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neil-gaiman · 8 months ago

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Hi Neil.

I know you are flooded with asks and this somehow became extremely long. Too long. “Why am I suddenly telling this poor man my life story?” too long. “I think I’d rather he work on the GO3 script than read this wild beast” too long. “He’s going to think you’re criminally dangerously insane” too long. If you never get to it, I’m good with never seeing a response from you. Maybe it’s better that way? Maybe an anon would have been nice here. But, it’s 2024, so I say “we ball.” It’s a privilege to be able to send this to you at all. You get a lot to this effect and I hope they give you good feels, so maybe what’s the harm, yeah? Because this is not an ask. This is a thank you letter.

First, thanks for reblogging my therapist post, I hope it amused you. I nearly sent you “How am i supposed to explain this to my therapist?!” But refrained. At that time.

So, therapy. What is therapy really? Well…

Things have been really rotten for as long as I can remember. Bad health, bad doctors, bad relationships, bad coping mechanisms, bad all kinds of things. (Yeah, bad is a weak and unhelpful word, my therapist reminds me, but we’re doing this.)

Well, things got even more really really rotten and BAD these last few years. Health declined further, coping mechanisms declined further and more intensely, packed up my life, applied for disability, moved back in with my parents across the country.

Then 4 years ago last week I watched my fiance die of a sudden heart attack. I was 29. Two years later my best friend died. Then last summer I sauntered vaguely into a cancer scare. Not long before an operation my cat who has been my companion through so much garbage died as well. I’m not entirely in the clear on the cancer scare front. All my attempts at going back to work, volunteering, going to grad school - they collapsed on me because I couldn’t get through this STUFF.

(Sometimes when I talk about this, when I tell people, I think “they are going to think you are a raging pathological liar.” Because I’m not sure I would believe someone if they told me all of this happened to them. In such a short time period. All before they were 35. And hell if that hasn’t been isolating. You know how it sounds? Lonely. And it is.)

I did the hypervigilant and sensation/experience chasing stage of PTSD. It got me in a lot of trouble in all kinds of ways. I had to do a lot of medical and psych advocating because things kept getting worse. That was exhausting. Then that peaked. I went into the thick of the “I feel absolutely nothing” stage for a long time. I didn’t feel fatigue or hunger or thirst. Not people, feelings, a reason. Not hope.

But of course, like seems be for a lot of us, I somehow found Good Omens at just the right time. I was a very “I’m so cool and intellectual I mostly consume non-fiction media” person for too long. Like, what? How is that even a real thing? And it wasn’t real. It was just part of this curated autism mask that I don’t think anyone really bought anyway.

I think I got to a point where I’d just had too much reality. I needed fantasy. I didn’t realize I always needed it. But I denied myself for too many odd and painful reasons. Maybe I thought it was an escape I didn’t deserve.

But as it turns out, it wasn’t an escape. I watched both seasons last fall, and then this light came on. I watched it again and again.

I came to tumblr because I needed more. I found this fandom. I stepped into this beautiful world of fanart and fanfiction and brain flexing meta writing and a sense of community and wonder that you and Terry created - that everyone involved in the show inflated - exploded in the right way - like fireworks if fireworks were some kind of autocatalytic reaction - a self perpetuating force.

It’s not a “saved my life” feeling. Not a “getting my life back” feeling. It’s been a “maybe it’s time for you to have the life you’ve always been denied - that you’ve denied yourself” feeling.

I’m creating. I’m not “great” yet. Not terribly “good” at all. Maybe “behind” as far as the “proper” timeline for starting. I know there isn’t one, not really, but boy does that society machine make ya feel like there is. And sure, I started and stopped a lot in the past. But the second it got hard I always gave up. I felt like if I didn’t get it “right” to begin with, then I just didn’t have it in me at all. But for once I’m really in it. I’m writing and trying to draw things that look less like fever dream five year old drawings. (Not that there’s anything wrong with those, is there? 🙃) I’m eating better. I’m sleeping better. I reach out to old friends more. I’ve made new friends who share this love of Good Omens.

