#or maybe she was normal and I was anxious

[cerisahh]

summary — love language headcanons for the arcane characters (giving and receiving)

characters included — jinx, ekko, silco, vander, viktor

cerisa speaks — literally started writing this the night of s2 act 3 release and only now finishing it if that doesn't tell you something about how inconsistent i am idk what does. ATTENTION PEOPLE IN MY REQUESTS!! i swear to god i will do your request in the next year for sure! viktor forgive me, amen.

jinx — gift giving. jinx's most loyal companion is her imagination so it isn't hard for her to think of gifts that are personal to you that'd you'd enjoy.

we see many of the little homemade trinkets that she's made for silco throughout the years, my favourite being the ashtray he keeps on the desk in his office. so dependant on what you're into, she'll showcase her love for you in the form of a trinket.

oh, so you like to read? she sees you dog-earing a page of your book whilst you two are in her hangout and drops her current project to fashion you a bookmark. you only notice that her tinkering has stopped when the bookmark has been dropped on your lap and she's made a blasé comment about you destroying your book for too long so she just had to make you this so you'd stop.

hiding behind a mask of indifference when giving out her gifts is kind of her thing, but she's anxious to no end to see if you like it. her mind runs a mile a minute; 'don't they like it? do the colours not match? they hate it they hate it theyhateittheyhateittheyhateme-'

until you're holding it carefully between your fingers and your mouth is making that 'o' shape it does when something unexpected has happened. when you say that it's the most thoughtful gift you've ever received she's insistent on making you a hundred more.

physical touch. stop booing me i'm right! let me explain. as we see before powder becomes jinx, she's quite normal with physical contact, we see vi hugging her, putting a hand on her shoulder, claggor helping her down to the apartment, etc.

it's after vi slaps and abandons her that she becomes uncomfortable with physical touch. silco (most of the time) lets her initiate it on her own terms.

one time he doesn't is where she's playing airplane with his shimmer device and he grabs her wrist. she lets him retain his grip for a moment but when she does move her arm away he doesn't follow her. through my own delusions i've come to the conclusion that jinx wants, maybe even craves physical comfort, but quickly feels smothered by it when it's forced on her.

despite this, with the right person i feel like she would be willing to accept physical affection from them. it would take time to establish and develop a trusting relationship with jinx but when you're there, you're there. she's also a deeply insecure person when it comes to relationships of any kind and retaining them so you'll have to slip in some words of affirmation between touches.

her favourite way to receive physical touch would for sure be you playing with her hair. running your fingers through it and scratching her scalp? congratulations, that's your new job. you mention off the cuff how you'd love to see her hair down? suddenly there's a brush in your hands and an expectant and giddy jinx sitting in front of you.

even though she trusts you, she'll still get startled and tense up if you suffocate her with too much affection. holding your arms out for a hug or patting the seat next to you so she can lean into your arms is a much better way to initiate contact with her.

a little extra headcanon, when she's doing your nails she'll use her own hands to hold your fingers still instead of a wrist rest. she says it keeps them steadier so she doesn't make any mistakes but really she craves that subtle contact.

ekko — acts of service. season two episode seven dictates this as canon i'll be taking no arguments on this day. seeing his huge mural of future vi to show powder after he upsets her really just cements this headcanon. this is a pretty big action so i'll focus on the smaller ones for now.

starting off really strong with him decorating your room for you. close your eyes and imagine him building you a shelf to store your books or keepsakes. not only building it but carving designs into it. ohh you like music? well take a look at those carvings of sheet music! and do you spy some new books in your collection (stolen from a piltover library, naturally)

with so many different types of people living at the tree, at the beginning he was pretty much forced to learn how to cook all different types of meals. it paid off though because no matter where you hail from, he'll be able to prepare you any of your favourite dishes.

the more i type about ekko the more i realise he is the best househusband out of the arcane gang. he can cook, he can clean, he's a provider - he is quite literally the entire package. him being a certified pretty boy also helps because everyone needs a little eye candy in their life.

this one is sickeningly sweet but for relationship milestones, and even just randomly, ekko will fully plan out a date night for the two of you. picnics on the top of buildings that overlook the neon lights of the undercity, just the two of you. it's so intimate.

physical touch. now this i truly will be taking no arguments on. receiving physical affection for ekko is huge. we all saw how fast he hugged benzo in the alternate au!!

with so many people from his early life either dying (benzo, vander, claggor, mylo) or leaving (jinx and vi), ekko hasn't really had anyone to offer him any form of closeness. sure, he has the firelights. it just isn't the same though.

so when you come along with all the tender hugs and fond touches that he's been deprived of for so long he knows he's done for. consider him addicted. even just clapping a hand on his shoulder after a fight, hell, LEANING ON HIM?? that man is YOURS to command for now until the end.

knowing you're just physically there and not going anywhere - not abandoning him - he's content to bask in your presence.

quick kisses and brief glances at each other come in abundance. if you're not at the firelights base then you're on the go. it's these times that make you both appreciate the time you have with each other. ekko plans to take full advantage of the downtime you both have between missions. don't expect to stray a few feet from each other.

silco — acts of service. silco's acts of service are usually communicated through orders that he gives his goons. say you offhandedly mention that some shimmer addicts have set up camp in the alley next to your apartment. when you leave the last drop and go home you notice that those shimmer addicts you briefly complained about? gone. without a trace.

i feel like he prefers to give out acts of service to you as a kind of 'i can provide for you, don't leave' kind of thing. you don't need to ask silco to do something, he'll take the initiative. he wants you to view him as a reliable provider. this sounds very 50s but he's an old fashioned kind of guy so it checks out.

not the kind of guy to do chores at the start i'm afraid. he has people for that. maybe you can convince him to wash the dishes after you cook you, him and jinx a meal. but never and i mean NEVER will you catch this man hoovering or mopping the floor. that is just simply not going to fucking happen. you'd have better luck asking him to quit smoking.

not gonna lie he just lightens the load of whatever jobs you need to do so you can spend more time together. the famed eye of zaun is clingy.

physical touch. actually controversial take no way CHILLS! similarly to jinx, silco wouldn't actively look for physical touch in any given situation. he's obviously traumatised by his former best friend choking him out and drowning him underwater. not to mention completely brutalising his eye.

jinx is likely the only person he would willingly let touch him. not even sevika on a good day gets that privilege. you would need to spend a lot of time gaining silco's undying trust. only when you two are emotionally close will you be able to share his touch.

buying you jewellery just so he can feel the warmth of your body heat as he clasps the necklace around you neck. silco is very subtle and sneaky when he wants to be close to you.

his neck is off limits to everyone, even you. placing your hand on his collarbone whilst entangled in bed together is the furthest you'll get.

vander — physical touch. oh i just know this man gives the best bear hugs. physical intimacy with vander is just safety incarnate. when he takes you into his arms it really feels like a breath of topside air after a lifetime underground.

i don't think vander would really like being with a partner that didn't enjoy physical affection. it's not only a bonding experience for the both of you to engage in but also a display of trust that he deeply values.

conveying his love for you with intimacy, non-sexual and sexual is something he cherishes. the level of mutual understanding and relationship building that comes with it is indispensable to vander. basically the keys to a successful partnership with him.

that little symbol of love in the undercity where two people touch their foreheads together? that's the most significant way you can show that you truly care for someone and it's vander's favourite way to connect with you in moments of peace.

words of affirmation. vander is the type of guy to not necessarily need words of affirmation to feel good about himself but will appreciate it all the same. he tries so hard to be a good example to the kids and in general to the populace of the undercity. he wants this life to be better. he wants to be better.

he's the leader, the protector, all the pressure is on him. affirming his efforts through words goes further than you might think.

it's you and him against the world. the brewing political storm that plagues both the undercity and piltover is little more than a distant thought when you're whispering honeyed words to and fro in the dead of night. for a man with such an imposing presence, telling him that you love and need him makes him weak.

with your words of affirmation, he's more certain of his role in the undercity than he's ever been. you renew the passion he had in youth, he wants the best for you and will do whatever he can to obtain it.

viktor — quality time. viktor is all about sharing the same space as his partner. with him being the co-founder of hextech, it's difficult for him to find time alone to dote on you. which is why you''ll often find yourself in the company of viktor (and oftentimes jayce) in their lab, them working on a new use for hextech, and yourself either studying or simply watching the magic (literally) happen.

when jayce is off being the poster child of hextech or following councillor medarda around like a lost puppy, you and viktor will settle into comfortable silences. usually with the only noise being the tinkering of science equipment or the quick scribbles of pen on paper. there's no pressure to fill the room with unnecessary chattering. just you being with him is enough. your presence is akin to a relaxant to him.

