#bc it’s funny I actually started out writing

[levandright]

HII this is my fluff wip tht i scratch away bc i hv too many smut reqs

Summary : One of them writes a love letter to get over their feelings, but it accidentally ends up in the other’s hands. Not knowing the letter is about them, they ask the writer for advice on how to respond to their own letter, sparking a chain of misunderstandings until the truth is revealed.

What i had in mind :

-Jake wrote it to y/n

-He accidentally lost the letter while he was walking on the hallway

-The letter ended up in front of y/n’s locker

-She picked it up and read it

-Told jake abt the letter (but they r both idiots) until somehow they figure it out bc it got obvious

Feel free to change the plot!! ( I might write a part 2 from ur fic if u make it <3)

Letter of the Heart

pairing : jake x f!reader ୨ৎ content / warning(s) : fluff, they're friends, funny misunderstanding cause they're idiots(jake specifically but its okay <3), highschool au ୨ৎ word count : 1k

synopsis. when y/n finds a love letter at her locker, she has no idea who it’s from, so she asks her best friend, jake, for help with what to say. jake, being the good friend he is, jumps in—giving advice, joking around, and even offering to “practice” her responses.

ᐢ..ᐢ lev notes : ended this on a cliffhanger hehe >:3 hope you like what i did mama belle <3 cause i had an awesome time, thinking of what to add on to make it more fun.

it all starts with a love letter. jake, who’s been silently carrying a crush on you for ages, finally pours out his feelings on paper. he didn't plan on giving you the letter—it just something he wrote to work through his emotions. but the next day, while walking to class in a rush, the letter slips out of his notebook and lands right in front of your locker.

later, you spot the folded note, curious, and decide to read it. your heart flutters as you take in the words—gentle, vulnerable, clearly written by someone who has been holding these feelings close. but who could it be? the handwriting is neat, but familiar. intrigued, you decide to find out.

during break time, you bring it up to jake. “i found this letter outside my locker,” you say, holding it up, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “it’s… really sweet. but i have no idea who wrote it!”

jake, obliviously laughs. “a secret admirer, huh?” he teases, thinking of all the possible suspects. “what did it say?”

you blush reading a line out loud: “‘every time i see you smile, i feel like everything makes sense.’” jake’s heart skips a beat, hearing his own words, but he quickly pushes away the strange familiarity of it.

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

later that afternoon in the cafeteria. you hold up the love letter, cheeks flushed as you read through it again. you sigh looking to jake for help. “it says, ‘you make me believe in all the little things that make life beautiful.’ how… how am i supposed to respond to something like that?”

jake laughs, trying to brush off the pang of recognition he feels. did he… write that? he wonders but shakes the thought away, assuming it’s just an odd coincidence.

“maybe say something like, ‘i didn’t know i had such an impact on you!’” he suggests. “or if you want to be bolder, add, ‘tell me more about these little things.’ you know, just to tease them a bit.”

you beam, nodding. “that’s actually perfect! you’re a genius at this.”

jake chuckles, putting on a casual smile while his heart races. “just call me the love doctor.” he can’t shake the strange feeling, but he pushes it aside, too embarrassed to imagine he might be her admirer.

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

in the library the next day, you and jake go over the letter again, trying to analyze every word.

“whoever wrote this,” you murmur, pointing to a line, “has a way with words. ‘every time i see you smile, i feel like the world gets a little brighter.’ that’s… that’s intense. do you know anyone who’d say something like that?”

jake’s pulse quickens as the words ring a familiar bell in his head. that sounds like… something he would write.

trying to cover, he shrugs. “uh, well, it’s probably someone with a soft side,” he jokes, mentally kicking himself. “maybe they read a lot, or… watch a lot of rom-coms?”

you laugh, clearly enjoying the mystery. “could be… but it feels so genuine, like they really meant it.”

he tries to smile, but his mind races. could it really be… his own letter? the thought sends his heart racing, and he fights to keep his cool, feeling embarrassed that he might be guiding her response to his letter.

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

that night, as jake lies in bed, an unsettling thought lingers in his mind. could it actually be… my letter?

the more he thinks about it, the more familiar those lines sound, and his stomach twists with both excitement and dread. sitting up, he grabs his backpack and rummages through it, pulling out his notebook. he flips through the pages, looking for the tucked-away letter he remembers putting there. but as he gets to the back of the notebook, his stomach drops.

the letter isn’t there.

“no, no, no…” he mutters, flipping through each page again. but it’s nowhere to be found. he recalls that day in the hallway when he’d been rushing to class. it must’ve slipped out then!

jake groans, covering his face with both hands, completely mortified. 'she’s been reading my letter this whole time… and i’ve been helping her respond to it!'

