#but I do think... by the time I reached late middle early high school

[cookinguptales]

not really sure how I envisioned my adult future when I was a kid, but I suppose "lying in bed reading about minoan human sacrifice while eating ice cream" isn't too bad

[justliketoreadsowhat]

Not So Simple 𖣊

𖣊𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐞

𖣊𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: 𝐈 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐝𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐈 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬.

---------------------------------

College is hard enough, early morning classes, late nights spent studying, countless hours of being on campus, eyes glued a to computer screen with a sore back and raging migraines. So why do you do it? Why not get a full-time job after high school, move out on your own, and try to make good meaning of your life? It could all be so simple, yet you chose the not so simple route.

“Class will resume Wednesday, make sure you all of our sections 1-4 and come back ready to discuss” The chirpy behavior seemed so painful to bear at 8 am on a cold Monday morning. A cringing realization that this profession will soon become your reality, teaching.

Standing to your feet with all the feeling rushing back through your veins that had fallen asleep hours ago due to inactivity. Slinging on your bookbag slowly making your way into the empty halls of the Education Department. The fresh morning sun beamed through the tinted windowpanes with a poorly faded decal of the infamous UConn Husky mascot plastered in each corner. By the time the rusted elevator reached the lower level, there were exactly 10 minutes left to arrive to your next class “Identity and Communication”

This was another hard stop in the hard you’ve solemnly adjusted to after finding out you had to take a graduate class as an elective in order to graduate next year. Nevertheless, the class only had an underwhelming total of 15 students with little to no excitement. Granted it was only week 3, yet it felt like years had passed.

Within 5 minutes to spare, you sat in the middle row as you do every day, causally observing the students dragging their feet through the doorway. The professor never really left his desk unless he felt like actually teaching us something besides numerous PowerPoints. As the slideshow went along you found yourself getting lost in the coloring app you used religiously on your iPad, since nobody sat behind you, there was no use in hiding it. Picking out your next color carefully, a cold breeze moved past you nearly sending your Apple Pencil flying to the ground. Looking up in annoyance you were met with nothing. Swiftly turning your head just enough to look behind you, you were met with a pair of blue irises glossed over, accompanied by a shade of purple glasses that framed her face to near perfection.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your uh.. coloring thing” her eyes darting to your screen on full display. A small smirk formed across her face “What app is that tho? I might need to download it”

“It’s called um- Color Rouge” answering softly to hide the sheer panic rising through your blood. Out of all the years you’ve attended UConn, not once have you seen their star-studded player, at least not this up close and personal before. Social media doesn’t give her enough justice.

“Bet say less” She nodded, sitting back in her seat, spreading her long legs, knees slightly pushing the back of your seat. Her slim veiny hands pulled out an iPad similar to yours, except hers was much bigger, fitted with a lavender-purple case. You didn’t dare let your eyes wander further down, shifting your attention back to the front of the class, no longer interested in the content being shown on the screen, or your “coloring thing”

How have you never seen her before in this class?

You’re not the greatest when it comes to paying attention but surely you wouldn’t miss someone like Paige.

An airdrop notification appeared on your screen, the name PB starred at the top. Slicing your thoughts in half as you accepted it without thinking twice. The notes app opened as it read “do you happen to have a charger?"

Your eyebrows raised as you searched through your bag, praying you had remembered to grab it this morning. Eventually grabbing the cord that was accustomed by bright pink protectors to keep it from tangling, Turning back to her figure you placed the charger in her hands, softly grazing her fingertips unconsciously.

Paige's eyes wandered across your face shameless before dropping her gaze to the cord "Everything's gotta be pink huh?"

She had already observed your pink iPad case, pink phone case, pink water bottle, and of course, your pink bookbag. Usually your nails would be coated in a shade of pink but, in honor of the fall season, you decided to go with a deep shade of mocha brown with gold accents swirled on your ring fingers.

"Yea I love pink, you don't like pink?" you prodded in confusion, more so amused by her way of conversing so easily with a stranger.

"No I like pink but, Ion think I'll ever achieve your level of favoritism", I appreciate it though"

Her tone was hard to read, you couldn't tell if she was being smart or if it was just her. To make matters worse, you kinda liked it.

"You're welcome, y'know you could've just asked me instead of sending me a note" you voiced, now completely facing her.

"Nah there's no fun in that" shaking her head “I jus wanna make sure I keep your attention pretty girl”

Oh She had it, easily.

This was going to be a long semester

[trippinsorrows]

with me + part one

authors note: well, i got some type of writers block working on two other RR wip's so opened a new google doc and ended up with this. prob gonna be 3 parts, maybe 4. there's an almost five year time jump after this one, can you guess why? also, joe's wife is an oc, not galina.

first time posting my roman writings on here and trying not to freak out tbh

warnings: angst, infidelity, language, suggestive content

song inspo: with me by destiny's child

word count: 4,000

You know that assignment everyone at some point in their education where they research what they want to be when they grow up and share it with the whole class for a grade? Yeah, that big mammoth of a question that somehow you’re supposed to have confidently answered before even reaching double digits.

That was always super easy for you.

From as far back as you can remember, you wanted to be a teacher. It took until you were in middle school, almost high school for you to settle on an elementary school teacher, college for a specific grade. But, the teaching profession always called to you.

You chalk it up to your grandmother, undoubtedly one of your favorite people in this entire world. She was also an elementary school teacher who taught until she was expectedly called home when you were 14. Some part of you wonders if you’ve never even allowed yourself to entertain any other professions because of her loss. She was your best friend, and following in her footsteps was wanted but also felt somewhat necessary. Like you had to in order to honor her and her legacy.

A couple years into your career, you still think about that, how you’ve known from such a young age what you wanted to do with your life. Well, one part. 

In other areas, maybe the most important areas, you were lost as all of the outdoors. Mostly in one area, if you’re being honest, and truthfully, it’s not even what you want in as much as it is how you get there. The path is relatively simple: find a man, fall in love, get married, have babies, live happily ever after.

It’s such a stereotypical trajectory, but one you’ve also envisioned for yourself since your late teens. You’d gotten partying all out of your system during the early college years, somewhat in high school as well. Now in your mid 20s, soon to be late 20s, all you want to do is prepare to eventually settle down. Sooner rather than later.

And the issue isn’t even having no prospects. You have a prospect, he’s just unavailable. 

Because he’s already fucking married.

But can you even call him a prospect when that implies there’s some chance? Because there’s zero chance. You know this. You know this very well, too well. So why you still allow him into your bed and inside of you is beyond you. Yes, the sex is out of this world, but you desire more than that. Maybe not at first, but almost three years deep into this arrangement, most definitely.

You still think back to your first meeting.

Your best friend won a contest that not only granted her two front row tickets to a Smackdown show but backstage passes as well. You met so many wrestlers that night, some you grew up watching on TV as the little tomboy that you were as a kid. But, it was one wrestler in particular: tall, muscular, hair more beautiful and silky than any silk press your beautician mother could ever style, that changed your life. Whether for better or worse remains to be seen. 

He was attractive, extremely, possibly one of the most beautiful men you’d ever met. But, the attraction was short-lived when you spotted the wedding band on his left hand. You’d be lying if you tried to say that was when the attraction sizzled out. It diminished, but it was still there. Still, you didn’t think much of it, that was until you received a call from a number on your phone that you didn't recognize. 

Why you even accepted the call is still a mystery. You never answered random calls, yet that one was an exception, an exception that resulted in you having an unexpected phone conversation with Roman fucking Reigns. He explained that he got your number from your friend who’d exchanged contact information with a wrestler she met that night as well. They were messing around too, that much you knew. And good for her. He, unlike Roman, was not married and therefore free to fuck around.

The conversation lasted much longer than it needed to, especially given the flirtatious nature it quickly took on. It was wrong, you knew this well, very well. He took vows, but you were also aware of those vows. And heat no point pressured you into anything, you could have cut it off. Flirtatious he was, but forceful he was not.

The conversations increased in frequency and length over a matter of weeks that turned into months, and before you knew it, your day started and ended with either a text or phone call from the wrestler. 

A small part of you knew that it would eventually escalate into more, a man like him seemed like he needed more. But, you stupidly tried to tell yourself that when that time came, you would remain strong and draw the line in the sand with just communication. Even if it was just as wrong as anything else.

It was a silly thought. 

Your resolve was weak.

You absolutely did not need to accept his invitation to fly you out to one of his shows, and you damn sure didn’t need to allow him to take you back to his hotel where your legs ended up wrapped around his waist as he pounded into you—among other things—until the early hours of the morning.

The days after that were rough. You felt absolutely disgusted with yourself. It was one thing to flirt with a married man, but it was an entirely different thing to fuck a married man. He wasn’t yours. He belonged to someone else. He had a life with some other woman. You had no right to insert yourself into that union, so you decided to sever contact with him, deleting his number from your phone and shoving the experience in the ‘biggest regret of your life’ box with no intention of reopening it.

Unfortunately for you, Roman, Joe, as he asked you to call him, was a persistent bastard.

You ignored his texts, so he called. You ignored his calls, so he texted. You ignored both, and this motherfucker showed up at your goddamn door. There were multiple times you could have and should have ended things, that being another perfect opportunity. If you told him to leave that night, not allowed him into your apartment, he would have listened. He was stubborn and resolute but also respectful. If you told him to leave, really told him, he would have done so.

But, you didn’t. You allowed him into your place and similar to the last time you were in his presence, ended up spread out on your bed with him balls deep inside you until you couldn’t feel your lower half. 

Now, fast forward three years later, not much has changed. You two don’t communicate quite as much in the day, and his visits are more spread out given the company’s current efforts at pushing him as the new face of the company. But, that doesn’t stop his visits to come see you and flights he puts you on to come see him, both of which always end with him leaving your legs jelly and throat raw.

All the while his wife sits at home unaware of her husband’s consistent residence between your legs.

The thought alone makes you sick, revolted at yourself, at how you’ve allowed yourself to reach this point in life. Closer to 30 than 20 and going on 3 years of being a mistress to a married man, a man who can never give you the future you want yet refuse to let go. 

Not that you’d ever allow yourself to really acknowledge why. 

That’s….that’s just too much.

________

Pillow talk was just something that naturally happened between the two of you. It made sense given that your relationship started out with just talking. He seemed interested in knowing more about you, about your likes and dislikes. He shared his as well. You weren’t beyond admitting that Joe was insanely easy to talk to, the flow of conversation always natural, never forced. There never seemed to be a dry spot between you two. 

And whether it was an innate ability to pick up on the emotions of others or just his, you could always tell when something was bothering him, could see when he came to you with a burden he didn’t want to discuss.

Not that that stopped you from asking. If he declined to talk about it, you respected it, didn’t push. But, more often than not, he would end up sharing things with you, mostly concerns regarding his career.

It seemed he visioned one thing for himself, while Vince McMahon saw another. He felt frustrated at times, especially when the fanbase started pushing back more. He never admitted as such, but you could see it hurt his feelings. How could it not? Kayfabe or not, Joe was still a real person with real feelings, regardless of the role he played.

And at some point, his visits to see you stopped always involving sex. That happened majority of the time, but there were occasions when he just seemed like he needed someone to be around, a distraction, someone to talk to. 

Someone like you.

“Come on.” You jumped up off the couch and offered your hand that he looked at with disinterest. “Don’t make me drag your big ass. It’ll probably break my back.” He lifts his brow, and you roll your eyes. “Joe, come onnnn.”

“Where are we going?” He finally asks, all the while sighing heavily and standing up. Though unnecessary at this point, he still takes your hand. You try not to think too much of the gentle squeeze he gives.

“To my kitchen.” 

Glancing over, he gestures with his thumb. “The place that’s like 3 feet away.”

