#I am happy that instead of being vague I can now put in the name of Tracy's kiddo

[pastlivesxpastlie]

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Things We Buried Low

Tags/Warnings/Head’s Up: Vessel x fem!reader, reader has tits and a pussy, gn pet names, newly established relationship, bit of a slow burn, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff that becomes smut, checking-in, fingering (f receiving), 69, cum swallowing (I don't shame but for sleep's sake don't do it if you don't want to or if you don't know their history)

A/N: this could be about anyone’s fav, but vessel is seriously my muse right now.

MDNI 18+

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

“And who is this one about?” You ask softly as you look up from the leather bound journal. 

Vessel barely meets your gaze and sighs. The newness, and frankly, the rawness, of this relationship and your attraction to one another has reduced you both to nervous teenagers. But tonight isn’t one of those filled with soft giggles and kisses under the throw blankets on your couch; no, the evening has been spent sharing secrets…baring souls…revealing flaws. You know he’s hurt. You know there’s a past and an inner monologue behind those eyes you could never begin to imagine, but he said he wanted to let you in. So here you are…on his bed, cross-legged reading his poems and lyrics. Finally he closes his eyes and shakes his head. 

“Who it’s about…doesn’t matter much to me anymore. What matters is that I’ve left that part behind now. And that I’m here with you.” 

He locks eyes with you and caresses your cheek. You’ve learned to appreciate his vagueness, a stark contrast to your need to overshare. Before he pulled out his notebook, you had just finished telling him 5 years worth of trauma with tangents that made you both laugh and cry a little. You were embarrassed…but he held your hand the whole time…making contended hums when you’d remember something happy and then kissing your knuckles during the hard parts.

“Well,” you say putting the notebook on his nightstand, “it sounds like it was a difficult time.” You squeeze his hands in yours and take a deep breath. “I understand better why you…hesitate to open up. But…thank you for letting me in.” You lift his chin gently so he looks at you. The dim bedside lamp and filtered moonlight from the window cast long shadows on his features, but instead of tortured he looks ethereal. 

And in that moment…your breath catches. And so does his. Your thumb gently rubs his cheek until his lips part. Instinctively the pad of your thumb circles his pouty lips. It’s not overtly sexual. No. It’s reverent. At this point in your relationship you’ve only made out to the point of frenzy, grinding against each other and exchanging breathless sweet nothings between hot, soft kisses. 

“You’re safe with me, you know?” You whisper, you voice caught in your throat as your heart swells for the man before you.

His face finally betrays the emotion he’s been harboring. His breath shudders and he nods slowly…jaggedly, almost like he wants to balk at you. 

“Don’t take this wrong way, Ves, but…” you begin, but you’re distracted by his eyebrow cocking with some amusement. You chuckle softly and shake your head. “Just hear me out. Sometimes when we touch…you remind me of a stray…a rescue…who’s never felt a loving touch.”

“Am I that pathetic, little love?”

“Tsk. No. I just mean…”

“No, I understand. And…you’re right. To feel love…at least the love you give me…it chills me to the bone.” He gently tugs at your arm to pull you into his lap. You’ve never sat in his lap before and suddenly find yourself painfully aware of your weight. He sighs. “I want all of it.”

You relax just a bit more. Just a fraction.

“All. Of. It.” His spidery hands grasp your hips and presses your ass firmly onto his thighs. “If you are going to touch me…to pleasure me…to love me…I need it to the highest degree, darling. I crave everything you can give me.”

Of all the things that could be on your mind (like the heat forming in your center and rising into your belly, the way you’ve dreamt of being intimate with him, how delicious he looks right now, etc) what you’re focused on his word choice. What you “can” give. Not what you “will” give. He means to coax it all out of you. And you are beyond willing. But you know this is a big step so you broach your next words with tenderness.

“Ves, you set the pace, love. I don’t to overwhe—“ your lips are suddenly trapped against his. One hand holds the back of your head and begins to grasp at handfuls of your soft hair while the other gently guides your ass to grind in his lap. Eventually he pulls you away from the kiss by the nape of your neck.

“You’re so kind, little love, to want to protect me. But after tonight, I don’t want a fragment of dignity between us.”

With that he moves swiftly to pin you on your back. His lips find the crook of your neck…where your pulse and natural scent is the strongest. “So warm. So soft. Baby…” Wet, open mouthed kiss cover your neck and throat. You writhe underneath him, already surrendering to his need and affections. 

His kisses are rough and feverish. He’s been starved of this. There’s no denying it. His lithe waist presses you firmly into the bed…and for the first time you feel his bulge against you. You have done this to him. You have driven this man to near madness as he works quickly to remove your shirt. Gazing down at your naked torso for the first time, he lets his warm, skilled hands trail over your body with reverence. 

“Is this mine?” He asks, his eyes glued to your stiffening nipples as he gently cups your breasts. 

Your breath catches. “Body. Mind. Soul. Flesh. Blood. …it can all be yours, Ves.”

With that he presses his face into your breasts and peppers wet kisses and small nibbles along your soft mounds. You whine softly as his nose gently nuzzles one of your nipples.

“Please….” He whispers. “Please?”

You nod with wide eyes. He started so confident, so aggressive, but now he was begging for permission just to suckle from you. 

Pathetic moans fall from his pretty mouth as his kitten licks and soft kisses cover your nipples. “Love…my god…” His hand trails down under your shorts. “May I? Please?”

Your breath shudders with a sharp moan. He isn’t even touching your pussy yet, but it clinches as if he’s already bottomed out inside you. 

“Love…may I? Yes or no?”

You find your voice and push his hand to your throbbing clit�� “yes.”

He lets out a deep, satisfied groan as his index and middle finger scissor your sensitive bud. You let out a slutty yelp as his firm fingers work to, basically, jack off your clit. 

“Fffffuck….oh my god…Ves…” you bite your lip and a shrill, pathetic moan cuts through the darkness of his bedroom. 

“Oooh…look at you, little love. Eager for my touch. Eager for my fingers,” he coos as he looks down at you with reverence and lust. “But what if…what if I…ahh…” he leaves you hanging momentarily and then presses his fingers firmly on your clit, massaging in big, slow circle. You hold onto his shoulders as your mouth clamps shut and your eyes cross from pleasure. You imagine you look like a dumb little slut but you wouldn’t know from how Vessel is looking at you. His eyes trail down you like you’re a work of art. Marble carved for him to touch. To taste. To behold. “Don’t you dare close that perfect mouth. Let me hear you.”

“Vessel…please. Please I need you.”

“Darling…am I not knuckle deep in you?” You look at him confused for a second but then he plunges his middle finger into your heat. The pad of his finger explores your wet, gummy insides and settles happily on your sweet spot. “Do I not have you already gushing on my hand?”

Oh how he teases you… You whine and a hot blush covers your cheeks as you realize you have to verbalize your fantasy. “I want your mouth.”

A dark look crosses his face. “Then we have something in common.”

He takes his finger from your cunt and brings it to his mouth. You watch, mouth agape and eyes glazed over, as he cleans your essence from his digit. You’re still watching him with a lovesick gaze as he stands up and removes his clothes. You’ve felt his abs through his clothes, but seeing them in the flesh is a revelation. You imagine kissing his stomach. Grinding your needy cunt along it. But it’s not until you see his cock for the first time that you feel a ravenous desire propelling you forward. You roll to the edge of the bed closest to him, looking up at him, asking for a treat. He chuckles and caresses your face, saying, “if I’ve been starved of loving touch…then you, my dear, are starved for cock.” 

You bite your lip and lean closer, hoping for a taste, before he holds your jaw, making your lips pucker. “Did I say I was ready for that,” he asks with dry condescension, “greedy fairy.”

You pout and roll ever to let him lay back on the bed. He makes himself comfortable, and you slip off your shorts and panties. He licks his lips as you strip—seeing your soft, squishy parts for the first time. “Fuck,” he whispers emphatically. 

He beckons you toward him, mimicking the same finger motion he did inside you moments ago. “Have a seat.” You prepare to swing your leg over his hips but he stops you. 

“Ah ah ah… how can I taste you if your cunt is down there?”

Loud and clear. You move slowly, your waist level with his face now; he nods and motions for you to turn. He wants your back to him. He wants your mouth taking his cock while he makes out with your perfect, squishy pussy. You settle with your thighs around his pretty face. You can hear him whispering praises and expletives as he kisses and nips at your thighs. “Ves…”

He stops suddenly, worried that he’s somehow upset you. “Yeah, love? Is everything ok?”

You chuckle softly at his concern and lean down on his body…your hand magnetized to his twitching, desperate cock. “Everything is perfect. I just…”  You want to finish your sentence but he’s already lapping at your folds. “Fuck…fuck oh my god…”

Your hand pumps his length as he lifts his head to bury his face in your pussy. He doesn’t even have to push your hips further into his face because they’re moving on their own. You find the strength to prop yourself up on your elbows to take his cock between your plush lips. He moans raggedly as his tongue fucks your tight hole, your slickness marking his face as yours. The feeling of his warm body against your curves and breasts encourages you to take his cock deeper into your mouth, the head gently grazing the back of your throat. 

For the first time in ages, your brain is empty. The only thing you know is giving Vessel pleasure and receiving it in turn. Your hips move to grind your clit harder on his tongue, a movement he not only loves but also encourages. The friction from his mouth is made infinitely more delicious as his moans reverberate against your cunt like a human vibrator. You disengage your mouth from his cock and let a long stream of spit fall onto its throbbing head. As you take it in your hand and fuck it the way you dream of riding him, you hear his moans turn into the prettiest whimpers and whines. You're encouraged by his noises…empowered. 

“That’s right sweet boy…you like getting stroked with a pussy on your face? Hmm? Is that good?”

You could swear he’s crying at this point. He has his arms wrapped your hips and his mouth stuck to your wet cunt. You laugh softly as imagine your lower half is a pillow and he’s screaming in it. “Oooh,” you coo “he's just so excited.”

Your teasing gets to him. He bucks into your hand and lets out a feral groan as he takes your clit in his mouth and sucks like his life depends on your orgasm showering his face. You let out a shriek in surprise and pleasure. “FUUUUCCKKKK. Aahhhhhhh yes….that’s a good boy. Fuck yes…make me cum…”

He whines back at you, hips bucking wildly, desperate to feel your warm mouth around his cock once more. You let another stream of spit glaze his cock before taking it whole and letting him fuck your throat as he sucks your tender clit. Just when you think you’ve gotten ahold of yourself, he lets a finger trace your entrance. The gentle tickle and pleasure pushes you over. You’re not surprised that something so small made you cum. You just knew he’d have that effect on you. 

You moan loudly around his cock as your pussy throbs and clenches out a powerful, toe curling orgasm. His own moans sound gravely and crackly. Just then, his hips buck, and you feel the hot stream of his cum fill your mouth. Oh to have his spunk in your mouth. Oh to taste his essence just as he tasted yours. You pull off and swallow thickly. Swinging your leg over, you lay your head on his stomach and look up at him.

“Love…little fairy…I am…so sorry for just…right in your mouth…”

You wipe the corner of your mouth, nary a mess to be found. “It was an honor.”

He chuckles softly and closes his eyes. “You’re both the death of me and my reason for living.”

His verbose description, even after cumming his heart out, makes you smile. You lean up and pepper sweet kisses on cheek.

“You know what I think?”

“Hmm?” He answers sleepily.

“We should see if any pizza places are still delivering…and curl up on the couch.”

He looks at you with hazy eyes. Finally…he feels at home. At peace. Safe.  

[ghostgirl-22]

omg! omg! omg! do you have ideas on older jealous art? like what if he saw patrick on the date with helen at the hotel instead? or maybe saw patrick on a date with another man (grosu? 👀) and got really upset but didn’t understand why!

Oh yes, oh yes….<3

I think Art goes in the sauna, yes that sauna. But it’s before they ever meet up the night before they play the final.

CW: NSFWish, 18+

Summary: in which Art has a Karen moment because how dare you try and take his man—that he really doesn’t want (he promises). And no he doesn’t know what he’s weirdly sexually confused about. But it’s not that.

-/-/-/-

Art’s winning again. He’s mostly playing kids who are just so happy to be there or sad older guys who are so jaded and defeated about the idea of playing him that they’ve beaten themselves before Art even has to do anything. But still he is winning and it does feel good.

He’s trying to put the idea of Patrick out of his mind. Tashi tells him every single day, “He’s never going to make it to the final. He’s gonna choke. That’s his thing.” But Art notices every round he wins Patrick wins too.

His body is sore and he always feels better in the heat but being who he is in the tennis world he usually waits till really late at night to relax in the sauna. He’s sure no one else is going to be there so he’ll get a moment of peace and quiet without any of the younger players gawking over him or asking him career questions. But as soon as he pushes open the door he realizes he’s not alone at all. Patrick’s sitting on the bench and he’s not alone. He’s got some guy kneeling between his legs. The guy quickly gets to his feet when he hears the door and Art recognizes him vaguely from the draw. Victor Grasi or Grossi. Something.

The guy wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and Patrick—very slowly— pulls the towel over himself, offering Art a smirk.

Art can feel his skin heating up. He wants to turn and run but he can’t move. His stomach is suddenly swooping around like he’s riding a rollercoaster. He didn’t know Patrick did stuff like that… with boys.

“What’s up Donaldson?” Patrick says brightly, like Art didn’t just catch him with some stupid pretty boy between his legs. “I’ve been meaning to come see you.”

Art glares at him still struggling to form words. He hasn’t seen Patrick this close in so many, many years. He still smiles with his eyes but they crinkle now with age and around the edges of that smile he looks like he might be tired(sad?). And not just from lack of sleep. His hair’s shorter, skin darker the way it always was in the summertime. It makes all his freckles that much more visible. Art hates to admit the facial hair looks kinda good on him.

His body looks good too… Art’s eyes drift downward over where the towel is covering his very hard dick.

”I am so sorry Mr. Donaldson I’m a big fan. I think you are so talented. Not many Americans can win on clay,” Whatever his name is saying with a thick accent Art can’t place. It pulls Art out of whatever daze he was in. God was he just staring? Why was he fucking staring? He looks at Patrick’s face again and he’s looking at Art, amused. Smug.

Art’s annoyed all over again.

“And your game against Padilla.” The kid is still talking. “That was so good. I rewatched it twice. You’re so—“

“Thanks,” Art interrupts, his tone clipped. He’s not sure why he’s suddenly irritated with his presence. This dumb kid, probably 24 or 25, pink cheeks, perfect body just on his knees for…

“Didn’t he beat you yesterday?” Art asks, meanly, with a smirk.

His pretty little face goes stormy and Art feels a cruel internal joy when he sees it.

He mutters something in another language but Art’s certain it’s a swear word.

“I just—it was a bad day. I’m ranked much higher than him.” The kid tries to recover but he’s clearly embarrassed.

“Sure, exactly. It was just a bad day, Grosu,” Patrick chimes in, smiling as he rubs himself idly. “Lemme make you feel better.”

“You’re no good for me, Zweig.” The kid mutters.

“That’s not what you said last night,” Patrick smirks up at him.

Art’s jaw sets with irritation. Especially when Patrick’s grabbing at the kid’s waist and pulling him closer. Art’s not trying to look but for whatever reason his eyes trail back down. Probably because Patrick is just so insistently hard. And he’s touching it, just casually touching it.

The weirdest part is the way Art can feel his own balls tightening. It makes no fucking sense. He can’t possibly be getting hard. He’s one fucking step away from talking to his doctor about Viagra because he can’t get it up for someone as fucking beautiful as his wife and right now on a random night in the middle of the sauna is when he’s just ready to go. Brilliant. It’s like the universe just enjoys finding new ways to fuck with him.

The kid has forgotten about him, mesmerized by Patrick. Letting Patrick just touch him, all over. Art feels like his blood is boiling hotter than the room. He hurries outside without another word before the way his cock is swelling becomes visible to them. Not that they fucking care.

