mirkosteponme

[mirkosteponme]

meet me in the rain -sebastian sdv

AO3 is linked here

summary: Sebastian has a list of reasons why he wants to leave Pelican Town that goes on for miles. The only thing he'd stay for is the rain, or that's what he tells himself. The rain gives him one more reason to stay.

wc: 1655

Sebastian is only four when his mom moves them out to the valley. It’s a new house, a new town, a new dad, a new yard, and it feels a little like he has a new mom, too. His bedroom is upstairs, just down the hall from his mom and Demetrius, and it still smells like the sealant and varnish his mom had used when she’d built the house.

But he’s not home.

His home is still in Zuzu. The cramped little apartment with the park just a couple blocks away and the coffee shop his mom would take him to when his dad was particularly mad. He misses his dad, even though his dad scared him. His home is the four cramped walls that had been his and Robin’s when she’d taken him and run to the closest domestic violence shelter. It’s wood shavings in a little pile on the tiny kitchen table only a few feet from their bed as she carves him a new toy because she can’t afford him any real toys.

They’d been real to him, though. 

So, he hates, with all he can, he hates this new town, and this new house, and his new dad who isn’t his dad at all. He hates his new room, hates his new toys, misses his old ones carved from pieces of scrap wood his mom had found. 

But mostly, he hates how quiet it is.

In the city, there had been no shortage of noise. The little window mounted A/C unit had always hummed noisily in his ear, and there had always been noise out on the street no matter the time of day. Cars honking, and the upstairs neighbors shuffling noisily above him as the TV played in the living room.

In Pelican Town, though, it’s near silent. The A/C sits on a concrete pad outside and the air hums near silently through the vents. There are no people or cars outside to make noise, and his mom and Demetrius don’t watch any TV after nine. 

But he does like the rain. 

He likes it when his mom takes him out in it. Her belly heavy with a little sister he’s not-so-sure about, and he’s dressed in a green raincoat with little round flaps on the hood that are meant to be frog eyes. And she stands a few feet behind him as he races around the bank of the lake near their new home and hunts for frogs in the bushes. Cheering with him when he races back, frog cupped in his hand, to display his catch with a wide grin of pride.

“It rains different here,” He tells his mom, hand held securely in hers as they walk back to the house, thoroughly soaked even despite their raincoats. There’s a frog in his pocket that he hopes she won’t find when she helps him out of his coat inside. 

“How do you mean, Sebby?” She asks, and he giggles as she walks him in a zig-zag the rest of the way to their front door. A game they can still play even with her swollen belly.

“It’s just different.”

She laughs, and he shrieks with laughter when she tickles his ribs after she finds the frog he’d hidden in his coat pocket. And he decides, right then and there, that if he can have rains like this, then it’ll be okay.

And it is. It’s okay, that when Maru gets big enough to need her own room, he gets to move down into the basement — it’s actually more than okay, but no one needs to know that. It’s okay that his parents' attention has shifted away from him, because how else would he get into all the trouble he does without getting caught. 

It’s by no means great. He still wants to go back to Zuzu, still wants out of Pelican Town. Want somebody, anybody to acknowledge his work as something more than surfing the internet. Or attract a girl that isn’t a special breed of crazy that wants to fix him – because he’s not broken, fuck you very much.

But he never ever wants to give up the rain in the Valley.

So, it’s all fine, really. 

When the weather’s good, he makes the trip out to his lookout just before sunset. Or if it’s even better and he has the time, he’ll make the trip into the city, and check out the old apartment building he and his mom had lived in. Pick up a new figure for his weekly Solarion Chronicles sessions with Sam, and get coffee in a cafe in historic downtown Zuzu and wish he could have grown up there instead of in Pelican Town.

Until he meets the farmer. Or rather, the farmer meets him.

Because, well, he already knows about the farmer. About you. He doesn’t know anybody in town who doesn’t know about you. Or about your dead grandfather, or about how you’d moved out to Hicksville-nowhere on a whim.

