#gonna have to read all these books after the class on my own time bc i'm probably not gonna read them rn

[distance-does-not-matter]

i deserve compensation (psych minor hearing about freud during a summer english class)

[satorena]

#INTRO2MUNCH101

summ. when suguru “eat it off the bone” geto actually turns out to be suguru “flaps the left lip until she calls it a night” geto, he finds himself questioning everything he thought he knew about his skills. . . talk about a rude awakening.

cw. explicit content. foul language. fem!reader. college!au. eventual smut (but not in the way you think. . .) mild modern lingo. allusions to music artists. cunningulūs. male masturbation. reader has a belly piercing. she’s also depicted mean by the boys. gojo cameos bc i can’t not mention him. tattoo artist!geto. substance consumption. lowkeyyy self-indulgent reader. 10k wc.

rena's note. this is a spin-off to p power, so i’d suggest reading that first to understand the correlation!

suguru geto is a simple man.

your pleasure is his pleasure. he’s always prided himself on being a pro at the art of cunningulus. honest— he’s always left with swollen lips, a heavily sprayed face and a solid five star ratings at the end of his work. his jaw feels tired out, scalp burning from consistent hair tugs, and his breathing uneven from lack of oxygen. but at the feel of plush thighs squeezing his face and the repetition of his name flowing into the air before getting squirted on, he remembers it’s always worth it.

no pain no gain, right?

wrong.

because here he finds himself, a hefty hour in since he first dove in between your soft legs, and there’s been absolutely no development. sprawled on your back on his sheets, arm slung over your eyes, and your breathing even. you look fucking bored, and his heart is sinking to his ass.

geto will use every trick he has in the book. he’s noticed overtime that girls have different bodies, therefore he needs different tactics to stimulate those bodies. he nips at your puffy bud, sucking on your clit for external pleasure. no use. fine, then he’ll push your thighs up some more for a deeper penetration of his fingers in your cunt— still no use. the only sounds being produced are his mouth slipping against his own saliva at your pussy because he can’t even get you wet enough.

the pit in his stomach grows larger. he wonders if maybe you’re just the silent type? he’s come across those before.

he’s getting nervous out of his mind, so shaky and uncoordinated that his hand slips and meets your lips for the umpteenth time— and only then do you release a guttural groan, the very first sound you’ve made in a long ass time. wait—

“did. . . did you cum?” he pants, pulling his sticky lips away from yours. his face feels moist, blood rushing all in his head and he’s lightheaded. but still, he has to know.

you push yourself up to your elbows, annoyance clear as day. he’s yet to seen this look on a girl after pulling every card known on the table, “yeah. . . to the wrong fucking house.”

oh fuck.

☆ ☆ ☆

he first spotted you chatting it up with your friends on the school’s soccer field, on a random tuesday afternoon, and he’s been hooked on you ever since.

the universe played a funny game, and he realized university truly is a small ass world. amongst your friends, he noticed a familiar face. one he’s been hearing and seeing of one too many times lately, on multiple separate and traumatic occasions— gojo’s girlfriend. suguru found himself bonding with her due to their familiar point of interest— that being gojo— and believes he can now make of her a friend.

geto watches his best friend’s eyes shimmer and he flashes his infamous million dollar smile. he really is obsessed with his girlfriend and she doesn’t even know— and geto finds himself wishing he had somebody he’d be this ecstatic over. must be nice.

“i’m gonna go say hi to my girl real quick,” gojo taps at his shoulder, and geto nods. he’s cool on it, he’ll wait back here until he’s done, or can make his way to his next class depending on whatever gojo and his girlfriend arrange. “you comin’?”

“i’m probably gonna head to our next lecture.” geto voices out, pulling his phone from his pocket to check the time. he feels gojo peeking over his shoulder, in which he assumes to verify if that would be necessary.

over forty-five minutes. damn it.

“that’s mad pointless, class doesn’t start till more than half an hour,” gojo says, and geto doesn’t see himself waiting around that long for a lecture. no way, “just come— her friends are chill.”

fuck it, he goes. naturally, gojo is all over his girl and her friends expect it. geto does give them a little wave when gojo introduces him. one of the girls mention having heard of him through a friend— something about a failed talking stage. mad federal, and the sheepish chuckle geto offers when you give him an unreadable look makes him want to crawl into a ditch.

so now you think he’s a whore. awesome.

and gojo’s smirk definitely doesn’t help him out. he doesn’t help out at all actually, so enamoured by his girlfriend that he leaves geto to fend for himself against a pack of wolves (read: nosy girls). he replies only when spoken to, nods when necessary and throws in a few “that’s crazy,” to which the girls fail to pick up he’s out of words to say.

well, everyone except you.

you’re quiet. in fact, the whole time, you haven’t said shit to him. you sit back and observe, occasionally typing on your macbook, or reapplying your lip combo. you didn’t have any words to say to him. even when your friends would talk to you, you gave them short answers and went back to listening to whatever was playing in your airpods. he could tell from that small interaction alone, you were the mean one out of your clique.

and fuck if that didn’t make him want you more. there was just something about mean women that made him want to break through their fake ass exteriors and watch them turn all soft and chummy for him.

blame it on his corruption kink.

gojo confirms his thoughts when they’re finally on their way to class. he kissed his girl goodbye and waved off her friends, to which they all (minus you) collectively cooed, “byeee gojooo!” which he found odd, but kept silent. he gave them a small nod before following his best friend.

they’re a few steps in the science building when the words slip before he can help it, ultimately cutting gojo’s rambling off, “yo, who was that girl?”

gojo glances at him before chuckling, “there was like seven of ‘em. which one?”

“the quiet one.”

it throws him off guard when gojo laughs hard. like, really hard. it attracts the attention of bystanders, who give him a crazy look but gojo ignores. as if they’d try to press him about his volume— the two were pretty adored around campus.

geto does find his reaction quite interesting, to which he cocks a brow and offers a chuckle of his own, “what?”

“oh, you definitely mean y/n,” when his laughter dies down, he finally answers. he lifts his shades to his hairline to swipe a tear. “she’s mean as fuck, bro.”

“right?!” geto laughs, tapping at gojo’s shoulder. it only charges gojo’s laughing fit back up, “i could tell from her vibe. she gives off those ‘men ain’t shit’ girlies on twitter. whole time, she’s probably laid up in bed with one.”

“you don’t even knowww,” gojo holds his shoulder and shakes him a bit. geto does in fact know, because he’s dealt with girls like her before. they’re always a good ass time. “she does men dirty. like, absolutely dogs them. heard one phone call too many.”

oh? even better than he expected. she’s probably the type that used to love hard before getting her heart trampled on and decided to seek revenge on all men. like, on some jennifer’s body shit. geto can’t help but smirk, “lemme see for myself. put me on.”

gojo falters in his step. his grip on geto’s shoulders loosen and his expression changes— not by much, but the once lighthearted smile switches to a skeptical one, “you serious?”

geto lets out a soft sigh, shrugging gojo’s hands off his shoulders. “don’t start asking too much. i did a favour for you and your girl, didn’t i?,” well, technically speaking it wasn’t like his comment had been the deciding factor for the two, but it did open gojo’s eyes. “you owe me one.”

“i don’t owe you shit,” gojo laughs, throwing his arm around geto anyways, “buuut you’re my boy and i’m not stingy. i’ll see what i can do, i know you’ve been getting a lil jealous of wifey and i.”

“shut the fuck up.” geto’s chuckles contradict his statement.

from that point on, it’s smooth sailing. gojo texts his girl asking if she’s seeing anybody. they have a little back and forth because his girlfriend assumes he’s asking for himself— which gojo gets all dramatic and throws geto under the bus for free. welp! it all worked out anyway since after he and gojo parted, you’d thought he was fine shyt. judging from your character, he doesn’t exactly take gojo’s words for what they are.

but he’ll take the opening, it’s as good as any.

time to plot.

☆ ☆ ☆

the second encounter was purely coincidental. and simultaneously embarrassing.

see, geto prides himself on his mysterious act— granted he was anything but. people see all that is gojo and automatically assume that geto has to be the cool one. it creates a perfect balance, no?

haven’t people heard of birds of a feather flock together?

so yes, he’s also a nerd. he typically enjoys spending his wednesday afternoons at dice board cafes because why not. it’s a chill, lowkey joint right off campus and not a lot of people gravitate towards, therefore the perfect spot to camp out before his evening lecture.

besides, his buddy choso works there and it gets him discounts. it isn’t the only reason he shows up, but it does help a lot on his pockets. being a student is awful, financially.

geto sips on his choco latte through a straw, browsing through the board games pamphlet as he decides what he’s going to play today. most of these games are pretty pointless if he doesn’t have an opponent, but he likes to think it helps develop his iq. he hears avenoir playing through the cafe and knows choso’s on aux.

who else could be playing this toxic ass shit?

he’s torn choosing between snakes and ladders or chess when he hears chimes at the front door, signalling somebody’s entered the establishment. he doesn’t think much of it, going on about minding his business when he hears choso say your name.

the latte enters the wrong tube and he chokes.

geto collects himself quickly, wiping any stray liquid past his mouth as his head snaps up. you’re propped up against the counter, and though he can’t see your face, he definitely recognizes your build. . . okay, yeah that sounds fucking pervy but if he stalked your page a few times, who’s business is it but his own? it’s not like you’d know. granted, he had got caught up liking one of your older photos but he took the like right back!

he debates on walking up to you. how would that even work without seeming desperate? you’ve been checking out all of his boxes so far— your face, body and attitude (question mark) are all tens. he does want to get to know you— at least be somebody in your life. but damn, why is he overthinking this? all he has to get up there and sweet talk you. he’s done this shit before.

“yo, suguru!”

shit.

purple orbs shift towards where his name was called, and lo and behold, there stands choso. and naturally, you look back to who was summoned, but god— social media does not do your face justice. he last seen you about a week ago, and had nothing but your instagram and his memory to rely on.

he makes his way to the counter and ignores you. doesn’t spare you a glance once— though he stands right at your side and watches you watching him through his peripheral. he nods at choso, “what’s up?”

choso, ever the genius, flicks his eyes between geto and you, before clearing his throat, “shoko just texted— somethin’ about a new client. how’s the studio looking?”

“booked all week,” geto answers truthfully, and he notices you’ve shifted your gaze, “little to no openings. why though?”

choso hums, jolting down online orders into a little notebook, “not even for a special friend?”

geto squints his eyes at that. there isn’t anybody he’d call a special friend that hasn’t already been booked or wouldn’t have his number to squeeze in an appointment. granted, he is a dnd warrior but even his friends know of that quirk of his, “depends. who’s the special friend?”

“me.” and he feels his heart skip a beat. fuck. he tilts his head over to the side, and good lord, your face card gave every girl on campus runs for their money. seriously, your facial features complimented you in a way that told aphrodite— the textbook definition of beauty— to go fuck herself, and hard.

“oh?” geto cocks a brow, and lets his eyes roam up and down your frame. shameless, yes, but he has a reputation to uphold. your rest in face makes his own look like child’s play, “didn’t realize we were on special friends basis.”

you click your tongue, “didn’t realize we were on lurking spam accounts but pretend we don’t exist the next day basis either,” you quip right back, picking at the white bow glued to your acrylics.

sassy. geto chuckles, now fully turning his body around to face you. you match his movements, and he toys with a ring on his middle finger, “guess you got me all figured out,” he pauses, shifting his gaze to choso, who’s already eyeing him. “sounds like you wanted me to reach out.”

“boy please,” you scoff, pausing your nail inspection. you let your hand hang, “you choked earlier because you heard my name. that corny nonchalant act isn’t the flex you’re thinking it is,” a huff escapes your lips, and geto feels blood rushing to his face. “your lurking ass was months deep into my page just a week ago— did you find any men ain’t shit vibes from the photo dump?”

choso stifles a laugh, and when geto looks at him, it dies into a cough. well damn, you really didn’t hold anything back. read him like a book actually— and it doesn’t help that gojo can’t keep his mouth shut for shit. it widens the grin on his face. he thinks he likes you.

“well,” geto smirks, “can’t say i have— means there’s still an opening.”

you furrow your brows, “oh? an opening to what exactly?”

“an appointment, of course,” he shrugs, running a hand through his hair. his locks are getting in his face, but the messy look always gets him compliments. might as well shoot his shot, “you know. . .” leaning his chin into the palm of his hand, “for a special friend.”

his double entendre definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by you. he watches how, despite the mean mugging, there’s a glint of mischief in your eyes. you’re squinting just slightly, almost as if you were weighing out the pros and cons. geto won’t break the eye contact first— he’s on a mission. he hopes the tired eyes look will be on his side this time.

tattoo or dick appointment— he would one hundred percent make an opening for you. anything to get his hands on your body.

“are we still talking about the tattoo parlour or . . .”

both you and he turn to choso, who’s watching the situation unfold. just count on him to ruin the mood, whether the obliviousness was feigned or not. choso tightens his brows at the look geto shoots him, “what?”

“i’m gonna head out,” you grab at your handbag, hopping of the seat. nicely played choso. you gather your items and slip them in your purse, sliding a few bucks across the counter. choso grabs the bills and stick them in the tip jar, nodding at her. “catch you in poly sci?”

“if you don’t skip again.” choso snorts and you flip him off, slinging your bag over your shoulder. you turn on your heel and make your way towards the exit, ultimately dismissing geto. that doesn’t feel too nice, he should probably stop that bad habit.

he rises to his feet before he can help it. his hand grabs at your wrist and notices how much smaller it seems in comparaison to his, and he hates the next words that leave his mouth, “what about me?”

you glance down at his hold on you, before looking back up at him, “what about you?” your face says everything your lips haven’t— you’re getting the ick.

he wants to wince. okay, yeah that was corny, “when do i get to see you?”

you drag out a mini hum, your gaze dancing over his silver chain around his collarbone, “dunno. you have my socials so i assume in the next hour.”

he tilts his head to the side, and the pad of his thumb grazes over your smooth skin. he doesn’t fail to notice the way your hand stiffens under his touch, “so if i slide in your dms in the next hour, i can expect an answer?”

a snort leaves your chest, and he can’t tell if it’s a condescending one or an amused one. what he does know, however, is that he’s going to be seeing you sometime soon. you take your hand back into your possession before laying it in the dead centre of his chest, pushing him back just slightly, “i’ll see you around, geto.”

his eyes trail over your figure, every step you take out of the establishment, slightly starstruck by the entirety of you— your boldness. the thrill he was beginning to feel felt like a high. he hasn’t met anybody this entertaining in a while.

“you’re so fucking corny.” he thinks he hears choso insult him from behind. he doesn’t pay him any mind, despite the middle finger that tips towards the ceiling. partynextdoor blasts in the cafe, specifically freak in you, and he hates how he finds himself relating to the lyrics,

room full of beautiful women but he only wants one.

☆ ☆ ☆

“you stalking me, pretty?”

“sure,” you nod your head, raking through the items on the clothing rack. you don’t spare him a single glance, picking a top off the rack and inspecting it, “if stalking means visiting the busiest thrift store on the busiest hour in the busiest city.”

geto lets out a small laugh, shoving his hands in the pockets of his cargos. you make him feel like a nuisance, like he’s a pest wasting your time. ironic, seeing as he wasn’t that much of a bother just last night, when you’d been indulging him in your inbox, “of course you’re the thrifting type.”

you pause your actions, price tag in your fingers as you side eye him through locks of your hair, “and you’re not?”

“didn’t mean it in a bad way, sweetheart.” geto shrugs, pulling off a cropped baby tee and bringing towards you. it has sequins sewn in the material, the gems writing out juicy couture. “this would suit you— belly piercing and whatnot.”

the top is cute, there was no denying so. a pretty shade of pink that suited your complexion, but letting his ego inflate bigger than it already was out of the question. he could tell your thought process from the judgmental look you offered, “oh god—you’re one of those fake ass, streetwearing fashionistas, aren’t you?”

geto blinks a few times, before letting out a sincere laugh. he’s been called a multitude of things before, but that one was new, “you got all that from me suggesting you buy this juicy couture tee? don’t all girls fiend over this vintage shit?”