You suck your teeth and shove against him. “Don’t be an ass. We’re gonna bake cookies.”

“Bake?”

“That’s what I said.” Though clearly skeptical, he follows you into the kitchen and watches as you start gathering supplies. “I spent a lot of summers with my grandma, and whenever either of us were having a bad day, she’d take us into the kitchen and we’d bake chocolate chip cookies. She’d always say there’s nothing a good chocolate morsel can’t cure.” 

Reflecting on those memories, so fond and cherished, brings a despondent smile to your face.

His eyes fall on you, sensing the sudden sadness. “You miss her.”

“Every day….” Shaking your head, you make a conscious effort to not make this about you and your grief. “Now, we need music.” You settle on some random “cookout” playlist that aids in setting the playful mood. To your surprise, yet not surprise, Joe keeps up without struggle. He's a fast learner, easily following along to your detailed instructions and explanations. Things get messy at times, as one does when baking, but it only causes the two of you to share laughter. Especially when you ‘accidentally’ get flour on each other. For you, it was an accident. His was definitely intentional. 

Still, between the laughter, light conversation, and New Edition serving as backdrop, it’s a sweet moment. 

“And now we wait,” you announce, plopping down on the sofa. “Wrestler by day, baker by night. Who’d a thunk it?”

He chuckles. “I never knew you could cook.”

At that, you nearly choke on the water bottle you’d grabbed off the coffee table. “Me? Cook? No. Not at all. There’s a reason every thanksgiving, my family only asks me to bring the drinks. My mom is the cook. Grandma was the baker. I can make cookies and a few select items. That’s it.”

You can still hear your grandma’s voice in the back of your head, chiding you for never allowing your mom to teach you how to cook. It just never garnered your interest, even when they swore up and down you’d never find a husband without knowing how.

Maybe they were right.

He joins you in the living room, settling on the other end of the sofa. “Maybe I could teach you then.”

His words—and offer—suprise you. “You can cook?”

“Don’t look so surprised.” He rolls his blue eyes. Some days you love the contacts, others you hate them. Today is a love day. They make his beauty even more exquisite. “Because of the big age difference between me and my siblings, it was just me and my mom a lot of times. They were either out and about or had either moved out. She’d ask me to help her out in the kitchen, and I picked up on a couple things.”

“You’re a fast learner.” That much is very obvious, in several areas of his life. “Was it ever hard? Like, not really having them around?”

He seems to think about her question before answering. “Yes and no. The twins moved to Florida when I was like three, and we became close instantly. It was like suddenly having two new brothers. Obviously, they didn’t live with us, so they weren’t always around, and those times were hard, I guess. But the older we got, the more we did together.”

The Usos. Also wrestlers trying to make names for themselves. He really does hail from a legendary dynasty. “I get that. It was just me and my mom, and she worked a lot to support us, so that’s why I spent so much time with my grandma. And I loved it, but sometimes it got lonely not really having siblings.” You look over at him, studying this massive specimen of a man who seems so unsure of himself right now, unsure of his future. He’d hinted at such during their prep, but you bookmarked the comment to revisit. “It’s all gonna work out, you know.”

His gaze is on you, partially disinterested, mostly in disagreement. Joe knows what you're referring to. He chuckles, darkly, “you sound sure.”

“I am,” you counter calmly. Moving to sit on your knees, you continue, “no matter what it takes, you make them respect you. You can do it, and when you finally find your footing, you’ll be one of the best to ever do it. Mark my words.” 

You’ve never been one to build up false hopes in anyone, far too familiar with the sting of disappointment. So every word leaving your mouth drips with sincerity. Joe is so much more than a “pretty face” or someone who got lucky by being born into a wrestling dynasty with a golden spoon in his mouth. He’s worked his ass off, you see how he works his ass off, so the last thing you’d want to witness is him become his own worst enemy by getting too into his head.

“You’ll see. They boo now, but pretty soon they’ll be cheering.” Moving to your knees, you lift your arms in a theatrical display. “Roman, Roman, Roman.” You yelp when his strong arms pull you into his lap, legs spread on either side of his thick thighs. “Would you let me hype you up? Like, damn.”

His smile, so beautiful and genuine, warms your soul. His spirits are lifted, and that’s all that matters. Joe’s hands are on your hips, palms massaging you through your shorts. You move your arms around his neck, resting on his strong shoulders “Thank you.”

It’s at this moment, you foolishly allow yourself to wonder. Wonder what it would be like for this to be the norm, for him to always return to your place when he has time off or in between shows. Wonder what it would be like to consistently be this safe space for him, to be in his corner and not just in the shadows, but in the light. To be supporting him ringside. To be his.

And for a second, you pretend. You pretend that you are his, and he’s yours. That this is your man, and you’re his girl. Just the two of you. Nobody else.

But the comedown from that is devastating, like a boulder sitting on your chest, a butcher knife to your heart. Because he isn’t yours. He never was, and he never will be. 

Mood sullen, you lower your arms to separate yourself. “I should…” You clear your throat, climbing off of him. The air is suddenly too stuffy, the room too small. You need space. “I should go check on the cookies.” 

Joe’s not stupid, far from it. You know that he has to pick up on your 180 in mood, yet he doesn’t pursue you, doesn’t ask questions, and you’re thankful for that. You need to not be around him right now, not so close, not so connected, not so in love.

You need to let him go. ________

“I can’t do this anymore.” 

Joe’s in the midst of sliding his shirt over his head, sitting on the edge of the bed when your voice, low and quiet, stops him mid movement. “What?”

“I said.” You blow out a big breath, unsure why your chest suddenly feels so heavy. “I can’t do this anymore.”

At that, he angles his body so that he can look at you, assess your face. He’s a big eye contact person. “What are you talking about?”

Irritation piques. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Joe.” Gesturing between the two of you, you kick the blankets off and quickly reach for your t-shirt that got discarded last night. Being naked in front of him suddenly feels uncomfortable. “This. It’s done.”

He pauses for a second and then shakes his head, resuming his dressing. “Okay.”

His tone is dismissive, like he doesn’t believe you. Like he thinks you’re playing around. Of course he would be in one of those moods, where he’s more irritable, less receptive and fucking stubborn. “I’m serious.”

“I’m not doing this shit with you right now.” Joe gets up and continues dressing himself, prompting you to climb out of bed and move in front of him. 

He can’t avoid his way out of this. You won’t allow it. It’s time to finally rip the bandaid off. 

You’ve sat on this for the last two weeks, since he last left your apartment and you realized you’d stupidly allowed yourself to fall for this man. Fall for a man who walks around with a wedding ring on his left hand, who’s always had that wedding ring from the moment you met him. You’re not upset with him, not as much as you’re upset with yourself.

You grew up the product of an affair, felt the stinging pain of being rejected by a parent whose selfishness resulted in the creation of life, a life he wanted no part of. Seen how your mom literally begged your piece of shit father to be in your life, to play some role. Heard how he cruelly rejected her, rejected you, calling you your mother’s bastard. A mistake.

It devastated you so deeply that you still can’t really talk about it without getting emotional. 

And yet, you idiotically found yourself playing the same role you used to judge your mother for: the other woman. 

It’s a role you stepped in, and one you must now step out of.

“There’s nothing to do.” You run your hands over your face and shake your head. Choosing to have this conversation at almost 4 o’clock in the morning probably wasn’t the best move, but you also know that if you give yourself more time, you’ll find a reason not to do it. And you need to do this. “You have a wife, Joe. A whole ass woman who loves you and would probably let you fuck her just as much as you like to fuck me. Go be with her, and if not her, find someone else, cause I won’t be that for you. Not anymore.” 

You’re not exactly sure what part of what you just said registered with him, but it’s obvious something did by the change of tone he takes. “Where is this coming from?”

“It’s coming from where it should have come a long time ago,” you answer, crossing your arms over your body. “This was never right, and I refuse to partake in it anymore. I won’t be your whore anymore.”

You didn’t expect hurt to flash in his beautiful eyes nor for him to move closer to you, that hurt intensifying when you back away. He can’t touch you. You can’t allow that, because all it takes is only touch, one longing gaze, and you’ll be putty in his hands. This has to end. “Is that really what you think you are to me?”

“I don’t know what I am to you, Joe,” you answer, honestly. It’s something you’ve battled back and forth with for nearly three years. Just what is it about you that keeps him coming back, keeps him in your bedroom, inside of you. At face value, it’s the sexual compatibility between you. Below the surface level though, there’s maybe more. You’ve never allowed yourself to venture there, and you’re certainly not about to right now. You know how you feel about him, but you refuse to really ask yourself how he feels about you. “And truthfully, it doesn’t matter, cause it doesn’t change anything.”

“So, that’s just it?” His voice is wounded, handsome face painted into a mixture of scowl and a frown. “Almost three years, and you want to throw it all away, for what?”

“For what…..Joe, you are married. You have a whole wife at home. Whatever issues you have that cause you to step out, work that shit out. Learn how to be with her. Cause I’m not doing it any more. I—I can’t.” Emotion imbues your voice toward the end, and you hate that shit. You don’t want him to see, to know, how much this has been eating you up as of lately. “I’m gonna be 30 in a few years. I want to be married. I want to have a family. I deserve that, and I’ll never have it as long as I’m messing with you, so I’ve gotta let you go.” You swallow the deep lump in the back of your throat. “And you’ve gotta let me go.” 

This time, this time you can see the part that wounds him, that digs into his chest. You’ve gotta let me go. 

Joe is fast, fast enough to move directly in front of you, large hands holding your face. He says your name, desperate almost. “Tell me what to do, tell me what you want, and I’ll do it. Just….” He stops, and you close your eyes, refusing to see if it’s his own emotions coming up. You can barely handle your own cascade of feelings right now and refuse to take on his. “I can’t lose you.”

What you want…..

What you want is for him to never leave. What you want is for him to stay with you, to be with you. What you want is for him to have never met Jadah, never married her, never committed his life to her. 

What you want is for him to be yours and only yours, but what you want….is also what you can never have. 

“I—I want you to leave, Joe.” The words burn your lips, scorch your throat, ache your soul. “And this time….don’t come back.”

You can’t bring yourself to open your eyes, to see the result of your heartbreaking, even if honest request. It’s because you know seeing him hurt will only cause your resolve to crumble, and you can’t have that. You have to be strong, have to be the woman your mother couldn't.

So, you remain there, remain silent as he steps away from you, his touch vanishing. There’s such an emptiness in his wake.

It’s only when you hear the front door of your apartment shut that you finally feel it, the caving of your stomach, the heavy lump move from the back of your throat, the release of the loud sob you didn’t realize you’d been keeping at bay. 

It’s when you finally allow yourself to feel all of the emotions of a woman who just told the only man she’s ever loved to leave. 

If only you knew his departure was just the beginning of the rest of your life.

[haikyuusandhotchocolate]

lowk a long one, lowk hate it.

Akaashi smells like clean sheets and linen. A subtle soothing scent that wraps you in warmth when you’re close to him. One that smoothes over your nerves and lulls you into relaxation.

He's smelled like it since middle school because if there's one thing to know about Akaashi, it's that he loved the constants in life. He was like the walking embodiment of the saying 'If it's not broke, don't fix it.'

And so his scent became nostalgic, an encapsulation of every high school memory—good and bad. To you, Akaashi's scent itself was the relaxed evenings when he had no practice and late nights spent cramming for early morning exams. Everything about your life before graduation was tied to him in that way.

After graduation the two of you had gradually lost touch, your own lives pulling you away from each other. Intern, the cocoon of comfort you'd relied on for so long was now gone.

You'd smelt, what felt like, every perfume, cologne and detergent on the planet to find it but you never could. No matter how similar the scent was, there was always something missing.

