#edit: this got so long. im sorry.

[sirtotallynotatimetraveler]

Plush Pep's travel in Europe (more photos below the cut)

I wish I could have took more pictures with him but I was a little too socially anxious to haha. Maybe next time!

(I posted some of these photos like a month or two ago on reddit, so don't mind if you've seen the pisa tower pics before)

[dricacchi]

sometimes a person's biggest joy is to draw jon looking miserable. and that's okay

here's the og meme // the version i had on my phone, that fits better the vibe i was looking for hehe

[fiendishartist2]

im not fucking around anymore. here's the full "Paul is Care" essay i've been working on:

“Alright. So there's uh, nothing out here, as far as I've seen. But actually, I think there is something out here. I just haven't seen it yet.”

In Petscop, the story is told between the lines. When you feel like you have a grasp on it, a single colour or date throws off everything you’ve built up. That’s why I like to look at Petscop in another way; not as a series of events, but an exploration of a single character: Paul.

Some people like to map everything out in a single timeline; when did Care go missing, when did the family get the game, when did Lina and Mike die. I think that every interpretation of Petscop has its own value, because Petscop means something different to everyone who watches it. But, when I look at Petscop, I don’t just see a series of events wrapped up in the mystery of Care’s disappearance. I see a video game used as a device to explore and understand the connection between the past and the present. I see the ways in which Paul Leskowitz is Carrie Mark.

I know that to some that notion might seem crazy; the broader discussion of Petscop is different to the niche ones held by crazy people in the tags of a Tumblr post . Obviously, this theory is personally significant and I hold it very near and dear to my heart. But, I want to share this theory in a way that makes sense to the general audience of Petscop because I genuinely believe you guys are missing out! So, keep an open mind and enter my Petscop mind-palace…

“...were signs along the way. Um, that I ignored. Because it would have been a completely ridiculous idea to me. Um. But when I found my room, it made, uh, well, I was shocked at first, but it made sense, especially considering where I found the game in the first place, um, that it would be tied, in some way, to me through you. Um. And I'm trying to think, when was the last time I saw any of you at all? It had to have been in like, 1999. I was a kid, I was a small kid. Tiny kid. Um. And after that, just, you know. But, it would make sense in the timeline.” (Petscop 11)

A lot of Petscop theories surround the actual textual proof found in the videos, so that’s where I’ll start. There’s many instances where Paul makes the connection between himself and Care, but one moment continues to stick with me. In Petscop 11, Paul finally enters the house and takes a look around. He’s on the phone with someone, presumably Belle. Paul goes up to the calendars and starts talking about Care, “Yeah, on that topic... I don't remember meeting this girl at all. Um, I don't remember knowing her at any point (…) Um, and I remember you saying that we were, that we, we are, um, exactly the same age.” (Petscop 11). He points out that he and Care share the same birthday, down to the year. We get further confirmation of this in Petscop 14, when Paul’s conversation with Jill that he had on his own birthday is superimposed onto Care’s. The next part though, is what really gets the theory started, “I do agree there's a resemblance. Um. Very strong resemblance between us.” (Petscop 11).

Faces are incredibly important in Petscop. Marvin thought Care and Mike could be rebirthed into Lina because they had similar features, and Care had to be given Mike’s eyebrows specifically to change her room. So, for Paul and Care to have such similar facial features that someone else pointed out the resemblance is significant.

They also happen to share the name “Leskowitz”, which is both Anna and Lina’s last name. We know this because his Reddit account is “p_leskowitz”.

If he’s a Leskowitz, then that explains his complicated feelings towards “the family”. “The family” is a foreboding presence throughout Petscop. Their meddling isn’t outright malicious, but even Paul admits that he’s intimidated by them. And it makes sense, as “the family” (comprised of Anna and Jill) each have a major role in the core mystery of Petscop. Anna is the mother of Care and the wife of Marvin, while Jill is Marvin’s sister and the mother of both Rainer and Mike. To be a Leskowitz, Paul would need to be blood related to Anna or Lina in some way. Paul shows that he has this relation to the family in Petscop 22, when he’s talking to Belle about finding the windmill, “And, I don't th- and you don't have to worry about it, right, 'cause... 'cause you aren't, you aren't family, so you wouldn't... have a room, that's the thing.” (Petscop 22). In this context, Paul is asking Belle whether Jill has contacted her. When he tells her she doesn’t have a room, this is in reference to the Child Library explored in Petscop 3 and 7. This means that in order to be part of the Leskowitz-Mark family (and in our case, related to Care), you have to have a room in the Child Library, something both Paul and Care possess.

Paul being related to the family is also supported by his casual mention of meeting Rainer as a child, “‘Rainer’... I saw him at a birthday party once. All the older kids were down in the basement playing video games, to hide from everyone. He was down there, too. He was older than the rest of them, though.” (Petscop 11), and his confusion of not knowing Care, with the implication that if she was real, he would have met her through the family.

A rarely discussed aspect of Paul’s character is that he can’t tell his left from his right. When he’s doing the disc puzzle in Anna and Marvin’s room is Petscop 11, “Um, we can see what the room looks like in that recording, um, on the uh, right? ... Left? Left? Right ... side.” (Petscop 14) and before he even enters the house, “And, I mean, I still get confused about that. Because, I mean, well, I know it's always the top, but, um, I still have to think. I have to think.” (Petscop 11), we can clearly see that he has trouble with directions. In a similar fashion, Care is described as “dizzy”, most notably in the end credits of Petscop. She is also described as blind by Rainer in Petscop 17, “You were blind. At some point, your movements stopped making sense.” (Petscop 17). In the counsellor’s office, the counsellor says to Paul, “Are you right handed, or left handed? You don't know? Really?” (Petscop 22). I’ll get more into it later, but this sequence is presumably a real conversation that the game is recreating. If this scene is taken from Care’s real childhood, then it confirms that she also had problems with her lefts and rights.

Now, this is the base level of the theory. It’s easy to figure out that Paul is a Leskowitz, he literally calls them “the family”. And while I think the bits about faces and birthdays and directions are significant to this theory, I wanted to get all of the textual evidence out of the way so that I could get into the fun part of this essay: the subtext.

”Some things you can't rewrite.” (Petscop 14)

Petscop is nothing if not a collection of symbols and metaphors. Ask me what Petscop is all about on any given day and there’s a non-zero chance I will start explaining why the car is orange. While it is necessary to analyse Petscop as a real series of events, I think that another approach can be taken; what if we analysed Petscop as a series of events that are happening to Paul specifically? That the game is creating meaning by placing Paul specifically in these snippets of the past. By looking at each moment as “Why did the game make Paul do this?” instead of “What is happening in the game?”, we can see everything through a new lens.

First, I want to discuss colour. Colour plays a huge role in Petscop; almost every character is assigned their own colour. This is most often used to denote who is speaking in text, but it’s also used for other things like the tool. You are probably aware that Care’s colour is yellow, as all of her text is yellow. What you might not know is that Paul’s colour is red. Paul has exactly one instance in all of Petscop where he has coloured text and that is in Petscop 22, when he gives the counsellor his name. The calendars in the house are also colour coded, as the one showing 2017 is red.

One of my favourite moments in all of Petscop uses colour in a way that supports this theory perfectly. When Paul takes Care out of the rebirthing machine, she has been transformed into an Easter egg. A red and yellow striped Easter egg. I will get into this egg later on, but for now, I want to point out how Paul and Care’s colours have been used here. Of course, it’s significant just that they've been put together, but it's more than that. Care’s final form, the egg she has been placed in to keep her safe from all of the trauma she has suffered, that she will spend the rest of the series in, is painted a combination of her and Paul’s colours. In the same sequence, when Paul is playing the Needles Piano for Care B, the “wrong” notes he plays to turn her into the Easter Egg are all red. There’s a joke about eggs and transness in here somewhere.

Right after Care’s rebirth into the egg, Paul places her in the locker with the purple egg and the “new life” letter. If we abide by the established colour theory, this second egg would be Belle’s/Tiara’s egg. By putting them together, alongside the letter, it symbolises Care and Belle’s transfer to Lina’s care; this can also be supported by the ending of Petscop. In the final scene of the soundtrack, Belle recounts when she and Paul were adopted, “There is Boss waiting for her son. Pall do you remember being born. Smuggled away driving to your new house. Boss in driver seat me in back.” (Petscop Soundtrack). “Do you remember being born” is a question posed over and over again throughout Petscop. It’s meant to be a reference to rebirthing, but here it’s Paul being asked if he remembers being born, not Care; you can also connect this to the “new life” letter, making it apparent Belle is asking if he remembers when he was given his “new life” with her and “Boss”. There’s also the implication of the wording “smuggled away”, implying that there was something stopping Paul from being taken to his new home. Paul and Care’s final scenes parallel each other; Care is placed with Belle’s/Tiara’s egg with the “new life” letter, while Paul is taken back to “Boss” by Belle. Care and Paul are both asked if they “remember being born”.

Another, smaller piece of colour theory in Petscop comes from the board games in the counsellor’s office. The board game “Accident” features red and yellow puzzle pieces that fit together, but are broken apart. Remember that Care’s colour is yellow, so assume that she symbolises the yellow piece; Paul’s colour is red, so assume that he symbolises the red piece. The red piece is bigger and fits into the smaller yellow piece, like it’s missing the beginning of it. The yellow piece comes before the red piece, as if it adds context to the red piece. When we think of this in terms of Care and Paul, we can see that Care is the “missing piece” of Paul; the small part of his past that adds the context that completes him. Paul’s piece is bigger because he’s been Paul for so much longer (if we interpret the counsellor’s office as a real event the way it is shown, then that could be the moment he changed. Or, if we consider Care’s rebirth into the egg as the moment Care turned into Paul, then that would be the moment instead), meanwhile Care’s piece is small because she was only a small part of his life.

Taking colour into account, we can get into the meat of the symbolism in Petscop. When we view the events of Petscop through our new lens, many things become significant. Paul is placed in the role of Care many times throughout the series; on Care’s birthday, in the counsellor's office, and in Rainer’s “you are Carrie Mark” monologue.

During the “strange situation” birthday scene, Paul carries around a yellow balloon, symbolising that he is standing in for Care. This is further cemented by Anna’s dialogue addressing Paul as if he is Care on the day she came home, “You made it. Happy birthday! (...) Why are you covering your face? (...) Of course I recognize you. Those eyes. That nose. That’s still you.” (Petscop 14).

This next dialogue from Anna is particularly interesting to me; she doesn’t just tell Paul that she’s happy Care is home safe or ask him where she’s been, but instead she says this, “I sure hope you’ve realised by now. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been gone. It doesn’t matter how much you’ve changed. You aren’t lost. Stop wandering and come home.” (Petscop 14). When we talk about Petscop, we have the urge to deny any supernatural involvement in the story. Whether through AI or predictive programming or alternate timelines, we want Petscop to be plausible. Understandable. Easy to digest. But, we often forget that Paul poses the question of a literal “ghost in the machine” in the first few episodes. I want to consider this quote– Anna talking to her child who has been “lost” for many years– as an act of this ghost. The game is talking back to Paul, telling him that no matter how much he has changed, he still has the same eyes, the same nose that made him Carrie Mark. And we know how important eyes and noses are in Petscop. Also as a side note, consider how Anna didn’t specify eyebrows; we know that Care’s lack of eyebrows is in some way due to Marvin, but when she tells Paul she recognises his eyes and nose, she doesn’t add on eyebrows. Paul said it himself in Petscop 7, “Um, and why am I doing that? Well, because eyebrows seem to be important.” (Petscop 7). I like to think that she couldn’t have said that Paul has the same eyebrows because, since Marvin isn’t in the picture anymore, he wouldn’t have any reason to pluck them.

Another scene that mixes up Paul and Care is the counsellor's office. When Paul finally enters the “girl wall” in Petscop 22, he is placed into a school’s counsellor’s office. Again, they talk to Paul as if he is Care, apologising for taking him out of class and saying he needs to “catch up”, implying that he’s missed a significant amount of school. As they start to play Graverobber (Jesus Christ, Rainer), the counsellor is confused about Paul’s name; they ask him if they have the wrong name written down, as his save file is currently “Strange Situation” and when they called out the name on file, Paul didn’t respond. Now, the connection here is a little more nuanced, but it still comes to a conclusion that I think greatly supports the theory. “Strange situation” is in reference to the Mary Ainsworth Strange Situation Experiment, a test in which an infant is deliberately separated from their mother to test their level of attachment. This is a very base level understanding of this concept, but when applied to this specific scene, it becomes apparent that this “strange situation” is another reference to Care. Care was separated from her mother for about half a year, only returning during the birthday party scene; the counsellor’s scene was accessible once Paul started using the “Strange Situation” file. Care stopped recognising the name she used before the seperation, considering herself to be “Strange Situation” instead. She has literally stopped recognising the name Care, and picks out her own name (which in the game Paul sets to his own).

Also consider the implication of the “girl wall”. At first, it’s an absurd joke, meant to lighten the mood using the same roundabout humour the rest of the series has. But, the counsellor asking if they have the wrong name, listing Paul as “Strange Situation” instead of his name, combined with the fact that when Paul is placed in front of the girl wall, he can’t walk away from it, it becomes a bit of an analogy; The game keeps forcefully showing Paul the word “GiRL” over and over and when he finally enters the “girl-world” as Strange Situation, he is called the wrong name and once again placed in Care’s shoes.

Let’s revisit the “ghost in the machine” idea. In Petscop 17, we are shown a past recording of Petscop; we never find out who was playing at this time, but it’s easy to assume Paul is the one watching the recording. The footage is less interesting than the dialogue, but it is notable that it’s a recording of the player running backwards in a very deliberate pattern. The actually relevant part of this sequence is Rainer’s monologue; in particular, the way he frames it, “You are a girl named Carrie Mark, and you were born on November 12th, 1992. You have a mommy named Anna, a daddy named Marvin, an auntie named Jill, an uncle named Thomas, a cousin named Daniel, ......I know what you must be thinking. Have these statements always been true? Or have I cursed you? Is there such a thing? A curse that changes your past?” (Petscop 17). There’s something about the forcefulness of this dialogue, “You are Carrie Mark,” as if Rainer is trying to make it so just by saying it. The inclusion of the birthday is also notable; we have been shown time and time again that Paul and Care share a birthday, and that this is an important part of both of their characters. So, when Rainer asks if these statements have always been true, or if it’s “a curse that changes your past”, we’re meant to interpret it as such: some of the statements are true, but the “you” being addressed is not currently “a girl named Carrie Mark”. Rainer casts a spell to make the player retrace their steps and although he might not be playing, the use of the word “you” and present tense language makes the statement pointed towards Paul. There’s something to be said about Rainer’s position in all of this; he isn’t the only tangible “ghost” in Petscop (Marvin and Tiara fit Paul’s definition established in Petscop 6), but he’s the only one to be fully dead. It truly feels, in this moment, like Petscop– like Rainer– is talking directly to Paul. The “curse that changes your past” is the part that ties it all together. This past that Paul doesn’t fully remember, where Anna and Marvin have a daughter named Care, where someone in his family went missing for months– by learning about this through the game, Rainer is essentially changing Paul’s version of the past. Your memory and physical evidence are all you have of the past; when your memory tells you one thing, but physical evidence tells you another, what version of your past is true?

“You’re the Newmaker. You can turn Care NLM into Care A, and close the loop.” (Petscop 9)

Finally, I want to explain why this theory is supportive of the themes of Petscop. Of course, there’s the obvious link between rebirth and the change from Care to Paul. But, there’s also themes of blood family versus chosen family, breaking the cycle of abuse, and of healing from your past. I want to provide an explanation of each of these themes and how the “Paul is Care” theory fits into them.

