You can’t tell me Phichit would be the best roommate who put together care packages for Yuuri during finals/stress weeks. What a sweetheart.
What’s in the survival kit? Lots of quality tea, a selfie of all Yuuri’s favorite people wearing Team Yuuri headbands (Phichit made sure to request one from everyone in Japan when the semester started), snacks, and cutouts of Viktor’s portions in figure skating magazine.
For that character meme, @lurkerdelima asked for my headcanons (i guess that’s what they are?) for my smallpox Thomas Hamilton. I’ve only written him twice, but here’s what I got:
– Not a day goes by where he doesn’t think of Miranda. In Savannah, especially in the early days, the only way he made it through a day would be by imagining conversations with her (it was too painful to think about James). They’d converse in his head, often the same conversations over and over, fine-tuned and perfected over the years, about the best way to earn favor with the guards and other prisoners, the best way to plant seeds evenly, the best way to tend to an ill friend. Now, back with James, it’s even worse. He finds himself constantly turning, mouth opening to speak, or turning up to smile, at something James has said or done, only to find his best friend won’t be there to smile back at him.
– He had been with James the first time he ever saw a man hanged. All the other times, he’d been with strangers.
– Life in Savannah was easier than at other prisons or asylums, sure. But a prison is still a prison, and men are the same everywhere. Guards are the same everywhere. Thomas knows he can tend a garden with broken fingers. He can work twelve hour days with influenza. He can withstand sunburn over sunburn over bruises over sunburn. As a child, the only serious injury he’d received in his sheltered youth was a bruised tailbone after falling from a tree. He was four years old, and his mother had praised him for not crying, for being so brave through the pain. Thomas had climbed that tree often. He could see over the high gates surrounding his home. Up there, he could see the people of London on the streets. He could see a lot. He could see far. He had known, even then, there were always worse pains.
— He had a lover before James, before Miranda, even. She was only one who knew about him, though. The man had been older, a friend of his father’s, and Thomas had been freshly 19 and eager to learn about the world. His lover had spent just over a year teaching Thomas all the ways in which he could feel pleasure, to be comfortable with his body, with who he was and what he wanted. To love without apology. The final lesson had come when the man had moved away to the Colonies with his wife and children, without a final goodbye, or indeed any word at all, to Thomas. He never begrudged the man for it, and thought of him fondly still, years later. But he knew then to never feel shame for what he yearned for in this life.
– He has a quiet bet going on with himself to get Silver to ride him by Christmas. It hasn’t happened yet, but he likes his odds.
It was the night of the “Winter
Ball,” a dance your school always held, and one you never attended. You were
always content to just sit in the library working or playing games with
everyone else who didn’t belong there. But this year was different. It was your
senior year, last chance for winter memories. Or at least that’s what your best
friends sister Angelica decided. It wasn’t until this year that you made
friends with Eliza, of the school-famous Schuyler Sisters. You always thought
she was uptight, but it only took minutes of talking to realize she was the
sweetest person you’ve ever met.
“(Y/N) come on, we’ll be late!
Stop staring at yourself and get out here.” You gave yourself one last look in
the mirror. You wore a (Y/F/C) knee-length dress, hair in loose curls around
your shoulders. The only thing you wouldn’t let Angelica touch was your face.
After the last disaster involving makeup, a camera, and weeks of torture on the
school Facebook page, it was deemed off-limits. You opened the door, doing a 360°
for the three sisters, Peggy jumping on you, hugging you tightly.
“Peggy, sweetheart, I can’t
breathe.” You laughed, patting her back. She let go, and you took a breath,
maybe a bit too exaggerated. The other sister hugged you as well, giggling.
“Are you ready to meet your date?”
Angelica wiggled her eyebrows at you, Eliza clapping excitedly.
“Of course! I trust you guys, I
think you found me an awesome date.” Just as you finished the thought, you saw
him step around the corner, deep purple suit screaming his name. You didn’t
even have to look at his face before grabbing Angelica and pulling her into
She walked into the lift, pressing the ground floor button as she thought of her best friend. Worry filled her mind, maybe she should’ve gone back for support? Though, she wasn’t sure if she would’ve been supportive at all, she wasn’t very good at those sort of things. She was more of a pat-on-the-shoulder-and-try-to-ignore-the-situation kind of girl.
With one last look at the apartment, she got in her car and texted Sheena.
Sting had been waiting for a chance for weeks. Day after day, every afternoon when coming home from college, he had been waiting. His eyes lingered on the window looking at the huge variety of pastries and cakes.
It was his favourite shop to spend his little extra money and it had been closed for one and a half month. He could almost savour already the so desired sweetness on his mouth, but his pocket was screaming at him. He was just a poor, broke student and after restocking his pantry, he barely had any cash left.
Sting sighed, looking at the promising sign, which read “Today 50% discount for pairing in our new strawberry cake”. He really, really wanted to try the new addition to the menu, but he was broke and single and there was no way he could fix any of them before the discount expired. He gave one last look at the window, resigned to go home without dessert on his stomach. Just when he was looking at the sign for a last time, he heard a sigh.
Following the sound, his eyes found a guy who seemed around his age, with black hair tied on a ponytail and the same resigned face Sting was sure he had had one second ago. Sting blinked a few times, considering the possibilities before he decided to take the risk.
“Hey” He said to the stranger “Do you want to date me?”
It was a pretty weird question to ask to someone you didn’t know, so Sting didn’t blame him when he furrowed his brow and asked.
“I mean, for the discount? You seemed interested and I’ve been waiting for the shop to reopen for weeks and I’m mostly broken by now and this is a great deal, so, I thought, you may be interested into be my date for this afternoon, so we could both have an amazing and cheap cake?”
The stranger must have been as eager as Sting was, because something lit on his eyes at hearing the offer and he was very fast answering.
“I usually would say this is a terrible idea, but I really love their cakes, so I guess it’s a yes?”
“That’s what I wanted to hear!”
Sting smiled and moved to the door, but he hesitated a bit before touching the knob.
“So, what’s your name, Stranger? It would be suspicious if I called my boyfriend ‘stranger’ all night”
“My name is Rogue”
“Well then, Rogue, mine’s Sting”
After that, Sting opened the door and entered, ready to taste the heaven.
One of the quiet girls speaks up. “It’s interesting to see the difference between your last photos of him and these ones. The last ones, you looked like you were worshipping him, in a way. And in these, he looks like he’s worshipping you.”
Tags: hugging and crying, art boys, mentions of depression & anxiety, mature content but no real smut, a lot of feelings, Implied/Referenced Suicide