#blindly putting them in the wrong boxes

[droewyn]

“So, why do you think that you might be autistic?”

No reason.  Hey, you wanna hear my process for deciding which book in my backlog to read next?  First, I go to my library spreadsheet, which I maintain every time I purchase a book.  It has columns for where I bought the book (I’ve owned ALL of the big name e-readers since 2010, so things can get a little messy), series information, when it was purchased, whether I’ve read it before, etc.  It uses formulas to assign each book an initial value between 1-10, based on how long the book has been sitting in my backlog.  10 is the oldest, down to 1, which was bought recently.  Then it adds or subtracts points depending on whether I’ve read each book before (if it’s been marked Reread Eligible, obviously – if not, all points are reduced to 0), whether it’s a favorite book or favorite author, a queer author, or author of color.  The list of book titles and final scores gets copy-pasted into a different, macro-enabled spreadsheet, which will then select a random book from the weighted list; a book with a final score of 15 will have 15 chances to be selected, a book with a score of 1 has 1 chance, etc.  It’s a way to achieve some level of randomization, which is important to me, while still favoring older books, minority authors, and authors that I love.

…Sorry.  What was the question, again?

[1920sladydectective]

Christmas Tree Smut - NSFW

I wrote this because my wife bought me all of the Rocklove jewellery Ambessa and Mel collection as a surprise for finishing my uni assignments and then we put up the Christmas tree. So thank her. :D

Not proof read, some pet names and choking but it’s a short drabble so not much.

Ambessa was tall. You were fully aware of this, it had its multitude of uses and attractions. This, though, you had yet to see this year.

There she stood, bundled in furs with a stern eye, surveying the tree.

“I think it’s fine,” You muttered to her left, tipsy smirk on your face.

“Since when has fine been acceptable, Dear? Do you love it?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say love,”

“Then it is wrong,” She marched off down the sea of green, analysing as though picking new recruits.

You had been looking for two hours, and she had bought you five glasses of spiked mulled wine. Still she would not pick one. You just wanted to decorate a tree, have too much stollen and then kiss underneath the mistletoe. Instead, she was striking the fear of God into the farm attendant as she looked for her “Perfect” Tree.

From the uncharacteristically loud yell of joy, you hoped she’d found it. You were determined to love it even if it was half dead, just so you could leave. It was, in all fairness to Ambessa, astounding. Ten foot tall, plush and full, it loomed just as she’d wished.

“Will it fit?”

She looked at you like you were an idiot. Of course. Her castle ceilings were insanely high, that’s why you’d come to this farm in the first place.

The farmhand chopped it down, with constant commentary and criticism from Ambessa until you whacked her with your handbag and growled. Poor boy must have been a teenager, and Ambessa was calling him a spineless fool.

Then, in a flash, the magic happened. She picked it up, as though it wasn’t over three feet taller than her, and began to wander off to the soldiers waiting to transport it. You tensed, blindly handing the boy far too much money for the tree as you trailed behind her glamorous, toned form.

Her eyes sparkled as she placed it down, a wry grin on her face, “Something intriguing darling?”

“Don’t tease,” You sighed, gazing happily at her.

The journey back was simple, your wine addled mind floaty and dozing against her shoulder until she kissed you tenderly to wake you.

Once the great, hulking thing was situated, Ambessa began putting the lights on. You were not allowed on the wooden ladder, as if a glass bauble prone to dropping. That was fine with you, you’d just stare at her arse the whole time.

Finally, blissfully, you could decorate the fucking thing. Boxes and boxes of glass ornaments from your marriage and travels were brought into the room by attendants, a large wooden table used to spread them out as you contemplated how you wished to decorate this year.

Humming carols to yourself, you danced around Ambessa placing baubles and standing back to survey. She was only to place them where you said further up, your tone demanding and clear. It made her smirk, your perfectionism. Each year she grew to love it more.

Swiftly, she hugged you from behind and began to nibble your neck as you placed a pair of robins on a lower branch.

“Y-“ A huff, “You’re distracting me,”

“You’re distracting me, Little one,” She purred, nuzzling against your nape, “So commanding, so artistic, how am I supposed to resist such seduction?”

You melted slightly against her, taking in the warm glow of the lights as you tilted your head, offering more of your neck.

Ambessa left large, sharp marks all down your throat and collarbone, relishing in branding you as she wrapped her arm around you and began to tease your nipple.

Your knees buckled, ripping an amused moan from your lips, “You do this every year, you never let me finish the fucking thing,”

She pinches your nipple through your dress, hard enough it hurts, “But I let you finish don’t I? And isn’t that so kind of me? Aren’t you so thankful?”

“Yes,” You slur slightly, going limp in her hold as she tugs whimpers and sighs from you. This was how she liked it, the tree would be half done and she would fuck your under it’s great branches and then allow you to finish it naked with your legs trembling.

This year it seemed she had grown especially impatient, and started the process only a third of the way through. You were powerless to resist though, namely because you didn’t want to.

She lay you on the floor, fluffy blankets and pillows preemptively placed, as her wicked tongue trailed down your body, hands preoccupied with abusing your tits until your eyes rolled. Once she finally touched your molten core, you were already in the blind throes of pleasure, her name echoing for all to hear. She allowed you your wantonness in these moments, body shaking as your orgasm ripped through you.

The sparkling of the tree made your vision blur, pleasure merging with whimsy as you smiled dumbly up through the branches.

“Pretty girl,” Ambessa groaned against you, “Perfect slut,”

She stripped herself of all clothes, spreading your legs wider as she positioned herself between them, brushing her cunt against yours. Rutting against you, she wiped your mind of anything other than your clits rubbing against each other, tongue hanging out as you spluttered and leaked.

Panting, her eyes hazy, she squeezed your neck lightly as you came, squirting all over yourself at the overstimulation. Her orgasm was loud and shameless, wrecking you on her search for pleasure as she lent down and bit your nipple between her teeth.

“I love Christmas,” You giggled nonsensically, smiling at the mistletoe bauble directly above your head.

“As do I, my darling,” She huffed, curling you both into a blanket as you basked in each other.

[anthonyluvsyou]

Hey majorwood nation!!! Quick reminder that these two started off as (very one sided) enemies , Romeo and Juliet style, during pirates. And they just got so gay so quickly with each over we forgot 😓🙏 IDK MAN THERES JUST SO MUCH THATB COULD OF BEEN DONE WITH THAT

How did C!Martyn go from pretending to be sick every time he saw C!Scott and forfeiting any current conversations because he hated being around him, to “I just blindly followed Scott down here idk why I did that ehehehehehe” over the course of liked 3 quests. What is wrong with them.

On top of that Martyn, finally ‘befriending’ Scott denholm, after ages of banter and supposed disgust of herons, only to become Martyn ��we’re going to kill everyone acho loves” littlewood

Guys I’m actually insane about them. Actually insane. The dynamic they had guys. THE DYNAMIC

I just think we should put them in a little boxing ring and let them get their anger out if THEY ARE GONNA MAKE A POINT OF BEING ON (technically atleast) OPPOSITE SIDES IN EVERYTHING BLOODY SERIES BUT NOT DO ANYTHING ABOUT IT

[smogfromkortalmombat1]

Lin Kuei trio (Childhood fanfic drabble)

Kuai Liang and Bi-Han attempt to build a birdhouse (because why not), Tomas is there too just being himself. The three having a little bonding session, basically.

Mostly just straight up humour/brotherly bonding. Might end up as something more (aka in my AO3 childhood Lin Kuei series), might not- enjoy regardless! Tons of fun to write.

//

“You’re doing that wrong.”

Bi-Han huffed, rolling his eyes. “Shut up.”

“I’m just saying,” Kuai Liang shrugged, the instructions held close to his face as he squinted at the fine print. His finger dragged dramatically along each word, “You skipped step six.” He tapped the paper for exaggeration, “Very important step, you know.”

“I don’t care,”

Kuai scoffed. “Rude.”

Wispy, grey curls appeared in Bi-Han’s peripheral vision, a small, pale face peering around his shoulder, curiously gauging the mess around him. “What doing?”

“Hey Tomas. We’re making a birdhouse,” Kuai Liang chuckled, glancing up from the paper, “Or at least, we’re trying to.”

“I’m trying to.” Bi-Han corrected, “You’re just holding the instructions.”

“That’s a form of helping, if you weren’t aware.”

Tomas tilted his head, listening to his brothers bicker intently. He was still getting used to Chinese, and every word seemed to take extra effort as his little mind worked to translate them to and from Czech, his native tongue. “Can I… uhm…” His brows knitted in concentration, his little face scrunching up as he searched for the right words. “Can I watch?”

Kuai Liang’s face softened with a warm smile, and he patted the spot next to him on the floor. “Very good, Tomas.” He encouraged, “Yes, you can watch.”

Tomas beamed at the praise, his small chest puffing up with obvious pride. His socked feet shuffled quickly over as he plopped down next to Kuai, his big eyes fixed on the project. The birdhouse pieces were scattered across the floor in various stages of assembly- some nailed together, while others still lay semi assembled or straight up abandoned, still waiting for their turn to even be looked at. It was utter chaos.

“Hand me the hammer, someone,” Bi-Han said, his gaze entirely focused on choosing the right nail from a small box resting on his thigh. His free hand reached out blindly, waiting. “Please.”

“Ham-mer,” Tomas repeated, testing the new word on his tongue. “Hammer. What hammer?”

Kuai Liang nudged him gently with his elbow, nodding toward the tool resting near Tomas’ side. “That’s a hammer.”

“Oh.” Tomas reached for the tool, the hammer looking comically oversized in his small hands as he heaved it up by the handle. “Kladivo,” he said, handing it over to Bi-Han with both hands. “Here you go,” he added, each word carefully pronounced.

“Kleu-deevo.” Kuai Liang repeated, furrowing his brow in concentration as he tried to mimic the word. “Kle-Kleu.. Kla…? Devo. Divou?”

“Thank you, Tomas,” Bi-Han said, taking the hammer from the boy with ease. A faint, rare smile tugged at his lips. “Your Chinese is coming along very well,” he added, curling an amused brow at Kuai Liang, who was still struggling with the pronunciation of the fairly simple (in his mind, at least) Czech word. “Unlike Kuai Liang’s Czech, apparently.”

Tomas giggled at the comment, patting Kuai Liang’s knee in sympathy, offering an encouraging smile up at his big brother. “Really close! You can do it!”

Bi-Han snorted, amused by the scene, which only made Kuai shoot him a glare that, if it could, would definitely burn holes right through him. His brother’s chocolate-brown eyes narrowed, then suddenly dropped to Bi-Han’s lap, attention back to the birdhouse in progress. Then, a slow, smug grin spread across his face as he noticed something. 

“You put that piece upside-down,” Kuai pointed out with a triumphant grin, turning the instructions around so Bi-Han could clearly see how the pieces were supposed to fit together, the little images massive and painfully obvious. “It’s supposed to be the other way around. See?”

“Dammit-” Bi-Han muttered under his breath, reaching for the hammer once more- this time, the clawed side. He’d already nailed the damn pieces together- Kuai just had to wait until the end to tell him, didn’t he? Sly bastard.

Tomas, still watching the whole exchange, broke into another fit of high-pitched giggles. “Hloupý Bi.” He drummed his fingers on his leg in quick thought, “Silly.” He translated for them, “Silly Bi.”

Kuai chuckled, ruffling Tomas’ hair, “Ha-loopy indeed.”

Bi-Han just found himself rolling his eyes yet again.

[lees-chaotic-brain]

I'M BACK HI HI SONGFIC EVENT WOO

"Can't help falling in love with you" covered by aeseaes. For the blue-eyed king himself, Gojo Satoru (I will never change)

For this ask, I was thinking of it as a sequel to the "dancing with your ghost" fic (reincarnation), but idk if that's allowed, so if it's not, just ignore this little tidbit.

Basically, just reader being so in love with gojo and feeling that their love is inevitable, like they are destined to be together. Mutual pining, fluff, SAPPINESS! If you can make the reader an absolute SIMP, that would be amazing omg (I am down BAD)

summary: when the expired mochi in your pantry leaves you with such a resounding sense of wrongness that you find yourself rushing out to buy some more the last thing you expected was falling in love with a stranger...

wc: 2.3k

cw: none!! one kiss, fluff, reincarnation au, one sorta implied mention of itafushi bc i know you love them luna, reader is a bit of a hopeless romantic, overall cuteness

a/n: this is technically a part two to this, but you can also read either as a standalone! also special thanks to @pandora-ophelia-blog for all the help with gojo headcanons!!

listen to this while reading

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You had never truly fallen in love before, but you imagined that when you did in the future it would be nothing like the movies. Truthfully, you didn’t want it to be anything like the movies. The whole idea of love at first sight seemed rather…superficial to you. Like, how were you supposed to look at someone and just know that they were the one for you?

In your opinion, love at first sight didn’t exist. Maybe attraction at first sight did, but how could you love someone you didn’t know anything about? The first time you saw someone the only thing you knew about them was how they looked. That’s why love at first sight always seemed shallow and fake to you. It was more about your outer appearance than who you were as a person.

So no, you didn’t believe in love at first sight. You never had, and you didn’t think you ever would. And although you had never fallen in love before, you had plenty of ideas about what it should be like. Probably too many for someone who hadn’t even had their first kiss. But that didn’t stop you.

In your mind, love was slow, like the trickle of syrupy sweetness that slid off your popsicle and pooled on your skin on a hot summer day. Love was something like that line from The Fault in Our Stars by John Green. You know, that one that goes “I fell in love the way you fall asleep. Slowly, then all at once.”

Because love wasn’t something that just appeared. It was something that had to be built, something that built up over time before sucker punching you in the gut when you least expect it. You can’t just decide to love someone and charge blindly in. Love chose you, and it took time.

Being a hopeless romantic, you had spent countless nights laying awake and formulating what your idea of love was. But in all of those sleepless nights you never once imagined love would look like a uselessly tall fool with freaky blue eyes nearly bulldozing you over outside of a mochi shop.

Wise men say only fools rush in

The bright packaging on a box of kikufuku mochi on display at your local supermarket had caught your eye a few weeks ago, and you had impulsively tossed it into your cart before promptly forgetting about it until earlier that morning when you had found it in your pantry. For some reason, the resounding loss that filled you at the sight of the expired mochi was so strong, you found yourself struggling to breathe momentarily.

By the time you had remembered how to inhale properly, you found yourself putting your shoes on and headed out to buy some more. You couldn’t explain why you suddenly needed the mochi, seeing as you didn’t even particularly like it, yet you instinctively knew that the expired mochi in your pantry was wrong.

And so, guided by a foreign sense of loss, you found yourself walking to a nearby mochi store, confident you knew where you were going despite having never been to the store before. Lost in your thoughts, you had somehow managed to not notice the lanky giant leaving the store right as you stepped in, causing you to crash forcefully into his chest.

To your mild chagrin, he barely budged, not even wobbling while the force of the impact sent you flying back on your ass.

“Hey there.” Startling blue eyes stared at you from behind tinted shades as their owner bent down with a crooked smile. “You good?”

Meeting his eyes, you couldn’t help but feel something just click into place. There was just something so right about him and his presence. Something that was as familiar and comforting as crawling into your bed after a long day. Something that felt like home.

Time seemed to stop, and the two of you just looking at each other, mapping out faces that already felt so nostalgic. Your gaze lingered a little longer on the dimples in his cheeks, as they were possibly the cutest things you had ever seen, screaming boyish humor and good looks. 

The laughter of his friends teasing him for freezing because he accidentally knocked an attractive person over shook you out of your stupor, reminding you that you were still sitting on your ass on rough, filthy concrete.

Their teasing seemed to reawaken him as well, as he reached out a hand to help you up. You accepted, your face heating as a full body shiver ran through you as your palms connected.

Releasing his hand, you scrambled to your feet, brushing yourself off as you apologized. A little freaked out by the inexplicable connection you felt with him, you sidestepped him and attempted to enter the store.

But it seemed the handsome white haired stranger had other ideas, one long arm extending as he grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks. Flustered, you looked back, and when your eyes met for a second time, you knew it for sure. 

