#i got sick SIX times last year!! is that ridiculous or What ? i think it's What. What Happened Man hfbshfsvh

[keeps-ache]

i've realized recently that much of the expressiveness of my eyes was just me trying to see other people's expressions. so now when i make faces my eyes stay Wide Open loll

[steddieas-shegoes]

don't want to move on

for @steddiesmuttyseptember prompt 'make-up sex'

rated e | 18+, minors dni | 3165 words | read all tags on ao3

❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹

If Steve knows one thing, it’s that Eddie knows how to get under his skin and in his bed.

Ever since their breakup, a disaster of epic proportions for the entire friend group, Steve’s kept his distance from every possible interaction with Eddie. He’s made sure to find reasons to miss group outings and put himself on the schedule at work on the nights when he knew Eddie would be at movie nights or dinner. He purposely scheduled pool parties for days and times he knew Eddie would be busy.

But he couldn’t get out of this one.

And now he has Eddie’s eyes on him from across the room, staring into his soul, reading his mind probably.

It makes him want to hide. Or take his pants off.

He hasn’t quite decided yet.

“Are you gonna glare at him all night or go talk to him?” Jonathan asks from behind him.

Steve turns, feels ridiculous that he’s been caught, and crosses his arms across his chest defiantly.

“I’m gonna ignore him until he leaves and then excuse myself so I can sulk in peace,” Steve admits.

Robin was his platonic soulmate, but Jonathan has become a sort of unexpected best friend. He was there the morning after the breakup, barely holding Steve together with spoonfuls of peanut butter and reassuring words that didn’t stick quite as hard as the peanut butter. They got even closer after that, and hardly a day passed where Jonathan wasn’t texting Steve or showing up at his apartment with take out and stories from whatever modeling shoot he was working on.

“And you think he’s gonna let that happen?”

“If he knows what’s good for him.”

Jonathan snorts. “Okay. On that note, I’m gonna go check on Nancy. She got into the weed earlier and she’s probably at the stage where the walls are squiggly and she can feel her lungs touching her ribs.”

Steve’s eyes widen and he nods. He knows what she’s like at that point. Jonathan needs to get her home before everyone knows what she’s like at that point.

The moment Jonathan is gone, Eddie is walking towards him.

Steve’s never felt more like prey in his life, never seen Eddie strut like this. He’s frozen. He forgets how to breathe.

“Didn’t know you’d be here,” are the first words Eddie says to him in six months.

No hello. No awkward exchange of pleasantries.

Just a mild accusation and a piercing look.

“I wouldn’t be if I’d known you’d be here,” he retorts, deciding to match his energy. If Eddie is allowed to be at this party of a mutual friend’s mutual friend, then Steve is too. “Didn’t even know Ivy had your number.”

Ivy was one of Nancy’s friends from school, and Steve had been invited to quite a few of her parties over the last few years. When they were together, Steve always brought Eddie, but he didn’t know if Ivy and Eddie had ever even met.

“I know Ivy pretty well, actually,” Eddie says in a way that makes Steve pause.

What the fuck does that mean?

“So you’re…friends?” Steve asks even though he thinks he knows where this is going and he thinks he’s gonna be sick if he’s right.

“Yeah.” Eddie smirks. “Friends.”

“Oh.”

Steve has to abort whatever mission he thought he was on. This is gonna end with him crying in front of Eddie and everyone else at this stupid party that he came to because he’d had a rough week and just wanted to have a drink with friends and-

“Are you gonna be sick?” Eddie asks, reaching out to him as if that would even help.

“No!” Steve backs away. “I just need to head out. Got an early morning.”

“On a Sunday? You don’t work Sundays.”

“And how would you know?”

Steve needs to leave. He can’t engage in anything else with Eddie. He won’t recover.

“Because you wouldn’t have come at all if you had work in the morning. And everyone you would hang out with is here.” Eddie steps closer to him. “Unless something’s changed?”

Steve shakes his head. “I’m not sure I owe you an explanation of my schedule.”

Eddie seems to realize that Steve’s right, taking a step back.

“Right. That’s true. I guess.”

And suddenly Steve can see how uncomfortable Eddie is, how much courage and energy it took him just to walk up to Steve at all. He’s always been pretty easy to read, at least for Steve, but right now it’s like he’s made of glass.

“How you been?” Steve asks, ignoring the pull he feels to the door for the pull he feels to Eddie.

“Um, good. Yeah, great. Fantastic. You?”

Steve raises a brow at the response. Eddie’s never been fantastic a day in his life.

Except maybe that one time he ate Steve out on a patio chair by the pool and then fucked him in his parent’s hot tub and claimed that he’d never been happier in his entire life.

“I’ve been fine.”

Not a lie. He has been fine most of the time. Fine isn’t anything special, or anything good.

“You look…good.” Eddie settles on, as if he was going to say something else entirely. “Still going to the gym?”

“Not as often as I should,” Steve admits. He’s about to call this quits when he sees Jonathan giving him a thumbs up from the doorway. “Uh. I should actually probably head out though.”

“Right. Yeah. Sure. Want me to let Ivy know you had to go?”

Steve shouldn’t fucking push. He knows he’s gonna end up hurt worse if he gets any form of confirmation on what he thinks is going on.

“I’ll just text her. But I guess if you see her before you go…”

“I mean, yeah, I’m kinda…living here right now?” Eddie rubs his hand along the back of his neck.

Steve thinks he might pass out.

He’s living with a woman not even six full months after he broke up with Steve because Steve wanted to take the next step and move in together?

He feels like he’s going crazy.

“With Ivy?” Steve can barely hear his own voice, doesn’t even know if Eddie hears him until he responds.

“I couldn’t renew my lease so she offered to let me stay here for a few months while I looked for something else,” he explains, as if that clears anything up. As if that helps the jealous fire in Steve’s heart calm. “That’s the only reason I’m even here tonight. I was off and she needed an extra pair of eyes to make sure no one tried to drive home after drinking.”

“Well, I haven’t even been drinking.”

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

“You think I’ve looked anywhere other than you since you walked in the door?”

Steve feels like his entire body is lifting above the floor, and he’s reminded that Eddie’s good at this. Flirting like he means it, using words but not wanting more than that.

That he may have feelings for Steve, but god forbid those feelings lead anywhere other than a bed or a date.

“Doesn’t seem appropriate to stare at me all night with your girlfriend in the next room.”

