#please for the love of god read the tws

[sunny6677]

The Seasons

A Roy(Spooky Month) x OC Fanfic

Summary: Rowan, a teenage/preteen(I don't exactly know Roy's age, but I just assume him to be around 15) boy who recently just lost his biological parents, is adopted by his adoptive mother and is taken to his new home. But even so, he's still grieving, and is having a troubling time dealing with it. But.. perhaps, in the midst of his pain, he meets a boy who changes his life forever.

(This is a bit short for the first chapter, so my apologies. And i will say this now—i dont actually like Roy in a romantic way, i just felt bad for him due to the situation with his uncle and parents, and thought he deserved some love. So i made an OC to be his love interest.)

Chapter 1/Part 1: A New Home.

TWS: GRIEF, GRIEF IMPLICATIONS, A TRAUMATIC PAST, A TRAUMATIC SITUATION, LOSING PARENTS, BEING TRAPPED MENTIONS, STORM MENTIONS, HURRICANE MENTIONS.

————

Rowan hadn't known how he had ended up here. He could distantly recall the memories of his blood-mother and his blood-father, he could distantly recall their still expressive faces in his mind, their voices. He could recall the slim bearded and slightly wrinkled face of his father, his black twinkling middle-aged eyes and his proud smile, his raspy yet comforting voice. He could recall the oval-shaped face of his mother, her charming and sweet smile—her gentle and soft voice that would call his name ever so softly. He could recall the memories of his old home.

The coastal atmosphere and warm temperature, the blazing sun that would often give him slight sunburns that he would usually have to always recover from, the sound of the seagulls chirping and flying around the area—constantly having to glance around when eating outside due to nearby seagulls. He could recall the time he was practically attacked by seagulls while eating a sandwich, and how he had to rely on his father to rescue him.

The burning sensation of the sand of which he would have to always wear sandals on when visiting the beach, the occasional visits to the beach were always a treat, especially the snacks his parents would bring. The usual sandwiches that he would buy at the nearby sandwich shop—he and his parents had even befriended some of the workers there, the sand bugs that he despised so but now craved to see again more than ever, the slight paranoia of crabs in the water due to memories of him being sort of attacked by one when he was a child.

Even the sand crabs of which he would see, had he been staying late at the beach. The warm, beach smell of which he now craved to smell again more than ever, the constant sensations of the sand collecting up into his sandals. He hadn't any friends at his old school, sure, but he had his parents. His parents.. they had been the only sort of friends he had, and the only friends he had needed. They were the only friends he wanted, he didn't care that he didn't have any actual friends, he just wanted to spend time with his family. He loved his family. But...

Now they were gone.

He could remember the day it happened. He was staying at the coastal house of which were surrounded by bright green palm tree's, he could even recall perhaps asking his parents if they could go and get some coconut juice later that day—or maybe just grabbing a bite to eat since he wanted to spend some time with them. But.. the winds were beginning to pick up, and they refused for the sake of his safety. Rowan had listened, and decided to stay home for the day, considering just eating something they'd make themselves. But then.. the waves were beginning to strongly pick up, and they were beginning to splash onto the land severely.

The thunder, so horrifyingly loud—had nearly deafened him, along with the horrified screeches of his parents. The lightning that had striked nearby, and had nearly striked him plenty of times. The horror hadn't stopped, it wouldn't ever stop. He could recall his mother trying to comfort him as the thunder kept deafening him nearly, the protective stance of his father.. he then would hear a loud sound, followed by the collapsing of everything around him. The last thing he heard before everything went dark was.. the sound of his mother screaming, along with the pained grunts and yelps of his father.

He was under there for 6 hours, he had been told. He was saved by a rescue team, they had uncovered the debris surrounding him, and had managed to pull him out. He was covered in red gashes and deep cuts, and piercing amounts of blood staining his skin, maybe even at least one broken limb. The first thing he had asked upon being saved was, "Where.. where's my parents?" To which they did not answer, only giving an unsure look, as if hiding something. They did not acknowledge the question, only deciding on taking him to the hospital.

