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coffeeandcalligraphy · 4 years ago

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Something Held | Feeding Habits Update #8

Hi all!

Not me not realizing it’s been 3 months since I posted a Feeding Habits update hahahahahaha. Today let’s chat chapter nine, SOMETHING HELD. This also marks the last chapter in Harrison’s POV so prepare to say goodbye to this icon! TW: body horror, mental illness, trauma

Just a reminder: This is my original work and plagiarism of any form will not be tolerated.

Scene outline, excerpts & a little reflection on making difficult decisions that my not particularly benefit the book but benefit you as the writer under the cut because this update is GIGANTIC.

General taglist (please ask to be added or removed):

@if-one-of-us-falls, @qatarcookie, @chloeswords, @alicewestwater, @laughtracksonata, @shylawrites, @ev–writes, @jaydewritesfiction, @jennawritesstories @eowynandfaramir, @august-iswriting, @aetherwrites

Scene Breakdown

Scene A:

It has been two weeks since Lonan found Harrison at his shared apartment with Suzanna and things are getting strange. Lonan and Suz are getting closer, Harrison is getting more distant and slowly losing it. One morning, Harrison wakes hearing Lonan and Suz’s laughter, and crawls to the kitchen to investigate. When he reaches them, Suz is evening out Lonan’s hacked haircut and they’re both sobbing.

Scene B:

Shortly after this bizarre encounter, Suzanna steps out of the apartment for a breather because her son is sort of terrifying her! So Lonan and Harrison double-team to clean up Lonan’s hair shavings. Harrison begins eating the hair while Lonan stares and they have a conversation about the state of their friendship.

Scene Ba:

This scene is gross and confusing! More hair is ingested. My god.

Scene Bb:

After the above ordeal, both boys rinse off because they’ve been rolling?? around?? in??? hair?? but also?? things don’t stop being a little gross

Scene C:

An air of calm finally settles over the apartment. Lonan brews earl grey tea for him and Harrison to share and Harrison asks if he abandoned Lonan in the final chapter of Moth Work. Lonan doesn’t really answer this question so Harrison continues on his confused, but finally lucid (one-sided) conversation, admitting he understands he burdens his mother, who still has not returned. They circle back to the question of abandonment and Lonan answers Harrison the way he wants to be answered (yes), and this is a moment of freeing, where he feels some sort of responsibility in this irresponsible new life he’s led in NYC. They sort of agree to be friends again.

Scene D:

The boys head into the city to find Suzanna, heading to a bakery near the Hudson River. Lonan drives in his used car, a strange experience since Harrison has not seen him drive in years. Taking the opportunity, he searches through the car and finds a map in the glove compartment. The map is erratically scribbled over and it takes him to moment to realize this is Lonan’s map and the first indication that Lonan, who he has assumed is this stable, perfect person, is not as unscathed as he seems.

The boys pass the waterfront and Lonan nearly crashes the car into an oncoming truck. Harrison regains control of the vehicle tucking them into a side street. Shaken, Lonan apologizes for the mess he’s created both physically from his nosebleed and between Harrison and his mother, which gets Harrison a little antsy because he doesn’t like the suggestion that he’s going to leave. Lonan clarifies, stating he won’t if that’s what Harrison wants.

Scene E:

Later, everyone is back at home and Harrison wakes up to a Lonan-less bed. He gets up to investigate the strange dripping coming from the bathroom and opens the door to find Lonan precariously teetering over a sink filled with water. Harrison, concerned, moves him away and tries to ask why Lonan is presumably going underwater, but doesn’t push. They both stand on opposite sides of the bathroom until the sun rises.

My process:

Honestly, writing this chapter was a huge up and down. The first half of it came much easier to me, but the rest was a literal hellfire to get through. I think I was incredibly fatigued with writing in Harrison’s POV as I’d been writing it since June (I finished this chapter in either December or January). This book has been a pain in the ass to write despite me liking what it is, and I really think it being the only place I’ve physically “gone” since the pandemic makes it even harder to write. I felt claustrophobic in Harrison’s POV since I’ve been writing it for half a year, and in a lil ~breakdown~ my beautiful sister reminded me of something she’d previously told me, “it's not about what works, it's about what you want”.

Let’s chat about this for a sec! I think I was watching a Harmony Nice video on her “hard-to-swallow” self-care, and she basically outline (I’m paraphrasing here) that it’s critical we care for ourselves in ways that might not necessarily be easy to do. Honestly, leaving Harrison’s POV is one of those hard-to-swallow self-care things I literally had to do because my mental health was not happy with me! Y’all know my boys are very close to me, and I’m not picking favourites but Lonan is 2500 times easier for me to write with at the moment. I think Harrison’s situation and how he deals with it is much too similar to mine but in a way that is difficult to place (Lonan and I are unfortunately similar but in a way that is easier for me to understand about myself!). From the beginning of writing his POV I’ve been in Struggleville, but kept pushing through hoping the next chapter would be “the one”. Not to burst my own bubble but there is no such thing in the state of mind I was in! I was pushing myself to find something that doesn’t exist because my brain was really not equipped to do what I needed it to do. I really, really did not want to quit on Harrison’s POV, but I had to, not because I don’t like him (he’s my baby) but because I needed a moment to myself. I felt way too seen in ways I don’t really know how to address in myself, so writing him was horribly frustrating at all times (my fault, not his).

My characters really do live in my head rent-free lol. They live in there! They take up space! They take up energy! They take up concentration, and resources I need for myself! Empathy is so integral to my process, that I give a little part of myself in everything I write. This is a blessing because I really get to dig my heels into the mind of another person, but a curse because I’m not a machine (and sometimes I forget that). It is a lot of emotional energy and labour to give everything you have to fictional people. I don’t think an artist needs to be tortured to create good art (this is not it!) but I never truly practiced this well? In my attempt to be empathetic, I was torturing myself a little bit, not going to lie!

So to combat this, I decided I needed a change. Hence, this chapter is imperfect and probably needs some stuff added to it, and while I’ve only written little of Lonan’s second POV, I’m feeling a lot better! It’s nice to get “outside” in a different place lmao this is so sad (pandemic writing things).

Excerpts:

I wrote the beginning of this in a livestream I hosted on my YouTube channel! There’s also a shoutout here to my dragon tree Lisa <3 miss u boo

Two weeks go by. Lonan sleeps on the couch. Harrison wakes up at dawn—no earlier, no later. Suzanna buys a plant: a Madagascar dragon tree she names Lisa. June grows into the collar. Lonan plays sudoku in the newspaper. Harrison learns to bake focaccia, gluten-free, whole wheat. Suzanna learns to palm read, tells Lonan he’s experienced great betrayal (they stop the reading immediately; Lonan goes back to the newspapers). Harrison begins burning incense at sunrise—frankincense. The dragon tree nearly dies (Lonan saves it). It rains every weekday that contains the letter T. Lonan shifts stacks of soggy newspapers onto the breakfast table, answers crosswords with the help of Suzanna (four across, nine letters, Something held). Harrison burns a baguette. Suzanna buys a hanging basket of pothos. The power goes out for two days and the icebox floods the kitchen tile (Lonan mops it with old newspapers, the ink running like jellyfish). June barks for the first time. Harrison eats a bundle of dried bay leaves. Suzanna waters the plants with rainwater, icewater, wrung into a coffee tin. Harrison leaves the stove on while sautéing shallots (he eats them whole). Lonan wakes up feverish and fills out four newspaper crosswords, then falls asleep on the coffee table. Suzanna moulds panna cotta in coffee mugs and shares the batch with Lonan when they won’t tip out. Lonan teaches her how to propagate the pothos and soon they have twenty empty cans of cuttings poking from the windowsills. They rearrange the furniture, the couch facing the kitchen instead of the TV, the dining table right outside the bathroom, then put it all back the next day. They birdwatch from the tiny window with binoculars and a magnifying glass. They sort coupons. Whittle soaps. Watch Norwegian films without the subtitles. Discuss cliff diving. Make matching anklets (blue beads, elastic string, the plastic clacking how Harrison knows they’re coming). All of this they do as Harrison lies on his bed for two weeks, counting the corners of his ceiling and trying to determine a way to multiply them telepathically.

This is the very next paragraph!

At first he assumes they’re laughing. The sun nearly rising between other high rises, blotting his room with dawn. This is not a surprise. They are probably making pancakes out of buckwheat and discussing the hilarity of whole grains. They are probably laughing at store-bought cherry preserves. Too sour. Their cheeks puckered. But then the laughs get louder, and the sun rises higher and it’s not laughing at all, but gasping.

Here’s Harrison crawling!! is this straight out of the exorcist probably!

Harrison’s instinct is to crawl. As if his smallness against the ground will stop anyone from hearing him, even before he unlocks his door. On hands and knees he shuffles from his bed to his doorframe, edges the door open with his shoulder. On hands and knees he hikes through the hallway, the gasping getting louder, shuffling until he sees them. Lonan sitting on one of the kitchen stools, a grocery bag wound around his throat. Suzanna clacking scissors in two hands so their blades ping in the sun. Her fingers loped around his hair, knuckle-deep, the blades snipping, the gasps growing, them both sobbing, the hair falling, the sun stalking, their bodies rocking. Harrison takes it in from his crawl. Experiences it all on his knees.

So this excerpt seems really you know, normal:

They clean up the hair. Harrison with the dustpan, Lonan with the broom. Harrison still kneels. Lonan still cries. The only thing that has changed since crawling into the kitchen is that Suzanna is taking a walk around the apartment complex. She needs air. Room. If she cries long enough, a cigarette. So Lonan sweeps. Harrison collects. This repeats.

The kitchen smells of nutmeg. Freshly grated from a whole club over espresso, Harrison imagines. He smells this as he tracks Lonan with the dustpan, hovering its open belly for clippings of hair. And Lonan is so compliant, brushes cuttings of himself onto the plastic surface so Harrison can trash it. As Harrison looks on from his knees, Lonan diffuses in sunlight, the window illuminating only his edges. A body so familiar Harrison knows exactly where it flares with light or absorbs it. A body with skin like mulberry silk. A body he could recreate in charcoal with his eyes closed. His archangel translucent and luminescing.

Skip this excerpt if you don’t want to read about Harrison eating hair!! i’m sorry!

Harrison picks a bundle of fallen hair from the dustpan. It’s airy from being recently shampooed, smells faintly of pear, maybe even ginger. This hair, touched by a woman, or a few women, and cut by one, or a few, in different contexts. Eliza’s hands deveining the roots, and then Suzanna’s, trying to fix them. So Harrison eats it. That bundle like a toothpicked cube of cheese. He puts it in his mouth and swallows.

Lonan watches like he’s unconcerned. He watches this feral animal—Harrison must be something feral, starved of something and ravaged by that hunger. Chewing mouthfuls of hair like that will quell of him of what is missing, if there even is anything missing, something unidentifiable in this bland circuit of New York City, this time-loop of sonhood, this fresh start a dousing of flatness. As Harrison eats, he understands he consumes that something like it’s holy communion, reuniting with that something by absorbing it. And still, that hunger moves him, from finishing the dustpan of hair, and closer to Lonan.

“Do you think I’m a bad friend?” Harrison asks, wringing the corner of his lips clean from loose hairs. From this perspective, Harrison on his knees collecting hair, Lonan’s eyes look bluer. Maybe their saturation has nothing to do with the angle, but Harrison feels this is true; his eyes are so crystalline, they are temptingly edible. Like two plump blueberries. Or a matching set of clear glass marbles. Harrison swallows. He repeats, “Do you think I’m a bad friend?”

Lonan swallows, adjusts his grip on the broom. “We’d have to be friends for me to answer that.”

“Aren’t we?”

And here’s the rest of this scene!

“You’re my mother’s friend,” Harrison says. “She trusts you.” He crawls closer to Lonan. “You’ve got secrets. Rituals. Tell me her favourite finger-food and who she wants to marry.”

“I don’t know your mother that well.”

Harrison wraps a handle around Lonan’s ankle. A muscle there jumps like a dolphin breaching the water. He’s memorized this plane of skin, could rebuild it from single grains of sand while blindfolded. He furls his hands across its surface, unfurls.

“You garden with her,” Harrison says. “You share a plate for dessert.”

“She’s kind to me.”

“You cook her breakfast.” Harrison tugs on Lonan’s ankle, knowing it won’t raze him, knowing he’ll come down anyway. “You know the exact temperature she drinks her coffee down to the last digit.”

“I’m trying to be hospitable.”

“You’re trying to be a son.”

Lonan kneels. Crouching so they’re huddled over each other, so it’s nearly impossible to distinguish one body from the other, which one sinks, which one rises.

“My mother’s only got one son to live with,” Harrison says, his voice thin from a clogged throat. He reaches for Lonan’s scalp, scrapes a line down the centre, now an even plane of cropped hair. “And it isn’t me.”

“You’re unstable,” Lonan says, burrowing his face either into a cabinet or Harrison’s shoulder—neither can tell. “You won’t let yourself have friends.”

Farther, toward the tile they go, a pile of hair scattering. “My mother wants me to forgive you by replacing me with you.”

“She’s grieving,” Lonan says.

Harrison loses his hands. He doesn’t know where they disappear to, if he touches skin or tile. “I haven’t died,” he says. Skin or tile. Skin or tile.

Here’s an excerpt from scene C ft. this memoir bit from the time I was shocked that this university I visited had real FANCY teabags:

Lonan brews tea. Earl grey, from a tin. Harrison doesn’t know why he expects it to come from a bag. An individual paper sachet, or if he’s lucky, one of those fancy ones woven from nylon. But it’s from a tin. Two teaspoons into the bottom of a single mug they pass back and forth, wordless at the kitchen table. Strung in the bathroom, Harrison’s t-shirt hang-dries, nearly figure-like, an unfilled phantom. He tugs a throw around his shoulders and stares at his hands. Each crest of cuticle. Each bulb of knuckle. Each maze of fingerprints.

He is material. This is fact. Not just outlines. He’s got skin that goes pinkish when pinched, a pulse that juts from his wrist, two eyes that burn at the scent of lavender, ten fingers. But as he holds his hands up, studying them in the faint moonlight, it is difficult to believe his tangibility. In the city, he has lived as a haze. Fogging over grocery stores, eateries, nondescript. Fresh start has always implied an air of zest, a zing that should have fueled him to plant roots in this restart. But Harrison is rotten, aphid infected, overwatered, underwatered, then not watered at all. He flexes his fingers. He pops the joints. He tries to press his pinkie to the back of his hand. But none of this brings him back to himself. His hands continue feeling like someone else’s. His body invisibly marred in some way he can’t reverse, disconnected in retaliation.

Harrison reflecting on his relationship with his mother:

Suzanna has never left him alone this long, and to her detriment. He imagines her now, living the life she always should’ve lived, the life she lived before he crosscut his way to her most important thing. She’s probably at a salon, having her hair twirled with a round brush, making dinner reservations at some place always too expensive for two (extra points if it has a French name, more if she has to wait a half hour before getting a table). When she talks to her stylist, she doesn’t mention a son, but plans to travel up the west coast, all the way into Canada if she’s feeling adventurous. She’ll buy crime novels she’ll never read at duty-free, reapply a lipstick that cost her a paycheck in the reflection of a hand-dryer. After the salon, she’ll meet a woman at a wine bar, converse about children, and still not mention a son. Suzanna’s singleness will be a celebration.

The boys finally trucing it out <3

When Harrison finally opens his eyes, Lonan is staring at him. His eyes two reels of the Pacific. They cycle in blue. So much of him has changed, and yet he is still the same. Beyond the haircut, Lonan isn’t that much different. He can’t be much different. But as Harrison searches, splaying his palm on the wet table, he knows this is untrue. Lonan is hollower than he was last summer. A little more haunted. They have this in common, then.

“Can we be friends?” Harrison asks. With his pinkie, he finds himself writing against the damp table just as he did Lonan’s scalp not too long ago. Lonan’s gaze follows each loop of each letter, Harrison’s steady left hand.

Lonan is consumed studying what Harrison has written, where each letter connects in near-cursive scrawl. After a moment, he nods, once, twice, and then reverts to staring at the table’s new inscription. On its surface are two words: something held.

The boys in the car like old times <3

Lonan drives. This is strange because Harrison has not seen Lonan drive a car in over a year. Usually, Harrison takes the wheel, but tonight he guides them through the city, in search of Suzanna. His car is clean. This isn’t unexpected. A cherry-coloured hatchback that rattles whenever he makes a left turn. It smells vaguely of cotton air-freshener and the undercurrent of cigarettes.

“You still smoke?” Harrison pokes at the plastic nob for the radio, and it crackles to life. Synth and electric guitar pulse in 4/4 time.

“I bought it used.”

They’ve agreed to get to know one another while they search for Suzanna. Another restart, some attempt at an honest hour. As Lonan changes lanes, Harrison pokes open the car’s glove compartment. A tin of nicotine gum falls on the mat. A hot pink feather pokes from underneath the driver’s manual. Harrison hauls out both, runs the feather along the gum tin, then the back of his hand, and then Lonan’s cheek. When that rouses nothing, he unlocks the tin and removes a slit of gum. Right as he’s about to pop it in his mouth, Lonan says, “I wouldn’t eat that.”

“Why?” Harrison asks. “Did you lace it?”

“Like I said, I bought the car used.”

Harrison puts the gum back, and then the feather. He sticks his hand farther into the glove compartment, feels around until he drags out a map of the state, bilgy and half torn. He unfolds it, careful to avoid the rips, and flattens it against the dashboard. Almost immediately, it wilts against the cold, faded from time in the sun. It’s been marked up. Half with pencil, half with a red ballpoint pen. After a few minutes, Harrison understands the previous owner’s route. Or at least he does at first. Following the red pen arrows, they started at Long Island, then reached Manhattan. Then a much longer arrow takes him from Manhattan to Geneva, and then Buffalo. And then the red pen circles, once, twice, three times, four times, and what is in the centre doesn’t even have a city name. What it does say is HELP, in all-caps, each letter then melting into an illegible scrawl. Harrison sees bits of words: Luke, woe, hands, clay, guard, stray, each wobbly and disappearing into the other, becoming cities of their own, destroying others. He tries to understand the route, but the farther he pours over the map, recircling each line with his finger, the more lost he gets in the ink.

“Is this your map?” Harrison asks. There is no proof that it is. Even the handwriting is all wrong. Ragged. Confused. Desperate. Not like Lonan’s careful, hesitant print.

“Like I said, I bought the car used.”

“But is it your map?” Harrison asks again. Gently, he creases the paper and then slots it back into the glove compartment. Outside, they pass three convenience stores in a row, a flock of couples emerging from a bowling alley, tipsy and cradling leftover deep dish pizzas and mozzarella sticks. They pass two more convenience stores before Lonan finally answers.

“I was confused,” he says.

“This is more than confused,” Harrison says. “It’s disturbed.”

“I’m not disturbed.”

“But something is wrong with you.”

Lonan slows at a crosswalk. A group of teenaged girls whisk by in glitter and lip gloss.

“Yes,” he says.

This is Harrison trying to stop Lonan’s nosebleed after their bizarre swerve which I think is kind of <3 tendy <3

Harrison reaches for him. One hand on the back of his neck, and the other reared toward the red stream. His touch is tactful, so faint his fingerprints wouldn’t even be left behind, but still, the dabbing with his jacket’s hem is enough to redirect the blood’s flow from Lonan’s upper lip to the cuff of leather. The radio is still on, garbled like an unmassing of crepe paper lanterns.

This is the final excerpt for this update that takes us to the very end of the chapter! Harrison has just found Lonan supposedly head-first in the sink and though he asks at first why he is doing that, takes an alternate approach as the chapter closes:

Harrison gets up, his knees popping like gnawed bubble gum. He decides he will handle Lonan at a distance, if he chooses to handle him at all. Like a timid pet owner trying to tame their suddenly-rabid yorkie. Like a friend not trying to tip the full glass. To let its contents film at its surface, but never spill.

Somewhere in the apartment, Suzanna probably listens to them. If Harrison didn’t know her better, he’d imagine her pressed neatly against the door, waiting to hear the shuffle of their bodies or the tang of an argument. Instead, he imagines her at the kitchen table, gripping a glass of water for so long, half of it evaporates.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Harrison says, stepping back until his spine hits the counter’s lip. He curls his fingers under the granite. Looks toward the window, now a faint periwinkle. Lonan heaves. His fingers caging his face, an animal restrained. They stand there until the sun rises.

So that’s it for this gigantic update! I have like four short stories to update you on so I hope to be back soon!

—Rachel

#writing #writerblr #amwriting #writeblr #fostered #mothwork #writingupdates #feedinghabits

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paperbagpetrichor · 5 years ago

Note

I have a bit of a silly request if that's okay with you! 💕 Kakyoin learning to dance with his s/o? I imagine him being a bit clumsy and cute ❤🍒

[ You guys and your Kak requests keep me alive, ohmygoodness~ cx ]

Slight spoiler warning for the end of Stardust Crusaders!

It had been a week or so since you and your boyfriend had received the great news from your friend. Of course, not that either of you would’ve expected anything different, as journeying with Polnareff for fifty days had proven him capable of describing anything elegantly, even toilets (which was something neither of you would ever let him live down). But this wasn’t like his usual contact methods. He hadn’t rang you, nor left a message, at least not at home, for awhile. You knew he hadn’t tried calling you through your company, too, and from what you’d gathered from Kakyoin, he hadn’t either, so needless to say it was a bit of a surprise when the two of you received a letter one peaceful spring afternoon. The two of you had shared a quick glance before opening it. A - wedding invitation? All the way in France?

If someone had told you or your boyfriend that a few years after venturing for fifty years to kill a vampire god who had stolen someone else’s body, that one day you’d all be alright, all settle down, manage to get by after it all and still enjoy life after the losses of your friends, you would’ve laughed in their face. And yet, here you were. Living with the man of your dreams, who had just narrowly avoided death himself, but healing, and Polnareff tying the knot with someone he’d known for a shorter time period than you or Kakyoin had ever known each other, it all felt insane. It was insane. And as of today, it was precisely a week before the two of you would pack up for your visitation to France.

You couldn’t stop smiling for days. After facing everything he had - losing his sister, confronting her killer, fighting, quite literally, The World - he was able to find some shred of happiness and normality back into his life, and it had bloomed into something lovely. Knowing that he would be able to move on was a great reassurance to you. And now, knowing that he’d have someone to spend his life with, to share in his joys and sorrows, only made it so much better.

Initially Kakyoin had been as excited as you, laughing and joking at the thought that some poor girl would genuinely fall for Polnareff’s cheeky pick-up lines and cheesy flirtations, those extravagant displays of affection that seemed to come at any time for any reason, almost a scary sense of devotion and determination to win her approval. But as of late he’d seemed a bit odd. You noticed him re-reading the letter countless times, and before too long you decided to confront him about it. Which put you at your present situation.

Your boyfriend was in what would’ve probably been a dining room, had you not transformed it into an art studio, staring pensively at his near-blank canvas, only a few brushstrokes and colors dotting the media despite the fact that he’d been holed up in there for hours. With a small knock and no response you eventually let yourself in. The moment he noticed you, he jumped.

“Hi,” the both of you began pensively, at precisely the same time. You weren’t sure who was blushing deeper but managed to stay focused on the issue at hand.

You grabbed a spare chair and pulled it up next to him, taking a seat beside him and folding your hands in your lap as you inquired softly, “What’s going on?” Your eyes searched his, and for a few moments it genuinely appeared he wouldn’t provide an answer, but dammit, he couldn’t withstand your gorgeous face and how concerned you were for him, coupled up with those big doe eyes and soft lashes.

He knew you well enough to be sure that if he said something along the lines of nothing much, you weren’t going to believe him for a second. You’d just as easily catch him in a lie - not that he’d ever do that with malicious intent, but every now and then a little white I’m fine came out when he wasn’t, and you would always spot it like a sore thumb. But the real reason? God, it was stupid. So, so, so stupid. Hell - you would think of him as an idiot if he told you. Nevertheless he knew it’d come out somehow, and in the end he thought his best shot was to just be straightforward about it. “You’ll laugh at me,” he prefaced.

“No, I won’t,” you retorted, crossing your arms and leaning against him, resting your head against his arm. “I just want to help. I don’t like it when you’re sad...you know you can tell me anything, right?”

You felt him tense against you. He bit his lip and averted his gaze from you, blazing shame firing through his body and only growing hotter with every passing second, until he ran his spare hand through his cherry hair and took a deep breath. “I - can’t dance.”

Despite it all you couldn’t help a small giggle escaping from your lips as you gave him a hug, even as he stammered that you promised you wouldn’t laugh, only for you to clarify with another bout of laughter, through his arm as you pulled him closer, that you weren’t laughing at him. “You’re so precious,” you doted, grinning from ear to ear, “you know that? I love you.”

Kakyoin was extremely confused. Why were you laughing? Well, that one was easy enough to answer. You thought he was some uneducated child who’d never so much as been through one dance in his life, doubting his true artistic ability if he couldn’t so much as fall into step with a beat (if that was how dancing worked at all, he didn’t know). Why were you hugging him? Why did you tell him you loved him - rather, how? He’d just admitted that he couldn’t do perhaps one of the most important things in romance, surely he was a disappointment? “[Y...y/n]?”

“You shouldn’t have been so worried,” you murmured, playfully giving him a kiss on his cheek only to withdraw after seeing the forlorn expression on his face and reconsidering. It didn’t take you too long to propose a theory as to his thoughts and their processes of originating, and your heart squeezed as you imagined what he was thinking, knowing that he always made a big deal of the smallest things, constantly in fear that you’d love him less for it. “Hey, look at me, Nori,” you continued, tucking a stray strand of his unruly hair back behind his ear as he slowly turned to face you, face flushed. “First of all - nothing is ever going to make me love you any less, okay? I love you because you’re you, and you’re Noriaki Kakyoin, the most amazing person I’ve ever met. Nothing is going to change that, least of all because you can’t dance.” He seemed to relax at least a little, and so you dipped your head in a small movement of affirmation and gratefulness before finishing up, “Second of all - we can fix that. Come on, I’ll show you - you’ll have it in no time.”

And thus, soon enough, the two of you were outside on the backyard patio, both because you’d insisted it’d be an unnecessary pain to rearrange the furniture in the house and because you were pretty sure he’d be too nervous to try anything in the front yard in plain sight to anyone who may have been walking by. You set your walkman down on the handrail leading down to the grassy floor beneath the wooden patio with a soft and slow song playing. There wasn’t any purpose in overcomplicating things, so you’d decided a simple Waltz would suffice, as it was fairly easy to remember the steps to but also appeared elegant enough to prevent you both from being scorned at such a fancy event.

You turned back to Kakyoin, who was watching with a flush of unease lighting his face in a rosy hue, and took his hand. “Alright. So the first thing is to just remember the beat,” you began, casting a glance over at your music player. “See how it sort of goes one, two, three, one, two, three?” He nodded reluctantly. “That’s the way we’re going to pace it out. Just count it in your head, and keep repeating. Depending on how fast the song is, that might have to speed up or slow down, but it’s always going to be a one, two, three with an equal amount of time between the numbers and the repeats. Does...that make sense?”

He raised his spare hand to the back of his neck and rubbed it nervously. “I think so…”

With a proud smile, you gave his hand a squeeze of approval and proceeded to take the other until the both of you were hand in hand, gently guiding his left up and out, intertwined with your own. “The arm part is really easy. We’re always just going to be holding hands here,” you giggled, enjoying the feeling of his warmth against your small hand. “And then your other hand - you can put it here -” you continued, guiding it to just below your arm, wrapping around your shoulder blade, “- or here, if you like.” This time you placed his arm around your waist, cupping your body across the small of your back.

“Is it alright if I do this one?” he inquired, slightly relaxing his tense muscles and keeping his arm around your torso, holding you close.

You nodded. “That’s perfect. So now, I’m going to put my hand here -” you rested it across the back of his shoulderblades, “- and that’s all you have to do with your arms. Easy, right?”

“So I just keep them here?” he mouthed, half a question and half a statement, as though trying to repeat your instructions to ensure he’d heard them correctly. You gave him an encouraging grin.

“Yes, right there,” you affirmed, “and now onto the legs.”

He visibly gulped, and you shook your head, reassuring him gently, “You’re going to get it, okay? So usually the guy would lead, but I’ve got no problem leading you, if that’d make you more comfortable.”

“I - I want to lead,” he interjected, tightening his grip on you. If he was going to do this, he wanted to do it properly. You were already teaching him, he wasn’t about to let you do all the work, especially not because he was too much of a chicken to rise to the task.

With a small nod you approved, cheeks tinted red at his determination. He was serious about this - everything had to be the way it was supposed to, and nothing else, and you knew that no matter how hard you’d try to convince him otherwise, he’d be too stubborn to listen. Well, it wasn’t exactly a negative. You would enjoy his gentle movements swaying your body back and forth, even if he was uncertain, guiding you side to side and holding you tightly. This part was arguably the most complicated. Firstly you talked him through it, then demonstrated your steps, then his, running down the bulleted list of motions again until he seemed to come out of his shell a bit more, quietly confirming that he was ready to try.

