#finch.

[Text: This alter is Finch.]

“come in,” finch instructed, her eyes only on barbie in the doorway for a brief second. her hands were busy at securing her hair back and her gaze was scanning over everything that she had displayed out. there was an array of brushes, paints, cups of water and towels, and two easels were set up to hold canvases. all the supplies were brand new, which was a stark difference from their surroundings; the old warehouse where the troupe lived had seen better days. “have you ever painted before? i heard it’s supposed to be therapeutic or some lame, poetic shit like that.” finch was certain she was being clear enough about what was going on without having to actually spell out that she wanted him to stay here and paint with her.

(a thread for @xuanmo​ )

I accidentally called him my boyfriend and then I Died and right before that I was like “you’ve gotten super hot and I kind of wanna make out with you and that makes me feel really weird”

also we almost knocked over a candle at the restaurant & started a fire, spent time talking abt what went wrong in our relationship (including the fact that I was kind of a bitch after we broke up) ((+ he’s the only person I’ve ever dated who wasn’t actually a terrible person)), and had more than one conversation abt how bad *waves hands* all of 2012 was. oh and how both of us have no mental health issues and are perfectly Fine And Normal And Stable adults.

him: it’s a sex shop

me: but it’s called a smoke store

him: it’s... it’s a sex shop.

me: [approaches the store] oh

me: