#anyway. theatre ramblings. i always get carried away

[imabiscuitinthousandworlds]

wish i could post my paintings of theatre stuff here bc i'm really proud of those (my theatre keeps making amazing adaptations with SUPER COOL costume and lighting and setting and colour and visual symbolism choices) but alas. the chance is low but very definitely above zero that i'd doxx myself HARDCORE. but maaaan. trust me when i say that stage is just plain amazing. i need to live in the theatre

[withcolebrock]

The Nights I’m Left Alone - part 2

Summary: Y/N notices Colby not feeling at his best and challenges him to Mario Kart to talk about his feelings

PART ONE

Requested: yes for a part 2 lol

Warnings: swearing, discussion of mental health

Word Count: 2,509

Author’s Note: OKAY HI! I’m back, sorry for being SOO dramatic about whatever was going on. The part was heavily inspired by the song This Side of Paradise by Coyote Theory. It is an amazing song and you guys should totally listen to it!! Anyway, one of my old friends and I would do this whole challenge each other thingy. So I thought it would be a fun idea to write, so I hope you guys like it!! also I may do a part three but it’s probably not likely... This is my Gif!!

It was another day where the friend group was hanging out together. It was mid-day, the weather seemed to be almost unbearably hot. Most of the group was swimming in the pool, while Colby was laying on a lounger chair tanning. Y/N leaned her body against her hands as she continued to kick her legs slowly back and forth in the pool. Every so often her gaze would shift towards the shirtless boy on the other end of the lawn. “Is he alright?” she asked nodding towards Colby’s direction.

He wasn’t doing anything different than he always does. Except today, he didn’t even try to hang out with the group. Normally he swims around and at least talks to everyone before he leaves the group to tan. Instead he walked out, only showing a weak smile as he laid down on his lounger. It was odd to say the least.

Tara shifted her gaze towards him and shrugged her shoulders, “He seems fine,” she mumbled as she turned her attention back towards Xepher who was swimming in the pool. Y/N glanced towards the girls briefly as she brushed a few pieces of hair away from her face. She pressed her lips together as she stared towards him with her eyebrows knitted together.

They weren’t close, they were friends, but they wouldn’t choose to talk to each other if they didn’t have to. Their friendship was mostly based on being friends with the same people. Even though they weren’t close, she saw right through the front he had.

She sighed as she pulled her legs from the water and stood up from the edge of the pool. She saw Sam and Jake walking from the house carrying red solo cups. She smiled weakly towards them as she continued walking to Colby. She stopped beside him, blocking out the sun from above.

His eyes shot open, seeing Y/N, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He pulled out his earbuds saying, “You’re blocking my sun,” he ran his fingers through his sweaty hair.

“It’s like a thousand degrees,” she laughed lightly, “What are you doing?” he forced out a laugh as he sat up slightly.

“I-uh,” he stuttered, “I wanted a tan,” he said blankly. He wiped his hand across his forehead, cringing at the sweat.

“How about you join the rest of us by the pool?” she asked cautiously. He thought about the question. It wasn’t a serious question at all. But as his gaze shifted towards Sam walking towards Katrina. He watched as he slowly wrapped his arms around her.

A sigh left his lips as he lowered his head, “I’m actually going to cool off in the theatre room,” he said dryly. He stood up quickly from the lounger chair and took a hold of his phone from under the chair.

“Well,” she drew out the word as she took small steps following him, “I’m coming with you,” she forced a smile as she continued walking behind him. He shook his head, muttering a few words she couldn’t make out. “-and we’re playing Mario Kart,” she took quicker steps after him.

He walked towards the kitchen quickly taking a water bottle from the fridge, motioning if she wanted one. She nodded her head as he tossed her the bottle. She caught it gracefully. “So, uh,” he furrowed his eyebrows as he walked towards her slowly, “Did Sam put you up to this or something?” he questioned genuinely, taking a sip of water. Not that he was complaining, he loved her company. Even if their alone time was always rare. Her eyes widened slightly as her lips curled upward.

“No,” she chuckled, “I-uh-noticed you’ve been acting off. I just wanted to see if you’re okay-” she trailed off as she tapped her fingers against the bottle, while rocking slightly back and forth. He nodded quickly while pressing his lips together, he slowly began to walk towards the theatre room.

“I’m fine,” he let out while his eyes widened as his mouth fell open, “I’m fine-I mean thank you for asking, but like I’m fine,” he rambled as he turned on the lights for the theatre room. He turned around and began walking backwards slowly facing her. His eyes trailed her body briefly, admiring how her body looked in the swimsuit she was wearing. She squinted her eyes as she slowly crossed her arms over her chest, completely oblivious to the way he was looking at her.

“Say ‘I’m fine’ one more time and I’ll believe you,” she said sarcastically as she watched him turn on the Switch, taking a hold of the controllers. He laughed dryly as he walked over to her, handing her one of the controllers. His fingers brushed her hand lightly. She sat down onto the red couch, Colby quickly sat down beside her starting up Mario Kart.

“Seriously, I’m fine,” he commented, side eyeing her. She shifted her gaze towards him, a small laugh left her lips as she met his eye. He licked his lips as he fought off a smile. She rolled her eyes as her attention drifted towards the large screen.

They sat in silence while they picked out the map they were going to play on and the characters they were going to play. Colby picked Yoshi while Y/N picked Toad.

She shifted her body lightly, facing him, he did the same. As they met each other's eyes, she stuttered her words, “Okay uh-” she let out a small breathy laugh, “Here’s the deal, If I win you have to tell me why you're sad and if you win I’ll tell you why I’m sad.” she offered. His smile faltered as he heard the last part.

“Alright, let’s go.” he clenched his jaw as he slowly looked back towards the screen. He started the game and he took an early lead. He suddenly felt determined to win, he wanted to hear how she was feeling. He wanted to help her feel better, he didn’t want anyone to feel sad. It was a dramatic game, lots of yelling between each other.

At the last stretch on the last lap, Colby landed himself with a blue shell and Y/N was able to sneak past him and take the win. She cheered dramatically as she boasted about it, while he groaned. She set the controller down beside her as she looked towards him. Colby pouted as he tried to stop laughing. “Okay, talk to me,” she spoke softly. He let a long dramatic sigh.

“It’s going to sound ridiculous when I say it-” he spoke as he ran his fingers through his hair nervously.

“I’m sure it’s not, Colbs,” she offered as she brushed a few pieces of hair away from her face. He smiled softly as he looked away from her.

He avoided her gaze as he continued to talk, “I like being single, I like the lifestyle and I enjoy the whole not being tied down but I loved being in a relationship. I loved having someone you know?” he met her eye briefly, noticing how she hasn’t looked away from him.

She nodded as he continued, “But I forgot what all of that felt like to just always have someone to just be there,” he huffed, “I mean being in a friend group with everyone dating each other, it just made me realize how alone it feels sometimes,” she pushed her bottom lip out into a small pout as she continued to listen. His eyes widened as he sat back slightly, “Oh god-was that too much? Sorry,” he laughed nervously.

“Oh no-no, I just didn’t know you ever felt like that, you always seem so happy,” she spoke quickly.

“I mean, I am happy but I wish I could be happier,” he pressed his lips together as he squinted his eyes slightly, “And I wonder if, like, a girlfriend would help that,” he laughed, feeling ridiculous. “It sounds dumb.”

“It doesn’t sound dumb at all. I feel the same way,” she said, he lifted his gaze towards her furrowing his eyebrows.

“Is that why you said you were sad?” he whispered, his voice broke slightly. He didn’t like to hear his friends sad. She laughed slightly.

“You have to win the next game to get that information,” she smiled a tight lip smile. His eyes widened as his mouth fell open, he laughed as he shook his head.

“Damn, I just poured my heart out to you and I can’t even hear your side of it,” he spoke dramatically as he started the next map. “I guess I better win then,” he teased as he shifted his gaze towards the screen. She giggled as he started the game.

“I guess you better win,” she mumbled teasingly as the game began. It was a quick game, Colby picked the smallest map to have a better chance at winning.

He sat up straighter as he leaned forward thinking it would help him focus better. He bit his bottom lip as he leaned his body with every turn on the screen, hoping it’ll help him win. She was in first place for most of the race.

“Oh come on, how are you so fucking good at this game,” he groaned as he got hit with another red shell, she giggled softly as she glanced towards Colby. She admired how focused he was, he truely wanted to know how she was feeling.

She wouldn’t admit it, but she let him win. She groaned dramatically as she leaned her head back against the couch. Colby stood up from the couch and began to jump up and down excitedly. “Why are you acting like you beat me on rainbow road or something, it was the easiest map,” she said through laughter as she watched him begin to dance.

“Because I’ve never beat you before,” he hummed as he fell down onto the couch, “And now you get to pour your heart out to me,” he teased as he smiled widely. She rolled her eyes playfully as she avoided his eye. She kept her gaze towards her lap, she stared at her hands. Her smile slowly faded as her thoughts clouded with her recent thoughts. His own smile fell as he watched her’s fall. “Tell me what’s going on,” he mumbled.

She sighed, “I miss Logan, I mean I don’t miss him, but I miss the feeling I had when I was with him. I guess I’m just tired of being alone and missing what our relationship was like. Obviously I’m not alone, I have the group, you know,” she motioned slightly towards Colby. He nodded slightly. “Even though we hang out all the time, at the same time I’m never excited to come over anymore.” she continued to avoid his gaze, worried to see what his expression was like. “An’-And I think it’s because, like you said, being surrounded by couples just makes the feeling feel worse?” she said in a questioning tone. A small laugh left her lips as she shook her head.

“Yeah, I completely get it. I miss that feeling too,” he whispered, feeling himself suddenly blush. She finally shifted her gaze towards him, meeting his eye briefly, they were soft and comforting. “-and trust me, I don’t get too excited for the hangouts either. Just makes me sad,” he laughed dryly.

“Me too,” she shifted her body towards him, giving him her full attention, “It’s like we get it you’re a couple and you’re all mushy gushy and happy,” she spoke sarcastically, he chuckled.

“Exactly,” he responded cheekily.

“Exactly!” she sighed. They sat in silence for a while as they avoided eye contact with each other. She was shocked to find out Colby was feeling like this. He was the bachelor of the group, he was the center of attention from random girls at parties. She dind’t realize he didn’t fully enjoy that type of attention.

“Have you tried looking for someone that would want that same stuff as you?” she questioned, meeting his eye. Colby thought about the question for a little longer than he thought he should’ve. He shook his head. “Okay, well, maybe I know someone who would be interested in that. Tell me what you want in a relationship,” her voice suddenly became cheerful.

“Are you trying to play matchmaker with me?” he teased, his mouth dropped slightly. She opened her mouth quickly before she shut it again.

“Maybe a little,” she mumbled, pressing her lips together and she looked away shyly. “I just think that maybe if I can try to set you up with someone, then maybe you won’t be so sad,” she explained, her voice got quieter as she spoke. A small pout formed to her lips as she stared at her fidgeting hands. He pursed his lips forward as his cheeks began to flush red, he saw the pout on her lips and the corner of his lips turned upwards slightly. She really cared for him, so much more than he realized.

“Okay,” he whined dramatically, “I want to be friends first, I think that’s important. I never liked random first date shit. But I think the number one thing that I want in a relationship is someone who can joke with me and then like be all romantic in the next second. Like we can kind of bully each other and then we can just be all cuddly the next. Also they have to get along with my friends, they can’t hate my friends because that’ll be a mess,” he chuckled lightly.

“I think I just want someone who isn’t afraid to flirt with me even after we’ve been dating for a while, I think that keeps things fun you know,” he smirked. “Oh, and a girl who is in it for the long haul. You know, like marriage and stuff like that. I guess that’s the bare minimum but-yeah.” As the words left his lips he slowly moved his body towards her.

He stared towards her expectantly, the more the words left his lips the more her smile formed to her lips. “That’s really sweet Colby,” she whispered, her heart began to race unexpectedly.

“You think so?” he asked, she nodded. “Okay because I thought it was cheesy,”

“Oh it was cheesy, but it was cute,”

“Yeah?” he squinted his eyes slightly as he leaned his head back slightly. She nodded again. “I guess I’m a cheesy guy,” he leaned his body towards her even more, enough for her to notice him coming closer this time.

“I guess you are,” she whispered as she found herself leaning towards him.

She didn’t realize what was going on when suddenly their bodies jumped away from each other as the door behind them was aggressively pushed open. They look towards the door to see Tara and Katrina standing in the doorway. Tara sighed dramatically, “Oh my god we were looking for you guys for forever,” she groaned.

[emiefaunwrites]

Since Taka being in Les Misrables as Javert has been briefly mentioned, my brain went back into musical theater mode haha! I have been thinking, what if Taka had helped one of the stage hands into being comfortable and confident enough to perform on stage in one of their upcoming plays? Perhaps either Peko or Kirumi would be the stage hand that he helps (I kinda hc them both as Taka’s best friends other than Mondo, Chi, Hiro, Hina, and Sakura, but if you don’t want to use Peko or Kirumi, that’s okay)! They could be like a closeted theater nerd that’s always wanted to perform on stage but felt like they weren’t good enough, until they see Taka perform on stage and decide to ask him for advice and practice an audition with him. They could even impress their crush with this. Like I said, you can use whatever character you want as the person Taka helps, Peko and Kirumi just happened to pop into my head lol! If you don’t like that idea, there’s also this;

Leon and Kaede performing together

Heyyyy!

Ooooh I like it! And I've comtemplating who to use for this. I thought it would have been perfect to find some for Mondo (I JUST CAN'T FIND ANYONE I LIKE FOR HIM WAHHHH) but that failed haha.

So I went back to your original two and was like...who can I pair them up with. Normally I associate Peko with Fuyuhiko but in my AU he's with Kazuichi. Then I thought maybe Kaede for Kirumi but I like Rantaro with Kaede.

And then I found. A ship I quite like. So yes, I'll be using Kirumi. But she will be the crushee, if you will.

Phew. That was a ramble! Thank you for the ask! I hope you enjoy!!

************************

• Death Note - The Musical is not the only show that Taka performs in.

• Since he joined up at the beginning of his second year, and the group perform a show every term, he gets to be in a few more.

• Somehow he always lands with a major role, even when he insists someone else should take the male lead.

• And he's gathered quite a following (much to Leon's conflicting delight and jealousy).

• But there's one person in particular that stands out for Taka.

• Maki Harukawa.

• Since being forced by her friends (Kaito mostly) to join a club, she decided it would be easy work being a stagehand.

• She doesn't have to speak to anyone really - just make sure things are where they're meant to be at the right time.

• She can definitely do that.

• She too started the same time that Taka did and was looking around backstage with a club member during auditions.

• And there was something about his performance that had her dazed.

• He isn't the greatest singer in the world - there's plenty of Ultimates out there with that title.

• But his conviction and his passion stirred something in her that made her want to hear him again.

• So even though a cruddy role backstage was all she had, she was allowed to sit and watch him perform every night and see him transform from the awkward, uptight boy everyone knows him as into something beautiful.

• And she can see, out in the audience, all the girls (and guys) out there swooning over him, hearts in their eyes every time he opens his mouth.

• Of course, Maki doesn't want EVERYONE's eyes on her. That'd be too tiring.

• But she does want someone's eyes.

• Kirumi Tojo - the only other girl in her class that seems to be on her wavelength.

• They interact in class, but outside of that they spend no time together.

• Maki is always dragged by Kaito and Kokichi (with Shuichi being dragged along too) and Kirumi is always at committee meetings.

• But Maki thinks she's amazing - so mature and so beautiful...

• And for a moment, she imagines being on that stage alongside Taka, performing her heart out and seeing the hearts in Kirumi's eyes...

• No. Ridiculous. HER? On STAGE? No. No no no.

• Taka forgets something backstage one afternoon and has to head back in.

• But as he gets to the door, he can hear someone singing. A voice he's not heard before.

• And peeking in, he can see Maki on stage.

• Wow, she has a lovely voice!

• Barging in (and terrifying the girl) he tells her how amazing she is and that she should consider a role in the next performance.

• He's met with coldness and a glare that most people are afraid of - but he carries on anyway.

• 'I'd love to sing alongside you!'

• Ah. Just for a second that image flashes in Maki's mind - and Taka's better at reading expressions now so picks up on it.

• Not that she's going to admit it! No! No way...

• The auditorium door opens and Taka sees a gooey look on Maki's face for a second before she composes herself and turns away.

• Looking behind him, he sees Kirumi there in the doorway, obviously waiting for him so they can go to their committee together.

• Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

• An idea pops into Taka's head and with a big grin, he calls back to Kirumi.

• 'Ah, Miss Tojo! You know Miss Harukawa, don't you?'

• WHAT IS HE DOING?!?! Maki stops dead, absolutely mortified.

• 'Of course. She and I are classmates.'

• 'Wonderful! Did you know that she will be performing with me in our next show?'

• WHAAAAAAT?!?!??!?!!

• 'Oh! No, I didn't realise she had an interest in theatre.'

• 'She called me here to help her for the upcoming auditions. I'm sure she'll get the part! It would be wonderful if you could come support her.'

• Maki finds her body turning slowly to face the both of them, seeing that Kirumi has come further inside to stand by the stage.

• And she's got a smile on her face and a fond expression.

• 'It would be my pleasure.'

• Well. She can't back out now. And Taka's grin says just as much.

• He insists that to the club that she have a role opposite him and personally helps her rehearse.

• And as the time goes on, she starts to relax - until the moments before the show.

• She's FREAKING OUT and no one can help...

• Until Taka rests his hands on her shoulders and says:

• 'Focus on me. No one else. Just focus on me.'

• So she does and the performance is yet another hit.

• And as they're taking a bow and Maki searches the audience (casually ignoring her idiot friends whooping) and finds exactly who she's looking for.

• And she finally sees the hearts in her eyes. Just for Maki.

[andilovetowrite]

Of Everything You Could've Said (Part 1)

Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: You didn’t think going for a movie night with your best friend could turn into you icing him out. And the worst part? You weren’t even sure why you were mad at him….

Warnings: Angst to fluff. I think this could be a two-part story, but let’s see if I can finish it in one go. Mixed feelings are running through, and Peter is perplexed…A few tears, but nothing too wrong.

Using the prompts:

“I have an extra ticket… Would you like to go with me?”

“YOU SAID, TO BE HONEST, STOP HITTING ME!”

“Why the hell is there glitter everywhere?”

“I’ve been in love with you since we were kids.”

Based on a request, you can find it here!

Prompt list, if you have some ideas.

Here is my Masterlist in case you want to find more of my work :)

You didn’t expect it. Let’s just put it that way. It came out of nowhere; what were you supposed to do? Or say?

Sadly, instead of handling it like an adult, you did the 2nd dumbest thing you could ever do. You shouted at him.

And now you are sitting here in your bed at 9 am on a Saturday, eating your third pint of ice cream. If anyone were to walk into your room, they would see you huddled up under 4 layers of blankets, with yesterday’s mascara running over your face. But you were quite comfortable staying right where you were. Under the cover. Out of the public eye. Out of Peter’s eye.

You groaned, not knowing what you were going to do when you eventually got up out of your ridiculously comfortable bed. Want to know what went wrong? Why you were basically a spineless bag of tears and ice cream, who doesn’t have a best friend?