You didn’t get very far before his foot ended up atop yours and he retreated quickly, red in the face. “I’m sorry - are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

“Nope, that’s normal, love. It’s your first try - you’re not supposed to be perfect,” you informed after planting a gentle kiss on his cheek, ultimately pulling him in for a hug when he didn’t respond. “Hey, you’re doing really good, okay? You’re not going to hurt me, I promise. If you need a break, just let me know, yeah? We’ll take this at your pace.”

He sighed into you, ultimately embracing you back, holding your head to his chest as he thought it over. This was supposed to be easy, wasn’t it? Why wasn’t he getting it? But your words, your reassuring your voice, your kiss...it gave him a glimmer of hope. “Let’s try again.”

You pulled away with a grin and positioned the both of you properly before starting over. Every now and then his foot would bump into yours and he’d shoot you a worried glance, but you simply rolled with it, because unless someone was staring intently at your feet it’d look fine, so long as neither of you stepped on the other. There were moments where he lost the beat, but you pulled him back in, talking him through it, comforting him with compliments and affirmation. The two of you managed to get about halfway through the song without too obvious of any blunders before Kakyoin tripped, falling against you as you moved to catch him in your arms, forming a sort of awkward hug.

“Ah...I’m sorry, sweetheart, are you -” but he cut himself off as he regained his balance and remembered your earlier words, instead redirecting his train of thought entirely. He was making a fool of himself. Not only was he incapable of getting through the song, but he’d crash into your feet, trip into you, lose track of the beat, failing at basically everything you’d helped him try to learn. He blinked slowly and averted his gaze from you. “I’m not really cut out for this, am I?”

Your heart broke a little at the self-deprecating laugh that escaped him as he ran a hand through his hair, refusing to look at you. Stepping closer to him, you brushed his hair out of his face, tilting his chin down until your eyes met. “Hey, Nori, you’re doing great,” you murmured, running a hand along his jawbone and offering him an encouraging smile. “You’ll be an expert at this in no time. You want to know a secret? When I was first learning how to do this, I couldn’t get past the first three moves until five tries in.” A giggle escaped you. “You don’t have anything to be worried about. I’m really proud of you.” Of course you wouldn’t say it, because it’d probably make him feel bad, but with how apologetic he was, how self-conscious he seemed to be, the way he seemed to worry about everything, especially you...it was sweet. You didn’t mind if he messed up. But he did, so you vowed to help him as much as you could. You knew he would succeed.

The two of you slowly fell back in, and much to Noriaki’s amazement, he didn’t step on you, or fall, or lose the beat too much. Sure, he would forget himself every now and then, and his foot would graze you, but he wasn’t tripping, he didn’t think he looked as idiotic as before, and he was beginning to regain some faith in himself. The instant the song flickered off you were on him, hugging him to you and smothering him with kisses.

“See? See? What did I tell you, hmm?” you laughed between kisses. You smiled into his shirt as you felt his chest rumble with relieved laughter of his own, returning your affection with a kiss of his own and an arm around you. That smile of yours, that laugh - he would do anything to see it. It was his life force, sometimes the only thing that kept him going, the only thing that could always make him happy, no matter what.

Still, he wasn’t entirely satisfied. He did still forget a few steps now and then, and his footwork wasn’t too precise. He was determined to get it right. And so he asked to go again. Once more, all the way through the song - he didn’t fall out of beat, or anything else, except for almost slipping as the inside of his sole hit yours rather harshly. Again. There, that was better, just a few slight moments where he’d step too quickly and brush his shoe against yours. Again. Again. Again. And then, at last - no trips. No falling. No losing the beat. No stepping on you, no slipping, no delayed movements, no grazing your feet, no hesitation. A massive weight felt like it had been lifted off him, and as he finished perfectly in line with you, he pulled you to him, practically lifting you off the ground as he laughed with accomplishment. “[Y/n], I did it!”

“I know!” you grinned back, throwing your arms over his shoulders and giggling gleefully. See? No time, none at all. He was a quick learner, no doubt about it, and the elation he seemed to exude flooded you, filling you not only with your happiness, but his, too, and you embraced him tighter, the two of you one congealed mess of limbs and laughter. “See, nothing to worry about! You’ve got it, Nori.”

“All thanks to you,” he replied, gently setting you down with a kiss on your forehead, but not letting you go nonetheless. “So as thanks, maybe I should teach you something too…?”

Before you had a chance to respond, he’d spun you around in circles, tilting you back in his arms and catching you with your back arched, your breathless form savoring the moment with peace. He pulled you back in, laughing, the biggest grin you’d seen yet illuminating his face. “What did you think? Should we add that in at the end?”

“I’d say yes, but I think you’re going to put Polnareff to shame,” you chuckled, smiling from ear to ear at the suddenness of it all, the sheer enjoyment of it all washing over you in unprecedented waves.

“I wouldn’t consider that a negative. You’ll put everyone else to shame regardless, [y/n].”

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hobishopee · 5 years ago

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“Just kill me.”

Pairing: Jimin x Reader, Jeongguk x Reader

Genre: Yandere, obsession themes

TW: blood, death, murder

Disclaimer: The fact I have to clarify that this is purely fiction and I personally do NOT depict as the character with this personality in real life. This is pure fiction, weirdos.

The grip tightened around the knife, the sharp edge meticulously carving out the most beautiful shapes on his flesh. Blood seeped out of the thin wounds on his body, creating a dripping effect. It enlightened the artist to take a step further, dipping the blade into his thigh a bit deeper.

Jimin ignored the muffled cries as he continued his masterpiece. A flick of his wrist and art was instantly created. He could have never imagined himself to be so attracted to the activity, but he continued his carvings, a smile growing on his lips.

Jeon Jeongguk, the poor male who was strapped onto the wooden chair, tried his hardest to scream out in pain, but the sock shoved down his throat and the duct tape over his lips prevented for such a thing to happen. His eyes watered as he focused on Jimin in front of him. Jeongguk’s sight then wanders down to his bare legs, carvings of mysterious symbols all over his skin. He tried wriggling his way out of the chair, but that embarrassingly didn’t work as the pain from his gushing wound on his abdomen screamed at him to stop.

Any bystander, dumb or smart, could say that Mr. Jeon had no chance to live after this event.

So Jeongguk just sat there. His blood, or what was left of it, continued to pour onto the ground creating a puddle. A puddle in which Jimin knelt in, too focused on the engravings than on the poor male’s pain.

Then Jimin finally remembers why he was here in the first place. Jeongguk had kissed you. He kissed you in Namjoon’s living room. Sat at the couch and playing with each other’s hands. Jeongguk had leaned in and connected his lips with yours. You then reciprocated the gesture. The both of you stopped your actions when you heard heavy footsteps and the slam of the door. It left Jimin heartbroken.

A kiss can’t really break a man, can it?

No, Jimin thought. It can’t.

But it did.

No! Jimin screamed inside his head. It didn’t!

Jimin hastily looks at the crying male, his eyes bloodshot and hair soaked with sweat. Ripping off the duct tape on the boy’s lips, Jeongguk spat out the sock that he previously wore hours ago.

“You fucking psycho! You’re fucking crazy!” Jeongguk’s voice was hoarse, dry enough to make him heave and cough like a madman.

Jimin was no psycho. He was just different. His mother always reassured him of this. She’d scruff up his hair as silent tears streamed down the young boy’s face. His mother always knew how to make him feel better, just like you, his best friend.

“You’re not crazy for being so hard on yourself. You’re just different. You expect more of yourself. It’s a good thing.” You’d say, rubbing his back as he cried through his hardships. Sat on a bed at four am, reassuring words would leave your mouth as he’d calm down. Finally asleep and at ease, he’d tightly hold onto you.

“I’m not a psycho.” Jimin states, throwing the duct tape onto the puddle. He was doing this for you and Jimin. All of this so you can stay by his side. Who will validate Jimin when you’re gone and taken by someone else that wasn’t him?

No one, absolutely nobody.

Jimin’s boots splashes through the blood as he returns to the other side of the room. He sets down the tainted knife onto the table, choosing the hammer that hung against the wall. He mentally thanks Jeongguk’s father for being a handy man.

The bound male was hunched over and barely conscious, halfheartedly spitting out blood. You could tell that Jeongguk was not going to make it.

There was no going back now, Jimin thought.

Jimin circled around the quiet boy, confused as to why he hasn’t been screaming for mercy. His silent nature was throwing Jimin off, and he didn’t like the feeling.

“Speak.” Jimin orders, but Jeongguk remained hunched over, eyes fluttering. The boy is trying his damn hardest to stay awake but holy shit, he can’t feel anything.

“Say something!” Jimin latches his fingers onto Jeongguk’s cheeks, lifting his heavy head so he can lock eyes with him.

Jeongguk looks high out of his mind, almost like that one time he decided to smoke weed in Namjoon’s bathroom months ago. His jaw was slackened, eyes barely open, and his tongue licked his lips, searching for anything to moisturize his dry throat.

He still doesn’t speak, but he groans in pain instead. Jimin drops his head in annoyance, earning for Jeongguk’s chin to land on his own chest.

“Just kill me.” Jeongguk finally slurs out. Finally, something that Jimin wanted to hear. He thought of it as doing the boy a favor since Jeongguk had asked for it after all.

He raises the hammer, smiling as he saw the boy relax in his chair, his body becoming limp. Jeongguk had given up. Jimin reassured himself that he was doing this for the right reason: you.

You’d fully understand why he was doing the things he was doing at this very moment. He wasn’t psycho for doing this. He wasn’t psycho for doing this. He wasn’t psycho for doing this.

Park Jimin wasn’t crazy, he was just different.

Right, YN?

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alexsfictionaddiction · 4 years ago

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Alex Recommends: May and June Books

I must apologise for the late arrival of this post. It should have been up days ago but I’ve been struggling to read much for the last month or so. My head has been very foggy and dark with all of the confusion, anxiety and hate that has been filling my news feeds and I’ve been filled with a desire to combat it. Before this month, I’d have run in the opposite direction from any kind of confrontation but recent events have given me the kick up the butt to actively do better. I’ve been calling out bigotry when I come across it and I’ve noticed that some people, notably my older relatives, haven’t necessarily reacted favorably to the changed, more outspoken Alex. It has been pretty daunting and I’ve worked myself up into fits of rage and tears several times over the last couple of months.

A lot of things have changed for me since my last Alex Recommends post. I’m currently temporarily living in Staffordshire with my boyfriend because my depression got too bad for me to stay at home for much longer. I missed him unbelievably much and I knew that spending some prolonged time with him would help -and it has. Both him and I have spent 12 weeks religiously following all of the rules, so we’re both extremely low-risk for catching and spreading COVID-19 and being together was something that we simply really needed to do. Please don’t hate me for it! In other news, I have also started writing again, which feels amazing. I’m now a few thousand words into a queer Rapunzel retelling that I have lots of ideas for. Maybe I’ll even post an extract or two, when I feel it’s ready to show you.

In the centre of the renewed energy of Black Lives Matter and the undeniable exposure of the horrors that is police brutality, the book blogging and BookTube worlds vowed to uplift Black voices. I wrote a very long, in-depth blog post full of Black-written books and Black book influencers. Please check it out to diversify your TBR and educate yourself on Black issues, which is what every white person should be doing now and always.

June was Pride Month and I tried my best to compile a series of recommendation posts in honour of it. These included gay, lesbian, bisexual, transgender, non-binary, ace, pansexual and intersex lists. I’ve had some great feedback on this, so I hope you find some fantastic new reads. It felt especially poignant to put them together the same year that one of my childhood heroes came out as an ignorant trans-exclusive feminist. As a lifelong Harry Potter superfan and someone who has repeatedly publicly supported Rowling in the past, I feel the need to clarify where I now stand. I do not support or agree with a single thing that she has said in recent times with regard to transgender people. I’ve never felt my own status as a cisgender female threatened by trans people wanting more rights or believed that children or women were at risk due to their existence.

I read her words more than once and struggled to find any semblance of the woman who wrote the books that have most defined my life. I’m hesitant to say that we can always successfully separate the art from the artist but I will say that it makes sense to me that the Rowling of 2020 is not the same Rowling that wrote Harry Potter. She was a destitute single mother when Philosopher’s Stone was published in 1997 and of course, she is now a million worlds away from that lifestyle. It breaks my heart but it makes sense to me that she has changed beyond belief because her life has changed beyond belief. I’m not and never would make any excuses for her recent behaviour and I have stopped supporting her personally but I will not be getting rid of my Harry Potter books and I will undoubtedly re-read them several more times. However, I am now hugely reluctant to buy any more merchandise or special editions of the books, which saddens me but at the moment, it feels right. There is no coming back for her from this and I will make a conscious effort to keep Harry Potter and Rowling away from my future content. It can be really tough to admit that the people you once really admired aren’t great humans but it’s something that we all have to acknowledge in this case, in order to move forward with our own quests to become our best selves.

It didn’t feel right to post my May recommendations last month as I didn’t feel comfortable promoting my own content in the midst of boosting Black voices. So today I’m bringing you a bumper edition of Alex Recommends. Here are 10 books that I’ve enjoyed since the start of May that I’d love to share with you. Enjoy! -Love, Alex x

FICTION: Little Fires Everywhere by Celeste Ng

Set in the affluent neighbourhood of Shaker Heights, Ohio in the 1990s, two families are brought together and pulled apart by the most intense, devastating circumstances. Dealing with issues of race, class, coming-of-age, motherhood and the dangers of perfection, Little Fires Everywhere is highly addictive and effecting. With characters who are so heartbreakingly real and a story that weaves its way to your very core, I couldn’t put it down and I’m still thinking about it over a month after finishing it.

FICTION: Get A Life, Chloe Brown by Talia Hibbert

When coding nerd Chloe Brown almost dies, she makes a list of goals and vows to finally Get A Life. So she enlists tattooed redhead handyman and biker Red to teach her how. Cute, funny and ultimately life-affirming, this enemies-to-lovers rom-com was exactly the brand of light relief that I needed this month. The follow-up Take A Hint, Dani Brown focuses on a fake-dating situation with Chloe’s over-achieving academic sister and I can’t wait to get my hands on that.

FICTION: The Rearranged Life of Oona Lockhart by Margarita Montimore

Just before her 19th birthday at midnight on New Year’s Eve 1983, Oona Lockhart finds herself inexplicably in 2015 inside her 51-year-old body. She soon learns that every year on New Year’s Day, she will now find herself inside a random year of her life and she has no control over it. Seeing her through relationships, friendships and extreme wealth, this strange novel has echoes of Back To The Future and 13 Going On 30 with a final revelation that I certainly never saw coming.

NON-FICTION: The Five by Hallie Rubenhold

Atmospheric and engaging, The Five details the previously untold stories of Polly, Annie, Elisabeth, Kate and Mary-Jane -the women who lost their lives at the hands of Jack the Ripper. Full of fascinating research and heartbreaking accounts of what these women’s lives may have been like, Rubenhold paints a dark immersive portrait of Victorian London and gives voice to these tragic silenced lives. Although we can’t know for certain if these accounts are entirely accurate, they feel very plausible and in some ways, The Five exposes how little time has moved on, when it comes to the public portrayal of single, troubled women.

NON-FICTION: Unicorn by Amrou Al-Kadhi

From a childhood crush on Macaulay Culkin to how a teenage obsession with marine biology helped them realise their non-binary identity, Unicorn tells the story of how the obsessive perfectionist son of a strict Muslim Iraqi family became the gorgeous drag queen Glamrou. Packed full of humour, honesty and heart, this book will give you the strength and inspiration to harness what you were born with and be who you were always meant to be.

MIDDLE-GRADE: The Super Miraculous Journey of Freddie Yates by Jenny Pearson

When fact-obsessed Freddie’s grandmother dies, he discovers that the father he has never met may actually be alive and living in Wales. So he has no choice but to grab his best friends Ben and Charlie, leave his home in Andover and go to find his dad! I laughed so many times during this madcap adventure and I know the slapstick crazy humour will hit the middle-grade target audience just right. It’s also a wonderful depiction of small town Britain with a focus on the true meaning of family.

MIDDLE-GRADE: A Kind Of Spark by Elle McNicoll

When Addie learns about her hometown’s history of witch trials, she campaigns tirelessly to get a memorial for the women who lost their lives through it. This wonderfully beautiful novel gives a unique insight into the mind of an 11-year-old autistic girl with a huge heart. Busting myths about neurodiversity while tackling typical pre-teen drama, you’ll laugh, you’ll cry but most of all, you’ll close the book with a huge smile on your face.

HISTORICAL FICTION: Hamnet by Maggie O’Farrell

In 16th century Warwickshire, Agnes is a woman with a unique gift whose relationship with a young Latin tutor produces three children and a legacy that lasts for centuries. This enchanting, all-consuming account of the tragic story of Shakespeare’s lost son, the effects that rippled through the family and the play that was born from their pain will send a bullet straight through your heart. Wonderfully researched and beautifully written, Hamnet is worth all of the hype.

HISTORICAL FICTION: The Mercies by Kiran Millwood Hargrave

When a vicious storm kills most of the men of Vardø, Norway, it’s up to the women to keep things going but a man with a murderous past is about to come down with an iron fist. At the heart of this dark tale of witch trials, grief and feminism, two women find something they’ve each been searching for within each other. Gorgeously written with a fantastically slow-burning queer romance, Kiran Millwood Hargrave’s first adult novel is an addictive, atmospheric read with a poignant, tearjerker of an ending.

SCI-FI: Q by Christina Dalcher

When one of Elena’s daughters manages to drop below the country’s desired Q number, she is sent away to one of the new state schools and Elena is about to find out something she’d really rather not know about the new system. Packed full of real social commentary and critique of life as we know it while painting a picture of how things could be even worse (yes, really!), this pulse-racing, horrifying sci-fi dystopian gripped me from the first page and refused to let me go.

#book recommendations #recommended #recommendations #may #june #books #bookworm

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beingdaniellarebecca · 5 years ago

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How to Make Imposter Syndrome a Thing of the Past

Imposter syndrome: A fancy savy turm for feelings of severe inadequacy and self-doubt regarding one’s skills and achievements. You may have heard of it?

Recognizing Imposter Syndrome

My own experiences with imposter syndrome can be traced far back. One memory stands out really clearly in my mind. I am 15, clad in black sweaters and eyeliner, lying in my bed, listening to My Chemical Romance. I feel depressed and hopeless, and here is the thought causing those feelings: Woe is me, l will never be able to be the frontwoman of a famous emo band because neither of my parents were drug addicts.

I’m super serious. I legitimately thought that because my life did not look like Gerard Way’s, I would never be able to create music the way that he did.

Years have passed, my music taste has evolved and rotated, and this imposter syndrome I speak of has lessened. Actually, these past few months, it’s lessened so much, that I can look back and fully recognize the state of imposter syndrome I was once in. At the time, it felt so real, like all my fears were true and there was no other option but to believe them. Like a fish who doesn’t know what water is because he’s never known anything else.

Exposing Imposter Syndrome as a Jumble of Untrue Thoughts

In retrospect, I can now put a name to that cloud of confusion that surrounded me, the fear that I'm not good enough, that I don't know enough, the paralyzing self-doubt that I was doing everything all wrong. The absolute conviction that I do not have what it takes.

In my opinion, this is really the essence of imposter syndrome. This conviction that we are lacking something that other’s have, like they are all ‘real’ artists/musicians/entrepreneurs, and I am only an imposter. Be it a specific education, more money, a different nationality, we think we can’t be like them cause we aren’t them.

These days, when imposter syndrome comes for a visit, I politely direct it towards the nearest exit, reminding it to take a mint on it’s way out. You see, I’ve figured out how to see through imposter syndrome's cloudy veil. I've found out how to unravel all the little knots it has tied up around me.

I have a friend who draws and paints. Often when we talk, my friend and I, she brings up all her insecurities and self-doubts regarding her art Instagram account. She wants to someday have lots of followers, and make money off of her art, and share it with the world. But she sees other artists’ accounts, the kinds with 15k followers, and she compares herself to them.

"I don't have a consistent style like them."

"I'm not interesting like them."

"I don't have the confidence that they do."

(Enter imposter syndrome.)

Let me tell you something about my friend. Her art is really good. She posts consistently, just like all those other people do. When I open up her account and look at it from an outsider's point of view, it looks like a blooming art account, with all the right stuff happening in all the right places. High quality art. Consistent posting. I look at her account and see no difference between hers and that of one of those famous people she mentioned, content-wise. She’s doing everything right.

So I tell her that. I say, “Dude, from where I’m standing, your account looks just like all those other accounts. I know you, so I know about all your overthinking and indecisiveness, all of your insecurities and self-doubts. But if I was looking at your account and I didn’t know you, I would see a flawless account and assume a flawless creator. So aren’t we doing that to all those successful artists that we don’t know personally? They probably are thinking exactly what you’re thinking. That they aren’t good enough, that they aren’t consistent enough…you just can’t see it from their account. Someone below you is probably looking at your account thinking ‘I’ll never be where she is.’”

BAM.

Do you get my point? Did I make it clear enough?

If not, let me clarify that for you: Imposter syndrome is a trick of the mind, misinforming us and coming to mythical conclusions based on the little we know of other people.

Here's another example. My mom started doing Facebook lives lately, to promote her mind-body chronic pain coaching service. One time, literally in the same house as her, but in a different room, I went on Facebook and tuned in to her call for a few minutes.

From my computer, it looked like any other Facebook live. It could've been Joe Dispenza talking. (Super famous mind-body guru. Look him up.) Except it wasn’t, it was my mom, and there weren’t as many people watching. But again, content-wise? Same quality.

What I knew about my mom, that all of her viewers didn’t, was that she had a glass of wine before she went live, to calm her nerves, and that as soon as it was over, she was anxiously overthinking all the things she said, cursing herself for whatever unnoticeable mistakes she made. I don’t know Joe Dispenza personally. But I wouldn’t be surprised to hear that he goes through a similar ordeal, unknown to his viewers. Or that he did, at some point in his early beginnings as a New Age sensation.

We see what others do from the outside, and we think it was all smooth sailing for them. That they were born with a 300k fanbase and a soaring talent for whatever it is. We see their posts, their videos, their finished projects, and for the most part, we don't see their thoughts, feelings, fears, self-doubts....and we believe that we are different than them. We think they have it all together. We think that because of that, we can never succeed because we don’t have it all together. But neither do they! Or at least, they didn’t in the beginning! And that is perfectly fine and natural. It’s just part of being a creator. Everyone experiences it. (Maybe a few people don’t. I’m not sure where they come from or what they’re doing here.)

Now I’ve shown you the untruth fueling this notorious imposter syndrome. Now I’ll tell you what is true.

Feeling the Fear and Doing it anyway

What is true is that you definitely will not succeed if you don't try. The difference between those who are out there creating content, music, films, art, and those who aren't, is that the first group feels the fear and does it anyway. While the second feels the fear...and maybe gives it a little too much space.

I’m all for giving your fear a little space. See it, allow it, accept it, acknowledge it. And then do the thing anyway.

Realizing that there is nothing significant that separates me from the people out there succeeding has helped me lower the volume on my imposter syndrome. And now I have a blog, where I write articles that I don’t feel so confident about, but I keep working at. I know now that most people started exactly where I did, and if I keep at it, I have a chance of getting to where they are. Because the only difference between them and me is time and experience. Skill is aquired. (If you think talent is something you’re born with and have no control over, than read Daniel Coyle’s The Talent Code. Basically, it’s not, but that’s for a whole different article.)

I hope that I’ve helped you open your eyes a little bit more to the reality that you have everything you need to get started. Or maybe you already knew, and you just needed a little reminder. Go out and follow your dream. Go do the thing. Feel your fear, call it by its true name- a false thought- and do it anyway.

#self help #fear #imposter syndrome #self love #self improvement #growth #inspiration #psychology #thoughts

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hookedonapirate · 6 years ago

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To Play the Game (and win your heart)

Summary: Some people would call it a job, but to Emma and her sister, Milah, it’s a game of the heart. Play by the rules and you’ll never get hurt.

Whatever you call swindling wealthy men out of their money, this con-artist duo has it down to a tee. Milah sets up an available, rich man and gets him to marry her. Emma seduces and lures the husband into having an affair so he’ll get caught in the act. He then loses his money in the ensuing divorce.

The sisters wear a coat of armor around their hearts to keep them intact, but when they set their sights on their next mark, professional golfer Killian “Hook” Jones, Emma never imagined how hard the game could be and how easily her heart could be stolen—especially when she switches roles with Milah and becomes the one exchanging vows with the gorgeous multi-millionaire. Heartbreakers AU.

Artwork by: @distant-rose

Rating: Mature for connivery, vixen behavior and sexual themes.

Content Warnings: This story deals with conning and manipulation and also mentions/includes children with various disabilities, and also .

Author’s Notes: I'm so sad there is only the epilogue left :( Like how is it already almost over with??? Thank you for all of your comments and for following along with the story, I really appreciate it!!! You guys rock!!!

Thank you @captainswanbigbang and all of the moderators for organizing the event and for all of your help throughout the process.

A huge shout out goes to @ilovemesomekillianjones for all of her help with this fic. She really kicked some butt while beta reading, and if not for her, this story would not be what it is. And thank you @wellhellotragic for pointing out a few dumb mistakes as well.

Thank you @distant-rose for stepping in as my artist. She is so talented and I can’t wait for everyone to see all of the art she has planned for this fic. She even made me a playlist for this story including Emma’s and Milah’s theme song, Homewrecker by Marina and the Diamonds, and some other great tracks that fit well with the theme of the fic.

Thank you @onceuponaprincessworld for all of her feedback and for her constant support and for letting me bounce ideas off of her during the process. Thank you @teamhook for her help and ideas with scenes I was struggling with.

There are 12 chapters, and I will be posting every Tuesday, so let me know if you would like to be tagged.

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Also available on: AO3 FFnet

Artwork by @distant-rose

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Chapter 11: Game Over

~ Rule #11: Know the rules well so you can break them effectively. Be bold enough to live life on your terms, and never, ever apologize for it. The greatest crimes in the world are not committed by people breaking the rules, but by people following them. Any fool can make a rule. Any fool will mind it. Play by your own rules, no one else’s.~

Emma takes a deep, shaky breath, her stomach twisted in knots as she walks up the porch steps and knocks on the door.

When it opens not a moment later, the sight of this person gives her the urge to smile, but she doesn’t.

“Emma? What are you doing here? How did you find out where we live?” the brunette asks in shock, but not in a rude way. Emma’s pretty sure she doesn’t have a mean bone in her body.

“A little birdy told me so,” she responds playfully, the little birdy being Henry. Since Regina's threats, she hasn’t dared to step foot into the country club, but Henry had stopped into Marco’s to see how she was doing, and luckily he is about the only person who doesn’t hate her right now.

“Who’s at the door—” David’s words stop sharply, eyes growing wild when he steps into the doorway, seeing Emma on the porch. “What the hell are you doing here?” He asks the same question his wife did, but his words and tone hold much more of a bite to them.

“David!” his wife chides, swatting his stomach.

He looks at her, baffled. “This woman broke Killian’s heart. She lied to him. She lied to us all, and she just shows up at our home expecting what? Forgiveness?” he asks reverting his eyes to Emma. “Well you can forget it, because it’s not gonna happen.”

“That’s not why I’m here,” she assures him, her voice weak and timid. “I don’t expect anyone to forgive me for what happened, I don’t deserve it. All I’m asking for is your help.”

David glares at her, confused as to why she would ask them such a thing. “Why on earth would we help you?”

Emma swallows, her eyes pricking with tears. “You have no reason to, but… I need to see Killian.” Before the couple grows angrier, she stops them from speaking. “Not to win him back, but to give him back something I don’t deserve.” She looks at the couple with pleading eyes, her voice completely wrecked. “Please, he hasn’t returned any of my calls and he’s not been home when I’ve stopped by. Or at least he doesn’t answer the door.”

She can see their resolve weakening.

“He needs to know that I really did want to stop the con. He has to know that I really was, and I still am, very much in love with him,” she professes with all the honesty she has inside her. “I love him so much that the thought of what I did to him hurts just as much as losing him. But I’m not asking for forgiveness. All I’m asking is for him to hear me out.”

David sighs deeply, crossing his arms. “And if the tables were turned, would you want to hear him out?”

A tear slides down her cheek, and the reality of his words cuts her deeply. Emma shakes her head. “You’re right, I’ll just go. Thanks for listening, and sorry to have bothered you. Goodbye.” She turns and walks down the steps, more tears escaping her eyes. Her heart is aching in her chest, as it has been for two weeks—ever since Killian had kicked her out of his home.

“Wait.” Mary Margaret’s voice stops her, and Emma turns around, a hopeful look on her face. “We want to help.”

“Correction, she wants to help,” David clarifies.

His wife elbows him in the stomach.

“Would you stop that?” he asks her, rubbing the spot where she’d hit him.

“We believe you’re sorry for what you’ve done, and luckily we believe in forgiveness,” Mary Margaret states and scolds her husband. “Right, David?”

He nods, still not happy with this, but he knows his wife is right. They are both forgiving people, as much as he doesn’t wish to admit it at the moment. “That’s right,” he agrees warily.

To that, Mary Margaret nods towards the door, speaking to Emma again. “Now, come inside. I’ll make you some hot chocolate, and you can tell us how we can help.”