My therapist has been floored by the change in me. After that first funny mini flop, he has been so encouraging about it. I saw him this week and I said “Maybe this is helping me get prepared to start living again. Maybe it’s a springboard.” And he honest to god said “But You ARE living. This is YOU LIVING. Why does it have to be a springboard? Why do you have to turn this into ‘work?’ Just let yourself have this for once in your life.”

But there were two more added elements that made it all work. And I can’t help but think this whole brainrot thing wouldn’t have happened without them. So many things just happened all at just the right time - a proper coincidence.

In all of the madness of the last few years I finally got the memo that I'm autistic. i figured I was for a while. But it finally sunk in for me and my docs and my people. So I’d been working on unpacking that. Grieving the life that could have been entirely different, shedding the mask. I let myself hyperfixate openly instead of hiding it and hating myself for “spiralling” or “obsessing” like others -!like ‘I’ always punished myself for before we knew that it was a trait and not a personality flaw.

Then over the last few months my therapist and I started trying this new exercise. One session he stopped me and said “in the last 20 minutes you have responded to what I’ve said with 9 ‘I knows.’” My response to that? “Ugh, I know.” So we started this “I know” swear jar type situation. Really, I’ve been afraid of not knowing. I couldn’t let myself “not know.” Because it meant I was “dumb.” I was just drowning for so long in guilt and self loathing for the “I knew better and screwed up anyway.” Or “I should’ve known better - I should know that by now.”

As it turns out, there’s a lot of things I don’t know. That I didn’t know. Things I will never know. And refusing to admit all of that kept me from learning a damn thing. Kept me from asking questions. Kept me from trying new things because it was scary to do something new - something unknown - and I "knew" how it would all turn out anyway. Kept me from connecting with people because it was painful or embarrassing when they knew things I didn’t and it seemed like I already should have. Kept me from getting better at making art, music, writing. Kept me from forgiving myself. Kept me from growing. And kept me from moving forward. Maybe not on. I don’t know if we ever “move on” from things. But we can move forward as we carry them. And as we do, the weight gets less. We’re able to carry it better. But only if we can admit that we don’t know how. Only if we don’t treat ourselves like this is something we do know or should know and we’re just failing because we’re less than. Not good enough. Not strong enough. Not deserving. We have to be able to say “I don’t know how to do this.” And then we can start looking for the answers. We can ask. We can learn.

I thought about the apple. Being able to tell the difference between good and evil. Aziraphale’s years and years of watching what he “knows” to be true be proven wrong. Crowley’s need to ask questions…

The simple and enormous gift of “Knowledge.” The “Knowledge” of the difference between Good and Evil. The “Knowledge” that can only be gained by realizing, accepting, admitting that there are things we don’t know. Asking the questions. Sometimes we get answers we don’t like. Sometimes the consequences of asking hurt us. And unless you want to stay in that painful place that painful knowledge got you, well, you’ve got to let yourself learn how to get out.

So all of this good? I never expected this. I never thought I deserved it. Joy and belonging and this sense that “Yeah, maybe things can get better. Maybe things can be good.” Because I said those things, not truly believing them, to the people I thought needed to hear it. But it couldn’t save them. It was hollow. The proof for us wasn’t really in our orbit or on our radar at the time. And now they’re gone.

People always say “it’s never too late.”

One of the people I lost said “it’s later than you think.”

I jokingly would respond “it’s already too late.”

It was for him in the end. For them. For some people I guess it really is. But maybe a lot of the “too late” people are there because they think “they know” that things will never be good for them. So they stop looking, they stop asking, stop finding. And eventually they just stop.

Then there came Crowley’s “It’s always too late.” The first time I heard it I thought “For sure, Crowley-cakes, I KNOW.”

But then…I just needed to rewatch the whole thing. And lines like that…familiar things…familiar themes…I was suddenly identifying with these characters. I suddenly saw myself. And the realization hit - I connected with something! Something new. And I FELT THAT. And that tiny little crack that made in the wall was just enough to start breaking it down. Yeah, when you start letting yourself feel after not feeling for so long, opening up to the good feelings means opening up to feelings and then the bad ones come out too. But when there IS good … it helps you balance. You can deal with the bad a little better because you’ve got the good thing to lean against when it gets too much. And now you’ve got feelings. You’ve got good and bad. You’ve got sticky foggy grey. You’ve got life.

Whew.

So, TLDR, thank you. From the bottom of my slowly healing heart, thank you.

And to sign off with some shits and giggles… I couldn’t find this in existence as a sticker so I had to custom order. Perhaps this will spread misery and panic among the humans of my city - or at least a malignant and creepy sense of unease.

Or maybe they’ll say “wtf” and go home and google it and they’ll fall into the Good Omens hole they never knew they needed too.

Thank you for this. I never quite know what to say to messages like this apart from I am really glad that it helps. (It becomes the weird extra piece that I worry about when writing season 3 -- hoping that it will be that thing again. Not just a story, but something that helps people feel and helps with healing and helps with love.)

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librarycards · 2 months ago

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do you have any advice for trying to build/find a community? i’m autistic with pretty severe social anxiety and haven’t had friends since grade 5 (i’m 29 now). i don’t work atm and didn’t go to college due to ‘mental illness’ or whatever. i’m really clueless about how to find a support system or even make a friend but it sure would be beneficial right now i think

sure! a great way to start is to get on some of your local facebook pages, or even nextdoor - it can be a shitty place for neighborhood karens, but at least my local page has people talking about free stuff they're leaving on the curb, someone whose grandma needs a ride, a bake sale at the school, and even meetups dependent on age/interest/etc.

some more ideas, starting w the obligatory: GO TO THE LIBRARY! they have so much centralized info there. there is probably a book club, there is probably some kind of volunteer sign-up sheet. there are probably bored librarians who can help you find other stuff. at least in my area, there are also fairly regular non-university-affiliated things (i live in a college town) at local bars, cafes, and art spaces/studios - check to see if there are any local IG pages posting about these events. that's how i found out about a bunch of mine. libraries have events, too, as do local bookstores, and they're almost always free.

the suggestions i'm throwing out all have basically the same goal: mix with people you haven't met before. building bonds takes time, and the process only starts when you and someone else say hello to one another. you don't have to be besties ever. you don't necessarily have to stay close. but knowing one person who maybe likes the same book as you, or shares some other interest, leads to more people, and soon you know someone who has a car, someone who has an extra ironing board, someone who can host a get-together in their yard because everyone else is a renter. support systems aren't found. they're not easy or inevitable. they're built through collective engagement and practice! and they start, generally, by happenstance, when people put themselves in each others' way.

when i moved here alone in 2020, i met some of my now-closest friends not primarily through grad school events (which didn't happen bc of lockdowns and such) but through going to the park and saying hi outdoors; stocking food in our local free fridges, and meeting tinder-friend dates masked, 6 ft apart in random public places. we kept doing that and our relationships strengthened, as they do. these days, i meet people through the friends i have - through shared classes back when i was in coursework, through organizing/union stuff and volunteering, through the occasional social event i just kinda show up at and hope for the best. there's a degree of inertia to this stuff - it gets smoother the more you do it!

you are *NOT* the only person around you who needs a friend. i promise. people are really lonely and often scared to admit it, and this is a great time to connect with people who also feel the urgency of community + anxiety around making it happen.

#hope this helps it's basically my cheat codes for the past 5 years (i.e. my time as an adult no longer at a residential undergraduate inst)#ask #anonymous #world healing #community

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fantasylandblues · 4 months ago

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modern!lucemond college au

modern lucemond fics have had a real chokehold on me for a while, so here's my attempt at a lucemond college au! (i wanted to include some minor jacegon at some point but still don't know how's that gonna go lol.) this turned into a whole ass drabble but just hear me out (and pls be nice!!!):

Lucerys Velaryon (22) is an undergrad student majoring in ocean studies. Aemond Targaryen (26) is getting his post-grad in modern-age westerosi politics at the same institution, the Crownlands College of King's Landing, Westeros, of valyrian tradition.

in his free time, Lucerys takes theatre lessons at school. he has a scholarship and makes the best of it, although he wouldn't consider himself to be particularly bright (he also has some trouble focusing). he walks with the determination of someone who's got places to be, though maybe that's just to appear stronger or more confident than he actually is. Luce's got a somewhat tall build now, but years of being undermined by his peers have worn down his shoulders and his joyful, boyish appearence.

his older brother, Jacaerys (24), is the one who got him into theatre in the first place, although Jace now pursues his passion for the martial arts, teaching children and teenagers alike. he's known for being short tempered among his friends and family, but is as good with those kids as he once was with his little brother during their formative years. they currently share a two bedroom apartment and often hang out at their neighbors', Baela and Rhaena's, sisters who sometimes feel like perfect female versions of them.

Aemond lives alone, but often meets up with his confidant and cool sister Helaena (27) at the campus restaurant. Helaena is an English professor there at Crownlands with a passion for teaching medieval histories. she has the study of biology as her main hobby and is often seen carrying a book or two on entomology which she borrows from the library on her free time.

it's not uncommon to catch Aemond at the olympic pool well past everyone's school hours, swimming focusedly as a way to clear his mind. he comes from a somewhat influent family, the Targaryens, and knows he will soon be introduced to the actual world of westerosi politics, so he gets to focus all of his energy on his studies and training, almost as if striving to achieve the best version of himself. back home, he cares for his pet lizard, Vhagar - named after the goddess of war in valyrian mythology, a name only his sister could come up with.

he's lost his eye and gained that terrible scar in a scrap with his brother many years ago, which needless to say went too far. he remembers seeing Aegon with their father's letter opener in hand, and then waking up in the hospital to his mother's worried eyes. there are days in which he proudly wears unnatural, dark-colored prosthetics, and days in which he just puts in a clear one and patches it up.

his brother Aegon (29) works remotely as a manager in their grandfather's company, a job he doesn't particularly like but was left with no choice but to take. he is still recovering from the car accident that left him paralysed from the waist down and with severe burns along his body. with his little daughter by his side, he's been dealing with this new life surprisingly well, as well as finding a new joy for parenting.

despite being bitter for years on end, Aemond could no longer hold a grudge against him after the terrible accident. they have been finding ways to remedy their relationship ever since.

beloved by his colleagues, Lucerys is easy to talk to, somewhat extroverted and ballsy, even, although he would rather shield from too much intimacy. being gay is an issue he thinks he's got handled, thank you very much, if that means getting with guys in seedy corners and never bringing that up in conversation. people know, of course, but it bothers Jace that he's never ever heard a mention of a special name.

that day, he strides out of the school's pool bathrooms with the uneasiness that's left in the bottom of his stomach after one of those types of encounters. a few swimmers are packing their stuff up for the day, and he looks just so out of place in his jeans and t-shirt.

Aemond knows confidently what he wants, yet is hard to approach for those who haven't earned his trust, and would very much like to mantain that hardened image. but it doesn't bother him that he craves like a human being, that he craves small and he craves grabbable, just enough to leave small bruises where his hands have been, and he would definitely benefit from fisting a handful of those brown locks he's just laid eyes upon. or maybe he shouldn't be thinking that while clad in nothing but tight swim attire.

let me know if this is anything! my askbox is open for feedback and shenanigans~

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minmin-vs-physics · 5 months ago

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[29/7/24] I thought I had a good work-life balance by not posting on weekends, but here I am in my office at 10pm. I felt quite cornered at home so I just headed back to my desk in the physics building to atleast feel productive. Caught a great sunset on the way though!

W I took: I got VSCode configured right for LaTeX finally. L I took: I don't see how the hypothetical particle I've been looking at would change the observable in a meaningful way. I tried a whole BUNCH of coupling constants and masses at various energies. Am I just stupid, or is it really not a viable direction?

I'm thinking of doing the 100 days of productivity challenge because the end of summer is really near and I NEED to do grad app stuff (I've been putting it off because I'm scared.)

#physics #min vs college #studyblr #min vs summer24 #study aesthetic #college

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tsunflowers · 1 month ago

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as of today I’m 29 so this is the last year of my 20s. do you think I should try to accomplish something? I was reading this university of michigan newsletter about all their grads who’ve started businesses and charities and written children’s books and whatever and that seems like a little much. but I could set a more reasonable goal to do before I turn 30

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academicfever · 2 months ago

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Hey Tumblr,

I’m here to share a bit about myself—some of the good, the messy, and the things that keep me going.

