#heres a chapter i guess

[inkedberries]

expanding on the thought of kudou getting the call sign 'hero' and afo getting irked by it for some reason

[solarmorrigan]

Hands Where I Can See Them, Part 4

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

The only thing Eddie is dreading as much as Steve’s return for his things is Wayne’s inevitable question about where Steve is at all.

After all, Steve has practically been living with them for weeks – something that Eddie may not have allowed himself to consider the significance of, but which Wayne cannot have failed to notice. Though Steve had (apparently) felt the need to do things around the trailer to stay in Wayne’s good graces, he really didn’t have to worry about it; Wayne likes him, and he’ll be asking sooner or later just where Steve has gone.

‘Sooner’ comes two nights after Eddie royally fucks things over. It’s Wayne’s night off, and there’s really no avoiding him; their new trailer is bigger than the last, but it’s still close quarters, and Eddie gets caught when he passes through the living room to get a drink from the kitchen.

“Noticed Steve isn’t here tonight,” Wayne says, blunt as hell, because he doesn’t see the point in doing things any other way.

“Nope,” Eddie says shortly, grabbing a glass from the cabinet and filling it from the tap.

“Wasn’t here last night, either,” Wayne goes on.

“He was not,” Eddie confirms.

“Wasn’t here when I got in yesterday morning,” Wayne says.

“You are a veritable font of observation tonight,” Eddie says, only a little snarky.

Wayne shrugs. “Hard not to notice when he’s here nine days out of ten, then suddenly up and disappears,” he says. He pauses a moment before adding, “Stuff’s gone from the bathroom, too.”

Eddie occupies himself with slowly swallowing down half his glass of water before he answers. “Yeah.”

“Don’t suppose he’s going on a trip,” Wayne doesn’t quite ask, and Eddie lets out a bitter sort of laugh.

“Loving the optimism from you, but no, not… not so much.”

There are a few beats of silence, and then Wayne lets out a slow sigh. Eddie knows him well enough to understand the sound of it – he’s just decided to get involved.

“You two have a fight?”

“Something like that,” Eddie mutters.

“Well that’s vague as hell, son. You have a fight, or didn’t you?” Wayne prods.

Slowly, Eddie shakes his head. “No, I– I don’t think so. I think it was all me,” he says, finally looking up from his glass and meeting Wayne’s questioning gaze. “I fucked up, Wayne.”

There’s no immediate judgement coming from Wayne, no suspicion or scorn, not even a shake of the head and some variation of “Of course you did.” There’s only a measured sort of curiosity in his stare, the same way it’s been since Eddie was a kid and Wayne was trying to figure him out; it’s sort of comforting in its familiarity, in its neutrality.

“You wanna tell me about it?” Wayne asks.

Eddie knows that if he says no, Wayne will let it go. He might keep sending curious and worried looks Eddie’s way, he might ask a few more prodding questions over the next few days, but he won’t make Eddie say anything he doesn’t want to. And Eddie doesn’t really want to – but he thinks that maybe he needs to.

“If… you had to define mine and Steve’s relationship, what would you say?” Eddie asks after a moment.

Wayne cocks an eyebrow at him. “I’d say that feels like a trick question.”

Eddie lets out a little huff of a laugh. “It’s not, I swear. I’m seriously curious,” he says. “There are no wrong answers – go.”

“Well,” Wayne says, still eyeing Eddie consideringly, “I don’t know if you kids put labels on things these days or what, but from the outside, I’d say you’re dating. I’d say that boy is fully in love with you and that you’re at least halfway to loving him back.”

“Right.” Eddie gives a jerky nod. “Seems like that’s what pretty much everyone thinks.”

“But that’s not what’s going on,” Wayne takes a guess.

“Well, that depends on your perspective,” Eddie says, a little high and tight.

“Well, the only perspectives worth a damn here’re yours’n Steve’s,” Wayne shoots back. “So what would those be?”

Eddie drains the last of his water, turning away to put the glass in the sink. “Steve… shares your perspective. Or, uh– he did. But I… I didn’t realize he was so serious. I thought we were just kind of messing around.”

The silence from behind Eddie is so thick that he can’t help but finally turn around and meet Wayne’s gaze again.