sometimes most of the time you'll need to remind him to take breaks when you've been there for hours on end and he's showing no signs of stopping or slowing down. it's a practised routine at this point; he refuses, you leave it alone for five minutes, during this time he is sneaking glances at you when he thinks you aren't looking, waiting for you to ask again.

when you do, he feigns reluctance as you grab his hand to get you both some fresh air and a proper meal. he might actually be part cat now that i'm thinking about it. he just can't help but love spending time with you.

words of affirmation. actions speak louder than words? pft, yeah right. communication is deeply valued by viktor. he's exceptional at deducing someone's intentions behind their words so don't even bother trying to get something by him. it won't work. you try to plan surprise birthday party for him? he's one of the first people to find out about it.

so when you earnestly tell him how special he is to you or how appreciative you are of him, he knows it's 100% what you actually think and BOY does that fluster him more than anything.

he isn't very big on compliments, not that he doesn't value the ones you so willingly give him, but he finds it hard to accept the good and beauty you see in him. there will always be a part of viktor, machine herald or mortal man, that refuses to believe he could be good enough for this type of love. when he retracts inside his mind and lets his doubt drown him, it's you who can pull him out of the water and onto land. telling him that you love him just the way he is will silence his uncertainty.

oh you know what would just about finish him off? making him a lunch box and putting a note in there. it doesn't having to be something poetic, even a simple 'i love you ♡' will be at the forefront of his mind until he gets back home to you.

honestly, if you're someone who expresses their love through words of gratitude or proclamations of admiration then a relationship with viktor will be smooth sailing.

[heartbreakgrill]

Delicate: Vessel (Sleep Token); Part 9; "Never seen that color blue."

“No, yeah, of course! Noo…no! Thank you! I seriously appreciate all of your help and understanding during this! I hope you have a wonderful day! Yeah, aw, thanks! You, too! Yeah- okay- bye!”

My faux smile dropped as soon as my hand did, phone falling to a silenced settle on my left thigh. I breathed a shallow breath of somehow anxious relief, so ironic that it made me want to scream.

Max reached across the bed and rubbed my knee comfortingly, “You okay?”

I wanted to snort, yell, kick my feet, and laugh hysterically. Throw a temper tantrum, wish on a star, kiss a fucking frog. Fall on my knees, beg the skies. Change fate's cruel course of time.

But my expression was blank as I shrugged, “What can ya do?”

The corner of his lips lifted into the saddest smile. His thumb brushed my skin, “It’s gonna be alright. Once you settle back in, things will start to feel normal. You can start…moving on. And, hey, I’m visiting in just a month. You have that to look forward to. School starting, your new role at the clinic. So many good things, Daz.”

He was right- I had so much to be excited about. I really should’ve felt excited, grateful. A better woman would have. A better woman would have seen the blessings all around her and felt so full of life and love. God, she would’ve respected herself enough to not be in this situation in the first place.

Yet I couldn’t help but feel resentful, knowing that I would trade all of it for-

for him.

For Oliver.

I would give up everything for just another moment, hanging onto his lips like a vine. Just a second of growth, even if being ripped away meant digging up the roots and my leaves dying.

I just gave Max that fake smile, knowing full well he was aware that it meant nothing. “You’re right. It’ll be good for me to be home.”

He squeezed my knee before removing his hand. “You wanna finish packing? Or maybe take a break? Get some food?”

I glanced around at the mess of clothes across Sam and I’s hotel room. My bags lay open, a few piles of my stuff already stuffed inside. But there was more than half to be done. So much to be done before I went…before I went home tomorrow.

Tomorrow. Less than 12 hours from now. I’d be heading back to reality. Closing the doors on Europe, on everything and everybody I’d be leaving here.

There was just one week left on the European leg of the two. Tomorrow morning, everyone will be leaving for Germany. I’d go to the airport with them, like normal, but depart at a separate gate, at the same exact time. Those who needed to know, well, I was going to tell them. And those who needed to know the reason why would, too. Sam was going to think I was going home because of an offer for a higher position from the clinic I worked at. But this was only partially true. Training for that wouldn’t even start for another 3 weeks. School wasn’t for a month.

I was leaving for me- for clarity, fresh air. Oliver was right- London was foggy, full of pollution and shitty, selfish men.

I needed to get away, out. Back to routine and home. Back to what I knew- what wouldn’t hurt me.

I looked back to Max, “I'm gonna finish packing. Get it over with. Before Sam gets back. I think it might hurt his feelings to walk in and see this…mess.”

Mess might have held a double meaning. I had looked better, for sure. Max understood, I think, for he knocked his shoulder against mine, then stood from the bed. “We got it, Daz.”

I stood up quickly, knowing the only way to get started was to just start. Stand. Move. (I wanted to crawl into a hole and die.)

It took us another hour or so to finish stuffing my belongings into their bags. I had bought maybe one too many souvenirs, so we struggled to find a place for everything. When we were done, I slew myself across the end of the bed, breathing heavily, sweating a little bit.

Max groaned from the floor, “Why do you own so many things?!”

“Dude, I don’t even know. It’s gonna take me 12 years to unpack!”

He chortled, half-heartedly, patting his stomach as an afterthought. “I am soooo hungry. What do you wanna eat?”

I sat up as he did so, shrugging a bit, “You pick. I don’t have the energy for all that.”

“I’m good with the hotel restaurant if you are.”

“Fuck it.”

So, we sludged our way downstairs. I hadn’t been leaving my room much, worried you-know-who would cross my path and shake things up again. Though, I doubted he was looking for me. He hadn’t so much as texted me since last week. Oliver was probably sulking, convincing himself that he was the victim in this whole thing. The thought made my blood rush a little bit. I clenched my fist as the elevator doors closed, trying to focus on breathing and not screaming.

The past three had been probably one of the worst of my life. I was so…so sad. So angry. Confused. Nothing made sense, yet all of my fears had come true. It was like I knew all the answers, but my bones felt so put off by how they manifested themselves. Like, what do you mean the cold, dark, distant boy turned out to be a cheating, manipulative liar? Right on the money.

My rational mind couldn’t wrap around the fact that it still felt so…disappointing? Wrong? Fucked the fucking fuck up.

The doors slid open. I followed, quietly, behind Max as we headed for the inlet to the left of the front counter. This was a usual part of my new found routine, grabbing food with Max. Albeit, sneakily, with numerous texts between the two of us (me, badgering him) ensuring nobody else (Oliver) was down here. In avoiding him, I had been avoiding everybody else, too.

I could already see their knowing looks. Sam could read me like a book. Ronnie was way psychic and usually felt the vibe of a situation long before it occurred. Adam, obviously, already was aware. And I'm sure he would have relayed the information to Cyrus.

I was exuding this aura of heartbroken, school-girl-fantasy-crushed, sad-puppy shit. I felt tired, and I’m sure my eyes looked it, too. Any passerby probably could have read my emotions pretty well. No matter, I’d be out of here soon. Back home. I could heal, rest, relax, find somebody else to fuck and get the fuck over this dumb ass white boy.

My dumb ass white boy. I’d tried not to think about him, so deeply sunk into this angry feeling that I couldn’t even fathom the idea of missing what had hurt me. Alas, every once and a while (between every other curse I thought of) something would flash through my mind. A distant memory, an image of his deep-ocean blue eyes shining with flames from the rooftop firepit, triggered by a breath, a catch of the wind, a sink in my heart. I’d feel a little moth flicker in my chest. An air bubble, taut in my stomach, would have me hiccuping from gushing tears in an instant.

I think it was the deep blue suede of the hotel bar’s stools that did it this time. I brushed a hand, slowly, watching the color shift from the movement of the fabric. The lighter color reminded me of a time he felt the way I did right now. Sadness. Maybe it hadn’t meant as much to him, maybe his depravity was not comforted by me. But that moment, when I held him, when he nuzzled his head into my neck and began crying-

“Wanna drink?” Max rested a hand on my shoulder, drawing my attention back from where I was trudging through fleeting, erasing moments.

I ceased my body from flinching, willed away the wetness in my eyes, and nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s get a drink.”

Which was a mistake.

One drink turned to appetizers turned to three drinks turned to main courses, 5 drinks, 2 shots, and dessert. Before I knew it, Max and I were cackling over some typo on some Twitter post. I gripped his shirt sleeve and hoped I wouldn’t slide off the bar stool. For the first time in a week, I wasn’t concerning myself with the logistics of sticking around in this public area as long as we had been. I wasn’t even thinking of Oliver. In fact, Max and I were discussing some of our favorite shitposts about American politics. My mind was far away from dumb Brits and idiotic Europeans.

Of course, the world had a very funny way of spitting in my face.