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

as you sit in class together, you try to bring up the letter again. “so, about my response… i was thinking of adding a line about—”

jake quickly interrupts, laughing a bit too loudly. “oh, yeah, sure, whatever you think, it’s all good!” he blushes, then looks away. “i mean… i’m sure whoever it is would be thrilled with anything you say.”

you narros your eyes, studying his red face. “are you okay, jake? you’ve been acting really… weird since yesterday.”

jake scratches the back of his neck, glancing everywhere but you. “who, me? no, no, i’m fine. totally normal. it’s… totally normal for me to help you write a love letter to someone i don’t even know, right?”

he lets out a nervous laugh, mentally cringing at how ridiculous he sounds, and you just raise an eyebrow, watching him closely. is he blushing? you wonder, putting the pieces together bit by bit. but you don’t say anything yet, waiting for the right moment.

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

the next day, you read the letter over again, something finally clicking. as you recall jake’s reactions, the strange look in his eyes every time you talked about the letter, you suddenly realize the truth.

the next day during lunch, you turn to jake, a small knowing smile on your face. “jake… i have a hunch. about who wrote the letter.”

jake’s heart stops. “oh? who… who do you think it is?”

your eyes search his, twinkling with a new understanding. “i think it was… you.”

jake’s eyes widen, and his mouth opens, but before he can respond, the bell rings, signaling the end of lunch. you stand up, leaving him stunned in his seat as you head off to class with a glance over your shoulder, you give him a teasing smile.

“see you after class, jakey~” you say with a playful tone.

jake is left sitting there, his heart racing, unsure of what you’ll say—or what he’ll say—when you finally meet again.

perm taglist.@honeybelleee @honeychocos @manaah02 @kozumesphone (open!)requests. open!

©levandright

[dichotomy-of-your-girlfriend]

I can't tell what here is snarky/sarcastic and what is an actual point so sorry if I accidentally misinterpret.

1. The person I was taking shots at for kinning him was a whole ass 25 y/o. I think we should be able to understand why that's wrong and off putting. A kid might not understand the weight and importance of not separating rape from his character, and say it because he's grumpy, and deadpan, and struggles with responsibility, poor self esteem, tends to pedestal, feels like they have to do everything (crazy he did 5 things over several months tho hmm.)

2. Jimmy is not a reminder of my own capability for evil. He's a reminder of the time I got SAd awesome!! People aren't scared he's a reflection of themselves. Actually, people just tend to hate rapists. Just because there isn't nuance doesn't mean there's not depth to his character. I have picked him apart and listened to other people pick him apart and there are things I also relate too In there! He is amazingly written, and the gameplay makes you uncover all of this over time and you start to shift your opinion and idea of what's happening and it's great and super cool and really well done which is why I hate him. Bc he sucks. And the did an awesome job writing a guy who sucks.

Complexity ≠ redeemability

3. "And this fear gives birth to the vehement denial of anything human in jimmy. Because If you gave him some thought, you may discover something deeply unpleasant about yourself."

Whar that we're all secret rapists?? Or something?? People don't hate him bc they look at him in a 2 dimensional way. The point is you can look at him as deep as you fucking want and he's still awful. He is human and complex and also he sucks really bad and I hate him. Again I could give you the list of things I relate to, and honestly he might be the character that resonated most with me. But my bar for likability is rape but you do you. I am so past the point in my life where I'm anything other than angry and unmoving about this as a victim. You can pull the fictional character card which has weight for sure. I think it's the REASON we get to pick him apart and talk about him as an individual because there's no real Anya. She'd take priority in that case and we wouldn't do anythjng but try to send jimmy to prison. But we don't have too because real people aren't in danger of fictional grease man jimmy. but real people feel this story really close to their heart and it's dangerous to get comfortable In the rhetoric that it's simple minded and unfair to hate him without fully examining him. Especially in fandom spaces that could influence how young people form their perception of sexual assault and criminals and if they're victims that could really fuck em up honestly. And it's not fair to police victims out of the fandom either because thjs is ultimately a story that we resonate with. And it's comforting. And it's an outlet to use jimmy as a punching bag too it's nice to see unapologetic bullying of this not real guy as somebody who never got justice.

I unapologetically hate him. And I do am off put when people like him. But not ljme we should never talk abt him or male funny videos with him or fanart where hes in it hate him like. Im not that dumb.

But it's weird to me that you had to make this entire thing about how you don't hate jimmy because you can read into all the details and fully understand his character and we're all just too simple and dumb do have done that bc WE fEAr oUr HUmaNjTy and the morally grey nature of life blah blah.

Maybe the rest of us also enjoy character analysis and looking into every nook and cranny of his being... and maybe for the rest of us the bar is rape. You're not intrinsically evil for liking him no. But I will probably go ew what and feel really nasty about it.

Appreciating his character ≠ liking him. I was talking aboht people who made jimmy their little blorbo or whatever. If tbst wasn't clear sorry bc that was the intent so I just basically read your thing as in defense of jimmy simps. Pls don't blorbo the rapist lol.

I've seen some "I low key like Jimmy like I hate what he did but I like his character" posts already and.

If that's you, this game is a commentary on people like you, and you don't even realise it. It's about how he and his actions can't be separated. If you really think he's well written or whatever the hell, appreciate the amazing job the devs did by hating him.

