#they were roommates but platonically

[creepst-crypt]

Wouldn’t it be horrible if he’d witnessed something so scary while in Gravity Falls that he makes a memory gun and ends up using too much to the point he loses his own self identity for the next 30 years and never returns home.

[hairmetal666]

By the grace of Robin Buckley, Steve gets into college.

She's his first real friend and it's because he knows her, loves her, learned to be a better person from her, that he's able to smile politely and take the hand of his new roommate. His long-haired, tattooed, dressed in all black roommate, who has already put up dark and menacing posters of bands Steve has never heard of and a bedsheet banner with the words "Corroded Coffin" painted on the fabric.

"Eddie Munson," his roommate says.

"Steve Harrington."

"Good to meet you, roomie." Eddie smiles so big it makes dimples pop. It's a good look. "Parents on the way with the rest of your stuff?"

"Oh, er--just me, actually."

Eddie's smile doesn't waiver. "Need some help?"

Normally, Steve would say no, but he just spent the last hour unloading Robin's stuff. "That would be great, thanks."

So, they work together to get Steve moved in, and as they work, he learns more about his roommate. He is a weirdo, an oddball, fundamentally strange, but Steve can't help but be charmed.

Eddie puts on music, something aggressive with loud guitars and drums, and Steve unpacks. He pulls out a picture of himself with the kids during one of their game nights, displaying it carefully on his desk.

"Wait," his new roommate says. "You? And the dnd children?"

Steve laughs. "They're the kids I babysit. You play that nerd game?"

Eddie's nose wrinkles. Something in the back of Steve's mind notes that it's cute. "Nerd game? Dnd is So. Much. More. It's--it's storytelling and strategy and--" Eddie stops, blinking at Steve. "You're fucking with me, aren't you?"

"Little bit," Steve smiles.

"I can't believe you know dnd. That you babysit nerds. You look like such a jock," Eddie shakes his head in disbelief.

"I am a jock," Steve agrees. "And I love those dorky little shitheads. I tolerate the game."

"Steve Harrington. You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

"Guess so." The smiles they share are wide and sweet, bringing out Eddie's dimples in way that makes Steve long to touch.

After that, they're inseparable. Robin and Eddie and Steve. They study, eat, go to parties, hangout; anything, as long as they're together.

---

Three weeks into the semester, as Steve gets dressed after swim practice, he pulls a shirt out of his bag that doesn't belong to him. It's a black tee, Metallica logo front and center. He chuckles, puts it on. It's soft from wear and smells of laundry detergent and Eddie--cigarettes and leather and some kind of sweet musk. The scent puts him at immediate ease.

He meets Robin and Eddie for lunch. They were early, already have their food and seats, so he walks over to drop off his backpack. Eddie gives him a bright, dimpled smile, but within seconds his mouth is falling open a little, the tips of his ears turning bright red.

"You alright, man?" Steve asks.

Eddie startles, grabs his cup, jamming the straw into his mouth to chew at the plastic."You're--my shirt?" he says.

"Oh, shit. Sorry. Grabbed it by accident. I'll wash it for you."

His roommate flushes pink. "N--no, you don't have to worry about it."

He wants to question Eddie further--he's being so weird--but Robin interrupts. "Dingus! Go get food. Hurry up!"

He does as he's told, but when he comes back, Eddie is even redder than before, and Robin has a wide smirk across her face.

"What is going on with you two?" He asks as he puts his tray down.

Neither of them answer, andEddie launches into a passionate re-telling of some music student drama, so Steve let's himself be distracted.

---

It's mid-October and Steve's coming home from the gym, the one place that Robin and Eddie refuse to accompany him. As he nears his room, he hears music. It's not heavy metal, but something soft and slow and acoustic.

He tries to be quiet as he unlocks the door and enters, doesn't want to disturb Eddie, doesn't want him to stop playing. He never practices when Steve is home, says he doesn't want to be a bother with the noise.

Eddie's sitting on his bed, guitar in hand. There's a battered notebook open next to him, a pencil held between his teeth. He hums a bit, pauses to jot something down, and goes back to playing.

He looks beautiful, Steve thinks, bent over his guitar.

Steve is just about to announce himself when Eddie stops playing again. He writes something in the notebook before resting his head in his head. "Pathetic, Munson. Get it together," he mutters.

"Hi!" Steve says. It startles Eddie, who jumps and almost drops the guitar.

"Stevie!" Eddie stumbles to his feet. "I--uh--you're home!" His face is crimson.

"You're really good, man," Steve says. "I'd love to hear more sometime."

"Uh-huh, uh-huh," Eddie nods his head, grabbing for the notebook and slamming it closed. "Sure thing." He stuffs his feet into his Reeboks. "I gotta--I gotta go. Back soon."

Eddie stumbles out their door, notebook clenched firmly in hand.

He is so weird.

---

In mid-November, Robin gets invited to a party by a cute girl. They all go.

Steve isn't trying to hook up. He hasn't slept with anyone since they started school, too caught up with Robin and Eddie. But there's a girl, wavy brown curls and wide green eyes (he has the fleeting thought that they should be deep brown, that it's wrong that they aren't), and she's smiling at him.

Flirting with her is easy.

He doesn't know what breaks his concentration, but he turns to face the rest of the room, eyes falling on Eddie. Eddie who is watching him, his deep brown eyes swimming with hurt, with anger.

It sends a shock of pure panic up his spine. "Eddie!"

Eddie turns on his heel, disappearing in the crowd. Steve follows, but by the time he navigates through the partygoers, his roommate is nowhere to be found. He hurries back to their dorm, heart pounding in his ears, mouth dry.

It's dark in the room, though, and for a second he thinks Eddie isn't home, after all. But he turns on the light, illuminates the rigid lump under Eddie's quilt.

"Eddie?" Steve says, voice soft.

He doesn't respond, though Steve can tell he's awake. He tries again, but Eddie curls deeper under his covers.

Steve spends the night wondering what he did to hurt Eddie so bad.

---

They're back to normal after Thanksgiving. Steve is so relieved he doesn't even ask.

They stay up all night every night studying for finals. By the time Steve's last test rolls around, he's giddy and frantic. He grabs his textbook, shoves a notebook into his backpack, gets to the English building with just enough time to take a last look at his notes.

Only, he flips the notebook open and it's not his English notes. It's song lyrics.

Steve should close it. Put it back in his backpack. It's private. But he's already reading the lyrics written there. They're sexy. The song's about a guy, one Eddie seems to be totally gone for.

A line catches his eye, "need you on every surface in our room." He reads it again and again until the only thing he can see is the phrase, "our room." His whole body is warm, heat pooling, and he's chubbing up in his jeans in the middle of his English class.

Steve flips the pages, anything to get his mind off of that song, and that's when it hits him like a ton of bricks. All those weird moments--the t-shirt, the song, Steve flirting with a girl-- Eddie likes him.

Steve wants to rush to the dorm, wants to confess everything, even starts to stand, but--he has a final to take.

He makes himself close the notebook, but catches sight of another song as he does. It's a love song. It's plaintive and yearning and wanting. And every lyric is for him, about him, about things they did together. It's also unfinished, breaking off mid-way through the second verse.