Yet here you were again, on a late October evening at yet another cologne bar looking for that same nostalgic scent. Akaashi's scent.

"You know I think I'll just let it go," you sighed, handing the woman behind the counter the test strips back. "I'm sure they'll come out with an even better scent soon anyway." You gave her a half smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. She laughed lightly.

"Are you sure Miss? We can keep looking if you'd like."

You shook your head, "No, it's alright, really, I've kept your attention for far to long as it is." you responded apologetically. You just wanted to go home at this point. It had been a long week at work, with a pot of brewing office drama that seemingly never ended and you were more than ready to roll yourself up in blankets and relax.

With a final tap of your fingers against the display glass, you pushed your body off the glass and turned, already thinking of the promise of hot tea, and fuzzy blankets that awaited you at home as you took a step away from the cologne counter. Enamored with your thoughts, you don't notice the looming figure attempting to weave past you until you've walked straight into them.

A soft gasp escapes you in surprise as your bodies collide, knocking the breath from your lungs and leaving your face practically buried in this stranger's chest. Your mind is pulled back to reality as you stumble back, pushing yourself away from the stranger in an attempt to put distance between the two of you once more.

"I'm so sorry-" the apology quickly begins to spill from your lips, but you're quickly cut off by the stranger.

"It's alright." Their words come as a deep familiar rumble, that makes your eyes widen and your head spin because you'd know that voice anywhere. Your neck snaps up to look at his face and you freeze. Your mouth opens and closes for a minute as you try and find your voice. The man that you had wandered in here because of, someone whose company you were sure was all a distant memory now was now standing in front of you once again.

It takes you a moment but finally, you're able to gather enough of yourself to at least muster up a singular word. It's all you can seem to manage in your state of bewilderment as you look up at him.

"A-Akaashi?" It comes out as more of a question than a statement, as if you can't believe your eyes, your voice just barely above a whisper, so low you aren't even sure he's able to hear you but by the way his eyes flick down to meet yours you know you're mistaken.

Akaashi has always had a good poker face, but something about knowing him for such a long time made his emotions an open book to you. Even after so many years, this moment is no exception. His expression doesn't change, not a single twitch out of place except for the slightest twitch down at the corner of his mouth, but you don't miss that detail, nor do you miss the way his eyes just barely widen as he recognizes you and surprise washes over him.

Then you hear his voice for a second time as he says your name with that same confused tilt at the end of it that you had used. It sends another wave of surprise over you, although this time it doesn't daze you the way hearing his voice had the first time.

You nod at the sound of your name as if to say 'Yes, that's me'.

You each take a quiet moment to take each other in and you begin to commit each detail about him to memory.

Akaashi had visibly put on some muscle since you last saw him, the print of his honed arms vaguely visible from under his thick turtle neck sweater. He'd let his hair grow out and a pair of round-lensed glasses sat atop his nose. You thought they fit him nicely. His features seemed sharper, more defined, a harsh contrast from the soft look you remembered him with. He was no longer the childish high school boy you remembered.

"It's been so long." He mused quietly.

"It has," you affirmed his statement, your mind still racing as you looked at him.

There's a stretch of silence where his eyes are on you, patient and waiting for your words. He can see the gears turning in your head, and he watches as you open your mouth as if to say something, then pause hesitantly, and close it again. Still, he waits for you as you try to find the right words that express to him just how much you've missed him and how much you've thought about him since the two of you parted ways. The words don't come though and ultimately you pursue your lips and settle for small talk.

"How have you been?" you finally ask.

"I've been good." He answers, "You?"

"I've been good as well." There's another stretch of awkward silence after your response. Akaashi's eyes drift to the floor awkwardly, and then to whatever it may be behind you, trying to avoid awkward eye contact.

"Do you want to get a drink?" you blurt, and the way his eyes are darting back to you to meet yours has your face heating up, your cheeks flushing a light shade of pink with embarrassment.

His answer takes a moment to come, but there's no hesitation in his voice when he finally speaks, "I'd like that." He agrees. The words make you smile a bit, and you look back up to meet his eyes. His own eyes crinkle at the edges, indicating the start of a small smile of his own and as if with a mind of its own, he reaches out, placing a hand on the top of your head and gently ruffling your hair the way he used to back in middle-school.

You laugh swatting at his hand as you begin to walk past him, towards the exit, and he follows closely behind with a small chuckle of his own.

And as you two exit the shop, beginning to make your way to a nearby bar, settling into an old, and comfortable rhythm of soft conversation and sweet laughter.

A light breeze blows through your hair, carrying traces of the same familiar scent of clean sheets and linen. You take a deep breath in and suddenly you're back to those cozy Sunday afternoons, huddled in the corner of Akaashi's room and wrapped in a bundle of his blanket, while he makes tea downstairs.

Your eyes flick back to him, watching his lips move as he spoke, and the way his hair ruffled in the wind, and the curve of his nose, and the edge of his jaw. Everything felt right again.

[sleep-0-deprived]

Male yosano x Male reader, their first date and male yosano being male reader’s gay awakening.

Male Yosano x male reader first date~! (kinda short but I hope you like cause I had fun writing it) ૮꒰๑´ ᵕˋ๑꒱ა

WC:. 930

Tags: just mostly tooth rotting fluff, picnic dates, sexuality realization, first time boyfriends, vulnerable male reader ‹𝟹

A/N: I actually really liked this! I don’t do much fluff but every one needs some fluff in their lives ⋆｡‧˚ʚ 🍒ɞ˚‧｡⋆

You sat on a subway train, sunlight streaming into your window shining next to where you sat. You kept running the thumb pad over your thigh trying to think about something else other than the fact you got asked out on a date by your purple haired co worker— well maybe it’s not even a date? He never specified that. What if it’s not a date and you were just reading it all wrong?

All you could think about was “is this a date or not! Do I want it to be a date?” You started over thinking everything that could happen, everything you wanted to happen. Feeling sick in your gut like you swallowed butterfly’s. The thought of this not being a date made your heart flair and swell before clenching up with sadness making you ready to burst like a water balloon being thrown.

Before anymore thoughts could fizz out the train had made its stop, standing up blank minded like a zombie walking past all of the other passengers getting off and onto the platform taking a deep breath in of japans spring air. The smell of baked goods at the cafe around the corner- the smell of the ripe peach trees on the outer edge of the city somehow felt innocent to you.

Then you saw him, Yosano standing with a smile at the other end of the platform holding a beige basket and a bouquet of perfectly bloomed daisy’s with cherry blossoms for accent setting a pink and white theme. “I hope I’m not late Yosano” a sheepish smile graced your face standing in an average pair of jeans and a light colored sweater.

“You’re fine [name], I was just early is all!” The purple haired man just smiled at you idly before handing you the flowers “I didn’t know what flowers you’d like so I just got the ones that reminded me of you most” taking the flowers from his hand as he guides you out of the train station area

Walking down the side walk of Yokohama with the sun hanging midway in the sky above whilst the clouds flowed by, Yosano’s hand holding the basket of the assorted food while reaching another hand over to hold yours. You feel giddy inside and embarrassed too as he makes a turn taking you into an older looking park.

The park was well kept but not pristine, a mother and daughter on a bench while a dog owner played with his dog but Yosano knew the perfect little spot for the two of you. Down a narrow little path behind the park where a bunch of grown up vines and tall weeds stood he’d pull you along to a secluded spot by the river bay sitting next to a tall oak tree just out of view from the rest of the park.

“This is a nice spot” you try to start a conversation and get your mind off of the internal panic you were having, Yosano putting down a blanket on the grass for the two of you with before sitting his picnic basket down in the middle taking a seat next to it and looking up at you “yeah, I remember in high school I used to go to this park a lot, when I found this spot it became my own little sanctuary”

“Sorry if this seems random, but what exactly is this?..what are we even?” You blurt out unable to take it feeling on edge looking at Yosano when you sit down on the blanket watching him silently when he sits right across from you. I mean sure you and him work

Closely together, ear lunch in the armed detective agency together, share sideway glances from your cubical when no one can see, but that didn’t mean anything right? You always thought of it as an admiration for your work senior but you couldn’t deny the thought of being more felt comforting.

“Well it’s a date obviously, and as for what are we, I hope by the end of the day you’ll say you’re my boyfriend” the purplette says with a confident smile while opening up the picnic basket and getting all the food he packed out. A trey of rice balls and various small sandwiches sitting on trees when he sits them on the top of the picnic basket and sits them between the two of you.

“I’ve never been with a man before Yosano, I don’t even know if I like men….but something about you makes me go crazy” you whisper out in return looking at him while reaching for a rice ball and taking a bite silently not knowing you just described a crush to him. “Well whatever we are or aren’t, I’d like to be something with you and I’m willing to take as long as we need to work [name]”

Yosano placed his hand on top of the hand resting in your lap and rubs his thumb over the knuckle quietly comforting you and being calm about the confusion. “I think I wanna try dating Yosano, you mean a lot t’me and I think I like you more than friendly” the sound of a small clap came from Yosano.

“We’ll take things slow all right baby? I want you to be comfortable” he coos gently to you just smiling softly and staying close to you for the rest of the time. Conversation after conversation making you forget why you ever doubted it. Yosano has a way of rubbing off his confidence onto you easing your nerves.

“Thank you Yosano”

[blushweddinggowns]

Steddie Drunk Dialing Fluff

Steve Harrington-Munson was probably one of the happiest men to be alive in the modern era. He had the perfect life, against all odds. Because apparently having your late teens and early twenties ruined by demons equated to a fantastic adulthood.

He had it all. A loving family, the best friend/surrogate sister he could ever ask for, and he was married to the love of his life. And okay, yes. That had included some extremely embarrassing revelations and internal meltdowns and... a pretty brutal disownment. But he had figured it all out in the end. And here he was, a decade later with a ring on his finger and a nice hyphenated name. Not to mention how he was basically a trophy husband.

Eddie hadn't wasted a moment of the last decade. A symptom of almost dying it would seem. He went for the GED, gathered the band back up, moved across the country to chase his dreams and play in every shitty dive bar he could until they were discovered. All while dragging Steve along for the ride.

As much as Steve had believed in him, neither of them had been prepared for his music career actually taking off. Especially not to the level it did. It was undeniable that his husband was an A-Lister, despite how universally hated he was by half the country. You don't get many out and proud metal front man who loved parading around his high school sweetheart at every social event he could. But Europe loved him, as did the entirety of gay, rebellious youths world wide.

It was so stupid. There Eddie was, painted as an insane freak who was fake-married. With tabloids running story after story about his secret children, his drug addiction, a wife from another country, anything that they could think of. All while Eddie spent every free moment at Steve's side, always opting for a night in with his baby when given the choice. And when he wasn't doing that, he was busy playing surrogate fun uncle to the kids, who were definitly not kids anymore. But that didn't stop them from all getting together for Dungeons and Dragons once a month, hundreds and hundreds of campaign hours on everyone's belts. And that was his life. Spending time with his family, forcing them on hikes and runs, volunteering, working occasionally to help Robin with her translating work, all while coming home to the sweetest thing that ever existed.

God, did Steve love that man. Reminiscing about the love of his life while he was on tour was not helping his fretful sleep. He just... really had given him everything. He loved him so much in fact that he was only slightly pissed when he was woken up at three a.m. from the phone ringing off the hook.

Steve reached for it blindly, still half-asleep when he mumbled, "Mm-Eds?"

"Steeeeeeeeeevie," Eddie's voice slurred back at him, "Baby booooy. How's my baby boy? I miss my baby boy."

Steve smiled despite himself, yawning into the phone. Eddie was lucky he was so cute, considering how the love of his life who could not remember what time zones were, "He misses you too. And he's a little tired right now babe. What's up?"

"Day drunk," Eddie sighed, "Guys, morning show, mimosas, hotel room to sleep it off. Missing you."