“it’s that corny ass personality of yours,” you grab the shirt, throwing it in your cart. he wants to make a comment on that, but you beat him to the chase, “the phoney nonchalant act, the streetwear, your insta aesthetic— you’re so scripted.”

“my insta aesthetic?” he repeats, and doesn’t miss a step to catch up to you. your hands are back on the handle of your shopping cart, and if the way his elbows bump into your shoulders bothers you, you don’t make point in commenting on it. “who’s the lurker now, hm?”

you roll your eyes, pushing the strolley ahead, “don’t let it get to your big ass head. your feed screams you’re those toxic ass brent faiyaz wannabes,” he watches your fingertips rake through more clothings that pass your way, before you shoot him a glance, “let me guess— he showed on your spotify wrapped.”

his silence speaks volumes, and you click your tongue, “see? scripted.”

“and what about you?” geto counters when you make a pit stop. you pull away from your cart when a denim skirt catches your eye. you lift the skirt up to your eyes, before looking over your shoulder, cocking a brow.

“what about me?”

“the tweet reposts, the song choices for your highlights, the whole spiritual baddie persona,” he presses behind you, his chest meeting your back. he rests his chin atop your head, purple eyes landing on the clothing article that’s lowering in your hold, “if my page gives brent then yours definitely gives jhene.”

you’re mute for a second, and you chuck the skirt into the cart. you pull away from beneath him, spinning on your feet to face him, and you’ve got a scowl on your lips, “what’s wrong with jhene?”

“and you call me the toxic one.” geto pokes at your cheek. you swipe his hand away, and he laughs, “don’t get me wrong though— she makes good music. but let’s not act like she’s all innocent either,” his gaze lowers to your glossy lips, the fullness of the pair hypnotic, “a real freak. should i call you my pussy fairy?”

“do not,” you reply, weaving around him to make your way back to your cart. geto laughs, snatching a few things of the racks before dumping them in your stuff. you give him a deadpanned look and he whistles it off, feigning ignorance. “jhene’s a lovergirl. thought i was part of the men ain’t shit community.”

“you’re not gonna let that go, are you?” geto sighs. he owes gojo another thump in the head.

you roll your eyes, “thank your homeboy for that.”

“two things can be true at once,” geto fiddles with the hem of his jacket. he’s back at walking step by step with you, and you haven’t told him to fuck off yet, so he’s going to milk the opportunity out. “you’re mean but a lovergirl. you hate men but a real freak with them. right or wrong?”

you halter in your steps, and geto’s now a few steps ahead of you, so he looks over his shoulder to meet your bored expression, “i know you’re not trying to read me in the middle of value village.”

“no better time than the present,” he smiles, one that creases a dimple in his cheeks. “come on up— what are you waiting for?”

you stare at him some more, inhaling sharply, “mind you, i never invited you to join me,” you shake your head but comply regardless. cute, looks like you’re enjoying his company more than you’re letting on.

so he graces you his presence some more. he shops along with you, sneaks clothes into your cart when you’re distracted and asks you stupid questions. it’s a good time— to him at least, being able to get to know you some more without interruptions. naturally, you feign that his company is the bane of your existence, but he doesn’t miss the twitch of your lips when he taps his card into the reader at the check out.

hell yeah he’s got money to spend and is willing to show off if it means getting on your good side.

it’s only after he helps you bag your shit into your car, that he realizes this is where the both of you part ways. it annoys him slightly, but he doesn’t need to overstep his boundaries. he closes your trunk and makes his way to the driver’s side, where you’re already buckled up.

he taps at your window and the glass rolls down all the way, to which he leans forward. he’s in your line of sight now and you sigh, tilting your head sideways, “what?”

“do i get a goodbye kiss?” geto teases, honest, the boyish smirk he offers accentuating the playful undertone. the last thing he expects is you shifting in your seat, pushing yourself up and peaking your head out the window.

his smirk drops, brows jumping to his hairline. you’re really fucking close now, and for a split second he thinks you’re actually going to do it. he can see the flecks of colours swimming in your orbs, the tip of your nose bumps into his and your breath fans his cupid’s bow.

fuck, you smell really good. he bets you taste even better. his mouth is running dry, mindlessly darting his tongue out to wet his own lips. he doesn’t realize he’s let himself lean into your space, eyes narrowing on your mouth parting over his.

he’s pulled out of his trance when two fingers press at his forehead and push. he blinks his lashes, snapping back to reality as you sit back into your seat. you look amused— as if you’d played the funniest game right in his face and he’d been the star player.

“i’ll see you around, geto.”

and you drive off.

☆ ☆ ☆

“come back in a few weeks for a checkup. we’ll make sure the healing process is running smoothly. i’ll catch you soon.”

he lets out a tired sigh when the door finally closes, slumping into his seat and shuts his eyes. he’s exhausted— having woken up early for lectures and labs to back to back appointments with clients. this time around, the parlour is always booked and busy. students find it the perfect timing to get tatted to let it heal before showing it off in the summer.

it’s smart for them but idiotic for him. midterms are up, and the only time he has to study is in between appointments. he slides off his gloves and drags his seat towards his desk, redirecting his attention focus towards the blinding screen.

he feels a headache building at his temple, sipping at his iced coffee to keep him energized. contradicting, sure, but you didn’t have the luxury to be a beggar and a chooser when you were a full time student. the parlour he ran resided in his loft apartment, on the second floor. he enjoyed the comfort of his own home, spacious room and wide windows compared to outside stores.

his cat, nanako, purrs at his feet and he feels his heart swell. if there was one weakness he had in this world, it’d be her. he picks her up from the floor, presses her at his rib cage and nuzzles his nose in her fur.

“hi baby,” geto coos, and nanako lets out a sound. he continues to coddle her, fluffing her fur and rubbing at her ears, “it’s been pretty lively in here, hasn’t it? i knowww,” he coos, and as if nanako understands his words, she makes a pitiful sound that slightly shatters his heart.

geto decides to place her on his lap, her company serving plenty of motivation as he rolls back to his desk. he grabs the remote to his built-in speakers, turning the volume higher, before locking back in. exams are full of crap, and words are starting to jumble on his screen— he’s beginning to contemplate if this education shit is even worth the stress.

he’s an hour deep in jolting notes down on his ipad when he hears a knock at his front door. he scrunches his brows and glances at his agenda— he isn’t due for an appointment until another few hours. he sits it out, starting to believe he’d maybe imagined the sound. he knows it isn’t gojo since he’s celebrating an anniversary with his girl, and any other friend would’ve called to let him know they’re outside.

probably some jehovah witness shit, he thinks to himself, fingers hovering over his speaker remote to crank the volume back up. he turns back to his laptop screen, petting nanako mindlessly when his ipad flashes an instagram notification.

yourstruly.yn: open up

he jumps to his feet, chair rolling back. nanako flies to his desk, landing on all fours as she hisses at him for his suddenness. geto grabs her and kisses her ear, “sorry baby,” before sitting her on the floor. she walks off to her mini bean bag right at the foot of his desk, and he senses an attitude coming from her.

damn, he’d forgotten he squeezed you in last night in the midst of his sweet talking. that was truly a stupid move, he was already behind on studying, and because he likes to think with his head instead of his actual head, he’d fall even further behind.

he checks around the flat— picks up stray wrappers and fixes throw pillows, arranges his sheets. he was a clean man for the most part— he had been so distracted with his studies that there wasn’t much to dirty in the first place. his candles had already been lit so he knew the place smelled fine. he’s pretty positive his loft is clean enough to leave a good first impression.

he fixes loose hairs and straightens out his hoodie and sweats. thank fuck he’d showered not too long ago— he’s beginning to understand why his mother was always so insistent on being clean in case of random pop ups.

when he does finally open the door, there you stood. it was pretty chilly outside this time around, so he wasn’t surprised by the harsh wind flowing in and the clutch of your coat in your hold. your nose began reddening, and you sniffled, scowling from the cold.

you’re so cute, he sends you a smile, “hey.”

“hi,” you replied, sniffling again. “you ever planning on letting me in?”

“dunno,” he crosses his arms over his chest. he leans against the doorframe, ignoring the way he was starting to feel the frosty wind setting in his bones, “maybe if you ask nicely.”

you shoot him a deadpanned look, “move.”

“no.” geto smiles, “try again.”

“move, now.” a small pout is starting to form on your lips. he really liked testing your patience, since it always seemed to run low. you must’ve met your match— because geto always had time to fuck around.

“close, but not quite.”

“oh my goddd,” you groan, and that’s when he decides to let up. it really is colder than a bitch outside and he’d already kept you waiting while tidying up. he lets out a chuckle when you turn to the side, “i’m leaving— too damn cold for this.”

“alright, i’m playing,” geto widens the door. you stop your movements and glare at him. he aims an arm towards the inside of his loft, “don’t go, come in.”

you grumble something beneath your breath but comply, walking right past him. he follows behind you, shutting the door close and is immediately greeted back with warmth. you slip your shoes off and place them on the rack, before stepping in further into his apartment.

he slides his hands into his sweatpants’ pockets, catching up to you in the living room. your head is tilted upwards as you inspect the place though you remain in place. he stands beside you, bumping his shoulder into your arm, “so? up to your standards?”

you’re quiet for a while, letting your eyes roam around as the words build in your mind, “it’s typical,” you shrug but don’t elaborate. you’ve been staring at an art piece he’d done first year when he was fried out of his mind. you shift your gaze back to him, “where do i put my shit?”

“you can leave it in my bedroom, if that’s fine.” geto suggests and you nod wordlessly, to which he leads you to the second floor. he’s walking up the stairs and prays he doesn’t fall flat on his face— his socks can be a real bitch sometimes.

you both make it to his bedroom, with you trailing a little behind. he grabs a hanger from his mobile clothing rack, stretching an arm out to you, “i’ll hang your jacket here.”

you slide off the coat from your frame and hand it to him, to which he hangs on the rack. you circle around his bedroom with your tote on your shoulder, while he makes his way back to next to his desk. it’s pretty quiet for the most part, besides the music playing gently in the background.

your gaze lands on the cluttered items on his desk, noticing the half empty cup of coffee, notebooks and ipad on display, “did i catch you at a bad time?”

“honestly? yeah,” geto shrugs, before motioning at your tote bag. you slip it off and hand it to him, to which he sits at his nightstand, “but it’s my fault anyway, i squeezed you in a busy time. you know how exam season gets.”

“i can always reschedule,” you offer, checking your phone screen for the date, “it’s not that deep.”

“i don’t want you to leave,” geto slumps back into his seat and heaves out a sigh. he spins the chair around to catch you giving him a flat look. he leans back in his seat and spreads his thighs, smirking, “would you stay?”

“depends. are you going to be studying?” you quip, crossing your arms back to your chest.

geto ponders on what to say next. it’s not like he doesn’t want to tatt you up, but he really is caught in a bind. he also doesn’t want you to leave— not when he’s been wanting to see you since the last time he’d seen you. does he prioritize his wants or his needs?

he hums, “i’ll do whatever you want me to.”

you roll your eyes, scoffing as you make your way to his nightstand. for a second, he thinks you’re getting ready to leave and a weird feeling of disappointment settles in his gut. instead, you grab the bag and sit on the edge of his bed, pulling out your macbook and crossing your legs.

he smiles at that, “attagirl.”

“corny.” you mumble, chewing on your bottom lip as you begin typing away.

there’s a comfortable silence that fills the room. he’s back to browsing through his lecture notes, noting down valuable information and memorizing terminology. you don’t say anything either, but the sound of your nails typing at your keyboard blends well with his r&b playlist playing. sounds like you’re writing down an essay or report, depending on whatever your major is.

about half an hour into the silence, does he decide to break it. he looks over his shoulder to where you’re settled on his bed, “you good?” he checks up on you, and you let out a burnt out sigh. he knows exactly how you’re feeling.

“i guess,” you huff, twirling your necklace. your eyes are stuck on your screen, brows creasing into a scowl, “this shit is frying my brain though.”

“what are you writing?” he indulges, dropping his apple pen back onto his desk and spins in his seat to face you. maybe he’s also in due of a break— he’d rather be talking to you anyway.

“this crim report,” you answer, picking at your nail, “it’s not exactly hard but mad lengthy. i have to write a ten page report based on this article and how it contradicts societal norms.”

“ten pages?” geto whistles, rubbing at his chin. he’s settled deeper in his seat, naturally manspreading. you’re much better than him, he would’ve given up before even starting— reports were not his thing, “how far are you in?”

“i started this morning,” you hum, “so i’m four pages in.”

geto nods, “and when is it due?”

“tomorrow night.” you push your laptop off your lap. you close the screen shut and stretch out your legs, releasing a breathy moan as you relax your thighs. “i’ll do this shit later— my head’s starting to hurt.”

geto swears he’s never been so in sync in thought. he dismisses the idea of studying the second you had closed your macbook. probably a bad idea but at the moment, he couldn’t care any less, “want some entertainment?”

you cock a brow, “don’t say no stupid shit.”

“twenty one questions,” geto speaks nonetheless and finds himself beaming brightly when you scoff, “can’t a guy want to get to know you better?”

you ease yourself on his bed, slumping into his sheets as you exhale. you shift onto your side— a sinful curve at your side— tucking your knees and lean your head into your palm, “oh fuck off,” a breathless laugh and nanako makes her presence known, hopping right by you in the space between your body and the edge of the bed, “didn’t know you had a cat. she’s cute.”

“how’d you know she was a she?” geto wonders, surprised just slightly by how welcoming nanako was around you. she purred when you stroke at her fur, nuzzling further into your chest. nanako hated everyone— especially gojo, who unironically visited the most.

“instinct,” you shrugged but there’s a faint smile on your lips. not directed towards him, but his baby, “i also have a cat— he’s a fucking menace though.”

that’s one thing in common already, “like mother like son,” geto grins lazily when you flip him off mindlessly, and when you raise nanako in both your hands, he’s ready to warn you she isn’t a big fan of sudden movements— but when she mewls, the same sound she makes when geto brings home a new toy, the words die down in his throat.

he observes you both silently. you cradle nana as if she were a newborn infant, adoring and loving yet simultaneously careful and steadily. you’re cooing, calling her a sweet girl and rubbing at her ear, and nanako accepts you rather easily— too easily.

“woah.” was this those non-sexual turn ons people spoke about? for somebody so mean, you were oddly gentle with pets. he liked that— really liked that, so much that he pulls his phone out and snaps a photo of you two. but of course, because the universe loves to see him fumble, the flash goes off.

your head snaps to the side and he freezes. you narrow your eyes at him, slowly lowering nanako, “did you just—”

“so!” geto cuts you off, chucking his phone back onto his desk. it makes a loud cluttering sound, damn near knocks his drink all over, but ignores it, “my turn. what’s your cat’s name?”

“milo. and don’t cut me off—”

“milo the menace,” he cuts you off regardless, not wanting to have to decipher just what exactly possessed him to do that. he’s never done so, and he wasn’t about to explain why he’d done it just now. deflecting king! “i need to see the little guy. got any pics?”

you huff, extending a hand behind you to find your phone. when you clutch onto the device, you swing your legs off the bedside, always careful with nanako clinging to your lap. you lay her down on the floor, much to her dismay, before making your way towards him.

his eyes are stuck on your body before his mind can tell him to stop. not like it mattered much, your own eyes glued to your phone screen as you searched for the pictures he’d asked. you’ve got a matching tracksuit on— though the hoodie is cropped, thus exposing your navel piercing. he’d always had a thing for those, the pretty good jewel dangling below the button.

it didn’t help that your thong straps sat atop your waist.

he spreads his legs further open, and you stop right in between. for a moment, you’re stuck on your phone, and geto really wants to get those thighs straddling him. you look delectable— he’d pin your knees to your damn ears, sprawled on your back, and eat you out until you pleaded him to stop.

your hair was pulled back into a bun, and from this angle, he spotted scripture at the column of your neck. there was wording inked in arabic, and he made a mental note to ask you what it meant later.

geto leans back into his seat when you fold forwards, and he gets a good whiff of your vanilla scented perfume, tingling his senses in the best way, “found it?”

you nod your head, swiping through your gallery, “yeah, my bad,” you have a folder named ‘mimi’ and as expected, was filled off candid photos of your cat. he pays attention as you slide your finger on your screen, selfies of you both in the morning passing by.