“Girlfriend? What? I don’t have a girlfriend.”

Eddie seems genuinely confused, his brows furrowing as he looks around the room and back at Steve.

“Isn’t Ivy your girlfriend?”

“Ivy?! Ivy Jane? The woman who told me on day one of me living here that if she even so much as accidentally saw my dick she’d cut it off?” Eddie laughs, unamused. “She’s a friend at most. More of a useful annoyance.”

Steve is confused. Why did Eddie make it seem like there was more to it than that? Why couldn’t Eddie renew his lease? Why didn’t anyone tell him about any of this?

“Look, you probably shouldn’t head home on your own. I know you didn’t drink, but it’s still pretty late, and I know you walked here.” Eddie sighs. “Can I at least get you an Uber?”

“To go less than a mile?”

“Or I could walk you.”

“And then walk back alone?”

“You don’t have to argue with everything, you know,” Eddie grumbles. “I’m just trying to make sure you’re safe.”

“I didn’t know ex-boyfriends cared that much.”

It’s a low blow and Eddie’s physical withdrawal is immediate. Steve instantly feels bad.

No matter what happened between them, he knows Eddie. He knows he’s trying to be nice and all Steve’s doing is making that task more difficult.

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” Steve sighs. “I’m just surprised that you’d care this much when we haven’t even talked in months.”

“Steve, I’ll always care about you.”

It’s a knife to his chest.

Because that’s not even remotely close to what Eddie had said to him months ago when he was throwing his shit in a bag and running as fast as he could. It’s not how he made Steve feel when he told him they were done.

”I’m not gonna keep pretending this can end well for either of us.”

He’d made it pretty obvious he had no intention of loving Steve beyond the year they spent together, and Steve had no choice but to assume he’d been faking feelings for him to try to get over him.

Steve doesn’t realize he’s let tears fall until Eddie’s thumbs are brushing them away, his touch so soft it makes Steve want to sob.

Before he can say anything or push Eddie away, Eddie’s hand is on his lower back, guiding him down the hallway of the apartment.

He doesn’t fight it, even though alarm bells are ringing in his head telling him to pause and go home, maybe try to talk to Eddie when he’s calmed down from the shock of seeing him. The warmth of Eddie next to him is enough to silence any fears he has.

He’s sitting on Eddie’s bed. The room is surprisingly plain for a room that belongs to Eddie, but the sheets on the bed are scattered and one pillow looks more like a ball, so he knows it’s his. Eddie sleeps the same way he talks: constantly moving, shuffling around, trying to find comfort in touch.

“I’ll take the couch once everyone leaves. You probably shouldn’t be alone right now,” Eddie says from in front of him, keeping his hands to himself.

He probably shouldn’t, but if Eddie’s on the couch, doesn’t that leave him alone anyway?

“You can come get me if you need anything,” Eddie explains further. “And I can come check on you.”

“Right,” Steve’s voice is shaky. “But you could stay?”

Eddie’s eyes are scanning his face, always trying to see what Steve isn’t saying. He’s always been good about reading Steve.

“Is that what you want?” Eddie eventually asks.

Steve nods because he can’t think of anything to say that won’t sound like he’s desperate for more of Eddie’s touch.

He lays down and waits for Eddie to join him, but he’s not sure what he’s hoping for anymore. The best thing to do would be to tell Eddie he changed his mind and send him to the couch, the second best would probably be to go home. But what ends up happening is Eddie locks the bedroom door and slips his shoes off, strips his jeans down his legs, and slides into bed with him.

He doesn’t touch him at first, though the bed isn’t quite big enough for them to not accidentally brush arms as they find comfortable positions.

Steve lets his eyes close, even though he’s never felt more awake, even though he feels every breath Eddie takes as if it’s his own.

“I love you.”

Steve’s eyes shoot open at Eddie’s whispered confession.

They were together for a year and Eddie never said it. Steve didn’t even say it for fear of Eddie running. And when he finally did say it, when he had the nerve to ask him to move in with him, Eddie ran.

So, he couldn’t have possibly heard what he thought he just heard.

“I know it’s too late. I should’ve told you six months ago.” Eddie scoffed at his own words. “Actually, I should’ve told you when I realized it on our third date. There’s no excuse. You told me why you were hesitant to tell people how you felt and I should’ve known it would be harder for you than it would be for me.”

Steve turns on his side, eyes wide as he takes in the way Eddie’s eyes are slowly blinking up at the ceiling, fingers tapping anxiously against his own stomach.

“Why did you leave, then? If you loved me, why did you let me think you didn’t?”

Steve’s impressed with his sudden ability not to cry when he’d so easily let tears fall earlier.

Eddie turns his head. His fingers still. The room is silent, but Steve can feel the vibrations of the music playing down the hall.

“I don’t know.”

It’s anticlimactic, and not good enough, but Steve believes him. He believes that Eddie truly doesn’t know his own thought process behind walking away from what could’ve been a good future for them.

“Why say it now?”

“Because I needed you to leave here in the morning knowing that what you were asking for wasn’t unreasonable. I needed you to know that your feelings were fine, and that nothing you did pushed me away. You deserve the chance to move on properly.”

Steve can feel his heart in every nerve ending of his body, pulsing to a wild beat, a dangerous tempo that he isn’t sure he wants to control. Eddie always made him feel like this, like he was one step away from jumping off a ledge, like he was flying through the air without a parachute.

“I don’t want to move on.”

Steve crushes his lips to Eddie’s, letting out a pained groan that’s muffled by Eddie’s lips pushing against his own. It’s not soft, not even gross the way their kisses got when they’d been sweaty and pushing each other to their limits for hours.

It was forgiveness and yearning and need wrapped into a single point of contact.

But once Eddie’s hands found Steve’s hips, all he wanted was to feel Eddie everywhere.

“Missed you,” he admits breathlessly.

“Missed you, too, Stevie. So much,” Eddie gasps against his mouth.

It doesn’t take long for them to strip out of their clothes, for Eddie’s mouth to find all of Steve’s sensitive spots, for bruises to be left in places that will be hard to cover up tomorrow. They’re both panting, trying to hide moans against the pillows and sweaty skin.

Steve laughs when Eddie’s lips trail down to the head of his leaking cock.

Eddie looks up, frowning as if he’s disappointed that he was interrupted.

“What could you possibly be laughing at?”