So this is what falling in love at first sight was like. Who knew it actually existed?

But I can't help falling in love with you

That day, the two of you exchanged numbers, and after that things flew by. You went from being complete strangers to best friends in a matter of months, hanging out one on one or in a group at least three times a week. 

As much as you tried to fight it, as much as you hated the idea of love at first sight, you couldn’t help yourself. The instant you had laid eyes on him you had just known somehow. Known he was the one. And despite your attempts to fight it, to fight the inevitability of him, it was far too late for you. If your first encounter had been your downfall, then each interaction after that had been bolts locking your fate into place. Your fate with him.

During that awkward phase where you both pointedly ignored the obvious connection you shared in favor of getting to know each other as friends, you got to know the man Gojo Satoru was, and found yourself falling deeper, the little details adding up and pulling you further.

Like, for someone who pretends to be super cool and popular he’s actually a total dweeb. The first time he let you into his room you spent several minutes gawking at the sheer amount of Digimon paraphernalia carefully placed around the space. When you had finally regained your ability to speak you made the mistake of asking him about it, and were regaled with the tales of his epic Digimon achievements and boasts about how he’s never even touched a guide. 

What can you say? Dweeby men are hot. Apparently slightly pathetic men who are desperate for your affection are also right up your alley. And sure, he was a little clueless when it came to interacting with someone he’s interested in (ie. buys ridiculously expensive gifts/flat out begs), and definitely more than a little immature (ie. dick jokes and pranks) be he was also so much more than that.

Watching him interact with his students and coworkers and hearing him recount stories, you could see just how deeply he cared. From putting the comfort of his students before his own, to always being ready to go to bat for them, he showed his reliability and the type of man he was.

Sure he was annoying at times, and probably indulged in childish shenanigans a bit too much, but at heart he was a good man. A caring man who would give everything he had and more if it would make his students happy. So maybe it was only natural that you found yourself picturing a life with him when you weren’t paying attention.

When you were with him things just felt right. You could count on him to watch out for you, and listen with care and attention. He instinctively knew when something was wrong, and never failed to cheer you up.

In a short period of time you had become so dependent on him it scared you a little. But you knew that you were what he needed as well. When the dark thoughts took over and he couldn’t stop wondering if he was doing enough, if anyone actually liked him for him you were there to haul him out of the murkiness of his own mind. 

The two of you just clicked…who knows, maybe if you hadn’t only just come around on the idea of love at first sight you would consider the idea that the two of you were soulmates. That’s just how seamlessly the two of you fit into each other's lives.

Darling, so it goes Some things are meant to be

All the months spent in the weird limbo between being completely in love with each other and just friends finally came to a head one particularly rough day. He found you curled up in bed, your burrito of depression and fluffy blankets the only thing protecting you from the outside world. 

Bouncing into your room, he was already halfway through a dramatic retelling of some tea about Megumi and Yuuji when he noticed the dank mood emanating from your swaddled form.

“Hey,” He tones down his voice and approaches your bed, sitting gently on the edge instead of violently flopping on top of you like he normally would. “What’s up with the mood? Something happen?”

The bed dips as he scootches closer to you, moving around in an attempt to catch a glimpse of your face. “Hrgghh it’s nothing- hey!”

You squirm away as he prods your cheek, burrowing further into your massive mountain of comfort blankets and stuffed animals.

“Nooooo.” You feel him flop his chin onto your shoulder, his long arms snaking out to gather you up in his lap. “Let me see your pretty face. Please?”

You ignore him, remaining firmly hidden away in your cocoon. “I said I’m fine.”

“And I don’t believe you. So, do I need to go throw you in a pond, or are you going to talk?”

“Why would you throw me into a pond?” He’s silent for a moment. “That’s beside the point. I just want to know what’s bothering you. Is that too much to ask?”

You hear more than see the pout in his voice, and the knowledge that he’s going to continue to pester you until you give in convinces you to spill.

“I don’t know. Sometimes I just wonder if people actually like me. Like, I don’t know. I’m just me. And I want to go outside and do things, I just can’t. On top of that, there’s nothing that special about me to make up for any of my flaws.”

He hums quietly, rubbing your back through the many layers of blanket. “Remember when I was in a funk a few weeks ago because I felt like people only liked me for my looks, or what they thought I was?”

You scoff a little. “Imagine being so confident in your looks it makes you insecure. But yes. All jokes aside I remember. Why?”

“Because you told me that I was amazing and special and that I have so much more than my looks and wealth to offer.”

“And?”

“And if I’m that special, it would make the person I’m in love with pretty special too, wouldn’t you say so?”

Silence and his smug satisfaction over his logic fill the room as you struggle to process what he just said. “I-What. Satoru. Did you just confess to me? I’m pretty sure I heard you wrong because there’s no way you just said that so casually.”

“Nope you heard me right. I’m in love with you. Have been for a while.”

You splutter, unable to formulate a response, completely thrown off  guard with the causal suddenness of it all. “Uh…I um. Well…”

He stands, gently peeling the blankets off you, one after another until you’re left sitting on your bed in one of his hoodies and a pair of sweatpants. Placing them neatly to the side, he cups your face in his large, calloused palms and looks at you with unfettered affection.

“There you are.” He plants a kiss on your forehead, then straightens and extends his hand out in an invitation for you to take it.

“I don’t know how to fix you feeling like you’re not special, but I do know that I’m completely, foolishly in love with you. I wish I could make you see yourself the way you do, but I can’t so I’m just going to do what I can. Which right now looks like helping you get out of your own mind and outside to have some fun.”

He coughs awkwardly and rubs the back of his head with his other hand. “Like, as a date. I love you, and want to give you my everything. If you’ll have it, that is.”

For the first time that day, everything felt right. Or maybe things started feeling right the second he entered your room. You weren’t sure. What you were sure of though was how much you loved him. Beaming so hard your cheeks hurt, you look at him.

“That sounds amazing, as long as I get to give you my everything. If you’ll have it, that is.”

Relief shines in his eyes as you place your hand in his and allow him to pull you to your feet. When the two of you lean in, getting closer and closer until your lips finally touch, you feel complete. You know that everything will be okay from here on out. 

Because things will always be okay as long as the two of you are together, and neither of you are going anywhere anytime soon.

Take my hand, take my whole life, too If I can't help falling in love with you

taglist: @arlerts-angel @ponderingmoonlight @m0k0k0 @starlightanyaaa @pandora-ophelia-blog

@hotvinimon

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[lastoneout]

Sorry for another country music rant but this has been rattling around in my head all day and I gott get it out, scroll now to avoid me getting up on my soap box.

Anyway, now that last year one of the most popular songs in the entire world was a country song by a black artist and on top of that both the Thanksgiving Day NFL Game AND the Christmas one both had half-time shows featuring black artists singing country songs means that it's time to retire the old "all modern country music is racist nationalistic garbage" thing. I've always found that argument a bit reductive and tiring, especially the way all the nuance gets boiled out by people who repeat it blindly, but now it's literally just not true. Like if you say that you're straight up incorrect. It is a false statement.

And like do you KNOW the kind of racist bullshit black country artists put up with? I was on twitter and bluesky when the NFL Thanksgiving Day half-time show aired and believe me, they have to put up with some horseshit! The racism was fucking disgusting, and aside from some rare supportive posts from people who actually give a shit about this genre and combating racism, the only other posts were "progressive" white people making jokes about how country sucks. And you know what that does? It lets the racist fucks win.

Every time you write off country as a lost cause due to it being a "racist white people thing" you are giving the assholes trying to run all the diverse country artists out of the genre a free pass to keep doing that. It's like how acting like men are all destined to be evil misogynistic abusers gives the men who happen to be misogynistic abusers a free pass to not change, you're telling them that when they say "well he's a man ofc he can't control himself around women" that they're right. You're letting them win. Every time you insist all country is racist trash for boring white people you are telling the racist boring white people that they're right and telling the diverse artists fighting tooth and nail to make it in the genre that they should give up. And maybe it's just me but I don't wanna say that. I don't want the racist fucks trying to keep their monopoly on country to win. I want the black country artists to win(along with all the other diverse artists and artists who are allies and uplift their fellow marginalized artists), and the only way they will is if people actually show up to support them.

Like I'm going to die on this hill, I really am, y'all need to stop mindlessly repeating that whole "9/11 ruined country forever" argument and start fucking supporting the diverse country singers out there right now trying to change the standards of the genre for the better. Modern country is different, the old arguments do not apply to what's happening right now, and you'd know that if you actually gave it a shot. Which I know most people who parrot that argument uncritically don't actually listen to or care about country, they're just happy to have a moral reason to hate it because that means they don't have to think about the implications of their distaste and thus can be as hateful as they want while being on the "good" side.

But you're not on the good side anymore. You're on the wrong side, upholding the very racist standards you claim to hate and offering nothing to help the victims of that racism. Like for real if you genuinely think making another "but all country is bigoted" post is actually doing anything to help end that bigotry you're concerningly misinformed. So either set aside your personal taste and discomfort and show up to help change things, or admit that this music isn't for you and shut the fuck up about it so you don't make it harder for the people who love it enough to try to change things to actually make a difference.

Those are your options, and idc which one you pick. Just pick already so we can get to work.

[thinkofmehoney]

The city of my heart

Chapter one.

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Suguru Geto

Summary: In the bustling city, Satoru and Suguru's paths cross again after so many years, intertwining their lives in unexpected ways. As single parents navigating the complexities of raising kids and confronting personal demons, they find solace in each other's company. Unbeknownst to them, a long-buried flame rekindles, and their journey becomes a delicate dance between friendship, love, and the challenges that come with second chances.

Or

Where Satoru sees Suguru at his kids’ school after twelve years without seeing each other. Oh and Suguru has twin daughters, just to add up to Satoru’s shock.

(click for Ao3 version)

Warnings: None for now, but I’ll treat sensitive topics later on, probably after chapter 5 or so.

Contents: Non Sorcerer AU, single dad Satoru x Single dad Suguru, friends to strangers to lovers (kinda)

Notes: (I almost forgot to mention, Satoru comes from a wealthy family in this au) I’m blindly trusting my past self who wrote this and made all the calculations, but if there’s any mistakes in dates or characters ages and etcetcetc, please forgive me 😭. I’ll add more notes at the end, my brain is empty rn.

(3.1k words)

Satoru's house was a mess, It was like a earthquake just destroyed everything in sight, there was empty boxes of school supplies on the floor, clean clothes scattered on the sofa and chairs, a bag of hair ties that seemed to have exploded... in reality, it was something way less tragic than a natural disaster. Satoru and his kids were getting ready before school.

He was just as nervous as Megumi and Tsumiki for their first day of school, if not more. He changed clothes almost four times before deciding that a white button down and black pants will do.

In record time, he had the frozen waffles ready to eat on the table, along with hot chocolate for him and Megumi and a cup of tea for Tsumiki, because she thought that Satoru’s breakfasts were way too sweet.

Satoru was fixing the tie of a grumpy Megumi. "Leave it! I don't wanna wear this stupid tie anyways." After some fixing on his uniform, Satoru finally let him free to eat his waffles.

"But you look fancy, Meg!" He sat down with them and looked at the watch on his wrist, they still had 10 minutes to eat their breakfast. "It's only for the first days though, after that you can take it off, they won't care."

When Satoru was about to get up and get more chocolate syrup, he noticed Tsumiki, only ate about 1/4 of her plate. He softly stroked her hair. "What's wrong princess? is it too sweet? We still have time to make toast." She denied with her head.

"It's not that, the waffles are great." She smiled politely. "I'm just nervous… What if I don't make any friends?" Satoru’s heart squeezed, Tsumiki seemed genuinely worried looking down and fidgeting with her fingers.

"You will, baby, I can promise you that." While he spoke, he picked Tsumiki's knife and fork to cut the waffles in smaller pieces. "Everyone is gonna be nervous, it's the first day after all, so you are all gonna be on the same page. Maybe the first day you won't have a best friend or something like that right away, but by the end of the week i'm sure you'll have your group."

He smiled reassuringly at her, who now felt more confident. He picked one small waffle with the fork and put his other hand under it in case it fell, "Now, eat this waffle I made with love for you." She smiled and ate it happily.

"But you didn't make them, you just put them in the toaster and they're not even defrosted all the way," Megumi said with a grumpy expression on his face as usual, but Satoru knew that picking on him was his unique humor and also his way to show affection, even though the kid wouldn't admit it. "It had some ice inside from the freezer."

Satoru got up and walked towards Megumi and his empty and almost squeaky clean plate. With ice or not, Megumi liked the frozen waffles. "Damn relax, no one was going to take the waffles away from you Meg." He joked as he brought the plate and empty mug to the kitchen.

He left the dishes on the sink and looked at his watch again, his eyes widened when he noticed that the ten minute breakfast turned out to be fifteen. He sprinted to the main entrance, "Kids, go wash your teeth quickly, I'll start the car!"

𓈒 ݁ ₊

Satoru drove his car through the busy morning traffic, glancing in the rearview mirror at his two children sitting in the backseat, a mix of excitement and nervousness on their faces as they anticipated their first day at their new school.

Satoru grinned and began chatting enthusiastically, his words flowing to reassure them, even if they didn't respond much. "You two are going to do great! Just calm down, and remember, it's a fresh start with new friends and new adventures. You're both very smart children, this year will be great!"

Even though Megumi had slightly frown eyebrows, inside he felt at ease after Satoru’s words. And Tsumiki's face lit up with a smile. When they arrived, Satoru carried their backpacks until the entrance, but Megumi thought something was off when he noticed that Satoru walked with them inside the school.

"Why are you coming with us?" Megumi looked at Satoru with a raised eyebrow, and he was checking his phone, reading something.

"There's a welcoming act at the school’s auditorium for parents and students, the principal will give a speech and blah blah blah." after reading some texts, Satoru smiled at the screen. "But Nanami told me that there will be a table with snacks." Megumi snorted and Tsumiki looked at Satoru with a side eye. "With how expensive this school is, the least they can do is offer me a cup of tea." He said in between his teeth.

"Don't do anything embarrassing, please." He walked ahead of his sister and Satoru, already feeling embarrassed that his dad was walking with him inside the school like he was a little kid that could get lost.

"And don't flirt with Nanami, he's gonna be our teacher now." Tsumiki added seriously.

Satoru was flabbergasted at both of his children, but still a little bit entertained. "Wha- I'm not gonna embarrass you or flirt with anyone! You guys think too little of me!". They finally got to the school’s auditorium, the teachers were guiding the kids to their sits by grade, so Satoru would go sit behind where the parents were. "Okay go to your seats and listen to your teachers, I'll go grab a cup of tea." he ruffled their hair one last time to then go to the snack table.

When he got there he saw Nanami, just like they said on text messages. The speech and Welcome Act hadn't started yet so the majority of the kids were sitting while the parents grabbed a coffee and talked with each other.

"Nanami! How are you?" He greeted his friend with a brief hug and backslap, looking at him up and down when they separated. "Lookin' good." He said flirtatiously, enjoying the playful banter that often annoyed Nanami.

The blond man just rolled his eyes and sighed, "I'm good, thank you. How are you? it's Tsumiki's last year before high school isn't it?"

Satoru sighed with a proud smile, glancing in her direction for a moment. "It is, my little girl is all grown up now." He looked down at his cup of tea with a hint of nostalgia. "I hope her high school years will be the best years of her life." Nanami's gaze softened at his words.

"I'm sure she'll have a great time, she's the sweetest kid ever; you've done a great job." Satoru chuckled, moved by his friend’s words, and playfully hit his arm.

"C'mon Nanami, you're gonna make me cry and Megumi already told me not to embarrass him." Satory wiped a fake tear from his face and Nanami laughed tenderly at Megumi’s words.

"Megumi is the best, he's the only one that keeps you humble." They kept chatting about the kids and their jobs, discussing on which students were more difficult to deal with: the college students, because Satoru was a professor, or the little noisy kids that Nanami taught. But suddenly something, or rather, someone familiar caught Nanami's attention.