I want to find some mutual gradblr💓

Engineering Grad Student_ Mechanical_automotive

Asian and I’m 29

I’m older than most of my peers here in uni

I was working for few years before continuing with my masters

I’m recovering from a chronic illness and eating disorder

Bit of a bibliophile

Massive F1 fan_teamLH

BTS Stan _ yoongi biased

Studying abroad

Amateur Cook

Known as the mom friend in my circle

I’m 29, a woman in STEM, and dedicated to research, which keeps my mind engaged and my heart hopeful. My days are spent in libraries, where I walk thousands of steps and find a quiet sort of peace. I’m managing asthma and recovering from another chronic illness, so health and balance are constant focuses.

Eating has always been a challenge. Food doesn’t feel like comfort or joy to me, even though I know I need it—especially with everything my body has been through. It’s a slow journey, but I’m trying to reconnect with what I need to feel nourished.

When I’m not deep in research, I escape into the world of Formula 1—something about the speed and strategy fascinates me. I’m also a huge BTS fan! Their music and message feel like a reminder to keep going and stay resilient, which I need sometimes.

STEM isn’t the easiest space to navigate, but I’m proud to be here and love contributing through my research. It’s grounding to know I’m part of something bigger.

If you’re into stem , f1, or BTS, feel free to say hi! I’m here to find connection and to build a space that feels like my own.

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salamanderinspace · 11 months ago

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When I was 17, after my parents first threw me out, I lived in a house where a bunch of young professionals were all saving money by living in close quarters. The rent was $200. This was 20 years ago, of course. My roommates were all about 28-29, on the cusp of getting married and getting their own houses, and they all worked two jobs or paired a job with grad school. As a result it was mostly me alone in the house, using the house.

We had two doors--a front door, and a back door that led to a little parking area. The kitchen trash was right by the back door. I'd never been out the back door, because I didn't have a car to park, unlike my roommates. So when the communal kitchen trash got full I would, like a teenage gremlin, simply not take it out.

This is because I was frightened. I imagined going out the back door and it closing behind me and locking. I imagined raccoons. I imagined I would not be able to find the bins, or I wouldn't take the bins to the corner at the correct time. It wasn't about laziness … I was working three jobs at the time, one of which was cleaning hotel rooms. I changed a dozen trashes every day. For most of my life since that house, I've been the trash taker at my place. But there I had some kind of autistic mental block about it. Not anxiety. It was more like. I couldn't think through how the task would go. If someone had showed me, visually step by step, I might have got it.

Anyway. This caused my roommates to have a rather poor impression of me, and to be irritated. It probably wasn't this alone, but a series of equally autistic moments ruining the very limited time we did spend in each other's company. Shyness, or oversharing. Forgetfulness. The result was that they really, really didn't like me. I did not know this, of course. I found out later, through facebook. I had a lot of respect for them and wanted to connect--for the whole six months I lived there, I yearned for it,and I tried my best. Then they went off and got married and got their houses.

Sometimes when I feel kind of alone I think about all the little relationships like those. Dozens of different jobs and flop houses where I really tried to make friends and people closed me out for a (minor, but valid) reason. And I just hate myself. I hate myself so much. It's not like I'm ever going to be able to stop having these autistic moments; it's always going to be something different, some error in thinking. When I make friends it's generally with someone who knows how to be forgiving and understanding of disability… It's easy for me to direct that at other people. It's not easy to apply it to me, because my actions have resulted in my isolation.

Or maybe I never had a shot at winning those kids over; they were older, and sort of bougie-judgmental, so maybe no one could have made a good impression in my position. I don't know. I just know that any aloneness and rejection I experience really feel like my fault.

#memoir #autobiographical #actuallyautistic

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midsummer-semantics · 3 months ago

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Fortune Favors the Bold

Back with part 2 of Steddie Kinktober Bingo! Cross-posted on ao3 as well!