He doesn't know how he missed it before, but as the professor hands out the test paper, Eddie is all he can think of.

---

When he finally gets back to the room, he finds Eddie's frantic, hair frizzed around his skull. All his bedding is on the floor, the drawers of his wardrobe pulled open.

"Eddie?" Steve asks.

"Have you seen my notebook?"

"What?" Steve's heart drops.

"The black one? It's kind of beaten up?"

"I--uh, yeah. Sorry, Eds. Accidentally grabbed it on my way to class." He pulls his backpack from his shoulder, unzipping it.

"Did you--did you read it?" Eddie's voice shakes, his face painfully red.

Steve doesn't know what to say, what to do. He wants Eddie. Has for a long time, just hadn't been able to put it together. And he doesn't know how to fix what's spiraling out between them.

"Eddie," he says. Can think of nothing else, hopes his desperation is clear in his voice. "Please." He closes the distance between them, slowly, carefully. Cups Eddie's chin in his hand.

They stare at each other, Eddie's eyes wide with shock. Steve can feel the other man's breath on his face, smell the tobacco and sweet musk scent of him.

"Every surface of our room, huh?" Steve asks.

Eddie's cheeks flush. He turns away, bashful. "Something like that."

"And if I want it too?" Steve whispers.

The words hang between them for several beats, before they both move to close the lingering distance between them. Their mouths slip together, like it's nothing, like they do this all the time. Steve grasps at Eddie's curls, fists a hand into his t-shirt, totally lost to the rhythm of the kiss, the easy slip of Eddie's tongue in his mouth.

Eventually, the come up for air, both pink cheeked and panting.

"You're full of surprises, Steve Harrington." Eddie breathes.

"Just wait," Steve smirks, moves in to nip at Eddie's bottom lip. "We have so many surfaces."

[mochinek0]

Senorita (song fic)

Alya and the girls had once again lost sight of Marinette, in the club. She hadn't wanted to come out. They were just hoping not to find her passed out at someone's table.

"There!" shouted Alix, pointing to the dance floor.

"What?" Alya shouted, "Wh-" but she caught sight of her friend dancing.

I love it when you call me Senorita

I wish I could pretend I didn't need ya

But every touch is ooh, la-la-la

Ooh, I should be running

Ooh, you keep me coming for ya

Marinette was dancing with a guy and they were pretty close. Closer than anyone they had seen Mari with and trip into just about everyone.

'That’s not the Mari I know!'

"Guys, how much has she had to drink?" Alya panicked.

"The one shot you made her take." Juleka responded.

Land in Miami

The air was hot from summer rain

Sweat dripping off me

Alya spotted Adrien and grabbed onto his arm.

"We need your help!" she pleaded, "I'm pretty sure Marinette is plastered. She's dancing with some guy and-"

"Jason wouldn’t hurt her." Adrien declared, spotting them.

'Ugh, gonna need eye bleach.'

Before I even knew her name, la-la-la

It felt like ooh, la-la-la

Yeah, no

"How do you know?" Mylene questioned.

He smiled, "Her boyfriend wouldn't hurt her."

"Boyfriend!" they cried out.

Sapphire moonlight

We danced for hours in the sand

Tequila Sunrise

"Oh." he spoke, "You didn't know?"

"No!" they shouted.

"When did she get a boyfriend?" Alix asked, eyeing them dance.

'Didn't expect Mari to be a grinder.'

Her body fit right in my hands, la-la-la

It felt like ooh, la-la-la, yeah

"Two years ago." Adrien sighed, leaving them speechless, "I'll wait until the song is over and then bring her to talk. How's that?"

They just nodded as the song continued to play.

I love it when you call me Senorita

I wish I could pretend I didn't need ya

But every touch is ooh, la-la-la

It's true, la-la-la

Ooh, I should be running

Adrien walked over to the couple. They could see Mari was pissed when she crossed her arms. Adrien pointed at the group. Her boyfriend seemed to find the situation amusing and laughed. Marinette on the other hand, smacked her forehead. All three of the left the dance floor and walked over.

Ooh, you know I love it when you call me Senorita

I wish it wasn't so damn hard to leave ya

But every touch is ooh, la-la-la

It's true, la-la-la

Ooh, I should be running

Ooh, you keep me coming for ya

"Hey, Mari." Rose waved.

"So, uh, you-you have a boyfriend." Alix commented.

"Yeah." Marinette answered.

Alya rapidly glances at Adrien told her all she needed to.

"Why did Adrien know before us?" Alya asked, a bit disappointed.

"Because this goofball is my roommate." Mari sighed.

Adrien shouted, "Hey!"

Marinette simply rolled her eyes.

Locked in the hotel

There's just some things that never change

You say we're just friends

But friends don't know the way you taste, la-la-la

'Cause you know it's been a long time coming

Don't you let me fall, oh

The girls glanced at Marinette's boyfriend to gauge his reaction. He seemed unbothered by the revelation.

"Th-That doesn't bother you?" Mylene asked, "Them living together?"

"Nah." he answered, waving his hand, "Mari's told me plenty of embarassing stuff about him to have him practically be another brother added to the mix." Jason answered.

"You what?" Adrien shrieked, "Why?"

"Revenge." Marinette answered.

"It was one time!" he shouted back.

"It was one time too many!" she shrieked back.

Everyone glanced at the two roommates confused. The girls had never seen them at odds before. To Jason, they just reminded him of his siblings, during a quarrel.

Ooh, when your lips undress me

Hooked on your tongue

Ooh, love, you kiss is deadly

Don't stop

"So, uh….how did you two meet?" asked Rose.

"In Mexico." Jason declared.

"Huh?" Alya replied, confused.

"I had that client two years ago." Mari answered, "I left for a six months trip to Mexico."

"We met in a café by the beach." her boyfriend continued, "They were trying to hustle her. Pixie started yelling at them in full on Spanish. Their faces when they realized she spoke Spanish fluently . They ran around and grabbed her order so fast! It was glorious! I paid for her meal and asked her to sit with me."

"I was in a rush and they were messing around." Marinette growled.

Jason smiled, "I told her to relax for five minutes or she could fall and create a bigger mess. She sat down and ate with me."

"It's not my fault I'm clumsy." she pouted.

I love it when you call me Senorita

I wish I could pretend I didn't need ya

But every touch is ooh, la-la-la

It's true, la-la-la

Ooh, I should be running

"We talked for a bit." Jason spoke, "I saw her there just about every morning. I decided to ask her to grab food with me at a different place."

"We got tacos." Mari smiled.

He sighed, "I still can't believe you eat snails, but you won't eat octopus."

Marinette glared at Adrien, "Yeah. There's a reason for that."

"I'm sorry!" Adrien shouted.

Ooh, you know I love it when you call me Senorita

I wish it wasn't so damn hard to leave ya

But every touch is ooh, la-la-la

It's true, la-la-la (true, la-la)

Ooh, I should be running

Ooh, you keep me coming for you

Jason laughed, "What?" I don't know this story."

Marinette leaned up and kissed his cheek, "I'll tell you later."

"No!" Adrien shouted, "Please don't!"