A few meters away from them, he recognized a tall man with black straight hair tied in a half bun, who also wore black ear gauges. He haven’t seen that man in ages, so he could be wrong, maybe it was a mistake, his eyes were probably deceiving him, but no, it really was...

"Isn't that Suguru Geto?" Nanami abruptly interrupted their conversation while squinting his eyes.

After hearing that name, Satoru's blood froze automatically on his veins, and Nanami could tell by his mortified expression.

Satoru hasn't heard his name coming from anyone in a really long time. At first thought he didn’t heard Nanami correctly, because there was just no way. Was his sugar addiction finally getting to him? Has he finally started hallucinating?

He decided to slowly turn around to see where was Nanami looking at, and he didn't knew what to expect, the most realistic thing that could happen is that when he turned around he'd see someone that looked like him, and nothing more.

But oh there he was.

And he wasn't alone, he was with two little girls about the same age as Megumi, and they wore the same uniform as Tsumiki. Satoru couldn't believe this, being realistic, he never imagined that he would be seeing him again, specially there and with two kids.

His one and only best friend, whom he considered him to be the person he has been the closest to, the person he trusted the most, and that still felt like someone important to him even though the last time they saw each other they were about seventeen years old.

Things didn’t stop there, he felt his heart dropping to the floor when those violet eyes caught a glance of his own, completely defenseless. They both stood there, looking at each other like a bucket of cold water just fell over their heads, this had to be a sick joke of some kind.

Satoru felt the need to get closer, to say something, anything. It felt like he was bewitched, but just when he was thinking about breaking the distance and take the first step, Tsumiki appeared in front of him with a hair tie on her hand.

"Dad, can you put my hair on a ponytail? the speech is about to start and they'll take pictures." Satoru seemed to be on a trance, so Tsumiki tugged on his shirt. "Dad! hurry up!"

Satoru looked at her and chuckled nervously, "Sorry love... there you go, now go to your seat." His daughter thanked him and walked back where she came from. But when he looked up he couldn't find him anymore.

Nanami could only imagine how this moment felt for Satoru. After all, he just saw his best friend after twelve years. He put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, "Hey, are you alright?" His friend sighed distressed, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Can I go to your place this evening? I just... need to talk about this."

"Of course, you're welcome whenever you need it." Satoru smiled, he felt so glad to have a friend like Nanami.

"Okay but don't get too excited, we're just going to talk, that's all." Nanami rolled his eyes and slapped the back of Satoru's head.

"How can you still make your perverted jokes in a moment like this?" Satoru just laughed, and sighed hopeless.

"I don't know, I think i'm going insane."

𓈒 ݁ ₊

Satoru arrived at Nanami's apartment at 7:30 PM, they both had to work the day after so they decided to meet early, that way Satoru could be back home and sleeping at 10:00 PM. They had to admit that they felt old for calculating the time to get home and sleep, they weren’t the same boys from college.

Nanami got himself a whisky on the rocks and a glass of sweet wine for his friend as they sat down on the balcony. Satoru and Nanami met in high school, but became good friends after graduation, and after all those years they've known each other, he has never seen Satoru as stressed as he was right now, not even once.

"Nanami, what should I do?" His leg bounced up and down and his fingers ran through his white hair, then he rested his forehead on his hand. "Should I talk to him or should I just pretend like I didn't see him?"

"I don't think that's going to work, you'll see him pretty often, you know?" He took a sip from his cold glass, "His daughters are Megumi's classmates." Satoru’s eyes widened in surprise.

"Oh shit, I forgot that he has two daughters." Nanami wanted to laugh at Satoru’s comment and the expression on his face.

"So? You literally have two kids yourself."

"But what if he's married or something?" Nanami raised an eyebrow, and Satoru just chugged his wine like it was a shot, probably not wanting to taste the liquor since he wasn't used to drink.

"Would that... be a problem?" The blue eyed man just sighed, frustrated with his own confusing mix of feelings.

"No... yes. Ugh, I don't know, maybe?" his hands rubbed his face, trying to dissipate his exhaustion and stress. And now Nanami was truly confused, he wasn’t expecting such an ambiguous answer from him.

"Wait a second, are you telling me... that you feel something for Geto?" Nanami couldn't believe it, did Satoru really felt something for that man? Even after all those years had passed? Satoru’s face told him all he needed to know but didn't want to hear.

"I don't think I've ever stopped having some sorta feelings for him." It was something crazy, but Satoru seemed sincere about it. Still, Nanami couldn't wrap his head around it. “I really liked him back then, at the time I could even say that I loved him but, I was too young and realized too late.” He smiled with nostalgia at the bittersweet memories.

"But it's been twelve years!" Nanami was shocked, but Satoru seemed just so certain about it, even though it’s been a decade without even talking to him. The blond man suddenly felt like he was the only sane person in that apartment.

"Believe me, I'm well aware that it's been twelve years... I think about it more often than I should." Melancholy slowly filled his eyes. "We had a fight before he left, that's the last time we said something to each other." Nanami tilted his head slightly.

"So you guys broke up in bad terms?" Satoru looked at him confused at first, but then he understood, he could just chuckle nervously.

"Oh we weren't together, I never even got to tell him that I had a crush on him." He had to be joking, Nanami thought.

"What? You guys were just friends?" Satoru nodded with a sheepish smile, "But- I remember you two were like an old married couple. And what was the fight even about? Can't you just tell me the whole story?" Nanami simply couldn't understand them, but he didn't knew if asking was a good idea after seeing Gojo with a melancholic glaze on his eyes as he thought about his past.

"I remember when we were around sixteen or seventeen, I think that's when I noticed that Suguru started to act different... He seemed more tired and distant, he started to get thinner and his hair was tangled and undone instead of in a bun like he always had it." He swallowed the lump on his throat that wanted to break his voice, the memories of a young Suguru just slowly shutting down was something that made him want to cry.

Satoru continued. "I didn't know for certain what was happening to him, but I could tell that he wasn't in a good place, so I always tried to cheer him up and make him feel better, but I guess it wasn't enough." A treacherous tear rolled down his cheek, he wiped it quickly pretending it didn't happen. Nanami, witnessing this vulnerable side of him, was taken aback. "And when he left I felt lonelier than ever, it reminded me of when I was a kid... Suguru was the only person that truly understood me, unlike everyone else I've ever met. With him, everything seemed just so bright, so comforting. He saw beyond my last name and status, he appreciated me for who I actually was." Another shaky breath escaped him, revealing the depth of their connection.

Seeing him crying was something difficult, Satoru was someone strong, someone you could hardly ever see being sad or vulnerable, but he was always there for anyone that needed him. Nanami immediately offered him a tissue and tried to comfort him, whispering "It's okay."

"When I realized that his decision was already taken and that he was leaving the city... I told him that he was just, running away from his problems instead of facing them, and that he- he didn't care about our future or our plans and... I think what hurt him the most was when I said that he didn't cared about us, I can't get the look on his face off my mind." His hand ran through his hair, and he finally turned to look at Nanami, "I think that… Suguru was my first love, I've never had anything like what I had with him, and I never will again."

There was a silence, Satoru tried to steady his breaths while Nanami just processed everything that he said. He knew those two were close, but he didn't knew they were that important to each other, even though he thought that they were dating, he imagined that it was just a high school sweetheart.

"I think this is your chance to talk to him." After meditating it, he thought that it was the best option for him, but Satoru looked at him with wide and teary eyes, like he was asking for more advice. "If you two are in this situation right now, where your kids go to the same school and that you'll see each other again often... I think that you should try and at least keep things peaceful with your so called «first love»." Satoru looked down and laughed softly.

"Easier said than done..." His phone buzzed on his pocket, he checked it and it was a picture from Choso, his babysitter and also his student. It was a picture of Tsumiki sitting on the couch and doing a peace sign with her hand, next to her Megumi covered his face with a drawing he made of an animal that seemed like a magic wolf.

He dried his remaining tears with his sleeve and put his phone back in his pocket. "I better get going, Choso has to study for an exam."

"You better give that kid extra credit." Satoru chuckled. They walked to the main entrance and before his friend left, he stopped him to talk "Satoru, if you need to talk, or if you need advice or even if you need someone to take care of your kids, don't doubt asking, I'll always be here okay?" Satoru felt really moved by his words, but he couldn't resist to pick on Nanami.

"I will. Thank you, seriously." He smiled. "Oh, and don't call me Satoru, I get flashbacks from college." Nanami almost laughed when Satoru winked at him.

"If nine years ago I knew that you would still bother me 'til this day, I would've thought about it twice before sleeping with you."

Notes: I thought Nanago hooking up in college would be funny teehehe. Ahh I’ve been wanting to post this fic for so long, but now it’s finally here!! Feedback is greatly appreciated <3

[wildpeachfarm]

this is meant lighthearted : instead of “all men are trash, women do no wrong” a secret third thing “PEOPLE suck in general”

as someone who grew up with an absent father who tried to make life difficult for my mother once she took him to court for child support for me and my siblings - ing…I grew up with a not nice view of older men BUT my grandpa was a big big influence in not making men a negative experience for us.

the recent shift of the last 4-5 years has been worrying. I used to liked jkr and could emphasize where she was coming from originally. but it was scary to see the gradual descent into where she is now and the stuff she is saying. Bc she is so far removed from what she originally stood for. It can happen to anyone, I even get worried if I’m on that slope sometimes. This whole situation had me second guessing myself bc I gave gnf time and believed in him. I had a moment when a few female creators made remarks (not from mc community) and I checked myself bc I was scared I was falling into the conservative rhetoric to blame women and protect men. Then I saw others who had more information and actually looked into it and also found this blog where the nuances were being discussed and let out a breath of relief that I was just using my critical thinking skills lmao

There are so many men out there who just aren’t given a chance bc society is set up for them to fall into a certain role. And I think a lot of men are trying to break that role and stereotypes. I became a dream fan bc I saw him doing this, saw a gamerboy in 2020 who was passionate and excelled at the game but didn’t fall into the toxicity of the space, actively fought against it.

and women should not be encouraged to drag men through hell bc they feel empowered by the rhetoric of recent years. women can and are just as selfish and shitty people as men. Sometimes they are worse

we’ve gone so far off center, we’ve essentially gone from one extreme to another. Which I learned two years ago was called terfs 😂 the movement needs to go back to its previous meaning. Feminism is not solely female empowerment it is the deconstructing of the patriarchal roles and belief that push men and women into boxes. Feminism, as I was taught over a decade ago, was the fight for women and MEN to be equal and have the same rights and opportunities. We can uplift women without putting down men. if this feminist movement doesn’t correct itself, it will allow more men like andrew tate to grow and influence young men.

The lack of female representation in the sphere cannot be corrected by women. It just can’t. Men need to be part of the change bc if the environment is not corrected, women cannot succeed and thrive. They can become successful but the hate and obstacles directed towards them is crazy. This is in general not just for streaming.

It can’t just be women solidarity, men need to learn and actively engage in calling out misogynist behavior. Women need to talk with their males friends and call them out when they say or act in disgusting ways. Women need to hold women accountable as well! It is unfair and unattainable to put female equality solely in the hands of women. We need to All work together.

Puffy is so good at this when she streams, especially on the smp. Hell, she even created a whole villain arc to call out the people telling her to “be a therapist to Tommy, omg your like dreams mom”. Puffy is awesome 🥹

men =/ bad

women =/ good

PREACH ANON

this breaks it all down so well and i really sympathize with you about having a poor view of some men in your life and trying to not let that influence your views but also not go so far off the other end that you end up blindly defending them without critical thinking.

Really important discussions and introspection about how your thought processes work that I think everyone should have at least once when situations like this come up

[heathersproship]

guys i dont mean to hate or anything i really don't, so i'm sorry if it sounds like that. i'm just a little confused, though. i really just wanna see proshipping from your perspective since i'm very confused and i wanna see it from all perspective. also i'm really sorry if this seems rude i swear i'm not trying to be i just wanna understand 😭

You’re good, no worries!

Proship is being decent to your fellow fans. It’s recognizing we all have different tastes, and understanding that those different tastes don’t mean one of us is automatically wrong. There’s no “right or wrong” when it’s a matter of opinion because opinions are not facts.

Here’s an analogy I hope will help.

Think of fandom like a party. Parties are fun. You come here to have fun.

Now think of fiction as the food you find at the party (since we consume it). To really narrow it down, let’s use pizza.

There’s the classic cheese pizza (genfic), pepperoni (fluff), olives (angst), olives and pepperoni combo (hurt/comfort), sausage (smut), and pineapple (darkfic) to name just a few. They’re all side by side at the table, and each one is in its own big pizza box labeled with large letters so you know exactly what you’re getting from which box. CHEESE sits on one end of the row, PINEAPPLE sits on the other. None of them are touching each other.

Let’s say you really like cheese. You’ll eat all the cheese pizza you can get your hands on, but you hate pineapple. You think it’s the most disgusting thing in the world, and you wouldn’t eat it for $1mil. In fact, you wouldn’t eat it if it was the very last morsel of food on earth and you were starving.

You arrive at the party and make your way to the table, ready to chow down on some quality food. But on your way to your beloved cheese pizza, your precious, you pass by the icky and dreaded pineapple pizza.

What would you do?

A) ignore the pineapple pizza, take your cheese pizza and walk away from the table

B) warn other people not to take the pineapple pizza because “it’s disgusting!”

C) make a scene about it, screaming “OH EWWWWWWWWWW WHO PUT THAT GARBAGE ON THE TABLE WHERE THE FOOD IS?? YUCK! GROSS! THERE ARE CHILDREN HERE!”

If you answered A, that’s what being proship is. Proship isn’t blindly approving of everything at the table just because it’s there for you to consume—it’s supporting the right for everything to be there even if it doesn’t do anything for you. (ex. I like incest, but I don’t care for smut, and if I happen to see that my bestie is reading smut while sitting right next to me, then I hope she’s enjoying herself!) It’s labeling the pizzas so people can take what they want and avoid what they don’t want. You understand that there are other people at the party, and not everything there is exclusively for you, and that’s okay. That’s great, actually, because you can eat cheese with party friends who also like cheese, and for those friends who don’t like cheese, guess what? More cheese for you! No one feels bad, it’s a win-win all around! Party on!

If you answered B, that’s less okay. While your intentions may be good, it’s ultimately not your call whether others will find the pineapple as disgusting as you do. While you could be saving someone from a potentially horrible and traumatizing experience, you could also be depriving them of a really good one. It’s up to them to decide whether they like it or not, not you. Things are a little awkward, but still salvageable.

If you answered C, you’re an anti. You make the party a lot less fun with your outburst, and now people are afraid to go near the pizza for fear of taking the “wrong” one (even though there’s no wrong answer—never has been and never will be). You think everyone who likes, much less actively chooses to consume, pineapple pizza has something deeply wrong with their brain, and if you find out a disgusting pineapple-lover so much as breathes in your direction, you’re going to personally kick them out yourself because people who eat the literal garbage that is pineapple belong outside like the disease-ridden RATS they are, not inside at parties where they could poison everyone—especially the young, vulnerable, impressionable CHILDREN—with their RABIES. And while you’re busy moralizing over pizza, making it your business what other people put in their mouths, the other party-goers are feeling bad about themselves for the crime of... simply having a different preference to yours. They can’t help what they like or dislike any more than you can. They’re not rats, and they definitely don’t have rabies. They’re not going to infect you or the (literal or figurative) children with rabies they don’t have. Some of the pineapple pizza lovers might be children, are they condemned too? Or have they simply become “lost” and you’ll “fix” them to like the “right” things? Oh, but it doesn’t stop there. Once the pineapple is gone, then sausage is the Bad Pizza, and then olives (oli&pep combo is on thin ice), until there’s only one or two “safe” options to pick from, and if the party-goers don’t like them, they’re just as bad as the pineapple-lovers, and the sausage-lovers, and the olive-lovers. Filthy vermin, all of them! Banished! Begone! And when that party has died down, you’ll find another party to go to and do it all over again! Sounds exhausting, and I don’t recommend.