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - College/University, Professor Steve Harrington, Grad Student Eddie Munson, Teacher-Student Relationship, Pre-Relationship, still but we're getting there, Phone Sex, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Eddie Munson Has a Praise Kink, dom/sub dynamics, Dom Steve Harrington, Sub Eddie Munson, WELCOME BACK SUB EDDIE, Mutual Masturbation, Jerk off Instruction, Kinktober, Marijuana, Eddie smokes because duh but he's completely in control of his actions

Summary:

Eddie’s probably an idiot for doing this, but once he found out Steve’s dirty little secret, he replied to the last one with a secret message of his own:

That can still be arranged.

Or: The semester may have ended, but Eddie's obsession with his professor definitely hasn't.

[divider by @steddiecameraroll-graphics]

Keep reading below for the fic! ⤵️

Eddie’s probably an idiot for doing this, but once he found out Steve’s dirty little secret, he replied to the last one with a secret message of his own:

That can still be arranged.

He then sent Steve a quick email saying “Thank you so much for the private lessons. The last research project is done. I look forward to working with you closely in the future,” and then closed his laptop and screamed into his pillow for two straight minutes.

It was bold. More bold than the claim that landed him in those private sessions, but maybe not as bold as Steve had been.

His professor, of course, one-ups him again a few days later with a reply:

His personal number. Steve sent Eddie his personal fucking phone number.

Eddie screams into his pillow again for good measure.

It takes a week and a half of spiraling, several started and deleted texts, an aborted call to his best friend Chrissy (because honestly, he can’t tell her about this, it’s a complete breach of trust with Steve), and maybe a few too many hits off a joint before Eddie finally plucks up the courage to put that number to use.

It’s three days until Christmas and Eddie’s stoned in his childhood bedroom, his uncle at work because even this close to the holiday, the old man can’t catch a break.

He’d taken screenshots of all the secret messages and put them in a locked folder on his phone, reading back through them periodically to use as jerk-off material. Steve really did have a vivid imagination that he managed to convey in so few words. Shakespeare would give his left arm for half of the homoeroticism that Steve can produce in two lines of prose.

Eddie stubs the roach out, leans back against the wall — because 16-year-old Eddie didn’t have a bed frame with a headboard so 29-year-old Eddie gets to go without while he’s visiting Wayne — and pulls up Steve’s contact.

It’s only 8:15pm, a perfectly reasonable time to contact a professor about a homework question. That is, if it wasn’t winter break, and Eddie was still his student, and he actually had a homework question to ask him.

Whatever, he thinks. Steve told him to call him if he needs anything. And Eddie is in bed, half-chubbed from the messages he was re-reading for the millionth time, hazy from the weed, and needing to hear his professor’s voice even for a second.

He presses the number to dial before he can think twice about it, holding the phone up to his ear as the line rings, readjusts himself in his boxers, and waits.

“Hello, Steve Harrington speaking,” a voice answers after the third ring.

Eddie’s heart skips a beat, momentarily rendered speechless. For some reason, he had it in his mind that Steve gave him a phony number, that maybe he imagined the entire thing and was living out some kind of insane vivid dream for the last few weeks.

“Hello?” Steve says again, knocking Eddie out of his momentary stupor.

“Hello, professor,” Eddie chirps, cringing when he realizes how eager he sounds. He tries to backtrack. “Sorry, I know it’s late, and you’re probably with family, and — shit, why did I think this was a good idea—”

“Whoa, Eddie?” Steve interrupts, not sounding the least bit angry, but almost… happy? Definitely surprised, but not in a bad way, Eddie thinks.

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes. “It’s me. Sorry. I know you told me to call you if I needed anything, but I wasn’t sure if you were serious.”

“I was serious,” Steve says. “I’m just surprised. I didn’t think you’d actually take up the offer.”

“Oh? Why not?”

If Eddie’s phone had a chord, he’d be twirling it around his finger as he settles more comfortably against the wall and his bed, legs splayed out in front of him over the flannel sheets.

“Why don’t you tell me why you’re calling instead,” Steve prompts gently. “What do you need?”

So many things, Eddie’s mind supplies.