“That’s a hell of a blind spot, Ed,” Wayne says simply, and Eddie folds in on himself a bit, crossing his arms over his chest. His main defense has always been to become larger than life – to make big gestures and even bigger speeches, but everything about this situation makes him feel like nothing so much as small.

“Yeah,” he says quietly.

“So, what, you figured out how serious he was and thought you didn’t want that?” Wayne asks, and Eddie hunches a little further in on himself.

“Nope. No, that– would’ve been better, actually. If that’s what happened. But that’s not what happened, because did I mention I fucked up? Because I seriously fucked up.” Eddie’s rambling is stemmed by an expectant look from Wayne. “It’s just – the other night, when the guys were over, we got to talking about it. The whole… me and Steve thing. As in, they thought me and Steve were a thing. And they asked me about it. While Steve was out of the room. And then he, uh. Hm.” Eddie rubs a hand nervously over his chin. “He walked back in when I was in the middle of telling them that he's just a friend and that we’re just having fun. And that’s… when I found out how serious he was.”

“Eddie…”

“I know. I know!” Eddie doesn’t even have to look at Wayne to catch the disappointment coming off of him, so he doesn’t. He scrubs hands over his face and then just leaves him there, telling the rest of the story to his palms. “He was so fucking upset, Wayne, I think– I think I actually made him cry? And the only reason he hasn’t been here to get the rest of his stuff out of the trailer yet is because he was down with a migraine the next day. Like, I hurt him so badly I made him physically ill. So I didn’t just fuck up, but I’m actually a horrible human being and should probably spend the rest of my days living in isolation so I don’t ruin anyone else’s life.”

Wayne is silent for so long that Eddie is eventually forced to peek out from behind his fingers.

“You’re not gonna tell me how bad I fucked up?” Eddie asks, still a bit muffled.

“Seems like you have that covered already,” Wayne says, then he holds up one arm in offer, nodding towards the empty spot beside him on the couch. “C’mere.”

He doesn’t need to ask Eddie twice. No matter how old he gets, Eddie doesn’t think a genuine hug from his uncle will ever stop being comforting, and regardless of whether or not he thinks he actually deserves it right now, he’s going to take it. He crashes down onto the couch and leans heavily into Wayne’s side, sighing as Wayne wraps his arm around his shoulders.

“You’re not a bad person, Ed. You made a mistake, s’all,” Wayne says, and Eddie scoffs.

“Pretty big fucking mistake,” he mutters.

“Yep, that was a doozy. You hurt someone you care about, and you might not be able to fix it all the way. But that doesn’t make you terrible. Makes you human.” Wayne gives Eddie a comforting squeeze. “And Steve ain’t a bad person, either. He’ll know you mean it when you tell him you’re sorry.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says quietly.

“You think about what you’re gonna do when he does show to get the rest of his stuff?” Wayne asks.

“Besides grovel?” Eddie shoots back.

“I mean, what’re you gonna grovel for?”

Eddie lets out a long breath. “I… I know I might not be able to fix it, but I just – I want the chance to try. I’m hoping he’ll just give me that chance.” Eddie pauses for a moment, choked by the dread of the thought that Steve might not give him that chance. “Things don’t have to go back to the way they were, but I at least want him to know that even if I’m shit at showing it, I do care.”

“Sounds like a decent place to start,” Wayne says.

“Think so?” Eddie asks.

“Mm.”

“Well… I hope Steve thinks so, too.”

Wayne gives his shoulders another squeeze and says nothing more, but he doesn’t really have to. He’s already settled Eddie’s nerves more than he’d thought possible; just this is more than enough.

Now Eddie just has to try to hold onto the feeling long enough to talk to Steve.

-

It turns out, Eddie doesn’t have to hold onto the feeling for very long at all; the very next morning—two days after Robin had read Eddie the riot act and left him to begin tentatively planning—another knock comes at the door.

It’s ten in the morning – not as early as Eddie had expected, but early enough that he’s not long out of bed when he opens the door to find Steve on the other side.

In contrast to Eddie’s sweatpants and t-shirt, Steve looks like he’s trying very hard to look like he’s alright. His polo is clean and tucked in, the collar is straight, his hair is as perfectly styled as ever – but there’s still something off. There are dark circles under his eyes, stark against a paler than normal complexion, and none of the ease or contentment that Eddie has grown used to shines from his face. He feels a little like he wants to mourn its absence.