He’s barely made it into the locker room toilet stall when he’s leaning against the door jerking himself stupid. The whole thing is so fucked because in his head he’s imagining Patrick’s hands all over him. Touching him. Fucking him. Not that stupid pretty boy loser. Fucking loser. Fucking loser. Fucking loser. His mind chants over and over, not sure if it’s about the kid or Patrick or himself. All the while his hand is racing over his dick, so desperate until he’s coming hard, spraying his load all over his hand and the toilet seat. “Oh fuck,” he gasps.

Because what the fuck is he doing? He’s too old for this shit. Mind games and lust and weird teenaged flirting. He needs to go home to his wife and kid. He’s a grown up. He has responsibilities. Patrick’s still a fucking child. Just doing whatever he wants. Just fucking whoever he wants. Like Tashi. It’s been years and it still stings. And now some stupid fucking boy sucking his dick when anyone could just walk in. It’s offensive. Art should probably complain. Tell that loser kids coach or whoever he’s working with that he needs to focus and maybe not fuck around with someone like Patrick Zweig. He cleans up quickly and hurries to go wash his hands.

He spots movement behind him in the mirror and turns to see Patrick walking from the lockers towards the shower. Naked. With only a towel on his head. God how long was he in here? Did he hear Art?

Patrick stops to smirk at him. He’s not hard anymore which means he probably fucked the kid. It’s still so fucking big even when he’s soft. Art swallows. “What do you want?” He manages.

“Nothing. You just look pretty flushed. Are you okay?” He says, grinning (like he knows what Art did). “I thought you went home.” He wraps the extra towel he’s got draped over his shoulder around his waist, covering himself and Art relaxes a bit.

“I am going home,” Art says. “Where’s the dumb kid?”

Patrick laughs, “You know he’s 27, right.”

“Well he’s still a loser,” Art shrugs. He doesn’t care. He hopes he never sees him again. (And that Patrick doesn’t either).

“God, must feel good to walk around with all that power. He got so in his head from your little comment. He wanted to go home. Didn’t even want to finish. It’s like he didn’t even remember how much fun we had last night after drinks.”

Art’s not sure how to take any of that. On one hand he’s mildly satisfied that he sent the kid into a tailspin, but still fucking irritated that he… that he what… that he got to fuck Patrick in the first place? This is so fucked. He can’t want this. He cannot want this.

“Well you’re not dressed yet.” Patrick continues, casually. “You sure you don’t want to join me and clean up in the shower?”

“I uh— uh—“ Art stammers, while he white knuckles the towel on his waist, his heart rate picking up and the distant feeling of arousal that he’d just conquered incredibly stirring again. He wants this. Fuck he wants this. “No I—“

“I’m just teasing,” Patrick shrugs, interrupting before Art can finish. An oddly melancholic expression flitting over his face. And then immediately back to being his usual carefree (careless?) self. If not a little more distant. Formal. “Good night, Donaldson, see you in the final.”

“Good night,” Art says, feeling his stomach sink just a little bit. He wishes he didn’t— but he believes it now with 100 percent certainty that Patrick is right— that they’re both going to end up there.

(Sorry anon that this took so long and also I apologize if this is what you were looking for. It’s been hectic so I didn’t have much time to get to into it— also wanted to leave a little space for canon to canon lol. Art is still so mad that he’s attracted to Patrick he needs to hurt him more 😭)

[spitblaze]

Hey lev, do you have any advice on coming out to people? Ive been feeling a bit anxious about the idea of losing everyone i hold dear to me.

Oh boy. Uh...I wish I could say I had some really good advice from my own coming out but I feel like I was very lucky in my own life to be able to have a lot of people who I knew would be cool enough about it to not cut ties with me.

That being said, that's as good of a starting point as any, right? Start with the people you're most confident will be cool about it. If you're not positive how they'd feel, people you know are queer or people you know are allies are generally a lot more likely to be supportive about it. If you don't know THAT, go digging a bit on their social media or ask vague probing questions on how they feel about trans people. Kinda scary, but if someone abandons you over asking a question that vague then it's a 'them' problem at that point.

If you wanna rip off the bandaid, though, you can do what I and several other people I know did and come out at a large family gathering. What I did was less subtle, going around the table at thanksgiving talking about what we were thankful for and I said I was thankful to be able to transition from [deadname] to Lev, I got a lot of surprise and some mumbling but overwhelmingly people don't like to cause a scene so the most pushback I got all night was my mom getting mad at me for 'making it about you'.

It's important to be positive about it- not apologetic, not shy, but confident and positive. I'm transitioning! My new name is X and I'm going by y/z now, and it's a huge weight off my shoulders to be able to live as I am! Not necessarily with that verbiage, but that vibe. Being unsure or hesitant is allowing other people to bring their own doubts in or ask if it's really the right move at best. Being happy and confident and showing yes, this IS the right move and I AM sure makes it a lot harder for people to get belligerent or condescending or any number of other negative things with you without looking like an asshole themselves.

I hope this is...at all helpful, I'm not any sort of expert and I can at least tell you 'don't wear your work nametag that you've already put your new name on to a family event because you'll look stupid' because I almost tried that before my dad told me that I should probably just tell people my new name instead, like a normal person, which was definitely the right call. If anyone else wants to chime in with advice, please do!

[sparkedblaze]

Hi I’m coming to you from hiding out at work to bring you the wildest most fucking out there hc I’ve ever considered:

Francis “so that’s what they call a family” Sullivan is the brother of Michael “there’s no way I am putting those kids back in danger” Sullivan

Livesies is just a nightmare Francis has of Michael going through the strike instead of himself, with the same adopted pseudonym. It’s been years since the strike, he actually made it to Santa Fe and that’s why all the people are different because he doesn’t *quite* remember everyone. Each reiteration of Livesies is another nightmare. Same names. New faces.

He dreams of Michael being bigger and better and everything he wasn’t. Of Michael staying. It’s why Denton isn’t there, Katherine is instead.

*

Santa Fe Prologue is Francis wishing he’d been better to Crutchie. Wishing he’d gotten to know the boy and actually be friends with him instead of just seeing him as That Annoying Little Brother.

Santa Fe itself turns from longing for an escape to longing for *family*

Seize the Day goes from boys excited to stand up for themselves to almost a bitter ballad about being courageous (*cough instead of, say, running to Santa Fe cough*)

Bottom Line gives an insight to what Pulitzer’s thinking is. But not like an adult would think of it. “Proud of themselves and so grateful to me, they’ll be begging to pay even more.” Pulitzer was greedy, but he wasn’t stupid. He would’ve known that the boys weren’t gonna be *happy* to pay more.

Medda goes from this kind of jaunty, aunt-like figure to what Francis wants-what he *needs*-a mom.

Then he meets Katherine. Not Denton, not Sarah, Katherine. Maybe he couldn’t face either of them. Maybe he wanted something new. But, Katherine sometimes loving him out of nowhere would probably be explained by Francis not knowing what love looks like, especially from a girl.

King of New York doesn’t include him, probably because Francis, again, *couldn’t face them*, especially celebrating a win like that.

LETTER FROM THE REFUGE. It’s not in the first few nightmares. He hasn’t had time to fully wallow in his regret. But, once he realizes, the guilt starts eating at him. He’s now including Crutchie in a bigger part in his nightmares. He’s dreaming about how Crutchie was probably scared to death in the time without him in the Refuge.

But he also couldn’t send Michael there.

Watch What Happens Reprise is Francis *longing* for someone to *want him* to come home.

Katherine being Pulitzer’s daughter-without telling him- is Francis feeling betrayed in his own way. Not by anyone in particular, but just in general. By people he was supposed to be able to trust.

Brooklyn’s Here is Francis being pissed that Brooklyn took *so fucking long* to join the strike.

Once and For All. Francis vaguely remember that happening. He kind of remembers what happened. But, all he knows is Michael will Do Better Than Him. He has to Do Better. He has to *Be* Better.

He has to stay.

Other things that kind of prove the point:

•Livesies Jack isn’t called Cowboy. Francis-even in his worst nightmares-couldn’t stand seeing Michael bear the weight of his legacy.

•Livesies Jack is an artist. Maybe showing Francis has had time to slow down, and actually *enjoy* the little things in like. Like the sunset. The moon. Horses. Swimming. Little things.

•92sies Jack lacks a passion-particularly for the newsies- that Livesies Jack *thrives* on. Livesies Jack is doing everything to keep those kids safe, and 92sies Jack is doing everything for more selfish reasons (money, leaving)

•Santa Fe, to Livesies Jack, is more of a dream. A fictional place he can paint to escape to. 92sies Jack has a Very Good Idea of what Santa Fe is like.

[spoonyruncible]

I'm not gatekeeping, I just have some gates and I've sort of vaguely known they're there, I haven't kept them and the hinges are so rusty i doubt they'd close if I tried. But, like, for ages all that came through those gates were stray geese and a dog I think belongs to a neighbor but might just belong to himself and of course there's the hunching afflicted wrathbeast. That's just having a garden. Things grow there and random folks stumble in sometimes, mispronounce the names of my favorite varietals, say stunningly inaccurate things about them, and wander bemusedly back out.

As a surprise to probably no one I was a deeply lonely child. No one really got me or what my deal was, so when I found something I loved it was mine and mine alone to treasure. As I got older I found other people who liked 'my' things. Some of those people were horrible! But there was a kinship and it was okay to be a bit horrible so long as we could be odd together. Gardens are resilient things, they tolerate mistakes and abuse. It's absolutely wonderful to share, to dance to the same music, that imperfection becomes part of the joy of it, becomes a unique thing unto itself.

So imagine my shock when there is a garden party that rapidly becomes a festival. No one has ever really been here before, it's been me and the geese and that one dog and a few other weirdos. Suddenly my things, things people beat me for loving, are things everyone loves. All at once the landscape is unrecognizable and if I acknowledge that then I'm being a hipster. I don't mind the festival, it's nice, now it's much easier to get things I need without having to put on my trekking gear and hike out to the one obscure location that has The Supplies. It's not bad, it's just weird. It feels like there is something wrong with me instead of something wrong about liking what I like.

I'm not really talking about one specific thing here, there have been a lot of these moments where what used to be unusual or even shameful is now the big thing. And it's good, it's can be great sometimes even with the unforeseen bizarre bad parts. But there is this selfish little part of me that wants to cling to my unloved love, to put a raggedy LP on a barely working record player and lay on the wooden floor of my childhood home staring at a painting of a ship in a storm that is right beside a picture of a young man in a cap and a too large jacket and listen to sea shanties belted out by people not very good at singing while I drift and drift and drift away on the sound and the whitecaps to a place where there is only this. I love the new versions like a drowning man loves air, I am happy that people have found this beautiful thing and can enjoy it, but there is a tinge to it I don't like. A prick of pain every time I see this joy over my joy, over my joy that I was punished for, humiliated for, shamed for. I'm glad people can love these things without suffering but it makes my suffering seem so fucking stupid.

There is a certain temptation, a bitter agony, that makes me want to hiss like an abused cat and cling jealous to my silly little toys. It's not that I want them all for myself, it's that I can't let go of that little kid with a bruisy eye sulking because no one wants to play with him. It's the whisper of, "We can be friends but only in secret. I don't want people to know I'm like you." It's the enthusiasm that rapidly becomes muted because the whole world is demanding to know why you can't just be normal for once. But that same temptation to lash out is the one that makes me reach out my hand instead, especially to people who are like, "Wow! I've never been to a garden before. I'm gonna screw this up. How do I not screw it up?" because now they're that bruisy eyed kid no one wants to play with. I can't protect the person I used to be by becoming the exact thing that hurt me. Gotta keep the gate open, gotta get used to new things even if it takes noise cancelling headphones and an entirely rational amount of backsliding, gotta wake up every day and keep trying even though the world keeps throwing curveballs that no sane person could anticipate. It's all okay. We're in this together and we're all gonna be okay,

[chewbokachoi]

The random bit I wrote instead of doing chore. But now I can do chores. Vaguely canon in that maybe this will be different when the time finally comes in the story. For now, though, this is what is in my brain. Rough cut below.

Oliver was sitting in his closet with his knees to his chest and arms folded over them. His eyes were glued to the old CRT TV. It was an old one and he could hear the odd buzzing hum Cassandra said she never heard until she just woke up one day hearing it. That was how life often was with her–she'd wake up a completely different person one day.

Well, not wholly different. There were consistencies Oliver knew to look for.

Such as her love for movies with him.

He had John Carpenter's Prince of Darkness playing. It wasn't quite "on in the background" but he wasn't as focused on watching that day. He remembered being terrified of the movie, and he wondered if he'd just one day wake up and no longer be afraid of it.

There was a knock on the door. Before Oliver could tell whoever it was to go away, it opened, letting in a cool rush of air. Oliver sighed and twisted around and looked up at Erron, who was staring down at him.

"Target Practice was getting worried about you," Erron said as the rabbit-thing rushed past his ankles and into Oliver's lap.

"Her name is Inlé," Oliver huffed, petting the creature. She was rabbit-like enough, save for the fangs, sharp horns, and extra pair of eyes. She usually kept those shut, at least. "What do you want?" Oliver then asked. Erron wasn't the bothersome type from what he had assessed since their escape from Shang Tsung's island.

Erron glanced over his shoulder before looking back down. Then he sat down across from Oliver and removed his hat. "I said we'd find your sister," he said. 

The mask made Erron hard to read, but taking off the hat put Oliver on edge. He sighed. Here it was at last–Erron saying he couldn't do it. Something changed. The bargain had to be reneged or reconfigured. Just as well. Oliver didn't know what else he should have expected from somebody who joined the Black Dragon.

When would he start to think that about himself, he wondered.

"If you think I'm here to revoke my offer, don't even insult me with thinking that." Erron said sharply.

Oliver straightened up. 

"Hm. Right." Erron rose a brow, but not the way he did when amused. "I'm here because there's something more to finding your sister."

"Oh?" Oliver asked, keeping his eyes on Erron. Inlé began to paw at his shoulders, so Oliver picked her up. She nestled her chin on his shoulder in a way that made him think back to when he and Cassandra would hold their baby brother and sister while waiting in the hospital. Except he didn't mind holding Inlé.

"Let's say we find her. What're you gonna do next?" Erron asked.

Oliver frowned.

"I know we've talked about it before. But entertain an old man for just a moment." Erron said, his gaze unblinking.

Oliver shrugged, glancing away. "Like I said. Find her and help her no matter how bad or well off she is."

"And just like that, you plan to leave the Black Dragon behind. No looking back?"

Oliver shot a glare at Erron. "I have no loyalty–"

Erron shook his head. "I don't mean loyalty, kid. I mean, are you really going to just walk away and never look back? Turn the other cheek, as some say?"

Oliver glanced down at Erron's hat, processing what he was really being asked. "Like…am I planning on leaving anyone alive when we get out?"

"Something of that nature, sure." Erron said.

Oliver swallowed. The idea of burning the place down was something he had stopped fantasizing about months ago. But, then again, it wasn't until very recently did he find he wasn't the only one who wasn't too happy with his current situation. "I'm down to make a lasting impression on my way out," he said carefully. "Except," he said, shoulder's sagging. Inlé let out a startled huff. "What if Cassandra finds out?"

"Does she have to?"

Oliver bit his lip. "Like I said. She's got a way of just knowing things she shouldn't."

"Hm," Erron said with a casual nod. "That could be a problem then."

Oliver straightened up again and readjusted Inlé. "What're you trying to get at here?"

Erron rubbed the back of his head and looked up as he often did when putting on a show of thinking. "Face it, kid. You want blood."

"Don't we all?" Oliver muttered, glaring to the side. "What's it to you if I do, though?"

"Because we both agreed you're getting your sister back. And I gotta make sure you aren't a risk to go back on our deal."

"What!" Oliver lurched forward, catching his voice and pushing it down from a yell to a snarl. "You–"

Erron held up a finger. "You're young. Not wholly stupid, but still got some of that in there too. Be honest. If you could, how many of the Black Dragon higher-ups would you kill?"