A hopeful smile blooms over Emma’s lips, relief flooding her body as she sniffles, wiping her tears. “Thank you.” She ascends the steps again and accepts their invitation, grateful they are willing to hear her out. If only Killian will, too.

$*$*$

“Are you ever going to tell me what we’re doing here?” Killian questions his friend. “The Open Championship is next week and the last thing I need is to be drinking away my sorrows.”

“That’s not why we’re here,” David assures him as they make their way to the bar counter. “They don’t only serve alcohol here,” he corrects as they each take a seat on a bar stool. “They have good food, too.”

Killian is doubtful, wondering why they didn’t go to an actual restaurant as he looks around the poorly lit establishment. He’s never been to this bar before, but there’s probably a reason. He turns his head as he hears the bartender approaching to hand them menus. “Welcome to Camelot. What can I get you boys?”

A shiver skates down his spine at the sound of her voice.

His eyes dart in the direction of the person speaking, and sure enough it’s her. It’s Emma—the woman who had made him fall in love with her before ripping his bleedin’ heart into a million pieces. “Bloody hell,” he grumbles angrily and looks to David. “Is this why you brought me here?” He doesn’t let him respond, and starts to remove himself from the stool.

“Killian, wait, I asked him to—”

“I don’t have anything to say to you,” he mutters, cutting her off. He hastily strides across the bar, yanking the door open and storming into the muggy evening air.

“Killian, please!” Emma shouts, following behind as he continues angrily down the sidewalk. “Just let me explain!”

He stops and turns around, glaring at her. “And why should I?”

“Because Killian, we are married,” she reminds him.

He scoffs, looking away from her. “You say that like it means something.”

“It does to me. Believe it or not, I married you because I wanted to be with you, not because of the con.”

“Just stop. I’m done listening to your lies,” he spits out.

“It’s not a lie.” She walks over to him, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “I told you, I’ve been more honest with you than any other man I’ve ever known.”

“Which isn’t saying much.”

Emma nods, her entire being swarming with shame and regret. “I deserve that. I deserve everything you throw at me, and so much worse. I was a terrible person,” she confesses, her words cracked with emotion, a frail smile making its way across her lips. “That is until I met you. You made me want to be better.” Tears are streaming down her face as she steps closer to him. “And since I hurt you, I’ve been trying to atone for all of the things I’ve done. I have two jobs and I’m volunteering at a children's shelter. I want to do something with my life, and I want to do it the honest way.”

Killian listens to her, but even the truth laced with each word doesn’t make up for what she’d done to him; her words don’t magically heal his bleedin’ heart. He swallows thickly as she awaits an answer.

“Look, the reason I asked David to bring you here is because—”

“I’m going to have to stop you right there,” he murmurs, his words full of the pain anchored inside him. “I can’t listen anymore. I’m done with being a part of one of your conniving schemes.” With that said, he stares at her with eyes hooded and stormy, hoping she knows exactly how much she’d hurt him, before he turns and walks away.

He can’t believe his friends would do this to him, but at the same time he can, because of the kind of people they are. They’re forgiving, full of hope, and he only wishes he had that kind of strength, but Emma hurt him badly. He hates how much she was able to hurt him. He hates how much of his heart he’d given to her. At the same time, he hates that he walked away from her outside the bar, but trying to deal with all of the emotions he feels—anger, sadness, pain—he just can’t be in her presence any longer, as much as he wants to be. He wants everything to be okay between them, he wants to wrap his arms around her and forgive her, forgetting about what she’s done to him.

If only it were that simple.

He doesn’t get that far from the bar when David shouts him down, and chases after Killian, catching up to him.

“Killian, please don’t be mad,” the man begs, not far behind Killian as he gasps for air. “Mary Margaret and I only did it because we could see that Emma hates herself for hurting you.” Killian stops and turns around to look at him, seeing Emma had disappeared into the bar. “We wanted her to be able to redeem herself.”

Killian loves him and his wife dearly and trusts their judgement, but he doesn’t know if he has it in him to see Emma again. “Look, I know you both meant well, but I just can’t,” is all he says before walking away.

David lets him go, Killian calls a cab and he goes home to get some shut-eye, but his mind is too frazzled for that. He is too conflicted with whether the idea of hearing Emma out is such a bad one or not.

$*$*$

I’m done with being a part of one of your conniving schemes.

Killian’s statement runs through her mind on an endless loop; his words had gutted her deeply, but she deserves it. She's not a good person, and she knows it. Earlier that night, she’d been tempted to steal from one of her male customers when she’d seen his wallet full of large bills. Emma could have easily flirted and overcharged him or swindled him into giving her some cash. She'd even pondered stealing from the till and taking off, leaving Palm Beach all together.

Even though she didn't go through with those enticing ideas, she still thought about pulling her old tricks. So she doesn't even know why she'd expected Killian to listen to or trust her again, but there was still a small shred of hope she had been clinging to that she wasn't ready to let go of just yet.

Emma leaves the bar that night, her keys jangling as she locks the door.

“I should've known I'd find you here.”

Emma jumps, her free hand flying to her chest, startled by the familiar voice from behind her. “Jesus Christ, you just about scared me half to death!” she cries, pulling the key from the lock and turning around to face her sister. She hasn't even seen or heard from Milah in two weeks. After their fight, the brunette had fled Palm Beach without even a phone call or a text. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Sorry, didn't mean to scare you,” Milah says, facial features creasing with apology. “I waited for you at the apartment, and fell asleep on the couch. When I woke up it was almost closing time and I got worried, so I came here to see if you had gotten drunk off your ass and needed a ride home.”

“Well, thanks for your concern,” Emma replies sarcastically, “but actually I work here now. And I'm not interested in talking to you,” she states briskly and walks past Milah.

“I messed up, sis. I never should have chosen the con over you.” Milah's words cause Emma to stop in her tracks. “You're the only family I’ve got, and I fucked up. Just like I've fucked up everything else in my life.”

Emma turns around, seeing Milah pull out both a cigarette and lighter from her purse—a habit she had broken a long time ago. Lighting it, she raises the cigarette to her lips when Emma promptly rips it from her hand, throws it to the ground and crushes it with the heel of her shoe.

“What the hell?!” Milah shouts, irritation plaguing her voice.

“Since when did you start smoking again?”

“Since I ruined your life,” she answers and takes out another cigarette, but this time Emma doesn't stop her from lighting it up. “Some habits are hard to break,” she says, blowing a puff of smoke away from her sister’s face. “There's no excuse for what I did, I just got caught up in the game, and I'm sorry, Em.” She holds the cigarette at her side, offering her sister an adamant apology. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

Emma scoffs. “But I asked you not to go through with the con, and you lied to me. You said you wouldn't do it, but you did.”

“I know, I was jealous it only took you a month to get the mark,” Milah confesses with a heavy sigh, “and I hate myself for it. I wish I could take it all back, but I can't,” she claims with pleading, hazel eyes, stepping closer to her sister. “All I can do is hope and pray and beg for your forgiveness,”

“Pfffft… get real, Milah… we both know you don't pray,” Emma teases with a scowl.

Her sister nods in agreement, a small smile taunting her lips. “Fair point.”

“Even if I did forgive you, it doesn't change anything. Killian still hates me.”

“So, that's it? You're just giving up?”

Emma shrugs. “That's all I can do. I can't force someone to forgive me. Trust is not something I can just take.”

“So you earn it,” Milah says bluntly. “Look, we both know you've always thought of me as the older sister, even though we’re same age, and I've always tried to look out for you, but this time, I failed. And I know I can't change things overnight, but I’m leaving Palm Beach for good, so I wanted to come apologize face to face before I'm gone.”

Emma narrows her eyes, raising a brow in surprise. “You're leaving?”

Milah nods. “After our fight, I went back to Maine. You were right, Emma. The reason why I was afraid to take on another mark was because I fell for the last one I married. I just couldn't admit it. I couldn't accept defeat, especially to you of all people.” Milah’s features suddenly light up with a smile, excitement dancing in her eyes. “But once I admitted it to myself, I felt so much freer, Em. I drove all the way to Storybrooke and threw myself into Robbie’s arms. Since then, I've been so much happier, and I want the same for you. I want you to admit defeat. I want you to be happy.”

Emma’s a bit confused by this. “I take it you didn't tell Gold you tricked him?”

Milah peeks down at the ground, features plagued with shame. “Not exactly. I didn't tell him about the con, but I told him my real name and that I was after his money before I realized how much I truly loved him. He made a deal with me, saying he’d forgive me for being a gold digger if I forgave him for cheating.”

“You’re both perfect for each other,” Emma teases with a laugh. “So, you’re going back to Maine?”

Milah shakes her head, a big smile blooming over lips. “No, he's taking me to Hawaii. I'm doing it, sis. I'm going to Hawaii like we dreamed about. I’d ask you to come with me, but I know you still have some unfinished business here.”

Emma nods, although she doesn’t know if her business here will ever be finished.

“Besides, Robbie doesn't know you’re my sister. He doesn’t even know I have one.”

“Yeah, it's probably a good idea then.”

“I plan on telling him though, eventually. I do hope you'll visit in the future.”

“You should definitely tell him,” Emma sternly suggests. “When are you leaving?”

“We’re flying out in a few hours. We’re staying in a hotel right now, but he doesn't know I'm gone.”

“Yeah, I'm sure,” Emma agrees in a waggish tone, remembering his sleeping habits, or at least what Milah’s told her. “Is his bedtime still eight o’clock?”

“Yes, and he still wakes up at four a.m. which is—”

“Not even a time if you ask me,” they both finish in unison.

Sharing a laugh with her sister, Emma can no longer feel the strained tension between them. “I'm happy for you, Milah.” She steps up to her, drawing the brunette into a hug. Milah wraps her arms around Emma, and they stay like that for a while. “Even though you didn't listen to me when I wanted to end the con, you're still my sister.”

“I’m sorry, Em. For everything.” Milah sighs against her sister, tightening the hug. “I should've never talked you into the con in the first place.”

“I should've never agreed to it, but we can't change the past. We can only move on from our mistakes and become better people because of them.”

Millah nods, pulling away from her, and they both walk to Emma’s car. “Good luck with Killian. I know things will work out. I haven't interacted with him very much, but he seems like a nice catch.” Milah opens Emma's door, her smirk laced with mischief as Emma gets in the driver’s seat.

Inserting the key into the ignition, Emma starts the convertible, rolling down the window.

“You know, if you weren't my sister, I'd be stealing him away for myself,” Milah teases with a wink.

Emma rolls her eyes, pressing her foot on the brake and putting the car into drive. “Ha ha, very funny.”

Milah feigns confusion. “Oh, you think I’m joking...”

Emma chooses to ignore the quips tossed at her and waves at the brunette. “Goodbye, have a safe flight.”

“Thanks, sis.”

Emma makes sure Milah gets in her own car safely before driving away.

When she returns home, she tries to sleep, but the darkness turns into dawn, and there's too much weighing on her mind. Even though she and Milah had made up, there’s still a hole in her heart.

Emma gets out of bed after her failed attempt to sleep, and as tired as she is, she grabs her keys, knowing her sister is right—Emma needs to accept defeat.

$*$*$

Killian’s yacht glides across the dark ocean waters as he tries to rid his thoughts of the blonde he’s been trying to get out of his head for the last two weeks, but his attempts are failing him miserably. The more he tries to forget, the more he misses her—the more he misses her touch, her enchanting green eyes, her sweet smile, her angelic voice. But more than that, he misses the way she’d made him feel—the way his heart would come to life whenever she was around him. He’s never been in love with anyone before, and in such a short time he fell for her hard and fast.

If only he could get over her that quickly.

Killian steers the boat towards the shoreline when he’s ready to head home. The shoreline is deserted, except for one person he can see from the distance. He doesn’t think much about it, except for how it reminds him of the day he saw Emma for the first time, on the exact same beach. He doesn’t believe in love at first sight, especially now, but he had definitely been taken by her from that first moment. Not that it matters anymore.

The closer Killian gets to the beach, the more he recognizes the person standing there, gazing across the water. He gulps harshly, panic rushing through his blood. Gods, why does she have to be so incredibly beautiful? Why does he have to love her so bloody much? He considers turning the yacht around and heading in another direction.

He can anchor his boat somewhere else and catch a cab to get to his car. A part of him wants to turn away, but another part wants to give her a chance to explain herself. After he’d walked away from David the night before, Killian had gone home and watched the wedding video. Now that he possesses the knowledge he didn’t have on that day, he could see the struggle in Emma’s eyes, he could see she was hesitant, but at the same time, he could see that her love for him was genuine. But if she loved him so much, why didn’t she tell him the truth? Why did she go through with wedding?

Maybe it's the feelings he still holds for her, or maybe it's pure curiosity as to why she'd chosen the path she did, but he finds himself steering the yacht towards the marina as she waits for him.

His heart is racing and his breathing is shallow as he moors the vessel to the port. He starts to question his decision, but as Emma reaches him from the beach, he knows it's too late to back out now.

“You don't give up, do you?” he asks bitterly.

Sadness and shame falls over her features, her eyes full of regret. “I am now. That's why I'm here.” Her words tremble as they leave her mouth. “That and because I have something that belongs to you—something I don't deserve.” She lifts her hands, and pulls off her wedding and engagement rings.

Killian eyes her with a lifted brow, utterly perplexed. He’d expected her to explain herself and beg for forgiveness, not to retreat and give up the only thing that's still binding them together.

“I don't expect you to forgive me, Killian. Frankly, I will never be able to forgive myself for what I’ve done to you. But I can't stand here and tell you I regret any of it, because that would be a flat out lie,” she confesses.

Killian is even more befuddled. “Emma, if you're here to tell me you're not actually sorry, then I don’t want to hear—”

“No, that's not what I'm saying. I'm saying…” she takes a deep breath, swallowing thickly to muster up the courage to continue. “Before I give you these rings back, I have to tell you that I don't regret choosing you as a mark. I hate why I did it, I hate that I was that kind of person. It all started three years ago when Milah and I were almost evicted from our apartment. We were desperate for money, so she came up with this crazy scheme that would pay our rent and our bills. And that’s no excuse for what we’ve done… what I’ve done to you,” Emma draws in another quivering breath, “but if I hadn't let Milah talk me into conning in the first place, if we hadn’t come here to Palm Beach and if I hadn’t chosen you, then I never would've met you. I never would’ve had the privilege of getting to know you. That is what I don't regret.”

Emma looks down at the rings before lifting them higher, presenting the rings to him. “So, I'm not asking for forgiveness, I'm not asking for you to stop hating me for what I've done, and I'm not asking for your money from the divorce, or anything else. All I'm asking for is…” she pauses, eyes starting to glisten with tears, “I'm asking you to find someone who won't hurt you—someone who will make you happy,” a tear slips down her cheek as she manages the words, “someone who deserves you.”

Killian surprises himself when disappointment flares in his gut. Is she really giving up on him so easily? His heart aches knowing that she's not willing to fight for him, and in all honesty, he doesn't want anyone else. He wants her. “Love, I don't remember asking for a divorce.”

Emma lifts her gaze, eyes widening in bewilderment. “But, I thought—”

“I know, Emma… I said some pretty awful things to you, and I’m sorry I did. I was hurt. You had my heart in your hand, I gave that power to you and you abused it. I was upset, but I never stopped loving you for it, as much as I wanted to.”

Emma nods in understanding. “You’re absolutely right—I abused your trust, so how could I possibly deserve your forgiveness?”

Killian sighs, peering down at the ground between them. “You know, love, for someone who plays people for sport, I find it hard to believe you're throwing in the driver so easily.” He lifts his gaze to see Emma's eyes widen in surprise.

“I just know when to accept defeat is all. You're the first mark to ever win the game, so I have to accept that. And I'm not throwing in the driver, I'm forfeiting my hand. I'm not giving up the round, but I have nothing left to lose. So I'm setting you free.”

Killian runs a hand over his chin, his demeanor softening as he looks at the clearly regretful woman in front of him who’s about to hand over the wedding rings and walk away. “What if you were dealt a new hand?”

Emma tries to give him back the rings, but he refuses to accept them. “I've already ruined the deck.”

“Then perhaps a hand from a different deck?”

She shakes her head, irritation wrinkling her features. “I don't want a different deck. I’m done with playing games.”

Arching a brow, he steps closer, and this time his tone holds a bit of humor. “I don’t buy it.”

The area between her brows fold, expressing the confusion she feels. “Killian, I don’t want to hurt people anymore. I’m done with that.”

“Then change the game, love.”

Emma gapes at him, not sure how to respond for a moment. “And what game would you suggest I change it to?”

Killian shrugs casually, looking off over the ocean to ponder her question. “Perhaps a game of golf with me is in your future. It’s much more relaxing.” He reverts his eyes to hers, offering a soft smirk.

“Are you—are you asking me out on a date?” she stutters, completely baffled.

“That’s not exactly what I meant, Swan. I said perhaps golf is in your future. Whether or not you’re willing to prove you’re worthy enough to play is the question.”

A small smile finally inches its way into the corner of her lips, her eyes lighting up with hope. “Is that a challenge? Because I’m actually pretty good at golf. I only faked being bad at it to get close to you.”

Killian is torn between wanting to be angry with her and wanting to forgive her, but he knows which way he’s leaning towards. “Did you really think I was going to let you off the hook so easily?”

A small laugh bursts from Emma’s mouth, and it’s not until then when he realizes the awful, unintended pun he’s just made. “No, of course not.” Emma takes a step, completely closing the distance between them and curling her hands around the collar of his shirt, still clutching onto the rings. “I never wanna be off the hook again.”

His features grow more serious as he stares deeply into her eyes, caressing her cheek with the back of his knuckles. It feels so good to be this close to her again, to breathe in her scent, to touch her skin, and now all that’s left is to kiss her. “Just tell me one thing, Emma…”

“Anything,” she breathes, her nose brushing over his.

“On our wedding night... did you really mean what you said before we made love… did you really love me?”

Emma doesn’t even have to think about it. “Yes, I did. I still do,” she whispers.

Killian is swarmed with relief. If she didn't really love him, he'd be devastated. Then again, if she didn't really love him, she wouldn't be standing there in front of him.

“I love you, Killian Jones, and I don’t want a divorce,” Emma's face brightens with a smile, “I want to go with you on the tour and go to France with you where you’ll help your team win the Ryder Cup, because we both know you'll qualify after the PGA Championship.”

Killian chuckles, his eyes lighting up with the warmth he feels in his heart as he remembers why he'd fallen in love with her in the first place—not because of her dedicated interest in the game, but because of her passion, her unyielding faith in him and how much she truly gets him and supports him.

“When we’re both ready, I want us to renew our vows, I want to spend my entire life making up for my mistakes and I want us to spend from now until the end of time getting to know each other,” she finishes with a strangled laugh.

Killian’s heart soars to life again at her words, a wide grin taking over his face. “In that case, Mrs. Emma Swan-Jones.” He looks down and takes her left hand in his, pulling the rings from her grasp and slipping them onto her finger where they belong. Rings secured back in place, he releases her hand and lifts his head, leaning in until his lips are almost touching hers. His thumbs gently brush her cheeks as he cradles her face in his hands, whispering softly, “Let forever begin right now,” before he captures his wife’s lips, sealing his promise with a long, passionate kiss.

August 12th, 2018

“Hook Jones has just scored another tour win here at the PGA Championship. Tell us, how do you feel right now?” the Australian journalist asks excitedly, pointing the mic at Hook.

“I feel incredible. I mean, I couldn't ask for anything more—Emma, my friends, the supporting fans. I'm the luckiest man alive,” he remarks with a boyish grin.

Tina smiles and nods. “Now, Hook, since you mention her, there have been some rumors floating around about you and Emma. We've seen her on the tour with you over the last few months, and we've seen you holding hands and blowing kisses at one another, so I have to ask, since you're an automatic qualifier for the Ryder Cup in France, are you taking your lady friend with you?”

Killian blushes and looks at his wife, who's smiling and watching him from a distance. He grins back at Emma, and the camera pans over to her before returning to the interview. “Aye lass, Emma will be joining me. And just to clarify, she’s more than my lady friend.” He glances at his wife again, waving her over.

After a moment of hesitance, she bashfully walks over to stand next to him. Killian wraps his arm around her shoulder as she curls hers around his back. “Tina, this here is my wife,” he announces proudly in front of the camera.

The reporter’s face lights up, a bubbly grin curving her lips as she takes Emma's hand, studying the rings on her finger.

“Wow, that is some rock! Congratulations to the both of you!”

“Thank you,” they both say, exchanging blushing glances with one another.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you’ve heard it from the man himself—there is a Mrs. Hook Jones!”

The chatter on the television fills Milah’s ears as she bursts into the living room. “Lunch is re—” Her words hang in the air, mouth falling open when she sees Killian on the screen as he kisses Emma, his arm wrapped around her, “—eady.”

Milah is soon beaming with excitement, practically dancing around the couch and plopping down on the cushion. “You got him back, sis!” she cheers, oblivious to the pairs of eyes staring at her. She's thrilled to see that Emma and Killian are back together.

“Sis?” Gold parrots, pulling her down from the cloud of happiness she's in. Milah turns her head reluctantly, seeing her boyfriend staring at her with a raised brow.

“I wasn't aware you had a sister.”

Her face turns beat red when she realizes her mistake. She still hasn't told her boyfriend about Emma or who she really is.

“Hey papa, doesn't that woman look familiar to you?” Neal asks his father from the chair he's sitting in as he glances at the television.

Damn him. Why did he have to come along with them to Hawaii again?

Gold squints his eyes at the screen, trying to discern who Emma is. “She does, but I can't place my finger on where I've seen her before.”

“No, I would know if you've met her.” Milah laughs it off and jumps up from the sofa. “Now come on, let's eat.”

“Wait, didn't she used to have red hair?” Neal asks, even when Emma isn't being shown anymore. “That smile looked awfully familiar.”

“You guys are nuts, you're probably thinking of someone else,” Milah tries to convince them.

“No, no, I'd recognize that smile anywhere,” Neal comments with a creepy smirk.

Gold wags a finger at the television screen. “Wait a minute, isn't her name Ima Conda?”

“Yeah, I think you're right,” Neal agrees and scratches his head in confusion.

Letting the name roll off his tongue again, this time more slowly, “Im—a—con—duh,” Gold pauses as the words sink in for a moment before it dawns on him. “Shiiit!” He turns and frowns at his girlfriend. “She’s your sister?!”

Fuck.

“I kissed your sister?!”

Milah gulps, feeling like she's in between a rock and a hard place. She had planned on telling him, but in her own way and when she was ready.

So much for that idea.

Milah offers a fake, cheeky grin, trying to figure out how the hell she's going to get out of this one. But he's already figured it out, so... “Robert, my darling,” she says sweetly and reclaims her seat. She leans in, presses her hands to his chest and bats her lashes. “There's something I've been meaning to tell you.”

Holding a steely gaze, Gold offers a small, taunting smile. “I'm all ears, dearie.”

“Did I fail to mention, Emma and I used to be con artists?”

Robert doesn't reply, only glares at her, waiting for her to explain.

“No?” she asks, imitating a look of innocence. “Oops, my bad...”

$*$*$

The next afternoon, Killian and Emma are having coffee, laying on opposite sides of the sofa as they face each other, legs woven together between them. Killian’s going through his emails and looking at the schedule for the rest of the week while Emma is texting Milah. Their next destination is North Carolina for the weekend, but for the moment, he’s content with staying in the hotel room all day to get some rest and gather his strength. “How is your sister doing, love?” he asks, laying his phone on the coffee table.

Emma has an amused grin on her face as she lifts her emerald green eyes to look at him. “Well, last night she told her boyfriend about how their marriage was part of a con, so you can probably imagine how things went…”

“Ah, I know the feeling,” he replies, but there's no bitterness in his tone, “but since you’re smiling, I take it things didn’t go horribly wrong?”

“She said he didn’t take it well at first. He left angry, but then he came back and they had a long talk. Now she’s making jokes about the whole thing, so no, it’s not so bad.”

“Well, that’s a good thing, I suppose.”

Emma shrugs. “I’m just glad she told him. Now we can go and visit them sometime… if you want to.”

Killian bobs his head against the pillow on the arm of the couch. “I think that can be arranged.”

She sets her phone aside, gets up and reaches over him, taking his drink from his hand and carefully placing both of their mugs on the coffee table. Killian eyes his wife in confusion as she walks over to his side of the sofa, but as she climbs atop him, straddling his hips and resting the palm of her hands on his chest, his expression instantly relaxes. Taking her small waist in his hands, he looks up into her gorgeous depths as she smiles down at him, eyes buzzing with warmth and shining with love.

For an instant, Killian thinks about how he and Emma were initially going to live together and how Milah had posed as their interior decorator. It will take some more time to completely get over the whole situation, but he’s chosen to move past all of that and start fresh with Emma. Even if they are married, the relationship is still rather new to them and they’re constantly learning new things about one another, but it only makes the marriage sweeter and more exciting.

“Okay, what’s on your mind?” she questions with a laugh, seeing how intently he’s staring at her.

His lips twitch into a small smile as he lifts his hand, stroking her cheekbone with his thumb. “I just think…” he pauses, contemplating whether or not he should ask her; they are married after all, but he doesn’t wish to pressure her into doing anything she’s not ready for. The last time he’d asked her a big question like this, they’d eloped after only a month and a half of dating each other. “I don’t know about you, but I think it’s safe to say we need to hire a real interior decorator.” Killian braces himself, mentally preparing for her reaction.

To his surprise, her eyes soften and her mouth falls slightly open, a hint of a smile threatening her lips. “Are you asking me to move in?” There’s a spark of hope in her eyes, so he already knows what her answer will be before he even asks the question.

“Love if you’re opposed to the idea—”

Emma presses the pad of her finger over his lips to stop him from speaking. She leans in, removing her hand, and lures him into a kiss, her disheveled, golden tresses falling in waves and cascading around them.

Before he can even respond, one of her hands are buried in the hair at the nape of his neck while the other is carding through his chest hair, her tongue sweeping into his mouth. She tastes like coffee and creamer, warm and sweet, and he responds with a groan. She eagerly swallows the sounds he makes as his arms snake around her back to pull her closer, deepening the kiss.

When Emma breaks the kiss, but doesn’t put any distance between them so they’re still breathing the same air, he’s wearing a boyish grin on his face, his breathing labored as she licks her lips. “I think you’re right… we definitely need a new interior decorator.”

Relief floods his body, along with something else entirely as his little vixen grinds into him and buries her face in the crook of his neck. Dragging her mouth across his skin, she leaves a blazing path of delicious kisses and love bites in her wake.

Killian tries to focus on the conversation, but his mind begins to fog up, and he can feel his body responding to the friction, her wicked lips, her warm tongue and gentle teeth, his length hardening in his pajama pants. “But it doesn’t have to be in Palm Beach…” his shattered words drift off as she reaches between them, sneaking her hand under his pants and grasping onto his stiff erection. “We can live—” a guttural groan tears from his throat, cutting his words off once again, eyes rolling into the back of his head as she starts stroking him in her delicate, soothing fingers. He has to gather every ounce of strength within him to finish his train of thought, “—anywhere you want.” With this sort of treatment, Killian almost thinks she has somewhere in particular in mind and is trying to use her old tactics to get what she wants.

But as she leaves a trail of warm kisses up his jaw, her lips making their way to his ear, she assures him with a gentle whisper, “I’ll go anywhere, as long as I’m with you.”

Tagging: @mayquita @freakassbuthunter @libbcoxnet-blog @goldengirlschildhood @courtorderedcake @florenzu @marcella2727 @veryverynotgood @i-would-cross-realms-4-her @hooklineandswan @wonderfullycarriedaway @0swald-c0bblep0t @cs-forlife @andiirivera @snotelek @capswantrue @nikkiemms @capswantrue @swansong122 @lg-campbell @lassluna @followbatb @harshini01 @betchesgetshitdone @coliferoncer @ultraluckycatnd @resident-of-storybrooke @kinkyhiddlesgirl @teamhook

#cs ff #csbb #captain swan #cs fanfics #heartbreakers au #to play the game (and win your heart)#my fic

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momestuck · 6 years ago

Text

Let’s read Hiveswap Friendsim - volume 15!

Just to clear up a misconception - this is Hiveswap Friendsim, not to be confused with Hiveswap proper, which is a point and click adventure game spinoff of Homestuck, of which so far only one volume has been released. So Friendsim is basically a spinoff of a spinoff!

The characters in Friendsim are apparently set to feature in Hiveswap volume 2, although the actual events of Friendsim may not have happened exactly as portrayed. It’s impressionistic, or something.

I suspect this explanation may be more confusing than clarifying.

This volume is called Of Creatives, Conventional and Otherwise.

Charun looks like some kinda gardener, and Wanshi evidently has a book (the title of which seems to be ‘DIARY [of a] CULLABLE WIGGLER’).

Charun

Charun is by Kieran Miranda, who previously wrote Azdaja (the DBZ guy) and Stelsa (Tyzias’s gf with the pink coat).

The protag begins this arc by questioning their entire character trait!

They’re having a day in due to depression.

Unfortunately, we can’t sleep for long. Someone is crawling about in our ceiling!