[myokk]

20 q's for fic writers

tagged by @crushribbons love you Laney😙😙😙😙💓💓💓

How many works do you have on AO3? I am a humble baby writer so I only have three...so far

What's your total AO3 word count? 99,211...before I joined tumblr and fanart hell (affectionate) I was writing SO MUCH...I started in January bahahahahhahahahahahahah

What fandoms do you write for? Hogwarts Legacy, but in the future I'll probably do Tomione…beginning of death eaters super evil but sexy 1940s Tom Riddle making Hermione turn evil… (among others). Tbh (fanart-wise NOT writing) I also want to draw harvest moon…stardew valley…x files… I would love to attempt writing for P&P bc I have so many ideas, but I am too lazy to make sure they're historically accurate and it would drive me crazy if they arent so I'll just enjoy them hehe

Top five fics by kudos? I only have three published so far, but the most popular is my Ominis oneshot, legilimency. I have no idea how that one actually got readers...but I'm happy bc I really like it too and I reread it sometimes!! My main fic is actually doing a lot better than I expected too, bc when I started posting I was just shouting into the void and I wasn’t part of the community or anything🥹 the little excerpts I post here too, that go along with my writing, also do a lot better than I expected and it makes me so happy to read your comments💓

Do you respond to comments? yes!!!!! Comments/hashtags always make me SO HAPPY and these interactions are the fun of sharing these things with you all. I get swamped by notifications sometimes so I might respond super late but I always try to bc I LOVE YOU ALL SOOOOOOOOO MUCH!!

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? my main fic...I have a horrible ending planned but I might chicken out at the end and make it happy. in my fanarts I can make them happy so that might be enough for me...and I’ll go with the evil ending muahahahahahaa

What is the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? the Imelda/Poppy fic. Honestly it's not popular but it holds SUCH A SPECIAL PLACE IN MY HEART...it’s popular to me😤 I reread it a lot...my love letter to Imelda

Do you get hate on fics? I don't think so...If I do I'm out of the loop bahahahhahahahaha. Honestly I've had haters before on other platforms and it's not something that really bothers me bc if I don't personally know someone, I don't care what they think...and like Laney said...if they don't like something they should just make what they want to see instead lol

Do you write smut? yes😳

Craziest crossover? None I Am A Boring Girl

Have you ever had a fic stolen? not that I know of!!!!! But I also just started writing this year. I've had my art stolen sooooooo many times before though on IG and tiktok (not here yet that I know of…). If it's just copying my art I don't mind that much with these fanarts because that's how you learn and a copy will never look like the original but...

Have you ever had a fic translated? nope!!

Have you ever co-written a fic before? No but I'm collaborating with @versailles-black for fanart shenanigans bc our MCs are cousins🥹💓 plus the whole Leo/Bea thing with @the-ozzie …I’m actually considering writing a oneshot about the two of them so I think it counts!!

All time favorite ship I have two...Elizabeth/Mr Darcy have had me in a vicelike grip for my whole life...but so have Scully and Mulder...

What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? I really really really want to write my Ominis longfic that's a continuation of my oneshot, but it's hard to find the time to write lately bc I've been so busy!!! like...even finding time to do these fanarts is a struggle these days. I still have hope I'll finish it though bc apart from ME wanting to read it there are a few others who are also looking forward to it!!!

What are your writing strengths? no idea🥲

Thoughts on dialogue in another language? I personally like it!!! But only if it's used correctly...I've seen Spanish in fics before where the person CLEARLY doesn't speak it and it drives me crazy, esp if the character is supposed to be Spanish-speaking. Or...when people add random phrases in with the rest English, bc as a bilingual person I feel like it doesn't really work like that lol. I added some Spanish to the Imelda oneshot I wrote and I like to read it when it's done naturally, and if anyone asks me for translation in the comments I’m happy to oblige🥰

First fandom you wrote in? Hogwarts Legacy is my first fandom ever bahahahhahahahahah

Favorite fic you've written? tbh I love all three that I've written so far!!!!!! I can't choose🥹🥹

Laney said there's no 20th question…I love you all😙😙😙

zerooo pressure tags for @kay9leo @writing-intheundercroft @heyitszev @noxxytocin and anyone else who thinks it would be fun to answer🥹💓😙💓😙

[dukeofthomas]

Here's my controversial opinion; if you're trying to write Bruce as a non-abusive, good parent, you should also write him respecting his kids' privacy, boundaries, and not stalking&surveying them.

[sieglinde-freud]

one time eva told me that inigo was basically just a total drama character and i cant like that kinda hit me like a slap in the face but like in a good way because like. she was right. and that was several months ago but the concept was so good i sometimes just come back to it and now i have a question for the class

no i dont think inigo (or anyone else i excluded) would win but if you have a case for him im open

[dailykugisaki]

Day 104 | id in alt

*Kugisaki voice* Itadori, your mom is a fucking freak.

