to. Hunched over his desk, scribbling away on numerous scraps of paper... Actually, a concerning amount of paper. You pondered to yourself about what he could be writing down in such a gleeful frenzy.

Originally, you assumed that it had to be some new Riddles he had just thought up. But... the look in his eyes made you think it was something else entirely... He glanced up, finally noticing that you were standing in the doorway. He jumped up slightly startled, unintentionally sending his papers flying everywhere.

He quickly tried to gather them all up while attempting to ramble out a greeting to you.

"A-ah! I'm so sorry that I didn't see you standing there!"

You couldn't help but chuckle to yourself, not in a mocking way like numerous other did when it came to Ed, no. In a more amused and friendly way.

"It's fine, Ed. What exactly are you working on there?"

"O-oh! Um.. It's a bit embarrassing to admit, but I'm currently writing a love letter. Well, attempting to that is."

You felt your pulse quicken upon hearing this, You could practically hear your heart beat pounding away in your ears. Is this really it? Is this finally the moment you've been hoping for? When he confesses his love for you? A genuinely large grin crosses your face in excitement.

"Really?! A love letter? That's quite an interesting thing to be working on... If you don't mind me asking, who's it for?"

An embarrassed and goofy grin rests on his face as he scratches his neck. A bit reluctant to actually admit who this letter is for. But ultimately, he concedes and does so.

"Well.... It's for Miss Kringle, I've had feelings for her awhile now and... I think I'm ready to tell her that!"

You felt your heart both briefly stop and shatter upon realizing what he's saying. The letter isn't for you. He doesn't love you. He's in love with Kristen Kringle.... Oh. Of course he is... you attempt to put up a front of being happy and supportive of him. A fake smile is present on your face.

"R-really? I'm... really happy for you, Ed. You deserve to have someone love you as much as you love them. I hope it goes well for you when you tell her..."

"Thank you... I um... sure hope it does. So anyway, what are you doing down here at the GCPD?"

You felt your face heat up slightly once he inquired about why you were here. You sigh and pull an envelope from your bag, Handing it to him. He looks a bit surprised and confused as to what it's meant to be.

"Open it.... I made it just for you."

"Hmm? Really? Well, alright then. Thank you!"

He tears open the envelope and pulls the card out. It was a clearly handmade card. He opens it and sees the writing on the inside that reads, "You may have a lot of me, but you'll never have enough. There will be no more after the last one arrives. What am i?". A soft chuckle escapes his lips.

"A... Riddle?.... Birthdays, the answer is Birthdays."

"That's right.... Happy birthday, Ed...."

His eyes go wide once he realizes what today is. It's his birthday. He'd been so caught up with preparing everything to be perfect when he confessed to Kristen that it had totally slipped his mind that it was today. After a few seconds, a genuine and wide grin crosses his face.

"You remembered my birthday? Wow um... I don't know what to say, Thank you..."

"We've been friends for two years now, Ed, i couldn't forget your birthday even if I tried."

"Well... Thank you! I really appreciate that you'd go through all the trouble of making me a card. It really means a lot to me that I have a friend who cares as much as you do!"

A friend. That's... unfortunately, all you'd ever be to Edward, you feared. But, a part of you honestly didn't mind. As long as you were able to be by his side and be a part of his life... then I'd be worth it to you. Even if it did tear you apart inside each night that he would never return your feelings, or at least that's what you believed and you weren't willing to risk telling him, especially not now that you knew about his feelings for Kristen Kringle.