#this was supposed to be a quick doodle then I spent 2 hours on it

[andro-dino]

big eared bros

[birdstooth]

Drawing MASTERCLASS

lol jk thought I’d show some of the process here in case your other favs aren’t online and u have a couple of min to waste while waiting for the bus

🎵Down once more to the dungeon of my black despair🎶

On the left, u have janky first draft, and on the right, u have less janky second draft😅. Depending on how much time I spent on draft 2, I might do a final cleaner version, and then then add colours :)

My hard limit for a doodle/comic is 3 drafts for reasons that I will go into below, but basically I find that if I try too hard, it triggers the perfectionist demon and then it’s not fun anymore lmaoo

For me, 2-3 drafts is the balance between making something I can look at without cringing, and still have fun drawing lines and shapes.

Also it’s ok to have a very very, objectively bad first draft. My brain is like Swiss cheese so if I spend too long trying to get something down on (virtual) paper by making it look nice, half the idea floats away before I can make a record of it.

So first of all, since this is the unofficial website for ppl with crippling anxiety (roll call! 🙋‍♀️), just thought I’d say: if u are on the fence about posting your [content] online, go for it!!

I used to look at all this really cool [content] (art, writing, photography w/e) and be like “wow, that’s some good content! I’ve got a long ways to go before my content can reach that standard!”.

Or sometimes, I would see amazing content with very few notes and think “whoa, if this extremely accurate recreation of the Mona Lisa made with used gum found under park benches has only 12 notes, it’s not really worth posting what I have, right?”

But then at some point I decided that it was easier (for me) to make stuff that was vaguely funny instead of “good”, so I stopped trying to draw the perfect shapes with the perfect shading, etc. and just went with like, the minimum accuracy required for an object to be recognizable lol.

I’m not saying don’t chase your dreams or whatever, but try not to force yourself into a style or content type that doesn’t suit you. I have a short attention span and a zillion ideas, so for me, it’s actually much more satisfying to make these goofy little doodles bc I can do quick sketches between procrastinating at work, or while I’m watching my dinner rotate in the microwave 🥲.

When I was in my “every drawing must be perfect” phase, I would spend hours on making sure the proportions were realistic, and the lines were clean, and spend days or weeks in a single piece. Some people are suited to this kind of work and have the patience to see it through, but for me it was very unsatisfying and sapped my motivation so I decided to be realistic about my abilities + the time I have available to improve my skills (I think this is very important bc u might have the patience and the work ethic to practice, practice, practice until you are at the top of your game, but if you have a job or school or other obligations, it might not fit into your schedule) and do a kind of compromise.

Yeah, I’m still envious of other people’s content and no, I don’t think my content is the BEST I can do, but it’s a balance between doing what I like and getting satisfaction out of it. Sometimes, if you push yourself too hard, you end up hating what was supposed to be a hobby, u know?

[fuckyeahscienceparty]

thursday, 12/3: FREE SPACE!

painfully domestic stardew au fic w a last minute doodle to boot! enjoy~

-

Just Like Any Other

Morning preparations for a doctor and his favorite patient turned boyfriend turned husband.

-

Ludwig hummed softly as he carefully tucked the long part of his tie through the loop that he'd made, adjusting it so that the four-in-hand knot he made rested a little loosely around his neck.

While he flipped down his collar and reached for his worn, navy blue jacket, Dell adjusted his hat next to him in their small bedroom mirror; the pretty rainbow one that changed colors that he spent so much time mining omni geodes in Skull Caverns for.

It was another day with more work to be done. Ludwig had 2 checkups planned for that day (Mikhail and Emily, if he remembers correctly) and he had to fill out all sorts of paperwork for a new order of supplies while Dell had plans to harvest some of his crops and ship them off the to be sold (while also performing his normal daily errands and spending the rest of the day in the mines, of course).

Days like this meant that the two of them unfortunately wouldn't see each other until they both got home at around 10 that night, both exhausted and (most likely) too tired to do anything other than get in bed and read or watch TV together before falling asleep.

Alas, such was the life of a farmer and the only medical professional in town. Not that either of them would give up their jobs for the world; it was what they loved doing and being in the valley is what led them to each other, after all. Just that days like these weren't ones Ludwig was particularly fond of.

As Dell reached into the pockets of his overalls for his gloves, he looked over to his husband in the mirror, unable to keep a smile from creeping onto his face.

When Ludwig caught his eye he chuckled, turning around to face him.

"What is it?"

"Oh, nothing. Just lookin' at the most handsome man in the entire valley."

Ludwig's face flushed slightly as he scoffed, shaking his head in amusement.

"It's true, don't deny it," Dell teased, putting his hands on Ludwig's hips and standing on his toes to give him a quick kiss that his husband gladly reciprocated. His eyes then shifted downwards, brow furrowing slightly.

"Hey, where's your pendant?"

Ludwig's smile dropped as he panicked momentarily, softly patting where the shell normally rested against his chest before remembering and letting out a soft sigh of relief.

"I left it in the bathroom after I took a shower. Could you be a dear and go get it for me?"

"No problem, starry eyes," Dell smiled, giving him a kiss on the cheek before heading out of their room.

As Ludwig carefully parted his hair in the mirror (even though he knew it'd probably get messed up again in a few hours), he let out a surprised chuckle as Dell came up behind him, putting his pendant around his neck for him and gently closing the clasp.

"Alrighty, I gotta go down and tend to the ladies. You know how fussy they get if I don't feed 'em before 9. Are there any particular crops you wanted me to save before I sent most of it off?" Engie asked, pulling his work gloves over his hands. Medic paused for a moment.

"What do we have?"

"All sorts of stuff, I reckon. Peppers, blueberries, radishes, tomatoes, cabbage, some various flowers. Also I think some of the fruit trees have fruit that's ready to be harvested."

"Save me some tomatoes, blueberries, a peach, and a cabbage? I'll make that salad you really like tomorrow so you don't have to cook."

"Shucks, alright, I can do that. I'm headin' out now, your lunch is on the counter. Have a good day at work, baby," Dell smiled, giving him another kiss on the cheek before heading out.

As he made his was down the stairs, Ludwig stuck his head out of their bedroom door and yelled, "Try not to get yourself into too much trouble, ok?" after him.

Dell looked up at him and grinned.

"No promises, sweetheart!" He laughed, giving him a wink before shifting his goggles over his eyes and going out through the front door.

Ludwig let out an amused huff. 50/50 chance his farmer husband was going to get himself hurt and come limping into the clinic with that same mirth in his eyes, acting like 4 of his bones weren't broken and that there weren't huge bruises forming all over his abdomen. And as per usual, he'd get upset with him for not being more careful, but really, how could he stay mad at such a sweet face?

It was a miracle he was still alive, though. But he supposed miracles happened for some reason or another. I mean, here they were, weren't they? Together, he means. He considers that in and of itself a miracle, though that's a conversation for another day.

Ludwig shook his head to get himself out of his internal monologuing. He then checked the time on his phone, swearing softly beneath his breath as he realized he needed to open the clinic in less than 30 minutes.

He finished adjusting his hair, letting out a soft sound of displeasure when he realized his curls were already resisting the gel he'd put in it.

No matter, he'd deal. As well as note to himself that he needed to start buying a different brand of hair gel.

He grabbed his bag from the corner of the room where he always put it before rushing downstairs, his doves following after him as he went to go fill his water bottle.

When he turned around, he saw a glass container filled with fried mushrooms and rice, as well as a carefully wrapped poppyseed muffin, waiting for him on the counter, a little sticky note with a smiley face surrounded by hearts stuck on top of the container.

Ludwig smiled amusedly, tucking the note into his pocket. He'd put it with the others when he got back home later.

After taking his lunch and putting it into his bag that also contained things such as his phone, pens, planner, keys, and mini first aid kit, he let out a low whistle, signifying to the birds that it was time to go. All five of them cooed in response, Archimedes taking his usual spot on his father's shoulder as the others sat side by side on his bag after he'd taken out his key.

"Papa's got a lot of work today so you all better behave and stay upstairs until I tell you you can come down, alright?" Medic said to them as he toed on his shoes, the birds humming in agreement as he went out the door and locked it behind him.

He took one last look over his husband's rather immaculate farm, waving to him when he'd caught his eye as he exited the chicken coop. Dell smiled and waved back at him before disappearing into the barn, Ludwig carefully making his way down the steps and towards the direction of town.

After all, he had a busy day ahead of him. A day just like any other, mind you, but a busy one nonetheless.

[letsperaltiago]

i don’t wanna miss you like the other girls do

#12: I can't stop thinking about you, #22: Sometimes I just can't control myself when around you and #28: I have never felt this way about anyone

or 

Jealous! Amy and brand new relationship-Peraltiago

Also: Do I need to make a statement saying that Amy obviously isn't the kind of person to think she owns anyone, but means it well and in an endearing way? There you go.

Enjoy!

Read here or on AO3 

It had all gone down in a spur of the moment-kind of moment that no one, even less Amy, had seen coming and honestly would’ve preferred to be without. It wasn’t really her place to say or do what she did, nor even as much as react upon it, alas… she did; she was in so deep with Jake Peralta and so she did it anyways.

Said moment had gone down during a weekend spent in Hartford, Connecticut, where the squad had attended a two day-seminar hosted by their brothers and sisters in the HPD.

Since the drive to Hartford was one of two hours, plus the seminar took place Saturday through Sunday, the squad had huddled together in two cars and were spending the entire weekend, Friday through Sunday, north of their respective homes in Brooklyn.

Immediately from the moment they arrived at the the hotel slash conference venue where the seminar was to be held everything seemed to set the scene for a pretty smooth, perhaps even fun, weekend where the squad would get to be entertained by other things that the wondering of why they weren’t at home on a weekend.

No one on the squad had any kind of expectations for the unknown city, except Holt who mentioned The Mark Twain House and Museum as a highly ranked point on his to be done-list, which meant their collective surprise upon exploring the city after checking into their rooms Friday afternoon was indeed positive enough for them to not hate the fact they were spending their weekend away from home doing work-related activities.

The very second the clock obnoxiously signalled 7 AM the following day, because not being home wasn’t an excuse, Amy Santiago was up and out of bed leaving Jake to regret, just for a tiny second, that he shared a room with his brand new paramour. It’d only been two weeks since coming to terms about “screw light and breezy”, and so far everything was smooth sailing although that morning was clearly an example of the two still figuring out this new dynamic of theirs.

“Ugh, can you stop being a decent person and get back in bed,” Jake groaned in pain when Amy without hesitance pulled aside the curtain to let in the bleak east coast-sun. If they’d been away on vacation in Mexico, even just as far as California, then maybe Jake would’ve accepted this. But there sure as hell was nothing less motivating than a sad barely there-sun hiding behind puffy clouds but still shining brightly enough to rip him out of his comfortable sleep. Especially when all there was to “look forward to”, quote Amy, was seminars; learning and powerpoint presentations that would haunt him in his next sleep.

“Stop whining and get up! The seminar starts at 8!” Amy hurried carelessly at him used to his many complaints of this childish nature. She didn’t let it take up too much of her time and had already moved on to grab clean clothes from her duffle bag to put on after her routine shower.

From where he had indeed not moved an inch Jake could hear the shower being turned on, door to the bathroom still open, and if it wasn’t for the fact that he was exhausted from staying up just a bit too late watching stupid videos on his phone then he would’ve attempted to sneak into the steaming water with Amy because he could do that now… Insane.

On the other side of the shower curtain Amy had expected the same. There was very good reason why she’d added the little detail of leaving the door open and hoped would lure him out of bed. To her disappointment she quickly noticed her so-called sneaky plan was in vain leaving but one last attempt up her sleeve.  

“Jake, the breakfast buffet closes at 7.30!” she called out momentarily turning off the shower to allow her to pick up on potential sounds which could indicate her victory.

Indeed the last attempt was the right one: seconds later she heard the sound of quick footsteps and the ruffling of what she guessed was clothing items before a messy-haired, baggy-eyed Jake stumbled into the bathroom stark naked and on the edge of out of breath. The way to a man’s heart really was through his stomach, Amy though to herself amused.

“Mind if I join in real quick?” he smiled sheepishly trying his best to hide exhaustion.

All complaints and opposing to her morning ritual went down the drain with shower water the moment Amy turned it back on and smiled through biting down on her bottom lip.

Santiago: 1 - Peralta: 0

—

Perhaps Amy had twisted the truth just a tiny bit to get him out of bed so early. Jake figured this out when they 20 minutes later walked downstairs and saw a sign announcing that the first part of the seminar wasn’t scheduled for 8, like Amy had said, but rather 9 and buffet as well only closed an hour later than Amy’s information had told him. Lucky for her he was so infatuated that he let her off the hook with a playful jab to her sides and a comment about how she probably didn’t even want to date him but was simply a double-agent sent to improve his habits and lifestyle. This in return earned him a very familiar by now laugh, roll of this eyes and smile-combo: a combo he’d never get tired of and already felt like getting an eternal subscription to.

The seminar was okay, he guessed; either that or watching Amy furiously yet impressively neatly take notes with the speed of light beside him was enough to make it feel so. He was convinced of the latter when she afterwards with the brightest smile on her face showed him all the knowledge she’d managed to boil down to a few neatly organised pages in her notebook. It felt dangerous so early on in whatever they would turn out to be, yet also so very natural that in his world nothing was greater than the sight of Amy Santiago smiling at him. A sight he’d quickly grown addicted to already years back although without coming to terms with it until some months prior.

“Are you sticking around for the Q & A?” Amy interrupted his wandering thoughts whilst getting a new page in her notebook ready as a few people started leaving their seats and the conference room.

“Nah,” Jake shook his head honestly knowing that it would be lying to both himself and her if he tried to act like he genuinely cared about sticking around for an additional 30 minutes of re-explaining what he’d already spent 2 hours zoning in and out of. “I think I’ll head to the lounge. I’m feeling snacky.”

“Of course,” Amy smiled shaking her head in an evident manner. “See you at lunch then?”

“Yup,” he got out of his seat before adding a “see you at lunch, nerd,” accompanied by one last teasing smile before joining Rosa on her walk towards the exit. The comment combined with his soft brown eyes and warm smile was enough to have Amy feeling like a puddle of mush in her seat. To know that said brown eyes and warm smile were… hers? It felt weird to say or even just think it since they hadn’t officially declared themselves boyfriend/girlfriend but definitely were something; something not light and breezy; perhaps solid was the appropriate antithesis to use?

No matter what - light, breezy, solid or whatever they could be defined as - when her eyes trained after Jake walking off for just tiny bit longer than intended, Amy definitely noticed how a group of four women, colleagues, she assumed, sitting on the other side of the middle isle between her and them where Jake was walking chatted and giggled as their eyes switched back and forth between each other and Amy’s favorite partner. In spite of the fact that she was en excellent lipreader Amy, to her curiosity’s dismay, couldn’t exactly tell what these women were saying or giggling about however two things were certain: one was that they were in one way or another very interested in Jake, even after he’d left the room, and two was that Amy didn’t like it. An uneasy tightness formed in her stomach telling her so and she for the following 30 minutes of a Q & A she had looked forward to couldn’t focus enough to take any actual notes. All she was left with post Q & A were mindless doodles on an otherwise blank page which was both a waste of paper and but even worse of no good use for her knowledge.

The second the seminar was officially completely over which was everyone’s cue to leave for lunch, Amy did her best, notebook and pencil case held tightly to her chest, in an attempt to get as close to the giggly group of women from before as the room’s population walked out of the room in one big stream. Completely forgetting that she was supposed to meet up with the Jake and the others for lunch she automatically followed the four women to the hotel bar where they settled down - and so of course so did Amy simply opting for a few seats further down in conjunction with ordering herself a soda as to not attract herself any suspicion or attention.

“Oh my gosh, Sydney, you have to figure out who that guy from the seminar was!”

This definitely caught Amy’s attention, both to her pleasing and bitterness: pleasing because she’d been right about her gut-feeling and bitterness because that guy was her guy. Not whoever this Sydney was.

“Yeah, he was pretty cute right?” Who Amy guessed was Sydney, a tall, beautiful blonde clad in a nice pantsuit, Amy had to admit, answered just as enthusiastically.

“Totally! And since he’s here, probably, also a cop,” the same friend who had started the conversation chimed in and Amy wished to God she’d just shut up rather than stuff her friend’s head with bad ideas like hitting on Amy’s own guy.

