#I *did* post an actual fic this year?

[myokk]

my favorite bookworm

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

It's thirty til midnight 'n the house is crowded with the hot press of bodies. Someone's shoutin'. Actually, most of 'em are shoutin'. The living room stinks like the spilled beer Two's ground down into the carpet. The TV's playin'. Some New Year's special that Pony's glued to. The record players skippin' its way through a Christmas album. The tree's still up 'cause none of them would let Darry take it down 'til after New Year's.

Darry checks his watch once, runs his thumb absently over the face, compares it to the little glowin' clock above the stove, stands up 'n shifts past the card game Johnny has been creamin' Dallas at for the last half hour. Darry wasn't sure how he had any money to his name left. He steps over the coffee table 'n catches the hand of pure shit Dallas grins 'n ups the bet on. Good lord Johnny was gonna have the shirt off his back before the night was over.

Soda's bouncin' back 'n forth between the holiday special 'n the card game, offerin' commentary only Johnny seems to enjoy. Steve's got a huge bowl of popcorn Darry had fixed balanced on his lap, pitchin' kernels at Two's mouth as he dives for 'em.

Darry sighs, snatches one out of the air 'n pops it into his own mouth, steppin' out of the way so Two falls unceremoniously onto his knees with a grin.

"Hey! I was gonna catch that one!" Darry rolls his eyes, absently grabs Pony from where he had his nose three inches from the tube 'n hauls him back, much to Pony's indignation.

"Sure you were. Just like you were gonna catch the other thirty or so that I'm gonna have to vacuum outta the carpet." But he doesn't really mean it. The mood's high 'n Darry's just pleased to have 'em all together. Outta trouble 'n safe.

"Hey it ain't my fault Steve can't throw straight! He ain't exactly got your arm, Dar." Two wraps both hands around Darry's bicep 'n Darry hauls him up, danglin' like a monkey with his knees all bent.

"Hey!" Steve takes his opportunity 'n dives off the couch, nearly dumpin' the entirety of the bowl onto Dallas' head. Dally yowls, drops his cards onto the table 'n snatches for Steve's ankles to drag him back across the floor. Johnny leans over, tips the cards up, 'n grins to himself, then promptly sprawls to the side to avoid Darry shakin' Two off him 'n onto the floor.

Soda, never to be left out, throws himself into the mess of limbs until they're all a tangled mass of carpet burn 'n sharp-toothed peels of laughter. Darry disentangles himself, hovers in the doorway 'n watches them for a moment. Then he checks his watch again, adjusts the worn leather strap, peers at the clock on the stove glowin' softly through the darkness of the kitchen, 'n slips out the back door.

He knows his time is numbered 'cause Pony 'n Soda have always been herders. Had to know where everyone was at all times. But Pony's sleepy 'n zoned in on the TV like a lifeline 'n Soda's had two shots (both hastily over the kitchen sink 'cause Pony still thought Soda was drunk on the plain idea of bein' alive 'n they all liked to let him think it) so he had maybe just a few more minutes than usual.

It's fridged outside. The kinda cold that burns along his bare arms 'n makes his breath hang in low clouds around his face.

He can't really explain it. He's never been real good about the holidays. They're just... heavy. Even before, well, everythin'.

He crosses the porch, sinks down on the stair 'n blinks down the empty street. There's a light or two on. One house or the other still holdin' out for midnight. Most are quiet 'n dark 'n Darry's heart does an odd little flip in his chest.

He doesn't know why he thinks about the winter he was twelve 'n had been the best of friends with the boy that lived on the corner. Or why his stomach sinks when he thinks about how hard he'd cried when they had moved out. Inconsolable even when their mama had pulled him up into her lap (though he was too big for that. Too big for needin' his mama.) (that last bit was never true. He still needed his mama. Maybe more than he ever had before.) 'n had just cried 'n cried 'til Soda 'n Pony had come home from wherever they'd been 'n that had been that. 'Cause he shouldn't cry in front of his brothers. He should be strong for them.

Somethin' shatters to the ground inside 'n jerks Darry outta his memory.

"Sorry!" Someone hollers 'n Darry chuckles to himself. Man, maybe he shouldn't have had that last beer. He must be in too good of a mood 'cause he doesn't even think about goin' in to reem out whoever was breakin' shit. But he knows that's not true 'n it ain't the beer to blame.