"You don't understand he would understand you more than I did?" Mari suggested.

Adiren grabbed Jason's hands quickly, "If you really love me like a brother, keep an open mind."

Jason glanced at his girlfriend, who only shook her head. He nodded and got a bright smile in return.

'Oh god; original Jon.'

"Hey, I tried the tacos de lengua." Marinette declared.

"Tacos de what?" Alix questioned.

"Tongue." Mari spoke, "Cow's tongue; it's wasn't bad."

"Eww." the girls replied grossed out.

"Cool!" Alix smiled.

All along I've been coming for ya (for ya)

And I hope it meant something to ya (ooh)

Call my name, I'll be coming for ya

Coming for ya, coming for ya, coming for ya

For ya

For ya (oh, she loves it when I call)

For ya

Ooh, I should be running

Ooh, you keep me coming for ya

"So you met in Mexico and kept meeting when you both came back to Paris?" Juleka questioned.

"Actually, we've been in a long distance relationship." Marinette answered.

"I live in the United States." Jason continued.

Mari smiled, "I didn't expect you to be here."

"I was gonna visit your place tomorrow." he admitted, "You said you were busy with work. Liar."

Mari scoffed, "I was busy. The girls were the ones who dragged me out complaining I'm a work-a-holic."

"See Pix, this is why you fit in." he smiled.

"Fit in?" Mylene asked.

"With what?" Alya pushed.

"My family." Jason explained, "All work-a-holics, except my sisters. Between Tim and you…..i don't know who drinks more coffee."

Marinette giggled, "Well, we'll find out this summer, won't we?"

"Oh, is your family comign to Paris?" Rose asked, smiling, hoping to meet new people.

"I'll be visiting his family." Mari declared, "Jason and his older brother are here in Paris, right now, but his other family are busy. Tomorrow, I'm taking them to meet Maman and Papa. Actually, it's probably best if we leave now. Bakers wake up super early."

Jason sighed. He had been ready to spend all night with Marinette at the club.

"You get super fresh pastry." his girlfriend teased.

"I'm in!" Jason smiled.

"Me too." Adrien exclaimed, inviting himself along.

"Sure, Adrien." the baker's daughter replied.

After the couple had left, the girls turned to Adrien.

"What do you think?" Juleka questioned.

"I've never seen her happier." Adrien smiled.

Some of them shifted uncomfortably, hoping to push the two roommates together.

"Hey, how come we didn’t know you two were roommates?" Alya pushed.

"I'm shocked you didn't, but I guess I'm usually out at the bakery or with Luka." he replied, "Marinette put padding in her room to make it soundproof so her sewing didn't wake me up. I probably came home sometimes while you were there and you didn't even hear me."

Alix smiled chaotically, "So, have you accidentally seen her?"

Adrien sighed, "She forgot to lock the bathroom door twice and her right hook was enough for me to start knocking on doors. I think I was half asleep and knocked on my own door, once."

Alix began to laugh. Rose started to giggle and Juleka just look amused. Alya was still reeling with the fact that her OTP was outdated and seemed to have moved on to a sibling bond instead.

Jason held Marinette's hand as he walked her home, "So, are you gonna tell me about the octopus thing and Adrien?"

She palmed her face and sighed, "I went on a trip with my uncle for two weeks. Adrien had to study for finals and his laptop was broken. I told him he could use mine. I was planning on taking my tablet, anyways."

Her boyfriend nodded, along.

"I came back a day early." Marinette explained, "I booted up my laptop to transferring my sketches I worked on. There-There was just so much….hentai on it. It felt like there was fifty tabs open."

Jason immediately started cracking up with laughter.

"Next thing I know, Adrien walks in. I'm just standing there, pointing at my laptop. He dropped to his knees and started apologizing that he had been stressed and was gonna delete the search history that night, before I got back."

"Oh my god." Jason cried, "You know what, I think I might know someone he might get along with. They both have Daddy issues."

Mari giggled.

"Roy is a single dad." he added.

Mari smiled, "Adrien loves kids."

"Bring him to Gotham and we'll set somehting up." Jason smiled.

"Uh, we should probably stop and see Roy first." she pushed.

"Why?" he asked.

"I'm pretty sure Selena would adopt him on the spot, if they met." she declared, "He's my unofficial brother and he loves my parents but….something tells me they would get along like thieves."

Jason winced, "Roy first. Got it."

[fifiphobic]

the ground beta s3 fight is easily one of the most impactful scenes in the ENTIRE series and the most important display for the scene (although it called MY hero academia) is that it shows the story is a collective of 2 specific perspectives. it’s about izuku, and what izuku is about, katsuki. the scene showed us that their lives are so intertwined and woven that when they tug at each other with the right amount of force they burn. they hurt. not just themselves but each other. that it’s izuku’s hero academia because katsuki is the image and example of heroism izuku wants to adapt.

[lefaystrent]

Suspire

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairings: platonic LAMP

Summary: Roman's favorite weighted blanket is ruined.

Roman wouldn't say that he adjusts well. He merely finds ways to cope.

AO3 Link: click here

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

It's just a blanket.

Roman is an adult. He has a job. He buys his own groceries, and he pays his portion of the rent on time. He keeps up with his student debt even when some months he hangs on by his fingernails.

It's just a single blanket.

Roman has other things in his life to be happy about. He has his paintings and keyboard. He has his dearest friends whom he lives with. He's active in his local theater community and often lands roles. He has a roof over his head, parents who care for him, a brother who he can stand sometimes. A car that works.

It's just a fucking blanket.

That's what he tells himself over and over as he stares vacantly at the ripped threads. The tear that had been snagged wide open, and the weighted material inside quickly coming outside. He holds it, remembering the marvelous weight on his shoulders, the pressure on his back, the comfort it gave him. The security and warmth. The way he will never feel it again. How he can't go back and fix it.

He can't afford another one right now. It's one of those tight month's budget-wise. And even if he could, it would not be this one.

Roman holds his blanket and unravels alongside it.

***

Roman wouldn't say that he adjusts well. He merely finds ways to cope.

He takes longer showers. The sizzling pinpricks of water cascade over him, beating down on his shoulder blades. It's too hot, close to boiling, but the burn is nice even if his skin begs him to stop. If he stands directly under, it's almost encompassing. It's almost enough.

He wears more layers. Roman tends to add a jacket over any attire anyway. What's another sweatshirt under? Or a scarf tied protectively around his neck? It doesn't matter that this too is overheating. His bones are brittle, and he needs to wrap them somehow. The skin is not enough. It bruises far too easily.

The most embarrassing thing he tries is wedging his whole body into or under anything that may work as a substitute. He tears apart his room testing this and that and wants to cry in frustration as he lays on the carpet with his entire mattress smothering him. He steals all the pillows in the house when he's sure the others are out, and he piles them up. But burrowing into them is too soft and leaves him more frustrated. He crawls under the couch one day and nearly has a panic attack when the front door unlocks and Logan walks in. He plays it off as having lost the remote. He can't bear to admit the truth.

That is, until he's left with no other choice.

***

Roman sits at the dining table working on an art project involving thousands of multi-colored beads. His desk in his bedroom simply isn't large enough, so here he is.