...this kind of got away from me but I hope it gives you something to chew on! Let me know if I need to be clearer! I tried to make this as short as possible!

[timetoeatthebread-blog]

(Prologue) Perfect(?)Milo x F!Reader - Red Tulip

Summary: Takes place after “Secret ending: Give him everything”. Something goes terribly, terribly wrong and Milo gains his memories back all over again. As much as he still has feelings for Eris, he will try his best this time around to live a life without pain. Without Eris. Join Milo on an adventure where he tries to use you as part of his plan, only to slowly fall for you as he heals his heart from Eris.

Reasoning: When it comes to abusive relationships it can be hard to let go. Sadly, the world is not black and white, it's mostly gray, and therefore a lot of emotions can co-exist at the same time. You can realize that you've been in an abusive relationship and still have feelings for your abuser. The first step to healing is to realize the abuse and take appropriate steps, no matter how hard they are in the beginning.

Thank you so much @perfectlovevn for making the game. I really appreciate your hard work you put into it. If you don't like the fanfiction for any reason, or there's anything you don't agree with, feel free to tell me. I respect you a lot and if you don't like my fanfiction I'll delete it.

Fanfiction under cut: ~1.1k words.

It was cold and dark, and yet, as terrifying as the silence was, it was comforting. Everything felt so vivid. Yet, here he was, feeling nothing at the same time. Drifting in and out of consciousness, all he could do was sleep, surrounded by nothingness. 

How… Peaceful.

Is this what happens after death? 

Milo closed his eyes, contemplating. The more time he spent here, the more memories came flooding back to him. He didn’t know how long he’s been forced to relive everything. At the pinnacle of his memories lay Eris.

Oh, how much he loved them. He would do everything for them. Just like his past selves did - nothing would be spared when it came to his Love. Would he see them soon? How much longer will he be forced to be here?

With each memory, his thoughts became more deranged. Crazed. Obsessed. He couldn’t wait to see them again. His mind drifted to the new nickname they will give him. Excitement was almost overflowing out of his body. Until a new memory appeared. 

His emotions shifted. Anger, betrayal. Heartbreak. He desperately wanted to clench and hit something, yet he couldn’t move a thing. His throat refused to make a noise.

Silent tears ran down his cheeks. The poor man could only weep as his mind was being broken down, over and over again. And yet, here he was. Forced to watch how he followed Eris each time. How he blindly trusted them. How they bended him to their will.

As time passed, his emotions seemed to calm down. Anger changed to sadness, and from sadness came the blood thirst for revenge. With how he was stuck, however, it also went away with time. He just wished to be left alone. 

If given the chance to fix his mistakes, he would. He would have never looked in their direction. He would have forced himself to be more social. He would have forced himself to be as average as one can be - all to avoid their gaze. 

All to avoid their interest. To avoid their love.

It all left a bittersweet taste in his mouth.

Despite the fact that they were the reason for his pain and suffering, he still couldn’t bring it in himself to wish anything bad onto them. Even if given the chance, he wouldn't be able to bring them any harm. Even after everything, a part of him still loved them.

The void continued to surround him for an unspecified amount of time. Until finally, his waiting has been rewarded in the best of ways - woken up in his old bedroom. Boxes were neatly placed along the wall and only essentials could be seen on top of his desk.

It was perfect. Absolutely perfect. More than he could ask for, actually. 

He clutched his heart as he took deep breaths in and out. Milo leaned his head against the wall to his right, the cold helping him to calm down. Soon, a smile crept onto his face. A dry chuckle followed soon after. He looked up at the ceiling.

As luck might have it, he went back in time before school started. Before his first year started. Before he met them.

It was too late to move to a different university. But it’s okay. He’ll do it after his first year. For now, he’ll have to think of something. Anything, to blend into the crowd.

For now, however, he needed more rest. Although he didn’t feel physically tired, his mental state was a completely different matter.

It didn’t take him long to make preparations. The easiest way would be to use what Eris taught him in all of his past lives. But it all felt wrong - after all, it brought back unwanted memories and emotions.

Whatever. It needs to be done. Milo pushed his emotions aside.

He would use what he had on hand. Both past memories and experience. 

Milo traced the notes he made in his dairy. The notes consisted of people he knew would be useful. He needed someone Eris disliked, but not outright hated. Just someone they preferred not to cross paths with.

As his eyes scanned the list of names, they soon landed on a name he knew quite well.

(Y/N).

Known around the campus, had a very clean slate - when it came to drama, at least. Mostly minded her business. Grades were slightly above average, but nothing too outstanding. A member of the swimming club. Popular for all the good deeds she did. Had no tolerance for bullying of her friends. Isn’t scared to get into a fight for her friends, either.

Back in the days when Milo was jumping from one social circle to the other, no one ever said anything bad about her. Even when he tried to dig up something, it was almost impossible to find anything. All that was found were her good deeds. No one knew her family history or anything too personal. It was suspicious. 

Getting into her circle of friends, however, was very easy. Breaking up said circle of friends was a different matter. It took some time and dedication. Some thinly veiled lies and set-ups, and he managed to do it. For Eris.

What a fool he was. How naive. How stupid.

He rubbed his temples before picking up a blue pen and circling around the most important fact about (Y\N).

Somehow, she always managed to avoid a bad end. No matter the scenario, in all his past lives, she was always a step ahead of him. Always able to escape his grip. Eris' plans didn't work on her either. As if she knew what Milo or Eris planned from the very beginning.

She would make for a good cover. A welcoming group of friends that is hard to break up. Somehow always predicted what Eris was up to. Hard to scam. Perfect.

He would use her as his perfect cover. By becoming her friend, he will use her loyalty as a shield.

Now for physical strength…

Milo looked over his body. Arms, chest, stomach, legs.

A shudder runs down his spine as he thinks of the pain he had endured. He won’t be a victim of bullying this time. That’s for certain.

He’ll work both on his social skills and on his physical abilities. There won’t be any pain in this life. Not this time.

Milo pushed himself away from his desk gently and threw his head back, rubbing his eyes and taking his time to collect his thoughts. Memories of past lives still played on repeat whenever he closed his eyes. All he could do was hope that it would become easier to manage over time.

For now, he’ll need to find a way to meet (Y/N). Preferably before university starts, since he can’t sign up for the swimming club yet. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to scout the local swimming pools, to see if he would be able to find her. Maybe going to a party and socializing would help him get some information.

It didn't take him long to come up with a schedule to find (Y/N).

[yuurei20]

Jack Info Compilation Part 5: Leona (pt4)

Jack will occasionally bad-mouth Leona behind his back, comparing him unfavorably to Riddle by calling him a coward, “scared of puttin’ in some effort to get ahead,” “lazy” and “irritable.”

But he also has a line of, "If other dorms run their mouths, I'll deal with 'em! I won't make you look bad, Leona!"

There is also an incident during Port Fest where a visitor accuses first Ruggie, then Jack himself of stealing his wallet.

Jack does not react until the man accuses Leona, at which point he becomes defensive and Leona tells him to put away his fangs.

Jack also compliments Leona, saying he “may play dirty, but he’s a brilliant playmaker” and expressing gratitude for a birthday present of roast beef.

During Vargas Camp Leona teaches a group of students about how to find magestones and Deuce is openly impressed saying that Leona is amazing.

Jack is reluctant to agree, saying he was surprised that Leona volunteered the information and walked them through it as he didn’t think Leona “had it in him.”

In the end Jack agrees and says, “I can definitely look up to a guy like Leona!”

Jack refuses to allow Vil to blame his slovenly appearance on Leona and tries to stop Azul from charging Leona for the cleaning expenses resulting from a bottle that he breaks in the school store.

Leona volunteers Jack for Fairy Gala IF and Jack initially refuses, telling Leona that it is ridiculous that he thinks he can volunteer him for an important job without asking first.

Leona explains, “What we need is someone who can lead the pack. Someone with solid judgement and initiative. I figured you had both of those things…There are a lotta students in Savanaclaw, but I picked YOU…oh well, I guess I was wrong. I’ll have to find some other freshmen. Sorry for expectin’ more out of you.”

Jack responds, “You say this is something only I can do? Then I’ll make sure it gets done!”

Leona is unimpressed when Jack compromises the plan by sneezing.

At the end of the event Jack says that “Leona’ll never let me hear the end of this. He might not even let me into Savanaclaw right now…and even if he doesn’t say anything, I’m so ashamed of myself that I’m not gonna be able to look him in the eye.”

In book 6 Leona says, “Jack’s pretty self-aware…he can get a little prideful, but he knows he’s not boss material yet. So he always follows the boss’ orders when push comes to shove. He’s a good little pupper like that.”

This is corroborated by Ace who says, “(Jack’s) whole above-it-all schtick can be obnoxious. But he turns into a puppy dog around stronger guys, so he’s actually pretty easy to deal with.”

When Jack refuses to listen to Rook's advice during Port Fest, Rook advises him to speak to someone whom he deeply respects and admires. Jack goes to Leona.

Leona is less than pleased to learn that the source of the Port Fest drama all started with Ruggie and Jack.

Jack insists that the concert he is to put on (despite not being able to play an instrument) is non-negotiable and Leona encourages him to think outside the box instead of blindly following Crowley's orders.

Jack asks what he is supposed to do and Leona tells him to ask himself what he is actually trying to achieve.

Ruggie and Jack think on Leona's advice, and the issue becomes less so a question of how to hold an impressive show for the event and more so how to not disappoint Leona.

In the end Jack is able to come up with an idea for the show, saying that it is all thanks to Leona (Leona replies that he didn't do anything at all).

After the show Leona compliments Jack on his performance, leaving Jack momentarily speechless.

[amynchan]

American high school A/B students, come here. I need to gently hold your face, give you a cozy blanket, and get you a hot cocoa. Then, I need to sit you down and talk with you.

You guys are working so, so, so damn hard. And a lot of you guys have extra curriculars on top of that. And you guys are recovering from the whole thing that Covid put you through, which was a really hard time to be an A/B student because you had to self-motivate to keep the grade even while your mental health went down the shitter. A lot of you guys have been taught to put your nose to the grindstone and work, and you do it well. You guys are working hard, and I see that.

And I have to tell you that school is failing you in a very, very, very important way.

I'm a college instructor. I also used to be that A/B student who put absolutely everything into her grades and sacrificed sleep, a social life, and at times money to get that degree to say that I was ready for the adult world. But now, I get you guys after high school has run you through, and the most, most, most important skill you could cultivate is one that isn't treasured a lot in high school, and it's one that thoroughly knocked me on my tail end when I got into college myself.

College requires you to test things for yourself. It requires you to ask "why." It requires you to think outside the box at times.

It requires you to troubleshoot a problem when one comes to you.

I have a lot of students who are earnestly doing their best, but at the first hiccup, they will stop. They won't ask why. They won't troubleshoot. They won't try to figure out what's wrong and how to either fix it or move around it. School has taught them to be scared of trying new things out and afraid to get the wrong answer lest you get punished severely.

I had a student who didn't know what setting to use in google docs to make a hanging indent. They didn't look it up, and they didn't start pushing buttons. Because of that, they lost about a day's worth of work in indecision.

I have another student who is doing research. They were so confused as to what [#] meant, and they didn't consider that the number referred to the numbered sources at the bottom. Why? Because they'd been taught to be afraid to be wrong, and they wanted me to figure out this new, complex problem instead just in case they couldn't figure it out themselves.

I have students who run into technological errors, as are common nowadays, and at the first sign of trouble, they frantically look around for someone else to tell them what to do.

Guys. You have got to bring troubleshooting back. When there is a problem, please poke around. Press buttons. Try things. Chances are, you won't break a website by poking around, and you won't break anything physical unless you very viscerally smash it on the ground. Getting stuck and needing to figure your own way out is not a failing on your end; its the honing of a very, very, very necessary skill.

You are an A/B student for a reason. Chances are, you want to make a name for yourself or make your parents proud. You want to be An Adult one day, respected and secure and loved. And I am telling you that, as an adult, people will look to you for answers that you may not always have. Right now, here, wherever you are, you need to start learning to troubleshoot. Don't just blindly follow directions anymore.

Start learning how to troubleshoot. Start learning to figure it out. Give yourself permission to try solutions, be okay if they don't work, and try again.

Your future self will thank you so, so, so much.

[miniscule-meow]

Isabell and the Lads (11)

Writing Masterpost First Part| Last Part| Next Part Word Count: ~2.4k Warnings: Blood Mention

---

Marcus sets her down on the coffee table, carefully sliding her off of his palm. He sets her climbing hook down next to her before withdrawing his hands slowly. His blue eyes look her over, and he frowns when he sees the fresh blood seeping through her bandages.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, “about… all of this,” he adds. “With the dollhouse, I just wanted to make staying here as comfortable for you as possible. I thought that having somewhere you can go where things are basically your size… I thought that would be nice, I guess. I didn’t think about how… I just… I didn’t think. So… yeah. I’m sorry.”

“It’s… fine,” she says looking up at him. She was glad to be out of his hands, but now she has to look up at him, this feels almost worse. Even sitting down on the floor, his torso forms a solid wall in front of her. There is just no escaping how big these humans are. It feels like every time she looks up at one of them her heart stutters all over again, she doesn’t think she could ever get used to that.

And she isn’t going to have to. She assures herself.

As soon as she can climb, she’s out of here. As long as she can avoid being put in a cage, or a jar, she knows she’ll be able to escape.  She’ll be able to go home and pretend that this was all just a bad dream.

Zeke returns, a bundle of supplies in his arms. He sets everything down, arranging it all methodically on the coffee table, Marcus swipes the objects that he needs, chattering on about how they can try to make some supplies for her, to make things easier without having to use the dollhouse. Zeke mostly ignores him, but Isabell can see the way his brows twitch up, and how his eyes shift to his roommate every time he disturbs the supplies he’s laid out.

“Let me see your leg,” Zeke says evenly, she nods, her breath catching when his focus slides to rest solely on her.

Zeke’s eyes trace over the blood seeping through the bandages, his mouth presses flat in response. They only changed these a few hours ago, it can’t be a good sign that they’re already changing them again. With any luck, her stitches will be fine. She does not want to go through that process again.

His hands drift forward, and she can’t stop herself from sucking in a tense breath and holding it. Hands might forever be the bane of her existence. Fingers as long as she is tall, grabbing, pinching, squeezing. The sight of his hands reaching for her sparks a tessellation of images to shatter across her mind.

Hands, shoving into her cramped hiding spaces, groping around blindly.

Hands capturing her roughly in a too tight fist.

Hands ripping open floorboards, wedging behind shelves, pulling away large furniture items.

Hands spreading her limbs, toying with her, bending her the wrong ways.

She knows he’s gentle, he’s done all this before and nothing like that happened. But it is still nerve wrecking to sit there and just let him touch her.  That goes against everything she is, everything she’s ever been taught.

“Your leg?” His voice brings her back to reality. She blinks, realizing suddenly her eyelashes are heavy with tears. She blinks them away rapidly, but there’s no hope of the human missing that. He's so observant it seems like he catches everything. His hand still hovers before her, his fingers shift as he fidgets with his empty hand. His eyes flick to hers, searching her face. He’s trying to help her, and she’s panicking about his hand. He hadn’t even touched her yet.

She can’t say her plan of making the humans think she trusts them is starting off very strong. So far, she’s had two, maybe three botched escape attempts, she’s panicked about a doll house, and she’s panicked about a hand being sort of near her. She needs to pull herself together before they put her back in the damn box.

“Sorry,” she says softly, quickly wiping her eyes. “Um I—” she doesn’t have an excuse, or an explanation for him. Not about this, not about the dollhouse. Not one that doesn’t involve her telling them about her entire life story. Considering how her throat is closing around her simple apology, she can’t imagine even attempting an explanation like that. “Go ahead,” she says with a sharp nod

Zeke doesn’t seem to respond, aside from letting go of a small sigh. He fiddles with his lip piercing and his brow pinch together, and his hand begins to slowly close the distance between them. She squeezes her eyes shut and turns her face away. His warm fingertip brushes against her leg. It doesn’t hurt, but she balls her hands into tight fists beside herself. She clenches her teeth and just repeats, you’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay inside her mind until he finishes taking care of her leg.