Let’s begin with the family point, since I already expanded on the family’s role in Petscop earlier. There’s a story behind the scenes in this series; the conflict between the chosen family versus the blood family. Anna and Jill against Belle and Lina. Anna and Jill are restrictive– they take over the channel and block certain things from the audience. Paul admits that he’s intimidated by them, and he’s concerned when he thinks Jill could be in contact with Belle. When we get the only dialogue from Jill, Paul is hostile and aggressive with her, something we don’t see from him otherwise. Alternately, Anna comes off as dismissive in most of her dialogue; when Care shows up at the birthday party, Anna treats her like no time has passed, like they haven’t been searching for her for months. We don’t get direct contact between Anna and Paul (except for a phone call in Petscop 11 that you could interpret as being with Anna), but the way she talks to the player through Care during the birthday party is still dismissive, “I sure hope you’ve realised by now. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been gone. It doesn’t matter how much you’ve changed. You aren’t lost. Stop wandering and come home.” (Petscop 14). There’s a level of distance between Paul and the family, which is evident from the name alone; Paul identifies himself as part of the family, but he still calls them “the family” as opposed to “my family”. When you pair that with the fact that he calls them all by their first names instead of any term of endearment (like how Rainer calls her “Auntie Jill” in his spell), it paints a clear picture: Paul does not want to be part of this family.

In direct contrast, Belle is shown a significant amount of affection from Paul. Not only is he on the phone with her for a good handful of the episodes, but Belle also has a familial connection to Paul. In Petscop 2, Paul is talking to Belle and he says “When you come home next month, and uh, hopefully you're feeling a little more enthusiastic about that now, we can investigate this together, and maybe you'll find stuff that I can't find here.” (Petscop 2). I think the casual use of the word ‘home’ to describe where Belle is staying implies a certain closeness, maybe even that they live in the same household. That’s not the part of this line that is important to me, however. Take a look at Belle’s final speech at the end of Petscop; Belle says “I could not wait too be your friend,” and Paul responds, “Family”, to which Belle says, “We can investigate this together.” (Petscop Soundtrack). After distancing himself from the family, as well as directly telling her she’s not part of the family (following it up with “Uhh... I didn't- I didn't mean it that way,” (Petscop 22), implying they have a similar connection that she’s defending), Paul calls Belle family. She states that they’re friends and Paul corrects her by telling her that they’re not just friends, but family. The most gut wrenching part of this dialogue is the use of ‘we can investigate this together’. It’s like a ward, a promise that Belle is making to Paul. He doesn’t have to go through this alone, she’s promising to be there for him. She’s going to investigate this with him, like he asked her to in the second episode. Paul doesn’t call his blood relatives family, but he tells Belle that they are his family; her and the “Boss”.

How does this connect to Care? It’s not hard evidence, but when you take this theme of family into account, it makes more sense for Paul to have a strained relationship with the family if we apply Care’s story to him. Think about it; Paul was ‘smuggled away driving too [his] new house’ and he hasn’t seen the family since he was a child, and Care’s egg was (metaphorically) placed with Belle’s and the New Life Letter when she would have been around 5, since that’s the age she was when she was kidnapped. Care went through an extremely traumatic event in a toxic environment– why wouldn’t someone step in and take her out of that family? To me, this theory extends the same closure Paul gets at the end of Petscop to Care; it tells us that even after everything she went through, she finds people who love and take care of her.

Abuse is a huge focus in Petscop, both as a plot point and a major theme. Rainer’s main motivation is to expose Marvin’s abuse of both Mike and Care to the family– whether or not that’s successful is not important. Because years after Rainer’s attempt, Paul is back doing the exact same; although, his playthrough of Petscop is less of an expose and more of an attempt at solving the mystery. Now, I think it’s a little pedantic, but in this context, I think the “cycle of abuse” in Petscop refers less to a generational cycle, but a continuous cycle that happens every time Petscop is played. Care is stuck in this version of the past that Rainer has created, forced to live through it as many years as Petscop is left on. Paul doesn’t continue this cycle though; as far as we know, Paul is the only person to reach the good ending of the game, where he’s rebirthed Care into the egg and reconnected with Belle and ‘Boss’. Paul is the only person who could understand what Care needed, because it’s exactly what he needed.

Care’s trauma is replayed for us throughout Petscop. Every knowable aspect of it is shown, leaving behind a raw feeling; like somehow, Paul and Rainer have made a spectacle of her abuse. But, I don’t think that’s entirely true. Rainer, although he is bitter and vengeful, is ultimately the person who finds the truth about Care and Mike and (if we are to believe him) is also the one who found Care at the school. In the beginning, it’s obvious that Paul is playing the game to see the mystery and is slowly engulfed by it throughout the rest of the series. When the game tells him that, “Marvin picks up tool hurts me when playstation on,” (Petscop 3), Paul proceeds anyway. The same happens when Care is caught in her room; Paul sees what is obviously a child being kidnapped and continues to solve the puzzle anyway. He picks the flower, catching Care NLM, and leads Marvin to the house. Paul follows through on everything he can to ‘solve’ the mystery of Carrie Mark, but in the end, he defies what the game has told him to do and saves Care. He does what Rainer couldn’t do: he breaks the cycle of abuse in the Mark-Leskowitz family. It’s kind of poetic, the idea that the person Care grew to be is the same person who confronts and lays to rest her trauma. The fact that playing his own theme would be the key to changing Care into the egg (a symbol of birth and potential) is beautiful.

The last thing I want to talk about is the theme of healing. This concept is more nebulous; we don’t see much of Paul post-Petscop, but the final scene does always leave me feeling hopeful for him. I think the reconnection with Belle and ‘Boss’, alongside the reassurance that, “[they] can investigate this together,” shows that Paul is out of the mindset and environment Petscop put him in. I’ve always thought that throughout Petscop, we see a deterioration of Paul; in the beginning, he’s intrigued and confused, but we see him become more and more disturbed, irritable, and frustrated towards the end. This is first evident with the CD puzzle in the house, where Paul is so out of his depth and confused that he stops acting with the same calm rationality shown throughout the earlier episodes. Then, when Paul is messing about with the demo recordings, he stops speaking in the videos entirely. When Paul sees the final blacked out object, which are coordinates to the real life windmill, he is the most stuttery we’ve ever seen, “Hm. Y- y- yep, yep. Yep... yep. N- we would- we would have to find out how big... like, we'd have to find out how big a tile is..? One of the tiles..? Like, if we could- if we could figure out how big... one tile is, in... u- in, umm... Like, feet. Or... Uhh, yeah. Meters.” (Petscop 22). He’s frazzled and excited and a little bit scared, evidenced by how he talks about the family, “They didn't... I don't like talking to them. They intimidate me…” (Petscop 22). All of this changes by the end; Paul is no longer stuck playing the game and he’s free to return to the people who love him most. This freedom is summed up in a single image: the final one we see in Petscop. Paul’s chair is empty and the blue sky beyond the desk is brimming with hope.

All this to say, Paul choosing Belle and ‘Boss’ over the game as well as saving Care by doing what’s best for her instead of finishing the final puzzle, alongside his final scene where he is welcomed home by his real family, shows us an interpretation of Petscop that paints it not as a tragedy, but a story of chosen family, breaking the cycle of abuse, and healing trauma through connection.

Thank you so much for hearing me out.

Bye-bye!

[concreteburialplot]

Intertwined // 05

-> 05 - Girl Crush*

pairing; noah sebastian x nicholas ruffilo

masterlist; here | crossposted; ao3 | word count; 10.3k 😅

warnings; sad lol, dumb boys, mutual masturbation, p0rn, alcohol, peer pressure, vomiting, college!omens, jolly intro, gay panic & very mild gender confusion??, denial is a river in egypt, 18+ MDNI

REMINDER: this is an au where everyone is around the same age, follows no actual timelines/events, and uses oc's for family members.

a/n: don't like it don't read it. don’t be mean for no reason & let others enjoy things thnx :)

-NICHOLAS- 

It had been about a month since Noah moved out completely and was fully living with us. It wasn’t that difficult of a transition since he stayed with us most of the time anyway. He seemed to be finally settling in and getting comfortable, which I was happy about.

Him living in my house wasn’t the only thing that became comfortable - in fact maybe we’d gotten too comfortable. 

That first night weeks ago, where we took care of our morning wood next to each other, wasn’t the last time. It started as that one time thing, then an occasional thing, then finally, a casual thing. Neither one of us seemed to take it seriously, maybe to play off the implications of it. Because what else are you supposed to do when you jack off next to your best friend regularly?

It became so casual, sometimes as if the other wasn’t there.

--

My half-asleep ears fill with the faint sounds of moans, accompanied by restrained groans I recognize. The more I wake I feel movement behind me.

I stir a bit before turning around finding Noah pumping himself under the covers while holding his phone in the other. He jumps a little when I catch him but doesn’t stop. His actions only halt temporarily.

“Sorry if I woke you up.” He says bashfully, baby pink tinting his cheeks.

“It’s fine.” I gulp, my eyes drifting to the obscene noises coming from his phone. “Whatcha watching?”

He shrugs, tilting his phone to me, revealing the most generic looking porn I’ve ever seen. But porn is porn and it makes my already semi-hard dick twitch. “You wanna… watch too?”

My cheeks grow warm at the offer, “Oh, um, I mean, I don’t wanna intrude…” Though, I can’t help my eyes from being glued to the screen.

He shifts a bit and reaches over, setting the phone down between us propped up in a divot of comforter. In the clumsy process, the duvet slides off his lap revealing his cock.

My eyes widen at the sight of him but I immediately divert my attention so that he doesn’t catch me and assume something else.

“Oh sorry.” He blushes and goes to cover himself again but pauses, “Actually, do you mind? I just don’t wanna deal with the mess and-“

“I don’t mind.” I reply faster than intended. I shake my head, “I just don’t wanna… do that. But I don’t care if you do.”

“Cool.” He nods and returns to his previous position with his eyes locked on the screen.

There’s a panicky heartbeat lingering in my chest but the throbbing in my cock takes precedence. I relax a bit beside him and life the duvet higher up on my body, trying to cover as much of myself as possible.

I spit into my hand before dipping it beneath the covers and down around my member, working it out from my shorts. A hiss leaves my mouth at the coldness of my palm but it doesn’t take long for that discomfort to fade.

My eyes begin on the phone, to the blonde woman with large unnaturally perky breasts being railed by some strong man with a big dick, something you’d find on the first page of any porn site. Not my usual cup of tea but whatever, it’s doing something for me right now.

Naturally, my eyes drift and happen to fall on Noah’s cock. His large hand works up and down his member – he’s duo-toned darker at the base and lighter towards the tip, kind of like me just much pinker. I glance between him and the man in the video. He’s smaller than the man, but he’s definitely not small. The video is obviously emphasizing the man’s large size, but he’s still smaller than me, not by much but he is. It makes me wonder if Noah would be impressed by my size.

Why would I think that? What do I care if Noah’s impressed by my dick?

Noah’s probably not even looking at him like that, I’m just weird I guess.

As if on cue, Noah comments.

“I wish my dick was that big.”

Not wanting to stay uncomfortably silent, I nervously chuckle, “Yeah me too.”

“Well, how big are you?” He asks casually.

My eyes nearly pop out of my head. Surely, he doesn’t actually wanna know.

“Oh – oh, I don’t know, but I don’t wanna take the covers off because-“

Noah proposes a solution, “I could feel?”

“I uh – what do you mean?”

“Like, feel it under the covers. So, I can’t see it. That’s what you’re insecure about isn’t it?”

“Um, I, well,” I stutter, trying to think of any sort of appropriate response. I should say no. I shouldn’t want him to do that. But something in me screams that this might be the only time this could happen – not sure why that’s even important. “Um, sure.”

I scooch a little closer to him so it’s easier for him to reach. Unexpectedly, he brings his free hand up to his mouth and spits into it. My eyebrows furrow at the action, not quite understanding why that’s necessary. But when his arm snakes itself under the covers and his hand replaces mine, I’m suddenly not as confused.

My eyes round at the feeling of his hand around me and every muscle in my body tenses when he starts moving.

“Jesus, you’re pretty big.” He says before his hand even reaches my tip.

Suddenly, all the nerves in my body seem to flood to cock and I feel so sensitive under his fingertips. I should be watching the video, but my eyes bounce between his still working on himself and on his other one bobbing under the covers. I can’t tell fully, but it seems like he’s pumping himself faster than before.

His palm reaches the head then slowly slides back down. “You’re so much bigger than me.” His voice seeming casual, but there’s a hint of strain beneath it.

His words and his even faster movements on both of us only worsens the buzzing in my cock.

“Is this okay? I just, I’ve only ever felt my own dick so, I’ve only ever imagined what having a bigger one would feel like.”

“Yeah, yep. It’s fine.” I reply quickly, just trying to maintain my composure.

My chest rises and falls rapidly and my fingers curl into the sheets. A familiar knot forms in the pit of my tummy and the last thing I want to do is cum while he’s touching me. His hand moves on me at the same speed as on his own. His fingertips stride up and down the underside of my length, hitting the sensitive spot beneath my tip every time. My lips press flat together as I try to stave off my orgasm – I don’t want to cum while he’s touching me, but I also don’t want him to stop.

Thankfully he has less stamina than I do.

“Ah, fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He groans, working quickly on himself chasing his climax. “Fuck, fuck!” He whines desperately. His hand doesn’t stop on me while his hips buck up into his hand spurting milky white all over his exposed tummy.

The visual of his cock twitching and spilling cum all over his hand, combined with his high pitched moans and his hand on me catapults me over the edge. “F-Fuck.” I sputter out a strangled groan and scrunch my eyes closed. Before I have time to yank him off of me, my body goes rigid beneath him. The buzzing across my skin seems to all rush into my throbbing cock in Noah’s still moving hand. “O-Oh.” Slips from my mouth just above a whisper while every muscle in my abdomen tightens. I feel myself twitch and spill my own cum into the duvet and all over his hand.

The orgasm nearly blinds my vision and my heart beats so fast I can hear it thumping in my ears. Those couple seconds where it was just me, my racing heart and my throbbing cock, it was pure bliss. Possibly the hardest I’ve ever came before. 

It’s not until I begin to come down that I realize what just happened and that… he worked me fully through my high? 

My eyes shoot open the second I return to earth and feel his hand finally slip off my softening member. For a split second I contemplate if there’s a way for me to get out of this without even looking at him and god I wish there was. 

Fuck

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-” I begin to profusely apologize before he cuts me off. 

He laughs, “It’s okay. I’m sure having someone else’s hand probably feels a lot better than your own. Even if it had been you I probably would’ve came even faster than normal… and you know I already don’t last long as it is.” He chuckles with a light peach tinting his cheeks.

One part of me feels bad that I hadn’t returned the favor, until I remember I didn’t really even want to do this to begin with. Then, another part of me wishes I had returned the favor, maybe I wanted to know the same thing he did - maybe I want to know what another cock would feel like in my hand too. 

“Yeah - um,” I swallow the little saliva I have left in my dry mouth. “Yeah it was nice.” 

He pulls his hand from beneath the covers. “So much for not making a mess.” He laughs. 

My eyes round when I see just how much I had spilt all over his hand. “Yeah, yeah sorry again, I just didn’t think that…” My eyes follow his stare on the milky white mess of mine on his hand. 

His coffee brown eyes snap up to mine and utters out the last words I ever thought he’d say. “Have you ever tasted your own cum?”

I blink blankly at him, completely devoid of words. 

What the fuck

“I-I um, no? Why would I?” 

“I don’t know, curiosity?”

“…Have you?”

“Well, yeah, I wanted to know.” He shrugs. “It was gross, bitter. But,” His eyes flutter back down to his hand. “I’ve obviously never tasted anyone else’s. I wonder if yours tastes different?”

My brain seems to glitch, not fully comprehending his statement. 

“I-I um, I mean, probably.”

“Would it be super weird if I tasted it?”

My brows shoot up at the question. 

But I reply before I’m even sure of my answer. “No, I um, don’t think it would be that weird?” 

And it wouldn’t be, right?

He’s just curious.

Just like he was about my cock. 

“Alright.” His tone much less confident than just seconds ago. 

His dark brown eyes drop to the puddle of my cum on his right hand, just above where his thumb meets his hand. He lifts it tentatively up to his mouth; my eyes can’t help but rotate between his face and his approaching hand. Hesitantly, he darts his pink tongue past his lips to dip the tip of it into the puddle. Unexpectedly, his eyes find mine, snapping me out of my gaze that was locked on his tongue. His mahogany eyes surprise me, with how round and soft they are - so puppy dog-like for a situation such as this. I blink at him and for some reason, seeing him flatten his tongue a bit on the remnants of me makes my cock twitch. He takes a scoop of my orgasm on his tongue and into his mouth. 

“Hm.” He hums, almost sounding pleased, like he was taste-testing wine. “You taste better than me. Sweeter. Must be all those bananas you eat.”