He runs his hands up 'n down his arms, stands up 'n crosses the lawn, dead 'n dry in winter, leans against the fence 'n hisses when the metal bites into his arms. He sighs, kicks at the hole ripped in the bottom, smiles absently to himself.

Soda 'n Two had put that there. Had run one of those push petal cars so hard into it they'd both flown off 'n scraped knees 'n elbows 'n come crawlin' up the steps with, not two, but three missin' teeth between the two of them.

God, they must have been in middle school then. When had they grown up so much?

"Agh put me down you sonofabitch!" Somethin' else hits the ground but this time Darry's mostly sure it's a person. No one wails so he figures he's still safe. 'N he ain't ready to go back in yet.

He checks his watch, fiddles with the knob on the side, a nervous habit he's had since he was eighteen. Fifteen minutes to go. Plenty of time.

A breeze kicks up, swings the gate open 'n closed so it lets out a low, mournful squeal. It hadn't hung right since the summer Darry was ten. They'd always just jumped the fence, givin' each other the boosts they refused to ask for, gigglin' when their mama had called them coyotes, takin' runnin' starts 'n laughin' off when they misjudged it 'n came down hard on their knees. Their daddy had sworn he was gonna fix it every summer since.

He never got to.

Last month they'd had a real bad wind storm that pushed that old gate forlornly back 'n forth for hours, wailin' 'n moanin' until Darry had scowled 'n muttered he was gonna fix that goddamn thing if it was the last thing he ever did. 'N then he'd looked over at Pony 'n they both suddenly felt sick to their stomachs.

He never did get around to it.

The wind howls 'n Darry flexes his fingers, realizes suddenly its the only sound he can hear. He checks his watch again. Five minutes to go. He should go back inside.

But then he's runnin' his fingers around the face 'n thinkin' about the people not waitin' for him back in that hot 'n crowded living room. Thinkin' about how it ain't really his watch.

It had been his daddy's. His pride 'n joy. Thick leather strap 'n gold platin' around the face 'n it had been his granddaddy's before him. God, Darry had coveted it. Could remember bein' thirteen, runnin' fingers around 'n around it til it shone. Fifteen 'n askin' his daddy if he'd pass it down to him one day. Eighteen when he had put it in his hands on his graduation day.

You gotta watch out for it. The time flies, kiddo. Be careful how you spend it.

Darry doesn't hear the screen door slam, or the patterin' footsteps across the lawn, or the creak of the fence as someone leans against it til Soda's there, head restin' down on Darry's shoulder. Darry jumps, scrubs the back of his hand against the tears so hot against his flushed cheeks they burn. 'Cause he shouldn't cry in front of his brothers. He had to be strong.

"I figured I'd find you out here." Soda wraps a blanket, stolen from the couch, around Darry's arms 'n he suddenly realizes just how cold he is. He sighs, pulls Soda in 'n tucks him under his elbow.

"C'mon, Soda. You shouldn't be out here." 'N he shouldn't. 'Cause he shouldn't ruin everyone else's good time with his stupid achin'. "Let's get you back inside."

Soda tilts his head back 'n blinks up at Darry. Or, no he doesn't. He doesn't need to. Hasn't needed to look up to Darry in a long time, long since hit that final growth spurt that had their mama lettin' out all his jean hems 'n hopin' they stopped below his ankle. "You shouldn't be out here alone, Dar."

"I'm fine-"

"Oh, I know. You're fine. You're good. You're peachy." Soda sighs, drops his chin back down to Darry's shoulder. "You thinkin' about them?"

'N he is. But not really. He's thinkin' about all of them. About breakin' promises 'n not bein' careful enough. About turnin' around one day 'n Pony's not six years old 'n followin' Darry around 'cause he was still young enough to think Darry was the coolest person alive. That Soda's not ten years old 'n missin' his front tooth 'n a permanent bandaid on his knees 'n bringin' home one kid after another until their house was always full. That Johnny 'n Two 'n Dallas 'n Steve ain't just his brother's friends or strangers hangin' around his living room or even just good buddies.

"I'm thinkin' about my resolution." He pulls Soda in closer 'n somewhere down the street someone bangs pans together. A lone firework bangs off into the sky, lightin' his brother's face in a way that makes him look like he was a kid again, pressed against the window 'n tryin' so hard to stay awake.