“How easy it was to get me in your bed. Did you know I was coming tonight?” He does his best not to sound accusatory, but a small part of him worries that Eddie’s plan all night has been to get him naked. It wouldn’t be the first time those were his intentions.

“I had no idea you’d be here,” Eddie nips at his thigh. “But if I did, I would’ve planned this exact outcome, yeah.”

Steve slaps at his shoulder but moans when Eddie’s lips wrap around the head of his cock, tongue lapping up the precum that had been gathering for a while.

They get lost in it, in being able to touch each other, in finally having what they’d both missed for so long. Steve’s hands hardly ever leave Eddie’s hair and Eddie’s tongue is like a magnet to every inch of his skin.

He kisses down his length, he sucks bruises into his thighs, he sucks his cock until Steve’s trembling under him, saying his name over and over. Begging, praying, he didn’t even know anymore.

Steve doesn’t even realize he’s close until Eddie’s asking if he wants to finish like this or with Eddie inside him.

“Want you inside, but I don’t know if I can last that long,” Steve pouts. Now that he feels the coil in his belly and the flush of his chest and neck, he knows there’s no way he’ll make it through Eddie stretching him. He’s half-tempted to just have Eddie fuck him with no prep, but Eddie will never go for it. “C’mere?”

Eddie kisses his way up Steve’s body, biting a nipple and licking sweat from his collarbone before settling perfectly between his legs. He’s smiling down at Steve like he could stay there all night, like he didn’t just get interrupted in the middle of one of the best blowjobs of Steve’s life.

“Can we just…” Steve tilts his hips up so his cock rubs against Eddie’s. Both of them groan as Eddie hangs his head. “Like this?”

Eddie nods before resting his forehead against Steve’s and letting out a breath.

“I’m not gonna last long,” he whispers, like it’s a secret that he’s been getting off making Steve feel good.

“Me either. ‘S okay.”

Their cocks brush together as Eddie leans down on his elbows. Steve lifts his legs up to wrap around Eddie’s waist, pulling him down so there’s a constant friction between them.

“Fuck, I love you.”

“I love you,” Steve’s breath catches on his words.

Eddie’s hips move faster, and Steve does his best to meet every thrust. They’re in sync as if they were never apart, and Steve thinks this is all he needs for the rest of his life.

He knew that before, when they were together, and after Eddie left. But feeling it now, with Eddie above him, surrounding him, practically sharing his breaths, he knows Eddie’s it for him.

That thought is what sends him over the edge.

He cups Eddie’s cheek in his hand and pulls him into a searing kiss, one that’s more tongue and teeth than lips, more passion than finesse.

But it sends Eddie over the edge, too.

After, when they’ve stopped shaking and Eddie used his t-shirt to wipe up their mess, Steve taps his fingers against Eddie’s chest in a familiar pattern.

“Since when do you know the beat to a Metallica song?” Eddie asks, smirking down at him.

“It’s what you always used to tap on my arm when we were falling asleep. I didn’t know it was Metallica,” Steve yawns as he speaks, exhaustion seeping through every pore of his body.

“You remembered that?”

“Mhm. Remember everything.” He yawns again and lets his eyes close.

He’s pretty sure Eddie starts tapping a new pattern on his arm as he drifts to sleep. He doesn’t recognize it, but he’ll have plenty of time to learn this one, and the next one, and whatever else the future brings for them.

[thriftedtchotchkes]

hi ur writing is so so good, makes me go insane ur amazing

okay so could you do a normally dom!joel but one day he has the day off and reader doesn’t, so all he does ALL day is think about her. When she gets home he’s worked himself into a frenzy, desperate asf. So instead of his usual dominant self he’s desperate!joel whining and whimpering for her to touch him, make him cum, moaning in her ear and grinding against her.. all of that fun stuff 🤭

thank u for ur time, pls excuse the depravity 🙏🏾

hi nonie! loooved this request so much. i got a similar one from @luvrxbunny, so i combined them a bit and made it a lil longer. hope you both enjoy!

omg ur so amazing ily pls pls pls pls pls pls pls can i have dom!joel with a praise kink 🙏🏾 he doesn’t even really realize it but reader does and she’s just pummels him with praise while he’s fucking her and he does feral, moaning and grunting in her ear i’m sorry im so feral

way too damn needy

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, pre-outbreak, language, smut, dom-turned-sub!joel, gentle-dom!reader, praise kink, masturbation, phone sex, blowjobs, face fucking, lil fluff

word count: 2.8k

What a way to spend his only day off in weeks. The weather’s perfect for playing his guitar on the porch, and he thought he’d even squeeze in a swim before getting started on building that new bedside table for Sarah. He had plans. 

But instead, Joel’s stalking around his living room like a caged animal in an endless loop of waiting, waiting, waiting.

It’s like he’s been transported back to his teenage years when every guy in a relationship followed his girl around like a puppy, always at her beck and call. Wondering what she was doing, if she was thinking about him. Except he wasn’t even that guy in high school. Not then, and definitely not now.

There’s really no logical reason for him to be this wound up, totally unable to do a single thing on his to-do list just because you’re not home. Leave it to your company to be the only one in the entire country that doesn’t give their employees Labor Day off.

That’s probably a gross exaggeration, but what does he care? He’s been tragically affected by this clearly personal transgression, and has to wait…two more hours? Seriously? You normally leave around 5:30, which means you’re home by six, and he’s not sure he can wait that long.

The sad fact of it all is that he’s already wasted almost the entire day not enjoying all of those relaxing activities he’d planned for. What’s even sadder is that he’s been half-hard for most of it, intermittently pausing his ridiculous pacing to grind the heel of his hand into his crotch for relief. Petulantly waiting for you to get home and take care of it for him.

Well, another hour’s gone by, it’s 5 pm, and he’s officially past his limit. At this point, he's probably better off handling it himself, at least until you're finally back. Then, you’re all his. 

He’ll fill you up with every last bit of pent-up frustration he’s felt since you left the house this morning, making you regret not just calling in sick. You might have to tomorrow after he’s done with you.

Joel drops onto the couch, laying to face the door so he’s the first thing you see when you walk in. Pulling his boxers and jeans down just enough to get his cock out, he wraps his hand around himself, immediately hissing out a breath through his teeth. Shit, he’s been hard for hours and just that slight touch already has him leaking precum all over his fingers. 

For a moment, he worries that maybe he’s a little too worked up, that he’ll cum way before he gets the chance to make you sorry for making him feel so desperate. So needy. And that makes him mad.