“cute,” he isn’t talking about the cat, and his gaze flicks from the screen to your face. there’s still a considerate amount of space between you both, but he can see your eye colour much clearer this close up. you blink your lashes at him and he smirks, “anything else you wanna show me?”

you sniff, “don’t be gross.”

“i meant of milo,” geto definitely didn’t mean of milo. you cock a brow skeptically, and he mirrors the look, though the smile on his face grows, “what a cute lil thing,” his voice lowers and his words trail off. there’s a beat of a pause for a while, and his gaze falls on the plumpness of your lips, “you gonna let me pet your kitty?”

another beat of silence. you’re staring at his lips, and he wonders what you’re thinking. he can tell you’ve picked up on what he’s laying down (hopefully you in the next few minutes) but he can’t tell what your next move will be.

“depends. . .” a soft whisper, and he feels your breath fanning over his cupid’s bow. you flick your eyes back at him, and he finally understands the whole siren eyes shit. through lidded eyes, your stare is intense— simultaneously pulling him in closer while pushing him back. you’re toying with him, and the hand he slides up from your thigh to your ass is enough fuel. “you any good?”

he brings a second hand to the other ass cheek, and urges you onto his lap. you comply, looping your arms at the back of his neck. he feels your nails grazing at his scalp and he holds back a lethal shudder. your weight feels amazing against him— his hard on poking and making its presence well aware.

“i’d like to think i am,” he knows he is, but playing humble always goes a long way. he lets his hands run over the cup of your ass, trails back up to your hips, and slides a finger beneath the thong strap. when he snaps the material at your skin, your back arches and you press your chest against his own.

“well,” you exhale when he noses into the crook of your neck, right above your tattoo. he’s littering wet kisses at your hot skin, your taste ever so sweet against his tongue. god, you must taste divine. at your jugular, he’s able to imprint your perfume into his mind. “only one way to find out.”

geto hums at that, relishing in the way you moan at a particular suck, and focus on nibbling at that spot once more. you’re tilting your head for easier access, hips grinding against his own for better friction. your hands are soft and cautious— they trail from his nape down to his chest, and further down to his waistband.

he’s on go, ready for whatever timing you’re on. though, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out by the way your fingertip traces right above his pelvis, that you’re both on the same page. he drags his lips from the column of your neck up to your jaw, and stops right above your parted lips.

he has another cocky remark on the tip of his tongue, in typical suguru fashion, but you beat him to the chase, glossy lips pressing against his. the kiss is short and definitely leaves him wanting more when you pull back as soon as you’d leaned in— but you’re a mere centimetre away.

you whisper, not before another kiss, “don’t disappoint me, suguru.”

and he’s never ran into bed so fast.

☆ ☆ ☆

the door slams shut.

he’s left with a painfully hard reminder in his sweats that he fucked up bad. he thinks he dissociated a little between the labia flapping to the coat zipping. it’s only when he notices that instead of hearing lip smacking sounds, he hears bryson tiller’s lame ass (no shade, his ego is simply wounded), that you really left.

fuck.

geto rushes back to his bedroom, the walk of shame up the steps enough to make him want to jump off— as he takes out his phone, immediately goes through his contact list and presses on the name. it rings twice before the call gets picked up.

“yooo!”

“you still busy?” geto asks, voice hoarse as he flops down on the edge of the bed— his now empty bed. damn.

“nah, just dropped off wifey,” gojo replies. he hears music playing faintly in the back, as well as the sounds of honking. he must still be in the car, “why, what’s up?”

“i fucked up.” geto sighs, running a hand over his face.

“oh?” he isn’t surprised to find out gojo’s surprised. he’s still surprised by how the events turned out and it’s barely been ten minutes, let alone five. “say no more, i’m on my way.”

geto hangs up. he throws the phone away, before falling flat onto his bed. he picks up your scent on his sheets, your warmth slowly disappearing— another painful reminder he messed up. where he’s expecting a wet patch of anything on his duvets, he finds nothing. zip. nada.

his eyes fall shut, “shit.”

☆ ☆ ☆

“and that’s pretty much the gist of it all.”

he exhales a cloud of smoke. more silence. geto’s starting to get sick of all this silence. it was radio silence with you and now even more radio silence from gojo. his hand never stops to rub at nanako, who’s been serving as a cuddling partner in this grand moment of crisis. the only person to ever have his back.

so, geto knew that confiding in his best friend this secret of his would be risky for a multitude of reasons. for starters, geto never fucks up. this would be ultimate blackmail content for him, and geto honestly doesn’t blame him. for two, he was just giving gojo shit about never having eaten pussy. that’s just downright humiliating. and for three, he has a girlfriend who he doesn’t keep anything from. on top of that— his girlfriend is friends with the main culprit here.

overall a bad idea. he does it nonetheless, because satoru is his best friend despite it all. he isn’t too shocked when the silence is filled with bellyaching laughter, though.

“wait— i’m cryinggg,” more laughter. gojo’s now kicked his feet off the couch and is doubling forward. his shades bounce off his head and hit the leg of the coffee table. he doesn’t pause his laughing fit one bit, not even when geto throws a throw pillow his way.

it bounces off his big head and geto scoffs, bringing the joint back to his lips, “oh fuck off.”

“my fault man,” gojo apologizes though he doesn’t sound apologetic. he’s leaning forward to grab his shades back, and he’s back to swiping stray tears. “that was a good laugh— shit.”

geto hums at that, extending the blunt towards him,“glad to hear my misery has brought you entertainment.”

“see, you get it!” gojo jokes, welcoming the joint. seems like he got cocky, however, his laughing mood not quite over as he inhales. he quickly chokes on the smoke, which fades back into cackling, “oh shit—”

geto sneers, annoyance quickly rising, “quit fucking around or pass it back.” he was being pissy, yes, but his pride had been curb stomped. and it hadn’t even been an hour ago!

“nah, nah, i’m good,” gojo waves him off, despite his free hand tapping at his chest. he collects himself soon enough, and takes another hit. this time it’s successful. geto lowkey hoped it would get caught in his throat again.

“sooo,” gojo drags out, melting into the couch, “what now.”

“what now?” geto parrots.

“what’s the next move?” gojo elaborates, fingertip tapping at the blunt, and ashes fall into the tray. the end of the stick crumbles in the same way geto’s ego had earlier. “you’re gonna keep letting her think you suck at giving head?”

geto throws his head back and sighs tiredly, “what else is there to do?” he hears the sound of sizzling in the background, “i fumbled bad, bro. you don’t think she already posted about me in her girls’ private story?” more sizzling and exhaling, “i’m the storytime of the day!”

he feels gojo nudge his thigh with his foot. he looks back and the joint is presented to him. he gladly accepts it.

“what even happened?” gojo wonders. and oh boy, if that isn’t the question of the day. geto is still trying to find the answer to that. had it been out of nervousness? had he gotten too cocky? had it been her?

“i honestly wish i could answer that,” geto slips the roach into his mouth. “i didn’t feel nervous until after i realized she wasn’t fazed,” he drags out a hit and ghost inhales, “maybe it was a sign from above— to shut the fuck up sometimes.”

“maybe,” gojo snorts, throwing his legs over geto’s lap. nanako hisses at the intrusion, but the white haired man ignores her, “don’t let yourself go out sad like this. hit her back up— whatever happened to loving challenges?”

“what kind of fucked up ass challenge is this?” geto mumbles, mainly to himself.

“if i was in your shoes— which i’d never be,” because he’s gojo, he feels the need to add, “i’d put my pride aside and talk to her. like no homo shit, but you’re a great eater— yeah, no, i’m taking that back instantly.”

geto looks as horrified as he feels, “quickly, even.”

of course, gojo laughs but proceeds, “the point is, you know you’re good at it. everybody fucks up once in a while— don’t let it define you though. think of it as a minor setback for a major comeback— if you care enough, you’ll put your pride aside and do something about it. if you’re this down about it, then it must mean something to you.”

geto can’t tell anymore whether gojo’s talking about the failed pussy eating attempt or you. regardless, he knows there’s truth to his words. has to be the weed talking.

“and who made you the pussy connoisseur?” geto snorts, pressing the bud of his joint in the tray. it sizzles weakly as he kills it, starting to feel that high course through his veins.

gojo sighs dreamily, “why my lovely lady, of course.”

“looks like she taught you well,” geto relaxes himself into the tight space of the couch, settling nanako on his chest. it’s now his turn to nudge gojo with his foot, his sock-cladded toe digging at his jaw. “woulda never expected this from a rookie just a few months ago.”

“well duh,” gojo swipes his foot away, “i aced that course. got my phD in cunningulusophy and all. even won valedictorian.”

geto laughs, resting his lids. he was starting to feel sleepy, indica will do that to you, “enroll me in whatever class you took— i may need to slut myself out for extra credit. my prof’s a tough nut to bust.”

“intro to munch 101,” gojo nods his head, shutting his eyes close as well. there’s a comfortable silence that fills the air for a while. and despite the fact that his sight manipulated, he could hear the smirk dripping off his tone, “if you ever need a letter of recommendation, i got you— alumni’s honour.”

“oh fuck off,” a mixed harmony of laughter and vibrating chests.

☆ ☆ ☆

fun fact: suguru geto loves showers.

the aroma of cleanliness enhanced by thick fog. the scorching water droplets trickling down his skin, the vulnerability of his nakedness inside these four walls. he strangely feels most at ease, most raw in this moment of solitude.

he’s able to gather himself too. there isn’t much to accomplish in a shower once you’ve gotten rid of the day’s dirt. so, he likes to take the opportunity to think. to think deep and hard.

his mind’s all scrambled up. it’s been about three days since you were last in his apartment, two days since he’d thought about it, and a day since he last seen you (granted it’d been on your story, virtually, but still).

this has been the biggest feat he’s faced in a while. if he recaps it, this is what’s he gotten: he invited you over. you came the next day. he didn’t cater to you the sole reason you came. you didn’t mind. you both studied for a bit. he asked about your cat. you ended up on his lap. he ended up in bed with you. you ended up leaving with a chunk of his dignity.

that didn’t explain shit, but it did remind him of his failure. it reminded him that he’d finally met his match. it reminded him he needs to start backing his shit up. it reminded him of how good you smelled and tasted down there. it reminded him of how pretty you looked.

his cock twitches and he glances down. it also reminds him he never ended up cumming, too engrossed in his anxiety to jerk one out.

he feels as though the glass doors of his shower protect him from reality. he’s hard, though mortified, but still hard. he’d spent a long time (two days) suppressing the memory away, but there was no way to mistaken your taste on his tongue. how sweet you smelled. how soft you felt—

geto fists at his dick before he can help it. his free hand plants at the wall before him, and he works his wrist. he twists at his shaft slowly and closes his eyes— behind his lids are photographic memories of you on his lap. memories of you on his bed. memories of the scent of your panties. memories of your tits in his mouth.

sure, you’d made more sounds off the foreplay for the foreplay— but that didn’t take away how turned on he’d been. how his dick twitched in his boxers. how he’d humped the mattress. how he’d moan in your cunt.

“y/n,” geto moans your name, sinful yet hushed, his hand working faster. his thumb grazes his over slit and his gut drowns in heat. he wants a redo. he deserves a redo— you deserved a redo. “fuckkkk,”

next time, he’ll get it right. and if he doesn’t, then he’ll want to try again and again and again— until it ends with your cunt clenching around his tongue and his face sprayed vigorously in your essence. until your thighs tremble around his face, your hand clawing at his hair and your back arched off his bed. until his name bounces off his walls and echoes so loudly his neighbours complain.

he wants a redo.

he jerks back as he paints the tiles white. the joints in his hand ache, the water from the shower head getting colder. geto pants heavily, chest heaving as his load is released from him. his cum drips from the wall and into the drain at his feet— but his dick is far from well spent. if he spends another hour in the shower, it’s nobody’s business but his own.

suguru geto loves showers.

☆ ☆ ☆

“oh. you actually showed.”

“redo,” geto pants, having sprinted from his apartment. he’d spent the next three days after his shower incident wallowing some more— at some point, it just annoyed him. though slightly underwhelming, he was on his phone in bed a few minutes ago, going through his camera roll when he’d seen that picture he took of you and nanako. his feet guided him to his car before he could help it. choso helped him out with the address.

“redo?” you parrot his words, leaning against your doorframe. you crossed your arms over your chest, and it’s only then he noticed your appearance— flimsy camisole and pink lace panties. fuck, he wants a redo now.

“i want a redo.” geto repeats, but is quickly hit with a gust of wind. he hadn’t brought a jacket with him in the midst of his impulse, and goosebumps were beginning to form at his skin. he shoots his shot, “you ever planning on letting me in?” talk about deja vu.

“dunno,” you play along, eyes narrowing. “maybe if you ask nicely.”

swallow your pride, he hears gojo somewhere in the back of his mind. he shakes that thought off quickly. this desperation had to be bigger than a pride issue— he was ready to get on his knees and beg her to let him in. pride? that had been drained to the sewers the second he busted all over his shower days ago.

“lemme in and i’ll make it up to you,” geto tries instead, taking a step closer, “please?”

that seemed to be the correct answer as you push open the door to your apartment further. you turn your back and geto lets himself drink up your backside— he hadn’t seen it last time but you had dimples sitting right above your perky ass. he watches your hips sway left and right, and even tilt your head back, a smirk etched on your face, “you comin’?”

you will be, “cute.” his lips twitch into a small smile, and closes the door behind him.

☆ ☆ ☆

fool him once? shame on him.

geto doesn’t allow himself to make the same mistakes twice. if one fuck up is enough to tear him down for a week straight then why the hell would he do it again?

you’re sprawled on your back, legs spread with enough space to fit his body in between. his hands plant on either side of your face, his bulge pushed up against your core. he feels your warmth through these layers of clothes, and he rolls his hips greedily, feeling himself already grow addicted. your chin is raised high, lids blown open as you stare at him all doe-eyed.

his brows pinch in the centre of his forehead. that faux look of innocence you’re offering is doing wonders to his dick. your tits sit beautifully beneath your top, arms back on him as you pull him in closer, and he lets himself fall prey to you. for a moment, the tip of his nose bumps into yours, lips ghosting over the other, hips colliding to meet yours.

“mhm, that’s it.” you let out a sigh, throwing your head back into your pillows. there’s an opening to your neck calling his name, and geto wastes no time to latch his lips there. he slips a hand beneath your tank top, fingernails grazing over your skin to creep up to your mounds. he flicks a thumb over the bud and you sigh blissfully again— he then cups the flesh.

he loves the way you squirm when he kisses down your body, “i got you, pretty,” stripped from your cami, his lips leave open mouthed marks all over your skin. from the column of your neck, to your breasts, down your torso and past your navel, “let me take care of you.” the lower he gets, the more intense your rawness reeks— and it’s a damned good smell.

he lands right above your clothed pelvis, and he inhales sharply. he won’t make the same mistake this time, he can feel it. there’s something lingering in the air, something indescribable— but he’s confident he won’t. because when he skips your cunt in favour to pamper your inner thighs, dragging his wet tongue all over erogenous zones, he spots dampening right where your clit would be.

bingo.

your hand cradles his hair, and the other props your body up by the elbow. he glances up at you, cock throbbing against your mattress. your beauty still renders him speechless— runs his throat dry and makes his tongue feel heavy. he doesn’t want to decipher what this means either, and decides to conclude he’s simply thirsty for you.

“suguru,” you call at him. he blinks and the hand in his hair snakes down his neck, and pushes him deeper. his nose nudges at your throbbing clit, and his tongue peeks out of his mouth to lick at the damp material before he can help it. two fingers hook at your panties and push them to the side, revealing glistening folds. your slick drips between your crack and stains your sheets. he thinks he hears his stomach growl a little.

another swipe of his tongue, this time in contact with the raw you, and a breathless moan rips from you, “don’t disappoint me this time.”

and he feasts.

☆ ☆ ☆

gojo’s woken up to a notification from his phone.

it’s still pretty late— or maybe early, and his pretty girlfriend is miles away in lalaland. she snores softly, cuddling into his side, and gojo’s ready to cuss out whoever dares potentially meddle with his girl’s sleep. he’s starting to get grumpy.

when his phone undergoes face recognition, he lowers the brightness immediately. he swipes through his notification center and notices an attachment sent by geto.

now that peeks his interest. he presses on the message.

suguboo: [1 attachment]

suguboo: passed intro2munch101 with an A+ 🫡

gojo can’t help the laugh that leaves him, though is quickly quieted down when he feels stirring at his side.

“well i’ll be damned.”

yes, gojo is obsessed with his girlfriend. also 10k words on geto???

[cheyisagirlkisser]

.・College Ellie Headcannons゜・

Note: This is more loser Ellie-centric, I wanna maybe do a part two with just reader and her. Some sexual content and mentions of getting zooted below so 18+ warning!

•Art major, but she’s not the typical hot artsy lesbian you dream of her to be. More like rolls a fat blunt and sketches in her journal, it’ll either turn out to be a masterpiece or look like a crackhead had a go with her paper.

•Speaking of art major, when she’s horny and frustrated because she refuses to hook-up…she draws the lewdest art known to woman-kind. Those are her real masterpieces, but she can’t exactly turn them in for credit in her art class, can she? Fuck, the things that woman can make, though. Lowkey uses her exes naked bodies as inspiration though, maybe kind of weird but who’s gonna stop her?

•Doesn’t eat the food on campus half the time. She is embarrassingly addicted to Tai Pei containers and the occasional microwavable egg-roll. “That shit’s nasty, Ellie! Goddamn, just eat the Tacos 4 Life we have on campus.” Her friends will all tell her, but no. It’s like a guilty pleasure. Maybe it’s cause she grew up lower class and is used to TV dinners, has a special trauma bond to food that should be banned and probably is outside of America.

•Wardrobe consists of band tees, honorable mentions to Gorillaz and Falling in Reverse.

•Is actually an insanely talented writer. After reading her journals I feel like nobody talks about how emotional her entries are and she keeps a journal of her own in college for sure, not only for sketching and organizing art but also to write all her feelings out.

“Fuck me, this is my last year being gay.” -After her and Cat’s break-up, probably.

•Hates coffee. Definitely game-cannon, but this is important to the college setting. It’s the classic Monster or nothing, and she will absolutely judge you for drinking coffee. She calls it “the devil’s dirt.” So dramatic.

•Used to watch bad Hallmark movies because of Dina, now watches them alone because she misses Dina. There’s nothing like crying your eyes out to Christmas Under Wraps!

•Has a collection of rubber ducks on her shelf. Doesn’t use her very small space for normal things like her wallet or books, no. It’s rubber fucking ducks.

•Also has a slipper collection in her tiny closet, from Pikachu all the way to dinosaur feet.

•Has the “two-seater” t-shirt (iykyk) but refuses to wear it in public because she’s a pussy

•Favorite fruit is grapes. I just know my girl loves grapes when she can get her hands on them steer clear bc she will NOT share. Favorite candy is gummy worms!

•Actually wears rain boots when it’s wet outside or snowing

•Likes wired earbuds over airpods, listens to Pearl Jam when she misses living with Joel

•Is oddly good at making those little paper stars and has a huge grocery bag of then in all different patterns and colors

•When she starts dating you she shows you her dinosaur cookie-cutter collection because you're really good at baking. (Also bc she wants to see you in a frilly cute apron!)

•Is a slut for hugs. Kisses are cool, sex is great but agghhh Ellie just loves wrapping her arms around you and sometimes when you two are in her dorm she'll just hug you for what feels like hours on end, she calls it her 'weekly therapy.'

•Loves high sex because when she's sober she hates feeling like she's awkward or all up in her head. She also has a tendency to invite you over for sex after smoking.

•Has a septum piercing. Maybe this one is self-indulgent because I would go ballistic over seeing actual Ellie with one, but I say that college Ellie got hers pierced at 16 and didn't cry over the pain but wanted to literally jump off of a bridge the entire healing process it was so bad.

•Sometimes when you kiss her, her septum will slide over and look uneven and she feels fucking NIGERIA FALLS in her boxers when you fix it for her. Also for those of you who are sluts for glasses, you can fix her glasses too and it'll make her just as weak.

[stevesgother]

Chalkboard Hearts - Pt II

Pairing - Teacher!Steve Harrington x Fem!Mom!Reader

WC - 4.3k

Contains - slow burn, strangers to friends to lovers, single motherhood, kindergarten teacher AU, school field trip, awkward bashful stevie, ONE use of y/n bc the story called for it sorry i don’t make the rules, mention of parent death

AN - here’s part two! I’m so thankful for the love and support you all showed on the first part and continue to show on all my works. It means so much that you guys enjoy my silly little delusions that i happened to turn into silly little stories!

Much love ~ emma

“Well, she’s excelling in English and reading, but struggling a bit with our math unit,” your daughter’s new kindergarten teacher informs you across a maplewood desk clad with plenty of miscellaneous trinkets; Abbey sits on a plastic chair next to you. Normally, it’s not recommended to bring your child to a parent/teacher conference, but with the cost of hiring a sitter lately, this was your only feasible option.

“That being said,” he continues optimistically, “I have plenty of practice worksheets I can send home with you, and if she’s still not getting it in a few weeks, I'm more than willing to stay after hours to work with her.”

You cringe at the idea of him working overtime for you or Abbey, even if it’s literally his job.

“That’s very generous, Mr. H, but–”

He cuts you off, speaking your name in a reassuring tone, “I promise, I’m happy to. It’s not as if I have anywhere else to be,” he chuckles, gesturing to the empty room where you sit.

He senses your hesitation but continues anyway, “Look, I’ll give you the worksheets, and check back in next week. Deal?” he’s clearly asking you, but Abbey beats you to the punch, “Can I use my crayons?”

“Obviously,” he phrases it as though he would expect nothing less.

Abbey gives a barely noticeable little pump of her fist. She’s wriggling around in her seat and you can tell she’s getting antsy with all the ‘grownup talk’. Steve rises first and sticks his hand out for you to shake and when you return the gesture, he takes your palm in both of his.

“Hey, Abbey’s doing great, seriously. You have nothing to worry about,” maybe you look anxious at the prospect of your child struggling in a subject because you somehow weren’t attentive enough, or maybe he can just read you like a book. Either way, his hands on you are dizzying.

“I appreciate that,” you offer him a tender smile as he releases you from his grasp. “What do you say, Abbey? Wanna head home?”

She immediately deflates at the question. School has been in session for barely two months, and all she can seem to talk about is her new teacher. The car rides home and dinners at the table are spent telling tales of his Star Wars impressions, or how he hangs up every picture he’s given on the corkboard behind his desk– how he lets the class have extra recess time if they behave all day long, and how he ‘never ever’ raises his voice.

You can always picture it so easily. There’s something naturally whimsical about him, and anyone can tell he was made for this career. There’s a distant fear that the infatuation Abbey seems to have with him is caused by the absence of her own father, and you wish constantly to be able to give her that– to be two parents for the price of one– but as much as she adores you, there’s always going to be a void in her life that you alone can’t fill. It makes you ache to dwell on it for too long.

“Can’t we stay just a little bit longer?” She pleads with glistening eyes.

“I’m sure Mr. H wants to get home too, Ab,” at that, her features twist into a pout.

Steve kneels in front of her, “I’m gonna see you on Monday though, right?” She tearfully nods, “Good,” he grins and gives her hair a little ruffle when he stands.

“You two have a good weekend, and drive home safe, okay?”

You send him a shy wave, “You too, Mr. H,”

As you’re making your way down the hallway towards the exit with Abbey's hand clasped tightly in yours, you hear a voice along with heavy footfall echo after you, “Wait!--”

When you turn around, Steve’s lightly jogging towards you with a flyer in his hand, “I forgot to give you this,” he pants when he catches up. He hands you a colorful paper advertising a class field trip to Spiller Farm– an orchard a few miles outside of town.

He runs a hand through his hair, mussed from a stressful day doing exactly that, “We still need a few more chaperones, I wanted to ask if you’d be able to?”

Abbey’s demeanor becomes instantly lighter as she begins tugging on your arm, “Please, mommy?!” she begs, as if she’d even have to. “Definitely! Let me double check my schedule and make sure I’m not working,” you smile kindly, “I’ll let you know on Monday when I drop her off,”

For a split second, Steve considers just giving you his number before he thinks better of it. You barely know him, for Christ’s sake. I’d look like a complete creep, He thinks.

“Y-yeah– that’s fine,” he winces at his own awkwardness, “Trip’s on Wednesday,” again feeling like a blundering idiot, as the flyer he just handed you clearly states as much.

If you notice though, you don’t mention it. You simply say,

 “See you Monday,”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Abbey seemed to be in better spirits by the time you made it home and popped a frozen pizza into the oven. You’ve always envied the rebound rate of her sour moods; maybe you should take a page out of her book.

She sits at the table playing with two perfectly groomed Barbie Dolls. Her other toys were a different story– baby doll’s with botched haircuts, stuffed animals with unidentifiable stains and the occasional hole, but her Barbies were always considered with the utmost care a five-year-old could offer.

“Mr. H says his favorite pizza is pepperoni,” she says from where she sits behind you, “is that what kind we’re having?”

“No, silly goose, you don’t like pepperoni,” you remind her, “you always say it’s too spicy,”

“Oh, okay,” she sounds indifferent; she trusts you to remember what she likes and dislikes on her behalf, sparing no room in her growing brain for such trivial facts.

“Can I have four slices?” She asks sweetly. You hum and pretend to give it some thought before bargaining, “How about I give you one slice first, and then if you’re still hungry, you can have more?”

She nods, taking the bait. You eventually make it to the table, plates in hand, and eat the greasy slices in a comfortable silence until Abbey asks,

“What kind of pizza did my daddy like?”

It’s not the first time she’s asked questions about Jeremy, and you know it won’t be the last, but your heart still sinks a little every time she does.

“Your dad liked hawaiian pizza, that was his favorite,”

“‘ha-way-en’?” she mispronounces, “what’s that?” her little features contort with confusion.

You correct her pronunciation and reply, “Well, technically It’s a state, but hawaiian pizza has ham and pineapple on it,”

Her confusion morphs to disgust and she giggles, “Ew!”

“I know,” her laughter is contagious, “I don’t like it either,” you wave your hand in front of your nose in a ‘P.U’ gesture.

Her father is no longer a topic of conversation after that. It was always like this– the questions generally mundane and inconsequential, not realizing that the images she’s conjuring are covered in cobwebs and dust; buried deep in the forgotten corners of your subconscious.

When you’re a kid, nothing holds that kind of weight. Petty things like broken toys or an early bedtime are the most of her worries and memories aren’t so burdening– yet another thing you envy of her youth.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The next few days go by without a hitch– school, ballet class and homemade dinners every night– that is until Wednesday morning when you wake up and are immediately confronted with the sun cascading through your curtains, and your alarm that's been beeping for thirty minutes longer than it normally does.

Abbey is straddling your lap and vigorously shaking your shoulders, “Mom! Mom, we have to go!” The panic you feel outweighs the embarrassment of being woken up late by your own child, and you rush to slip on a pair of jeans and the first sweater you make out on top of your hamper.

A sideways glance at the clock tells you that you have exactly three minutes to get out the door– it appears that your go-to look lately is bags under your eyes and your hair scooped up into the nearest claw clip. The trend continues today, though you’re able to dab on a little concealer while Abbey puts her boots on in the mudroom.

You’re both shocked and amazed that she’s dressed– her outfit even mostly coordinating. Unfortunately, the remains of what was supposed to be a ham and cheese sandwich are littered all over the counter. Crackers for lunch today it is.

Grabbing her mostly empty backpack, you ask, “You got everything, Ab?”

“Yep!” She shouts, mostly because she was already outside and standing in the driveway, waiting for you to unlock the car for her.

When you get to the school, several golden buses are parked in a single file line and opening their doors for dozens of children to pour in.  A little mortified, you realize you’re the last parent here, and silently pray that there’ll still be a seat for you and Abbey on the bus.

You’re searching for Steve, albeit unconsciously. You aren’t acquainted with any of the other teachers, and he’s your life raft in this sea of chaos and PTA soccer moms. You don’t have to look for very long though, before your name is being shouted from a few feet away on the tarmac. Grasping Abbey’s wrist, you shoulder your way over to where he stands waiting.

“Hey–I’m so sorry, I somehow slept through my alarm this morning,” you blush and muss Abbey’s hair, “this little gremlin woke me up, actually,”

She shakes your hand off her head, “Hey!” she frowns.         

“You’re good, promise. I saved you a seat, and Abbey,” he redirects his attention, “Clarissa B. asked to sit with you, is that okay?”

She’s too excited to bother responding, instead dashing inside in an attempt to find her friend. You hear a muffled warning of ‘no running!’, eliciting a shared laugh between the two of you.

“After you,” Steve steps back to let you in first. You spot the only available seat which is dead in the front of the bus– and when you sit down, Steve sits down next to you.

“Well, uh,” he scratches his neck nervously when you scoot to make room for him, “I saved us a seat. Is what I meant.”

“It’s okay,” you give a reassuring breath of laughter, “I don’t mind,”

“Right,” he clears his throat and you feel the bus shift gears to make its way towards the

orchard.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You’ve never been this close to Steve before and right away the space is enveloped with whatever cologne he’s wearing and the spearmint scent of the gum he’s been absentmindedly chewing. He smells of cedar and something musky; cinnamon and spice. You notice now all of the freckles and moles that form constellations over his forearms and neck.

When the silence between you becomes a little too stiff– pleasantries about the weather having subsided nearly ten minutes ago– he asks, “Have you ever been to Spiller Farm?”

“Yeah I– I have,” you say, unsure why you’re suddenly nervous, “My parents used to take me every year when I was Abbey’s age to go apple picking. Have you?”

“Oh, no,” he’s fixated on his hands folded in his lap, shaking his head, “this’ll be my first time, I actually grew up in Indiana,”

“Indianapolis?” You question curiously.

He gave a humorless laugh, “I wish. It was a uh…much smaller town,” he finally looks at you then, faces much closer than you realized in the cramped bus seat, “I came to Maine for college, liked it so much I guess I didn’t want to leave.” This time when he smiles, it looks genuine.

He clears his throat and continues, “Abbey tells me you work in a hospital– RN?

It was remarkable how much you knew about each other despite having very little conversations that didn’t surround Abbey; thanks to your oversharing kindergartener.

You wish that you could tell him you were a nurse, feeling increasingly embarrassed at your lack of a college education, but instead you reply, “Reception,” with a tight lipped smile. Having Abbey so young, and doing it alone at that, left no time for degrees or prestigious jobs.

You expect a sympathetic expression in response, maybe even distaste, but you find only sincerity etched across his features when he says, “That’s really neat, I could never do that. Hospitals they…kinda give me the heebie jeebies,”

“It’s definitely not for the faint of heart,” you agree, “I have so many crazy stories,”

“Well, I’d love to hear them sometime,” he smiles at you so tenderly that it makes you want to disintegrate and float away among the air that breezes through the open bus windows.

“Yeah, I’d like that”, you say, distracted by the hazel flecks in what you had previously thought were brown eyes. Luckily, the distinct jolt of tire on gravel bails you out of more awkward silence and before you know it, you’re filing off the bus and breathing in the scent of freshly picked apples and cow manure.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You foolishly forget that Steve isn’t just here with you and your daughter on his own accord, and does actually have to do his job of wrangling children and organizing the day's activities. He proceeds to do a headcount, looking like he means business with one hand propped on his hip and a clipboard gripped in the other.

He captures everyone’s attention with ease as he does a quick call and response gesture, ‘Clap, Clap, Clap Clap Clap,’ you’re shocked at how efficiently it works to halt their chattering.

“Good morning, everyone!” He beams and the class responds with a choir of high-pitched ‘Good Morning, Mr. H!’’s, he continues, “Alright, so, I’m going to be splitting everyone into small groups. Each parent will have about five kiddos, and I’ll just be floating around to make sure everything goes smoothly. Sound like a plan?”