"Well, don't leave me hangin'." Soda yawns, presses his face into Darry's chest to shield it from the wind.

Darry smiles softly to himself, runs a hand through Soda's hair, the lamp light bouncin' off the watch face when he lifts his wrist.

"I'm gonna keep some old promises."

I ain't gonna let time slip me by. The back door bangs open 'n when Darry turns he can see the shinin' grin on Two's face, his arm draped around Steve's shoulders. Pony leanin' hard on Dallas though Darry knows he'll claim he ain't tired. Johnny shiverin' in his too-big jacket.

"Come on, Dar! You're gonna miss it!" 'N Darry knows he means the ball drop or the announcer on TV or the end of the special but Darry can only smile ruefully, shift Soda closer to him 'n sweep him right off his feet to carry him inside.

You're right. You gotta be careful or you will. You'll miss it all.

tags 'cause y'all were so sweet in my other post I was like well I simply gotta finish this right now😭@trekkiehood @strxwberry-julius @marmaladedcroissant @wildestdreamcatcher @sarcasticallyexplicit11 @scalls @greasernamedbug

[icewindandboringhorror]

I know this is just a silly bad quality random screencap of a screencap that I found on facebook lol, BUT it's a succinct enough image to easily describe the concept in a quick/accessible way hopefully :

-

(and of course, feel free to elaborate in tags, etc.! (especially elaborating about other senses as well.. can you "hear" in your mind just as well as you can "see"? taste? etc.) It's an interesting topic to me, as someone who's like a 4.5 at MOST lol. I'm curious what option will be the most common :0c )

[spookythesillyfella]

remember when i had that dream where you [Y/N] have a sleepover with tumblr sexyman tony and sketchbook where you guys just end up in a polyamorous relationship ??? well . i tried to find a fanfic that would even slightly line up with the description. even if it was only vaguely

but uhhh ....

there were none . so i had to do it myself

[doggolol]

HE ALMOST SURRENDERS TO THE KISS

HE WAS SUPPOSED TO SURRENDER TO THE KISS

IM SOBBING

[rahabs]

endless moodboards for my favourite fics: Liquid Smooth by EpiKatt

"It's not your problem, Doc, you don't have to mix up in this," Wyatt said, sounding apologetic. Even expecting it, Doc couldn't help the flare of betrayal and anger. He'd do anything for Wyatt. Riding into a gunfight while half dead was nothing on the lengths he'd go for that irritating man. And for Wyatt to pretend like he didn't know that, yeah, that stoked Doc's ire nice and high. Slowly, Doc took halting steps toward Wyatt while he stared at the man unflinchingly. "That is a hell of a thing for you to say to me," he said, hurt plain in his voice, barely hidden behind the forced calm he pulled forth.

[sm0lcatfish]

can we talk about the ending to shubble’s afterlife series?? please??

like yes, mechanically, she lost her tenth life. she jumped and died from fall damage. but that’s not how she ended the story.

shulk shubble (shulkble?) had just witnessed the death of the only other person properly remaining, the inverse of herself, shadow joey/shadow boy/shadow 2.0. the last thing she wanted to do was watch the sunset and have a picnic, the one thing she endlessly craved on her first life back when she was the shadow.

“everybody’s kind of.. long gone and dead. onto the next… life. after-afterlife?”

“…i don’t really know what comes next.”

and then she simply vanishes. she simply says this is goodbye, and then the camera is obscured by a stray leaf and she’s gone. it’s quiet, there’s just the sound of the wind as it goes dark.

she always loved watching the sun.

[arendaes]

same ghosts in a new home

I've been trying to find some writing prompts to turn to when I want to write but don't know what, and when these prompts passed by my dash earlier I knew I found the list to pull from. I used a random number generator to pick which prompt to write. Up first we have:

same ghosts in a new home (961 words)

Fandom: Pathfinder Wrath of the Righteous

Rating: T for implied sexual activity (nothing graphic)

Ship: The Commander/Daeran/Woljif

Other notes: Second Person POV

In some of the books you’d read in the past, you’d run into descriptions of the lingering effects of an argument. You’d always dismissed them as poetic hogwash. But now, as you stand in the middle of the sitting room of our new home, you could swear there was an echo, the last vestiges of heated words and raised voices falling back through time to haunt you. 