It should be your fingers covered in precum, your plush lips sucking him down to the hilt, and your pretty pussy aching with the need to have him inside you. Funny how you’re always so good for him, except today when he needs you the most.

His hand starts to move languidly before he can stop it, the slide wet and tight, just like he knows you’ll be. But it’s not you, and that makes him even angrier. If he can’t feel you the way he needs to, then maybe your voice will hold him over until he can. 

The phone only rings twice before you pick up.

“Baby, I’m busy right now. What’s up?” you answer, slightly out of breath. 

It’s cruel, but Joel honestly doesn’t give a shit if you’re busy. Not when his mind is this clouded with thoughts of you on your back, breathing much heavier than you are right now. But he manages to keep that to himself.

“You comin’ home soon?” he asks gruffly, still tugging on his cock, head thrown back on the armrest of the couch.

“Uhh, probably leaving in about…a half hour?” Your voice lilts like you had to double-check the time. “Everything okay?”

“Any chance you can leave now?” he tries again, side-stepping your question. 

The desperation in his voice is obvious, and it makes him feel even more pathetic. He wonders if you can hear it. Part of him hopes you can.

“Why, did something happen? Is Sarah okay?” you ask, clearly concerned. 

“S’fine, everythin’s fine. Just miss ya, s’all," he lies shakily.

Of course, he misses you, but nothing here is fine. His angrily weeping cock is a testament to that. He's all but fucking into his own fist now, hips bucking off the couch as he pants into the phone.

“Joel, what��are you touching yourself? Jesus,” you mumble, and he can hear your heels clacking against the floor like you’re walking somewhere. Quickly.

“Been thinkin’ about ya all damn day. Dunno why you went into work on a fuckin’ holiday,” he grunts. “Should’a been here with me, on your back, beggin’ for my cock like a good girl.” 

You inhale sharply and, though muted through the phone, he hears it loud and clear, dribbling more precum down his shaft. Unfamiliar voices start to filter through the speaker, so he’s guessing you can’t say much. 

And that’s okay. He has no problem filling the silence. Joel loves talking to you while he’s getting off.

“Had me feelin’ needy today, babygirl. Y’know I don’t like that,” he says dangerously. Your heels hit the ground faster, and he subconsciously matches his strokes to your pace. “Thought I was losin’ my mind for a while there. Was just about ready to let you do whatever you wanted to me when you got home, s’long as I got to fuck that tight pussy of yours.”

A door slams in the background, then all he can hear is you panting heavily in his ear. But when you finally speak again, your voice sounds different. Less like his good girl, and more like someone who knows they hold all the power.

“Oh, poor baby,” you coo, catching him off guard. “Did I leave you alone too long?”

He can tell you’re mocking him but, for some reason, his resolve starts to slip away more and more with every violent throb of his cock. Maybe it’s desperation. Or maybe he just likes it. 

“I’m so sorry,” you continue, murmuring sweetly in his ear. “I can make it all better…but only if you wait a little longer. Can you do that for me? Be my good boy.”

He bites back a groan, gripping the base of his cock hard to keep from cumming then and there. That's...new. And sexy as hell. He's still frenzied to the point of no return, but you also might've rewired something in his brain because he suddenly realizes he does want to be your good boy. Badly.

Fuck, he hopes you get home soon.

That last half hour of work was torture. You spent the entirety of it, and the car ride afterward, marinating in your soaked underwear, anticipating everything Joel has in store for you when you get home.

You're not sure what came over you on the phone, but it sounded like he enjoyed it. A lot. It’s a dynamic you’d never thought to try in your relationship, not with Joel’s domineering personality. The fact that he went along with it at all must mean he’s going through it, and that’s something you’re a little too excited to see.

The house is quiet when you walk in, save for the sound of your keys dropping into the bowl by the door. You turn to hang your bag on a nearby coat rack, and that's when you see him.

Joel, still lying on the couch exactly where you assume you left him after your call, with his hand squeezed tight around the base of his cock. He looks like a goddamn mess—sweating, hard as a rock, and leaking all over himself. His eyes are a little wild, more so than you've ever seen them. Christ, poor baby. You didn’t think your absence would affect him this much.

“Aw, sweet boy. Is all this for me?" you smile softly. He sucks in a breath, visibly twitching in his hand, and your smile widens. “Sit up, I can’t play with you like this.”

He complies immediately, and it sends a shiver up your spine. You love how well he’s listening, even though he almost looks like he's in pain after being in this state for so long. For that, you think he deserves a reward.

So, you give him one—the one he’s been waiting for all day. You undress for him, maintaining eye contact as you slip off your stuffy business attire, finally ridding yourself of your oppressively sticky underwear. 

Dropping to your knees between his legs, you gaze up at him affectionately, mouth inches away from his drooling cock. 

"Tell me what you want," you lean in, pressing your lips against the smooth, velvety skin. "Still wanna fuck me? Get me on my back, begging for it?"

Your tongue darts out to taste him, and you moan, licking a wide stripe up to wrap your lips around the tip. He's salty and heady, and so fucking delicious, but he still hasn't answered you. Instead, his fingers thread through your hair, guiding you down halfway and back up, shallowly fucking your mouth.

"I—fuck, please...," he's struggling with his words, whimpering around each syllable. "—baby, I waited...been good, did what ya said."

You nod your head understandingly, or at least try to as you continue to let him thrust into the inside of your cheek. His eyes are hyperfocused on the way your skin bulges around him, each stroke sending a shockwave of pleasure straight down his tightening balls.

"Christ, you feel good. Worth waitin' for, so fuckin' worth it," he rasps, his fingers tensing in your hair. "Need ya to—," he repositions your head so he can thrust further, deeper until he's nudging the back of your throat, "—ngh, make me cum. Suck harder, baby, please."

Soft, hiccuped moans escape his parted lips, increasing in volume when you start to drool around him, down your chin and onto your breasts. You can tell he's about to burst, feeling his skin growing taut against your tongue.

"M'gonna—haah, gonna...," desperation clouds his eyes, still dictating his every thought and move. 

But you don't let him because that's not what he said he wanted earlier. He's allowed to buck into you a few more times before you pull off with a loud pop, and the needy, frustrated whine he lets out almost makes you reconsider. Almost.