Everyone agrees in a sea of nods and murmurs and the kids bounce with anticipation– hoping that they might get placed in the same group as their friends. Finally, you hear your name called and Steve pairs you with five children: your own daughter, her friend Clarissa B., a little boy named Beck, his younger sister and a timid little girl named Sophia. You breathe a sigh of relief that you hadn’t realized you were holding when it becomes obvious that all the kids you were assigned seemed to be fairly reserved and not too rowdy.

You lead your little flock over to the barn, where several farm hands are waiting to assist the children in petting the cows, pigs and other various animals. There are red buckets full of pellets that you assume is feed for the goats scattered along the ground, and you can practically feel Abbey buzzing with excitement beside you. She had been begging you for a pet practically the second after she said her first word.

Steve makes his way over to you from the rows of apple trees in the orchard section of the farm while you supervise the kids holding their tiny palms out to the ravenous livestock– slightly anxious that one of them might lose a finger.

You feel a strong hand on your shoulder, “C’mon, don’t wanna pet a dirt-covered sheep?” Steve quips when he reaches you.

“Not particularly,” you huff a laugh, “I was never really a ‘farm animal’ person. I think a dog would suit me just fine,”

“Do you have one?”

“Oh, no. Abbey’s been asking me for one since she was, like, two? I think? I just don’t have the time, you know?”

“Believe me, I get it.” He seems pensive when he responds, looking out over the expanse of the farm, “I never had a pet growing up, either,”

Before you have the chance to express your remorse, Abbey calls, “Mommy, look! Come pet the goat!”

“Be right there!” You call back with thinly veiled reluctance.

“You heard the girl,” Steve pats your shoulder where his hand had been as if to say ‘Go on’. He has an amused if not smug expression when you turn to face him.

“Why don’t you go pet the goat, Mr. H,”

“Hey, she asked for you! Don’t shoot the messenger,” He laughs, “Don’t worry, I'll take over supervising for a minute,” he sends you a wink and it makes your stomach drop, just a bit, like when you miss a step on a staircase but catch yourself just before you fall.

A similar feeling strikes you when you actually do fall, slipping on a particularly slick patch of mud and landing flat on your back. It temporarily knocks the wind out of you, but the sensation is quickly replaced by a white hot embarrassment. Steve’s at your side in an instant, albeit poorly concealing a laugh, “Oh my God, are you okay?” he asks, a little bewildered as he kneels down to help you up and getting his own jeans muddy in the process. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to mind.

You groan, out of discomfort or humiliation, you’re not sure. He wraps two calloused hands around your biceps and hoists you up with a surprising amount of strength. By the time you’re on your feet again, Abbey’s also rushing towards you.

“Mommy, you have mud on your butt,” she giggles. Always Captain Obvious, your daughter.

“Thanks baby, I see that,”

She’s trying to shrug off her jacket to tie around your waist, even if she finds your current predicament rather amusing, but you stop her before she can get very far, “Keep it, Ab, it’s chilly out. I’m okay,” you falsely promise.

“Here, you can have mine,” Steve takes his windbreaker off to hand to you.

“Oh– you don’t have to do that, Steve,” feeling guilty that he’s even offering, “I’ll get mud all over it– and won’t you be cold?”

“Nah,” he shrugs nonchalantly, “I run warm, plus I hear they just came out with these cool things that clean your clothes for you when they get dirty– washing machines I think they’re called?”

You playfully smack his arm and he smirks, “Don’t get smart, Harrington,” taking the jacket from him nonetheless, “Thank you. I’ll wash it for you tonight,”

He shoves his hands in his pockets after you take the garment, unsure what to do with them now that they’re empty, “Don’t mention it,” and there's that damned smile again.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You promised Abbey yesterday that you could pick a bag of apples to make a pie together, so once everyone is satisfied with the time spent at the barn, you all make your way to the dozens of rows of trees, adorned with fresh, bright red fruit for plucking.

“What kind of apples do you think, Ab?” you look down to ask her, “They have Gala, Empire, Granny Smith,” you read off the signs marking each aisle.

“Whichever is the most juicy!”

“That would probably be HoneyCrisp, those are over this way, I think,” you say, putting a hand on her shoulder to guide her in the right direction.

Abbey does more eating than picking, leaving you with all the heavy lifting, despite the numerous ‘No Eating’ signs. You just can’t bring yourself to stop her– not when she looks at you with so much unbridled joy. Eating the apples straight off the tree had always been your favorite part, too.

A row over from the one you were in, you watch as Steve lifts another student onto his shoulders so he can pick the specific apple he was jumping for, and you have to fight the corners of your lips from quirking up into a smile.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

There was a small wooden cabin near the gravel parking lot that doubled as a gift shop, and the shelves were stocked full of handmade knick knacks, glass bottles of maple syrup, and all sorts of treats. It smelled wonderfully of freshly baked fritters and cinnamon.

“Can I get this candy apple, mom?”

“I don’t know, baby, we have to make sure it doesn’t have any peanuts,”

Petulant whining follows before a cheerful, silvery voice declares, “Don’t worry, dear, It doesn’t.” When you turn to find the source, you’re met with an older, stout woman with grey hair adorned in a bandana– the owner, you presume.

“Can I, mommy?”

“Alright, okay. Put it on the counter with the bag of apples,”

She makes a beeline to the wooden counter, barely able to reach over the top as she slams the treat down, sporting a toothy grin.

“Thank you–” you search for her nametag but find nothing.

She fills in the blank for you, “Dorothy,” her lips wobble just a little when she smiles, face wrinkling from decades of laughter and grinning.

“Any time, honey. You two take care now,” she says when she finishes checking out your items. She wags a finger at Abbey, “You be good for your momma, missy,”

“Yes ma’am,” Abbey replies politely.

She skips in front of you contentedly, apple in hand, out of the shop and towards the rest of the waiting students.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Back on the bus, Abbey naps against your chest despite being slightly too big and the candy apple she begged you for is now getting stuck to your sleeve, but you don’t dare disturb her. Steve sits beside you again and this time the silence is much more tolerable; both of you exhausted from a day of governing twenty children, give or take.

“Abbey, uhm, told me about her dad,” he says timidly, nervous that the subject might cross a boundary, “I wanted to offer my condolences.”

You’d already resigned yourself to the fact that you’d have this conversation eventually– especially with Abbey being school aged now.

“I appreciate that,” you reassure, “It was a long time ago, I don’t think Abbey even remembers anything about him.” You realize in real time that this is the reason her questioning of her father has increased in the past few weeks.

He nods and pauses before he continues; contemplating, “Can I ask what happened?”

You turn only your head to look at him and he clarifies, “Abbey only said he ‘went to heaven’,”

“He, uh– car accident.” you answer simply, returning your gaze back to the crown of Abbey’s head resting peacefully on your chest, “She was just about a year old,”

The expression twisting his features urges you to reiterate that you’re okay– you’re both okay. You’ve had nearly six years to reconcile the loss of Jeremy; you’ve mourned, you’ve grieved and you’ve placed his memory tight in a sector of your heart that was designated just for him. But you didn’t want the pity anymore– you didn’t want to be the widow.

He seems to comprehend this despite you having said very little, and decides to drop the topic for now.

“She talks about you all the time, you know.” You nudge him gently with your shoulder and he becomes suddenly shy– a slight blush tinting his cheeks.

“She talks about you all the time,” he counters, “just goes on and on about how her mom makes the best boxed mac and cheese, and always plays make believe with her– even when she says she’s tired.”

You feel the sting of unwanted tears welling behind your eyes, “Well, I–”

“--You do the best you can, and you don’t give yourself nearly enough credit,” he interrupts before you have the chance to discount yourself, “You’re a great mom, Y/N.”

One of the aforementioned tears breaches the edge of your lash line and falls rapidly down our cheek, dropping onto the soft cushion of Abbey’s hair. When the bus abruptly stops, you wipe your face quickly and smear the salty trail it left in its wake.

You harshly clear your throat, “Thanks, Steve,”

“You do that a lot,”

“I feel it a lot.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Back at home, you set Abbey up in front of the television and peel your mud stained jeans off to throw them immediately in the wash, along with Steve’s jacket; not bothering with the hamper.

Once you’ve taken a quick shower to rinse the remaining crusted dirt off your thighs, you make your way back into the dimly lit living room to find Abbey asleep, once again, with her knees tucked into her chest, and the technicolor screen illuminating her features in tones of muted blue.

You strain your back to pick her up, but it’ll be worth it when she’s no longer small enough to carry bridal style into her all pink bedroom, and set atop her princess sheets. You’re thankful to have gotten her into her pajamas already– foreseeing this would happen.

There’s a dull longing in the center of your chest as you kiss her forehead and tuck the comforter up to her chin. It’s that same tug you felt after Jeremy died, when you realized you’d be putting your daughter to bed alone from that point on. It festered and grew until one day it became so routine that you didn’t remember what it felt like to have your partner there next to you, and then it dissipated completely.

Until tonight.

Except for this time the longing wasn’t for Jeremy. It wasn’t even for that ‘perfect man’ you’d sometimes conjure up in your mind’s eye just before you fell asleep at night.

It was for someone new.

divider credit to @/strangergraphics

tag list - @micheledawn1975 @cherryc1nnam0n @paleidiot @adaydreamaway30 @twinkling-moonlillie @royalestrellas @cali-888 @jamdoughnutmagician @kolsmikaelson @soulxiez @sadieshairbrush @the-witty-pen-name @ilovetaquitosmmmm @mrsnarnian

[pixie-ass]

Tim LaFlour x F!Coquette(ish) reader

Readers a girl in his english class, inspired by the scene of him reading Langston Hughes. They're opposites bc I think the opposite aesthetic trope is so damn cute.

I have a lot of ideas for this trope that I'll try to add!

Warnings - none except for fluff with my fav punk!

°•♡•°

Tim was not the best at poetry. Needless to say, english literature wasn't one of his strongest suits. That's why when the professor had assigned a very long, very taunting poetry book along with an analysis, he was fucked. Not only that but he didn't really know anybody in that class to ask for help and he was sure his roommate, Daryl, was as clueless as him.

As class was dismissed and all the students were beginning to leave, Tim packed his stuff up, sighing as he began to think. The class size wasn't big, so as people walked out, he looked around for anyone who seemed helpful, only to catch eyes with a particular girl.

He'd noticed her since the beginning of the semester. She always sat second row on the right and would never talk unless called on. He noticed all her supplies were a light shade of pink, which he thought suited her. She'd always dress with light colors too, very put together. Tim sat in the row behind her a few seats to her left so he'd always find himself zoning out on her, only because she stood out.

“Do you know how to do this?” He'd take his chance and ask her, she seemed so sophisticated taking notes everyday, he was sure she'd know what she was doing. Her eyes widened and she seemed to go from shock, to confusion, to acceptance all in the span of a second. “Yeah, we're just going through the book assigned and analyzing the poems. Pretty easy.” She smiled as she swung her backpack (light pink of course) over her shoulders.

“I got that, but I don't get it, like how we're supposed to analyze. I suck at this class.” She giggled in response, causing Tim's brows to knit in confusion, he couldn't find what was amusing. “It's pretty simple, if you want, I can help you.” She offered him a sweet smile that caused him to smile. He nodded, “Yeah, that'd be awesome! We can work in my dorm.”

She nodded, “I'm y/n by the way.” She offered her hand out for him to shake. He slipped his hand into hers, feeling her soft skin and admiring how well taken care of her nails were. “Tim! Nice to meet ya." He stared into her eyes almost dumbfounded as he shook her hand, a dumb smile plastered on both their faces.

------

A knock on the door startled Daryl as he sat in the living room, tense from the drug effects. Tim opened the door to his dorm, quickly walking over to the front door and opening it, “Hey! Welcome, welcome, you can make yourself right at home. My rooms over here.” Daryl raised a brow as he watched the very opposite girl walk in. Her light clothed and accessories a blinding contrast to everything Tim owned. It was almost comedic.

“We’re gonna be studying, dawg, so don't interrupt so we can get smart.”

“Yeah man, don't worry. You have fun.” He responded, a teasing hint in his tone.

As the girl walked into his room, she couldn't help but look around, admiring all the punk posters and dark themes. She stood out like a sore thumb. Her white sweater, blue jeans, and pink accessories were almost blinding in there. Tim noticed straight away, letting out a small chuckle as he shut the door. “You listen to any of them?” He asked, pointing to his various punk band posters. As expected, she shook her head, “No, haha. They look sick, though.” This caused Tim to smile as she set her bag down on the floor next to his bed. He motioned for her to sit, and she did.

Immediately, she began pulling out the poetry book and some paper. I guess she was here for business. Tim sat down across from her, getting his own stuff out. As she got a paper, she began explaining, Tim nodding in response as he listened. It seemed a hundred times easier to listen to her than the professor. After explanations he began to understand, they'd take turns reading poems out loud, analyzing, highlighting, and annotating what they agreed was important, (though it was mostly Y/n who would point out most and Tim would just agree since she seemed so pleased).

Tim noticed that when she would concentrate she would chew on the end of her pencil, her glossy pink lips attracting him like a moth to light. She had pretty lips and he couldn't help but stare at them, his own mouth seeming to slightly open as he stared until he had to catch himself multiple times.

After about 2 hours of this, they'd finished more than half the assignment, and they were both more than exhausted. It was nearly midnight. Yawning, y/n shut the poetry book, packing her papers into her folder. They hadn't chit chatted a lot, Tim didn't want to interrupt her focus so as they cleaned up Tim spoke up.

“So do you enjoy poetry? You seemed really into all the poems.” Y/n shrugged as she packed away the last of her things, “I guess I do. I like the beauty and emotion put into poems. They're really beautiful if you read them right.” Her response was said in a sleepy tone but was so sincere, Tim found himself feeling a sort of admiration along with a tingling in his stomach.

He smiled at her as she broke out into a yawn again. “You seem tired, we should get to sleep, eh.” He suggested standing up and fixing his bed to rest. She also stood up, stretching her body. “How fars, your dorm? I can walk you. It's pretty late, so I wouldn't want you to get spooked.” She giggled as he said it. Mostly, his tone was what made her laugh.

“It's all across campus, on the other side of the main hall.” His brows raised in concern. “That far? That's like a 10 minute walk.” He knew it wasn't far but she seemed so tired he wasn't sure if she'd even make it, she looked one blink away from knocking over like a leaf in the wind.

“You'd be better off staying here.” She raised a brow at his comment, a frown appearing on her soft face, “I'm not dumb enough to stay in a college guys dorm for the night. If you're thinking what you are, know I'm not the one.” Her sleepy voice was now stern as she headed for the door, her walk telling him that his comment had made her upset.

“Hey, hey. I didn't mean it like that. I promise! I'm on a no sex, drugs, or anything sinful pact so I swear I didn't mean anything that you're thinking.” He raised his arms up in defense, watching as she stopped and turned around, eyeing him.

“I was just saying, since you look so tired. I think it'd be better for you to just sleep here than walk all the way over there.” She stared at him in silence for a few long seconds.

She was only thinking it through so much since she really found Tim to be cute. Ever since she'd laid eyes on him as he walked in through the door mid-lecture, she'd felt her cheeks go pink. Something about the way he looked, or carried himself, or talked, it all fascinated her, and soon enough, she found herself crushing on him like a high school girl.

Sighing, she responded, “Okay, fine. But only because I really am so exhausted.” Tim's face seemed to go from upset to a beaming smile quickly. “Awesome! You can borrow one of my T-shirts if you want. And you can take the bed. I'll take the floor.” He exited the room after tossing a t-shirt onto the bed, leaving her a very flustered and hot mess. Her heart was racing as she lifted up the shirt he'd left for her. It was of a punk band. It smelled just like Tim. She blushed as she put it on. She blushed as she got into Tim's very soft and warm bed, blushed at how sweet it was for him to offer to sleep on the floor.

As she tucked in, Tim knocked, walking in after she answered and smiled down at the view of her covered in his blanket, completely bundled from neck down.

"Thank you for helping me by the way. Learned more from you then the professor, goodnight.”

He shut the lights off, and y/n heard as he shuffled on the floor. Looking down, she saw him lying with a comically small blanket and a decor pillow. Her heart raced in her ears as she decided if she should speak or not.