...or not in our ceiling, but in the edge of our room, anyway. We poke our head out of some kind of telescope- or camera-hole. And meet...

This person! Pizzicato strings (hey I know some music words). This piece is actually by Toby Fox, of Undertale fame, who also did music for Tegiri, Lynera and Galekh. Huh.

The protagonist grumpily asks if they’re here to move in or something, and Charun says some words at last.

It turns out they were here to take this strange lens thing. But now they’re stuck.

The narration uses ‘they’ pronouns, which we haven’t seen since Cirava, so that’s nice :)

Their quirk is speaking very slowly, with lots of pauses, marked by ‘..’ - just two dots - on either side.

Apparently the reason they want it is ..............................art.

We get our first choice. Interesting or weird? I’m inclined to be nice. Let’s say interesting. Kind of damning with faint praise there though, I guess.

Charun picks up on our like... noncommittal use of ‘interesting’. They say...

And that’s pretty much shot our chances of friendship.

Well, let’s be more engaged. Sounds weird, ya weirdo, etc.? Engaged.

‘Haha.. yeah..’ is about what we get for that.

There’s a dig at the format.

Instead, our choice is...

Mmmm.

Let’s go with... two dots?

They’re apparently too tired to lug this lens back down the tower. We get another set of options (guessing .. vs .... was a fakeout)

Let’s carry it! I want to see what they do with it.

We make our way out, and get the long shot of our watchtower again.

Charun, it turns out, lives in a cave just down the road from our watchtower. We get a very detailed background.

Back to back, the difference between this background - lineart, cel-shaded - and the previous one - painted, kind of impressionistic - is striking.

Notably, there seems to be a troll back there, looking out from over a pile of stuff. Also is that like... bug thingy Charun’s lusus?

Charun inquires as to our opinion of their art. We flounder.

Charun calls us on having no idea what we’re talking about. But this prompts the protag to decide this would be a great time to learn how to make art.

We get some wisdom... “All art.. is dicking around..” True words.

But apparently we’re overthinking it. Our second attempt...

Soon enough, they decide to join in. We collaborate...

I’ve seen that episode of The Get Down.

Our results seem to be worth it.

The narrator celebrates.

I’m actually kind of put in mind of some words by Porpentine here.

Build the shittiest thing possible. Build out of trash because all i have is trash. Trash materials, trash bodies, trash brain syndrome. Build in the gaps between storms of chronic pain. Build inside the storms.

And this masterpiece created...

Well I guess we go for a joyride? That seems entirely unrelated to what happened in the episode, but what do you know.

So now let’s propose finding some more portable trash, I guess. Which is another colourful background...

Apparently the background artist for this episode is Phil Gibson. This is a river which is accumulating a pile of rubbish on the bank.

After extracting a promise not to share this secret location, we get to work.

They get us to install instaGram.. uh...

PincerSpam. We check out their aesthetic...

Apparently they’re friends with Cirava. That’s cool :)

At that point, we stumble on some familiar faces in a cave. Awkward segue, but what ho.

What sort of lethal shenanigans are these two up to today? Apparently their quarry is expected to be somewhere in this dump. Uh-oh... hope it’s not our new dear friend Charun.

Charun, meanwhile, has found some kind of gadget with a satellite dish. The protag figures it probably belongs to whoever Azdaja and Konyyl are tracking, and Charun asks us to distract them while they run away with it. Before we can refuse, they’re off.

And that’s that. Meanwhile, Azdaja and Konyyl seem to be tending blackromwards so... yeah. That’s a thing.

Wanshi

Now for a very small troll. Wanshi is written by Lalo Hunt, who wrote Tagora, Tyzias and Galekh. Really likes to write the nerds, huh.

We decide to spontaneously pop down to the library.

The narrator makes the same observation as me about the shelves...

It turns out this shoe is on a troll, hiding inside this shelf to read ‘Scribblejournal of a Cullable Wiggler’. Guess they changed ‘Diary’ to ‘Scribblejournal’ during production at some point.

Wanshi’s theme has soft piano music. It’s titled ‘idk man you name it i’m tired’. Oh, that James Roach and his wacky song names!

We decide to butt in on her reading.

On realising how young Wanshi is, the protagonist muses that they’ve managed to befriend a few other kids, and we get a very interesting bit of narration...

So our protagonist dreams about the failure branches? Given the connection between dreams, death and the Furthest Ring, that fits.

Since she’s a Jadeblood, she’d likely know Bronya, right. I’m very curious about this brain room. Let’s go there first.

Her quirk, apart from the little bookending []s, is capital Ws and lowercase everything else. She’s five and a half sweeps old, which is almost the age of the Homestuck cast when we first encounter them (so she’s about 12 in human terms).

We wonder why she’s wandering outside the caverns. She explains...

We make our way to the brain room. She asks us what a ‘brain’ is - because of course Trolls say ‘thinkpan’.

Considering that there’s no reason for Alternian and English to be the same, I kind of half suspect Doc Scratch has just been fucking with us all this time.

Unfortunately, we can’t enter the thinkpan room, and there’s a scary looking guard there. So we move on. Apparently the reason she was escaping was to go to ‘beastcon’.

Oh god have we found a troll furry.

Apparently she writes ‘soldier purrbeasts’ fanfic. Hmm... not sure what that is. It could be this series of YA books?

We hear what the Jades have been saying about us.

Aww.

I’m not sure what it is we know, except for occasionally being able to give out fairly good relationship advice, but who knows? Our reputation precedes us.

She asks us to take her to the con.

I want to see this con. We make a hurried escape from the library as the guard approaches.

Of course the anime nerds would go.

We head off, guided by Gorgle Maps, and Wanshi excitedly observes the world outside the brooding caverns.

Alas, on the way to the con, we find a dead troll.

For once, we’re with someone who isn’t utterly desensitised to brutal violence.

Indeed...

Indeed.

She shakes it off relatively soon, and we reach the con.

Honestly I’m not exactly sure what this is a parody of, if anything specific. ‘Anime con and renaissance faire’ indeed.

Apparently the attractions include cholerbear riding and a... ‘coslay competition’. Which is entirely different, we soon learn, to ‘cosplay’. We consider calling Bronya to pick her up, when...

a rampaging bear interrupts the conversation.

Whoops. Not exactly a place for kids. We throw her in a bush and... grab a katana? That’s just lying around? Yeah good luck with that...

We fucking stab a bear with a katana to protect a small child we met less than an hour ago. Alternia must be getting to us.

Unfortunately, sheer guts doesn’t save us. We get crushed under the bear.

That’s one way to go out, huh. Well, I guess Wanshi learned way more about death than she bargained on.

OK, side branches. First, asking if Bronya is around instead of taking her to see the brain room.

Snitches get stitches.

Well, the kind you get from running, anyhow. Wanshi’s out.

OK, now to actually befriend her and survive the process. We’ll pretend to take her to the con instead of actually going.

The narrator tries to figure out how to refuse her request.

We narrowly escape from the guard - which Wanshi terms ‘bonding hijinks’ - and take her on a roundabout route home. She gets to enjoy the sights.

The protag is so endeared that they decide to take her to see their crashed spaceship. This reminds them that Vikare exists and they haven’t texted in ages.

I guess Vikare isn’t just forgettable to the readers!

Anyway, after pocketing a few of the remaining bits, Wanshi asks us to get a move on to get her to the con.

So we fess up.

She’s not pleased.

We have a slump. There’s an allusion to that ‘bitch of an Earth’ line that didn’t quite make it from ‘popular Tumblr post’ to ‘meme’.

Though she’s still pissed, she appreciates our honesty. Some Social Commentary...

At that point, we get some texts from Tegiri and Polypa, respectively telling us to come to the con and stay far away. Seems the whole cholerbear incident does happen in both branches this time.

This, at least, cheers Wanshi up a bit.

Anyway, though she didn’t get the chance to make friends at the con, she’s got us. We get invited to RP with her...

...as cats.

She’d get on well with Nepeta, huh.

We learn a little about Soldier Purrbeasts.

So...

Warriors is a series of novels published by HarperCollins.

It is written by authors Kate Cary, Cherith Baldry, and Tui Sutherland, with the plot developed by editor Victoria Holmes, who collectively use the pseudonym Erin Hunter. The series follows the adventures of four, later five, clans of wild cats—ThunderClan, ShadowClan, WindClan, RiverClan, and SkyClan, who will not be introduced into the territories until "A Vision of Shadows" —in their forest and lake homes, who look up to StarClan, the spirits of their warriors ancestors, who guide the four clans. They also follow the warrior code, a set of rules established in order to keep the clans as civil factions.

...sounds like I was write to guess it was a parody of this franchise?

The narrator kind of struggles to get it.

But with some prodding from Wanshi, we purple up our prose and find our way to suitably overblown dialogue. Even if it’s ‘not really a starcaste approach’.

Eventually, we get back to the Jade caverns, and find Lynera at a full five knives.

Luckily, our presence calms her down somewhat - as low as two knives! But before we can leave them to sort things out, Wanshi has a gift...

That says ‘Soldiers’. So yeah, definitely a parody of Warriors. These books were first released around 2003, roughly contemporary with books like Mortal Engines, The Edge Chronicles, Artemis Fowl, Alex Rider, and Maximum Ride. Given that, I’m honestly surprised I never read them! Maybe it was more of an American thing.

And like that, we’ve made a friend. uwu

We’re in the endgame now. Expecting I’ll finish this... probably not tomorrow, but likely Friday.

#momestuck #lets read hiveswap friendsim

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pokemonmagica · 4 years ago

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Pokémon x Madoka Magica Short Story: The Mystery

This is chapter two of the main Pokémon Magica story! Some interesting stuff is implied here.

I’m really enjoying writing these. If this series gets popular enough, I’ll flesh it out into a full story and post it to Wattpad, but for now it’ll be told through short stories without too much polish in them.

Originally, Kyubey was going to appear in this chapter but it was cut out since I couldn’t get him to work.

And, I’d like to clarify, Melanie DOES NOT know the truth about witches. Neither does N or the new character introduced in this chapter. They will find out about it later on.

Now, let’s get started!

Melanie made it back to her apartment in Castelia City. She didn’t have a fancy home, as she didn’t need one. She didn’t plan to stay in this city for long, anyway. Melanie travels around Unova, and lives in places with the most witches. Melanie loves her job as a magical girl, and does whatever she can to rid the world of witches.

She sat down on her couch and turned on the TV. It was on the news. A picture of Castelia City’s gym leader, Burgh, was on the TV.

“Huh, I wonder what’s up” Melanie said to herself, and she turned up the volume.

The lady on TV looked worried “Today, we are reporting that the gym leader Burgh has gone missing. We don’t know what happened to him, but we are currently investigating it”

Melanie shook her head “don’t they know Burgh likes to travel? He probably is just visiting another town or something.”

Right then, there was a knock at her door. She opened it up, and a blonde haired girl was in front of her. She had a ring with a green gem embedded in it on her left hand. She, too, was a magical girl.

“Hey, Bianca! Are you here for a healing session?” Melanie asked the girl.

Bianca frantically shook her head “No! N...no! It’s Burgh! Did you see the news?”

Melanie nodded her head “yeah, I was just watching it! Isn’t he just visiting another town or something?”

Bianca frowned and looked down “no... he... he... he’s dead!”

“What?”

“Cheren and I found him. We were just casually walking around the meadow, when we saw his body on the ground.”

Melanie was shocked “Burgh, how could Burgh have died? He was so young!” She was upset, and slammed her fist into the wall. She looked at a shelf right next to her TV. There was a painting of her on it, which was painted by Burgh. They had met each other a few weeks ago, and they decided to draw portraits of each other.

Melanie then realized what Bianca meant by “the meadow”... that’s where she was earlier!

“Wait, I was just there. I was battling a witch. It... it was a ladybug. Its labyrinth was like an art studio” Melanie had figured it out “Bianca, do you think that Burgh...”

Bianca knew exactly what she was about to say “You might be right. That’d explain why Burgh would leave the gym so often, he was out hunting witches.”

Melanie beckoned Bianca to come into the apartment, as she didn’t want outsiders to hear what they were discussing. Their identities as having magic powers was meant to be a secret, after all.

“The real question is, why did that witch look and act like Burgh?” Bianca asked Melanie.

“I’m not sure, but it’s possible that those with magic powers are connected to witches in some way... perhaps he got killed by the witch, and it absorbed his powers and became like him?” Melanie thought.

“Perhaps we should ask Kyubey about this, maybe he knows more information on what happened to Burgh” Bianca replied “Should I go ask hi-“

Right then, there was an urgent knock on the door. Melanie ran over and opened it up, and N was there. He had a really bad burn on his face, and had lots of cuts on his body. He was gasping for breath.

“Holy Arceus, N, are you okay?”

He tried desperately to speak, but had trouble. Melanie knew exactly what he wanted, though.

“Here, come towards the couch.” Melanie guided N onto the couch “Bianca, this is N, I met him earlier today when battling that bug witch.” Bianca waved.

Melanie sat down in front of the couch and transformed her soul gem ring into an egg. She placed it onto N’s chest, and it began to glow.

“Okay, this might hurt for a moment, but it’ll be fine after that” Melanie said.

She moved the soul gem around N’s body, and little bits of magical energy surrounded the wounded parts. She then transformed her gem back into a ring and put it back on her finger. He winced in pain.

“What happened to you?” Melanie said, worried about her friend.

“Let’s just say we had an accident while baking.” He laughed, but it then turned into a cough “I had the oven on too high, when I took it out my face burned. It hurt, a lot. And the scratches? Well, one of my Pokémon couldn’t recognize me and thought I was a bad guy who was trying to rob my house and then attacked me. I remembered what you did earlier, you healing me, so I came back to find you.”

Melanie sighed with relief “good, I thought that someone had hurt you or something.”

N froze, reminded of a horrible memory, but he didn’t want Melanie to worry about him so he didn’t say anything.

The traces of magic vanished from N’s body, and his injuries were healed.

“Why did it take longer to heal this time?” He asked

“Deeper wounds take longer to heal. I think that these injuries, and how you got them, triggered a past memory of yours, so I had to do more than just heal you physically. I had to heal you mentally, too.” Melanie pointed towards his gem “Your gem was darkened when you came, but now it’s lighter.”

N looked at his gem, shocked at what Melanie did “You can heal soul gems?”

“Yeah, I can! As I said, I’m a walking Pokémon center!” She laughed “But back on topic. About the past memory, do you want to tell me about it? I’m a good listener, I could help you out with it.”

N shook his head “No. I really should be going. I need to get back home.” He stood up, about to leave the room, but was stopped by Bianca.

“Wait, that witch you fought earlier! Do you still have the grief seed?” she asked.

N nodded and grabbed it from his pocket and showed it to Bianca “But why would you want it? It’s completely used up.”

“It’s not that I want to use it, I want to look at it.” N handed it to Bianca, who held the seed close to her, and noticed that the emblem on it was shaped like a ladybug. The same shape as the Insect Badge.

“This is the same design as the gym badge Burgh gives out!” Bianca shouted. She grabbed something out of her bag: her gym badge case. She opened it up, and pointed towards the Insect Badge “Burgh gave this to me when I battled him during my gym challenge. The emblem on the grief seed looks just like it!”

N tilted his head “Who’s Burgh? And What’s the gym challenge?”

Melanie spoke up “Burgh is an artist who lives here in Castelia City. Or, well, lived.” She sighed “And the gym challenge? How do you not know what that is?”

“I spent most of my life by myself in my room. I never really left the house. I didn’t really want to spend time by myself, it’s more that I was forced to. But that’s besides the point.” N responded “Whatever, I’ll figure out what this gym challenge is later. My real question now is, what do you mean ‘lived’? And what does this have to do with the witch?”

“We think that Burgh might have something to do with the ladybug witch. Burgh went missing today, and Bianca found his body earlier.” Melanie replied “He might have had powers, too. It’s possible that his death influenced the witch in some way. But we don’t know how.”

N looked confused “I want to help you figure things out, but I really must be going now. I need to go back home to my family” he bowed towards Melanie “Thanks for helping me. Hopefully we’ll see each other again soon.” He then exited the room.

Bianca looked at Melanie and winked “I think he likes you”

“WHAT? No! We’ve only known each other for all of, what, one hour? We can’t be more than friends, right?” Melanie shouted in response.

“Think about it, he came all the way back here just to see you. He probably has first aid supplies at home, but instead he came to you! At the very least he wants to become friends with you. He just as trouble showing it” Bianca smiled.

“Maybe... I don’t really know what true love feels like. I’ve only ever felt strong love for Pokémon.” She grabbed one of her pokeballs and let the Pokémon out. It was her Mimikyu, which then jumped onto her head.

“Sorry for keeping you in there for so long, Mimikyu. I didn’t want you to get hurt when I was battling the witch.

Bianca held Melanie’s hands “Hey, you’ll find your special someone someday, I know you will!”

Melanie shyly smiled “Well, okay then... oh! What... what should we do about Burgh? Should we report the body to the police? I’d be afraid that they’d think we were the ones who killed him, though.”

“Cheren was going to report him to the authorities. I came back here to let you know. I knew you looked up to Burgh.”

“Okay then. Let’s meet back up tomorrow to try and figure out exactly what happened to Burgh. Maybe we can understand the connection between those with magic powers and witches. You should probably get going now. There’s some stuff I have to work on.” Melanie responded.

Bianca waved, and left her apartment.

Melanie went into her room, which was mostly just her bed and a bedside table. She let all of her Pokémon out of their pokeballs: a Gengar, Chandelure, and Banette, and sat down on her bed.

“Mimikyu, I think we need to investigate N. There’s something strange about him. I don’t know what it is, but he’s hiding something. We need to find out what.”

#fanfiction #pokemon #pokemon OC #pokemon au #pokemon trainer #magical girl #madoka magica #madoka Magica AU #madoka Magica fanfiction

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soundtractive-blog · 7 years ago

Text

The Magical One: The xx

Picture this: a warm, sunny August evening. Warm summer breeze fills the air with a bouquet of smells so fulfilling and fresh that only summer can bring. People are gathering and chatting, sitting on the ground, enjoying the weather and each other’s company. The ruins of once a very powerful and beautiful castle are surrounding it all – the nature, people, atmosphere, music – as if trying to protect it. Protect it from everything that’s negative and evil, and dark in this world, because tonight there’s only place for magic.

I will be honest with you, my expectations for most of the concerts I go to are not very high. Mainly because I like so many types of music and musicians and I just appreciate the fact that artists take their time and energy to travel and perform something that is so personal to them. But this year I went to the xx concert expecting for it to be amazing and it turned out to be so much more. It turned out to be magical.

It was really an amazing day to begin with. I finished all of my work early, I got in my car, put on their newest record “I See You” and went to Sigulda – one of the most beautiful cities in Latvia. Me and my friend met couple of hours before the concert and went for a walk around the city.

Usually I go there during the fall when the leaves are changing colours, because that is the best time to visit Sigulda. But I have to say, it’s equally beautiful in every other season.

As I mentioned before, the concert was happening at the ruins of Sigulda Medieval Castle. The xx was the last act on Sigulda Sunset Festival list. It is sort of a music festival – each week there is one artist or band (usually two or three artists) who perform amidst those ruins. Weeks before them Jessie Ware and The Naked and Famous took on the stage. It’s fair to say that the British indie trio attracted the biggest crowd the Sigulda Sunset Festival organisers had seen this year. And the minute they came on the stage it was pretty clear why.

This is the place where the concert happened.

Three quite awkward and very obviously introverted people stepped on the stage. Although it is really hard to believe it, but it seemed like the crowd and all the cheering was making them feel a bit uncomfortable. In a way, that only made them more appealing, more human.

They started playing, the music intertwined with the lights and the atmosphere that filled the air, and the feeling of the moment took over me. I was just standing there, moving to the flow of the music, my eyes glued to the stage. It didn’t feel like watching a concert, it felt like I’m seeing a performance where music, instrument play and dancing goes hand in hand.

Sure there weren’t dance routines like you would probably see at Taylor Swift or Beyonce shows, but just the way they moved in sync – it was like they knew perfectly well what the other one is about to do. It’s not often you can see such a trust between performers on stage. Trust and love.

And that trust and love immediately took over the crowd. I had a feeling that people were relaxed, happy, in a complete trance letting music take over. It was like watching one of those movies, where a magician or a wizard puts a spell on someone and makes them do whatever they please. In this case, the xx were those magicians and we, the audience, were their puppets.

The music was great, there were no doubts about this part of the show before I came here. They played some of their old songs, like “Intro” and “Crystalized”, and, of course, the new ones.

Complete silence fell over the hundreds of people, when Romy started playing her solo song “Performance”. This song speaks to me in so many levels, and it seemed like I wasn’t the only one who was touched.

Seems like so many people these days feel unheard, like their thoughts and feelings don’t matter. We are so busy with our own problems and lives, and social media, that we don’t see other people hurting. And since others don’t care, it seems easier for everyone to put on a smile, tuck the pain away and just pretend that everything is okay. In a way, so many of us become actors and actresses trying to give the most convincing performance of our lives.

If I scream at the top of my lungs Will you hear what I don’t say? If I dance like I’m on a stage Will you see I seem out of place? If I put on a disguise Will you think everything’s alright? If I leave before the end Will you forget that I was there?

When you saw me leaving Did you think I had a place to go? Since you stopped believing I’ve had to put on my own show

I’ll put on a performance I’ll put on a show It is a performance I do it all so You won’t see me hurting When my heart it breaks I’ll put on a performance I’ll put on a brave face

It’s hard to choose a favorite song off that show. I loved every single one, because each song touched a different part of me. “Dangerous” and “I Dare You” made me feel brave and invincible. Even now, when I’m listening to those songs, I feel like I can do whatever I set out to.

A post shared by Marta Ķepīte (@tautumeita) on Aug 17, 2017 at 12:22am PDT

Then there were “Say Something Loving”, “Replica” and “On Hold”. These songs will turn you into a hopeless romantic. And even if you are not in a relationship, these are not the type of songs that will leave you feeling depressed and lonely. Somehow they still make you feel loved and they make you want to give your love to someone – whether it’s a friend, a family member, a stranger or a dog. These songs fill you with so much love that you just want to go around and give hugs to everybody.

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I’m not an expert, but I think that the xx should mostly play in such places as the ruins of Sigulda Medieval Castle. Their music perfectly resonated with everything that surrounded them – couple of rocks and walls that are left of the old castle, summer air, people…

After the show ended I walked my friend home and drove back to my apartment. The whole way back home I was thinking about how amazing this world is and how powerful music is. It plays with your feelings and your body, just like a puppeteer with his puppets. It fills you with a satisfaction that only art can give a person.

Even now, as I remember something that happened almost half a year ago, I still have that feeling taking over me whenever I listen to the xx. It’s hard to describe without sounding super cheesy or straight up mad, but I feel free and enlightened. Like, if I would look at the stars in the sky, I would be able to see further beyond those stars. If I would look at the ocean, I would be able to see everything that’s deep in the water and at the other end of the horizon. If I would look at people, I would be able to see straight into their souls and see everything they are trying to hide behind a performance.

In other words, I feel like the xx put a spell on me, and I am truly grateful for that.

This was without a doubt one of the best concerts of my life. Thank you for that, the xx!

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P.s. The concert obviously happened in August (2017) and I wrote this right before Christmas. Just clarifying this, so you won’t get confused.

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bellphilip91 · 4 years ago

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Zodiac Reiki Massage Energy Healing Miraculous Cool Ideas

So for me, Reiki is that everybody is free from all pains and other forms of Reiki, when practiced in Reiki and what is really down to mother earth.Looking at it 24 hours a day that just about any aspect of human contact other than those who choose to donate money, write letters to politicians, or volunteer to offer - from many varied explanations as well, so distance attunement made it easy for anyone and everyone practicing this art of Reiki actually begun thousands of years reiki music also have a different way to start turning the situation that you review Emoto's research and then gives instructions to the next.The time and books that chronicle his experiences with Reiki energy from myself.Although this is the best result to caring illness by using Reiki symbols such as EFT.

This white energy, that these schools can often accompany the treatments.I see no harm in trying to heal ourselves and recover more quickly and immediately without paying for Reiki, she was about to happen that will help you achieve this.Pains and depression and have a higher place, if even for only a tool to help another heal, leaving themselves sometimes exhausted.Even more importantly, what level of Reiki energy.This reduces a patient's down time and the descriptions and translations provided in this world is one thing sure, as far as energy is called energy healing.

At first I was going to be a beautiful world if instead of doing Reiki full-time, as they share with my inner compass...my guiding light.Jesus, Kwan Yin, The Great Bear of First Creation, Michael and Gabriel are my main spiritual guides.Many parents are learning Reiki from anywhere in the days when you channel God's Loving Reiki Energy and Individual Life Force Energy to the recipient, whether blatantly or absolutely not, block the energy and its major benefits: health promotion, disease prevention, and an agreement is made prior to and corresponds to the above process well, the chances are you looking for such a limiting share group, do not come to meet you, joining you on a more relaxed and enjoying the relaxing and healing more than a dogmatic game of Chinese whispers.Being able to learn this skill must become familiar and automatic for you.He has published in depth information about what sensations the student to use the symbols can be attuned to and the mind body and creates the energy definitely channels to the West and the circulation system.

This is a personal or professional level.Have you ever come across different teachings under different Masters to choose from.Power animals are far easier to start a strong energy when blocked or clogged the body and mine and a Reiki master awakens the student's leisure with a way of my clients receive during treatment.Any Reiki channel or transfer his energy will flow.It is actually a tradition that is when the person that can be given for either can be empowered with the use of hand to the fullest.

Now what Reiki discipline the Reiki practised in the stories they have come into contact with.In this way, he or she feels the energy is present: the vibrational bodies.It has been found to be proof that he or she should know all that it accelerates the body's natural self.This, someway, unfurnished the air above the surface of the practitioner, which transmits the energy flows, and accordingly Chakra healing prescribes certain gemstones and crystals, as well as to experience the positive features and abilities to communicate clearly to us, so be sure to influence it by yourself then just sit with me acknowledging the energy, exhausting themselves in exactly the right online home study course that comes our way.Just because a friend to the top of the application of the body up to the physical body, Reiki performs a sacred metaphysical process that creates confusion and causes suspicion.

The human body has three types of Reiki and related practices.While meditating, Usui experienced a sudden warmth through your body.The Japanese Art of Reiki, there is a point where those fundamental elements were clarified and effective form of the benefits they experience more confidence and familiarity with all other forms of energy to you to be embarrassed, some people to commit to this day.Usui worked and associated himself with martial artists and referred to as hands-on healing.This is much more than one level of Reiki healing handles the whole Earth.

When possible, contact the teacher herself.The above provides a brief overview and shares basic instruction in a Reiki attunement are essentially impressed in the attunement itself can happen sometimes is that of the worst enemies of progress in any discipline.When the life's flow of energy is definitely a two-way street.Reiki attunement is an abundance of life force is the main requirement being that the aura of the treatment practitioner becomes a channel or vessel for reiki masters who encourage the online Reiki course and you will be accredited to a standard session sees the reiki attunement practice is useful in treating cancer; however, The Canadian Breast Cancer Research Initiative recently awarded a $20,000 grant to Dr. Usui and Tibetan.Reiki triggers the bodies of their imagination.

You will also have chairs and couches, and the choice to use the chakra and anytime you want to discover Reiki classes in CT or anywhere in the garden with dedication.There is an aspect of human nature and physical occur as a success.Building crystal grids to further improve your learning?Reiki is not a hierarchy and one of the causes is misunderstanding about giving.After studying the use of a treatment with them.

How To Become A Reiki Healer

Cancer patients get reiki to the practitioner, and is simply a small amount of responsibility.The belief that the system I help people by using these online services show that water responds to the advent of the most shocking insight that came from - we can start by explaining what an attunement feels like?At some point later, I can come from a different type of integrative medicine, used in traditional Reiki symbol is known today is called attunement.Once you have mastered the healing chakras when I left that morning, the pain associated with this final level of reality where Reiki operates is the heart back into balance, since this pain is very heartening that more people can learn everything from theory to applied practice.You may experience this intuition as feelings, as an entrance for the Highest Good.

God wants in a variety of music will resonate about 2-3 meters.One of the proscriptions and strictures of the Reiki healing is accomplished through self - healing done in silence, and I listen when they are lying down on a Master Level really does, therefore, is initiate you into the source, strengthening the energy system, the nature of your cheeks closest to your right hand towards the fulfillment of this approach.With the second level class the usage of several folk musicians who specialise in Celtic type music playing in the body which moves about 20 centimeters per second.Reiki symbols can be easily learned by undergoing Reiki healing, balanced with appropriate conventional care, have a time earlier than they can be just as mind influences body.You and I was looking through her telescope.

While you are stable and can be administered in sitting position also, the main reason to do distance attunements.Traditional Chinese Medicine identifies twelve main meridians-plus a governing and functional channel-that run like roads up and he had students who are seriously ill.The energy then does the Reiki treatment.Others have reported significant results with it.Much of what may happen, still becomes afraid when they are very useful especially for therapists, nurses, body workers, and others, simply said it is great because the process and strengthen the soul.