“I smell work place-romance, ladies,” a third friend giggled riling the other’s up along with her. To them it was all a joke, fun, some kind of competition of cat and mouse but Amy, at her respective end of the bar, was feeling herself starting to boil, more than she’d like to admit, at the thought of someone else taking away from her what she’d just struggled for so long to obtain. It was her cute cop-guy from the seminar; her work-place romance; her… whatever! And also what kind of dumb name was Sydney even? Jake and Sydney? So dumb.  

“I mean we are here for another entire day so I’ll have to make sure to run into him at some point. Tonight…” the tone of Sydney’s voice took on a sultry undertone that had Amy shuffling uncomfortably in her seat. “… wouldn’t be a bad time to run into him.” The smug smile on the blonde’s face had Amy feeling like punching it right off of her.

As if on cue, like timing couldn’t have been any worse, friend number four made her presence be known and squealed with excitement while pointing which of course immediately earned herself the three other’s full attention. “Girls! There he comes! Right there!”

Within seconds all four girls heads snapped to the side with wide hungry eyes reminding Amy of what a flock of vultures looked like prior to ripping apart an animal cadaver in a documentary she’d watched a few days ago.

Vulture-like or not, Amy’s head was included in this collective redirecting of focus and followed the direction in which the friend had pointed to.

And there he was indeed: Jake Peralta, clad in his navy blue long-sleeved NYPD-shirt and freshly cut hair with the tiniest hint at a beginning forehead curl, was walking into the lounge that very moment seemingly looking around for someone and also completely unaware of the people watching him as his entrance seems to unfold in slow-motion. Amy almost couldn’t blame the girls for drooling because the cocky detective looked really good walking into the room completely oblivious to the attention he’d brought upon himself.

“Damn… He looks even cuter than what I remembered. I have to give it a try, don’t I?” Sydney questioned, obviously rhetorically already knowing what she wanted as she almost drooled like an agitated Doberman.  

“I mean if you won’t, Sydney, then I will!” the friend who’d noticed Jake enter the room playfully challenged, and even though it was all fun and games to them, Amy felt like her seat was on fire making it almost impossible to stay passive and seated for much longer.

“Oh, hell no. Stay away from him. This one’s mine, Jasmin!”

There was no telling if the line had already been crossed multiple inappropriate remarks ago and she’d managed by the grace of God to stay seated or if this last comment was the one to exceed what Amy considered her very flexible limits. Either way, no matter what, the first one option or the other, this time Amy failed to bite her tongue. She threw a comment out into the open without thoroughly considering its consequences out in the open fora first thus letting the group, especially Sydney, know what was weighing on her mind.

“You've got a lot of nerve to call a complete stranger ‘yours’,” the borderline growl of a tone in which the words came out in had Amy feeling like another person: not one she specially liked. This person, or perhaps even primitive beast was a better way of describing this persona, rooted deep down in her apparently found it very necessary to protect what she already within two weeks had come to mark as her territory. Never before had she felt so green-eyed, so absolutely reckless. This being said her instincts were more vigilant than ever before and it virtually felt out of her hands.

In the meantime, while Amy was looking at her decision in retrospect yet not at all since she wasn’t doing anything to prevent any further complications, the women had turned in their seats to collectively shoot quizzical, annoyed looks resembling daggers with their eyes at Amy.

“Excuse me?” The blue-eyed blonde challenged Amy to take her statement back which roughly said only goaded her raven-haired opponent further down the warpath.

“I said: You've got a lot of nerve to call a complete stranger ‘yours’.”

Feeling herself so ice-cold, so sure about something partially dumb and actually really petty would normally have Amy back down right away but something deep inside of her, like a raging fire, had her stand her ground. Apparently that’s what Jake Peralta could bring out in certain people, both Amy and Sydney included, because the blonde was not backing down just, rather instead coolly took another shot at Amy in the hopes to have her back off.

“Why shouldn't I? It’s not like he’s everyone, right? I’m for sure not letting any of these girls run off with him,” she pointed to the her friends behind her, the switch from threatening Amy to mindlessly joking and giggling with her little girl-squad having Amy metaphorically slack-jawed. Luckily not physically: there was no way she was showing this bimbo any sign of weakness.

“Okay, well…” Amy had had it for good and all consideration of rationality was out the window. Crowded police seminar or not there was no way in hell this light haired pest with her greedy crystal blue eyes and three flippant followers were getting the last word.“…let me explain to you why how you shouldn't assume and make people your property. Especially when you don’t even know them.”

Yes, she was being a hypocrite saying this but she was actually Jake’s special someone and not just some stranger: she did have a say in this.

For a brief second Sydney seemed shocked and like she actually considered Amy’s bold statement, but it didn’t last and before long blondie was back in the game apparently not satisfied with the way things could be left off. They way things should be left off, if you asked Amy.

“Oh, so you’re his “girlfriend” or what?,” the tone of Sydney’s voice clearly implied she didn’t believe anything Amy said.

All the, not doubt per se since she knew she wanted to be with Jake and he with her, but perhaps the insecurities about what stage they were currently at melted and slipped away as water off a duck’s back. It didn’t matter what exactly they were when one thing, the most important fact, was sure: they liked each other and they were going… steady. They were each other’s, politically correct to say or not.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I am,” Amy’s voice and eyes drilled into Sydney’s with a kind of confidence she’d never felt before, perhaps something Jake had brought into her life along with himself.

In return it earned her a mocking scoff.

“Easy for you to say. He might as well be a random guy you’ve spotted in the crowd,” one of Sydney’s friends stepped in to help her friend in what Amy knew was a lost cause on their part.

“He could be a stranger,” Amy paused very briefly biting her lip as to refocus, hopefully managing to not say anything that could potentially make the pointless, stupid conversation even worse. This but also she still did want to make very clear that the random, cute cop walking into the lounge (who even knew where exactly he was at this point?) was hers.

“But he’s not: he’s my boyfriend.”

It was as Amy allowed herself a small halt to provide her lungs with fresh air, just in case Sydney felt like dragging out the discussion, when cute cop-guy very suddenly made his exact position  known. He was walking straight up to the bar and them displaying smiley lips and eyes plastered on Amy. All the women’s eyes - Amy, Sydney and friends - immediately forgot about their opponent to focus on newly reappeared target who obviously had no clue about the fact that he was walking into the belly of the beast when he made it to his destination next to Amy.

“Hey, Ames.”

He nonchalantly stretched out his right arm to place a hand on the bar behind her crating a point of support for him to lean his weight onto.

“You catching up with some old friends?”

Oh, sweet naive Jake, Amy thought but also lowkey melted as he very credulously sent Sydney and her friend’s a warm, welcoming smile wanting to make a good impression on who he believed were part of Amy’s social circle.

“Eh,” Amy smiled culpably knowing telling Jake the truth about the situation would be the epitome of an embarrassment so early on in this new relationship of theirs. “I was just making small-talk, I guess. You know… meeting new people - yay.”

She couldn’t have sounded any less awkward and enthusiastic, even if she tried. Jake, on his part, was either really openminded or had figured out there was a good reason as to why she acted like she did and didn’t want to dig deeper into it, settling for an understanding nod.

“Well, anyhow… I don’t mean to interrupt anything but you never showed up for lunch and so I just popped in to try and find you.”

Even head turned to look at Jake who was slightly behind her meaning she could only see Sydney out of the corner of her eye, Amy could tell her smug, confident look from before was faltering with every exchange of words between Jake and Amy though they were far from flirty or telling about their relationship in any way. And, yes, she could’ve left it at that, as undramatic at it had all managed to turn out but Amy, well aware of how petty it was, she knew, couldn’t help but want to conclusively knock in the nail of victory.  

“Aw,” Amy spun a quarter of a round on her barstool to face Jake behind her before affectionally placing a hand on his chest - both for the sake of the show but also because, wow, she could actually do that as she pleased now. Something she was still getting used to.

“That’s very sweet of you, babe,” the word in focus was always said in an affectionate tone but this specific context definitely had it over-enhanced and laced with extra sweetness to make her message very clear.

Then breaking her own no making out at work-rule, the only rule to have survived “screw light and breezy”, she couldn’t help herself and gave into the enraged possessiveness inside of her. She leaned in to place a soft, just a bit longer than a peck, kiss to Jake who automatically lightly bent his neck to eliminate the remaining space between their current height difference. The kiss was good, they always were with him, but it definitely had to send a signal that hopefully Sydney would pick up on: do not touch.

Amy, not wanting to break her own rule too much and give in to straight up inappropriate PDA, then pulled back to throw the women-squad a smirk over her shoulder as her hand never left the safety of Jake’s blue shirt.

“Anyways… I think we’re done here? Right, girls?”

To her immense pleasure Amy was met by a mixture of bitterness and surprise which had to mean she’d proven her point. Finally. Jake Peralta, officially boyfriend or not, was not to be considered anyone but hers - apart from being very much his own person as well.

In the meantime, slightly shocked but also far from displeased by Amy’s very out of blue-kiss, Jake stood passive by waiting for his partner’s upcoming directions. He didn’t have to wait for long because whoever these other women were, Amy was done with them and hopped off of her stool promptly grabbing his hand to walk away with. It took him a few feet of walking in silence before Jake could fully assemble and give meaning to everything that had just happened. He turned to question a still smug, also a bit guilty-looking, Amy.

“Okay, so are you going to tell me what all that was about?”

They kept walking out of the lounge and down one of the many halls of the hotel.

“Nothing.”

Jake was perhaps naive at times as he saw a lot of good in everything, which Amy loved, but he knew a guilty lip bite when he saw it and it was currently on full display on the raven haired beauty.  

“Hey,” he pulled her aside into one of the many small wall pockets leading to individual hotel rooms as he wished to seclude them in hopes of it easing her into telling him the truth. “What’s up with you?” he smiled knowingly taking some intensity out of the moment. It’s not like he was angry or anything, curious being a better word for it.

“Nothing,” she smiled sheepishly trying to hurry out of the secluded area but quickly realising she’d failed once she felt his hand wrap around her upper arm to gently pull her back in. Her back gently fell back against the wall before him forcing her to face him.  

He lightly tilted his head to the side much like a puppy would when feeling peculiar which was hard to resist when his eyes, soft and brown, had so much resemblance with a sweet puppy’s as well. She could tell he was teasing her, aware of the fact that he knew something she didn’t and it drew her insane in both the worst and best way - Jake Peralta summed up for you.

“Now I don’t believe that… girlfriend.”

In contrast to the playfulness controlling her body seconds ago Amy Santiago suddenly felt much more put on the spot, it clearly showing by the way her blood all at once seemed to fire up her cheeks. He’d overheard her talking to Sydney and the others; he’d heard her declare herself as his girlfriend when they hadn’t even agreed on calling each other that yet. The nervousness tricked her into making a loud swallow; yet another tell.

“Oh… y-you heard that?” She stuttered.

Jake nodded firmly almost encapsulating her against the wall when he took a step forwards, but made sure to leave just enough space for her to not feel straight up trapped against her will. A small smug smile on display. Why was he enjoying this? Didn’t he see that he was torturing her?

“I’m sorry - I really didn’t mean to. I know we’ve just barely begun seeing each other as more than friends, it’s just these girls were saying things about you and sometimes I just can't control myself when around you and then it just kind of-“

He cut off her rambling by pressing his lips to hers, much needed, gently pressing her up against the wall although. Only because they were hidden from the majority of the hotel’s population, Amy allowed and excused this - or so she told herself. The feeling of his welcoming lips made her forget the mess for a few seconds, just giving into how good of a kisser Jake Peralta was, and even for a few seconds after their lips parted again she was speechless and dumbfounded by how she’d gotten herself a guy this great.

“Stop apologising,” he chuckled quickly using his thumb to wipe the corner of his mouth which inevitably made him look that much hotter.

“I know we didn’t exactly “agree on it” and that it’s still all very new, like you said, but, Ames…” his eyes mellowed after looking just a tad too cocky and alluring before, during and right after the kiss. This was definitely a different shade of Jake looking into her eyes and talking: a very soft one. “… I don’t need a certain trial period or approval from anyone to know that I’m your boyfriend and you’re my girlfriend.”

Upon hearing these words coming from the one and only Jake Peralta with recipient being herself, Amy Santiago she felt her heart shoot through the roof, take a trip around the moon and fly straight back into her chest where it had her feeling like crying, smiling, screaming and laughing all at once: a very maniac-like but also wonderful feeling. The most wonderful as far as she could recall.

“And I’m not going to force you to tell me exactly what happened, but just based on the way your fists were basically clenched when I walked up to you, am I wrong to assume that they were, let’s say, treading on your territory…”

If she’d been blushing before then now her face was definitely on fire and looking down at her feet apparently didn’t help cover it at all. The silence was enough of an answer, one which he chuckled in reaction to.

“It’s okay, Ames. At least I came around before you could Jimmy Brogan them.”

At this sympathetic joke reminding her of a time that seemed to be so long ago she had to look back up. She couldn’t hold back a chuckle and it warmed her heart to share it with him just like when he shared his with her. All the previous insecurities: had she gone too far? Let her tongue run away with her? Given too much of herself too fast to something as brand new as her relationship with Jake? It had all been answered by a few simple words, caring eyes and a kiss that told her everything she needed to know.

“I just don’t want you to think I’m this crazy-jealous, possessive type. I’m normally not like this, I promise. I guess I have never felt this way about anyone before and maybe that’s why I’m acting up. Amy I crazy?” a tingling feeling of vulnerability made an encore.

“No, you’re not because I’m right here freaking out, in the best kind of way, because of what you just said. This is the first time I feel like this too, like I can’t stop thinking about you, and it’s scary and great all at once.” Jake was quick to wash away said vulnerability she was feeling and replaced it with a prickling affection and hope.

“So… no more feeling insecure about us?” he offered some kind of peace-offering, partly to her but mostly to their shared insecurities, trying to not come off as too gluttonous as he slid his hands onto her waist wanting to soak in a new feeling of belonging. A feeling he’d found in her.

“Deal,” Amy accepted the offering with a sheepish smile as her insides flipped upside down witch excitement. All she wanted was to be with this guy, fully and greatly, and this confrontation and mutual agreement would allow her to not give a damn about future external factors.  

“Noice. Smart,” escaped him in optimistic relief but before she could roll her eyes at it he leaned in to softly kiss her again. Being held by him, hands gently tracing the front pockets of her pants while his lips took her to another world, was something she could never deny him or herself - screw the rules. Lips collided over and over again, one tug bringing on the next until they lost sense of anything and were full on making out like a pair of horny high schoolers in-between classes. This is what they brought out in each other: happiness, fire, want and so many more things they’d both spent the last two weeks wondering how they’d lived without before.

Unfortunately their movie-like moment had to be cut somewhat short as people coming back from lunch started flooding the hall passing by their little intimate pocket in the wall. Amy liked Jake but she also liked staying professional and this Jake respected. They jumped back, creating an exaggerated amount of space between them before sending passing strangers innocent smiles as if they hadn’t just spent the last few minutes declaring feelings and making out at an interstate police seminar.

“So, Detective Santiago…” his voice took on a brand new tone of gravity - a tone she also recognised as acting. “Shall we head over for lunch?”

“I’m sorry to come bearing such bad news, Detective Peralta, but people are flooding the hall as per consequence of the fact that lunch is over,” Amy played along taking on a serious tone and posture.

“Aw, man… Seriously?” he whined childishly, his recent serious persona from seconds before immediately  forgotten.

“Sorry… boyfriend,” she smiled sheepishly in an attempt to cheer him up which she had to praise herself, as it obviously worked seeing his face instantly lit up.

“Whatever… It was worth losing lunch over, girlfriend.”

[everythingoesnk]

1957

summary; you come to john’s rescue so he doesn’t fail his test. conversation takes a turn :p

word count; 2 283

warnings; flufliness 🤗🤗

********

On Wednesdays, your older sister was in charge of doing the shopping, but fever had confined her to her bed. By strict orders of your mother, the responsibility was now yours.

That’s why you ran late to meet Mrs Smith and her nephew.

As you stood alone in the hallway, awkward and reluctant, you wished your arrival at 251 Menlon Avenue had been interrupted by the stupidest distraction. Or that you’d have declined to come when you had the opportunity to.

Hearing them arguing upstairs wasn’t what you wanted to do with your evening. Neither was helping John to study for the math test he had the morning after. You couldn’t work miracles, and with this transparency you explained it to your grandma when she compelled you to lend him a hand.