Truthfully, you're not sure what you said to set Woljif off, or why I was upset with your refusal to apologize. We knew what you were like by now, and you thought you were being nice. Though, if you're being honest with yourself, you know how your words can land more like poisoned barbs than playful jabs. This fight might not be entirely your fault, but you're not completely innocent in it either. 

With a sigh, you turn towards the liquor cabinet, situated right next to the stairway you once sat in waiting for us to join you in. You remember the soft words and the heated embraces, reminders that your melancholy was as ephemeral as it was unfounded. Even now, the memory brings a small smile to your lips. “You will never pale into insignificance.” “You're stuck with us, Your Excellency.” 

To the hells with it. Abandoning your original trajectory, you turn towards the door. Judging by the light filtering in through the window, you have a couple hours yet before the sun goes down. Perhaps you have a plan, perhaps you just want some fresh air. Either way, you’re out of the house before you even realize it. 

****

Now, as for you, Woljif, you had stormed out of the house into the backyard. It was still mostly an overgrown ruin, a choking tangle of weeds and debris that I intend to one day transform into a garden bursting with life. The only thing of note was the small part of the Sellen River that flowed through it, a sliver of pure, bubbling water that you once spent an evening frolicking in with Daeran and I. The memories are pleasant, and the guilt that pervades you at their arrival is entirely unwelcome. 

With an aggravated sigh, you pull one of your daggers out of its holster. Even now it’s a habit to make sure you’re armed. Maybe there will come a day when you don’t feel the need, and when it comes, that’s how you’ll know you’ve truly lost your edge. With a frown, you toss the knife at a nearby stump. It sticks with a loud thud, not unlike the sound the door made when you slammed it come out here. 

Your edge…that’s what this about. Just two years ago you were still running with the Family and scrabbling to get by day to day. Now, here you are, married to two of the most prestigious people in the country and the beginnings of a home to call your own. This is something you should be happy about, and you are! But there is a part of you that feels like you’re betraying everything you’d ever known, stabbing the boy you once were in the back for the first shred of kindness and love that had been shown to you. 

You pull the dagger free, all the anger in your veins dying as the blade comes loose from the wood. Daeran didn’t mean anything by it, but the quip had been phrased just right, careless in the way only someone who’d never faced such hardship could be. Now you know that the wounds of your past still stung.

Taking a deep breath, you flop onto the stump, staring out into the sunlit water. Just a few more minutes, then you’ll be ready to go back inside. Whether it’ll be to make amends or fan the flames again, you’re not sure. But judging by the loose grip you have on your dagger, you are so much more tired of holding grudges than you realized. 

****

At least, I want to believe these are the thoughts that ran through both of your heads. Earlier, when Daeran’s comment landed poorly and led to the most explosive fight I’d seen you two have since the Crusade, I’d felt perfectly useless. All of us still carry the ghosts of our past, and we’d spent so long trying to bury mine that I’d forgotten that you two still had yours to deal with. Words cannot describe how inadequate I felt as a partner in that moment.

Now, the three of us are lying on the floor of the living room, my shortcomings only still plaguing my own mind. You two had made up hours ago, and we carried on our evening in the way newlyweds are wont to do. But as you two drifted off to sleep, I found myself lying awake, haunted by my own, brand new ghost - the one borne of fear that one day I’d lose both of you. I’d been so wrapped up in the tangible ways that could happen, I didn’t realize all the other ways it could happen. 

The two of you lie on either side of me, your hands clasped below my breasts as your breathing evens out. The floor is far from comfortable, and the throw pillows from the couch aren’t much better, but just being here with you two…it doesn’t make it more comfortable, but there’s no other place I’d rather be. The crackling fire wants to lull me to sleep, and I know I should rouse you two before morning comes and the housemaid finds the three of us lying here naked. But for the moment, I am just savoring this moment, and thinking of ways we can help our ghosts to play nicely together in our new home.

[loppiopio]

just some 🥥 related sillies i've made for that fic we all know.

[thegreatyin]

And thus, with the passing of 24 hours, Caeru's ambition truly comes to an end. Major Nemesis spoilers below the cut- we're talking endgame ambition business here. Mostly on a character RP front.

