#have a no-name boyfriend instead!

[cambria-writes]

my prompt for you is: orange light!! good luck deciphering that!!

it took a few days but as soon as you said orange light i knew exactly what i wanted to include and what i wanted this to be about. this is actually a very personal and emotional piece for me, so i actually do hope you like it!

i even put this through two spell checks and a grammar check, so i made a genuine effort!

title from a novel by andré aciman called 'plus tard ou jamais', which means 'later or never' in french.

𝐏𝐥𝐮�� 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐝, 𝐨𝐮—

pairing: male!oc x gn!nameless!oc (barely tbh) rating: t cause i think there's swearing? warnings: nothing really, dreaming, revisiting the past, talking about feeling safe, mention of chronic illness, bitching about climate change the heat, this is just a vent piece where my boyfriend catches me at the end that's it lol

masterlist

It’s too hot. It’s been too hot for three days.

The air conditioner is barely providing any relief. In this heat wave, it would probably take three 18k BTU units to satisfy me. It’s horrible; everything is damp, everything smells like humidity and AC condensate. Every 5 hours, I have to force myself up and away from whatever I’m doing to haul The Bucket—used to be used with the mop, but since last summer, it’s exclusively used to collect the condensation from the air conditioner—to the bathroom and back again.

My fingers hurt. My head hurts. My back feels like it’s been twisted out of and back into shape too many time. Misshapen, I feel misshapen.

It’s 3:47AM and I’ve been on my back on my bedroom floor for... too long. Feels like forever, but I know it’s only been half an hour. But there’s nothing to do; I’m in between jobs, I did all the laundry in a bout of mania last night, the dishes were cleaned after I made myself dinner earlier...

There was a time when I would have known what to do with myself in a situation like this. Would have had a list of things that I could easily do whenever I happened to have the time for them. That list is long gone, though.

Maybe it's with my motivation; eloped, and forgotten about. Good for her.

Beneath me, I feel the old wooden floor shake when a loud clap of thunder sounds outside. Ah, finally, I think, something to cut through this wretched humidity and maybe return some sense of normalcy to my life. I pat my hand around on the floor to find my phone, but when I pull up the weather forecast, it’s grim.

92% humidity for tomorrow and yet more thunderstorms.

Carelessly throw my phone in the general area of the head of my bed. Miserable, this is absolutely miserable. I can’t go out like this; ten minutes in that kind of heat and nevermind heat exhaustion, I may as well just go straight to the nearest hospital for the inevitable heat stroke I’d be suffering from.

From its new place, probably half under a pillow from the sound of it, my phone dings. Probably another email to tell me that though my candidacy was appreciated and my résumé was impressive, they’ve gone ahead and hired someone else for the position.

Someone who was asking for a lower salary, probably.

Miserable.

The amount of motivation required to get myself on my feet again is gargantuan. But at this rate, I’m never going to sleep, and I’m not going to do anything productive. So I shuffle to the bathroom at the end of the hallway, pull open the mirror door, and pluck the bottle of melatonin from its shelf.

Mm. No. Put it back and grab the THC gummy bottle next to it instead. That’ll do. I only grab and pop one in my mouth to chew; I made the mistake of taking two once and only once, and I would rather lick the underside of my shoes than do that again.

I don’t both to get under the covers when I let myself fall into bed. Limbs akimbo, staring up at the ceiling, I wonder. I wonder what my life could be like if everything didn’t have to be so... this. There’s a bitter kind of resignation that sank in year ago, when my then-fiancé simply ghosted me the night before our trip to Japan.

Shit always happens. And sometimes who you are matters.

The light-headed feeling from the edible starts to sink in. I should’ve just grabbed a beer from the fridge. Or maybe made myself a rum and coke. I’m always a happy, sleepy drunk.

Forgot that I tend to get too pensive and subsequently high when I’m too baked.

Ah, god dammit.

My eyes feel dry and sore. I feel so much more exhausted than when I fell asleep. At least, I think I do. I don’t remember falling asleep. I definitely don’t remember falling asleep outside, out on the grass. But the feeling on my exposed arms and legs is unmistakeable.

Freshly cut grass that will undoubtedly make me break out in hives.

I remember this place so clearly. It’s the playground behind my old elementary school. When I sit up and twist to look around, there’s a swell of something in my chest. Some unknowable emotion that’s probably an amalgam. The unkept field is still there, and so are the woods behind it. They flattened it all out and made condos there years ago.

So this is definitely a memory, then. Probably of one of the fundraiser spaghetti dinners they would do a week or two before school let out. If I look out to the softball diamond, there’s a mountain of old wood and pallets for the bonfire that would happen later.