Sweeter

My brows join together, perturbed, “It can’t be that different?”

His boney shoulders raise into a shrug. “You can try mine if you want? To make it even or whatever.” He gestures his left hand up a bit to remind me that his mess remains on that hand too. 

“Oh - I - well -“ I watch his hand gesture towards me again. The turbulence in my tummy reminds me of when someone offers you a gift and out of politeness, you’re supposed to refuse it - but I don’t want to refuse. I want to know.

“Oh c’mon it’s only fair, it’s not that bad.” He urges me, only reaffirming my inability to voice a decline. 

I look down at the back of his hand covered in cloudy white rivers. My fingers gently take hold of his wrist and he lets me take control of his arm without a single ounce of resistance. I bring his hand to my lips and copy his actions - dart my tongue out and meet his eyes. His are just as intrigued as mine were, locked in my tongue. 

The second his cum meets my taste buds, my eyes flutter closed. I’m surprised at the taste, it’s bitter and salty, what I imagine battery acid must taste like. The texture is about what I imagined, thick and slimy. And yet, even with the immediate disgust of it, it makes my cock twitch again. There’s a tingle in my fingertips and on my tongue that urges me to lap up the rest of his orgasm but I fear if I did, I’d be completely hard again. I never thought something as rancid as battery acid would make me hard, but for some reason right now it’s threatening to. 

I’ve never been more grateful for anything more than the duvet on my body right now. 

I half-force a twist in my face at the taste as I pull back from his arm. “Augh, that’s disgusting.” 

He lets out a hearty laugh, “See! Told ya.” 

A nervous chuckle escapes me, “That you did…” 

-Next Day- 

Since landing an apprenticeship at a local tattoo parlor, I don’t see much of either Noah or Folio. While I’m at work after class, they’ve been hanging out at the library in a study group full of people I barely know - people from the frat party a couple weeks ago. 

Today though, I got off my shift early and I’m on a different mission. 

-

My tires screech and the weight of my entire body jerks forward as Stella makes another abrupt stop at a redlight. My hand lands on my dash as a reflex I had gotten far too familiar with.

My tongue passes between my lips before pressing them together and close my eyes through a deep breath. I consider myself a fairly patient person, but if there’s anyone on earth who could get me to snap, it is definitely my sister.

“I told you to start braking 5 million feet ago.” I exhaled with the hopes of Buddha himself coming down and bestowing me with a well-deserved medal of excellent patience.

“Whatever, we still stopped, didn’t we?” She sasses, as she continues to dance to whatever pop song pours through the speakers.

“Yeah, barely.” I grumble, crossing my arms in the passenger seat. “I have no idea how they let you pass your driver’s test.”

“You are so grouchy today.” She glares at me. “What, did the shop bully you again?”

My eyes roll so hard they could’ve fallen out. “No.” I clench my fingers into my palms and stretch them out as overlayed flashbacks of scrubbing every inch of the tattoo parlor flash across my mind. “No, I just cleaned a lot. Fumes. Headache.”

“Right.” She responds unconvinced.

The car takes a sharp turn into a plaza I’ve only ever driven past before and pulls into a parking spot right in front of the destination of my mission.

“We’re here!” She beams, turning the engine off.

We walk up to the small shop snuggled in the tiny strip. The walls look like they were once white, a long, long time ago. Now they’re stained a yellow-y beige with weeds and vines growing across the plaster.

“’Record Store. Plus repairs.’” I read off the giant red letters above the door. “How creative.”

Stella’s elbow sharply jabs into my ribcage. “Ow!” I hiss and recoil away from her. 

“Be nice. Be cool.” She scolds me in a hushed tone.

Whatever the fuck ‘nice and cool’ means to a teenage girl.

A bell trills sharply when she pushes open the glass door. A rush of cold AC blasts against our skin soon as we step into the foyer. 

At the tall reception desk stands a man with lengthy brown hair and a long face. He looks a couple years older than me, at least 23ish.

“Hi Jolly!” Perks Stella almost jumping the second her fingertips meet the glossy wood.

My teeth dig into my bottom lip in an attempt to stifle a giggle when I see the man noticeably deflate the moment he hears the shrill chirp of my sister’s 16-year old voice.

He sets down his pen on whatever paperwork he was working on and turns to us, “Hello Stella.” He greets flatly, with a hint of a foreign accent I can’t place yet.

It’s quite obvious that she comes in here often, more than she’s let on – enough for them to be on a first-name basis.

“Jolly, this is my brother Nick, Nick this is Jolly.” She beams at his name, completely smitten with the older boy. If it wasn’t so obvious that he’s irritated by her mere presence, I’d be more protective of her - but she’s perfectly fine. She’s made sure of that herself.  

“Hey.” I meekly wave at him.

He acknowledges me with a nod and looks back at her. “What’s up.”

“Well, we need your help!” She rocks up and down on her feet with her hands behind her back.

“Great. What is it you need help with?” His fingertips restlessly patter on the table top, impatiently waiting for her to deliver her pitch faster. 

“Go on Nick, show him.” She urges motioning her hand towards him.

I sigh and pull out my phone from my jean’s back pocket, then scroll to find a picture of Noah’s snapped guitar and hand it to the man.

“Could you fix that? Or know someone who could?” I inquire, already feeling as though the trip was hopeless.

His brows pull together as he inspects the picture then uses two fingers to zoom in on the instrument. “Whoever did this really did a number on it.”

“Yeah.” I mumble, scratching the back of my neck. “So, do you think you could fix it?”

“Hmm.” He hums, pulling down his thick-rimmed glasses down his nose. “I can’t say for sure, you’d have to bring it in.”

Air escapes my throat with another sigh, that’s the last thing I wanted to hear. “Okay. I’ll get it in as soon as I can.” Even though I have no idea how I’ll be able to do that without Noah noticing.

He hands me back my phone, “That’s a really rough break.”

“Trust me, I know. Thanks for looking.” My tone suddenly lacking optimism. “And sorry about…” When I turn to point at Stella, I realize she’s not beside me anymore, now shuffling through the various wooden crates of records. “Her.”

He taps his pen against the counter and glances over at her. “It’s fine. She brings friends in. They buy records. Sales are sales.” He shrugs before going back to whatever he was working on before we interrupted him.

Stella doesn’t seem to want to leave anytime soon so I let myself roam around the shop. The majority of the small store is made up of boxes full of records, a mix of old and new. A small, separated section has various instruments strewn about, most of them looking refurbished. The air is pungent with the smell of sandalwood incense, some kind of chemical-y polish, and stale wood.

“Okay! Ready to go!” Stella calls from behind me and when I turn to her she’s holding a record that I recognize.

“Since when do you listen to Nine Inch Nails?” My brow arches up, seeing as she’s only ever been a Taylor Swift type of girl.

She giggles, “Jolly suggested them.”

I take two fingers and pinch the bridge of my nose with a deep sigh, “Okay, whatever, let’s go.”

--

Stella and I walk into the house and my ears are immediately unsettled by the sounds that fill the house. They’re giggles, some I recognize to be Noah’s but the other is quite … feminine. 

The edges of Stella’s lip curl into a mischievous grin, “Oooooh Noah snuck a girl innnn.” She snickers in a sing-song tone.

“Go to your room Stella.” I order, mostly because her tone irritated me but also because I don’t want her to see what’s behind the cracked door.

She gives me a glare, “You’re just jealous that he’s getting some and you’re not.”

“Go. To. Your. Room.” I repeat sternly through gritted teeth.

“Fine, whatever. Be the party pooper you always are.” She huffs before turning down the hall and slamming the door behind her when gets to her room.

I blink at the doorknob as her words sear into my chest. I question even interrupting until another giggle pierces my eardrums.

I’m precarious with the way I approach the cracked door and peer in. Noah and the girl from the party, Kassidy, next to each other on the bed with open textbooks and notebooks littered about. They’re laughing at something but all I can focus on is her hand on his thigh. An odd twist forms in my abdomen, somewhere between my ribs and my gut. It makes me feel sick, like I ate some gas station sushi.

My knuckle taps on the door and creaks it open. “Hey.”

“Oh, hey Nick!” Noah seems surprised to see me but not necessarily upset by my presence, which for some reason eases the knot in my chest. “I heard a door slam did-”

It’s not until the blonde waves at me with the hand that’s not glued to Noah’s thigh that I realize the anger staining my fingertips.

“Noah, can I talk to you for a minute?” I ask through a fake smile.

“Sure.” He nods, “Be right back, Kass.”

Once the bedroom door clicks behind him, I feel myself begin to unravel.

“Does my mom know you’re bringing girls home?” I question, my voice coming out much harsher than intended.

“No…?” He answers. “I figured I would just do what we always did with each other? Sneak in.”

“Okay well, I don’t appreciate you bringing girls into my room. Please tell me you guys didn’t do anything in my bed.” The words shoot from me, quick and sharp, like acid bullets.

His face falls and I see the light behind his warm eyes dim.

My

Fuck

I regret the words the second I realize my mistake. Though I suppose on some level, deep down, I knew that the word choice would hurt him, but I said it anyway.

I said it anyway.

I was so upset that I said it anyway.

“No?” He replies sounding a bit offended at the accusation, even though it’s not out of the realm of possibility. “I wouldn’t do that in your bed.”

The impulse to lash back is there, bubbling just under my skin, but I have no reason to be angry. No valid, explainable reason. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Lie.

“Right.” Noah says softly but with a slight edge. “Well, I” He thumbs over his shoulder. “Um, she was just about to leave so.”

“Okay.” I reply quietly, suddenly overwhelmed with an odd mixture of anger and guilt.

-

While Noah escorts the girl out to say goodbye, I begin tidying up the room. Noah is pretty clean thankfully, so the room itself is clean, but I can’t shake the feeling of something oddly foreign within the four walls. The room suddenly feels so dirty and the taste on my tongue is sour like expired milk. My eyes land on the bed sheets and my stomach feels like I had drank expired milk – maybe 3 whole gallons of it. My mind struggles to account for the food I had eaten today but fails. Surely that is the reason for my abrupt nausea.

Before I can even process my actions, my fingers hungrily latch onto the bed sheets, snapping each fitted corner off the mattress. Heavy textbooks and pens hit the floor with a loud crash.

Despite having just washed them, I’m absolutely positive that they’re filthy.

Maybe they smelled too much like stagnant laundry this morning

Maybe they were making me itchy last night

Maybe I developed an allergy to our detergent

Maybe it’s been too warm and I soaked them in sweat

Or maybe I just want to clean the fucking sheets.

“Oh,” Noah’s gentle voice startles me from the doorway. His eyes trail up from the mess on the floor to the balled-up sheets beneath my palms. “Um, did I accidentally get highlighter on them or something?”

“Nope.” I’m quick to answer. “Just wanna wash ‘em.”

His brows furrow still looking at where my hands keep the shape of the large sphere of material. “Oh. Um, well. I just washed them like 2 or 3 days ago?”

“It’s fine, I just want to wash them again.” I respond shortly.

“Okay… well, let me do it then.” He crosses the space between us going for the sheets but I pull away.

“No. I got them, thanks.” I avoid him by swerving around his thin body and head towards the door.

 “Well, what can I do? I could mop again or… reorganize the fridge? Or…” He trails off, not being able to come up with much else.

“No, Noah. It’s Stella’s turn to mop and who the fuck offers to reorganize a fridge?” I snap at him from the doorway, “You don’t need to be cleaning the house 24/7, okay?”

His eyes falter but he nods “Oh, sorry, I um, I just wanna be doing my part. You know… earn my keep and all that? I just… wanna help.”

My face softens and the tight muscles in my shoulders ease. I feel guilt all over again. 

I sigh. “I’m sorry – I just - I just had a bad week with school and with the shop and,” I pause. “I didn’t mean to snap at you, okay?”

He nods and the edges of his mouth upturn ever so slightly into a tight-lipped smile. “Okay.” He pauses, fidgeting with his fingers. “Sorry about Kassidy. I should’ve asked.” He says quietly while his eyes drop to his anxious hands.

The tips of my fingers curl into the sheets a bit, a stream of… frustration maybe?  shoots through my veins. “It’s okay. I just don’t want my mom to get mad.”

A half lie.

“Right.”

When I turn to leave, he stops me, “Oh – I wanted to ask you something?”

My eyes widen while still turned away from him. A chill rolls up my spine at the realization that we’ve barely spoken since yesterday morning, when his hand was around my cock.

“Um sure, what’s up?” I turn back to him cautiously.

“Well, the fair is in town this weekend, I thought we could go? You know, me, you and Folio?”

I smile at him, relieved it wasn’t about something else. “Sure, sounds fun.”

-Friday Night-

When Folio comes to pick us up, I immediately regret agreeing to carpool. The passenger side door flings open with yet another blonde in the front seat. This one a bit more of a natural, darker blonde and not nearly as bobblehead-like. She looks vaguely familiar, maybe she was one of the wannabe sorority girls from the frat party.

I sigh when I glance over to my busted blue car that’s been acting up every morning since the cold weather’s been getting closer.

The girl smiles wide at us and gets out so we can fold her chair to get to the backseat.

We squeeze our way to the back and naturally, Noah’s mile-long limbs take up most of the room.

The thick distinctive stench of paper-wrapped nicotine coats the cracking plastic of his car doors and the pungent aroma of $10-per-gram weed oozes from the stained beige seats.

Even though Nick brought his ‘friend’, I feel decent about the fair tonight. I mean these are the things we should be doing, right? Going out is what college kids do.

The girl hands back a plastic bottle wrapped in brown paper and Noah hungrily takes it.

“Vodka.” She says simply with a dazed smile.

“Cool.” Noah grins, though I know he’s never tasted pure vodka in his life.

He puts the bottle to his lips and tips it back, immediately scrunching his face in disgust at the taste. If it was just us, I know he would’ve spit it out.

He wipes his mouth off with the back of his hand, “Not bad.” He lies straight through his teeth.

Noah tips the bottle offering it to me. I shake my head and wave it off, “No, I’m good thanks.”

“Oh, c’mooonn Nick, don’t be a wuss.” Noah whines.

“Yeah Nick, loosen up! Have some fun!” Folio perks up from the driver's seat and watches me in the rearview mirror.

The last time he told me to “loosen up”, he ended up floundering in a lake so it hardly has an enticing ring to it.

“No really.” I reaffirm. “Not for me.”

Noah tsk’s and rolls his eyes, “You’re no fun.”

The words hit me square in the chest and my ribs mold around the letters like playdoh.

You’re no fun.

They’re simple words. Logically, I know they’re mostly a joke. Yet, they burn like a lit match colliding with white paper.

You’re no fun.

We’ve been friends for a long time. Long enough to sit in boring silence scrolling on our phones comfortably for hours. But now I’m no fun because I won’t drink out of a foreign bottle?

The searing in my lungs forces my hand to reach and snatch the bottle from him abruptly. I don’t think, I just do. I take the bottle to my lips and tilt my head back with scrunched-closed eyes. I chug, better he did and better than the girl, until the scorching of my throat gets too much.

I shove the bottle back at him, now an extra quarter empty. His face and every other face in the car seem shocked, eyes wide with slightly dropped jaws.

“What?” I hiss and let out a vodka-singed burp. “You told me to have fun.”

--

Nick’s wheels roll to a halt in the dirt of the fair’s extended parking. The crowded car disperses faster than I anticipated, leaving me alone in the empty car. I stumble out of my seat and precariously steady myself in the dirt to scan the parking lot for the group. The four of them are already ahead of me, nearly halfway to the entrance. Their laughter carries in the wind all the way back over to me. 

Once I catch up, I trail behind them quietly. My hands stuffed in my pockets and my Vans kicking up dry dirt, just trying to focus on walking in a straight line. 

As we approach the ticketing office, my heart plummets to my stomach when I see two familiar girls standing at the gate waiting for us. 

I should’ve known.

“Nicholas, you remember Brooke, right?” Noah grins and gestures to the carbon copy of every other sorority girl on campus.

“Yeah. Hey.”

That’s when I notice the delay in my words and the lag between my fingertips as I wave to her. And as we buy our tickets and make our way into the fair, I catch the warmth all over my skin and the growing numbness in my lips.

I think I’m drunk. Really drunk. 