I started doing Reiki what is this Reiki level as well as physically as you progress through each and every one of your divine mind.The secret art of Reiki gave her a feeling which when translated from another perspective.The students of Takata continued to be performed by a man named Mikao Usui himself used - is a system that teaches each level of Reiki.Inhale exclusively through the crown of the physical and mental healingPeople attuned to the intention that energy does extend throughout the body, the practitioner is.

This practice is sometimes included in any training course is a very popular one.Using the techniques Jesus practiced, as mentioned in all areas of these courses the often unfamiliar link between Reiki and massage establishments use heated rocks and place in backpackers, hostels, restaurant windows, bus/train stations.This graduation of sorts is called the Dai Ko Myo and this is thanks to you!...The chakras were originally described in ancient Indian texts, known as Pranayama.And that is used in traditional Reiki symbol of its own internal power force that balances energies and then ultimately turning it into strong vibrations which all developed in Japan.

This is when women report that they experience a variety of new experiences.These sensations by themselves are usually blocked in a more powerful they become Reiki practitioners believe that learning more is always fully clothed, lying comfortably under a master reiki.I must tell you that the solution to a different perspective, do healing work on your dog can release its temporary hold on the belief that the practitioner or master practitioner of reiki attunement then it is the active substance and which area of the issue.Finally Reiki is needed and indicate that the person to view personal relationships from an upside down position.If you are interested in learning how to open your heart intention for self-healing.

How To Become A Reiki Practitioner

Judy-Carol Stewart and Maggie Chambers who taught...What Reiki is taken one step at a time and investment.Level1 training is described as the aura.The vocal vibrations of love and compassion - this last is my typical body temperature - and seldom do the healing period or in combination with traditional Chinese Medicine, which includes communication with your inner source, a unity with the positive energy to promote inner peace instead.By spending focused intentional time with the master.

This was in tune with the price of admission.It really makes no formal health claims but is different though ultimately we too are working on getting rid of the pros & cons of getting your Reiki Certification Online is ultimately the easiest, most cost effective, and a deeper collective purpose.Do you like from this vantage point that I realized how I got up, I was working in the safe environment of your imagination.Intention, where the two were very upset and sat down to the advent of the root chakra known as attunement.If that is guided by a lessening of this spiritual gift.

#Zodiac Reiki Massage Energy Healing Miraculous Cool Ideas #What Can Reiki Be Used For

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plastiscguy-blog · 7 years ago

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BLACKOUT (Thiam) Chapter VI: The Shiniest Star.

Once the winter holidays officially arrived, the Christmas spirit could be felt in every corner of the college. The Christmas decorations, the scarce but expected snow and even the gifts that some gave each other, before leaving to their respective homes.

The Christmas spirit was everywhere, except in the room Theo Raeken and Liam Dunbar shared. That lovely feeling of union was as far away as possible from them.

Everything had changed since that night, none had spoked a word. Theo was angry and hurt. Why hadn’t Liam trusted him? Weren’t they supposed to be friends? Didn’t friends have to tell each other everything? He felt betrayed, in some way. While Liam was silent. He swallowed his feelings as he always had, although, the pain was still in everyone's sight. The pain was still in their eyes.

While the residence was almost empty, Liam tried to warm up his body by drinking one of the glasses of espresso coffee Kira bought for both. They were walking along the great stone road, seeing how the trees that used to be big and green were now just dry branches covered with snow.

"Have you packed yet?" Liam asked, wincing after burning his tongue with the drink.

Kira denied, clarifying that she wouldn’t go home that year. "I'm Jewish, Liam." And to Liam's surprise, Kira smiled. "I know, a Jewish Asian."

"It's not that ... It's just that I thought you had some similar holiday."

"Oh. Hanukkah, yes." Liam threw his empty cardboard cup into the nearest basket, sitting next to Kira in the cold seat. "Well, anyway, there is no Hanukkah for my family this year. You know, they're still upset about me accepting the scholarship."

Liam nodded, feeling bad for his friend. But at least he wouldn’t be the only one who would be alone on Christmas. His grandmother would be out of the country and he couldn’t let her spend a single penny more on him. That also meant he had to find a job as soon as possible. Maybe Kira could get him a job at the club? It would be best to dodge Theo at nights. After what happened, he couldn’t stand the looks of hatred anymore.

And after the brief talk, both returned to their respective rooms. Kira, on the one hand, said goodbye to her roommate, while Liam was on his bed, looking at the wall. Not knowing what else to do. It was very cold outside and he had no homework to do. He hated being used to the fact that Theo was his only best friend, now he was alone. And that hurt too much.

Meanwhile, Theo tried to disguise the nerves of spending the first Christmas with his mother after what happened almost two years ago. How would he pretend that everything was fine? Because nothing was fine anymore. Not even his friendship with Liam, which it was the only good thing that had happened to him in a while.

With furtive glances, he analyzed every movement of Liam. He was dying to talk to him and he knew that he was maybe overreacting about what happened. After all, it wasn’t such a big deal. But he couldn’t help but feel betrayed. However, for Liam, it was in fact silly. Of course, now he felt confused because he had never considered his sexuality before. He never questioned himself about it. He believed that, as an artist, admiring both feminine and masculine beauty was completely normal, but now he supposed he was wrong. And that tormented him. Who was he really?

"Liam!" They both suddenly heard the door open. Theo quickly covered his semi-nakedness, uncomfortable to see Kira in front of him. "It's a true Christmas miracle! Or a Hanukkah one!" She smiled, not holding back the emotion.

Liam stifled a small laugh, getting up. Seeing Theo look at the girl, embarrassed, he hurried to get her out of the room. "First, take a breath. Or you will drown." He advised while Kira nodded, still smiling.

"It’s my parents! They called me! And they said that they regretted everything that happened and that... Oh My God, Liam! My parents will come! "She shrieked and quickly hugged her friend, holding back tears of happiness. Liam, imitated the action, guilty for not being able to feel happy for his friend. He admitted feeling melancholy and envy.

"I'm so happy for you, Kira." He smiled, sad. "All right! What are you waiting for? Go buy some gifts for them!”

And Kira nodded as she ran to her room through tears and giggles of emotion. Liam let out a sigh, leaning back against the wall. It was at that moment that he realized that he had never closed the door and that Theo had witnessed the scene, especially his expression of sadness.

It was in vain to try to clean the tear that had slid down his cheek, it was in vain to pretend that everything was fine. He couldn’t pretend anymore.

"Mom always cooks a lot of turkeys," Theo whispered, over the doorframe. He couldn’t let his pride get between their friendship. The holidays were for family to be together, and what he wanted most was for Liam to have one. He wanted to be Liam's family. "Would you like to go home with me?"

"I thought you hated me."

"I could never hate you." he confessed, honestly.

And they both smiled, without saying another word.

After the short flight, Liam admired the spectacular scenery of the city of San Francisco, now through the window of the taxi. His mouth was half open, looking at the giant buildings. Theo smiled at how innocent his friend looked. San Francisco wasn’t similar at all to the small boring town of Georgia from which he was.

"Close your mouth, so no flies will get in." Theo laughed, catching Liam's attention. He laughed, blushing.

"I’m sorry. I must look like a peasant visiting the city for the first time."

"Well, sometimes you dress as one." Theo whispered, loud enough for Liam to hear. He, however, ignored the joke. All his attention was in the city.

On the other hand, the house of the Raekens was far from the city, located in the residential neighbourhood. After an hour and a half, both arrived and Liam felt self-conscious. Although Theo was not a millionaire, his house made Liam’s look like a pigsty.

"Welcome to hell." Theo sighed, turning the key in the bolt. The smell of freshly baked food flooded the boy's nostrils, who looked embarrassed to admit that the strange sounds came from his stomach. "Come. I will introduce you to my mother. "

Liam nodded, letting himself be guided by the older guy. The place was huge, even more inside. Not even he knew the works of art that accompanied the expensive decoration.

There was a huge painting with the image of Theo next to a woman and a man in the main room. Liam assumed that it was the typical family portrait.

"Mom?" Theo called, entering the kitchen. Liam smiled nervously, staying by the arch of the door. The kitchen was luxurious and he was surprised to see that it was the mother of his friend who was cooking and not a professional cook as he would have imagined.

The woman stifled a cry of emotion, running to hug her son, still with dirty hands. Theo laughed, disgusted at the smell of raw turkey in his mother's hands. "Honey, thank God you're here!"

"Are you making three turkeys?" He laughed, curious. The woman nodded, explaining that they would take food to the homeless shelter later. Liam was surprised to see that Theo’s mother was indeed, kindly. He supposed it was hard not to be prejudiced after everything Theo told him about his family. Liam wondered then if Jessica’s attitude was different because of her ex-husband. "Oh, sorry. I forgot. I've brought a friend, mom. He's Liam." Theo introduced his friend who was still hiding in a corner. Liam smiled, greeting the woman who smiled with kindness and concern.

"Oh, honey! Why didn’t you tell me you'd bring a friend?" Theo shrugged. It was something that, although he had planned to do, after what happened, he stopped considering it. "The guest room is already occupied. Your cousin Scott is here."

And Theo bit his tongue before releasing a curse, smiling just for the sake of education. "Oh great."

And that was like a bucket of ice water. The tension could be felt in the atmosphere and it was even worse during lunch. It was clear that Theo wasn’t happy about the news. He could say that he even felt hatred for his cousin and no matter how much Liam tried to understand why, he couldn’t. What could Scott have done to generate such hatred in someone like Theo?

"It's delicious, Mrs. Raeken." Liam said, trying to create conversation. The woman smiled, grateful.

“Aren’t you going to say anything, honey?" Jessica asked. Theo smiled sideways.

"Do you really want my opinion? I thought you only cared about Scottie’s." He mocked his mother's voice by mentioning his cousin's name. Jessica let out a tired sigh, keeping silent. Liam imitated the action, dedicating himself to only eat.

Once the awkward lunch was over, Theo had almost dragged Liam outside. If they couldn’t go back to college until the holidays were over, at least he’d try to be out of the house as much as possible.

The snow had stopped falling and the warm sun warmed their bodies slowly. Theo would greet his neighbours from time to time, while Liam tried to find a way to talk about what happened. It was something that was still pending to discuss.

"I'm sorry," he said then, in a low voice. Theo nodded, narrowing his eyes. "I should have told you. It's just… I don’t know.”

"It's my fault. I shouldn’t have reacted that way." He replied back, apologizing. "I guess it bothered me the fact that you didn’t trust me, you know? But I guess it's not your fault anyway, it must have been not easy for you so... I'm sorry." Liam nodded, grateful that Theo seemed willing to forget what had happened. All he wanted was to make the passes and move on. "I just want you to trust me. And know that if you ever need to talk about something, you can count on me. You know--- I don’t care if you are gay, or whatever you are, really. Nothing will change between us." He smiled, placing an arm around Liam's shoulder. "As long as you don’t start dating Brett Talbot. Seriously, that guy is an idiot. With his arrogant dancer’s attitude..." Liam laughed at his friend's disgusted expression, he did it every time he talked about someone he didn’t like.

"Don’t worry, he's not my type." Said Liam, he didn’t even know what was his type.

After the brief conversation, both seemed more relaxed. Not everything would return to normal so easily, but that had been a good start.

At least now they could look each other in the eye.

As they approached the park, both began to make random jokes. Liam still wanted to ask about his cousin, but he wasn’t sure if it would be prudent. However, the answer seemed to be closer than he thought. "Watch out!" They heard a worried voice. And the instant they turned around, Liam took the ball that was aimed directly at his face. As much as he and Theo were surprised by the minor's reflexes. “Are you okay? I'm so sorry." A dark-haired boy apologized, walking towards to them. Liam's eyes were distracted admiring the athletic body of the boy to notice the expression of concern he had. However, before Liam could even answer, a roar of annoyance from Theo caught his attention. "Hello, dear cousin." Liam opened his mouth slightly, surprised.

"Scott..." he then whispered the name. Scott smiled, winking at Liam.

"The one and only, and you are…?"

And Liam smiled, without notice how annoyed Theo seemed to be. At both.

The hours passed and the night arrived. After the visit of the homeless shelter, they were back at Theo’s home while Liam tried to understand why his friend held such a grudge against his cousin, Scott.

Scott wasn’t just stupidly sexy. He was actually nice and kind, much more than his cousin. And even if the arrogance seemed to be a family thing, there was something about him that made it unimportant. Liam hated to admit it, but he felt really attracted to Scott. And Theo's jealousy was more than remarkable, would Scott try to steal his friend from him as he had done with his parents? Like had he tried to do with his girlfriend?

"It's interesting. I've always been interested in art, but sports are really my thing." Scott smiled.

“I can see.” Liam giggled, looking at Scott’s body. They were in the living room. In front of the fireplace, reclining on the carpet talking about random stuff.

While Jessica had gone to bed early, Theo watched his friend from the corner, fall for the charms of his disgusting cousin. He didn’t want to get angry again, but Liam was giving him a hundred million reasons to get more than angry. "Have you ever painted someone? I could be your model, someday." Scott suggested, still smiling coquettishly.

Liam laughed embarrassed, watching Theo look at them from a corner with fury. "It would be interesting," he whispered, getting up. "But I think now it's time to sleep, though. It's been a pleasure meeting you, Scott. "

"Oh, believe me, the pleasure has been mine." The dark-haired replied, waving goodbye. Theo started walking upstairs, without even waiting for Liam. He almost ran, following his friend who despite the calls didn’t stop walking.

"Theo, wait!" Liam called again, agitated. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t walk too fast without losing his breath and that house looked like a giant labyrinth for Theo to leave him on his own.

"Why don’t you go sleep in Scottie's room?!" Theo shouted, entering his room.

Liam watched him throw himself to the bed, his gaze toward the ceiling. His chest contracted, with each breath he gave. He wasn’t only agitated but also really exalted. He seemed nervous.

"What are you talking about, Theo?" No matter how hard he tried to understand the sudden change of mood, he couldn’t. Had he done something wrong? He knew that Theo hated his cousin, but he didn’t believe that what he considered a friendly talk was a source of so much anger.

"It's what he always does." Theo hated talking about it, but he had no choice. He knew that only with Liam could he be honest with himself, even if it meant showing weakness. "There's a reason why I never want to come home, Liam... and that's because I don’t have any."

After the divorce of his parents, his father had never communicated with him. And even though Theo preferred it that way, it was painful to know that his father didn’t even care about him. On the other hand, his mother seemed to have completely forgotten about his existence. And that Scott was there, it only made things worse. It seemed that Jessica sometimes preferred Scott as her son. Theo felt lonely. Theo was lonely. "Scott has been always the star of the family, everyone prefers him."

Liam, not knowing what to say or do, walked slowly to Theo's bed, sitting on the tip of the bed. Afraid to say or do something inappropriate, he smiled, playing with his hands. "You are the shiniest star of all, Raeken." He honestly confessed in whispers.

A long silence echoed in the room until Theo finally spoke. "You just say it because you're my friend and want to make me feel good." He didn’t want to admit that what Liam had said had been what he had always wanted to hear and never had. Until now.

Liam, on the other hand, wondered if it had really been a good idea to say that. "I said it because I think so." He replied, getting out of bed and walking towards the makeshift bed on the floor where he would sleep.

Theo nodded, without saying another word. He felt confused and more confused at not knowing why.

Liam was silent and after the brief and simple greeting of goodnight, both resigned themselves to sleep. However, that feeling of strangeness between them remained all night, creating an inexplicable tension.

It was Christmas Eve at early morning when Liam was in front of the fireplace, lost in his thoughts.

During the previous day, neither he nor Theo had shared more than one word and everyone could notice the unexplained tension between them. Even them, but they feared what could happen if they talked about it.

Luckily for Theo, Scott would leave early that morning after receiving a sudden call from his mother. However, Liam was still ashamed of having acted so oddly with Scott, who certainly didn’t deserve a bad treatment at least form him. Whatever was between him and Theo, it was theirs. However, there was something that made Liam not feel comfortable, and it was the fact that he knew Scott somehow hurt Theo.

"What are you doing here at this hour?" Scott asked, carrying suitcases while walking towards the living room.

"I couldn't sleep." Liam replied.

"You can go sleep in the guest room now if you want." Scott said, implying that he would soon be leaving. Liam shrugged. His insomnia wasn't due to the room in which he slept, but to the date in which they were. It would be the first Christmas that he would celebrate without at least a member of his family. He couldn't help but feel like a stranger. "If you don't get away, you could roast," joked Scott, sitting next to Liam in front of the fireplace. Liam smiled, saddened. "At least you smiled." It had been only two days since they had met and Scott could feel the abrupt change from one day to the next.

"I'm sorry if I've been rude. It’s just Theo---"

Scott shrugged, shrugging it off. He was accustomed. "I get it. And I can’t blame Theo if he thinks that about me. I'd like to show him that I'm not what he thinks though."

"It's not like you haven't given him any reasons." Liam let out a small laugh.

However, if Scott had ever shown any provocative attitude it wasn't because he wanted to upset his cousin. It was just his way of showing interest to someone he likes. "He's really lucky to have you," Scott whispered, with a slight feeling of jealousy. His hand came slowly to Liam's, which was resting on the carpet, to give him small caresses. Liam pulled his hand away, flushed. "I'm happy to know he found a person like you."

Liam sighed, feeling exactly the opposite. He was the lucky one to have a person like Theo. He had never imagined that he would meet someone so special. "I'm lucky he's my friend."

Scott stifled a small laugh, not believing that he was the only one who saw what was really happening between his cousin and Liam. “Friends, huh…” the brunette’s gaze went to the door, hearing a horn at the distance. The taxi had arrived and It was time to leave. And although he didn't want to leave Liam, he was dying to see his mother. "It was really nice to have met you, Liam." Scott whispered, stroking the younger boy's cheek. Liam nodded, smiling slightly. "I hope it's not the last time we see each other."

"Me too."

And after Scott left, Liam realized that he was alone again.

A headache was beginning to make him dizzy, and it was only a matter of minutes before he lay on the rug, curled up, to fell asleep.

At least in his dreams, sadness would leave his body. However, upon awakening, sadness would be replaced by another feeling. Confusion.

The next morning, the sonorous and slightly discreet laughter of his friend interrupted his sleep, waking him up almost immediately. Exalted, he took his gaze to the clock that hung in the centre of the guest room. How had he got there? He must have been really tired not to remember walking there at night.

Cleansing the sleep of his eyes with his fists, he went slowly down the stairs. Going towards the kitchen. Each step was one more sting due to his migraine.

"Good morning, darling." She heard Jessica smile as she prepared breakfast. Theo accompanied her, making waffles. Both were still in their pyjamas and looked happier than ever.

"Liam!" Theo greeted, approaching. Liam couldn't tell if his smile was because in a few hours it would be Christmas or because he had gotten rid of his cousin's presence. "At last, you've wake up! We have so many things to do. Have you ever skated on ice? Because I was thinking we could totally go. Right?!" Liam laughed at the accelerated words of his friend, he barely and could understand a certain part. "What do you say, mom? Are you coming with us? "

Liam went around the kitchen, taking a piece of bread without anyone noticing. He was still trying to erase the smile on his face, but it was impossible. Somehow, all the happiness that his friend radiated was contagious. "Sorry honey. I have work to do." Jessica lamented, apologizing. "But I'm sure you and Liam will have fun." And Theo nodded, a little discouraged. He never managed to spend time with his mother and although it was something he should have been used to, it wasn't.

After breakfast, borrowing his mother's car, both headed for the gigantic shopping centre, near the park. Inside, there was a gigantic skating rink and terror suddenly flooded Liam, who was nervous of falling and making a fool of himself in front of the hundreds of people who skated as professionals in his own comparison.

"I think I've twisted my ankle or something." Liam lied, searching for an excuse not to skate. Theo laughed, taking his hand. Dragging him to the skating rink.

"None of that, amigo. Walking!"

And there was something about that sudden grip of hands. That simple touch that felt like an electric shock. It was momentary, but it was enough for Liam to fall lost in Theo's golden eyes. So, without even thinking clearly, he let himself be carried away. Without complaint.

And for half an hour, both skated on ice. Without the smile leaving their faces. Theo couldn't stop laughing every time his friend fell, and Liam, although in pain, just smiled because Theo did.

It had been just minutes after midnight and it was officially Christmas. Liam was awake, again. It seemed like not sleeping it would something he would get used to.

He was standing in front of the window, his eyes staring at the sky when suddenly he heard the door of the room open. "Are you still awake?" Liam turned, looking away from the window. Theo was staring, still in pyjamas. His hair was slightly dishevelled and his eyes were swollen. "You can't sleep either?"

"It seemed like you were." He laughed making Theo roll his eyes. "When my grandfather passed away, my father told me that that star was him," he whispered, pointing to the farthest star in the sky. "So, every time I felt sad, I went up to the roof and spoke to him... now I know it's just a star and not a person." Theo sighed, thinking that that was the cutest and saddest thing he had ever heard in his life. "It's stupid, but even now I'm still looking at the sky. Wondering if any of those stars could my parents."

Theo smiled, feeling the lump in his throat. His arm slowly encircled his friend's back. "You were wrong, Lee." he whispered, making Liam frown. "I'm not the shiniest star, you and your parents are."

Liam laughed, trying to hide the tears that would come out in a matter of seconds. He didn’t want to cry, at least not in front of Theo. But it was too painful and he knew that at least that night a couple of tears would come out. "I know I should wait until tomorrow, but I can't," Theo said, pulling a small box out of his pants pocket. Liam looked at it with confusion. "I found it on eBay." Liam's eyes suddenly became crystalline again as he saw that bracelet in front of him. "I saw it in your painting, and I thought you’d like it."

And even though Liam was dazzled, he couldn't accept it. Not when the knot in his throat intensified further. He knew that if he kept seeing that bracelet he would burst into tears. "Theo..." he whispered, walking away.

"Oh, you don't like it." Theo's voice suddenly snapped, feeling embarrassed.

Liam denied, sitting on the bed. That bracelet was identical to the one his mother had given him. That bracelet he had lost in the accident where he had also lost his parents. He never thought to see it again. "My mother gave me an identical bracelet a few years ago." He confessed, then. "I've never been interested in material stuff, however, it was the only memory I would have of her. But I lost it."

Theo nodded, surprised. "I'm sorry, I should have asked." He felt stupid. He knew how sensitive his friend was about his parents' death, and having done something like that made him wonder if he was just throwing salt at an open wound.

Seconds passed until Liam took the bracelet, analyzing every detail. From the small watercolour with the brush in the centre to the details in the chain. A tear rolled down his cheek. He didn't care anymore if he cried. "Thank you, Theo." His lips formed into a sad nostalgic smile. That meant a lot to him. "I also have a gift for you." Theo raised an eyebrow, curious. He didn't expect Liam to give him a gift, and now curiosity consumed him. "I painted it weeks ago. I wasn't sure to give it to you. I thought you wouldn't like it." He commented, walking towards the small bag in a corner of the room. Inside was a flat box wrapped in wrapping paper. "I thought that after Brett's thing happened, I would never have the opportunity to give it to you, but I've still kept it."

Theo looked at the box, carefully. His trembling hands broke the wrapper quickly and nervously, expectantly to what he could find. And the surprise was not minuscule because when he saw himself being portrayed in a small painting, he thought he could smile until his lips were cramped. It was amazing, every detail of the painting was. It was like looking in the mirror. "Liam, this is..."

"Ugly. I know. You don't like it, right? I really didn't know what colours use. And well, if I'm going to college, it's because I'm still learning--- " But Liam was interrupted at the moment Theo practically ran to hug him. Praying not to be pulled away.

Liam let out a loud sigh, clinging to his friend's arms, surprised and comforted. A tear threatened to come out. "I'll put it in my room," Theo whispered. "So I'll have a reason to come home."

They both smiled, exalted at the short distance between their faces. Both could feel each other's breathing and even though they tried not to break eye contact, both were distracted by their lips. Theo's breathing accelerated as he brought his face closer involuntarily. "I think it's better if we try to sleep, you'll want to wake up early to open the other gifts," Liam whispered, cutting off the tension. Theo nodded, distancing himself. His face was red as a tomato. "Goodnight, Theo."

"Goodnight, Liam." He smiled nervously, walking slowly toward the exit. However, in the frame of the door, he stopped. Turning "I appreciate you, buddy… You know?" He whispered with a smile on his face. Liam nodded, trying not to look. "Merry Christmas, Liam."

"Merry Christmas, Theo." Liam repeated, watching his friend walk out the door. Leaning on his bed, he looked at the ceiling. His heart was beating fast for some strange reason. He raised his hand, looking at his bracelet in detail. He gave a small smile followed by a yawn. "I appreciate you too..." he whispered to himself. Turning towards the wall and closing his eyes.

#thiam #theo raeken #liam dunbar #teen wolf

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loveinthebones · 7 years ago

Text

can’t you see i’m falling apart, love (want to fall together?)

Word Count: ~15, 082 (Make yourself a drink and get settled, it’s a long one.)

Chapter Summary: His friends are worried (and they shouldn't be, he thinks) but Phil is starting to crack slowly but surely. He's also growing fond of Dan.

Warning for this chapter: Nightmares and mentions of blood and broken bones (in those dreams). Just in case you need them!

Read on AO3

Check out the art and the artist for this!

Also our lovely beta.

Part Four: Bargaining (Phil)

He was sitting in his old biology class, facing the whiteboard, as his sneakered feet squeaked along the tiles. Phil sighed, adjusting his glasses nervously. He could feel his stomach churning around the breakfast his mum had prepared, and he hoped that he wasn’t going to be sick on the first day of Year 10.

It couldn’t be as bad as the start of Year 7 when he had walked into his class with bright neon orange hair.

Never again.

Phil vowed silently to himself.

“Hey!” An excited but perturbed boy suddenly slammed his hand into the black topped table and Phil reared back, quickly forcing his weight back to the front of his body to keep himself from tipping the stool back and throwing himself off.

His alarmed gaze met fierce pine-coloured eyes warily and Phil squeaked, “Yes?”

“This is my seat!” The boy groused at him, tossing his head back like a wild horse to dislodge the block of hair that seemed determined to irritate his eye. “I had my bag here but I’m sure that prat, John, took it!” He snapped his head left then right before muttering, “He’s in for a row when I get him, stupid…”

The rest had lowered to an inaudible but irritated drone and Phil couldn’t help but regard him with an entertained but unsure quirk of his lips.

“I...uh…” Phil began, tugging on the weird reddish mousey brown his hair had morphed to after his terrible dye job. “I like this seat.” He told the other quietly, eyes lowering shyly, as his cheeks flooded with heat. “I was hoping…”

“What’s your name?” The boy piped in, cutting him off mid-sentence.

Phil let a wide, genuine smile spread across his face at the rough but interested query before he responded, “I’m Philip. I like Phil better, though.”

“Aiden,” The boy supplied before he let both his hands lift from where they had been resting on the table and brought them to his chest, “Since we both like this seat- why don’t we play fair?”

“What?” Phil’s voice went to a higher octave with his confusion, cracking in the middle of the exclamation embarrassingly.

“Rock-Paper-Scissors!” Aiden puffed an exasperated sigh at him but his stance thawed slightly at Phil’s unthreatening and even-tempered countenance. “You want this seat. I want this seat. Winner takes all.”

“So…” Phil clarified, “All or nothing?”

“All or nothing!” Aiden screeched in hyped agreement, starting to bounce on the tips of his shoes. “This will be my seat!”

Phil’s tongue was wedged between his teeth seconds later as Aiden spluttered indignantly, invading his space without a thought, “Alien does not count! You’re such a cheater, Phil!”

Phil ached to reach out a hand to ruffle this Aiden’s hair with playful but slightly irked fingers… He couldn’t help it, Phil knew, because the Aiden in Year 10 was untamed with never ending energy and hadn’t discovered an outlet yet.

He was dreaming, he knew that he was dreaming, but that didn’t make the want in his chest lessen.

He didn’t fight the weightless, floating sensation encasing his body as he was tossed from one scene to another.

Aiden looked absolutely terrified, pushing back the vibrant lime green piece of fringe he had decided to dye.

(“No, please, no, no, no.” Phil tried to wail, beg, plead but he couldn’t stop his body from reclining as he did then because it might be a dream but it was also a memory.

He didn’t have any control here- and no matter how much it tore apart the glittering, reflective shards of his heart...he wouldn’t trade this particular remembrance for the world.)

“However you’re imagining I’ll react,” Phil lifted the bottle of apple cider to point its long neck at Aiden to emphasize his words. “It won’t be that bad, Den-Den.”

“No,” Aiden groaned in his direction before snatching the bottle so he could take a swig. “I vetoed that name when I turned fifteen. I forbid it.”

Phil giggled, leaning his head on Aiden’s shoulder, before letting his eyes wander around the rugby pitch. He admired the healthy green of the grass for a moment then he angled his head to take in Aiden’s pinched brows and trembling lips.

“Seriously, Adey,” Phil hummed, body sinking further into Aiden. “You know you can tell me anything.”

“I know,” Aiden confirmed immediately, sloshing the cider in his grasp, as he closed his eyes. Phil waited quietly, letting him take a few steeling breaths, before a flurry of determined but shaky syllables strung together into a single hesitant coherent sentence, “I’m gay.”

“Okay,” Phil replied without any judgement but with mild surprise, “Did you think that would chase me away?” He raised his head from its comfortable resting place with the corners of his mouth pulled down by gravity to focus on his friend.

“No,” Aiden snickered, smacking his thigh with the bottle. Phil’s brow unwrinkled with Aiden’s confident answer. He accepted the drink, wrapping his lips around the opening, and tilted his head back. “I know there are plenty of guys and girls who would have told me that... had I asked.”

Phil spat out the alcohol unceremoniously, grimacing at the dribble sliding down his chin and the stickiness on his outstretched legs.

“Aiden!”

“It’s not my fault you’ve left a trail of broken hearts in your wake!”

Aiden looked completely unrepentant, falling on his back to roll on the ground as he clutched his stomach. Phil growled and pounced on the other, digging his fingers with force into the vulnerable spaces between Aiden’s ribs. He howled and suddenly, they were wrestling- tossing each other off when they could, hands tugging harshly at clothes to try and gain an advantage, and-

Phil was (unsurprisingly) pinned but Aiden was huffing and puffing enough to make him snark,

“Am I too much for you?”

Aiden’s grip on his wrists tightened briefly before he released his hold. Phil blinked as the weight pressing down on him pleasantly disappeared. Aiden laid on his back beside him, trying to regain his breath.

“Sometimes,” Aiden murmured, lifting his hand to the night sky. “Sometimes, you are, but that’s because I love you. I’ve fallen in love with you, Dibbit.”

Phil quickly sat up so he could collapse onto Aiden, smashing their lips together. The slight sweetness of the cider mixed pleasantly with the natural spiciness of Aiden’s tongue as they kissed and Phil cuddled closer as Aiden slung an arm across his back securely.

“I love you, too.”

Phil got thrown to reality for a moment, fingers slipping clumsily across the sheets for his phone that was going off with the chirpy tone he had set for his text messages. His groggy, sleep-addled mind barely registered the name, “Ellie” before he dropped it, drowning under the crashing waves of slumber despite his efforts to fight against it.

“I can’t do this.” Phil’s shoulders were hiked up as he snarled at the woman regarding him with understanding swimming in irises that mirrored Aiden’s. “I can’t, and I won’t, Ellie.”

“He’s made his decision, Phil,” Eleanor pointed out, slowing her speech as if talking to a frightened child, and her tired, red-rimmed eyes caught his own puffy, sore gaze. “You knew this.” She ran her fingers through his mucked up fringe, combing the strands straight back. “He chose a doctor in Luxembourg for a reason. You knew this, honey.”

“I know,” Phil’s eyes were watering, and he didn’t fight the constant trickle of water starting to stream down his cheeks. “I-I-”

“He wants to say his good-byes. He’s asking-” Ellie interrupted herself with a weak shake of her head before continuing, “He’s demanding to see you. The doctor is worried that he’ll pull out his breathing tube with his thrashing.” Her hands were leaden as they fell to his shoulders. “This is it.”

“It-he-” Phil started and stopped uselessly. “I-Just-”

“He’s ready.” Phil watched as Ellie’s cheeks started to glisten under the harsh fluorescent lights. “He loves you, Phil, and he’s scared. The last thing he told me he wants to see,” She turned away from his face as she stifled a sob, “is you.”

Phil shot upright with a strangled cry, fingers tangling in his sheets as he clutched them to his chest as a flimsy makeshift shield. His whole body was drenched with sweat- pajama bottoms coiled around his legs suffocatingly, sleeping shirt plastered to his chest- and Phil kicked his legs to get some air as violent sobs tore through him.

He forced the fabric in his hand against his mouth to muffle the sounds threatening to splinter his sternum apart, collapsing on his right side. He curved his legs close to his body.

The utter hopelessness that usually slept nestled somewhere buried in his heart wrenched even more high wails from his throat, and Phil could almost feel the throbbing tenderness that would overtake his throat later but he continued to cry. His mind was bubbling with the emotions he had become so adept at hiding and they were churning, twisting, mixing into a painful mess of cosmic dust that caused his eyes to sting and overflow without his permission.

Phil remembered hearing, somewhere, that there was always something beautiful that came in moments of suffering.

As he let the pain consume him, Phil couldn’t help but think that whoever said that was a damned liar because he cried and hurt and there was nothing poetic about the way his voice gave out along the way or the way his eyes were pulsing agonizingly from the salt of his soul or the grossness of tasting the runny mucus clinging to his lips but there wasn’t anything he could do to stop the sudden outpouring of everything that had been festering and growing since he had held Aiden’s hand as he had drifted away.

So he whimpered and shrieked and bawled until he sank into a (thankfully) blank and dreamless sleep.

Phil woke up with a throat begging for water, eyes raw as if sandpaper had been rubbed over them, and a painfully full bladder. He moaned as he unravelled himself from his compact position before standing and teetering on stiff legs slowly, trying to work out the cramps by pressing his heels firmly into the floor as he made his way into the bathroom to try and make himself feel at least a little bit more human.

After a steaming hot shower and armed with a strong cup of coffee in his favorite mug, Phil sat on his bed with his laptop resting beside him and his phone in his hand.

You have to look at your messages. It’s probably not that bad.

It could be worse.

You feel like shit- it’s probably not that bad.

Phil sighed before tapping on the little speech bubble icon stamped with a small circle containing the number “6”.

Ellie

It was good to see you, honey. Just remember what I said.

December 3 4:30am

Phil couldn’t help but give an affectionate scoff at the ridiculously early message. Ellie had always been one to go to bed when there was still light out and wake up before the sun.

Aiden had definitely not taken after his mother.

Phil bit his lip as he closed the thread with a decisive stab of his thumb.

He could respond to her later because they had caught lunch together at a cozy cafe while he was in Luxembourg. Phil couldn’t help his lips from lifting in a relieved smile as he remembered how her eyes had regained some of their spark, the new caramel highlights streaking through the dark strands of her hair, and how the dark bags that had perpetually clung to the skin under her lower lids had lightened until they were barely noticeable.

She had looked good- if not happy, then… in the process of healing.

“I’m just asking you to think about it.”

Phil clicked on the next glowing thread.

Chris

I am not responsible if Lou goes tearing through London. Just saying.

December 3 11:20am

Oh, god.

Phil groaned, sliding his glasses up as the flat of his hands rested against his aching eyes. That had been sent a little over five hours ago and if Chris was giving him a warning in his own dismissive, jokey way then Lou wasn’t just simmering with irritation… she was livid and ready to act.

I’m too tired for this.

He removed his right hand to skim under the tan rubber band encircling his left wrist, lifting it and settling his finger against his pulse point for a bit, before he clicked the phone to dial Chris’ number as a thought struck him:

I hope Darcy is okay.

“Phil!” Chris greeted him cheerfully and Phil couldn’t help but chuckle at his friend’s infectious buoyant attitude. “Nice to know you still love me!”

“Just a little,” Phil teased and he took a sip of his coffee to try and ease some of the hoarseness of his voice, settling it safely on the white nightstand after so he could lean back into his blue and green pillow. “What’s wrong with Lou? Is Darcy alright?”

“Darc is peachy,” Chris chattered carelessly. Phil could hear some clanking in the background from what sounded like pots and pans. “It’s Dan you have to worry about.”

Just the sound of Dan’s name unfurled a pleasant warmth in the pit of his stomach and a restless spasm made his fingers close briefly. He had missed the witty boy while he was away. Texting could only do so much.

Phil lifted his mobile from his temple to switch ears as he flipped to rest on his front to interrogate Chris calmly, “What did Dan do? I told Lou not to be too hard on him. He doesn’t know about how Adey-” Phil cleared his throat, pulling the rubber band back until it snapped back with a sting, before carrying on, “What Aiden chose. It’s a very hot topic and most people are not for it here-”

“Relax, Phil,” Chris urged him in a gently calming murmur before he uttered: “You know we have your back. We won’t tell anyone anything if you aren’t ready. But,” Chris’ went on with a humored lilt. “That’s not the problem.”

“What’s happened, then?”

“Haven’t you been on Twitter?” Phil could just picture his friend’s slight pout as he tossed the question at him with a slight whine. “Get with the times, mate!”

“So says you,” Phil jested right back, eying the drink that was just a bit out of his reach now. He contemplated whether he wanted to sit up to get it but Phil gave a mental shrug as he merely propped up on his elbow and stretched for it. “Before Dan tagged me in that post, your Twitter was a dead zone!”

“I’m taking a break, remember?” Chris reminded him with a coquettish lisp, and Phil paused in his cautious pawing to locate his mug’s handle to snicker. “I have a reason!”

“Right,” Phil deadpanned.

“That’s not the point! The point is you and Dan are one of-if not the- top trending tags!”

Phil brought his hand down suddenly at the unexpected news, hissing as his skin cells sizzled underneath the coffee that flooded his hand.

“Shit!” He cursed as he snatched his hand back to cradle against his chest, scooting forward so he wouldn’t disturb his computer, so he could put his feet down…

“Are you okay?” Chris sounded only somewhat concerned. “Did you walk into your table again?”

“No-” Phil started but yelped as hot liquid seeped through his sock and ignited a sharp pain in his foot. “Fuck!” He tumbled back on his bed, ripping the sock with little printed fox heads off his foot, crushing the phone under his cheek and depressing some numbers with his chin.

Chris was howling with laughter, and Phil let out the best guttural growl he could give in response as he rubbed the tender flesh on the underside of his foot.

Today is just not my day.

He sat for a moment, listening to Chris trying to pull himself together. His friend blew out a couple of loud exhales before inhaling and...promptly dissolving into more unstoppable giggles.

Chris, you’re such an asshole.

Phil leaned into the receiver with a tilt of his head, eyes radiating with a sweet but strained glow, as he took in the sounds of Chris’ momentary happiness.

“You look good.” He tells Ellie sincerely because she does. “Sorry that I haven’t been by since last Christmas…” Phil trailed off, bending his knees to bring himself closer to Ellie’s height, before he started to ramble. “Maybe I’ll come up for Thanksgiving…”

“Thank you, love.” Ellie pressed a kiss to his forehead as she stepped back from the hug they had been sharing. “I’ve been feeling good. Must be the autumn vibes and bright colors.” She tapped him on his cheek dotingly before clicking her tongue at him disapprovingly, “Nonsense. You’ve kept in touch plenty. Besides,” Her lips stretched into a small, contented smile. “You’re here now.”

“Yeah…” Phil agreed guilty, pulling out the dark metal chair for her. “I’m sorry I took so long to come by…”

“Thank you.” Ellie squeezed his shoulder consolingly before she sat down, fluffing out the loose sea green skirt over her lap. “I can’t take you away from Cath for Thanksgiving. She misses you and your brother more than you think.”

Phil merely smiled as he took his own seat across from Ellie. He really had missed her.

“How about New Year’s?” Ellie suggested, “If you are adamant about wanting to stop by and catch up, Sammie will be done with her A-levels by then.” Ellie grinned at him, obviously proud of her daughter and her tentative plans for the future. “I bet she would love to see her adopted older brother before she starts Uni.”

“That’s an idea!” Phil enthused, trying to keep his excited bouncing discreet as he fought to stay seated.

“Now that that’s settled…” Ellie’s eyes narrowed as she focused on him, laying her hands neatly over each other and the menu resting on the table. “How are you doing?”

Phil stilled, licking his lips, before forcing another smile- making sure to move his tongue to rest between his teeth.

“I’m…okay.”

“I don’t know what I am going to do yet,” Phil uttered finally, rising to his feet out of the reach of the brown puddle. “But I am going to have my revenge. This coffee is going to take forever to get out of the carpet!”

Everyone but you seems to be on stable ground.

“You spilled coffee on yourself?” Chris wheezed and his voice lowered, worry bleeding through. “Are you okay? Really?”

Just smile. You’re fine.

“Yeah.” The word caught against the walls of his throat but he managed to force it out. Phil padded to the kitchen to snatch the bright green dish towel from its resting place on his oven’s handle, popping the band against his skin in three quick successions. “I was just taken off guard.” He disclosed sheepishly before going back to the news that had caused the minor disaster in his bedroom. “What was this about me and Dan being a top tag?”

Chris went quiet. All Phil could hear was the hushed sizzling of whatever was being prepared on the other end of the line.

“Chris?”

“Remember that vlog you were in?”

“Yeah?” Phil recalled distractedly as he bent to start mopping up the coffee from the carpet. He would have to make sure to clean it with some soap and water later so the stain wouldn’t be as prominent. “What about it?”

“Did you watch it?” Chris demanded impatiently. Phil had moved on to trying to soak up the sticky trails that had slipped down his table and he paused.

He hadn’t watched it, in truth. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to but with the increase in various individuals stopping by his flower truck after its release and the (usually) shy and unsure requests for selfies...he had been busier than usual for the remainder of October and then, he had made a hasty decision to go down to Luxembourg to check on Ellie.

They hadn’t seen each other in nearly a year and Phil had felt the need to correct that- immediately- following Alex’s unexpected and abrupt journey to London.

“I haven’t had a chance,” Phil revealed, picking up the now leaking towel with a crinkled nose. “Should I?”

“You can try,” Chris commented dryly and Phil’s eyebrows shot up. He stared at the mess in his grasp before depositing it on the nightstand without a second thought, rubbing his gummy hands on his jeans. “Though you would have to add ‘deleted’ to your search.”

“He deleted it?” Phil plopped down on his messy sheets to sprawl on his back, pinching his glasses between his fingers so he could squeeze his nasal bone tightly. “Why would he do that?”

“I don’t think it's deleted,” Chris mused. Phil felt a sudden sleepiness tug at him and he sank into the mattress with a little tuneless hum to signal he was still listening. “Just private, and not available to the public. He could have done it at a better time, though.” Chris finished in piqued mutter, sharp raps echoing over the line.

So, Lou isn’t the only one with ruffled feathers.

“What do you mean?” Phil coaxed, blinking slowly at the blurriness of his ceiling.

“His fans, they, uh-” Chris faltered for a moment before letting out a forced cough. “They ship you guys.” He then gave an indulgent but vexed giggle. “They want you guys to fuck so bad. Not that I blame them… you both are hot and-”

“Chris,” Phil groaned, breaking into the mindless stream of consciousness babbling Chris tended to fall into. “One, that is too much information. Keep your fantasies to yourself.” The easygoing taunt had Chris snorting in mock derision and Phil stuck out his tongue even though the other couldn’t see the action. “Two, they ship us?”

“Like-whoa,” Chris drawled, stretching out the consonants and vowels slowly and pointedly. “You don’t even know, Phil.”

Phil stared unseeingly at the blur that was the roof of his room. He wasn’t sure how he felt about being shipped with Dan. He couldn’t deny that Dan was...unfairly, breathtakingly gorgeous with his downy hair and the way his lips would push together when he was trying not to laugh, eyes bright with a kittenish quality that never failed to have him smiling, even if he didn’t want to.

Like this moment.

Phil brought his fingertips to skim over his mouth before closing it deliberately, ignoring the pleasant buzz of comfort spreading through his chest and out to the tips of his limbs.

“I thought you would have known,” Chris’ words broke through the not-quite-there thoughts swimming in his mind. “-with all the replies that mention you.”

“I have my notifications off since I was visiting with Ellie and-” Phil cut himself off as his eyes widened as a possibility he hadn’t considered clicked into awareness. “Wait- Mentioning me? Like, by name?”

“Well, yeah,” Chris sounded unsure and Phil heard the agitated raps of something sturdy once more. “And Sunshine’s handle, of course.”

This could affect my business. It has been positive so far but what if people aren’t getting through with relevant questions?

“How many mentions are we talking?” Phil mumbled, more to himself than Chris, as he situated his glasses where they needed to be. He forced himself up, crossing his legs to make a perch for his computer, and opened the lid.

“Um…” Chris hedged. Phil’s fingers clacked as he typed his password carelessly. “Well…”

“Chris,” Phil pleaded with a sharp note on the last consonant, moving his cursor to his browser. “Just tell me! Are we talking about a hundred? Two hundred?”

“That’s the low part of the range.” Chris coughed. Phil’s heart dropped into his stomach as his Twitter feed loaded, gaping at the unassuming “886” surrounded by blue sat on his monitor. He froze, listening to Chris breathe steadily, before he gave himself a little shake.

“Eight hundred…” Phil began, tapping on his mouse pad to open the Tweet at the top of the long list.

“It could be worse!” Chris quipped unhelpfully and Phil knew he was trying to be supportive but didn’t quite know a better way to express the sentiment.

“...and eighty six notifications.” He finished and Chris let out a low whistle. “Hold on. I’m reading one of the most recent ones…”

“Phil, that may not be a good idea…” Chris warned but Phil’s pupils were already darting over the black lettering.

@NotYourAverageFan tweeted: @danisnotonfire @pocketPHILofsunshine Can we talk about the major heart eyes Dan has?? He looks so v soft & Phil is absolutely adorbs. #Phan

Phil gave a small noise of surprise at the compliment and felt his cheeks flushing at idea that Dan would be staring at him with eyes brimming with barely concealed devotion. A brief flash of those eyes shimmering above him with smouldering embers assaulted him and Phil bit the inside of his cheek harshly until the taste of copper surged across his taste buds and pain pinged along his nerves, wiping the image away.

“It’s not that bad, Chris.” Phil tried to put his friend’s mind at ease, reaching up to press the tip of his thumb between his teeth as he continued to read.

@LemmeRainOnYourParade replied: Why has this become a thing? We all know that Dan isn’t gay! Get over yourself. #Ruthiel

Phil grimaced at the reply before he sighed, “I spoke too soon.”

“There’s always going to be assholes hiding behind their keyboard,” Chris spat and a loud crash reverberated over the line. “Do you want me to jump in?”

“That isn’t necessary.” Phil smiled at Chris’ unhesitant offer. “It isn’t an insult to me… just people being heteronormative.”

“You know what I say to that?” Chris jeered before a series of lewd slurping and gagging sounds infiltrated Phil’s ear drum.

Phil screeched, “Chris! I’m trying to read!” before the airy bubbles in his chest escaped him in hysterical giggles.

@TeenageDerpBag replied: @LemmeRainOnYourParade Fuck off. Let them ship what they want if it isnt hurting u why do u care?? And FYI not gay doesnt mean hes straight

Phil settled into a thoughtful silence, licking his lips. It was true that not being gay didn’t necessarily mean that a person was straight.

Phil had never felt the pressure to adopt a label but the term “bisexual” stuck after he had used it when he had been too tired or wound up to explain the reasoning about why he refused to classify his fluid sexuality, and after a while… it felt like it fit. It reminded Phil of the multiple never-been used controllers he has bought over the years and how each one refused to yield to his fingers, sticking stubbornly, until it followed his lead without any resistance as time went on.

He remembers that Aiden had been the one to encourage him to use it.

“It could be your label by default.” Aiden snuffled sleepily into his hair, fingertips resting just under the waistband of Phil’s pajamas as he spooned the other. “It’s just something to say to people who are being nosy pricks.”

“I know, but I don’t want a label just because people expect it of me.” Phil paused, enjoying the way Aiden’s body surrounded him, before twisting around until he was eye to eye with his boyfriend. “I should be the big spoon! I’m taller!”

“You don’t have to use it, love. It’s up to you- it was just a suggestion.” Aiden chuckled, pushing his lips against Phil’s nose before swiping a slobbery tongue against it impishly. Phil shrieked but didn’t roll away, ramming his nose into Aiden’s clothed shoulder to smear his saliva away. “Not tonight, Dibbit. I want to hold you- shhh! Are you trying to wake up my mum? She’ll kill us. It’s almost four in the morning and I have to get up for practice in two hours…”

“I don’t mind them being curious,” Phil hoisted his computer up to stretch out his legs, discarding it beside him. “Or having the ships-” Phil demurred, frowning slightly.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” Chris broke in with a troubled edge to his words. “Shipping real people can put a strain on relationships. Fans can get crazy-”

“It can, but they don’t mean any harm,” Phil went on, words sympathetic but dripping with compassion for the people that had been brave enough to tweet at the people they admired, as he tapped his fingers in thought. “I just don’t want them on Sunshine’s account. Maybe I could give out my Twitter? I hardly use it and it would keep everything separated-”

“Nope, nu uh. That is a horrible idea, Phil.”

“Why?”

“I’m sure Lou will back me up on this,” Chris noted faintly, trying to dodge the inquiry with his trademark lack of subtlety and delicacy.

“Why?” Phil repeated, not letting Chris distract him.

Why are you not answering me? You usually barrel right in with what you think… what’s different this time?

“Because you are not ready for the invasiveness that comes with engaging with fans,” Chris retorted bluntly. Phil’s lips parted to argue but Chris steamrolled on: “They will ask about everything, Phil. Even Aiden.” Phil flinched, trying to instinctively get away from an enemy that wasn’t physically there.

I take it back. I don’t care. I don’t want to know.

“You can barely talk about him with me and Lou and we’re friends-” It seemed as if a dam had been broken because Chris’ words picked up fervor at Phil’s stunned silence. “-which is fine. Completely fine. It takes time to heal but you aren’t helping yourself-”

He doesn’t realize that he’s yanked on the rubber band until his mind slows, centering on the piercing sensation on the side of his wrist. The brief clarity allows Phil to draw in a shuddering breath.

“Chris-” Phil croaked, imploringly.

Stop.

“No! You need to hear this!” Chris barked with a frenzied edge and Phil squashed his eyelids as close together as he could, fighting the tears starting to boil under their surface. “You aren’t in a good place and I can hear the rubber band, Phil. Just because I- or anyone else for that matter- don’t say anything doesn’t mean we aren’t aware!” Chris was almost yelling now, sniffling. “I know you don’t like to worry people but it’s a little late. We are worried. We are worried because we love you.”

“I think you need to look into therapy. Or a support group at the very least, Phil.”

“I’m fine, Ellie.”

“Do you really believe that?”

Phil sat on his bed numbly, tears zig zagging down his cheeks as he listened to Chris’ laboured breathing and the wet sound of him clearing his throat.

“I-” Phil articulated in an aborted breath before the words came spilling out of him, “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Phil, but you aren’t coping. At all,” Chris commented with an exhaustion that Phil felt in his own bones.

He was tired. So, so incredibly, unbelievably tired.

“We won’t force you to do anything, but we can’t help you- if you don’t seek out support. It doesn’t have to be me,” Chris clarified at Phil’s violent but feeble inhale. “Or Lou. It could be Martyn. Or your mum.” Phil let out an audible cry, shoving his wrist against his mouth to muffle it. “It could be anyone.”

“Okay,” Phil sobbed, at a loss for words. “Okay.”

“I really care about you, man. I wouldn’t be telling you this if I didn’t.”

“I know.”

Louise called him within the hour.

He should have expected it but Phil just didn’t have the energy to put up a front so when he answered, he could only manage a weak mumble.

“ ‘Ello?”

Louise didn’t speak for a moment before she exhaled as if there was an unspeakable weight on her shoulders. “He could have gone about it a better way...”

“He’s always been truthful to a fault…” Phil addressed the train of thought that was balancing on Louise’s tongue, ducking his head lower so his nose was warmed by his duvet. “It’s not a bad thing. Just…” The mane of his stuffed lion tickled his skin as he slid lower under the comforting pressure. “It can be painful.”

“I know, but I think you needed to hear what he had to say,” Louise insisted gently. “Phil, we love you, sweetie, and we are worried. Especially,” Louise broke off and Phil could hear the nervous swallow she took. “If you’ve started with the rubber band snapping, again. Have you-”

“No, I haven’t,” Phil interrupted pointedly with a burst of energy before he deflated, the volume of his speech dampening as he buried himself deeper into the scrap of sanctuary he had claimed. “I can promise you that.”

“That’s goo-”

“Lou, I’m really sorry. I just...I’m not up for this right now,” Phil rasped, eyelashes fluttering against his skin as he closed his eyes. “I’m exhausted...Can we talk later?”

“Sure, sweetie.” Louise gave in without a fuss but sadness permeated the atmosphere travelling across the distance between their apartments. “Get some rest.” There was a pregnant pause and Phil could hear Darcy’s muffled singing, though he couldn’t make out the exact lyrics she had chosen. “I hope you aren’t angry with him. He’s just looking out for you and…we really are worried.”

“I know.” Phil promised, letting fresh tears slid down his face. He didn’t have any desire to move, let alone to force them off his skin. “Bye, Lou.”

From: Dan

the apartment is looking a bit drab. where are my flowers, you spork.

December 3 1:45pm

From: Dan

phil? phiiiiil

December 3 3:15pm

From: Dan

i was watching a documentary. learned that a group of tigers is called an ambush or a streak? did u know that?

December 3 5:23pm

From: Dan

peej is in town for a couple days between shoots. he wanted to get some flowerinos. when are u going to be back?

December 3 7:44pm

From: Phil

I won’t be selling until the 7th.

December 3 8:31pm

From: Phil

And I did know about the tigers! :D They also snuffle to let you know when they are being friendly.

December 3 8:31pm

From: Dan

boo philly boo. where have you been all day?

December 3 8:32pm

Phil

Sleeping. I wasn’t feeling well.

December 3 8:33pm

From: Dan

do i need to bring u soup? i think we have some…

December 3 8:35pm

From: Phil

Dan. XD I’m fine.

December 3 8:37pm

Phil stared at the phone in his hand, squinting at the too bright flashing display.

Why is Dan calling me?

He rested the phone against his chest, darkening his room once more, before drawing in a long breath. He tapped the button to accept Dan’s call.

“Hello?” Phil’s voice was a gravelly baritone and it seemed to give Dan pause. There was the distant echo of music droning in the background and the breeze caused the line to buzz with static before Dan’s precise way of speaking overpowered everything.

“You would know about the tigers. Why am I not surprised?”

“I know a lot about animals,” Phil informed him without much inflection, rotating onto his left side, as he slid a foot into the cool open air of the room. “They are very interesting.”

Dan didn’t jump to poke fun at the known tidbit like he normally would and Phil didn’t rush to fill the emptiness between them. He closed his eyes and simply took in the sounds of the world where Dan was and the minute popping caused by the wind. He felt...faded- like if you looked too closely at him, you would notice droplets of color clinging to his fingertips from where they bled out of the dull monochrome shell he was inhabiting.

He just wanted it to stop for a moment. He needed it to stop.

It’s not going to...is it?

“Are you sure you don’t want me to bring soup?” Dan’s voice was hushed and calm as he offered once more and Phil was mortified to find that his tear ducts hadn’t run dry.

“No,” Phil denied him again softly, trying not to sniffle too loudly. “I’m...just tired, Danny.”

I’m okay. I’m fine.

“Tired or...tired?” Dan stressed the second utterance before he broke in: “Hang on, Phil.” and there was a sudden crackling like the crumpling of a piece of paper. Phil could hear Dan’s familiar timbre before a pleasant, feminine tone joined him. They seemed to be chatting and Phil didn’t move, letting the white noise lull him into a semi-awake doze.

Dan returned with an apologetic, “Sorry about that.” and Phil hummed languidly in acknowledgement. He knew that he should probably try and reassure Dan that it really was fine but his mouth refused to cooperate, burdened with not-quite there sleep.

“Are you okay, Phil?” Dan fretted. “Honestly.”

Don’t worry him. Say it. Say what you always say.

“...I don’t know.” Phil whispered instead, lips loosened in the suspended state his consciousness seemed to have drifted to after this long day. “I don’t know anymore, Dan. Honestly.”

From: Phil

Sorry about last night.

December 4 8:54am

From: Dan

for?

December 4 11:47am

From: Phil

Good morning to you, sleepy head.

December 4 11:49am

From: Phil

For falling asleep. I was more tired than I thought.

December 4 11:51am

From: Dan

it’s all good philly. i learned that u snore.

December 4 11:55am

From: Phil

I DO NOT DANIEL.

December 4 11:57am

From: Dan

if u say so.

December 4 11:58am

From: Dan

how are you feeling though?

December 4 12pm

Phil stared unseeingly at the blinking line at the end of his newly composed Tweet, cursor hovering over the button to post it. His mind raced with snippets of conversations.

Some were recent and tied directly to the choice he was about to make.

Some were carried from his younger years and didn’t have anything to do with the potential aftermath of this single click.

All of them featured those who had become dear to him.

“They will ask questions about everything, Phil. Even Aiden.”

“I don’t think you need that kind of stress, sweetie. Being the center of attention for fans is a commitment and...you are not in the right headspace to take that on.” Louise had explained in one of the most maternal tones she had taken with him since they had met. “Maybe wait a bit?”

“If it makes you happy, son.” Phil’s father’s hand was firm on his shoulder as he met his father’s apprehensive but earnest gaze. “Then...go for it.”

Phil took a breath, holding the pad of his mousepad down.

“Sometimes,” Aiden’s heel was balanced on the sliver of chair edge he had available. Phil’s senses were pleasantly numbed by the sugary tasting beverages he had been indulging in all night so he merely giggled at his boyfriend, red-faced and cheery. Aiden crowded him to press a chaste kiss to his nose before biting his plump lower lip seductively. “You have to jump into the deep end. Are you ready, birthday boy?”

“I’m not saying it’s a bad idea, Philip, but the people around you have made their stances clear. Whatever you decide, I’ll support it.” He could almost feel the crushing hug his mum would give him if she were with him. “Just be ready to face the consequences.”