“You can sleep on the bed, Tim. It's your bed anyway, so I'd feel terrible if you slept on the floor.” She was also pitied by the sight of his tall figure under that poor excuse of a blanket. She heard him shuffle and next thing he was standing.

“You sure? Really, I'm alright sleeping on the good ole floor.” He chuckled.

“Im sure.” She scooted over to the other side, patting the bed. He didn't hesitate even a second as he tucked in beside her, far enough to not make her uncomfortable. As her eyes adjusted, she could begin to make out his silhouette in the dark. That's when she realized how close he really was, and she found a new found heat on her face. She went to cover her head with the blanket as if he could see her reddened cheeks.

“Tim.? You still awake?” She spoke softly under the covers. The soft ruffle of the pillow case sounded, “Yeah. What's up?” He whispered back.

Her hands seemed to tingle along with the butterflies in her stomach. She uncovered herself and moved her body so she could stare at him and him at her, he was already facing her direction though.

“Thank you for letting me stay, I didn't tell you, but it means a lot that you care.” She offered a sleepy smile as she stared into his face. He smiled back, and though she couldn't see it, she could see the outline of his cheeks when he did so.

“It's no biggie. Just the right thing to do. You tell me if you had a pretty girl in your dorm who was tired and lived far away that you wouldn't feel bad if she was alone.” His statement caused her to let out a small giggle into the sheets, which in turn caused her heart to flutter.

She scooted closer to him, not much, not enough to be noticeable in the dark but enough to where she could feel how warm he was, a huge grin spread across her face. "Goodnight, Tim…" Her eyes were far too heavy to keep open now, she shut them, and without a thought cuddled into Tims side causing him to freeze.

He slowly looked down at her, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest, her closed eyes and her features. Gently he wrapped his arm around her, feeling her shift closer to him, his heart ramming against his chest. She was so small in his arms, so warm, he felt himself leaning into her head, resting his head against the top of hers, caressing her back as she slept. He wasn't sure why he was doing this or why he felt so much in his gut.

All he knew was that he was happy, holding her and admiring her. That he was feeling far too much all at once.

He'd have to talk to her about this tomorrow. His emotions would be the death of him.

[fruitybashir]

it's been 3 minutes since i read the last chapter and i just wanna ask how are our boys doing right now? will they eventually tell kris' parents that they were fake-dating but are together now? was the first officially-in-a-relationship sex good? how long has bojan been in love with kris? did he realize it during their whole friends-with-benefits thing or earlier?

okay okay okay lets get into it

1. how are they doing right now? well timeline wise, currently they are suffering. but right after the end of the fic? doing fantastic. im imagining since its a friday, kris takes another sick day and bojan skips his classes just bc fuck that, and they just went through a lot and finally have each other again and theyre both not willing to let the other out of their sight again for even just a second. kiki has probably noticed kris has not been doing so well lately, so he gladly covers kris' shift. they're gonna just lie in bed a little bit, answer texts from the other guys making sure the others know theyre doing fine, and then they take jans advice and fuck like rabbits.

on saturday they go to band practice together again and maybe just bc kris is a little shit hes gonna go "yeah the song was nice but the guitar could use some improvement" and maybe thats when they start working a third guitar into songs instead of just kris taking over bojans parts? who knows?

2. will they tell kris' parents that theyre fake-dating but together now? i think kris would want to keep that one a secret, mainly bc he knows theyre never gonna let him live it down and maks definitely wont, but he (very begrudgingly) does tell them. and they have a good laugh about it. for all eternity. bc i think miha and chantal are the kind of people who would find that shit hilaaaaaarious and bring it up all the time, they think its very very funny

and they also obv love bojan and are very glad to have him properly in their family now <3

3. was the first in-relarionship sex good? it was the fucking best. they didnt have to hold back anymore and enough "i love you"s were said to fill a book with it and then some. it was incredible.

4. how long has bojan been in love with kris? god i wish i knew. i just write the guy, i dont know what the fuck is going on inside his head. i think hes had a mild crush on kris for a while, over the last few years, not very deep or meaningful, mostly when kris picked up jan or smthn bojan would go "damn hes handsome" but that was the extent of it - also bc he was still struggling with his sexuality then.

i think over the holidate timeline .. hm. i imagine that crush skyrocketed when kris just slammed him against the wall that one night and then proceeded to give him the best head hes ever had lol. and i think he definitely acknowledged it as a crush then and it slowly developed into more. i think he maybe realised he was in love shortly after kris stayed with him when he was sick? the major factors there being that kris didnt just take care of him, but actually cared for him. he didnt just drop off some meds and left, he actually took the time to stay with bojan, took a sick day just to be with him, cooked for him, made sure he ate and drank enough, kept him company, everything. thats already an admission of love if you ask me. (both platonically or romantically) but that really did a number on bojan.

i even think bojan let himself admit that it was love pretty early on, but always had the safety layer of "we're just doing this for fun, so its okay if im in love with him bc the "only" consequence is having my own heart broken lol" but then when kris wrote him dopamin and bojan realised this could all be real, suddenly there were more potential consequences to deal with and well you read the last chapter lol

[gordonzola-ramen]

My mutual @alectricblue tagged me in this game tag! I normally dont do these, but I thought it'd be nice to get to know me more (and also meet y'all if you wish to participate)!

It will be long though. Sorry

1. Were you named after anyone?

Was originally gonna be named Andrea after a ballerina my grandma liked! Sadly no one remembered her well, not even grandma, so I don't know much about her.

My deadname was simply just chosen bc it was easy to pronounce, as well as my chosen name Diego (it's what I would've been called had I been male), although when I chose it for myself I liked the JoJo character Diego Brando so there was some correlation there.

Funnily enough, people think I'm nicknamed Lio after the Promare character, but I hadn't met them yet.

2. When was the last time you cried?

Yesterday. At 11pm. Watching OR3O's One Piece song. It was nostalgic ok

3. Do you have kids?

Nope. There's an absurd amount of reasons I don't want them, although not a single one is because I dislike them. I've had to babysit many kids and they've all been very sweet.

4. What sports do you play/have you played?

Oof, my recent sports is taking my dog for a walk. But I used to like volleyball and kickball! And reluctantly played soccer and did swimming! Sports give me a lot of anxiety and i'm not sure why.

5. Do you use sarcasm?

I do a lot of teasing and lighthearted banter that can sometimes be considered sarcasm?

6. What's the first thing you notice about people?

Their eyes! Or anything outstanding like cool hairstyles or visible tattoos.

With online people, I mostly recognize them by pfp or a vague mental pronunciation of their username.

7. What's your eye color?

Dark brown?? Or black??

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

Honestly, whatever makes me think more. Unhappy endings tend to do that more though, so I guess scary movies! But of course it depends on the mood, sometimes I just want a nice story to cheer me up.

9. Any talents?

I've been told I am talented at the piano! And music in general, although most of my skills feel less like talent and more like just studying the thing.

10. Where were you born?

So I was born in the US, in Florida, but my entire family is from Costa Rica and I just happened to be born while my parents were studying abroad. I don't remember much from the US though, I came back to CR with my grandma in my first months because she was less busy than my parents, and then they came to live here again. So in my eyes I've been a true Costa Rican since always hehe

11. What are your hobbies?

Playing the piano! Also drawing sometimes (I like to color more than draw, but unless I get my hands on a coloring book I can't do that unless I draw), playing videogames (mostly RPGs and visual novels), and doomscrolling.

12. Do you have any pets?

YESSSS my beloved dog Mia!!!!!!!!!!! I love her so much, she escaped her abusive home and we found her while walking around a plaza, said hi, and she followed us home. She's been with us for 8 years now and I adore her. Reference below because how can I not show her off:

13. How tall are you?

Excellent question. I forgot but I'm average if that helps!

14. Favorite subject in school?

It changed over the years, in senior year it was English because we had my favorite teacher! I knew him for years because he has a literature club I partook in, so I was very happy to have classes with him. Plus, we saw the Oresteia, which goes tremendously hard especially when your teacher geeks out about all the symbolisms.

Apart from that, computer class! We barely ever had it, and almost had it cut out entirely in senior year, but the few times we did I really enjoyed programming and practicing typing! And when we didn't do anything we could play so.

15. Dream job?

I want to make my own videogame! So I'd say a game developer, although being a part of any videogame, especially RPGs, would be a dream come true.

Well thank you for reading, I hope that was some insight, it was very fun to reply!

Tagging section (no pressure to do it at all, you can also do it if you're not tagged who cares)

@skyllion-uwu @thefrogswhospoke @gorgeousuare @chronologicalimplosion @fishy-lilic @smoothedsmoothie @mx-mind @montied @aspirationatwork @jhofoyitchg @derkhue @mellomaia @federalfazbear @mcfinnigan @mutantsgurls @foxounderscorecube @sweetnessfollowsmp3 @mildredtefoneck @oh-my-stars1969 @unfullbucket @fluffnfuzzxoxo @electriceel69 @scottigyn @stressedsilverware @sapphicrobotenjoer @antjellies @milk1non-tolarantes @ovalbrain @chocokhaos @markdiegamer @astralix13 @atheist-xmas @blktomekurata @monstar-dreams @glass-duke @c--eam @laooneart

[teddybeartoji]

mickeyyyy tell me about your selfship lore with dazai pretty please

CARINAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'M HERE I'M HERE I'M HERE!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAA THANK YOU SM FOR ASKING ABT US ANGEL I LOVE HIM SM:(((((

okok so i had a chance to brainstorm a little with a friend the other day and now i'm gonna tell you all about it hehehehe:3333 also uhh.. i think this might get long so i apologize for that lmao

mizai takes place in a cute little university au!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! dazai is majoring in literature (he's so pretentious i love him so bad) and i am an art major!!!!!!! this is how i get to live out my silly dreams okay lmao so i'm thinking about studying pottery or something!!!!!!!!!

and and and since the they're all so very important to me i also need to tell you that chuuya is also an art major, he's doing classical painting (but he takes some pottery classes with me and that's how we met:333). kunikida is ofc gonna be a teacher, so he's studying education aaaaaaaaaaand fedya is... a psychology major. i'm scared of him a little i won't even lie.

AAAAANYWAYYY MIZAII:333 he pretty much just lives at my place; he does have an apartment but it's super small and he just.. doesn't like it there. so he has his own key and he's free to come and go whenever he wants!!!!!!! when i say 'go' i'm actually lying bc he really is just always at my place,, like i come home and he's there. i wake up and he's there. i go to take a piss and then come out only to be met with him laying on my couch. he's weird like that i love him sm.

i also have a cat!!!!!!!!! well i mean my irl cat is just canon in the mizai world hehehee and ooooooooh my god dazai loves him so much. and shrimp really fucking likes him too (so much so that i get jealous sometimes.. ) my cat is very talkative and so is dazai so there's just constant meowing going on. and well sadly, i am no better okay i am a meower too......................... we have a proper fucking cat choir going on smh i wonder if the neighbors hate us...................

though we're both big talkers, one of our favourite things to do is literally just parallel play. he's laid out on my bed like the princess that he is with his newest book while i sit behind my desk, typing away at whatever it is that i'm writing at the moment and it's just sooo so comfortable. and then after we decide that we've been productive enough we always go to the little cafe that we both love and then go to chuuya's just to bother him a bit (he loves us) >:333333333

whenever we're out taking the bus or the train, we're sitting shoulder to shoulder while sharing earphones!!!!!!!!! he rests his head against mine and fidgets with my fingers while i choose the music<333333

oh and neither of us can sleep alone btw. we both struggle with sleep all around but it's not that bad when we're together. it's like thing apparently too you know? that like you get sleepy when you're around a person you really feel safe with? so yeah... we take a lot of naps together it's kind of like a shared love language of ours!!!!!!

OMFG WAIT I ALSO NEED TO ADD THAT UHH ODA IS HERE TOO. HE'S DAZAI'S FAVOURITE PROFESSOR. AAAAAAAAAAAAA oda loves him sm... he loves hearing all of dazai's ideas and his takes and they talk after the lectures all the time too. they actually even go to grab a coffee every now and then. dazai just really really loves talking to him and sometimes (read: every time) he comes home after seeing him, he's sooo happy:((( he has the biggest smile on my face as he just plops down on top of me and starts retelling everything they talked about with oda:(((((((((((((((((((((((((( AAAAAAAHHH CARINAA I LOVE HIM SOOO SO BADDDDD I'M GONNA DIEEEEE

he once kinda dragged me into one of oda's classes too and i was so scared that he'll throw me out bc well.. i'm not supposed to be there but then he was just checking who's there and who's not and his eyes met mine before moving to dazai's twinkling ones and he just smiled and let me be there anyway. (he would literally never throw me out)(btw i fear that.. dazai... yaps about me to him too.............. )

BUT WAHH OKAY OKAY I THINK I NEED TO STOP HERE BEFORE I ACTUALLY EXPLODEEEE I LOVE TAKING HIM TO STUDY DATES AT THE CAFE AND I LOVE TAKING HIM TO ARCADE DATES AND I LOVE LISTENING HIM TALK AND I LOVE WATCHING HIM CUDDLE WITH SHRIMP (MY CAT:33) AAAAAAAAAAAAA I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIM I LOVE HIMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AND WAHHH THANK YOU FOR INDULGING ME ON THIS CARINA MY ANGEL<333333 it means a lot a lot a lot hehehehe MWAH MWAH MWAHH I LOVE YOU SM!!!!!!!!

[visualsandvoices]

Ok idk if anyone said this re: Greta gerwig’s narnia on here already I only pop in from time to time…

But it seems like Liam Neeson will return to voice Aslan and Tilda Swinton is set to return as the White Witch?

There was also a comment in an interview saying it won’t change people’s conception of narnia, but just make it bigger (I think that was the phrasing, or close to it).

So I’m cautiously optimistic. That makes it sound like they want to get the audience on familiar territory — hopefully it lands! To use the same actors and then depart to dramatically from the 2005 version would be pretty jarring, so maybe they want to recreate that movie relatively closely as a launchpad for the rest of the series? But they still gotta make it their own which makes me nervous lol

Netflix handled the Shadow and Bone adaptation pretty well so maybe I’ll be pleasantly surprised 😬

The only thing is that Greta Gerwig seems emphasize messaging and themes in equal measure as plot. Little Women deals prominently with marriage, expectations of womanhood, wealth/class, etc. Barbie is theme over plot, I’d almost say, given the virality of America Ferrera’s speech, I’m Kenough, and the overall impression of Barbie having an awakening to being a human woman or whatever. I haven’t seen it so maybe there’s plot I’m missing but that seems to be the idea.

This kinda thing doesn’t work for narnia, imo. I don’t want to hear Susan give a speech about womanhood in the war era, or some remark on femininity, firstly because it’s so overdone in movies these days but also bc if you’re going to put any theme/motif/messaging on equal footing to Narnia’s plot it should be faith.

I’m not saying Christianity has to slap you in the face. The Disney adaptations handled it well I think. It was there without the movie overdoing it, and there wasn’t any sort of moral or speech or sound bite to sell to the audience otherwise. It was a fantasy movie.

Susan would make an easy target, and I really hope Gerwig doesn’t fall into the “lipstick and nylons” trap everyone argues about. First of all it should hardly be foregrounded bc it doesn’t really become an issue until after she’s left narnia in which case she’s offscreen. The Last Battle maybe, but again it’s brief. My two cents on it though are that I always took it to be her grief for not being able to return to narnia forced her to try to move on, and maybe the resentment over her loss broke her faith. She’s still a character to sympathize with. People say Lewis couldn’t get past her being female and hence the lipstick and nylons but I think that’s a bad read. She was a queen, an adult woman, and cerebrally mature only to return a boarding school student. Of course she didn’t return to her dolls. I also think that it happened because she’s so logical and calculated and careful (neither good nor bad as a trait on its own) that loosing something she loved only augmented her original doubts and made her stubborn. So again it’s not about womanhood nylons and lipstick, it’s grief and sort of an internal self-defence kinda thing. If Gerwig were to explore anything with Susan as she’s older I would say doubt and logic versus faith and responsibility would both be true to the character and far more original/interesting for audiences.