Adam, Cyrus, and- low and behold- Oliver came strolling into the bar right when Max and I finished ordering another drink. I felt a little sick, watching as they neared us. Oliver wasn’t paying attention. He never did. His head, sunken into his hoodie, hands shoved in his pockets. He moved like the Grim Reaper. I wondered if he had come to take my soul away.

Adam and Cyrus seemed…on edge. They noticed Max and I only after they’d made it halfway across the room. Adam hesitated on his next step, catching my eye, worriedly glancing between me and Oliver.

Max was aware, at this point. He cut himself off mid sentence, swiping a hand across his lips. “Shit,” he mumbled to himself. “Daisy…let’s go.”

His fingers brushed through mine in a desperate grasp to pull me along with him, towards the door. I was drunk. I was not thinking. I was hysterical, sad, heartbroken, angry. I tugged my hand away, instead flipping into the air to wave and cheerfully catch the group’s full attention.

“Cy! Adam!” I couldn’t quite catch his name on my tongue. I thought I might puke. “Hey, girl!”

Oliver looked up at the sound of voice. He stopped, but three feet from our little round table. The light, dim from the overhead lamps and LED strips behind the counter, caught the round pupils in his eyes. I watched as he blinked once, twice. Blue.

“Oliver!” There it was.

He met my eye. The corners of his lids wilted, like the petals of a flower, aged, saddened. Drops of rain dropping them in weight. Max looked between the two of us. Cyrus busied himself with buying a drink. Adam slouched in the awkward, pregnant air. Oliver ignored me, moved around our group to sit as far away as possible.

I clenched my jaw. Rage. Utter, pure anger. How dare he deny me even now? The fact that he had not come to my door in the past few days, on his knees, begging for my forgiveness- I was seething. And, now, he goes back to his old tricks. Pretending like I don’t exist.

I turned to Max, who was bracing for impact. His hands were wary, held up near me as if to catch my fall. I shrugged, smiled cheekily, wrinkled my nose. I bumped Adam’s shoulder with mine and declared, “Shots on me?”

He continued his smug slump in the bar stool for the next hour. Adam, Cyrus, Max, and I hung like the old pals we were, cracking jokes, swapping stories like we were surrounding a campfire. I glanced at Oliver every once in a while, hoping to accidentally make eye contact like we used to. He stared down at his phone or his glass. I was surprised the device worked considering he’d fucking forgotten my contact existed or something.

Ugh.

What a fucking ass hole.

Adam asked me a question, pulling my attention back in. “Are you excited for Germany?”

Oh. I’d almost forgotten all about this little plot. I knew that if I spoke loud enough, Oliver would hear. He’d react. I could almost hear it, the little hitch in his breath. The tickle in his throat. The flit of his tongue across his lips, the patter of his holey heart.

I felt my own chest jitter with the excitement, the want of a reaction I needed from him. The shock. The idea that I would be an ocean away from him. No longer at an arm’s length.

I turned towards Adam and rested my chin on my fist. I frowned, almost playfully, “Ugh, I hate having to tell you guys like this!”

Cyrus slowly lowered his glass from his lips, having been mid-drink, “What’s up?”

“I’m going home,” my brows furrowed in a naive look. Adam and Cyrus’ chins dropped a sliver. I pouted my lip, “Stop! I know! I’m so sad!”

I wanted to wait until the conversation was over to look down the bar, to see if even a fragment of what I was saying had affected him. But, I didn’t need to wait. Oliver had flinched. He literally flinched.

“Yeah, me, too,” Adam touched my hand. “Why so soon? I thought you were staying through August?”

“I was planning on it, but…they offered me a better position at the clinic I work at. I have to get home to start training,” I continued, a satisfied smirk teasing my mouth.

Cyrus lifted his glass, “Well, there’s nothing to be sad about, then! To your new job.”

“I’ll cheers to that,” the smirk slipped into a genuine smile. I really would miss these guys, but my drunken, stupid mind wasn’t thinking about that. I wanted more from Oliver. I wanted a white flag or a look or a…fuck, I wanted him.

I pushed, “I’ll really miss you guys. Max, with your corny-ass pick-up lines, Adam’s mom vibes, Cy’s ability to knock back more drinks than fucking- I don’t know, Spider-man, and not get drunk? Shit’s insane.”

I drank in the laughter for a moment, eyes lingering down the bar to Oliver. Then, I added a name to my list and narrowed my gaze, “Oliver,” he wouldn’t look. “With your need to ignore me in every room we’re in. I’ll really miss your cold fucking shoulder.”

Any laughter that may have hung onto our past moment faded. I heard Max take a sharp breath in through his teeth. Adam pressed his lips together. Cyrus looked over his shoulder at their friend. I didn’t know if he really knew, but he had to understand just a little bit. The vibes were always there. We thought we were sneaky, but we were so sickly up each other’s asses. We’d even run into Cyrus and Adam in the hallway that one time. I guess we were all really good at being hopefully fucking stupid and blind.

I leaned on my palm and stared that man down. I watched as he kept his chin, pointed ahead, like he was playing brave in the situation. His Adam's apple bobbed. Oliver clutched his glass, swung it back, slugged the liquid down. Slammed it back on the counter. Then, he stood up, pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and threw a wad of bills onto the bar. He adjusted his hoodie and left.

I was dizzy. I stuttered back a step. Max touched my wrist, murmuring something or the other about heading back upstairs. Telling me I was too drunk.

I felt slow, felt dizzy, felt scared, felt angry, felt sad. I felt so sad. I felt so angry and so sad and…

And, my eyebrows furrowed in anger, the shock erasing itself from my frame. I took a deep, drunken breath and followed his trail. Fast. Legs pumping, arms swinging at my sides.

He was at the elevator, looking down at his shoes. I couldn’t get his name out. I think if I did the tears were going to fall out, The sobs were going to ricochet through my whole body and knock me over and kill me and I’d die and I’d never get to see that dumb asses blue eyes any more. Ever again. I wanted to see his blue eyes again. I wanted him to look at me and see me for what he sees me as. I wanted him to touch my hip and wring my neck and tell me I was the only one he wanted. I’d take it. One more time, then he could go back to her. I just wanted a goodbye.

He was stepping into the elevator. The doors were closing. I jammed a hand between and he flinched, again.

I stepped in just as the doors began to shut again. His eyes were wider than I’d ever seen them. He was frozen. Frowning. He looked…sad.

I almost reached a hand out, almost caressed his cheek and pulled him into me. But, I didn’t. Instead, I said (yelled?), “What the fuck is your problem?”

He stammered, “Wha-what?”

I struggled to repeat myself. I needed to cry. It was going to open. But, for another moment, the anger took over, “You fucking heard me. What is your problem, Oliver? What the fuck did I do to deserve this kind of shit? I don’t wanna hear more sad excuses about your fucking mental health and your-your fucking anxiety. God, I- I fucking…I don’t even k- you fucking ignored me back there! I looked right at you and I said your name and I smiled at you and…I’ve been so nice to you. I’ve been nice to you all summer and you treat me like a piece of fucking shit. God, I’ve…I’ve told you so much. I told you about my mom and…and you laid there and you told me all this bullshit about how much you liked me! And then you…youre a fucking-”

I cut myself off, out of breath. I was sweating a little bit. I think I had spit a few times. And I paced the elevator so much that I was flush against the wall. I leaned my shoulders back against the cool metal, wringing my hands, tugging at my hair.

He didn’t say anything. I breathed, hard, I thought, long. I kept thinking, and I kept getting angrier. I turned back to him, rearing up again. I had more to say, I just, I just needed to get some more concise- more thoughtful thoughts, right, exactly. Yes. I can…

“And who the fuck is F-”

“Daisy.”

There it was, my name. It was my name, soft and angelic, and holy. And a moment on his lips that he carved out of time and held a space for, for me to hear.

I stopped. I felt nothing for a moment. I looked at him and he was already waiting to see my eyes. My bottom lip wobbled.

“You’re obviously upset. And, drunk. Why don’t we talk about this in the morning? We can both get some rest.” He was always so good at two very distinct things: pushing stuff (people) aside and speaking to me in a way that felt like a cloud was wrapping itself around me. Like the cloud wanted me to lay in its arm and would coo me to sleep. Like I was safe and loved and-

Loved.

He made me feel loved.