She and Mimi had been good friends for years, and when they were together drinking tea last week, Mimi vented to her how John would distress her in the school field. Music, the young lad was only interested in music. His grades were pitiful, and she found herself running out of stratagems to incite John to get back on track. The guy managed to pass the rest of the subjects, but mathematics were an ordeal for him.

He despised numbers just as he despised having to waste time restricting his Gallotone when he could be rehearsing instead.

“Give me back the guitar, Mimi. Where do you have it?”

“You won’t see it until I hear from the test’s result”

“I’m trying my best!”

“Try harder”

There was a truculent silence that wasn’t a silence per se. They stopped talking, but John’s frantic steps as he paced around the room rummaging around and removing furniture from its place hoping the guitar would be hiding behind were unmistakable.

“It’s not there,” she said, nuisance reflected in her tone, expression inexpressive.

“Unless you ate it it must be somewhere in the house”

Mimi didn’t answer.

“Because it’s in the house, correct?”

Mimi exhaled, giving him a hostile glare. They weren’t in a state where she could throw money around like it was nothing. If she bought him the guitar, it wasn’t to resell it or dispose of it afterwards.

“Of course it is in the house. I’ll return it if you comply with our deal”

After Mimi drew the line, you heard the woman walking down the stairs.

Straightening up, you clasped nervously your fingers around your schoolbag’s strap.

She placed her peculiar hat on top of her hair and covered her figure with a long winter coat. Its corseted structure in the middle cinched in around her already lean frame.

“Do your best” she told you, making sure that she had everything she needed on her. “If you feel like hitting him, you have my permission”

“You’re leaving?”

“I have errands to run”

When Mimi walked over to you, she stopped by your side and looked you up and down.

“The shoes. You dirtied my carpet”

“I’m sorry, Mrs Smith”

You intended to offer cleaning it up yourself until it looked like it did before, but she had other plans.

“When you’re gone I’ll tell John to handle it, the boy lacks discipline. Anyone would think he’s being raised in a jungle rather than a humble home in the northwestern of England and I wouldn’t be able to contradict them”

You had nothing to respond her with, but she didn’t look like she was interested in hearing an answer.

She rekindled her step and marched out the house, half with hurry half slipping away in case John reappeared to keep niggling over how unfair she was.

You’d been in their home previously. Once.

John had been the sergeant who lead the army, devising a prank which sloshed over onto you. Army because his two friends were the ones to set the trap, John keeping his hands clean as the commander and mastermind he thought was. They put a paint bucket on top of the classroom door frame, and the three patiently waited to see who the victim would be.

You spent hours in the shower scraping the tacky liquid off your skin.

That same day, your grandma and you showed up at their doorstep because she wanted him to apologize.

The incident was the reason why you knew where he lived.

You eased down into one of the chairs in the kitchen and dropped your bag onto the table.

John knew you were there, you wouldn’t go searching for him.

Thing is, time went on, and he wouldn’t make an appearance. You checked your wristwatch and cursed. Almost fifteen minutes had ticked by and you were waiting like an idiot for someone who clearly did not care enough.

“Am I dreaming or did I just hear (Y/N) (Y/L/N) saying a bad word?”

You flinched and brought a hand up to your chest.

Looking to the left, you saw him standing barefoot in the doorway with his arms stretched upwards, gripping at the doorframe. Legs crossed at the ankles, a wicked grin curved his lips. He was wearing a white cotton tee and denim trousers that fit him tight in the thighs.

Once recovered from the shock, you shot him a bitter look.

“You’re wasting my time, you know that? The longer you delay it, the worse”

“I’ve had better,” he said, walking over to the sink where two large vertical windows on the wall displayed a perfect view of the back porch.

He closed them, grabbed a plain black sweatshirt that hung from the chair opposite you and put it over his head, messing up even more his already tousled humid hair. It was clear that he had a shower before you showed up. If he hadn’t had, it would be replicating Presley’s.

Until then you didn’t realise that the room was indeed chilly.

“Better what?”

“Better days. Thank you for asking and showing interest” he said, waving vaguely a hand.

He slumped in that same chair and glanced across at you.

“How are you, by the way?”

“Fed up. Tell me what you don’t understand and we’ll practice” you said, pulling out of the schoolbag the book and your pencil case.

John calmly watched you prepare everything. “Geometry, algebraic equations…  The entire book, if you will”

“If that’s the case, I see logic in noting down formulas first, that way you can try and memorize them too” you lifted your gaze and saw him with both hands plunged in the front pocket of his sweatshirt, shoulders relaxed. “Hello? Aren’t you getting something to write on?”

He let silence reign for a moment.

“Out of all the people in class, it had to be you,” he grumbled. You didn’t have a clue about what that was supposed to mean, but now his eyes were piercing into yours to the point where you felt very small very quick. He bounced to his feet with a huff. “I’ll be right back”

Upon his return, he carried with him a notebook with doodlings drawn by him on the cover and a pencil hanging loose between his teeth. Along the way, at some point, he tugged the hood over his face, so now you couldn’t see the top half of it.

He took the seat again and with an unfriendly look began copying the theory.

“If you’d paid attention from the beginning perhaps you wouldn’t be against the clock now”

“I can’t focus if you speak,” he grunted.

“You’re just copying” you said, raising your left eyebrow. “But alright, I’ll shut it”

When he was done, he tossed the pencil and dragged his hands down his face, pulling at the skin under the eyes.

“I hate this” he condemned.

“You hate everything that doesn’t involve music” you clarified, no malice in your statement.

“That’s not true” he scowled, pushing the hood back, actually feeling insulted.

“Alright, tell me something you don’t hate,” you propped your elbows onto the table, laced your fingers and rested your chin there.

“I don’t hate the singing of birds waking me up in the morning, and I don’t hate hanging out with you”

As much as you tried to hide it, John saw how your lips tipped up.

“Am I supposed to feel touched?”

“I’d be really sad if you didn’t. That was smooth”

“Oh wow yes, so smooth, the smoothest” you sneered, taking his notebook to write down a few problems for him to resolve.

“Smoothest” he echoed. “Is that a word?”

“It is” you weren’t sure if he was serious.

“Sounds strange to me, never used it before”

“Venustraphobia sounds awful as well and it’s a real term”

“What does it mean?”

“Fear of attractive women”

“Holy shit, is that true?” he asked, fiddling now with his pencil.

“Yeah”

“So that’s a thing. Does the phobia exist the other way around? Women fearing handsome men?”

“I guess?”

He nodded, amused. “It must be hard for you”

Confused, you raised your eyes and cocked your head with an inquisitive frown.

“Collecting yourself, I mean” he explained, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “You’re doing a terrific job pretending you’re not suffering. As you might know, I’m quite charming myself”

You just stared back for some time, holding back a laugh until it became impossible to restrain.

John was so much fun when he didn’t behave like a dick, you hated to admit, which only happened when his macho friends were around. He was the leader of the group, sure, but it seemed that all he wanted was acceptance from them, to belong somewhere. Pretty much he let them change him. Although when he wasn’t near them, the carefree happy bouncy John you knew returned each time.

Abs burning from laughing, you doubled over as you hugged your abdomen. This bitch, you thought. Your shoulders kept shaking as you tried to subside your chuckles, but you couldn’t stop.

John observed your reaction placidly.

Bright with delight, his eyes gleamed when you kept patting your thigh as a conduit for the laughter.

“My God” you breathed, fanning yourself.

“It’s rude using my name in vain,” he teased, wagging the accusatory finger in your direction.

“You’re far from being God” you retorted, your chuckles fading. You gave him back his notebook. “Enough chitchat. Do these exercises and I’ll correct them”

You waited then, keeping an eye on him as well as inspecting your nails to pass the time.

He raked a hand through his hair and kept it there, closing it in a fist at the top of his head.

A sappy feeling settled in your stomach. Seeing him saturated after half an hour trying to get something done softened your heart.

He suddenly looked up, but when he caught you looking too, John quickly dropped his head.

Five more minutes and he passed you the notebook.

“Voilà. Now you can laugh at me”

“I’m not gonna laugh at you. No one is born knowing” you responded quietly.

Silently revising his answers, you got distracted remembering one thing he said earlier.

Rosiness present in your cheeks, your gaze settled cautiously upon him. “You don’t like me?”

His brows drew together in deep puzzlement.

“What?”

“‘Out of all the people in class, it had to be you’” you quoted him, your heart beating erratically. You were worried that its pumps would tear a hole in your chest. “I wanna know why you said that. Is it because you don’t like me?”

A muscle tickled in his jaw, but his expression was humourless.

“That’s not it”

You hoped his response would bloom into something more specific, but he remained with his mouth shut, tension building up between the two.

“What’s it?” you pressed.

Darkness igniting his eyes, he leaned back in his chair.

“Answering your previous question, I do. A lot, actually. That’s my issue”

Petrified, your pulse shot to the sky.

“Why is it an issue?”

“We both know why”

Was John Lennon telling you with all his chest that he was interested in dating you but that he’d never acted upon it ‘cause he assumed you were out of his league?

“You didn’t ask me about my feelings, not once”

“Why would I? You’re sweet and smart. I’m none of that”

Oh, Johnny boy. His words cracked your heart. Lies, they were cruel lies.

“What are you doing this Friday?” you inquired. “I don’t know if you know, but I really like painting. I held an exhibition at school—”

“I’m aware. I was there”

Warmth radiating up your body, you fought back a stunned gasp. “You went?”

He never mentioned it before.

Gazing in each other’s eyes longingly, a goofy side smile fleetingly graced his lips.

Electric tingles spread through your nervous system. You composed yourself with a toss of the head. And he dared to say he wasn’t sweet? You were drowning in diabetes.

“My point is, the school’s newspaper asked me to present something new, and I have yet to finish my piece. Maybe, if you want, you could join me and we make each other company. You can bring your guitar and play some music”

You’re adorable, he wanted to interrupt, mouth twitching.

“I guess I could do that” he said instead.

“Awesome” you bit on your bottom lip, thrilled.

“I’m concerned, though”

“Concerned?” your eyebrows snapped together. Was he having second thoughts? “About what?”

“Concerned that I will start developing venustraphobia now that I’m gonna spend more time with you”

Your laughter hugged his soul.

John contemplated stupefied how easy you made it to fall in love.

Just hearing your giggles was enough for him to understand he could never compose a melody more lovely and magical than that.

[milkbottle8]

this was supposed to be a quick doodle and i spent a good 2-3 hours on it id say

[cb-143]

Day6 Reaction: their s/o has a chronic illness

a/n: I want to quickly mention that I only have firsthand experience with ~2 of these. For another one, I had someone else help me. If you are suffering from any of these illnesses, and notice any inaccuracies, please don’t hesitate to tell me and correct me. 

Sungjin - Aids

Sungjin had come into your flat after one of the first dates. You've always had a blast with him, spent many hours conversing with him about anything and everything. Your dates were as mature as they were fun; as easy and simple as they were deep. Moreover, the way he looked at you let you know that he was serious about this. It was something of utmost importance for you. You didn't want to get involved with anyone, you had waited for this opportunity. A serious relationship, someone who genuinely liked you.

It lead you to inviting him inside, just before he left after walking home with you. Just one glass of wine, it wouldn't hurt. Surely, you could talk as you always did?

One thing kept nagging at you all throughout your last two dates. You should tell him, tell him soon-

Sungjin kissed you. It came sudden, and it felt good. It wasn't the case that you hadn't kissed before. You've shared many kisses, all of them lovely. However, something felt off about this one – it was different, you sensed that Sungjin wanted to take this farther.

“Sungjin, wait,” you pulled away from his lips. He looked at you, questioningly. You saw in his eyes, first hints of regret arose. “There's something I need to tell you...” So you told him about your illness. About aids, about you had gotten it in the first place. Sungjin, of course, accepted it just as he accepted all other things about you. He asked questions – the ones you always got – and a few different ones, ones important for your relationship. As the conversation died down, he kissed you once more, started another attempt.

Jae - Depression

“Hey babe.” Jae greeted you. You felt his arm around you, very loosely. “What'd you do today?” he asked. Jae kissed your cheek and you sighed contently. You thought back. It was now 4pm. What did you do today?

When you woke up, you didn't want to. There was no need to get up, much less did you want to.

Breakfast was bland, the same you usually ate. Jae had prepared it for you before he left. You thanked him for it with a quick message, but weren't to receive a reply until later on. You were grateful for him being there, you noticed that more so, when you smelled his cologne on the pillows. You wished for him to be here. Just a few more hours. When was the last time you tidied up  your bedroom? Did it matter? You didn't want to face this situation. The black hole surrounding you sucked you in further. You gave in..

You slumped deeper within the blanket, pulled it above your head. You killed time, like this, doing nothing but doodling around, missing Jae, thinking of him. You waited.

“I.. I managed.” You smiled, then turned your head to kiss him.

Young K - Lupus

On a good day, you might have noticed the sign – it was a bright yellow colour, the words clear "CAUTION! WET FLOOR!" However, your mind was all over the place.

It wasn't a good day for you or your illness. In fact, you were to see the doctor today, together with Young K.  You were on the way to the doctor's office when Younghyun suggested getting some coffee. Just to have something to warm your hands with, you agreed, Younghyun went up to the counter alone, giving you a chance to walk to way to Starbucks's bathroom and fall just a metre after the sign. You yelped, realising what had happened only when you saw the ceiling before you, then multiple pairs of eyes on you.

Younghyun was by your side in no time, helping you up along with another stranger – you couldn't have gotten up alone. In fact, your boyfriend rushed to you so quickly, you did not get the chance to even just sit up.

"Are you alright?" He asked, "You didn't twist your ankle, did you?" You felt quite shocked, slightly embarrassed due to many people looking at you. As you were progressing everything, catching your breath, even, Younghyun explained your situation, to a certain degree – that your chronic illness just so happened to bless you with another one of the worst conditions out there, rheumatoid arthritis.

"Oh yes, I know that one," he said, "'s quite bad, innit? Me wife's strugglin' with it too. You gotta be careful." You appreciated his help and his words. You thanked him, before Younghyun and you left, drinking your coffee on the way to the doctor.

Wonpil - Diabetes

Wonpil and you sat in the cab to the train station. You had remembered it maybe ten minutes ago, that you had forgotten the most important thing, but the way to his relatives was a long one.

You were supposed to be fully prepared, have everything packed and ready. To be frank, you didn't want to admit that you had to go back, perhaps miss the train because you forgot something. Much less did you want to admit that you forgot something as important as the pen, needles and the blood measuring tool, sitting in a bag on your table.

“What's wrong, love? You look so uneasy.” Wonpil looked right through you – you couldn't keep quiet any longer.

“I think I forgot something.” You admitted.

“Oh, you mean this?” He asked, pulling out the bag of your most essential items for diabetes from his tote bag.  Your eyes lit up and you nodded. Wonpil pulled you close, kissed your temple.

“Don't worry, love, I got you. I'm always looking out for you.”

Dowoon - Asthma

You were looking forward to looking at new flats with Dowoon. Both of you felt excited to move in together. Though you weren't sure about this one, its description having said that it was on the 8th floor, Dowoon assured you that it was fine – there was an elevator, so he had been told.

However, upon arrival, the landlord told you that the elevator was still broken, but to be repaired at the moving date.

“It's fine,” You assured Dowoon, “It's just once, if we go slow, I can handle it.” You noticed then that it wasn't Dowoon you were assuring, but more so yourself.

The first flight of stairs went well – only 10 steps.

In the middle of the second flight, it began. Your lungs didn't give you all the air you needed. Breathing through your nose wasn't sufficient enough by the end of the 3rd flight of stairs. By the 6th one, you would have needed a break.  Dowoon suggested it, too, but there were only 15 more steps to go – you could get through that.

You were panting when you arrived. Dowoon was out of breath too, but recovered before you did. He searched for your inhaler already, but it was simply a case too bad. You hurried to the bathroom and threw up a little. When you came back, you used the inhaler. Dowoon rubbed your back soothingly. The landlord, too, seemed very understanding of the situation.

You didn't get a chance to feel bad about it, neither did you regret it. You spent the next seven years happily in the flat  on the 8th level.