The Doomed Scientist made quite a few... choice decisions, in the end. Killing Cups once and for all, recording his story as one of grief-

And sparing what little remained of Mr Mirrors, leaving it free to roam Parabola as it sees fit.

Some of them, he can explain. Others, he's still left to feel... discontent.

Cups needed to die. That much was certain from the start. It was a tyrant, as all Masters are, and complicit in the bargaining and eventual destruction of four (potentially five) cities, as all Masters are. It was an obstacle. A murderer. A petty monster that felt no remorse even on its deathbed, and it went out of its way to ruin multiple lives just because it felt owed its own sick and twisted idea of revenge.

It killed his first love. It looked him in the eyes and he knew what it had done and he knew from the start it was going to die.

Perhaps, in the end, it knew too. And yet it still pleaded, and wanted to live, and-

It made a bargain.

A bargain Caeru didn't take.

Not because he didn't want to. Gods, he wanted to. He wanted it. He wanted it more than anything else in the world. To have Greylu back, to give him the gift of life, of love, to show him the wonders of the Neath and the beauty of the correspondence and all of the people Caeru has met and loved and found home with along the way-

But. He couldn't.

Because Cups was a monster. And no matter what, it deserved to die. And he could not, in good conscience, allow it to live.

Even if sparing it meant everything he's ever wanted.

So he's left here, now. With a bloodied traveling coat, and a bloodsoaked knife, and a favor finally fulfilled.

And nothing to live for. No resurrected lover, no charming visits to Helicon, no slow dances in the living room, no memories to rebuild and lives to live and he won't live again-

Nothing. All he has is a coat born of obligation, not to his love, but to people he's never even met. To lives he's never even touched. To a paramour, still alive, with hair of rose-pink, who doesn't even remember her own brother's existence.

Cups didn't die for Caeru's sake. Cups died for the sake of all who wanted it dead. For the revenger's court, and the ghost screaming in his ear, and the reckoning that will not be postponed indefinitely.

And Caeru, who acted as a tool to carry out their wills? Who all but betrayed his own lover, just to satisfy a cause he never knew existed?

All Caeru is left with, is regret. Regret-

-And grief.

[makotonaegiunderstander]

something I’ve been thinking abt is how many people think Makoto is immune to despair. I don’t think he is. I think becoming the ultimate Hope was BECAUSE he felt despair. He wouldn’t have fully reached that point without Junko. Makoto becoming such a beacon was his last attempt to avoid completely falling and it wasn’t because he didn’t feel despair, it was because he was too damn stubborn to allow everything to go to waste and he refused to sacrifice his beliefs for someone else’s. His inner monologue tells me he DID experience the same new low the other suvivors did in the final trial, but at the point where he had the choice to give up and die, he looked at the others and he looked at Junko and he couldn’t allow it to happen, not out of self preservation, but because the idea that Junko would have control over their lives made him FURIOUS. and that utter refusal to die kicked in, wether luck or otherwise, and he made the concious effort for one last push while something in him was breaking. He had to be broken in order for the Ultimate Hope to come through so aggressively, bc it could only exist in the face of the Ultimate Despair. He snapped the same way she did, but in the other direction. In what could have been his final moments he chose to embody everything Junko wasn’t, and every single optimistic and luck fueled ideal in him suddenly charged forward and pushed him. It was a combination of the final straw and a choice. Makoto isn’t immune to feeling despair, he’s just too stubborn to fall into it of his own volition. I think that’s why I like that scene in DR3 so much. People were SO SHOCKED Makoto actually fell for the tape, that he actually became despair for a moment. I saw people getting mad or disappointed, saying it was pathetic and Makoto seemed to fall from some sort of pedestal for them. Honestly part of me wonders if that sort of mentality, which clearly people had in universe, affected Makoto a bit. Like he started to see himself as less of a person, subconsciously. Prompting him to take more risks, less self preservation, act way more bold. It seems he has to be reminded a lot not to put himself in danger by his friends, to not do something too reckless. All over the place I would see in regards to that scene either this frivolous ‘oh this was just angst drama with no meaning behind it’ or ‘he can do better than that. he’s so weak’ or ‘come on, there’s no way he’d fall into despair, he’s the Ultimate Hope!’ This kind of mentality, which was kind of ironic considering Ryota was there the entire time saying the same thing and treating Makoto the same way. Like Makoto was superhuman. Like Makoto didn’t feel despair the same way ‘normal people’ did. In a way that was also how Munakata saw Makoto. Makoto stopped being a PERSON to the world when he became Ultimate Hope, he became a concept, a belief system, much the same way Junko ascended beyond herself. But the difference is that treating Makoto that way is the opposite of the reason Makoto became such a representative for hope. He wasn’t doing something no one else could. He was doing something everyone had the chance to, he just… was a little more optimistic, a little more stubborn, a little more ‘gung-ho’ about things. He just took the lead where no one else did, where no one else knew they even COULD in the face of Junko’s unstoppable force. She had overcome the biggest threats and obstacles in the world, what could one person do? And the answer Makoto found was, anything. Everything. It doesn’t all rest on Makoto, he’s just the one that was inspired to try to do what seemed like the impossible. But as evidenced by the change in his friends after that trial, it’s clearly not something only Makoto is capable of. The others pulled out of despair thanks to Makoto, but it was their choice to do so.