I straightened up a bit at the thought. I pointed an accusatory finger at him, “Who the fuck is Fiona? What the fuck was that all about? Oliver, I’m not going to stand here and beg for you to love me. Or beg for you to come back to me. I just want a goddamn apology. For wasting my time, for playing with my fucking heart. For stringing me along. You knew-”

The tears came. Perfect timing. “You fucking know that I love you. You have known for a very long time. And you are an idiotic fool if you still don’t believe it. But I am not going to play this game with you. I told you that already and now I seriously mean it. I broke my back this summer to make sure that I was who you wanted me to be. So I was cool and chill and could take as much space as you wanted me to. I went with everything you asked of me, I was there when you needed a warm body. I comforted you and…and tried to fucking fix you like I knew you wanted me to. But, I am done. I am done with this. I am done-”

My voice cracked. I swiped an angry, shaking hand across my face. Vision blurred. “I am done with you. This is ridiculous. I don’t know if you meant to, but you have manipulated this situation so that you have been the one benefiting. I’m tired of letting you think you’re some broken, sad puppy dog on the side of the road that needs to be taken care of. Grow the fuck up. And, now I find out that there’s some other woman? That I- I’m the other woman, maybe? That you’re cheating on her with me? That I’m your fucking slut? Side hoe?”

I had paced again, this time, towards him. He was taller than me, but my anger was making me taller. He was almost…cowering. I pointed my finger again, nearly chest to chest with him.

“Fuck you, Oliver. Fuck you and fuck London and fuck your stupid fucking music.”

The doors opened, on our floor. I walked out, but turned to face him before he was really gone from me. I wanted to see his eyes one last time.

He was crying. I popped an arm into the door again, buying myself more time to kick him while he was down. I thought this would bring me closure. I thought I’d feel better if he knew, truly knew, the entirety. Every thought. Every hurt I felt.

“You asked me at the beginning of the summer what I was searching for. I thought that it was you. And I thought that I had found you.”

I shook my head sadly. The doorbell on the elevator rang. I stepped back, “I was right. There is no deeper meaning. Goodbye, Oliver.”

I stood there for a second, as though I could still see his blue eyes, boring through the metal doors.

Then, I sludged my way to my hotel room. I opened the door, shoulders slumped, body aching. I knew my makeup was smeared all over my face. My hair was wrecked. I couldn’t stop sniffling or whimpering. I walked into the room.

Sam sat up in his bed. Ronnie was beside him. I barely made it two more steps before Sam caught me in his arms.

–

The sky was gray. The weather in Europe usually was, especially up here on this side of the continent. I wasn’t surprised when, on our drive to the airport, it started spitting rain. I shivered underneath the cover of my hoodie, yet walked slowly through the entrance.

I remember when I had first dropped down in London, wide-eyed, hopeful. I think it had been raining then, too. But, I hadn’t cared. Come to think of it, it was raining pretty much everyday we had been in London.

Oliver was right about a couple things.

Back then, just three months ago, I hadn’t cared about the sun’s shadow curving from behind the clouds, nor did I mind that it was usually quite chilly outside. Now, I felt anger, annoyance at the weather, at the people, at the world.

At him. The stupid weight of my suitcase. The drag in my step. The wetness of my clothes and the chill of the wind.

I felt older, in the worst way. I was a different age, considering my birthday had passed while I’d been here. But, I felt old in a way that was draining. I felt like I had wasted so much time, energy, and all I had left were weary bones and sadness. Just how much I had left, I didn’t know. But I did know that as soon as I got back home, I would be rotting in my bed for a day or two.

Sam, Max, and Ronnie came to the airport early with me. My flight time had been pulled forward by an hour, so I needed to get here sooner than I thought. I wasn’t complaining, though. I couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of the hotel. Out of here. Out of London.

I hurried the process of packing my last few things. Stuffed my breakfast down my throat. Impatiently waited in the taxi, knee bouncing, as Sam and Max loaded the trunk with all of our things. Ronnie slid in beside me and became the first reason that I cried that day.

She reared a look over her shoulder, out the back window, to check on Max and Sam. Then, with an awkward sigh, she turned her knees towards me, “Peaches?”

I glanced up from my lap and the bounce of my knee slowed, “Yeah?”

Upon noticing the somber gaze in her eyes, my brows furrowed. “What’s up?” I added, fully presenting her my full attention.

Ronnie rubbed her nose in a seemingly nervous manner, “I just wanted to say…um, ew. Sorry.”

I softly giggled at her disgust with whatever sentence she was trying to form. “What is it?”

She finally met my eye in a fervently forward manner, “I usually have fun on tour. But this summer was…it was extra special. Getting to know you has been…so cool. I don’t know. I just…I love you, Daisy. You’ve become like a sister to me.”

I couldn’t help but feel the tears well up in my eyes. “Oh, Ronnie,” I sniffled, hugging her around the shoulders.

She pulled me close to her and I swear I heard her sniffle a bit, too. “I’m sorry for not noticing what was happening. I should’ve been there for you more. I got caught up in my own-”

“Don’t even apologize,” I reared back with my reply, “No. It’s nobody’s fault. I’m not even blaming myself for what happened. It was a stupid, weird situation. It was my responsibility to come to you if I needed help. I just needed…I just need to go home now.”

Ronnie smiled a sad, peaceful smile. “I hope I get to see you again soon. I don’t know what I will do without your bright light.”

“Oh, you will. You guys will be in the US soon. Sam said he was gonna drop by. I am positive you’ll be there, too,” I dropped a sly wink.

Ronnie watched my face for a moment, “I mean, of course you know now. But…” she narrowed her eyes, grinning in shocked realisation, “Fucker. You knew the whole time?!”

“Of course I knew the whole time. Sam is-” I snorted, “Sam is not hiding his lovesick, puppy-dog eyes.”

Ronnie’s gaze widened slightly, “I-”

The doors of the taxi popped open as the boys joined us, Max in the back on my other side, Sam in the front. He saw our laughing, secretive expressions in the rearview mirror and turned back. “What are you two doing?”

I brushed my hands across my cheeks to clear whatever tears might’ve been rolling still, then shook my head. “Nothing, Sam-Ham.”

He turned his eyes to Ronnie and tilted his chin forward. She shrugged, a smug smile contorting her once saddened face. Ronnie dropped a wink, “Nothing at all.”

The second person to make me cry was Max. Out of everyone, he was probably my best friend at this point. We had spent so much time together, out drinking, dancing, holed up in my hotel room with trays of room service, movies on the tv. He had been there through one of the most terrifying, exhilarating, strange summers of my life. We were bonded forever, now. I could feel it.

He was helping me check in while Sam and Ronnie headed to drop off our baggage. They were all just planning on hanging for the extra hour until it was time to check in for their flight. I was grateful they all wanted to sacrifice the time for me. To them, though, I knew it was second nature.

Some people made it easy, loving me.

I shook away the thoughts because the attendant was handing me my ticket. She reiterated boarding time, twenty minutes from now, and wished me a safe flight. “Thank you,” I nodded before turning back to Max.

The tall blonde was watching me. I could tell he was on the verge of tears from just the way that his shoulders shrugged forward. It made my heart swell, knowing how much of an impact I had had on them.

He tried to straighten up as I looked him in the eye. Then, he opened his mouth to say something. I threw myself into his arms before he could. Hugging me tight, Max brushed a hand down the back of my head.

“Oh, sweet, lovely angel. I am going to miss you so.”

I didn’t need to hear anything else to start crying into his chest. Max felt the rock of my shoulders and sniffled into my hairline. “Don’t start, love. I won’t be able to stop, myself,” he chuckled shortly.

We stood like that for a few minutes, maybe more, before I stepped back. I rubbed my eyes on the inside of my sweatshirt, knowing my face was flushed and probably swelling. Max touched his fingers to my wrists and gently brushed aside my hands. He took in my visage, so delicately, and sighed. “Can I just say…”

“Oh, no!” I exclaimed through a sob. More tears fell.

Max rubbed my shoulders, “No, no, no, love. It’s okay. No more tears, okay? We’ll be okay. Just…I just want- I need to tell you how important you are. I know you’re going to go home and things are going to start to settle and you’re going to start to think so many things about yourself. You are so easy to love, Daisy. It is like breathing to me, to Ronnie, to Sam, Sasha. It is breathing. And you are worthy of it, too. That’s all. I just…I just needed to tell you, okay?”

I didn’t say anything else. I just whimpered and pulled him in closer to me.

Sam was the worst.

Since the evening before, when I had broken down in his arms and told him, through my blubbering, a short synopsis of what had happened, we hadn’t spoken much. I didn’t know if it was simply because we didn't have enough time. But, I was feeling worse because of it.

I needed my big brother more than anybody else. Sam knew me better than anybody else, even if we hadn’t been around each other as often as we used to. He still understood me. We shared the same blood, for God’s sake.

Yet, as we sat there, in the waiting area of my plane’s gate, he didn’t even look at me. He stared down at the floor, hands folded in his lap. He sat across from Ronnie, Max, and I, making it known that he wanted nothing to do with the conversation. When he first sat there, the aisle a wide gap between us, I furrowed my brows. But, then, Ronnie and Max striked up some topic that I invested myself and my attention into.