Patton enters the kitchen behind him, and Roman knows its him by the smell of his eucalyptus scented shampoo. Then he sees freckled arms emerging over his shoulders, wrists adorned in friendship bracelets, and they snake around Roman's collarbone. Roman's hands fix in mid-air, eyes going blank as Patton presses up against his back and rests his chin on the top of Roman's head.

"You're so creative," Patton praises, and that alone could usually keep him comfortably warm long into the cold night. But everywhere that Patton touches him, every press of muscle and firm flesh, it scorches in the most pleasant burn.

"I can't wait to see it when it's done," Patton says, and Roman can feel the hum of his voice, how it vibrates his scalp and dances down the back of his neck. A shiver shoots up his back, and Roman cannot dedicate his attention to anything else if he tried.

Roman takes too long to respond, too frozen in his posture.

Patton notices. "Kiddo? You okay there? Was I not supposed to see?"

As if the art piece means a damn to him in this moment. What matters to him with eye-opening crystal clarity is that Patton's arms are loosening and his weight shifts so that he's not leaning against him as much. The loss of that is an incomparable grief.

Roman drops what he's holding, uncaring that some of the beads clatter off the side of the table to skitter across the floor. His hands clutch at Patton's wrists and fold them back around his neck. He draws the blessed weight against him once more, and he keeps it there, scared to let it go. Scared to be exposed once more.

"Roman?" Patton's tone is careful now, wary that something is wrong. His head settles back on top of Roman's, but his face nestles into the side of his hair, the edge of his glasses barely grazing. His voice whispers at his ear, "Did something happen?"

Yes, something happened. Roman's favorite weighted blanket is ruined and he's acting like a child about it. The shame excavates a pit in his stomach. There are depths to it that he doesn't wish to look at, let alone express.

"Can you–" Roman begins, but there's a lump caught in his throat. His voice sounds foreign to his own ears, too small and full of trepidation. He swallows and blinks rapidly. "Can you stay? Like this?"

"Hugging?" Patton asks to clarify. Roman doesn't think he's mocking him. Patton would never mock. He wouldn't judge. Not this. Never this. Please don't judge him for this.

"Mmhm," Roman hums, because if he doesn't use words he won't sound so pathetic, yet he immediately fails. The vocalization comes out high-pitched and needy, and tears spring to his eyes unbidden. He doesn't dare blink his eyes now.

Patton doesn't answer at first, and Roman is enormously relieved that they can't see each other's expressions. Roman fears what he would see on Patton's face, and if Patton could see him right now? He doesn't think he could hold on to his composure.

"Okay," Patton says, voice flower-petal soft. "We can stay like this. However long you want. I don't mind."

Patton skims his nose back and forth over Roman's hairline. His hands spread out, palms covering the top if Roman's chest. His hold is a cradle, gentle and safe, and it holds him together and doesn't let him fall apart. The arms tighten around him, compressing, and Roman holds them right back.

***

Patton becomes his saving grace.

He is wonderful in that he needs no explanation. His affections are given freely, without cost, whenever Roman needs them or even when he doesn't realize he needs them. Patton starts to hug him more often and cuddle him during movie nights. He ruffles Roman's hair as he passes by, or he grabs him by the hand when he's excited. Sometimes he'll trail his fingertips over Roman's face in lazy lines that set his mind at ease.

It's exhilarating.

Roman can't get enough. The need never ceases, and Patton is just one person. He cannot always be at Roman's beck and call. Patton has work and outings he leaves for, same as everyone else. And when he's home, it doesn't mean he's available at all hours. Like the middle of the night for instance.

Roman stands at Patton's firmly shut bedroom door like a sad dog. His fists tighten into the thighs of his sweatpants. What did he expect really? That Patton's door would be wide open at two in the morning? That he'd spy light on under the door and get the courage to knock? Patton said he was there for Roman any time, but that doesn't mean Roman gets to take advantage and disrupt his sleep schedule just because Roman is too pathetic to fall asleep without his blanket.

Patton has done so much for him lately. He's good like that, a saint. Roman can't monopolize him. It wouldn't be fair.

Then why does he continue to stand there in the dark hallway? A damsel in distress waiting for his prince to save him? Or hoping the door will magically open and he receive some form of pity.

He's worse than pathetic. He's absolutely rotten.

A sliver of light illuminates the hall, a door squeaking open. Roman nearly jumps out of his skin and looks behind him where Logan stands in the doorway to his own bedroom.

"Roman?" Logan says, looking just as surprised. "I didn't think you'd be up this late. Don't you have work in the morning?"

"Heyyy, Specs," Roman gets out tremulously. He scratches at the back of his head, searching for some excuse. Think of something, damn it. "I uh, yeah. I've got work in the morning. Just...out for a stroll."

"A stroll?" Logan repeats. His brow raises and he's giving Roman that look that he gives him all the time, like he's stupid and not worth his time.

Roman crosses his arms and stares down at his bare feet. "Yeah, I can stroll where I want. What are you, the hall monitor?"

"I never claimed to be, nor would I want to. You live here; walk where you wish."

"Good, I'm glad we've covered this," Roman replies. He whips his head up when Logan breezes by him down the hall. "Wait, where are you going?"

Logan sends him a bemused glance. "I was going to make a light snack before bed. Why are you following me?"

"Don't try to distract me and just answer the question!"

"I did, Roman."

"Oh... well, answer it again!"

That gets an actual snort out of Logan. Roman shuffles behind him into the kitchen as if locked in a gravitational pull. He watches him pull out a loaf from the bread box along with a tub of butter from the fridge. Roman dithers there observing, reluctant to leave. Logan must accept that Roman has no intention of leaving him alone because he gestures to the bread. "Want some?"

Roman looks between the spreadable butter and bread. "Are you just eating buttered bread?"

Logan rolls his eyes. "No, I was planning to eat buttered toast with jam. But if you're not interested..."

"No, you can make me some," Roman swiftly interrupts while trying to make it sound like it's something Logan should be honored to do.

Logan extracts another slice of bread. He plugs up the toaster oven. "So, couldn't sleep?"

"And what if I couldn't?"

Logan sighs, "Not everything is a challenge, Roman."

Roman shifts self-consciously and mutters, "Not with that attitude, Gay Jude."

Logan smiles a little bit after he inserts the bread to be toasted. "Ah, The Beatles. Would you like to hear some interesting facts about them?"

Roman has nothing else to do so he shrugs. Logan enlightens him while they wait for the little ding. Roman snags the jar of crofters out of the fridge before Logan gets a chance, and Roman smirks victoriously at him but spreads the jam on Logan's toast in apology. They eat and drink water, and Logan asks if he's going to go to bed now.

Roman's brows crease. "Actually, why are you up?"

Logan adjusts his glasses, a tell that he's been caught doing something of mild embarrassment. "I was reading a novel."

"That good, huh?" Roman quips with a grin. He and Logan share a surprising amount of similar taste for literature, so Roman doesn't doubt that the writing is less than phenomenal if it's enough to keep his favorite nerd up into the wee hours of the night.

"I would tell you about it, but then you would chide me for giving you spoilers whether or not you intend to read it."

"Mm, I probably will," Roman agrees.

"Then if you don't require anything else, I really must insist we both go to bed. It will be difficult enough to rise later this morning."

"What if I did require something else?" Roman suggests before he can bite his tongue.

And Logan, dependable Logan who at least always hears him out, turns to him fully. "I am all ears, as they say. Which is a ridiculous saying; we only have but two."

Roman doesn't laugh or tease as he usually would. And maybe that tips Logan off more than it should.

"Roman?" he prompts. Because he's so smart, he deduces, "Does this pertain to why you're up so late?"

Roman's gaze strays. It's dark in the kitchen. They didn't bother turning on a light, letting the streetlight guide them from outside the kitchen window. It's too obscured for Logan to see the heat in his cheeks or how he picks nervously at his nails.

Roman gnaws at the inside of his cheek. "It doesn't...not have to do with it."

"You're being vague. That's not like you."

"You don't know what I'm like."

"And you've been defensive. More so than usual. You are upset about something."

Roman just about chokes on air. "What?! No. Nooo, I'm not."

"Was it something I did?"

That punches Roman in the gut. The concern Logan is giving him, it knocks his feet right out from under him and has the truth spilling from his lips. "No, Logan, I just want a hug!"

Roman is infinitely more glad than ever that it's too dark to see. His face is on fire, and he can't look in Logan's direction.

"Happy now?" Roman asks bitterly.

"Roman, if you wanted physical affection, all you had to do was ask."

"What."

He's enveloped in a strong embrace.

Oh. Ohhhh.

Hugs are different. Different people give different hugs. Roman knows this, he does. He's had hugs throughout his life. He's not like, touch-starved or anything. It's just– it's like a reminder. A reminder with all the force of a slap to the face.

He had been so focused on Patton's hugs that he never thought to ask the others. Why would he? He never really did before. Things have just been hard since he lost his blanket, his comfort item. It's not usually like this. Roman's not usually like this, so dependent or desperate for attention.

In Logan's arms, he feels all of that melt away. In fact, his whole body melts into the embrace. A rush of air coaxes out from deep within his lungs as Logan's arms secure around his back. One hand hooks behind Roman's head and pulls him into the crook of his neck. The scent of Logan's faded cologne and laundry detergent fill his nostrils. There's lavender mixed with something else he can't distinguish but is wholly welcome and soothing.

Logan rubs circles into his back, and Roman leans heavily into him. Roman's arms raise like anvils hang off them, and it's all he can manage to circle them around Logan's waist and hang on for dear life.

"Is this satisfactory?" Logan asks. Roman might would answer him if not for the fingers scratching patterns into his scalp. His toes curl in bliss, and his mind sinks into fog. He buries his face further into Logan's neck and shoulder as if he can crawl into Logan's chest and hide there.

"I'll take that as a yes," Logan muses and squeezes him gently.

Roman doesn't make it back to bed for a while.

***

Logan joins Patton in the free affection initiative. Roman wonders if he and Patton discussed this or if Logan is doing it of his own volition. Either way, there is a definite increase in Logan's deviated mannerisms around Roman.

He pats him more on the back. He holds his hand when they sit next to each other. And there's a couple times Logan goes so far as to kiss his forehead. That left Roman blustering and bumbling like an idiot for hours after, because who is this person dressed like Logan? Surely not his nerd. Still, he can't deny the giddiness it evokes.

Things get a bit easier from there. The more it happens, the more he can normalize it. The more he normalizes it, the more he doesn't have to feel ashamed, right? If someone like Logan would go to the trouble...he doesn't have to feel silly about it, right? He can still be taken seriously?

Roman aches less for his blanket. The pain remains, but it's bearable. He feels less likely to break down in a sobbing mess, and that's progress. Right?

Virgil suspects something is going on.

It was bound to happen. He never stops watching out for them or simply watching them. If Patton hadn't accidentally found out about Roman's predicament, Roman thinks that Virgil would have been the first to suspect. As it is, Virgil observes the way that Patton and Logan act around Roman, and it's just enough different than normal. Just out there enough for him to see.

"Are you guys dating?" Virgil blurts out of the blue one day.

It's just the two of them at home, chilling on the couch together watching TV. Roman figured Virgil was having a bad anxiety day from the noncommittal responses he's been giving and how he keeps biting at his nails. Obviously, there have been other topics plaguing his thoughts.

"Who?" Roman asks, because really, who? Roman is single and proudly on a quest to love himself. Virgil knows this. Or at least, he thought he did.

Virgil squirms in his seat like he can't find a comfortable position. "Nevermind, just forget it."

"Well now I really can't forget it."

Virgil groans and buries his face into his hands. "You. And Logan, and Patton. Are you guys dating? If you are, it's whatever. I just would think you guys would tell me."

Roman gives him a semi-horrified look. Not all the way horrified, because Roman is a catch, and his friends are equally catch-worthy, but that's just... that's not how they are together.

"No? Why would you think that?"

Virgil gives him a look. "What else am I supposed to think? You guys have been acting all weird. You can't deny it. I'm not crazy. Or blind."

"Weird how? No seriously, I'm being for real."

"You know. Like all soft? And touchy feely?"

Roman can't help but quirk a smile at how awkward Virgil is acting, as if it pains him to say something so sappy. It's easy to fall into his confident persona. He leans in closer. "Aww, are you feeling left out, Emo?"

Virgil shoves him away. Not with his hand but with his leg because he has to be extra. "Okay, if you're just gonna be a dick about it, I can just go to my room."

And the bravado rushes out as quickly as it arrived. He doesn't want Virgil to leave, and he certainly doesn't want Virgil to entertain the notion that Roman is making fun of him maliciously.

Virgil stays long enough for Roman to fall into contemplation. Virgil peaks up at him and sees Roman looking back at him, completely serious.

"What?" Virgil asks, and there's a bit of a snarl there. Okay, Roman probably deserves that.

"We're not dating," Roman says quietly.

Virgil doesn't believe him. Or at least, he's suspicious of what's not being said. "Then what's up with you guys? Something's going on, and I..."

And Virgil isn't a part of it. He's on the outside looking in. More than that, he thinks they're excluding him on purpose.

Impulsively, Roman says, "Can I ask you something? In all seriousness?"

Virgil's eyes peer at him in narrowed slits, cautious and curious. Roman can see his inner debate, weighing his options of pushing Roman or letting it go or maybe even getting up to leave altogether. It'd be fair; Roman is answering him with a question of his own. Roman isn't sure he would be so patient, in Virgil's place.

But Virgil is more patient than people give him credit for. He nods. "Shoot."

Roman averts his gaze now, suddenly jittery with nervous energy. "Actually, it's more a question of asking you to do something. Can I ask you to do something? And you not laugh at me? Or think I'm weird? You can say no, of course, I just–"

"Roman. Ask away. The worst I can say is no, and I promise not to give you shit for it if I do."

Despite himself, Roman needs a little more assurance. He holds up his hand. "Pinkie promise?"

"Really dude?"

"Virgil, it is a sacred oath."

"Okay, fine, whatever." Virgil threads their pinkies together. "I promise not to be a jerk if you don't."