Here’s how it went.

23 hours ago

“Heyo”, Peter said, his head popping into your window. His brown hair was hanging over his eyes, and you could make out the red and blue suit that was sticking out from underneath his shirt.

“Hey Pete, ready to go?” You asked, shrugging your jacket on. He nodded, which looked a bit comical due to him being upside down. You chuckled, moving closer to him. “Really? What about this little piece of fabric?” you asked, pulling his suit out a bit.

“Oh yeah… you mind me changing here?” Peter asked, jumping into your room with ease. You shook your head, smiling at what you were about to say, knowing it was going to rile Peter up.

“Please! Your naked in my room most nights anyway”, you said cheekily, turning to see Peter’s face go red.

“I don’t-wha-um that’s because-spiderman-uh”, Peter stuttered out, a vast blush lighting up his body. You laughed out loud, peering at Peter from under your eyelashes.

“I’m kidding. I’m kidding. Go change”, you said, turning away from Peter. But you couldn’t help feeling glad that you had turned around so that Peter couldn’t see a similar smile that lit up your face when you heard him grunting softly while taking off his suit. After a minute or two, he called out, telling you that he was ready.

“Where are we going again?”, he asked from behind you.

“Oh uh, my dad got 4 tickets to a movie, so he and Pepper used two of them. They gave me the other two, so I got an extra ticket. You wanna go with me?”

You kept quiet, knowing Peter was probably nodding his head enthusiastically before he remembers that you can’t see him. “Yeah, yeah I can come with you. All I have to do is Physics homework, and prepare for the Plank Test.” You turned around to see him flexing his muscles. “At least one of them is going to be a piece of cake.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, lightly punching his arm. “Okay, Mr Muscle. Let me just get my stuff”

His spiderman suit was lying on your bed, which you picked up, chucking it into the laundry vent like you did most of the time. “Alright, let’s go”, you said, but then you realized you were still wearing sweats.

Calling out to Peter, who was now talking to your dad, you asked. “Hey Pete, skirt of jeans?”

“Um, probably jeans”, your dad called out, when Peter quickly said at the same time.

“Skirts are good!”

You looked between Peter and your dad. “Uh, thanks dad, but I think I’ll just wear a skirt. It is pretty hot today.”

Your dad rolled his eyes. “When did my own daughter stop taking fashion advice from me? I’m Iron Man for god’s sakes. I was on Vogue last month! And, what if someone tries anything bad with you. Skirts are easy to access, you know?”

“Ugh, thanks, dad. But you are probably forgetting your daughter is a superhero. And so is Peter. Oh and also, it was Pepper who was on the cover. You flew in from behind to be in the shot” You said, walking back into your room and picking out a skirt. It was either the brown one, which you loved, and was comfortable… or the red one, which Peter loved. Or so you assumed. He always had a hard time forming sentences when you wore them. The choice was clear. So you picked the red one. Don’t judge! It’s not because of Peter. You just thought it would match your top, plus...you liked red.

Walking back into the hall, you saw Peter standing there, fiddling with his thumbs as your dad spoke to him, listing off some instructions.

“So always open the door, oh also, she loves reading this one series and-”

“Hey dad. Do you think we could go to the movies? Or are you gonna hog my best friend?”, you asked, smirking at the two of them. Peter looked at your dad, giving him a nervous smile for some reason.

“Bye Mr Stark”

“Bye dad”

“Bye kids. Be back by eleven.”, your dad said, before winking at Peter. “Good luck Pete”

Smiling at him, you both walked out, excited for whatever you were gonna watch. But more importantly, just spending time with Peter. Because of superhero duties, as well as just normal student duties, hanging out with him was becoming few and far between, making you cherish this time.

“So what was my dad saying? Good luck for what?”

“Oh um, nothing. Nothing at all. Something for the test, uh plank”, Peter rambled, trying to mask something. You almost sighed out loud. As part of your “job”, you did most of the questioning and interrogation. Seeing through lies was easy enough. And it probably wasn’t something you had to bother about, so you just let it slide.

“Okay then”, you said, but you still saw that Peter was looking away, biting his lip. “Hey, did he tell you anything about the movie? I have no idea what we are watching”

Again, Peter shook his head too quickly. “N-no, I don’t know.” Taking a deep breath, you were confused, glancing at Peter. Sensing your discomfort, he gestured his his hand out to the street. “We’re here, let’s go in”

Looking around, all you saw was a dark road, and a metal door. “Where-where are we? Oh my god, are you plotting on killing me?”

He laughed, shaking his head. “C’mon, Mr Stark said this was the place. Private theatre or something”

Pulling me in, he pushed the door open and led me in. Inside was dark, with shimmers of purple coming from the walls. Throwing your hands around Peter, you held onto him with one arm, and the other tried to feel where you were walking.

“Uh Pete, why the hell is there glitter everywhere?”

“You’ll see”, Peter said, his voice excited but nervous.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll also see that”

After taking about three more steps, dim orange light started showing up, and we emerged into a small room. And it took my breath away. In the middle, was a table for two, with a sweet candle in the middle. A glittering chandelier hung above the ceiling, showing small sparkles around the room, and the smell of Delmar’s sandwiches walfed through the air.

“Wha-what is this Pete?!”

“Uh, well, it’s a dinner. I, um aren’t the best at this, so Mr Stark helped me out a bit with it”

And suddenly, it clicked. Tony didn’t even go to a movie this week, and Pepper didn’t even mention anything about it. And when he gave you those two tickets, it didn’t have any title or venue. Not only that, but he also asked you if you would like to invite Peter, which is probably why Peter came all dressed up. And it would also explain the quiet talking behind your back.

Walking over to the table, you saw a familiar sandwich on the plate, but that was the furthest thing from your mind. “Wh-why would yo-you do-?”

“Oh, well, it seems pretty formal, and you love Delmar’s food, so I thought it would be a good ide-” Peter said, misunderstanding your question as he came up behind you.

“No NO! I mean, why all of this?”, you asked, knowing fully well why.

“Well, I uh, really like you. More than a friend. I’m pretty sure I love you Y/N-”

Peter said this, his face glowing with adoration and I could see the love in his eyes. His eyes were shining from the light, and I could see a smile forming on his face a he picked up a rose from his chair and held it out to me. And for the first time, you were speechless in front of Peter. Your Peter. Your best friend Peter.

You wanted to say the right thing, you really did. But what came out of your mouth wasn’t even remotely right.

“No Peter! I can’t- why would you-ugh”, you said in a rush, tears forming in your eyes. Not knowing what to do, you went and hit Peter. “Why would you- this isn’t for friends Pete! Honestly, why would yo-”

“I know! I want to be with you, like a cou-couple. YOU SAID, TO BE HONEST, STOP HITTING ME!”

Shaking your head, you could see Peter’s face drop at your expression, the meaning of your words settling in. You could see tears coming down his face, and his mouth started to open, but you couldn’t face him. Not with how fast your tears were streaming down your face. And definitely not with how fast your heart was going.

“Y/N I-I’m sorry, damn it please don’t go-”

But you didn’t hear the rest of it, running out into the street and going as fast as your legs could carry you back home. And when you got back, you didn’t even bother doing anything, tears clouding your eyes, as you fell into your bed, letting your pillow soak up the mixed feelings and confusing thoughts as you fell asleep to the memory of Peter’s heartbroken face…

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

Wow, I love angst. This is only the first part, since I think I’m going to work on a second part of this soon. I hope I did the request justice, and I loved writing it. Thanks!

Taglist: @a–1–1–3 @idkatee @eternalscribblesforthesoul @loudbluepancake @poisondevotion @scram1326 @t-hollanderr @305weasley @starknik22 @marvelfansworld @lou-la-lou @lomlparker @marvelfansworld @wowitsel @vanteguccir @fullcheesecakeengineer @ifyouknewhowmiserylovedme @ladykxxx08 @allegras-sunflower

[bitchin-beskar]

love story

Rating: M (this was only supposed to have a little bit of smut, but... uh... I have no self control, apparently) 

Warnings: smut. and apparently a breeding kink? i guess? who knows. certainly not me. 

Word Count: 3k

Paring: Frankie x Reader

A/N: so I was listening to the folklore album, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about Frankie, so I impulsively decided to ignore my other WIPs for the night and instead write a marriedlife!drabble that takes place after the events of my folklore story. If you wanna re-read any of those chapters, they’re listed both in original posting order and chronological order on my masterlist, here. Enjoy my shameless self-indulgent ramblings!

Also, shameless shoutout to @mxndoscyarika, who’s my partner-in-crime when it comes to PNW!Frankie, her and I spent a fair bit of time rambling about all the things Frankie would love in the PNW, and Seattle, Washington specifically. It was those ramblings that helped inspire this fic! Check out some of her work!

Also, also, another shameless shoutout to @perropascal who fangirls with me about Frankie and Taylor Swift all the time. She’s got her own folklore fic with Frankie that y’all should definitely check out, along with some amazing stuff for Pedro’s other characters!

Also, also, also, I had the privilege of seeing Hamilton at the Paramount in Seattle in 2018, and it was an amazing experience, and I think some of that excitement shows in this story... sorry not sorry. 

Tags: @theocatkov, @cosmicbug379, @marydjarin, @perropascal, @mxndoscyarika, @hayley-the-comet, @phoenixhalliwell, @ahopelessromanticwritersworld, @cryptkeepersoul

Please fill out this survey if you’d like to be tagged in any future works!

Biting your lip, you danced around your room in excitement, eagerly throwing the last of your toiletries in the duffel bag. You’d been hoping that you’d be able to surprise Frankie while the two of you were on your anniversary trip, and it looked like things were gonna go the way you were hoping. 

A chuckle came from the doorway behind you, and you spun around, a sheepish grin on your face. Frankie stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his green button-up, his tattered baseball cap dangling from one of his hands. 

His eyes were soft as he watched you, and when you turned to face him, he uncrossed his arms, holding one of his hands out to you. Taking it, he pulled you into a hug, tucking his face into the side of your neck, breathing deeply. 

You wrapped your arms around him, squeezing tightly. You tried to school your features into a more neutral mask, but you couldn’t help the secret smile that spread across your lips.

“What’s got you so excited, princesa?” 

You pulled back to look up at your husband, still in awe of the fact that you were actually married to this man, even though it had been three years already. 

“It’s our anniversary Francisco, I think I’m allowed to be a little excited.” 

Frankie looked down at you, sliding one of his hands into the back pocket of your jeans, tugging you closer against him. “Oh, you want to celebrate three years of being married to me? Is that a good thing?” 

The joking tone of his voice was clear, but you smacked him lightly upside the head anyways. “Of course it’s a good thing, Francisco,” you muttered, tugging gently on his hair to pull him down to your level so that you could kiss him. 

You’d intended for just a quick peck, but as you tried to pull away, Frankie cupped the back of your head and kept your lips pressed to his. You grinned, letting Frankie control the kiss for awhile before you finally–and reluctantly–pulled away. 

“Frankie, mmh– Francisco, we’re going to be late– for our flight–” You mumbled your protests as Frankie kept pressing kisses against your lips, trapping your words. You finally had to push on his chest with both your hands to get him to stop. “Frankie! I’m serious!” 

He grinned unashamedly. “I can always fly us there if we miss our plane, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes. “Not the point, Frankie.” 

***

Frankie had been the one to suggest Seattle, Washington for your anniversary this year. He’d spent some time there when he was a little boy, and he’d gone back a couple times as he’d gotten older, and he’d always had nothing but good things to tell you about the city. He loved the weather, the sights, the community, and you were excited to get to finally visit the place your husband loved so much.

The two of you had discussed the idea of moving in the not-so-distant future, and depending on how this trip went, you were thinking about suggesting Seattle as a possible location to look into. Your husband clearly loved it, and as long as you did too–which, to be honest, you were expecting to–then you’d have no problems moving to the Evergreen State.

The flight wasn’t too long, and before you knew it, you were landing at SeaTac International Airport. Frankie had graciously given you the window seat, and you were eagerly looking out the tiny airplane window, taking in the scenery. 

You were almost in a daze as Frankie led you through the airport, gathering your luggage and hailing a cab. From everything you’d heard, Washington sounded amazing, and you were so excited to get to experience all the sights. 

Frankie had planned the weekend for the two of you, eagerly describing all the different places he wanted to take you. Pike Place Market, The Space Needle, The Gum Wall, the Seattle Aquarium, and the Woodland Park Zoo were just a few of the things that Frankie wanted the two of you to do. 

He’d also told you that he had a surprise planned, and no matter how much you begged, he refused to tell you what it was. But, now you were mere hours from finding out, and it just added to your excitement. 

The ride wasn’t supposed to take very long, but with the Seattle traffic, a seventeen minute trip turned into an almost forty-five minute trip. Thankfully, the cabbie seemed used to the traffic, and he expertly drove through the confusing twists and turns of downtown Seattle. 

Arriving at the Hyatt Regency Hotel, Frankie tipped the cabbie generously, helping you to gather the luggage before heading in to check-in.

Looking around the lobby, you could immediately tell that it was a nicer hotel than the two of you usually stayed in. From the furniture to the chandeliers, everything felt very elegant and upper class. 

“Frankie, how expensive was this?” You hissed under your breath, feeling more than a little out of place. 

His hand was on the small of your back as he led you towards the reception desk. “Not as bad as you’re thinking, princesa, I promise. I know a guy from the military, he was able to get us a good deal.”

You quirked an eyebrow, but Frankie just smiled innocently. 

***

You were in shock. 

You stared at the two tickets Frankie had just handed you, your brain trying to process what your eyes were seeing.

“Hamilton?” You whispered. “You got us tickets to see Hamilton?” 

Your eyes darted up to see your husband standing in front of you, a guarded look on his face. “Are you... excited?”

The tickets fluttered to the ground as you threw yourself at Frankie, your arms winding around his neck and your lips crashing against his. 

He caught you easily, one arm wrapping around your waist as you wrapped both your legs around him. He held you up with ease, and you gripped his cheeks as you kissed him breathless. 

When you pulled away, his cheeks were flushed, and the look in his eyes as he gazed up at your face made you smile. “I’m ecstatic, I can’t even describe how happy I am.”

Frankie kissed you softly once more before letting you unwind your legs from around his waist, helping you to stand on solid ground. You pecked him quickly on the cheek before turning to bend down and grab the tickets from where you dropped them.

A sharp smack on your ass made you squeak, and you jumped, turning to glare at your husband’s mock-innocent look. “You’d better get ready, baby. We have dinner reservations in an hour, and then the play.”

You tried to maintain your glare, but it was impossible with how happy you were. You placed the tickets down on the bed before heading to your suitcase to grab a change of clothes.

***

The play had been amazing. There were no other words to describe it. The Paramount Theatre was beautiful, and the show was fantastic. The cast, the songs, the set, the acting, all of it was better than you’d ever dreamed. Along with the fact that you were getting to experience it with the love of your life made it one of the best nights you’d had in a long time. 

You’d even been able to participate in a stage-door experience, where you waited outside the stage exit to the street, and some of the actors came out to sign programs. 

The entire walk back to the hotel–which, granted, was only about five minutes–you ranted to Frankie about all of the things you loved from the play. He hummed and hawed as you talked, letting you ramble. Whenever you got excited like this, it was easier to let you rant for a little bit to get the excitement out of your system before trying to actually carry on a conversation. 

You’d run out of steam by the time the two of you had gotten into an elevator, and you turned to Frankie. “What did you think?” You asked, a breathless grin overtaking your features. 

He stared at you for a moment, and you were about to repeat yourself when he cupped your cheeks and kissed you. 

This kiss was different, rougher, and more desperate than the kisses from earlier. You’d had many years to get to know all of Frankie’s kisses, and you knew exactly what this kiss meant. 

“Frankie!” You gasped, panting as his lips left yours, instead latching onto the skin over your pulse. “Frankie, we’re in a public elev–” you cut off, moaning as your husband’s wandering hands groped at your ass, kneading the flesh over the fabric of your dress. 

He pulled away abruptly, leaving you wanting. You stared up at him, the dark look in his eyes going straight to your core, leaving you rubbing your thighs together to try and get some relief. 

The doors opened with a soft ding, startling the two of you. Thankfully, you didn’t encounter anyone in the hallway, and you were able to enter your room without having to answer any awkward questions.

You barely had time to drop your clutch on a side table before Frankie was on you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he renewed his attack on your neck, grinding his erection into your ass. 

Tilting your head to allow him better access, you ran your fingers through his hair, tugging at the strands as he nipped at your skin with his teeth. His hands roamed over your dress, cupping your breasts and dipping under your skirt to cup your pussy through your rapidly-soaking panties.

The moans leaving your lips are rapidly growing in volume. Frankie knows just how to touch you to make you scream and he’s already causing the heat in your belly to pool, the tightening in your core causing you to whimper and moan.

“Sweetheart, if you don’t want this dress to get ruined, you should take it off.” 

You grin at the heat in your husband’s voice, reaching behind you to grip the zipper, lowering it slowly. You allow the dress to slowly slide off your form, your grin widening at the frustrated growl behind you.

As the dress finally pools at your feet, Frankie grips you around the waist and bodily throws you on the bed, his fingers undoing the buttons on his dress shirt as he stalks after you. He sheds his shirt, and quickly strips off his dress pants, leaving him in just his boxers.

You smirk at your husband as he climbs onto the bed and on top of you, his body pressing yours down into the mattress. He claims your lips again, and you gladly surrender to him. Everything he’s done for you, already this weekend is perfect, and it’s only the first night. 

You’re so giddy, so amazingly content, you decide that now is the perfect time to give Frankie his present. You push gently on his bare chest, getting him to back off for just a moment.

“I want to give you your anniversary present,” You murmur, smiling at the confused look that flashes across Frankie’s face.

“Really, baby? Right now?” He emphasizes his words by grinding into you, and you have to bite your lip to hold back a moan.

“Yes, Francisco, now. It’s not something you can unwrap, though.” He looks down at you, confused. “We’ve talked about it before, and we never really decided to try, but, um...” You take one of Frankie’s hands and bring it to rest over your bare stomach. “In about nine months, you’re gonna be a daddy.”

Your eyes eagerly watch Frankie’s face for his reaction, and you’re not disappointed. His eyes widen in shock, darting between your face and his hand on your stomach, and you watch as a hopeful smile grows on his face. 

“R–Really? You’re–You’re pregnant? We’re gonna have a–a baby?” 

When you nod, Frankie kisses you harshly, pressing his lips so tightly against yours, you’re almost worried the skin might bruise, before he pulls away, crawling down your body so his face is level with your stomach. 

“Hi, baby,” he whispers, and you feel tears spring to your eyes. “I’m your daddy.” His voice is breathless, and you feel wet droplets on your skin from his tears. You run your fingers through his hair, cradling his head as he speaks to your unborn child.

“You better treat your mama real good, you hear me? She loves you so, so much already, and she’s gonna bring you into this world, so you’ve gotta be real nice to her.” 

Now you’re crying, hearing Frankie speak to your baby with such love and devotion, you can’t even begin to put your joy into words. You’d had no doubts that Frankie would be anything other than absolutely thrilled, but hearing him speak brings it home that you both really are excited beyond belief. 