“Hey,” Steve says, nodding in greeting.

“Hey,” Eddie says back, because for all his thoughts and planning, he hadn’t really considered how to start this encounter.

“I came to get my shit out of your way,” Steve says, and Eddie frowns.

It’s not in my way, he wants to say. You’re not in my way. Leave your stuff. Stay.

“Uh. Yeah, sure,” Eddie says instead, stepping aside to let Steve in.

Steve is carrying a cardboard box, but doesn’t seem to have anything or anyone else in tow. For as spread throughout Eddie’s life as Steve has become, he wonders if all of him will fit into that one box.

“Kinda surprised you didn’t bring Buckley to help pack,” Eddie says, glancing back out the screen door, as if Robin might appear out of nowhere.

“Just dropped her off at work,” Steve says. “I figured she probably already had… words for you when she picked up my meds, and I didn’t think any of us needed an encore.”

“I don’t know,” Eddie says quietly. “The stuff she said got me thinking.”

In the process of grabbing a jacket he’d left behind off one of the hooks by the door, Steve only glances back at Eddie. “I’m sure she had a lot to say,” he says, carefully neutral.

“Yeah. She, uh – definitely did. Can we talk?” Eddie asks.

Steve sighs. “Eddie…”

“Just hear me out, please. Then I’ll get out of your way and let you pack in peace, I promise,” Eddie says.

“We don’t– have to talk about it,” Steve says, turning back to face Eddie. “Look, I’m sorry for putting my weird expectations on you. I was reading into stuff that wasn’t there, and I made assumptions instead of just talking to you, and that’s on me. So I’m gonna just – get out of your hair, and you won’t have to deal with my stupid, delusional bullshit anymore.”

“No, that’s not– Steve–” Eddie reaches out for Steve as he tries to brush past on his way to the bedroom, where most of his belongings are. He gets a hand around Steve’s bicep and, though Steve doesn’t jerk away this time, he goes stiff and still beneath Eddie’s touch, prompting Eddie to let go.

It hurts; even though Eddie’s done it to himself, the reaction still hurts. He’s always reached for Steve in the past, always had his hands on him, and Steve had always welcomed him, even before they’d started sleeping together. Now, Eddie takes a step back, forcing himself to give Steve some space.

“That’s not what I want to say at all,” he says. “I mean – I would’ve liked if we’d talked about it, because then I would’ve known, and I could’ve appreciated what it was – what we were doing.”

Steve turns back to face Eddie, his gaze snapping straight to him with equal suspicion and confusion. “What?”

“Steve, you weren’t reading into things that weren’t there, you’re not– you’re not stupid or delusional, I was just – I was sending you mixed signals,” Eddie says. “I was so wrapped up in thinking that I knew what was going on, that I didn’t look at what I really had, and I’m sorry. But if I knew, if I’d just gotten my head out of my ass, you have to believe that in a heartbeat, I would have–”

“Don’t,” Steve cuts in sharply.

“Steve–”

“I don’t need whatever this is, Eddie,” Steve snaps. “You don’t need to have pity on your pathetic ex-whatever I am to you, okay? It’s okay, just– just let it go.”

“This isn’t pity,” Eddie insists with an incredulous little laugh. “It’s fucking not, I swear! This is me saying that I fucked up and I hurt you and I want to make it up to you. I haven’t done anything to deserve it, but I want the chance to show you how sorry I am and how much you mean to me– in whatever capacity you’ll let me.”

“Whatever capacity?” Steve stares at him, brows furrowed.

“Whatever you’ll be comfortable with. As a friend, or… as more, if that bridge hasn’t burned,” Eddie says.

“What, so now I’m relationship material?” Steve asks, pointed.

Eddie winces. “I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have said any of that, and if I could go back in time and slap myself upside the head before I let any of that shit out and hurt you with it, I would. I know that… I know I didn’t pay enough attention to you, but I also wasn’t paying very much attention to how I was feeling,” he says. “Because honestly? I’m kind of a moron, Steve. I’ve never had sex with someone I really liked, with someone who was anything like a friend, and when I started wanting to be around you all the time, and always wanting you within reach, and when every little thing started to remind me of you, I just thought… yeah, this is what friends-with-benefits feels like. Y’know, like a fucking idiot.”