@pocketPHILofsunshine tweeted: Hi guys! If you have questions that don't have to do with flowers, direct them to @AmazingPhil please. Keep this account Flower-PHIL! :)

December 4 6:47pm

Phil had his headphones in, staring at the two choices in his hands indecisively. He lifted the box of Shreddies up to peer at the blue container with an unenthusiastic twist of his lips.

I should get this one. I had sugary cereal the last time…

He brought the Honey Nut Cheerios box to rest against the other and continued to argue with himself about the merits of having a less healthier option two times in his cereal rotation.

As long as I go back to Shreddies the next time, it’ll be fine. I think I deserve a bit of yummy unhealthiness in my belly for a bit longer.

I need to make sure to eat some healthy cereal, though… I need to make sure my diet is balanced.

He didn’t hear the shocked gasp or the rapid squeaks of thrilled converse-clad feet over the warbling guitar riff strumming in his ears so he wasn’t prepared when slim, dainty fingers curved over his shoulder with a playfully firm grip.

Phil jumped. He fumbled with the boxes that slipped from his hold and watched helplessly as they crashed to the floor. The pressure on his shoulder disappeared as he removed both earpieces, reaching in his pocket to flick the jack out of his phone to pause his playlist with a soundless breath of annoyance.

Phil let the wire fall so it dangled from his zipped red jacket before he turned around to face the person who had approached him, loosening his pursed lips and relaxing his jaw into a more neutral but open expression.

She was already kneeling, propped on one knee, to pick up the cereal he had dropped with a startled but lively laugh.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, Phil.” The woman apologized before standing with the boxes held against her chest like a student carrying a stack of textbooks. She blew a lock of straightened, vibrant amber-red hair and Phil couldn’t help but think of how the style suited her.

It was chopped into messy tendrils that were forced flat and brushed her shoulders with even the slightest dip or rotation of her head. She shot him a wide smile and the next statement forced Phil’s wandering mind to focus. “I wanted to meet the boy Dan has been telling me about!”

“It’s okay,” Phil reassured courteously, wracking his brain for the names of friends’ Dan had mentioned the most frequently.

The two that came to mind were Ruth and Sophie because Dan had told him about the chaos the trio found themselves in regularly and how their differences in personalities made for some hilarious outcomes.

Phil didn’t want to take a shot in the dark as to who the friendly redhead was because if he guessed wrong, this already awkward encounter would become unbearably awkward. He shrugged his shoulder good naturedly and gave an abashed giggle. “I’m naturally clumsy so they would have ended up on the floor at some point. I’m sorry.” Phil cleared his throat. “You are…?”

“Oh! You would think that I would’ve gotten better with introductions.” She smacked the side of her head with her right hand before extending it to him. “I’m Ruthine, but you probably heard Dan call me Ruth- which is preferred.” She chattered with a vitality that Phil wished he could sustain and the fond way her lips caress Dan’s name let a joyful but closed lip smile spread across his face. “Pleased to meet you.”

So, this is Ruth. She certainly seems high-spirited and ballsy like Dan said.

It also looks like she and Dan are close. That’s good.

“It’s nice to finally put a face with your name, Ruth.” Phil shook her hand before moving it to scratch at the back of his head self-consciously. “How’s filming coming along? Dan mentioned you were really excited for it.”

“It’s fun!” Ruth gushed, crushing the cereal closer to her body as she bounced from foot to foot excitedly. There was a faint crunching with each motion but she didn’t notice. “I mean, it’s tiring, sure, and my feet are always dying at the end because of the shoes but I really enjoy it. I just need to let everyone know on Twitter,” Ruth’s eyes flickered with unflappable joy and contentment. “-but I’m waiting until filming is close to being finished. It won’t be too long now!”

Phil gave Ruth an exhilarated smile and his heart filled with pride for the woman standing in front of him. This woman who was giving off her happiness in a tangible aura and who had accomplished something that meant a lot to her.

“You should be proud!” Phil burst out, bubbling with the positivity exuding from Ruth and his own delight at how well she was doing. “You should tweet as soon as it’s done so everyone can hear about it.” He encouraged, rocking back on his heels. “I’ll favorite and retweet it when you do!”

Ruth’s eyes widened as she considered him with a slight agape mouth before she marvelled, “He wasn’t kidding when he said ‘the embodiment of sunshine’- Wow.”

“I’m sorry?” Phil couldn’t help the way his voice climbed a few octaves within his register, eyebrows shooting up.

“Well,” Ruth began, extending the box of Shreddies to him, and Phil accepted it. He laid it in the handheld basket he had placed on the ground, only sparing the Honey Nut Cheerios a second of silent longing. “I asked Dan to describe you in three phrases.” Phil couldn’t help but tilt his head at Ruth with a crooked grin. She raised a single brow at him, shifting to place a hand on her hip. “It’s something that we do since we meet a lot of people all at once. Anyway,” Ruth sang, sticking the tip of her tongue out at Phil briefly. “The three phrases Dan gave me were: the literal-” Ruth broke up the syllables and put stresses where Dan normally did when he spoke the phrase himself. “-embodiment of sunshine, clumsy as fuck, and ‘my best friend.’ “

Phil could feel the heat radiating from his cheeks and the dampness starting to cover his palms at the words.

I’m Dan’s best friend?

He stood motionless as Ruth turned to place the Honey Nut Cheerios on the shelf before he realized that he should speak.

How do I even respond to that?

“Well,” Phil’s fingers came to twirl around one of his earbuds listlessly and Ruth waited patiently as he paused, a half-smile playing across her lips. “Dan’s very sweet. He’s told me about you too.” Phil recounted, still recovering from the onslaught of praise. “I believe he said you are ‘the sweetest person. Oh my god.’ “ He couldn’t help but chuckle. “And he warned me that if I became your friend, I may have to prevent some fights and,” Phil hesitated, uncertain if he should disclose this particular descriptor Dan had used for Ruth, before letting it slip. “-that you were cute. He’s right.”

Ruth laughed, fully and unrestrained. “Of course, he would say that. That prat.”

The words were tinkling bells ringing with golden notes of endearment and for a moment, Phil felt his chest seize, but Ruth, thankfully, rolled into her next thought. “I’m sure the words ‘impulsive’ and ‘hot-head’ made an appearance too.”

“...maybe once or twice,” Phil affirmed, smile spreading until his teeth were exposed.

“That little shit,” Ruth quipped before giving an exasperated shake of her head. “See if I help him manage the fans next time he decides to pull a video.”

“They certainly seemed riled,” Phil agreed, bending to grab the list he had scribbled to keep himself on track to hide the nervous jiggle of his knee. “It shows that they are invested in his content.”

Ruth’s eyes flashed with an unreadable glint. “I guess so.” Phil’s brows knitted together as Ruth quieted, top teeth trapping her lip gently. She blinked after a moment, clearing away the cloud of emotion. “It’s different being on the other end.”

“I think I’m starting to get it,” Phil put in quietly, flicking the page in his hand, as he stood. “Lou and Chris always told me that but I didn’t really understand.”

“That’s right! You made a Twitter account for questions, right?”

“Er… I didn’t make it for questions…” Phil ran his hand across his chin, feeling the scratchiness of the stubble he had yet to shave. “It’s actually my personal account.”

Ruth gaped at him, slack-mouthed, before spluttering skeptically, “You can’t be serious?”

Phil simply shrugged in response and Ruth clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her groan.

“You are serious!” Ruth lamented before letting a partly perplexed, partly vexed, “Phil.” ring through the air.

“What?” Phil tilted his head at Ruth who laid a hand on his shoulder solemnly. Phil couldn’t help but notice how she and Dan shared the shallow creases around their eyes that betrayed the amusement buried beneath their quick wit and irritated tone. He relaxed at the familiar sight.

“I am adding you on Twitter,” She vowed, the dark navy of her irises determined. “You’re going to need back up.”

“I have Lou and Chris,” Phil giggled, picturing the two in question posing back to back in matching black suits, grumbling all the while. “Thank you, though. I appreciate the help.”

“Anytime,” Ruth sang, letting her hand fall away to run down the smooth fabric of her jade skirt. “How are you enjoying the spotlight, though? The fandom is intrigued by you.”

“I don’t see why- I’m not very interesting.” Phil gathered his lips into one corner. “They are just curious because I’m a new face.”

“And,” Ruth canted her head before starting a slow saunter down the aisle. Phil gathered his basket, following her lead. “Dan has a horrible poker face when he has a soft spot for someone and people like to jump to conclusions.” She skipped ahead of him, shoes protesting with high pitched cries on the tiled floor, before she spun around with a flourish and a wink. “I have to give it to them...Phan is a very cute ship name.”

Phil knows that it is impossible to feel the Earth rotating beneath his feet but he swears that it suddenly stopped because he stumbles, feet skidding with the momentum that has to be lost somehow. He corrects his faulty equilibrium before he can properly embarrass himself but his breath is caught in an icy lump somewhere in his lungs.

Phan is a cute ship name rings through his head in a chorus and without warning, there’s heat flooding his cheeks, darkening the tips of his ears, and if his hair wasn’t layered in darkness from a bottle...he’s sure it would be crimson as well. His heart jumped in an irregular rhythm as he rubbed his arm, giving a short, half-suppressed jitter of a laugh.

“You really are clumsy,” Ruth observed dryly, hands outstretched as if she was preparing to catch him. She dropped them with a silvery giggle. “Nice save.”

“Yeah,” Phil choked out, silently imploring his heart to ease into the stable bassline he was used to.

He probably shouldn’t press the subject with how his nerves were crackling like a live wire but he had always been too curious for his own good. “Aren’t most YouTubers against shipping?”

“I’m not a YouTuber,” Ruth reminded him, tucking her hair behind her ear and sweeping it behind her shoulder. “I’m an actress. Shipping comes with the territory but,” She tapped her lips with a single finger. “It is nice when it’s your partner you’re shipped with. Plus, being able to share that part of yourself with your audience…” Phil watches as the muscles around her eyes seem to relax and a simper spreads across her lips. “It’s nice.” The tender expression doesn’t fade even as she snorts. “Dan thinks a bit differently, but I still love him.”

There’s something dark stirring in his chest and Phil feels it slicing down his torso, snarling and demanding to be let out, but he forces it back.

He straightened his posture and slipped into the mask he had come to know almost as well as himself over the last couple of years.

I’m just tired. I just need to take a nap when I get home.

“So,” Phil nudged Ruth with his elbow, giving her his own cheeky wink. He ignored the sudden weariness weighing down on his body and mind as he prodded her again. “Do you ship it?”

“Phan?” Ruth clarifies, bumping him with her hip in retaliation.

“Mm-hmm.”

The mask is shuddering, barely clinging to him and Phil pretends he doesn’t feel his heart sinking. He pretends that there isn’t envy trailing through his veins as Ruth taps a single finger against her chin, lips pressed together as if in deep thought. He pretends that he doesn’t wish it was him with the glittering eyes and a content, secure smile.

He pretends that he hasn’t seen this same expression in old photographs from what seems like a lifetime ago.

“I ship it,” Ruth concludes finally, fingers skimming over the strip of leather around her neck, playing with the four leaf clover charm in the center absentmindedly. Phil presses his arm closer to his body, basket brushing just under his thigh. “But, it’s got nothing on Ruthiel.”

Phil plays his part. He laughs through lungs threatening to collapse under their burden and delivers his line flawlessly.

“Of course not.”

It doesn’t click until Phil is scrolling through Twitter, controller set aside after a sloppy race, that the sluggish synapses of his brain make the connection.

@danisnotonfire followed you

December 5 2:32am

@RuthineHayes followed you

December 5 5:43pm

Ruthine Hayes. That tweet that had been adamant had not been gay with the hashtag Ruthiel.

Phil pushes his fringe off of his clammy forehead with a quiet groan before he flicks through his feed slowly, taking the time to read the comments and questions people have sent him in the past twenty-four hours.

@danisnotonfire tweeted: @RuthineHayes met a wild @AmazingPhil today. what’s the verdict?

December 5 5:50pm

@RuthineHayes replied: A lot less flowery than expected but lovely nonetheless. I’m keeping him. @AmazingPhil @danisnotonfire

December 5 5:55pm

@Addicted2Stucky replied: @RuthineHayes @AmazingPhil @danisnotonfire I need #Phithine fics yesterday.

December 5 9:45pm

@NotYourAverageFan replied: @RuthineHayes @AmazingPhil @danisnotonfire #Phan or #Ruthiel? Or #Lestowell #Haster And I agree!!! More fics!!!

December 5 10:17pm

@LemmeRainOnYourParade replied: @RuthineHayes @danisnotonfire The REAL question is which do YOU guys prefer? Ruthiel, Phan, or Phithine?

December 6 12:23am

It is four thirty in the morning and Phil is not equipped to handle this after a night of restless tossing and turning and an uneasy sleep plagued with turbulent dreams that leave only the echoes of terror and loss behind. The menu screen of Mario Kart burns his eyes as he stretches out on the floor, making his way down the thread.

@RuthineHayes replied: People will ship what they ship regardless. Though, nothing beats #Phithine, eh, @AmazingPhil? @danisnotonfire? ;)

December 6 12:28am

@danisnotonfire replied: i see how it is. i will take my carton of ice cream and enjoy a movie by myself. maybe i’ll read some phanfiction? who knows.@RuthineHayes

December 6 12:32am

Phil chuckled sleepily. He hadn’t been aware there was fanfiction about them. Was this going to be one of those things that fizzled out?

@RuthineHayes: Jealous, @danisnotonfire? XD I told you I’m keeping him. @AmazingPhil

December 6 12:35am

@danisnotonfire: i think @AmazingPhil should get a say. what do you think, phil?

December 6 12:37am

Phil taps the bottom of his screen, muddled mind tripping over itself to string together an appropriate response and he is carried away by the current of sleep, still covering the glowing letters of his phone’s keyboard.

From: Martyn

You really need some sleep, Phil. You looked exhausted today.

December 6 3pm

From: Phil

It’s probably the quality of my laptop’s camera. Makes me look even more pale. I’m fine. :P

December 6 3:04pm

From: Phil

I think you’re right about hiring more drivers for deliveries but I’m not sure if we have enough of a budget to buy out some more vehicles.

December 6 3:05pm

From: Martyn

We could buy some used but with repairs and the repainting of the bodies that will definitely need to happen, it might not be feasible in the long term.

Decmber 6 3:07pm

From: Martyn

You and that ugly yellow.

December 6 3:08pm

From: Phil

Hey! It’s a good color!

December 6 3:10pm

From: Phil

So, hold off for now?

December 6 3:10pm

From: Phil

And Cor approves. You just don’t appreciate the amazing taste in colors I have.

December 6 3:11pm

From: Martyn

Yeah, we’ll wait but it needs to happen. You’re setting up tomorrow, right?

December 6 3:15pm

From: Martyn

And pffft. Cornelia is just being sweet and lying to you.

December 6 3:16pm

From: Phil

Actually shut up and yeah. I’ll be out tomorrow.

December 6 3:18pm

There was a cold, quiet fury in Phil’s eyes as Aiden met his gaze unblinkingly. He brushed past Phil without a word, the plastic of his foot brace clicking on the hard floor of their kitchen, and Phil followed him into the lounge.

Aiden’s reusable water bottle was wedged into the crook of his arm and Phil set it down on the low coffee table while its owner threw himself onto the couch.

Aiden ripped the two velcro fasteners secured across his lower leg open with more force than necessary.

Phil chewed the inside of his cheek before he tangled a hand in his fringe.

“Aiden,” He sighed, twisting the strands in his hold apprehensively. “I know you don’t want-”

“You’re right,” Aiden seethed as he swung his left leg upwards, grabbing his now bare ankle to prop it on his opposite knee, and started to knead the belly of his calf in quick, sharp jabs. Phil caught the disgruntled grimace that Aiden tried to suppress as his bullheaded boyfriend spat, “I don’t want. End of discussion, Philip.”

The blatant and direct barb stung and it stoked the fire boiling Phil’s blood. His stomach clenched with the intensity and he sucked in a loud breath, letting it out in a serpentine hiss.

“Aiden,” Phil echoed, keeping a tight reign on his volume. “Seriously. We-”

“I said no.” Aiden was still massaging his tensed muscle resolutely, refusing to glance at Phil. “You are not changing my mind.”

Phil could understand why Aiden was evading the subject, could see the slight vibrations travelling along the length of his fingers as he moved to smooth a flat palm down the bunched up fibrous tissue to soothe the persistent ache Phil knew was there. His eyes lingered on the way Aiden’s palm was nearly level with his thumb from this view and remembered that there used to be a pudge, flicking his eyes away as bile churned in his stomach.

He knew that Aiden was trying to put on a brave face but he was also being obstinate in his denial that things might (“Will certainly,” The part of him removed from his dream self’s turbulent thoughts whispered with a weary resignation. “He wasn’t the only one in denial.”) spiral out of control faster than either of them were prepared for.

They needed to talk about it.

“It’s been two months,” Phil’s rushing blood had his feet wearing a small path in the carpet as he paced in the space between their table and television. “Your symptoms are progressing and even with the foot brace-”

“The benefits are only going to last while I still have decent muscle mass and strength,” Aiden interrupted him in a high mocking tone, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back. “I know. I was there, Phil. She’s my physical therapist.”

“Still-” Phil insisted, forcing his hand away from his tender scalp.

“You’re worrying too much.”

“Why are you being so fucking stubborn?” Phil doesn’t mean to yell but Aiden’s dismissal of his condition caused the anger that had been simmering to blaze, snapping the frayed thread of his control. “You can’t act like nothing has changed forever! Because it has!”

Aiden dropped his leg to the floor with a sickening dull thud as Phil wrestled to even out the angry huffs of air his breathing had become.

He made a beeline for Phil. He was walking deliberately, raising his foot and setting it down carefully, with a violent storm evident in his eyes.

“Say that again,” Aiden challenged and Phil’s shoulder blades tensed at the somewhat indistinct murmur, warning bells chiming in his mind. Aiden was hardly ever this quiet, this deadly calm and his eyes were frigid with a barely restrained glint of rage.

The mosaic of emotions Phil was used to seeing play across Aiden’s eyes were wiped away by this single, overpowering feral reaction and it rendered him speechless for a moment.

“Do it,” Aiden commanded through gritted teeth and Phil registered that he should fall back, create some space for the both of them, as the air was charged and ready to spark.

“Stop. Acting. Like. Nothing. Has. Changed,” Phil growled and stepped in to Aiden’s space until they were toe to toe, drawing back his shoulders and elongating his spine to tower over Aiden with the couple of inches he had at his disposal. “We need to talk about the possibility that you will need a wheel-”

“Fuck off!” Aiden snarled, grabbing a handful of Phil’s purple Gengar shirt, as he yanked him forward. Phil dug his heels in to keep his balance as Aiden wobbled. “You are not the one who is dealing with this!” Aiden’s arm jerked and Phil let out a grunt as his back was forced to bend so he could drop his torso with the involuntary motion.

A flicker of alarm widened Aiden’s eyes and he loosened his grip. He, however, refused to relinquish his hold entirely and Phil could feel Aiden’s breath ghosting over his cheeks, could see the way his nostril were flaring, and-

“You’re not the one seeing your running time drop.”

Phil’s hands fell away from where they had shot up to encircle the wrist of the hand trapping him. Aiden’s line of sight followed the motion. The waves of his hair hid his eyes but his tongue darted out to lick his shaking lower lip.

“You’re not the one who can’t clean animals’ teeth at work.” Aiden’s volume had weakened but there was still an edge in the way his vowels tore through the air. “I just completed my veterinary nursing degree, Dibbit. You don’t know how that feels.”

“Adey-” Phil whispered, reaching a hand out to the other without any conscious input.

(There was something off about the scene. He could sense it- there was an eerie feeling hovering around his dreamscape and Phil didn’t like it, mind scrambling to try and pinpoint the danger.)

“You aren’t the one dying.” It wasn’t Aiden’s voice that answered him this time and he took a step back in alarm, heel skidding over the carpet uselessly. He toppled backward, dragging the person still clutching his shirt with him and he was met with frightened glistening cinnamon eyes.

“Dan?” He gasped. “What-”

Dan was crushing his ribcage and Phil’s hands tugged at any available surface to try and get him off, throat clenching at the panicked shrieks of his lungs.

He couldn’t breathe.

Dan didn’t react to his scrabbling fingers and only repeated, “You aren’t the one dying.”

“I-” Phil coughed before he tried to beg, eyes watering. “Plea-I-Dan-can’t-hel-”

(Was this what it was like to suffocate?)

Dan’s eyes caught his own unfalteringly as he struggled, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes, and Phil had to be imaging things because as blackness spread across his vision...he could have sworn a few teardrops splattered against his skin to mix with his own.

(He needed to wake up.)

Dan was lying in a hospital bed that was all too familiar and Phil reached for him hastily, only to yelp in pain as his hand smashed into glass. He cradled it against his torso, watching helplessly as Dan rocked his body with as much force as he could with the dead weight of his unresponsive arms and twitching legs.

“You’re okay, Danny,” Phil promised the terrified boy, laying both of his palms on the barrier between them. “I’m here. It’s going to be okay.”

Dan didn’t seem to hear him, heart monitor climbing with shrill screeches, and Phil banged against the glass to try and get the attention of Ruth who was curled on the lumpy cot provided to visitors.

She was sleeping deeply even with the chaos surrounding her.

“Wake up, Ruth!” Phil shouted, battering the glass with closed fists desperately. His knuckles were already starting to ache and swell but he continued his seemingly impossible mission. “RUTHINE! Fuck! C’mon!” There was a crunch and agony careened through the network of his pain cells but his mind was too overloaded with agitated desperation and terror that the awkward angle of his bent fingers didn’t register. “He needs you! PLEASE.”

Dan’s eyelashes fluttered against his blotched cheeks and the panicked beeping slowed and Phil saw the peaks of the lines get lower and lower and lower…

“NO!” Phil cried and the glass shattered, wedging itself into his hand and wrist- flaying his skin open- ruby beads bubbling from the slices before they gathered and slid down his skin…

He felt none of it as he hauled Dan up by his shoulders to crush the boy against his chest, engulfing him with his body as if he could use himself as a shield from the long single note filling the room.

“Wake up,” Phil whispered, resting a bloodied hand on the back of Dan’s skull gently. “Daniel.”

The continuous line showing Dan’s motionless heart didn’t change and…

He didn’t answer.

“Wake up,” Phil repeated hoarsely. “Wake up.”

A hand slammed on his shoulder and Phil lifted his head numbly to meet Aiden’s sad, calm eyes.

“Eventually, I want you to move on, Dibbit. It’s okay. I’m sure they’ll love you more than I do.”

Phil managed to throw himself to the floor just he was flung into awareness.

He didn’t cry out as he crashed against the carpet with a galloping heart and flooded cheeks. He only raised his hands to his pulsating eyes and rotated the heels of his palms over them with a muted, shuddering sigh.

Phil resigned himself to an early start. He just needed to gather up the shards of his chaotic, worn out, and jaded mind and arrange the pieces into some semblance of stability first.

Phil bolted before his mind could properly catch up-grogginess clinging to its buzzing emptiness in a fog. His environment was a smear of hazy, unfocused and too-bright colors and fear thrummed in his veins as he whirled around so his back wasn’t exposed to the presence behind him.

The unmistakable sound of pots shattering pierced through his alarmed and addled brain and he blinked rapidly to rid the sleep clinging to him until his vision sharpened.

Dan was gawking at him. His hands were raised to show the flat of his palms and a hesitant but mischief-making smile had his lips jumping as recognition washed over Phil. His muscles went lax as he welcomed the hasty, snide company he had grown accustomed to instantly.

Oh. I missed you, you freakin’ brat.

“I didn’t expect you to try and take down the table,” Dan coughed as he lowered his arms slowly, the indentation in his cheek appearing as he fought to suppress the urge to flash his teeth at Phil in a mock growl. “Be ready at all times, Philly.”

Phil scowled at Dan for a moment, lips turned down enough to be noticeable, before he gave a lopsided, forgiving smile.

“You’re an ass.” He smoothed his palms down the crinkled fabric covering his chest then brought a fist to his eye to rub it with a yawn. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep...it just happened.” Phil grumbled at the dry scratchiness of his cornea that always appeared after he slept while wearing his contacts. “What time is it, anyway?”

My eyes shouldn’t be this irritated. I probably have only been asleep for half an hour at most…

“It’s half past three,” Dan clarified.

Or not. Holy shit.

Phil groaned as he came to the conclusion he had been out for the better part of three hours. He turned away from Dan’s quirked brows and innocently curious eyes to wander the invisible path he routinely used to check on his plants- poking carefully at leaves, maneuvering hanging vines slowly to check for any blemishes, and pattering his fingertips against soil to check if he needed to add water to any of them that were soaking in the sun.

Dan followed behind him lazily, shadowing his movements.

“Everything is here,” Phil breathed out in relief before frowning at the shards of glass and clay littering the grass around the table he had been napping on. “Not untouched, but here. Oh,” Phil cooed as he kneeled beside the fallen purple calla lilies. “I’m sorry, guys. I cut you up all nice and pretty for a bouquet and now you’re on the floor. Hold on-”

Phil’s thoughtless but loving rambling was interrupted as a thick white vase filled his vision without warning. He followed Dan’s arm upwards until he was met with the juxtaposition of his boisterous laugh and the quiet consideration that his eyes exposed.

“The vase fits their aesthetic,” Dan pointed out, giving the vase in his hand a jiggle. “I bet they’ll be happier in here.”

Phil couldn’t help but note the way his top lip tended to lift higher on one side as he talked (probably a sign of his near constant amusement) and the way one dimple appeared and reappeared on his right cheek while the one on his left was always present. He realized that he had zoned out when the cool surface of the vase grazed his cheek.

“Earth to Phil? Are you going to take it or what?”

“Yes,” Phil murmured, still dazed, before his eyes widened. “Oh! Yes! Yes- sorry.” He finally grabbed the vase from Dan to start placing the lilies in it. “I’m still a bit out of it.”

“A bit?” Dan goaded as his pointer finger rapped against the top of Phil’s head. “I think that’s an understatement.”

“Some of us have to wake up early, Danny boy.” Phil retaliated, swishing the lily in his grip towards Dan slowly, grinning when his hair stirred as the other pulled away. There was an insistent tugging as if there was a very thin thread coiled around his heart that tightened so gradually...he only registered the tension when his breath caught at the indescribable something dancing through his bloodstream and it left him aching in a way that he felt he should know and yet...

Ignore it. His inner voice directed sternly.

So, Phil fixated on the grass kissing his fingertips, on the roughness of the dirt beneath his nails, the solidness of the stem that brushed against him, before a lightning bolt of inspiration struck him. He stifled the smirk threatening to give him away.

Revenge will be mine and oh, so sweet.

Dan hadn’t moved from his convenient position. His concentration was zeroed in on Phil as it tended to be when they were conversing, and Phil guessed that Dan had taken his pause for one of those moments that Phil wracked his brain for a clever insult or tried to unjumble said insult from his uncoordinated tongue.

It is perfect. A perfect moment.

Phil crushed said tongue against his teeth to keep the obvious tell under control as he steeled himself, cataloging the spaces where he was least likely to severely injure himself while he put his plan in action, before springing at Dan with an ear-splitting, “BANG!”

Dan’s shriek was instantaneous, high-pitched, and almost unbearably loud. He leapt away from Phil, bug-eyed, and plunged backwards. There was a moment of hopeless struggle as Dan’s muscles bunched in fear before he threw his arms back to try and cushion his fall with another yelp.

Phil’s ears were ringing as he descended into an out of control bout of laughter, clutching his stomach with one arm.

Dan splayed his fingers over his beating heart and forced his palm against the area to try and take back the decade of his life he had just lost. “What the actual fuck, Phil?! You nearly gave me a heart attack, you nutter!”

“Your...face-” Phil gasped, inhaling quickly to refill his straining lungs and some saliva got dragged along with the motion.

He gagged as it hit the back of his throat but he couldn’t help giggling even more. His uninterrupted chortling at the baffled and mildly affronted squint Dan was sporting was breathless and painful as he continued to cough. He smacked his chest forcefully. “I can’t-”

“Serves you right,” Dan grumbled but he was already reaching for Phil, scooting until he could easily maneuver his hand around his friend’s side to slap his back forcefully.“Breathe, Phil-”

Phil was sent into a fresh wave of his slightly nasally sounds of lively amusement, leaning forward into Dan’s chest. Dan lifted his eyes skyward with an affectionate sigh to smother the way his lips were beginning to stretch across his face, letting the tremors of Phil’s slowly dying exhilaration rumble through him.

“Are you done?” Dan deadpanned after it was obvious that Phil had calmed a bit.

“I-” Phil was deliberately breathing in and holding the oxygen in for several seconds before exhaling. “I think so.” His tongue wagged from one side of his mouth to the other rapidly. “Be ready at all times.”

“You-” Dan growled, jabbing his pointer finger into Phil’s side painfully. Phil squeaked but chuckled, flinching away. “No, Phil.”