"I'm gonna make you cum, I promise, but not with my mouth," you tell him, voice tinged with disappointment, wrecked from the force of taking him like that. "You were doing so well for me. Come down here, keep being my good boy and I'll make you feel good."

Plopping down on the carpet, you spread your legs so he can see how wet you are for him. It's only gotten worse since earlier, slick coating your thighs, shiny and all the more inviting. You lay back, trailing your fingers up your belly to your breast to tweak a nipple, sighing as you reach out to him with your other hand.

Again, he obeys, his desire to empty down your throat all but forgotten. His shirt is quickly discarded, followed by everything below his waist, and then he's shifting onto the floor between your legs.

"There's my sweet boy," you coo, running your hands up his chest through a smattering of coarse, dark curls, and it rumbles under your palms as he mewls sweetly at your praise. 

He leans over you, hovering like he's waiting for permission to touch you, but he doesn't need it. The only thing you're trying to do is guide him, not control him. You want to make sure he gets exactly what he was so patient for. 

"Wanna feel you, babygirl. Let me—," he amends what he was about to demand, "...can I touch you?"

You bite your lip nodding as you smile up at him, and he wastes no time dropping down to bury his face into the crook of your neck, sucking wetly as he presses his body flush against yours. You writhe underneath him, just as pent up as he is by now, the realization triggered by how incredible his naked body feels on top of you. 

"Fuckin' hell, you're soft," he moans into your ear, propped up on his forearms. His cock brushes against your inner thigh, and his moan turns guttural, raw like it clawed its way out. "Mmph, I can't—"

He lurches up to crash his lips into yours, kissing you sloppily, hungrily, as his hips finally dip to drag against where you're soaked and aching. But not for nearly as long as he's been, and right now, he comes first. You need him to know he can have you. That he doesn't have to wait anymore.

"Don't...don't fight it. You've been perfect, you deserve it," you gasp out, and his hips jerk, your words forcing a low keen past his lips and into your mouth. "Take, baby. Take what you need."

Joel doesn't take, he seizes, laying claim to every part of you. Like he's afraid he won't get another chance if he doesn't take full advantage of what you've given him right now.

He faintly reminds you of a puppy lacking object permanence, believing the next time you leave, he'll be stuck waiting for you to come back to him forever. God, you're not even sure how you fucked him up so badly, but it's clear by the way he's handling you that he won't let you go again.

He moves quickly. One moment, he's leaning back on his heels, digging his fingers into your waist to yank you up onto his thighs, and the next, he's fucking into you as hard and fast as a bullet train. His cock somehow feels thicker, heavier than it ever has when he breaches your cunt, and the stretch has you clawing at the carpet beneath you.

"Missed you all day, wanted you all goddamn day," he growls, plowing into you forcefully enough to make your brain go fuzzy. "Fuck, babygirl, you got no idea what I've been through."

Christ, that feels—it feels...Christ. He's hitting something. You have no idea what, but it feels ungodly, like if he keeps going just like that, you'll cum without his fingers on you at all. It's happened before with Joel, but it's rare—and it's only when he's deep, lighting up all of your nerve endings at once. Fuck, he's being so good today.

"S'okay, you're okay," you gasp, clenching down around him when he suddenly pounds into the spot dead on. "I...I'm here now. Just keep going there, right there."

He nods frantically, gritting his teeth as you continue to tighten around him.

"Good boy," you mumble deliriously, your back arching completely off the ground as your orgasm rocks you. 

"Shit, you—'m not touchin'...fuck, baby, you cummin'?" 

It hits him all at once, what's happening, and then he's cumming, too. He's loud through his entire release, alternating between drawn-out moans and hiccuped whimpers as he fills you up with a whole day's worth of pent-up frustration.

Thrusting until your aftershocks have subsided, he grinds in deep one last time, letting you milk him completely dry before he pulls out. You're boneless underneath him, your eyes glazed over while his are finally clear for the first time in almost ten hours. 

He lowers your body onto the floor and crawls over next you, pulling your body against his. His embrace is warm and pleasant, and enough to pull you out of your post-orgasm stupor. Wriggling in his arms to get more comfortable, you tilt your head back from where he'd tucked it under his chin to grin up at him.

"So you missed me, huh?"

He rolls his eyes, back to his usual, not-totally-depraved self, but you already know the answer. He just spent the last hour showing you exactly how much.

"Thought I already made that clear," he confirms gruffly, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. "Next time, could ya maybe just use your vacation days? Please?"

"Sure," you laugh, nuzzling into his neck. "I'll save them up just for you." 

You reach up to scratch your fingernails across his beard, your other hand petting the soft curls at the nape of his neck. A soft noise rumbles low in his chest, but he tries to play it off by clearing his throat. Playfully raising an eyebrow, you continue your ministrations and it happens again.

"Baby, quit, 'm not a dog," he deadpans, even as he leans into your touch, his body betraying him.

"You sure about that? Because you sure were needy like one today."

[nburkhardt]

Somebody Loves You, You Got a Friend (part 9)

Other parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight

Hello and we’re back to school, it’s a day after the last part. (With a time jump at some point) And I think I copied a lot from my notes, so you get an extra long part 😘

Also I don’t think I mentioned this before but the title is lyrics from Andy Grammer’s song Spaceship! (The song is him talking to his unborn baby)

Eddie drags himself to school, even if Janet suggested just dropping out of Hawkins High and going to the school Steve finished from. But he’s determined to finish just to flip all of them off for thinking he’s nothing.

Luckily, Gareth not only had his homework from yesterday but he also filled him in on what happened in at least their shared classes. Then he stayed for dinner and officially met Janet.

He stops dead in his walk to his locker when he spots Nancy Wheeler standing right by it, groaning he makes his way over, “Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it Wheeler”

She bristles at him, crossing her arms, “You were at Steve’s yesterday”

Of all the things, she starts with. And it’s that? Well, he smirks and turns to her, and knows others in the hall are also listening in.

“I was, Stevie and I are just great friends” he easily lets out, and his smirk turns to a full manic grin when he hears gasps, he fakes a pout, “he and I were sick, I didn’t want my poor uncle also catching it, so I stayed with Stevie”

He can’t fucking wait to tell this to Stevie.

Whispers are immediate and Nancy looks completely taken back, so he sighs, “leave me alone, Nancy. You broke up with him, not the other way around and it’s been a year.”

He leaves with that and slams his locker shut before making his way to class.