There’s only me here, though. There isn’t the tell-tale chatter of parents by the doors, no shrieking children, no firecrackers. I remember, being freshly eleven years old, looking at my friends and the setting sun and thinking, yes, I need to remember this. This is a moment I’m going to need to remember, someday.

Basking in the setting sun, it’s easy to understand why. Despite the lack of people, I can still smell the industrial quantity of spaghetti sauce simmering in the cafeteria kitchen. The heat isn’t overbearing; it feels comfortable, actually. I remember getting a rash on my arms and legs from the freshly cut grass. The small scar on my forehead left there by a burning ember that got blown my way.

The sun never sets, here.

Through closed eyes, I notice the shadow falling over me.

"Go away," I say quietly. There’s no bite in my voice—no one who would be here would be anyone I get angry at. "I’m trying to nap."

A scoff. Then, "The chronic fatigue doesn’t hit for another..." A brief pause, for contemplation, I suppose. "Seven years."

I shrug as nonchalantly as I can. But I recognize that voice. I didn’t know that voice when I was eleven. Wouldn’t get to know it for a few months still. I sigh anyway and prop myself up on my elbows. I keep my gaze ahead when I open my eyes. I don’t want to know which version of him is here quite yet.

"Why are you here, Michael?" I ask, leaning heavily on my hands. I let my eyes flit from window to window, pausing on the windows I know look into the library longer than the others. I can just barely make out the diaphanous curtains my mother hung over one of the couches. The sheer fabric almost glistens in the orange glow.

"I show up whenever you need a reminder," he answers as he takes a seat next to me. Our shoulders are touching. He nudges my arm with his elbow. "What have you been forgetting?"

I can’t help but laugh. What have I been forgetting? Is that a joke?

"Everything," I grunt, scooching back a bit to lean forward and pull my legs up. "A lot."

Michael chuckles good-naturedly next to me. I missed—miss him. I miss him.

"Shooting stars, sib," he whispers, and I can feel the warmth of his fingertips when he starts to dig them into the nape of my neck. "You’ve forgotten that we’re shooting stars."

All at once, my eyes burn and my nose feels hot and itchy. I reach up for the hand at the back of my neck and bring it to my cheek instead. A thumb awkwardly brushes away the first tear to fall.

"I love you though," I manage to choke out. Look up at the sky like that’ll help my eyes dry out. "I haven’t seen you in forever. Did you get married? Do you have kids? Do you..."

Michael’s thumb stills on my cheekbone. I can feel him leaning in closer.

"...do you even think about me at all?"

Micheal sighs and I feel him rest his forehead against the crown of my head. His breath feels warm there, too. I can hear him inhale to answer, but I rush to speak first.

I don’t know if I want to hear his answer.

"I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not having been a better friend to you. I called you a brother, called you family, but I—"

"It’s fine," Michael cuts me off, gently,quietly. Pulls his head up off mine and his hand away from my cheek in favour of wrapping an arm around my shoulder and pulling me in. "We were young and stupid. You couldn’t have known. It’s not like anyone was helping."

"You did," I counter, a bit more petulantly than I’d like. "Even if you just let me get passionate about things, you—I didn’t get that from anyone else. You made it safe to like things."

Ah. There it is, isn’t it. Michael’s laughter is still so wonderfully soothing. A perfect combination with the warmth of the setting sun. The sound of his voice like perfume in the air, sparkling and sweet.

"Yeah," Michael says eventually,giving my shoulder a quick squeeze before letting go to lean back and get a better look at me.

I forgot I didn’t want to look. He’s got the braids in, like I’d done when we were kids. Otherwise looks just like he did last time I saw him nearly a decade ago; smart, dark slacks, a button-up with the sleeves rolled up with no tie in sigh, shoes shining like his eyes. I can't help but reach a hand out for his own face—to feel the thick beard he’s growing, run a hand through the hair I’d straightened and braided and put flowers in.

"He’s done a great job too, y’know," Michael says, looking away with a smirk. He doesn’t take my hand away where it’s brushing back hair at his temples. "Your husband, I mean."

"We’re not..." I start, but trail off. We’re not actually married, which doesn’t feel fair. "Yeah," I settle with. "He does, despite it all. Despite everything."

When Michael turns back to look at me, it’s a boy, and I find us sitting in his mother’s basement, on her dark green leather couch. The outro to Fortier is playing on the TV.