At the hospital, he had spent hours laying in his bed, being accompanied by the food of which they had made him, the warm soup of which they had fed him so he wouldn't hurt himself trying to eat it. A woman had then come in later that day, baring a sad look.

...

She bared him the news of the death of his parents.

...

He had let out an anguished scream of grief after sputtering words of soft denial, grabbing onto his head and shrieking at the top of his lungs, grieving groans and wailing sounds of agony as he managed to finally process the news. The woman tried to comfort him, but to no avail. He kept on sobbing, shrieking.. it was only later that he would finally calm down, he looked to be in shock for 2 hours after the news he had been bared. For 6 weeks, they had kept him in the hospital, healing him the best they could. Once he had been fully healed, they had.. taken him to an orphanage somewhere far away, he didn't know why they had to fly him there.

Of course, he hadn't remembered any sort of orphanages being in his area, and assumed that to be the reason why. He didn't even get to say goodbye to any of the few people he had known at his old home. For 6 months, he had stayed inside the orphanage, keeping to himself and remaining silent when other kids tried to speak with him. It was only at the end of those 6 months that he had met an older woman who seemed to be interested in perhaps being his new mother.. of course, upon hearing his story, she immediately decided she wanted to adopt him. Once the papers had been signed, she took him in.

And now, here he had been in the car, sitting in the back with a book to accompany him. His adoptive mother, Jane, had purchased the book for him as a token of her motherly attitude towards him. He had told her he had been interested in the works of Vincent Van Gogh during their first meeting, and so, she had bought him a book that held a collection of all of his paintings, accompanied by facts about him and the paintings themselves. He appreciated this gesture, but pain and agony still filled his mind ever so. Jane would be taking him to his new home now, his forever home perhaps, her home. This area that he would now be living in was extremely different compared to the coastal area he once resided in.

Due to it being autumn, it was extremely cold, Jane even had to put on a jacket on Rowan so he wouldn't freeze as soon as they left the orphanage building. What made up for it though was the glowing red and orange shades of the leaves of the trees of which Jane would drive by.

Jane's hair had been a dark red, and her hair had been tied into a slick and silky ponytail. She was plus-sized compared to Rowans rather skinny body type, and was wearing a deep red t-shirt along with a jacket to save herself some warmth in the midst of the autumn breeze. She had a comforting, yet almost energetic smile—her lips were a deep red due to the lipstick she put on. And she happened to be wearing jeans as well. The car that she had been driving had been.. odd. It was a 1965 Red Corvette of some kind, a classic car. Had this been a replica, or had it been real, and if so, why was it still working? That was what Rowan didn't understand.

Rowan had barely said anything the whole trip, only responding when Jane spoke up or tried making conversation with him. He felt slightly bad, since he was quiet and soft-spoken compared to the rough growling of the road of which Jane would drive in, and would usually have to slightly raise his voice so she could hear him. He tried reading the book while she drove after a while, but kept thinking about the agonizing loss of his parents. The people at the orphanage lacked empathy, and had not helped with his grief or trauma at all. In fact, they only made it worse. It was a relief Jane had adopted him, really. He finally didn't have to put up with the orphanage anymore, even if this wasn't his old home.

By the time Rowan put the book down, he immediately took notice of the different environment. "We're here~" Jane said in a low but sweet tone. Rowan observed the environment around him through his window. It was late, and the sky was beginning to darken, but he could still see just fine. The orange, red, yellow trees of which had been changed by autumn, most of them had leaves that had already fallen off, but they were still pretty to look at regardless.

The road and streets seemed to be packed with people, even a few mischievous looking teenagers who happened to be hanging out in the corner, though Rowan didnt lay them any mind. It was beginning to near Halloween, he had known. The buildings were decorated with rather spooky looking decorations, and lines of Halloween decorations were practically everywhere. They passed a rather large and bright movie theater, which had looked weirdly interesting, Rowan considered checking it out later.