[ineffablequeers]

fluff/ angst prompt: crowley and aziraphale deciding to move in together

moving in together:

Crowley has – and has had for quite a few years now – a very nice leather-bound notebook that he bought in Italy back in 1903. Unlike many others, who buy notebooks and then refuse to write on them, he’s never had a problem with the random doodle or quick note. Besides, it seems like he never runs out of ink or pages, so that comes in handy too.

In his Big Bad Notebook Of Bad Deeds, Crowley has a list.

Page 57 reads Recipe For Awful Life Decisions, by A. J. Crowley.

At least two hours spent with the angel – absolutely unable to say no

Copious amounts of alcohol – see 1

No self-preservation instinct – ready to jump headfirst into 1

Need to please – read above

ALCOHOL 

While the list is quite short, it holds the secret to all of the biggest choices he’s ever taken, and points 2 & 5 are usually the ones he loathes the most.

How is he supposed to say no to a glass of good wine, when it’s Aziraphale the one who’s offering it?

But, all in all, each one of his Very Big, Very Bad Fuck Ups In History is tied to at least one of these factors.

This one was no different.

“Angel, what if – hic – we get a nice houssssse somewhere nicer?” He asks, slouched on an awful yellow sofa that probably belongs to some soap opera set. “Throw them all off their rhythm-” He starts giggling. Gabriel wouldn’t be able to find them if they walked up to him and started making out naked, which was definitely entertaining. Beelzebub, on the other hand, could end up being quite more annoying, but they’d find a way to distract them.

He could almost see it, a small cottage in the South Downs, with a big garden and rooms that just ended up getting bigger and bigger as Aziraphale hoarded centuries worth of knick-knacks in them. Maybe far away from humans, so that they could possibly, perhaps fly together-

“That would be- absolutely ridiculous!” Aziraphale starts laughing wholeheartedly. It’s like being stabbed, multiple times, and then washed in holy water.

“I wasn’t joking, angel.” He wants to say. Maybe it’d be better to leave it. Change the subject change name change city change planet and just be done with it. Forget about him not even taking him seriously, forget about everything. He bit his tongue, as his nails painfully digging into soft skin.

“Yeah, right,” he mumbles instead, offering a half-arsed smile. “Ridiculous.”

[watchoutforthefanfics]

For the fic request thing, could you write "one last backstab, just what I needed. Because one wasn't enough " with Royality? (I loved your angsty logince fic it was so good!!) -knight

Heyo, thank you, knight, for your request. I can’t say it’s angsty as that one shot butttt, it is pretty angsty when you get to the right part. Anyway, enjoy, hopefully. This ended up kinda long.

TW: Self deprecation, somebody getting outed, and really bad insecurities.

Roman was quiet in class, he was the kid who doodled all throughout the edges of his notes, pointless castles and princes that he dreamed would see him.

People didn't approach him, mostly because he was really kinda picky about who he chose to speak to and it might've seemed a little stuck-upish.

And he had been told that his golden skin and perfected hair had quite literally been intimidating to anyone who had decided to approach him.

It wasn't like he didn't want friends, it's just most people didn't take the time to ask. So, being the petty theater boy he was, he didn't talk to people if they were just talking to him for the kicks.

Until everyday in Geometry class, a cute boy named Patton started a conversation at his table… Where only he sat.

It started harmless, Patton asking if Roman had understood what the teacher had understood and Roman was nice enough to explain it (totally not related to how bright of a blue his eyes were, or the freckles scattered across his cute little cheeks).

With the quietest tone, he pointed out what the lesson had been and what he was supposed to be doing, and Patton didn't push him anymore that day; he just respected his silence.

It was a relatively new experience to Roman (Virgil, his old best friend had done the same, but he moved about 2 years ago), to have someone just sit with him and ask no questions.

Roman found himself trusting him quite fast, not really minding when he would ask him questions because Patton was probably the sweetest boy Roman had ever known.

A different day, when Roman had been a little more confident with himself, Patton decided to peer over his shoulder at one of his doodles.

It was small, a soft face with a crooked crown and cheesy grin that Roman had come to love when he drew it.

"That's-" Patton spoke softly, "-that's a really nice drawing. What's his name?"

Roman had frozen that day, he didn't think he needed a name, did he? He was a recurring prince, a style that Roman had liked and his hair was always curled, he deserved one at least.

Roman scribbled, staring down at the prince, "He… He doesn't have a name." 

"Do you-" Patton hesitated, "Do you want to give him one?"

Roman pursed his lips, nodding silently as he tapped his pencil on the table.

Patton read him pretty quickly, "Ummm, what about Theodore? Prince Theodore?"

"Prince Theodore-" Roman grinned, "-the 3rd. It… it has a really nice ring to it."

Patton smiled, a brightness Roman had yet to get used to, "You think?"

"Yeah-" Roman confirmed, "Yeah, I like it."

Patton smiled, a big cheesy grin before grabbing a notebook paper and his pencil, "Is Prince Theodore into princes?" 

Roman raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk finding a way onto his lips, "Is that a trick question?"

Patton's face fell for a second, Roman could see the endless thoughts flooding his face, so he stepped in.

"Of course, he is!"

With the same bright smile, Patton began sketching out another face; this one a bit softer with a genuine grin that crinkled at his eyes, and a round face. 

"There! Uh, meet… Prince Xavier!" Patton shoved it forward with a sparkle in his eyes, "They look perfect together."

It was then that the two realized that the princes were drawn in their likeness, Theodore had the same jaw and Xavier had the same, happy eyes.

With a flush rising onto their faces, they both smiled lightly at their drawings as the chatter dissipated and they fell back into the silence of writing their notes.

Roman couldn't fail Geometry anyway.

After such an awkward sketch exchange, the silence had returned and if he was being completely honest, Roman was kind of devastated. But, he figured at that point, he was used to it.

And just as he lost hope, Patton started whispering the cheesiest puns to him when the teacher wasn't looking.

It was nice to hear things so light and bubbly, when his brain was absorbing so much math he could hardly take it.

However, that was not the peak of their budding friendship: no, no. 

That was one day when Roman was walking home because his Mom's car was in the shop, and he was WAY better than a public bus.

And after he was sure he was clear, Roman began a full performance with his earbuds in, dancing up and down sidewalks and singing proudly along with all the vocals he could.

It wasn't unknown that Roman wanted to be a performer, he worked with the drama team, mostly in smaller roles because he wasn't satisfied with his voice yet. 

He wanted to reach his full potential in his main roles, otherwise it seemed so… pointless, to him anyway. 

But he really liked to truly envelope the role in every possible way, so he closed his eyes and began to bolt out the lyrics like he felt in his so-

HONK

Roman's eyes flew open and he tripped over himself, falling onto the ground with a stumble. Usually he was elegant okay, he almost got hit by a car, give him a break.

"Oh my god! Are you okay? I'm so sorr-" a familiar voice spout out before paused, like a realization passed over him, "Wait, Roman?"

He flew up, dusting off his jeans with a few motions, "Patton? What are you doing here?"

Patton put a hand on his hip, taking on a parental tone, "I almost hit you with my car! What are you doing here?"

"I-" Roman realized he'd been talking at full volume, but quickly dismissed it, "I don't have a ride right now, I was… walking home."

"With your eyes closed?" Patton giggled lightly, but there was a telling gleam in his eye that bled concern.

"I, uh-" Roman's hand went to his neck, slowly stepped backward towards his house, "I guess I got a little lost in the song. Listen, Patt. I'll pay more attention, I promise. But I gotta get h-"

"What if I drive you?" Patton interrupted, a little more excited than Roman thought he should be, but it was kinda cute.

Roman paused, a bit more pep in his step, "I wouldn't want to intru-"

Patton interrupted, "It wouldn't be a problem. I mean, if it bothers you… You can pay for some snacks, if you wanna get some that i-"

"I'd-" Roman smiled, a bright genuine smile, "I'd love to."

Patton smiled, "Great! Umm."

Roman grinned, his charming grin that some swore had a mischievous glint, bowing, "Your chariot awaits?" 

Patton froze, raising an eyebrow in surprise but quickly adjusting, "Thank you, Prince."

Roman smiled even brighter, as his ears flushed just in the slightest, Patton was breaking down walls he'd forgotten he had put up in the first place.

When Patton dropped him off that evening, Roman spent a whole 3 hours ranting to his Mom about the cutest boy in the entire world with thin-rimmed glasses.

Who's to say Patton didn't do the same? (Except about the most charming boy that made his heart beat a little faster every time he laid eyes on him.)

Their friendship was quick and easy and just nice, something Roman could just sink into without thinking twice about it. 

And one night, on a day Patton had went inside after driving him home, Patton brought up something from what felt like ages before.

"You know," Patton started, "-you have a really pretty voice. And they are looking to cast a lead in the new play! And-" 

"Patton," Roman interrupted, concise and straightforward, "-I can't do that! My voice isn't ready. The whole school will implode at the mere existence of m-" 

"I think-" Patton added, matter-of-factly, "-that you should showcase your talent to school. You wanna be an actor right? You could get a lot of scholarships, and you're good enough to succeed for a living."

Roman blinked, "You think so?"

"Of course," Patton said as genuinely as saying 'The sky is blue', "-you're Roman Elliott! You can do anything."

That was all it took for Roman to take the advice, just Patton supporting him was all he needed. So when he got the opportunity, he took an audition (not without Patton in the crowd of course).

He had come prepared and as Patton had expected nailed it, the drama teacher was so blown away that she offered him the part right off the bat. 

Roman had never been more excited, his steps turned into skips and his heart was soaring and Patton was there every step of the way, from being his audience to helping him memorize his lines every night he could.

And each night the two were closer than they had been before, to the point that Roman had started shoving certain ideas in the back of his mind, because Patton was his friend.

He isn't think Patton wanted to be anything more, no matter what he felt.

◇ ◇ ◇

It was just after their performance, the applause still fresh within his mind and his heart soaring off the adrenaline.

But after, he only longed to see one person. To see if they had enjoyed his performance, because at this point, Patton meant a little too much for him to conceal.

Instead however, a boy stopped him in his tracks with dark, black hair, and auburn dusted eyes: he recognized him as Eric, maybe?

"Hey-" the boy spoke with a smooth tone, "-I'm Emmett, you did a great job up there! You've got a lotta talent. I was wondering if you were available to meet afterwards, maybe get an icecre-"

Roman paused focusing on the boy in front of him, "Like a date?"

The Emmett guy nodded, a little more emotionless than Roman would have pegged but oh well, "Yeah, if you're into guys."

Roman rolled his eyes, hesitating, "I… I am, but I've kinda got my eye on someone right now."

"Oh," the boy, Emmett, was a little more deadpan than Roman found comfortable, "-guess I won't intrude then."

Roman ushered around him, ignoring the nudge that something about the encounter had irked him but it didn't matter. Patton was standing just off the side, swaying lightly with his jacket hanging loosely on his interlocked hands.

He looked so… precious, waiting for one person in the whole world; and he was lucky enough for it to be him. He might need to tell him soon.

The conversation was light and airy and worth every second of it, and Roman just wished he could stay there forever.

Until, everything tumbled just a few days from such a great day. Who knew how fast things can change, huh?

◇◇◇

Roman had woken up two hours late, something about the night before had been just a little too exhausting for him.

He had to hastily toss on clothes and comb through his hair with his fingers, which was not the most elegant thing in the world. And he could hardly even look at himself because he usually held some sort of mystery. Something people irked to know about, and Roman was fueled by that.

But today, he was a mess. A mess that probably couldn't even look people in the eye, his night had been… rough.

Nightmares tore through him, the fear of rejection sizzling on his skin with his best friend lit up perfectly in an empty room: "Nobody will ever love you."

Roman flinched, lacing his shoes and jogging out the door, messaging Patton quickly to not worry about picking him up. Not like he would see it anyway, Patton was probably elsewhere right now. 

Maybe he was talking to that pretty boy, with the good grades and the nice eyes; Patton deserved him.

Roman couldn't help the bitter taste in his mouth at the thought; jealousy trailing up his arms, flooding through his veins. 

It was going to be a tough day. 

When Roman had gotten there, it was 30 minutes before class; he had completely missed drama practice, but he could only think about one thing right now.

Well, until he heard a snicker. It was soft, echoey and originally he felt it wasn't meant for him, something he had heard in the crossfire.

But then, the shadows of whispers carried through the room… following him.

They were following him.

He watched as eyes flock to him and go back to wherever they had been looking before; something was… different.

Something, someone had done something. Roman felt… almost suffocated by all the eyes.

They… they weren't like when he performed. Not filled with wonder or hazy as they absorbed the scene, the words, the dialogue-- no.

They were looking at him, straight into his soul; piercing through his skin into a place where he thought no one could see. They weren't looking at his character, they were looking at him.

Roman was scrambling, trying to find his best friend who had suddenly disappeared that morning; because for one of the first times in his life, he was scared.

Scared of what they knew, scared of how they perceived him now.

He… he needed Patton. Yet, he was nowhere to be found.

Roman tumbled through the halls, afraid and tired and he felt like he couldn't breathe-

Until a person placed their hand on his shoulder, turning him slightly with a bittersweet smile, "I know this probably isn't how you want this to come out, but… I support you."

Roman blinked at them, his hands shaking and he could feel his whole world crumble around him within a second. It took a second, to feel hopeless without anything to protect you.

And it wasn't like he was ashamed, he just felt so… Open, those words were his own and someone had stolen them right from his mouth.

They were his words- his words- his words- his words.

The day felt like he was floating, somewhere off in a storming cloud, and the sun had been cut off: he was blind.

He was grasping onto some sort of stability, something to hold him, Patton to hold him.

Where the hell was Patton?

Roman felt most at peace in drama, Mr. Sanders had told him to just sleep for awhile. He could tell in his eyes that he was just… exhausted.

So, Roman squirmed in the seats. Thoughts churning and his face paleing, Roman felt like he had been stripped of everything he had held to keep him safe. He felt so…

Exposed.

Roman had went home that afternoon, the school nurse believed he was going to faint and that was all his Mom needed to bring him back home.

"You-" she said with a concerned glint in her eyes, "You need rest, honey. I'll try to get in touch with Patton's Mom, alright?"

Roman was exposed, hesitant and tired and his skin felt… out of place. Like it wasn't his. Like someone had taken who he was right from his fingers, like he didn't deserve that.

Patton didn't show up in the next few days, and normally that was concerning but with the state Roman had been in…

Roman was beginning to think Patton hadn't even been there if the first place.

Maybe some of those kids told him to sit there, to get closer to him, to know Roman inside out; before smashing his heart into millions of pieces.

What else did Roman deserve?

So, one night, around 8, Roman had been writing a story about two princes who had fallen from grace and in turn, each other. 

There was a knock of his bedroom door, it was soft, consoling, polite. It was Patton.

Roman couldn't get up the courage to say anything, he couldn't get up the courage to even breathe. Because what if his thoughts were right? 

What if Patton had never been there for Roman in the first place?

Who was he kidding, who would actually stay there for Roman. Who would willingly be some egotistical hero's friend, because that's all he was.

An egotistical jerk would couldn't even have his own coming out.

Still, with all these thoughts bubbling within his thoughts, he spoke shakily, "C-Come in."

Patton looked distraught, his face practically bleeding concern with his eyes gleaming so softly that Roman felt like maybe he wasn't a senior in high school anymore, he was just a little boy who had scraped his knee.

"Roman~" Patton hummed reaching out to him, his hands unabashedly going to touch his skin, "I'm so s-" 

Roman felt sick to his stomach, guilt a tinge within him but he had been so hurt for so long, and Patton hadn't been anywhere. 

"No," Roman spoke, breathy, "-no, that's not fair."

Patton scrunched his eyebrows, and it was usually so cute but today, Roman was just exhausted, "What?" 

"Y-You," Roman couldn't cry, not like this, "-you weren't there, Patton. And you didn't even tell me where you were, Patton. You didn't speak a word to me."

Patton's face fell and his eyes gleamed with a little more than just concern; Roman had to bite back the guilt, he needed to speak.

Roman began, a dangerous tone of his lips, "I needed you, and you were weren't there."

Patton fell quiet, pulling his hands back to him, "I… I was busy. I don't want to tell you why. Not like this, you just gotta belie-"

Roman shook his head, smashing his hand down on a desk, "Patton, have you ever felt... naked? Like no matter what you are wearing everyone is going to see things you don't want them to? And… and you can't even... control it?"

"I-I'm sorry, Roman-" Patton's voice broke, "-I should've been there for you. I should've-"

"Then," Roman glared with the most determined glint in his eyes, not raising his voice --because at this point what's the use--, "-why didn't you?"