"He’s not the only one," Michael says, and it’s strange to hear an adult voice come from such a young face. I remember feeling that way after his voice changed over summer break in 9th grade, too. He turns to look back at the TV, but grabs the remote on the couch arm closest to him to turn it off.

I can hear his mother talking to his younger brother upstairs. I hear plates being taken out of a cupboard and pots and pans being moved.

"You were always welcome, you know," Michael says, throwing an arm over the back of the couch. His fingers just barely reach my hair to play with it. "Mom worried about you like her own."

"I felt that," I laugh, quiet and airily. "I just never wanted that kindness to be revoked."

"Dinner’s ready!"

"Come on," Michael urges me to stand up. "She made shepherd’s pie just for you."

The smell of a fresh, home cooked meal lingers in my nose when I wake up. It’s a slow process; I eventually remember that I fell asleep, and work carefully to unstick my clammy limbs from the floor beneath me.

"There they are," I hear next to me, and I can only muster the energy to hum in acknowledgement. "Floor comfier than the bed?"

"F’koff," I mutter, rolling over on the side before pushing myself up. Rub a hand down my face when I taste salt on my lips. Sniffle a few times while running my hands through my hair to try and loosen up some of the knots.

I can still feel the hand on the nape of my neck.

"Bad dream?"

I shake my head. "No, not bad, just..."

"Hmm, just maybe a bit too much?" When I don’t answer, my boyfriend—husband?—crouches by me and guides me to my feet with patient hands. Brushes the hair out of my face and kisses my forehead before pulling me in. A hand at my lower back and the other on the back of my head until I let my forehead rest against his shoulder.

"It’s okay," he whispers, kisses the top of my head. "We’ll go to sleep and you can tell me all about it in the morning."

"Even if it’s ab—about Mike?" The question is out before I can think better of it. He exhales like it’s funny.

"Obviously."

When I wake up again, the sun filtering through the thin curtains above the bedroom window make everything look like molten gold. The dust in the narrow sunbeams coming through look like glitter. Boyfriend pressed up against my back, his nose pressed against the top of my spine, a leg between mine, and a hand curled over my stomach.

I want to tell Michael that he’s right. Despite everything, I do feel safe, here.

I won’t know until I’ve had breakfast and I’ve gone down in sleep shorts and an oversized Five Finger Death Punch shirt that definitely doesn't belong to me, with a coffee mug in hand, that there’s a wedding invitation waiting for me in the mail box.

[bitchfitch]

So context: I have Ridiculously severe misophonia. If I could painlessly deafen myself I would, "all noise is evil" levels of noise sensitivity. It's too the point I can't tolerate being around other people because the sound of breathing swallowing lip smacking etc drive me up the wall and turn me into the joker in .1 seconds.

and it's not like, it's not a "I don't like this" type of misophonia, it's a "these sounds are physically extremely painful as is any volume above the absolute lowest amount possible (I have returned multiple pairs of earbuds for having their minimum setting still be painfully loud)

Ok, that's just my life. those are the cards I've been dealt and I've been making it work.

My shrink recommended concert earbuds. They're like normal wireless earbuds but instead of being electric, they have a small tube and a hole in them that effectively changes the shape of your ear canel when you're wearing them. So they filter noise without reducing volume or quality too badly.

It is fucking Night and day. Volume is still a problem but all the little sounds that were driving me insane and making me be constantly overstimulated are just gone. I can talk to people without immediately wanting to end the conversation. and be in the same room as my fishtank without the filter sounds chasing me off.

[nguyenfinity]

bean and i have been locked in the kitchen, so like AU where beta niki is niki's older brother and otome niki is his younger brother right--

more below

Hiki (22 y.o.) - "nii-san" to his younger brothers; calls Niki "Nikkun"

dropped out of hs and left to travel and be a food journalist after the IncidentTM

pretty chill but would kill a man for his little brothers

rinne is scared of him (something something scary older brother, the 3 cm difference is the only thing keeping red guy from crumpling) (also hiki's basically another version of him and bro's good at dealing with anyone but himself)

he knows rinne is scared of him and thinks it's the funniest thing and will mess with him on purpose

super sensitive to taste, bro can taste if someone put in even 1 grain of salt

despite that he has horribly bad eating habits, bro has tastebuds gifted by the divine themselves but he's on his 12th pack of ramen this week

favorite is the instant noodles he'd make and share with his little brother when he had to watch him while parents were out working

sucks at cooking. rinne was scared of him until he saw him burn water

so chill with pda hes annoying and embarrassing they cannot kiss without him whistling or saying anything

feels guilty about leaving niki from running off to try to redeem the shiina name with his journalism

bicon

exes with oldest sakura nee-han (it's funny and they're on good terms)

drinking buddies with rinne, said nee-han and himeru post-reveal (older bees sibling crew)