You can thank Lewis for that.

So, thanks to word of mouth and a town rumor mill so fast it should really be its own newspaper, he feels it’s safe to say that he knows you as much as he needs to know you. All without ever meeting you. He knows what your favorite color is, he’d heard it from his mom who’s heard it from Jodi, who’d heard it from Caroline, who’d heard it from Emily, who’d overheard you mention it to Haley one time. He knows everything he needs to know about you, all without meeting you.

Then, he meets you, by total chance. 

It’s Winter, nearly a whole year now since you’d moved into town, and it seems to him that you’ve met everyone but him. Although he's not complaining, he hadn’t made the effort to try and meet you either. 

It’s raining, the day you meet him, thunder booming in the distance, the sky lighting up with flashes of lightning. He’s standing at the end of the docks, soaked through to the bone, hair plastered to his forehead as he tries and fails to get his cigarette to stay lit. Willy had gone back into his home hours ago, gruffly warning Sebastian to go home before he got himself sick.

He stays anyway. After all, he likes the rain.

He doesn’t run around chasing frogs anymore. Can’t remember the last time he’d fell flat in the mud when he’d dove for a frog, lungs burning with exertion. Can’t remember the last time he’d shoved frogs in pocket, wanting to take them home as pets.

But that’s okay, because even though he’s changed, the rain hasn’t.

He’s so lost in thought, fingers trembling as he tries to get his lighter to hold a flame long enough to get his cigarette going, that he doesn’t notice you coming down the dock towards him. Your boots clomping wetly against the rain soaked planks as you approach.

“Need a light?” You ask, still relatively dry beneath your raincoat layered over your thick winter coat. Whatever hair you’d left peeking out from beneath the hood of your raincoat is plastered to your face, thin rivulets of water running down your temples.

You beam widely at him, opening up your coat and digging your own lighter from the inside pocket and lighting it up in the dry space near your torso, “Come on, hurry!” You tell him, and he fumbles with his pack of cigarettes, fingers numb and shaking as he pulls a fresh cigarette from the carton and presses one end into the flame of your lighter.

“Thanks,” He says after a moment, when he settles the cigarette between his lips, and you’ve tucked your lighter back into your coat and zipped yourself back into the warm layers of your winter wear.

You hum, hands shoved deep in your pockets as you stare out over the sea.

“Of all the places you could live,” He starts after a moment, smoke billowing from his mouth and nose, “You chose Pelican Town?”

You shrug, “I didn’t exactly get to choose.”

“Oh.”

It’s silent again, rain pounding against the wooden planks of the dock, and the choppy surf lapping at the shore. 

“I like the rain here, though,” You say after a moment, feet shuffling awkwardly, “It’s different than the city.”

And that’s all he needs to know.

“Me, too,” He says, lips quirking up with a near invisible smile as he offers his cigarette to you.

You take it.

Yeah, Sebastian thinks, years later, from his place on the couch in your house that has also become his home, his laptop humming loudly in his lap as the fan fights for its life to run his coding software, I like the rain.

It’s raining again, not that either of you mind, curled up on the couch together with the TV playing in the background. It’s all the noise he’d loved in the city, minus the yelling and the actual city. There’s a terrarium in his office, the space you’d carved out just for him, and he can hear his pet frogs croaking happily even in the living room. His mug sits on top of the coffee machine in the kitchen, and his keys have their own hook by the door. There’s an ashtray out on the porch railing for him, too, green frogs painted and glazed over on the sides. 

“Your laptop sounds like it’s fucking dying, Seb,” You remark to him, voice dancing over a quiet laugh, your feet tucked beneath his thighs, “Is it time for an upgrade?”

“Yeah,” He sighs, saving his work and setting his laptop down on the coffee table as he turns to you with a smile, “But that would mean a trip into Zuzu.”