"Deal," Roman agrees.

"Now, what is it you want to ask me to do?"

"Will you lay on top of me?"

There's no going back. There's no pretending that he misspoke, even as Virgil tilts his head as if he must have heard him wrong. When Roman doesn't budge, Virgil goes stock-still, eyes slowly blowing up wide.

"Uh....what?"

Roman huffs, more frustrated at himself than anything else. "Would you lay on top of me?"

"No, I heard that. I'm just trying to process."

"Then yes or no. You don't need to say anything else. Just yes or no."

And because it's Virgil, he very much has to say anything else. "What do you even mean though? Why?"

Roman groans and waves towards the couch. "Just– you know, I lay on the couch and then you lay on top of me. It's not that complicated, so don't overcomplicate it."

"I overcomplicate going to get a glass or water, Roman. You can't tell me not to overcomplicate you randomly asking me to lay on you."

"I thought you promised you weren't going to be a jerk?"

"I'm not trying to be!" Virgil swipes at his face, his own aggravation mounting. Roman notices that his cheeks are dusted a light pink. "I just don't understand how this relates to anything or why you want me to..."

Roman shrugs sort of helplessly, smile sardonic. "I just do. There's...no trick that I'm playing at, if that's what you're wondering. I want you to lay on me, that's all. Nothing more, nothing less. So would you? No wrong answer."

Virgil looks away a couple of times. He thrums his fingers over his knees, tap, tap, tapping. "I mean, I guess?"

"You guess?"

"Sure then. I'll do it, even if I think I'm the last person you would want to cuddle or whatever, but you'll explain after that?"

"Cross my heart." Roman mimes the motion over his chest.

Virgil stands up. He doesn't move far, just stands there gripping the hem of his hoodie while looking lost. "So..."

Roman scoots down on the couch to where he lays back with his head supported by the couch arm, his legs stretching out along the cushions. He shoves away the embarrassment, the shame, the voice in his head asking what the hell he is doing. Virgil watches him closely, eyes squinted and trying to figure out how to approach.

"Get in here, Emo," Roman calls, holding out his arms.

Virgil grunts and clambers over him. He takes too long to figure out where to put one knee, and Roman adjusts. He spreads out a leg to make room and guides Virgil down. The sides of Virgil's jacket hang over him like a curtain as Virgil hovers in the air, afraid to rest fully against him.

"I'll be heavy," Virgil warns. "You're not going to be able to breathe."

"That's fine, I don't need to," Roman says, half-joking. He's more fixated on tugging at Virgil's shirt to get him to close that last foot of space.

"I better not hear you complain then," Virgil says and finally, finally, drops down on Roman, letting his full weight settle on him.

It's everything that Roman has missed.

Roman can sense Virgil's body from head to toe. Their legs, hips, stomachs, chest, shoulders, all of it pinging across Roman's nervous system at every point of contact. Virgil's arms are folded on either side of Roman's torso, and he can feel the lean limbs against his sides like a harness. Virgil nudges his head stiffly under Roman's chin, and Roman wraps his arms around Virgil's back and holds him tightly to complete the full body hug.

He's sinking into the cushions. His muscles release weeks' worth of tension, letting go and relaxing. He's delightfully sandwiched under Virgil's weight, warmed in his closeness. The warmth is dizzying, like little bumblebees buzzing serenely and drowning him in honey, so sweet and cloying. Virgil's hoodie is a pillow under his palms, and Roman can see why he wears the garment all the time. Roman would wear Virgil all the time if he could.

"Is this it?" Virgil asks, seemingly unimpressed by the magic surrounding them. "Is this what you wanted?"

Roman squeezes more. Virgil wasn't wrong, he's heavy but in the most incredible, indescribable way. Despite the pressure, it's like Roman can breathe again. It's perfect, exactly what he's been craving.

"Hug me any tighter and I'm gonna bruise," Virgil remarks lightly, and something about the words or the tone is more than Roman can take. He breaks.

A shudder shakes him as tears spill over in wet streaks dripping down, salty droplets catching in his mouth. It's abrupt and overwhelming, and it's all coming back to him. The grief, the embarrassment, the shame, the desperate need. He can't stop it, can't hide it. Virgil is right here, and if he doesn't hear the whimper that escapes him, he surely can't ignore when Roman full-on starts sobbing.

"Princey?" Virgil says and sits up quickly. He pushes himself up off of him, and the soothing, wonderful pressure is wrenched away. The cold air bites at his skin in its place. Roman's cries devolve into hysterics, and he can't catch his breath to save his life. Virgil is gaping at him. He sees him in all his wretched ugliness. "Oh shit, what's wrong? Roman? Hey, hey, shhh, don't do that. Please, look at me, why are you crying? Talk to me Roman, I won't laugh, I promise."

Words are beyond him. Roman clings weakly to Virgil's shirt, tugging at him, begging him not to leave with actions and desperation alone. How can he convey his heart shattering to pieces? Or his skin eating itself alive? Or his bones splitting down to the marrow? A keening cry pierces his eardrums. It's a sorrowful weep from his own lips, a sound he didn't think he could make. A sound he's heard in the background for a long time and thought would go away if he ignored it.

"Hey, I'm not going anywhere," Virgil lets out shakily, miraculously interpreting Roman's crazed antics correctly. He stays over Roman, caging him in sweetly with his body. His fingers come up to brush the tears away using the cuffs of his sleeve. "It's alright, sweetheart. Just breathe with me. You're okay, you're okay. I've got you."

Roman is not okay, and Virgil's wild darting eyes share the same sentiment, but if you say a thing enough times, it'll come true by sheer force of will. And if Roman can keep pulling at Virgil, maybe he will go back to crushing him softly.

"What do you want? Do you want this? We can keep laying here. That's okay, Princey. You're okay. You're doing so good, telling me what you need."

Virgil lowers back on him, chest to chest. Roman would hug him in relief if he wasn't too busy turning his face to the side and trying to cover up. He stifles his gasps against the back of his hand. Virgil, thankfully, doesn't pull away his defense. He presses at his chest clumsy and earnest, rubbing his hands over his collar, massaging comfort into him and encouraging him to focus on the motion, to breathe together.

Roman listens to him and hangs on to every word as he talks him through it. Virgil never stops. He speaks far more tenderly than Roman is used to, and it's more astonishing than Logan's recent developments. If Virgil acted like his prickly self, Roman could manage to pull himself together. But Virgil is being lovely in his sweetness, watching him with dark eyes that are ferocious with compassion. It's a gaze that says he'll tear the world apart to keep him safe. Roman doesn't deserve him.

"I'm sorry," Roman whines. It's not enough to sum up his sorrow, yet it's all he has to give.

Virgil looks impossibly more bewildered. He shakes his head and goes back to wiping the tears from Roman's face, so careful in his handling. "Roman, you have nothing to apologize for."

"I'm sorry."

"No, listen to me," Virgil demands and cups his face, making him look right at him. "Obviously, something is going on in that big head of yours. If something is going on, if this has to do with what's up with you and the others, then that's okay, we can talk about it. I'm here for you, man. But if you're apologizing for crying all over me, then I'm gonna affectionately kick your ass. I'd rather you cry here with me than you do it alone or keep it bottled in. That's not healthy. If your brain is telling you that you're a burden to me or something stupid like that, I'll kick your brain's ass too. It can't be mean to you, that's my job."