[lineffability]

huarghhh The Nanny AU.......rich guy Aziraphale Edenson who's not good with children but has taken in his neighbour's kid Warlock after his parents disappeared under mysterious circumstances hires Crowley Fell as nanny for reasons as of yet comprehended by the neighbors

[moeblob]

OK I swear the reason I'm showing you this will have context in a couple days! But also, the fact B&N has a section dedicated to "well he may be a ten buuuuut" and included my current crime of "he's blonde" is like. Dang. Called out.

Didn't help I saw this with a guy and I said "oh no, my blonde enjoyer crimes called out!" and he said "better than redheads" and I'm like. "Sir, I have to inform you of my previous crime." and he was not pleased as he said "Fish... why....."

[beanghostprincess]

Not sure if you've done a post already but curious to think how Usopp would react/what role he would play if he was at Whole Cake Island and how SanUso would change and grow as a couple after?

I was planning on doing a post like this tbh but I think I've already said a couple of times that I wanted Usopp on WCI. And it's not even because of my insane obsession with Sanuso (that too, tho) but because I think his personality would have fit the story perfectly. Also, I think that Sanji being crucial to Usopp's character back in Water 7 would have helped here too, with Usopp being present in one of Sanji's most vulnerable moments.

I think that following canon he would've been a part of the Chopper/Carrot storyline because of how fitting it would have been for his personality. We would have had so many funny moments with him there and back in the forest with Nami. However, I think that Usopp, being also part of the East Blue Crew and having a close friendship with Sanji (we don't see much of that post-timeskip, sadly, but they used to have so many interactions aaaa), he would have been there for the Luffy vs Sanji fight. I'm not sure if he would've stepped in, having more of an active reaction towards everything and trying to stop Sanji (because, well, at the end of the day, it is a Lusan scene and we can't take away their moment), but he for sure would have been there with Nami crying over everything. Idk. I think Usopp, being the first one who tried to leave the crew and having fought Luffy before, would understand Sanji. He would not be angry at his behavior like Nami, perhaps just frustrated and angry at himself and Sanji's family, mostly. It's hard to know what part of the story he would have been a part of because he already has his focus moment in Dressrosa and this is kind of to make Chopper/Carrot/Nami/Brook shine too bc they weren't there, but yeah, at the end of the day the story would have ended up being the same because the focus is Luffy and Sanji's relationship.

However, like I said, I think Usopp would understand Sanji's behavior somehow (even if the reason why Usopp tried to leave the crew wasn't the same one). We would've probably gotten a scene like the one he has with Nami after coming back to them ("coming back" meaning accepting that he wants to go back with them. That scene where she's mad and tells him and they'll never let him go again etcetc). But instead of what Nami does, I think Usopp would be just happy to have him back, and yet Sanji would feel guilty for what he had done to them. A lil scene of acknowledgment and understanding where Sanji asks why Usopp isn't angry and Usopp lets him know that he doesn't understand but understands to an extent (not feeling like he fits in and ending up in self-destructive behavior like trying to leave the crew) and they would inevitably grow closer after that.

Their dynamic within the OP world would change, of course, but when it comes to the main plot and their interactions they would pretty much stay the same because they talk like fucking twice in all of Wano and I am having a very hard moment watching this without them having scenes together- Please, being a Sanuso shipper is so hard-

But yeah, all of this is me trying to be realistic. From a more fanon perspective, I think Usopp should have just dressed up as Sogeking and saved Sanji like the superhero he is with the power of love and friendship and they would have gotten married. The end.

[urtrickster]

kaitlyn, jacob, dylan, and emma would be the best ghost hunting team i think.

i'm picturing it now in my head, and it's a beautiful and funny scene, truly.

[altruistic-meme]

tell me about the wip selfish. idk if I'm not in the fandom I wanna know everything

(you tagged a fucked up post with it so now I'm so so curious)

hehe HIII Kate 🥰

yeah it's a bungo stray dogs fic but I can and will still tell you about it :)

its. hm. best way to explain it....

i guess it's a canon divergence AU where Dazai makes a deal with Mori before he meets Chuuya, where if Dazai can find someone that Mori is more interested in him, then he'll take them on as his second and leave Dazai under Kouyou's command instead. and then Dazai finds Chuuya and drags him to Mori's attention, before eventually realizing "hey wait, no, actually Chuuya makes me feel things I've never felt before, I dont want him to suffer under Mori, he'll ruin his humanity" except it's too late by that point. so when Chuuya and Dazai properly join the Port Mafia, their positions are switched from canon with Chuuya working under Mori and Dazai working under Kouyou.

the fucked up part of it being Mori's treatment of Chuuya, largely, from SA to experimenting on him, and then also Chuuya and Dazai's relationship being all sorts of toxic and fucked up as well, bc Dazai has guilt for putting Chuuya in that position and Chuuya knows it's Dazai's fault. but Chuuya also refuses to switch them back bc he wants to protect Dazai from Mori since he knows what it's like. and Dazai wants to get close to Chuuya to help him out of guilt but doesn't know how to do that in a healthy way, and Chuuya wants to keep Dazai away from him for protection and will do anything he can to make that happen.