Lunch rolls around and he’s listening to Grant and Jeff whine about not seeing Eleanor after Gareth bragged about seeing her. He rolls his eyes, “you do know she’s still sick, right? He only got to see her, he couldn’t even hold her”

That causes his two friends to shut up and Gareth laughs, “they can’t help it Ed, she’s just so adorable”

“Who’s adorable?”

He looks up and finds Dustin and Lucas sitting down, “eh just my-“

“His baby….cousin” Gareth

“His…cat” Jeff

“I don’t know who we’re talking about are we even sure it’s a she?” Grant

Eddie rolls his eyes and pointedly stares at Grant, because, what the fuck kind of excuse is that? He looks between the two freshmen and thinks ‘at least it’s not Wheeler Jr.’

So he clears his throat and catches all of their attention, “Gareth’s right, she is my baby….cousin” both Gareth and himself had a ridiculous long pause between the words, “she’s sick right now and only so many people can hold her”

That seems to hold them over and he eats his lunch in silence.

Just before lunch finishes, he’s happily resting his head on the table with his eyes closed and listening to his friends arguing over nothing important, when someone taps him on the shoulder, “I don’t care who that is, I’m beat. Go away”

“Munson, come on, aren’t you selling?”

His eyes snap open and he realizes his friends are all quiet, turning around he finds fucking Jason Carver’s crew behind him with Andy leading. “I haven’t sold anything in months, fuck off”

It causes the basketball team to laugh, “what you’ve gone clean?”

He rolls his eyes, “that’s usually what that means. I don’t have anything to give you”

The jocks all glare at him and Andy shoves him into the table, “full of shit” muttered under his breath and all that does, is makes him roll his eyes and hiss when his chest aches.

“Dude, you good?” Grant holds his shoulder, “that looks like it hurt”

Nodding, he touches his chest and winces. Already trying to figure out how to explain that to Steve. “It did, fuck, why did I ever think selling was a good way to life?”

That breaks whatever spell was over his friends, causing all of them to laugh. It’s only Gareth that shakes his head and mutters “all it took was knocking Steve up to get your head outta your ass” to him.

Which, well, he’s not wrong.

Once he’s at home, he finds Steve and Eleanor taking a nap. So, he checks out his chest and he winces at the red mark from the table.

He hears a groan and it makes him drop his shirt, looking back inside the room to find Steve tossing in bed. Peeking at Eleanor, she’s still asleep before making his way into bed, “Hey sleeping beauty” he presses a kiss to Steve’s shoulder.

“Hm, if I’m sleeping beauty, does that make you prince phillip?”

Laughing softly, he grabs hold of Steve’s arm to move him to his back, “hm, I guess it does”

Eddie puts what happened at lunch to the back of his mind and instead lazily makes out with Steve. Because this? This is what he’d rather be doing.

——————

Eleanor starts walking at six months, which is also when Hawkins High unfortunately finds out what happened all those months ago.

Steve and Eddie aren’t embarrassed, they aren’t ashamed either. They just like having their privacy and enjoying life without all the expectations others had for them.

Their friends had suggested bringing her to the park and so, the six of them made their way to the only baby friendly park in town.

They’re an odd looking bunch, so almost immediately people notice them. Eddie is holding Eleanor’s hand and helping her walk and Steve is in front of them encouraging the little girl to move towards him. Their friends are all cheering her on.

It’s when Steve catches her and spins around while pressing kisses all over her face, and the praise, “my baby is so smart, gonna make all of us chase her soon!” That really makes those around whisper.

The group is sitting in a circle on the grass, trying to get her to go to each of them when Dustin and Lucas spots them on their bikes. Their friends nearly crash into them, “what the fuck dude?”

Both Dustin and Lucas have no words, they just point towards the group and they hear the giggles from Eleanor as Eddie presses kisses all over her face before letting her go and standing her up.

“Is that, Eddie?” Mike looks so dumbfounded, then his eyes go wide at who Eddie drags into his lap, “is that STEVE?”

“Eddie knows Steve?” “didn’t he leave town?” “Whose baby is that?”

Will is the only one that moves towards the group and it isn’t until he’s half way over that his friends follow over, catching the attention of Eddie and Steve. Eleanor wiggles out of Jeff’s hold and crawls over to her parents, Steve scooping her up easily as the four boys stop next to them.

“Aren’t you guys a little old for this type of park?” Gareth raises an eyebrow at them, “isn’t the age limit 5?”

Eddie giggles and looks up at the younger teens, “what’s up little sheep?”

Mike is just openly gaping at Steve, who’s swaying slightly and holding the baby as if he’s been doing it his whole life. Dustin is the one that points at the little family and cutting straight to the point, “uh, what? are you guys like a couple?”

It makes all of the older teens burst out to laugh, Steve hides his face by the little baby while Eddie is nearly falling backwards at how hard he’s laughing. It’s neither of the young parents that answer, instead it’s Grant, “Eddie and Steve are the absolute worst kind of couple. I swear it’s like they’re already mated sometimes”

It clearly blows their minds because their eyes widen and all the words die on their tongues.

Steve glared at Grant, “I already told you! We can’t, we both have to be eighteen!”

The rest of them roll their eyes, while Jeff leans over and poke at his cheek, “Ellie here would say other wise”

It brings a full blown blush to both their cheeks.

“Is- is she yours?” It’s Will that says this, he’s also blushing. He seems to be the only one to get out of the shock. The other three is still frozen with their mouths dropped at Eddie and Steve and Eleanor.

Steve sighs and looks between the boys, “Yeah, she is. I had her just before the school year started.” Eleanor lets out a whine, causing him to look down and he patted her back before look at his watch, “and it’s time to feed her, so Eds and I gotta go.”

The younger teens saw the rest grimace before standing up, Gareth helping Steve stand up while Eddie jumped up afterwards, “it’s been fun, young sheep.”

The five friends just know, come tomorrow, Eddie and Steve will be the talk of the school.

——— The next day ———

It’s nearly the second Eddie enters the school that eyes are on him. He doesn’t know how or who, but it’s definitely been said. It’s out and the only thing he’s happy about is that Steve is no longer in this school. That he’s at home chasing Eleanor around the house.

Steve has never admitted it and lies through his teeth when he says rumors don’t bother him, but Eddie’s spent enough time with him and has been told by Janet that rumors definitely do mess with Steve. That it gets to him like anyone else.

Luckily, he’s been the town freak long enough that most things roll off him. So, he’s not at all ashamed when the first set of whispers happen as he walks to his locker.