Roman startles into laughter. It's a sad wheeze more than anything, but Virgil picks up on that. He gives a hesitant, hopeful smile as he brushes his thumbs over Roman's cheekbones.

"There's my Princey. Just keep laughing. I'm a real funny dude."

More wheezy chuckles. More reasons to adore his friend.

"I'm gonna give Patton a run for his money. I've got jokes for days. Wanna hear about belts made out of watches? It'll be a real waist of time."

Roman giggles and leans into Virgil's hands. He closes his eyes.

"And I'll keep going if you want me to. I can do this all day, Princey."

"I'm telling Patton you gave me emotional pun support," Roman murmurs.

Roman can tell by Virgil's voice that he's grinning. "Do it. I'm not afraid."

He opens his eyes again. Virgil moves one of his hands to tuck under his own chin so he can look at Roman more comfortably. The other hand combs through Roman's bangs, straightening them.

"You called me sweetheart," Roman points out in an awed tone.

Virgil doesn't bristle like he expects. If anything, he hunkers down further in his stubbornness. "Yeah? So what?"

"You don't...usually do pet names."

"What can I say? I'm full of surprises."

"Is it weird if I said I liked it?"

Virgil lightly flicks his forehead. "It's only weird if you make it weird, sweetheart."

Roman sniffles and wipes at his face to rid himself of any lingering wetness. Virgil allows him time to breathe and get his bearings.

"It's the weight," Roman finally admits. "The warmth and the pressure. I mean, why I asked you to lay on me. I had a weighted blanket, but it got ruined. So Patton and Logan have been helping out where they can. It's easier when they're touching."

Virgil doesn't stop petting at his hair, but he does frown while he parses through his words. "What do you feel like without it?"

"Without the touching and my blanket? Umm, exposed I guess? Anxious. Cold."

"When you don't have your blanket or someone touching you, do you think about it a lot?"

"What do you mean?"

Virgil shrugs, and Roman feels the movement and together with the hair petting, it's enough to have his eyelids flutter and threaten to close. "I mean, when you haven't had that in a while, does it consume your thoughts? Like you're longing for it?"

Roman remembers the night he stood outside Patton's door in the hallway.

All the time. He longs for it all the time these days.

"Yeah," Roman whispers.

"Dude, I think you're touch-starved."

That throws Roman for a loop. "But... I touch people enough? It's not like I'm going years without a hug over here."

Virgil boops him on the nose. "It's doesn't take years. Could just take weeks. Depends on the person I guess. Everyone needs things differently. I think you liked your blanket so much because you were using it to substitute touch. And now that you're starting to get touch more often, your body is trying to adjust. It's like going from eating bread crusts to a full course meal."

"But I..." Roman's mind drifts. Virgil's words resonate as he compares them to his memories.

Yearning, heartache, misery, clinginess, pressure, satisfaction, grief. Is this what's been wrong with him?

"I'm touch-starved?" Roman asks.

Virgil gives him a sympathetic smile. He pats at his head. "I think so. It's not so bad. We can help you."

"You will?"

Virgil snorts and adjusts his position so he's laying more comfortably on Roman, like he's bedding down for the long-haul. "I'm not moving from this spot until dinner at the earliest."

Virgil makes good on his promise. Their roommates come home to find them there, napping the afternoon away. When they wake to the smell of cooking meat, they drag themselves up from the couch and shake the blood back into their limbs. The four of them sit at the table that night to eat and talk.

Roman opens up.

And when he eventually has the money to spare, he doesn't buy a new blanket.

He doesn't need one anymore. He has them.

[sapphic13th]

if I had a nickel for every time a doctor played by david tenant was divided by glass from someone from the noble family that he cared about and there were life threatening stakes-

[siriusblackdevotee]

Ranting about Romantic Prongsfoot or Prongsfoot in general??

I saw someone post saying romantic Prongsfoot is basically incest. I sighed then scrolled. Was that so hard? Seeing an opinion you don't like, and then just moving on? Because that's exactly what romantic Prongsfoot is, an opinion.

The fandom analyzed canon Sirius's behavior, actions and dialogue when it involved James and we all pretty much came to the conclusion that Sirius's entire world revolved around James. Like a dog, a man's best friend, he was incredibly loyal and devoted to James.

Then, some of us decided to take a step further and made them soulmates in a platonic sense. Not best friends, brothers, but soulmates. Like we're talking Viktor and Jayce level.

That's like the one thing wolfstar, Jegulus and Prongsfoot shippers have in common; James and Sirius are soulmates. Or even something deeper if you want to take a step further. All the famous fanfics have this, where James and Sirius have Something between them, even if it's a Jegulus or wolfstar fanfic.

That's why some of you feel like romantic Prongsfoot is incest. Because most fanfics have written them as brothers, you're reading two characters that are portrayed as brothers so often, you start to perceive them as brothers. You think they're brothers.

And you're allowed to! No like, you're very allowed to. Can I emphasize again, how often fanfics portray them as brothers? Like genuinely, no one's stopping you.

But you have to understand, that's your perspective, your view, your opinion. It's not a fact because they are not brothers. They are close as brothers yes, but not actually.

They don't have a ragbros situation. Sirius wasn't adopted into the Potter family at 8 or something and then raised by them after. That's probably incest. I have an adopted brother, I do know.

He was adopted into the family at 16. You're considered an adult at 18 in the wizarding world. He had inheritance from his uncle Alphard. It's said he moved out on his own later.

All this implies Sirius didn't live that long with Potters. I'm not saying Sirius didn't develop a familial bond with the Potters because he was too old during the adoption. He probably did see Euphimia and Monty as his parents at some point.

But he was James' best friend so much longer than their son. A couple of limited years with the Potters is nothing compared to the 5+ years he spent being James' best friend. I say limited because he keeps being that best friend even after he moved out.

That bond, if you want, can be solidified into something sibling-level after the adoption. You can have your headcanons, fantasies and fanfics where Sirius runs away to a healthier, welcoming family!!

But I don't think their bond could just change like that?? Again, around 5+ years of having this special connection, where they are used to living together, sharing the same space, being glued to each other, why would being adopted into the family change anything between them?? Besides like, getting yelled at together by James' parents, their routine would have stayed the same.

And you're telling me I CANT romanticize that?? Because YOU see them as brothers??? When they're so much deeper than that???

Would it not have solidified it more?? Would it not have gotten deeper?? Especially when they have privacy now.

Like you can't tell me they weren't having conversations where they bared their souls to each other, diving in and revealing the ugliest parts to each other, deepest fears, insecurities, quite literally breaking themselves down into pieces because it's just them there and then putting those pieces back together, glued with loving words and gentle touches because it's them. Or fucking. Up to y'all idk.

I'm going off the rails. The point is, you can dislike, like, hate, love ships for whatever reasons, I genuinely don't care. But if you're hating on a ship because you FEEL like it's incest, please just keep it to yourself. No one wants to be told their favorite ship reminds you of incest.