"You won't be missing me for long," Steve softly laughed. Though... hearing his voice was quite the reminder of how cold the bed suddenly felt, "Just... one more week. That's not too long right?"

"Too long!" Eddie groaned, dramatic, "I miss you now. Why can't I see you now? Wait-Can I see you now? Cause planes and trains and-"

"And no," Steve interrupted with a chuckle, "You'd only get me for a few hours before you'd have to leave again."

"Worth it," Eddie mumbled out, his voice a little muffled as he tumbled around in his hotel bed, "Want my baby."

The pathetic tilt to his voice was enough to make Steve's heart clench. God he was too precious. Suddenly a red-eye in the middle of the night for a two hour make-out session didn't sound like such a bad idea. But he could be the strong one for tonight, "You have me sweetheart. Want me to stay on until you fall asleep."

"Yes please," Eddie sighed, "Love your voice. It's so... nice. Like... audible perfume. Like poetry or something."

"Oh baby you are wasted," Steve said as he laid back down, nestling the phone to his ear, "Please tell me you drank some water before laying down?"

"... maybe?"

"Babe."

"I knoooow. Keep nagging me though. I missed that too."

"Is my bitching your bed time story?"

He could hear Eddie nodding, rusting against the fabric, "And it's the best. Keep going?"

Steve rolled his eyes, but he did what he was asked. Saying every silly little grievance he could think of. He whined about how cold it was in bed without him, how Eddie had promised to take out the trash before he left and forgot. Again. How he hated how quiet it was without him, how much he missed hearing his voice trailing in and out of every room.

And Eddie listened, mumbling out a few sleepy m'sorrys and I love yous along the way. Until all Steve could hear was the slow, steady sound of his breathing. But he didn't hang up. Not when that was one of his favorite sounds in the world. And the perfect thing to fall asleep to.

Steve smiled to himself as he closed his eyes, a little amazed that Eddie could still make him feel so loved, from hundreds of miles away.

But one thing was for sure. He still had to be the happiest man on earth.

[astroprinc3]

yapping abt my eene oc bcs i can!

🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆🍓｡˚ 🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆🍓｡˚ 🎸⋆⭒˚｡

reb’s parents (primarily her dad) haves her take martial arts classes (karate)

this causes her to be a light walker and sneak around whenever she wants to

this of course, can be extremely beneficial to the eds’ scams

🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆🍓｡˚ 🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆🍓｡˚ 🎸⋆⭒˚｡

reb thinks she can talk to animals

like actually communicate with them

she sometime crouches down and talks to little insects and rodents; even some domestic animals like dogs and cats

she can sometimes just go like “woof woof? woof woof woof woof!” to a dog and edd & eddy looks at her like “wtf..” while ed is intrigued and is like “well? what’s the animal saying?”

now why does she think she can do this?

she watches/reads LOTS of magic princess and fairy books

reb sort of shares this interest of fantasy with ed, despite their two separate interests clashing with one another (ed’s more masculine monster fantasies and reb’s more feminine magic fantasies)

the two do hang out together sometimes but mostly just to read their little books and graphic novels together as they yap abt what happens in them

despite some of her girly interests, she’s still somewhat of a tomboy

she doesn’t mind getting in less than sanitary situations

and she likes playing football from time to time (she thinks the only rule is throwing the ball, and that’s so much fun to her)

🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆🍓｡˚ 🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆🍓｡˚ 🎸⋆⭒˚｡

reb comes from a successful family

her mom’s a surgeon and her dad’s a high school teacher—they’re two both highly respected and liked people in their work environments

she has 2 older brothers, one just got into culinary school, and plans to become a professional chef and open his own restaurant

the other is a professional boxer

this is the reason behind reb’s more tomboyish personality—she was raised around boys!!

🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆🍓｡˚ 🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆🍓｡˚ 🎸⋆⭒˚｡

reb is definitely one of the guys

whenever eddy is addressing the other eds and reb, he’s just like “alright, boys”

he doesn’t bother to change it to “guys” or “boys and girl”

this is because 1: eddy simply doesn’t care

2: reb doesn’t care

and 3: eddy and the others also sees reb as a “guy” and one of them

🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆🍓｡˚ 🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆🍓｡˚ 🎸⋆⭒˚｡

reb is one of the last one in the girls part of the cast to reach puberty

basically she’s a late bloomer in a family full of early bloomers. how unfortunate!

even in 8th grade, her voice was still pretty much the same as before

health class is always baffling to her

🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆🍓｡˚ 🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆🍓｡˚ 🎸⋆⭒˚｡

her middle name is mallory and her last name is andersen. yea that’s it.

🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆🍓｡˚ 🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆🍓｡˚ 🎸⋆⭒˚｡

final note: me personally I ship reb with ed (rebed) but i don’t mind her being with dee or eddy (rebedd or rebeddy)

🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆🍓｡˚ 🎸⋆⭒˚｡⋆ ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆🍓｡˚ 🎸⋆⭒˚｡

aaaaaand that’s it bc im lazy and i don’t feel like writing anymore. I might add onto this or make another post explaining reb a little more. ok, bai

[shyamanuensis]

The Secret Life of Us - HL Fic.

Angst, death, desires, playing with fire? You've stumbled across the right place. Hogwarts Legacy Character fic - set slightly AU with characters aged up. MDNI. Hope you enjoy xoxo

“Garreth Weasley – you’re a selfish fucking prick!”

The church is dead silent. No pun intended. The last handful of mourners leaving hours ago and yet for some indescribable reason, I can’t bring myself to say goodbye to my best friend. The pesky redhead is finally gone. Our pesky redhead. A cold reminder that life is short – that death is forever. Even though he played with fire, I had always thought Garreth would be the one to outlive us all. As to whether its heaven or hell that his soul has transcended to – I’m sure it’s there causing mischief.

How did we get here though? The funeral of a friend we beloved so dearly? Well – to tell you that, I need to go back a few weeks ago. Back to when life as I knew it or was at least able to comprehend it – was simpler. Funny how back then I knew the safe word to use so that I wasn’t unreasonably fucked over by the universe. Off memory – I think it was a Tuesday…

Tuesday 24th July -

It’s not the shards from the bourbon glass thrown at the kitchen wall that nick my skin but the broken neck of the bottle that follows it from a swift swing. Everett’s drunk – again. He claims time after time that he’s got his vices under control and yet almost every second evening, I come home to the smell of a distillery lingering throughout the apartment. There’s no use in crying in these scenarios. In a melancholy kind of way – I know them all too well. After a sixteen-hour shift on my feet at the hospital doing overtime however, I’m stretched thin and to my mental limits. He’s carrying on, how he usually does, like a banshee about commitment. A commitment to work, a commitment to craft, a commitment to a fulfilling life, a commitment to me him. Funny that – this shit only ever suits him. I’m exhausted and craving caffeine – black, double shot – but the cigarette I can smell coming from the balcony next-door is overpowering and alluring. While Everett continues to pace around the kitchen, fixated on God knows what – carrying on in a rage that would make a sailor blush I slip out of the small, white window in the adjacent dining room that leads to the apartments fire escape.

The late summers afternoon breeze hits me with a sudden wave of relief which for a moment of absolutely bliss while in peace, I let etch down every inch of my skin. Late July was always my favourite time of year. That unique balancing point between the conceding of a blossoming spring and the absence of intensity that autumn storms bring. July has a funny way of reminding me at times, that it takes grace to remain kind when you find yourself the solo protagonist of life’s cruel situations and storylines.

“…she said use your hands and my spare time – we’ve got one thing in common, it’s this tongue of mine.”

The softly sung words pull a small smile to the corners of my lips as from the corner of my eye, I notice Sebastian sitting on his balcony; crossing out and scribbling lines into a tiny notebook he’s got rested on his knee. His voice sounds like a cracking fireplace in the middle of winter and butterscotch candy. It did even when we were back in high school. He hasn’t changed a bit. Well… I mean he has; but that’s a story for another time.

“New song?”, I ask picking at the skin between my fingers. “Mhmm”, he mumbles with a lobsided grin around the cigarette between his lips. “You’re out here rather early. I wasn’t expecting to see you until at least after 5.”

Reaching over from the fire-escape and across the balcony railing, I take the cigarette he’s got loosely slipped between his lips and inhale a drag like my life depends on this one nicotine hit. The stressed chords he strums on the guitar perched in his lap don’t sound quite much like anything, but there’s an undeniable comfort that vibrates off the strings. Back in the day, he’d always practice his silly little love songs that he’d write on me. Our seventh and senior year was definitely interesting.

“Disappointed, are we?” I ask at my earlier than expected presence. “I can go and come back later if you’d like?” “No, no – you could never disappoint me.”

An unconscious, fleeting glance we share is broken by the sound of crockery smashing against the tiled kitchen floor back inside my apartment. The shattering sound makes my body tense and seize. I find myself clutching onto the cigarette in hand as a lifetime to get away from the perpetual hell I’m still living in. Sebastian’s eyes narrow as he glances towards the window I earlier crawled through – a melted chocolate gaze with the promise of both a tender embrace and yet unfathomable despair as he places his guitar down beside him. Notebook knocked down to land on top, he holds his hand out for me to take it. There’s a clear hesitation which brews through the air between us. Like the fine line between precautions and storms we’re use to fogging.

“You know I only come over on Thursdays Seb.” “So…”, he suggested with a shrug, “Let’s start making Tuesdays our thing instead.”

As if I’ve held myself at gunpoint for all the wrong reason, I take Sebastian’s hand and climb over the fire escape onto his balcony. I’m caught by his hands on either side of my waist to assist with keeping my balance, but they do more than just steady me. Without having to ask, he leads me inside the apartment so that I get an escape from what’s going on back next door and within seconds of being within each other’s company, we’ve relapsed into a game of bad habits.

Shoes kicked off in a fumble and shirts thrown to the floor with ease, our lips find each other’s mindlessly. His voice may sound like butterscotch, but he tastes like freshly brewed coffee - grounding. And there’s that mixed hint of menthol nicotine making each kiss refreshingly addictive. It doesn’t take long for the back of my thighs to hit the edge of the couch and we’re falling back into familiar territory. Soft groans pluck themselves from the back of my throat as I feel his weight begin to sink in over me. Assisting me to forget what life was like, just mere minutes ago.

“Am I still seeing you on Thursday?” “Shhhh…”

The light touch of a finger to my lips keeps me from saying anything further as kisses are peppered across the soft dip of my stomach. My body reacts to the familiarity of his touch by arching my back softly; just enough that my waist lifts so that the jeans I’m wearing can be peeled off from my hips. Making themselves comfortable within his brown messy locks, it feels so fucking good to have his hair wrapped around my fingers. Sebastian’s breath searing warm across my skin. An sudden knock at the front door grinds our twenty seconds of bliss to a frustrating halt. I can’t help but think to myself yet say out aloud;

“….this is why we don’t do Tuesdays.”

Pushing Sebastian off me, I roll off the couch in a hurry and keep low to the floor as I grab his shirt off the ground and pull it on with a haste knowing that it’s length will cover everything. The materials soft. Black. Boyfriend material. I brush my hair coyly over one shoulder and comb my fingers through the ends as his sister appears in front of us, having just dropped shopping bags down in the kitchen. Anne’s eyes shift between the both of us – a sort of knowingly sly smirk painting across her lips.

“Have I interrupted something?”

I can feel my heart drumming heavily inside my chest. I’m sure if anyone looked hard enough, they’d see the palpitations through the shirt I’d just slipped into. Chewing roughly at the inside of my cheek, I elbow Sebastian, making it appear to be an accident so that he can interject or add to the current one-sided conversation Anne is having with herself.

“No.”

His answer comes out nonchalantly. Almost a little too casual for my liking.