 --

We make a solid lap around the entire park – picking up random snacks here and there, some fried oreos, a shared funnel cake, slushees, and more I can’t even remember. All the fried food mixed with the couple spin-y rides and the alcohol sloshing in my stomach, I was more than ready for an actual meal. I convinced everyone on hotdogs since it’s the cheapest food here and I’d already spent a good chunk of my tip money on ride tickets and overpriced junk food.

When we reach the window of the hotdog stand we’re met with a familiar face.

“Bryan!” Exclaims Folio, excited to see his fraternity mentor.

As always, Bryan looks about as thrilled as a mother of toddler triplets after a candy bender.

“Trout.” He replies unenthusiastically with his monotone cadence matching the deep sleep-deprived purple beneath his eyes.

Normally I would’ve giggled at Folio’s ridiculous nickname but my body was too focused on sustenance.  

“Two hotdogs and fries please.” I skip past the rest of the indecisive group.

“We’re out of fries.” He replies flatly.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

He just shrugs, unbothered.

“Fine. Just the hotdogs then.” I huff.

“Coming right up.” He feigns enthusiasm.

The rest of the group place their orders and I can’t help but find amusement in how comical Bryan looks. He’s uniformed in a hotdog themed apron and a silly hotdog visor.

We finally make our way to a painted blue picnic table that sits off to the side away from the busy crowd. I’m grateful for the small respite from the overwhelming, overstimulating chatter.

I fucking hate hotdogs. Usually.

But the minute that meat and bread combo meets my tastebuds, it is as though heaven itself found home in my mouth.

The rest of table fades out as I devour my food and it is only when I’ve finished my 2nd dog that start regaining consciousness. I glance over at the boys who are in the midst of telling some story that’s got all the girls laughing.

My eyes land on Kassidy. She’s giggling at every single thing Noah says and he’s looking at her like she hung the moon. 

No matter how tacky or annoying she is, she’s still objectively beautiful – beautiful in a way I could never be.

The way she tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, makes me want long blonde hair too. When she bats her fake lashes at him, it makes me wish mine were longer. Her nails adorned with white tips suddenly make my nailbeds feel bare. The foundation caked on her face reminds me of the breakout I have on my cheek and the stubble growing beneath my nostrils. All at once I’m disappointed with every bit of myself that isn’t like her.

A fleeting moment of curiosity passes pondering if this is what it feels like to question your gender. It had never crossed my mind to be anything other than male, nothing else I ever desired. I’ve never felt like I was in the wrong body or anything of the sort – so, I don’t quite think that’s what I’m feeling now.

Maybe I just envy her existence or how confident she is. Maybe I find her attractive? It’d be kinda shitty if I found her attractive, seeing as she’s Noah’s date and I’m here with Brooke. I don’t think it’s that either, since I can barely tolerate either of them.

Perhaps I’m just drunk and confused.

I must just be drunk and confused.

Once the food settles in my tummy, I feel significantly better, a little nauseous still but better nonetheless. My buzz has fizzled, but the tips of my fingers still tingle and words are still hard.

I quietly use a leftover bun to move around a glob of ketchup as entertainment. Noah’s always been the social one, he’s always been the connections, the glue. So, it’s no surprise that he’s captured the attention of the whole table, filling the air with collective drunken giggles. Normally though, he helps nudge me gently into conversations. He helps me not stay silent like I am now. It’s fine though, I don’t have much to contribute since they have all these inside jokes from their study group.

I snap out of my daze when I hear Folio crunch a coke can in his hand as he gets up from the table. There’s an emptiness beside me I hadn’t felt til now – Brooke is gone.

My gaze follows the group as they get up from the table to bring their trash to the overflowing garbage can.

“Where did Brooke go?” I ask to the general conglomerate, most of which pay no mind to me.

“She left to go meet up with some other friends.” Noah replies, his tone suggests that he’s downplaying the situation. I’m sure she wasn’t having fun with a half-drunk silent boy.

‘You’re no fun’ rings in my head from earlier in the car.

2 things I’ve learned from tonight are:

1 – eat hotdogs when drunk.

2 – pretending to be ��fun” is really fucking exhausting.

“Oh.” I say quietly, matching their actions by tossing my flimsy paper plate and Dr. Pepper can into the trash.

“We’re heading towards the bigger rides, if you want to come.” He turns and follows the rest of the group through some carnival game tents.

‘If you want to’ I mimic him in my head.

No I don’t fucking want to but I was driven here and I’m stranded.

“Yeah.” I mumble and quickly jog to meet them ahead of me.

--

The others made their way to the short ferris wheel line after I insisted it was okay to leave me behind. I sure as fuck didn’t want to sit in a pod alone or 3rd wheel on one of their’s.

I watch Noah and Kassidy’s pod reach and stop at the peak of the small ferris wheel, I don’t know why I’m watching but my body is rooted where I stand. Upon it’s a slow descent down, I see it.

His hand cupping her face. Their lips locked.

It’s not a decision I make until their pod locks at the gate and they’re being let out. My foot swivels in the dirt, kicking up dying grass as I try to dip around various family-owned booths for cover. As feared, I hear him calling from behind. I knew I had messed up by making a run for it so late.

“Nicholas!”

His calling only makes my legs move faster – I’m not sure exactly why I’m running or what good it’ll do, just that I need to get as far away from him as possible.

He catches up to me faster than I was prepared for. Fall leaves crunch beneath his worn-out Converse. “Where are you going?” He asks and before I even turn around to see him, I know the look on his face. The same look that I can’t seem to ever say no to – the one that breaks my back just to make me bend to him.

I sigh and turn to him. “Noah, I’m going home.”

“What! Why?”

And there it was. Big, round, puppy dog eyes full of decadent chocolate so sweet it could rot the teeth right out of your skull - paired with pouted lips that demand pity and restitution.

“I’m not having fun. I don’t want to be here.”

“What? You told me you wanted to go to the fair?” He questions with curved eyebrows.

“No. I didn’t. You invited me. You told me that I wanted to go. You tricked me into being on a triple date I didn’t want to be on.” My arm gesturing towards the fair.

“Well, c’mon we can still make it fun! We can just get some more ride tickets and-” He grabs the sleeve of my flannel and tugs at it towards the fair.

I yank my arm back so hard it nearly pulls him back with it, “No you’re not listening to me Noah. I don’t want to be here. Why do you continue to bring me places that you KNOW I won’t like?”

“We’ve been to the fair a million times, Nick.” He crosses his arms over his chest.

“Yeah! With just us! Not with three random fucking girls!” The churning in my chest begins to spit drunken thoughts out without filters.

His brows knit together in confusion. “They’re not random girls Nicholas, and I really thought you’d hit it off with Brooke-”

“Oh my god, why the fuck would you think I’d get along with her? Just because she’s got tits and ass? Sorry, I’m not you, I need a little more than that.” I scoff.

“Well, I-I don’t know just thought you’d want-”

“Augh!” I groan and pace a tiny lap around the grass. “Can you stop assuming you know what I do or don’t want?”

“So, let me get this straight. You don’t want to go to parties, or the fair, or hang out with girls… normal college stuff, you don’t want?”

My heart pounds hard against my eardrums and my fingers burn with frustration. My fists tighten at my sides and my jaw clenches, digging each row of teeth into the other. Molten lava threatens to spill from my throat.

“No, Noah. I guess I don’t want ‘normal college stuff’, I don’t fucking like alcohol and I don’t even know if I like girls!”

My yelled words tumbled from my mouth so easily I didn’t even realize I said anything that odd until Noah’s eyes widen.

I don’t even know if I like girls.

“What?” Noah asks softly and genuinely with his head tilted slightly.

“I-I,” I stumble back, accidentally hitting an oak tree behind me. “I’m- I just need to go home.”

“Nick.” His hands stretch out to grab my arm as I turn to leave but he’s a millisecond too late. “Nick!” He calls after me.

Every bit of adrenaline available in my body propels me forward, past all the booths, all the rides, and through all the neighboring forest. When my feet finally find asphalt, my head feels like a basketball on a player’s fingertip. My eyes widen at a sharp turn in my stomach. I analyze my surroundings in a split second, running towards a lamp post for support. The moment my palm touches the cold metal, I double over and empty the contents of my stomach onto the concrete. The funnel cake, the cotton candy, the fried Oreos, the slushees, and the goddamn fucking hotdogs all found home the sidewalk.

I don’t even know if I like girls.

I don’t even know if I like girls.

Why would I say that?

Is that true?

Do I not like girls?

Of course, I like girls.

I wobble over to a bench and sit on the cool wood. The weather’s a lot colder now that the sun has set, and I regret not bringing a proper jacket.

I like girls. I know I like girls. Right?

I mean, I’ve been jerking off to girls… this whole time? So, if I didn’t like girls, why would I do that?

I like girls.

Only.

I like girls.

Right?

I shake my head of the thoughts spinning faster than I can even grasp.

The dim light of the street lamp flickers and it occurs to me that it’s almost 10 pm and I have no idea where I am or how to get home.

Fuck.

Pulling my location up in my Maps app tells me that I’m still fairly close to the fair, which unfortunately means I’m pretty far from home. Tears begin prickling in my eyes and a tight knot forms in my throat.

The weight of the night crashes down onto me all at once.

The “you’re no fun”

The fucking hot dogs

The “she went to meet other friends”

The “if you want to”

The ferris wheel

The “I don’t even know if I like girls”

“Fuck.” My voice cracks as tears take hostage of my cheeks.

My body doubles over, folding in on itself to bury my face in my hands.

I’m drunk, I had a shit night, I left my best friends at the fair and now I’m stranded on some random street.

Even through my own heaving, a brief pang of guilt shoots in my stomach for leaving Noah behind.

He wanted to have a good night, perhaps I ruined it. 

In the past, I would’ve stayed feeling guilty because I knew for a fact that if the roles were reversed, he’d come back to find me. But now, I’m not so sure. I don’t think he’d leave Kassidy for anyone or anything.

Not even me.

My palms try to stave off the tears by digging into my eye sockets.

“Fuck, okay. I need to get it together.” I say out loud to myself, letting out a deep exhale. “What the fuck am I gonna do.”

Both of my only friends are still at the fair.

Mom is at work.

So that leaves me with…

Stella.

“Shit.”

I unwillingly pull myself from the bench and begin to pace back and forth taking fast but deep breaths. I ring out my hands out, trying to expel any sort of panic from them. The last thing I need is for her to see me like this.

Finally, once I’ve composed myself, I dig my phone out of my pocket and click her contact name “Snot”.

It rings for a little bit too long and I almost hang up just before she answers.

“Hello?” She asks a little louder than necessary, shortly after I hear a flood of giggles in the background. Her sleepover.

“Hey.” I barely get out without my voice cracking.

“Hey, what’s up?” She asks with concern lacing her voice. There’s the sound of a door closing behind her, shutting out the chatter.

“Oh um-“ My tone pitched up and I feel tears welling up in my eyes again. If the rest of tonight’s events weren’t enough, here I am making a fool out of myself to my little sister. “I forgot about your sleepover. It's fine – I’ll just walk home or something.”

“Walk home? Where are you?”

I swallow the knot in my throat trying to keep my voice level, normal and calm but my pause is long and loud.

“I-I,” My eyes squeeze shut pushing as much of my tears out. “I don’t know.”

“Did you drink?”

The back of my hand roughly wipes my nose. “Yes.”

“Are you with Noah?” Her voice is gentle and kind and reminds me of how our mother would talk to us when we scraped our knees.

I sniffle and my voice threatens to break once more. “No.”

“Okay.” She states as if she just got handed a checklist of effortless tasks. “The girls were just about to go home.” I know that’s a lie. “Drop me a pin and I’ll come get you.”

“Thanks Stell.” I reply quietly.

“Of course.”

--

It took about 20 minutes for Stella to pick me up in my own car.

My arms wrap around my shivering body and my head rests on the window as I watch the streetlights zoom past us. Her speed is inconsistent, fast in short bursts then slow in long drags. Her stops are jerky and her turns wide. If this was an early Tuesday school morning, she wouldn’t be able to stop my mouth from rambling off critiques. But tonight, opening my mouth seems more dangerous than her driving.

“So. Do you wanna talk about what happened?” She cuts through the silence unapologetically, like opening a crisp can of Coke in a dead, silent room.

I shake my head.

“C’mon. You can’t really expect me to pick you up in the middle of nowhere at midnight without any context?” She patters her fingertips on the steering wheel and glances over at me. “Did something happen with Noah? Did you get into a fight?”

“Something like that.” I mutter.

She squints her eyes and kind of tilts her head to the side. “You guys never fight?”

“Well.” I reply bluntly. “Things change, I guess.” The fabric of the seat cover stretches as I shift. “I don’t wanna talk about it anymore.”

The gears spin in her head, I can almost see them. “Weird.” She mumbles under her breath. “Was it about a girl?”

“I said I’m done answering questions.”

“Sheesh, okay.” She says defensively.

Silence fills every empty space in the car. I’m not sure I’ve ever been uncomfortable around my sister before, but I certainly am now. It’s a new feeling, something I want to run and hide from. My knee bounces nervously as my mind cycles through everything that happened tonight. Regardless of anxiety and confusion twisting my organs into pretzels, I fear that if I don’t say what’s chanting in my head right now, I could explode.

“I told Noah that I don’t even know if I like girls.” I blurt out with extreme urgency, as if I didn’t get it out now, I never would.

Her eyes widen a bit but they stay focused on the road. My heart thumps hard against my chest threatening to jump right out.

“Okay.” She says calmly but cautiously. “And why did you say that?”

“I-I don’t know.” I let the weight of my body finally relax and sink into the seat. “You’ve known me my whole life. Do you think that I… might not only like girls?”

She turns to me at a red light and the face she gives me reminds me of when she was 4 and I was 7, when I speculated that Santa might not be real. Without a second thought she replied, “Of course he’s not real, silly.”

Even at 4 years old she was smarter than me.

“I think that might be a question you have to figure out yourself, Nick. I can’t tell you what you do or don’t like.”

I huff, suddenly frustrated that I couldn’t hand off such a complex task onto someone else – that I couldn’t have someone else give me a quick, solid, factual answer.

“I guess you’re right.” I mumble. 

She returns her focus to the road and lets out a little sigh. “Do you remember when we were little? And we liked Power Rangers?”

“…Yeah?” I reply confused as to what exactly Power Rangers has to do with my sexuality.

“Well, I remember the first time we watched it - and you thought it was so stupid.”

“No I didn’t? I loved Power Rangers?” 

“No.” She corrects me. “At first, when it was just us, you thought it was dumb. But then all your friends started liking it and suddenly you did too. You even wanted to be the red one for the group costume that Halloween, remember?”

“Okay… and? What are you getting at?”

“I can’t tell you what you are or aren’t, Nick. But you’re right - I have known you my whole life. And I know that sometimes you change things about yourself to, I don’t know… not make waves? Not stand out? To fit in? I don’t know your reasoning and I don’t know if that’s what you did with this. But… just something to think about I guess?”

My fingers tap at my knee in thought. I don’t really remember that specific component, only that I had Power Ranger shirts and bedsheets. I remember playing with the figures on the playground with friends and running around the neighborhood with them on Halloween as the Red Ranger. If I was having fun, does it really matter if I didn’t actually like Power Rangers? 

“Yeah… I guess it’s something to think about.” I let out a deep sigh. “How’d you get so smart anyway?”

She shoots me a smile, “I learned from the best.”

“Nope, definitely not me. That was all Mom.”

“Who did you think I meant?” She smirks.

“Ha-ha so funny.” I roll my eyes with a toothy grin, finally feeling the tiniest sliver of ease enter my body.

The relaxation slipped from me as quickly as it arrived. “Please don’t um, tell her…or anyone that we talked about this – especially Noah.”

“You got it. I would never.”

I somehow feel relieved yet terrified of what I’ve just divulged to her.

“Do you wanna get donuts from that 24-hour place? And maybe some water for your inevitable hangover?”

“God yes please.” My thumbs rub circles into my throbbing temples. “And a burger please, jesus I need a burger. And fries, I need fries more than air right now.”

“Fiiine, McDonalds too, I guess.”

“Thanks, Stell.” I say soft and genuine.

“Of course, Nick.”

I smile kindly at her. Tomorrow I’ll probably regret everything I said and did tonight but right now, I’m getting junk food with my sister at midnight and the world is quiet. Everything feels okay, even if it only lasts until the end of my Mcdonald’s.