As soon as Zeke is finished, he silently collects the first aid kit, and walks off without sparing her a glance. Isabell takes a deep breath and inspects his handiwork. The bandage is neat and clean. He has incredible dexterity for someone of his size.

“While you’re up, grab a hot glue gun,” Marcus calls after him. He’s holding the remote and is preoccupied with something on the TV. He seems wholly unperturbed by Zeke’s cold nature. She wonders if that means that she shouldn’t read too much into it, or if Marcus is simply in his own world. Maybe both of those things could be true. “Have you ever seen The Lord of the Rings?” he asks her. She doesn’t know what that is, so she just shakes her head. “Hm. Okay,” he says with a frown and a determined nod, “We’ll be fixing that,” he turns back to the TV. “You know, just so we’re clear here, I’m considering you my third roommate.” He grins a bold toothy smile down at her. “Zeke probably won’t say it, but I know he feels the same way too,” Marcus leans in, dropping his voice to a playful stage whisper, “He doesn’t like talking about his feelings, but he has them. Don’t let him fool you,” he chuckles sitting upright once more. “But seriously, I don’t want you to worry about us thinking you’re,” he grimaces, unable to bring himself to say what he’s thinking. A toy, a pet, He redirects instead, “I don’t want you to worry. You’re our roommate, nothing less. Cool?”

“I…” She knows that she could never truly be their roommate. Living out in the open, existing in the same space as humans comfortably? As if. But this is a step in the right direction. They wouldn’t lock a roommate up in a jar. But of course, she hasn’t entirely ruled out the possibility that he’s telling her what she wants to hear, just like she’s doing for them. So, she quickly redirects her words, “I don’t even have a job,” she says quietly. Marcus’s brow pinches together in response.

“You… what?” he asks with a chuckle, caught off guard by her statement.

“I don’t have a job!” She repeats, “I don’t have money, I can’t go to the store or help with chores or do anything. Zeke told me about all of that human stuff today. How am I supposed to be your roommate if all you’re doing is taking care of me the whole time?” She frowns.

“Hey, that doesn’t matter,” he says, gesturing with the remote as he speaks, “Your job right now is just to rest and heal, alright? After that, we can figure something out. If you want some kind of chore, or job, or way to pay rent to make you feel better, then sure, you got it. That’s if you decide you want to stick around, of course. We just need to make sure your leg gets better first, Okay?” Marcus offers an encouraging smile. She finds herself awestruck by his confidence. He’s so sure that everything is going to be alright. His expression wraps a fuzzy warmth around her, like he’s just wrapped her in a blanket.

“Okay,” she says, a small smile spreading across her own face despite herself. This human is all too good at this game. Marcus turns his attention back to the TV.

Zeke returns not too long after that, settling back down on the floor beside Marcus. It’s obvious that he’s trying not to stare at her. After handing Marcus the hot glue gun, his eyes flick across the table, landing on just about everything else, except for her. Ultimately, he finds nothing to keep his attention, and settles for looking down at his hands.

“Zeke, she’s never seen The Lord of the Rings,” Marcus states, “Can you believe that?” He looks at him incredulously.

“When would she have seen… any movie?” Zeke returns, looking up to raise a brow in Marcus’ direction.

“That’s… huh. You have a point,” Marcus murmurs, then after a pause, he starts the movie and hands Zeke a bag of doll clothes. Zeke’s shoulders relax as he’s given a task to keep himself occupied

“What do you think?” Marcus asks, his attention turns back to her now that he’s laid out all of their craft supplies.

“This is…” She shakes her head, taking a second to truly look over all of the supplies they set out. She finds herself once again unable to find the right words, “this is… amazing,” she breathes the word, awestruck. She has access to everything she could ever need, right here. Typically, she can only work with things she can find. Things that humans wouldn’t miss. And of course, things she’s able to carry back with her. Objects that check all those boxes are unsurprisingly fairly difficult to find. But in a matter of minutes, the humans have placed an endless world of possibilities right in front of her.

A chill breaks through her excitement. All it costs her is her dignity and her freedom. Her smile faulters.

Marcus is beaming, obviously pleased that she’s finally starting to look happy. Zeke steals glances at her, looking up from his task of seam ripping the Velcro away from the doll garments.  Even he has a ghost of a smile playing across his lips.

The humans are pleased. They like that they did something to make her happy. She’s on the right track.  She shoves all other thoughts from her mind.

“You’re big into crafting then?” Marcus asks.

“I kind of have to be,” she says with a short laugh. “Everything I have, I have to make it out of repurposed human things. It’s my favorite part though. It’s like solving a puzzle,” she pauses, right, borrowing is generally frowned upon in the human world. They call it stealing or thief-ing something like that. “um, I only take things that wouldn’t be missed though,” she adds quickly. “And if I do find something really good, I try to repay the favor. Y-you know uh just little things. A trinket for a trinket. Or maybe a small repair like a torn curtain or a watch or… I don’t know stuff like that, it kind of depends on the human. But, um I don’t just take stuff.”

“It sounds like you’re basically a professional,” Marcus comments,

“I guess,” Isabell says with a shrug, thankful that he didn’t hang on the part about her taking stuff. She tries to remember if she’s ever gotten anything really good from this apartment. Something they might be sour about losing. She can’t come up with anything off the top of her head. “I’ve got some pretty cool things I’ve made back in my room. I’d show you but you wouldn’t be able to fit.” a playful grin spreads across her face as she talks.

“You’ll just have to recreate some of it, show me what you’ve got,” Marcus matches her energy effortlessly.

Everyone works in a comfortable quiet, with the movie playing on in the background. Zeke focuses on adjusting some of the doll clothes, Marcus is opening packages of little furniture and plates, doll things. Once he’s finished with that, they take stock of what they have. They have a lot of the basics covered. could stand to make a little kitchen and some other odds and ends, like a bookshelf. Marcus asks if he can help her with anything. She agrees, delegating to him the task of cutting popsicle sticks.

“You weren’t kidding, you’re really good at this stuff,” Marcus comments when the bookshelf they’re making is nearly complete.

“Like I said, I just have some experience,” she says, looking up at him.

“This is like, carpenter level stuff though. It’s seriously impressive,” he leans in close to inspect her handywork.

“Thanks. I- well, I was going to say I can typically work a little faster when it doesn’t hurt to stand, but actually, since you were cutting things for me, I think that might have made up for the lost time,” she says, moving herself over to her new couch.

“I’m glad I could help,” he says, watching the limp in her step and glancing over to Zeke, “Is your leg feeling alright?” he asks.

“I’m fine. I think I just need to take a break,” she sits down. For being doll furniture, the couch is surprisingly comfortable. As soon as she’s sitting, the exhaustion she’s been ignoring pounces on her, like it was waiting for her to let her guard down.  

“A break sounds good to me,” Marcus says, standing and stretching.

His full height towers over her, and she thought the sight of him sitting in front of her had been intimidating. Her heartbeat speeds up, dredging the last remaining ounces of adrenaline up to fight off her exhaustion once more. It feels like a losing battle, and she’s left feeling jittery and sluggish all at once. She would love to be able to close her eyes and sleep all of this off. She would love it even more if she could wake up already back home in the safety of the walls. But she knows that’s not going to happen. And she knows she doesn’t have a chance of getting any kind of sleep while there are humans there to watch her.

“Do you want a snack or something?” Marcus asks, already making his way to the kitchen.

“Okay.” She mumbles, though it’s likely that Marcus didn’t hear her. He was going to make a snack regardless.

[sixhours]

Chapter 23 - The Ghosts of Babylon

Hey folks, this is a dark one. CW: Suicide attempt. Please take care of yourselves.

Series Chapter Index | Read on AO3 | Complete

Rating: Explicit, 18+, here be smut and violence Series tags: Joel Miller x You, Joel Miller x Reader, Joel & Ellie, mostly follows canon, LGBTQ+ characters, y/n is bi/pan, y/n is ~45, violence, pregnancy, abortion, medical trauma, emotional trauma, panic attacks, sex work, suicide, smut, slow burn, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, romance, no use of y/n, reader has longish hair, Joel can lift you, smallish age gap (~11 years), I've probably forgotten some so please let me know <3

~*~

As the weather closes in, any good faith you might have built up with Joel is lost, and he stalks around the little farmhouse in a broody stupor. You get the impression he would live at the bottom of a deep bottle of bourbon if given the opportunity.

Hell, you’d like to join him.

He drags two dusty mattresses down from the second floor and puts them around the potbelly stove, then goes foraging in the basement. There’s a small stash of homemade canned goods that still have tight seals; the rest of your food will have to come from outside. He clears a path off the back of the kitchen to the forest, where the thick tree cover has prevented the snow from drifting, presumably so he can hunt and cut firewood.

He shoulders his rifle and goes out to the barn to look around, mutters something about finding an ax, and you watch from the kitchen window as he wades through waist-deep drifts. He returns with the ax, as well as a hacksaw, a box of candles, and a pair of snowshoes in need of repair.

The only silver lining in this situation is the chance to rest your broken ankle. You decide you need to reset the bone if you want any chance of keeping your foot. Easing out of your wrap, you tenderly prod at the swollen flesh, trying to get a sense of where the bones have shifted and where they need to go. It’s hard to feel anything, your fingers are numb with cold.

When Joel comes in with a load of small branches for firewood, you look up at him from your mattress on the floor.

“I need your help. And your belt.”

He grunts, setting the wood down at the door. “Why?”

“I need you to pull on my foot so I can reset the bone.”

You show him how to wrap the belt tight around the top of your foot, trying to ignore the roiling unease in your stomach. This is going to hurt.

“You’re going to pull as hard as you can,” you say, handing him the loose end of the strap. “Don’t stop until I say so, even if I scream.”

He grimaces. “Alright.”

“On three, ready? One…two…three.”

The pain is blinding as Joel leans back, straightening your foot, like a hot knife cutting through you, and you struggle to stay conscious.

“Hey…hey!” Joel’s worried voice, calling you back.

“I’m here,” you spit, speaking through gritted your teeth. “Oh holy mother of fuck that fuckin’ hurts.”

You lean forward blindly, putting your fingers around the ankle, prodding through the hot white pain. But you feel it, the edge of the bone at the top of the joint as it slides back into place with the right pressure.

“Stop,” you grunt, and he eases his grip on the strap, letting your foot down as gently as he can.

“The splints,” you grind out, gesturing to two scraps of wood you’ve set aside. “One on each side. Wrap ‘em tight.”

He does, securing your foot as you lay back, heaving and shaking. It hurts worse than when you broke it, but the bones no longer feel wrong .

Joel is watching you with thinly veiled concern as if he’s fighting a battle within himself to stay aloof. His fingers flex and clench at his sides.

“Gonna rest now,” you mumble, exhausted, flopping back on the mattress and feeling the deep, angry throb of your heartbeat in your foot. You close your eyes and wait until you hear Joel leave.

~*~

You settle into the tedious routine of survival. Find food, stay warm, sleep, repeat. Most of the work falls to Joel since you’re forced to stay off your feet until your ankle heals, but that’s probably for the best. The two of you circle each other like wary dogs, rarely exchanging more than the bare necessity of words.

Joel repairs the snowshoes with some twine he finds in the barn and goes off to set snares and hunt, returning with a doe that he dresses and strings up outside the kitchen, muttering about rigging up some kind of drying area in the basement.

You’re never truly warm, dressed in layers that never feel quite clean. Joel finds an old feed tub half buried in the backyard and drags it inside so you can clean yourselves in the rusty, lukewarm water and scrub the most visible grime off your clothes. He ducks outside when it’s your turn to bathe, standing stoic and hunched in the cold until you’re dressed.

Eventually, you’re able to put the tiniest amount of weight on your bad ankle. You still need the crutch, but you’re able to get yourself off the floor and maneuver around the farmhouse without Joel’s help��not that you’ve asked for it.

He has taken to carving when he’s not doing the manual labor of keeping you both alive. He brings in sticks and chunks of wood, stripping the bark with his knife and digging into it, smoothing it, hissing softly at every splinter and nick.

The isolation sinks into your bones during these short winter days, eating you from the inside. There’s nothing but time–time to lay on your mattress and listen to Joel’s stony silence and the angry thwick of his knife against the wood, time to think about everything that’s happened, to think about what you’ll do when you leave the farmhouse. No matter how many times you try to imagine it, you can’t see that future. You walk up to the gates of Jackson and the dream dissolves in a flood of shame.

Joel leaves the maps spread across the kitchen table and pores over them, retracing the routes you will eventually follow to get back to Jackson, as though he can see his daughter’s face in the winding roads.

~*~

On the shortest day of the year, you open the kitchen door and stand in the cold, aided by your crutch. Joel is off checking the snares; you can see his bootprints leading down the path away from the house. It snowed again last night, fat white flakes that only serve to remind you how trapped you are.

You tuck your fingers into your jacket pocket, fingering a crumpled ball of paper nestled deep in the seams. Frowning, you pull it out, unfolding it.

Don’t get your hopes up. –JM

You blink, the tears surprising you with their fury.

But you did, didn’t you?

The note conjures images of a puny orange on the near-empty shelf of your fridge and the feel of the countertop under your back as he pushed into you. It’s the smell of bacon on a Sunday morning, playing Boggle on the living room floor. You remember when his hand at your back meant love and reverence. Even if the words never made it into the open air, you knew that warmth.

And you never deserved any of it…but oh, how you’d wanted to. You’d wanted to believe you could have that much.

Now you live in a purgatory of your own making–with him, but not; together and never more alone, with the home you’d found on the verge of being lost forever.

This is your fault. You lied, you led him on, and worst of all, you lied to yourself. You let hope grow in poisoned soil and now the tree bears poisoned fruit.

But the note– the stupid note –is the thing that breaks you. It flutters to the floor as you crumple onto the wet ground, grateful Joel is away so he won’t hear your sobs. You cry until you feel drained, empty, like the husk of a tattered cocoon. You’re no longer here; you’re somewhere back in Utah in a jail cell with FEDRA, you’re curled in the back seat of a broken-down car with your face pressed to the mildewed upholstery, you’re waiting for a death that doesn’t come. 

When he returns, you’re lying on your mattress, facing away from the door, away from him.  You hear him stoke the fire and put the cast-iron pan down, the sizzle of fresh venison being tossed in. The smell of cooking meat makes your stomach turn. You pretend to be asleep when he tells you there’s food.

~*~

You don’t move from your bed the next morning. You’re vaguely aware of Joel’s pacing the kitchen floor, and once you feel him kneel beside you, the warmth of his body closer than ever in the cold room, but you won’t allow yourself to feel it.

His hand finds your shoulder, shaking you. “Hey.”

You close your eyes and burrow deeper into the safety of your blanket. He stands up after a time, and you hear the door close, the crunch of snow under his boots outside. Sleep drags you under with murky claws, promising blissful indifference.

His footprints on the floor bring you back. The light in the room has gone soft and golden, the glow of a winter afternoon. If you stay here, in this very spot, you won’t be able to do more harm.

“You awake? I made food.”

You don’t answer. You have a distant memory of playing a game with your father as a young child, hiding behind the sofa. If you can’t see me, I can’t see you.

“Hey,” his voice, closer to your back. “You need to eat. We’ll be on the road in six, eight weeks. Can’t have you fallin’ all over the place.”

“Not hungry,” you mumble, pulling the blanket over your head, eliciting a frustrated grunt from over your shoulder.

“C’mon, it’s not funny. Get up.”

His hand pulls the blanket back, exposing you, and you gasp at the sudden influx of cold air. “Get up.”

“I’m not–”

“Get the fuck up,” he growls. “Not gonna have you starvin’ on my watch.”

One strong hand comes up under your arm and hauls you into a sitting position. He unceremoniously drops a plate in your lap and takes a seat in a chair across from you. He leans forward, glaring at you until you take a piece of the venison and put it in your mouth. Only when you’re chewing the tough, grisly meat does he pick up a fork and take a bite of his own.