and then looking at their future where Dazai is in a better place bc he left the mafia, but he left Chuuya without even the meager support he had been providing before, which puts Chuuya in a worse position than he had been in. and trying to explore Dazai wanting again to help Chuuya and Chuuya again wanting to just protect Dazai. and figuring out how to get Chuuya out of the Mafia, and then the aftermath of that + his trauma and history.

and its name coming from the selfishness Dazai portrays throughout the whole story. from his original deal with Mori, to let someone else suffer in his place. to him trying to get close to Chuuya out of the guilt of putting him in that position in the first place. and then 4 years later, him doing everything to "save" Chuuya to ease his own conscious for having left him behind, without ever stopping to actually ask Chuuya if that WOULD help him at this point. or even WHAT could help him.

and. yeah. it will easily be the darkest thing I've ever written when I do finally start writing it. and that's also kind of the point of it. to explore a darker version of Chuuya, and more toxic version of skk, and a version of Dazai that isn't AS heavily influenced by Mori.

[lucky-draws]

hiiii .... new fic [thumbs up emoji]

[mythvoiced]

OPEN STARTER | Boo Yihwa

"New idea: you fuck off or I'll kill you. I hate the way you smell."

[crownshattered]

|| started to play omori....holy shit....

[insertsickusername13]

Promises Made on October 30th

title is the concept and summary bc i thought of the title before the concept of the fic. whoops.

warnings: implied abuse, alcohol is referenced and consumed but not in like a bad way (most of the time), no smut but there's one scene where they kiss and i describe it in a gross way for some reason and sex is talked about once or twice

word count: 3.6k

 Jake spent most nights alone. He had friends, sure, and plans most evenings. Dates with girls, parties to attend, and though he’d like to spend the rest of his life swimming in a fuzzy unconsciousness where he was only just aware of his existence, half passed out on someone else’s couch, dawn always sunk her rosy fingers into the horizon and one hostess or another was forced to give Jake a pitying look as they showed him to the door.

 My parents will be home soon, some would say, and Jake would leave with a bitter laugh. If he was lucky, he’d get to stay and help clean up. On the best days, he could sometimes sneak in a quick fuck with whatever girl was still around. 

 Most nights, though, he left before anyone had the chance to kick him out. He spent hours sitting on the floor of his living room, staring at the front door and waiting for them to come home. If he pretended hard enough, the pictures on the walls weren’t the most terrifying thing he had ever faced. Photographs from family weddings, birthdays, anniversaries, and award ceremonies all taunted him. His parents’ faces stared at him, scrutinizing every move as he trembled, cried, and broke down. Every sob echoed back like a bullet ricocheted off metal. He was sitting expressionless in the middle of a war zone watching soldiers (read: dreams) and civilians (read: his future) bleed out and die on the floor around him. 

 Despite holding onto the childish hope that things would get better, that the future held something more than loneliness for Jake Dillinger, there was still the undeniable truth that it wouldn’t. Jake was doomed. Life wasn’t going to be anything special for him—he was going to suffer and he was going to have to get used to it young. He hated his parents, himself, his girlfriend, his life, and his house. He wasn’t going to kill himself, he wasn’t a coward, but he wasn’t going to wake up every morning and fight to be okay. He was resigned to his sadness.

 Until Rich Goranski knocked on his door at 10 pm on September 17th and showed Jake that silence wasn’t the only thing that could exist in his house. 

 He didn’t wait for an invitation inside. The second Jake had opened the door, Rich pushed past him and into the kitchen. He wasn’t quite fast enough for Jake to miss the bruises on his cheekbones or the way he favored his right leg over his left. Jake cataloged the injuries and promised himself he’d ask about them later. 

 “The hell are you doing here?” Jake called after him, his tone tipping over the border between annoyed and concerned.

 Rich shrugged and settled on the kitchen counter. He seemed to only be slightly aware of Jake’s presence, more focused on the empty floor in front of him. His eyes were glassy in a way that suggested he’d already been crying and was done with it. Jake studied him, searching for his next move in Rich’s body language. If Rich looked like he was going to cry again, Jake could probably swoop in for a hug without being called gay. If he didn’t, Jake would probably offer a drink. Or a movie?

 “Stop looking at me like that,” Rich snapped. He was looking up at Jake, his eyes narrowed and lips pressed together, almost like he was challenging him. Jake flinched back, unsure of what he’d done to deserve such treatment. 

 “Like what?”

 “Like I’m a fucking math problem or some shit. I’m not. Just fucking talk to me.”

 Jake considered him. Though it was invisible to Rich, Jake could still see bullets and spears flying through the air as people screamed out war cries and fought with everything in them for land or oil or their families. Metaphorical war didn’t end just because a friend had shown up. Jake was always surrounded by imagined violence; always on the verge of fleeing. 

 “I don’t know what you want from me,” Jake answered. His voice was barely loud enough to be heard over the sound of a bomb going off in the distance.