“Okay, and you love Zuzu,” You agree, a confused smile meeting his, “What’s the issue?”

“I’d rather just stay home.”

[mirkosteponme]

Daddy issues dream blunt rotation (to get absolutely fucked)

[mirkosteponme]

"...alright. Just the usual ones? Night time too...and tampons. Don't ever apologise. Alright. We'll be home soon. I love you."

The mid-morning traffic, less frantic now than an hour before, shhhaaaahed around the car. From the passenger seat, Yuuji watched Kento with a fascination about to bubble over with suppressed laughter. Kento put the phone down. Yuuji, just a boy, grinned, almost teasingly at Kento.

"Tampons, huh, Nanamin?"

Kento looked to Yuuji, flicking the windscreen wipers on to rid the screen of drifting cherry blossom. His face remained neutral, sincerely questioning. Yuuji scoffed, bold as brass, before continuing.

"Jeez Nanamin...you're such a simp."

Kento's eyes narrowed, searching for meaning. He repeated, slowly, the word unfamiliar upon his tongue.

"...'simp'."

"You'd do anything for her, right?"

"Is that...a bad thing? You say the word, not that I know it, as if it's derogatory."

Kento tapped on his phone, and Yuuji backpedaled, his grin sliding away to a wide-mouthed grimace as he waved his hands in a fit of no, wait, I can explain. Kento appeared to be reading, his face growing dour. He huffed, one short puff of air from his nose. He tucked his phone away.

"Ah-- Nanamin-- I didn't mean--"

"A simp, hmm? Alright. Come along, Yuuji."

They drove. Yuuji bit his nails as he stared out into traffic. Kento was silent, calm.

And Kento took Yuuji on errands.

At the Conbini, Kento collected pads, tampons, snacks and pain relief.

"Do you have any of the night time ones?" Kento asked the assistant, holding up a pack of pads, unashamed, as Yuuji tried to sink into the floor, just a boy. As the assistant walked away, Kento asked Yuuji, calmly.

"Would a simp do this?"

"Ah...jeez, I...yeah, I guess so."

"Alright."

In the Florist's, Kento was meticulous with the sweating assistant, identifying only the finest blooms of your favourite wildflowers. He commandeered, insisting they were wrapped in brown paper, stamped with wax and tied with ribbons. Tapping his fingers on the counter, bored, Yuuji's reverie was once more broken by Kento's smooth timbre.

"Would a simp do this?"

Kento walked up beside Yuuji, with a spray of sweet botanicals in his arms. Yuuji squirmed beneath the schooling.

"Yeah, I...I reckon so. Probably."

"Splendid. Come along."

At the launderette, collecting your repaired jacket; "Would a simp do this?"

At your parents' house, dropping off a birthday card; "Would a simp do this?"

At Jujutsu High, filing some late paperwork for you; "Would a simp do this?"

In the car, calling Ijichi to cancel drinks the following night; "Would a simp do this?"

By the time Kento had completed his errands, Yuuji sulked, just a boy, begrudging how overboard Kento had gone, all because Yuuji had used slang that meant nothing apart from something Kento couldn't understand.

Yuuji stood back in the hallway, shucking his shoes off, as Kento walked ahead.

Yuuji's eyes darted up, to you, shocked to see that you were...a mess. You could hide the tears all you liked, but your puffy lips and salt-sore cheeks told of a whole day of crying. The dinner Yuuji usually enjoyed wasn't made. The fragrant candles that Yuuji usually enjoyed weren't lit. The curtains were closed.

Yuuji felt vicariously guilty for something he had not done, but he listened to yours and Kento's mumbled conversation.

"...sorry...so shit...haven't done anything...needed you...Yuuji must be hungry, I..."

"...shhh...done nothing wrong...Ijichi cancelled tomorrow anyway...order take-out...come here..."