They passed by a candy store, it seemed—pastel pink and blue seemed to be its color scheme, which gave it an adorable and charming look. Rowan even got a quick peek of the few people in there, the clerk seemed weirdly exhausted, but Rowan was too fascinated with his new surroundings to notice. He noticed a weird and worn down looking white van parked on the street, though he hadn't payed it any mind either. It looked to be an.. ice-cream van of some kind? That was the only thing he thought it could have been.

The place.. it looked so cozy and.. and beautiful, it was wonderful. But..

It hadn't been his home.

He was beginning to long for the warm temperatures, the beach and the sand, the crabs even if he feared them so, the seagulls.

His face saddened, and he stopped observing the area outside of the car.

Jane noticed, and said in a soft voice, "Hey, it's okay if this feels a little weird.. how about you take a look around the house for today? You can stay home, and.. maybe tomorrow I can take you to have a little tour of the town!"

...

Rowan softly nodded, forcing a smile. Though he did appreciate the gesture.

————

Rowan awkwardly stepped out of the car once they had arrived at his new home, his new residence. From what it seemed, no other houses were in the area(some were nearby, but were hidden by the trees), this had been a lone house. It.. seemed cozy, almost. The exterior was a deep brown, and bright fairy Iights had surrounded its roof. The area was decorated with pumpkins that had been carved into faces, they glowed, the candle illuminating their insides in a bright neon yellow color.

Rowan slightly smiled at this, finding this to be a little endearing. The windows had revealed the inside of the house, though it was dark, and wasn't easy to see inside. Jane had said something to Rowan, though he didn't exactly hear what she had said, since he had been observing the house so intensely.

Jane shut the car door shut, and carried what looked to be house keys around her finger. She gave a little grin, to which Rowan would only softly smile back as they both approached the house. Though he followed behind her slowly as they stepped onto the porch. She twisted the key—the cold air was beginning to sort of numb Rowans skin, and he was longing to be inside already, he knew that if this hadn't been a more foresty area, his skin would have been warm. The warm coastal temperature of his old home.. he missed it so, he wanted it back so.

By the time Jane opened the door, Rowan immediately rushed inside, slightly sighing out of relief. He muttered a quick apology, though Jane assured him it had been fine. As he glanced around, he took notice of the area almost immediately. Fairly lights surrounded the interior of the house as well, along with a bowl of candy of which had been sitting on a table nearby in the entrance corridor.

Rowan slowly wondered forth, glancing at an entrance to another room, which looked to be the living room. There was a large couch of which had been accompanied by multiple pillows, and there looked to be a fireplace as well, even halloween decorations had surrounded this area so. A TV seemed to be in there as well. Rowan slowly walked inside, and noticed the entrance to presumably the kitchen.

The area looked to be mostly white, having a door that led to the backyard as well. There was a table nearby, surrounded by white wooden chairs. There seemed to be multiple fairy lights in there as well though, accompanied by random pumpkins that had been decorated into the area. There seemed to be a fridge, and multiple cabinets as well—even a few empty cups seemed to be near the sink. Rowan did not step into this area, and decided to go look elsewhere to see what else was observable.

"I.. guess you can just explore the area while your at it." Jane said with a jolly smile. "...yes, I suppose so." Rowan said awkwardly, in his normally soft spoken tone. "Uh.. okay, well.. have fun! Your room is upstairs!" Jane said cheerfully. "O—Oh, well.. okay." Rowan said back as he walked off, giving a nervous but appreciative smile.

Rowan began to tread up the stairs, being careful as not to fall as he held onto it slightly. As he managed to successfully support himself up, he finally noticed that practically everywhere had fairy lights. Had she loved fairy lights this much? Had this been for aesthetic purposes?

Rowan stepped onto the light brown but fuzzy floor of the upstairs corridor, taking notice of the portraits on the wall and a few of the already open doors. The portraits seemed to be of Jane, and a man Rowan didnt recognize. He didn't recall having an adoptive father as well. Maybe he could ask Jane who that man was later? Even so, Rowan was still exploring.

Rowan looked inside of the bathroom, and saw that it hadn't been any different from a regular bathroom, though candles were placed by the bath tub, he walked in and took a look at himself in the mirror by the sink. He had dark circles around his eyes, and looked a lot more pale than he used to.. he really was incredibly skinny now. Christ, he really had changed while at the orphanage, hadn't he?

Rowan only sighed, the widened look in his eye fading as his stare became saddened again. Jane seemed like a nice woman, but he missed his blood-mother. Somewhere deep inside, he hoped this all to be one big dream that he'd wake from. Of course, it had not been. No matter how hard he pinched, he would not wake up from this very much real experience.

Holding back tears as he walked back out, he would head into what looked to be Jane's bedroom, from the way it appeared anyway, he guessed it to be hers most likely. The room seemed big, large. The bed appeared to be large and was sitting by a window, a deep blue blanket slightly slumped over the corner of the bed. Minor stairs inside of the room led to what looked to be a desk of some kind, it seemed to have a lot of papers on it, and an unfinished mug of coffee seemed to be sat upon it. A fireplace seemed to be near, and a cozy looking rug seemed to be on the floor in the middle of the room. Candles were in random corners, of course, giving the room a cozy and dimmed vibe.

He only sighed, and walked out, going to check the last area that he had not been in yet. His bedroom, presumably. He walked up to the door, slowly. Hesitantly, he twisted the handle, and sighed after a moment of reluctant silence. Opening the door, he took in the new environment of his new bedroom.

Fairly lights had yet again been lined across the upper walls of the room, and a window had been in the room as well, having deep red curtains. The walls were white, but seemed to be a pale yellow due to the darkened area of the room. Rowan turned the light on, to get a better view of the room in its entirety, and felt nearly blinded by the bright light, though he could see better now.

His bed that was sat far across from the window looked to be very cozy and comfy, white and fluffy like a hotel bed. A warm gray, dotted blanket seemed to be neatly placed upon the bed, along with a white fluffy pillow that had been sat at the front of the bed. A TV seemed to be placed inside of the room, upon what looked to be a desk—a bean bag chair was nealty placed in front of it. Candles still gave the room a slightly brighter and more cozy look. There was a shelf near the window, that looked to be lined up with books, though nothing else had been put there yet.

Rowan walked near the bed, glancing around. He hadn't any idea of what to do now. Perhaps he could examine the room more thoroughly? Maybe he could go see where Jane went?

...

He decided on staying in his room, for he hadn't any energy to speak any further.

With a tired and saddened look in his eyes, he sat upon the bed with a rough sigh, and stared up at the ceiling, his eyes slightly twinkling with the urge to cry about the circumstances regarding his past. He wanted his old life back, his parents. He felt the thoughts of the hurricane collecting up inside of his mind, the memories of their pained shrieks, the sharp debris cutting into him.

...

He felt a tear slowly coming out of his eye, and rolling down his cheek.

///////////////////////

E

[volfoss]

i think honestly what irritates me about yoshidas work SO much is that people will tell you that banana fish is THE gay manga (ignoring the many things that came before it and were more groundbreaking, ie MW literally having on screen (or like. on panel but still.) gay sex in it and that came out like a decade before BF did) when there really isn't barely any gay rep outside of the pedophiles and the one time ash drops the f slur. like im sorry but somehow yasha, a work she wrote in 1996, has more gay rep in it but also has the same issues.

i truly do not get how people can enjoy banana fish with the rampant racism every 2 pages or the rampant sexual assault plotlines (on women and ash bc he is just... written like how yoshida writes women lmao) that are handled IMPOSSIBLY bad and sincerely i hoped yasha would be better because it had been like a decade or so between works. and then it proceeds to continue with the heres our blonde genius protagonist who everyone is weird as fuck to and will sexually harrass and everyone finds it a VERY funny joke to point out how feminine he is when theres barely any women in the work (if you exclude the ones that are being raped/killed/creepy to minors. which to be fair yasha has toned down the sa a LOT) and that its funny that hes kind of gay except not really!! and its just absurd to me how it just persists in all of her stuff because she is not an author that handles gay stuff well. like the scene in banana fish where ash is completely ok getting gang raped and did it solely to get into the hospital when its been SHOWN that he has a lot of trauma with that. and then right after his friend makes a joke at ash's expense about that. like sincerely and genuinely is this what we are hyping up as the old retro gay manga. go read some tezuka and stop reading shit that the most the main characters do is share a kiss in a nonromantic sense and is obsessed w making every gay person be evil!!