“I- uh…” he stammers instead, trying to come up with a good reason to have bothered his (former) professor this late during holiday break. “I wanted to know if you’ll be available next semester to do more private lessons. Seeing as I’m not on your roaster for the spring.”

There’s some shuffling in the background that Eddie can’t decipher before Steve speaks up. “Oh? Well, I don’t see why not. I’m only teaching two classes so I can focus on my next manuscript, so I’ll have a bit of free time that I’d be happy to dedicate to my favorite.” There’s a short pause before Steve tacks on, “Student.”

Eddie tries to hide the gasp he lets out by pulling the phone away from his face, reaching down with his free hand to cup his straining erection through his boxers. Even just hearing Steve’s voice is enough to have him leaking into the fabric. Maybe this was a bad idea after all.

“Great,” Eddie chokes, a little high pitched even in his own ears. “Great. I’ll still be free Thursday evenings if that works for you.”

Steve hums, more shuffling happening for a moment. “Sure, that works for me. But, Eddie, I can’t exactly offer you reprieve on a project or anything if you’re not my student next semester. And while I would love to assume you’re asking for the sheer opportunity to learn, I have to ask…”

There’s a pause, during which Eddie’s heart migrates to his throat.

“What do you really hope to gain from these private lessons?”

Eddie can feel himself starting to sweat, even though he’s only wearing his boxers and the heater in the old trailer is shit.

“I—” he mutters, “I guess… um… whatever you’re willing to give me?” He says it like a question, but the alternative is begging for something, anything, that Steve is willing to provide.

Steve tsks on the other end of the line, how voice slightly deeper, huskier when he speaks again. “Come on, Eddie. You can do better than that. Where’s all those words you poured into your research projects? All that confidence when you’re claiming Jonson was a self-important asshole for publishing his complete works in seven volumes?”

Eddie bites his lip hard to prevent a whine from escaping, squeezing the base of his dick harder to keep from coming.

“Dunno what my options are,” Eddie tries. He’s fishing, he knows he is, deflecting in the hopes that Steve just tells him what to do so Eddie can let him take the reins and he doesn’t have to think. Between the weed coursing through his bloodstream and Steve’s voice coursing through his synapses, he’s entirely out of his own control, and he needs more of this weightless oblivion.

“Well,” Steve grunts. There’s more shuffling and a quiet goran. “I can talk to the department about a GA placement. Make you my assistant for the semester.”

Eddie’s almost taken out of the fantasy by that offer. Grad assistants get tuition reprieve and a regular paycheck. Normally those positions only go to PhD students, but a GA at the MA level would severely reduce the debt he’s going into for this program.

“Or,” Steve continues, “I could offer an independent study course. One unit to help knock one of those extra required ones down for graduation.”

That’s also a fantastic offer. Some of those units are meant to go toward writing his thesis, but he doesn’t want to take them all at once and end up paying more in the long run.

But that’s not why Eddie called him. It’s not even why he took Steve up on his initial offer for private lessons. He wanted to learn, sure, but mostly he wanted to spend time with the older man. He wanted his attention solely on him, and he has it right now, unmitigated by academic or bureaucratic red tape, and he wants to keep that going.

“With respect, sir,” Eddie hedges, knowing this is already a dangerous game that they’re playing, but too down bad to consider quitting now. “Getting to spend more time with you is all the incentive I really need.”

It’s quiet on the other line for a moment, long enough for Eddie to start panicking again.

“Tell me, Eddie,” Steve says, his tone still deep and inviting. “Are you willing to be a good boy for me?”

This time, Eddie doesn’t prevent a low groan from escaping him, slouching on the bed as he squeezes his cock again, his legs falling open automatically.

“Yes, sir,” he mutters, almost a whine, but not quiet. Not yet.

“I meant what I said, you know. In those little messages. You really don’t know what you do to me, baby boy,” Steve rasps. Eddie thinks he hears the click of a bottle opening, a soft groan breathed into the phone’s speaker right into Eddie’s fuzzy brain, before unmistakable slow, slick sounds begin. “The amount of times I’ve had to fuck my fist right after you leave my office…” Steve continues, his voice a little more ragged than before. “God, the janitors would be pissed at the messes I’ve made.”