Miki (16 y.o.) - "Mikkun" to his older brothers; calls Niki "Aniki"

stayed with other family in japan after the IncidentTM (niki didn't go with him 'cause he wanted to stay)

guilt from not visiting his aniki or trying harder to convince him to come with him to live with family

miki is an edgy brat, sweet but a brat niki: aw he's just a little angel what are you so worried about miki flipping rinne off behind niki's back:

Rinne once again thinking how he lucked out with Hiiro every time he interacts with Miki

niki spoils miki and miki clinging to his aniki cuddling up next to him being the first taste tester getting to choose what niki makes rinnekun on the side fist clenched about to blow a fuse thats his spot thats his job thats his choice and miki Knows

will play video games with rinne tho (sideeyeing the number of runs red guy has on niki's route in the otome)

cut his hair to be different from his brothers

has the opposite problem of niki, he doesnt wanna do food or chef work but all he's good at is food (specifically desserts and he would rather go to business school but he does enjoy making sweets with his aniki)

aroace

if rinne and niki kiss one more time around him he's gonna explode

gets flustered around hiiro in an "i wanna be friends but i'm bad at making friends" way 'cause he's so nice and genuine and excitable and nothing like his brother and rinne's like "yeah no he has a girlfriend"

tiktok kid, always has his phone on him; kinda famous?? people in his comments mostly just go "you look like that guy from crazy:b"

mario party nights with the younger bee sibling squad (hiiro, kaname, kohaku)

also gets into debates with them on who has the best oldest siblings

[bisexualmultifandommess]

I’ve seen angst posts about the idea of in a fic or in the show someone tells Tommy that Buck doesn’t really like being called Evan and Tommy feels so bad so he tries calling him Buck (even though it sounds so strange to him) and Buck is upset thinking he’s done something wrong or Tommy isn’t really interested anymore even though he very much is he just didn’t want to make Buck feel uncomfortable.

But the comedy element instead where he still tries to call him Buck but Buck is like yo wtf and is like “why are you calling me that? You call me Evan” and Tommy is just like “oh the others said you don’t like that name I’m so sorry” and so Buck is half heartedly annoyed now because he had a mini heart attack and goes to tell the others he’s fine with it and like jokingly tell them off.

Meanwhile Chimney is just chilling in the firehouse and is like why do I hear boss music? Buck just comes in like wtf did you do???

[yuxinmi]

Being in the aroace spec and a shifter is a strange experience because the only person i'll ever have genuine romantic interest for is in a whole different reality, and i mean ONLY that reality. Noone in this reality, my other DRs, or literally any other reality that doesn't have my beloved person, is ever that interesting to me. The only interest i'l have for them are strictly platonic.

One of my close friends happened to confess their feelings to me, which i unfortunately had to reject (i still feel really bad about it tbh 😭) because i couldn't help but feel like my heart will only ever belong to my s/o, WHO IS IN ANOTHER GODDAMN REALITY. I can never love anyone else besides him and it's too real

[yki-dolls]

I can totally imagine him being like this

What's it with me and drawing Leo so much recently, huh?

Pixel art Commissions

[artkadukan]

And I present to you

✨vampire boi✨

[moonchild-in-blue]

Oh mother, tell your children Not to do what I have done Spend your lives in sin and misery In the house of The Rising Sun

[mintmentos]

Had to physically restrain myself from putting on the next episode today this show has me in a vice grip I swear

[proshipaes]

I talk about how much I like shipcest all the time in this damn blog, but something I also enjoy is when a character who has/used to have incestuous thoughts starts dating someone unrelated to them who is into them being a huge fucking weirdo.

[wfuckshit42]

here's my hot take

[oflgtfol]

while im looking thru my old unfinished art, happy pride month to my two gay kitties from the warriors oc fanfic i was writing back in 2017-2018. featuring skystar's boyfriend who would show up later in the fic which i never got to write far enough to feature him. lol

[crossbackpoke-check]

"This extra space next to me belongs to you. I know where I end now. I won't get lost." -- shoot me (metaphorically) and leave me for dead (metaphorically) why won't you. To make this about Dylan and maybe it's about Connor, maybe it's about Brinksy, maybe it's about any journeyman in the NHL. My brain screamed Chris Driedger and his memorable (to me) Players' Tribune article:

And how can you mention Dylan and Zach (Za-ach, the way Dylan says it) without me having a breakdown about them? You simply can't. And for the younger dudes, maybe it's a little Bords/Briss, not yet steady in The Show, a little bit of distance, a summer that tries to erase and make up all the memories they've made separately... and then a blurry insta story in Vegas. Just like old times but somewhere else. Maybe it's not the same bed, maybe it's not the same set of forks, but maybe it's the principle of the thing.