[ex0rin]

Hughie Campbell | The Boys S02E07

[quinngobrr]

new upload alert !!!

i made a gravity falls video because i felt like it, go watch it if u want. also subscribe !!!

[hella1975]

you ever have a fic get you in such a chokehold you start pacing your room and talking to yourself

[kaiserkisser]

today is such a stark contrast to yesterday in how much i fucking hate today (vent/rant in tags bc i forgor to do it on my vent one)

[lacunazai]

every time I see a bsd roleplay blog my day is inevitably ruined

[yourfavouritefighter]

I felt inspired again by @quilna’s epic fic How to Be a Proper Gentleman and my lord it is so sick, please go read it asap dudes it rocks.

⚠️TW: Gore ⚠️

(Plus potential spoilers for the fic)

You still here? Ight bring on the art

[doveotion]

Being self aware is literally hell I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy

[t4tstarvingdog]

should i read cheapest room. will it kill me

yes 2x. yes yes yes yes. to all of it. it asks the question are you allowed to be what you are. are you allowed to want. what if you were made good. what if you were made this way because it was good. what if you could go as far as you could possibly go only as long as you didn't let yourself want it too bad. are your hands gentle or do they break things. and most importantly, if you and your gay boy bestie were eating and your boy bestie said eaugh! yicky, and then handed you the mashed potato (<- that had just plopped out of his open mouth) woulg you eat it?

[lycankeyy]

Alright fuck it I'm doing my final wording edits after rereading in the ao3 editor. Your lives end 30 minutes from now /ref /silly

[theicarusconstellation]

.

[insertsickusername13]

Hoping, praying, crying, trembling, please no one read this please it's so bad please. you're going to have to ignore all the typos literally couldn't bring myself to reread this

Richjake Week prompt 1: Rain!!

Word count: 1.6k

Summary: Rich and Jake have a very important conversation. In the rain.

Rich decided a month ago that he’s going to tell Jake when it’s raining. 

He has the image clearly in his head: the sky opening up, mourning for his soon-to-be lost relationship with raindrops Rich decides to see as metaphorical tears. There’s of course an atmosphere of catastrophe in his mind, upheld by the fire in the background and the SQUIP standing behind him, seething out acids that only marred Rich’s body further.

It’s raining now- a harbinger of his doom- and his body feels like it's on fire again. The world is on fire, all the while it's being simultaneously doused and reinvigorated. Jake’s shadow on the concrete in front of Rich only makes it worse.

“I can’t tell if you want me to cuddle you or go away,” Jake says. He tries to take on a joking edge to his tone, the lilt in his voice alight despite the fact the sun isn’t, and Rich offers up a skeleton of a laugh in response. Jake frowns as he sits, tense and hesitant, on the other end of the bench.

Rich pulls his knees up to his chest. They’re outside in the summer rain (though it’s really only a drizzle), Rich having decided to face his reality head-on rather than hide from it among the walls of their apartment. Their apartment (he doesn't deserve that).

He’s curled up on a small, cushioned bench, his side pressed against the armrests as he tries to broaden the space between him and Jake as much as humanly possible.

“I still can’t tell,” Jake whispers and this time around it’s almost soft, his hesitance audible in the small, shaky breath he takes afterward. Rich watches the rain. 

“I want you to stay," he says as if it's simple.

Jake doesn’t seem reassured in the slightest. He remains in the same position as before: back straight, hands on his knees, eyes following Rich’s every movement with a starved type of desperation that echoes. 