Somehow he makes it all the way to second period before someone finally is brave enough to actually ask him anything, which is frankly, amazing.

“So, I heard a rumor” it’s Chrissy Cunningham that whispers next to him, and he looks away from the teacher, her eyes wide as she speaks. She actually looks shocked, like she didn’t mean to say anything. He rolls his hand to get her to speak more.

She shakes her head and glances to the front, finding the teacher moving around the classroom. “Is it- true?”

“Is what true?” He’s a petty asshole, he knows exactly what she’s asking.

She opens her mouth, then snaps it shut when the teacher hands her papers. Then mouths, “after?”

Shrugging, he continues on doodling as he blindly grabs the paper from the teacher. Ignoring the annoyance rolling of them.

‘After’ turns out to be as soon as the bell rings, and not just Chrissy is looking at him. But several other people, and unlike Chrissy. They’re not at all ashamed or embarrassed to ask the unsaid question.

“Is it true that you and Steve Harrington have a baby?”

There’s poorly disguised annoyance or maybe disgust, he doesn’t know and honestly? That’s what makes him smirk at them, “Oh, is that the rumor? Well, it seems the secret’s out.”

All of them gasp and he pulls his bag over his shoulder and gives a bow before making his way out of the room with them speechless.

“What did you do?” He grins as Gareth falls into step with him, “I know that look all too well, Eddie”

He laughs and throws his arm around him, “Oh my dear Gareth, someone has loose lips and Stevie and I are the talk of the school” he fakes a gasp with his hand against his chest, “and you wouldn’t believe it! I didn’t deny it”

Gareth just shakes his head and doesn’t question him, which is a nice change to the whispers.

He gets asked the same question five more times between the first and lunch. The younger members of hellfire all question him the minute he sits down and he’s surprised to see them whispering between each other at first.

Then, as he’s listening to Jeff gush about Eleanor and Gareth explaining how much of a helicopter parent Steve can be, someone taps on his shoulder. He has a very good idea at who it is and he’s already grinning that manic smile that usually scares people away.

His friends’ voices die down as his eyes land on Nancy Wheeler.

“Is it true? Did you really get Steve pregnant and are now parents to a baby? Is that why he disappeared?”

She’s looking at him with the same determination like the week before when she was trying to say he wasn’t good for Steve. Like she knew his boyfriend better than him.

“Stevie and I are the proud parents of one six month old baby.” He says simply and then points to where Mike is, “Little Wheeler saw yesterday. She’s very much real, and no, Stevie never disappeared. We just don’t go to many places.”

Nancy isn’t the only one to grow silent, that’s when he notices so many eyes on them. He’s not surprised, it’s a little disappointing he wasn’t standing on the table for this.

“Six months?” Nancy whispers, “is, is that why he wouldn’t-“ she snaps her mouth shut and he notices the freshmen all widen their eyes.

Before he could ask what the hell happened just now, Gareth clears his throat and points at a very disgusted looking Jason Carver. He grins, hops up on the table with a point, “Ladies and Gentlemen, I’d like to address the rumors going around. For starters, I’d like to say that I’m so glad Stevie is no longer here, because all of you are fucking assholes, and secondly, those rumors are completely true. Not that any of you needed to know”

He jumps off the table and grins a little too crazy at Carver, “would you like something, Carver?”

The other alpha snapped his mouth shut and curled his hands into fists, spitting out, “you really are a freak, and you made King Steve one!”

His mood is instantly changed and his friends all widen their eyes as his scent is immediately giving away just how pissed off he is.

The whole cafeteria is silent.

“What was that? Did I hear you correctly?”

His words are nearly whispered, his face not giving anything away even with his scent betraying it. He narrowed his eyes at Carver, who is stuck still. Either from realizing how much he screwed up or by Eddie’s completely pissed off scent.

Eddie can handle rumors, he can handle people talking about him. It’s simple and he’s built up enough tolerance for it that everything rolls off him easier.

But speaking about Steve?

Yeah, he can’t handle that.

Someone could drop a pin and everyone would hear it as they watched Jason standing over Eddie. Still frozen while Eddie slowly stood up, using his height to his advantage.

“Speak about me all you want, Carver. I don’t give a damn, I know I’m a freak. But do not speak about Steve. I will make your life a living hell if you do” he whispers as he stops next to him, “I’ll be that little devil worshipper you truly believe I am, I will.”

It breaks the spell and Carver hightails it away with one last glare and the rest of the cafeteria comes back to life with whispers and laughter. Eddie just sits back down and controls his scent, his friends all staring at him. Only Gareth getting up, squeezing his shoulder before walking away with a promise to be back.

The rest of the day passes by without anyone else questioning him. There’s definitely whispers still and stares, but no one is brave enough to say anything to him.

Which he is so thankful for.

He’s making his way to the drama room, absolutely dreading hellfire mostly because it means another hour or three away from the two he really wants to be with. Sighing, he pushes the door only to be met with a squealing and the very noticeable scent of lemon and honey.