Frankie crawls back up the bed, kissing you again and again and again. “You’re amazing, mi amor.” His voice is reverent, adoring, and filled with desire. “God, I want you so much.” 

He pauses, his eyes dropping to your belly, and you can see the unspoken fear in his dark eyes. “Frankie, Francisco, look at me,” you grip his chin, forcing his gaze back to you. “Sex isn’t going to hurt the baby.” 

“You promise?”

You chuckle softly. “I promise. Sex can be really beneficial for pregnant women.” 

He raises an eyebrow, almost incredulously. When you nod, reassuring him once more, his grin in response is almost feral. 

“You’re having my baby.” 

The possessive tone in your husband’s voice sends shivers down your spine. He’d talked about wanting kids before, but this... this was new. And you most certainly weren’t going to complain. 

He rolled the two of you suddenly, so that you were straddling his waist as he lay on the bed. He plucked at the ties on the sides of your underwear. “I’ve gotta say, I really like these,” he muttered, quickly undoing the ties, helping you to remove the offending undergarments. 

They end up somewhere on the floor, but you’re not really focused on their final location. Instead, your attention is captured by your husband as he helps you slowly sink down on his cock. 

You both groan in unison as he’s seated fully inside you. You stay still on top of him for a moment, still not used to his size, no matter how long the two of you have been doing this. 

Frankie’s fingers are slowly stroking over the skin of your belly, and you bite your lip, looking down to see him staring at the path his fingers are taking. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. “You’re pregnant. With my baby.” 

You clench your inner muscles, smirking at the groan that leaves his lips. “Do you like that? Do you like that you got me pregnant?” Frankie’s hips give an involuntary little thrust, and it’s your turn to moan. 

“Yeah, I did, didn’t I?” Frankie’s words are distant, almost like he’s not even talking to you, but muttering to himself. He thrusts up again, and you gasp, again. “I got you pregnant.” Another thrust. “You’re gonna have my kid.” His next thrust is harder, and you bounce slightly on his lap. 

“Oh god, Frankie,” your moan is loud, and unashamed. You don’t care who hears, you’re not focused on anything other than your husband. 

His hands grip your hips, guiding you to ride him, bouncing you on his lap. “That’s it, sweetheart. Fuck, you feel so good, look so pretty riding my cock.” You throw your head back, raking your nails down Frankie’s chest as you’re chasing your release. 

“‘M gonna watch your belly get so big,” he murmured, his gaze focused on your stomach. “You’re gonna look radiant, baby. So pretty, so fucking gorgeous.” 

Your mouth falls open as he thrusts up harder while grinding you down as he does so. You unclasp your bra, throwing it off to the side as you play with your breasts, panting as your pleasure grows. 

Frankie sits up, nudging one of your hands away with his nose, taking your nipple into his mouth. You cup the back of his head as he suckles at your breast, your other hand resting on Frankie’s thigh as he continues to fuck you. 

Releasing your breast with a wet sound, he looks up at you, desire and wonder clear in his eyes. “Can’t wait to watch these grow fat with milk for our baby, princesa.” You whimper, both at his words and at the way he takes you back in his mouth. 

Frankie brings you closer to your release, only to slow just as you’re about to fall over the edge. You whimper, trying to grind down, trying to chase your release, but Frankie’s grip on your hips stills your movements. 

“Do you want to come, baby?”

You nod frantically, words escaping you as you try to encourage Frankie to let you come. 

“Really?”

“YES! Please, Frankie! Please!”

He chuckles, rolling the two of you over once again, not even pausing to allow you to adjust to the new position before he begins to thrust again. Your mouth falls open, panting breaths escaping as Frankie pounds into you.

Before you can really register, you’re at your peak once again, and you’re begging Frankie to allow you your release.

“Oh, oh god, Frankie please, let me come,” you’re clutching at his arms as he’s pounding into you, your back arching, you’re so close. 

Frankie bows his head, his dark eyes watching your writhing form. “Come for me, princesa. Come.”

You do, crying out loudly, nails digging into Frankie’s skin. He’s not far behind, thrusting a few more times before he’s coming inside you. 

His arms are straining with the effort to hold himself off you, and you gently guide him down, bringing him to lay against you, his face buried in your neck. His arms come up to embrace you, his lips pressing gentle kisses onto your skin. 

“I love you, so much, princesa.”

“I love you too, Frankie.”

[haberdashing]

Transparent Closet

Jon and Georgie, both of whom are bi, come out to one another... in a way.

Written as part of @jonsimsbipride for the prompt “Solidarity”. Inspired by this post, though it portrays Jon as pan while this fic has him as bi.

on AO3

One of Jon and Georgie’s first dates was watching a series of mediocre supernatural-themed horror films together.

One of the things they’d first bonded over was their shared interest in the supernatural, after all (though Jon had never dared tell her of his first-hand experience with such things... and years down the line, Jon would learn that Georgie hadn’t dared share her own with him either), and what were schlocky movies for if not watching them together with someone you care about and talking trash loudly enough that the actual movie could barely be heard?

The lights were turned down (though not entirely off), Jon and Georgie sat pressed against each other on a couch that was either too small or just the right size depending on one’s perspective, and the movie marathon began.

After the night in question was over, Jon quickly forgot most of the details of the movies they chose to watch then--the titles, the storylines, even the number of movies they managed to fit in before conking out for the night--but one bit from the marathon stuck with him.

There was a lead actress in one of the movies who was pretty, but in a way that was clearly Hollywood trying to make her appear down-to-earth. The woman in question wore full makeup in every scene and was skinny and conventionally attractive and wore clothes clearly fitted precisely to her body shape, but her long brown hair looked a bit untamed and there was a speck of dirt placed just so on her cheek, so clearly she was just a regular person, right?

(In Jon’s opinion, the attempt fell well short of the mark, but he wasn’t terribly surprised; what Hollywood executives thought was normal and what regular people thought was normal were clearly two different things. Regardless, the actress didn’t strike Jon as his type.)

A few minutes into the movie, screams came from within a mansion that had been rumored to be haunted, and while most of the characters froze up or ran away, the lead actress took off her high heels and ran towards the mansion, her bare feet squelching in the mud with every step.

When that happened, Georgie tapped Jon’s arm and said in a stage whisper (as if they were in a movie theatre with others to disturb with their speech, instead of it just being the two of them snuggled up on that small couch), “Sorry, Jon, think we’re gonna have to break up now, that woman just earned my hand in marriage right there.”

Jon diverted his attention from the movie and looked over at Georgie, and he saw on her face when the realization hit her that she’d never actually confessed her attraction to women before. She didn’t look scared that Jon would reject her for it, though--that was one thing Jon always admired about Georgie, that she was never scared, never filled with the fear that consumed Jon’s own mind so frequently. But she watched Jon’s reaction to her statement almost as closely as he was watching her now.

“Surely we can work out an arrangement.” Jon replied after a brief moment. “She can have you on the weekends, perhaps?”

That careful scrutiny apparent on Georgie’s face melted away in an instant, replaced with a gentle smile. “Don’t be selfish, Jon. You can have me on the weekends. She gets the weekdays.”

“It’s hard not to be selfish when something so precious is at stake.” Jon reached for Georgie’s hand and gave it a tight squeeze. “But you’re right, fair is fair. Switch off every other week, then?”

“Hmm...” Georgie pressed the hand that wasn’t being held by Jon against her chin, as if she were deep in thought.

“And she can have you for the holidays.”

“Alright, sold.” Georgie pressed her lips against Jon’s cheek, and though the contact only lasted a moment, the warmth from the kiss was still enough to carry Jon through the rest of the night, his mind now filled with anything but the cinematic schlock still playing in front of him.

.

Jon was sitting on Georgie’s couch, listening to her rant about her troubles with a recent biology assignment, before she suddenly switched gears and asked, “So what have you been working on lately, Jon? Can’t be as bad as all that...”

Jon didn’t need to think twice about which of his assignments to discuss, not when one of them always seemed to be in the back of his mind at any given moment. “No, it’s quite interesting, actually. I’ve been working on an analysis of the book A Separate Peace--have you ever read it?”

Georgie hesitated for a moment, wrinkling her nose in thought before shaking her head in response. “The name sounds familiar, but I’ve never read it, no.”

“Alright, so-”

Just those two words emerging from Jon’s mouth were enough to put a wry smile on Georgie’s face--she knew what was coming, knew that Jon was getting ready to ramble on about one of his latest interests, and it warmed Jon’s heart to think that she was clearly looking forward to such rambling, a far cry from how his grandmother’s eyes had always glazed over when he’d tried to explain his passions to her.

“It’s about the narrator, Gene, returning to a boarding school he used to go to and reflecting on his time there, and specifically on his relationship with another student there, Finny--er, not relationship like that, they were friends and, and rivals... though actually, maybe like that too? There do seem to be certain- certain undertones, though maybe that’s just me projecting on Gene a bit too much there...”

Georgie raised an eyebrow. “Would you want to have a relationship with Finny, then?”

Jon looked down at the couch to avoid Georgie’s gaze. “Well, uh, I doubt Finny’d be interested in me to begin with, he seems out of my league...”

“You underestimate yourself, Jon.” Jon looked back up at Georgie just in time to catch the playful twinkle in her eye. “Besides, it’s a hypothetical. If the option were available, would you date Finny?”

“And if we weren’t already dating?”

Georgie let out a snort of amusement. “And if we weren’t already dating, too. Don’t worry, Jon, I’m not going to get mad if you’d date a fictional character.”

Jon thought about it for a moment. “...probably, yes, I would. Though he’s, uh, he’s sixteen. And dead by the end of the novel. So...”

Jon could swear he saw Georgie’s face blanche for a moment, but it was fleeting enough that he wasn’t sure it wasn’t just his imagination running wild or a trick of the light; the color returned to Georgie’s face in an instant, and any uncertainty in her expression was replaced by an exaggerated wrinkling of her nose. “That does tend to put a damper on potential relationships, doesn’t it?”

“Just a little bit.” Jon said, a bit of laughter sneaking into his voice.

“So how did this Finny die, anyway?”

“Well, it’s pretty much the climax of the novel, so to get into that, I’ll have to explain the rest of it first-”

Jon launched into a detailed explanation of the plot of A Separate Peace, and Georgie watched him with interest the entire time.

.

Jon didn’t entirely realize the implications of him admitting that he’d date Finny if given a chance until later in the night, when Georgie brought it up again during a lull in the conversation.

“So, if you’d date Finny-”

“Given all those hypothetical caveats, yes.”

“Right. And you’re dating me-”

Jon raised an eyebrow, schooling his face into his best semblance of surprise. “I certainly hope we’ve established that much.”

Georgie swatted at Jon with one hand, though the motion was slow and gentle and ended up coming just short of actually making contact with him.

“So you’re into both guys and girls, then. Do you identify as bi then, or pan, or-”

“Bi, yeah.”

Georgie’s face lit up at the words, her mouth stretching into a wide grin. “Same here! High-five? Wait, no--bi-five!”

Jon and Georgie both giggled a bit at that pun, and when Georgie extended her hand in Jon’s direction, Jon high-fived it without hesitation.

“Say, come next Pride, you can use the face paint I’ve got if you want, if it’s got cooties I dare say you’d have them already...”

Jon shook his head. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m not exactly a fan of face paint.”

“Really?” Georgie wrinkled her nose. “Ah well, more for me, then. I do have some old pins you could have if you want, too!”

“Only if you’re sure you don’t want them.”

“Oh, I’ve got plenty to spare. Fun fact, covering a hat entirely with pins is not nearly as fun or practical as it sounds. Learned that one from experience.”

“Wait, you’ve got a hat covered with pins and you’ve been hiding it from me this whole time?”

“I used to have a hat covered with pins. Ended up taking them all off, and I had to throw out the cap underneath because it was so riddled with holes, and now I’ve just got all these pins hanging around...”

As Georgie kept talking about how she’d covered a hat with pins before and why she ended up taking them all off, a smile sneaked its way onto Jon’s face.

[kirishwima]

drunk RFA+ Jihyun and ge Saeran with not drunk female MC😆

ohhh durnk RFA! i like this hehe

However, since we know Seven doesn’t drink alcohol or smoke, I’ll switch his section into eating edibles with him; so be warned there’s mentions of both alcohol and weed in this!!

YOOSUNG:

* Baby boy is a lightweight like...don’t even give him a single beer can, not even a sip of wine...MC why did you let him drink, this one’s on you

* Knowing how Yoosung gets when drunk, MC decided not to drink at all that night-they were out for dinner with the rest of the RFA, and one glass of wine turned into ordering beer after beer per Zen’s insistence lol

* By his second glass, Yoosung was a M E S S 

* MC actually had to excuse him and herself to take him home, the boy so tipsy he was leaning onto Zen, twirling his white locks of hair flirting with him, thinking it’s MC!!!

* It took a lot of strength to drag him to the car, and Seven actually had to come out and carry Yoosung as he drunkedly giggled while being princess-carried; something Seven will never ever let him live down lmao

* At home she managed to get him into bed, albeit in his day clothes, unable to get him to put on his pyjamas, simply curling up besides him as MC waited for Yoosung to fall asleep.

* He turned to her in his drunken haze, clasping her cheeks in his hands as he looked to her with a grin.

* “Youu...you are so cute! How can you be so cute and be mine? There’s-*hic*, you met pretty boy Zen and-and rich dude Jumin-but you want me! Me!”

* MC rolled her eyes, leaning close to kiss Yoosung’s cheek. “I did choose you. I love you” she whispered, making Yoosung fall into another feat of giggles. 

* “Yess-me! And I-I choose you! Like Pikachu! Chu, chu” he laughed at himself, the sound endearing and adorable all at once.

* He settled himself down after a moment, sighing as he let his eyes flutter shut.

* MC thought he was asleep, when she heard him mumble;

* “Marry her-I’m gonna marry MC...mm, then everyone will know she mine...ha”

* She smiled, curling up on his chest. She’d never admit she heard him say that, but she’d never forget it, and well, if she’s a little extra sweet and cuddly with him the next day, she’ll blame it on his cuteness.

JAEHEE:

* She doesn’t like to admit it, but she too, is a lightweight.

* She’s usually careful about how much she drinks, knowing how..well, how she tends to get when drunk, but this one night-

* MC had brought home a bottle of her favorite wine, saying they should make it a stay-at-home date night, and Jaehee couldn’t resist-between the two of them, they ended up emptying the bottle, Jaehee having just a tad more alcohol in her than she could handle.

* What MC was soon to find out, is that Jaehee is not only a very bubbly, talkative drunk, she’s also very, very handsy, a little cuddle fiend;

* Before MC knew it she was laying on the couch, Jaehee laying over her with her limbs locked on MC’s sides like a koala, talking about anything and everything, context gone in her hazy mind; from her love of Zen’s musical, to her distaste for cats, to Jumin, and how much she’d like to take that silver spoon of his and shove it-um. Anyway.

* MC giggled, letting Jaehee ramble on and on until she tired herself out, her head leaning down to fall onto MC’s chest, her hands clasped on MC’s shirt.

* “Are you sleepy?” MC teased, running her hands on Jaehee’s back.

* “Mmm” Jaehee mumbled, nuzzling her head on MC’s chest, “you-comfy. So comfy. Love you so much” she kept mumbling, the words muffled on the fabric of MC’s shirt.

* Jaehee was never this bold, and in the morning, when she woke up on the couch with MC beneath her, both of them sore from the awkward sleeping position-Jaehee would be a flustered mess, her cheeks a fiery red as she tried to recollect the scattered memories she had of the night before.

* She’d apologise profusely to MC, who’d insist there was nothing to be sorry for. 

* Just a cute sweet funny drunk really lol

ZEN:

* It takes a LOT to get this guy drunk-he’s so used to going out to bars back in his motorcycle-riding days and getting shit-faced that nowdays there’s only few kinds of alcohol that can really give him that tipsy kick.

* Well, one night he and MC were out at a bar with colleagues celebrating the end of a theatre production, when their producer brought a few bottles of some fancy smoked whiskey-Zen’s vice. 

* He loved whiskey, but rarely indulged in it, not only because there’s few situations in which whiskey would be suited, but also because honestly, it was the only type of alcohol left strong enough to get him drunk.

* He was careful at first, wanting to stay sober so he could be a proper escort to MC, but people kept pouring in his cup again once it was empty and he was too polite to say no and he kept drinking and well...this is a long-winded way to say Zen did get drunk lol

* As it turns out, drunk Zen is not too different from sober Zen-were it not for his slurred speech MC might’ve not even noticed he’s drunk.

* She only realized it when he started leaning his head on her shoulder, wrapping his arms around her waist as he looked to her with a big exaggerated pout, his bottom lip jutting out as he blinked up at her.

* She laughed, flicking his nose. “What? What’s with this grumpy face, hm?” she asked him.

* “You are...so beautiful. I love you so much!” he started, and MC rolled her eyes at him.

* “And is that a reason for you to pout like that?” she asked him. Zen shook his head, looking around the bar as if to make sure he can lean up and whisper in her ear without anyone else noticing.

* “I don’t want all these other people to be looking at you-and I want you to only look at me” he whispered, before leaning back to look her in the eye. “You love me the most right? Right??” he grumbled.

* MC realized just how drunk Zen must’ve gotten by that point-and not wanting him to feel embarassed the next day, she slowly managed to get him home, collapsing with him on the couch in a giggling heap.

* By the next morning he was as good as new, minus the horrible horrible hangover he’d been experiencing-but thankfully his own personal Advil was right there to make him all better ;)

JUMIN:

* Honestly, it’s quite impossible to get this man drunk.

* Or rather, it’s that he’s so subtly drunk that it’s almost impossible to realise when he is. He simply...becomes chattier. Bolder. That’s the only difference between drunk Jumin and sober Jumin lol

* MC only realized when one night at a dinner party, after having copious amounts of wine, Jumin leaned onto her, quietly nodding towards other guests and sharing his honest, undiluted opinion of them in MC’s ear.

* “Mrs Portokalou, the lady with the red hair; she’s a stuck up butt” he started, making poor MC nearly choke on her drink as she took in the bold words Jumin whispered. “Mr Khan, he’s a know-it-all, don’t ever get into a debate with him. So annoying. That guy over there, with the blue suit-I don’t...I actually don’t know who he is but I don’t like him. His tie doesn’t suit his suit. Disgusting” Jumin scoffed.

* It was so entretaining that MC didn’t have the heart to tell him to stop, biting her cheek to stop from laughing her heart out at Jumin’s commentary.

* “That man there; Mr Mel. What a douche-douchebag? Is that what Zen usually calls me? Well, that’s what this man is too. Douchebag...I should go tell him that.”

* Woah woah woah! Before Jumin could make his way up to Mr. Douchebag, MC gripped his wrist, tugging him back.

* With some effort and promises of kisses in the car, she managed to get him to go home without voicing his opinion of everyone there publically lol

* By the next morning not only was he completely fine, no hangover to complain about, he also had a full recollection of the night before-and he didn’t seem apologetic, not one bit.

* ‘Mr. Douchebag’ became an inside joke for the two of them, must to Zen’s dismay lmao

SEVEN/LUCIEL/SAEYOUNG:

* He doesn’t drink alcohol nor smoke, but he does really like edibles; he makes his own butter out of weed, and then with the help of MC, will make hash brownies and cookies, and his favorite, honey-buddha chip buttery dipping sauce to dunk his chips into.