Kento held you in a rustle of bags and brown-papered flowers. He did not begrudge the tear stains on his lapels. He looked at you as though your very blood ran divine, when you gave the flowers and bag of snacks a watery smile, pressing a salty kiss to Kento's cheeks before walking to the kitchen.

As Kento and Yuuji stood back, watching you swipe your tears away before beginning to fill a vase with Kento's wildflowers, Yuuji dawned upon the cusp of a bold new understanding. Kento felt it, this gentle yearning, and took Yuuji by the hand over the horizon.

Kento's voice was, slow, considered, and gut-wrenchingly sincere.

"Never deny yourself the beauty of loving someone without restraint, for the fear of vulnerability, Yuuji. Never let anyone taint the way love should guide and consume you. Because if loving wholeheartedly is weakness...you shouldn't want to be strong."

Yuuji watched the gentle golden thread of joy that Kento had woven through your sadness. He shuffled, his hands in his pockets, his peachy head tilted down as he kicked at his shoes.

"...yeah, I get you. I'll... I'll be a simp too, then. When I find the one. And...and I'll be proud of it."

Kento smiled, pressing a bag of snacks to Yuuji's chest.

"And I'll be proud of you."

[mirkosteponme]

i like a tall woman… with a nice big ass 🤭

[mirkosteponme]

[mirkosteponme]

art by the.gauntlets

Dr. Huda Abu Khater's Instagram

gofundme to help them

[mirkosteponme]

ALL EYES ON RAFAH. WE WILL NOT FORGIVE. WE WILL NOT FORGET.

This design is free to redistribute and repost. Download here.

[mirkosteponme]

there is something horrifically grim to it, but illustrations for gaza and palestinians tend to catch more mass attention that actual photos of people. this made me feel incredibly helpless for a long while, seeing both how people would rather look at a neat drawing of red black green and white than look a human in the eyes, and how online platforms would rather push a viral drawing while suppressing those begging for help at the same time.

a way to cope with this feeling has been taking advantage of it to directly guide people to helping palestinians.

if art gets better traction, then there’s an incredible amount of good that can be done by creating art that immediately links to fundraisers. creating art of the many images of those who are asking for help.

within hours of posting my drawing, there has been jumps in the thousands for bashar from gaza’s fundraiser. it’s a small effort in the grand scheme of things. it’s not a fix it. but it’s something good. please take care of each other and do what you can. i think this could help a lot of people if a lot of people did it.

here is bashar. i’ve drawn him, spoken to him, and known him now for a few months. any shares help, any art helps. draw who you see, draw what you see. thanks all

[mirkosteponme]

The sexual tension between a girl and not feeling real every time her birthday comes around

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it’s so hard being your father’s son (female)

[mirkosteponme]

please keep talking about rafah. we're on the precipice of one of the darkest unfoldings in human history. please pray for rafah.

[mirkosteponme]

Here's a website where Palestine GoFundMes are vetted and shared that you can send out to people. The url is gazafunds.com

Easy to use and simple. Just share the site whenever someone asks for GFMs for Palestine.

[mirkosteponme]

No Zionists on my page thank you

[mirkosteponme]

like to charge reblog to cast

[mirkosteponme]

Don't let the media make what's happening with Israel, Iran and Jordan into some "middle-east problem" again. This was entirely orchestrated and encouraged by the US and the UK. Israel initiated every attack against Lebanon, Syria, Palestine, and Iran. Israel KILLED, targeted, the children and grandchildren of Palestinians political leaders. And the US could've stopped all of this by simply not giving Israel money and weapons bu they didn't.

The Western media has constructed this narrative that countries like Iraq and Iran are the problem and the western nations are the antidote keeping their 'terrorism' at bay. No, they have always and at all times started the conflicts, or worsened them.

Because they want the land, they want hegemony over the resources of that region and that is it. And they've demonstrated already by killing over 33,000 people that they'll do anything.

Stop joking about World War 3 and take the loss of lives and the horror of what is happening seriously. This cannot keep escalating