He could see the moment Patton cracked, the moment he faltered and all his words flooded his lips so messily and jumbled, yet so beautiful, "I was planning on how to ask you out, I… there was going to be a picnic and a sunset. Everything had to be perfect for you. Because you don't deserve anything less than that. And... I love you too much to give any less than you deserve."

Roman froze, a flame of hope slicing through him, until it set in. Patton could be apart of all of this.

He is just a part of their plan to get under his skin, to be the piece that finally got Roman to break.

And it was working.

Roman shook his head, wiping his tears, "You had me there for a second. I almost believed that maybe Patton loved me as much as I loved him, but of course not."

Patton opened his mouth, but Roman couldn't bare to his voice now, all it was that laid inside his chest was heartbreak. So, he needed to speak before he could.

"One last backstab," Roman muttered to himself, exhausted and hurt and everything in his life was falling, "-just what I needed! Because one just wasn't good enough!"

Patton reached forward, but Roman hardly noticed, too lost in his own… suffocating mind to even focus around him.

"Of course," Roman got louder, "-of course you didn’t want me. Of course you were all set up, perfect Patton would never fall for… me. Why would he? Why would anyone?"

"Roman-" Patton began, careful but not without such a broken ache behind his tone.

"-I mean I'm useless, I'm too useless to even be on stage. I can't even do things myself. I'm too afraid to admit that I want friends so bad I can hardly breathe, but nobody approaches me. Not because I'm intimidating, but because I'm not worth i-"

"Roman-" Patton egged closer his hands so close to him, yet it still went unnoticed.

"-it. Who would want a guy who's too afraid to be anything less than perfect? Who would ever want to know a guy who hardly has any confidence but acts like he does?! Who would want such a moro-" 

"Me," Patton spoke, completely certain as he held Roman's face in his hands, carefully and kindly, as Patton wiped away his silent tears.

"I know-" Patton sighed, "I know this isn't the right time for this. But, you have to understand, Roman. I love you. And it's not because of that stupid guy, it's because of you."

"I just-" Patton regained himself with a deep breath, "-I love you so much. And I never meant to leave you to hurt like this." 

Roman fell, his tears breaking into sobs, as he quietly whispered in the midst of such harsh tears, "Say it again."

So Patton did, he said it again.

He said it in between kisses all over his face, he said it as he wiped away the tears trailing down his cheeks, he said it as Roman mutter more insecurities, he said it to shoo them away, he said it everytime Roman needed him to.

It was silent, as Patton stared into Roman's shattered golden brown eyes; that he remembered once were so bright and sparkling.

Patton wrapped his arms around him, holding him there; maybe for a longer than needed but Roman didn't mind.

Patton was one of the only things that made him feel safe anymore, with so much left bare Roman needed him. And he loved him a lot more than he even knew.

And if it took weeks, or months, for Roman to be able to breathe again, to be able to exist again, to say that he was okay… Patton didn't mind waiting.

[stingerpicnic]

bottle me up (take me everywhere) chapter 2/2

Read on ao3

Based on this post

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationship: Mumintrollet | Moomintroll/Snusmumriken | Snufkin

Characters: Mumintrollet | Moomintroll, Snusmumriken | Snufkin

Additional Tags: Fluff, Established Relationship, Cuddling & Snuggling, Feelings, Purring, Gift Giving, y'all they're so in love it's ridiculous, Moomintroll continues to be sweetest creature on the planet, flustered snufkin, cat Snufkin rights babey, soft

Moomin doesn’t get that much work done on his gift in the morning.

Instead, he spends the early morning hours lazing around with Snufkin. The world feels fuzzy and soft. He feels fuzzy and soft, heart full of the kind of warm and gentle love that usually only appears sparingly and in quick flashes. The kind that strikes quickly and sharply for all its blunt edges and squishiness, in quiet moments when he looks up at just the right time to catch the edge of Snufkin’s smile, or his adorable look of concentration, or the tranquility that steals over his face when they’re just sitting alone, enjoying each other’s presence. The kind of love that would normally fill his chest so suddenly and so fully he’d be sure he would explode from the sheer size of it.

But he doesn’t feel like he would explode right then. There’s the good kind of ache settled right over his heart, but he doesn’t feel like he’s too small a container for the amount of love he has to give. He feels vast and unending, like the ocean Snufkin loves so much.

The early morning light is dim, casting soft gray shadows and granting the moment a sort of timelessness, a sort of intangibility. They’re alone and together and nothing can touch them.

It’s so easy to run his fingers through Snufkin’s soft curls, to seek out his paw with his own and entwine them, to press soft kisses into skin and hair and fur, to snuggle just a little closer.

There’s nothing better than the sound of Snufkin’s quiet breaths, Moomin thinks. The weight of his body draped around his own, soft and warm and there. The quiet sound of their soft, sleepy purring echoing around the fabric walls of the tent, an ever present reminder that they both feel relaxed, content, and safe. The barely there mumbled words they share between bouts of consciousness, almost too quiet to hear, like they’re both speaking something fragile, something that must be handled with care, something too precious to ever truly see the light of day.

Outside, he can just barely hear the gentle autumn breeze and the rustle of leaves. Inside, he catches Snufkin’s sleepy gaze. They both smile, silently agreeing that right now, everything is perfect.

Neither of them want to get up quite yet, and there’s nothing wrong with some lazy early morning snuggle time. They won’t be needed for some time yet.

….

Eventually, they do have to get up.

It takes them until they can no longer pretend that the sun hasn’t climbed high in the sky and that they’re not hungry. But they do, eventually, admit that it’s time to get up and crawl out of the tent to greet the late morning sun.

Moomin sees Snufkin start to stretch, arms reaching high into the air. He’s all rumpled clothes and messy hair, a red spot pressed into his cheek where he’d been sleeping on it. His mouth opens wide in a yawn, exposing his fangs. It’s adorable.

“I love you,” he says, because it’s true and he wants to say it. He’s sure he’s said it many times in past hour or two, mumbled against the top of Snufkin’s head and whispered into the slight space between them. But reality has finally gone back to feeling real and he finds he wants to say it again.

Snufkin pauses. “I love you too,” he says, with pink dusting his cheeks and a smile playing on his lips.

“You’re especially cute in the mornings. Did you know that, Snufkin?” he says, because it’s true as well and he wants to say it. The pink deepens to red.

“...I think I’ll make breakfast. Or lunch, now, I suppose,” he says too loudly after a moment. He moves to do just that, but not before grabbing his hat from where he’d left it and pulling it low over his eyes.

Their meal is good. After, they hike through the forest for a while and enjoy the beautiful colors of a forest in the full-swing of autumn and their own conversation.

That night, he kisses Snufkin goodnight and makes the short walk back to Moominhouse. Snufkin wants to be alone tonight. He’s had a lot of emotions recently and as much as he loves spending time with Moomin, he still needs some time alone to recharge. Moomin refuses begrudge him his time.

He eats dinner with Mamma and Papa and Little My. It’s good, too. He loves eating meals alone with Snufkin, he loves it when Snufkin decides to eat dinner with the rest of them, but there’s still something to be said for times like this.

Afterwords, he’s sitting in his room, staring at blank paper and resisting the urge to give up before he’s even started.

He wants to give Snufkin everything he could ever want. And what Snufkin wants is a reminder of reality, of the fact that he thinks about him all the time, of the space he’s claimed in his heart.

It shouldn’t be hard to give that to him. It isn’t, not really. He could write the length of Papa’s memoirs twice over just talking about how much he loves him. He’s already got so many words bouncing around in his head that he wants to spill out onto the page.

It’s just--he wants it to be perfect. He wants to capture the exact feeling that blooms in his chest every time he hears Snufkin’s rare laugh. He wants to describe the love he feels so accurately, so earnestly, that Snufkin would be able to feel it himself and be reassured. He wants to quantify something infinite, something precious, something priceless.

He’s scared that he’ll fall short. He’s scared he can’t not fall short.

Look at me, he thinks, just a bit ago I was so confident, telling Snufkin he’s cute just to see him blush and confessing that he’s my whole world. Where has my nerve gone?

He has to do this. He made a promise that he’d try. Even if Snufkin hadn’t heard it in his voice, a promise was still what he had meant.

So he takes a deep breath and thinks of Snufkin. Snufkin is messy and tattered around the edges and half the time he’s coated in dirt and mud. All his clothes are ragged and worn and wrinkled. He has sharp edges, though Moomin has always found them blunted whenever they concern himself. Nobody would call him perfect and yet Moomin thinks he is.

Maybe he’s not perfect in the traditional sense. He has faults and there are things about him that can annoy even him, but still. Still, Moomin looks at him and he can’t imagine anyone better. He wouldn’t trade him for anything in the whole world, not unless he wanted to be let go.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches sight of the quilt on his bed. Mamma had made it for him and he loves it to pieces. Still, if he looks carefully he can see small imperfections. Misplaced stitches, lines that aren’t perfectly straight. But none of those things make him love it any less. If anything, he loves it more, because there’s only the one that’s exactly like it and Mama made it for him.

Maybe it doesn’t matter if his gift is perfect. Maybe it doesn’t matter if there’s ink spots on some of the pages or if he feels like he’s repeated himself a thousand times. Maybe it shouldn't even try to be perfect. Maybe it should be messy and erratic and real. Maybe all that matters is that he pours all his love into it.

He fixes those thoughts in his mind, takes another deep breath to steady himself, and begins writing the first entry of many.

Snufkin, have I ever told you how much I love our mornings together? Today we did nothing but cuddle for hours before getting up. I wanted to stay in that moment forever. It was so incredibly nice and the love for you that filled my chest felt like….

….

It isn’t ready by the time Snufkin leaves for winter. But that’s alright, he hadn’t expected it to be. He has too much to say, too much love to express for it to be done so soon. And while he had accepted that it wasn’t going to be absolutely perfect, Snufkin deserved more than whatever rushed thing he would have produced had he tried to have it done by then.

Instead, he gives Snufkin a single letter to see him off. It wasn’t as detailed as his full gift, but it was sincere and full of love and he’d doodled little leaves and flowers and hearts in the corners and along the margins. Snufkin looked more than happy to have it, in any case, a tinge of relief making its way into the smile alongside the joy, so he's satisfied that it’s a good hold over gift.

Snufkin would come back in the spring and his gift would be done by the time he was ready to leave again. That’s as long as Moomin was going to allow him to wait.

In the meantime, Moomin continued to write whatever he lovely things could think of until it was time for him to enter hibernation. The few times he woke from hibernation, he wrote more. He wrote about the dreams he had and how much he missed him, how he was special and irreplaceable and good. He even wrote about how he had worked himself into a right fluster just thinking about how much he loved him. It was a little embarrassing, but Snufkin would probably like to knowing about it.

Then, Snufkin returned. The overflowing happiness he felt was nearly intoxicating. He scarcely wanted to think about anything else, not when his mind was just an endless loop of the words “Snufkin’s back!!!” But he forced himself to take a step back, just for a second before he succumbed again, to take in exactly what he was feeling in that moment, engraving it into his mind so he could copy it down later.

Spring, summer, and most of autumn passed in much the same way it had in all the years previous. The only exception was that now he had something specific to do with his time alone and he was making more of an effort to pay attention to every moment he spent with Snufkin so he could write about it later.

It was… a good feeling, to be working on a project he enjoyed. And it turned out that paying specific attention to the time he spent with Snufkin only made him love the mumrik even more, which shouldn't have been possible.

….

It was another cool late autumn day, just like last year, when Moomin knew it was time.

They had been sitting together in the yellowed grass near Snufkin’s tent, just enjoying each other’s company and conversation when he'd started to feel it. The soft line of pressure against his side getting harder, the twitch of the tail looped around his own, the change in his purr.

“Winter's almost here,” He says. Last year, he'd let Snufkin work himself up too much, thinking he would say something before it got too bad. This year he's bringing it up himself.

“Uh--yeah.” He feels Snufkin go fully tense against him before he sigh and relaxes again. “It is,” he says quietly.

“I have a gift for you,” he says, not bothering to hide the anxious excitement he's feeling.

“A gift?” he says, sounding far too cautious. Moomin sees his face color pink, “What sort of a gift?”

“Snufkin, it wouldn't be a surprise if I told you, now would it?” he laughs. “I had planned to wait a bit longer to give it to you, but it wouldn't hurt to do it now. You stay here, it won’t take me a second,” he says, already getting up.

It's not a minute before he's across the bridge to Moominhouse and up to his room. He pulls out the big green book that had become of the paper he had been using. He'd bound it himself, with the help of Papa, not too long ago and he's rather proud of how it came out. It's simple, but he thinks Snufkin would prefer it that way.

Quickly, but still carefully, he flips through the pages one final time. The first page is a dedication, “For Snufkin, I love you so much it's indescribable, but I'll try anyways.” He'd thought hard about what to put for it, but he's eventually settled on something simple that he thought captured what he was trying to do. Further in, he catches sight of a lot of his own handwriting and all the small drawings he'd scrunched into corners and along margins. He paused for a second on the page where he'd attempted to draw Snufkin himself--it wasn't very good, but he'd still included it and drawn hearts all around it for good measure. He's glad, now, that he'd decided to keep it. It's sweet, he thinks.

On the last page he spies his final entry, written not too long ago, “Snufkin, if you've read any of this you probably already know that I love you so much that sometimes I can barely breathe around the size of it. Still, though, I think I love you even more now than I did before. Writing this, paying attention to every moment we spent together and every feeling I felt around you, was enlightening for me. It enlightened me to the very likely possibility that I'll never stop falling in love with you. I didn't think I could be any deeper in love than I already was at the start of this, but I've never been happier to be proved wrong. I love you. I'll never stop.”

He'd signed it at the bottom of the page, like this was just some very, very long letter. And he supposed it was, sort of. A love letter to Snufkin.

He's almost embarrassed to give this away. He'd poured his heart out onto these pages and he hadn't held anything back. It was all… him, his thoughts, his feelings, everything, and giving it away was a scary thought.

But he knows Snufkin will take care of it. He's sure of it. He never would have even started if he wasn't.

Snufkin has never intentionally done anything to hurt him.

He takes a deep breath to steady himself, closes the book, and takes it down to Snufkin.

Snufkin, for his part, looks relieved when he sees him coming toward him carrying a book. Moomin notices the red leaving his face even before he crosses the bridge. Moomin isn't sure what that's about, he hadn't been gone that long and he hasn't even done anything worth him getting flustered over yet. But he lets it go, he has something he needs to do.

“Is that the manuscript you were working on all year? Are you finally going to let me read it?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious.

That's right, he had told Snufkin he was working on a manuscript, just like Papa, when he'd been caught writing. It hadn't technically been a lie, he supposes that what he was writing could be called a manuscript if looked at a certain way. Still, he was lucky that Snufkin had dropped it after being told it was a surprise he was trying to keep secret.

“We'll, I did write it for you, specifically, to read,” he says, holding the book out for Snufkin to take.

“Oh,” he gasps. “You didn't have to do that, dove,” he says softly, like someone who's been given something priceless they never asked for and don't know how to handle without breaking, but he still reaches out to take the book.

“I was hoping you would take it with you on your travels this year,” he says, watching Snufkin open it to the front page, “but if you want I can keep it safe for you here until you get back.” He doesn't want to say that last bit, because he knows Snufkin leaving it with him would feel like a rejection, even if it wasn't meant as one. But he knows Snufkin's feelings on material possessions and traveling with only the essentials and he knows that books aren't really essential even if he thinks that this one should be, so he forces himself to say it anyways.

He's not sure if he ought to have bothered, though, because he's not even sure that Snufkin heard him. He'd frozen when he'd opened the book to the dedication, red beginning to creep its way back onto his face nearly instantly. The only movement he'd made since was a jerk of his arm to move the page. Moomin could see he was on the page of the very first entry, now.

Moomin watched him turn the page again. And again. And again. His face was getting steadily redder and redder as the seconds ticked by. He was worryingly silent. Moomin wasn't even sure he was breathing.

He felt his nerves rise within him again. Did he not like it?

“Um… Snufkin?” he says to what is apparently his statue significant other, reaching out to touch his shoulder. Snufkin jerks back, a ragged gasp tearing out of his throat. A loud purr violently erupts out of his chest, but he's also breathing irregularly, every other breath catching on the back of throat, and there's a shine to his eyes like he's about to cry, so Moomin doesn't quite know what to think.