It didn’t seem like that big of a deal until they called for me. I stood up, faster than I should’ve, to be honest, and began to gather my things. Phone, bag, jacket, passport. I ran the list over in my head, three times over.

All the while, Sam slowly stood, stuffed his hands in his pockets, and watched his feet as he scuffed his sneakers across the carpeted floor.

I passed my eyes over him for a moment, holding my breath. Surely, my brother would have something to say to me.

He didn’t make a move.

I began walking the short distance to my gate. Before I moved to get in line, though, I turned back to my friends. Max jumped for a hug first, barely allowing me enough time to fully settle back on my heels. I dug my feet into the ground to gain traction as his ginormous body came toppling into my arms. Ronnie joined in the hug yet struggled to toss her arms over Max’s tall frame. He adjusted as we all shared a laugh and tucked her in beside me.

He called over his shoulder, voice muffled, “Get in here, Sam-Ham!”

I heard my brother elicit a laugh. It felt refreshing to hear. Then, I felt the hug grow tighter as he joined in on Max’s other side. We didn’t stay like that for long. It was stuffy and I wasn’t getting much air.

So, I tapped Max’s back and said, “Alright. Let me go.”

I gave individual hugs to everybody, voicing my own grateful, somewhat short, goodbyes.

Then, I turned to my brother. He evaded my eye contact for a moment or two. Then he pulled me in. Tight.

Out of nowhere, “I’m sorry if he ruined your summer.”

Tensing up from the words, the mention of him, I slowly pulled back from Sam’s embrace. He held onto my back, sort of cradling me. The guilt lying in his eyes was far worse than anything I’d ever seen flash across his face. My own gaze softened from the taut expression it had anxiously contorted to.

“What?” I breathily inquired, unsure if I had heard him correctly, saddened that he was obviously carrying so much hurt from my stupid mistakes. “Why? Sam, it wasn’t your fault.��

“I know, Daz, I just…” Sam’s arms fell from around me. I missed the warmth as soon as the chill of the vast room settled in around my sweatshirt. He ran a veiny hand across his forehead, “I'm supposed to be there for you. Protect you. And I already suck at the first part.”

“Sam,” I grasped his wrist, slipping his fingers between my hands. “It’s not your fault. It’s…honestly, if my summer was ruined, it was because of my own shitty decisions. Besides, you don’t suck at being there for me. I can’t believe you would even think that!”

I clasped his hand tight between mine, brows furrowed. To hear him blame himself, to hear him look this way…This whole summer, I had spent my time obsessing over somebody who didn’t even want me. I should have paid more attention to my brother, who was part of the reason I was here in the first place.

The farther I got from the start of this journey, literally and figuratively, the blurrier my original dreams became. There was no meaning to find here- only what was already there.

The thought made me lick my lips in nervous realisation.

Sam let out a frustrated, breathy chortle. “Don’t give me so much credit. I’ve been…gone. Running away from home. For so long. Worried about getting out of that apartment and town and away from…from anything that could remind me of her. Remind me of mom. I left you behind in the process.”

The wetness in my eyes began to pour over. “Oh, Sam,” my lips trembled out as I dove back into his arms. I dug my fingers into his shoulders, holding onto him as though an airplane would dive down and pull him away. I needed this. This kind of hug. This moment.

Clarity was nearer than ever before.

“Listen,” I pulled back, “I need you to understand, okay? My summer was not ruined. It wasn’t. This entire experience has been the most amazing, wonderful, awesome, cool time. I got to spend so much time getting to see you, getting to see your world. And, don’t ever blame yourself for getting away. You had to. I see it now- You had to come be a part of this wonderful band, go with them on all of their amazing tours. I see it on your face, Sam. This is what you’re supposed to do, okay? My mistakes are my own. Not yours.”

“I just…” Sam stared at the floor for a moment, tongue quick to go and defend his original claim But he paused and let the information process. “I…I just wish I could punch him in the face or something. What a douche. Dragging you into his mess. I should’ve known, too. The way he treated you- it was so obvious. For that, I am sorry, Daisy. I should’ve said something. Honestly,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair, “I should beat his ass.”

Max and Ronnie, who had been trying to make it appear as though they were not eavesdropping, laughed at the last line. I opened up Sam and I’s moment by taking a step back. I gave them space to join us here. Ronnie clasped Sam’s hand and rested her head on his shoulder, “As funny as that would be, he is still your boss. And your bandmate,” she nodded to Max.

The tall blond rolled his eyes with a scoff, “Don’t worry. I’ll try to keep it civil.”

It was my turn to scold. I punched Max in the shoulder to gain his eye contact, “Don’t try. Just do it. He’s not a bad person. He just…sucks. A little bit.”

Talking about him, living in the truth of the situation, confronting all the dark realizations- it was a heavy weight to bear. I felt my shoulder slinking forward, as though I were Atlas with the dark, cloudy sky above me. Though I didn’t want to be rid of these three, I needed to be gone already. I needed to go before it all came crashing down again. I didn’t want anybody else to see me cry again. It was…embarrassing, to say the least.

So, I allowed one last hug from each of them and then turned towards my gate. I boarded the plane, mindlessly, going through all of the motions. Like I was used to leaving, like I was good at it. Like I was strong. But, I felt weak. I felt heavy and sad and angry and…

The city was gray. I remember it being sunny, summer-weather, though there had been a chill in the air. He always said it was. Maybe it always had been and I was…crazy. Wide-eyed. Desperate or naive or whatever.

But it was clear as day now, how dreary it looked from this airplane window. The wind whipped at the airline workers, shuffling luggage to their places, green vests billowing up. My breath fogged at the window which narrowed my pointed gaze. It seemed the plane was being pumped full of heat. I hadn’t realized it was that cold outside.

I guess fall was coming.

“Ladies and gentleman, this is your reminder to place your devices on airplane mode. We are approaching take-off,” a thick, European accent declared over the PA system.

I wrestled to retrieve my phone from my bookbag, which was squished in between my feet. When I was able to lift it towards me, the screen lit up. There was a buzz from the device that vibrated my hand then the appearance of a text message.

Oliver: Daisy, I need to tell you…

The message cut itself off, only the sneakpeek visible due to the system settings I had on my device.

It was ominous, though, like it had chosen to cut itself off there.

The tail end of that message could be- anything.

Daisy, I need to tell you…you’re a dumb bitch?

…I fucking hate you.

I love you?

Please, stay?

I don’t think I wanted to know.

My thumb hesitated over the screen, barely gracing it’s smooth glass. If I tapped on the message, if I saw what he said…would it change things?

Would it make me hate him even more?

Would it make me want to stay?

I didn’t want anything else to make my decisions anymore. I wanted to make my own choices, based on my own actions, thoughts. I was tired of living up to everybody’s image of me. If that was all I learned this summer, to be true to what I wanted, to be true to myself…then maybe this summer wasn’t so bad after all.

Maybe there had been something to find- maybe that something was me.

The shaking in my hands must’ve made the screen react to a ghost of my fingerprint. The option to scan my face ID came as soon as a flight attendant passed by my section, a bright smile on their face.

“Hi, friend! Did you put your device on airplane mode?” They asked with a slight gesture towards my phone.

I glanced back at the screen as she pointed. The message was open. That’s where it had ended, what Oliver had sent to me. “I need to tell you something.” But, he was still typing, still coming up with words to say.

My hands moved quickly, sliding down the menu and thumbing the airplane option. If he were still typing, I couldn’t see it anymore.

And any messages he may try to send would go green, undelivered, lost.

Forgotten, in the skies, somewhere between London and Germany, during the beginning of a cold, cold autumn.

[mikkomacko]

I loved the little Nico reader and Johnny blurb! You should def do something small like that with them and holtzy next🥺 I’m in my missing Alex hours

Nico’s looking over your shoulder, a hand on your hip as he reads over the grocery list with you. You’ve both gotten pretty good at keeping the kitchen stocked and the grocery list stacked since adding Alex to the household. But between him and Nico, food seems to fly out of the fridge and cupboards faster than you can keep track of.

Which is why the list and the shopping has become a group affair.

“That’s everything,” you say, waiting a second while Nico finishes double checking for you. He squeezes your hip, humming his agreement and you tuck your phone away.

The checkout line slowly inches forward, the woman with the half filled basket in front of you sighing heavily. You meet her eyes, smiling politely and puffing out your own sigh of agreement. Maybe you should start making Nico and Alex take a day during the week to come shopping with you. The weekend crowd just isn’t cutting it anymore.