 Rich forced out a bitter laugh and hid his face behind his hands. 

 “God, fuck, me either. I don’t know why I’m here. Just fucking distract me. Do whatever the hell you want.”

 Jake found his parents’ record player in the living room and hit play. It was the only thing he could think to do—why, he wasn’t sure. But Rich had said anything, so Jake did anything. Some song by The Police (god, the irony) drifted through the room, a byproduct of his parents’ last anniversary together in the house. Jake had long since stopped caring—it didn’t even hurt to know they’d danced in this room, laughed in this room, raised him in this room. 

 He turned back to Rich and was met with a small, borderline amused, “What the hell, Jake?”

 “You said I could do whatever I wanted.”

 “This is what you want?”

 “I dunno.”

 Rich laughed as he hopped off the counter. The sound was so pure Jake watched the blood-soaked carpets go from crimson to pink as the rain washed away the worst of it. A white flag waved in the distance. Rich swayed to the music mindlessly, still favoring his right leg. 

 “Dancing?” Jake asked, the single word enough to get across his message. Rich nodded as he took Jake’s hand in his own and pulled him in close. 

 “Why not? We’ve got nothing better to do.”

 So Jake learned about music and dancing and how small Rich could feel when Jake had his hands on his hips, fingers digging into his skin just to convince himself Rich was real instead of some fantasy made up as a coping mechanism for his parents’ leering memory. Silence wasn’t the worst thing to exist. Jake knew how to make it go away.

 Still, that did nothing to dispel the obvious and ever-painful emptiness. Jake could play record after record as loud as he wanted until he had every song memorized and could sing it from any room in the house, but it was still empty.

He stumbled into the kitchen, drunk and disoriented, his feet dragging across the tile floor. Each step was like wading through the ocean, sea monsters grabbing at his ankles and trying to drag him under. He gripped counters and walls to keep himself afloat just long enough for Rich to knock on his door and saunter in, his presence a song in and of itself. 

 Jake followed his every movement with every sense: his ears, listening to the sound of Rich’s footsteps. Taste: kissing the corner of Rich’s mouth—never his lips, Jake wasn’t gay, but close enough that he could convince himself there was something like love brewing between them. Touch: holding onto Rich’s hand, his clothes, his hair, latching onto the warmth of him to convince himself the air conditioner wasn’t too cold or the empty spaces too vacant. 

 Sight: looking at Rich and only Rich. If he only looked at his hazel eyes and dyed-red hair and, on the days when Jake was weak and scared, his lips, then the shadows in the corners of the room lightened into something manageable and the photos on the walls that functioned as the closest thing Jake had to family faded into… well, photos. Just photos. 

 Rich helped, but he wasn’t enough to make the emptiness go away until October 15th.

 He showed up in the same way he had before. Glassy-eyed, hurt, and willing to do whatever Jake wanted to make everything slightly okay for a little while. 

 Tonight, Jake chose balloons. 

 “You can’t be serious,” Rich groaned. He was on Jake’s couch, a glass of white wine in hand. Something imported from Italy, or maybe France? All Jake knew was that it cost four hundred dollars.

 Jake shrugged. “Isn’t Brooke’s birthday coming up? It could be for her party.”

 “This is literally just a fucked up coping mechanism, don’t pretend it’s anything else.”

 Jake sighed disappointedly and leaned back against the couch. He was on the floor in front of it, a pack of two hundred balloons in his hand. They were all different colors—some neon, some pastel, some black, and others white. He’d bought them on a whim at a Walgreens for twenty bucks with no particular plan. Faced with his barren living room, the only signs of human existence the expensive vases on the end tables and the overstuffed throw pillows, he’d decided he’d blow them up and throw them around just to add a splash of color. 

 Jake looked up at Rich. He was half asleep but tense, his face scrunched up and hands clenched. It’d been bad this time around. It hadn’t just been Rich’s existence that pissed his dad off—he’d done something. Probably something minuscule, like broken a glass or clogged the toilet, but it was enough that what was usually a couple of light bruises and a limp had turned to black and blue blemishes over his right eye and up his chest. His lip was busted and every breath seemed labored and painful. Jake, unsure of what else to do, ran his thumb over Rich’s pulse and whispered, “Please?”

 Rich opened one eye to look down at Jake. Amongst the annoyance and pain, Jake saw a flash of pity. Rich shifted uncomfortably. 

 “Fine, but I have at least two broken ribs so you’re going to have to accept the fact I’m only blowing up one or two of these.”

 “Of course,” Jake rushed out, his hands already fumbling with the packaging of the balloons. “I wouldn’t—if it hurts, you don’t have to. Obviously. Just—”

 Rich thoughtlessly threaded his fingers through Jake’s hair. Jake’s voice gave out. 

 “I don’t understand you,” Rich whispered, not even bothering to look at Jake. “You’re confident all day, and then the second it gets dark you freak out. I’m the same person I am all the time. I know you don’t want to hurt me. Calm down.”