Oh, this was not the outcome he'd been hoping for. How had he actually managed to make Snufkin cry with his gift?! He had to try to salvage this somehow.

“Is It really--I thought--well, I thought to give you something to show you how much you mean to me,” he stammers, sounding desperate and disappointed and shocked. He doesn't know what to say to fix this, and Snufkin is still staring at him with wet eyes. “Last year you told me you wished you could bottle me up and take my love with you to keep you warm in the winter and I thought, why don't I see what I can do? And well, you liked last year's letter enough so I thought that maybe this idea did have some merit, after all,” he's rambling now, he knows he is and it sounds pathetic and desperate to his own ears. He feels the beginnings of tears start to prick at his own eyes, but he refuses to start crying. “But if you really don't like it I suppose I can--” get rid of it, or burn it, or tear it apart, or something, he was going to say but doesn't get to. Instead he feels something slam into him, hard, a band of pressure closing around him.

A glance down tells him that the “something” was Snufkin and the “band of pressure” is the tight hug he's currently receiving. Snufkin has his face buried in his shoulder, his own shoulders shaking like he's sobbing and Moomin feels his fur start to get wet. But, Snufkin is also still purring up a storm and he did initiate the hug, so maybe he's not too terribly upset with him? Moomin hopes he's not. For now, though, he doesn't know what else to do but bring his arms up around him and rub circles into his back while he whispers assurances into his ear, so that is what he does.

He doesn't know how long they stand there, but eventually he hears Snufkin break the not quite silence they had settled into.

“Is it--the whole thing? Really?” he says, his voice, thick with emotion and raw from the tears still sounding so much like a child. A child with stars in his eyes who had just been told their impossible dreams were coming true. Excited and happy beyond belief but not quite willing to believe it's really his for the taking.

“Yes, the whole thing. I've been writing it since around this time last year,” he says, because there's really no point in trying to lie about it. He feels Snufkin press his face into his shoulder again, but this time he can feel his smile through his fur. “You're really not upset?” he asks, voice wavering, because he needs to know for sure.

Snufkin pulls back, face red and eyes shining, but the wide smile splitting his face in two is real, even if it is a bit watery. He's the most beautiful thing Moomin has ever seen.

“Moomin--dove--I-I can't tell you how happy you've made me. This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. I think it might be the sweetest thing I've ever seen be done for anyone,” he says, one of his paws coming up to cup Moomin's face. “Of course I'm not upset. I love it.”

“I thought you didn't care for material possessions?” he says, humor coloring his words. He feels a little silly now for ever letting himself think Snufkin didn't like his gift. It was just himself put to paper after all, and Snufkin seemed to like him just fine, loved him even.

Snufkin laughed. “I think I can make an exception, just this once.”

[agentdagonet]

Echoes, Ch. 25

Find it here on AO3

Find it here on tumblr:  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 1516 1718 19 20 21 22 23 24

Fic Summary: Feet dangling off the edge of the bed, hands still resting on the earpieces of his glasses, Eggsy opened his eyes.

And promptly shut them again, screwing them shut like a child who had the distinct misfortune of biting into a raw lemon. Breathing harshly in his nose and out his mouth, trying to stave off whatever delusional panic had befallen him, Eggsy reopened his eyes.

‘Harry?’

Or: The Hologram Story Nobody Asked For

Hey everyone! So I’ve begun working on the alternate ending- which is to say that I’ve finally finished writing the actual story!

Would you all prefer to have updates spaced out, once a week or so, or given to you all at once?

I’ll be updating again on the 18th, so you have until then to vote!

          Michelle Unwin was not a proud woman. She was not a pillar of strength, or monumentally kind- but she was loyal. To the point of fault, when she allowed herself to be blind, but loyal nonetheless. She understood the necessity of secrets, of doublespeak and hidden caches, and knew that there was a time and a place for most everything one could imagine.

          But she was also an impatient woman, desperate to finally finish bridging the gap between she and Eggsy. The one she had accidentally widened by pushing too far in the wake of Merlin’s visit. Eggsy’d rung back later and apologised, but she hadn’t really thought about it all that much until Harry had come by. She hadn’t really bothered to try and see the whole picture.

‘Hey, babes, want to come by for dinner? Makin’ Daisy’s favourite, and I know she’d love to see you- don’ say you’re not feeling well, I was havin’ a chat with Harry earlier and he said you was just lazing about the house.’ She paused, phone propped between her shoulder and head, before nodding. ‘I’ll see you tonight, then- give Harry my love.’ There was a muffled squawking from the phone, I can’t just go and give Harry love, mum, but Michelle cut it off with a small giggle.

          ‘Eggsy coming?’ Daisy tugged at the end of Michelle’s shirt, and she picked her daughter up and tossed her gently in the air.

          ‘Yes is is, flower, and we are gonna make his favourite cookies,’ Michelle kissed one cheek, ‘and your favourite dinner,’ the other, ‘and you’re going to help me pick some flowers for the table, yeah?’ 

          ‘Yeah!’ Daisy ran from the room, and Michelle heard the telltale sound of the back door opening. Eggsy would accept a handful of weeds from her with all the grace of a prima ballerina, but she’d try to at least get Daisy to clear the dirt off, first.

---

          ‘Harry, did I do something?’ Eggsy padded down the stairs, one hand pulling at the hairs at the back of his head as the other started confusedly at his phone. Harry looked up from his place at the dining table briefly before returning to his newspaper.

          ‘I have no idea- you tend to do a rather large number of things on any given day.’

          ‘Ha ha ha, smartarse- why’s my mum know I was home relaxing today?’

          ‘I… wasn’t aware that was a secret? She rang earlier and I mentioned that you were home today... and had only come down from your room an hour or so ago.’ Harry shrugged and turned back to his tea, and Eggsy groaned, dragging a hand down his face before glaring at Harry who, for all intents and purposes, shrugged him off.

          ‘Do you know the last time I had a day where I just got to… be when it wasn’t medical-mandated bed rest?’ Eggsy threw himself down into the chair opposite.

          ‘I don’t keep a detailed mental calendar of your life, Eggsy-’ lie ‘but if your mother and sister want to see you, is it really such a hardship? In fact,’ Harry turned in his seat, and put down his cup, ‘weren’t you saying just a few days ago that you missed them?’ Eggsy flushed and looked away.

          ‘For fuck’s sake- of course I miss them- it’s no’ like being a Kingsman comes with regular hours and shit.’ Harry looked skyward and huffed a breath, why was Eggsy being purposefully obtuse?

          ‘Then what’s the problem?’ Eggsy muttered something that Harry couldn’t make out, and Harry deflated. ‘Eggsy, what’s stopping you from enjoying a meal with your family?’

          ‘I dunno, okay?! I miss them when I’m not around ‘em and then I get there and I feel like an outsider! Mum talks about her work and Daisy’s school and I have to make up some cock and bull story about some ponce and his fabric choices, and-’ Eggsy cut himself off, jaw clenched and Harry leant forward to rest one hand on his shoulder.

          ‘And?’ He dared not point out that lying about his duties as a Kingsman was entirely his own choice at this point. Being a Kingsman came with many risks, and Harry could not fault him for trying to protect the few that were his own- no matter that Michelle had all but figured it out on her own, but Eggsy had no way of knowing that.

          ‘Nothing, Harry. Just tired, is all- I wanted to go back to bed, but we don’ always get what we want, yeah?’ Harry took the deflection at face value- he was not one to push or pry into Eggsy’s personal thoughts if they were not offered freely.

          ‘No, we don’t, unfortunately; but even if it will be a difficult evening, for whatever reason,’ Harry mad eye contact, and smiled softly, ‘you will feel better for it in the morning. Rest is more than physical, after all. So you’re going to go and enjoy dinner with your family, and I’m not going to hear a word otherwise- okay, Eggsy?’

          ‘Yes, Harry.’ Their eyes met, and Eggsy pat the hand on his shoulder once before he sat up from the table and made his way back to his room. While pulling together his clothes- clean, but unfolded and scattered around the room in piles, an organised mess is the only mess- Eggsy remembered his mother’s other instruction before she’d hung up on him. He grinned, and pulled out a pen and a spare bit of paper. See, he’d been the shit in school who had remembered all the useless bits of information he stumbled upon when he was supposed to be working hard.

          For example, how to make a jumping origami frog.

          Eggsy had made hundreds of them- they were easy to make, easy to destroy, and had infinite possibilities of shenanigans when used proper. Draw (or imagine) a circle and you’ve got target practise. Just about anywhere. How small could you make one and still make it jump? How big was just too big? Did cardstock work better than construction paper, or was it too brittle? Paper didn’t make noise and didn’t make a mess, so Dean had never been suspect- and even if he had done, paper was necessary for school and shit. He always had paper.

          Eggsy pulled the cap from the pen and doodled a bit, wrote Michelle’s love in the midst of the senseless scribbling, and got to folding. He gave the finished product a set of eyes, and went about his getting ready for dinner.

          Harry hadn’t moved from his position at the dining table, though he had acquired some biscuits in Eggsy’s absence. Eggsy pat his pockets down with one hand, double checking that he had what he needed, before placing his paper creation on the edge of the table. Harry didn’t look away from his paper, so Eggsy took his opportunity to gauge a goal before pressing his finger to the end and letting it fly.

          The frog landed wrong side up between the edge of the table and the paper. Eggsy threw both fists into the air briefly and grinned to himself as Harry blinked and reached for the unexpected intruder.

          ‘For you!’ Eggsy sauntered out the front door, and left a confused Harry with the paper frog cupped in one hand behind him.

---

          ‘Door’s open!’ It was muffled, but Eggsy heard well enough and let himself into his mum’s house. Daisy was in the sitting room, laying on a plush purple blanket that was wholly unfamiliar to Eggsy and playing with a doll. She didn’t look up from her doll as he made his way into the house.

          ‘Hey, mum,’ Michelle was pulling off mitts, a tray of oddly-shaped bread rolls sitting on the stove, as Eggsy bent his head to press a kiss to her cheek, ‘brought a bottle of that gross bubbly lemonade you like so much. An’ some of the normal kind for Dais’ and I.’ Eggsy dodged the hand that swat out at him with a laugh, put the bottles into the fridge, and ducked back out into the sitting room. ‘Look how big you’ve grown, Daisy!’

          ‘Eggsy!’ Daisy tossed down the doll, careless in a way Eggsy was envious of, before launching herself at him. Eggsy let himself be toppled by her weight, laughing loudly even as his head hit the floor and Daisy propped herself atop his chest. ‘You was gone too long- I missed you.’ Eggsy sat up, cradled Daisy in his arms, and pressed his face firmly into her hair.

          ‘Missed you, too, flower- promise I’ll try to come ‘round more.’ Eggsy spoke softly, eyes shut tightly as if by will alone he could stop himself from feeling like an awful brother. ‘I’ll bring proper prezzies, too- but this time I jus’ brought some lemonade for us.’

          ‘No bubbles?’ Daisy pulled back, brows scrunched together and a small frown on her face, and Eggsy chuckled.

          ‘No bubbles.’

          ‘M’kay. We’s having mac ’n cheese and turtles for dinner!’

          ‘Daisy, you wan’ to show Eggsy how to set the table? It’s been a long time, he prolly don’t remember how to do it right.’ Michelle called from the kitchen, and together the Unwin siblings set the table, Eggsy taking each instruction from Daisy very seriously, and asking if he did it right each time. Eventually, after several no, Eggsy, it goes over here see?’s, the three sat at the table, a small plate piled high with bread-roll turtles and a large bowl of mac ’n cheese passed between them.

          Dinner passed with such ease Eggsy was convinced he was dreaming. He hadn’t spent time with his mum proper since the whole Harry fiasco. Oh, he’d come by now and again but it was always quick, always more of a ‘look I’m alive’ than an honest bit of time spent with the little family he had left. He just… hadn’t known how to move past that moment. 

          He’d apologised, he knew he’d reacted too harshly to what was obviously his mum tryin’ to be, y’know, a mum- but it didn’t feel like enough and Eggsy just… didn’t know what to do. So he avoided the problem, and threw himself into his missions, and he knew it was unhealthy but he couldn’t make himself stop- til his mum and Harry teamed up, apparently. So now, here he was, scrubbing up after dinner, side-by-side at the sink with her, wishing he had words.

          ‘Eggsy, babes? You got anywhere to be?’ Eggsy took a breath, slowly as not to give away how close to breaking down he was, and shook his head, refusing to look away from the dish he was drying.

          ‘Nah, mum, I’m free an’ clear for the next day or so.’ True nobility is being superior to your former self. Maybe he wasn’t quite ready- but, honestly, would he ever be? Had to take a first step somewhere, right?

          ‘Well, let’s put Daisy to bed, and then… maybe, you an’ I can chat a bit?’ Michelle’s voice wavered, but her eyes never left the sink where her hands were idly messing with the suds under the pretense of searching the murky water for more dishes to clean. 

          ‘Sounds good, mum.’

[wait-im-an-adult-now]

Ladynoir July 2019- Day 5: Lost

Words: 847

[AO3]  

Part: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

<<<First chapter | <<Previous chapter | Next chapter>>

This is a continuous story although it’s not necessary to read previous chapters and the plot is written as I go along.

Chapter 5

Chat Noire sighed if it wasn’t for the fact that she needed to get home before morning she would’ve stayed all day watching over the little baby-bug as Misterbug so kindly put it. She hiked up the little girl higher as she walked over to her spotted partner. The little girl detached herself from her shoulder to look at both of them.

“Hey sweetie,” Marinette cooed “what’s your name?”

“I’m Emma” the little blonde replied squirming in Chat Noire’s hold and reaching out for Misterbug.

Chat Noire laughed and handed her off. “Okay Emma, do you know where your parents are?” The blonde shook her head looking down “Do you know their names?”

She looked up hopefully “Mama and Papa”

“We’ll take her down to the station her parents must be looking for her.” Her blonde partner suggested bringing Emma closer to her.

Thinking she wanted to be held Chat Noire opened her arms for the curious little kitten to grab onto her from her higher position with Misterbug.

She sighed lowering her arms and allowing the child to play with her ears. “Yeah that would be for the best”

“You want to take her,” Her partner asked eyeing how Emma seemed to love her ears.

“I wanna go with boy ladybug” Emma whined wrapping her chubby fingers around Misterbug’s neck.

Marinette laughed “No it’s alright, you take her and explain the situation I have something I want to go pick up.”

With a quick hug goodbye for the little one, Chat Noire vaulted in the direction of her balcony. Once inside she detransformed leaving a hungry Plagg whining about cheese. She opened her purse taking out a small Ziploc which contained another small Ziploc that contained an awful smelling piece of cheese.

“Yes, yes, yes! I knew there was a reason why I liked you. That looks delicious.” The floating black cat licked his lips.

She giggled “Thanks, Camembert’s your favorite, right?” She saw his eyes light up as he lunged for it “Wait! You have to eat by the window I don’t want my room to smell like cheese.”

“I don’t get why. Camembert is the most delicious smell I’ve ever smelled in a thousand millennia.” Plagg huffed but took the Ziploc bags and flew to her open window near her desk.

Hastily she started working pulling out string and beads. With ten minutes she had transformed again and was heading off to the station.

Sabrina’s dad, Roger, greeted her at the entrance holding a clipboard in hand “Ahh, Chat Noire, Lovebug told us you’d be coming. Please sign in and I’ll take you to him.”

Her eyes widened “Please tell me he didn’t actually introduce himself as lovebug. It was supposed to be a joke!”

She stared down at the sign-in page and sure enough, there was Lovebug, written next to a cute doodle of a ladybug with heart spots and above a messily written Emma in all caps.

Officer Roger laughed “You gave it to him? No wonder he smiled so much when he wrote it.”

She sighed and handed the clipboard back to him.

“He’s right over here.” He motioned to a waiting area behind him and sure enough, she could spot his blonde hair and red suit.

Little Emma was sitting in the chair next to looking up at the television in front of them that now showed early morning cartoons it must’ve been 3 am and despite her best attempts to stay up, she was leaning more and more into Misterbug. He had his arm wrapped around her little shoulder and some foreign motherly instinct took over and she snapped a picture with her baton. The shutter made a small noise which drew his attention.

He smiled “You have to send me that”

“And you have to not introduce and write on police documents that you’re lovebug.” She placed a hand on her hip but still sent the picture.

Not for him. It was her yo-yo and the picture was too cute to not have despite how annoyed she was.

He laughed “I almost told them you were called Kitten Noire”

She shoved his shoulder softly and sat down next to him “So did they find the parents?”

“Yeah, Emma was taken when the family was walking back from dinner. The parents called as soon as they lost her and spent a lot of time at the station until Roger finally convinced them to go home for the night and that he would call as soon as he found her. He’s a nice guy. His shift was over hours ago, but he promised to call personally.”

“Yeah,” She had always known how dedicated Roger was to his job ever since they were children and the Rogercop akuma showed up. Even before then Sabrina would always talk about how proud she was of her father. “It makes you think about who else needs statues made for them. We might be superheroes but these guys.” She smiled as she made eye contact with Roger across the station. “They’re heroes without being super.”

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

Yay, it’s not super short! I have the next one written so I’ll be posting that one as soon as I’m done here.

[vexation-virgil]

Colors (Part 4)

Fandom: Sanders Sides (Soulmate AU) Pairings: Prinxiety, mentions of Logicality Warnings: General angst, cursing, mentions of death, mentions of past suicide(Again, if there is anything that needs tagged, let me know!) Summary: Everyone knows when you meet your soulmate, the world is supposed to fill with color for the both of you. Unfortunately for Roman Patrick, that is not always the case.

Taglist(!!): @pendragonqueen09 , @anaveragegayfan , @stillebesat

A/N: There is some SERIOUS stuff in this chapter so please do not take the warnings lightly, I don’t want anyone to feel triggered or hurt by this chapter.Thank you.

The next chapter will have some more Logicality so wee! Enjoy and thanks for reading!

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 You are Here PART 5 PART 6 PART 7 PART 8 PART 9 PART 10  PART 11 PART 12

Roman made it through the next day with a revived, upbeat spirit. The promise of time spent with his soulmate was enough to have him singing Disney songs in the morning, doodling in classes, and forgetting his lines during rehearsal because his mind was an hour ahead of himself in the library. That and he had been practically dancing through the halls all day. His attitude had changed enough that even his brother had mentioned it while they were eating, in passing commenting on the sudden mood change and what it could mean - only to be shushed by Patton and told to enjoy it.

(He was proud to say that he’d managed to tone himself down enough to not scare Virgil off from seeing him that afternoon. He still took his seat at the front of the class and only blocked Virgil from leaving the class long enough to confirm their plans for meeting. No more creepy staring reputation was the goal, after all.)

That didn’t keep him from nearly sprinting towards the library after Mr. Sanders called for the end of rehearsal - with a very pointed reminder to study the lines. He slowed the closer he got, catching sight of lavender hair hanging over a book at a table in the back of the library and a pencil rolling between Virgil’s fingers as he concentrated on the text in front of him. Roman placed a hand on the other to announce his arrival after noting the headphones covering his ears, causing Virgil to jump and drop his pencil. Virgil slid the patterned headphones off of his ears and glared up at Roman, “I’m almost positive there is a better way to announce showing up, dude.”

“Well, I would’ve used a different method if you hadn’t had your ears covered by those ginormous headphones, Grumpy,” Roman informed him matter-of-factly as he dropped into the seat beside him and started pulling out the assignment they had agreed to work on.

Virgil rolled his eyes and dog-eared the book before shutting it. “There wasn’t anything playing on them,” he admitted. “I can’t focus when I’ve got music playing. But they keep people from talking to me so I tend to keep them on anyway. Not a big fan of conversation if you couldn’t guess.”

Roman snorted. “Yeah, I think I could’ve figured it out,” he said with a small smile on his face. “Though, honestly, I would’ve blamed it on our rocky start.”

“Yeah, well, forget it, Princey. New start or whatever. Let’s talk about The Color Study. The first of six soulmate stories we’ll be reading and writing about this semester. I can’t believe how many they’re making us read this year.”

If Roman wasn’t mistaken, he could hear something similar to annoyance at the mention of soulmates from Virgil and the smile on his face quickly dropped to a frown. “You don’t seem very pleased about that. Those are some of my favorite stories. Romance and true love and all that fun stuff. How do you not love all that? How do you not want that?”

“Because it all ends in heartbreak and depression and someone being alone. Why does anyone want that?”

That made him blink. “It doesn’t always end like that. My friend’s dad died and his mom was just as bubbly and happy as always. She knew their time had come to an end. She was just happy she got the time she did with him. Most people continue to live complete lives with their soulmates, anyway, and die within years of each other.”

“Yeah, okay?” Virgil said, voice sharp. “Not everyone gets that. Not everyone’s time comes to an end when they’re ready. Not everyone gets a happy ending. Life isn’t some fucking story, alright? My dad is stuck here without my mom because she decided she didn’t want to keep going. My dad isn’t allowed to go because my mom begged him on a little piece of paper not to follow her. I was afraid he was going to anyway.” Something darkened on Virgil’s face and Roman watched his spine straighten out. “I don’t want to do that. Ever. We’re done talking about it. Just give me your paper so I can start marking it up.”

Roman opened his mouth to come at him with a rebuttal, ask how he intended to keep himself from seeing when the time came but snapped his mouth shut when he thought about the possibility of Virgil completely shutting him out. Maybe his soulmate had already been able to pull it off. They traded papers and slipped into silence, their argument looming over their heads the rest of the afternoon.

When Logan showed up to bring him home, Roman’s mind was spinning with the gained information. Virgil didn’t want a soulmate and seemed nearly sickened by the idea that people did want that because he’d had to watch his father suffer after losing his. Roman couldn’t say he particularly blamed him. He remembered Logan panicking when he decided to spend a week at a science camp and realized two days before he left that he was going to have to go without Patton, the idea of leaving his soulmate behind for even a short amount of time shattered his typically steely exterior.

It wasn’t easy to imagine having one of his parents without the other, either, especially unexpectedly. Patton’s father had died with they were young but they’d been expecting it after a terminal cancer diagnosis. They’d been able to prepare for the inevitable loss. If Roman had put the pieces together correctly, they hadn’t been expecting the death of his mother. It had come abruptly and painfully quick through her own hand. The thought made Roman’s stomach turn.

There was also the question of whether or not he could actually force himself to not see the color. Had anyone ever done that before? Was it even possible for someone to do that? Even if it was, would the other still see color if their soulmate was so against the whole idea? Roman hoped. He hoped and he hoped and he hoped.

“You’re quiet,” Logan said, voice cutting through the silence in the car. “I was hoping your improved mood would stick for longer than one day. Do you… Have something you would like to talk about, Roman?”

It was sweet to see his brother trying to talk to him about his feelings, something that he typically reserved for when Patton was around to run interference with Logan’s far too logical thinking. “No, nothing. It was just a long day,” he told him, though he followed with a short pause. “Actually, I had a question. I was speaking to a classmate about a particular story we had to read and it seemed to me that he doesn’t believe in the whole… Soulmate thing.”

“That’s illogical. That is not something that is deniable in this life. It is a proven fact that soulmates exist and that they are how we are able to see the full spectrum of life.”

“Right, yes, I know that, obviously, but he said that he doesn’t want one. At all. Do you know - with all that science in your head - if it’s possible for someone to ignore that connection? To ignore the color if they truly don’t want a soulmate?”

“You know that this is not my area of expertise, Roman,” Logan grumbled, glancing at him sideways. “But, as far as I am aware, no one has truly studied this. There have been very few people in this world who did not want a soulmate, even fewer who did not want one so strongly that they were able to ignore the connection. Though, if Pat was here, he would tell you that nothing is impossible if you set your mind to it.” Roman hummed and his brother continued. “I, also, do not believe that it is completely impossible that someone would be able to push that down far enough for it not to resurface immediately after meeting their soulmate. It would be a fascinating study if one was to find someone like that.”

Roman nodded a bit as he listened to his brother branch off into the details of such a study, though he was stuck on the idea that it was possible that the feeling could be shoved down far enough to not come up. He was stuck even more on the word immediately. The word came with the suggestion that they could come up with time, with a connection, and the hope sizzled in his stomach. Perhaps all was not lost, perhaps he was not one-sided, perhaps it would all work out in the end.

Roman had hope.

[story-scribbler]

Jotober : Day 2

prompt : tranquil

A/N : I started writing this prompt, and it was supposed to be a quick-write, but then it kinda started growing and growing, and I was working on it all day today, but day 2 is almost over so I’m gonna post this WIP for now, and edit it later. If it sounds choppy and incomplete, that’s why, so no hate please :) 

I rubbed my eyes frantically, wiping away the tears from my sleep-deprived eyes. The library closed in thirty minutes, and my essay was due tomorrow. There was practically nobody in the library, apart from the poor volunteer sitting at the front desk across from my table, who for some wild reason, had chosen to work the night shift. Empty Starbucks cups and crumpled pages of notebook paper that were covered in illegible scribbles were littering my table, my binders sprawled out across it, and my laptop was standing intimidatingly in front of me, the eighteen pages of my paper staring tauntingly at me. I glanced to my right, where I had placed a paper with all of the requirements printed on it. Giant, scratchy, red letters glared back up at me. 20 PAGES!!!!! 20 PAGES!!!!! 

For the past few years, the teachers had allowed us to choose our own topics for our essays, no rules, no restrictions. It could be as sciencey as you wanted, as boring as you wanted it to be (no offense to all those English major wannabes who were analyzing classics), or as ridiculous as you wanted it to be. Mine was on the representation of Asian Americans in art and film; smack-dab in the middle of extremely boring, and somewhat interesting. The research was tedious, but the writing was fun-- I had taken every writing class that I could fit into my schedule, and I was one of the lucky few who actually enjoyed writing-- until I met everybody's best friend: writer's block.

We had gotten the assignment three weeks ago, and I had powered through the first thirty pages in the first two weeks, determined not to fall prey to procrastination. I painstakingly worked my way through the next eight pages for the next week, spent the next week tweaking and editing, ensuring that my writing didn't sound like an eighth grader's English final, and ignored the last two required pages completely. Our teacher had walked into class on Monday, and scrawled on the board, reminding us all of the two days we had left before our due date. The deadline slammed into me, the realization finally striking-- that I was definitely stuck, and definitely screwed. I begged my friend to drive me to the public library after school; if I went home, I would never get anything done, because younger siblings were a pain, and they had yet to learn how to shut their mouths. I ran to the Starbucks across the street, ordered three Venti frappucinos, because I am an uncultured millennial who hates real coffee, and sat myself down in a rigidly uncomfortable chair that gave me a crick in my neck in the first ten minutes, and wrote a grand total of fourteen sentences in three hours. My jeans were suffocating my legs, my boots were too heavy for my feet, and my hair was pulled into a messy bun, the only hairstyle I could bear to have during my binge writing session, although it was more like a binge do-nothing-at-all-while-staring-at-a-computer-screen session. 

"You know that no amount of coffee is gonna help you finish that, right?"

I whipped around to see the volunteer behind the front desk smiling sheepishly at me.  "You've made about four Starbucks runs since you've gotten here."

I raised my eyebrows, cocking my head. "Keeping track?" I asked playfully.

"Not much else to do here," he answered, leaning across the desk and gesturing around the empty library. "It's that twenty page essay, right? You might've been, uh, talking out loud," he said quickly. My cheeks were heating up, but thankfully, my brown Asian skin saved me from showing any of my embarrassment.

"My sister did it last year,” he added. “I'm Justin, by the way. I never introduced myself.”

"I'm Mandi," I said, still half-mortified from my supposed talking-out-loud. Thankfully, before an inevitable awkward silence could begin, he started speaking again, this time a little nervously. "Um, this might sound a little weird, but I have a tip for how you could maybe finish your paper?" he offered, running a hand through his hair, the black curls separating through his fingers.

I opened my arms wide. "Please, I'm open to anything. If you can't tell by now, I'm a tad bit desperate," I responded, only half-joking.

He ducked behind his desk and pulled out a sheaf of blank white paper and a slender black pen before walking over to my extremely messy table, closed my laptop, and started clearing off some semblance of clear space for him to work on.

"Sorry about the mess," I mumbled.

He waved my half-hearted apology away, and uncapped his pen. "Here," he extended his hand to me, the pen lying flat against his palm. I accepted it gingerly, and he spread a piece of paper in front of me grandly.

I raised my eyebrows, gesturing with the pen. "And what do you want me to do with this exactly?"

He shrugged. "Whatever you want to do."

"Meaning?" 

"Draw a picture, write a ridiculous story, whatever you want," he said, plucking the pen from my hand. "You need to create something that isn't that stifling essay." He placed the nib of the pen to the paper, the black ink seeping fluidly into the paper. He doodled a tiny flower, and curved the stem, trailing it into a delicate curlicue, and then lifted the pen with a flourish. "Trust me," he said, pressing the pen back into my hand, my fingers automatically curling around it; it was still warm from his grip. 

[jedifighterpilot2727]

Caan you do that as a one shot of Taylor doing exactly that. Leaving tiny drawings on Lexi's home door, her locker, her desk, the library table she studies at (like the nerd she is), etc.... and Lexi just can't help but fall more in love with Taylor

I know I haven’t been updating as much as usual, but I’ve been busy working my #Taylington book!! Look for a title drop tomorrow on my Insta!!

Artwork and Roses        

It started out as a classroom doodle, one she’d slipped into Lexi’s book bag to let her know she was thinking about her.

Of course then Lexi had found it, and returned the favor with a single flower -  blue salvia - the accompanying note had identified it.

 “Thinking of you.”

Was the only other thing the note said - that’s  how it always was, just a single flower and a note with the name and meaning of the flower.

They started out fairly simple, declarations of thoughts and feelings that were easy to decipher. As time went on, however; well, Taylor never would have guessed that flowers could have such specific meanings. She had even ordered a book about flower meanings off Amazon to make sure that Lexi wasn’t making some of them up.

She wasn’t, all of the meanings were legit, and Taylor found herself in awe of her girlfriend. Even if Lexi was looking up all of the flowers beforehand, it was still impressive. Not to mention romantic.

Definitely the most romantic act that Taylor had ever been on the receiving end of.

(Lexi claimed that the flowers paled in comparison to Taylor’s sketches, but Taylor felt like she was just being modest.

As time went on and the flowers had gotten more specific, the delivery method had changed too, the first had been delivered with a shy smile and fidgeting hands -

 “Umm, so. I got you this, because umm, well, you said you were thinking about me; and that’s what blue salvia means - thinking of you. ‘Cause I do, think about you. Like all the time! Not - not inappropriately! Or in an obsessed way, or anything - just, you know, a normal amount. For one girl to think about another. In a gay way.”

 As cute as the rambling is, Taylor doesn’t have the heart to let her keep going

 ”Lex, thank you, it’s perfect.”  

 And just like that, the nervous grimace is gone, replaced by a wide smile that seems to make Lexi’s blue eyes sparkle.

 “I’ll text you tonight?”

 Taylor nods as she feels a dopey grin spread across her face, and Lexi’s smile grows impossibly wider as she leans in to place a quick kiss to Taylor’s lips.

 Lexi’s eyes study her for a moment longer before she’s gone, jogging off in the direction of the astronomy building - leaving Taylor to stare after her, dopey smile still firmly in place.

After that first time, the two of them swapping sketches and flowers became a regular occurrence, the delivery getting more and more sneaky as time went on.

Lexi preferred to just leave the flowers where Taylor would stumble across them, occasionally enlisting the help of Mandy or other friends to deliver them personally.

Taylor had resorted to tucking her sketches between the pages of whatever book Lexi was currently engrossed in.

It worked out rather well, and she really hadn’t seen a reason to switch up her M.O.

Until now.

Because now, she has something that won’t really fit between the pages of a book.

It’s a 2’x3’  canvas of  watercolor interpretation of ‘Le Bracelet’ by Erte that she had worked on for a re-imagined art project, one that Lexi had ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ over as Taylor had worked on it. Of course, Lexi always had good things to say about Taylor’s projects -except for the ‘Mud on Canvas’, that one was a disaster - but there was something different about this one. Something about the way that Lexi had studied the piece made Taylor want to give it to her.

But she couldn’t just hand it over -

 “Hey, umm, I saw you staring at this and I thought you might want it.”

No, that wouldn’t work.

And that’s exactly how she finds herself outside Lexi’s apartment door, twisting the key in her hands.