Steve doesn’t laugh. “I don’t know if I can trust you on that,” he says softly, and that’s fair.

It hurts, but it’s fair.

“Then let me earn your trust back. Please, Steve, just… give me the chance,” Eddie implores, doesn’t even care that he’s basically begging – Eddie doesn’t beg, but for Steve, he’ll make an exception. For Steve, he thinks he’ll do just about anything.

Pursing his lips, Steve looks at the floor beside Eddie’s feet for a long moment, and Eddie gives him the time to sort his thoughts out.

“I want to say yes. Part of me just wants to accept your apology and pretend that none of this happened. Just keep going the way we were,” he says. “But I can’t keep doing that – ignoring shit. I just… can’t.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Eddie says. “I don’t want things to be like they were before, I want – I want to be better. I want to do better.”

“How?” Steve asks, both challenging and curious.

“I want to do it right. I want to show you how much I appreciate you, and how much you mean to me. I want to treat you like you deserve to be treated,” Eddie insists. “And if that’s just by being the best friend I can be, then that’s what I’ll do, but I would love—love—if you’d let me romance you.”

That briefly breaks through Steve’s stony façade, and he lets out a huff of a laugh. “Romance me?”

“Shit, yeah. Flowers and chocolates and candle-lit dates – the whole nine yards,” Eddie says with a slow grin. “All the things you’ve given other people but that no one has ever given you.”

“I…” Steve starts, his own humor fading quickly. “I don’t know.”

It’s better than an outright ‘no.’

“That’s okay,” Eddie promises. “You don’t have to know right now. I can wait. I’m a patient kinda guy.”

(That’s an absolute lie, and they both know it, but Eddie will find all the patience in the world if Steve needs time to think.)

Slowly, Steve nods. “I think… Just, give it a couple of weeks, okay? Really think about it, and if this – if I’m something you still want by then, come talk to me again,” he says. “Alright?”

“Yeah.” Eddie nods rapidly. “As much time as you want. I’m not going to up and change my mind. Two weeks, I’ll ask again.”

Steve shrugs, taking a step back towards the bedroom.

“I will,” Eddie promises – not defensive, but certain. He can wait two weeks. He can wait as long as Steve needs him to. Maybe he can take the time to get his shit together.

He does care about Steve. He does pay attention – and he’s going to prove it.

But in the meantime, the only thing Steve has asked for is space, so Eddie gives it to him. He retreats to the kitchen to let Steve pack up in peace, trying hard not to feel bereft at the thought of the gaps Steve will be leaving behind.

If he’s lucky—if he’s very, very lucky—it won’t be forever.

Part 5

-

Tag List (drop me a line if you want on or off the ride): @bushbees @y0urnewstepp4r3nt @gleek4twd @hellfireone @westifer-dead @anne-bennett-cosplayer @starman-jpg @mugloversonly @swimmingbirdrunningrock @alycatavatar @y4r3luv @rhapsodyinalto @vinteraltus @lilpomelito @tillystealeaves @noctxrn-e

I did my best to catch everyone, but there were a few people Tumblr wouldn't let me tag. Sorry if I missed you!

[anna-scribbles]

what a shame, i can see it all now that we’re through

- firearm by lizzy mcalpine

(chapter 5 of call it even is making me feel bonkers insane. thank u @sha-nwa)

[ajwalkerartblog]

i'm very obsessed with skip and loafer atm

[aroaessidhe]

aro & ace books: with internal illustrations!

Don’t Let The Forest In - YA horror - ace MC - internal/cover art by Jana Heidersdorf

The Wolf Among The Wild Hunt - NA dark fantasy - aroace MC/SC - internal art by Andrew Garin

In The Jaws of an Oak - adult horror/erotica novella - internal/cover art by author

Elatsoe - YA paranormal - aro coded ace MC - internal/cover art by Rovina Cai

Little Thieves - YA fantasy - demi MC/LI - internal art by author

Every Heart A Doorway - NA fantasy novella - ace MC - internal art by Rovina Cai

Fallen Thorns - NA urban fantasy - aroace MC (& SC) - internal/cover art by author

#aspec books / aspec database / tumblr masterpost

[zukkaoru]

i actually literally cannot fathom why so many people are always up in arms about not seeing dazai and chuuya for several chapters. i love them and would consider both of them to be in my top favorite bsd characters, but not once since the pov switched back to yokohama have i ever been upset that we're not seeing what's happening with them right now. i don't think it's necessary to go back to them at the moment; they're not the focus right now. it is absolutely baffling to me that so many people are genuinely angry over the pov being with the main character for several chapters in a row. you guys don't care about a good story; you just want fanservice.