“But… this world is so huge, and we’re so small. What can we do…? No, we can probably do anything. Yeah! We can do anything!”

[mariyekos]

Crack fic idea: POV of a police officer chasing a robbery suspect who ends up running into DMC to escape/grab a hostage. When the officer opens the door, he finds the suspect standing frozen in the middle of the room, because on the opposite end by the desk, an angry Vergil's standing there stabbing a surprised Dante. This stabbing pretty obviously happened before the robber showed up. It's only through the hand, but the one guy is holding a whole giant samurai sword, the guy getting stabbed has a gun in his free hand, and there's kind of a lot of blood.

The other officer comes in after POV guy. Officer 2 looks over the scene, then starts to arrest the suspect who's still so shocked he doesn't really fight the handcuffs. Once the suspect is cuffed, Officer 2 starts to walk him through the door and tells POV Officer it's time to go. POV Officer is confused, because uh, sir, there's some pretty severe domestic violence going on and he doesn't know if that gun's registered, and even if they ignore all the normal police/violence/safety issues shouldn't they call some EMTs??? Or at least ask the guy getting stabbed if he's okay???? (To which Dante calls out "oh yeah I'm good!" confusing poor POV officer further)

Officer 2 just frowns and shakes his head. "No, they've got this. Right Dante?" To which Dante cheerfully replies with some small talk that makes it obvious he and Officer 2 are acquainted. Vergil gets tired of the small talk and rips the Yamato out of Dante's hand, walking upstairs. And when POV Officer starts to ask something else, Dante basically just waves him off with some sort of comment about how Vergil's just grumpy, honestly Dante kind of deserved that one, he'll admit he was being a bit pushy. And then waves goodbye when Officer 2 says they really need to get back go the station and book the suspect.

As they leave, POV Officer asks what's going on. Officer 2 basically just tells him not to worry, and not to write it in the report. That's just Dante. Dante tries to keep clear of the police, the police try to keep clear of Dante, and everyone's happy. He's helped out on a handful of cases when he just so happened to be in the area, he's gotten accused of some property damage a few times, it all evens out. You just don't mention Dante. City Police actually have a code for it, if they ever absolutely have to. But today they don't, so they won't. They caught the suspect. That's that. The suspect ran into one of the many abandoned buildings in the area and they caught him. Nothing else of note.

Oh, and if POV Officer is worried about the hand, he shouldn't be. The police here have known demons were real for years before Redgrave, and they're pretty sure Dante's one of the nice ones. When he says he'll be fine, hell be fine. Officer 2 has some good stories about him getting shot in the chest and getting tight bacm up, actually...

...

And so a crazy day comes to an end. The suspect's been caught, the streets are safe, and that's that. Nothing else happened. Nothing at all.

If POV Officer starts sprinting in the opposite direction when he sees a certain tall, white haired, blue eyed, blue wearing man when he's walking down the street later that week, it's for no reason at all.

[avanchnzel]

a moment of rest

[seventh-district]

babe wake up a new Venti-coded song just droppped

“I’m as sober as a drunk.

I’m as high as rock bottom.

Free as a man with his hands handcuffed to the bar.”

[chippedshake]

(An expansion of a moment from this qprpbj fic I wrote a while ago)

Ponyboy smiles when he opens the door and finds Avery on the other side.

"Hi, Aves."