Again, tagging filters exist, I don't consider prongsfoot a rarepair but it's true people rarely write them. You literally cannot accidentally stumble upon prongsfoot fanfics and literally no one's forcing you to read them??

Prongsfoot is like the least problematic thing in this fandom?? And its barely problematic!! People ship ACTUAL incest!! Like starcest!! (...good for them but also like...)

calling prongsfoot incest when actual incest ships exists is insane.

[dontletyourguarddown]

yep, that's exactly what it is

[lifenconcepts]

I NEED SOMEONE TO BE MY PLATONIC ROOMMATE TO HAVE AN INCREDIBLY DEEP CONNECTION WITH IN NO WAY ROMANTIC OR SEXUAL TO BE ABLE TO RELY ON BOTH THE HIGHEST HIGHS AND LOWEST LOWS, TO BE ABLE TO EXPERIENCE LIFE WITH ANOTHER PERSON, SHARE THOUGHTS AND OPINIONS, BE ABLE TO BOTHER AND CARE FOR SOMEONE, FULLY RELAX IN THE PRESENCE OF, HAVE AFFECTIONATE MOMENTS WITHOUT TENSION, RECIEVE COMFORT, GIVE ATTENTION, DO FUN AND WACKY ACTIVITIES, GET INTO STRANGE SCENARIOS, AND TO GET INTO A SOFT BANTER IN THE LATE EVENING AS WE TALK THROUGH OUR DAYS AND WHAT THE NEXT ONE MAY FORTALE AS WE SOFTLY LAUGH AND MELT WITHIN EACHOTHERS PRESENCE AND NOBODY EVEN FOR A SPLIT SECOND CONSIDERS US TO BE PARTNERS AND YET WE’RE CLOSER THAN ANY DUO THERE WERE TO EVER EXIST!

FUCK MORTY AND RICK OR GLAM AND CHES, I WANT WHAT SHERLOCK AND WATSON HAVE - A DEEP BOND WITHOUT NO MORE REASON RATHER THAN BEING JUST PERFECT FOR EACHOTHER, FIND PARTS OF YOURSELF IN THE OTHER WHILE THE THINGS YOU LIKE THE OTHER BRINGS TO THE CONVERSATION AND SITUATIONSHIP.

PLEASE REALISE THIS ISNT A NEED FOR A FOUND FAMILY NOR A LITTLE COWORKER WITHIN MY HOME BUT A PROPER EXTENSION OF THE HEART INTO ANOTHER HUMAN BEING!!!!

TO BE ABLE TO BE VULNERABLE, A BITCH, AN ABSOLUTE UNPREDICTABLE MESS, A TERRIBLE MAN, A HORRIBLE WOMAN, AN INSANE DOG, AN OVERLY GIDDY CHILD, AND MUCH MUCH MORE WITH THE OTHER SIMPLY UNDERSTANDING.

UNDERSTANDING IT ALL. THE WHYS AND HOWS AND WHAT TO DO. JUST.. BEING THERE, ALL CHILL, AND ABLE TO BE READY FOR ANY AND ALL SITUATIONS AS WE EMBARK ON DELIGHTFUL ADVENTURES!!

[literallymikewheeler]

sometimes im watching dead poets society and i genuinely forget that todd and neil aren't canon..

[whotooklortan]

I'm not aromantic but I am asexual and maybe demiromantic, and I just want to vent about how much love has hurt me. Not just in like the sense of heartbreak, but in like, the repercussions have always left me with trauma. I have had so many relationships ruined because someone claimed to love me and I didn't love them back. That hurts me just as much as it hurts them. Why is my loss of a friend less than their loss of a crush? Why is it fine that i am paranoid about people being attracted to me now? Just because their love was romantic, why does it have such value over my lack of it? Why can I not live with a roommate who I love and adore, who I bring gifts, who I support, without someone trying to bring romantic love into the equation? It is not. Why is that so hard to understand? Can i not have my best friend be my house husband without having to love him? It feels forced. I don't want it. I have fucking autonomy, except I don't, because i live in the states and my rights to my body are being rolled back. Must my rights to my own concepts of love be removed too? I can love in close, meaningful ways that do not require romance. I am bitterly critical of romantic love now. I don't understand it anymore. It makes me feel unsafe now. I am in a relationship but if i had to say i was in love i would claw my eyes out. I like him. But jesus christ that is not the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. Vulnerability is scary. My last girlfriend punched a hole in my wall, threw things at me, yelled at me, and more. She loved me and i loved her. Love isn't safe. And it makes me angry that I can't talk shit about it the way I can other things that have hurt me, because someone will always defend it. But it sucks. Seeing it on screen gives me the ick sometimes. When people kiss i feel sick to my stomach. When people talk about others being in it, I feel a flash of fear for them. Are they? Or are the trapped like I have been? Love is such a strong social force, it's hard to say no to someone who throws it at you. Or I feel angry. You don't know how they feel! I just. I hate scrolling tiktok because it's tiktok, and I only use it because I have friends on there, but I also hate it because the way people talk about love on the internet makes me itch.

[another-delta-lover]

Delta i can't tell if you're being srs abt likin poot or if this is just a "hehehe Tumblr relationship" this is hurting my brain

this is purely platonic and for the funny ofc....

Unless...

[lunarblazes]

i do think about the supreme dynamic between claremont era logan, kurt, and ororo. like they are SO important to me. the ways that they complete each others’ character are fascinating—ororo’s leadership role and logan's support of her in it are two crucial parts of their characters that i think often get lost in translation later on, as well as kurt's absolute lack of leadership ability due to his inability to make good snap judgements, especially ones that will endanger other people, being a flaw that's covered by the other two's strengths. logan is often a steady presence for their more volatile emotional states, especially when storm is depowered; ororo is a great leader and works well under pressure through lots of practice; kurt reminds them of their humanity and helps them relax when things get too heavy. it's just such a fucking DYNAMIC, and also if i ever have to see ororo pleading with a critically injured kurt to hear his laughter again i'm going to sue chris claremont for emotional damages

[leafsfromthevine]

my favorite bromance ever, actually (x)

[joehawke]

Robin Buckley, Eddie Munson, and Steve Harrington roommates where Robin is listening to the Phoebe Bridgers cover of Nothing Else Matters while Eddie Munson listens to the original Metallica version of Nothing Else Matters in the other room and Steve listens to the Miley Cyrus/Elton John cover of Nothing Else Matters in his beemer in the pouring rain. Just a thought

[sophaeros]

ALBERT HAMMOND JR.: After I moved in with Catherine and he moved in with Juliet, we just didn't hang out the same way anymore. I missed his energy. I got sad; I felt a distance between us. That was a big part for me in this band—just hanging out with him, just being friends with him. We lived together for seven years. I've never lived with a girl that long. JULIAN CASABLANCAS: Does that mean anything to me? I mean, of course. The way I remember it, we were roommates and we moved places and I wanted to stay roommates and I feel like maybe he was not so into it anymore. Albert, you don't know what you've got til it's gone, baby!

— Albert and Julian on Julian's marriage to Juliet, from Meet Me In The Bathroom by Lizzy Goodman, interviewed around 2011 (x)