“I um, just dropped by for some sugar”, I add. Depending on how you interpret what I’ve just said; innuendo or fact – it’s not a lie far from the truth. I consider for a split second to grab my shoes and jeans however quickly realise that the act would snitch us both in, so I leave them where they messily lay on the floor and force a mental sticky note to the side of my head to come back by and grab them later today.

“Thanks for the um sugar, Sebastian.”

Our time together ends as a modest grin is shared between us. As if it’s the only and usual way to leave someone’s apartment; I step back out on the balcony and climb over the railing back onto my apartments fire escape. From what I can see through the window, Everett has passed out on the dining room floor giving me an opportunity to clamber back in without concern. Sebastian’s aftershave that lingers on his shirt is a harsh reminder that I can’t continue on like this and that I have a few choices. One of them – packing my bags to leave. Leaving though means starting again. I’m really not fond of the idea. Maybe self-improvement isn’t the answer I’m seeking though. Perhaps self-destruction is.

Wetting my lips with my tongue and dropping my head back to stare at the ceiling and regain my thoughts; there’s the quiet vibration of my phone ringing on the coffee table that provides me another excuse to temporarily leave my reality. Picking it up to check the caller id, my fingers falter from answer for a few seconds. The ringtone momentarily drilling through me. Through my current insanity.

“Ominis…”, I answer the call, “…what a nice surprise. You never ring.”

Special thank yous to @eva-fitzgerald for putting up with my questions, @writingsoftarnishedsilver for the fic request and @berrysemifreddo for the pictures that assisted in inspiring all this xo

[nowoyas]

koi no yokan 36: cough it out (nishinoya yuu/reader)

First - Prev - Next - M.list 1-30 - M.list 30-60 - Ao3

A/N: when the chapter title got tfb references in it. in other fun news the ellipsus glitch I'm dealing with taught me how to make broken heart emoticons work on ao3.

Summary: Turns out, you can come to a lot of conclusions in the middle of the night while running a high fever. Who knew?

Warnings and Tags: blanket series warnings

Word count: ~2800

[name] to Fukurodani Group Managers!!! at 1:23

[name]: I'm gonna marry him.

~

Eri to Fukurodani Group Managers!!! at 6:07

Eri: wait no come back

Eri: which him

Eri: [name]-chan which him

Yukie: please say libero

Mako: PLEASE say libero

Yachi: nishinoya-san said when he left yesterday that he was gonna go talk to her :)

Shimizu: it's definitely nishinoya

~

[name] to Fukurodani Group Managers!!! at 12:15

[name]: [image attached. Image description: a thermometer whose display has turned red. The temperature reads 38.9 degrees Celsius.]⁵¹

[name]: No follow up questions at this time.

~

Kaori to Fukurodani Group Managers!!! at 12:43

Kaori: WHICH HIM [NAME]-CHAN

~

You truly hate being sick.

It's got little to do with the symptoms, even. You can wait out a fever, you can survive some sneezes and some ugly coughs. It's the thought of the morning you missed, too busy sleeping off a cold you didn't know you had until you woke up. In the silent house, you hallucinate thoughts of Noya waiting outside this morning for you, being forced to give up when it got too late to make it to practice on time. Noya, his mind racing with worry that somehow things weren't better after last night.

The time you take to make yourself soup is spent worrying over it, convincing yourself not to text, not to reassure unless he reaches out. You don't even have the guarantee that he actually waited, after all—just a picture of the baby sleeping in the empty food bowl and the caption he's not ready for the day yet.

Instead of texting him, you set your mind to work. In order to recover faster and be useful again, you may be forced to hold back on any more housework than necessary, but you can think, so you lounge in your pajamas—which happen to be the clothes you borrowed from Noya yesterday—and you try to think your way back into life's good graces.

The thing is, isn't it, that people aren't just gonna forgive you for your bullshit just because you're cool-ish with Noya now. You saw it yesterday, in Satsuki's side-eye. You've seen it in the volleyball club, the way the other guys studied you like they were searching for answers. Not hostile, but certainly not approving, either. You don't imagine that clinging onto this relationship with Asuka will have done you any favors, either. So: be useful. Do good things. Give them a reason to like you.

This leads you to a to-do list of improvements, starting with step one: getting healthy so you stop fucking missing practice. Luckily, you can multitask this with step two, which involves coordinating with the girls, doing online research, and taking very fervent notes on volleyball matches. Less luckily, you cough more and more over the course of the day.

Step three comes by means of a text to your dad. You nearly emailed him, the formality a weird comfort as you cough yourself dizzy, but settled for just the text messages, trusting that he'll actually see him, that he'll care enough to respond.

Trusting is hard. You're trying.

[name] to Otoo-san at 14:21

[name]: hey, just wanted to let you know, I caught a pretty nasty cold somewhere so if you get a call from the school, I'm at home + going to the dr tomorrow if I'm not feeling better

[name]: if you have time, I need to talk to you

[name]: I also need to talk to you if you DON'T have time so like. Please make the time.

~

Hiro comes home from work early, all things considered. Really early, in fact—it's still light out. Early enough that the last thing he expects is to find you asleep on the couch when he opens the door. Maybe he should have expected it, given that you'd said you were sick.

It hurts slightly less than the last time he found you waiting for him on the couch.

It still hurts to find you waiting up for him alone.

He finds soup in the kitchen, finds the thermometer on the counter where you must've left it. Brings you water, brings you ibuprofen. Sets aside your laptop and the notebook you had open—some volleyball match running on the screen, some hastily-scrawled notes filled with jargon he doesn't understand, cross-court and straight and floater. Pauses the video, plugs the laptop in, stacks the notebook neatly on top. You let him start taking your temperature before you even really register that he's shaken you awake.

"'Too-san?" you mumble around the thermometer, blinking at him blearily.

"Hey, kid." He settles in beside you, rests a hand on your shoulder. "You fell asleep on the couch. How're you feeling?"

"Yer home early."

The thermometer beeps its reading, loud and panicked, the display flashing red. Fever. "You asked me to make time for you. You didn't answer my question."

"Don't feel real. Very sleepy. I—" You break off in a hacking cough.

"I'll take you to the doctor in the morning. You sound horrible."

A disinterested hum. Your eyes are far away—he's not sure you're mentally present for whatever conversation you wanted to have.

"Are you hungry? There's some good soup in the kitchen. Seems like this pretty good chef I know made it."

You nod slowly, uncertain. He reheats soup for you, puts the rest in the fridge. While you work at it, he brings your futon from upstairs, lays it out in the living room. Halfway through your soup, you lift your head and look to Hiro, a sad look in your eyes.

"What is it?"

You bite your lip. Turn back to your soup. "Can I ask you to bring me Cinnabun?"

He smiles. "Sure."

He'd almost forgotten, but sure enough, amid the pile of stuffed animals in your bedroom, there it is—a giant stuffed rabbit, well-loved and worn-out. Some festival, years ago, he and Tomoko had worked their asses off to win it for you, back when you were young enough that the rabbit was you-sized and letting you try for it yourself would have taken their life savings. You'd proudly named it Cinnabun after a full day of deliberation, and only after carrying it, piggy-back, into a bakery with Tomoko.

Now, he brings it to you, sets it down on the couch beside you. You've grabbed back your notebook, started scribbling new notes onto the page.

"You should get some rest."

"Can't. Got stuff to do."

He sighs. "Alright. You wanted to talk to me, right?"

Slow inhale. Slow exhale. You don't look up from your notebook. "I need to see a therapist."

Oh.

That wasn't what he was expecting.

"…do you wanna talk about why?"

You shrug. "With the therapist, yeah."

The assumptions are easy to make. Tomoko, teenage angst, and, probably, him. It's not like he can deny that it's a good idea. "Okay."

"I think you also need to see a therapist. Separately from me. I wanna pick out my therapist myself, but I really do need one."

That's probably fair, but there's something deeply upsetting at being told by your teenage daughter to seek therapy. He sighs. "I'll put some thought into it."

"I did some research earlier. Just a little bit, though. You'll have to come with me to the first appointment, but after that, I'm allowed to go myself as long as everything is still being paid for."⁵²

He agrees, because it's you, because you're telling him in a broken, sick-strained voice that you need therapy, and because honestly, someone better than him might have thought about that and offered it the second they'd learned that your mother died. Surely, if they'd heard how useless he'd been the past few years, someone else might have offered.

"I don't think they'll let you miss more school for it," he says weakly. It's not a no, and not intended to be. "Are you okay with it getting in the way of volleyball? You seem to like that club a lot."

"Maybe every other week," you reply quietly, breaking off in a cough. "I don't want to miss too much."

"Then send me a list of therapists you might want to try, and I'll get you set up. I promise."

~

A knock on the door threatens to wake you, maybe an hour or so later. In the time it takes Hiro to cross the room to the front door, it's swinging open, and there's the delinquent again, blinking at him with wide eyes.

"Oh," he says, too loudly. "You're never home. Is [name]-san around?"

Hiro brings a finger to his lips, glares at the delinquent in a purposeful way. "She's—" he starts to say, but then your hacking coughs float in from the living room. You'd fallen asleep a while ago, after going through a bit more of some volleyball match and explaining things to him, and he'd moved you into your futon on the floor, watched you magnetize and cuddle up to Cinnabun within seconds. "—sick," he finishes lamely. "And sleeping."

"Ohh," the delinquent says, quieter now. "Is she okay?"

"She's fine. Just needs some rest. I'm not sure she's going to get much of that with you around." He crosses his arms. "Is there a reason you're just using the spare key whenever you want now?"

"She wasn't at school today, and she wasn't texting back. Sometimes, when she has a bad day or gets stuck in her head, she tries to isolate herself. I wanted to make sure she was okay."

As much as he doesn't like this boy, as much as he wants to tell him to get the hell out of his house, Hiro looks at him and sees genuine worry. He thinks of you, frankly telling him you need a therapist, of being told in an accusatory tone, she smiles around me, and he sighs.

"Come in. We'll talk in the kitchen."

~

Another round of coughs forces you awake. You'd been drifting in and out for what feels like days, but the clock's barely changed and you're pretty sure you've only managed to sleep for an hour, nonconsecutively. This time, though, when you wake up, something's different—

There's voices in the kitchen.

"She told me you hadn't been talking. That she was waiting for you to apologize."

Ah, fuck.

"It's my fault. I was too stuck in my own head to talk to her without taking shit out on her that she didn't deserve."

Yeah, that's about the only voice you'd expect to hear.

You turn over, hide your face in Cinnabun. Try to hold in some of the coughs.

"So you show up to check on her when you haven't been talking?"

"We talked yesterday. I thought we worked things out, but I wasn't sure when she didn't show up to practice today."

A pause. You can't hear your father sigh, but you can imagine it vividly—fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, body deflating with his breath. "Okay. I guess that explains some things."

There's quieter talking, then. Several minutes that stretch on, voices too low for you to hear. They must be talking about you. Not like they have much else in common. Then, Noya's voice raises up enough to be heard again: "You've got to stop calling me a delinquent. My name's Nishinoya. Gonna be your daughter's name, too, so you should probably learn it."

"Really? She told me you weren't together."

…oh god. You hate them both.

"Not yet, but I like her. I'm working hard to be good enough for her, and I think she's probably working hard to get through her fear enough to accept me."

Another pause, another imagined sigh. "I see a lot of her mother in her, you know. Her mother was just as scared of me as she seems to be of you. If she likes you, then—"

You can't tamp down the next wave of coughs—dizzying and painful and horrible—and the noise has both men pausing, footsteps tracking towards you. You bury your face into Cinnabun and let the coughs take over. You're not entirely certain you didn't black out at one point—when you're done, there's Noya, offering you a bottle of water, hand resting between your shoulder blades. Your father stands not far behind him, watching with a disapproving look.