Oliver let out a sharp laugh at the thought of it. "All of them." He said, realizing with a heavy warmth in his chest how much he wanted that.

"And that's your problem."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Oliver asked, narrowing his eyes.

"You can either get your sister or your revenge in full. Not both. You go for the full on revenge route, then you'll never have enough and never feel like you've done enough to be find your sister." Erron said. With how his bangs fell over his face, he looked almost tired. "So. Which is it gonna be?"

Oliver scowled. "I can't just walk away from here–and not just for revenge purposes."

"Right. The Black Dragon don't like being stiffed. So what could you do to have some revenge, send a message to not mess with you, and live your life?"

Oliver shrugged. "You got me. Some of that stupid still in me, I guess."

Erron shook his head. "Three. Pick the three members you'd want to get rid of and call it quits." He said.

Oliver stared back at Erron. "Are you trying to make some deal with me without it being a deal that'd violate a preexisting contract of yours?" He asked quietly.

"No." Erron said flatly. "This is me trying the charity thing–you saved me from who knows how many years of sick experimentation. Pick three to make sure it won't get out of hand."

Oliver stared at Erron's hat again. "Kabal." He said. "And Jarek." He added, glancing up at Erron.

"Who's the third?"

Oliver frowned. "I can't think of a third yet."

"Then that third one better be the final one, so don't make it a random one when the time comes," Erron said. Then he reached into his hip pouch and pulled out three bullets. "Engrave their names on these. Don't lose them." He said, holding up the three bullets.

Oliver held out his hand, the motion feeling mechanical. 

"You lose these bullets, think of it as losing your shot at revenge." Erron said, dropping them into Oliver's open hand. "Let me know when you want to start learning how to shoot." He said and picked up his hat and stood up. "See you around, kid. And don't watch so many movies alone like that in your closet–it's weird."

"What, you wanna join me next time?" Oliver snorted.

"No. Just get outside more or something." Erron said with a shake of his head. And then he left, shutting the door to Oliver's room behind him.

[luvfy0dor]

I’ve had this idea that’s been tormenting me these past few days, so I’m gonna pass it on to you now. If you’ll have it!

Maybe something with Fukuzawa coming across yet another messed up orphan-a few years after taking in Ranpo. The kid is a total pessimist, and sees the worst in others. But after awhile, they come out of their shell and their personality does a 180.

You could do whatever you want with this! Your blog is pretty cool, and I hope this doesn’t violate any rules. Have a good day/night-and drink water!

Fukuzawa and Another Troubled Orphan♡

CW; Vague mentions of abuse

Disclaimers; I named the orphan Ren because according to Google that's the most common boy name in Japan and I didn't wanna come up with my own and make a fool out of myself 😭 it's also kinda rushed at the ending, so I'm rlly sorry : (

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ A/N: Omg this is such a cute ask!! Ofcourse!! I'd be more than happy to write it out, I just hope I can do it justice! I'm so sorry it took so long, I underestimated how long ap world hw could take me every night 😭 ty for the compliment and you be sure to drink water too!! ❤️

The weather on this particular spring morning was gorgeous, the soft breeze blowing stray flower petals along the concrete side walk. The fabric of Fukuzawas black haori softly sways while he walks down the pavement, taking his surroundings in. A soft rustle from a bush distracts him from the sights of the city.

Thoughts of a stray cat fill his mind instead, piquing his interest. He steps towards the bush, peeking through the leaves. His gaze falls onto a frail-looking child. He is covered in dirt and small cuts and bruises, presumably from the sharp branches of the bush and rough outdoors. The child's eyes are wide, his gaze not leaving Fukuzawa for a single second.

"Are you alright?" Fukuzawa calmly asks, not wanting to alarm the child. He out stretches a hand to the boy, which only earns him a glare. The kid scooches out of the bush, standing up. He dusts himself off.

"Are you trying to kidnap me?" He asks. His face is suspicious and untrusting towards Fukuzawa. He retracts his hand and shakes his head.

"No. Do you have a home?" He questions the child. The boys skeptical look never fades.

"Will you try to bring me back if I say yes?" Fukuzawa pauses in response. "What is your name?" "Ren." Fukuzawa nods, inhaling a bit.

"Alright, Ren. Why did you run away from home?" He asks. His monotonous voice matched his face filled with neutrality.

"I ran away from an orphanage. They didn't treat me very well, and I've had enough." He says, grimacing at the memories from the hellish orphanage they were forced to suffer in for years.

"Did they hurt you?" Fukuzawa asks. Ren nods in response, pointing out a few specific bruises. Fukuzawa sighs a bit.

"Ren, why don't you come with me. We can clean your wounds and get you fed, you must be famished." Fukuzawa says, gesturing for Ren to follow him, but Ren stays put.

"How can I trust you? I don't know you like that." He says, his eyes scanning over Fukuzawas appearance. "I mean, you seem alright, but it could be an act." He mutters, his finger resting on his chin.

"I will not just let someone as young as you be left out in the outdoors to fend for yourself." Fukuzawa says. "I am the leader of the Armed Detective Agency, if you're safe with anyone it's us." He reassures Ren. He thinks for a moment before his stomach growls, making the decision for him. "Alright, but I'm gonna keep my distance." Fukuzawa nods in agreement.

Ren follows Fukuzawa back to the agency building, leaving about five or six feet of distance between the two. They arrive back rather quickly, Fukuzawa showing Ren around. Ren gives Ranpo, Yosano, and Kunikida a small wave upon being introduced to them. He didn't necessarily want to be rude, but he didn't want to be vulnerable either.

Upon seeing Rens battered and bruised state, Kunikida makes oden for the malnourished kid, letting him sit at one of the desks while he eats. His eyes scan all over the Ada interior, taking in every small decoration and pin pointing escape routes if needed. Ranpo notices the skittishness of the kid.

"Ren, was it? You seem very uncomfortable. Aren't you thrilled to have some good food in front of you?" Ranpo asks while he sits on his desk, sucking on a lollipop. Ren looks up from his bowl and at Ranpo.

"Mhm." He nods. "You don't get to eat much living outside, do you?" Ranpo says, his head tilting to the side a bit.

"Is it that obvious?" Now Ren tilted his head. "No, I'm just the greatest detective of all time. My super deduction works wonders, even when it comes to people's backgrounds." Ranpo grins proudly.

"Well, I see you sit on a very high horse." Ren says, grimacing as his eyes look Ranpo up and down before continuing to eat his oden. Ranpo grimaces back at him. "It's true, I should be able to take pride in my world-changing ability." He says, matter of factly.

"Ranpo is quite prideful, but his super deduction is certainly useful during tough cases." Kunikida says, standing with his arms crosses. Ranpo nods. "See? Even Kunikida agrees." He finishes off his lollipop, tossing the stick in the trashcan.

"I dunno if he said all that but..." Ren says skeptically, averting his eyes while he eats some more. "Does your massive ego ever get in the way?" Ren questions, raising an eyebrow.

"There is no time for my ego to get in the way, that's how fast my ability works." He says, sighing. "If anyone's personality gets in the way of anything it's his." Ranpo mutters, pointing over at Kunikida. "Him and his ideals surley make it difficult for him to have fun it seems." Ranpo dramatically rests the back of his hand against his forehead.

Ren nods. "I believe it, his demeanor certainly agrees with your statement." He says, rolling his eyes. Kunikida shakes his head. "What is that supposed to mean?" Ren looks him up and down. "You look like a no-fun-having substitute teacher." Ranpo nods in agreement.

"Kunikida has a certain set of "ideals" he really likes to follow, and to each their own I guess, but I could see that getting in the way of having fun a lot." Ranpo points out, the wrapper of a new lollipop crinkling quietly.

"I mean, he's even got an ideal woman! Down to the inches of her hair length!" He says exasperatedly. Ren grimaces. "That's kinda odd, don't you think?" He raises an eyebrow to Kunikida, who leans against a desk, annoyed.

"It isn't weird at all. Many people have types, mine is just more in depth." He says, pushing his glasses higher up his nose. As he says this, Yosano walks out into the main area to join the conversation. "Ah, Yosano, you have a type when it comes to romantic partners too, correct?" He asks, trying to prove his normalcy. She nods. "Yes, not to your extreme, though." Kunikida sighs.

"Mhm...weirdo." Ren murmurs.

Over the following two weeks, Fukuzawa offers Ren a place to sleep, but he denied, opting to sleep outside and only come back to the ADA for food. He has conversations with the members, passive aggressively commenting on certain things they do or certain ways they act. Well, everyone but Fukuzawa. However, eventually, Ren starts to loosen up a little. His snarky and sarcastic comments turn to more neutral toned comments and eventually cheerful ones. Compliments, even.

Ren forms a bond with Ranpo over their love of sugary and sweet foods, Ren even boosting Ranpos ego occasionally instead of trying to rip it down like he primarily wanted to.

He bonds with Yosano over almost anything her becoming his best friend. She teaches him how to fix minor injuries on his own and how to fix major ones temporarily while waiting for help. She is the one to teach him in-depth about abilities and such. She is like his own personal teacher, but she also spends a lot of time with him. They go shopping together and out to eat, Ranpo joining them sometimes for ice cream.

Kunikida gives Ren lessons on life skills, such as cooking and cleaning so he can become independent one day. He teaches Ren simple recipes and which chemicals to keep far away from each other, such as bleach and ammonia.

Fukuzawa is the one who mainly provides for Ren. Although Fukuzawa is not a man of many words, there is a mutual understanding between them that there is respect and much gratitude from Ren. Fukuzawa teaches Ren the things a father should. He also teaches him how to use his sword and defend himself. He reinforces everything Yosano taught him gently, making sure he is able to keep himself out of harms way.

Upon discovering his ability, Ren joined the ADA, finally raking in some money on his own. Yosano and Ranpo are his biggest allies and teammates. He doesn't go on the dangerous missions because of just how young he is, but Yosano and Ranpo teach him the ropes of it. This money allows him to buy things he never got to enjoy when he was little-er. He buys fancy desserts on occasion and he's able to walk around Yokohama in nice clothing. Thanks the the ADA, and specifically Fukuzawa for giving him the opportunity, he is able to feel at home. He is able to trust.

[monzamash]

just don’t understand why u keep saying you’ve gone off daniel because of ‘what he said/did earlier in the season’ yet ur perfectly happy to write for lando who also made questionable comments idk just feels hypocritical. what made landos comments ok but daniels so horrid lol it makes no sense 👍 if u want to be a daniel hater just come out and say it instead of being all coy about it and pretending like ur not being weird about it cause u say u won’t write for him and then u update ur layout and put up a picture of it lmao so which is it

i don’t know if this is the same anon that’s been sending me shit every second day for months about this - i’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and say it’s not because of the way you’ve typed this out but the message is still the same and this is the last straw.

i don’t hate daniel. if you look at my last post i said that he’s a big part of why i fell in love with f1. he was also the reason i started this blog so just because i’m not writing for him now, doesn’t mean i hate him. it’s not as black and white for me as it seems to be for you.

writing doesn’t define my blog - its something i do when i feel like it and most of the time i’m either chatting with you guys on here or supporting other writers. it was a fun escape but lately it’s been the opposite of that.

people may not like this but in my opinion daniels comments were significantly more damaging than landos vague response to a question that nobody could factually corroborate. i don’t think i’m alone in thinking that. daniel straight up said the one thing i personally hate the most when someone’s defending an abuser which is, “well [insert name] has always been good to me so…” that’s what upset me the most and now i have no desire to write for him. that is simply how i feel and if you don’t agree/understand, it’s all good. try and find other blogs who do share your views. makes life a lot easier.

anyway, did daniels comments make me want to erase every trace of him from my blog? no but i made it clear that i wouldn’t be writing for him for the foreseeable future and if anything changed, i would give people the heads up. what i absolutely won’t be doing is caving in to bullies who hide behind a shadow on the fucking internet who say i that i should delete my blog and myself while i’m at it.

so the context of why i made a header with daniel in it was that i thought including him would allow people the chance to bounce if they don’t want to read any daniel fics or interact with a blog that had a lot of daniel content in the past - people hate him and have made sure to tell me how fucked i am to still have his fics in my masterlist. thats the sort of hate that really gets to me because i’m so proud of some of those fics and spent a lot of time on them. that’s one reason why I won’t ever delete them but it’s also because there are daniel fans out there who hopefully feel like they can still interact with me even if we don’t share the exact same opinion. i don’t want that to change.

another thing to note is that this header was up for like two seconds and the fact you saw it must mean you’re just stalking my page? are you checking in to call me out the second i do something wrong? and you think i’m weird? alright lol

lastly, saying i’m being coy and weird isn’t fair - i’ve been honest about where i stand and even when i’ve been unsure, i was still being upfront and owning the fact that i didn’t know what direction this blog would take after all that. so if what i’ve said in this post or in the past isn’t enough for you, then just leave please. literally leave me alone because i don’t want to do this anymore.

[fourseasonsfigs]

Puppy Riding a Bike

This adorably named figure was inspired by Gong Jun's OK! Magazine photo shoot from April 2022.

As you can see, this is the 10th anniversary of the magazine - pretty cool to have Junjun featured!

His legs look a million miles long here. The black and white photo, however, doesn't give the full vibrant effect of those blue flowered pants:

There we go! Looking handsome as always, Junjun.

The puppy and his bicycle arrived safely in their respective pieces. They were well-packed - you can see the extra chunks of polystyrene that were used to keep the items from moving around in transit. I really appreciate when they do a good job of packing these at the warehouse!

And here all those pieces are. My heart always sinks a little when I see figs I have to assemble! I worry I am not up to the job.

The bicycle pegs fit in the holes in the base just fine, but as you can see they are a bit too small for them. The bike lists to either side depending on which way you tilt it.

So glue it is. A few drops and letting it set overnight made it upright and secure!

Look at how cute he is. His little feet fit really well on the pedals, but as you can see I didn't quite manage to get both of his hands holding on to the handlebars. I'm going to have to move the fig around a bit!

I love the stars in his eyes!

If you look carefully in the inspiration picture, he is standing up on the pedals while cycling, so he's doing that here too.

Those blue pants are so bright and cheerful!

I love that he's standing up in the pedals! I wasn't sure I would (plus the mechanics of it all), but he's perfect.

I have definitely evolved in my fashion sense. Previously, I would have looked at bright blue daisy flowered pants in a fashion shoot and just been vaguely horrified. Now I see them and my first thought is still vague horror, but now I think, hmm, bright and colorful, would look good on a fig! and then suddenly I see the look in a whole different light. Sounds ridiculous (because it is) but I'm actually very grateful. I like to think I have great taste, but if left to me Junjun would only wear beautifully crafted ultra formal tailed suits in different subtle patterns and gorgeous fabrics, and that...would be super boring. Instead we have what I would objectively consider insane outfits (sexy exterminator, anyone?) that end up being really amazing. I have a whole new appreciation for fashion, and I have these two to thank for it!

Anyway. He's really cute.

I'm quite proud that he is exactly vertical! If you've been reading my posts, you know I can't see very straight, so I'm really happy that I got this right!

One more shot of this total cutie!

I know you've already seen this bottoms-up angle before in all the bicycle pictures, but this pic caught some particularly good light, so you can see finer details.

The fig maker said she made the base green because Junjun was biking on grass.

My poor box card got crushed a little bit! Sometimes the warehouse doesn't pay a ton of attention when they put everything back in the boxes after photographing them. That's ok, it's still very cute. Very pastoral and dreamy. What a nice place for a bicycle ride!

Material: Resin

Fig Count: 428

Scene Count: 29

Rating: Pure summertime!

[link back to Master Fig Index for more posts]

[forabeatofadrum]

You know what fuck it actually, answer all the writers asks that you haven’t already answered yet PLUS another #25 if you have already answered it bc you can be proud of multiple scenes HAPPY EL WOOWOO WEDNESDAY

I should've seen this coming. I am putting this under the cut because this got long. Again, I should’ve seen this coming.