I would love to see how they handle The Horse and his Boy, the Golden Age and how the kings and queens earn their titles (just, gentle, valiant, magnificent). I would love to see a Jill Pole who is allowed to cry, to be a scared school child, and also brave and stoic and thrust into an underground world on a rescue mission. I will be fascinated to see their concept for The Last Battle, because again it’s very much so a Christian story.

So I really do hope Netflix allows the series to live past the first 3, so we get new material. Caspian and Dawn Treader are gonna be a test for Gerwig’s strengths before she’s allowed into fresh territory with the other books.

I just think that if you’re intending to strip it of the intention behind the story — lost faith, found faith, tested faith, resilience, trust, redemption, all through a Christian lens, then maybe don’t adapt it at all. I’m not saying you have to make Christianity so foregrounded it feels like a sermon, but you cannot have narnia without that being the lens through which the world is understood. They aren’t separable things.

AND going back to the casting hopefully it’s not Timothy chalamet / Saoirse Ronan / Florence Pugh. As much as they’re great actors, I think for narnia as a reboot to land, they need a bunch of unknown, fresh faces and actual kids not people in their twenties/thirties. Even as a background narnia cameo it would honestly be distracting.

[lvllns]

book recommendations!

i got tagged by @rosebarsoap and @narrativefoiltrope!! thank u both!!

i'm gonna taaaaag @pensdragon @pinkfey @waspgrave @venusmages @queerbrujas @princesshoneytea and anyone else who wishes to do this!!

the last book i read: excluding manga, the red threads of fortune by neon yang!

a book i recommend: always always always the darkness outside us by eliot schrefer. do you like science fiction? would you like to experience the slow unraveling of a mystery aboard a spaceship as two young men gradually fall in love amidst the backdrop of Shit Being Weird? do i have the book for you! i still think about this book two years later. it had me staring at the wall for three days after i finished it contemplating life and what it means to be human.

a book that i couldn't put down: i will not bang on about the previous book so here's a different queer science fiction novel, winter's orbit by everina maxwell. science fiction, political nonsense, trying to solve a murder, slowly falling in love. it's just so good.

a book i've read twice or more: i've read tithe by holly black like. a dozen times by this point. i love the modern faerie tale books so much.

a book on my TBR: re-coil by j.t. nicholas! more science fiction! this time with the ability for people's consciousnesses to be backed-up and then downloaded into a new body!

a book i've put down: i've only ever put down two books. thr*ne of glass and ac*tar. it's a no from me.

a book on my wishlist: somewhere beyond the sea by tj klune! the sequel to the house in the cerulean sea! i'm greatly looking forward to meeting back up with arthur, linus, and the entire group of kids.

a favorite book from my childhood: i can't pick one so the immortals quartet by tamora pierce!

a book you would give to a friend: the city of brass by s.a chakraborty. doesn't matter if you like fantasy or not. you get this book. read it. read the whole trilogy.

a book of poetry you own: cracks knuckles i'm actually sad bc i can't remember if i saved all my poetry chapbooks from undergrad :( however! the year of blue water by yanyi was. amazing. incredible. i know i saved it because it just changed me so fucking much. salat by dujie tahat was also fucking incredible. they spoke to my poetry class and they were a DELIGHT!

a nonfiction book: broken by fred kay which is about the suspicious death of alydar, a famous thoroughbred stallion.

what are you currently reading: the horse god built by lawrence scanlan which is about triple crown winner secretariat, focusing heavily on his groom, eddie "sweet" sweat, and the influence eddie had on the stallion. also diving into looking at how grooms, black grooms specifically, are often overlooked when it comes to the entire package of a race horse.

what are you planning on reading next: oh man probably intimacies, received by taneum bambrick, who was my poetry writing professor (and many other classes professor lmao), and it's a poetry chapbook! and then following that, i will probably pick the tensorate series back up with the descent of monsters by neon yang!

[darling-i-read-it]

Staring

Eli Ever(Cardale) x fem!reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: vicious/vengeful spoilers, eli literally killing people (nothing graphic), mentions of elis horrific backstory, angst, pining 

Author’s Note: SHUT UP THIS WAS SO FUN. by the end of the duology I was so in love with eli, i cannot lie. I love victor as much as the next girl but damn i love an awful morally gray (morally black?) man. If anyone has any more request for either of these kings i would gladllyyyy write them <3 in the meantime i hope you enjoy this love!

Request: by anon, YOOOOO i read one of ur victor vale fics, and i am on my hands and knees bEGGING u to write for the villains duology more!! can i rq eli ever x reader where the reader isn't an EO but knew eli and victor in college? and the reader is working with victor against eli bc they don't agree w what eli's doing, and idk eli finds them or smth--sorry if that's too vague!! i am literally BEGGING for eli crumbs and pls include a lot of tension between reader and eli!! ur writing is stellar!!

Song: All I Need by Radiohead 

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

Eli Cardale sat across from you at the table. You had your legs folded underneath you, tingling as they fell asleep. You had been here a long time. You could tell outside the window that the sun was starting to go down. The stained glass windows of the library were tricky like that, never quite revealing if it was as late as it seemed. Eli had his nose stuck in a book still. You wondered where Victor was, if he was studying somewhere. 

“Are you done?” Eli questioned. Your head snapped back towards him. He was staring at you through the thick rims of his glasses. You smiled, shrugging.

“I’m getting sleepy,” you admitted. Eli nodded once, tucking his papers into his textbook. 

“Is that code for you’re going to go find Victor?” There was a gentle edge to his voice, a slight jealous tinge. You shook your head, rubbing your eyes. 

“Truly sleepy,” you promised. “I’ve been reading about boring things forever Eli. I can only do that for so long. You should share some of your brain power.” He shook his head. 

Eli valued these afternoons with you. They were nice and peaceful. Life outside of these walls tended to be chaotic and with complications he could never quite grasp. In here, nothing had happened to him. It was just you and his books. He could spend forever with you and his books. 

Despite the calmness of the moment, he felt the most emotion here. 

“Plus, Victor is probably off studying.” 

“Alright,” Eli huffed, though there was disbelief in it. You smiled as he put your things back in your book bag. You could probably make some shitty coffee back at the dorms and stay up a little bit longer. Make the day last past schoolwork. Maybe even catch up on some of your own reading endeavors. “Are we still meeting up tomorrow afternoon?”

“Yes sir,” you promised. “Same time, same place?”

“Yes ma’am.” You gave him a nod as you pushed your chair under the table. Eli started to leave. You followed close behind him. “Have you studied for the test in Givens' class tomorrow?”

“Enough.” 

“That doesn’t sound like enough,” he admitted. You shrugged.

“What am I gonna learn in the next 12 hours that is actually gonna help me Eli?” He shook his head. He couldn’t believe you sometimes, though he enjoyed having you around. “You disagree.”

“We have different minds,” he said. The air was refreshing. You walked down the steps of the library, the sun hitting your face. It felt nice after being cooped up for so long. You passed other students, people cramming and holding large cups of caffeine. You weaved through them on the cobblestones back to the dorms. 

“What does that mean?”

“It means we have different ways of learning,” he suggested. You grinned up at him. He looked particularly handsome this evening. You knew he always teased you about liking Victor more than him but it was Eli you had always been in love with. It would always be Eli. His stoicism, his mind, his understanding without you having to say anything. 

“That’s not a bad thing,” you countered. 

“Did I say it was?” 

“You did not.” You lifted your leg dramatically as you started to go separate ways. “I’ll see you tomorrow Eli. Don’t work too hard.”

“You know me,” he called. There was a life in his voice he didn’t recognize when he was with you. You gave him a half wave, an adorable gesture, before walking the other way. 

He watched the back of your head for a moment. Your hair bounced in the sunlight. You looked gorgeous this afternoon, particularly distracting. He watched you go like you were taking a piece of him with you. Eli and Victor had decided not to tell you about their experiments, for your safety. That didn’t mean he didn’t want to. He wanted to hear your thoughts and your comments and your reserves. 

He had put his foot down. Victor was more likely to slip up than he was. 

He still wanted to tell you. 

You turned a corner and he lost you. He dropped his head down, imagining someone else seeing him standing alone, staring at a girl who didn’t once turn back to look at him. 

-

“Tracking him has never been easy,” Mitch grumbled. He was sitting on the hotel bed. The adjoining door was open, allowing Dol to come and go as he pleased. Sydney and you had your own separate room from the boys, at Victor’s insistence. 

“Well it’s never been so fucking hard,” you muttered. You looked out the window. Eli Cardale was out there somewhere, among the people and the cars. You had recently narrowed in on him to this city but been unable to get any closer. He was supposed to be obvious when you were close. “He’s killing people. What do you mean we can’t find him now that he’s so close?” 

You looked over at Victor. He was standing at the computer. He had a look of contempt on his face. You had never seen so little life in Victor. He had always been the stoic type but never as much as Eli. Now, years after college, he was almost dead in the eyes. 

“We need to split up.”

“And what? Scrape the streets to see if we find any rats?” you spat. 

You were different too. 

“He had typical haunts. We need to find an EO and narrow them down, knowing he’ll be around them.” Victor looked at Mitch. He nodded once, getting up to go to the computer. You were never quite sure how they were able to find people so quickly but you also could never understand how they couldn't find Eli. Victor walked over to you. 

“We’ll find him,” he promised. His voice was hard. You looked over at him. 

He looked so old. He looked weathered. He looked like a corpse. He had died. 

Eli and Victor had never let you die. They never would, not even after everything happened. You were a human, just like Mitch, and you were stuck here in this purgatory between people who had been your closest friends. 

After he got out of prison Victor sought you out. He knew that to find Eli he would have to find you first. He half hoped the two of you would be together, frolicking off into the sunset, like the ordeal had never happened. That isn’t what happened. 

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because he’s looking for us too.”

“Do you think he knows that I’m here?”

“I don’t think he ever lost you,” he said lowly. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Eli liked having his eye on you. I don’t think he would’ve let you leave his peripheral vision if it wasn’t for me.”

“What a rebel.” 

“Yes ma’am.” Dol walked into the room. He jumped up on Victor’s bed and did a couple circles before lying down with a huff. Sydney was awake. Victor looked back towards the dog, remembering he had a child to care for. “Do you want to go get food while Mitch looks?” He had a gentle tinge in his voice that he saved for you and Sydney. Those in this room were the closest thing he had to family, though he would never admit that. 

“Sure. I need some fresh air anyway.” You cleared your throat and walked back, grabbing some money. “Want anything Mitch? Going to the deli next door.”

“I’m alright. Filled up on protein bars.” You rolled your eyes. 

“Once a jock, always a jock,” you joked. 

“I don’t think-”

“Just go with it Mitch. Vic?” He shook his head. He would rather wallow and die than ask for anything he could get himself. “Syd, I'm getting food!” 

“Can you get me a sandwich?” she called from the other room. 

“What kind?”

“Tuna fish!” 

“Kay!” You opened the door and shut it behind you. The hotel was large but it was cheap. You were okay with the sketchy neighbors as long as no one asked questions. No one got into the elevator with you on your floor and you pushed the down button. You should’ve invited Sydney to come with you. She could use the fresh air too. Dol probably needed to go to the bathroom. 

You thought about how you weren’t that far. You could go back up and grab them, that way you had some company and extra hands for the two sandwiches. Maybe they had dog treats for Dol. You always loved places that thought of that because of how often Dol was around. 

The elevator opened on the second floor. You stepped aside, keeping your head down so you didn’t have to make eye contact. The man walked in and pushed the first floor. The elevator started to move again. 

He pushed the emergency stop button, causing the elevator to come to a harsh stop. You stumbled forward, grabbing the railing beside you. 

“Hey,” you said, annoyed. You glanced up at the floors that were highlighted at 2 still. You finally looked up at him. He was wearing a large black coat with a collar that covered the side of his face. “What the fuck?” you asked, louder this time. He tilted his head towards you so you could see his eye through the thick rimmed glasses.

Your mouth clamped shut. 

“Eli?” When he turned around it was like no time had passed. His face looked exactly the same, exactly the man you sat across from at the library. His eyes were the only thing different, a little less life in them. He and Victor were more alike than either cared to admit. 

The elevator felt too small. You were confined in a small space with someone you had carded as the villain of this story. 

But it was Eli. 

“I heard you were looking for me,” he said, quietly. His voice didn’t seem threatening. There was nothing there that felt wrong. 

“Yeah,” you breathed. “You’re killing people.” 

“They’re not people.” You narrowed your eyes at him. There was a difference. This was the Eli you had never seen, only heard about from Victor. “You…you’re people.” You looked up at him through your hair at him. Your eyes were big, doe eyed, he would say. 

“You’re people too.” He shook his head. There was a sly smile on his face. He had orchestrated his moment, he had thought about the second you would leave and that it would be just you. He needed to see you before he saw anyone else. He stayed in this town to see you. 

He was obsessed with Victor. 

But if he knew love, it was you. 

“I’m a God.” 

“Then what is Victor? What’s Serena?” You could tell you hit a hard note with Serena.

“Serena’s no longer an issue.” 

“She was an issue?” You watched each other for a moment. It was nice to be there with him, even if it hurt to know how different you were. 

“She was an issue.”

“Then what is Victor?”

“Victor’s a defect.” 

“What happened to you?” you asked him, borderline pleaded. You took a step forward and grabbed his hand. He looked down at it like it was a foreign object. He didn’t retreat. 

You didn’t do it to manipulate him. You did it because you had to, because he was right there, before you had to touch him. “What did they do to you Eli?” 

There was no way you could’ve known what they did to him but the question hit him where it would've hurt. It was a touchy subject. He had the sudden urge to hug you, to wrap his arms around you and engulf you in his embrace. To kiss you, to do what he never had the time to do when you were in college. He thought of Victor. He wondered if Victor was with you now, if his worst fear had finally come to fruition. 

“Eli,” you whispered. His eyes had glossed over, lost in thought. He came back, staring at you, studying your face.

“They cut me open. They took parts of me out. They couldn’t kill me.” His voice had no emotion, like he was talking about the weather. 

“I’m sorry.” You knew you should be using this time to convince him to change his ways. You didn’t have him for long. You should’ve been telling him that killing was never the answer and that no matter what happened to him, he should never be taking it out on others. 

But you couldn’t bring yourself to do that. 

Without warning, you wrapped your arms around him. 

His natural reaction was to tense up. He assumed you were hugging him to manipulate him, to get to the buttons, to try and hurt him. Moments passed and you stayed there, head pressed against his chest. You made no ill efforts. 

He wrapped his arms around you. He put his chin on your head. He closed his eyes. 

Why couldn’t it have been like this forever? 

Melancholy filled up the small space. It could never last like this. You had to go back to Victor and you both knew you would tell him that Eli had been here. There is nothing more special than a short lasting mutual agreement to set things aside to have some closure. 

You let him go. Your hands lingered on him as long as you could. 

“You have to go?” he questioned. The tinge of emotion was back in his voice. 

“They’ll come looking for me,” you said quietly. The act of going back assured him some time to leave. You were trying to help him, even now, even after everything. 

He nodded once. He pushed the elevator button to start moving again. It moved down slowly but not slow enough. You both faced the door. You linked your pinky with his, refusing to look at him. 

When the door opened you let out a deep breath. He let you go. You missed his touch already. He walked out the elevator doors. 

Without thinking you reached forward, stopping the doors from shutting. 

“Eli!” He turned back around. His cold face was back, haunting you with the differences in time. You swallowed. “It was always you.” 

His face softened.

The door shut. You watched him until they shut as he turned away from you. The elevator brought you back up to your floor. Like a zombie you walked down the hallway. You had forgotten your keycard and knocked on the door. 

Mitch opened the door. 

“Where’s the sandwiches?” 

Behind him Victor stood, watching your face. He read your numb expression and raised his chin, hardening his face. 

“Eli.”