I wave Stella goodnight as she walks into her room. With a twist of my doorknob, I open my door and my feet halt in their tracks. My swollen eyes widen at the last thing I expected to be in my room.

“What are you doing here?” I question before I can even really gauge my own reaction.

Noah sits on the edge of the bed still in the same outfit from the fair.

“I went looking for you.” His brown eyes find mine and it makes my chest ache the same way it did earlier on the bench.

“You did?” My square shoulders soften briefly before straightening back up again. “And why would you do that?” I snap at him.

The space between his brows burrows slightly, seemingly confused by my harsh response. “Well, I-I,” He presses his lips together while his fingers pick at his nails. “I was worried about you.”

My eyes dart down to the carpet and try to ignore the way my heart swells at his words. I swallow hard and curl my fists at my sides. “Well, you’ve got nothing to worry about. I’m fine.”

“Oh okay…” He trails off and lets his gaze drop to his fiddling hands and bouncy leg. “I just wanted to make sure, I guess.”

“Okay well, you’ve made sure. Now I really just wanna go to bed, if that’s okay with you.” I cross all of the two feet from the doorway to my dresser and forcefully yank the top drawer open.

He carefully lifts from the bed and meets me where I dig for clothes. “Nicholas.” His voice is gentle and full of concern, but no matter how much it should comfort me it just fans the flames of my resentment.

“What now, Noah.” I sigh harshly and turn to him.

“What did you mean at the fair?”

After the food adventures I had with Stella, it had almost erased what I had said from my memory. Too bad it couldn’t have done that to him too. I was really banking on him being too drunk to even remember. But I should know better than that – Noah and his very selective memory.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I feign confidence and turn back away from him to focus on finding PJs. My chest and limbs fill with a feeling similar to sitting in the waiting room of a principal’s office. Suddenly, I’m small and the room triples in size while the oxygen rapidly depletes.

“You know what I’m talking about Nick.” His fingers gently grab my arm to turn my attention to him again. “Do you… not like girls? Do you think you’re-”

“Gah! No!” I all but spit out. The thought of what he was about to say makes me want to vomit all over again. “No, I’m not…that.”

“O-oh, okay…but if you were, you know you could tell me, right? You know you can tell me anything, like we’ve always done.” His voice is quiet and tender, even through the vodka I can still smell on his breath.

“Oh my god Noah.” I grasp at the air in frustration. “No. I just said it to, to throw you off. So you’d let me go, so you’d leave me the fuck alone.”

“Oh.” His hand slips from my arm and he takes a step away from me.

If this was any other night, after any other event, I would apologize, minimize it, and say that I’m just having a bad night. But it’s not any other night and I don’t have enough energy in my entire body to make more excuses.

My fingers dig into the bundle of PJs I hold, and my stare stays straight on his chest. “I just, want to take a shower and go to bed. Okay?”

“Right.” He sucks his teeth and nods. “Okay, enjoy your shower then.”

“I will, thanks.” I reply blandly, shoving the overflowing drawer closed.

-

The world seems much lighter now that the thick layer of carnival muck, the remnants of alcohol and vomit were washed down the drain. I scrunch my hair with a terry cloth towel while I walk to my room from the shower.

I’m confused to find my door cracked open with the big light still shining through the door. I spent almost an hour trying to get all the grime off and let the water ease the pulsing in my head. Surely, Noah wouldn’t still be up, it’s almost 3 am.

I quietly creak the door open to find the bed empty.

“Huh?” I whisper to myself and make my way over to the disheveled bed. Noah’s nowhere to be found, but instead there’s a plushy on his pillow. I hook my finger through the plastic carabiner attached to it and lift it to my eyeline. It’s a stuffed tuxedo cat with sunglasses that look similar to the knockoff RayBans I usually wear.

I look back at the pillow and notice there was a note beneath it. I pick it up and unfold it with the cat dangling on my pinky. 

‘Saw this at the fair and thought of you. 

Went to stay over at Kassidy’s so, you can have your room back for the night.

-N’

The breath that escapes from deep in my torso seems to deflate me completely. I knew the slip of up of my words the other day hurt him, more than I thought. A vine of thorns wraps around my throat, each guilt-drenched spike digs into my windpipe. He left because of me.

I take a precarious seat on the edge of the bed, holding each item in each hand. My palm aches to crush the note in my fingers but my eyes burn with salty tears too. All while the cat swells my chest in the saddest way possible. How could someone feel so many things at once? 

I have no screams, no yells, no sobs left in me and my body begs for rest. I can’t let myself wallow in whatever this is, how could I make sense of it now? When my brain is so hazy and my eyes are so sleepy. 

I use the back of my hand to wipe away the tiny bit of tears left in my eyes and set the note and the stuffed kitty on my bedside table. The bed creaks when I bury my knee into the mattress and let myself fall to the middle. 

The bed feels colder and emptier without him in it, but right now I’m not sure this is where I want him to be. 

I reach up to tug the lamp light off and pull the duvet around my shivering body. 

After about 20 mins of stirring with no hope of falling asleep, I give in and just stare into the stillness of the room. My eyes finally adjust to the darkness and start making a sort of mental inventory list counting all of the items scattered around my room that aren’t mine. I try to remember what the room looked like before he moved in, but I can’t.

While there are growing pains, I can’t imagine my room without him in it anymore. He’s tangled himself into the very essence of the space. 

Drawing my gaze across the room, I land on the kitty he’d gotten for me at the fair. I reach across the space and bring it to the bed, placing it in his spot. 

It fills a tiny void in the vast emptiness of the bed and for about 15 minutes I cling to the minor comfort it brings, believing it might help me fall asleep. 

I let out a frustrated sigh. The heaviness of the night drops onto my shoulder blades and finds refuge beneath my eyes. Once again a venomous coil tightens itself around my ribs.

It is mostly confusion that I feel, the only factor I can distinctly pick out. 

The only other one I can somewhat recognize is, loneliness. 

I glance back over to the cat and it dawns on me the possible reason I can't fall asleep. My fingertips tap rhythmically against the mattress cycling through my options until I find one. 

I wrap my thick duvet around my body and grab my pillow before shuffling down the hall. I gently tap my knuckle against her door then crack it open just a bit.

“Stella.” I whisper-yell into her room. “Stella.”

She shifts in her bed and cracks one eye open at me. “Hm?” She groans sleepily.

I let myself in and scuffle across the carpet to her bedside. “Can I sleep on your floor?” I request in a hush. 

“What? Why?” Her brows knit together with her eyes barely open. “What’s wrong with your bed?”

I chew on my bottom lip searching my brain for an answer that makes any sense but there’s only one. 

“It’s empty.” 

Next Chapter -> 06 - Like Us*

tag list; @ladyveronikawrites @sinkingteethinwhitenoise @concretenoah @kingdomof-omens @the-hell-i-overcame @blackveilomens @xxrainstorm [comment if you'd like to be tagged?]

Thank you for the support on this series and on my other series, Virality. I appreciate it more than you know. I love reading your comments and asks. I am incredibly grateful for them, thank you.

[canarydarity]

(haha happy new year! Heres 6K words of DL ranchers fighting 🤩 [ao3]) dull&slow

There was no feeling like a respawn; it was like jumping off of a building with nothing below to catch you, only to discover you had in fact been fastened into a harness when the bungee cord snapped taut. Except, it also wasn’t like that at all, because the mechanics of respawning—regardless of permanence—did nothing to curb the feeling of death, the actual sensation of dying. All it really did was remove the relief that one might experience had death been final, for what is death but a merciful release from pain? 

Jimmy imagined that there were few things that could even begin to feel like what a respawn did—the simultaneous cracking of all your joints at once in a manner akin to a human glow stick; ice cream that had been left out on the counter to melt but was then shoved back into the freezer again after only making it to that indescribably viscous stage between solid and liquid; a jam in a paper shredder—the kind where half of the page is relieved and sticking out of the top, completely intact and fine, while the rest is in ribbons below, still warm to the touch at the recent dismemberment. 

And that was only the physical aspect—the violent draw of your subconscious from the brink of death to perfect health mid-panic was something else entirely. It never got any easier, no matter how many times he did it (and Jimmy did it a lot). 

This was their second respawn, but it was different in the way that it happened unlike it did the first time: together. It was new but not unexpected to shoot up in bed at the ranch, cows mooing to his left and moonlight peaking through the window to his right. Jimmy heaved some breaths in and out; logically, he knew he was fine, but his body remembered the vertigo of falling. 

Tango was next to him, still lying back in their small bed staring at the ceiling. 

For a few beats, they were quiet, they caught their breath. The buzz of the cicadas outside was heavy in a way, droning alongside the cacophony of cows and the muted clucks of chickens from below ground. 

When his eyes began to itch and dry out from staring at nothing and his heaving sounded more like huffing, Jimmy broke the silence first. 

“I was leanin’ over the edge…why was I leaning over the edge?” His words were incredulous and barely there, only formed enough to actually get them out of his mouth but not any further. Had Tango not been right next to him, he probably wouldn’t have heard. 

Tango sat up, “Jim, hey–hey!” One of Tango’s hands reached behind Jimmy and settled on his shoulder, the other moved across himself to settle on Jimmy’s arm. “It’s okay! It’s only our second life, it was bound to happen sooner or la—”

Jimmy blinked out of his daze to realize Tango was soothing him; It was not shocking in the way it hadn’t happened before—it had actually, in fact, happened quite often—but in the way it was happening now. the combination of noises pushing in all around the ranch, having just lived through dying, again, and Tango’s warmth that he would’ve appreciated any other time, made it all immediately too much. Tango was soothing him—Tango misunderstood. 

It was instinct to throw Tango’s arm off of him, to scatter, to stand and create distance, and had Jimmy been in the right state of mind he would’ve explained that and apologized, but Tango’s shocked offense was the last thing he was focusing on. 

“No, you—why was I leaning over the edge?” 

It was the only thought that had run through his head since he’d woken up and stopped feeling like an egg mid-scramble. Not worry about being on red life, not concern about having been the one to return the favor of killing Tango this time, not upset that things were shaping up like they always did. 

Tango wasn’t necessarily wrong to assume that that’s where Jimmy’s thoughts had gone, as that’s usually where they would have. But this was not Jimmy when he was anxious, when he was guilty; This was Jimmy when he was mad.

He was pacing, but he wasn’t aware when it had started. He was just—he couldn’t stop thinking about fish. Or—no, not fish, parasites; there was this parasite he’d heard about that matures in the eye of a fish but reproduces in the belly of a bird. Jimmy had heard this and thought what a stupid, impossible thing—and he’d thought he had shit luck.  

That was until he’d heard the rest. Under control of the parasite, infected fish swim closer and closer to the surface of the water, leading it to be spotted and picked up by a bird; the parasite ends up where it needed to be all along, and that damned stupid fish is what gets it there. It doesn’t know what it’s doing, it’s not choosing to swim near the surface—by that point, the parasite is choosing for it—but it’s still— 

It just—

The fish gets itself eaten, essentially. The scariest part, Jimmy thought, was that he wasn’t sure the fish even knew. Was it aware it had been infected? Or was it swimming up and up and up and thinking what the fuck am I doing? Was it resting precariously below the surface, watching in fear as the birds circle, knowing all it had to do to avoid being eaten was swim the fuck back down, but for some reason, it just couldn’t?

Jimmy just—why was he leaning over the edge? His hands were wrapped around his stomach, griping his sides, hard. His teeth were grinding together, or he was biting his lip, or he was mumbling nonsense that even he didn’t know what meant. 

The floorboards of the ranch creaked and groaned with his pacing, and Tango remained watching from the bed, his face still painted in confusion. 

A noise—something caught between a whine and a grumble—worked its way out of Jimmy's throat, and more words came with it.  

“I saw them with their bows and arrows out—Joel, Etho, Scott—and I—” He shook his head. “We’d have been fine if I just didn’t peak my head over!” 

Jimmy turned back to Tango and pointed at him; Tango blinked, but the accusation delivered wasn’t for him. “And they weren’t even shooting at Grian, at—why weren’t they shooting at anyone else?”

Tango shook his head a little, opened his mouth to reply, but Jimmy wasn’t done. “I don’t understand—I don’t—” he grabbed at his hair and pulled; he bit into his lip again, not stopping when it started to hurt even though he knew Tango must’ve felt the ghost of it too. Jimmy rocked in place, “I even thought it. I thought ‘what are you leaning over the edge for, idiot!’ And then!” 

Jimmy spun, but no form of movement could match the direction of his thoughts, the restlessness of his mind. He felt like he was malfunctioning, every action begun and then subsequently aborted in favor of another; as if he could stop it all if he could just get himself to feel physically how he felt mentally, equilibrium a sort of saving grace. 

Jimmy hit himself in the head once like he could knock things back into place, fix whatever was loose in there–get the paper to start shredding again; in pieces, maybe, things would be okay. There was a call behind him of stop that, hey, none of that! and the bed creaked as Tango finally made the move to stand. 

“I don’t understand,” Jimmy mumbled again. They were inside, but his hair still felt the wind ruffle through it as though he were at high altitude; his hands touched nothing, but he could grip the hardwood of the defense tower all the same, rough and splintering. Joel and Etho had stood so far below, looking up, each with a hand up to their eyes to shield them from the sun. Jimmy remembered every detail about that moment—Grian had been leaning over right next to him. “Stupid parasite and it—why weren’t they shooting at anyone else? All I had to do was not lean over…”

Jimmy startled when Tango spoke again, he’d forgotten for a moment he wasn’t alone. 

“I don’t follow—parasite? What pa—”

Right, he wasn’t alone. 

“Gosh, and I’ve killed you, too, we’re–we’re red!” Jimmy said, facing Tango again. “And we’re back to nothing, we’ve lost everything—the horns, they’d have taken them by now, surely.” The anger from before seeped back into his voice, and Tango kept his space; a part of Jimmy felt bad at that, but he mostly felt validated. The guilt would come later, his chest didn’t house the room to feel so many things at once. 

Though space didn’t mean Tango was willing to stay out of things completely. 

“Jimmy, just hold on, I can’t keep up.” Tango was clearly still thrown by the direction things had gone in—he’d been expecting to reassure, not pacify—but Jimmy didn’t have it in him to stop and explain. His hands out like he was corralling a feral animal, he said, “What are you even…? Slow down, alright.” 

And maybe that was the last straw—his soulmate, known for his rage, asking him to calm, to slow down; the stark contrast between the Tango standing in front of him—hands splayed, face confused but determined—and the Tango who’d needed to be restrained as the ranch smoldered behind them; the fact that it was Jimmy who was being looked at like a time bomb with not even 5 seconds left to spare. 

This time, the accusation was meant for Tango, and Jimmy watched him stumble a little in shock when he received it. He threw his hand out like he’d needed that extra strength to pull the question from him, like his throat wasn’t up for the challenge alone, like he had to prove this was something he wanted to start and start now.  

“Why aren’t you mad?”

Tango’s face wound up with disbelief. “What?” 

Jimmy’s voice wasn’t made to be raised, but he gave it his best effort. It hurt, in a way—his throat not used to the coarse delivery; it hurt more for the fact that he’d made Tango the object of its direction. 

“You’re sitting here, and you’re calm,” he spat. “And—and you’re telling ME to be calm! Me!” Jimmy huffed again at the ridiculousness of the entire situation. “Why aren’t you mad?”

This time as Jimmy spoke, Tango wound down; he visibly CTRL+ALT+DLT-ed, a total system shutdown reboot. His hands dropped back to his sides and he stood up straighter. His face reset until he was just blankly watching Jimmy sputter and steam. He was still in a way Tango rarely was.

Jimmy thought it was the most un-Tango-like thing he’d ever seen, and that just made things worse. 

“Because it was going to happen either way, I could’ve just as eas—” its delivery was flat, like Tango knew he was stepping off of a bear trap but onto a landmine; though he did it anyway, and in most circumstances, his dedication to the idea of if at first you don’t succeed! was something Jimmy found endearing. If it wasn’t clear enough already, this was not most circumstances. 

Jimmy made a noise of dissent. This wasn’t—

“No, not—that’s not what I meant.”

A few beats of silence. They argued with the awkward hesitation of two people who’d never fought before and therefore didn’t know the procedure; neither of them had had time to memorize their lines. Fight was something they didn’t do—partially because they hadn’t been together long enough to garner the need, and partially because they got along with a simplicity they hadn’t expected. There was a question in this lapse between one comment and the next, an are we really going to do this?  