 It was, of course, a trend Jake had noticed as well. At school, he could control his tone and inflections to the point he sometimes wondered if he was accidentally manipulating the people around him into loving him. Then at night, when his defenses were already broken down by hours of facing the empty, stormy seas that were his house, he could barely find it in himself to get out a sentence without stuttering. 

 He blamed it on the one lie Rich had told in his claim: that he was the same person. He wasn’t. There was something different about nighttime Rich that had Jake’s face feeling too hot and the silence turning into the sound of his heart beating circles in his chest. 

 “Sorry,” Jake replied softly, “I dunno why it happens. You make me nervous.”

 Rich raised an eyebrow. Jake shoved a purple balloon in his face and hoped that would be enough for the topic to be dropped. It was still too sensitive, still too in the early stages of development, for Jake to be prepared enough to vocalize the worst of it. Someday, maybe. Probably. Once he didn’t have Christine to distract him or Jeremy’s constant insults to scare him into suppressing every urge that didn’t perfectly line up with the picture everyone else had of him in their minds. 

 Rich took the balloon and started to blow it up. For Jake, the process was effortless. Rich struggled through it tediously, taking small breaths and wincing after almost every one. Jake hated to say that he’d originally interpreted Rich’s complaints as a joke, but his worry hadn’t really spiked until Rich choked out an awkward, muffled cough and pained groan. 

 “Do you need—”

 “No,” Rich breathed, “No, I’m fine. Shut up, Jake.”

 Jake turned back to his neon green balloon without a word. He’d blown up almost twenty by now, enough to coat half the living room in a thin layer of color. He thoughtlessly kicked one with his foot and smiled as he watched it hit a picture of his mother and uselessly bounce off. Smiling, he kicked another one. It hit a picture of himself as a child. 

 He turned to Rich to tell him—about what, he wasn’t sure. Kicking balloons? Hitting pictures of himself and his family? His coping mechanisms were getting more fucked up by the second—and was almost immediately paralyzed by… fuck, by Rich. Just Rich. 

 He was sitting crisscross on the couch, a balloon in his lap. He’d spent the last four and a half minutes blowing it up to just a little bigger than Jake’s head. It was still smaller than it was supposed to be but Jake wasn’t going to complain. It was physically impossible when he could barely get enough oxygen in his lungs to speak. It wasn’t that there was a crushing panic on his chest stopping him from breathing, it was something much brighter. There were so many butterflies in his stomach they were flying into his chest and choking off every inhale. 

 Rich’s lips were wet. That was really what doomed Jake. He’d previously been unaware that every time Rich removed the balloon from his mouth he felt the need to lick his lips, but now that Rich was focused purely on tying the balloon off and was giving Jake ample time to stare, Jake was forced to acknowledge the way his vision tunneled at the sight. The way his whole body seemed to go warm. 

 Jake turned fully to face Rich, the balloon in his hand completely abandoned in lieu of watching Rich stick his tongue out in frustration as he struggled to keep the balloon inflated while tying the knot. When he finally succeeded, he burst into a smile louder than any record Jake had played over the past month.

 Rich looked up, eyes bright, and faltered when he found Jake already staring at him. He cleared his throat as his face flushed red. 

 “Uh, hi,” he squeaked out. Jake wanted to scream. This was one of the differences that left him speechless. Daytime Rich would smirk and call him gay. This Rich just looked flustered. 

 “Hi,” Jake whispered back. 

 “Whatcha doin’?”

 Jake considered his response carefully. One song or another was playing softly in the background, the balloons were filling up the emptiness. Everything was kind of okay. Jake had nothing left to cope with. He just… 

 “I really want to kiss you right now,” he answered. Rich froze. 

 “What?”

 Jake got up just enough so he was kneeling, purple and green and red balloons gathered around his knees and feet and the coffee table his back was pressed up against. He leaned up so he was close enough to run his pointer finger down Rich’s jawline and nudge his nose against Rich’s.

 “You heard me. You can tell me to stop.”

 Rich remained silent. Jake thought he felt ocean waters rising around his waist, drowning his balloons and pictures in stormy salt water. So he did the only thing he could think of.

He kissed Rich like his life depended on it, because it did, and felt his heart start beating again for the first time in months when Rich kissed him back just as desperate and soft and messily. 

 Hands tangled in Rich’s hair, mouth open and his tongue practically shoved in Rich’s mouth, licking at teeth like they were nectar or ambrosia, he scrambled onto the couch, limbs slow and unsteady as he climbed over Rich and forced him back against the couch. He tried to get himself closer to his paradise, his respite, his island in the middle of the ocean, but all he got was a wretched screeching sound and the feeling of air-filled plastic against his chest. 

 He pulled away just enough for Rich to let out a small whine as they lost contact with each other.

 “Rich.”

 “Yeah?” Rich asked breathlessly, already trying to lean up and kiss him again. 

 “Get rid of the fucking balloon.”