* One day the couple made a batch a little stronger than usual, which left Seven into a laughing high mess on the living room couch, an unopened bag of Honey Butter chips laying on his stomach. 

* MC had only had a little chunk of a brownie, so the effect hadn’t hit her nearly as much as Seven-he was giggling at nothing, turning his head this way and that before leaning back on the couch to look at MC who was sitting in the corner typing away on her phone.

* Seven smiled incredulously, poking at her thigh until she put her phone down and looked to him with a raised brow.

* “Hey-heyy, hey-hey did you knoww-” he wiggled his brows, making MC roll her eyes with a smile, “that I really really really love you?”

* MC ruffled his hair, relishing in his giggles. “And I love you Sae” she grinned.

* “No-I love you more! To inifnity and beyond and uh-to space....all the way into the galaxy...a galaxy far far away...” he zoned out, stretching his hands in front of his face as if to examine if they’re really there, wiggling each of his fingers like he’s testing them.

* It took a while for him to get down form his high, but he never seemed particularly embarassed about it-when MC reminded him of how he told her he loves her to infinity and beyond he simply laughed and kissed her.

* “Heck yeah I do” he admitted, and welll, that was that lol

JIHYUN/V:

* Like Jumin, he rarely ever gets drunk-but that’s only because he always, always drinks in moderation.

* He’s went through his rebel years as a teen, drinking himself into oblivion simply to spite his father, and he got that urge out of his system. Nowdays he drinks simply to enjoy the taste, winding down after a long day with a nice glass of wine.

* One night though...hoo boy. MC’s friends had invited her and Jihyun out to a bar, insisting they wanted to get to know her boyfriend better. Not one to disappoint, Jihyun agreed to come along, sticking out a little like a sore thumb in the group of giggling girls surrounding him.

* He’d tried ordering a glass of wine, but MC’s friends insisted he should try this bar’s specialty cocktail, a fruity drink that actually tasted really really good. Jihyun ended up drinking a couple of those cocktails, dissolving into a happy giggly mess, which only made him even more endearing.

* MC’s friends had already taken a liking to him, but seeing him joke around and even get up to try and be a wingman for one of the girls, they all decided he’d now be an official member of their friend group, lol

* MC ended up going home with Jihyun leaning on her shoulder, laughing beside her ear all the time. She couldn’t help but laugh along with him, his sweetness doubling now that the boldness of liquor coursed in his body.

* When she helped him lay down in bed, she moved away to get changed into a pair of pyjamas, she heard Jihyun whine behind her, shuffling on the bed.

* She turned to find Jihyun kneeling up, a frown on his face. “Where-where are you going?” he asked.

* MC laughed. “Baby I’m just going to get changed, I’ll be right back-!” She didn’t get to continue her sentence as Jihyun got up from the bed, fumbling about until he reached MC, sneaking his hands across her waist, hiding his face atop her head.

* “No-you can’t leave, please-”

* MC couldn’t do anything-he was so worried, his brain probably bringing up painful memories, that even having her gone from his side for a moment worried him. She simply hugged him back, reassuring him she was right there.

* They ended up falling asleep in their clothes, MC still with makeup on her face as she awoke to Jihyun shuffling in bed, pushing his palm onto his eyes.

* “never again...I’m never drinking with you girls ever again” he grumbled, pouting when MC laughed.

* He’d absolotuely be drinking with them again lmao

SAERAN:

* Like his brother, he doesn’t drink, doesn’t want to, but once-just once he got drunk.

* There was a bottle of a strong clear liquor in the cupboard, so strong that MC had stored it there to use as an antiseptic.

* Yet...Saeran didn’t think much of the label on it, didn’t even try and catch a whiff of its strong smell. He simply poured the clear liquid in a glass and drank it all in one gulp, assuming it’s just water and someone stored it there by accident.

* Well..he soon found out it’s not. Gagging he smacked the glass back down on the counter, running to the faucet to drink some actual, honest water to wash down the taste.

* MC heard him gagging and gasping and run to the kitchen-one look at the bottle and the empty glass alerted her to what’s going on and she couldn’t help but laugh, even as Saeran turned to throw a glare her way.

* She explained why she’d kept that bottle there in the first place, and helped Saeran sit back down on a chair as she poured a glass of water for him.

* She couldn’t have expected him to start getting tipsy from just a glass-sure it was strong as heck but-it was merely a few sips!

* And yet soon enough she got her hands full of a giggling, cuddly Saeran, so unlike his usual shy demeanor that she couldn’t help but stare at him, wondering how someone could change this much with just a single glass of alcohol.

* Saeran had crawled his way onto her lap on the couch, his arms around her neck as he rested his face on her shoulder.

* “So sweet-You’re so sweet. Wonderful, and great and-and-”

* He wouldn’t stop complimenting her until MC was a blushing mess, hiding herself on his shirt with a squeal.

* That very same night after a nap and a raging hangover, MC couldn’t help but tease him about his previous boldness.

* He was blushing redder than his brother’s hair at the memories, and vehemently refused to acknowledge them-but MC knew. She k n e w .

-send me a mysme headcanon for character reactions-

[shamelesslypoetic]

Not Today

Wordcount: 1.5k

Pairings: Blink and you’ll miss it dukexiety. Logince, could be read as one-sided but I think of it as returned ;)

Warnings: Embarassment, some self-deprecating thoughts, vague ending, Roman being a gay train wreck you can't look away from

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

‘Fashionably late’ was Roman’s latest statement these days and though Logan didn’t necessarily like it Roman thought he must still have some sense of agency against the increasingly hindering crush he’d developed in the past few months. 

Right now, however, he couldn’t help but agree as he ran out of theatre practice to the cafeteria, desperately trying to catch some time with Logan before his next class. His heart pounded in his chest, skin prickling with nerves as he glanced down at his wrist and promptly disregarded the clock, it was all gibberish and he only wore it because Logan had got it for him anyway.

The bustling cafeteria pulled the theatre loving geek in with all its colorful chatter and smiling faces, the laughs behind them bubbly and inviting. 

This school was his home, and had been for as long as he could remember. 

Still, in favor of finding some random group to hang out with, his eyes scanned around the crowded spaces for one person in particular, bumping shoulders good-naturedly and ignoring a scowl here, a biting retort there until he finally  found his target.

The impossibly cute and endearingly rambly Logan, sitting alone in a far table with his closed fist propping his cheek up and a book open in front of him, had his eyes closed. Roman’s heart swelled at the sight, workaholic stupor having forced the object of his affection into an unplanned nap. Logan always pushed himself to such states and then some. That determination and sharp intelligence etched itself across the bruised quality of his amor’s eyelids and it was enough to knock Roman off his balance. He sank into the bench and started yammering away to quell the force of the longing inside him. 

“Hey there, sleeping beauty!” Roman trilled loudly, the arm sliding against the table pushing a food tray away as he bumped the other sophomore’s shoulder. 

Logan started, letting out a very dignified yelp as his eyes snapped open and his shoulders rose in alarm. 

“Hold on, your glasses are smudged,” Roman noted, squinting. “Lemme just...” He raised his hands up as Logan barely had time to turn and took the glasses off his face. He delicately held it between his hands, words pushing out of him in a flurry far too passionate for the present situation, especially seeing as one of the would-be participants of the conversation had yet to manage a word in the wake of his crazed Chemistry partner.

“Ro-Roman?” 

Roman blabbed on, acutely aware of his companion and trying not to show it with every ounce of his Disney adoring being, going off, piling on the words blocking his ‘I love you’ from exploding out of him. “Classy guys such as yourself can’t be seen like that, no siree.” Roman trained his gaze on the thick-rimmed square frames in his hands rather than the strong tea brown that typically looked through them. 

“Roman?” Logan said again, impatience trickling into his voice of elegant fountain pens on parchment paper. 

“But don’t worry I gotcha,” Roman continued a train of thought from earlier that he was sure his chemistry partner hadn’t quite caught as he cleaned the lenses, but the glittering sing-song coming out of him just wouldn’t stop. “Nerds gotta look out for each other, right Lo? Of course I’m right who would you possibly sacrifice this ravishing company for--”

Logan persisted, “Roman!”

Roman turned his head as he let go of the edge of his shirt, “Whaaaat?” His drawl broke off into a flustered noise between confusion and awe as he fully alighted on the bare face and the slightly skewed necktie. “Whoa-uh...”

“Roman you startled me!” Logan said but Roman wasn’t listening, too lost in sharp edges and a jawline spawned from a knight’s sword, accented by arching, sweeping eyebrows and perfect, dark eyes. The wannabe actor’s breath caught in his throat as his mouth fell open and an itching blush quickly creeped up his nose. His hand trembled in pure gay disaster style as he took in the exasperated face in front of him once more, eyes hungrily tracing every dimension as if he could learn all the edges, as if he could fold the memory into his brain to call it whenever he wanted if he stared long enough. And yet, he was afraid if he got any closer like he so wanted to that wherever his skin touched the other’s it would come away hot and colored bright crimson. Just like the blush across his face. 

Logan gave Roman a weird look as he felt his face redden, wordless in stark contrast to the way he’d just been chatting away with all the conviction of a hummingbird that somehow managed to learn human dialect.

“Why are you staring?” he asked, a hand cautiously coming to Roman’s arm. “Is there something on my face?”

Roman didn’t answer, far too transfixed and a note of worry knotted the other’s words, the elegant, incredibly sophisticated voice all Roman could now hear. Everything else, the chatter, the bustle, fell muffled under Logan’s melodic words, all but white sound to the theatre enthusiast.

“Roman?” Logan said again and tightened his hold on the boy’s arm, the feverish skin underneath poking out from the cuff of his letterman jacket’s sleeve. 

Logan slid his hand down to check Roman’s roaring pulse and a rolling shiver coursed through Roman the way the cool assured hands felt holding him. It was too much. The press of skin without any space to spare, the absent sweeping of Logan’s thumb, the way it fit so perfectly on Roman’s vien as if it were already carving out a place there. Too much for Roman’s frail gay heart. 

Before the older of the two sophomores could say anything more, his glasses shot across the air and Roman slapped them onto his face with a force that had Logan reeling backwards, hold on the other faltering as he sputtered, “Ah!” he gave a sharp cry, blinking rapidly. 

“Roman, what the fuck!?”

The word Logan would normally never use for its rudeness escaped him by his temper and Roman finally stirred which was arguably worse than the state of frozen horror as his mind chanted shit shit shit shit! and the frantic, uneven thu-thump carried on against his ribcage. 

“I, I gotta go!” he stammered, grabbing his bag from the bench and neglecting the unicorn notebook falling from it. 

Logan stared at him, a purple blossom  appearing on the slope of that perfect pointed nose, hitching Roman’s breath as he held onto his bag’s strap.

“Sorry, Specs, I’d love to stay but I’m gonna be late for my next class at this rate, and not even fashionably so!” 

Shut up, shut up! The last of his common sense hissed as he backed away, bumping his hip against the table and wincing more at Logan’s incredulous face than the impact. “Love these get-togethers, babe!” OH FOR FUCK’S SAKE! 

Roman could see it now, the hole he’d dug himself, gaping wide in the middle of a graveyard where he’d soon be put out of his ineloquent misery and then buried, never to be seen embarrassing himself again. “O-Okay, see you around, bye!”

He ran, because really what else could Roman have done, when all compliments and flattery drifted from him every time he found himself in front of someone so damnably handsome, when he was confronted by feelings he normally only mimicked? 

So, blind and deaf to all around him, his feet carried him to the Chemistry lab, early for once. The Chemistry lab! 

Roman mentally prepared his will, his plushies would go to Princess and his writings would be published with not an extra edit and he’d have to tell someone to apologize on his behalf for teasing the emo in seventh period about his crush on his twin: Remus. Who would have nothing, because he’s a stinky bastard.

Roman steeled himself with little more than sheer pride as he took a seat. But then he ended up folding his arms on the metal desk and putting his head down. He pretended to sleep for the whole period. 

Which is not to say that his skin didn’t warm as Logan took his place beside him, that he didn’t want to apologize for such stupid behaviour, that when Logan told him -- “Sorry, for, for yelling at you back there, I can have the worst temper and you...you tend to...exaserbate that.” -- he didn’t sheepishly smile but none of it mattered, not even when Logan slid the notebook toward him with a whispered, “You forgot this.” 

Why? Because he was a coward. For all his bravado and pomp, he was an utter fool for Logan and a coward on top of it.  

He’d tell him in time. He’d tell him pretty poetry and have flowers in his hands, he’d scour the shops for Logan’s outlandish favourite of gladiolus and preferably also take him out somewhere nice, that new diner perhaps or stargazing in that meadow on the outskirts of town. He’d tenderly hold his face and ask if that’s okay and then he’d lean in and kiss him, slow and sweet, chaste and gentle. A bit far reaching and maybe even presumptuous. But feigning sleep gave plenty of time to daydream.  

One day Roman would tell Logan that it was his own otherworldly looks that turned his dramatic classmate into a bumbling, savage mess. But not today. 

Today, Roman would apologize. And that would have to be enough somehow. 

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

A/N: Another one based on art by @sleepy-starling because I'm unoriginal. Hope you like it and that the words are treating you well whether you're reading or writing them! ^^

[pinehutch]

(Thoughts about living in a body, some things are tagged but also, content warning for like, extreme self-indulgence and a whole lot of words.)

Pull up a chair (god knows I have), and let me tell you about living in my body. 

Something always hurts. You are 38 years old;  of course something always hurts, but sometimes what hurts is the reassuring prick and hot-cold lance of the Sunday evening injection site. Prick of the upper thigh, show some leg, know that your fingers will unfurl in the morning in a way that’s pulled along by your intent. 

You look younger than you are, if you are not too tired, if you have dyed your hair to hide the silver that started coming in at 22, if you’re performing the right kind of agelessness. The skin on your face has faint freckles and very rarely any blemishes, faint lines on your forehead since your mid-teens. One slightly dark spot that you’re keeping an eye on, that you remember to keep an eye on only for 2 minutes every day, while you’re brushing your teeth. You resolve to keep an eye on it. You forget by morning. 

It is a good face. It has nice eyes, and a rosy mouth, and a pleasant structure. You’re not exactly proud of it, or your hair, but you’re on decent, civil terms with the above-the-bust zones. You know that not wearing makeup is a privilege you have, that other people spend money and time and energy on makeup to appear to have it as good as you do. People will say kind things, and strangers may smile when they see you. 

You still wish you knew what to do with makeup. You still wish you could signal, here I am, look at me, I am trying to tell you something with this face. You are not in control of what your face is saying to people. The consequences of this lack of control are presenting an appearance unrelenting openness. Strangers may talk to you when they see you. 

Strangers! They have so many opinions! They will see you walking to and fro, and they will say to themselves, I believe that is a woman, and they will say to themselves, I have an opinion about this womanish person, this body, and they will say to you you gorgeous and you fat slut and you stuckup and you freak and you tits, you red hair, you hips. They will offer you a ride in their van (oh my god, their van), and will follow you for three blocks to ask if you have a husband, and they will shyly approach you in the produce section, and they tell you about their friend who is A Big Girl, Too, and they will throw pornographic comments at you on your second meeting, they will insist you do not need that size jean, and they will spit in front of you as you try to keep your head down, to keep moving. 

They have watched you at the gym, and they have laughed at you. (They don’t matter, and they are few and far between.)

(Every now and then they will give you thoughtful compliments sometimes, on the things that you’ve chosen. You should always give thoughtful and appropriate compliments to people, when you can.) 

Your body does not feel like it is yours alone. It is you, but it is not yours alone. It is a public and a private, personal nuisance. A man on the subway bumps against your ass four times in two stops. A woman on an airplane looks grim when that ass means you wrap an extender around your hips, pushed up up out of the seat. (Ha, seat.) Your shoulders are broad and you go to a show in a lovely old theatre and the whole time, you are curling, curling, curling inwards. You are muscle and bone, and you are trying to be a flower, folding petal-soft and unobtrusive. 

You cannot be unobtrusive. You simply do not fit. You have clothing in a range of 8 different sizes and you could wear all of it on the same day. Every dress is too short. 

Your body can be useful. Yes, it hurts, and it’s tired, and sometimes even the gentle push of your hands through the water for thirty minutes means your fingers will ache for a day and a half. You can’t always open a jar without a knife, but you can lift a heavy object onto a high shelf. Can anybody reach that? You can. You can walk for miles in the city dragging fifty pounds of luggage and you will even recover.  You can, on a good day, manage a seven-k trail, or ramble in the woods for some hours. You can carry the potting soil up to the third floor deck and fill the planters. You cannot climb out of the pool without a ladder, or you will limp for the rest of the week, and wear wrist braces. 

You can manage. You can live in your too-tall, too-broad, too-strong, too-fragile body, and you can live well in it, when it is only one part of you. 

You live in the world. You live in the world and so much of it is spurred by hatred and money and the money you spend to stop hating yourself. When you are 20-something, you start looking for alternatives. (You think you are looking for cute clothes; you find new ways of thinking, about your body, about all bodies, about bodies which are people. You find some cute clothes, too. Seeing the forest doesn’t take you out of it.) You learn that there are people who have functionally stopped hating themselves. You stop, functionally, hating yourself for being the body that you are. 

It gets easier, for a while. It never goes away, but it does get easier, and you learn so much about how you can be a person, a person who is and who has and who lives in a body, and never only any one thing. You practice telling yourself that every body is a good body, even while you read deeper and wider and realize that not everyone can feel that their body is a good body. Even if all of those systems and people and rules that say this body is good but this body is not good were not in place, not everyone can feel that their body is a good body. Some bodies aren’t even very successful at their primary function (i.e. being alive). Some bodies hurt all of the time. 

Ten years later, and your body becomes one of the kinds of bodies with above-average premature mortality rates. It becomes one of the kinds of bodies where something hurts, all of the time. For a time, you cannot manage very well at all. You cry a lot, because you are in pain, and you are frightened, and nothing works, and you lose a year of your life to hands locked in fists and panic attacks and vomiting up different combinations of meds. The (terrible) social worker will tell you that heels are not a part of anyone’s identity, and ask if you’ve tried eating kale. Your mother will say that you should lose weight; you do not walk on your hands, though. Your father will tell you that the same disease is in his wife’s lungs. Your boss will tell you, with kind eyes, about the long-term disability accommodations available to you (it’s only a forty per cent salary cut). The pamphlet will tell you that statistically, you will not be able to work for more than 10 years from this point. People who love you will kindly remind you that you had been working too much, volunteering too much, and that stress is probably a triggering cause. 

You will leave that year behind. You will leave it, walking and swimming and carrying on. You will dance in the shower again. You will learn to speak up when you are in crisis. You will never wholly stop feeling betrayed, and it is impossible to tell where the betrayal came from: did your body betray the you-of-your-mind, by detonating the sleeping danger in your genetics? Or did your mind betray that you-of-your-body, by pressing too hard on the seal holding back that self-immolating flame? It’s a never-ending, tedious dialogue. (Is it my fault? It is my fault. Is it my fault it is my fault is it my fault it is.) 