Tango blinked at Jimmy. “You don’t mean why am I not mad at you?” 

It would’ve been an easy out if he had. A way to walk them back to familiar ground—the kind where Jimmy was apologetic and guilty and anxious and Tango was steady and reassuring and kind. 

He couldn’t lie and say that wasn’t part of it; he was a liability, and he would never be over Tango being his collateral damage. 

He looked away from Tango, “Well—”

“Jimmy…” Pity was such an ugly, regretful thing. 

“No! No—yes, that’s not what I mean.” And it really wasn’t—at least, not at first, not completely. That was the undertone that would drive all his decisions and thoughts and feelings, it’s true, but this was different. This was—they’d died, Jimmy killed them, and Tango wasn’t upset about it; moreover, Tango was docile, passive. He was—

“Then I don’t understand what you’re asking me.”

—resigned. 

Jimmy didn’t yet look back, because he knew it would be his turn to talk when he did. All that he had to explain lacked the rationale to be said aloud; simply put, he was mad because Tango wasn’t. 

“You’re gonna have to give me something to go off of here, Jim.”

Eyes still fixed resolutely on the wall, Jimmy repeated the only sentiment he really could express at the time. “You’re not mad…” He let the end trail off, embarrassed it was all he had to offer, knowing it was unfair to Tango, knowing a normal person would’ve been able to voice more; just another way Jimmy fell behind. 

“At?”

“At anything!” He was discovering that when he did yell, his voice got high, and he tended to cut off the ends of his words. They shortened, got sucked up into the emotion until they weren’t letters anymore but sounds. “You’re—I had to restrain you, practically, after Scar burned down the ranch! And I wasn’t there, but I heard about last life and I—”

He felt like his sentences were being recorded in takes; start and stop, start—stop, mark! He would sound so much better edited together. He needed a script, surely he’d be able to say the right words had someone else given them to him. He’d do it right then, he knew. Of course arguing, too, was something he wasn’t good at.

Jimmy gestured at Tango, “You’re not mad, at anything, you’re just standin’ here! We’re going to die and it’s like you don’t even…like you’re not upset.” The final clause came out dejected and unsure; it sounded like it belonged to a completely different conversation. If he were reading lines, he’d likely receive notes about consistency and remaining in character. It was hard to do that when he wasn’t sure who he was or was ever supposed to be.

Tango looked no less confused. “That’s how the game works, Jimmy—we’re all going to die at some point.”

“I know that, Tango, I know.” Jimmy bit his lip. “How are you just okay with it?”

Tango’s eyebrows raised in shock, the kind that spoke to his questioning the audacity of something. “Well, I’m not happy about it, bu—”

“You are, though.” 

Eyes narrow, frustration finally starting to seep in, Tango said: “No, I’m not.”

“You are!” This felt more tantrum than argument; more whining about not getting his way than making a point about having been wronged; he wasn’t really sure he had been wronged. At least, not by Tango. But he didn’t know how to rewind, he didn’t think there was a going back. 

“Damnit, Jimmy, I’m not. You think I want to lose this?” 

No, Jimmy didn’t—and that’s why he was so confused. 

“Then why aren’t you angry that’s what I don’t…” This line of questioning wasn’t going to work—he’d already discovered that again and again. He needed to figure out a different direction to head in. “Even now I’m yellin’ at you and you’re just there.”

“So now you’re mad because I’m not yelling at you?” Annoyance, frustration, irritation—they were close, but none of them were what Jimmy wanted. Or—not what he wanted but what he needed. People were mad at him far too often for him to crave it in this uncommon time when no one was, but he needed to know Tango was with him on this.

“No, Tango!” Jimmy whined.

“Well you’re not explaining anything, what am I supposed to think? That’s what it sounds like you’re saying to me!” His voice finally at an above-normal volume, Jimmy shrunk; reality wasn’t ever quite like expectation, was it? The simultaneous relief mixed with the guilt, and everything got worse; he thought maybe that’d been his goal all along, he could see it now that it had occurred. And yet, it wasn’t right; sure, Tango was mad—but he still didn’t get it. Tango kept rambling.

“You’re mad that I’m not mad, and you say it’s not about you, but then you’re also mad I’m not yelling at you—which I have yet to figure out, by the way, and—” 

Following Tango’s wild hand gestures, Jimmy’s eyes landed on their wall of chests, and he knew what he needed to do. He scooted past Tango, who turned to keep facing him, and started rooting around until he found what he was looking for. 

“Oh, and you’re ignoring me too, now, which is neat,” Tango said to his back.

He’d wrapped it in a bundle of spare wool hoping that bed made they wouldn’t need much else and Tango wouldn’t find it on accident, but he pulled it out now and turned back to face Tango gripping it in his hand.

His soulmate shut up immediately, his gaze first on Jimmy’s hand, and then up at his eyes. 

“Where did you get that.” The anger was finally there, but Jimmy didn’t immediately respond. “Why do you have that?”

The golden apple was cold in his hand, colder than he thought it should have been. It glowed slightly in the darkness of the ranch, a yellow hue that spread out in a dim radius; he had the bizarre thought that it would've made a good nightlight had it not been illegal. Jimmy had always been a bit scared of the dark (he’d been pleased, then, when the game had started and he found that his soulmate glowed just the same). He didn’t need the apple sitting on the lid of their chests to provide light—not so long as he had Tango; how ironic then that he only got both or none, that consuming—and therefore getting rid of—the apple would rid him of Tango, too. 

Jimmy didn’t want to be left alone in the dark, but that was sort of why he looked back at Tango and he said, “I think you should eat it.”

“No.” It was both a response and an expression of disbelief rolled into one; a no, this conversation is not happening, not now, and a no way in hell is that thing getting anywhere near my mouth. The stillness was back, but it was more dangerous this time; less resigned, more preparing to strike.

Jimmy repeated himself, lifting his arm and holding the apple between them as he did. “Tango, you should eat it.”

“No.” Tango shook his head. “Jimmy, I said no.” 

“Why not?”

“Why not?” A sardonic, humorless laugh made its way out of Tango, and Jimmy flinched at the sound; a broken echo of their usual selves. “This is a joke, right? There’s something here that I’m missing that makes this all super-happy-funny and we’ll laugh about it in 5 minutes.”

“I’m serious, Tango.”

His hands on his hips, Tango nodded at Jimmy as he said, “you are.” It was deceptively compliant, mockingly understanding. Jimmy was misled often enough in conversation to recognize when he was being set up, but he hadn’t quite yet learned the skill of letting things go; he walked again and again through a door labeled trap! which was how he knew he was doing it now. 

“Yes...” 

“Serious-serious, you’re seriously asking me why I don’t want to eat a golden apple.” Tango doubling down, Tango continuing to misunderstand, the fact that Jimmy couldn’t blame him for any of it, the feeling of everything at once, and the knowledge that all was out of his control; he felt his eyes well up with tears of frustration. 

“That’s what I just said...” Dejected, a clown waiting for the punchline—waiting for others to laugh at his expense; setting up joke after joke, forgetting what it was like to not provide the entertainment. 

“Well I just wanted to confirm before I informed you that that’s the stupidest question I’ve ever been asked in my entire life.” It was at this point that Jimmy let out a breath, and a tear fell with it. “Like, wow it’s almost an accomplishment how stupid that question is.”

“Tango…” He’d plead but he knew he didn’t have the right—not in this conversation of his own devising. It wouldn’t be a lie to say he didn’t know how they got here, but it wouldn’t be the truth either. 

“Really! I’d make you a ribbon to commemorate and everything if we had literally anything to our name at all.”

Catching the opportunity to jump back in, Jimmy took it. “Okay, that—that’s my point.” 

“That I haven't offered to make you a rib—” 

Jimmy cut Tango off again before he could stuff the conversation with more nonsense in defense. “That we have nothing—have had nothing since we started!” 

It was more than just luck—it was design. There came a point where chance ended, a place coincidence didn’t reach. Jimmy had dwelled long enough in the space between unlucky and doomed to know that one was cyclic, intermittent, while the other was ceaseless, fixed. Luck would come and go, but damnation? That kind of fate had been here since before all of them, and would remain long after. 

The subject was taboo, but there wasn’t a single person on this server who was unaware that Jimmy was ill-fated. They poked and prodded him about it, but any level of seriousness to the conversation was buried under veiled laughter and slightly glassy eyes; the kind of sheen to a stare that said even if they tried, they couldn’t know what it was they talked about. To everyone else, Jimmy’s “curse” was a bit they’d overindulged in; to Jimmy, it was a burden he wasn’t allowed to acknowledge. They didn’t let him. 

He’d thought maybe…Tango was being forced to share it; maybe something would click; maybe they’d let him have this for just a few weeks. 

Jimmy didn’t think he could get any more stupid. 

The sarcasm remained equipped, defenses high. “Well, I’m sorry that you think I’m not doing enough to provide for you, Jimmy, bu—”

Jimmy groaned again. “Tango can you be serious for 2 minutes! 2 minutes, please!” 

“No!” Tango was looking at him in a way he never did; a look that conveyed I cannot believe you, the underlying sentiment of dismissal that hurt more for it coming from the only person who’d ever really listened to him without reservation.“You know what, no, I cannot. If you’re going to start a ridiculous argument you’re going to get ridiculous responses—you don’t like it, too bad.”

Jimmy had been involved in a lot of ridiculous arguments before—it came with being a reactive person; he existed with defenses always already half-raised, on high alert for anything that might make him the center of negative attention. 

But this wasn’t one of them. The ranch, Tango, soulmates—they were easily the most valuable things he’d ever had—and that was why he couldn’t have them. He was going to lose it—he was already losing it; it never hurt so much when he was the only thing he had. “Gosh, dont you get it?! There’s nothing we can do—nothing! I’m gonna kill us, you understand?”

It felt good to say it out loud, to watch Tango blink in the face of such bluntness. Somehow his shock betrayed his lucidity, and proved to Jimmy what he’d feared all along: Tango felt it too. 

And that made him circle all the way back to the beginning of this stupid roundabout conversation. Maybe he didn’t know it in so many words, having less time to experience it than Jimmy did but Tango knew—their time was running out; running out in a way it didn’t for anyone else playing these games; running out in a way Jimmy had—until now—never before been allowed to acknowledge. Tango knew. 

And Tango wasn’t mad. 

“Ugh, this is—this is childish, is what it is! I don’t…I can’t believe this is happening. This is—it’s madness.” What did they bother going in circles for if they were just going to end up right where they’d started?

“You’re the one trying to force feed me a golden apple,” Tango grumbled, eyebrows raised and face mocking as he looked at the cows. A few of them were standing against the fence staring back, mooing insistently; a strange audience for a strange night. 

“Because I’m sick of it, Tango!” He was, once again, not the right recipient of this complaint, but what else was Jimmy to do? Seasons of grief built up in one desperate conversation, it was becoming more a list of grievances than a call to action. “Of all of it! Of the jokes, of losing, of—of not being in control of anything, of dying—and you—”

“Me?” Tango huffed, interrupting. “Wow, tell me how you really feel, Jim.”

Jimmy shook his head and looked down, a dismissal; his answer immediate and unhesitant. “No, that’s not what I—” 

Sick of Tango—it wasn’t possible, but he saw in his hands that he still clutched the golden apple, and he was reminded again of all the ways in which he was dangerous; of the ways in which he was the heavy rock tied around Tango’s ankle, sinking slowly despite all efforts. He closed his eyes, tight, hard enough to hurt, and swallowed the bile in his throat. “You know what, yeah. I am.”

He looked up again to look at Tango, forcing himself to look determined, sure. “Yes, I’m sick of you.”

“Jimmy…” There was a warning there, but following warnings was never Jimmy’s strong suit. 

“I am!” He didn’t think there was much of a chance Tango would believe him, but he loved Tango enough that he owed it to him to try. “I’m sick of you and how calm you’re being. We’re losing everything, again, always and you’re just standin’ around and I’m sick of it, Tango.” 

Tango refused to answer, and Jimmy knew to be any convincing at all, he had to commit. 

“I’m sick of this place,” he gestured around the ranch, rebuilt since the fire but still nowhere near as advanced as the other bases on the server; they could try and try and try but they’d never reach that level; they couldn’t be allowed to have an actual chance. “and—and how we built it from nothing and it still didn’t matter. We weren’t even doing that bad, and we’re still losing, and I’m sick of that, too!” 

Tango standing still, Tango with his hands on his hips, Tango refusing to rise to the bait in Jimmy’s words. “I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t believe me? Fine, I’ll just keep going then.” He shrugged, undeterred, glancing around as if he wasn’t bothered—and his eyes landed on the cows in the corner, still watching them as if simply their being awake meant they’d be getting fed. Jimmy raised the arm with the golden apple, using it to point at them. “These stupid cows mooing all the time—the chickens—might as well just kill ‘em all now, 'cause they’re not going to matter either, are they? I’m over this place, and—and everyone else treating us like a joke.”

He looked back at Tango when he’d finished. “And I know you’re sick of it too, you are.”

“I’m not.” This, finally, was familiar ground—Jimmy projecting, Tango reassuring—but for once, Jimmy wished his anxiety proven right, he wished Tango would give in and admit that this wasn’t what he wanted—that Jimmy wasn’t what he wanted; not if it meant the absence of a fair chance.  

“You are, you have to be.” And it was somewhat like begging. Jimmy’s never begged someone to be sick of him before—he was usually pleading for the opposite; how backward, how wrong, everything in him screaming what are you doing?! No one else had ever treated him like Tango did. 

He sniffed once—as he was still crying—and kept listing things; the sort of fears it would kill him if Tango validated, but he said them anyway. If there was any chance it’d get Tango to eat the apple and be safe. 

“You’re sick of having to cater to me, right? Of having to answer a million questions and reassure.” Tango began to shake his head, but Jimmy ignored it and kept going, stepping closer to his soulmate. 

“And I bet you’re sick of losing, too. You don’t want to lose, Tango, not again, right?” It was a low blow, but Tango didn’t look hurt so much as he looked sad; he accepted Jimmy’s meanness as a product of his fear, and he curbed his offense to make room for the heartbreak. 

Figures that Jimmy starts a needless argument insulting Tango endlessly and was still the most pitied in the room. He didn’t know if it was a product of his selfishness or Tango’s altruism, but the effect remained the same. 

Within arms reach at last, Tango raised a hand but stopped it midway between them, unsure if breaching this distance was yet allowed. When Jimmy didn’t do anything about it, Tango lowered his hand until it rested on the front-facing part of Jimmy’s shoulder, eyebrows furrowed, not trusting that this was over.

Jimmy mirrored Tango with his own hand, feeling the warmth of Tango’s vest and above-average temperature below—the heat that’d been keeping him warm at night when they couldn’t splurge on extra blankets or were sleeping in a half-burned-down building or just because. He only allowed himself to feel it for a second before he pushed—not hard, but enough to make Tango take a step back, more because he wasn’t expecting it than due to force. 

“Come on,” Jimmy pled. “Fight back. Get mad, hit me.”

“I’m not going to hit you, Jimmy.”

Jimmy stepped forward and pushed again, both hands; not harder but more firm. “Fight back, Tango, come on.”

“No.” Tango’s face was scrunched together in the most vehement disagreement he could give, and, out of options—out of energy—Jimmy made another noise somewhere between a whine and a groan and raised his hands again, only for Tango to catch them this time and drag Jimmy closer; dropping his hands the second he was within holding distance, one of Tagno’s arms wrapped around him and the other cradled the back of Jimmy’s head as he pulled it down towards his shoulder. Their height difference made it difficult at first, but they’d been practicing for weeks. 

Jimmy went without protest, arms at Tango’s waist, screwing his eyes shut tight enough that he could almost pretend he didn’t hear the I’ve got you’s that he didn’t deserve but Tango was nonetheless whispering to the side of his head. He wanted to protest—or, no, he wanted to want to protest; to keep trying until Tango understood, until Jimmy screwed up enough that Tango got fed up and left the way anyone else would’ve done weeks ago, possibly just upon finding out they were paired. 