You don’t taste the food, barely able to choke down your meager portion. The meat lands in your stomach like a stone, and for a few minutes, you’re convinced you’re going to vomit. You close your eyes, swaying, willing the nausea away.

“I told you to leave me.” The words are so quiet, barely a whisper, but you know he hears them. There’s the clink of his fork on his plate, a sharp intake of breath.

“Don’t.”

You look at him from under your lashes, feeling heavy, numb. The throb in your ankle is nothing compared to this ache, this terrible pain that you can’t give voice to; you don’t deserve that measure of relief. You turn over and curl up on the bed, shivering but not feeling the cold. 

At some point, you wake. There’s a soft blanket draped over you, and you can feel Joel, still sitting in the chair at the foot of your bed. You recognize the quilt as the one he’d brought stargazing.

Was that really just a year ago?

In the dim light, you can make out a stain on the fabric; it smells like coffee, and an icy grip cinches tight around your gut. This time, you do throw up, leaning over just in time to avoid soiling the mattress.

He’s at your back again, hand on your shoulder, holding your hair.

“Shoulda told me you were sick,” he mutters.

You shake your head, retching until you taste bile. You want to tell him that you’re not sick, that this is just penance, your fair due. He stands. You hear him put the kettle on the stove, adding wood to the fire, digging through his pack for something.

Eventually, he kneels next to you with a mug of warm water. You take it, sip at it, trying and failing to rid your mouth of the awful taste of your insides. He hands you a rag and you wipe your mouth, then he uses it to cover up the mess you’ve made.

He’s sitting next to you on the floor when you turn over. Now the ache in your stomach is a physical one. He pulls the quilt back over your shoulders and you shut your eyes tight. You can’t look at him, can’t look at his face when he’s being kind. You flinch away from his touch when his hand grazes the hair at your temple.

Please stop , you think. Please just stop .

And he does. When you open your eyes after a long stretch of silence, he’s sleeping on the floor facing you, head pillowed on one arm, his hand resting next to yours on the mattress.

~*~

The fire has died by the time you wake again. The air outside the quilt is icy, but you are surprisingly warm. You open your eyes to Joel’s body curled around yours; at some point, while you were sleeping he crawled under the blanket, onto your mattress.

Your first instinct is to push him away, as though your touch is a poison that can be absorbed through the skin. But in your weak attempt to do so, your hands land on his chest and stay there, rousing him from sleep. He blinks once, twice, sleepily taking you in. Then his nose brushes yours and your lips are touching, he’s kissing you, rolling over you, pinning you against the bed.

You jerk your head to one side when you feel that vicious tenderness rising within you, push it down the way you push his head down to your neck, your clavicle. He bites the skin, sucking you in, hard enough to leave a mark.

When he tries to kiss you again, you reach down between you to take him roughly in your hand through his jeans. He groans, grinds out your name against your neck, and a spark of bitter hope blooms inside you.

You know this way.

He’s rough one moment and tender the next, bruising your hips and soothing your wounds, as if he can’t decide whether to make love to you or fuck you until you bleed. He’s too quiet, and you miss the ringing of his filthy mouth in your ears.

You yank down his jeans and pull out his cock, stroking him until he’s thrusting shamelessly into your palm. You run the tip of your thumb over the head, slippery with precum, and roll him back onto the mattress, moving down his torso. He groans when you take him into your mouth.

“Fuuuck.”

There he is.

You take him in as far as you can, swirling your tongue and lapping at the sensitive flesh under the head of his cock until he’s panting, hips rolling under you, fists in your hair.

“M’ not gonna last,” he gasps, pulling you up to him, sitting up to hold you. The position is too familiar, too close. When his hand reaches up to stroke your cheek, you guide it to your throat, pressing on his fingers to tighten his grip. You work the buttons of your jeans and slide them down your hips as his tongue traces the shell of your ear.

When he leans up to kiss you the third time, you roll off him, arching your back and lifting your ass. There’s a pause in which all you can hear is your mingled heavy breathing, as you wait to see if he’ll take the hint.

“Fuck me,” you whisper, hating the way your voice sounds, watery and frail.

You feel his hand on your hip, almost tentative, and then the mattress shifts behind you. He enters you at an angle that used to be his favorite, in one full thrust. It hurts, and you want it to hurt more. You shove back into him, taking him in before you’re fully ready, feeling the tiny tears as you stretch, the blunt force of him at your cervix. He answers with a hoarse cry, one hand gripping your ass while the other slides up your back. You arch back into him, meeting him thrust for thrust.

You’re so wrapped up in the sensation of being filled, of being used, you don’t notice when one hand moves around to your front and slides between your legs…finding you dry.

He stills, breathing hard.

“You–you’re not–”

Suddenly he wrenches out of you and you’re pitifully empty and exposed, cold air replacing the heat of his body like a fire doused with ice water. Your hips are dropped onto the mattress and he’s stumbling toward the door, pulling up his jeans. You watch numbly as his fist makes contact with the wall, leaving a blood-smeared imprint in the plaster.

“Fuck!”

You hear him pulling on his boots, shouldering his rifle, the door slamming behind him.

Tears sting your eyes. You claw at your jeans to cover yourself, drawn into a ball on the mattress, feeling that icy grip on your stomach. You couldn’t even do this, this one simple thing, and it hurts, it hurts so fucking much.

~*~

He stays out all day, not returning until the sun kisses the horizon. You’re sitting in a chair, half asleep when you hear him outside the back door. You can still feel him inside you, the throbbing ache where he’d penetrated you, but that problem feels distant like it’s happening to someone else.

Joel drops his day’s kill–two rabbits–outside the door. He doesn’t talk to you as he dresses them over the stoop at the back of the house, cutting the bodies from stem to stern, carving out the insides, cutting off chunks of meat, and tossing them into a bowl.

You unfold yourself from the chair and put the cast iron on the stove, tossing a new log on the fire. It’s too fresh, still half frozen, and it smolders, sending smoky plumes into the air.

You cook the gamy, chewy meat with a can of baked beans from the cellar pantry; they’re cloyingly sweet, the meat dry but somehow oily at the same time. You don’t taste it, barely notice the textures on your tongue. Bite, chew, swallow, repeat.

You can still smell him on you when you go to bed, when he blows out the candle and you’re cast in darkness with only the glow of the stove between you. 

~*~

You wait until you hear his breathing deepen in the familiar way it does. For a few minutes, you allow yourself to close your eyes and listen, holding this moment alongside all the others like it.

You creep out of bed and slip on your boots and jacket, foregoing your crutch; you can put enough weight on your foot now to make it to the woods. You ease the kitchen door shut behind you, wincing at the soft snick as it latches, holding, waiting to make sure he doesn’t stir.

You make the slow, stumbling trek across the packed snow path that leads to the woods behind the house. Moonlight creates deep shadows under the trees. You’re unaware you’re trembling until you look down and see your hands, shaking, backlit by the moonlit white canvas. There’s wetness on your cheeks, but you don’t feel it.

When you can’t walk any further, you ease yourself down against the trunk of a tree. You pull the gun out of your pocket, surprised at the weight of it. You’re mesmerized by the glint of the reflected light on the dark metal. You feel yourself bringing it up to your mouth, almost involuntarily, and for a moment you wonder if maybe you’ve been infected all this time; if this is how it feels to lose control.

The barrel is cold at the top of your mouth and you hold it there, still trembling, thinking of the parts of the brain the bullet will penetrate as it moves through you. You find yourself reciting the bones and soft tissues, reducing your body to a list of parts and systems.

Your eyes find the stars; your finger finds the trigger.

It will be fast. It will be painless.

You swallow and taste metal, waiting for your finger to apply just the right pressure, waiting for your body to respond, to finally soothe the ache you’ve felt since you left Jackson. When it doesn’t happen, you jerk the gun away from you, breathing hard.

You’re such a fucking coward.

You imagine your name echoing over the landscape, calling you back to a world you don’t deserve to live in.

I can’t go back. I can’t–

You’re not imagining it. 

He’s standing there in the icy halo of his breath, saying your name.

“Give…give me the gun.”

He approaches you slowly, never taking his eyes off the gun, watching it like it was a rabid animal with teeth and claws.

“Please, baby…”

“I can’t,” you whisper, shaking. “I can’t.”

“You can,” he says. He’s almost to you now, he’s kneeling, crawling to you. “Please…just…give it to me.”

You watch, detached, as his hand covers yours, covers the gun. His eyes meet yours and you can see the unshed tears, feel his hand trembling against yours.

“Please,” he whispers.

Your fingers slowly release their grip, letting him take the handgun. There’s a sharp intake of breath as the cold metal leaves your hand, as he fumbles at the switch and unloads the cartridge into his palm. Some last store of strength inside you collapses when he reaches out to take your hand and you fold in on yourself, letting the darkness drag you under.

Joel pulls you to him, rocking back, until he’s sitting on the icy ground and you’re cradled in his lap like a child. His hand cups the back of your head and you can hear his heart thrumming at the pulse point in his throat, hear the rasp of breath in his lungs, feel the shaking in his hands. He’s whispering words into the crown of your hair, words like no , and please , and sorry , but you don’t hear them.

You aren’t here anymore.

~*~

You don’t remember walking back to the house, but you’re sitting in front of the fire, wrapped in a blanket with Joel holding your face in his hands. He’s talking but you can’t make out the words. Your tongue feels like lead in your mouth but you want to tell him to stop, to let you go.

He pushes a mug into your hands, his fingers wrapping yours around it. In the candlelight, you see the wet tracks down his cheeks, feel the heat of the stove at your back. The heat softens you, melts you like wax, and suddenly you are so fatigued you can barely hold your head up.

Then you’re in a bed–Joel’s bed–wrapped in his bedroll and a quilt and he’s holding you like you might float away. You want to tell him that he’s crushing you, but your eyes won’t stay open long enough for your mouth to form the words.

~*~

The first thing you notice is the heat. After weeks of fighting off the cold, you’re finally warm. You realize you’re practically swaddled, anchored by Joel’s arm around your waist. You open your eyes to him.

It comes back to you in pieces; the moonlight, the stars, the gunmetal taste at the back of your throat. He watches you with red-rimmed eyes. You understand, without asking, that he’s stayed awake like this all night.

His hand comes up to trace the skin at your temple. At this moment, you don’t know if you hate him or love him. There’s still an icy hopelessness twisting at your insides that no fire or body heat can touch.

“I found the note.”

You blink, furrowing your brow. You hadn’t left a note…had you?

Then he shows you the crumpled ball of paper clutched in his palm, the one you’d tossed on the ground.

Oh. That note.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, grip tightening around you. “I’m so damn sorry I made you think there wasn’t anything left.”

You try to shake your head, but it’s a slow, painful effort, and your eyes close against your will, sinking back into his warmth.

~*~

He doesn’t leave your side for days. Even when the firewood is almost gone, even when the food supply is dwindling, he stays in the kitchen, whittling away at wood scraps, keenly attuned to your every breath, every twitch, every sigh. At night, he locks you in his arms like they’re a straightjacket and watches you sleep.

By the fourth day, he’s swaying on his feet from the exhaustion of keeping vigil. More than that, he’s driving you fucking crazy–as if you weren’t crazy enough.

“Christ,” you whisper, watching as his head dips forward and snaps back up for the third time in as many minutes. “Take a fucking nap, Miller. I’m not gonna off myself.”

He glares at you, the expression only serving to make him more tired as his eyes flutter shut without his consent.

“Shit,” he mumbles, shaking himself awake again.

You groan. “Go to bed. I’ll be here when you wake up. Alive.”

You don’t tell him that you don’t have the energy to kill yourself even if you still want to. He must sense it, though, because he stands, sways, and stumbles into bed. He’s asleep before his head hits the mattress.

Joel sleeps for hours, and you let your mind go blank, folded in your chair with your bad foot propped up, staring at the curling flames in the stove’s belly. Sometimes you can still feel the gun in your hand; you close your eyes and see the winter snow pierced by stars at the back of your eyelids. It feels like standing on a precipice and leaning forward. You feel hot tears slipping down your cheeks.

When the dark thoughts come, circling like vultures over carrion, you slide out of the chair and insert yourself into his arms, tucking your head under his chin and breathing him in. He doesn’t wake, but his grip on you tightens, cementing you to him with a sigh and a muffled snore.

[uglypastels]

Diary of Potential College Dropouts // Steddie au

modern!college!au - Neither of them expects to make it through a full semester, though for different reasons. Is that perhaps why they were given a dorm to share?

author's note: this is just a little something-something as I'm struggling with the rest of pirate!eddie. I'm not sure you can really say this has a plot but if you like it, please support by reblogging and commenting or leaving an ask with your thoughts

big thanks to @eddies-house for giving me the idea for this. and @pollenallergie for coming through with amazing suggestions for this imaginary school

word count: 6k

warnings: no plot, just vibes. swearing, alcohol. drugs. quarter-life crises. dark humour. mention of unhappy family lives. anxiety. mention of throwing up.

My advice to you... is to start drinking. Heavily - Animal House (1979)

Steve had not wanted his parents to come with him on Moving Day. 

They said their goodbyes on the curb of his childhood home. His old car was packed to the brim with cardboard boxes; Dad had his arm around Mom and extended an arm for a sturdy handshake. To Steve’s surprise, his mother bit into her cheek, pushing a sour smile from underneath her tear-stinging eyes. Perhaps she would actually miss him. But he wouldn’t be surprised to return for Christmas break and see his bedroom go through its fourth renovation in the four months of his absence. 

Before getting in the car, Steve told them he’d text when he got there. It wasn’t a lie, per se, as he did not not want to. But even as he said the words, he knew he would forget by the time he drove up to campus, and something told him that his parents wouldn’t care. 

He drove off with a last wave of the hand and a tight-lipped smile, leaving Hawkins behind for good. 

If his parents had known that, they might have put more effort into the goodbyes. Maybe Steve would have, too. The release he felt as he drove past that green sign was immediate, and he knew what he was leaving behind was only holding him back, but it was also like saying goodbye to a trusted blanket. Suddenly, the comfort of years having grown up there was gone in mere seconds. 

So long King Steve. 

Hello Steve Harrington, finance freshman… kill me now.

Of course, he never wanted to do anything related to business, finance, or anything his father approved with a nod behind his Sunday newspaper, but it was either do as the old man tells ya or no college at all. And without college, what was he to do? Join his dad’s company? Get stuck in the vicious family cycle forever? It felt like a new kind of hell that made college seem like a field of daisies. But even those prospects didn’t stop Steve from fillings the first three hours of his two-day trip with angry thoughts about his upcoming classes and how to get out of them. 

While the thoughts did dissipate over time, they never went away. The idea of just taking a wrong turn and never getting off the road was strong as the first signs for Dashwood University appeared. He could, after all, go anywhere. Nothing was stopping him.

That spirit stayed within him as he took a turn into town. Hawkins never felt further away. As the city changed in scenery to what clearly were lecture halls and dormitories, his heart skipped a beat in fear. It was really happening. And if the old redbrick building weren’t a hint enough of his location, then maybe it was the dozens of cars halted at the side of the roads, overflowing the parking lots. Mothers held their kids tightly while the dads pulled heavy boxes from the trunks. As he drove past a boy being nearly strangled to death in an embrace, Steve was happy to have gone through all that days ago. 

With the number of people roaming around, it nearly took him more time to find a parking spot than the entirety of his drive there. There were also several harsh steps on the break as frisbees flew by, their owners running blindly behind them like dogs in a park. Then there were the other freshmen, looking like lost puppies, followed by the eager campus volunteers who welcomed everybody in and sniffed out the weak to indoctrinate them into whatever cults they were a part of. Steve tried not to get too annoyed too quickly, taking deep breaths and instead focusing on finding location markings. Dunent Hall. All the emails he had been getting on the topic of the introduction week mentioned “Dunent Hall,” in which “room 306 would be his new home for the upcoming year.” Exciting stuff, truly riveting. The excitement was practically trickling out of him. 