You will learn to smile at your reflection again. People will say, you are beautiful, and you will know it is true for them, and that if you are beautiful like a whale, like an iceberg, like a thornbush, like a moonroad, like a forest, like anything lovely and grand and untouchable and inhuman - at least you can take comfort in good company. You try to turn that misty gaze upon yourself. 

You would like to look at yourself in the mirror and see only a person. You would like to look in the mirror and see only a you-who-is-whole. You will, you resolve. One day you will. 

*** 

So, I’ve been tired beyond tired this week. I’m sleep-deprived and not clear-headed, and this was terrifying to write, but it comes from a place that is as honest as I can make it. In frank terms, I’m 178 cm tall, and right now my every piece of clothing I’m wearing is a ‘straight size’ XXL and made of super soft jersey, because I’m in my pyjamas. My wardrobe ranges from a regular XL to “I got this wool coat made-to-measure because nothing else would cover my hips without falling off my shoulders.” 

The thing is: I started consciously and deliberately seeking out information on body positivity and on fat acceptance in, I dunno, 2002? 2003? I learned so much from intersectional feminists on the internet who were having complicated and often very personal conversations about bodies in general, and about ‘fat’ bodies in particular (what’s a fat body, anyway? what’s a tall one?), and then about the ways fatness intersects with race, gender, class, and ability besides. By the time I got to thirty, I was genuinely relieved to not be wasting energy hating myself on a daily basis. 

And I mostly don’t, still, most of the time. I’ve never quite ‘gotten over’ the sense of bruised identity that comes with a chronic illness, and the way that having a body that is physically more vulnerable has made me feel more mentally and emotionally vulnerable to the kind of social weapons that we/they use against our/each other’s bodies. I continue to do the work of trying to be neutral-to-positive about my body (it’s just me! it has no more or less moral weight than any other body! neat!), but when I feel generally worn-down and otherwise a bit hyper-aware of bodies, it’s really, really hard. 

At least once a day for the last several weeks I have had to stop whatever I’ve been doing when, unprompted, a thought like “it is impossible for someone to want you” or “you are, objectively, disgusting” crosses my mind. (I don’t know why my inner critic is so formal! Just a super-big jerk, really.) I think in words, so it comes just like that, in clear and precise words, and I have to stop and interrupt myself. Usually this is just a pause, and a shake of my head, and a breath, and I throw myself back into whatever has been otherwise occupying me. 

It’s fine - it’s mostly fine. Maybe this is normal, maybe this is how everyone experiences their physicality and their subjectivity. And it will be better in the morning, so now I’ll stretch my hands and fingers, and rest. 

[jzixuans]

(1/9) what’s this i hear? childhood brotherly prinxiety? well. what if. hear me out. i copy something that occurred between a friend and i. make it prinxiety. and call it a day. (apparently this is the only thing i will infiltrate your blog for—i’ve done it once before, and i likely Will Do It Again. i only have two stories for you tonight, and i got. Incredibly Carried Away with them. so. expect,, Multiple Asks. they’re split up so they make Logical Sense too because i am Like That so whoops,,)

(2/9) anyway. WHAT IF. virgil and roman are children (they were cHiLdRen 🥺) and so one day, they had some incredibly silly fight and refused to speak to each other All Day because they are Like That. but! then when it comes time to ride the bus home, virgil doesn’t know anyone besides roman on his bus :( so he is very scared about the prospect of sitting alone :(((

(3/9) but!!! roman knows this!! and roman! being the good, wonderful, amazing, fantastic friend he is, comes to an unspoken agreement with virgil to Completely Ignore the argument they had been having earlier (because they are Children and the argument Didn’t Matter At All) and sit with virgil on the bus :))))))))))

(4/9) ohO and because it’s hella projecting hours, let’s skip from childhood to high school real quick to say that virgil and roman go to separate schools :( but! they are still best friends!!! so when it comes time for roman’s theatrical performances in the spring and fall, You Can Bet Your Ass virgil is there, awkward and alone in a school that isn’t his own.

(5/9) but it’s all worth it, so incredibly /beyond/ worth it to see roman’s smile when he bows at the end of the shows, to wait as he searches in joy and anticipation for virgil outside the theater, and to watch when his face completely Lights Up when he catches sight of virgil in the crowd, ignoring his other friends in favor of his Best Friend

(6/9) (because while these new friends may be more popular and easier to handle and easier to deal with and easier to explain and don’t become anxious at the slightest hint of a conversation with a stranger… they Are Not and Will Never Be virgil).

(7/9) and, well, virgil isn’t one for hugs, but when you haven’t seen your best friend in person for months and he runs at you, catching you off balance as he spins you around in midair, well. you certainly aren’t going to complain, are you? and when he laughs in unadulterated joy, what are you supposed to do? be able to properly express how much your closest friend means to you in words? Absolutely Not.

(8/9) no, instead, you’re going to laugh right back and hug him until neither of you can hold on for any longer—not because the moment has grown uncomfortable, but because there’s so much more to say than can be mumbled into the shoulder of you best friend. so while virgil Really Does hate theatre and will Always And Forever hate theatre, he will never, never, Never pass up the opportunity to go and see one of roman’s stupid, cheesy, terrible high school performances.

(9/9) aaaaand scene. i hope you enjoyed my ramblings and gushing about my friend glorified as brotherly prinxiety fhfjfjdn (and i’m Genuinely Not Sure how many of those actually went through because tumblr is a nightmare and some of them might Accidentally Be Off Of Anon sooo let me know if you didn’t get some? ig? (and mayhaps crop the screenshots so i can stay anon pls?) and k should Definitely submit this instead next time) –✨ (i also sent b!prinxiety in before under ✨ i just can’t find it)

(9/9) in conclusion: brotherly prinxiety? yesit’ssogoodi’mlomve. my friend? yesshe’ssogoodi’mlomve. that’s all, thank you for your time 😌 --✨

oh my GOD that was so good i don’t even have anything to add to that i’m just gonna sit back here in awe 

[artificialqueens]

as the stars align 8/? (branjie) - rujubees

A/N: hollywood enemies to lovers au; 3.3k - also on ao3

As the few weeks of movie promotion unfolded, Brooke and Vanessa still hadn’t restored their relationship to what it used to be, but on a professional level they were better than ever. In every interview they were bouncing off of each other, lighting up the camera, the fans and the press already pronouncing them a dynamic duo. A video of the two of them playing Co-stars for Cash had even made the top twitter moment a couple of days, a sight which had almost given Vanessa a heart attack when she saw it.

It was fun, but it made her miss their true friendship more than ever. Since the moment they shared over her coming out, there hadn’t been a single interaction between them that wasn’t on film, or on a stage, or witnessed by outsiders.

There was only the premiere left, and awards season should they be so lucky to be nominated, and after that they’d have no reason to see each other unless they actually got their shit together and made their friendship work. It was dumb as hell to let one night get in the way of how far they’d come.

So if Brooke wasn’t going to be the first to reach out then fuck it, Vanessa would do it herself. That hoe wasn’t about to get rid of her so easily. After a few minutes of internally debating with herself, she decided to call Brooke before she lost her nerve.

“Vanessa, oh my God, is everything okay?” Brooke greeted her worriedly, thankfully picking up after only two rings.

“Yes! Yes, everything’s fine, I’m just bored, my girls are out of town. Sorry to blindside you like that babe,” Vanessa replied, trying sound as cool and platonic as possible. The ‘babe’ probably didn’t help her case there, but she let it slip out anyway.

“Yeah, off-days are weird,” Brooke laughed.

“You wanna, uh, grab a coffee or something?”

Brooke confirmed that she was down, and Vanessa hurried to make herself as presentable as possible in the short time she had. She put her dark curls up into a messy bun, applied some light makeup and decided that her favourite oversized hoodie and some tights would do.

Half an hour later, she was sat in Starbucks opposite Brooke. It had been a while since she’d seen the other woman without the professionally applied makeup and her hair done, and she looked straight up adorable in her fluffy turtleneck and jeans.

“Damn, I needed this,” Brooke said, sipping on her black coffee.

“I know. Bitch, I slept like a baby last night, but I swear I’m still exhausted after this months crazy-ass schedule. I need a nap for like, a week.”

Brooke nodded agreeably.

“Same, but I’m so restless. It’s like I don’t even know what to do with my time off.” Vanessa knew the feeling — it was hard to escape the feeling that she should be doing something, especially right now with her career reaching new heights. Every day was supposed to be a hustle.

“Well you can always hit me up, girl,” Vanessa said offhandedly with a grin. Brooke swallowed and didn’t smile back — maybe she was also thinking about the last time they spent proper, one-on-one time together — and Vanessa felt her mouth going dry. No, this was bad, very bad, no one person should have this much of an effect on her. They needed to be better at being friends.

“So, why’s the premiere happening in London anyway? Were all the LA theatres booked or somethin’?” Vanessa inquired, wanting to quell the nervous energy, even though she already knew why.

“Well, we only get one premiere. And Katya’s insisting that we all deserve a vacation away from LA.”

“Vacation is a weird word to describe five days in the UK shivering my pussy off,” Vanessa huffed. In reality, she was kind of looking forward to the trip — she had never been to Europe before, and she could see herself spending part of December living out her Love, Actually daydream.

“Don’t lie, you’re excited,” Brooke smiled. “Besides, you’ll have me there to keep you warm,” she winked.

Vanessa flushed at Brooke’s comment, perplexed as to why she was still going there after blatantly rejecting the idea of anything sexual between them only weeks ago.

Brooke kept up her flirty nature for the rest of their meeting together, and Vanessa felt like she was balancing two alter egos — the cheerful facade she was putting on for her company (which was surely unconvincing), and her spiralling inner monologue that was just trying to work Brooke out.

The mystery and iciness had been part of what had drawn Vanessa to Brooke Lynn, but right now she really wished she was more of an open book.

—

“I’ve ruined everything, Nina,” Brooke flopped onto her bed with a sigh, unable to care about the piles of clothes beneath her that were now being squashed. “I’m the dumbest person alive.”

“Trust me, I know. We share five brain cells between us, and I possess four of them,” Nina quipped unsympathetically as she attempted to organise Brooke’s packing for London.

“I’m serious you bitch. I literally can’t stop fucking up. I told myself that I’d done enough and that it’ll be a miracle if she even wants to be friends with me anymore, but then she said the sweetest words on how I shouldn’t feel pressured to come out and I swear to God…” Brooke trailed off, not wanting to divulge how she’d flirted with Vanessa in the cafe to no results. She felt like she’d promised herself, everyone she knew and their mom to keep things strictly friendship between the two of them, knowing that was all Vanessa was after, and yet —

it was as if there were small roots of hope growing inside her that just wouldn’t die, no matter how much she refused to water them, no longer allowing her mind to entertain the fantasy.

“Is this the part where you admit that you’re not over her?” Nina asked with a smirk. Brooke groaned in defeat — it wasn’t like lying to Nina or herself had gotten her anywhere thus far.

“Fine. I love her, is that what you wanna hear?” It came out like word vomit, and Brooke felt tears prick her eyes.

“My, my. The Ice Queen is thawed,” Nina pronounced ceremoniously, her faux shock exaggerated. Of course Nina would treat this as a goddamn improv exercise.

“Fuck you, Nina. I love her, I’m literally in love with her, what the fuck. Help me!”

“Aww, you can’t stop saying it. It’s pretty cute honey,” Nina giggled, plopping herself down next to Brooke on the bed. She started to rub comforting circles on Brooke’s back as Brooke’s tears began to fall.

“I’ve made such a mess.”

“Go from the start, B. I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think. You were always a pessimist.”

Brooke took a deep breath.

“On Halloween, when you forced us to talk, it was just… awkward. So I told her we didn’t have to discuss what happened between us, we should just leave it at that, and she agreed it was for the best, and then she looked so sad and I knew she regretted it ever happening because Lord knows what we used to have isn’t ever coming back…” Brooke burst out, feeling like a rambling, sobbing disaster of a human being. “Press was fun and we had that moment after Tatianna’s interview, and then we got coffee together and I thought things were going back to normal. And maybe they were, at least until I started flirting with her and made everything tense all over again. She’ll probably never act like that with me again, even in a friendly way, because it carries so much more weight now and she won’t want to give me the wrong idea…”

Nina handed her mug of tea, and Brooke didn’t think she’d ever been told to shut up in a more tactful way.

“Brooke, love. Have you ever thought that maybe the reason Vanessa was so upset on Halloween was because you essentially rejected her and shut her down before you guys could even properly discuss what happened and how you both feel?”

Brooke shook her head, frowning. There was no way that Vanessa actually wanted to be with her.

“Well, I think you should consider it. And you know I wouldn’t want you getting your hopes up for no reason. But it makes sense, Brooke. She was hurt by what you said but she was trying. But then you started flirting with her again, and now she’s confused.”

Brooke felt pathetic as her eyes sprung more waterfalls, competing with Niagara over which could be the most impressive tourist attraction. Both possibilities were bad — she’d either hurt Vanessa by ruining their friendship, or hurt her by breaking her heart.

“I know you find it hard to believe. But you deserve to be loved, Brooke. Vanessa would be lucky to have you.”

“I have to talk to her. For real,” Brooke said as she buried her face in tissues.

“Yes. But first, you have to pack.”

—

Brooke was going to talk to Vanessa.

But it had to be the right time. She didn’t want to contact her before London and risk everything going haywire before the premiere, so she would wait.

The days leading up to the trip were torture, and the flight to London was also a slog. Vanessa had looked strangely lonely as they’d waited in LAX, surrounded by her manager Ra’jah and the rest of their party, and Brooke wondered whether she missed Silky and A’keria. She assumed they wouldn’t be in London until later, if they were coming to the premiere at all. Perhaps Vanessa even missed Matt.

She’d sat by herself on the flight, a couple of rows in front of Brooke. Brooke had wanted to go and sit with her so badly, but with Asia to her left and Michelle to her right — locking her in conversation — it was hard to get away. When she finally slipped off to check on Vanessa, her co-star had fallen asleep, looking more soft and peaceful than Brooke had ever seen her, and Nina gave her a pitying passing glance on Brooke’s way back to her seat.

When they arrived at Heathrow airport, they were exhausted, though some of the group were still in good spirits, excited and delirious and somehow still finding things to laugh about as they whizzed through customs at a speed that Brooke had become used to after all her years of fame.

Brooke was too tired to socialise. She ushered Nina into one of the hired cars that was there to pick them up, and she definitely didn’t pick that specific one because she’d seen Vanessa get in it with Ra’jah already. And she certainly didn’t let her eyes flitter between the scenery outside her window and Vanessa, who was even prettier than the London skylines; a picture perfect view herself.

As they neared the centre of the city, Christmas lights became more and more abundant, and Brooke felt soothed as she noticed the creases and frowns in Vanessa’s face melt away.

It scared Brooke how much Vanessa’s happiness could make or break her own.

When they got to the luxury hotel they were staying in, it was gone midnight. Brooke checked her phone for the first time since landing and noticed few-hour old text from Yvie saying that her and Scarlet had made it to London— most of the cast and crew would be flying in individually, but Nina and Ra’jah had decided to work with Michelle, Asia and Katya’s plans in order to get a hotel discount. Or because they clearly thought Brooke and Vanessa’s idea of a relaxing vacation was spending five days with each other and their former bosses. Brooke didn’t particularly care to think about the reasoning right now, she just wanted to go to bed. Even though it was only four pm or so in LA, their flight had been in the early hours of the morning and she’d been unable to sleep on the plane, so she’d lost count of the hours she’d gone without rest.

“We have a slight situation,” Asia said as she walked over to the group with a grimace, the receptionist in tow.

“This is so embarrassing, and I am so sorry for any inconvenience, but it appears we have only reserved six rooms for your party instead of seven, and the rest of the hotel is fully booked for the next two nights,” the attendant said, young and clearly nervous. Brooke wondered how often he had to endure the repercussions mistakes likely made by others. She knew that the most practical option would be for two of the ‘single’ people — her, Vanessa, Nina, Ra’jah and Asia — to double up for the two nights they wouldn’t all be able to have their own rooms.

“Of course, you will be compensated for this error, and I can recommend other hotels within a walking distance if you should prefer…”

“Y’all couldn’t pay me nothin’ to go outside again tonight,” Vanessa piped up.

It was cold as hell and the more minutes they spent discussing this, the more minutes Brooke wasn’t in her bed.

“I agree, I really just wanna go to sleep,” Brooke chimed in.

“So will you two be okay to share?” Nina asked her, sounding perkier already, and Brooke would’ve sworn it was a set up if Nina hadn’t been as surprised as she was to learn of the mix-up.

“Uh, sure, if it’s okay with Vanessa,” Brooke said awkwardly. “Or you and I could room together.”

“I’m an old lady, Brooke, think of my back,” Nina spewed possibly the biggest load of bullshit Brooke had ever heard. Brooke rolled her eyes, knowing Nina was having the time of her life with this.

“Looks like we’re having a sleepover,” Vanessa confirmed, Brooke smiling cautiously in response. The receptionist apologised profusely once again and began handing out their keys —

“Nina, what the hell,” Brooke said under her breath as she stood close to the other woman.

“This could be exactly what you need, Brooke. You know you need to talk things out, you said so yourself.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to trap her into a conversation in the middle of the night in a foreign country,” Brooke hissed.

“Let’s go, roomie,” Vanessa called. Brooke sighed, as she tried to rack her brain and pinpoint the exact moment her life became such a fucking cliché.

—

Vanessa could deal with sharing a room with Brooke. She wasn’t thrilled by the idea, but it was only for two nights, and who knew whether they’d even make it to bed tomorrow with all the partying that was bound to occur after the premiere.

They each filed into the elevator, and when half the group started wheeling their cases out a couple levels up, all Vanessa could think was of course they put Brooke and I on the highest floor. All that was left was for the two of them to get stuck in the lift, alone, and to not be rescued until hours later. Vanessa held her breath the entire ride up, only letting it out when the doors closed on the floor below theirs, and Asia and Nina were still hadn’t left them.

“Now, remember Nina and I are right around the corner, and I have the hearing of a bat. So no funny business, you two,” Asia grinned cheekily. Vanessa wanted the ground to swallow her.

Brooke gave Nina a goodnight hug, and then the two of them walked silently a few doors down to their room.

Vanessa fiddled with the key card, trying to get it to work, but it was stubborn and Vanessa was faltering under Brooke’s gaze.

“I hate these damn things,” she stressed. Brooke took it from her, accidentally brushing her fingers in the process, mumbling an apology. When the light went green and the lock clicked open on her first try, Vanessa rolled her eyes in the darkness.

The room was cute — fairly spacious and mostly white with mahogany and burnt orange accents, the decor matching the warmth of the festive lights which sparkled outside their window. Vanessa had been disappointed when they’d arrived in London to the bitter cold yet none of the snow, but the shimmering river view was even more special than any kind of winter wonderland she’d conjured up in her mind.

“Fancy bath we got in there,” Brooke stated a few minutes later as she stepped out of their en suite, probably just to break the ice.

She was in a matching tank top and shorts, and Vanessa forced her eyes to stay on her face as much as they wanted to drift over Brooke’s long legs and soft cleavage.

“You sayin’ I smell or are you offering?” Vanessa deadpanned. In her hazy state of mind, she decided two could play at the game Brooke had started.

Because that was all Vanessa was to Brooke. A game.