[georgieluz]

Hello I would LOVE to hear anything abt your BoB OCs if you're happy sharing them!

hello!! yes i'm more than happy to share them!! also sorry that i'm replying to this so late! i got sick like a day after i got this ask but i'm finally back and can talk about them a bit! i decided to attach some pre-war moodboards i made a while back of them as well, so i'll put everything under a read more in case it's too long

first up, we have: oliver hardwick

wealthy new yorker with your classic parental issues. likes to think of himself as fearlessly rebellious, especially regarding his sexuality and refusal to conform to the expectations of someone of his "class". however, his parents have connections spread wide across the city, which they use to dampen, and cover up, any of his attempts to shame their family. naturally, this frustrates him even more and he spends every second of his time trying to disappoint them. but they never let the mask slip, never let him win. it's cruel really. he knows they hate what he is, and they make sure he knows, but they never let on in public. they never make it obvious. they never let him win. he's been stuck in a perpetual loop of failure, both his intentional attempts and his inability to make his parents care, his entire life and it's made him resentful of control and irrationally short-tempered when anyone attempts to perceive him or claim to know him.

before the war, he was studying literature and latin at university, and most likely to be found in a nearby bar or the bed of an older man. when the war comes around, he doesn't want to give his parents the satisfaction of becoming an officer, knowing they would consider any rank or military achievement he gained a win in their war of conformity and respectability, and that they would continuously use it to shape the perception of who he is. so, instead, he chooses to enlist as a regular soldier. his parents have other ideas in mind though, and through their military connections, they ensure that he's placed in officer school, with no choice or input in the matter.

eventually he finds himself chosen as an intelligence officer, working under lewis nixon in easy company. having every decision about his position chosen for, and dictated to, him leaves oliver with a bitterness and anger about being controlled, leading to a huge disdain toward taking orders. emotionally unstable, provocative, and with absolutely no consideration for his own safety or life, nixon may have met his match for messiest officer in the company.

(he's basically my hot mess of an oc who i'm gonna hurt so bad)

next up, we have: tommy monet

also a new yorker! (EDIT: he's now from boston, sorry) from the other side of the tracks entirely. this boy is all hardshell exterior and repression and no one can hurt me if they can't get near me so i will build this wall so strong not a single person can break through. his childhood was complicated to say the least (if you'd like to hear more about that then i can talk more about that later since it's a bit long for an introduction post) and he blames himself for the state his family is in now. he has a little sister who he would kill for, she's the only person he trusts, but he also feels he has failed in his mission to protect her. he is remarkably good at making friends with the neighbourhood cats, which their owners despise, but his favourite is his own, his best friend, named badger.

he fell in love with books and poetry as a teenager, but refuses to admit it to anyone. not because he wants to act cool, but because he's scared that if he pursues that interest, or anything academic, he would fail. he refuses to look his insecurities in the eye and pushes them down, along with the trauma of his past, until they're nice and buried down deep. he didn't exactly fall in with the wrong crowd after high school, bc he was already there growing up as one of them. he and his friends are generally seen as troublemakers and nuisances, but outside of getting into fights and breaking into a few factories and warehouses, they don't actually do much wrong.

he ends up in easy company, and when he meets liebgott during training, they get along well enough, but when things start to get stressful, they start to rub each other up the wrong way. they're both scrappy and aren't afraid of a fight, and they both have anger inside of them. tommy's anger is toward himself, but he tells himself it's anger towards his father. even though they find themselves in each other's face sometimes, they recognise that anger in each other. it bonds them together like glue and they understand something unspeakable about the other. tommy's never had anyone who truly sees him before, someone who makes him feel like a real person, not just a passing breeze, because sometimes, he doesn't really believe he's anything more than an empty shell of a body. and slowly, just maybe, they start to open up to each other more.

(tommy is my repressed broken boy who i'm GONNA FIX I SWEAR I'M GONNA FIX HIM GUYS HONEST)

if you wanna know anything more about them feel free to ask, i'd love to talk about them more! maybe i'll do one of those oc ask games or something! i also have a few platonic band of brothers ocs (male, female and nonbinary) from my formula one au who i absolutely adore!! so if you'd like me to introduce them as well then i'd love to bc honestly they're like my besties at this point

[halflingkima]

i was tagged by @mell0bee 💖 and much like them, i did this tag at least a year ago so i kinda wanna see what's changed.

Are you named after anyone? My paternal grandmother, but also the storybook character Madeline. (I have a theme song :D)

When was the last time you cried? Uhh like this past weekend, reading the acknowledgements of All the Hidden Paths by Foz Meadows. I was really just skimming it but uhh I guess I was in a vulnerable place after the story that the acknowledgements cut in there and Got me lol

Do you have kids? no but i have a new baby niece who is the light of my life :)))

Do you use sarcasm a lot? I think I actually use it less than average. Definitely less than I did as a snarky teen. Just feels mean nowadays.

What sports do you play? none at the moment, but historically soccer, volleyball, and dance, and still enjoy casual frolicking of those styles.

What’s the first thing you notice about people? Hair. Since I cut mine, I'm constantly thinking about my own, so I probably notice their hair.

What’s your eye color? bluuue

Scary movies or happy endings? happy endings. this question no doubt feels like apples and oranges, but i've never been a scary movie person, and i do love a cheesy romance novel.

Any special talents? uuuhhhhhhhhhhhh i'm rly good at staying awake. i think. does that count. what even counts as special.

Where were you born? I'm a cali girl......... in a cali world........

What are your hobbies? lately: reading, writing, crocheting, giffing, and D&D. also sewing off and on but the stars have to like align in a triple planet retrograde or something.

Do you have any pets? nope

How tall are you? 5'5

Favorite subject in school? depends on the year you asked me tbh. think i'm gonna cheat and say theatre bc my college degree involved classes in playwriting, history, costume/lighting/set design, stage management, and literature analysis, not to mention actual stage production experience. (I did the same in high school on a smaller scale.) Ironically, I think my theatre degree involved more writing than my creative writing degree.

Dream job? I do not dream of labor. jk jk lol. but i've been actively evaluating how my concept of work and jobs and how it's so very directly attached to who you know or are adjacent to because there's so many niche industries and abilities and how versatile humans are and anyone can do anything if they want to and invest their time/effort/energy. (like who you know + your specific experiences, not in a Networking way, but just. a not knowing what you don't know way.) i want to do anything/everything which is my primary strugglebus re: Future Thoughts. My cousin blames on my rising sign (sagittarius). i also have a deep fear that if i do something i actually like for a living, i'll ruin all enjoyment of that thing. that being said, i'd like to publish a novel. and design concert/band stage lights. i'd want to work somewhere in the fiber/fabric industry if conditions were fair (& not outsourced). my current job (library book van) is actually pretty great, but i'd like to work inside the building eventually. idk man i have less a dream job and more 'honestly, i'll try anything. i'll try harder if there's a benefits plan.'

sorry if i repeat tag anyone and of course feel free to ignore me lol. i'm tagging @politedemon @crushpdf @waitingforarthur @voiceoftheashari @wellthatswhatithought

[imanes]

hey imane, this is such a dumb question but inshallah you will not hate me for it: how do you not want to die when you go to the gym.... i want to improve my health and my parents doomed me to live in the north where the weather is terrible for most of the year, so the gym feels like my best option, but exercise itself is so painful and sweaty and i have never felt this "high" that people talk about getting from exercise! i would appreciate any advice at all! also i finally caught up on demon slayer because of you, it was so good (should i read the manga?) ☆

naaur it's not a dumb question on the contrary!! I've been struggling with keeping up with going to the gym or just exercising in general because it feels like a task to be done rather than something that gives me a high or something so i totally feel you. i do like moving around and feeling like i'm getting stronger (i mostly lift weight + light cardio) but idk about that mental boost people talk about either lmao.

i can only speak from my perspective so my goal at the moment isn't even to do the most at the gym and get me into shape in a month or something, I'm literally just trying to build the habit of going to the gym. heading there is a struggle too so i have to put myself in automatic mode and go no question asked. i also tell my friend to hold me accountable so i send them a pic where i get there otherwise I've given them license to punch me in the arm lmao.

another thing that helped me is switching gyms to go to one that is bright, well lit, spacious, and never overcrowded. i used to go to a cheaper one and i was pretty regular but i just haaaaated the place so much it was dank dark musty crusty ew ew ew.

having an idea of the workout you wanna do is also important once you get there so you can just go through your workout like a checklist and then head out after a good stretch! I'm getting back into the swing of things so I'm watching beginner videos from naomi kong on youtube, she really doesn't overdo it and outside of my own self-mandated light cardio warm-up (cycling) and finisher (inclined walk on the treadmill) it really didn't break a sweat.

so yeah to build the habit of just doing it, i am actually going everyday until i feel like i can trust myself with doing it every other day. mind you i don't do a "real" workout every day, i actually did a full body three days ago, just light cardio for 30 minutes yesterday to get my limbs moving and my blood pumping, and today was leg day. I'm gonna go tomorrow for a swim i think just to switch up the way i do my cardio and then on Monday it's gonna be upper body day and I'll probably follow another naomi kong beginner's guide to the gym.

so my tips for consistency and learning to like going to the gym:

go as many times as possible during the week just to make you used to going there

don't do big workouts!! your body doesn't need to go into failure every time. my legs used to shake like i was a newborn fawn bc i was following my friend's workout routine and it was not sustainable mentally for me lol. i just do my reps with lower weights than i used to just to get my body used to the movements and to make my mind disassociate "working out" with "sweating and suffering". it's like pavlov lol positive reinforcement is key

switch up your workouts so that it feels fresh! what i did today for leg day isn't what I'm gonna be doing for my next leg day for example bc i get bored easily

speaking of getting bored easily usually i either watch a bunch of youtube videos, listen to podcasts, read a book on my phone, or switch to an audiobook when my hands are busy because otherwise my mind wanders and i want to leave from being bored out of my mind. however today i did have a lot on my mind so i ended up listening to newjeans songs they have the perfect beat for working out

if your gym offers collective classes try one out! suffering together makes the pain easier to bear <3 that used to be what got me through english boxing classes years ago when i used to go... my objective is actually to go back to boxing classes (this time muay thai i think) by the end of the year and then the gym every other day or something for weight lifting, swimming, or a class of pilates or dance or smt that sounds fun

ok that was a really long answer lmao i'm also at the beginning of a journey that i hope will be consistent and sustainable!! i hope we can motivate each other out as northern country dwellers who have to contend with the wind the rain and the snow <3 also yaaaaay I'm so happy you watched demon slayer! and YES read the manga, the next arc is chill and cute but what follows... if you don't binge it all til the end i'd be surprised but also that'd mean you're much stronger than me which is a good thing if you can apply it to going to the gym as well akjfdklgj anyway good luck keep me updated babe insha'Allah we can do it!!

[microsuedemouse]

~ 15 questions & 15 friends ~

tagged by my much beloved @czarcaustic <3

1. Are you named after anyone?

My grandfather!! Courtney was his middle name. (That spelling was originally the masculine form of the name, though it's pretty rare to see it used as such these days.) My middle name is also a family name :)

2. When was the last time you cried?

Uhh... oh it was a couple nights ago, when talking with my parents about my Nana. I still miss her a lot

3. Do you have kids?

Nope. At this stage of my life I can't say it feels super likely ever to happen, though I'd be lying if I said I don't feel a twinge of Something when I meet babies at work lol.

4. What sports do you play/have you played?

lmao I have never played any. I am extremely unathletic by nature, and also always struggled to get my brain around the rules of pretty much any of them when I was like, a kid in gym class

5. Do you use sarcasm?

Sure, but not a lot? Probably an average amount I figure

6. What is the first thing you notice about people?

Man, I dunno - probably their faces or their clothes, depending on context?

7. What's your eye color?

Brown!

8. Scary movies or happy endings?

Big big fan of both! I'm not a big sad endings guy, though. Even when it feels right for the story, it's usually not my jam. (I guess sometimes sad endings can be good for scary movies, but that's like... sort of its own thing? because it's about The Horror.)

9. Any talents?

This is always a hard question for me to answer, bc I feel like most of the things I'm good at are more skills than talents - they're things I've practiced and developed over time, like with my writing and art. Although I guess it'd be fair, if unusual maybe, to say I've got a couple naturally strong interpersonal skills. I'm very good at communication, including figuring out what other people are trying to say, and I'm also pretty good at making people feel comfortable and understood.

10. Where were you born?

In southern Ontario, in the city where both of my parents did most of their growing up :)

11. What are your hobbies?

Writing (fiction prose, mostly) and the many kinds of thinking that go with it (worldbuilding, character development, etc). Arts and crafts (of many kinds; I'm often bouncing from one thing to another. Currently I'm having lots of fun learning to crochet). Taking in stories (reading books and comics, watching movies and TV, playing games, listening to podcasts - I love stories in all their forms). Goofing off with my family, especially my younger siblings.

12. Do you have any pets?

We have three cats - Neverland, Louie, and Smudge :)

13. How tall are you?

Uhh my ID says 165 cm, so that's... 5'5"-ish? I'm genuinely so incapable of remembering that on my own, for some reason.

14. Favorite subject in school?

It was usually English and art, growing up. In university it was always my courses that delved into genre fiction - science fiction, children's lit, the fairy tale... also that graphic novel seminar I took

15. Dream job?

Iiii. [sweats] I wanna be a novelist, but also, that's hard in its own way, and I think it's gonna take me a while yet to really Get There in terms of my own skills, disregarding the challenges of publishing. Beyond that... is something I've been struggling a lot with lately, because it's hard for me to imagine myself in a job where I'm both content and competent, let alone able to support myself. I've been wondering a lot again about library sciences, lately, but I just don't know. It's tough out here!

I definitely don't have 15 people to tag, but. @izupie @werewolfin @serenabeanie @womanaction @mana-sputachu perhaps, if you're feelin' it?

[its-tea-time-darling]

2, 12 and 22 for book asks? :D

2.Did you reread anything? What?

the year is long and my memory is weak, but i must've reread conversations with friends bc it's one of my favorite books that i just keep coming back to. some alice oseman books too, loveless i reread for sure (which i know bc i read it while i visited @go-catch-a-chickn so i have a visual and spatial memory of that yhdjdhdjk 🧡🧡). i probably also reread i was born for this and radio silence.

12.Any books that disappointed you?

i was going to say i don't think so but then i remembered: absolute horror story, i went into a bookstore and asked for a recommendation for a german fantasy novel, preferably written by a woman, or if not written by a woman than pls with good female characters.

the book seller recommended me a book and i bought it--those who know me know i am a VERY tentative buyer, i will usually only buy books by authors i already love, or then after i finished a book i got from the library and decide i need to own a copy for rereads--and this book was so terrible. like. horrendously terrible. i got so furious i started highlighting every sexist paragraph and that book was shiny with highlighter i can tell you 😭😭

i also ranted to my roommate abt it for ages, and when he eventually did read it just to see what the anger was about, he agreed it was TRASH 🤣🤣🤣 that book seller really did me dirty lmao

22.What’s the longest book you read?

i don't know that it was the longest words wise, but a book that took me a long time to read this year was blutbuch by kim de l'horizon. it's. how to describe. it's a semi autobiographical, very lyrical and very experimental and boundary breaking when it comes to both languages and the tone/topics discussed. the book won both the swiss and the german literature price iirc, and well deserved! kim is non-binary, and the entirety of the book was so new to me, from identity and queerness to how deeply rooted it is in swiss culture and history--i think it's easy to think of one's own country as somewhat history-less, especially when it comes to social issues like class, and especially in the age of the internet when all you're bombarded with all day every day unless you make a herculean effort to avoid it is US politics.

that got long. in any case, fantastic book, and i can actually recommend it to you swan:D

(there's no translation available yet, and i really wonder how they're gonna do that bc the text contains swiss german expressions, french loan words in swiss german and generally its play with language is so central to the book that yeah it makes me curious to see how one could translate it.)

(funnily enough a part that resonated deeply with me was the last part of the book that kim wrote entirely in english. kim had such interesting things to say about what it means to use a language that's not your mother tongue to express yourself, about how it's both a protection (and freedom!) but also a barrier. you can't be harmed by people who don't understand it but you also can't be heard by those.

super interesting concept specifically related to queerness i think, bc a lot of the resources available are in english, and it's much harder to find localized books or testimonies. might be easier for germany but switzerland is such a small country that preserving our history is a rope we all have to pull on together.)

~~~

UDUDHCJCCJJ wow this really got me talking huh 😂 anyway, send post 📩

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