“You’re okay—we’re okay,” Tango said. “I’ve got you. We’re going to be okay,” hand steady on the back of Jimmy’s head, holding fast when he tried to shake it and express his opposition. Jimmy didn’t think that ‘okay’ had a place here, not for them, not anymore. 

They were on their last life now, he could feel the effects of being red thrumming through him, though they weren’t as much to blame for the damage he’d caused as he wished; this disaster, like most, was entirely Jimmy’s own. 

Still murmuring and offering reassurance, fingers of one hand still scratching through Jimmy’s hair, Tango used his other to gently pry the golden apple from Jimmy—no longer putting up a fight—and toss it away without looking until it rolled on the wood flooring through the gate of the cow pen. Jimmy watched, head still on Tango’s shoulder, as the cows shuffled around for the lobbed apple, mooing increasingly louder until, after a crunch or two, it was assumed no longer there. 

He felt more so than heard Tango clear his throat, the motion vibrating through Jimmy like a warning. “I am mad,” Tango whispered, voice only half-formed at the low volume. “I am,” he repeated, “don’t think I’m not.” His tone the kind of calm that only gave way to true anger. “But what can we do?”

Jimmy closed his eyes. He didn’t know. 

~-~-~-~-~-~-~

They’re in bed after, facing each other in the dark; Tango watching Jimmy, Jimmy watching their clasped hands between them. Tango’s thumb ran along the ridges and valleys of his knuckles, waiting for something, though he didn’t know what. In his mind, Jimmy was running through all he had to offer—the things he should say, the things he couldn’t voice—but what he kept getting stuck on was:

“I didn’t mean it.”

“I know,” Tango said; not exasperated, not upset, just matter of fact. 

Jimmy raised his eyes to Tangos, shaking his head as much as he could while lying down, not willing to risk any more miscommunication, “I’m not sick of it here.” 

“I know, Jimmy.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Shhh,” Tango pulled their joined hands until Jimmy scooted forward, head under Tango’s chin, all not forgotten but, at the moment, behind them. They were on their red life, after all—there were other things to worry about. 

Jimmy knew that the fact that Tango loved him shouldn’t be one of them, but when it was more than he wanted to live, it was. There was nothing he could do about it now. They would wake up in bed tomorrow and, maybe if they were lucky, the day after that—but there wouldn't be another respawn. They were out of time, out of options—this was it. 

Tango loved him, Tango wasn’t going anywhere. He didn’t need to press his ear further into Tango’s chest to hear his heartbeat—not when it was an echo of his own—but he did it anyway and tried not to number the beats like a countdown, to assign them values and limitations. 

He squeezed Tango tighter, comfort disregarded; it was an offering where words had previously failed him, though there was no guarantee that his message would translate this way either. Physicality was another language Jimmy had never gained proficiency in—pretty much any method of communication verbal or non-verbal was—but he owed it to Tango to try. The trace of his fingers along Tango’s spine said I’m sorry, his breath on Tango’s chest whispered of how he’d spare Tango’s heart from his if he could; forehead to collarbone asked if things could still be normal tomorrow, since there was now a very real possibility that tomorrow was all they had. 

He didn’t bother interpreting the response, focus lost as Jimmy tried and failed not to drift away on the subliminal messaging of his own; that this was his loss, his failure, his fault. 

If he’d tried, maybe he’d have read the brush of Tango’s fingers through his hair as I don’t mind, the press of lips to the top of his head as reaffirming the deliberate choice being made—the decision to stay, to be a part of this. 

But he didn’t. Jimmy was stuck, and not at all like he had thought. Maybe he wasn’t the fish, maybe he was the parasite; the birds were circling and Jimmy could beg all he wanted, but Tango loved him. Tango wasn’t going to swim down. 

Tango wasn’t going anywhere.

[thickenmyblood]

why did laurent start dating / having sex with maxime, even before nicaise found out? maybe this is something we find out in ch. 20, but throughout hiuh i’ve really struggled to understand or empathize with laurent in this area. you’ve mentioned him being self-destructive, or how it was good for his ego to bring a date in front of damen. but why did he feel the need to throw it in damen’s face when damen was the one who got dumped? why would he let maxime call him baby and walk all over his boundaries when this guy is a total stranger? i know some people have speculated that maxime is a uncle-stand in, but to me that doesn’t parallel bc there the abuse happened because laurent did (unfortunately) love and trust his uncle at the beginning, which enabled his uncle to abuse him. i’m honestly really trying to see where this sexual self-harm aspect of laurent comes from when it’s with a complete stranger who doesn’t seem to like laurent as a person or give him any real affection. he said sex was the foundation of their relationship, which seems odd for an ascetic person like laurent who even in hiuh canon doesn’t seem to have engaged in that kind of relationship before dating damen, when he was in a way worse physical and emotional state, unless i’m wrong.

i really, really hope this doesn’t come off as criticizing or accusatory in any way — it is your story and you can characterize laurent any way you want! to me it’s felt like this is the one area so far where laurent has been extremely defensive and refuses to take responsibility, even though it really hurt damen — not just being jealous, but being compared to maxime over and over again by laurent’s friends and implicitly by laurent himself — not to mention how it hurt nicaise. yes, damen had flings, but he didn’t try to replace laurent after two months or ever shove it in laurent’s face. and yet it feels like damen over-apologizes for ever asking about maxime or suggesting laurent’s behavior was harmful. i don’t see how damen could get over this massive insecurity when laurent appears to ridicule or dismiss him for bringing it up, like with the condom conversation or the pet name issue.

feel free to ignore this message, but always appreciate hearing why you chose a particular characterization!

hello! i get this question every once in a while so i thought i'd answer it today since we're about to be done with the story. i didn't take it as an attack or anything and it's a very cool question!

but why did he feel the need to throw it in damen’s face when damen was the one who got dumped?

in a way, reading your ask, i think you answered some of these things yourself. why did he bring maxime to a bunch of events knowing damen would be there? because he wanted the upper hand, he wanted to be seen as having moved on (remember that he thinks damen has moved on, too), because it's an ego thing. but why do it if he was the one who dumped damen? same answers, but i'd add that it's implied in the story that laurent was surprised and hurt by how easily damen went along with the break up. laurent brings it up, says he can't do it anymore, and damen just goes to work and never comes back. once again, in a toxic and insecure way, there was a part of laurent that wanted damen to fight for it, to say "wait, let's turn things around" or something. obviously, that didn't happen, and laurent interpreted that as confirmation of a lot of negative thoughts he was already dealing with (damen wants out of this but he doesn't know how to do it, damen's too "nice" to say that he wants out, damen is looking for excuses to start arguments bc he's trying to get me to end this, etc.)

this is not me justifying laurent in any way. was it childish and immature to bring maxime to events bc he knew damen would be there and he wanted, along with all the reasons listed above, to make damen jealous? yes, probably. is it petty? yes. is it ooc? i don't know. i think laurent does exhibit some pettiness in the books.

why would he let maxime call him baby and walk all over his boundaries when this guy is a total stranger? i know some people have speculated that maxime is a uncle-stand in, but to me that doesn’t parallel bc there the abuse happened because laurent did (unfortunately) love and trust his uncle at the beginning, which enabled his uncle to abuse him. i’m honestly really trying to see where this sexual self-harm aspect of laurent comes from when it’s with a complete stranger who doesn’t seem to like laurent as a person or give him any real affection.

this part of the question is a bit more complicated for me to explain. i 100% agree with people's complaints that in this aspect hiuh laurent is ooc (compared to canon laurent). in the books, he doesn't sleep with anyone but damen, so everything regarding laurent/other men is always going to be ooc in some way (unless it's non con, i suppose).

maxime has to be a stranger. maxime has to be someone laurent doesn't care about, doesn't value, doesn't respect. it would never work between them if maxime was not a stranger, which is ultimately what happens in the fic (let's, for a second, ignore the fact that they also don't work out bc lamen are in love lol). when maxime wants more, laurent cuts him out.

why does he have to be a stranger? because hiuh laurent's biggest issue in this story is that he can't be vulnerable enough to be loved and accept that love. he loved damen, but he couldn't get to a level of vulnerability that allowed him to explain himself, to show himself to damen as he really is, and without that a relationship can't last. when you feel like you have to hide parts of yourself from the person you love, eventually that turns into resentment and anger and hurt.

when he starts sleeping with maxime, he's not looking for another boyfriend. he's not looking for love. he's not sleeping with maxime because he's too horny to function either. he lets maxime fuck him because there is something to prove. and here I have to apologize because to me this detail was so clear during my writing process that I'm only now realizing I did not do a good enough job of integrating it EXPLICITLY into the story. what is there to prove? laurent has only ever slept with two people in his life and only damen was a pleasurable, consensual situation. so, here's the setting: laurent and damen break up, they go no contact, months pass, laurent is STRUGGLING (nicaise mentions this time and time and time again in the fic), laurent has no way of knowing that damen is also miserable, laurent has no way of knowing that damen hasn't moved on (damen is, actually, at this point in time, fucking other people). laurent isn't looking for love or dates or romance, but then maxime shows up and he gives laurent an opportunity to prove to himself several things:

he has effectively moved on from damen (in his mind, having sex with other people = the ultimate 'i'm done with damen" move)

he is in control. he has only had consensual sex with one person in his life, which gives damen symbolic power over him in a weird, fucked up way. or... maybe the word isn't power, but status. damen has a status in laurent's mind and memories because he's the first person laurent CHOSE to have sex with, the first person he loved and showed him it could be good, etc. as long as damen maintains that status, laurent will never stop thinking about him, will never have anything to compare damen to and say "see, it wasn't that big of a deal". which brings me to...

he wants to minimize damen. he wants dismiss what damen meant to him, what their entire relationship meant, so it can be easier to move on. how do you move on if you're thinking "oh I broke up with the love of my life lol"? laurent needs to tell himself what he had with damen wasn't unique, wasn't that special. he can have it again (the SEXUAL part).

needless to say, this fails. he has sex with maxime and finds that it's nothing like it was with damen because it's WORSE, because having sex with damen was having sex with someone who knew him and loved him and respected him. laurent has sex with maxime but he's still thinking about damen, he's still in love with damen, the same way damen is having sex with kyra or trying to date iris while thinking and missing laurent.

once this realization sort of sinks in (yes, he can have sex with other people, yet that doesn't erase damen's status in his brain bc damen was special for a bunch of reasons I'm not gonna type in here - THEY'RE IN LOVE, YOUR HONOR) that's when the self-harm comes into the picture. (this is discussed a bit in ch20 so SPOILERS but)

what kind of sex are maxime and laurent having? it's not the slow, gentle, love making stuff damen knows laurent was into. it's rough, it's degrading, it's not as pleasurable, it's a chore, it leaves marks. does laurent want those marks? we don't know. does maxime ask him if he does? we don't know. you can make it as non con as you want because the text doesn't go into detail.

the petnames. "why does laurent like it when maxime says it but not damen?" I don't think he does. he never gives damen a straight answer on this, but he does say that it makes him feel like a bimbo. it makes him feel slightly degraded. he says it wasn't terrible, but he never says he wanted it or that it was good. it's implied that damen tried it once or twice at the very beginning of their relationship, and I think we can all tell why laurent didn't like it back then with him either (bimbo feelings, laurent using him for money, the power imbalance, etc.)

uncle parallels. okay, this one's a bit tricky. yes, you're right to think that the abuse laurent's uncle subjected him to is nothing like his relationship with maxime for a plethora of reasons, but I think the narrative supports some people's opinions that maxime does resemble uncle in some ways (older, brunette, has a beard). i did not write maxime as a literal uncle stand in, so of course it's not going to be a perfect comparison. i wouldn't even call maxime and laurent's relationship abusive.

he said sex was the foundation of their relationship, which seems odd for an ascetic person like laurent who even in hiuh canon doesn’t seem to have engaged in that kind of relationship before dating damen, when he was in a way worse physical and emotional state, unless i’m wrong.

i tried to mirror canon in hiuh when it comes to laurent's... choices? in canon, damen is the first person he's with after his uncle because he's the only one laurent trusts. i don't have any doubts that canon laurent was terribly lonely and probably wanted to be loved waaaaay before damen came into the picture (post uncle, I mean) but his context and environment were so violent and dangerous that he couldn't let his guard down. similarly, in hiuh, laurent leaves his uncle's house without any money and in a very vulnerable position. he's not exactly carefree and happy and able to be like "oh I wanna date and fool around!! explore my sexuality!!!!" - in fact, this is a pretty big plot point in hiuh: laurent did contact damen out of pure necessity.

and yes, sex is the foundation of maxime/laurent for all the reasons I stated above, but at the same time it's not all about sex. it's not even about sex. it's about control and self-punishment. it's about self-hatred. we also don't know what state laurent was in when he started seeing maxime because we don't have his pov, but we do have nicaise's testimony. again, this is briefly mentioned in ch20, but it wasn't exactly pretty.

however, having said all of this, i'm not blind or dumb enough to think oh hiuh laurent is sooooo canon laurent, not a trace of ooc-ness. i get where the characterization issues are coming from. at the end of the day, I have to say that this post summarizes a tiny bit of what went into creating hiuh laurent. i tried to make him as canon as possible, but I'm not pacat and so my characterization is different. my setting is different. the modern au is different. it is completely fair to read hiuh and think as a reader "i would not have gone in this direction, i don't think laurent would ever be with someone who isn't damen, i don't think it's consistent with his canon self". i accept those comments in the same way i accept those that say they love this laurent bc of XYZ.

this is the one area so far where laurent has been extremely defensive and refuses to take responsibility, even though it really hurt damen

i understand this, but at the same time i don't know how much responsibility laurent can take over that when it's... just dating/fucking someone else after a break up. he should apologize for making damen feel bad on purpose (perhaps taking maxime places), but the rest of it... damen also fucked and thought about dating other people. the comparisons you mention were cruel, but they were made, for example, by characters like aimeric (removed from the narrative entirely later on) and ancel (who tells damen he was wrong, who tells damen he thinks laurent made a mistake letting him go).

i don’t see how damen could get over this massive insecurity when laurent appears to ridicule or dismiss him for bringing it up, like with the condom conversation or the pet name issue.

i understand that, but i also think damen's insecurity wasn't born just from this issue. he is an insecure person throughout the fic. his toxic masculinity is one way this insecurity and lack of self-confidence manifest, for example. his fixation on penetrative sex. his fixation on performance. his fixation on parenting like laurent because his own way is wrong. his fixation on never thinking about the things and people he lacks because he can't take it.

yes, laurent played a huge role in feeding that insecurity, but I'm failing to see where he is ridiculing damen. during the condom conversation, laurent snaps because he feels judged and attacked, not because he's making fun of damen's pain. during the pet name conversation, the same thing happens. and in both instances, damen is judging laurent. he judges laurent really harshly in other scenes, too, like when they find out about claude.

some of these issues are talked about in ch20, but I don't think there is a scene where laurent addresses everything. perhaps he should. i just didn't write it.

[nellie-the-toad]

i'm losing my mind over the parallels between the trotters and the blanchfords (+amadin). all three children growing up together in the same place, with a father but without a mother. they all viciously care about one another (see nell with george when she's shot, sofia with her brother, amadin with sofia). but at the same time they are wildly different people. actually, the entire season can be read as a juxtaposition of the trotters and the blanchefords.

whereas nell voluntarily leaves her family in her late teens, amadin joins the family against his will as a child. the love-hate sofia feels for thomas is shown by her disapproval of his general behaviour (even disgust at times), but the fact that she later saves his life proves her love. nell loves george from the beginning on, despite not even knowing her. and while nell acquires power by chance without asking for it, sofia craves power at any cost and goes against her own morals to come by it.

the family dynamics of the blanchefords are characterised by power imbalances: amadin being a servant to his "siblings"/the people he grew up with. thomas being a bully to everyone in his life. the misogyny that sofia experiences. a cold, distant father with high (and specific) expectations of his children.

the trotters are shown as a warm family with loving dynamics. nell is not ostracised for wearing male clothing, and when she returns home her father almost immediately accepts her back. george is shown to be able to move around freely and play what she likes. both sam and roxy have to work hard, but that almost puts them in equal positions? neither of them own the tavern, it belongs to the blanchfords. and roxy being harassed by thomas is a different kind of misogyny than what sofia experiences.

and what is the underlying reason for their differences? what is established right on with the blanchfords living in a manor and the trotters running a tavern?

class.

the reason lord blancheford assures a strict upbringing of his children is because his son has to one day continue the legacy. there is a lot at stake because the family already has a lot of socioeconomic power. thomas is the way he is because he is an extremely privileged boy, who was taught (directly or indirectly) that his life is worth more than others. and the reason why sofia has this thirst for power is not just because she is a woman living under patriarchy but also because she is a rich woman, which makes land ownership something that is in reach but kept from her solely because she is a woman. and amadin is literally bought into the family (there's another aspect there concerning colonialism, but i'm not the right person to dissect that).

the two families are like two sides of the same coin. in contrast to the trotters, the blancheford family is extremely privileged but ultimately cold and twisted in their dynamics. and it all comes down to class difference.