Finally, he saw the signs announcing the student housing building. Conveniently located on the far north end of campus, it needed to have the regular commotion that the centre held. The parking lot in front was still dotted with parting families and students hauling boxes, but Steve managed to find a spot for his car almost right next to the entrance. 

The aged red brick looked vibrant in the sun. Flower beds had been planted around the entrance, and Steve was sure they would look wonderful in the springtime, but as the days were only getting shorter, the bush looked a bit neglected and depressed. Putting on his sunglasses against the afternoon glow, he looked around again. The other dorms were spread out in a pentagonal shape. All identical in shape and size, decorated with the school's light blue and yellow colours. The only real difference between the buildings was the once-golden letters above the main doors, stating the name of the dorm halls. Dunent was behind Steve as he looked at the Runter and Vanhov buildings, with Bering on his left and Prudham on his right. He was sure that these names must mean something to someone interested in anything, but to him, it was just gibberish. 

Now, Steve had heard jokes, but when he turned around to head inside, nothing prepared him for the speed at which someone approached him and shoved a pamphlet. 

‘Hi!’ the girl said, eyes practically bulging out of their sockets like she must have been coming off a 10 coffee cup worth of energy high. 

‘Hi,’ Steve replied, slightly taken aback by the girl’s eagerness and large smile. 

‘I’m Constance; welcome to Dashwood!’ She didn’t even allow Steve to respond before asking: ‘Which dorm are you in?’ 

‘Why? Do you plan on murdering me already?’ He chuckled lightly.

‘Ha ha ha’. Her laugh was an exact exaggeration of the syllables, making Steve take yet another step back. ‘No, silly, so I can show you the way.’

‘I’m fine, thanks,’ he tried to stay polite while not seeing the point of being shown around a pentagon where each building had a sign you could read from across the street.

‘Oh, ok, just remember orientation starts tomorrow at 10. You should have received an itinerary in an email with all the details about the fun activities your faculty have planned. And don’t worry about getting lost or late; the pamphlet includes a map of the whole campus and the bus schedule… as well as some handy-dandy discounts and meal deals.’ 

‘Good to know,’ Steve nodded and put the pamphlet in his back pocket.

‘Alrighty then,’ she looked him once over, then looked at the hoard of boxes in his car, ‘well, if you need any help, just let me know. I’ll be here all day.’ 

‘I’ll keep it in mind.’ He couldn’t tell if her offering of help was because she did not think he was strong enough to carry all these boxes up to the third floor, or if she wanted to hang around him longer for something. Either way, he wasn’t interested in any of that.

It took another second of awkward eye contact before Constance cleared her throat, mumbled a goodbye and walked away, leaving Steve with his boxes and the pamphlet.  He waited for her to have approached another poor unprepared soul to take a deep breath in and head for the door of Dunent. 

As it was the unofficial first day of term and people were coming in and out of the building, the doors that usually stayed locked with a keycard were now wide open. Steve let a shirtless guy carrying in, what seemed to be, a mini fridge pass him before walking inside himself. The first thing he saw was an endless beige corridor, with blue doors situated every few feet, some already covered in posters, stickers and whatnot. The air was stuffy, like being hit in the face by a very soft pillow, despite the humming of an AC system could be heard. 

The first door in the hallway was open; someone had stuck a piece of paper with tape, “RECEPTION”, written in black marker. It was a small office, if you could call it that, and barely held enough space for the desk and chair at which the guy was sitting, making Steve very anxious about his dorm room. He knocked on the door frame, and the boy looked up quickly. His glasses slid right off his nose, and he jerked around as if he had just been caught red-handed. And maybe he had, but Steve just didn’t know what exactly.

‘Is this where I can pick up my keys?’ Steve asked. 

‘Uhhh, yes. Yes!’ The boy, now looking younger and younger by the second, but not in a complimentary way, came alive in a jumble of nerves. He shuffled around the desk, searching for the list of names. ‘Name?’

‘Harrington.’ 

‘Ah, yes… it should be… right here. Room 306—I see your roommate has already signed in,’ he commented while handing Steve the sheet of paper, where indeed, a name was scribbled in the same black ink as the “RECEPTION” sign on the door. 

‘Cool,’ Steve mumbled as he noted down his name. ‘What’s he like?’ He handed everything back in exchange for a large white envelope. 

‘Oh, I think he arrived yesterday, and I wasn’t working–’ the kid looked genuinely apologetic as if he had done something wrong, so Steve cut him short.

‘It’s fine, no worries.’ He smiled. He would meet the guy in a few minutes anyway.

The receptionist boy smiled back, without any of the reassurance that Steve tried to bring into the conversation, then looked down at the envelope he had just handed him. ‘In there is your key, by the way. Also, a list of regulations and… stuff.’

‘Cool,’ was there much else to say besides that? ‘Guess I’ll see you around….’ 

‘Arc.’ Arc said. 

‘Arc?’ 

‘Yeah, like the boat.’ Arc shrugged and pushed his glasses back up over the bridge of his nose. 

‘Ok, cool,’ it was his first genuine “cool” ‘I’ll see you around, Arc.’

This was the first genuine smile Arc made. Then he remembered the one thing he was told to say. ‘Welcome in Dunent Hall!’ he yelled as Steve walked through the corridor. 

The stairs to the rest of the building were at the end of the hallway, and as suspected, there was no elevator. 

Not a functional one, at least. 

You’d think they’d fix something like that for the first week of term, where everyone was hauling boxes around the corridors, but no. Instead, it was a tight fit; people were jogging down as others struggled with their heavy things. It took Steve around double the time to climb the stairs as he kept bumping into people ready to fall down the whole flight as their property attempted to tip them off-balance. 

‘Woah, you good?’ Steve asked a pretty blonde as she nearly missed a step she did not see because her eyesight was obstructed by a giant snake plant. 

‘Yeah, thanks.’ She smiled, brushing her hair behind her ear– which might not have been a good idea as she could not hold the plant with only one hand. 

‘Do you need me to carry it for you?’ Steve suggested.

‘Really? That would be great. My arms are killing me.’ She handed over the pot, and Steve put his Dunent envelope between his teeth. Unable to speak, he signed for the girl to lead the way. As luck would have it, she had also been heading to the third floor. They stopped at room 302. She opened the door and showed Steve where to place the plant. Her roommate had not appeared yet, so the room was half empty. The other half was now eaten alive by plants and books; the drabby walls were barely visible underneath the greenery.

‘Thank you so much.’ The girl said as Steve put down the pot next to her bed. ‘I’m Nicky.’ 

‘Steve.’ They shook hands, both now covered in a thin layer of plant soil. ‘Guess we’re almost neighbours. I’m in 306.’

‘Oh, fun!’ Nicky beamed, ‘And hey, if you need any help carrying things up, that was my last trip up and down, so– I mean, it would only be fair, right.’

‘Well, then I’ll leave the heaviest boxes for you.’ He fought the urge to wink, but kept his charming smile up until Nicky said goodbye and closed her door. Maybe college wouldn’t be so hard. 

But he couldn’t hook up with someone living in the same building, let alone 2 doors down. That might just be the stupidest thing he could do, and he had already done some dumb things. So no, Nicky seemed like a great girl, but he would have to control himself. 

So not that easy after all.

The third-floor corridor was smaller than the lower levels, with only 7 doors. 6 dorms and a community hall at the end. From what he could hear, some people were already socialising there, with their laughter and music giving everything a lively atmosphere. Room 306 was next to it, and people waved to Steve as they noticed him through the doorway. He waved back awkwardly as he got his key out of the envelope. 

‘I think Ed’s inside,’ a guy said from the couch in the community room, indicating that Steve could just knock. And, yes, he could, but this was his room. He had the key. Why would he hit?

The roommate situation was not a surprise. Along with his dorm hall and room number, all the emails also talked about how Steve had been paired with some kid named Edward Munson for the roommate scheme. Unfortunately, that was all that was told to him. A name and nothing else, so Steve could only hope the guy wasn’t a dickswab.

Finally, roaming through the millions of papers in the envelope, Steve fished out the key. It slipped into the lock, and Steve suddenly realised that the music had not been coming from the community room but from his dorm. 

Compared to the “RECEPTION”, this room felt gargantuan. The two single beds were set perpendicularly to their respective walls next to a set of desks. The door Steve just walked through was between two large closets, but there was enough shelving space for everything Steve brought with him. 

From how Nicky had decorated her room, he expected a stark contrast between his and Ed’s half, but it seemed his roommate had some trouble with boundaries. The room had fallen victim to a geekplosion. Something resembling an old bed sheet was draped on the wall over his bed; the paint read “Corroded Coffin”,  whatever that was. Around it were other small posters and pictures of bands and movies. Steve recognised most and noticed how there was barely anything around from after the year 1986. An auspicious start…

The shelves were already packed with books and action figures, and more packed boxes littered the ground and clothes (primarily black). Steve hadn’t even realised a person was sitting among the hoard of shirts and jeans lying on the bed, but Edward Munson sat casually back among this mess, strumming on his red guitar. He jumped up at the sight of Steve crossing the threshold. 

‘Finally!’ he tried to cross the room but stumbled over a box, cursing as he nearly fell. But you wouldn’t be able to tell any of that happened by how he composed himself once finally face-to-face with his new roomie. ‘You must be Steven–’ 

‘Steve,’ he corrected. 

‘Right, right. I’m Eddie.’ Eddie extended his hand. ‘Nice to meet you.’

‘You too.’ Steve shook Eddie’s ring-clad hand. It was a solid shake, which he appreciated. 

‘Sorry about the mess,’ Eddie apologised while they parted. ‘I couldn’t find my—stuff and you know how shit is. You get distracted, and it goes from bad to worse, but I’ll clean it up before you bring your stuff in.’ 

Steve didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded. Eddie turned around to put his guitar in its case, and Steve looked at his new roommate. From his years on the basketball and swimming team, Steve immediately thought Eddie must be a runner. He was lean, maybe a bit taller than himself. But the tattoos he was showing off in his black tank top made Steve doubt any kind of track career because there were many. From the quality of the sketches, they seemed homemade, too; some clearly even stick-n-poke. He had his long hair in a ponytail, but half of it was already sticking out messily, the old scrunchie hanging on by a thread. His jeans had chains attached to all possible places, and his belt buckle looked too much like real handcuffs.

Compared to Steve, wearing a clean green shirt and some light jeans, they made quite the pair.

‘I just came to drop this of real quick,’ he dropped the envelope on his bed, ‘i’m gonna go get the rest of my stuff.’

‘Need help with that?’

‘No, I’m good, thanks.’ He had Nicky already, and Steve didn’t feel like soliciting half the campus to haul his shit up the stairs, even if that made his day a bit easier. Besides, he would find greater help in Eddie cleaning up while he was gone. 

Not that there was that much to bring up anyway. Everyone was probably projecting their luggage when offering to help, but Steve had packed everything into two suitcases and four boxes, which weren’t even that heavy. He just didn’t own that much. So after three trips up and down, and something that felt like a minor asthma attack, Steve sat on his bed and noticed Eddie’s look. His brows twisted in thought. 

‘What?’ 

‘This is all your stuff?’ 

‘Yeah?’ Clothes, a computer, some books and sports gear, what else would he need?

Eddie looked him up and down again quickly. Then asked, ‘What’s your major?’ 

‘Finance,’ Steve sighed, already growing tired of that being his answer. ‘Yours?’

‘Not sure.’ Eddie was sitting in his desk chair and spun around. 

‘What do you mean, not sure?’ He must have signed up for something to get here. 

‘Technically, English, but who knows what it will be next month. Fuck, they might kick me out by then.’

‘Not great with following the rules?’ Steve had to stay as far away as possible if this guy was planning on getting expelled. 

‘Not great at anything, really.’ Eddie exhaled deeply, ‘but you know, college is college. It’s already a whole thing to be able to go.’

‘Tell me about it.’ Steve let his head hit his pillow while Eddie kept spinning in his chair. Maybe if he could turn fast enough, he could catch up to his brain, which seemed to wheeze a million miles per second. It was still weird to him to actually sit in a college dorm.

24 HOURS AGO, he still couldn’t believe it; he was driving onto campus to be a student. He had always expected the only way he’d step a foot inside was to piss off some frat bros, Tpeeing their house or something. Now he would actually be in classes with these guys.

‘Boy, you better stop jumping or this car won’t last much longer,’ his uncle muttered. 

‘Sorry,’ Eddie stopped his leg from shaking, but it just moved all the energy in his body to his hands, and he started tapping his fingers on the dashboard, head rocking back and forth as their van approached the campus site. 

‘You sure you’re good, Eds?’ Wayne glanced over at his nephew. 

‘Yeah, I’m fine,’ Eddie blinked, shaking his head. They were now only a few streets away from Dunent Hall. ‘Just a bit nervous, I guess.’ He had that same stomach-gnawing feeling as he had in kindergarten on his first day of school. And then, on the first day of elementary school and in fourth grade, when his family moved, he had to change schools again in seventh grade. The first day of high school, freshmen year, and a year later when he moved in with Wayne across the country and started all over again. Then the feeling crept back when he had to repeat senior year… twice. After all these times, he thought he would get used to it, that the anxiety would come easier, but it hit him as hard as ever. 

‘Try not to throw up in the car, son,’ his uncle said, and Eddie tried to laugh the sour taste in his mouth off. He would have replied but was scared that more than words would come out, and so they drove on in silence. Only once they parked in front of the Dument building did Eddie dare to open his mouth. 

‘Looks worse than I expected.’ To that comment, Wayne smacked him on the back of the head. 

‘Just because you’re right don’t mean you should say it.’ Wayne pointed a stern finger, but a smile was creeping up under his bushy moustache.

‘Sorry!’ Eddie chuckled. ‘I’ll go and–’ Right as he was about to head inside, a girl appeared, practically out of nowhere, startling both uncle and nephew. 

‘Gooood morning!’ she sang. ‘I’m Constance, and it is my pleasure to welcome you to Dashwood University, the home of the Gorgons!’ She cheered haphazardly, most likely because all her energy was stuck in her face. 

‘Gorgons, eh?’ Eddie said, unimpressed. He never cared much for school spirit, so the whole sports team thing wasn’t very appealing, but he knew some people got all hot and bothered by it. 

‘Be sure to get tickets for the first game of the season; it will be a blast,’ Constance beamed, and Eddie would have asked what sport this was supposed to be about if he gave an inch of a fuck. So, he just smiled and nodded like the polite hated-by-Christians boy he was. 

Constance looked at Eddie, and with a face like hers, it was evidently hard to keep her thoughts to her inner self. The judgement was practically being screamed through a megaphone (which she was carrying on a shoulder strap). When she looked back up at him, noticing that he had not stopped looking at her, she squeezed out a smile. 

‘Here is a campus map,’ she held out a pamphlet, ‘with all the important locations and travel information if you need to get around. You can pick up your keys inside, first door to your left.’

‘Thanks.’ Eddie ignored Constance's last glare, not understanding how some people were still so close-minded in the year of our foe and Satan… was it the hair? The tattoos? It couldn’t be the weed; he had showered for an absurdly long time, knowing he would have to spend a whole day in the car with his uncle.  

Speaking of Wayne, he had opened the back of the van, suddenly finding himself very busy with some box, only poking his head out to wave goodbye to this welcome committee. 

It was a cloudy, sleepy Sunday. The air around them felt ready to rain or daze in its aftermath. But the grass smelled of it, and the flower bushes…… were there too. 

‘I’ll go get the keys.’ Eddie said and went in ahead. 

Just like Constance had said, the first door on the left was open and revealed a broom closet for an office. Inside was an older man who looked up before Eddie could say anything. He had a white button-up shirt and pits stained in sweat, and understandably so because Eddie already felt like he was burning after standing there for two seconds.

‘Welcome to Dunent Hall. Name, please.’

‘Munson, Eddie- Edward.’ God, he hated saying his full name. He watched the man pick up a clipboard and review the list of names until he reached the Ms. 

‘Yes, right. Sign here.’ He handed him the clipboard to sign, and while Eddie was doing so, the man reached for a basket of large envelopes and searched through those for “Munson” as well. ‘In this you will find your key, dorm regulations, college regulations, lists of clubs and associations and this month’s cafeteria menu—which you can find on the map that I’m sure constance has given you.’