I’ve already answered 5, 8, 9, 13, 18 and 25.

1) is there a story you’re holding off on writing for some reason?

I MEAN... look at my many, many WIPs. I think the main reason for holding off a fic is because I got stuck, or because I want to prioritise other fics. I’m trying to not take on new projects, but instead focus on older ones (famous last words, probably).

2) what work of yours, if any, are you the most embarrassed about existing?

Anything written pre-2015, unless I have rewritten them (like This Charming Man or the SBL/Glee crossover). That, except for JTWLYT, even rewritten it’s bad. I don’t mind, You gotta start somewhere, right? Because otherwise I don’t really mind any fics. Like, I wrote a Glee/Animal Crossing fic once and it slaps.

3) what order do you write in? front of book to back? chronological? favorite scenes first? something else?

Mostly chronological, but it doesn’t really matter. So yeah I write what I have in my mind. For example with Ljubim te, I of course knew there were going to be 24 chapters since it’s the Advent, so I plotted out a little bit what happens in all chapters and by now each chapter has at least something.

4) favorite character you’ve written

Jack motherfucking Zimmermann, even though I have abandoned my boy and I haven’t written proper Check, Please! fic in all of 2022. I want to finish two Zimbits WIPs this year, though. Maybe the attic vs. roaches debate breaching containment will bring me back to this fandom. Aly, what would you rather have? A person living in your attic, or 1000 roaches living in your attic?

6) something you would go back and change in your writing that it’s too late/complicated to change now

Oh I change things without shame. I do point it out in the author’s note, in case someone notices.

7) when asked, are you embarrassed or enthusiastic to tell people that you write?

This is a difficult question. WAIT NOT ALY THIS IS ME AFTER POSTONG THE ASK I FORGOT TO ANSWER THIS ONE I WILL DO THAT LARER CAUSE I NEED TO GO TP UNI NOW!!

OKAY ALY I AM BACK (and also hello to others!)

So, this is a difficult question because I have the Fear of Being Perceived by people I know IRL. Not necessarily because I think they will judge me, but this is just something I’ve ever had. This is also why I am not going to karaoke night tonight. As a result I do not tell people I write, but not because I am embarrassed. I have just always kept my online and offline lives separately, you know? And this has only grown over the years. I have, like, one person I know IRL follow my personal blog and I created this blog because I do not want him to see my stuff. It’s literally in the bio of this blog. This is also why my name isn’t on here, although I do not mind when people use it in asks or replies. It’s not foolproof, I am aware, but it’s how it is.

But I am also fucking proud of my work and I an enthusiastic. This is why I love ask games like this or communites on Discord. I put a lot of time and effort into my work so of course I love to blabber about it. The person I mentioned above? Yeah, he knows I write fic. But I made him promise to not go look for it. Now I did meet some people who unabashedly talk about what filth they post on AO3. And I told these people I write fic to. But I am always feeling that hesistant feeling. I told them vaguely about Bakery fic and So Much Better, but I am never going to send them the link so if they want to find it, they can, but I will not be the one giving my AO3 away. (Rip. I never kudo their fics either for this reason, cause my AO3 account will pop up).

Aka it is just kind of weird.

10) write in silence or with background noise? with people or alone?

I CAN NEVER WRITE WITH PEOPLE AROUND. This is why, when I visit my parents’ house for the weekend, I write less. I recently told Jenna (@thnxforknowingme, not Ushkowitz) that I am shook that she can write at work. I cannot relate.

I don’t like silence in general. I always have sound on, but it doesn’t really matter what. I am currently listening to The Last Five Years lockdown version, but I also just put on video essays that I have seen before, or gaming music, or YouTuber content. Only when I have a specific song/playlist for a fic, I tend to actively choose what I put on, like the playlist for River fic was on repeat during the writing. And Nothing Matters When We’re Dancing is my song for “damn Baz, you live like this”/Time After Time. That kind of stuff.

11) what aspect of your writing do you think has most improved since you started writing?

Uh. Everything. But I am also not too harsh on myself. I was 13. I am 24 now. And my English has improved. Fun fact, I did not know the difference between make out and break up for a very long time.

OH AND I LEARNED HOW TO DO PROPER PARAGRAPH BREAKS

12) your weaknesses as an author

Movements. Setting. That kind of stuff. When two people are in a scene and talk, I love the dialogue but I am constantly like “oh God, what else is going on in this scene?”

I am writing a scene for Ljubim te with Kurt and Sunil in a restaurant and I am constantly like “DON’T FORGET THEY NEED TO EAT!!!”

14) do you make playlists for your current wips?

Not right now. I don’t make playlists for my fics that often, unless I want to integrate the music into the fic (again, see River fic). Or I make a playlist AFTER I am done, like my Myosotis playlist.

15) why did you start writing?

Fanfiction? When I first read Harry Potter when I was around 11, but I used to write stories before that. Shout out to TEENZZONE and my first ever gay character that I made when I was 10 and then I got scared cause oooooh homosexuality scary!!! ooooh taboooo!!!! and erased it and made him marry a lovely woman named Daisy but then years later I was like “fuck it he’s bi then”

16) are there any characters who haunt you?

Oh, uh? The first ever gay now bi character from TEENZZONE I guess. Fuck, was Danny his name, or was Danny the guy who came before Daisy? Look, I was 10. Ik zat in groep 7, of misschien zelfs 6. It’s been 14 years.

17) if you could give your fledgling author self any advice, what would it be?

It doesn’t have to be perfect. I am not a published author. This is all for fun. Besides, I read a lot of fic that maybe aren’t “that good” in the eyes of whoever decides what’s good, but I still enjoy them and that’s what matters in the end. I write for me and me alone and hopefully people like it too and we will all have a banging time.

19) when it comes to more complicated narratives, how do you keep track of outlines, characters, development, timeline, ect.?

Not

Jk jk

I often have a little section in my doc with “Information”, like a timeline or people’s names or what is happening when. The one for Ljubim te has the names of my OCs and the street names of where Kurt and Blaine live. I am thinking of also making a timeline, because there are some time jumps between chapters, although I also try to point out what month it is in the chapter itself.

20) do you write in long sit-down sessions or in little spurts?

Depends on how inspired I am. I write when I have an idea. Sometimes things snowball from there, sometimes it’s to only add one line.

21) what do you think when you read over your older work?

Define older. As I said, everything before 2015 I pretend I do not see, but after that I actually reread a lot of my stuff. Hence the “I write for me and me alone” mentality. I reread Mendacious this week. And I haven’t read the Anyway series in years and I kind of want to.

22) are there any subjects that make you uncomfortable to write?

There are too many to list, but from the top of my head: non-con/dub-con, detailed slavery or kidnapping or something like that, graphic violence, MPREG, fic with one being a minor other an adult.

23) any obscure life experiences that you feel have helped your writing?

GIRL MY MAIN STARTING POINT FOR KLAINE FIC THESE DAYS IS “WHAT PART OF MY LIFE CAN I LIFT FROM??”

Mendacious: a conversation I had with one of my friends about internalised homophobia

River fic: lol (my broken friendship) (it’s almost Real Blaine’s birthday) (ah, then it will have been 4 years since I last saw him)

Ebb & Flow: my love for Splatoon 2

Bakery fic: me being obsessed with a documentary about rich people in Dubai

Ljubim te: I miss Ljubljana

So yeah, sometimes it influences the plot (Mendacious and River fic) and sometimes it is more a starting point for me to build upon, but it’s my liiiiiiiife it’s not or neverrrrrr-

Also, okay, I am writing this Snowbaz fic called Just Some Guy from an outsider POV and that is coming from me very much believing that Baz is not that hot. Simon is just in love with him. Sorry Baz fans.

24) have you ever become an expert on something you previously knew nothing about, in order to better a scene or a story?

Expert? I wouldn’t say that, but I do learn about obscure things like Broadway orchestra subbing. And of course I had that entire chapter about neurobiology in Myosotis sylvatica. But I can’t say I am an expert on things.

25) copy/paste a few sentences or a short paragraph that you’re particularly proud of

You can get some All the pretty things lore as a treat.

“As if in every lifetime you and I have lived, we’ve chosen to come back and find each other and fall in love all over again, over and over for all of eternity. And I just feel so lucky that I found you so soon in this lifetime because all I want to do, all I’ve ever wanted to do is spend my life loving you.”

This is how All the pretty things ends. Obviously it is not my writing. This is a direct quote from Glee. I may hate the proposal but they went hard with the speech. But I knew I needed to end the fic with this quote, since it actually inspired the entire premise of the fic. They hop through all these dimensions and in every one of them they find each other to go on to the next. And they grow stronger in the process. I do not know if this fic would be this fic without this quote.

For my own writing, I am really happy with the “emotional climax” of Paradiso 1 and Time After Time, but shhhhh spoilers, you gotta read that for yourself. But a shareable part that I am admittedly obessed with is from The Naked Truth:

We’re acting like a bunch of hormonal teenagers, but I don’t care. We’re high on energy and love. The moment we get to my flat and I close the door behind us, I press him against it and he laughs.

Again, there’s so much laughter.

Is this what love is like? Endless exuberant laughter? I revel in the sound of his joy.

I wrote this because I used “he laughs” or “I laugh” or “we laugh” A LOT in this fic up to the point that it was making me wonder if it’s bad writing, so I just put it in the story. Hooray.

ALY I FUCKING DID IT.

[notvil]

caitie u ate so bad w this im wondering if you demolished the table, utensils, and atoms of air inside the room. i literally can’t get over this, it’s just too damn good im so happy i had the time to read and really dig in again bc the first read was good, the second one was epic, making the third legendary. /g CAITE IM BEGGING FOR MORE /lh I DONT BELIEVE I WILL BE NORMAL IF YOU DON’T MAKE MORE OF ANYTHING I CAN CONSUME !!! PLEASE FEED ME !!!! 

“The figure, of course, freezes–like it’s not obvious, like it’s possible you won’t pick up on the sudden shift from dance to pause, autonomous to marionette, breath to stone.” OOOUUUGHHHHH the description of this and sudden onslaught of terror in realizing you’re being followed is just so palpable here. i keep coming back to this block, i just LOVE it. plus the way you wrote immediately worrying if this will bw a normal occurrence or if this has been happening and you just didn’t realize, MHM MHM!!! Great food. 

“You go to bed that night, not having eaten but not hungry, still feeling the phantom sensations of your bounding footsteps on hard concrete [...] putting his hands on your back.” so good. like, excellent. will nvr forget.

can i say, i love the bubble you’ve written around the reader. i love seeing the outside world from this view. idk how to properly explain it, but it’s like everything happens outside of this bubble and all other interactions beyond the bubble feel so… muted? almost like a happenstance of sorts. idk i simply love it. “(and the person to your left stops chattering into the ear of the person sat behind you)” < kinda like here, the human-ness of this just tickles my brain in way that’s top notch.

“(You had remained after class one night to ask your professor a question you no longer remember, and a wispy haired girl sneered at you so badly you ended up weeping on your way out the door. Not only did it kill your urge to ever stay longer on campus than you needed to, it also caused a wane to your desire to even arrive home at all).” i have no words for the way this resonated with me, but it did. so i add.

“The shadow, however, instead of shrinking into disparagement like you so hoped… laughs, skipping towards you, laces flying, smiling wide.” what a dickhead (i love the blase introduction of him sm caitie like…. he’s so unserious thinking you’d be welcoming to the person invoking such a deep fear in you it causes you to run back home to avoid them. he always has to defy expectations, and this is so well portrayed. i am giddy.) make him leave. (the back and forth and the way dabi diverts and leaves things in the air… oh it’s… authentic… yeah. “didn’t think [you’d] care” and the pet names bc he loves being overly familiar to ruffle more feathers and get more reactions out of you. he wants to see you in your actions, not hear it from fickle words ARRHGGG) i hope he trips over his laces.

“”Then leave me alone,” [...] It’s the first night since first learning of him that you’ve walked home alone.” OH why does that make me…

“The creeper, the shadow, your stalker, [...] it’s like he soaks up your, any kind of, attention like a bonfire being doused with gasoline. You’re still scared, unknowing of what he wants, but now that you’ve spoken, there’s somewhat of a static that’s settled, too; it’s tense and awkward, but the horror of it all is stagnant in build, [...].” STOP STOP STOP SHUT UPPPPPPPP. caitie. this is sooo epic i want this embroidered on a sweatshirt. it’s like i hcd before, he wants to see because there’s only so much you can glean from words, he’s annoying, he wants to see it. near needs to… dabi is so irritating. 

“This time, he doesn’t laugh. “Maybe,” he says, then when you don’t react, “no.”” !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! it’s no fun if there’s no reaction OMG

“A name from his mother. Your lips wrap around it, caress the warmth of the dip, the bend, the aim… and his face breaks into that knowing, wolfish grin. // “Yeah, sweetheart?”” my tummy… the after, the vague chastisement, the weird feeling you get from laughing with the man who’s plagued you, him trailing along where he did before he decided to speak to you, the humming, filling the spaces, the odd sense of familiarity when you’re home. yeah. yeah….

“But later, when you spare one more glance, the way one glances, out of the window of your living room as if to merely check the weather, Touya is smoking his cigarette on the street corner.” the slight dynamic change, and the way he’s almost there like a sentinel… mhm mhm. love the “it’s got mice too” bc yeah, facts, did you need to warn him? no, but you do, it’s a weird camaraderie. and yeah…… “...he has the smile lines of someone who has lived a happy life, and he looks so pretty you almost want to cry.” he’shandsome LOOK AWAY

“You’re not exactly sure when he morphed into your friend. You don’t even think he has yet… but the words feel natural, eager, and easier than sliding onto leather seats in between two people who have never once looked your way with a nice expression and probably never will.” the suddenness of people talking to you is awesomely displayed here, crazy how tragedies and horrors will pull people together, especially with how it contrasts in concern with your safety in mind. before, you were there (in the bubble) and now you’re interacting outside of it with people who still don’t really give a damn but don’t want to be labeled as not trying in some twisted aftermath. and looking at dabi as a means of a friend who follows you and is the campus creeper in your eyes that still gets you where you need safely is great.

the realization that he is not the campus stalker scene and everything in it is so good, like i can’t enumerate the number of emotions it evokes in me it’s soooo weird: 

first from the way you just want this to be over with, asking why he hasn’t killed you or taken you despite knowing your every move and all that jazz because the tensions inside of you needs to alleviated for the love of all that’s holy. and the way he responds like it’s old news and essentially tells you that he could have, but didn’t and won’t.

“All those torturous moments, since that first night of running, all amounted to something even he won’t name. A silent end, [...] It’s not like it ever kept you safe.” this literally punched me in the gut i will not lie. there’s a general despair that covers most interactions with your classmates but here it’s just so palpable, and a little more horrifying when you realize the most interaction you get is from the guy that follows behind you like a shadow that makes you despair in a different way. OUUGH CAITIE U ATE

a few lines i simply love:

“Because, because no matter what I do, you won't quit chasing me. I’ve been running from you. ‘Cos you won’t leave. Me. Alone.”

““I’m keeping you safe, lollipop,” he interrupts, though the words hardly register.”

“[...] You never once thought, realized– // “Not your fault. His. The neighbor stalker.”” 

“Yeah, I beat him black and blue, maybe. But only cuz he was trailing you, I wouldn’t…” he shoves one hand in the pocket of his coat, waves the other dramatically in the air, “go after someone unless—” (PERIOD ILY KING)

he thinks ur pretty (:sobbu:)

love the voulntairy getting close to him bit, cause yeah. for up to now, he was the big bad, of course you would keep him at a distance, but now the field has changed, and it’s okay ?? you’ll find out sooner if it is or not, and that’s okay, especially since he gives in just like you. 