“Okay,” he says, “But what do you want me to do?”

Rich shrugs, the words he knows he needs to say so close to physically manifesting them as a fatal blockage in his throat he has to choose between opening his mouth and having vomit spill out or leaving Jake in pained silence. 

“Can I…fuck, Rich, you’re not giving me much to work with here. I—I want to help. Tell me how.”

Rich watches the rain. He watches and decides he hates it. He hates that it has to ruin what he’s so carefully cultivated. He fought like hell to keep Jake. He’d watched Jake try to leave—he’d watched his expressions as he found out about the SQUIP, about the full extent of Rich’s lies and all the ways Jake had been ruined by them. He’d almost left. Rich fought to keep him, begged and promised, and struggled to keep those promises but succeeded nonetheless. He won. It isn’t fair that now he has to fight all over again, has to pick back up his metaphorical sword, and argue until his tongue is bleeding and his lungs are on the verge of collapse just to convince Jake he’s worth a second chance. A third. 

Though there’s some invisible hand on his throat, squeezing his vocal cords and chest with a borderline sociopathic effervescence, he whispers, “I have a secret.”

He watches the rain and doesn’t watch Jake’s innate radiance dim to barely an ember. Jake's nails dig into his knees, the image of Chloe with another man, Chloe with a girl, flashing in his head. He can't lose Rich too.

“You…" he tries, "Okay. Okay. It’s okay. I’m listening.”

Jake shifts closer. Rich almost falls off the bench in his attempts to get farther away, to stretch the distance, to not let Jake touch him or see him or know him or get angry. He pulls the sleeves of his sweatshirt from his wrists to his knuckles, hiding as much skin from Jake’s view as possible.

“You’re gonna be angry at me.”

Lies. Jake doesn’t get angry. He gets defensive, sure. He’ll build up every possible barrier within a moment, isolating himself from Rich and everyone else before Rich can even finish whatever incriminating sentence he’s trying to say, but he doesn’t get angry. Not like Rich’s dad does.

Jake doesn’t seem as aware of this rule as Rich is. He hesitates before he responds, and when he does, he doesn’t deny Rich. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, and the words are so carefully chosen—cherry-picked from a stockpile, organized just so Rich would be assured without being condoned---that Rich almost falls for the pretty picture Jake paints. He's knocked out of the delusion as he remembers hearing that exact sentence in a romance movie two weeks earlier.

“Yeah, well," Rich says.

Jake inches closer again, this time just close enough so he can brush his knuckles up against Rich's elbow. Rich thinks he might faint, but he keeps his body so completely unresponsive that even someone as clairvoyant as Jake doesn’t notice the deep-rooted discomfort twisting in his stomach. Without a sign to stop, Jake’s touch solidifies into something precious, something golden and rare. He doesn't let go.

“Talk to me, baby, please.”

Baby. He’s so casual with it, so confident in his relationship with Rich that he can slip in pet names and touch Rich without feeling like the entirety of him is imploding.

Rich hates it. Rich hates that he can’t kiss Jake. He hates that he can’t go out to dinner with him without worrying about what the waiter thinks, what the people next to them think, what his father would think if he ever looked at Rich long enough to know what’s going in in the rest of his life. He hates the rain. He hates that every time Jake tries to reach out—to bridge the gap Rich has been meticulously building ever since Jake first whispered I love you—Rich wants to puke. Because if Jake gets too close, if he touches Rich for too long, he’ll be able to feel the femininity in Rich’s hips, in the build of his hands, in the spaces between the cracks in his body. He’ll know and he’ll never look at Rich the same. He’ll know and he’ll treat Rich like the rain. 

Rich clenches his jaw.

“I’m trans.”

Jake’s still holding Rich’s elbow. He’s completely silent, completely still, barely existent beyond the persistent heat of being alive. Then, the words slurring together with quiet confusion, “So… so you’re a girl?”

Rich is going to die. Rich is going to die. Rich is going to die. Rich is going to die. Rich—

“No! No, I mean you’re—you’re a boy? Which… which direction?”