Alex is standing by the end of your overflowing cart, brown eyes downtrodden and lips pursed in that way they get when he’s scared. Not terrified scared, but anxious scared. You note the way he’s holding the edge of the cart, thoughtfully fingering the corner of the oatmilk coffee creamer stacked on top.

Oatmilk creamer, the kind Nico and you like. Not the kind Alex likes.

“Aw we forgot your vanilla one, Alex!” You say, and his gaze snaps up to yours. Relief floods his eyes, a sheepish smile on his face.

“Can I go run and get it?”

Nico nods his head back towards the dairy. “Go for it, the line’s not moving anyway.” Alex’s smiles wider, murmuring “excuse me’s” in a quiet and accented voice until he’s ducked out of the checkout lane and disappeared around the edge of it.

In the total wrong direction.

“Nico,” you whine, turning to him with pleading eyes. He pops his gum, frowning curiously at you. “Go make sure he doesn’t get lost please?”

“He’s a big kid, he’ll be fine.”

“He went the wrong way.”

Nico stands up taller, looks over the shelves and snorts quietly. “Let him get his energy out running up and down the aisles.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Nico Hischier if you don’t go right now and help him I swear to god-“

“Fine, ok,” he grunts, holding his hands up “but if you keep babying him, we’ll never get him out of our house.”

That’s not something you particularly care about though so you smile, patting him on the chest in thanks and sending him off with a short kiss. Nico makes his way down the checkout line, not bothering to say anything because everyone’s already scooting out of his way. You’ve always found it funny, how people seem to shy away from him.

Resting your elbows on the basket, you lean your weight into it and try to not be so impatient as the long lines ticks forward. The woman in front of you smiles again, briefly glancing to the area Alex was standing earlier.

“How old is he?” She questions.

“He just turned 18.”

She looks shocked, eyes slightly widening and lips parting as she looks you up and down. “Wow, you look way too young to have a son that age! I thought he was way younger.”

Oh, you gawk. No one has ever actually thought Alex was your kid. Sure you look older for your age and Nico has the personality of an old man but there’s not even close to being a normal amount of years between you and Alex for you to be his actual mother.

“He’s not-“you laugh, a bit caught off guard still “I’m not his mom. He’s just family.”

The lady’s cheeks tinge pink and you’d imagine yours are too judging by the heat burning at your face. She laughs too, holding her hand up in apology. “Oh he looks so much like your husband! I’m sorry I thought-anyway I was like I can’t believe how great this mom looks for her age.”

That makes you laugh, the awkwardness from before settling. Alex does look like Nico a bit, same color eyes, their dark and straight hair, even his nose a bit. And you’ve noticed him picking up Nico’s mannerism too, small things like the way he stands with his arms crossed or raises an eyebrow when he’s talking and is excited.

“Oof yeah I’m way too young to have a kid that old.” You agree, choosing to just breeze over her calling Nico your husband. Technically he’s not, but he’s as good as.

“Trust me there’s lots of time for that,” she assures, beginning to load her groceries onto the belt. “Seems like you’d be good at it too, if you decide to.”

Luckily, Nico and Alex slip their way back up to you just in time to save you because an uncomfortable and uncertain lump has lodged its way into your throat. Too early for the kid talk, like way too early.

Alex dumps his creamer into the basket, then a tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream and finally a bag of some candy you’ve never seen before.

“Nico said I could.” He tells you with a pleased grin. “It’s Swedish.”

You had no idea there was even Swedish candy here but you laugh, shrugging off his explanation. “You can get whatever you want Alex, it’s ok.”

“As long as some of it is real food,” Nico cuts in, and you can feel the woman from before watching you three. “Not just chipotle and frozen pizza like the Hughes boys.”

Alex nods, a thoughtful look in his eyes and you can practically see him taking mental notes of every little piece of advice Nico’s given him. He blinks as if just realizing something.

“I don’t like frozen foods.”

Nico grins, smacks Alex on the shoulder like a proud father. “No harm then.” He grins, smacking his gum and then beginning to load the groceries onto the belt.

“I got it.” Alex jumps in, shooing Nico back to your side so he can empty the basket for you. Over his shoulder you meet the woman’s gaze again, the two of you sharing a knowing and amused smile before she’s walking away, a basket of bagged food going with her.

Nico rests his hand on your lower back, and you move in closer. “She thought he was our son,” you whisper into his ear, nodding towards the lady when Nico looks confused.

“Maybe your son,” Nico chuckles quietly, “we have more of a dog-owner relationship, ya know?” Even so, he’s smiling all shy and cute as he lies through his teeth.

You press a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Mhm, whatever you say boss.”

[livingst0ned]

They had all come to grow used to living in a certain way.    Back  at  the  cabin  in  Northern  California,    it was Gio and Vicente who dominated the kitchen during daytime hours     —  they cooked the three essential meals and then some, always laughing over ground chile and doughy masa.    They cooked enough for a small army, Gio and Vicente.   Every morning, and every afternoon   —    and  Cee  seldom  ate  with  the  others,   but Vicente always saved her a plate. Even if it made Gio sigh or shake her head in dismissal. 

They were all getting used to living in vastly different ways. 

    So much change   —   it was enough to make your hands shake,   to set your back teeth on edge.   It wouldn't have been so unlike her to fumble the ball completely.     She kept wondering to herself:  Was Claire surprised when she saw that I actually found a place? Did she half-expect me to piss the money she gave me away? Did I expect me to do that?       So much change was alarming for a thing like her. Unreliable, unstable and constantly dropping the ball — but here she was, fixing French toast for unprompted guests.    Francis and her never got along well.   It was her own fault   —   standoffish as she was,   and she never did well playing nice with others.   She was a twat,  in the not-so-distant past.

And she doesn't expect them to like her.  But she won't turn them away for it.   What would the reason be behind that?   Vicente was dead.  And her thoughts are hinged on Claire — standing beneath the spray of shower water, or maybe sitting with her knees drawn to her chest at the foot of the tub. Her mind is crowded, anxious with thoughts of running water — long black hair, her lover's distant gaze. Preoccupied. That would have been an understatement. Maybe because she's thinking about Claire all the while. And her hands are still shaking. And her stomach is growing teeth. And she just keeps making French toast even though Vicente used to cook breakfast. 

Cee fishes a couple dishes from the drying rack for Francis,  and Alo.   It's a set  —  grey geese delicately drawn along the edges, thorny vine and iris.  She listens to Francis with those same vines knotted around her chest. 

     ❛   —  I normally wouldn't, either. But —... worries me, thinkin' about not making something right now...   ❛    Cee mumbles, melting stick of butter in hand   —   deft fingers working a butter knife, cutting a square. It sizzles on the pan. She wasn't entirely sure if her words would make sense to Francis. Broad hand grips at the pan's handle, shaking teflon-coated cookware until the melting butter spreads.   She works hastily.   Twin slices of bread are dipped in egg wash until dripping, splat — on the pan. 

Alo's haughty gaze is disturbed by the Highmore's inquisition.    He's as quiet as a goddamn pantomine, not looking anywhere but out the window.    His boyish face betrays some immediate confusion.    But he does take the joint, dumbly.     It's drawn to his lips and the short drag makes him cough hard in his chest. 

He shakily hands the joint back to Francis, ears burning. 

Cee cocks her head at the sound, looking over her shoulder to get a good look at something strange: Alo smoking weed. He doesn't seem the type.  What would Kerry say to that, she wonders. She squints, apprehensive for a moment    —    though she's quick to shrug it off.   He was evidently going through some kind of crisis.  Two plates are procured, set in front of Alo and Francis    — French toast glistening with syrup, melting whipped cream.

   ❛   A job, though? Maybe. I dunno. It's difficult when you don't feel drawn to any one thing, y'know?   ❛   She rubs her hands together anxiously, pale eyes darting toward the joint in Francis's possession. She thinks to ask. But then she thinks she hears the shower turn off and swivels her head at once, listening close. 

Alo's rubbing at his flushing face.    She hears the sound of the shower, and sighs. 

    ❛   ... Not to mention I haven't really been looking these past few days.   ❛  And she wasn't rightly sure when she would start up again. Her eyes flash toward Francis, anxious. 

    ❛ — Have you ... have you heard from Gio, by chance? ❛

Francis regards the joint with a fleeting smirk, as though the gesture from Cee were as surprising as it was expected. They take it, pinching it between their fingers with care, a sliver of faint approval in their movements. No words pass as they ignite the end—not with the lighter, but with a quick amiable flicker of undefined magic. It was always a trick of theirs. Probably one of the first one's they learned when they were a child. The ember catches, glowing steadily as they inhale deeply, the faint curl of smoke slipping through the still air.