““I beat the snot,” he emphasizes, exposing teeth, “out of your stalker. And you didn’t even know he wasn’t me.”” love it. plus the slight rebuke of you just being okay with wandering home alone at night while there as a creep, love. little white knight-y on his part, i adore bc it’s like he was so kind to bestow you with this honor of him keeping watch. (also the “i woulda been fine right?” bc he just told you he resolved the issue but continued to follow after you…. mmmyeahhhhh love this form of slowburn)

““Buy me dinner to make up for it. Or kiss me sometime. With tongue. Either’s fine, cookie.”” asshat (i love him dearly and it’s your fault caitie bc when did this warm feeling in my chest happen? not until i read this fic :((() i wish he would go away

““But, now, you know, Touya can sneer, too, and sneer for you in ways that light a fire in the hearth of your existence…”” OHOHOHOH UMM YOU SEE. the way he defends because somewhere though your actions you’ve let it slip that there was once no love lost between you two, and in your stead, he protects you (like he’s done since you’ve met) because he wants to and know you really won’t given the chance. leaving it to him is just as good though….. oh. def want to dislike her, but given the circumstances and the nature of the world, everything can change, i adore how it’s highlighted several times throughout this piece. 

if i could use a memory wiper i would use it to read this again for the first time im ngl… and i'd use it like a lot. concerningly so.

if i didn't care (more than words can say) - a dabi / touya todoroki x reader fanfiction—NO QUIRK!college-ish!AU

wc: 7.3k — my longest to date :')

sum: a beautiful but notorious shadow keeps following you home. over the course of some weeks, you eventually get to know him.

a/n: more than anything, this is really just a huge ode to my hatred of graduate school, though since the start of writing this, i admit it has gotten a lot better—hence there being a mixture of characters and ocs included. i don't think i was able to nail this exactly the way i envisioned, in clarity and thematically (and it's wordy as all hell)... but i am still delighted by this concept. i hope it tickles you, as well!

a MAJOR thank you to my beloved @weird-dere-writes for beta-ing this! twyla is a a real one whom i adore like the shining sun.

warning: lighthearted in spirit but DARK CONTENT! features stalking, physical assault and mentions of sexual assault, miscommunication, suicidal ideation, talk of death, gore + general sense of unhappiness/unease. gender neutral but some of the pet names include: pretty, sweetheart, lollipop, cookie, hon, baby + etc., also I think you might have a purse?, HAPPY END!

(read on ao3 - coming soon!)

title credit goes to the ink spots.

enjoy!

The sun has just barely set by the time you leave your final class of the day. Fog seeps from over the distant hills that surround your city, subway tracks murmur from underneath the thick concrete, and car high beams yellow in the fading light of the sun and slate blue sky. 

Your classmates—those who have all left the lecture hall before you to give each other rides home—laugh, their voices echoing throughout the campus plaza as they disperse; the last students of the night to begin their trek home, down the hill that is your campus, and far, far away from you. 

You don’t mind. 

…or you tell yourself, at least. 

Your walk home is pleasant enough, not so close that it doesn’t feel like a trip worth making, not so far that it feels like you’re a freshman again, tearing out of class just to run to catch the bus in time. It’s the perfect temperature where walking is comfortable, and if timing allows, you’ll get to enjoy the sunset as you go. Maybe today you’ll see the funny looking tuxedo cat that stares at you sometimes from the ground floor apartment window of one of your neighbors; you only recently found out that they have a little tortoiseshell, too. 

Besides, while it’s not as though you enjoy your time alone any more than you enjoy anything else in life, home has become a sort of sanctuary, the trip to-and-from, a ritual, from school and the tension that sears your nerves on a daily basis. You still can’t help but wonder why it is that you’re only ever regarded by other students with hateful looks or by plain being ignored, sitting in the front corner of every classroom, freezing from both the weather's cooling breeze and the fact everyone just happened to ice you out by sitting in the back. 

It's no surprise that nor can you ignore it, either.

For as much as you try, which is almost as often as you open your eyes in the morning, you simply haven’t succeeded. Hence why, with the cold air nipping at your cheeks and your fingers numbing from a chill you know will only get worse the longer you stay outside… you suppose you should finally start heading back, too.  

-

You notice them first when you stop to adjust a faulty earbud. 

A figure behind you that stops. Waits. Lingers. More than a block away, under the newly darkened sky and opaque clouds. A street light illuminates their body as they appear to dawdle; awkwardly hovering about a pole, staring at something you don’t see on the ground, trotting a couple steps, and then looking up at the sky.

You glance at them, the way one glances, with one hand pressed to your ear, the other gripping the strap of your bag tightly as you turn your head ever so slightly to look out of the corner of your eye and pray the movement isn’t noticed. 

The figure, of course, freezes–like it’s not obvious, like it’s possible you won’t pick up on the sudden shift from dance to pause, autonomous to marionette, breath to stone. You can’t make out much about them aside from their long, dark clothing as their face is hidden by dark glasses and a hood, but when your stomach knots with something sour, nerves that twist and scream, you know nothing good will come from standing around and waiting to find out anything more. 

You let your eyes shift back to the paved street in front of you slowly, as if you just found yourself caught up in the frustration of skippy music. Then, you start walking again, hoping it was all just some coincidence, illusion, pretending that if you were to look back, the figure would have since simply turned the corner and left you behind, like most people almost always seem to do. 

But you look again. Peek, from the corner of your eye, briefly, like you normally would when no one is there and you just want to make sure… but this time, someone is, and by the time you really catch sight of them (closer now, like they were walking fast, jogging maybe, red light, green light), you don’t want to draw any more attention to yourself and turn back before you can make things any worse. 

Your heart beats. Your breath shudders. You flex your fingers where they’re held, stiff with terror, wondering: is this really happening? What should I do? Am I crazy? 

It’s five more blocks until your house. Three stop signs, then two traffic lights. One liquor store, and an empty cafe that has already closed for the day, filled with stacked chairs and little mice you sometimes catch scuttling by the edge of the curb. You live by a school, but since it’s already dark, there will maybe be a total of four cars that pass you by. Maybe. Then there’s a trek up a short hill before you finally reach your street. 

You wonder, not once slowing your step, if this is something you need to be worried about, if you’re really being stalked like you’ve always been warned of before, if anyone would even care if you didn’t show up to class tomorrow, or the day after that, or the day after that… and then, despite the whisper of your unconscious telling you not to be so self-involved, no one wants you, anyway, you increase your step. You want to look back, confirm what you think is happening, face a fight you don’t think is fair but haven’t yet decided whether or not you want to win.

But you don’t, thinking you can almost hear their footsteps now, though maybe you’re just confusing them for the wild thump, thump, thump of your heart and the catches of your breath. And when you check back, they’re half a block away but feel closer than ever, eyes on you and hands halfway around your throat though they’re still hidden deep in their pockets. 

You feel a little like hurling, a bit more like giving up and letting them have you (though you’ve only ever written a suicide note, never a will)... but the creature of fear in you ends up prevailing, throwing it’s tentacles up through your gullet into your brain and dragging you into the depths… just as you say a prayer for the first, or any, god willing to listen. 

And then you start running.

Heft your bag over your shoulder, suck in an icy breath and charge forward into the night, past the three stop signs and through the red of each stop light that blares at you, really the only thing that seems to acknowledge you as you refuse to waste any time looking back. 

Self preservation is one hell of a drug, you only manage to briefly think in between gulps of air, your cheeks stinging with the breeze and your feet beginning to grate and blister against the friction of shoes that aren’t meant for running. You figure at this point you’re more likely to trip and crack your skull open on the pavement than be caught and dragged away by some freak with a violent agenda. Would that really be so bad? 

But your answer quickly arrives in the form of making it home and climbing the stairs so fast you manage to forget the thought entirely, along with most of the rest of the world aside from the few people you come up with (and proceed to scratch out) when determining who, if there's anyone, you can call for help.

It's inside, silent and alone in the dark, you try to process what just occurred for so long that eventually your roommate comes home from their shift at the bar. It’s only at their surprise from seeing you still awake (ghostlike, on the couch) that you realize hours have passed in the span of what felt like only seconds, minutes, the metronome of a few steps home–and that you hadn’t actually processed anything at all. 

You go to bed that night, not having eaten but not hungry, still feeling the phantom sensations of your bounding footsteps on hard concrete, cold sweat sliding down the slant of your neck, and the feeling of a man just inches from your putting his hands on your back. 

-

The next day during lecture, you are awoken from a hazy daydream by a notification on your phone.

Campus Creeper Found Passed Out in Uni Plaza. 

You blink, exhausted after an adrenaline crash made worse by your night of haunted sleep, eventual overheating, and your roommate taking a shower at four am. You were happy to even drag yourself out of bed this morning and make coffee just tolerable enough not to spit out all over your kitchen floors. 

Local man, you read after clicking, deemed the “campus creeper,” was found passed out on the Student Union steps early this morning. Identified by a member of student patrol at Mustafu University, the man’s name has yet to be released to the public as it appeared he was suffering from a number of wounds, mostly external. 

Despite condition, students have taken to social media to express their relief, as the man has reportedly been following students—

You stop reading, having hardly even processed the words, really, as you try to shake off the fog that keeps you from really understanding what the words are telling you. 

A tightness settles in your stomach, heavy and painful with a nausea you can’t shake, a question you don’t yet realize: is this the same person, same man, who scared you half to death last night by trailing you all the way home? It’s unclear from the article, the timing, the picture with his blurred out features… and the fact that he must've been dragged all the way back up to school because he was found nowhere near your home. 

While you assume you’ll be more excited once the new sinks in and the nerves turn to consolation (and the person to your left stops chattering into the ear of the person sat behind you), you can’t help but shoot to your feet and run to the closest bathroom in a panic, trying not to hyperventilate looking at yourself in the mirror in between splashing water on your face. 

-

The day has once again fallen into night. Your bag is heavy with the weight of books and pens and your schedule notepad that has all your plans for the rest of the week and even the month beyond that. Today, however, the clouds don’t creep and instead, you see stars, maybe only a handful or so, one airplane too, as the sun descends in a tender calm and the windchill greets your cheeks once more. 

You walk, out of class and down the ancient steps of the building, start descending the hill down to the first busy intersection of streetlights where the president of your school was once hit by a car. 

It’s not three blocks into the way home, however, that a shadow appears once more. Distantly, though you’re sure it’s calculated enough so as not to ring as intentional no matter how much you know it is, and can feel it in your bones. 

You thought he had been caught. The creeper. 

You hadn’t realized you were so relieved by the thought. It slipped your mind, the celebration over as quick as it started under the weight of all your schoolwork and the dirty looks your classmates sent you after you came back from dry heaving into the bathroom sink. Maybe it was a different guy they caught, you wonder, then kick yourself for being so naive as to think that maybe you’d been spared. 

Of course not, you think. It’s never that easy, is it? 

Panic once again bubbles up in your throat, anxiety pooling in your stomach like something hot melting through stone, and tears start to sting at the center of your eyes. You do your best to ward away the urge to collapse, instead trying to focus on the fact that everything was fine yesterday and tonight’s just another dream you’ll wake up from again tomorrow…though by now you know it’s not. 

It is easier, this time, however, to begin to run, to bounce on your feet with a purpose you hope isn’t any more transparent than your fear. You’re happy that today you managed to pack light, skipped filling up your water bottle, and happened to put on your sneakers instead of your slip-ons, as if you didn’t spend half of your entire morning trying to convince yourself that potentially saving your own life was a good thing.

By the time you make it to the door, chest heaving with a wheezing heat as your hand shakes the key into the padlock, when you turn back to look one final time before ducking inside, still gasping for air, the shadow is no longer behind you. 

-

The creeper is getting braver, you notice. 

It has been weeks since the shadow appeared and the following began. One week of that same distant trailing which had you sprinting like some sort of track star, two weeks of running only the last block home, locking every single bolt on your door (then unlocking when it was time to let your roommate in), and three in total of squinting behind you in stinted moments and wondering what you see. 

You think his hair is white. 

Now though, tonight, he stays not a block or two behind you but rather, less than fifty feet. You can make him out—see now the faded black of his jeans and the red of his chuck taylors, dirty. He’s young-ish, you think, more noticeable than before, and skinnier–though maybe your eyesight has just gotten worse, or the memories have faded in trying to spare you from another trauma, maybe even from awakening any of the first ones.  

You wonder how he was able to speed up, where he was waiting for you, where he came from that first night, the second, and now. And you wonder why you’ve stopped running as fast, even if you’ve been trying to leave campus earlier and earlier as if that will keep you any safer from walking home at night. 

(You had remained after class one night to ask your professor a question you no longer remember, and a wispy haired girl sneered at you so badly you ended up weeping on your way out the door. Not only did it kill your urge to ever stay longer on campus than you needed to, it also caused a wane to your desire to even arrive home at all). 

-

One day, the creeper catches up. 

Reaches, like he’d be able to touch you, smiles, like his canines are sharp enough to chew through you…hopefully in one bite if he was even able to swallow that much. Maybe he is. 

But you swat back when he does. Hoist your bag in close. Glare over your shoulder. Then speed up, and your lungs tighten into stone almost immediately when he speaks.  

“Hey—” 

“Get the fuck,” you screech, turning back just enough to say the words despite not knowing if you’d even be brave enough to let them out, to get away unscathed, “away from me!”

The shadow, however, instead of shrinking into disparagement like you so hoped… laughs, skipping towards you, laces flying, smiling wide. 

“Aw, c’mon,” he jeers, to which you wince as you try to stomp away from his pull. That is, in between your attempts at keeping your eyes on him so that he doesn’t pull anything else fast, or deadly. 

“I swear to fucking god. I will call the cops.” 

Another laugh, his footsteps now lighter, his voice switching to something airy and cool.

“Don’t be like that, pretty.” 

You barely look, but you see a flash of red as he kicks out his foot, the curl of a grin pulling one side of his lips lopsided as he lazily trots to match your hurried pace. 

You want to start running, to disappear, dissolve—anything to stop things from developing further into a conversation and your possible demise—but he catches up to you again before you can even try to skirt away in any direction other than forward. 

“You noticed quicker than I thought you would,” he almost hums, the words exposing the soft, pink tissue of his gums. “‘didn’t think you would.” 

There is a question in his statement, though his voice doesn’t lilt and only his eyebrows give it away, quirking, stretching, falling, the piercing on his left one along with it, when you slow down (hardly, still breathing rough and nervous, not wanting to look) but don’t respond. 

“Most people…” he shakes his head, “eh.”  

“What?” you stop your stride, more out of surprise than want, and stare at him despite how distinctly you avoid catching his eyes. “Like people don’t know when they’re being followed?” 

“Nah,” he says, his mouth remaining open after, humorously, like you’re supposed to get the joke, think it’s cool, that he’s a zombie, maybe. Something. “Like I thought you wouldn’t care.”

You cross your arms, blink at the ground in trying to hide what is most likely a stupid looking pout in your failing attempt to get hot and angry. You shouldn’t even be speaking. “I care when creepy people follow me.” 

He laughs again, raspy and free. “It’s been weeks.” 

You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of looking at him, but you look at him anyway. Truly focus on the mop of messy white and black streaked hair atop his head, the stained, canvas jacket with extra pockets and copper zippers, and his smile; the delicate, creased skin of his jaw that fades smoothly up his cheeks and down his neck. He isn’t bare of a good amount of piercings, either: he’s got all sorts metal in his ears, nose, and dimples, as far as you can tell by simply looking at him

He’s not really all that creepy-looking after all. To your surprise (and slight disgust), in fact, you find he’s somewhat… handsome.  

You swallow. 

“It’s been three.”

“Hm, baby?” 

You tense, the claws returning, this time aiming for your heart, shredding it open, every insecurity lighting aflame when he smiles that smile again. 

“Three weeks. That’s how long you’ve been stalking me,” you say.

There’s a pause, a shift, something you don’t catch and can hardly read. Then, he rolls his eyes, shoving his white knuckled fingers into the pockets of his coat. He doesn’t move otherwise, doesn’t even look angry, or as though he’s going to take any steps backwards or forward, and not like he’s going to lunge at you as if you’re prey and there’s an animal in him that he’s already promised food.

You feel otherwise, though he shakes his head with a ‘tsk. “I’d say stalking is a little harsh.” 