[alienaiver]

"that's it. i'm removing you from the roster until you've stopped by the doctor."

you look at midoriya in disbelief. unable to keep yourself poised at his final decision, your shoulders slump and the exhaustion washes over you like a wave. he's seen through you.

it's been a year since your near-death experience with an all-too-powerful villain and while shinsou took great care of you during your recovery, something's been off ever since - you haven't been able to put a finger on it, though, so you decided to do what every self-sacrificing hero does: you powered through. until there was no power left to muscle your way out of it. and now it's become visible to others too. you have a feeling shinsou might've ratted you out, but you don't blame him. you'd done the same if it were him.

you get home in a daze and fall face first onto the bed. you don't wake up until you feel the weight shift and the warmth of shinsou's lips touches your cheek. but you don't have the energy to react with more than a hum. your eyelids are so heavy. there's a ringing in your ears but it's so constant that it just feels like a persistent buzz. shinsou says something as he settles behind you, arms wrapping themselves around you. for a while, you think there's silence but he says your name sternly in a voice he only uses when he knows you're not entirely listening to him. huh. you're mostly used to hearing it on the battlefield.

"i'm worried about you."

you sigh and hum, pushing yourself weakly back onto him, "'ve got a doc's appointment..... tomorrow."

he kisses the crown of your head, "okay... okay, good."

he's drawing soft circles into your arm and you drift away again. he wakes you when there's dinner and you perk up again slightly, but not enough to make him stop worrying his lip between his teeth. you fall asleep fifteen minutes into a movie later that night.

you put on your shoes and lock the door behind you, putting the keys in your pocket as you turn for the stairs at the end of the hall. you really wish there'd been an elevator in your building right now. as you walk down the steps, your feet feels heavier but you chalk it up to be your shoes. it's the sneakers you don't wear that often, but it's too cold for sandals today. you shrug it off and just concentrate more on walking.

the doctor goes through your symptoms with you but there's hardly any, you reassure her. you're just so exhausted no matter how many hours you sleep. she warns you that you may be sleeping too much. you agree with a laugh - you don't remember ever sleeping so many hours, having been an insomniac your entire youth. she does some blood tests and sends you home, saying you'll be called in when the answers are back.

the days that pass are all a blur. without your shifts at the agency, time becomes fuzzy around the edges. you don't have to get up, so you just stay in bed, since you've been told you need to rest anyways. on the third day you wake up to several notes on the bedside table, the bathroom mirror and the kitchen counter and fridge from shinsou with various reminders about eating and drinking properly and where he's stocked some snacks and prepped some food for you to reheat easily. you chuckle and shake your head at his antics. you're just tired, is all. the headaches comes with the job, you remind yourself as you try to gently massage out the tension in your neck to relieve your pounding head. he might be right about the water intake - you grab the cold bottle he's put in the fridge for you and brings it with you to the bed.

"i think you should call and ask if they've gotten the answers yet." shinsou says matter-of-factly and you nod, "yeah, it has been a few days. but it's the weekend, right? i'll call on monday." and that ends the conversation.

monday comes but you forget to call, even if you've been determined to do so. by the time you remember, the office is closed for the day. you sigh heavily and fall back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. you prepare the apology for shinsou on your tongue before you drift off.

tuesday morning your phone rings - several times. you finally reach out and pick up, thinking it's shinsou.

"i do apologize for the wait. the doctor unfortunately had to take some time off last week, but we have your results. will you be able to come in today?"

you agree, dragging yourself up. there's more energy in you today, but it should've been way more given the intense rest you've been having. you put on one of shinsou's hoodies and a pair of sweats before you drag yourself to the kitchen to grab a bite.

turns out, you suffer from anemia. an intense, prolonged form and need medication as soon as possible. shinsou's livid when he comes home and gets the news, angry that it has been missed when the agency periodically keeps an eye on their heroes' health. you sit on the chair with your hands folded like a child being scolded and try to laugh it off, "come on now, hito. i just need to take some medication and i'll be fine. the usual blood tests the past year haven't covered that - even if they should, i know," you hurry to add, "but i'll be fine, i promise."

shinsou sighs and his whole body slumps, leaning against the table you're sitting by. you take his hand, "i'm okay."

he visibly relaxes but there's something he's holding back. you've been together since high school, so you can read him like a book. you squeeze his hand, "open up."

he clicks his tongue with furrowed brows before he opens his mouth, "you've had these symptoms for months. why didn't you tell me?"

you look at the ground, guilt written on your face. mostly, because you don't have a proper answer to give him. you don't know why you didn't - the symptoms had all been sneaking up on you, snaking their way into your body quietly and suddenly it'd just become so chronic that you'd normalized it. you let out an apology and he squeeze your hand back, "it's okay to not have an answer. but please, can we be mindful of things like this in the future?"

you smile at him, "only if you continue to make the little post-it notes. they're adorable - especially your small doodles of dogs."

shinsou hides his face in his hands with a groan, "they were cats."

[mikhailoism]

twt made me think of this but we were really robbed of really good bathena angst of 4x13/14... like the first the fight and then bobby getting shot.. tbh how they did resolve the fight was slightly disappointing i mean it works but I wanted more i wanted a bigger conversation that went way deeper into why they were even distant and fighting in the first place and that's a whole thing

but now imagine more angst purposes they take longer to resolve their fight. they're preoccupied by eddie and figuring out the sniper case and they just avoid each other . then we flash towards the trap and bobby getting stuck and shot and athena helpless outside knowing that he could die in there and the last conversation they had was a fight and how their marriage is possibly failing... and that can't be how it ends bc even tho things are rough she still loves bobby and wants to be with him she can't do it without him. I feel like also gives her even stronger motivation to take over someone's gear and go into the fire for him. it makes this move and her saying she needs her partner have so much more impact and meaning (not that it didn't originally but) and on bobby's side he's possibly dying in this fire terribly injured knowing how bad he left things with athena, regretting the fight regretting hiding things like sponsoring Rachel and wishing so badly he could change things so it wouldn't end like this (something about bobby facing death and focusing on his regrets and what he could have done better)

and the relief of athena appearing in the flame to save him. they may not be In perfect place but she'll always come and save him she'll always be there for him. and then once they're out and safe and in the hospital there will be a real conversation, they'll talk in depth about athena's attack and the affects it had on them both. about their struggles with communication how its not communication they're used, they'll talk about bobby sponsoring rachel and more on why he hid it (I think theres more to it and then just trying to get back at athena so to speak) and they talk about what it means to them personally being partners being married... basically just more in depth and detail version of their canon conversation sorta but better and they actually talk about everything else

[spectacular-supernova]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PRESIDENT OF TONARI CLUB!

I, uh, m-made something f-for you.

Know that I'm totally embarrassing my ass over here, so... Don't laugh loud enough that I can hear you from over here!

Aaaaaand now, per Lyndis tradition, I'm gonna overexplain shits and turn a simple Ask into a whole ass Ramble!

-----------------------------(why is there no "Read More" partition in an Ask? I'm so embarrassed right now goddamn it)-------------------------

If you're short-sighted, try removing your glasses or contact lenses and look at this picture. I just did and it's suddenly even prettier!

I actually planned to draw your Sonicsona at first. And then I realized I deadass couldn't even draw Base Sonic. Then I thought I should draw a mole. I realized I also couldn't draw a mole. I thought I should just go for the easiest shit and draw ToFu. I realized I could not draw either one of them, too.

Because I cannot draw, I cheat! I mean I turn things into shapes (chiefly triangles, though not all of them) and then color them and hope that something shows up. This is me using this scientific /+ philosophical concept called Emergence.

No, I didn't just say THAT to sound like I have a technique of any kind, trust. It's so totally a technique—my very productive ass told me.

I remember you saying your favorite color is something like pink, blue, and stuff? It was from that tag game from last year. Hence, I decided I should create a context so I could draw an obscene amount of pink and blue.

If I'm being honest, it took me less than a millisecond to come up with the exact context—Breath of the Wild/Tears of the Kingdom is abundantly blue.

And since I always wanted to sneak ToFu in, I thought I would make a purplish-pink dusk. And then I will sneak those stargazing two in.

Come on. Everyone knows those ToFu panels. Even someone like me, who had not seen that part of the manga yet, knows.

Bless Tonari for being so relaxing to color.

HOWEVER! Fushi's limited-ass color presented a big problem for my cheat-drawing. How many combinations of "white" can you even make before you zoom out and see... nothing?! So I basically sabotaged them. That's what you get for being difficult, you mopey, neck-crick-possessing, fragile-enough-to-be-blown-by-the-wind cutie doofus.

I made up the color of their pants. I didn't even refer to their Nameless Boy drip when I decided on the color. I assed that part.

Yes. I admit I put a shit ton of effort into coloring Zelda. This version of Zelda is my kin, you know. Anyway, I like the way her, uh, shirt turned out.

I also like how the Master Sword turned out, but there was so much blue I ended up requiring outlines to distinguish it from Link's shirt and the sky. Told ya I have no technique or skill. I cheat through and through

I was too lazy to draw those sky islands. Besides, the ToTK side is already saturated with details.

What the fuck issa "proportion?" Everyone's head is an orange. The difference, Nova, is whether it's a Mandarin Orange or an Orange.

I don't know if I overdid Dinraal's draconic mane. It looks like she's wearing a wig. At least she is different from how she initially looked—a red tapeworm outfitted with chicken legs.

I admit I put more effort than any Past Me would have into Dinraal because a certain mutual is very, ah, particular about dragons.

Drawing two of your favorite ships for their show of devotion was a completely deliberative choice on my end. Did you also realize that both Link and Fushi had a short, small, low ponytail and that both Zelda and Tonari had similar hair? I believe it's due to me hitting my drawing skill limitation.

There is actually an Easter Egg of some sort in this picture. It's not the ugly doodle thing, no. That thing is me. I'm not an Easter Egg; I'm a ghost.

I'm not telling you what that Easter Egg is. I'm fine with it never being discovered; it'd be like those secret levels in old video games.

But if you DID discover it, come tell me what you think it is!

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

I hope you like it enough! Instead of it giving you a migraine, that is. Surely my """art"""... doesn't require a trigger warning... right?

Have a good one, mai bruzha!

---Lyn

A RAMBLE FROM YOU LYN IS THE BEST POSSIBLE BRITHDAY PRESENT I COULD HAVE EVER RECEIVED!!!! COUPLED WITH ART BY YOU????? AND OF MY FAVORITE FELLAS????? What did I deserve to be so blessed ;A; 💕💕💕

I’ll spare us all a little extra scrolling on my part by adding that read more you were fretting about, I have my own ramble upcoming!

I KNOW YOURE ON YOURSELF ABOUT NOT BEING ARTISTIC OR WHATEVER BUT THIS IS ART!!! AND DAMN GOOD ART TOO!!!!!!! This is!!!!!!!!!!! I want this made into stained glass I want to make this the permanent window to me bed roOM LYN THIS IS AMAZING THIS IS ALMOST CERTAINLY GOING DOWN AS ONE OF MY FAVORITE ART STYLES!!!! There’s no such thing as cheating in art, it’s all art!!! “Cheating” is a style, no technique is a style!!! I should know I have none either, hehe -w-‘ your art may be some type of cubism? Hehe idk I’m not an art student :3 Either way this is absolutely gorgeous I’m in LOVE!!!

It’s so creative and well done and I LOVE your eye for detail, the lighting is inspired!!!! Like the way the sun hits the space behind Zelda is so pretty, AND ZELDA IS SO PRETTY!!!!!! EVERYRHING IS SO PRETTY, I CANT FOCUS ON ONE THING BECAUSE I KEEP JUMPING BACK AND FORTH BETWEEN ALL THE THINGS I LOVE ABOUT IT (every thing, every last detail!!! Is that a little you in the middle? Is that the Easter egg???? I could just pick you up and pat your little head!!! 😭 I know you don’t love hugs but that’s how I’ll be standing if you’re ever ready for one!!!)

I should slow down maybe and pick a few things to focus on BUT I JUST CANT I LOVE IT ALL!!!! The two scenes just blend so well into one another that my eyes are just naturally being drawn back and forth between both of the scenery! Dinraal, who turned out AMAZIING BY THE WAY, ABSOLUTELY NOT OVERDONE, if anything I’m so glad you had fun working on her!!! She’s so gorgeous!!!! I bet your friend is so so proud of how well she looks!!! Oh but anyway, Dinraal naturally leads my eyes over to the sun/moon (and the 24, hehe, thank you!!! /)//(\ Your memory is astounding!!), which have their own beautiful rays of light leading down onto the adorable couples 😭 I love love LOVE the moonlight leading down onto Tonari and Fushi, and the fact that she’s pointing at it too like she can almost reach it? Beautiful! Gorgeous!!! And it just leads my eyes down to them too, there’s just such a natural circular flow here, no wonder I keep getting caught in a loop of admiration! 😁

The blues and the pinks, and the stars on the ToFu side!!! I just noticed them and they’re everything to me!!!! Hahaha I’m so glad Tonari was relaxing to color hehe, same for me, something about her is just so lovely and calming when she’s relaxed 🥰 As for Fushi’s colors, I didn’t notice! Even after you pointed it out it looks good to me! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ this is from someone who never references colors though, I’m so loosey goosey about everything -w- BUT YOUR SOLUTION TO YOUR PROBLEM WAS GREAT, THEIR SHAPE IS VERY VISIBLE AND EASY TO MAKE OUT hehe :3 I love their crossed little legs 🥰

Zelda being your kin is so good to know hehe, I’ve always been drawn to all versions of Link myself! I think we’ve been perfectly set up to “play dolls” with these characters in the future, so to speak! Aaaahh they can’t have been easy to draw, there’s a reason I almost never dabble in drawing those two and their intricate outfits, but you make it look effortless!!! Zelda’s shirt turned out amazing, and I’m stuck looking at her little triangle braids!!!! I don’t know why I’m so fixated on that it’s just adorable!!! 😭💕 What a lovely technique, man, I’m so enchanted! AND THE MASTER SWORD, I know you called it cheating BUT I LOVE THE LINE WORK, it makes the sword stand out, almost like you lined that specific part with some sort of melted gold??? Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhh!!!!!

This is gorgeous and beautiful in every which way and thank you!!!! For everything!!! For this beautiful drawing and for giving me a chance to ramble and giving me something gorgeous to look at for the rest of my day, and for indulging in both of my silly little ships /)//(\ I’m so glad I don’t need glasses because I love every inch of your art, thank you thank you THANK YOU!!!!! Gosh it’s so so so lovely 😭💕 you’re so lovely!!!!

I don’t know how to say goodbye so I guess I’ll just say good night for now! Thank you for thinking of me… I’ll have a wonderful day, so long as you promise me you’ll have a wonderful night along side me 🥰

Goodnight, Mai Bruzha!

- Nova

[hailsatanacab]

close enough to be whole again || chapter 18

🎊 new chapter update new chapter update new chapter update 🎊

[afrohinata]

Diane from seven deadly sins please?

[periipheral]

yay top 10

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Created by TumblrTop10

[thatoneparrot]

AAHHHHH IM SO HAPPY IM SO HAPPY

[stellewriites]

daydreaming about already spoken for jp rn…. 🥰🫠

oh you and me both anon 🥴 just wait for what i have in store for chapter 3

it’s about 65% done and will need a quick read through and edit too, but i’m hoping to get back to it at the end of this month once dog meat is out!!

[beesorcery]

google how do i tell my dad that the reason i keep bringing up elon musk's transphobia isn't that i've got gen z political tunnel vision that makes me blind to his "innovation" in electric cars but because i am desperately crying out for you as the father of a trans child to feel just as outraged and angry as i am that that man has so much power