Brooke wanted to tease and flirt and play with her, but she didn’t want her.

“Ha, you wish,” Brooke replied coolly, her voice slightly stilted. Apparently the day’s travels and the night’s hotel shenanigans had left the both of them tense. “Just letting you know it’s there, if you’re interested —”

“Well, it should put that on it’s dating profile,” Vanessa joked, feeling victorious when Brooke chuckled softly in response. “But for real girl, I’m beat, so unless you wanna be dragging my drowned corpse out tomorrow morning…”

“And get the bed to myself tonight? I’ll take it,” Brooke smiled.

“Bitch. If this is the last time y’all see me alive, it’s on you,” Vanessa stuck out her tongue, heading into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

When she returned, Brooke had already closed the curtains and snuggled herself under the covers, her face lit up only by the light of her phone screen and the dull glow of Vanessa’s lamp.

“Hey,” Vanessa said quietly.

“She lives.”

The bed was big, much bigger than Vanessa’s double in her own apartment, and she climbed in the opposite side to Brooke, her heart physically aching at how content she felt lying beside her.

How right it felt, despite the last time they were in a hotel room together being under such different circumstances.

Even the roars and sirens of the bustling outdoor streets were unusually comforting.

“Vanessa?”

Brooke’s tone was questioning, and so faint Vanessa almost missed it.

“Yeah?” Vanessa whispered.

Brooke took so long to reply, Vanessa wasn’t sure whether she’d heard her either, or if she was even still awake.

“I…”

“Are you okay?” — worry was growing in Vanessa’s stomach and she wanted so badly to reach her hand across the distance between them.

“I just… I miss you. I’m sorry, I’m being dumb, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Brooke spoke so sadly and Vanessa knew she was crying even without seeing her face.

She’d been rejected, flirted with and now missed by this woman all in the space of a few weeks and the rational part of her brain was telling her that Brooke was just tired, she was in an unfamiliar place away from home and she would break Vanessa’s heart even worse if she made promises tonight that she couldn’t keep tomorrow.

Still, her hand searched for Brooke’s anyway, intertwining their fingers as their bodies stayed separate, her other thumb feeling Brooke’s cheek out and wiping away her tears.

“Let’s not talk about this tonight, okay? But I swear we will. And you know I ain’t a liar,” Vanessa vowed. She felt Brooke nod into her hand.

“Goodnight, Vanessa,” Brooke sighed as Vanessa turned her back to her, but shuffled closer, letting Brooke’s arm drape over her body.

“Goodnight Brooke.”

[gaylotusthatexists]

Flightless - Chapter Four

Fandom: Sanders Sides 

Pairings: Logince

Word Count: 2k

Tag List: @xx-fandom-potato-xx @trash-can-so-do-i @bunny222 @phantomofthesanderssides @everythings-coming-up-aces @aphriteblack @virgil-loves-princey @unknownanonymousgirl @yamihatarou @tinkslittlebelle @jani-bunny54 @noahlovescoffee

first | previous | next | ao3 

"How long have you been interested in performing?"

"Gosh... Since, well, since forever."

"Have you ever wanted to do anything else?"

"No, this has been my only dream. And I am so lucky that it all worked out."

"With your wings, shouldn't you be doing something more useful?"

The question caught Roman off guard. He had been answering fans questions for half an hour or so, just before his show. Only it wasn't really 'fans' - sure, there were a few fans in the crowd, but it was mostly news presenters. People who most likely didn't actually like him, and just wanted to get paid. Which he didn't mind, but of course it meant there would be some questions he really wouldn't want to answer.

This was one of them.

Because the reporters always had a point - he could have been doing something better with his wings. That didn't mean he wanted to. Or was able to, really. He wasn't the best flyer. As much as he liked to deny that, he knew it was a fact. But performing was always his dream. And the fact that he was able to do it? That was awesome.

"I don't think a person's wings should determine what they do with their life," Roman answered. "If you have a dream, go for it. I had a dream, and I went for it. Even though, yes, with these wings, I could be doing something more 'useful' - but, even then, what determines 'useful'? There are hundreds of people that come up to me and tell me just how much I've helped them with my music. Is that not considered useful?"

Hopefully they brought that. Roman always did he best to avoid that question by rambling on about dreams. About what people hoped to do with their lives. About what he hoped to do with his life.

Maybe because he couldn't accept the truth. He could never let the truth out, either. If the true answer to that question for out, Roman's entire career would collapse.

A few more people shouted out questions. Roman held his hands up to silence everyone.

"I think that's enough questions for today," he announced. "I have to go get ready for the performance later."

The crowd moved forward, shouting his name and waving cameras in his face, following him all the way to the entrance of the theatre. As soon as he got in and closed the door, he leant against the wall, taking a deep breath. He loved all the publicity, he really did, but sometimes it was... a lot. He couldn't always deal with it all.

After a few moments of rest, Roman continued the familiar journey to his changing room. He had performed in this theatre so many times before, going all the way back to his very first days of musical theatre. Since then, he had grown in popularity, and began recording and performing his own songs. Now he was touring the country, and he could not have been happier. He was staying in town for a few days, as well. Staying in the same place where he had started his journey. His true home. 

He turned the corner. A group of people were standing outside his changing room. He really shouldn't have been surprised. 

One of them must have spotted him, because the next thing he knew, the group was running towards him, and he was running away. He knew this place like the back of his hand - turn left here, up the stairs, turn right, into the storage room. He glanced through a gap in the door, watching the crowd rush past. He let out a sign of relief, and closed the door. 

"You shouldn't be in here," a voice said. 

His heart starting to race, Roman turned around. A man stood in the corner. Roman didn't recognise him. But he didn't look like a threat. 

"And you should be?" Roman asked, raising an eyebrow. Who did this guy think he was, anyway? Roman was allowed in there! This theatre was basically his home, of course he'd be allowed in here! 

"Yes, I should be in here," the man replied, unfazed. "It is my job to be in here."

Roman stared at him. "Oh." He supposed the man worked in the theatre. That would explain why he would be in the storage room. 

"So, why are you in here?" he asked. 

Roman was silent for a moment. He stepped further into the room, making his way closer to the man. In the dim light, he could just about make out the guy's features - long, sharp face, perfectly groomed dark hair, a blue tie around his neck. His wings were spread out, thin, but it was too dark to make out the colours. Roman could tell they were delicate, though. He could have sworn he saw a crack. There was no way he had, though. The darkness was probably making him see things. 

"I was looking for a place to hide," Roman admitted. 

"Hide?"

"News reporters. They were outside my changing room."

"Oh, you're the performer?" the man asked. 

Roman nodded. "Did you not already know that?"

"I don't tend to pay attention to who is performing on any specific night," he explained. "This is just a part time job. Whoever's performing doesn't concern me."

Roman frowned. "Right... So, you work here?"

"I have already confirmed that."

"What's your name?" Roman asked, taking a seat on top of one of the wooden boxes on the floor. Hopefully the man wouldn't mind - if he did, then too bad. Roman wasn't budging. 

"Logan," he stated. "I hope you don't plan to stay here for long."

Roman shrugged. "I'd rather not go out into the theatre with people waiting to bombard me with questions," he replied. "I do need to be on stage in an hour, though."

Logan hummed. "I can escort you back to your room, if you so wish, Mr...?"

"Prince Roman," he introduced. 

"Mr Roman," Logan finished. 

"Well," Roman said, "I would appreciate some help getting back there." 

"Very well." Logan walked to the other side of the room. He opened the door slightly, and peeked outside. "Nobody is in the hall," he stated. "You should be alright to walk back." 

Roman smiled and jumped up, running up to Logan's side. "And are you going to walk me there?"

Logan tilted his head. "Yes, I believe that was the plan," he said.

Roman grinned. "Perfect!" He opened the door fully, and stepped out, closely followed by Logan. The two began to walk down the hallway, back in the direction that Roman had ran from. He supposed that this little detour would be distracting Logan from his work, but at that point Roman didn't care. He needed to get to his changing room, and Logan was there to help him not get mobbed on the way. It was a perfect plan.

"I'm assuming you are a singer," Logan said, looked over at Roman as they walked. Now that they were in full light, Roman could see Logan's wings clearly. And they were... a work of art. Butterfly wings, for starters, something that Roman had always wished his could have. And multicoloured, as well? Logan had hit the jackpot.

But Roman supposed he was happy with his angel wings. Pure white, fluffy, huge. He could dye them, at least - earlier on that day, Roman had gone to get them dyed a beautiful shade of red around the bottom of each feather.

"Do you not know who I am?" Roman asked.

Logan shook his head. "I have never seen you before."

"Prince Roman?" he said, once again telling Logan his name in hopes of triggering a memory. "Surely you've heard of Prince Roman?"

"I'm afraid I have not," he confirmed.

Roman hummed. Well, not everybody would know about him, he supposed. He was still starting. Although, considering how often he had been on the news recently, it surprised him that Logan didn't at least recognise the name.

"In any case," Roman said, "I am a singer. Write my own songs and everything." He smiled.

"That's nice," Logan replied.

"So what do you do around here?" Roman asked.

Logan hesitated. Why had he hesitated? He did work here, right? "I have a job working behind the bar on certain nights," he finally answered. "It's only temporary, of course. I'm studying at the university, and doing my own work in the laboratory up by the cathedral. Working on... wing science."

Roman raised an eyebrow. "What kind of wing science?" He had always been interested in that. For reasons that didn't matter.

"Artificial wings, mostly," Logan said. "And also... strengthening wings. Like artificial wings, but aimed specifically at people with wings who wish for them to be... better."

Roman blinked. "What do you mean by better?" As far as he was aware, all wings were amazing! It didn't matter how 'strong' they were, or what jobs they were 'suited' for - they were beautiful, stunning, and... allowed people to be free. If he could, Roman would have made it so that everyone had wings. So that everyone had the perfect pair of wings. And any pair of wings could count, for Roman believed that all wings were perfect, just the way they were.

"There are certain wing types out there that just... do not allow their owner to do anything that the owner wishes to do," Logan explained. "I know for certain that there are people out there who may resent their wings, for they do not serve the purpose that wings are supposed to. I... I am one of those people, so I can speak from experience when I say that some people wish for their wings to be able to fly further, and the like. I suppose that means I am mostly doing this research for myself, as I do wish to make my own wings 'better' to allow me to fly further distances and to carry more equipment if needed, but, uh, this whole thing could really help people out, y'know?"

Logan had ranted a lot. Roman couldn't a believe a word that he had said.

"Dude!" He stopped in the hallway, causing Logan to look at him in confusion. "Your wings are beautiful! Why would you want to change them?"

"I... They do not serve the purpose that I wish them too," Logan said. "I would much rather have wings that aren't conventionally 'attractive' than wings that don't allow me to fly as much as I want to."

Roman still couldn't understand him. Roman seriously would have killed for those wings, and Logan just wanted some that were 'better'? It made no sense. Roman could not understand him.

"Well, in my opinion, I'd say that you're lucky to have wings as beautiful as those," Roman complimented - hoping that Logan did actually take it as a compliment. "There are so many people out there that would love to have that kind of wing."

"But... I cannot do anything with them," he said.

"Yes, you can!" Roman exclaimed. "You can fly with those. Just because you can't fly as well as others, doesn't mean you can't fly at all. You can't decide your worth based on your wings. There are people out there who don't even have wings - think about that! Does a lack of wings stop a person from being the best that they could be? No! And neither should your wings! You, Logan Whatever-Your-Surname-Is, need to go out there, and show the world what you can do! Allow your wings to be free, and, in turn, free yourself!"

The two fell into a deep silence as Logan processed what Roman had said. Roman supposed he may have been a little dramatic, and that may have scared Logan a little, but his point still stood! Logan should have been proud of his wings!

"Right," Logan said, sounding uncertain. "Well, we've arrived at your room. I wish you the best of luck for your show, Roman."

Logan walked back down the hallway, moving further and further away from him. "It's Prince Roman!" Roman shouted. But Logan was already gone.

roman! now! exists! in! this! au! i hope that y’all enjoyed this chapter~ and, yess, there is a strong possibility that logince Is going to be a secondary ship in this (it will mainly be moxiety tho, to start off at least)

[saigebeaumont]

- ̗̀ * ( robert sheehan + cismale + he/him ) have you seen ( benjamin ‘benjy’ magwitch ) walking around campus ? they are a ( twenty-three ) year old, studying ( political science ). we hear they are in ( rho pi rho ), and can be ( magnetic & irresponsible ), maybe it’s because they are a ( leo ). they sort of remind us of ( shiny red apples, walking on ledges, kaleidoscopes ), maybe we can find out more ! ( james + 19 + est + they/she ) *  ̖́-  + theatre/track

hi hello as u may have seen my name is james and this is my baby, benjy. i dont know how long this is going to get so pls bare with me

tw; fire? 

gen. info

full name: benjamin ‘benjy’ henry magwitch / joshua hollowood but u will never catch him actually using his real name tbqh

nickname(s): think of a random name. any century, any gender, any amount of letters or lack thereof. that’s it that’s his nickname. previous aliases that he has claimed to be are - thaddeus, balthazar, dante, romulus, etc., etc.

b.o.d. - july 31st, age 23

label(s): the icarian, the blackhole, the insouciant, etc. etc.

height: tall

hometown: ???

sexuality: chaotically bisexual

bio. info

let’s try and make this short n sweet

so like. y’know when a faerie steals a human baby and replaces it with it’s own, weaker, inferior baby? benjy is the human baby in this case

except they weren’t faeries

dorothea and fawley were two...somewhat, in love, folks--who had really wanted to have a child of their own. when they did, finally, have their child--he was very sickly and small and neither of them wanted their child to be weak goddammit

so they did a switcharoo, like...switched at birth except i’ve never ever seen switched at birth, and ran off with this extremely rich family’s newborn baby instead!

dorothea and fawley were part of a circus, and thus, lil benjy was raised in a circus !! how cute.

needless to say he was raised in a very nontraditional setting, like, homeboy was homeschooled bc they were literally always travelling, around the country and once or twice out of country.

despite that, he never doubted that his circus family didn’t love him or anything like ?? yeah he never called his ‘parents’ mom or dad, but that’s bc it was like...everyone was his parent.

dorothea and fawley told benjy that his name will never define him, and he could be anyone or anything he wants to be.

this caused a tiny benjy to be CONSTANTLY changing his name. like, almost everyday he’d just declare a new name and everybody in the circus would call him that specific name. even when he did acts, he’d go by a different name every single time

this carried onto adulthood and benjy still doesn’t tell people his real name very often. sometimes they’re sort of normal names n other times they’re fucking bizarre.

when he was seven he declared his name was ‘sock’ for an entire month.

grew up doing a buncha odd lil jobs and roles in the circus, from being a lil handyman like fawley to being a magician’s assistant like dorothea. t’was a lil tiny animal tamer (before the circus stopped using animals in their acts because we don’t stan circuses like that no we do NOT) at some point but reeeaaally liked tightrope walking and things as such

also tried his hand at fire-throwing/etc. etc. but the like eighteen (minor!) burn scars across his body will tell u that it was not for him and he gave it up to pursue knife throwing tricks and juggling

wasn’t rly ever around ppl his own age, also never had a smartphone before he was like eighteen or so--he’s not old fashioned but he can definitely be behind on the times

also grew up listening to primarily older rock/folk music/whatever the fuck music his family created/his own music

that being said benjy is good w a guitar but bitch cannot sing. he sounds like a dying frog.

he also did a bunch of petty theft but that’s bc some of the other folk in the circus did it and he was like huh. looks like fun. bc benjy is thoroughly an idiot but more on that later. so he got some shit on his record but he got them sealed when he turned 18, like, asap

but. benjy is a dumbass. he committed ANOTHER petty crime, because the boy has addictive qualities, and he left some dna evidence bc boy’s got some mf hair

surprisingly, it wasn’t through his records that they found him via his dna  but, rather, his real parents who did a whole ass dna kit thing for fun one day

this came as a shock to everybody involved, honestly, though tbh ? benjy didn’t care that much that he had parents who weren’t the circus, but that’s bc of his entire upbringing.

either way his birth parents wanted to like. y’know. meet their delinquent biological son and when they did they were like ‘woah woah woah wtf ur in a circus’ and he was like haha yeah

n that was...sort of it, for a while. benjy was 18, had his GED, n wasn’t planning on going to college at all.

the circus was still traveling, the world was all right, etc. etc, benjy maintained contact with his bio parents bc it was Polite to do

and then the circus burned down! somebody did a flaming knife trick when they weren’t supposed to and, long story short--the entire circus went up in flames. there were no victims, no worries, but their entire livelihood was gone and they were all effectively displaced.

when his Rich Biological Parents found out about benjy’s newfound predicament that he 100% was not responsible for whatsoever, they were like . . . . listen. we’ve got a Reputation to uphold, but we’ll send you to college.

he’s been here since he was like, 21, so he’s a junior i think ??

he’s majoring in political science but it’s like technically his first year as the major bc his freshmen yr he wanted to do anthropology and then he switched to mathematics and homeboy was nvr satisfied but now he thinks he wants to do smth w social welfare so he’s doing political science w theatre and public affairs as minors

personality

he’s got. a big personality

he’s got this sort of energy that attracts others but they don’t really know why bc holy shit benjy can be annoying

he’s just super intense ?? like the boy does not know how to calm down, he’s constantly moving around and being dramatic and sometimes whiny

pouts more than a person should averagely pouts

i wouldn’t call him a liar because he can be, very very blunt, and doesn’t know how to beat around the bush, but he likes telling half-truths simply to either confuse others or to just b a lil bitch tbh

he’s got big dumbass energy like okay he’s smart he just doesn’t apply himself very often and he just. does dumb things

gets into fights bc he’s a dumbass. like. he will purposely provoke ppl he doesn’t like, n when he’s drunk he’ll do it to literally anybody esp ppl he likes

also just. doesn’t know when to stop talking. can find ways to ramble about nothing, asks questions w the intent of being annoying, etc. etc.

his ~parents~ didn’t rly believe in modern medicine n they were just like ‘an apple a day keeps the doctor away!’ so he’s got this obsession w apples. literally is always chewing on an apple or a toothpick or anything he can get his hands on. he’s like a teething toddler, essentially

probably the dumbass who plays wonderwall at a party tbh

okay but fun fact! he’s super nimble and just. cat-like, from all his yrs of practicing n performing tightrope walking. if he falls over it’s because he wants to fall over and if he falls over it’s bc he wants ATTENTION

he loves. being the center of attention? but he’s also content with being in the background if it makes sense. he just wants to be doing something, anything

anyways he doesn’t take shit seriously at all like, i don’t think he’s ever had a serious conversation in his life ?

big slut for parties. he loves partying, he nvr knew he loved partying until he went to ucla but he loves it

he’s got an addictive personality so like okay. he’s not Addicted Addicted to anything specific (besides nicotine) but he definitely has no problem with drinking n doing drugs Often.

i mean he’s reckless too he never knows when to stop, feels like he’s tryn to be the Superior boy but he’s not and he’s probably overcompensating nowadays to deal w the guilt of accidentally burning down his entire life

drives cars too fast, drinks too much, has no problem getting into heavier drugs

also okay on a lighter note the boy used to be addicted to cigarettes bc he started fairly young but hoo boy he’s now on that juul game

literally he always has a juul on him. spends all his money on juuls

he works as a florist n a gardener for extra cash even tho his bio parents send him money, just bc its one of the only things that really calm him down tbh ??

also i meant it when i said he doesnt tell ppl his real name, like, ever. at least his first name bc he loves his last name but ? u probably dont know him as benjamin or even benjy, just smth stupid like marcellus the magnificent or booboo the fool hahahsdfgh

did i mention he casually juggles bc i genuinely cannot remember lmao

uuuhh there’s more i’m sure but !! i have a really bad memory!

i also dunno if im keeping his fc but we will SEE

he’s basically like....still a five yr old child

OH okay so i remembered smth else

he’s essentially a nomad which means he hates being rooted to ucla so he’s usually off drivin’ around the coast bc he’s bored goddammit but he always comes back bc he’s a loyal dog

speaking of loyal dogs. he’s got commitment issues. but not commitment issues? it’s sort of like. he gets really interested in things/people, kind of focuses all his energy on that thing or person, and then one day wakes up and is just. terribly bored. tends to drop ppl like that, esp relationships, and he doesn’t think much of it bc it’s Normal for him

but believe it or not, if u call him in the middle of the night he WILL show up, or if u wrong him instead of him wronging u, he’ll still b endlessly loyal

like he’s shitty but he’s got a heart ?

also like i said. he is chaotically bi. both chaotic and bisexual and also the two combined.

he’s chaotic neutral in general

wanted connections ?? possibly ??

frat bros - [hulk hogan voice] brother. he needs them

general friends ! - if u dont hate him then u just. love him, man. no inbetween

exes - he’s probably got...a few of these, because his attention span lasts like a max of two weeks

hookups - they also dont tend to last very long just bc of how he is as a person, but y’know. they good while they last

ex-hookups, specifically

ex-friends - bc he’s an idiot

if u really want to u can bring in a circus pal but firstly idk how they’d afford school but honestly. we can work smth out. hmu [kissy face]

roommate - do they hate each other ?? who knows

bad influence - they only egg on benjy’s dumbass behavior

good influence - probably forces him to study for once, or take care of his dumb ass

idk what to call it but like. ppl who HE eggs on to be bad, is generally toxic to the other person

anything else u want [another kissy face]

[untilthenextencore]

Beyond My Wildest Dreams Ch. 1 Pt. 2

Sitting & settling down in the darkness of the theatre, Robert, armed with a small bag of popcorn & small drink had the fortune of ending up sitting through the trailers for the very same movies that he had foregone in order to see this one; True Grit, Easy Rider, Wild Bunch and all. Thankfully he was able to distract himself by people watching & snacking on popcorn. Most of the others were young lads, he heard a word or two in Italian, marked by a touch of the local accent.