You’re not sure why you object, “But–” 

“I don’t stare into your window,” he taunts, “don’t have your number, don’t send you stupid love poems every night and every morning that say,‘I love you, be mine!’” He pretends to sing-song, 

You can feel the irony, hear the chuckle but turn anyway to resume your walk into the night. Briskly. Refusing to look back and acknowledge the stranger you’re not sure wants to kill you.  

“I don’t throw rocks at your window,” he continues to call after you, “or approach you in cafes and pretend you’re crazy when you scream.”   

“Then leave me alone,” you shout, hoping the wind carries it far enough behind you to reach him, though you shiver still. 

You don’t see it, but he shrugs. And surprisingly stays where he’s put, watching you try not to look like you’re peeking at him before nearly tripping on your own feet. You’re not sure if it’s a relief.

It’s the first night since first learning of him that you’ve walked home alone. 

-

Later, you learn the creep has two names. 

It’s been five weeks now, just after winter’s turn, the clouds not so big anymore but often dense with the slightest bit of rain you enjoy only when you wake up in the middle of the night too scared to go back to sleep.

The creeper, the shadow, your stalker, basically lives behind you now, grinning whenever you glance, dancing whenever you glare; it’s like he soaks up your, any kind of, attention like a bonfire being doused with gasoline. You’re still scared, unknowing of what he wants, but now that you’ve spoken, there’s somewhat of a static that’s settled, too; it’s tense and awkward, but the horror of it all is stagnant in build, in wait for the spark to light and set your whole world ablaze.

Though he finds you again, two red lights in, halfway to your house. 

“Hey,” he says, following with your name. 

You immediately shudder, jerking away from him in surprise as if there’s anything else you could do, but he just laughs that laugh of his, undisturbed he’s now talking to your back. 

“Where’d you learn that?” you snap, but you can practically hear his grin when he responds. 

“Got classmates, don’t you?” 

Most of your classmates ignore you half the time, the other half just roll their eyes. Most of your classmates laugh whenever you speak, the ones who don’t have made you cry in front of your professors. 

“They wouldn’t piss on me if I was on fire.” 

“I would,” he says, pausing as if he’s some sort of pensive, then giving you a look that assures you he’s up to no good,  “and they gave me your name. Ibara, Setsuna, Yui–I could go on, you know?”

You’re surprised. You’re disgusted. At him, at them, and you gape, the only thing you can think to do under a circumstance that implies no one has any regard for your safety and yet, hardly leaves you surprised. “I think I’d rather just die.” 

“That’s not true,” the creeper laughs, seeming oddly sure of the answer. You’re too nonplussed to decide if he’s right. 

“I hate you,” you try instead. 

“You don’t even know me.” 

And it’s no nice to meet you, but the words slip out before you can stop them. 

“So, what’s your name then?” 

He hesitates, sucking on the piercing on his bottom lip before letting it pop back out in a sneer that shows pointed teeth. You’re not sure if he’s meaning to come off as upset or pensive, bitter or just plain rude. 

“Dabi.” 

The words fall off his lips, snappy and hot, like you’re lighting the burner on an old stove, or flicking a match against a matchbox for the first time and getting surprised when it sparks.

You pause, peeking over your shoulder. “‘gonna cremate me once you kill me?” 

This time, he doesn’t laugh. “Maybe,” he says, then when you don’t react, “no.” 

Your foot taps the ground when you look forward again. “You should really think about changing it, then.” 

There’s a pause, a shift in clothes and in breath despite the pace at which you walk. You feel nervous, awkward the way one does when someone catches you with bad hair, or wearing the last clean clothes in the house on laundry day. You’re not sure why you care so much about a man who clearly does not care about you. Or does… in the same way a farmer fattens up a chicken for slaughter. 

“Call me Touya, then,” he says, his eyes dark. “That’s what my ma calls me.” 

“Touya,” you repeat, sounding the word out on your tongue soft and slow. Lamp. Arrow. A name from his mother. Your lips wrap around it, caress the warmth of the dip, the bend, the aim… and his face breaks into that knowing, wolfish grin. 

“Yeah, sweetheart?” 

You freeze, one foot freezing in the air, and he bursts into a rasp of laughter so loud your eyebrows immediately shoot up and almost off your head entirely. You go in to shush him like you would as if you were accused of something embarrassing, your expression morphing into a deep frown, and his own lightening with humor but still twisting with something hidden, something you really hope is not satisfaction. His lopsided smile falls just the slightest when he sees you readjust your bag and start, almost, stomping away. 

He lets you find distance, of course, he’s always been a shadow not a stable fly, but Touya once again resumes his lazy trailing, joyously humming now, the sound echoing in your ears much longer than it probably should as he falls into a careful step behind you just as he always does… until you eventually make it home. 

-

At six weeks in, he finally drops you off at your house. 

Normally Touya stops his trail about a block or two before you make it, today, however, by the time you’re on the stone steps leading up to your front door, he’s a mere ten feet from your side like a chivalrous date making sure you get home safe (or like someone intending to grab your hands when you’re opening the door and rush in after you, as if to mount you right there on the floor). Your knees wobble on the first step when he speaks, though he remains standing politely next to the fire hydrant by the curb, playing with an unlit cigarette in between his fingers. 

“Got any roommates?” 

You stop, keys dangling from your fingers as you refuse to turn back and look. 

“Yeah,” you say, staring at the chopped firewood on your porch as you let the silence sprawl. You would’ve said the same even if you didn’t. 

“Good. Smart cookie.” 

Your stomach twists. Your face burns. He bounces on his heels. You can’t move. 

“That bakery down the street,” he begins again, nodding his head when you peek at him, barely. “It got food?” 

You squint, your stiff hands cold and tight, his in his pockets. 

“Um.” 

He waits. 

“It’s got mice.” 

Then he bursts into laughter, quickly quieting to suck his teeth and kick a foot forward like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how. There’s a part of you that knows you need to stop indulging this man, for your own safety and sanity, but there’s another part that also doesn’t flip when you think of the possibility of dying. Instead of going inside, you kick your own feet out and ignore your trepidation. 

“Why?”

“Wanna get dinner?”

He grins, and you hate the thought as soon as it arises, but it’s lovely; he has the smile lines of someone who has lived a happy life, and he looks so pretty you almost want to cry. 

(Today he’s dressed in dark, stained jeans and dirty boots. His hair is still a white and black mess and his smile is boyish and toothy. It sends a current up your spine that makes you jerk when you turn back to face your front door.)

“Piss off.” 

You shove your key in the lock to ignore the way he responds with a chuckle as his farewell, goofily waving when you manage to get the stupid thing to turn and yourself inside (which you notice only when you turn to slam the door closed and the curtain ripples). 

But later, when you spare one more glance, the way one glances, out of the window of your living room as if to merely check the weather, Touya is smoking his cigarette on the street corner. 

-

Campus Creep Caught Hanging Around. 

Busted, but this time, not blue! The attacker who was dubbed the “campus creeper” by Mustafu University students was spotted once more about a mile away from the local school. A local cafe owner claims he saw the man being followed by another of a similar size, but is  unsure if the two men are of a related circumstance or other. 

He reports that the neighborhood has been in good spirits lately, so this comes as a shock. As we continue to find out more, the public will be updated—

-

Today your shadow is waiting for you at the end of the block. You spot him from out of the third story window of your classroom, feet sticking halfway off the curb and a lit cigarette between his lips that curls pretty, silver smoke into the golden blue light of the nighttime air. 

“Hey, need a ride home?” one of your classmates asks beside you, the one that has your same name, shocking you out of your stupor as they tap the fingers of one hand against your table and swing their car keys around in the other. 

You can barely tear your gaze away from the window to look at them; their flushed face, their short curls, tight and bouncing, and their awkward, half-assed attempt at generosity. You wonder if this is some kind of exercise they were told to practice in therapy. 

“I heard about the campus stalker,” they continue without prompt. “Shihai and Kinoko are coming too, but you can squeeze in the middle, if you want.”

Their smile looks almost pitying. 

“Uh,” you blink, a little stupefied, a little shy. “It’s alright, but thanks.” 

They raise their eyebrows. “Isn’t your neighborhood a ways down by that cafe?”

“Yeah,” you nod, pausing to flick your eyes upward, “But I, uh...my friend is gonna walk me.”

You point toward the window, where your shadow, Dabi, Touya, whoever, has stopped smoking and is now bent over (teasing, most likely, with a gray-tinted shoelace) one of the mouser cats owned by the keepers of the small temple that sits snug at the back of your school.

You’re not exactly sure when he morphed into your friend. You don’t even think he has yet… but the words feel natural, eager, and easier than sliding onto leather seats in between two people who have never once looked your way with a nice expression and probably never will. 

“Oh good!” same-name laughs, tipping their head back in a way that almost seems exaggerated. “I was scared someone might try to nab you. Not anymore, though.”  

You’re not quite sure if they’re joking, but you try to smile and nod along anyway.

-

By the time he catches up to you that night, he’s half out of breath.

“There you are,” he says, grinning that stupid, wolf-like grin. “‘thought maybe you’d left out the back. Would’ve had to run to catch you.” 

You frown, readjusting the weight of your bag on your shoulder like always, distracted as you multitask trying to make sure your water bottle hasn’t leaked as you run through a list of things to remember as well as double check that you haven’t forgotten anything inside.

 “The north wing is halfway around campus,” you purposely avoid mentioning you took the long way to skip the corner where Touya usually stands. Instead of his face, you stare at the ground instead, by now resigned to the torture of waiting for your end… even if you’re secretly a tad disappointed he hadn’t brought the cat with him. 

“So?” Touya doesn’t look perturbed when you finally face him, almost as if he was waiting for you, “’woulda caught up eventually.” 

You make a note to add that to your list of things to remember, raising your eyebrows. 

“Why?” you ask, and then before he can tease, “Why bother, I mean?” and you can tell he must think you’re joking by the way he doesn’t answer, instead responding by flattening his face–his eyes sinking back into the cozy crevices where they rest and the skin of his chin tightening with exasperation as dry as tinder.

You try not to be too perturbed by it, instead of pressing him for answers, simply turning to set back off as if that will stop the eye roll he’ll give you behind your back and change his mind about following you home. But, as always, or at least, as of more recently, Touya waits a mere five steps before starting right along behind you like the shadow his is. 

-

“What do you want from me, Touya?” 

You ask the question one day, finally, two and a half months in. Classes aren’t over yet, but the end of winter semester is fast approaching. The words seem to scratch at your throat, their destination apparent even if you find they’re hard to spit out and burn on their way out. 

“What?” he asks, falling into a perky step beside you. He’s been that close everyday for the last two weeks now. And now, pressed up against you, near hopping like you’ve been friends for years, he doesn’t back away from the inquiry. 

You’re tired. Sick of waiting. Sad that you let this whole thing last so long when you’ve been quite aware of your impending doom (not that you ever told anyone, not even your roommate) and have done little to try and stop it.

“You wanna kill me or something? Take me home so you can fuck me then run me over?” 

Touya’s footsteps slow, and he halts (for the first time ever of his own volition) a little ways behind you. He’s not as tall as you initially thought him to be back when he kept his distance, but you’ve also since learned that his eyes are the prettiest cyan you’ve ever seen, and his scarred skin is soft and pink. Silver piercings adorn his cheeks like dimples, scars cutting the two different textures right in half. 

“No,” he says, then half heartedly and calm, “you know I’ve done enough of that, already.” 

You glance at him, pulling your head back in a half-horrified glare. But instead of the only half-serious expression you’re so used to seeing on him, however, you find a shit-eating smirk on his face that tells you he’d laugh if he weren’t so obviously trying to yank your chain by not doing so at all. 

Still serious, he jumps at you though, eyes opening wide, hands outstretched and twitching like a monster in a cartoon out to grab you, and you hop back like he’s on fire. No sooner does his face fall that he glances at you as if waiting for some kind of reaction, positive review, happy Halloween (even though it’s ages before Halloween). 

When you stay silent, the hands on your chest not falling, your expression still one of terror but to him quite bitter, he rolls his eyes so far up that only the white are showing. 

“I’m joking,” he says, his baby ocean blues coming back down to settle right on you. “Obviously.” 

You pause, standing still, trying to breathe, comprehend the, the, the predator that has been following you so closely for what you finally conclude has been months now. 

All those torturous moments, since that first night of running, all amounted to something even he won’t name. A silent end, for someone as lonely and pathetic as you; it’d almost be fitting, except for the fact that there’s no specific reason for it to be you. You’re a nobody, friendless and unhappy, waiting for the day you finally graduate and can leave this shitty city behind. It’s not like it ever kept you safe. 

“Then what?” you ask.

You feel resigned, defeated, undermined… yet he looks at you dumbly, as if you’re supposed to know something you clearly do not, and while you’d normally be embarrassed, you find you’re too worn down to care. Touya raises his brows sharply, the bruised-looking (but delicate) bags under his eyes shifting slightly with the tension of an annoyed frown as his voice strains to mock you. “What do you mean, ‘then what?’” 

Your face goes slack, and you think you’d try to hit him if you knew that wouldn’t end up with you on the ground or sobbing alone at home. “Seriously, Touya? We both know you’re stalking me.” 

He laughs dryly, one of the few times you’ve seen him so serious (the last time when he pointed out something dead on the pavement you had to stop him from trying to pray for. ‘I don’t even go to temple,’ he had said at the time, sounding so offended that you decided to drop the subject altogether and just let him go for the little dead bird he said he wanted to give to a friend). “I’m not.” 

“You are. I know you are. You…” 

“I can assure you, hon, if I were stalking you, you’d already be roadkill,” he twists one of his earrings, making a show of staring at the painted nails of his other hand, dark purple, before tsk-ing at you, sassy. “Not like you run from me, anyway.”’

You feel your stomach turn in embarrassment, in shame. You know he’s partly right, but you’re not about to admit that to the man who started it in the first place, who chased you home that whole first month, who, despite the familiarity you share now, still takes pleasure in your pain. 

“Because, because no matter what I do, you won't quit chasing me. I’ve been running from you. ‘Cos you won’t leave. Me. Alone.” 

Touya rolls his eyes, then sighs like you’re being a hassle. “If you really didn’t want me here I woulda left. I’m not stupid.”

“But I don’t want you here. I never did. You show up out of, of, fucking nowhere, acting like you know me—”

“I’m keeping you safe, lollipop,” he interrupts, though the words hardly register.

“Safe? As if it’s my fault you can’t leave me alone?”

You think of all the nights that had you near paralyzed with terror, from that first day onward, of rubbing your feet raw in your shoes, of wishing someone would come save you, of puzzling why you never ended up dead, to now. You never once thought, realized–

“Not your fault. His. The neighbor stalker.” 

You can barely respond, your arms shaking at your sides, eyes watering with distress. 

“But you, you’re…” 

He smacks his lips with a yawn. 

“Yeah, I beat him black and blue, maybe. But only cuz he was trailing you, I wouldn’t…” he shoves one hand in the pocket of his coat, waves the other dramatically in the air, “go after someone unless—” 

“Touya?” you question, your throat rough, your swallows heavy and thick with a syrupy confusion. 

“They did something real bad, like messed with a—“

“Dabi.”

He finally looks at you, the sheen in his eyes, for once, solemn, as if he harbors a genuine concern for your safety all brought on by your confusion. 

“What?” 

It’s a question he asks a lot, but this time, he seems to mean it. 

“Dabi,” you repeat, “you mean… you’re not the campus creep? The one on the news?” 

He gawks at you suddenly. The silence stretching, the night suddenly looming, the breeze even seeming to laugh. His disinterested expression begins to fade into a blank, unreadable nothingness… and then he howls. Hoots. Yells. His smile returning then, wide, blazing, hot. 

He laughs like you’ve never seen anyone laugh before, guffawing joyously and jollily, slapping his hands against the ripped holes of his jeans as his chest heaves underneath today’s thin, white tee. 

It’s almost contagious. Almost. 