You drink. Catch your breath. Steady against Noya out of pure necessity—your head spins dangerously.

"You okay there?" Noya asks in a soft tone. "You're burning up."

"Noya," you reply dumbly, and then you're coughing all over again. "You should go. I don't wanna—don't wanna get you sick."

"You're already trying to get rid of me? You promised." He pouts playfully, and it takes you a moment to understand what he's trying to remind you of—stay where I can love you.

Your face flushes something awful, and you're glad for the fever, for the excuse. "I'm trying to protect your health, stupid. Even if this is probably your fault."

"My fault?"

"You're the one who made me sit on your porch for ten minutes in the rain, completely soaked, so you could laugh at me."

A lingering laugh escapes him. "In my defense, it was really funny. I can't make up for it if you kick me out, can I?"

You sigh. Accept the water. "Fine. What were you guys talking about?" Your eyes land on your father as you sip—he's disapproving, just a little.

"Just introductions," your dad says. "I haven't really had a chance to properly meet your… friend. Seemed like a good time, since he came to check on you."

Right. Introductions. That's what that was—hostile tones, gonna be your daughter's name too, I see her mother in her. All basic introductory conversation. "Guess I never did introduce you guys. Noya; Otoo-san. Otoo-san; Nishinoya, my best friend. Not giving you his first name because you shouldn't use it. Also, please stop looking like you're about to kill each other. I don't have the—" Pause. Cough. Maybe a little intentionally, to make a point. "—energy for it right now."

Noya shoots you a grateful look. Your father sighs. "Alright. Nice to meet you, Nishinoya."

"Let's try to get along," Noya replies with a wide grin. You have no proof he said it that way to piss off your dad, but it definitely pisses off your dad.

You kinda wanna go back to sleep.

Noya stays a little while, updates you on practice, on tomorrow's practice match preparation. He'll tell the others you're sick, too, and you let him believe he's the first one to know. You're sort of glad for your father hovering, for once—you're not sure you can take being alone with Noya right now. He's no less subtle with your dad here, but at the very least, you can focus on something other than the fact that you're still in his clothes, that yesterday, you were perched on his lap and sobbing while he confessed to you. He teases you for Cinnabun, stays a while just to be close. When you inevitably fall back to sleep, you don't wake up to him arguing with your father again, though you have no doubt they talked.

You hope they can learn to be civil someday. Maybe they might've gotten there today, if your respiratory system hadn't interrupted. You'd like to see it, at any rate.

(Times Noya's held back: 15)

51. About 102 Fahrenheit. Well within fever range, in case you're like me and always have to look it up.

52. I spent some time researching this, but I actually couldn't find out whether or not this is true in Japan. I based this off my knowledge from working in physical therapy clinics in the US, where we did allow minor patients to come in without their parents in the waiting room so long as there were no issues with payments and the parents came to the initial evaluation. Japan generally tends to be pretty progressive in terms of the rights of minors to like… be somewhat independent, real people. Trying to even research whether an unaccompanied minor can go to the doctor alone in Japan was a veritable migraine, but I do remember looking into it for an earlier chapter and I seem to remember it being a thing kids could do, so we're running with that. Once again, researching information about Japan hoping for information useful from the perspective of a Japanese character when you don't speak enough Japanese to research in Japanese is a nightmare.

Tags: @deeplightgarden @idonthaveanameideayet @dusstory @kazunish

[0asterous0]

Prologue, Part two.

"What's for breakfast?" - Previous chapter.

Grian sighed heavily. He was not ready for so much enthusiasm this early in the morning, but that’s what it’s like with Ren. He would know, they’ve lived together for 3 years now. And yet, Grian was not gonna lie, that was one of the things about Ren that he loved and appreciated the most. 

“What’s for breakfast?” Grian asked, taking his seat by the table.

He’s taken aback by Ren’s little, almost unnoticeable, shiver. The other smiled, taking the full plate of pancakes and putting it down in the middle of the table. Grian hadn’t even noticed that Ren was tense before his shoulders finally fell back, getting comfortable. Was Ren scared of something? Did he think that Grian would be angry with the whole clock thing? Why would he…

Ah, yes, he’d not been very nice to him this past week, had he? Grian didn’tremember the last time they had fun together. They had been very distant lately.

…

Grian had been very distant lately. 

“I decided on the sweet approach today! It’s Monday, and we will need more energy!” This actually made Grian chuckle slightly. 

“Are you sure about that? I guess I need some energy, but you? Isn’t this energy enough for the day, big guy?” He dropped two large pancakes on his plate and reached for the syrup, while Ren giggled and took a bite while his tail swayed behind him.

“I’m working with kids, Grian, theater kids, you won’t believe how much energy you need around them! It’s better now after we finally finished our Winter play, but with the new semester comes a new play! We haven’t chosen what to do for the end of the year, so the kids are buzzing with excitement!!” 

Grian couldn’t help but smile at that, Ren sure loved talking about his students; my dramatic kids, he called them. He just started working in that exact high school when they first met in a cafe, and even back then he would come around all smiling. He never told him any names (“Teacher thing, sorry!”), but he loved talking about their plays and how some of his students were destined to be stars on the big stage. (“You should have seen the emotions! The acting! The love for the theater! I’m telling you, Grian, all of them will be big names one day!”). Grian hopes that Ren will find the courage one day to get on the stage himself, because if anyone holds love for it, it’s him. Sad how society forces people like them into hiding. He doesn’t need to be the center of attention, but Ren deserves it. 

“Good luck with that, I guess. Don’t let the kids bite, they can be cruel,” Grian said before thinking about it, immediately regretting the choice made. He bit down on his lip and looked up at Ren, hoping that maybe he didn’t notice, or it didn’t affect him much– but noticing a drop of sadness in his eyes, all that hope vanished. 

“Pff, yeah, I would know,” Ren responded with a painfully fake chuckle, his ears trying to hide in his hair. Grian tried to avoid looking at them like he always did when the subject was brought up, but it’s hard to stop your eyes from wandering around. He always hated thinking about that, remembering how people can be cruel, especially to mutants like Ren and Grian himself. People could argue as much as they want, saying that this is not true and they are overreacting, but the mistreatment was always there– and sometimes it was written right on the face.

His roommate was one of the kindest and purest souls Grian has ever met. Looking at him, no one would have guessed that there were people actually disliking– or even worse, hating– him. Always so optimistic, always so helpful. He never understood why some people were so cruel to him, leaving behind scars both physical and emotional; even after so many years, Ren still hides himself and his ears away from the others.

Ren wouldn’t need to hide his ears like that if they weren’t so hideously clipped. 

He shivered.

“I… I should go, I’m opening the cafe alone today, so I need to be there earlier,” he quickly and forcefully pushed the final bite down his throat and turned around to leave, even though he felt like he was going to throw up because of the sudden tension in the room. This always happens. The second Grian starts to spiral into this- this episode, he always dragged Ren down with him; why couldn’t he just… be normal? 

“At least wash your face before leaving!” Ren called out from the kitchen, which stung Grian even harder. He shouldn’t have to be reminded about easy stuff like that, he should be taking care of his hygiene himself, not Ren. He was an adult after all. 

As told, Grian splashed his face with water and brushed his teeth before changing into his pink shirt and black jeans uniform. Soon enough, he was out of the apartment, going down the familiar streets of Boatem. The past four years in this city had been very nice so far. Yes, there were sometimes bizarre things going on around (“I’m sorry, there’s a cult here dedicated to the moon?” “Yeah! They’ve been around for a while.”) and, being one of the biggest Hermittopia cities, it attracted a lot of villain activities too. Still, it was very nice.  

He grabbed his coat before leaving because, sadly, it was still very cold outside with January just rolling out the calendar; and he didn’t regret it, considering that it started raining when he was only ten minutes out the door. As if the day couldn’t get any worse. Thankfully, his coat managed to keep him and his uniform somewhat dry.

He was running down the familiar streets he got used to after moving here. Streets that he could probably navigate blindfolded. He remembered walking down these streets years ago, trying to find every single small alleyway, hole in the walls, the broken fences, checking the heights of the buildings while calculating how long he would need if, someday, he had to drop everything and run. Now, the only thing he was running from was the rain.

He was at Double Hearted in seven minutes, the clock ticking at 8:23 when he unlocked the door to the cafe and went inside. This meant he had exactly 37 minutes for himself before he had to open up the doors for the hungry and completely soaked-in-water customers. Grian always loved being here alone, it was very calming to have a cup of coffee with sweets and just sit near the window in silence, watching the passersby. Sadly, most of his time here he spent working, just preparing drinks for others non-stop. Leaving his coat and personal belongings back in the staff room, he went back to the front and began taking the chairs off the tables to put them down– when suddenly, someone knocked on the door. It made him jump and let out an annoyed sigh. The time of opening was written on the door and it was closed, why can’t people just wait till-

Oh wait, was it time for opening already? Grian looked towards the clock on the wall, hoping that he didn’t miss the opening time when he saw that nope, it wasn’t time yet! 24 minutes left! He still felt sympathy, looking back at the pouring rain outside. He couldn’t see the face of the person because of all the water dripping down the windows and the glass door, but he could see the form of them shivering out in the cold.

_______

'-.° Masterpost - Next Part °.-'

[blueshadesfandomstuff]

Hey was reading thru your shutterbug and seaglass series which I wanna say is so dang cute! But I noticed in your notes you kept having issues with whatever we consider school over here in America and I’d be happy to shed some light on that as I am an American and I did go to a standard public school in the era the batkids grew up anyway I hope this info helps for any future endeavors you might have. The school year starts in the autumn which for us is mid-August to mid-September and ends early to late June with a 2 week break in the winter around the new year and a usually 1-2 week break in spring around March/April. New Jersey and New York like to start school usually after Labor Day which is the first weekend and following Monday of September (different states start at just a bit earlier or later depending on various factors) kids begin what we call “Elementary”school around ages 5-6 in Kindergarden unless their parents enroll them in pre-K. Then they go from first “grade” to fifth grade, usually. Then “Middle” school is from sixth to eighth grade and “High” school is from ninth to twelfth grade. Then college which we all refer to as college even if it’s a university. College follows this same year start and end model except they follow a semester model and so there is the fall semester, a 4-5 week winter break, spring semester and an optional summer semester or summer break most universities/colleges don’t offer the full course list during this time but people who wanna finish their degree earlier or have less classes to worry about at other times may take this option. You mentioned you’re from Australia how does y’alls education system differ?

Hi there!

First off thank you for taking the time to read Shutterbug and Seaglass! I love that the series has fans - it's just so wonderful to hear people like my work enough to read it!

Thank you so much, too, for taking the time to send me such a comprehensive answer! I'll paste it all down into my planning document!

School in Australia is a little different (though I also age with Timi from this fic and so I'm a little outdated, aside from the fact I'm an after school tutor for English and Maths with a private company)

First off, we only have primary schools and high schools with middle schools still being rare and fairly new. Pre-primary is the class for 4 to five year olds and is where mandatory schooling begins here (with some private kindergardens for kids around 3/4) and tend, though not always, to be part of a primary school. Primary school goes from Pre-primary or year 1 up until year 7 with high school being years 8-12.

We start our year in late Jan/early Feb and then have four ten week terms with two week breaks in between and finish the year just before the Christmas/Summer holidays that last for about six weeks. It averages to be about the same amount of time off as the US but spread constantly throughout the year.

University or TAFE (which I think is equivalent to a technical college or community college in the US) on the other hand, runs by semester (still starts in Jan/Feb and ends in December though) with a three week break in the middle of the two semesters and a long exam period at the end.