One lad he caught - when prodded as to why he had chosen this out of all pictures to see - admitting to friends that this was but one of their many viewings of the film, adding. “A friend of mine recommended this pic. He said it made him want to learn Italian for the girl alone! He says he’s seen it probably about 20 times already!”

The film started soon enough after that thankfully, saving him from having to sit through and struggle to distract himself from any more heaviness or potential hyperbole.

For Robert soon found himself not only distracted but thoroughly enchanted as the lights dimmed even further & the screen flickered to life, announcing the featured presentation. As the opening credits rolled, and soft music played in the background, each lyrical sounding word rolling across the screen in script fascinated him to no end.

At first the only glimpses of the “infamous” Deanna came in pieces. Fractions. The hem of a white nightgown billowing in the breeze. Tanned toes, the nails painted a soft melony shell pink. Calves & feet seen in silhouette through that same nightgown’s hem. Long, loose raven curls fluttering softly in the breeze, a ribbon loosely tied around her crown, the ends of the bow fluttering along in the mix. Body folded in on itself with her arms circling her knees, tucked into a little ball; a ball balanced on the balls of her feet, on the broad expanse of the curved balcony of her room. Her compacted form was framed by moonlight & a nearby tree whose branches seemed to reach out in an attempt to touch, to graze, to caress her just as the moonlight did… Just as the breeze did… Just as the audience did through the camera’s gaze… And subsequently… Just as Robert’s eyes did…

And the camera at last zoomed in & focused on a close up of Deanna’s face, at first in profile, then turning to gaze down at her from above, with her returning the “gaze” by looking up in kind, up to the moon & smiling serenely. The look in her eyes as she smiled, held a gaze as distant & detached, as far away as it was present, near & warm.

That face…

It caught him by surprise.

It caught him off guard.

It caught him with a handful of popcorn stilled in mid journey to his mouth, fingers and kernels grazing and poised at his lips… Momentarily… For the next thing he knew, Robert’s fingers went lax & the kernels dropped to his lap completely ignored as his gaze stayed locked on the screen.

That face.

That face!

Those eyes…

Those eyes!

Those Eyes!

THOSE EYES!

Two pools…

Like maple syrup…

With a gaze that stuck to him. Clung to him. Found and fixed itself into a little corner of his mind… And stayed there.

His studying of her features continued. A fine if slightly snub nose. A touch of baby fat still perhaps. And a set of full lips, plush, soft, inviting, tempting. All of it maddening! Robert didn’t know what to expect walking in. Now that he saw he realized that he should have expected NOTHING LESS from a “Daughter of the Moon”!

The movie had him riveted though it was nothing but a slice of life film. Deanna lived next door to this chap with a rather drab, humdrum life. She meanwhile was a quirky sort. One of her main quirks being her balcony side moon gazing. The chap absolutely adored her.

"Who wouldn't?! Living next to that?!" Robert thought.

The boy adored her in all her faults & little imperfections. Even in her little moods & flashes of temper. She kind of reminded Robert of Maureen in those scenes. Ah, women!

The lad found a new way of life with her. She opened his mind to all sorts of new experiences, taught him to enjoy even the smallest pleasures in life. Sunlight. Rain. Music. Books. Movies. Picnics. The Beach. And even though the lad didn't get the girl, and though aside from hand holding and hugs the only kisses she gave him were on the cheek - Deanna making it clear she only saw him as a friend and wasn't interested in settling down just then - by the end of the film he was at least that much closer to manhood after knowing her. Learning to stand on his own feet & learning to enjoy life thanks to her.

In terms of him trying to escape what was plaguing his mind, Robert couldn't have picked a better one. By the time the lights came up, Robert wasn't ready to leave. He wasn't ready for it to be over. At first he had thought the guy's friend who had apparently seen the movie 20 times was a bit excessive. A bit much.

But now...

Now...

Now he got it.

He got it & as he sat there watching as the rest of the people dispersed, contemplated as to whether or not he should start up a similar count as well. A similar number of viewings as well.

He wanted to.

Really wanted to!

But he didn't really fancy the idea of paying for all those showings of the same movie.

He was at a loss...

Until...

"Excuse me, sir." Robert heard those words just as he got a whiff of a soft powdery perfume cutting through the movie theatre butter smell that permeated the air. A soft voice called from just behind his seat, a finely manicured hand giving him a gentle tap on the shoulder as he turned to face the girl. A petite thing halfway in between blonde and brunette with honey caramel colored hair, and eyes that he couldn't quite make out the color of. So, in his head he supposed them to at least have the possibility of being at least a little bit in the way of being maple colored. "I'm afraid I'm gonna have to ask you to leave. You see the show's over & before the next show we have to sweep up and... Wait... Wait... Wait..."

Those potentially maple colored eyes narrowed slightly before flashing wide as the girl gasped.

"Wait... Wait, aren't you... Aren't you that singer? From that new group? Led Zeppelin? You're Robert Plant, right?"

Bingo!

Like clockwork Robert found what might just be his key to making it a day at the movies.

"Guilty as charged I'm afraid." He laughed. "And now that you have my name squared away my dear, might I have yours?"

"Allison! My friends call me Alli or Al. Oh my God! I can't believe it's you! I've seen you like a ton of times and I listen to you all the time outside of that! I can't tell you how many copies of your album I've burned through! I love your voice! It's just so sexy! It's so primal and... Oh my God!" She gasped, covering her mouth with her right hand.

"I'm rambling! I'm so sorry! You must've come here to get away from people like me. Just rambling & carrying on like so. You must be just sick of that. I bet that's even why you picked a foreign feature, huh? I feel so stupid. Ugh... I cannot believe I just did that! I'm so sorry! I just got carried away and... I guess... I... I dunno... I just... I... I... Ugh... I dunno... Sorry..." She mumbled as a blush began to flare & creep across her features.

Robert just laughed, taking her free left hand in his, giving it a comforting squeeze. "Not at all, love! It's nice to hear that one is so well thought of. Especially to have such nice thoughts thought about you. Such scintillating ones too..." The corners of his mouth perked up, dimples popping in his cheeks.

"Sexy? And primal too no less? My... That is something! Certainly not something you hear everyday! I'm flattered. And I thank you." Robert leant in, placing a kiss to the back of her hand making her little flare of a blush roar across her face.

Robert then grinned up at her as he asked. "By any chance... There wouldn't be any place we can continue this conversation in private would there, Allison dear?"

"Um well, my family runs this place so... I'm sure we can try to find somewhere." She swayed a little, giving his hand a soft squeeze for the playful squeezes he gave her, never relinquishing the firm hold he maintained on hers. "But you're so busy I bet... With touring and all... You really want to spend time with me?"

"With a stunner like you? Of course I do, Allison! Who wouldn't?" He grinned even wider at her blush intensifying all the more at his words. "But first... I have to know... Are you sure you can find us a place to be alone?"

"Yeah!" She nodded. "I mean... If push comes to shove there's always an office or the projection room between shows. Or I can just postpone cleaning here for awhile. I'm the only one assigned here. This movie is at the end of its run here so there's not as much mess anyway."

"Perfect!" Robert smiled, taking the opportunity to lift the armrests on his seat & tugging her closer by the hand, getting her to perch on his lap where his arms found their way around her as he purred. "Now then, luv. Where were we?" And before she could respond much less even think to respond, he was on her, his lips fusing to hers with her falling into the kiss not a moment later.

Ah, yes...

This day was turning out to be just what Robert needed...

Even when he didn't expect it or didn't seek it out...

Even when he didn't expect them or seek them out...

Today he was surrounded by pretty girls...

Young pretty girls...

On screen and now on his lap...

Pure softness...

Soft curves in his arms...

Soft hair tickling his neck...

Soft perfume wafting around them...

With her soft lips on his...

Soft moans humming into the kiss as he took over and took control...

And slowly began to undo & peel her clothes off bit by bit...

As she reached down between them and worked on undoing & unzipping his trousers...

Freeing his rousing & rapidly hardening length which sprang forth to nestle in and find a home between her thighs...

Ah, yes...

His favorite kind of escape...

[flyinghetfield]

Chapter 3 is done! Enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

2:01

You stare at the red light of your bedside clock as it glares right back and rub your eyes. Tossing to your back you groan loudly, grabbing your pillow and attempt to smother yourself. GO. TO. SLEEP. Your mind is humming with thoughts of what was going to happen tomorrow. The first practice session with Metallica was finally here and you felt like you were 7 with tomorrow being your birthday. Sitting up with a whine, you know you weren’t going to fall back asleep any time soon so you shuffle out to the kitchen. Clicking the coffee grinder on you stretch out your muscles and feel a familiar sensation around your legs. ”I know, I know.” Bending down you pick up the ball of fluff named Zorro and slowly sway him in your arms. Two years ago, you had gone through a phase when watching The Mask of Zorro and had a slight crush on Antonio Banderas which you couldn’t kick. So when your mother had recommended finding a pet when moving into the city so you wouldn’t be lonely, you were immediately attracted to the Black and white cat at the shelter with the oddly shaped Z on top of its butt. Sighing, you let Zorro wander off to his own interest as you silently pray to whoever that in the next life to come back as a cat and pour yourself a coffee. Adding way too much sugar, you avoid all the mess laying about in your lounge and plop yourself into your favourite chair, sitting right next to the window where you could watch the night life of San Francisco. Eric had told you that you were crazy for living so close to the heart of San Francisco with all the noise and the blinding lights outside but you didn’t mind, you had gotten use to the rattle of the tram as it went past and the hollering and hooting of drunkards as they came home from a night out. Zorro once again making his presence known, jumps up onto the window ledge and in a moment of peaceful silence you both watch out the window before he decides to walk off again. It wasn’t until 5 seconds later that you realise he had let of a silent but deadly fart. ”Aw come on man!” Grunting you tug up the window to get some air and grab your favourite blanket from beside you to protect you from the chilly April night. “Fricken cats.” Waiting a moment for the smell to pass, you squint at the clock in the lounge. 2:40. Rubbing your face you reach over and grab the home phone, hitting 1 and wait patiently as the dial hums through the receiver. “Mmm?” Eric’s sleepy voice comes through. ”I can’t sleep.” You hear a deep sigh and for a moment you think he’s hung up on you before his voice comes back through. “Do you want me to come around?” ”No…no you don’t have to come around. I just..” ”Y/N. You wouldn’t ring me up at-” You hear a low growl “-3 in the morning. For nothing. What’s on your mind?” ”…Tomorrow.” You heard a slight sigh. ”Mmm yes the Metallicats.” You roll your eyes and lean your head back, looking at the ceiling. “Freaking out about meeting them?” ”Mhm.” You nod, mindlessly. ”Nothing to worry about, already won over drummer boy, rest will be easy.” ”I don’t know..” ”Look.” His voice is suddenly stronger. “Your going to do fine, You always freak out before something big happens and then nothing overly dramatic does happen plus these guys deal with crazy fans all the time. You will charm the pants off the guys and they will all fall helplessly in love with you alright?” ”I know..I know.. Hey, did you suddenly become my 16 year old self?” You mused, smiling at the idea of Metallica’s pants randomly flying off to your violin skills. ”Mhm and my what dirty thoughts 16 year old you had.” You chuckle at that and then yawn. ”Now close the window.” You begin to ask how he knew but he quickly cuts in “I know its open cause I can hear all the damn noise through the phone.” You shake your head and close the window with a slight bang so he can hear. “Good. Now go to bed, sleeping beauty. We both need it.” ”Ok Prince Eric.” ”Wrong movie, Ariel.” You chuckle and say goodbye. Pouring out the rest of your drink you wander back into your room and cocoon yourself under the covers finally succumbing to sleep.

 ERRR ERRR ERRR Slamming your hand down on the clock you spring out of bed, even with only 6 hours of sleep the excitement running through your body made it feel like you had 8. Jumping in the shower, you quickly dress making sure to make your make-up was perfect and that your hair didn’t look like a birds nest. Feeding Zorro, you double check you have grabbed everything and head down to your car. Travelling to the venue you can’t help nervously tapping the steering wheel as the butterflies felt like they are going to explode through your stomach. As you turn on to the street where the building is, you notice the giant Semi trucks parked around the campus and the overwhelming amount of people walking around and carrying in equipment into the theatre. Slowing down you prepare yourself to turn into your usual parking spot but see its taken by a sleek black motorbike. Motherfu- You sigh and park in one of the spots furtherest away, getting out and curse the person who took the spot. Walking inside the flurry of people hadn’t slowed and there was multiple times you had to quickly jump out of the way from people. Feeling like a lost lamb you quickly head down to the kitchen for a breather and hope Eric was already here. As you round the corner to the kitchen door you slam straight into something hard. ”Ow” Rubbing your nose you look up at the man standing in the door and feel your legs wobble slightly. ”Oh shit sorry. Are you alright?” His worried blue eyes look down on you. ”Jason are you hurting people already?” Lars walks over to the door and his eyebrows lift when he sees you. “Y/N! Nice one Jace, hurting the talent before we have even started performing with them yet. You alright?.” You nod, feeling overwhelmed as you can feel both males staring at you. ”Nice to see as well Lars and yeah.. I should be ok.” Jason steps to the side and lets you pass into the kitchen as you go to a small mirror on the wall and check your nose. ”Nothing broken?” Jason appears behind you and you glance at him in the mirror with a small smile. ”Sore and a little red but it should be ok.” Turning around, he smiles and extends his hand out. ”I’m Jason, the bassist for Metallica.” Accepting his handshake, your smile grows. ”I know.” ’You know? You a fan?” Lars leans against the fridge, biting down on a apple. ”You could say that.” ”I’m surprised. I expected a bunch of old people with their noses stuck high in the air but it’s nice to see people our age and also fans in the orchestra.” Jason smiles then sits down at the table in the middle of the room. ”Don’t forget, good looking as well.” Lars winks at you and joins Jason. knowing that your nose wasn’t the only red thing on your face you walk over and grab a bottle of water from the fridge and take a sip. Listening as Jason and Lars ramble on about some of the changes in the songs and can’t help but stare at both of them. You always had extra love for Jason, since all the stories and interviews came out about how the band had put him through some tough love but as you watched both men chat you could see Lars had a soft spot for the guy. I just wish he would grow his hair out again. Hearing you sigh, Lars turns and looks at you. ”We aren’t bothering you are we?” You shake your head. ”No, just thinking.” ’Mm what about?” A sly smile appears on his face and you quickly look down. ”Stop teasing the poor girl Lars.” You throw your head up to see Kirk walking into the room with a smile on his face. Wow. You can’t help but stare as the dark skinned beauty as he comes closer to were you are standing and makes a little motion. “Can I?” ”Oh..s..sorry.” Jumping out the way you two are now standing next to each other, your eyes glued to his face then you they wander down to watch his lean hands as he washes them. He’s perfect! No imperfections anywhere! ”I don’t have something on me do I?” He glances at you then over at the mirror. ’Yeah you got a giant booger up your nose.” Lars laughs when walks over and double checks his nose, turning and flips him off. Hearing a sigh you notice Jason starting to move. ”Where’s the big guy at?” He stands grabbing some of the sheets of paper in front of him ”Out on the stage with Kamen.” Kirk stretchers his fingers and then yawns. ”Alright cool. I’ll see you out there Y/N” Jason smiles and proceeds out of the room. ”Y/N?… Oh yeah Lars mentioned you, he wouldn’t shut up about you when he came back from the recording a few weeks ago.” You blankly blink a few times at kirk. Wait what? Lars snorts getting up and throws his apple core in the bin. ”Hey, I see a young pretty and talented woman, I’m going to mention her once or twice.” You suddenly start to laugh at the idea of Lars talking about you and quickly cover your mouth when both men stare at you. Lars smile grows bigger at the noise. “And such a charming laugh.” Seeing kirk shake his head he mouths to you “Sorry” and you bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself grinning. ”Come on you, lets get out on the stage. Kamen was asking for you anyway.” Lars runs his hand through his hair and winks at you before walking out with Kirk trailing behind him. Holy shit. You sit down at the table and put your head in your hands. How am I going to survive this ordeal? ”There she is!” Eric bustles into the kitchen with his cello in tow. Taking one glance at you his face becomes serious. “What happened?” ”Hmm?” ”You look all flustered and your head is in your hands.” Sighing you grab a pencil sitting on the table and start to draw circles on a paper in front of you. ”Where do I start? Ran - literally - into Jason” ”The bassist? Wait literally?” You nod and touch your nose. ”He has a hard back.” Eric starts to laugh as you pout back at him “Also met Kirk and oh my he’s so pretty, Eric.” He raises up his eyebrow. “And had lars winked at me, not once but twice.” ”Wow and all of this just happened?” Nodding he whistles. “Should of came in earlier.” ”Tell me about it, Oh and some biker asshole took my carspot as well!” You burst out in frustration. ”Tch. Asshole. I think we have a bike lock somewhere around here that the Uni kids use, want to lock it to a pole?” Loving the idea, you decline. “Yeah, probably don’t want some big mean dude chasing us down and beating us up for our lunch money.” Raising a eyebrow you stare at Eric. “Too specific?” ”Just a little.” He smiles then looks out the door, seeing more people walking off towards the front. “Come on you, Kamen is probably waiting for all of us on the stage.” You whine. ”Do I have to?” ”Just move your cute butt.” You stand, silently swearing at Eric's back at as you two follow the crowd. Walking out on to the stage you first notice the gleam of the silver drum kit sitting proudly in the middle of the stage and notice Lars standing talking to Kamen. Looking towards the bass area you notice Jason getting acquainted with some of the younger guys and can see kirk scaling up and down on his guitar. Trying not to trip over anything you head over towards the strings section and stop behind a tall man, chatting with the, Greg, the harp player. ”Hey can I get past please?” They continue to chat. Annoyed you say it a little louder. ”HEY CAN YOU MOVE PLEASE?” The man turns and suddenly its like the wind is knocked out of you. ”Oh sorry.” James steps to the side and waits for you to pass. You feel a slight shove behind you as Eric pushes you forward. Oh my god. Finding your seat your eyes are glued to the man as he continues to talk with Greg, his shoulder length hair bobbing around ever so often when he laughs or nods. He’s wearing a short white T-Shirt, its sleeves rolled up and you appreciated the dark fitting jeans as they glue to all the correct places on the lower half of his body.