“And here I thought we were bonding.”

You prickle like a cat, digging your toes into the tips of your worn out shoes. “Stop it. I’m being serious.”

“You’re tellin’ me,” he manages in between snickers, “you thought I was the creeper this whole time?” 

“You’re not?”

“That guy?” Touya straightens up to wipe his eyes, and you finally notice the crow’s feet that crinkle around his eyes, “Hell no. You think I do this for fun? Wear fuckin’ ugly hats and shit to terrorize pretty students at the school my ass of a little brother attends?” 

You say nothing. He starts laughing again, clapping his hands and keeling over. Even in jest, his voice still has that soft, raspy charm as he hoots at the ground. 

“Dabi. Touya. Whoever you are,” you plead, the first time ever you think you’ve voluntarily gotten closer to him, grabbing the rough shoulder of his jacket and tugging. He stumbles, maybe more on purpose than because of your grip, closing the distance between you such that his chest is pressed against yours and his hands are on your hips. “Tell me the truth. What’s going on?” 

He snorts, the only difference in sound now that it’s muffled by the closeness of your lips, but responds slowly nonetheless.  

“I beat the snot,” he emphasizes, exposing teeth, “out of your stalker. And you didn’t even know he wasn’t me.” 

“But…” you say, hesitating against him, your hands slipping from the stiff collar of his jacket to the front of his chest, confused. His eyes are as cold as ice but set you on fire when you meet his gaze.  “You didn’t have to. I mean, I woulda been fine, right?” 

He doesn’t look entirely convinced. “You tell me, when you’re the one still trying to walk your stupid ass home alone at night.”  

You flush, cheeks heating the skin all the way down to your neck. Touya seems to have clocked you far better than you ever knew it yourself–that he was never the enemy, that you were trapped in a self pity so deep only he could drag you out of it before choking, that dying, being tortured, being stalked, was far from the punishment you needed to get that kind of smoke out of both your lungs and your head. 

And, if anything, that you were lucky to have him.  

“Yeah, yeah. I don’t care.” Touya steps back only to purposely step gently on your toes. When you glare at him, hand still stretched  out to link the two of you together somehow, he only grins. “Buy me dinner to make up for it. Or kiss me sometime. With tongue. Either’s fine, cookie.” 

-

It’s been six months. Summer is just about to begin, your roommate has already left on vacation, and the closer you get to the end of the season, the more you feel your worries begin to melt off of you like layers upon layers of frost on an icy window of a warm cabin. 

The shadow still walks you home, but he no longer trails behind you, and you no longer call him a creep. You call him Touya–now your lamp, now your arrow–and sometimes Dabi (that is, when you feel like he’s not listening). 

Though the sun now sets a whole hour later than it did during winter, excusing as much of a need for Touya’s presence in your routine, you have now welcomed him into it,  (even if you spent the first couple months of your real relationship trying to make up for your initial confusion at his presence with bowls of soap and burnt bread from the cafe near your house.)

It is a Thursday when a wispy-haired classmate comes up to you on the steps that lead away from campus. She’s the one you knew vaguely from elementary school in your distant home town, and who made herself reacquainted by sneering at you once for eating a candy bar in class; she bared fangs at you like she herself had never been hungry, and then ignored you every time you saw her after (even during assigned group work, when you realized she wasn’t even that intelligent). 

But, now, you know, Touya can sneer, too, and sneer for you in ways that light a fire in the hearth of your existence… and he does so, sharply, arrogantly, when she approaches underneath the fading light of the sun and slate blue sky. She looks almost scared, even more so of his smile, big, wide and scary—that is, until you interrupt the moment by calling out to her from behind his back. 

“You ever heard about the campus creeper?” you ask, to which she nods anxiously, big, wet tears welling in her eyes as she hobbles right over to your side, Touya already barking into the warming night air as he begins to walk you both home. 

[refundtheticket-archive]

If I can ask, how did you come about with identity discovering stuff? I’ve been following you for a while and have noticed name/pronoun changes. It’s something I keep going back and forth on not sure how I feel so I’m just curious. No prob if you don’t wanna talk about it

oh wow hi. this got a little long and a LITTLE personal so i will put it under a read more... warning for like some vague references to suicide ideation or something? idk?? (i'm ok 👍) hopefully this is all on topic and provides some insight.

tbh i am going to be honest, i have been sort of stumbling around in the dark for like. at least thirteen years?? with regards to gender stuff. like i first started questioning my identity when i was like. in high school, around 2009 ~ 2011. and then ended up becoming friends with other trans people and watching them come out and pursue gender identity stuff for a LONG WHILE and only really made the decision i wanted to focus on being trans instead of desperately pretending i was a cis lesbian liiiike three? years ago? so i am terrible to ask for advice on this LOL but frankly what made me go ahead now was just this understanding that like. there is clearly something Missing, and i was about to turn thirty and was gripped with this fear that i would go on feeling this way, just Empty, and not doing anything and then next thing i knew i'd be forty (or dead). which motivated me to look into talking to a therapist to start with which was a great way to move forward with things and i would recommend if that's something you can pursue or feel comfortable doing.

in terms of name, i actually really had no clue when it came to name stuff, i didn't really want to change my nickname from steph just because thats what everyone already called me, but i knew with a lot of people it'd be hard to walk them through "i masculine but my name stephanie" so i just took the "ie" off and "tried out" going by stephan, which ended up feeling really right in a way i had, like. never experienced before. just this like. "wow thats my NAME" sort of thing instead of "these are the sounds people make to refer to me". in terms of pronouns, this is really lame but i wanted to try out using "he" just because i had already known i was going to just come out as a trans dude to my family rather than mess with any nonbinary stuff that i knew cis people would have a harder time understanding (i just didn't want things to feel like a huge struggle) and wanted to see how "he" felt just in case that worked for me (because i was really worried i'd go from pretending to be a girl to pretending to be a guy with no respite). luckily he doesn't feel bad! to be honest i'm still sort of feeling it out (i still have a sort of HUH? reaction when people use it for me but it's not a bad feeling, i just still don't hear it often compared to how much i hear 'she') but through its usage i've also sort of lost connection with just "they" so i don't think i could go back to just they/them anyway. i will say, "trying things out" is a really great way to explore gender stuff without it being this high pressure "changing these terms forever" sort of thing. just tryin' out they! just tryin' out she! tryin' out being called another name sometimes! etc.

i'll be honest, i feel like taking so long to explore gender stuff did actual damage to my brain LMAO like i feel like some element of my brain structure that processes gender feelings and happiness and the world around me has atrophied from lack of use and it makes it really hard to go forward with things because i feel like i'm feeling around in the dark. but i do know that going forward with trans stuff (like coming out to certain family members and finding a doctor to pursue hrt and top surgery) has made me feel really Right even if its extremely scary, and i am excited to see where further exploration takes me (assuming my doctor can ever actually get me on hormones instead of whatever it is he's doing but yknow thats neither here nor there).

i hope this all made sense and was in any way instructive LOL. tbh i feel like a really bad person to ask about these things bc idk what i'm doing. it feels more like fleeing from a burning building right now than making any real constructive first steps toward the rest of my life, but it also feels like something i need to do to like... at some point find any joy in living. and it also feels like the first major thing i've really done in my life that i've done For Me and not just. something that feels like i either Should be doing or something that feels like its just Happening, which feels good for my brain to experience for once. and i hope it leads to a happier me :3 it's so easy to live life in dull, flat misery, way easier than some people think and i do feel like i'm slowly getting a better grip on myself and coming to understand myself as a person. and hopefully some day i can stop feeling like i'm watching the world through a computer screen instead of actually living in it!!!

[weaverlegaspi]

Chapters: 1/? Fandom: Emmerdale Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Vanessa Woodfield/OC, Charity Dingle/Vanessa Woodfield Characters: Vanessa Woodfield, Charity Dingle, Johnny Woodfield, Diane Sugden Additional Tags: Original Character(s), TV Type Violence Summary:

Vanessa is back in the village to visit her sister and her new Niece. Vanessa brings a new person in her own life with her and Johnny.

Charity is still trying to recover from their break-up (not always in the best way) and her ostracization from her family, and the Dingle family.

Will they find happiness with each other, or with others?

[gilbirda]

I fee like people are milking the Anger Management ship a little too often now when there are other ships they can go with. The only Danny x Cass ship that sailed and I’ve seen is in Lex Luther’s Ascent from Supervillainy to Fatherhood 😃 I kind of want to see Jazz and Dick getting closer because of being the oldest and/or Danny and a super kid! Danny x Duke is a ship that no one wants to dip their feet in 😔 they could bond over having powers or maybe everlasting quartet 🤔 (sam x danny x val x tucker) sorry im good at giving ideas out im just horrible at executing them 😭 also, Jazz x Babs? their ship Name could be Oracle Specter? Bc some hc jazz as a liminal and oracle liminal doesn’t sound as good 😀

Friend, I'll be real with you, I don't see the point of this message.

The following answer is not for you specifically, is to everyone out there that has said something similar. I can't just ignore it anymore.

I will say this once: why the need to stomp on something to highlight another? Why start with "I think Anger Management is too common/used/repetitive, when we could be doing this instead."

I'm sorry but this rubs me the wrong way, and I cannot find in me the energy to play nice when it isn't the first time I've seen people stomp on my favorite ship for the sole purpose to try and highlight other ships.

The sad part? I like other ships. Jazz/Dick (Nightbirds), Danny/Cass (Dead Silent) and all those you mentioned are okay.

(Jazz/Babs is Red Dead Redemption, but it can be changed)

Like, what's the point? Guilt trip people into making content for other ships? Make me feel bad enough so I write for other ships instead? I am not the DPxDC ships wizard, I don't wake up one day and decide which ship becomes popular.

I just saw the potential for Jazz and Jason, how interesting their dynamics could be, and run with it. I'm happy that my rarepair has become so popular that it has antis and detractors, it's such an honor to have started the fire that took my OTP out of rarepair hell.

But, please.

If anybody out there likes other ships? That's great!

Now go make content for it.

Don't go into mine, or other writer's, inbox and try to guilt trip people into making content for your ship. Or make vagueing posts in the Anger Management tag complaining about it.

Be the change you want to see.

I wrote nearly 100k words of my ship before I saw other people that wasn't me making posts and AUs about them. Before I saw more fics with that ship posted in AO3.

I just sat down and made content.

"Why are people sleeping on these ships?"

"Why isn't [CharacterA/CharacterB] more popular?"

"Anger Management is great, but I'd prefer if it was done this way instead."

THEN GO MAKE THE CONTENT YOURSELF.

Again, this isn't an attack on you personally, is a PSA to anybody out there being pissy about Anger Management and shitting on it just to make other ships look better or more interesting; or wondering out loud why this ship is popular and their ship is not, behaving as if it were all a plot to make Anger Management more popular on purpose.

Stop that.

Multiple ships can coexist in peace, no need to put down the popular ships unnecessarily. Is not rocket science.

[lesbianjunimo]

That time you and your demon boyfriend went viral

hi yes hello obey me fandom!! my name is Gabbi and i have never played a single second of the actual game but i have read enough fanon content for the past year to have this idea swimming around in my head and now i am finally letting this accursed thing out of my brain and putting it in yours

also i’m only doing the brothers because any more than that and i’d have an aneurysm probably. oh and shoutout to @obeythebutler and @beels-burger-babe for inspiring me with their works to feel brave enough to write for this fandom

Lucifer:

You and Lucifer go viral on Asmo’s Devilgram story!

You’re in the kitchen helping Asmo with dinner duty and singing along to one of your playlists of human realm music that you like to show him.

Asmo starts filming your cute little dance while you stir the pot on the stove because you are just adorable!

About ten seconds into him filming, Lucifer appears in the doorway with quite the stern look on his face. You know, the one that comes right before a “MAMMOOOOOON” and strikes fear into the heart of all those with functioning eardrums. That one.

He opens his mouth, presumably to tell y’all to shut the fuck up, but then there’s a lull in the music and the eldest can hear your voice ever so slightly above the song’s vocalist and he freezes.

Man stops in his tracks like someone just smacked him in the face with a midair volleyball.

Asmo can be heard stifling a laugh behind his phone.

Lucifer’s face gets so soft and he almost, almost, loosens his metal-rod-through-the-ass posture before you notice him and give a little wave and ask if you and Asmo were being too loud like the considerate darling you are.

Lucifer clears and his throat and says something like, “No, you aren’t. I was just coming to check on how dinner is coming along,” and leaves, after which Asmo immediately presses the post button.

Screenshots of Lucifer’s heart eyes for you go absolutely viral because every demon on Devilgram goes absolutely feral for seeing the eldest demon brother lose his dignified composure. It becomes a meme template. “Get you someone who looks at you like Lucifer looks at MC” and “me at the delivery demon when he shows up with my spicy bat wings” posts become commonplace. (Asmo thinks the memes are totally worth getting strung up with Mammon for laughing at them.)

Mammon:

Much like Lucifer, you and Mammon end up going viral off Asmo’s Devilgram. (Noticing a pattern here?) 

He pulls a silly prank on your asses and honestly I don’t know how you fell for it. But hey, they say “idiots in love” for a reason, so...

You and Asmo are sitting in the common room of the House of Lamentation just chillin. Well, he’s chillin, you’re on the floor studying for an upcoming exam.

The video starts in the middle of a conversation you and the avatar of lust were having.

“No, Asmo,” you say. “Mammon and I don’t use pet names for each other.” Now that’s just a darn lie, and every demon and crow within ten miles of Mammon and you together knows it.

“Really? I find that very hard to believe, MC.~” 

You sigh in response to Asmo’s teasing. “Okay, he has a lot for me but I’m just not much of a pet name person, y’know?” The rest of the exchange goes like this:

“Oh, I totally get it.” *pause* “Hey MC, what do human world bees make again?”

“Honey.”

Cue a sheepish Mammon sticking his head in the doorway at the bluntness of your tone when you answered Asmo.

“Yeah, babe?” he looks like a puppy left on the side of a highway oh my god hUG HIM-

Asmo turns the camera back to his smug ass face and in the background you can be heard tripping on the damn carpet trying to get up and hug your mans. (”MAMMON GET OVER HERE SO I CAN HUG YOU” “W-WHAT? I THOUGHT YA WERE MAD AT ME?!?!?!?!”)

Leviathan:

Streamer Levi? Streamer Levi.

You guys go viral the first time you make an appearance on one of Levi’s weekly (insert cool Devildom streaming service name here) streams. 

It’s completely unintentional. You had been asking him for weeks to play with him on there, but he’s the avatar of envy after all. He doesn’t like sharing his partner, even if it’s with random strangers who have no real access to you.

However, he has his stream on a Thursday instead of a Friday one week, and you come into his room carrying dinner because 1) You didn’t realize he was streaming and 2) No matter what he was doing, the boy needed to eat. It wasn’t unusual for you to bring him dinner, so you had no idea why he was blushing and stammering even more than usual this time in particular. Boy was speaking in beached whale trying to tell you what was wrong.

Then you notice his screen. Oh! “Hi chat!” You wave, setting Levi’s food down on his desk in front of his keyboard. “M-MC!” He full-on whines, slamming a hand over his mouth afterwards when he remembers his viewers could hear that.

Honestly, they’d meme the fuck out of him if it weren’t for the fact that they are FINALLY SEEING HIS HENRY!!! THE MYSTERIOUS MC!!!

Chat is bombarding you with questions while you make Levi eat dinner. And by make him eat dinner, I mean literally feeding this man forkfuls/spoonfuls while he games because you love how flustered he gets when you do that. 

Does it impact his score? Absolutely. Does he care? Not really when you’re pampering him like that.

You start answering chat’s questions about you while he’s chewing so he can’t tell you to stop LMAO-

You’re a natural on stream. The VOD becomes the most popular on Levi’s account in a matter of hours and soon cute highlights compilations of you and him on that stream start making the rounds on Devildom Twitter.

Satan:

There was buildup to Satan going viral, similar to Levi in a way. 