Universities here don't have their students live-in for the most part unless they're in difficult places to get to, so kids usually live at home during their university years (unless their parents are very old-fashioned and expect them to leave home at 18). So we don't have quite the same 'college experience' that I see when I watch US programs. Where it seem to be like a 'taste of freedom' to get soon to be adults ready for the real world. I kinda wish we did do that though - it seems like it would be an easier landing if you had practice first!

Thank for reaching out!

[parksprout]

Sprout Journal 12/17/24

Hi Tumbie <3 how are you today? Are you doing well? Are you hanging out, working on yourself, but still having fun in life? I hope you're having such a great time, seriously :3 anyone who reads this

Myself? I'm doing alright I think. For the most part I've hit emotional equilibrium these days, which is like ... fine I think? I wouldn't say I'm in a happy phase, but net neutral is a lot better than what I had before. My low's still happen, I still cry some days, but I'm never feeling as depressive as the early days of the breakup. My highs are actually a little bit less frequent than they were even post-breakup? I think it's because a lot of those days during the early to middle period of the breakup me and Aaron were having a lot of conversations where it felt very much like we might've started dating again quickly after that, so I would ride that high a bit delusionally for the day.

There's not a whole lot to talk about right now, but it's still important that I talk about what I do wanna get out so it doesn't fester methinks. So first I wanna get into some general life updates, then I wanna talk about my family, and then just... some more of the usual thoughts about Aaron, is that okay?!

Also, I haven't had very good relationships with my friends recently. Not that I'm falling out with any of them, but they've got other stuff going on. I think that a lot of them balked at me when they heard about the breakup, it was kinda a "oh not this again" reaction from a couple of them. Only my two closest friends have been fully receptive. I have made a couple of new friends lately! Or gotten some old ones back! I've gotten a lot closer with a mutual friend of me and Aaron's named Liv, we talk basically every day lately. Then there's Sarah and her boyfriend Aidan, both of which were great to meet up with and hang out with!! I also reached out to my old friend Hana who I had actually cut off forever ago because we had a kinda hot-cold almost dating thing before I met Aaron, BUT I obviously am super taken (even if I'm not technically dating them I really do consider myself off the table, I'm not interested in dating otherwise), and I actually saw that Hana is moving in with a boyfriend!!! So we caught up recently which was nice. We both kinda laughed about the way our friendship ended the last time, we had both been in relationships that went south then entered a strange friendship together and lost interest in hanging out because we fell for people aklsjdfh it's funny. But none of those friendships have been super like... active? We've had a few conversations and hung out here or there in Sarah & her bf's case but honestly no aspect of my social life is really feeling as fulfilling as I would like. I think that... in a lot of ways, I'm just ready to move on from a lot of the relationships I have at the moment? Not necessarily in a cutting them off sort of way, but in the like... I wouldn't mind being far from them for a while kinda way, I wouldn't mind leaving it all behind. I want to leave it all behind, actually, and that will be a returning theme of the journal today.

One piece of good news it that I officially passed my semester two days ago and became a junior in college. I'm entering the final stretch if you think about it, isn't that wild? I've been in school since summer of 2023 and in that time I've gone from nothing to a junior. I'm feeling very proud. I didn't maintain my 4.0 GPA into this first semester at an actual University and tbh I'm not even that mad about it. I got a B- in Archaeology, a B in Spanish, an A in Anthropology and an A+ in creative writing. That's still a damn good performance for someone who has literally been back and forth with suicidal ideations since late October, like I did a third of the semester under intense depressive episodes??? It's no small feat. But yeah now I'm on break and sooooo happy about it ugh.

I visited my family yesterday. It was mostly to hang out with my little brother and his girlfriend because they're both chill as hell and we're close enough in age that we understand everything the other's do. I was also there for two other reasons. My sister who moved to NY forever ago was in town and I decided it'd be okay to see her, and I wanted to see how my dad's recovering. We really didn't do much of anything while I was there lol it was so boring aklsjdhfasdf my brother his gf and I did go to a restaurant to get some food!! Then when we got back I was talking with my family about my plans and I mentioned that I'd probably be moving away in the next couple of years. Now, I wasn't expecting them to be like... dragging me away from the idea, but I was expecting either more questions about the idea or at least a bit of curiosity, but they almost universally responded with shrugs or a lack of reaction entirely. I don't particularly like my family, but it would still be nice if like... I mentioned wanting to move away for school 2,000 miles away elicited some kind of reaction. Really, their reaction just solidified my decision.

I really don't feel like I belong anywhere these days as depressive as that sounds to say. It's not bothering me that heavily, but it's like... a square peg and a round hole. I don't think this city, this state, this place is right for me. I don't fit in with most of these people, I'm not making any meaningful connections here and... I keep cutting one string at a time tying me to this place. I'm here because I love my best friend Sammy, I love my other closest friend Jordan, and I love my sister Kimmy, but... Sammy plans to leave eventually anyways, Jordan and I could always be friends no matter the distance and Kimmy usually has too much going on in the first place AND she has openly stated that she supports me leaving because she always wished she had. I'm feeling ready to go, but there's a huge problem.

I don't know where I'll go.

I'm in a moment of standby still. Aaron and I are still up in the air, and for me it will be until either they tell me they're moved on forever or we start dating again. That relationship is a MASSIVE factor in where I decide to move to. If we work out? I'm there in their city as soon as I possibly can be, it'd work out really well too. Before the breakup I had reached out to an account my job has there inquiring about jobs and they are always accepting people for positions there especially if they're transfers with management experience, so I could have a job in their city day one. I was looking at apartments and had some really good areas in mind too. And then there's schooling. I don't wanna dox their location so I won't say the University but theres a state University basically in their city (it's technically a town over but I have a car lmao) that offers the masters degree program that I want to pursue and I'm 100% confident I could get accepted there. Literally every aspect of it works out except for me and Aaron for now. WHICH IS DRIVING ME INSANNNEEEEE!!! I wish that they would be okay trying again, because I would be there so soon. I don't even feel comfortable visiting their city unless we're together, let alone applying for school nearby ToT I've had crazy ex's who have shown up at my house, I don't want to ever give Aaron even a glimpse of a feeling like that because it's frankly terrifying.

MANNNNNN this wasn't supposed to post like this, I was working on adding a bunch more and then my phone crashed!! I'll just edit it from here and then add the pictures I was gonna add on my phone.

One of the things I appreciate the most about my current relationship with Aaron is the honesty of it all. I can be 100% honest about how I feel, I can share basically every thought I have about them, us and myself with them and Aaron seems to feel comfortable doing the same. Recently I've had some moments of genuine anxiety. Some people have consistently whispered in my ear that after I send Aaron their christmas present they'll have no reason to talk to me, and while I know Aaron and trust them whole heartedly to never do something like that the fear was honestly welling up so... I asked Aaron and they reassured me otherwise. Also, I asked if they were okay with me texting them so much still and especially with the posts I was sending and they said yes to that, too. I'm just happy to know I'm not annoying them, that I'm not pushing them further away through my flirting, yearning, constant yapping and inescapable need to share myself 100% with them. Really, I've been doing better about being overly attentive towards them, but better in that department with me is still a lot alksjdf. I'm happy they're patient with me and okay with the amount of attention I give them, though. Gosh. This was supposed to be a diferent kinda entry once I started editing it, but the exhaustion is just fucking smakcing me right now. Why am I so tired???? Ough. I'll just write another journal soon that'll be more comprehensible, I think that this entry has been basically nonsensical from the start askljdhfaskdf. Anyways, love you tumbie. I'm gonna go read a book ab out lesbians killing dragons together., Baiiiii

[bigfatmusicblog]

THE STATE OF PUNK

FIDLAR vs. Alien Nosejob

On Friday September 20th two punk albums were released - I’m sure in the grand scheme of things a lot more punk albums were released on that day, but for the sake of this article, TWO PUNK ALBUMS WERE RELEASED. Both albums are very different in terms of sound and production quality, as well as lyrical content and what each artist was trying to say with this collection of songs. On the surface, other than the fact that they are both punk albums released on September 20th, there is absolutely no reason to compare these two records. They are both so far on different ends of the entire punk spectrum, picture the Sistine Chapel except God and Adam are each in completely different time zones, still they reach out for each other. I will try to bridge this seemingly insurmountable gap between the two with this article, and maybe by the end we’ll see that we aren’t so different, you and I.

FIDLAR is a band I have been into probably since their inception. I remember hearing/downloading Awkward from a music sharing site in the 2010’s (I think probably Noisetrade, which, rip Noisetrade forreal) and since then I was hooked. I was drawn to their painfully honest lyrics about not feeling like yourself in your body and getting fucked up with their friends. The latter of which I had absolutely no experience with at the time, and still don’t have exactly the experience to relate to lyrics like “I feel like a cokehead” or “Cocaine keeps running around in my brain”. I think the taboo nature of what they were speaking about in their early songs, especially to me as a straight edge Christian kid by nature, is what kept me listening to their self-titled debut even years after its release. Shit, I almost made my senior quote ‘FIDLAR’ (meaning Fuck it Dog, Life’s a Risk), but was too afraid to explain to the principal what it meant. I won’t go as far as to say this band changed my life, but they did get me through High School that’s for sure.

ALIEN NOSEJOB is a band I have been familiar with since September 20th 2024. In fact I was so unfamiliar with them while listening to this album I didn’t even realize Alien Nosejob isn’t necessarily a band but rather the “anything-goes solo project of Jake Robertson.” A project that has spanned seven albums as well as several EPs since 2018. The genre is as fluid as the (clever famous Australian River here) going from hardcore punk to 60s influenced garage rock. Doing research on this artist has been a delight and I encourage you to do a deep dive on Alien Nosejob if this is the first you're hearing of them too.

I feel like we can all agree that both of these albums are punk albums. Leaving specifics and subgenres out of it the very core to both of these albums is punk. For me if you're unsure if an album is punk I'd say ask yourself if the lyrics, or music, or attitude behind that album is one that a shithead kid might utter or exude. Both of these albums OOZE shithead kid energy, however they are posed in different ways. 

The biggest way that SURVIVING THE DREAM presents itself as bratty is within the lyrics. From the very beginning in FIX ME as he yells over anthemic single strums on the guitar, words that could’ve easily been nabbed straight from a middle schoolers diary. “It’s too hard to fix me/I know you’ll try/… cause I’m the type of crazy that’s not the cute type” creates the feeling of a bang cut emo girl screaming these lyrics to herself in her mirror as she got ghosted again. This theme of being sad, unfixable, and a general piece of shit continues throughout the album coming to a head in I DONT WANNA DO THIS - a song wherein Zac of FIDLAR continually repeats simple but relatable sentiments such as “I don’t wanna do this/I don’t wanna be here”. I will say as a general note I found myself relating to a lot of the lyrics on this album, more so than I have on any of their past albums. If you spent a lot of time listening to emo and pop punk in your mid to late teenage years like I did you won’t have any issue feeling understood by the general thesis of the album let alone the broad, often melodramatic emotions FIDLAR portrays in this album. We all feel that way sometimes.

Now, TURNS THE COLOUR OF BAD SHIT by Alien Nosejob isn’t necessarily devoid of shithead kid lyrics. As opposed to the introspective and emotional nature of SURVIVING THE DREAM this album focuses more on the outer. Sometimes this album feels like the Burn Book of someone in a local band - usually using the opportunity to talk shit about punk bands like FIDLAR. These lyrics are probably a bit more niche but anyone who has spent anytime in any sort of local music scene will find themselves laughing along to phrases like “45 year olds with guitars/Living out their teenage dreams“ in the song Another Uniform. One of the biggest ways this album finds itself within that shithead realm is through the instrumentation - a lot of chord based riffs often reminiscent of late 70’s proto-punk, there’s a certain grunginess to the whole sound. That’s not to say the instrumentation on this album feels one note, something that’s a fun side to producing solo projects like this is the ability to sort of put any instrument you want to in it, or at least any one that makes sense and is readily available. Randomly on this album you can hear glimpses of various synths and brass instruments, adding the right amount of sprinkles on top of a melting ice cream cone.