"Hey, grandpa," they say brightly, stepping inside.

Avery takes their backpack off and heads to the bathroom like they do every Tuesday. The twenty-minute walk from school to his house is just long enough for them to need to pee when they get there but not at school.

Ponyboy closes the door and sighs. It's nice to have company once in a while, even if it's just for lunch on Tuesdays. It gets lonely sometimes, when everyone's paired up with kids. Cathy got almost full custody over Katie and Johnny, so he's been alone for a while. Two-Bit and Marcia, Steve and Soda... They never stopped caring about Ponyboy and Darry, but they have other things to do. Married life to attend to.

Shame Darry's out today, he always likes to talk to Avery. Seems like they might be going down the accounting path, and Darry's good for advice on that.

"What's for lunch?" they ask, drying their hands on their skirt.

"I'm tryin' out this new recipe I found online..." Ponyboy takes the aluminum foil off of a pot and looks inside. "It's chili but it's supposed to have some sort of sweet twist? I dunno, the girl explaining it seemed really excited."

"Did you check the reviews like I told you to?"

"Yeah, they all said to use less beans or it would be too dry, so I did."

Avery gives him a wide grin. "Great."

Ponyboy carries the pot over while Avery sets the table.

"How's school been?"

He starts serving Avery a bowl.

"It's been fine. I did a math test today and I made some stupid mistakes — that's enough, thanks — and there was this one formula I forgot that woulda made everything a whole lot easier, but it went okay."

"That's nice." He sets his own bowl down in front of him.

"Actually, grandpa..." Avery trails off and avoids Ponyboy's eyes when he looks at them. "There’s something I need to talk to you about."

Ponyboy looks at them silently, urging them to go on, but they stay quiet.

"Go ahead."

"I'm aromantic. And asexual." They look at him, trying to gauge his reaction. "Aroace for short."

Ponyboy blinks at them once. Twice. "What?"

They give a dry laugh before answering. "Yeah, no, I didn't expect you to know. Aromantic means I don't feel romantic attraction. Asexual means I don't feel sexual attraction."

"Those are different?" The look Avery gives him is the same one he knows he used to give Sodapop whenever he asked him what the movie they just watched was about. "Sorry," he says, suddenly feeling meek.

"No, it's fine," they sigh, "They're kinda new labels, I guess. But yeah, they're different. Mostly people feel them together, but some people feel them differently. I just... don't."

Ponyboy had been about to eat a spoonful of chili, but freezes with the spoon halfway to his mouth.

"You... you can just... not feel it?"

On Ponyboy's first date with Cathy, they went out for dinner, and it felt kinda like going out with Two-Bit. Laughing too much and feeling like he was breaking some sort of rule all the time. It was nice, though.

He kissed her goodnight like he was supposed to, and it felt weird, but it was supposed to feel weird, right? They'd just started to go out.

Then they'd been dating for long enough for it to be expected for them to have sex and he didn't really want to, but Cathy wanted to and they were supposed to and it wasn't that bad, really. Just kinda boring.

"Yeah. I know it sounds really weird, and you might think I just haven't met the right person yet, but think about like, straight people. You know you don't like the same sex and no one ever doubts that, so this is like the same only I don’t like anyone. And it doesn't mean I can't have meaningful relationships or anything — I like my friends a lot, I love them a lot, and Charlie can be nice when he isn't being an annoying little brother, and there's even other types of relationships, like queer-platonic relationships, that aren't for me, but that other aroace people can want—"

"Calm down, Aves," Ponyboy says with a slight grin. He definitely know where they got that from. "I wasn't tryin' to make ya feel like I didn't accept you, I just... didn't totally get it."

"Oh." They're slightly out of breath. "Okay."

There are a couple moments of silence before they go on, "Well, in any case, I find sex and romance disgusting and when people tease me about that sorta thing it makes me uncomfortable. That's all I wanted to tell you."

They smile awkwardly.

Ponyboy feels himself deflate, but tries not to let it show.

"So then aromantic and— and asexual people find it disgusting?" So it's just me? It's just me that's broken, then.

"Oh, no, not at all. I just don’t like it, but there’s people who are fine with it. Some people even enjoy it."

"Oh." Not broken not broken not broken not broken "And can, uh... can anyone be– aromantic? And asexual?"