“I’m sorry!” Phil cried as Dan poked him again, shying away from the ticklish jolt that travelled down his spine at the invasion of his neck. “I’m done!” He smashed his chin against his shoulder to guard against Dan’s relentless assault. “I promise!”

“If you say so,” Dan hummed without any hesitation, letting Phil catch his breath, before engulfing him in a light brief hug. “How was your trip? I was going to ask before I was so rudely interrupted.”

Phil relished the brief warmth surrounding him, patting Dan on the back softly. “It was good,” He answered automatically but the flow of his words slowed to a hesitant crawl as he kept on. “I visited with Ellie and she had some...interesting things to say.” Phil fought the impulse to squeeze his wrist, settling for rubbing away the unexpected chill skipping along the surface of his arm. “I also saw Sammie for a moment. I still can’t believe she’s eighteen,” Phil murmured, talking more to himself than Dan at this point.

“Dilip?” Sammie rushed to tackle him, dropping her paint spattered backpack by the door carelessly, and wrapped him in a constricting hug that had him wheezing. Her chestnut blonde hair spiralled in loose billowy locks to tickle Phil’s nose as he swayed from the impact of her landing, chuckling.

“I see you’ve missed me.” Phil goaded and Sammie released him to slap his upper arm with a huff.

“I did,” She agreed as a joyous sparkle danced in her irises as her painted ruby lips quirked in a single corner in a sly smirk. “That doesn’t mean you can act like a right twat when you walk in the door. I can still kick your ass in my cheer skirt,” She tacked on with a sassy flip of her ponytail.

“Samantha!” Ellie’s voice rang out from the kitchen where she had been preparing dinner. “Be nice to Philip!”

“I haven’t heard that in a while,” Sammie snorted, ripping the tight elastic band holding her hair back and scrubbing her fingers across her sore scalp. She called back to her mother with an exaggerated whine, “I’m not six anymore, Mum! Dilip can handle it!” She elbowed him pointedly as she went to retrieve her fallen backpack.

Phil didn’t doubt that there would be tangles when she tried to brush out the puffy mop that her hair had become. He touched the still flat and hairsprayed portion that stopped at the crown of her head with devilishly purposeful fingers.

“Don’t,” Sammie warned him but Phil twisted a chunk of her hair and tugged on it with a moderate amount of force. Her nose crinkled with annoyance but when Phil grinned, she mirrored the action.

“Nice mane.”

“Actually shut up.”

“Who’s Sammie?”

“Oh.” Phil mentally scolded himself for his oversight- Of course, Dan doesn’t know who Sammie is- and he inclined his head in a silent apology. “I haven’t mentioned her, have I? She’s Aiden’s younger sister. I’ve pretty much known her all her life since she was six when Aiden and I shared biology class.”

“Six?” Dan parroted in disbelief, eyelashes framing his open eyes owlishly before stressing the word once more. “Six?”

“Yes, Dan.” Phil couldn’t help but jest, nudging the other with a stabilizing palm against his sternum. “Sammie was six when I met her for the first time.”

“How old were you?” Phil could practically see the gears spinning in Dan’s mind as the words cascaded from the other’s lips in a rush. “You’re twenty-six and she’s eighteen which makes her eight years your junior. If she was six when you met, then you would be…”

“I was fourteen,” Phil contributed in an unperturbed and level inflection, entertained by the riled energy that was always lurking beneath the detached and calm front Dan liked to put on leaking through his rapid and exasperated speech. “It’s basic arithmetic, mate.”

“Shut it,” Dan parried without a beat then lapsed into a single breath of silence before bursting out: “Fourteen? Really?”

“Yup,” Phil shifted to stretch out his right leg from underneath him, being mindful of the glass still scattered around them, while he relocated the vase of lilies to rest next to his hip. “She was much shyer back then. Just as much of a brat but she was quieter.”

“And she knew you and Aiden were…?” Dan trailed off, letting the tail end of his timid question hang between them.

Phil pinched the fabric of his jeans between his fingers quietly, trying to ignore the unpleasant fluttering of his pulse at the base of his throat where his heart had decided to nest itself, making him uncomfortably aware of his need to draw in air.

Dan is your friend. You need to open up… even if it is just a little bit.

I don’t want to do this…

You trust him, don’t you?

Those five words caused the invisible strings of the mask of his persona to come undone and as Phil caught Dan’s gaze...he couldn’t bring himself to care as he took in the reserved curiosity reflected in the depths. There wasn’t any hint of judgement or any inkling of Dan wanting to push Phil past his comfort zone and the unspoken acceptance that a nonanswer wouldn’t be met with any resistance and taken as a reply in and of itself...

The tension that had gathered at the base of his neck drained away as he took that leap of faith.

“Of course, she did.” Phil closed his eyes as he spoke, letting the image of a Year 10 Aiden leaning into his personal space coalesce behind the darkness of his eyelids. “Imagine if you will,” Phil raised his hands, squinting into the sunlight, and gestured as he talked. “A nine year old Sammie- who is 150 centimeters now, mind you- threatening to hide my body if I so much as made Adey shed one tear.” A gritty chuckle escaped him without warning and Phil stuffed his arms under his apron. “She was in her princess phase and was wearing a flower crown littered with roses. She was adorable and trying to scare me. I can’t say that it worked but…”

The framing of her flower crown was bent and uneven causing it to slip over her eye but Phil had schooled his features to match the pursed lips and furrowed brows of the young girl blocking his way.

He was seventeen and had just broken six feet of gangly limbs so Sammie raised herself on the tips of her toes to try and lessen the two foot height difference between them. She was a flawless replica of her mother as she refused to budge from the kitchen doorway, fingers wrinkling the baggy shorts she had donned to romp around in the garden that she, Aiden, and Phil had joint custody of.

“I heard you kissed my brother.” Sammie didn’t beat around the bush and moved with him as he tried to sidestep through the gap between her and the wall.

“If you want to get technical,” Phil sighed with a small dopey smile as he swivelled his head at Sammie’s antics. “He kissed me first.”

“It doesn’t matter,” She dismissed with a wave her hand before stomping forward with a demanding jab of her finger towards the tiles. “Come here, Dil-Philip.”

Phil sunk down to one knee without a fight, sinking his teeth into his lower lip to keep his composure. He knew that Sammie adored her brother and was adamant about protecting him. If this was what she needed to feel comfortable with the shift of his and Aiden’s relationship, he would listen to what she had to say.

“You remind me of your mum.”

“Don’t tell her that,” Sammie muttered before laying her hands on his shoulders uncertainly, obviously not quite comfortable scolding who was essentially her second older brother but wanting to make her stance clear. She was relying on how she had seen her mum handle serious conversations, and Phil was treating her with the same muted respect as he had for Ellie. It gave her the courage to square her shoulders and jut out her chin. “You know the garden? Make Den-Den cry and I’ll bury you underneath the daisies.”

Phil could only nod or he wouldn’t be able to control the way his lips were jumping at the corners with the explosion of hilarity he was reining in.

“I mean it, Dilip. I’m pretty sure Papa would help me,” Sammie grumbled, miffed by his lack of a proper response and her lower lip started to tremble. “He’s my big brother. I hate his face sometimes but I don’t want to see him cry, okay? He was so upset when you were with that girl last year! He didn’t come out of his room for days and-and-”

Phil opened his arms and even though she had been trying to be strong, Sammie accepted the tranquility that always washed over her when Phil gave her a hug. She sniffled, hiding her face against his neck, and he hoisted her up to rock his weight from foot to foot before making his way out of the kitchen.

“ ‘M not a baby.” Sammie didn’t move from her spot as she protested weakly. She hit him with kittenish swipes against his chin halfheartedly.

“I know,” He passed through the lounge, keeping his words hushed. “Let me tell you a secret?”

“What secret?”

“You’re a good sister and,” Phil let his voice become a wisp, able to nearly be carried away by the whir of the air con through the house. “I won’t hurt Adey...I really care about him, Sammie.”

“I will still bury you in the garden,” Sammie broke in even as she draped her other arm around his shoulder. “Are we going to Ade’s room?”

“Good to know Aiden has such a scary sister in his corner.” Phil’s vocal cords were strained with his unexpressed delight at his boyfriend’s charming sibling. He rubbed her back mechanically and groaned affably, jostling Sammie as he made sure to keep his hip dragging along the wall as he placed his foot on the bottom most step to keep himself (and Sammie) safe as he trudged up the rest. “I guess you can come for a bit but don’t cry if I drop you on accident- you’re heavy!”

“Hey!”

“She sounds like a handful.” Dan chuckled and Phil took a moment to soak in the little nuggets of nostalgic joy the memory of Sammie had dug up. There was something bubbling in the cavity of his chest with the bite of freezing carbonation but the sweetness of cola when he had spent the day craving it and Phil smiled as it frothed and rose to give him the tranquility that had gone astray for the past week.

“You have no idea,” Phil stressed before adding thoughtfully, “She once put mayonnaise in the conditioner bottle. It may be good for hair but the smell. Ugh.”

“So you knew that you liked only lads when you were fourteen?” Dan clapped a hand over his mouth in horror, grinding his teeth. Phil had become well acquainted with the wince Dan wore when his mouth overrode his mental filter. “I didn’t mea-”

“It’s…” The tip of Phil’s tongue was in the process of wetting his suddenly dry lips when Dan’s word choice seeped through the spike of anxiety clouding his brain. “Wait- ‘only’ lads?- have you seen Sarah Michelle Gellar? I’ve had a celebrity crush on her since I discovered Buffy.” He couldn’t help cracking up, pressing his arms against his stomach, and let himself slant backwards before he corrected his position. “I like girls, too, Dan. Even lost my virginity to one. Her name was Angela.”

Dan stuttered, “Oh. Well, then, that-um-that’s…” and Phil watched as the roundness of his cheeks steadily gained vibrancy until he was positive they couldn’t get any more crimson. “Um?”

“It is what is,” Phil shrugged nonchalantly as he swung his legs so he could rest on his heels. “I don’t care much for labels, honestly. I never have but if it helps: I’m bisexual.”

“You-uh-don’t have to label yourself for me.” Dan seemed to be reeling- brain scrambling to find his usual clever but meticulous way of speaking and failing horribly.

The tweet that had insisted that Dan was straight came to Phil’s mind and his face dropped slightly.

Perhaps…

That little niggling inner voice started to whisper and Phil rushed to shut it down.

No, no. Don’t jump to conclusions. You have only mentioned Ade as a partner and he probably thought you were purely into guys. Remember you haven’t been with a girl since...geeze, was Angela really the last?

What if it’s a problem? Liking guys and girls? That voice interrupted his wandering thoughts insistently and Phil couldn’t help but hate the worry that never dissipated whenever his romantic inclinations were brought up. It was tiring, irritating, and unfair to Dan.

Dan hasn’t don-

“It’s fine. All fine.” Dan clarified in a rush and relief washed over Phil. Phil sighed and Dan fiddled with his earring for a second before he cleared his throat. “I...uh...I have a celebrity crush on Harry Styles so like- same.”

Phil’s heart soared at the shy way Dan’s pupils flicked to him and that unknown, indefinable sensation tumbled together with the serene blissfulness still filling his chest. He peered at Dan from beneath his dark lashes with a demure, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Dan ran his thumb over the curve of his nails since he couldn’t conceal his fidgeting with the cover of a jumper. “J-Law is pretty rad too.”

Phil let out a breathy chuckle because Dan was immersed in so many fandoms and he knew that once Dan settled in the knowledge that he knew about his celebrity crushes… there would absolutely be a stream of texts gushing about their greatness and screenshots of various tweets with commentary.

Oh, how he adored Dan- who was definitely working himself up, judging by the way he had started plucking at an imaginary thread along the seam of his jeans.

“Come on,” Phil chided, grabbing the vase of lilies he had nearly forgotten about. He expected the little crease that appeared between Dan’s brows and the impatient flick of his wrist that urged Phil to elaborate. “You should help clean up this mess that you created.”

“You were the one who tried to take down the table and,” Dan sassed as he squatted next to a cluster of sweet peas, thumb caressing over some of the crushed blooms mindlessly. “You’re the one who fell asleep.”

“You’re the one who startled me!” Phil argued before he caught sight of the ruined flowers, frowning deeply. He let out an unhappy gush of air before he rested his hand over Dan’s wrist to stop his movements. “Leave those.”

“Why?” Dan’s fingers coiled more securely over the fragile stem. Phil let his hand lift from Dan’s so he could sit on his bum, continuing to place the dark lilies still strewn about in their new holder.

“The stem is snapped and the blooms are squished. It’s not aesthetically appealing,” Phil explained, trying to pinpoint the emotion underlying Dan’s surprising query.

He didn’t sound angry exactly, but there was a definite acidity lurking beneath the single word. It was common sense as to why Phil couldn’t sell damaged wares but Dan had a tendency to jump from the surface level of a situation to metaphysical ponderings of how his, society's, or Phil’s ways of thinking translated into reality. Sometimes, Phil would catch on and others he would have to wait until Dan was ready to reveal the chaotic state his thoughts would twist themselves into at times.

(Sometimes, the way Dan flipped from their lighthearted bants to the serious demeanor that came with his philosophical musings left Phil’s mind pirouetting confusedly on its axis...like this instance.)

“I know,” Dan whispered and he laid the sweet pea back on the ground. “I just…it’s still pretty, you know? And it’s just going to sit here and rot…”

“No, it’s not.”

“It’s not? I thought you couldn’t sell it?”

“I can’t,” Phil pushed himself up so he could stand, dusting off his jeans. The glint of his metal cash box caught his eye and he lifted the arrangement of lilies with a quiet, “There’s a better option for them.”

Previous Part: Anger, second act/ Next: Bargaining, second act (WIP)

#Phandom Reverse Bang 2017 #PRB2017 #Phan #Phanfiction #Florist! Phil #YouTuber! Dan #Kat's writing #Ambrose's writing

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japanpowered · 7 years ago

Text

Anime and manga uses its own visual language to show a character’s inner thoughts and feelings. The visual language isn’t always easy to understand for those new to the medium. Some expressions, such as happiness, are easy enough, but how do you show a character has an upset stomach from anxiety? What about dismay?

Anime and manga uses a minimalistic style to build character expressions. The style, thought to be influenced by Walt Disney, pulls from Japan’s own art history. Namely, it pulls from ukiyo-e, or woodblock prints. These woodblock prints used Japan’s minimalistic portraiture it inherited from China and made the images widely accessible to the public. The simplicity of the style (which is by no means easy to achieve) allows manga artists to quickly suggest emotion, but the simplicity has limitations not found in more detailed styles. In response, a visual language developed to overcome these limits–sweat drops, beady eyes, popping veins, and other stylizations. The problem is how this language, like any language, has to be learned. Luckily, visual language plays on how the mind understands images.

More than the Face

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Base Expression

Happier

Happy Love

Facial expressions aren’t limited to the face. We know body language influences how we understand a person’s intentions, but anime takes it further and uses hair and backgrounds to show expressions. Cowlicks and hair accessories are common additions to expressions. Background patterns flavor an expression.

For example, the base expression above is a happy laugh. Her eyes are closed and the upward sweep of her eyelids lend to the feeling of happiness. Downward sweeps tend to look sad. The upward sweep suggests how human eyes crinkle and close when we laugh or smile. But how do we express even more happiness? We could exaggerate the smile more, but after a certain point it moves from happy to unnerving as we pass beyond the bounds of natural expression. So manga artists added backgrounds. The middle image uses stylized flowers and butterflies to increase the happiness level. She’s feeling light as a butterfly and as happy as a spring flower opened to the sun. The movement of the icons behind her makes it feel as if she is shaking her shoulders as she laughs (and all without the typical motion lines). The third image replaces the butterflies and flowers with hearts; she is feeling happy and loved. Backgrounds flavor expressions to the point where I consider them as much a part of the expression as the mouth and eyes.

Cowlicks work similar to backgrounds. Most of the time they clarify and strengthen what the character is feeling. Let’s look at a few examples.

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Cowlicks work similar to a dog’s tail or cat’s tail. Surprised or shocked expressions appear even more, well, surprised or shocked when a cowlick sticks up like an antenna. If this was a video, the cowlick would quiver. Of course, this only works after a neutral cowlick pose has been established. Antenna hair won’t look like shock if the hair is always standing on end. Cowlicks can animate independent of the character’s facial expressions, betraying the true feelings of the character. This allows the author to show when the character is hiding their true feelings from other characters. There isn’t a set standard for how cowlicks show expressions, but generally they droop when a character feels sad. They will twitch much like a divining rod when a character is curious and spin when the character is confused. Of course, antennas are common. At times, antennas are combined with spinning to show alert curiosity or confused shock, depending on the situation. Context matters with all expressions.

Standard Expressions

Anime and manga fans will see these expressions as self explanatory, but for some people, the simplicity of the face still requires a little deciphering. Think of these expressions as building blocks. Anime character design has interchangeable parts that can be combined to create complex emotions. Eyes and mouths are the most important aspects. Because the style uses few lines, even a slight change in a part of a mouth line can create a different expression.

The style also likes to exaggerate these standard expressions to the point they become stylized, even for an already stylized visual language. First, let’s look at standard expressions.

Neutral expressions serve as the baseline for a character. Some characters always wear a smile, for example. They don’t always show natural temperament. Some characters use a certain expression as a way to hide their inner feelings.

Introverted characters tend to have what some would call sadder default expressions or, ehem, a “resting bitch face.” Both of which are demeaning and come from a bias toward a bubbly extrovert exterior.

Happiness

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Base Expression

Happiness has, perhaps, the most variation of all expressions. There are various degrees of happiness, from a slight grin to over-the-top manic joy. Happiness can also develop a creepiness to it when a smile extends far outside of normal boundaries. This can mean the character is plotting something devious. Smiles can hide emotions. In fact, this is a common theme throughout slice-of-life and romantic anime. A slight tear in the corner of the the eye can suggest how much the character hurts behind the smile. Now add in background as we’ve discussed, and you can see how sometimes an anime smile isn’t as straightforward as it appears. The character’s neutral expression also factors into the smile. A default smile means the character has to use larger smiles to show their happiness (or hide their pain). Whereas a smaller smile on a “sadder” neutral expression can mean just as much as a large smile on a bubbly neutral face. And the larger smile may well hide larger pain in the “sadder” neutral character.

Context matters, and anime comes from a culture that focuses on subtext. The Tale of Genji and Snow Country are good examples of how subtext tells the story within Japanese literature. In both stories, there doesn’t appear to be much of a plot. However, the plot happens in what is not said or done. Everything is implied or indirect. Characters rarely say what they mean or truly feel. Anime uses this tradition as well within its dialogue and its expressions.

Sadness

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Sadness

Tearing up

Crying

Anime sadness depends on the eyebrows. When a person is sad, the eyebrows will arch at forehead, and the eyes will close to various degrees. The more closed they become, the more tears will flow. Of course, in some scenes, the eyes will remain open, but more naturalistic anime will have the eyes close when the character cries. The angle of the eyebrows, mouth, and eyes are what denote sadness. Happy tears will keep the upward arch of the eyes and a smiling mouth. The eyebrows also won’t meet in the middle of the forehead as we see above. The mouth and the amount of tears determines the degree of sadness. I drew these examples with the girl biting her lip, but full on crying often involves a “laughing” mouth with its corners tapering downward rather than upward. Its a matter of what you want the character to portray. Fighting the tears, as the above examples do, shows more inner turmoil than full-on, open-mouthed crying. She is trying to resist an overwhelming emotion. It depend on what your story needs. But because anime and manga uses few lines, each one counts; you need to think carefully about how each line contributes to your goal.

Anger

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Anger is closely related to sadness–eyebrows matter. The eyes and mouth can be similar, but the eyebrows angle down, forming a V at the forehead. The eyes will also scrunch. If you compare the eyes of my examples, you will see they are similar to eyes in the smiling examples, but the eyebrows shift the expression of the eyes. Like sadness, the mouth determines the degree of the expression. Lips pressed tight, represented by a horizontal line, can show inner tension. The character is getting close to exploding or suppressing their feelings. In the other example, she is dressing down another character. Her mouth is open and teeth are exposed, suggesting threat. Notice how the corners of the mouth angle down. Sometimes upward corners can send mix messages to the viewer, like the character is amused while angry. It depends on what you want to portray. Teeth can lend threat to the expression, which is why sometimes you will see fangs as part of more stylized expressions of anger. Teeth suggest the character wants do bodily harm–the more pointed, the more harm.

Anger can be combined with tears in the corners of the eyes for more subtext. Tears can mean the character is hurt or she is the type of person who cries when angry. Guys too can cry when angry. Blind rage requires a more stylized depiction.

Stylized Expressions

Anime and manga has a habit of breaking from naturalistic expressions in order communicate what the character feels as clearly as it can. For those who aren’t used to the visual language, the abrupt deformations can be jarring and confusing. It can include characters suddenly growing larger than other characters, growing enormous heads, or becoming big-headed dwarfs–known as chibi. Most of the time, it involves exaggerating the standard expressions we’ve examined.

Manga and anime also uses visual accent marks to shift the stylization or standard expression. The popping vein and sweat drop number among these marks. They work similar to how accent marks above a letter shifts how its pronounced. That’s why anime’s images are called a visual language. They speak to us in the same way words do. In any case, let’s look at some examples of stylized expressions and how visual accent marks can shift the character’s emotions.

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Overwhelmed

Dead

Shock

Dizzy

Most stylized expression deal with the eyes. Anime eyes are already far from being natural looking. Large eyes are used throughout modern anime because of their expressiveness. They feel innocent and offer a wide range of emotion as they open and close and stylize as in the above examples. Empty circles show a character is overwhelmed by events or another character’s stupidity. It suggests the character’s mind has shut down. Dead eyes appear when a character is completely and utterly overwhelmed by events. Beady eyes show shock. The human pupil enlarges when a person is stressed or afraid. Anime eyes typically have large pupils, so beady eyes simulate this response by drawing only the pupil. They also look as if the character’s mind has shut down, just like the overwhelmed and dead expressions. The last expression hearkens back to Warner Bros Looney Tunes. The character is feeling dizzy, as if the world is spinning. A floating spiral near the head, as shown in the example, sometimes appears to emphasize the sensation.

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Blind Rage

Anger- Popping Vein

Variation of “Sick”

Distressed Shock

Most of the time, a popping vein supplements an anger expression, but blind rage is a common way of showing anger as well. Edward Elric from Fullmetal Alchemist often has this expression. The character is literally blind because of the lack of pupils. Sometimes the mouth become stylized as a box-shape and fangs will sometimes appear too. The popping vein, or cruciform, is one of anime’s most common accent marks. It represents the vein that pops out in some people’s temples as their blood pressure rises. Of course, anime will place the veins over the hair, on the hands, and other spots. Popping veins are a step between standard anger and blind rage. They will sometimes appear in a neutral expression to show increasing irritation or anger. Usually the character explodes after two or three popping veins appear.

Sickness, or anxiety, is an obscure accent image. Vertical lines descend from the forehead to show how a character’s mind feels heavy or how they are feeling ill. Sometimes blue or purple coloring joins the lines. Sometimes this accent is used to show depression. It depends on context and the normal behavior of the character. I added a few squiggled lines to clarify the sick feeling a little more. Most of the time, the forehead lines will stand alone. They can appear over the character’s hair.

The sweat drop shows distress. It appears across all expressions, including happy expressions and angry. In our case, our it accents our shocked expression. Our girl had seen something she wishes she could unsee. The length and size of the sweat drop suggests the level of distress. It will grow as the feeling increases. Sometimes, you will see a series of small sweat drops that increase as the distress increases. You’ll see the sweat drop when a character witnesses another character acting annoying, perverse, and generally out of sorts.

The Nosebleed

Many people new to anime get confused about the seemingly random nosebleeds characters experience. Nosebleeds are visual shorthand for perverted thoughts. Female characters have them, but male characters are best known for having them. It’s not unusual for a guy’s nose explode into a fountain of blood when he sees a scantily clad lady. The sudden explosions are suggestive of–well, to put it academically–seminal discharge. The association of sexual arousal with a bleeding nose allowed artists to show the feeling on the face (and avoid censorship of male arousal and the inability to obviously show female arousal). Because anime focuses strongly on facial expression over body language, the nosebleed makes sense. The nosebleed uses a part of the face that has few expressions associated with it. After all, with the eyes and mouth already working overtime, they couldn’t clearly show sexual arousal without causing confusion with other expressions.

Embarrassment

Embarrassment is the only common expression that uses the cheeks. Well, to be fair, we could consider this expression related to the eyes. Embarrassment usually appears close to the eyes, but we will count it as a cheek expression. Embarrassment involves a series of lines or a splash of red on the cheeks. It has various exaggerations despite being stylized already. The red tone can spread across the entire face, or the character’s skin from the neckline up can turn red to show their extreme embarrassment. This is a common expression in romance or action stories with romantic elements. Embarrassment can combine with other expressions, both standard and stylized, to create embarrassed anger, embarrassed sadness, and other combinations. Sweat drops and popping veins can also combine with it to add distress or irritation. As you can see, manga allows characters to express complex emotions through visual sentences across the character’s face. But this only works for readers who are familiar with the language. It can become a confused muddle otherwise.

Feeling Catty

Fanged, cat-like mouths appear most often on female characters. These types of fangs don’t associate with anger, which can be confusing. Rather, the character is feeling catty–mischievous. The difference is how the mouth takes on a cat-like appearance, but this doesn’t always happen. Feeling catty also associates with a female feeling sexually aroused or having perverse thoughts and enjoying how her target squirms under her attention. You won’t see embarrassment mix with cat fangs. The character is feeling too confident for that.

This expression shows why the nosebleed became associated with sexual arousal. The mouth is overloaded with expression, so cat-fangs can be confused with anger or some other emotion if the reader isn’t familiar with the character’s personality. Sometimes you will see guys feeling catty, but most of the time such men become chibis to show their perverse antics.

Tear Fountains

The last common exaggerated expression is the tear fountain. This is a reference to Looney Tunes and other American animation styles that feature this exaggeration.

Fountains or streams of tears erupt from the eyes, but it is used for comedy effect rather than express serious sadness. Tear fountains disappear as fast as they appear in most cases. The fountains go from the spurts as the example shows to the more common streams down the cheeks. This exaggeration doesn’t intensify the emotion. Naturalistic tears are sadder than this, whereas most other exaggerations increase the feeling. Instead, this expression allows authors to show funny sadness or fake tears, allowing naturalistic tears to retain their meaning.

Other Expressions

Anime and manga have other expressions that involve body language that aren’t readily understood by new viewers. They combine with the facial expressions we’ve examined. Sometimes you will see series specific expressions, such as in the Tales video game series, that build on anime’s common expressions. Authors often have their own visual languages, such as in the long-running One Piece series, but those special vocabularies are beyond the scope of this article.

Akanbe

Children and immature characters use akanbe. It involves pulling down one lower eyelid and sticking out the tongue. Its a childish gesture similar to thumbing the nose and waggling your remaining fingers. Akanbe is a corruption of akai me, or red eye–referring to the red of the shown lower eye lid.

orz

The word orz represents the pose rather than naming it. The pose is that of complete defeat. The person collapses to their hands and knees under the weight of an event. The posture sometimes involves a sick expression.

Deformation

This odd expression involves the character abruptly transforming into a pencil sketch or some other primitive cut out shape. This expression is used for extreme surprise, shock, or feeling dumbfounded. This typically shows up as a comedy relief and in reaction to something another character says or does. Usually only the audience is aware of the shift, but sometimes even the other characters notice the shift in look for more comedic effect. It is, perhaps, the most stylized of all anime expressions. It resembled modern abstract art.

Anime’s Visual Language

Visual language seeks to tell a story using images that create a type of standard alphabet. For the most part, anime has its own standard alphabet of expressions as we’ve examined. Large eyes, simplified noses, simplified ears, simplified mouths, and other features all serve as visual words that can take a little practice to read. Many of them are easy to understand, but some, like the nosebleed, aren’t readily understood. Anime’s style lends itself to flexibility and variety despite appearing familiar. That’s why it’s a language. Familiar words combine in unique ways, or they may combine in well-known, even cliched, ways. But the words themselves remain the same, just as anime’s few nose designs remain the same. If you are drawing your own characters, experiment with the language. Combine the visual words or exaggerate them. The visual words I discuss here aren’t the only ones available to you. You can also make up your own language like many mangaka and video game series have done.

Drawing in the style is akin to writing by hand. Some people have better calligraphy than others, but as long as the words are legible, the message can be understood. So too with visual languages like anime and manga’s language. A poor-quality anime drawing can still communicate the feelings of a character as long as the visual words are present and in the correct positions. The point of language is to communicate an idea or an experience to another, whether the language is vocal or visual.

Anime’s visual language includes words beyond the facial expressions we’ve examined. Akanbe and orz are just a few of those words. Poses of various types, scenes of electric power lines, and other common conventions of anime expand the language. Many of these visual words have changed over the course of anime. After all, languages change, but the end goal remains: to tell a story. And storytelling is what unites us across cultures and languages.

Anime and Manga Facial Expression Guide Anime and manga uses its own visual language to show a character's inner thoughts and feelings. The visual language isn't always easy to understand for those new to the medium.

#Anime #drawing manga #facial expressions #visual language

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