[jasonsbruce]

[hannahssimblr]

I wake in the morning and roll over, pawing the bed for Astrid. My hand touches the flat sheet instead, and squinting against the slash of sun coming between the curtains, I see her empty side; the bed made up, pillow fluffed as though nobody has even slept. 

But she did, I heard her come to bed late last night, at least an hour behind me, following a prolonged phone call to her sister, while presumably finishing the bottle of wine we brought home after dinner. 

I get up and go through to the hallway, the brick floor perfectly cool beneath my feet. The house is quiet. 

On the balcony, she has left her empty glass upon the table, an imprint of lipstick on the rim, one last drop at the bottom. 

She is in the pool. 

“Good morning,” I call to her. Swimming, apparently, is another thing she does with extreme elegance. She looks up. 

“Morning,” she says. 

“How’s the water?”

“It’s lovely.”

“I can join you.”

“I’ve been here for a while. I think I’ll get out soon.”

“Oh, okay. I suppose I can start making breakfast, then.”

“That’d be nice, thank you.”

We got fresh produce at a market yesterday. Organic eggs, Parma ham, freshly baked bread. I set about cooking, leaving the window open so I can hear the birds. 

“I’ll be in the shower!” Astrid calls from the foyer, and goes up the stairs and into the bathroom, where she pulls the heavy wooden door behind her. 

I sort of had this romantic idea that we’d take all our showers together on this holiday. It’s rare that we get long swathes of time in one another’s company, what with the busyness of college, the distance between our apartments and all the things we do with our free time. Like the gym, which I have committed to four times a week alongside Jonas, who has insisted that we should be equally fit if we are going to spend the summer travelling together. And Astrid, with her extensive, varied network of extremely interesting friends, is almost impossible to pin down for even a weekend. This holiday is an opportunity to be alone, truly alone together, and enjoy all the benefits that come with it. I’ve been looking forward to this for months. 

But obviously, her taking a shower alone is fine. She's perfectly entitled to do so.

The eggs benedict is cooked by the time she has finished, and I set the table under a parasol on the terrace and the sun shines as clouds dissolve above our heads. 

“This is so tasty,” she says, mopping hollandaise sauce from her place with a piece of bread. “Where did you learn to make this?”

“Google,” I say. “I just looked it up on my phone.”

“I must say, I hoped you’d have a more exciting answer.”

“Next time I’ll make a story up.”

I lean back in my seat, and with a satisfied sigh, I breathe in the scent of citrus trees. It’s quiet, still, save for the buzz of cicadas and waves lapping against the sea cliffs. 

Astrid shuts her eyes and takes it in too. Her hair is still damp from the shower, and I follow a droplet down the languid curve of her neck until it disappears beneath her robe.

“That boat tour I booked is in an hour. Do you think you’ll be ready?”

“Oh,” she stretches her arms overhead. “Yes, I think so. What do you think we should wear?”

“I don’t know. Something easy to take off, I suppose. We’ll probably go swimming.”

“Alright,” she gets out of her chair and drifts towards the villa. “I’ll make myself presentable.” 

There are few people I have met who have talked about sailing with such gusto as my father. He doesn’t talk with gusto about much, nor talk at all, really, these days, save for a few grunts down the phone at me when I phone home to speak to Ivy, but I remember how much he loved to sail when I was little. 

College weekends, when he would visit me at Aunt Maureen’s, he might stand out on the portal and look over the scorched desert, he always did that, just looked, with his hands in his trouser pockets, and he’d start talking about sailboats. 

“The way the sails would just snap in the wind,” he’d say, to nobody in particular, maybe to me, with my legos inside the open patio door. He’d always clench his fist with the word “snap” like he was snatching a jib sheet rope from thin air. He’d talk about his brothers, and the summers they could spend skirting the coast of California, about how one day, when I was big enough, college was done, and he had time again, he’d take me to Dana Point harbour and we’d take to the water on my grandfather’s boat. 