Eddie awkwardly shoves his boxers down one-handed and kicks them off haphazardly, grasping his own copiously leaking cock and giving it a few quick, over-dry strokes. The friction makes him hiss even as he moans.

“Oh, sweet thing,” Steve coos. “Too eager to use lube?”

It’s like Steve really is watching him; how does he know Eddie’s just raw-dogging his dick like this? He’s almost 30, he knows better than to jerk one out without something to ease the glide. But his lube is in his bathroom bag, and he’d have to put the phone down to get it open, and he doesn’t want to miss a second of hearing Steve jerking off for him.

“Why don’t you put a couple of fingers between those pretty lips for me? Get your hand nice and wet before you hurt yourself,” Steve instructs.

Eddie has three fingers in his mouth before he can mutter a yes, sir, but he tries to get the words around the intrusion anyway, burning with mortification at his eagerness when he hears Steve chuckle in his ear.

“That’s it, baby boy. Suck on those pretty fingers for me. I bet you look so good with your mouth full.”

Eddie can feel the drool starting to collect between his fingers and slide down his palm, his eyes rolling back at the combination between having his mouth stuffed and Steve’s voice whispering filthy praise in his ear.

“Alright, baby. Now get your hand on your cock and let me hear you sing for me.”

Eddie pulls his fingers from his mouth and wraps his wet hand around himself, the glide much easier. The moan he lets out is entirely too loud, too telling of how turned on he is, but he can’t stop it.

“That’s it, pretty one. Let me hear you. God, you sound so good.”

Eddie can hear the slick sounds of Steve beating off on the other line, the less than quiet groans the older man lets out in response to Eddie’s too-loud ones.

“I bet you look so pretty all laid out, touching your cock. Are you naked, Eddie?”

Eddie gasps, twisting his fist around the head of his dick and nodding dumbly. “Y-yes, sir.”

“Are you wet for me?”

Eddie looks down at this cock, the head deep red and spurting pre-come like a leaky faucet.

“So fucking wet,” Eddie pants, eyes squeezing shut so he can focus on the sounds Steve breathes into the phone.

“I want to eat you out, baby boy. Would you like that? Bend you over my desk and spank your ass ‘til it’s red before tongue fucking you ‘til you come all over yourself?”

“Steve —” Eddie keens, feeling his balls draw tight, right on the edge.

“Gonna come for me, baby? That’s okay. Come whatever you want to. I’m not stopping until I’ve finished,” Steve says. It sounds vaguely threatening, but holy fuck, is it exactly the permission Eddie needs to trigger his orgasm. Come shoots out of him, landing over his fist, stomach, chest, even a bit on his neck as he moans and mewls through it.

“Fuck yeah,” Steve mutters, before loosing a deep groan of his own that lets Eddie know his professor is coming as well.

There’s a lot of heavy breathing between them stuttering down the phone line as both men attempt to catch their breath. Eddie needs a shower, maybe a baptism after the religious experience that is hearing Steve Harrington come.

“You okay, pretty one?’ Steve mutters after several agonizing minutes.

“Mhmm,” Eddie hums, mouth dry and body completely wrung out. “Yeah, ‘m perfect.”

“Yeah you are,” Steve agrees, that delicate condescension back in his tone. Eddie can feel himself being tugged toward sleep, and of course it’s like Steve already knows. “Clean yourself up a bit, baby, and then you can sleep all you want.”

“Will you—” he starts and then stops, not wanting to voice his thoughts out loud and come off too needy after everything.

“I’ll stay on the phone with you until you’re tucked back in bed,” Steve answers, all-knowing as always. “And after Christmas we can talk about your private lessons for the spring.”

Eddie doesn’t meant to whine, he doesn’t, but Steve just fucked his brains out without being anywhere near him and he doesn’t want to wait four days before he talks to him again.

“Oh, baby, it’s okay. You can still call me whenever you need something. That offer still stands,” Steve promises.

“Okay,” Eddie replies. “Thank you, sir.”

“Anytime, Eddie. Really.”

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie kinktober #sub eddie munson #the questionable ethics of professor/grad student relationships

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