ִ  ͟ 🐾 　　Jack　　♱⃓ॱֺ

i can't sleep again, here's a sketch inspired by my jelix hanahaki fanfiction, read it if you wanna get painful

Um ok so basically earlier this year I reaaally wanted to finally get into candle-making so I made a half joking post like “hi if anyone gets me candle molds from my wish list I’ll draw jelix” and someone bought out my Whole wish list so. Yeah

LMFAOO

TikTok animation meme

Calvin and Andre swapping clothes(well okay, actually just the t-shirts in this drawing but you get the idea right..)

•Idea by - marlboro111princess

✚ — pairings: kevin khatchadourian & gn! reader

✚ — cw: depression

✚ — a/n: i genuinely despise this song now i listened to it atleast 13+ times while writing no joke i poured my blood sweat and tears into this too. this’ll proly flop. i actually ended up making this reader centered and NOT romantic rather than kevin centered since the multiple meanings to this song pretty much contradict his character so… i tried to keep it as close to the song as possible, sorry if i didnt execute this the way u wanted to. peep the metaphors, details & messages i left behind 👀👀👀

✚ — wc: 1.1k

mlist

Just for now. You just had to wait, you told yourself. Wait a little while, and see if it eventually returned. You had long forgotten what you were waiting for to arrive and sweep you off your feet, reappear with warmth. A touch of the warmth you had only allowed yourself a spark of as a little child.

December, January, February, and eventually, a whole year had gone by. How long were you going to wait? Clarity doesn’t always come whenever you desire; your grandma’s voice would chide. Neither did the adults, and they wouldn’t give you the answer you were searching for.

Because now, you were one, too.

And you had been, for about two years, eight months, and fourteen days.

Because of today’s Christmas occasion, the streets were quite populous. Hence why you ended up settling in the only empty seat in the train station you could find, next to a jaundiced boy. Despite his serious expression, you could only hope that, surely, he wouldn’t mind your presence beside him. How you’d sought permission for a seat that wasn’t his, only to claim it after a mute stare. If anything, you had the greater claim to that seat, given how often you found yourself back here.

You settled down, the bustling atmosphere vaguely piquing your irritation. Why waste time frolicking on the streets when you could be in the comfort of your own warm home? With your family, your friends? Just as you were irate towards them, you were towards the sour-faced boy sitting beside you. You quickly scrubbed it away upon remembering that you were the same as the stranger. That the only reason you returned to house every night was the perils dwelling beyond your bleak walls. House, not home, you reminded. For he was not the only one away from home, but you were, too.

You swung your legs idly, your attention wandering to the boys chasing a ball in the distance. The accidental brush of your foot against his jolted you upright, an apology spilling out before you could stop it.

“Sorry.”

Finally, after thirty-ish minutes, the station somewhat cleared to your liking. Whenever the noise grew too noisy, and the crowds grew too crowded, you’d close your eyes.

People got on with it. With their day, their lives. Temporary. You observed the amalgamate of excitement, safety, and displeasure. All packed into train cars, a dozen at a time, and away they went. To family, or perhaps New York City. Yet the boy beside you remained. What exactly was he waiting for? Had he not a home to return to? He appeared to be merely a teen, after all. No older than 15. The only emotion of which you seemed capable of conjuring spiked once more, and you assessed his seldom-seen appearance. Assessing was what you called it, only it was, in truth, scrutiny. A twenty-year-old child, you were.

But who could fault you? Your mind had nothing more to do. And whether you were twenty-five, thirty, or forty, the unease would have remained. A teenager in clothes meant for a child, seams strained and sleeves too short, a bow case resting beside him as he watched everyone but himself. Was he not cold? How quick he was to return your stare, utterly unconcerned with being watched.

You'd make an excellent surveillance operator, your grandmother had joked once, long before illness claimed her. Long before then, she had pulled you from the gravel after another fall, brushing the dirt from your knees as she reminded you that you didn't have to know how to ride a bicycle before getting on one.

You studied his stillness before looking away, an apology murmured without thought. His next words drew your gaze back, to the faint pull at the corner of his mouth—a small but unmistakable sign of contempt.

“Stop doing that,” he had stated. There was something almost repelled in his tone.

You blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve said sorry three times.”

How the corner of your brows had lifted in slight surprise. How? Your irritation resurfaced. You wondered, running your tongue over your teeth. You didn’t know how.

“I don’t know how.”

“Then figure it out,” beseeched the boy, as if it were so simple.

You snapped your gaze back forward, swinging your legs once more. Restlessly. You expected a normal social script, or even politeness. Not a blunter version of your internal observations. He had said it so simply, so harshly. ‘Then figure it out’? You mulled it over. Even when you had initially arrived, he occupied his space to his desire. Said what he wanted, despite being five years younger than you. Despite yourself, you admired him; though envy lingered beneath it.

He spoke again, dropping a stone into the river of your thoughts.

“What are you waiting for?”

You shrugged.

“That’s stupid. Why are you waiting, then? How will you know it’s over?”

It almost came out as scolding, yet not quite. You couldn’t quite paint an image of this black-haired stranger. He seemed confident. No–confident people don’t watch everyone this closely. Rude? But he wasn’t exactly trying to hurt you–he was just saying things. He was nervous. No–nervous people usually apologize, and he hadn’t once. Each of your conclusions contradict the last, and no version of your revised impression fits.

The announcement for the next train and its destination pulls you out of your thoughts.

How will you know it’s over?

“All things come to an end,” After thinking it over, you finally replied.

He scoffed, toying with the outer shell of his bow case.

“Must be nice,” he mused, rising from the seat. “Most people know exactly what’s making them miserable.”

Perplexity clouded your gaze. Without asking permission to leave, he simply made his way toward the open train compartment, merging with the small crowd of remaining passengers before disappearing into the carriage. As the doors slowly closed, he did not look back. Not once. You watched the train recede into the tunnel until there was nothing left of him but the silence and unanswered question he had left behind.

December. January. February. March. Then, at last, April. 4 months, early April. Tomorrow, you would turn twenty-one.

You thanked the ticket agent, took your ticket, and slipped through the crowd before settling into a seat beside an elderly man. Ten minutes passed before the next train arrived, its doors gliding open.

As you rose to your feet, your thoughts drifted first to your grandmother, then to the young stranger from that Christmas night. You had almost smiled at the memory—not out of fondness, but at its sheer absurdity. How intently you had tried to decide whether he had been right or wrong, only to realize, months later, that you had been asking the wrong question all along. He had merely been the first person to ask you something for which you had no answer.

This time, you were no more certain where the train would take you. Yet, for the first time in a long while, you knew where you were going. And you didn't look back.

Movie lovers when, "I didn't think anyone noticed me."

Movie lovers when, "I wish I knew how to quit you."

Movie lovers when, "I don't want to be alone."

Movie lovers when, "I don't know what the fuck I am!"

Movie lovers when, "Never apologise."

Movie lovers when, "You get tough like me and you don't get hurt."