Perhaps he’d anticipated we would have a decent relationship by the time I was big enough to handle a halyard line, but it didn’t turn out that way, and he never took me sailing. In fact, when we moved to Dublin, a mere kilometre from a yacht club, he never joined it. He never sailed after leaving America. 

“And what’s that?” I ask our skipper, an Italian man in his mid twenties, with English good enough for partial communication. He handles the sail and I observe, fascinated, beside him, peppering him with questions he seems comfortable to answer, despite not knowing the word half the time. Not that it’d matter, really, because I won’t recall any of it once we hit land. 

“The outhall,” he says. “It is to adjust the boom position.”

“Right, right.”

There’s a tour guide on the boat, too, valiantly explaining the geography and history of the region, the other tourists oohing and ahhing as he gestures grandly to the tower of a cathedral, extending proud above terracotta roofs and perfectly framed by a mountainous backdrop. I look at the view for an appropriate amount of time. My interest in the view is only faint compared to my captivation with the mysterious sailboat controls. 

“If you want, you can crank the winch,” the skipper says, and it is only because he is gesturing to the spool that holds the rope that I know what that means. I nod, though intimidated, and wish for one panicked moment that my relationship with my father had been better, or that I hadn’t been too disappointing to take on a sailboat… or something. 

Across the deck, Astrid, who grew tired of my fixation with the mechanics of the boat a while ago, chats with another couple. Her charm is obvious from afar, as both sit, hands entangled and nodding at her as though her every word is captivating. They have that glow, I think, that in-love, infatuated-with-one-another kind of glow I’ve read about in books, like, everything about one another is wonderful and keeping their hands to themselves is a total impossibility. They keep smiling into one another’s faces, their gazes lingering, and I catch myself wondering if I’ve ever looked like that to an outsider in any of my relationships. 

Astrid waves me over, and I thank the skipper and join her across the boat.

“This is Suzana and Silvio,” she says. “They are from Portugal.”

I shake their hands. “My grandmother is actually from Portugal.”

“Oh, what part?”

“I dunno, actually. I never asked.”

Silvio says something to me in Portuguese, and as a wonderful bonus, he is wearing those trendy, mirrored sunglasses, because I get to see my panicked expression reflected right back at me before I tell him I have not understood a word. 

As we sit and converse with them, I feel compelled to mirror some of their affection with Astrid. I tuck a wisp of hair escaped from her ponytail behind her ear. I rest my hand on her waist, and when Suzana gushes about how cute we are, I pull her into me and kiss her forehead. We aren’t really that cute, but I can see why our new friends would think so. Our age difference is obvious. They’re in their late twenties, at least. Silvio has a career in some vague, marketing related field that I forget the specifics of as soon as he tells me. I don’t even know what marketing is, and cannot think of questions to ask, which makes me feel inept, like I shouldn’t actually be talking to him. Like they’ll both be weirded out by how young I am, and pivot to stock questions about college and what I like to do for fun. 

But they don’t, and as the afternoon stretches on, and the yacht glides into deeper waters and Amalfi becomes a slash of terracotta on the horizon, we dive into a detailed conversation about things intelligent people would consider compelling. Silvio tells me about this psychologist whose work he’s been following, and for inexplicable reasons, I say “yes” when he asks if I’ve heard of him. Following this is a long conversation that takes all of my concentration, as he discusses the author’s critique of communist Czechoslovakia and supporters of the left, while I agree with him, just because I think it is the easiest thing to do.

Perhaps I should care about things like this, I think, as he launches into a passionate argument in favour of conservatism. I have never thought about psychology or politics or right-wing, left-wing this and that. Am I supposed to? We didn’t learn it at school. Briefly, I tune into the girls’ conversation to discover they are discussing French law. I didn’t know there was anything particularly notable about French law, but I should probably Google it. I refocus on Silvio, and frown, so it looks like I am thinking very hard.

“Yes,” I say. “I totally agree,” though I hardly understood a word he said.

After we are served white wine from a local vineyard, we watch a pod of dolphins trail us, leaping and pirouetting out of the sea in the foamy wake of the boat. I wonder if dolphins are supposed to be as exciting as they are to me. I am fixated on their graceful bodies, gleaming as they play in the water, and wonder if they are exciting to Astrid, if she has seen them before, though the moment I intend to ask her, her back is turned. She’s still speaking to Suzana. 