All Eddie could do was whistle in fascination. ‘You guys sure are organised,’ he tried to joke, but the man just looked at him with a cold and unimpressed stare. ‘Well, thanks, anyway.’ Eddie held up the envelope and walked back out of the building where Wayne was waiting, a box in his hands. 

‘Got 'em?’ he asked, and Eddie showed him the envelope. It took him another five years to sift through all the paper waste to find the key—a small silver key attached to a red label reading “306”. 

Eddie grabbed his guitar case, whipped it around his shoulder, and took another two boxes to follow Wayne into the building. The only people around were just like them, families unpacking, so he doubted it was necessary to lock the van… not that he had anything worth stealing anyway. 

The elevator had a large “out of order” sign stamped on it, so they took the stairs. While Wayne said he was fine, Eddie insisted he takes it slow and not make any more up-and-down trips. They compromised by Wayne giving him a warning look and bringing up two more boxes before resting up in the room as Eddie got the rest of his stuff. Together, it took five trips up the flight of stairs, but all the boxes and bags covered most of the floor space. Wayne took the desk chair while Eddie sat on the bed, choosing the left side of the room.

Running back and forth to the car had occupied him for the time being, but now, sitting there in silence, all the thoughts from the drive were returning. The look Constance gave him… would that be everyone he met around these parts? Would it be like every other school he had been to? What about this roommate of his? Steven? What were the chances that he’d be into all the stuff Eddie was? Would he have to share a room with someone that was either scared of him or thought Eddie was a freak? 

‘Pay them no mind, boy,’ Wayne said out of nowhere, almost as if he could read his nephew’s mind. 

‘For once, I don’t want them to think I don’t belong here.’ Eddie sighed. 

‘Listen here,’ Wayne pushed the chair closer to the bed, ‘you worked as hard, if not harder, as anybody here. You’re here because you deserve it, you understand me, son?’ 

Eddie nodded, but his uncle needed more. ‘Yes sir.’ And then, like when he was a little boy, he jumped into his uncle’s arms for a tight embrace, possibly knocking the air out of the man’s lungs.

‘I’m proud of you boy.’ Wayne wrapped his arms around him. ‘Always have, always will be.’ 

‘Even when I accidentally set the theater room on fire?’ 

‘Boy–’ Wayne warned. 

‘Right, sorry.’ He pulled back into the hug. His uncle smelled of driftwood and wind. No matter how long of a drive or shift at the plant they had behind them, the smell of home never left. And now Eddie had to say goodbye to it. To his home, to his uncle. He would be entirely on his own again. 

‘Alright, that’s enough of the good stuff, Eds,’ Wayne tapped him on the back, and the two got up. His uncle’s arm remained on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly. ‘Really proud of you.’

‘Thanks.’ Eddie smiled, pushing back any emotions. He didn’t want his last moments with his uncle to be filled with tears. 

‘And you know, your ma would be too.’ 

‘What about good ol’ pops?’ Eddie snickered. 

‘Damn him to Hell.’ Wayne spit and Eddie gasped half-jokingly. He had expected precisely that kind of reaction, but he had never heard his uncle use the big H word. 

‘Maybe it’s good I’m leaving, man, clearly I’m not a good influence on you.’ Eddie pulled him back into one last hug, but after that, it was time for Wayne to go. It was hard to say goodbye, though, so Eddie ended up walking back to the car, and didn’t head inside until the car disappeared around the corner. It felt silly, and he had never imagined himself getting so emotional over farewells, and yet, as he sludged his step up the stairs, tears pricked at the corner of his eyes.

The room looked tiny and giant at the same time. Compared to his old room, it must have been three times the size, but looking at all his stuff in boxes, Wayne’s writing on all of them, categorising his belongings, it felt dizzying. This is where everything starts. The great adventure.

The sour taste in his mouth came back. 

‘Fuck.’ He needed to relax. Like, right now. And luckily, Eddie knew precisely how. 

If only he remembered where he had packed it. Somewhere at the bottom of one of the boxes, he still could retell. At the bottom, if his uncle opened it up, the weed wouldn’t be front and centre. Also, to cover up the smell a bit. 

He went through three boxes before finding the incense, which he had thought was a good sign, but alas. Apparently, he had stashed the stash in one of his duffel bags. He opened the window, lit the incense stick and was about to light a blunt when a voice came out from the doorway. 

‘Ooh, wouldn’t do that if I were you.’ 

‘Hmm?’ with the joint between his lips, Eddie looked towards the door, where a guy with a buzzcut was standing, leaning into his room with his hands on the doorframe.

‘Smoking is a big no-no inside these buildings. It’s like rule one on all the regulations. Highlighted in italics and bold font.’ He had a slight accent, but from his voice, he sounded just as annoyed about the rule as Eddie felt when he heard it. 

‘Well, there goes my afternoon.’ He put the blunt back in its little tin box. ‘But thanks for the heads up, man.’

‘Yeah, sure thing.’ the guy glanced around him, ‘guess we’re across neighbours then.’ 

‘Oh, nice.’ Eddie wanted to slide his chair out towards the door, but it was undoable with all hix boxes lying around. So finally, defeated by the cardboard, he got up. 

‘I’m Eddie.’ 

‘Ved, but call me Vader.’ Ved introduced himself.

‘That might just be the stupidest self-proclaimed nickname I’ve ever heard.’ Eddie laughed. ‘I love it.’ So maybe college wouldn’t be that hard after all. 

Vader looked into the room, ‘making yourself at home already, I see?’ You would definitely think so by the state of the dorm. Throughout his search for the weed, Eddie had thrown everything in the boxes around. The ground was covered in his clothes. ‘No roommate?’ 

‘I’ll clean it up before he gets here.’ Eddie shrugged it off. The cleaning before the roommate arrived consisted of scooping everything from the ground into his arms and dropping it on the bed. The plan after that was to start putting things away into the closet, but shit, what was he to do when Vader invited him and the rest of the third-floor early arrivals to a small party at his place. That way, in 24 hours, Eddie managed to ransack not one but two rooms. The beer was provided for (Vader knew how to make friends quickly), and Eddie provided the music with his speakers. The worst of beats their childhood had gifted them boomed through the entire night.

Around 2 am, Eddie was in deep need of a smoke. He excused himself and found his way up the stairs onto the roof. A previous like-minded person had left a set of beach chairs out there, bleached from the sun and slightly rusted from the rain but perfect for their purpose. No smoking in the buildings. No one said anything about on top of the buildings. He lit the joint and sucked in deeply, dropping into the chair. The bitterness filled his throat delightfully. 

Back home, millions of stars looked back down at him when he looked up at the sky. Here, among the street lights and the dozens of small windows lit up in a rainbow of LED, he saw around 3 bright spots above him. The moon was merely a sliver. 

Eddie could have quickly fallen asleep right then, and maybe he even had, but Vader burst through the door and hauled him back in. 

‘You know it’s like freezing out there, right?’ he said, pointing out Eddie was only wearing a thin tank top and ripped jeans. 

‘I’ve had worse.’ That was all that Eddie said, giggling. They walked downstairs and said goodnight at their doors. 

When he woke up the following day, his entire body hurt in what could only be dehydration. But the first thing Eddie did instead, was turn on some music. He couldn’t do the silence anymore. It was deafening. 

The clothes were still everywhere too, and he kept telling himself to get it cleaned up, but somehow found himself putting away everything but that. And then, of course, he got tired and needed a break from all the unpacking. The music faded into the background, so Eddie pulled out his guitar to strum along. It was the next best thing to weed.

And that’s when Steve Harrington walked in. 

He was precisely what Eddie imagined a “Steve Harrington” to look like. Neatly styled hair, perfectly fitted clothes, the shock on his face at the sight of Eddie. And then there he was, in his clothes from last night, in a mess of a room. He probably still smelled of booze and weed as he had had no breakfast or a shower. Great first impression. 

The guy came in with half the stuff Eddie had brought, and he couldn’t tell if that meant Steve was even poorer or filthy rich. 

After that short conversation, where they learned nothing about each other, things seemed to hit a dead end. They both kept to their own halves of the room, like prison cellmates, except without the murderous tendencies (yet). And for the first hour, Eddie thought that might be it. After that, they would never speak to each other again except when one had something to complain about the other. 

Then after that hour, he searched for some kind of reason to talk to him, but each attempt felt dumb, and so Eddie fell into silence again. Would it have helped if he knew Steve was in the same boat? Looking for something to start a conversation again, but too awkward to actually speak. Because what do you say to a guy you just met and already living with?

Their saving grace was the sound of knuckles against the door.

‘It’s open!’ they both shouted out at the same time. Vader poked his head in. 

‘Hey, I was just wondering if you guys would want to get some food?’ He directed the suggestion more towards Eddie but then looked over at Steve. ‘I’m Vader, 305.’ 

‘Steve.’

‘Pleasure,’ Vader turned back to Eddie. ‘So what do you say? I’m calling in on everybody. A bit of a team-building, you know?’ 

‘Uhh, yeah, sure why not? Steve?’ 

‘Sure.’ He wasn’t sure if he was being invited, and a group activity concerning the entire floor felt a bit ridiculous, but what else would he do around here? 

‘Ok, cool.’ Vader smiled and closed the door behind him. They could hear his footsteps approaching door 304 and knocking like he had just done for them. 

There was a beat of silence in room 306 before Steve asked: ‘What kind of a name is Vader?’ 

‘Beats me, man. The guy’s crazy.’ But, they both had felt it as soon as they stepped into the building, “crazy” seemed to be a requirement for the inhabitants of Dunent Hall.

the end.

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[choofeyrac]

~1k of chilly morning sneeze fic, for my K//aleidotrope boys as always

Harrison wakes to a room that’s much too cold. He rolls into Drew, burying his face in his chest, hoping not to wake him and hoping that the chill hasn’t made it into his sinuses. 

He’s wrong on both counts. 

“‘yr cold,” Drew mumbles, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him in tight. 

“Sorry,” Harrison whispers, and he’s pretty sure Drew goes immediately back to sleep. Harrison’s sinuses, however, are just beginning to wake up. The prickle starts high in his nose, and it takes its time working its way down. It gives him enough warning to know when to twist back away from Drew, to bring up his hand and—

“p’tchu—“ stifle as hard as he can.

He stays as still as he can after, thinking maybe he won’t disturb Drew too much, but if he’s honest with himself he knows there are more sneezes to come. He does his best to keep his intake of breath silent, and he’s pretty proud when the next sneeze comes out as a quiet,

“ihp’tch.” Unfortunately, it only serves to clarify the tingling, and Harrison’s breaths get more desperate. 

“ihp’tch hp’tch— hh— huh— huhp’tchu!”

“Bless you,” Drew mumbles. 

“Sorry. Heh—eh! ep’tchoo. Sorry.”

Drew soothes a hand over his side. 

“S’okay. Bless you again. You alright?”

“The chill got to me, I’ll be fine though. Didn’t mean to wake you up. Uh— uhp’ischoo.” He doesn’t bother controlling them quite so tightly now Drew’s awake enough to talk. Drew’s hand leaves his ribs, comes up to cup his cheek instead. “Drew—“ He says warningly. 

“Gotta keep you warm,”

“You’re gonna get sneezed on in a second,” he says, and when Drew doesn’t react quickly enough he twists just enough that the stifle avoids him. Drew just strokes his thumb across his sinuses. “Drew— hp’tch.”

“Bless you,” Drew murmurs again. Harrison is pretty sure he hasn’t opened his eyes once since waking up. 

“hp—tch! Drew, I swear— I— I— ap’tchuh!”

Drew laughs, a low rumble. 

“Ihp’tchuh! Ugh, you brought this on yourself.”

“I know.” He says, and then moves his hand, thumb rubbing up and over his nose so he can reach his other cheek. 

“Drew, I— m’gonna— gotta— Drew— ah— aah! Please— hah— you gotta— move— hah’ischhoo! Hah—ah—! ahp’tchoo! Hh— hhh— huh! hp’tch hp’tch hp’Tchoo! Drew—! I can’t— I— hp’tch huh’uhh, uhh— uhp’tischh!” 

And Drew just keeps stroking with his thumb, cupping his hand around all the sneezes. 

“Jesus, I— I— this is all on you, I— ahp’tchuh— why— why are— are you— ahp’ischh— ahp’ischoo!”

Drew’s laugh rumbles through him again. 

“You want a tissue?”

“Please— p— pp’tchuh!”

“Hmm, can you stop sneezing long enough for me to get you one?”

“You’re the— ahp’tchuh! You’re the one making me— making me— sneeze’ah’tchoo!”

He groans, after that one. 

“That sounded satisfying,” Drew says, and he finally leaves Harrison’s nose alone to reach blindly for the box of tissues on their nightstand. 

Harrison is sniffling too much to reply, and he takes the handful of tissues gratefully. 

“It was,” he admits once he’s blown his nose. 

“And now you’re all warmed up,” Drew points out. 

“I sneezed all over you,” Harrison says, embarrassed. 

“You sneezed all over my hand, which I put in front of you, knowing you were sneezy.” Drew points out, and when Harrison just bites his lip, continues, “You sneezed into my hand, which I put there, on purpose, whilst teasing your nose, so I could warm you up and so you could get all those sneezes out of your system now, rather than having them tease you all day.”

“It’s still embarrassing,” Harrison mutters. “I— wait— what are you— what are you doing?”

“Making you sneeze again.”

“Why? Oh—! Oh I’m gonna— that’s— that tickles, I— I— why are— at least you have— hah! Have tissues this time, I— I— hhp’tchee!”

Drew laughs again. 

“That was a cute one.”

“It’s not— not— hhp’tchiew!”

“Not cute? It’s pretty cute.”

“Oh, my god, you— hahp’tchishh! What are you— hapt’chishh!”

“I’m probably going to have to make you sneeze until you stop being embarrassed about it,” Drew says conversationally, as he continues to tickle Harrison’s nose. 

“Hapt’chishoo.”

“Seeing as you can’t help it.”

“Hah’chischhh.”

“Doesn’t seem right for you to feel bad.”

“I— I— jesus how are you doing this— ah’chischoo ah’chischoo! C— c— c’tiew!”

Drew all but coos. “That was so tiny.”

“c’tchuh c’tch— c’tch c’tchah! Ah— ah—! Hah!! Hah! Ha-ah’tchoo! Haht’choo! Ha’aschoo!”

“There, doesn’t that feel better?” Harrison is still getting his breath back. “Bet it felt amazing.”

“Maybe,” Harrison allows, dabbing at his nose. 

“Only maybe?”

“Ugh, fine, yes. It’s nice to not be tickly any more.”

Drew gives a victorious hum. 

“You’re such a dork when you’re half asleep.”

“Mm, just think about how much more I’d have made you sneeze if I was really going for it.”

“Jesus, Drew.”

“Next time.”

“What—“

“Shh. Come cuddle me again.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Harrison says, but he does twist back fully into his arms, even if he’s keeping the tissues near just in case. 

Drew doesn’t say much else, just sleepily pats his arm. 

“Thanks, though.” Harrison thinks to say. 

“For what?”

“I dunno. Not being grossed out, I guess?”

“You can’t help it.”

“Yeah, especially when you’re making me sneeze,” Harrison feels obliged to point out, and Drew chuckles. 

“You’re just making me tempted to do it again. But genuinely, I don’t care. You’re cute. Your sneezes are also cute. And they feel good for you to let out. I just… like helping with that. Always want you to feel good.”

“You are going to be so judgey of yourself for saying that later,” Harrison smirks, mostly to hide the fondness. 

“Shh,” Drew tells him, pulling him in even closer. Harrison doesn’t fight, nestling in and burying his face in his chest. He’s pretty sure Drew goes back to sleep; he all but does the same himself. Now his nose is behaving, there’s nothing he likes more than to be curled up with Drew like this. Drew’s body heat seeps into him, and though he can still feel the cold of the room on the back of his neck, now it doesn’t bother him one bit.