Because FIDLAR has spent more time in the limelight, term used loosely, the instrumentation on their album is a lot more polished. Even when they go especially HARD in songs like NUDGE and GET OFF MY WAVE there is still a good amount of squeaky clean feeling behind it, though you don’t really notice it unless you listen to an album like Turns the Colour of Bad Shit immediately after. Something that you can’t exactly produce at different levels, no matter how fancy your equipment is in comparison, is vocal performance on the album. 

In my opinion a defining characteristic in truly good punk music is good vocal performance. From the wavering built in flange of Jello Biafra of The Dead Kennedys to the dead pan dry british vocals of IDLES if you want to stand out you need to, well, stand out. Both of these albums have impeccable vocal performances and that’s sort of the biggest driving force behind my immediate infatuation with them. Zac Carper of FIDLAR has had fairly consistently good performances throughout their discography. His half yell that comes from the back of his throat will have a true empath going for the throat coat tea. SURVIVING THE DREAM is no different, he has his classic vocal style still prevalent throughout the album, going harder than he has in quite some time. Jake Robertson of Alien Nosejob has also had a consistent voice in all of his previous projects - however I think his performance on this is probably his best. I genuinely thought upon first listen that there were two separate vocalists in this band. He seamlessly goes between the dry flat desert that is a typical Aussie vocalist, a la Courtney Barnett, into an almost Mike D of The Beastie Boys impression to place emphasis wherever necessary. The latter affectation is a stand out point as Jake seems to reach into that bag way more on this album versus his previous. These vocalists and their way of approaching the art of punk vocals I think is the thing that will give these albums lasting power, at least it’s kept me listening.

OVERALL:

I wrote way too many words about two probably insignificant punk albums in the grand robust history of punk rock. Both of these albums are definitely flawed and in a way that’s to both of their benefit. I don’t know what else to say.

GRADES:

SURVIVING THE DREAM - B+

TURNS THE COLOUR OF BAD SHIT - B- (I absolutely cannot stand Bird Strike srry)

[bluehairmisfit]

Look okay yall are allowed, expected, even encouraged to ignore everything below the upcoming readmore. I'm only posting this here because I need to rant somewhere that isn't a brick wall, and I don't feel like dumping this in a vent channel for a school club.

(cw friendships and endings, anger, irritation, the things that come along with being autistic around people, etc. Abuse/trauma mentions. Talk of being a shitty friend/shitty person. All that good stuff. Lots of self-deprecation.)

I'm pissed off. I'm not showing it externally because there's just no fucking point to that but I want to do SOMETHING about it at this point and journaling it isn't enough anymore okay. I'm fucking irritated.

Like lemme start off with my high school crush. I have a friend who rants about his high school crush and I'm happy to listen, don't get me wrong, but I so badly want to rant back about mine because I thought we were friends and this person just kinda faded out of my life. And I'm irritated because I reached out and I tried to ask what I did wrong because I'm still very sure it was something I did. I have no clue what. The message containing the plea for information got no response, so I still don't know what I did, but it warranted whispering and pointing and I know that realistically I don't want to be friends or partners with someone like that but it still hurts in my chest when I think about it too hard, so I just have to try really fucking hard not to think of that person, as if I get a fucking choice in it.

And then there's my up-til-recently best friend. Like. There was a lot of shit that went wrong there on both fucking sides. I know this. Painfully-fucking-aware of the role I played. Because admittedly, I did something pretty similar to what my ex-crush did. We had an argument, and neither of us reached out. The thing is that we were both fucking HORRIBLE for each other and I could not do the things this friend wanted me to do without changing a lot of who I am as a person and how I naturally relate to people. I thought for the past two years that I was just an overall bad friend, and in hindsight, I was a bad friend to this specific person. But I have different friends that really like how I perform friendship.

So why the fuck would I sit there breaking someone else and being broken when I could just accept that things would not work out? It's not like I fully withdrew; I didn't break the DM silence, no, but I still liked and shared posts that this friend posted. I still tried in my own way because I was holding out hope that maybe we'd shift to acquaintances for a while and be able to try again later once we both had grown.

IT IS FULLY ON ME FOR NOT COMMUNICATING THIS DESIRE. I'm not saying it's not. But I talked about it in therapy, and I built the skills I would need to have this conversation, and every time I thought I was ready, I saw, vividly, intrusively, how it was likely to end.

And it's definitively, exceptionally selfish of me to say this.

But I decided I'd rather take advantage of the moot point we were at and just let shit happen, for better or worse.

Than to have to speak how I was feeling. And have it out in the open. And hear for the thousandth time what a terrible, shitty friend and person I am.

BUT MORE THAN THAT, the fucking CORE of why I'm pissed off has less to do with either of them (FUCK MICROSOFT FOR JUST GIVING ME A POPUP ABOUT PICTURES SAVED THAT SHOW ME AND MY HIGH SCHOOL CRUSH BTW. FUCK YOU).

The core of why I'm pissed off goes back to my fucking abuser, as everything seems to. Because that's the bitch that got me masking so hard in the first place for the sake of safety and survival and I'm pissed off that I ever fucking had to do that at all. Bullying contributed, yes, but she played such a major role in taking what was already stress-fracturing and just smashed it in finally.

Like I've changed so much about myself over the years, to the point that for a good chuck of late-middle to early-high school, I was a shell of a person. At some point I felt like I was waking up and seeing the people around me in a completely different way. I interacted with my siblings and learned about them as if I'd been away for years and just came back to fully-fledged tweens and teens.

I suppressed and changed and fucking. Ignored the idea of boundaries. To the point that honestly, now-ex-bestie was screwed over by all of this. Because when we became friends I was still so much more broken than I am today and he helped a lot but when shit went wrong it went SO wrong. And I never got the hang of boundaries or communication with him and I don't know why exactly I didn't feel safe but I didn't and I don't think that's entirely his fault.

But like. She fucked me up. I don't know a better way to say it.

And what actually pisses me off, the core thought that led to this entire, rambling, pain-in-the-ass blog post is the idea that I've changed myself so many times and I tried so hard to be what I thought people wanted me to be and I can't do that. I can't continue to do that because I'm fucking miserable, and aside from my partner and the remaining QPP that I haven't pushed away yet somehow, I have maybe three other friends who see me being myself, even as terrified as I was when that started, and embraced that person.

I'm rediscovering things about myself that I hadn't seen or remembered in years, and I'm becoming closer to my core self over time, and I value that greatly, but it should not have taken this much pain and suffering, whether that I've given or received, to get to this point. And I hate it and I regret the shit I've done but I just want to grow from this and move on and my stupid fucking brain sees tiny things and overreacts to them.

So I should be doing homework but instead I'm sitting on Tumblr, writing some fucking blog post trying to excuse everything I've done, to myself and others, to get to this point as if the ends could ever justify the means.

And I said I didn't really want people to read it but that's a lie. I'm just scared that people will finally tell me how terrible of a person I've been for the past 24 years. And confirm every bad thought I've ever had about myself. Because for every part of me that believes I've never deserved it, there's at least one part that believes I earned every single scar that exists on my body and mind.

[mas-o-kissed]

Syscovery timeline for my own reference but posting here too in case this helps other ppl (tw for vague mention of trauma and self harm)

Early childhood stuff blah blah trauma etc. etc., I’ve experienced dissociation for as long as I can remember, and even though it’s not something I’m aware of experiencing now, I know that I did have full blackout amnesia a few times in my childhood with others taking over (I know of this happening because there were consequences)

Middle school I remember being aware of Navy fronting and getting very scared. I did a lot of like… stuff to myself with the goal of behavioral modification (keeping journals of the day’s events and self harming as consequences of unwanted actions). EDIT: To be clear, Navy was not doing the self-harming stuff. I was scared of him because his presence made me feel out of control, and “self-training” was our (Red and my) deeply unhealthy way of trying to avoid that feeling.

I think this may be when Red came about because to our knowledge she was an abuser introject and persecutor. This was also around the time I stopped seeing childhood abuser regularly. I felt like I was being guided in punishments to keep us safe.

Red was a constant presence throughout high school but only fronted in emergency situations. She was usually like… on my head talking to me and she looked like a little bunny. I thought that she and Navy were just one guy.

Late high school I became aware of Navy and Red as separate but I have no idea how. Lol. I just remember we all decided on name designations (mine is teal). I know I was aware of them because I remember drawing them and talking to them.

College was extremely lonely and we had very clear communication during this period. We felt it was very unsafe for Navy to be near front but we all needed an outlet so we started a vent blog lol. This is notable because it’s something concrete I can look back on.

I will mention that even though we were online we told no one, reached out to no one, and did not know what plurality was. I have no idea if it was really being discussed around this time? Which was like. 2013. I thought they were just really, really vivid imaginary friends and that I was a lil freak for having them.

Mid way through college we had a really intense period of dissociation. I think we experienced a split and the person fronting during this time did so for like a year and a half. It was very, very confusing. I distinctly remember the moment of returning to my body and after that the memories of that whole period kind of blurred so I don’t remember a lot of it. We still don’t know who that guy was and I don’t know if he’s around anymore. Like maybe we split and then re-fused together? Is that a thing idk

After this communication with others was really low. And after a while I kind of just. Disconnected from the memories of them. And had no idea I had forgotten anything.

I learned that plurality is a thing like. Very recently. I’ve known about DID for a long time but it clearly does not match my experience and I had thought that was the only way plurality could manifest.

Met some systems and memories slowly began to unlock as we talked to them about their own experiences

Realized that the reason certain characters we were roleplaying as felt so cathartic was because they were… Navy’s! That’s his guy. Our guy. Whatever. (I’m talking about Big Boss Imp).

Been really back and forth on denial about it. And we find that if we talk about certain things we will start feeling weird and disoriented. But!

We learned about PDID and ever since seeing that we feel a lot more. Legitimate. Like we are allowed to be this. Because there is a diagnosis that feels like it fits our experience. Not that it’s even a diagnosis in the US and thus not something we could actually seek! Lol. But since then it feels like I’m “allowed” to talk about it more.

(I am not saying that you need a diagnosis to talk about experiences. I am saying that our?? Gatekeeper?? I guess?? Really did not like us talking about it, but since making that discovery it feels like it’s a lot easier. That’s what I mean by “allowed.” Lol)

[iwtvdramacd18]

🧠 (for claudia) + 💖 for the fic writers ask?

🧠 Pick a character, and I’ll tell you my favorite headcanon for them.

Tie between nonbinary Claudia and also my super indulgent hc that Claudia can draw and is into comics and cartoons. Thinking about time passing and also like long-standing comic characters always frozen within the same age-range for the most part outside of outstanding circumstances (timeline wise I think it wouldn't be till later in Rue Royale era that the "golden age" of american comics would really start and admittedly that's mostly where my knowledge of comics is around, but France also has a huge comics presence, bigger than the US so it would be interesting to think about her engaging with the French comic scene on top of that).

💖 What made you start writing?

Writing and drawing has always been entwined for me and I've been drawing pretty much since the time I physically could but I didn't start "actively" writing prose outside of drawings till like late middle school early high school I wanna say, and I did that because I was reaching a point where there were things I wanted to draw but couldn't (at the time), and so I decided to switch off drawing and writing scenes and from there I started to get more serious about writing straight up prose.

When it comes to writing for the fandom I wanted Loumand stuff and the state of the tag back after the finale was DIRE. even moreso than now so I was like fuck it I'll do it myself I guess.... and I did!