They exhale slowly, gaze falling to the small quaint ashtray they pull toward themselves, fingers tapping once on the edge of the table before setting the joint down for a moment.

“Thank you” Francis murmurs, their voice soft, words more for the room than anyone in particular. The faintest ghost of a smirk lingers on their lips before they lean back slightly, elbows resting on the chair’s worn arms. They never got along. And now, with how things were, they were still trying to figure out how to be a person. It occurs to them with very little trouble at all, that Cee was doing the same. Just trying to navigate being a person. They watch Cee with something resembling quiet curiosity as she busies herself at the stove, her movements almost mechanical, as though to distract from everything unspoken simmering beneath the surface.

“Can’t say I’ve thought much about cooking lately,” Francis continues, their tone measured, masking the undertone of weariness that clings to every syllable. “I was so used to things when we were all in one place together. And now all Abra and I do is order room service. And it's been nothing short of a waste of money.”

They flick their gaze to Alo briefly, his silence unnerving but at least familiar, before focusing again on Cee. “I'm happy this place is working for you.”

Their fingers drift back to the joint, lifting it for another slow drag. “Have you considered working in a kitchen?” There’s a pause, almost as if they’re weighing whether to continue speaking on job prospects. They knew conversations like that could be awkward. They turn to look at Alo. He didn't really smoke cannabis. They remembered that. But they offer the joint anyway. “It might help.” They offer quietly, nearly drowned out by the sound of sizzling butter.

[milo-is-rambling]

The five mg edible didn’t get me noticeably high but it was enough to turn my emotions back on so now I know what to take if I ever want to cry

[hplonesomeart]

Hey. Sorry about the inactivity, but pretty sure no one cared that much anyways lol. Been a looooong time since I kept that distant from Tumblr…at least now I know I’m able to survive without checking posts every day/being chronically online! I’ve got an intense love-hate relationship with this lifestyle I’ve dug myself into. Think I’m getting a little bit better with the balance even if school isn’t really giving me an option. Got a load of work I need to keep catching up on if I don’t want to disappoint my professors. We’ll survive somehow. Here take a quick batch of Puzzle doodles k bye

[valewritessss]

In honor of my period coming two fucking days early, here’s a menstruation based pjo question.

Who do we think has the worst cramps vs who do we think is one of those lucky ducks who have minimal bleeding and little to no cramps?

[sherlock-is-ace]

the imposter syndrome i feel every time i even slightly think i might be autistic is insane, specially for a person who highly relates to the lived experiences of people who are professionally diagnosed.

Like I was just watching this one youtuber, and she was talking about very specific examples in her life and childhood where she saw autistic traits that made her realize she was autistic and then seek a diagnosis and then get one, and everything she was saying was like she was describing my life! But yeah no, I can't be autistic tho

[whentherewerebicycles]

it's good news thank god 😭😭😭

[lemondropletters]

It may not be a curtain vision, but here’s a little snippet of a dream I had with Reynie. There’s very limited context but I hope you enjoy regardless!

✧┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈✧

Reynie hovered by the dining room entrance, his stomach twisted in knots. He took a hesitant step forward, and then another. Mr. Benedict sat at the table, a book in hand, while Number Two bustled about the kitchen, preparing breakfast.

"Where is everyone?" Reynie's voice barely rose above a whisper. Mr. Benedict looked up in slight surprise before smiling, his glasses balanced delicately on the bridge of his nose.

"Ah, good morning, Reynie," he greeted warmly, setting aside his book and removing his glasses. "I believe Milligan and the others took the children out to run errands."

“Oh,” Reynie murmured, swallowing hard. ‘Of course after everything they probably don’t want to see me…’ His thoughts trailed off as he lingered in the doorway.

Mr. Benedict waved him in. “Sit down, sit down! Number Two is almost done with breakfast.”

Reynie hesitated before taking the seat opposite Mr. Benedict. The only sound was the gentle crackling of food on the stove.

“How are you feeling?” Mr. Benedict's voice broke the silence. Reynie glanced down, fidgeting with his hands.

"Fine," he replied quietly.

The room fell silent once more. Mr. Benedict regarded him with an indefinable expression. It wasn’t negative really, but Reynie felt terrible from it all the same.

"Reyn—" Mr. Benedict started, interrupted by the arrival of a plate.

"Oh, lovely! Thank you, Number Two," he said gratefully before turning back to Reynie, ready to continue their conversation.

"Toast?" Number Two interjected, addressing Mr. Benedict.

Mr. Benedict blinked in surprise. "Yes- sorry- Toast?”

“I wasn’t sure which bread you wanted? We have whole wheat, whole grain, sourdough…”

“Well, Yes I’m sure they’re all good Number Two.” Mr Benedict began. Number two cut him off.

“…pumpernickel, rye bread, a baguette, white bread, brown bread-” She continues listing of bread.

“Yes, Number Two, that’s all fine—“ Mr. Benedict quickly looked up at her, bewildered. “Do we really have that much bread?”

Reynie glances between them.

“Any bread will do Number Two. Or no bread… Actually I’m rather fine without toast.”

“..No bread?” Number Two mumbled, a look of disbelief on her face.

Reynie slowly gets up from his chair as to not draw attention to himself. Maybe this conversation will last long enough for him to slip away and avoid talking about last night. Once he’s a good distance from the table he turns asround, preparing to make a quick exit up the stairs.

"Reynie?" Mr. Benedict's voice stopped him in his tracks. He turned, meeting Mr. Benedict's gentle smile, which was enough for him to sit back down at his seat.

“Sorry.”

"No need to apologize, my dear boy," Mr. Benedict reassured him.

Reynie lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Now, first things first, are you hungry?”

Reynie looks at him and then at Number Two. He pauses, then smiles. “Actually, is it alright if I have some toast?”

Mr. Benedict laughs for a moment, before promptly passing out.

[seventh-district]

sometimes it’s late at night and you’re cleaning your room and you come across a few old black and white photos of a young girl and you stare at them for a long minute wondering how on earth they got lost in an old Kroger shopping bag with an unopened pack of cigarettes and a receipt dated 2017.

and you look at the girl in the pictures sat on the floor of someone’s home you don’t recognize, smiling and playing with a set of keys and a tiny part of you feels like it recognizes her but you aren’t sure.

and you flip the pictures over hoping to find some sort of annotation that would give you context and all you find is the year 1964 stamped in tiny font along the edge.

and you flip them back over and time stands still as you realize that the recognition you feel is because she looks so much like you once did and next thing you know your hands are sweating and shaking and you have to sit on the floor because you’re crying so hard because it hits you all at once that you’re looking at your mother.

[babacontainsmultitudes]

Normal, Sparrow, and something about heroes

EDIT: Raised the "read more" cause tumblr wants to make self-rbs a nightmare smh smh

Y'all it's so difficult to write ANYTHING lol fuck... But yeah yeah definitely got some post ep. 30 thoughts. Do need to start with some explanations/clarifications on my general stance regarding Normal which is mostly for the mutuals LOL and they know that so if things appear to lack a bit of context on that front well that's why.

There are some things regarding Norm where I lowkey almost don't want to say anything because I'm sooooo wishy washy myself ahahaha and I feel like I'm definitely gonna end up writing some stuff here and be like "ehhhhhh" later on but what can you do what can you do.

I guess I can at least start by saying that when I say that like, Norm can be self-centered, or prideful, or something to that effect, I am *definitely* not trying to say like "this negates Norm's compassion" or that like, Norm needs to be made to feel bad about that? I hope I'll be able to explain what I mean properly here but, a lot of my feelings regarding Norm's more negative traits do genuinely come from a place of concern for him??

Yes I think Norm can be self-centered, yes I think it comes from a place of loneliness and insecurity, yes I think it bleeds into his actions in a way that can negatively impact both himself and those around him, and yes I think that all of these things make him very very VERY similar to Scary... Is my general stance atm but let me, let me *try* to explain what all that means for me LOL.

I think Norm is a good person. I don't think he's *the most* empathetic or selfless or kind character we've seen in the show, but I also don't think he needs to be, or ever will need to be. He has a good heart (all the teens do, yes that includes Scary, fight me), he *does* care about other people very much, and like the other teens his frustrations are valid and generally pretty justified!

But I think Norm is someone who, perhaps pretty fundamentally, requires a pretty high level of external validation and social acceptance to feel loved, has generally gone most of his life not having that need met outside of his immediate family, and is pretty all-or-nothing and rejection-sensitive when it comes to this validation. I don't think Norm is a bad person for any of these traits (at all), even if it can impact his interactions with others negatively at times. No, above all else, these traits lead me to feel quite concerned and altogether just kinda sad for Norm.