They look at him curiously, eyes flitting across his face to try and figure out what he's thinking. A flicker of understanding — and something like hope — crosses over their face before they settle back into a neutral expression.

"Well, yeah. Not anyone that feels sexual or romantic attraction, obviously, but, like, there's aroace people of all ages with all sorts of romantic and sexual histories and they're still aroace."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

The rest of lunch is spent in near silence. Every so often one of them asks a question and the other answers, but conversation never lasts more than a couple seconds. The silence festers around them, Avery looking around uncomfortably, Ponyboy trying to force himself to be comfortable. Ponyboy's washing the dishes while Avery cleans up the table when there's the sound of a key jiggling and the door opens, showing Darry standing behind it. His face lights up when he catches sight of Avery.

"Aves! I didn't miss you!"

"Uncle Darry!" He sets his bag down next to him a takes his shoes off.

"How'd your math test go?"

Avery's face scruches up. "I forgot about the tangent squared identity and had to deduce it from the sine squared plus cosine squared one."

Darry makes a similar face and clicks his tongue as he walks over. "Did it go well besides that?"

"Yeah." He goes to ruffle their hair but remembers the last time they complained about it and grabs their shoulder instead.

Avery checks their phone. "Oh shii— shoot. I'm late. Gotta run back now."

They slip their shoes on quickly and run out the door.

"Have fun!" Darry calls, and a muffled "I'll try!" makes it back through the door.

Darry looks at the closed door for a second, easy smile on his lips. "Seems like slamming the door's genetic," he mutters.

He wanders into the kitchen and stops dead in his tracks. The water's running over dirty dishes but Ponyboy's leaned against the opposite counter, scrolling down something on his computer.

He has the same look on his face that he had a couple days after his seventeenth birthday, when he came up to Darry and told him quietly that he was older than Johnny would ever be.

"Pony?"

Ponyboy looks up, blinking quickly, not bothering to try and close the tab.

"Hmm?" His voice is unnaturally high-pitched. The eye contact only lasts a couple second before he looks away, back at the screen.

Darry walks towards him slowly. "Everything okay?" He turns the tap off when he passes by it.

Ponyboy's staring holes into his computer. He can't look away, can't look away from the words that've been there all along. The words he didn't see fifty-something years ago — oh, god, he can't even remember how long it's been.

The computer's being taken away from him.

"Pony." Ponyboy looks up to meet Darry's eyes. "What's wrong."

"The— the words are there." He's on the verge of tears and he knows that Darry can tell with the pitch of his words, but he can't control it.

"What words, Pony?"

"A— aromantic. And asexual. And queer-platonic." Darry just stares at him, clearly in as much confusion as Ponyboy was a couple minutes ago. "You don't have to wanna date people. And sex. And Johnny—"

Ponyboy doesn't finish the sentence.

"What about Johnny?" Darry seems confused, and Ponyboy realises that he thinks he's talking about his son.

"Cade."

"Oh."

"We weren't friends. I always knew we weren't friends, I knew it was different, because I ain't never felt that way again."

Darry blinks. "You're saying you're... gay?"

Ponyboy shakes his head and he can feel the tears tickle as they roll down his cheek but it would be wrong to brush them away.

"It don't— It don't gotta be like that. You don't gotta choose between bein' friends or datin', those aren't the only options. And it— it's real." He buries his face in his hands. Darry wraps his arms around him and Ponyboy stoops down to burrow his head in Darry's shoulder. "I know it— it doesn't change anythin', that we were the same thing, that we were— were queer-platonic even if the word didn't exist but I wish it did.

"I wish it did because then maybe it wouldn't be so—" He can't go on.

Maybe it's because there's no words to describe what it means to find out what something was when it's so far in the past you no longer remember, but remember remembering. Maybe it's because the pain he'd buried so deep he almost forgot about it comes back in full force. Maybe it's because he's sobbing so hard the words can't come out.

And that's how it ends.

It doesn't end with "stay gold" and it doesn't end with his English theme. It doesn't end with a roadtrip to the sea so they can spread his ashes and it doesn't end when he's twenty and unhappily married.

It ends sixty years too late. It ends with something as irrelevant as a pair of words. It ends with closure. Closure that comes far too late, but eventually comes.

[yuwuta]

happy new year little people in my phone 💘💘💘💞💞