Anyway, goodbye. Sorry for this, your tag walls make me break out in imagined scenarios.

Much love. xxx

please never be sorry for sending me messages <3 i love reading them i love getting them i think they’re beautiful and i love them i’m!!!!! [🥹💕🦋🫧✨💘😭 <- the best approximation of what my heart is doing]

ok NOW i am taking this step by step because every narrative here kicked me straight in the knees (metaphorically) i am w e e p i n g (literally): i knew tangentially about chris driedger going to seattle but i had never read his players’ tribune love letter to seattle & all i can say is oh. oh. and with the part about trains delayed but still being right on time—

sometimes a dream is a truth your heart knows long before you do. the space that the city and the team made for him (“you’d be the only guy on the team”)🗣️🗣️🗣️ !!! but the way that chris talks about needing to put in the work & leo not letting him quit,,, that’s chris filling up the teakettle with twice as much water, crowding one side of the bed (falling asleep against a bus window dreaming), becoming unburdened by the idea of not being their guy, not having the fallback being their draft pick to content and settle himself with. that’s chris betting on a future. that’s the train coming down the tracks, right on time.

(i am feeling unhinged about it)

SECOND. i know i was the one that said zach and dylan to start so technically i brought this on myself but also i have been ktfo by the mere mention of the way that dylan says zach’s name different from everyone else, stealing an extra breath, stealing as much time as he can get with him, which reminded me of a poem i just read:

The Need Is So Great, Jim Moore

^^^dylan still in love with zach even as he’s leaving, can feel himself losing him, and taking every sliver of the love in his smile that he can get. even if he knows zach doesn’t still feel the same way he’s drawing out the long goodbye & saying i love you in a thousand ways without ever saying it out loud (“i have been asking for a time but in ways that have no words” because he doesn’t want to ask too much, to ask for love) in the hope that zach will say it back OKAY I’M LEAVING i can’t do this

that was a lie because THREE. “maybe it’s the principle of the thing” please insert the most ungodly screech how could you just (lovingly) come in straight with the steel chair and bean me upside the head with that l i n e i think this story has the potential for such tragedy in it but also the most tender domestic longing because bords & briss have known each other for a long time (i think) and guys do sometimes lose themselves when they first get to the nhl.

it’s a big scene, you’re with big name guys, you’re finally doing the thing you always dreamed about, you’re no longer necessarily the best because everyone’s the best, you’re not sure how you fit in, you can get lost in the glitz and the glamor of it but you can also literally get lost in it, the slog of the season and getting caught up and down between teams and leagues and endless airports and buses and travel and ice rinks, losing your phone (accidental) and having new people hound you for quotes and fame and connection so you lose your phone (on purpose) and i think where i’m trying to go is: this could play out as the tragedy of borde going to the california coastline and briss shipping off to the vegas strip and both of them getting a little lost.

maybe there’s someone else, maybe i am steadfastly not thinking about “a summer that tries to erase and make up all the memories they've made separately” as either a summer of them pretending things are ok after a year of barely speaking and now being completely different people they never were before OR a summer of them trying to pretend like they can forget about each other because maybe they didn’t think their relationship was the same thing, is all, when they were or weren’t together. maybe it’s nobody’s fault but for the fact that they were scared and tired and lonely trying to make it in the big times and didn’t know how to show it. and then borde shows up with takeout and plastic forks in vegas and it’s december and nothing like winter in ann arbor and still they fill up all the empty spaces in each other with the things they didn’t know they’d miss until they were gone and this is the real thing, not whatever they were trying too hard to be, to recreate their own nostalgia for the love in their memories. it’s the principle of the thing, is all, to always be true to the love they have right now & not what they think it should be.

sorry that i wrote you kind of an essay of an answer but i had so so so many thoughts because your ask was so lovely so thank you for sending it to me (you are always welcome to!! i love your imagined scenarios!!! cannot even explain how much!!!) & thank you for taking the time to read my walls of tags :))) <3

[ladynicte]

Suffering from Thanatos x Nico brainrot right now

[get-more-bald]

gosh I need to draw leo now......

[rmayuscula]

age gap autumn girl fuck you