Rich is too disoriented, too scared, to respond. He practically falls off the bench in his attempt to stand—to escape—an action that Jake mimics as he scrambles after him, hands fumbling to grab on again, to touch him, to know him—

Jake’s fingers tangle in Rich’s sweatshirt, gripping onto that rather than his actual forearms. 

“Hey,” he says, louder than the rain. Then, more reassuring, “Hey, baby, I’m sorry, stop, I’m—”

Jake doesn’t get angry. Jake will get defensive and, as Rich learns the moment he finally manages to open his eyes and face the consequences of his prevaricate lifestyle, Jake gets scared. Utterly, simply, wholly, scared. 

“I’m sorry,” Jake says, eyes so wide and desperate Rich is sure he’ll cut himself on Jake’s gaze. The finality of his apology is either the inevitable breakup Rich has been anticipating for the past weeks or a confirmation of every hope he hasn’t dared dream. 

“It’s okay.” It’s not.

“I—I don’t know what to—you—of course, I—I’m not upset.”

Rich’s response comes on instinct. 

“I’m not a girl.”

Jake nods like he’s accepted a command rather than told a fact—determined, focused, ready to die on the words he’d just been told.

“Okay. So your name’s still Rich?”

“Yes.”

“You’re still my boyfriend?”

“Yes.”

“So… so nothing’s really gonna change?”

Rich wants to laugh. Nothing’s really gonna change? Does Jake not feel like lightning just struck their home and left the entire thing in ashes? Can he not see how hyper-aware Rich is of every fiber of his being, from the curves he’d skillfully hidden with Jake’s hoodie—too big, purposefully chosen for this conversation so Jake won’t search for the signs he’d missed for so long—to the place where Jake’s thigh presses against his own, so close and warm and knowing?

He swallows either a smile or a sob and whispers, “Not if you don’t want it to.”

Jake makes a sound of frustration. 

“But what do you want? I—I don’t know what I’m supposed to be saying right now, Richie, I’m—I don’t—”

Rich guesses Jake has never seen a movie to base his personality off of for this scenario. 

“Just—” Jake tries, gripping harder to Rich’s arm, this time his fingers pressing into Rich’s veins and muscles. “Just tell me what to say. Or do. I love you. I want you happy. With me. I want you to know I support you and you’re still my boyfriend and this doesn't change anything but you’re kind of looking at me like I’m insane or going to hurt you and I don’t know what to say to prove that isn’t true, and this is clearly important to you, and I honestly don’t know why I’m the one freaking out when you just fucking came out to me but please—”

Rich gets on his tippy toes and kisses the rest of Jake’s panicked rant off of his lips. Jake plunges into it, and Rich isn’t sure if it’s because he’s grateful to be back in familiar territory (Jake can do kissing, Jake can do physical) or if he’s glad to have confirmation that Rich isn’t angry with him. Between the feeling of Jake’s arms creeping around his waist with a careful certainty to squeeze the life out of him and the rain, picking up now that Rich had gotten the hard part over with, he doesn’t get the chance to figure it out.

“That was good enough,” Rich says, lips coated with a disgustingly perfect mix of Jake’s spit and rainwater.

“Oh, thank fucking god. Thank you.”

He wraps himself around Rich, closer than he’s ever been before, pressed into Rich’s space like he’s trying to taste it all before he drowns. Nuzzled against Rich’s shoulder, either shaking from anticipation or shivering through his now soaking-wet clothes, he whispers, “So proud of you baby, really—but did this have to happen in the rain?”

“Yes. You have no fucking idea, Jake. Yes, it did.”

[unnamed-proxy]

Trying out lineless art!

+Bloodless & sketch

[h3llofaday]

“You’re just voting for kamala because she’s a woman” so close actually I’m voting for her because I don’t want to spend the next four years in fear that me and my friends rights will be taken away <3

[solis-angelus]

Ah, Hinduism

—an unfortunately common experience of (often passionately) being in the fandom without reading the source material😔