Lexi had given her the key a month ago, to use when Lexi’s astrophysics class inevitably ran over and Taylor was left waiting around until she got out.

It made sense, and she had used it a couple of times since. The first time she had spent the time awkwardly sitting around the living room, waiting until Lexi showed up. As time went by, she had slowly grown more comfortable being there by herself, but still - nothing like this.

She had never used the key to sneak in, hang up artwork, and sneak out without Lexi knowing.

Mandy had assured her that the romanticism outweighed the creepiness, but still.

She was going to get in and get out, that was her goal.

She had even arranged to meet Lexi in half an hour to ensure that the other girl wouldn’t try and go back to her apartment between classes and catch her in the act.

All she has to do is go in, hang the picture, and leave.

Taking a deep breath, she steels herself, glancing down the hall before turning the key in the lock.

It slides open easily, a fact that Taylor always finds slightly astonishing, (her girlfriend gave her a key to her apartment and hasn’t changed the locks yet!), but she brushes it aside, stepping into the apartment and angling the painting so it won’t hit the doorway. The room is dark, except for the long windows, sunlight streaking through to bathe the opposite wall in a kaleidoscope of fractured light.

She loves Lexi’s apartment, always has, and she takes a moment to soak in the feel of it before moving forward.

It smells like Lexi, in that indescribable way that makes her heart race and simultaneously feel like she’s home.

It’s a feeling that she still hasn’t gotten used to.

She makes her way towards the hallway and the blank section of wall that she’d scoped out previously. It’s obvious enough to be noticed, but enough out of the way to not be too much of an inconvenience if Lexi absolutely hates it.

She really hopes Lexi doesn’t hate it.

On the downside, she hasn’t really put up much in the way of wall art. Her dorm room is decorated with posters and her dad had always taken care of hanging the decorations in the flip houses.

Still, she reasons, it shouldn’t be THAT hard.

She has a hardware store bag of picture hanging supplies - she had pretty much walked through the store and grabbed anything that sounded easy to use and didn’t require any extra tools - so theoretically, she shouldn’t have any trouble.

Easy enough.

Only when she holds up the painting to measure the space out, she quickly realizes that it needs to be higher than she can reach.

Frowning, she ventures into the kitchen, picks up one of the barstools and drags it back with her. Kneeling on the stool gives her just the right height, and she laughs gleefully before digging in her bag for the hanging supplies.

Sticky sided velcro looks to be her best option, and she carefully reads the instructions before pressing the velcro to the painting. The problem comes when she presses the velcro to the wall.

“What’re you doing?”

Lexi’s voice startles her, and she jerks back from the wall, only to lose her balance and find herself falling from the chair.

“Whoah!” Strong arms wrap catch her under the knees and shoulders,  and she feels her heart rate accelerate - both from the fall and the unexpected presence. “Close call!”

“Lexi?”

“Sorry, you were falling, and, well …” Lexi shrugs, causing Taylor to shift in her arms.

“No, no, thank you for catching me.”  Taylor assures her.

Their eyes lock for a long moment before Lexi clears her throat, gaze flickering to the half hung painting.

“Sorry for breaking in to your apartment.” Taylor mutters, fingers playing with the collar of Lexi’s shirt.

“Mmm, are you sorry for breaking in or sorry for getting caught?”

Taylor’s mouth works, studying the side of Lexi’s face until the other girl turns, one eyebrow raised and Taylor realizes that she’s been had.

“I gave you the key to use, you know. I just didn’t expect to come home and find you redecorating.” Lexi lowers her to the ground but keeps an arm around her waist as they both look at the painting.

“Oh, well, it was supposed to be a surprise.”

“Oh, you were surprised alright.” Lexi quirks, and Taylor lets the back of her hand smack lightly against her shoulder.

“It’s a little crooked.” She laments, tilting her head to the side.

“Why’d you put it in the hallway, anyway?”

“Well, in case you hated it, I figured you wouldn’t have to look at it that much in here.”

Lexi looks back to her, eyes rolling.

“Really?”

“What? It made sense in my head!”

“Ok, well first, we’re going go eat lunch, and then we’re going to come back here and I’ll show you how to hang a straight painting - in the living room, where you can actually see it.”

Lexi’s hand presses at her back, and she lets herself get guided towards the door, unable to resist -

“Well, the painting isn’t exactly straight …“

If you like this chapter, please be sure to like, comment and reblog! It features my original characters which I plan on turning into a full length novel so any feedback I get is like gold! (plus it helps gauge interest -  i don't want to write a book no one wants to read!)

[milominderbindered]

thirty days of skam fic: day nineteen aka, the sequel to the neighbours fic

beginning. accusation. restless. leaves. rainbow. flame. formal. under. move. silver. prepared. knowledge. denial. cans. order. thanks. look. summer. transformation. tremble. tent. mad. thousand. paper. winter. luxury. letters. promise. simple. future.

[ PART ONE ] [ READ ON AO3 ]

As soon as Even finds out he’s been keeping Isak awake every night for weeks, several things happen.  First, the late night noises stop almost immediately and completely, which must mean Even has either put carpet back down like he said he was going to, or just completely changed all his habits for Isak.  Second, this lets Isak actually get some sleep again, which his professors seem to appreciate since he stops falling asleep in lectures, and his friends seem to appreciate because they inform him that he’s at least forty percent less grumpy.

Third, Isak starts running into Even everywhere.

They bump into each other at the cafe Isak didn’t know Even worked at, the laundry room he’s never seen Even in before, the bench just down the street from their building, the tram back from University.  Eskild keeps inviting Even to movie nights at the kollektiv, and then in return Even keeps cooking them all dinner, and he also starts texting Isak about random little things during the day, which never fail to make Isak laugh and secretly blush to himself and then get teased by all his friends for the besotted way he’s looking down at his phone.

By the time a few more weeks have passed, Isak has to upgrade his feelings for Even from crush to full-on infatuation.

But between Eskild’s never-ending meddling and Linn’s eternal presence at the kollektiv and Even’s roommates, Mikael and Yousef and Elias, being around a lot too, it takes a while before Isak and Even get any more time alone.  It’s not like Isak’s angling for anything, but still, if the universe wanted to throw him some kind of situation where he could stare at Even all he wanted and not get caught in the act by his roommates, he wouldn’t complain.

And then, one day, Isak manages to lock himself out.

He doesn’t know how he’s done it -- he always remembers his keys, but his keyring broke in his bag at some point during his day at uni, and Isak’s ended up with the key to the outside of the building, but not the one which actually opens the kollektiv’s front door.  And Eskild’s at work and it’s the one day that Linn happens to be visiting her family, so he’s just stood there, feeling like an idiot with an armful of organic chemistry books, no coat, and a phone on 2% battery.  It’s drizzling outside so he doesn’t even want to go and walk somewhere else, but he supposes he’ll have to, and just take shelter at the nearest coffee shop or force Jonas to take pity on him.

Except, before he can actually turn around and leave, Isak suddenly spots Even coming up the stairs, and doesn’t even waste a second before calling out to him.

“Isak, hey!” Even responds immediately.  He looks happy to see Isak -- at least, Isak thinks so, although Even’s always pretty cheerful so he could be imagining it.  He bounds up the rest of the stairs and then stands a little bit closer than he has to, a little bit closer than you’d probably lean to a casual friend -- but then, Isak could be imagining that too.  “Shit, locked out?  Don’t worry, I do that like, at least once a week.  Wanna come and chill at mine until Eskild can rescue you?”

And that’s how Isak ends up in Even’s flat for the very first time.

It really is laid out the same as the kollektiv, but decorated so differently that it’s almost hard to tell.  It’s weird, like seeing Isak’s own flat in an alternate universe; he’d be quite happy to just wander around and inspect the way they’ve nudged an armchair into an alcove that Eskild has a bookcase in, or the way their kitchen is flipped so the fridge is by the window, but as soon as they’ve toed their shoes off at the door, Even is leading the way towards his bedroom.

Okay, Isak thinks.  He can work with that.

As he takes his first steps into Even’s bedroom, Isak feels a bit like he’s walking into some kind of sacred site.  He’d spent most of the last month imagining endless scenarios for what was in the room above his that caused so much noise -- but when it comes down to it, Even’s room is pretty normal.  He has a big bed that’s unmade and messy and pushed against the wall.  A couple of guitars, which Isak is sure he must have heard being played at 3am a few times.  There isn’t a trampoline, or any evidence of drilling equipment, so he’s still not quite sure what Even could have been doing all those nights to cause so much noise.

The next thing he spots is the wall, which is papered in drawings and doodles and interesting little cut-outs.  Even had said he was an artist, but Isak hadn’t really considered what kind of art he did; he wanders closer, reading a few of the hand drawn little comics, and finds they’re quirky and surprisingly funny.

“These are really good,” he observes, glancing over his shoulder at Even and smiling a bit.  Even is watching Isak, like he’s observing the response to the room, and he smiles a little lopsidedly.

“Really?  Ah, thanks.  They’re not my main thing, I actually make movies too, and paint, but -- yeah, sometimes nothing will shut my brain up except doodling.”

Isak understands that.  He’s no sort of artist, but he definitely has a bit of a messy brain that he can’t always find the volume switch in.

“Well, I like them.”  He smiles a bit too softly at Even, and Even smiles back, a wide grin that makes his eyes crinkle up and his whole face turn adorable.

Isak’s heart thuds in his chest.

“Wanna watch a movie?” Even asks.

-----

They’ve sat side-by-side through plenty of movies at the kollektiv by now, but being alone together, sat on Even’s bed and so close their shoulders are touching, is something else entirely.  

Isak barely takes in two seconds of the movie; the whole of his brain is consumed by how good Even smells, and how warm he is where they’re pressed together, and how his deep laugh rumbles through his chest every time Isak misses a joke on screen.  

When the movie ends, Even looks over at Isak, and asks, “Did you like it?”

Turned like this, their faces are so, so close.

“Yeah,” Isak says.  It’s barely a lie; he loved the entire experience of watching this movie, despite the fact that he doesn’t even remembered what it’s called.  “It was great.  Thanks.”

-----

After that, Even starts texting him more, and it seems like they’re bumping into each other ever more often, and Isak can barely handle it.  Every time they’re all in the same room, Eskild has started giving Isak meaningful looks, and Isak just glares back at him.  The thing is, it sometimes seems like maybe, just maybe, Isak’s crush isn’t totally unreciprocated -- but Isak has a bad track record with mistaking friendly straight guys as interested in him, and he’s never heard Even talk about sexuality, ever, except the once he’d mentioned having an ex-girlfriend.

One day, when Isak is doing dishes in the kitchen and Eskild is sewing up a hole in a pair of leggings at the table behind him, Isak decides he’s going to just casually ask, and clears his throat.

“Uh, Eskild?” he says, not looking up from the mouldy pan of pasta he’s scrubbing out.  “Has -- um.  Has Even ever, I dunno, mentioned to you about -- talked to you about his sexuality?”

There’s a moment of absolutely blank silence, and then all of a sudden a squeal and a pair of arms throwing themselves around Isak’s shoulders from behind.  He immediately tenses up, washing up water sloshing everywhere as Eskild jostles him, but it’s too late to take it back now.

“Aww, baby!  I knew you were crushing, I just knew it!  I have such a good guru sixth sense about these things, don’t I?”  Not really -- Isak’s probably just extremely obvious.  He knows that.  “And he hasn’t talked to me about it, but I’ve noticed the little pansexual flag badge on that sexy denim jacket he always wears, haven’t you?”

Clearly Isak hadn’t, but that information is interesting at the very least.  He shrugs Eskild off, trying to seem annoyed, and grumbles something about just being curious before dropping the subject entirely.

But next time they see each other on the stairs, and Even stands just a little closer than most people would and brushes his fingers over Isak’s arm, Isak does take note of the badge on Even’s jacket.  

-----

One day, when Isak has a pretty big exam coming up, he puts his phone on do not disturb mode while he studies.  When he takes a break after an hour, for a bag of Doritos and a quick check of his notifications, there is a solid wall of texts on his phone, all from the same number.  His face twitches into a hopeless little smile as he clicks on them, seeing the dumb meme Even had sent him to begin with, and then a series of increasingly pointless but cute messages about what he’s having for dinner and the fact that Isak is taking too long to text back.

[ 19:02 -- From: Even 4B ]

should i start blasting music through the floorboards when you ignore me? haha

Isak figures studying can wait a little bit longer.

[ 19:13 -- To: Even 4B ]

didn’t realise you were that desperate for my attention, sorry ;P

He has started being just a little, tiny bit flirtier in texts lately.  So far, Even hasn’t said anything about it, so Isak’s gonna just keep sending those winky emojis and hoping he’s being obvious enough.

[ 19:13 -- From: Even 4B ]

Isak, you’ve known me for several months now, surely you should realise i am ALWAYS desperate for your attention!

Even’s reply is almost immediate; he really must have been waiting for Isak to text back.  Isak bites his lip as he reads the message, and then reads it again for good measure, feeling his heart beating a little too quick.  His fingers hover over his phone, starting to type out a response but then deciding it sounds lame and backspacing, beginning again -- but after a minute, he must have been taking too long to reply, because all of a sudden an obnoxious pop song starts blasting from the room above his.

Isak actually laughs, flopping back onto his bed and looking up at the ceiling, as if the blank white plaster represents Even himself.

[ 19: 15 -- To: Even 4B ]

omg, GEEZ, okay you have my attention, just stop the gabrielle! wanna hang out?

Studying can wait.  You only live once, Isak decides, and it’s not every day that a cute boy is trying so hard to get you to give him the time of day.

-----

The music turns off, and Even appears at the door three minutes later, beaming rather triumphantly.  Isak rolls his eyes, but leads the way to his room anyway -- he wants Even all to himself, so speed is of the essence, before Eskild realises they have a visitor and hijacks Even for the rest of the night.

Even has been in Isak’s room a couple of times, but never really hung out in there before.  Isak suddenly feels a bit regretful of how messy it is, and does a quick sweep with his eyes to check he hasn’t left any mouldy plates or dirty underwear out in the open -- luckily not, it’s just crumpled clothes and a whole lot of uni notes strewn all over the floor.

“Uh, so,” he says, suddenly feeling awkward.  They’re just stood there, and Even is standing close, like he always does, and it’s making it way too hard for Isak to think.  “What do you wanna do?  We could play FIFA, or watch a movie or something, or, uh, I guess we could order food, but we’ll have to sneak it past Eskild.” Even looks amused, a little pressed-lips smile on his face as he stares down at Isak.

“That all sounds chill,” he says, shrugging.  Why is he so much smoother than Isak?  How is that fair?  “But why don’t we just sit and talk for a bit?”

Isak’s heart thunders in his chest, but he nods, and a few minutes later they’re sat on his bed together, Even’s long legs crossed over the crumpled edge of Isak’s duvet, close enough that their knees touch.  Even’s telling a long story about one of his film classes, and Isak is half listening, half watching and thinking how much he likes the way Even talks with his hands, all big gestures like he’s trying to draw the words into life.  

And then the story ends, and the room is just quiet.  Even looks at him, almost evaluating, his eyes all soft.  One of his expressive hands drifts between them, and his fingertips rest oh-so lightly on Isak’s knee.

“You look nice today, by the way,” Even says, smiling so softly that his nose scrunches up.  

Isak thinks fuck it, leans into the tiny space between their bodies, catches Even’s face between his hands, and kisses him.

Even’s lips are like nothing else he’s ever felt, and Isak can’t help but gasp against him when Even immediately starts kissing him back.  The hand on Isak’s knee slides all the way up his leg and holds onto his hip instead, and Isak leans in closer, and then closer still, until his arms are wound all the way around Even’s neck and their mouths are moving frantically against each other and he can pull until they both go tumbling back onto the mattress, legs uncrossing and winding together, their whole bodies intertwining.

It could be seconds or hours later, but Isak’s whole body is overwhelmed with heat and he eventually eventually gets dizzy enough to pull away for a brief moment, needing to catch his breath.  As soon as he does, Even nuzzles into his cheek, a deep little hum escaping him.

“So I guess I really did get your attention,” he says, his voice sounding all soft and pleased, and Isak can’t help but burst out laughing.

They stay in Isak’s bed for the whole rest of the night.  At some point, in-between orgasms and jokes and deep conversations, Isak is forced to recategorise Even once again.  This time, he goes straight from infatuation to boyfriend.

Isak thinks he might keep that one for a while.