When we have sailed far off into the sea, we all leap off it and swim. The water is so clear that we can see far beneath to shoals of anchovies darting by, and moon jellyfish that drift hypnotically by. It occurs to me I haven’t been in the sea since last summer. In lakes, yes, as Jonas has a habit of forcing me to swim whenever he encounters some miscellaneous body of water on our hikes, but a balmy sea has nothing in common with those, complete with stony banks that slice your feet when you dare attempt an emergence. When I float backwards and dip my ears beneath the surface, sound muffles to obscurity. I close my eyes too, and I am enveloped by it, overcome with the surreal feeling of safety, like I have come home, though I’m not even sure where I have been. 

Late afternoon, as the boat heads for the shore, I lay on the deck and watch Amalfi encroach, bathed in tranquillity, as golden light pours over the mountains. Astrid climbs down to join me as Suzana and Silvio sit tangled together nearby, their exact words obscured to abstract coos behind the sounds of slashing seawater on the hull. 

“They’re nice people,” she says, and I nod. They are perfectly fine. “Suzana is a smart woman,” she adds. “We had a fantastic conversation.”

“Mm, I bet. You two were talking for a while.”

“She has a master’s degree in gastronomy. Isn’t that fascinating?”

“What’s that?”

“Food science, food anthropology, business management. She wants to open her own restaurant in Lisbon. You should ask her about it. I’m sure you’d be very interested in that kind of thing.”

“Why? Because I like to cook?”

“Well, yes.”

“I’m not a gastronomist. I’m just a guy who makes eggs for breakfast.”

“Well,” she says, “I still think that’s interesting. Silvio was explaining something else to me. I don’t know what it was, really, some kind of digital currency. You should ask him about it, too. It sounds like something worth knowing about.”

“Well, maybe, but we’re about fifteen minutes from the shore, so I really don’t know how much time I’m going to have.”

She waves me off. “Oh, well, I invited them to join us for dinner, so you’ll have plenty time.”

I sit up, body rigid. “Astrid, I made a reservation for two.”

“It’s fine. I’m sure we can squeeze them in.”

“We’re going to have to explain it to the staff. Well, you are, actually, because they won’t speak English.”

“I will, and they’ll be perfectly fine with it. It’s not like Germany here, you know, things are more relaxed,” she puts emphasis on the last word, as though suggesting I should follow suit. I try to, but there is a funny feeling in me, a discomfort I am having trouble naming. Instead, I scoff. 

“The whole point of this holiday is that we spend time together. Just you and me,” I point out, darting my finger from my chest to hers, as though my meaning isn’t obvious. “Inviting other people along to our plans goes against that whole idea.”

“Please, Jude, we’re together all the time.”

“That’s not true. These last few weeks, especially, I’ve barely seen you for more than a few hours at a time. You know, I was looking forward to being—”

“It’s one dinner,” she protests. “Just one. I’d really like to talk to them more, that’s all. We’ve been having a nice day together, and it felt wrong just to end it out there on the dock.”

“Yeah, but–”

She holds her hand up. She is not finished. “They’re staying here for several days, like us, and we’re bound to run into them again. Why not be friendly? You don’t have to be opposed to mingling with people, you know. It’s not attractive.”

“I’m not opposed.”

“Well, you have fooled me, then.”

I sigh. “Astrid…”

“Come on,” she says, more gently this time, and it’s her most evil tactic of all, because she knows I can’t resist her when she’s soft with me. “The best-case scenario is that we have fun tonight. We have a fascinating conversation and get some restaurant recommendations from Suzana. The worst is that they are dreadful, and we have an interesting story to tell afterwards. You love to have an interesting story.”

“I suppose.”

“Tell me ‘yes’.”