 Rich’s eyes widened, almost comically so. Jake wanted to cry at the way that sent his heart into overdrive.

 “Yeah, yeah, right, hold on—”

 He threw it across the room. Jake found the balloons kind of useless now. He was so filled with giddiness and hope that he couldn’t even comprehend how anything could ever be empty. 

 Until October 30th. 

 Rich didn’t need to knock on Jake’s door or let himself in. Jake was at Rich’s house, banging on the door repeatedly, each knock echoing and panicked. He didn’t stop until Rich swung the door open, rumpled and half asleep. 

 “What the fuck?” 

 “I need to talk to you.”

 Rich glanced back inside—presumably at his dad—before nodding. 

 “Yeah, okay, lemme get changed and put on my shoes, then we can go.”

 Jake nodded rapidly. His mind was racing beyond what he could understand, landing on panicked responses before he even knew what had triggered his fight or flight. He didn’t stop moving even as Rich disappeared back into his house. His foot tapped against the concrete. His fingers picked at his nails and the fabric of his shirt and his hair. Curses ran through his mind like a broken record, repeated until the sound was imprinted on Jake’s brain. 

 Rich appeared and suddenly everything in Jake’s mind went silent. 

 “So… are we doing this here or…?”

 “My house. Not uh—” Jake glanced back behind Rich. Not near your father was the implied statement. Rich sagged with relief.

 “Okay, yeah. Let’s go.”

 Jake could feel Rich’s concern in his gaze. He was watching Jake’s every move as if preparing for something, like Jake was going to swerve the car off the road and into a ditch or shoot himself. It made Jake want to laugh. Or scream. Or cry. He was going to die. 

 He didn’t even make it back to his own house. It was only a six-minute drive and he only made it four minutes in before he pulled over on the side of the road and stormed out of the car, his whole body trembling. He didn’t know where he was going, just that he needed an escape from the cramped driver’s seat of his car. He needed the autumn air to stop him from overheating and the wide expanse of stars to talk him down from an anxiety attack. 

 Rich fumbled after him, too confused to be panicked and too disoriented to be calm. 

 “What the hell?! Slow down—”

 Jake halted and spun on his heel, eyes wide. They were by a pond with benches and a dock and a parking lot only twenty feet away. There were grills along the beach and a football in the grass. Jake almost screamed. Every sign of humanity felt like too much. If he was going to do this, he needed it to be in the middle of the desert or the empty expanse of space with no one but Rich around to hear his confession.

 No. Fuck it. He needed to do this now. 

 “I’m gay.”

 Rich seized up. He was only a foot away from Jake, close enough so when he finally regained control of his muscles, he was able to reach out and take Jake’s hands. 

 “Really?” he whispered, looking up at Jake with eyes that literally shone like gold or diamonds. Jake wanted to drown in it.

 He swallowed his shame, not caring that it burned at his throat, and said, “Yeah. Yeah, fuck. Not all the way. I like girls. But I like kissing you and I like boys and I… I just like you. All of you. All the way. I like you. I’m really sorry.”

 Rich broke out into a grin. 

 “Yeah?” he asked just for confirmation. Jake nodded again. 

 Rich jumped up into Jake’s arms, fully committed to getting as physically close as he could. He wrapped his legs around Jake’s waist and his arms around his neck and fingers in his hair and kissed him hard on the lips. Jake felt like he was at home for the first time in years.

 “Me too,” Rich said between kisses, “Me too. So much. So fucking much.”

 Jake smiled into every kiss, so ecstatic he could barely keep himself standing. He fell back into the grass whispering, “Run away with me. Forever. It’s terrible here. It’s so terrible.”

 Rich nodded in agreement and pressed a gentle kiss on Jake’s neck. 

 “They hate us and we’re gonna find someplace better. I have enough money. Just run away with me, please. We can go anywhere you want.”

 “Anywhere?” Rich asked. He sounded pained, like the word burned as it came out. Jake nodded and propped himself up on his elbows. 

 “Anywhere. Just promise me you won’t leave.”

 Rich smiled and kissed him again. 

 “I promise,” he murmured, “I promise you’re beautiful, I promise I’ll run away with you, I promise I won’t leave, I—”

 He paused. Dread burrowed itself like a bullet in Jake’s chest. He searched Rich’s expression for answers before Rich had the chance to start speaking again. 

 “Not… not tonight, though, okay? There’s something I gotta do first.”

 “Is it—?”

 “Don’t worry about it, Jake. It’s nothing. How about Sunday? Give me tomorrow to take care of things, then we’re gone.”

 November first. The day after tomorrow. 

 Jake could handle it. He’d host his Halloween party, break up with Christine, and tie up any loose ends he had left. He’d be gone before he ever had to clean up the hell of a mess his friends were sure to leave behind in his parents' house.

 “Promise?” he whispered.

 Rich nodded. 

 “Promise. I just need tomorrow.”

[cosmicdenro]

hope u guys don't mind me being a little queer sometimes and talking to myself in the tags, it helps clear my head since people can filter out rant posts easily