”I’m taking from the way you haven’t stopped staring at the tall guy, that is James?” You nod at Eric’s comment. “Hmm… He’s not too bad looking for the lead singer in a Metal band.” You snort. 

Understatement of the year buddy.

You still can’t believe that your in the same room as Metallica, seeing them smile or laugh at something someone has said or watching their concentration appear on their face while wrapping around the music that was before them made you want to pinch yourself so you could check you weren’t dreaming. Eric walks off to his spot in the Cellos and you grab your violin, trying to put the distractions of the guys standing around out of your mind and start to play some of Call of Ktulu. It only takes a few seconds but everything and everyone else drains away as you feel the vibrations of the violin hum next to you and the sweet noise echo through your ears, it was the only true way to make yourself feel calm and it was desperately needed for the moment. After playing for a few minutes, you have the sensation that your being watched and open your eyes to notice out of the corner James staring at you, watching your hand as it moved over the correct notes on the violin. Suddenly feeling brave, you gaze in his direction and feel electric when his blue eyes meet yours. You both hold what seems to be a staring contest for the next few moments before you notice a smirk appear on his lips. Casually, he breaks the gaze and walks over to his chair, grabbing his guitar and starts to strum the opening to Call of Ktulu, playing the exact part you were just playing.

Hoo boy. What a next few days this is going to be.

<Prev                                                                                                             Next>

[literallyjustanerd]

In His Eyes (Chapter 5)

Another dose! Please enjoy I stayed up way too late to finish this chapter

Genre: Slow build/eventual romance Word count: 3624 Pairing: Nightcrawler/Angel Rating: T+

The clock has read 12:41 for the last fifteen minutes. That’s what it feels like to Scott, anyway. The professor drones on at the front of the classroom, and his voice is a sedative, slowly draining Scott of the little energy he had. His classmates seem to be in the same state of trance as he is; students slump over their desks, not one of them able to hold their head up unassisted. The day is warm, and the heat inside the stuffy study-come-classroom only highlights how tantalising the view from the window looks, crisp green lawns below a vivid blue sky promising freedom from the stifling tedium of class. Absentmindedly, he taps his pen on the side of his desk, suppressing a yawn: the professor may have told his students that he had a policy against reading his students’ thoughts, but he didn’t need telepathy to decode Scott’s lack of enthusiasm for basic physics. Evidently, he is not the only one who finds the class tedious, as he soon feels the sharp jab of a ballpoint pen in the side of his leg.

“Hey! Do you mind?” he hisses, and Ororo rolls her eyes, slouched and leaning back in her chair. As usual, the combination of her striking hair and black-and-leather clothing choices give her the image of a perfect punk-rock icon, like an image straight from a magazine. In reality, though Ororo presented herself as uncaring about her appearance, even her nonchalance is part of a carefully cultivated image. Like Jubilee’s bright, colourful persona or the uncaring bad-boy style Scott tries to emulate. “Toughen up,” comes Ororo’s chiding response. “What do you want?” “I’m bored.” “So?” “So, I’m trying to not be bored.”

Scott rolls his eyes, thankful at least that they are in the back row and out of the professor’s main focus. “And what can I do for you, your majesty?” Scott sighs, an unimpressed mocking in his tone. “Tell me what you know about what’s going with Jean,” Ororo demands. Her demeanour is determined, with a hint of brashness, and Scott nearly pushes her away then and there. However, he has little else to fill his time with, scarcely little, until the minutes ticked over to lunch and he can escape the confines of the classroom. So, he gives in to Storm’s insistent tone. “Jean?” “Yeah. Everyone’s talking about it. Her weird dreams. Some of the other kids say her powers are driving her crazy.” The accusation brings a frown to Scott’s face, eyes narrowing under red-tinted glasses. In the seat next to him, Ororo’s face remains flat and expectant. She knows as well as any student in the school that there is a thing between Scott and Jean. Rumours are passed around the hallways and classrooms, speculations ranging from one student catching the pair holding hands under a tree in the grounds to another (albeit not very widely believed) claim that someone had walked in on them ‘getting intimate’ in Scott’s bedroom. “Jean’s not crazy,” he says, slowly and firmly. “It’s just hard for her to control her powers. Same with you. Same with me.” “No duh. How’s the pinkeye, lasers?” The girl sees Scott’s fists clench, and she smirks, having gotten the response she had been looking for. “Shut. Up. You know why I wear these glasses,” he huffs, shoulders slumping and arms folded across his chest. There is a beat of silence before he gives in and speaks again, this time in nothing more than a mumble. “And they’re not lasers. They’re optic blasts.” There is a small snort of derision from the girl next to him. “Give it a rest, wastoid,” Scott snaps, earning both he and Ororo a swift scolding from Charles at the front of the classroom. After a reluctant and begrudging apology, the two go right back to bickering. “For real, though. Don’t go bringing me into this. I have control of my powers,” Ororo gloats, earning her a hearty, if muffled, laugh. “Yeah. That’s why whenever you’re in a bad mood, the kids in your class have to carry umbrellas.” Unable to find a reasonable retort, the girl can only scowl at the boy beside her, her anger fuelled by his cocky smirk. Their eyes are still directed towards the front of the classroom, books open and pens in hand to create the illusion of engagement, or at least compliance. It is like this often for both of the two – neither has ever been much into academia, and neither plans to pursue a career outside of the X-Men. It has always just felt right to them after settling into the mansion to dedicate themselves to furthering the rights of mutantkind. To Ororo after her years trying to scrape by in Egypt, and to Scott, who grew up watching his brother campaign as part of the pioneering X-Men, reminding him near daily that a life not spent fighting for what was right was a life wasted.

“It’s not like anyone here has perfect control of their powers,” Ororo defends. “I dunno. Look at Peter. I don’t see him screwing up or forgetting how to run.” “Peter’s different,” Ororo insists. “His power’s simple. It’s natural to him. Like Kurt’s.” Scott’s face scrunches in confusion and disagreement, but Ororo stands by her argument. “Maybe the more mutant you look, the easier it is to use your powers.” “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” “Well how do you know it’s not true?” she queries, growing indignant under Scott’s constant dismissal. “Because. Kurt doesn’t have full control either. He can’t take that many people at once, and he only goes where he can see.” She shrugs, twirling her pen between her fingers with the deftness and effortlessness that can only come from a childhood spent picking pockets and stealing to survive. “It’s probably just his problem. He’s not exactly the most confident guy out there.” “Hey, how would you feel if you got the looks he did in public?” “Fair,” she concedes, a pensive frown overtaking her well-defined features. She pauses a second or two, as though piecing together her own thoughts. “Has he seemed strange to you lately?” The memory drops into Scott’s mind of the day of Warren’s first flight: he bears a secret, and though he would sooner die than admit it, Scott often liked to indulge in a little gossip. The temptation is strong to share what he very strongly suspects. “Strange how?” “Usually he’s everyone’s friend. Never has that smile off his face. Past week he’s been acting like a whole different person. Doesn’t want to talk to anyone.” The tension between them has dissipated completely. With something else to focus on, it’s as though their rivalry never existed. “What about Warren?” “Warren?” Ororo screws up her nose. “What about him?” “Have you noticed him acting weird?” “Isn’t he always weird?” Leaning back on his chair, Scott ponders for a while. He doesn’t want to give away what Kurt had told him – while they had never explicitly stated it, he assumed Kurt would want him to keep it to himself. Though, the pull of gossip is strong. Very strong. With no one else to talk to, he is not even sure of how to think about what Kurt told him. How was he supposed to know he wasn’t reading the situation wrong? Maybe Kurt doesn’t feel romantically connected to Warren at all. Maybe he just feels connected to the boy because of what they went through in Germany?

Though at heart he knows this isn’t true, his conscious mind has already taken the excuse and run with it. He sits forward, all four chair legs on the ground once more, and leans in towards Ororo. Intrigued by the sudden change in Scott, the girl leans in as well, and Scott speaks in a mumble just barely loud enough for her to make out above the professor’s rambling. “I think there’s something going on with him and Kurt.” “What do you mean? Is Warren being a douchebag to him again?” Scott sees a fire ignite in Ororo’s eyes – Kurt gives off a vulnerable vibe at the best of times, and Ororo isn’t the type to hold back from defending any one of her friends, especially those she views as unable or unwilling to do it themselves. “No, no. Not that. I think Kurt’s got a… a thing for Warren.” “A thing? You mean like–?” Scott nods his head once, definitively. “So you think Kurt is–?” “Almost sure of it.” Ororo raises her head, glancing up at the ceiling and pursing her lips as she considers the possibility. And the more she looks back through the sides of Kurt she knows, the more the pieces fall into place. Something about Kurt she just hadn’t been able to put her finger on, something she just assumed had to do with his outer appearance, now made perfect sense to her. “Hm. I think you’re right.” Reassured, Scott decides to let loose the rest of what he knows, taking Ororo through he and Kurt’s talk, the way he had seen Kurt look at Warren, and through the whole recount, the girl seems to agree more and more with Scott’s initial judgement. “So why do you think Kurt’s upset? You think he told Warren and got rejected?” “No, if that had happened, Kurt would be more obviously upset,” Scott says, shaking his head. “Maybe they just had an argument or something.” Ororo shrugs, and before she can formulate a reply, the bell rings, and the discussion is forgotten in the rush to finally escape the classroom.

It is a Friday, and the house is almost empty by evening. The only ones who remain are the younger students who for whatever reason cannot or do not go home to their families for the weekend, those who are still too young to spend time off-campus without a chaperone. It was Jubilee who suggested they go out for dinner to a pizza place at a strip mall near the mansion. It was no surprise she wanted to go out somewhere they could spend money – she had recently landed her first part-time job at the movie theatre on that very same strip mall, and having just received her first paycheck, was eager to find a way to burn through it. As for the others, all those aside from Jean, who earned a bit of money tutoring the kids from the nearby elementary schools, they had their own ways of getting money for the occasional outing, whether it be sent from parents or “borrowing” off someone else in the group. As usual, the night is stolen by the more outspoken members of the group, though everyone seems to find a way to enjoy themselves. At least, everyone except a certain pair who sat silently and picked at their slices of pepperoni or cheese pizza. Kurt tries to laugh along with the others, to keep up the illusion that he doesn’t want to disappear back to his room and abandon the outside world in favour of another book. Warren, meanwhile, gives no effort to concealing his bad mood. He slouches in his chair and every so often casts a very deliberate glare to one of the others, making quite sure they know he is holding a grudge against them for making him come.

Hours pass, scraping by like sandpaper, and finally, they decide to pay their bill and leave. Ororo finds herself glad that Warren chooses to mope so far behind the rest of the group, and slows herself to match his pace as the others stroll along the strip of shops, contemplating whether or not they should stick around to spend some time at the arcade. Before Warren can muster up another scowl to give Ororo for what he assumes is an attempt to stick around and make conversation, she cuts in front of him, forcing him to halt abruptly, a glower of her own adorning her face. “What did you do to Kurt?” she demands, and Warren is so taken aback that he can only blink, mouth ajar, expression vacant. The way she speaks, so certain and direct, his chest thumps, horrified at the thought that Kurt might have spilled everything to her. But no, that doesn’t sound right at all: Kurt isn’t the type to do that. He is the type who keeps his pain to himself, and instead of letting it seep out as anger and pettiness like Warren does, he gathers it up and sweeps it under the rug. Warren begins to wonder how and why he thinks this with such certainty, but the thought is half-formed, and Ororo is speaking again. “Well?” she prompts, sharply. “What did you do that has him acting like this?” “What the hell are you talking about? What’s your damage?” Warren growls, trying to push past her only to be blocked by a strong, solid form and a stare so hard it could cut diamonds. “You know damn well what I’m talking about. Tell me what you did.” “What makes you think it’s any of your business?” Warren snarks. He regrets this immediately when he sees the resulting look on Ororo’s face, and starts to feel a little worried for his life. He now knows just what the others mean when they talk about how messing with anyone Storm cares about is a very bad idea. Just when he finds himself wondering if his wings could provide enough agility to dodge a lightning bolt, he is saved by the sound of Peter’s voice, calling back to them and urging them to keep up. Ororo assures him they will be right there, and the moment Peter’s eyes are off them, whips back around to Warren. “I’ll make this easy for you,” she says. “Apologise. Fix this. And don’t do it again.” With that, the encounter is over, and Warren is left to catch his breath and catch up to the others, now confused as well as moody.

He is still thrown off when they return home after dark, splitting off into singles or pairs and retreating to their rooms. He has felt horrible since saying what he had said to Kurt. The more time that passes, the less angry he feels at Kurt, and the more furious he feels with himself. But he hadn’t planned to say anything. He had resolved to leave it be, believing that Kurt would be better off without any more contact with him at all. But after Ororo’s little ‘talk,’ he begins to consider that talking might be the only way to make Kurt feel better, and the only way to ease his own conscience. That is why, as Kurt passes Warren in the hallway on his way to the bathroom, Warren stops him, voice timid and tentative. “Kurt, can I talk to you?” he attempts, feeling horribly out of his depth. He’d never been on the giving end of the “we need to talk” encounter before. Kurt’s brows furrow, wary of what could be happening. He does not want to repeat what happened a week ago, and yet the look in Warren’s eyes, a sort of weak and watered down version of what might be compassion, causes him to rethink his instinctual ‘no,’ followed by a hasty escape. “I suppose so,” he shrugs, and follows Warren the short distance down the hall and into his room. The window is cracked open just enough to let a small draught wander in, though Kurt can tell he is breathing the same air Warren has been for at least a few days. Time passes, and neither talks, both waiting for the other to start the conversation neither knew how to have. “Look, about the other night…” “Yes?” Kurt asks presently. “Well. When I– you know. It wasn’t what I– I didn’t mean–” It is clear he hopes Kurt will intervene, put him out of the misery of trying to push words out of a mouth that only knows how to be sullen and self-pitying. But Kurt stays stubbornly silent, cynically curious to see if this will lead to anything substantial. Warren sighs, heavily, and hopes that a new lungful of air will make some sort of difference. “I didn’t say what I said to upset you,” he says finally. “I don’t really think that stuff.” The words hit Kurt’s ear roughly, their hollowness reverberating through him, making his heart sink. “Sorry.” And just like that, he is lifted once again. Certainly not too much, not enough to make him soar on the gust of one simple word, dropped awkwardly into an awkward conversation. But nonetheless, the addition of that one little syllable brings a new hope to Kurt: maybe in time, it will grow easier for Warren to do these sorts of things. And, he cannot deny it, he wants to be there to see that happen.

Warren doesn’t know how to feel when he sees Kurt instantly shift at his one word. His shoulders rise, stretching and straightening as though a weight has been lifted from them, and his tail swishes with life. Relief washes over him, the sudden drop in tension making his legs feel a little weak and sending a shiver through his wings, but at the same time, it feels a little too easy. He wonders if he is taking advantage of Kurt’s forgiving nature. If he deserves a second chance with the boy, after months of abuse during his recovery, followed by weeks of apparent improvement only for it to be pulled out from underneath him one week ago. Perhaps he really should just give up and leave the boy be, let him try to find some way to move on from Warren’s pushing and pulling. But something about the buoyant, optimistic look on Kurt’s face makes him sure that he couldn’t stay away. “It’s alright,” Kurt says. “I understand.” Both boys seem lost for a moment, each one drinking in the sensation of having a week’s worth of pent-up tension release with a mere few words. There is still a block there: neither one feels as close to the other as they had that night on the rafters. But right now, this is the best outcome they could get.

Finally, Kurt casts his eyes around the room, noting a few new bottles on the sill and on the floor. Beer, mostly, but he can see the edge of the label of bottle of gin on Warren’s nightstand, and the tall neck of a bottle of vodka on its side in the corner. He hopes the amount that Warren consumes is less than one would first think on entering the room: he has never seen Warren clean his room, and suspects from the thin layer of dust that coats some of the bottles that they may have been there quite a while, a small shrine to the issues Warren has yet to even attempt to think about. “Do you think maybe you should try to cut back on the drinking?” Kurt asks, very wary that this could start the fight all over again. Though thankfully, Warren seems too emotionally drained to be defensive, and instead gives a vague shrug. “It’s fine.” “Are you sure? It’s not a problem? Because if it is, you can get help for it.” “It’s fine. I don’t need help.” Taking the hint, Kurt backs off, nodding. “Alright. I should get to bed, then.” Warren nods in response, and just like before, he does not say “goodnight,” until it sounds forced and disjointed, when Kurt is already halfway out the door. And, just like before, Kurt accepts it, giving a small, tired smile as he looked back over his shoulder at the boy in the room with the empty bottles and the mostly-closed window. “Goodnight, Warren.”

When Kurt slips into bed a few minutes later, teeth brushed and pyjamas on, Peter gives him a quizzical look at his sudden change in attitude: the past few days, he has been dragging himself through his bedtime routines, though tonight the spring is back in his step. “What’re you so happy about?” he asks, one eyebrow raised in suspicion. Kurt lets himself smile for a moment before he reins it in and reduces it to a small quirk of his lips. “It’s nothing,” he assured the boy, shaking his head. Peter shrugs, tossing Kurt a casual “night,” before rolling over and pulling up the covers. Kurt is content as he falls asleep that night. Not ecstatic, not even too happy. Just content. He and Warren have taken a few steps backwards, yes, and he is still unsure whether he wants to continue down this path if it means having to endure this sort of back and forth forever. But all that can wait. For now, he takes solace in the fact that things are better now than they were when he had woken up that morning. And that was really all anyone could ask for from a day, wasn’t it?