And that's where things get a bit messy. On the one hand, Norm *is* a kind person, with good intentions, and even when I feel most frustrated with his actions, I don't take them as coming from a place of malice or ill-intent. But Norm wants to feel loved so bad, and his conditions for feeling loved (as aforementioned) are very difficult to meet, so, yes, (I do personally feel that) Norm often does, largely without knowing, prioritize this endless search for validation over other things, and having this at the forefront of his mind so frequently does inhibit his ability to truly connect with the people around him and (in many cases) actually *empathize* with them.

The difference- the difference for me between Normal and Linc with regards to Scary isn't whether or not they *care* about Scary. Even if it's a bit old now, I didn't write a whole thing on Normal/Scary and Sparrow/Lark parallels because I don't think Norm cares about Scary. Normal has *absolutely* put a tremendous amount of effort into trying to keep Scary around, to disappointing results that are justifiably frustrating for him. Normal and Linc both care about Scary, the difference for me, and what I just find so spectacular about Linc compared to all the other teens here, is that Linc goes *beyond* himself when he breaks the pic. He's not the first person to care about or try to help Scary, he's just the first person to do so in the way that she actually needs- because his general selflessness allows him to be the first person to actually *understand* Scary. He's not the first person to feel *for* her, he's the first person to feel *with* her. That is... Well I guess that is also to say that when I use the word "empathy" I mean it fairly precisely.

Which also isn't... I'm not trying to knock Normal (or Taylor) in saying this btw. The teens ALL have their strengths and weaknesses, and this was simply a moment that brought out one for Linc and another for Norm (vice versa can has and will be true at other points in time). Normal not being able to do what Linc did here is not something I'm trying to hold against him. With regards to their argument, I genuinely think that they both have plenty of reason to be upset, and ultimately it's all just one big misunderstanding. Still, I do personally think that much of why Norm is so upset with Linc in this scene has not so much to do with Scary nor with the Doodler- but is in fact at least in part Norm feeling rejected by Linc (invalidated, unloved, etc.), and acting out accordingly. Additionally, I think these feelings get in the way of Norm actually being able to understand and appreciate why Linc did what he did. They were both hurt, they both lashed out. I'm not trying to gloss over Linc's part in this either, I'm not saying one of them was right and the other was wrong or that one was mean and the other wasn't, but from what I've seen at least it seems people are almost unanimously siding with Norm on this one without much consideration for the points Linc actually makes here, choosing instead to focus solely on what *Linc's* hurt caused him to say (without acknowledging of course that in Linc's case too it comes from a place of hurt), and that much is a bit frustrating for me admittedly.

I wouldn't have expected or wanted Norm to behave any differently in this scene than he did. I think everything about Norm's behavior makes perfect sense for where he's at, and "where he's at", for me, isn't "selfish kid who doesn't care about other people" it's "scared kid who feels rejected and alone". That said, I think if Norm wants to get any better he, like all the teens, needs to start introspecting a bit more and work on himself.

And when I say that, I'm not saying "Norm is prideful and needs to be more humble" I'm saying, Norm needs to get to a place where he can feel loved, and allow himself to be loved, without it being so all or nothing.

Enter Hero!!! The chosen one! I kinda don't get why some people are just seeing this as Anthony trying to bully Norm rather than a very important opportunity for growth!!!

This feels like a point that could be easily misconstrued, so I'll try to be careful? When I say that Hero being the chosen one is an opportunity for Norm to grow as a person, I am NOT saying in becoming more humble or something like that?? Normal's pride isn't his fatal flaw, it's an afterthought of it, a manifestation of it, a defense mechanism vis a vis his fundamental insecurities, if you will.

Normal, as I see him, is convinced that he will only ever be loved, that he will only ever have "solved" love, when he is validated in absolutes. When he is the most popular boy in school who is friends with everybody. When he's the hero of the story. When he's the chosen one. If part of him sees himself as being without flaw (or the best part of teen high or whatever), it's not because he's some arrogant little brat, it's because he can't imagine himself as being lovable unless he is perfect. He isn't selfish for feeling this way, but from an outside view I think it's fairly easy to say that if Normal continues down that path, he's never going to get where he needs to go.

Hero being the chosen one, not Normal, gives Normal an opportunity to learn (or at least start to learn) that his perceived prerequisites for love (of himself) are false. Normal doesn't have to be the hero of the story. He doesn't have to be a hero. He doesn't have to be Hero, it's enough to just be Normal.

Sooooo... I think it's pretty ironic that... Upon learning that Hero is the chosen one.... So many people have jumped the gun and assumed that this means... Sparrow doesn't love Normal.

HAHA THAT'S RIGHT THIS WAS ABOUT SPARROW ALL ALONG YOU THOUGHT I WAS DONE TALKING ABOUT THIS MAN NEVER NEVER NEVER NEVER NEVER NEVER

But seriously, wow, it pains me sometimes how little faith people have in Sparrow. Hero is "the chosen one"... So every single time Sparrow has relayed how much he loves Norm goes down the drain?? At a most basic level folks, your child can be unplanned and still be loved, actually. Some might even say that that's... normal.

But do you get what I'm trying to say here? The assumptions much of the fandom has made about Sparrow and his love exactly reflect the toxic trains of thought that will probably be plaguing Normal's mind and feeding into his insecurities as the whole Hero thing develops?? And these insecurities (and again false prerequisites for love) are exactly what Normal needs help working through???

But let's move away from the Norm side of things a little bit, cause the assumptions being made about Sparrow currently are much more vast than this.

Let's make something clear. We don't know Sparrow's side of the story. We don't know Lark's side of the story. And of course, we don't know Rebecca's side either. We don't know if Rebecca did or didn't know about the prophecy. It seems that at this point in time, the spouses have had their memories erased. *Not necessarily* the case, but I genuinely can't fathom a scenario in which Cassandra somehow doesn't notice that the father of her child is always kind of a little bit on fire- and conspiracy theorist Rebecca to me also might hint at the fact that at some earlier point in time she would have known more about what's going on? But that's purely speculation, obviously.

So why are we suddenly so sure of Sparrow's intentions, feelings, and *role* in bringing Hero into the world?

I... Well I've been reluctant to bring this up even though the notion has been an itch in my mind since yesterday, but eventually you see enough upsetting Sparrow posts that someone needs to step up and offer something new I guess.

So... Allow me to suggest that, Sparrow being against the idea of having a child purely to fulfill a prophecy, and refusing to partake, actually makes *more* sense.

Most especially, if Sparrow was adamantly against going through with such a plan, we now have the most sound and in-character reason so far to explain... Why Lark slept with Rebecca.

(*gasp*)

As I see it anyways! Because, yeah, it's always felt like a weird elephant in the room, and I don't really feel satisfied with the existing theories at all! Someone with as strong as a resolve as Lark sleeps with the wife of the person who means more to him than anyone cause... He was horny? Or maybe as part of some strange convoluted ploy to push Sparrow away? I'm not saying these aren't still valid possibilities, and I'm not saying that this theory I'm proposing is what happened, really it's an assumption based on an assumption, but nevertheless I think it would make a lot of sense honestly.

(More specifically, what I'm suggesting is Sparrow not wanting to go through with the plan, Lark seeing it as a necessary evil to deal with the Doodler- and we know how hellbent Lark is on dealing with the Doodler, and accordingly "doing what needed to be done", as he is one to do, of course at Sparrow and at least in theory Hero's expense.)

This would also make sense of a lot of Sparrow's more extreme behaviors towards Normal, particularly the question of his name. Through this lens, it was perhaps an affront towards Lark (and possibly Rebecca??), an assertion to the effect of "no, you will not do this again, this child will not be doomed to be a hero". This, or something less aggressive but in a similar vein.

Of course this puts Normal and Sparrow at fundamental odds with one another! Er, despite being so very very similar which isn't what this post is about but still... Anyhoo, yes, there is an important conflict at play here, wherein Normal, as we discussed earlier, sees being the hero (the chosen one, what have you) as the only way to solve love, to be loved- and Sparrow who, more than anything else, doesn't want anymore heroes in the family, because he loves his family, and what happened with Henry... Can't happen again.

[springsteens]

I don't know what it is about me that people always assume they can treat me like shit

[snippyschnapps]

I thought ghost was just being fussy last time about the particular treats I tried to give her as a reward while on walks, but I tried just kibble this time and she still completely refused it, even when she was obviously interested. So i think she just doesn't like eating while out of the house

[wawek]

I havent spoken to anyone in 5 days...

[sschmendrick]

Maybe I should go back to seeing my therapist, he was a good person, à l'écoute, but maybe I should explain why I stopped seeing him (on top of work load becoming unbearable).

Same with my psychiatrist though I think it'll be harder to see her because of the summer.