I look at her with the most disapproving expression I can muster, and the corners of her mouth curl up, smug. She knows I don’t even have to say it. She has won the game again. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

[astranauticus]

this isnt the kind of stuff i'd usually post but im fuckin losing my mind. ive been watching through the bilibili livestream vods of like this arknights lore creator reading through and commentating on like the game stories and right now im watching the vod from his main story chapter 11 stream and his reaction to logos' sprite reveal is so fucking funny i had to clip it. man is really having a crisis on stream

[nehezt]

Just realized that I never explicitly mentioned it in this blog, so here goes: I have multiple sclerosis, which means that I'm susceptible to a lot of health problems like muscle pain, inflammations, fatigue, brain fog and a bunch of other symptoms. On top of that, the treatment for it intentionally makes my immune system weaker, which means I'm more prone to getting sick.

For the past almost two months I've been mildly to severely sick, with different illnesses, one after the other, back to back. I have not been able to work on updating Traces of Spring, or any of my other projects, because I have a chronic illness that makes my life unreasonably difficult. I understand none of you have bad intentions but I'll ask that you stop asking me when I'm going to update. I don't know. Everytime I set a deadline, my body decides to play very petty and cruel games with me and I'm out of comission for 2+ weeks. In this scenario I'm going to prioritize my health instead of working on a comic none of you are paying me to do. If any of you ask me in the future, you will either be directed to this post or ignored.

Thank you.

[sesamenom]

the "what-to-do-about-the-ring" chapters, but from the perspective of elronds oath-related trauma

all text from Fellowship of the Ring (council of elrond + the ring goes south), except the snippets of the Oath, which i believe is from the Shibboleth of Feanor

inspired by this post

[aroaceleovaldez]

HoO is so funny to me when you actually think about the ages of all the characters. Octavian is 18. Percy and Annabeth are 16, almost 17. Reyna is presumably 16. Frank just turned 16, Jason’s about to turn 16. Leo and Piper are like 15. Hazel’s like 14 and a half, and Nico is 13.

The Death Sibs are both the youngest and oldest on the Argo II. Octavian is a college freshman getting into petty drama with a bunch of high schoolers. He gets told to shut up at one point by a random 8th grader. Everyone is scared of the 8th grader. We Sent A 13 Year Old To Superhell and he came back weirder, Just Like Middle School. TLH was just three high school sophomores being sent to do a task and it going Exactly Like You’d Expect. Percy’s the only demigod on the ship who can legally drive (though Reyna gets her drivers license at some point before TOA). What Is Happening.

[nart-is-a-monster]

The sketch and the final thing bc I read the chapter and I promise you that my mind was just the scenes of the fic going over and over and me being normal about them!

ALSO!!!!

@dreadpirateurania13

I hope you get better regarding the covid thing!

So here you have a little bit of medicine or idk 💥💥💥

Also more details about the sketch!!!

I was in a magma with my friends, the one at the top left is Chikito and the one a the top right is Ax I love them sm

AND AND AND

THE SCENE OF THE OVERSIZED BAND SHIRT

I couldn't think of any other thing to put in the shirt other than mitski, sorry.

And on the render draw I'm sorry but whenever I see an empty corner I can't help it but I do cats whenever I don't know what to put on them 🐈

And Varian has bad alchemy puns on his shirt as he should

AND THIS IS FROM THE FIC AND THEY WERE ROOMMATES GO READ IT

[margieargie]

[vandalistverdict]

There’s three types of symbiosis; mutualism, commensalism, and parasitism.  Tyler pats my chest twice, a quick tap tap, and, sigh, we’re not connected anymore. He’s sitting up, lighting a cigarette, smoke curling from his mouth. He holds the cigarette to my lips and I suck, the smooth, acrid smoke sliding into my mouth and filling my lungs. Tyler doesn’t need nicotine. I do. Tyler doesn’t get attached to things the way I do. He’s free from all that. Mutualism. It’s when both species benefit from the relationship. Think bees and flowers. Think clownfish and anemone. This is not what Tyler wants. Commensalism. That’s when one species benefits and the other derives nothing—neither harm nor benefit. Think barnacles on whales. Think fungi on trees. This is not what Tyler wants either. Tyler would never settle for indifference. Parasitism, though—you already know. That’s when one species thrives, and the other suffers. Think ticks on dogs. Think tapeworms feasting in some poor kid’s intestines. Think cysticercosis, brain parasites, in some rotting, skeleton of a person's head. Okay, fine. Maybe it is all that bad. Maybe this is exactly what Tyler wants.

- - -

[hanashiz]

Bungou Stray Dogs Light Novel 1 : Dazai Osamu's Entrance Exam