Satan does have a Devilgram, but it’s basically a white woman’s Instagram with added book reviews for variety. Unless you’re a reader his account is pretty boring: candles, books, fireplaces, and cats.

However, after you two started reading together fairly often he began posting pictures of your legs draped over his while you sat together. They’d always be captioned with vague ass pretentious literary criticism. 

This goes on for months, and he gains a lot of (horny) followers after the leg pics start up. He doesn’t really get why but you both joke that it’s because you have some damn nice legs and I mean neither of you are complaining about the new following.

You two go viral when he finally shows your face, entirely by accident.

The post is a video, which is already strange for him and grabs attention. In it, you’re scoffing and reading an excerpt of a book, mocking its understanding of female anatomy.

“I’m quoting here, Satan: ‘her breasts bouncing around like giant pacmen.’ I’M SORRY?? THAT ISN’T HOW BOOBS WORK SIR. WHY ARE MEN ALLOWED TO WRITE?” 

(fun fact that is a very real quote from a very real book I really read last month pls save me)

Originally the camera is focused on your body, with your head out of frame to protect your privacy, but your righteous anger made Satan laugh. Like, a real laugh. The one that makes you and everyone in earshot wonder if he truly was never an angel cause he sure as hell laughs like one but anyway-

When he threw his head back, his DDD angled up just a tad without him noticing, and your face was in view for like .2 seconds. Screenshots of it are making the rounds on Devilgram almost immediately: FINALLY THE LEGS’ OWNER HAS BEEN FOUND.

Satan apologizes profusely but you honestly find it funny and you two opt to just start taking selfies while reading with both of your faces in them from now on. 

Asmodeus:

I’m gonna be real with you: you and Asmo go viral all the time. Pretty much everything Asmo posts can be considered viral because of his social media following and his status as one of the seven avatars of sin.

However, there are some fairly cute highlights to be pointed out among the times you were both featured in a post that blew up.

Your favorite is probably that time Asmo livestreamed on of you guys’ ‘Nail Nites,’ as you call them.

You’re both on the floor, doing your nails and kicking your feet back and forth while talking to chat. A lot of the questions are about your relationship, and there’s a lot of flirting back and forth between the two of you.

A particular clip of the stream does blow the fuck up on Devilgram, though, when someone screen records it and posts it with a bunch of heart emojis edited over it.

“’What colors do you think best describe each other?’ Ooo, that’s a good one, chat!” Asmo claps his hands together excitedly, making sure to be  careful of his nails.

Pretty much everyone expected you to say pink, but you surprised both your boyfriend and your viewers when, after a pensive few moments, you replied with “Hmm...probably yellow or orange.”

“Can I ask why, darling?” Asmo tilts his head in confusion. I mean, yeah, those colors look good on him, but he doesn’t wear them often so he’s wondering about your thought process. 

“Well, in the human world those colors often represent happiness, optimism, and positivity. You’re always the cheerful presence I need in my life when things get hard, so you have the vibe of those colors.”

Asmo proceeds to burst into tears and hug you, messing up both of your nails and prolonging the stream since you both have to start over. But neither of you particularly care. 

Fun fact: Asmo has the clip that demon made of that portion of the stream saved on his DDD and watches it whenever he feels sad.

Beelzebub:

Beel and you probably go the most viral out of everybody. Like this moment is an entire phenomenon across the Devildom internet. 

It’s a video, or well, multiple videos, taken at the end of a Fangol game that Beel’s team had just won. Everyone is cheering and going crazy, yourself included, and you just really wanted to congratulate your boyfriend.

So, like the rational person you are, you elect to climb up onto the railing of the bleachers and wave to get his attention. 

You were absolutely fine up there, and sat all comfortably motioning Beel over to you. He notices, of course, and jogs over, standing right beneath you and looking up. (Back where you were sitting, Mammon is screeching like a hyena in heat and Belphie, who is laying down, has one eye open to glare at him. The youngest knows Beel would never let you hurt yourself; you’re fine.)

A bunch of assorted demons at the game has started filming while you were sat atop the railing since you were rather noticeable. Therefore, there’s a shit ton of different angles of the adorable events that follow:

You slide off the railing, landing right in Beel’s waiting arms bridal style. You’ve got this brilliant smile on your face as you pull his helmet off. None of the DDDs filming can hear it over the crowd noise, but Beel asks you why you just went through all that trouble and you tell him it’s because you wanted to tell him how proud you are.

Soft boy’s chest puffs up and he smiles this big cheesy smile at you reach up to run a hand through his hair. You feel him practically purr at the contact, and with a laugh you pull him in and plant a big ole smooch on him.

The crowd, at least those of them that can see, scream. Everyone is running high on adrenaline and happy emotions; something that cute causes a ruckus!! When you pull away Beel proceeds to put you on his shoulders and you celebrate with him and the rest of his team.

The videos of you two being adorable go completely viral and there are some threads dedicated to stockpiling every single angle taken of the event. Beel is completely oblivious to the attention but you have a lot of them saved on your DDD.

Belphegor:

If you think Belphegor has any sort of social media presence whatsoever then you are sorely mistaken. (Well okay he actually does run some anonymous troll accounts to meme on Lucifer’s posts but that’s neither here nor there-)

Therefore, naturally, you two go viral off of Asmo’s Devilgram. 

Okay so someone in the obey me tag the other say headcanoned that Belphie will go out of his way to nap in ridiculous places and my brain really took that and RAN WITH IT.

So what happens is that Belphie will fall asleep in the fucking weirdest places. I’m talking on top of the fridge, underneath the dinner table, on top of bookshelves...you name it, he has slept there, no matter the effort it takes to get there in the first place. 

And, ever since you two started dating, you would join him. Sometimes it involved putting yourself at risk of great bodily harm, but the little smile he gave when you he saw you fucking scaling the countertop to reach him made it worth it.

So anyway, since Beel adores the both of you to no end, he takes pictures whenever he sees you two napping together, whether or not it is in a crazy place. He sends these to the family group chat because he thinks they’re adorable.

Over a span of weeks to months, Asmo has built up a stock of images of you and Belphie cuddles up in seemingly impossible places. Once he has about ten or so, he posts a compilation of them to his Devilgram with some cheesy ass caption like “The things we do for love <3″.

They become a meme SO QUICKLY. Like UNBELIEVABLY quickly. 

The picture of you and Belphie sleeping on top of a bookshelf, in particular, is a big hit. Memes abound.

“If my girl doesn’t climb up a bookshelf to cuddle my ass, she don’t love me.” “Get yourself a partner who scales bookshelves just to be with your ass.” Etc etc...Belphie doesn’t give a shit but you laugh at a lot of them so he sees that as a good outcome.

[uwusenpaiuwu]

Sleepovers At The Baji Household feat. A Fed-Up Chifuyu

Summary: Chifuyu just wants to sleep, man, but Baji wants to be a jealous crackhead at 2 AM.

Pairing: Sano Manjiro | Mikey x Male Reader

Note(s): I had a little free time and wrote this. So, please enjoy! ALSO, to the anon that sent me a request a few days ago, I saw it and have it filed on my to-do list!!! I will definitely get to it as soon as I get a break in my schedule :)

"Chifuyu, ya wanna see some real discrimination?"

No. No, Chifuyu does not want to see what Baji means by 'real discrimination.'

Does he tell him that, though?

Yes, actually, because it's 2 in the fucking morning and, as much as he respects the other boy, he wouldn't put it past himself to smother him with a pillow after having his dream of cuddling with a sea of puppies suddenly destroyed.

Unfortunately for his sanity, Baji either doesn't hear him or, more likely than not, doesn't give a fuck, because he's already flopping onto his belly and whipping out his phone to do God knows what.

The dial tone that sounds from the speaker a few seconds later makes Chifuyu cringe, especially since it's only ever been a calm silence fit for a good night's sleep prior to Baji bulldozing through it with his absurd question. (At the very least, he's thankful that the latter has half a mind to keep the brightness on the lowest setting, otherwise, Chifuyu would have had to fight.)

On the far end of the row of carefully-laid futons, you shift in your sleep, eyebrows furrowing together at the noise. Rotating onto your side, you unconsciously reach for Baji, and just when he thinks you're being cute and trying to cuddle him, you smack him in the head.

Baji doesn't flinch, instead, takes his pillow and shoves it in your grasp to keep your unconscious self occupied, so that he can focus on getting through to the person who reuses to pick up (understandably so).

Releasing a frustrated groan after being redirected to voice mail for the fifth time, he dials the number again, muttering an impatient, "Pick up already."

Chifuyu feels sorry for the poor soul on the other end. He would've blocked someone following the first call, because again, it's-

The blond has to squint his eyes up at the digital clock on Baji's nightstand, which confirms that it's already 2:22 A.M, further solidifying the fact that he shouldn't be awake right now. And this also applies to the ever persistent first division captain, who insists on bothering who Chifuyu soon discovers is Mikey from the contact ID that flashes across the screen.

Why Baji is so keen on bothering him is a question he doesn't have the mental capacity to ponder over. The most energy he'll expend is to listen in when the call miraculously connects.

"What...?" comes a muffled voice from the receiver, tone laced in an irked grogginess birthed from a slumber rudely interrupted.

There's an absurdly loud, almost angry, roar of Mikey's name, one that has Chifuyu curling in on himself in a futile attempt to escape a sound that should be illegal at this hour.

But you know what else should be illegal?

The fucking whiplash Chifuyu gets when Baji's deep voice takes an abrupt 180°, switching from its normal gruffness to a squeaky, ear-piercing shrill as he screams, "I love you, love you, love you! Do you love me, too, Mikey-kyun~♡?!"

The room is dead silent.

Not a word. Not a murmur. Not a breath.

Just pure, unadulterated silence as both Chifuyu and Mikey process the words that hang in the air, permeating it with a goosebumps-inducing eeriness from having heard such a...a girly, overtly cutesy screech from Baji.

Then-

"What the fuck? He hung on me!"

Chifuyu opens his mouth, thinks better of reacting to the cursed scene he had the misfortune of bearing witness to, and promptly closes it.

Other people may have sleep paralysis demons.

But Chifuyu?

Chifuyu has Baji.

With both hands partially raised in prayer, he begs for the shenanigans to be over and done with.

They are not.

While his eyes remain closed in a last ditch effort to convince himself that it's all a bad dream, he hears a lot of grumbling happening on your side of the room, courtesy of Baji, who's scrambling around in search of...something. One quick peek reveals him fiddling with a phone - yours, to be exact, as evidenced by the distinctive phone charm of your favorite anime character hanging from it.

"(Y/n), wake up for a second," he hears him whisper. It takes a bit of prompting, until he's able to successfully rouse you enough from sleep to elicit any kind of response, which is, essentially, nothing short of an incoherent, slurred mess. Although, Chifuyu is pretty damn certain he heard you call Baji a 'dickhead' for the trouble.

Unperturbed, he continues shaking your limp form, coaxing you into wakefulness with, "Repeat what I tell you, and I'll let you go back to asleep. Deal?"

You squint your eyes at him, only able to make out a vague outline of his visage in the lightless room. "Promise?"

"Cross my heart, hope to die," he automatically responds with the same phrase he's become accustomed to saying whenever you two made a promise, something done purely out of habit, formed when the two of you were just kids and he wanted to get you to do something absolutely ridiculous either for him or with him. And just 'cause he knows you're more susceptible to complying if he does it, he also interlocks his pinky with yours.

"...Fine."

The approval is his cue to proceed, and it's as he's putting the phone on speaker that he turns back to a regretfully wide awake Chifuyu, mouthing a wordless, 'Watch.'

The phone rings, loud and clear, precisely once and only once.

"(Y/n), what's wrong?" It's important to note that even though Mikey still sounds tired as hell, his tone is much lighter, much happier really, than when it was Baji, which is an offense in itself to the said teen that's off to the side, attentively listening to the conversation unfold.

Then, it strikes Chifuyu, what Baji is trying to do, and fuck does it give him an instant headache.

Meanwhile, your mouth morphs into the dopiest of smiles with the pleasant surprise of hearing your boyfriend's voice, chest instantly overtaken by a warm fuzziness that never fails to make an appearance whenever he's involved. Sappy, you know, but it's true!

A light but firm nudge to your shoulder reminds you of your mission. It's too bad that, teetering along the edge of sleep as you are, the words Baji whispers are barely repeated correctly.

The initial phrase from before, the one Baji greeted Mikey with, is shortened to a simple, "You wuv I...?"

But, without missing a beat, you receive Mikey's confident reply of, "Mhm... I wuv you a lot."

There's a sleepy giggle then - a fucking giggle - before your voices drop to sweet whispers that the third and fourth wheels can't fully comprehend from where they are.

"Where the fuck was my 'I wuv you,' huh?!" Baji whisper-shouts, considerate of your conversation even when ranting and raving. "Shit, I would've taken a simple 'I love you,' too! I've known that bastard way longer than (Y/n), and this is what I get?!"

Okay. Toman's president answers his boyfriend's late night calls faster than he does anyone else's and openly expresses his love for him. So what? Chifuyu wouldn't exactly call it 'discrimination,' per se. 'Favoritism,' maybe if you wanna stretch it, but using as strong a word as discrimination, especially taking into account you two are dating; it's normal? Nah.

"You wanna say 'bye' to them? Mm. Baji and Chifuyu." A pause. "Fuyu, Mikey says 'bye.'"

"Bye, Mikey-kun."

The other person in the room waits, and waits, and waits, and when it's clear that there is no intention to address his presence whatsoever, Baji turns to Chifuyu with an almost scandalized expression, making wild gesticulations with his hands, clearly distressed. "See?!"

Blank blue eyes stare back at him, unblinking. Honestly, it's a common occurrence - Baji spiraling in a nonsensical rage - so it's easy for Chifuyu to block out the muted, jealousy-driven temper tantrum as he takes his pillow in both hands, raises it as high as he can, and-

Sigh.

-lets it flop right back onto his face.

He can't suffocate Baji. Shouldn't. Wouldn't. Couldn't. After all, they're best buds, meaning he has an obligation to put up with shit like this once in a while. (Plus, he'd probably get his ass kicked before he succeeds anyway. Totally not worth the beating.)

"Did you hear? Mikey said he wuvs me," he hears you drawl dreamily as soon as you hang up, sounding very close to clocking back out for the night.

"Yeah, yeah. Cute shit. Happy for ya, dude," Baji huffs. Thankfully, he sounds like he's in a similar state to yours, if the yawn that follows his sarcastic comment is anything to go by.

"...He soooo ignored you."

That warrants a punishing punch to the arm, dulled only slightly by the combination of the thick quilt you're swaddled in and the raven-haired boy's fatigue.

"I'll fucking throw you out right now, (Y/n). Don't test me."

"You won't."

"I will."

"Won't."

"Will."

The conversation gradually dies down shortly after, the exhaustion that took its sweet time getting to both of you having reached its peak with the help of the childish bickering. It takes 10 minutes, maybe 15, before two sets of light snores fill the room.

Finally.

Let it be known that there is a lesson to be learned from tonight's events. Really, there is. Y'know, something along the lines of 'Don't agree to a sleepover with Baji, if you plan on actually sleeping,' or whatever.

Alas, Chifuyu's consciousness fades before he realizes what it is.

~~~

"Mikey, be honest. Who do you love more? Me or-?"

"(Y/n)."

"But-"

(Y/n)."

"I-"

"(Y/n)."

Baji is only momentarily discouraged, sharp eyes glaring at the blond that lays his head on your lap after hi-fiving you. He didn't want to do this, but he's left with no choice.

"(Y/n) or Babu?"

From the way Mikey stiffens up, refusing to look at either him or you in the eyes, Baji knows he has him right where he wants him, has him torn between a cute face or a sweet ride.

"Oi! Don't pretend to be asleep! Answer the damn question! OI!"

(After hours of serious contemplation - even though you told him it doesn't particularly matter - it's revealed that, of course, Mikey loves you more. Babu just happens to trail behind as a very close second.)