He’s met with a sheepish Gareth standing next to a grinning Steve, Eleanor already in Jeff’s lap trying to grab his dice.

~~~

I’m gonna end it there, the secrets out! Everyone knows of the cutie we all love Ellie 🩷

I have a little bit more written out, so nows the perfect time to give me some ideas for what else I can add to this! I haven’t really thought out where to go with the party or involving anything with the upside down. This was only supposed to be a slice of life fic between Steddie & their daughter. But maybe I’ll add a few more parts if people want it 😊 also let me know if you see any typos or mistakes lol

Taglist! @spectrum-spectre @itsfreakingbats @mysticcrownshipper @artiststarme @thereindeerlady @justforthedead89 @ronniescontinuum @freyaforestafay @littlewildflowerkitten @zerokrox-blog @callme-keys @maya-custodios-dionach @rajumat @yellowdevilkitten @munsonfamilyband @steddierthings @tartarusfairy @mx-jinxous @zombiethingy @lunaticmarunatic @carlyv @thelittleclare @estrellami-1 @epiclazershark @bookworm0690 @forest-fogg @flustratedcas @p0lybl4nkk @tiny-enthusiast @a-gae-af-racoon @blackpanzy @marvelmwah @malicia62 @solliesolesito @lets-try-to-be-normal-otakus

[blouisparadise]

Today we have the third part of our hurt/comfort rec list for you! You can find part one here and part two here. If you enjoy our rec lists, please be sure to like and reblog this post to help spread the word.

1) Wanna Feel the Edges Start to Burn | Explicit | 6,111 words

Harry gives him a gentle smile. “Feeling a little bit better?” Louis nods tentatively. “I think so yeah. Thank you so much for being so kind, but you really didn’t need to do this.” He lifts his unfortunately still shaky hand and runs it haphazardly through his hair. “It was just a spilled tea, I totally overreacted. I’m a bit embarrassed to be honest.” Harry scoffs. “Are you kidding me? Don’t be. I saw the whole thing, that guy was way out of line. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Louis gives him what he’s sure is a watery smile. “Erm thank you. I wouldn’t normally admit this to a stranger, but you’ve already seen me cry today so what the hell?” He forces himself to let out a weak laugh. “The thing is, my period is due any day now and sometimes the birth control pills make my emotions go a little haywire. I think that’s what happened.”

2) Quietly Our Hearts Beat | Explicit | 7,539 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be ready by AO3 users.

Louis and Harry in the universe of ‘A Quiet Place’.

3) Waiting | Explicit | 10,517 words

Louis Tomlinson was Harry’s omega, of this Harry had always been sure. Unfortunately for Harry, Louis seemed to think they were just best friends. The six weeks that Harry has to live with Louis were going to be rough.

4) All This Delusion In Our Heads | Explicit | 15,088 words

After Harry and Louis break up, they cope with it in very different ways. What will happen when Harry keeps calling his ex over when things go wrong in his life, but Louis just can't take it anymore?

5) Just My Style | Explicit | 15,443 words

Harry is sick, and the only thing that might help him is the pheromones from his mate--problem is, he hasn't got a mate. Louis' just been disowned, and taking part in a medical study where he has to cuddle with some strange alpha seems to be his only option for earning a bit of cash. The hippies and Omega Rights campaigners are busy changing the world--but all Harry wants is a chance to live.

6) How You Sleep At Night | Mature | 15,568 words

The one where Louis thinks he got left because he might be too much to handle, but then Harry appears in his life again.

7) Somebody's Got Your Trainers On (It's You) | Explicit | 28,000 words

Louis hasn't thought about Harry since half an hour after the shift started, when Krystle told him that she was binging Gogglebox last night and therefore didn't get enough sleep - a sure reminder of Harry’s temporary Gogglebox obsession. Five hours isn't much without thinking about someone, but that's as long as it gets. Louis came to terms with that two years ago. When Harry walked out the door with his stupid New Balance trainers and never looked back.

8) Let Me Carry Your Weight | Explicit | 28,633 words

Louis is fresh out of a bad relationship with someone who made him feel awful about how he looked. On his journey to better himself, he meets Harry - the ridiculously attractive and fit personal trainer.

9) Compass to my Soul | Teen & Up | 31,439 words

Note: This fic does not have smut, but it's omega Louis, so we included it.

Harry Styles, alpha, is 1/4 of the perfect pack, and 1/5 of world famous boy band One Direction. He spends his time touring the world with his best friends and family. Louis Tomlinson, omega, is 1/5 of world famous boy band One Direction. He spends his time hoping his bandmates don’t notice him.

10) Stuck On You | Explicit | 33,983 words

Louis’ life revolves around his stickers. Harry’s life revolves around his job. The universe has decided their worlds should revolve around each other.

11) A Common Place Affliction | Not Rated | 36,508 words

“You should go home,” Louis muses, and Harry can feel the omega crouch down to become eye level with Harry, poking his cheek with a dainty finger. Harry lifts his arm, taking a peek at Louis’ face. Louis looks tired, he notes, but not exhausted, and there’s an eyelash stuck to his cheek. Harry doesn’t hesitate to lazily reach out and thumb over his cheek. “Can’t,” Harry croaks, blindly twisting his hand around to grab at Louis’ offending finger and just holding it. “C’mere. Take a nap with me,” he asks after a beat, opening an eye to look at Louis. Louis raises an eyebrow. “M’not going to nap with you in the middle of the ER, H.” Sighing, Harry squeezes the young nurse’s finger. “Nobody cares.” He knows they do; they’ll annoy nurses and probably worry patients when they catch sight of a nurse and surgeon sleeping on the job. Let alone in the middle of the emergency ward hallway. Harry can hear the complaints now: ‘these are the people we’re supposed to trust with our lives?’

12) To Paint A Symphony | Explicit | 40,583 words

Despite being a wedding painter, Louis has never had quite an optimistic outlook on marriage life. Love, sure, he’s a hopeless romantic and he longs for a sweet partner, to feel adored and cherished, but a part of him will forever doubt that love can last forever, a spark never lasts long, after all, so he paints because strokes of paint can remain forever and unchanged if looked after properly, cared and cherished the way he wished he could be, safe from an unsure future. Harry, on the other hand, as a performer and lyricist, indulges in pleasure. He loves love, never wastes a moment, never hesitates, always so sure of what he wants. Songs come and go on the radio, sometimes forgotten, sometimes transcending generations, the way people leave, and others stay. He never thinks of a future because he only ever lives in the present and he never was egocentric enough to think he could make a real impact and his art could outlive him. At a wedding under summer skies and surrounded by endless sea, two seemingly polar opposite lovers meet, and perhaps one learns to let himself feel and fall, and the other lets himself hope and cling on.

13) Wild Hearts Run Free | Explicit | 42,979 words

Harry is an alpha who is harbouring a dark secret, one that has forced him into self-imposed isolation, far from civilization and far from temptation. Louis is an omega who has fought the predispositions of his secondary gender his whole life and suddenly finds himself cast aside by his beta partner, leaving him to question his place in the world. When fate and Mother Nature conspire to trap the two strangers together, will Harry’s worst fears be proven, or will Louis find a way to break down his walls and lead him into the light?

14) This Glass House | Mature | 43,012 words

While deployed, Alpha Harry gets injured by an IED explosion, leaving him to deal with severe injuries in its devastating aftermath. During his road to acceptance and recovery he learns with the help of Louis and their children just how important family can be for the mind, body, and soul.

15) Hold Me How the Deep Night Has | Explicit | 48,018 words

Louis Tomlinson needs a change. Stuck in a cycle of going to the job he hates, spending time with his friends, and avoiding the one man he hates most in this world, Louis' in desperate need of something new. So when he discovers an abandoned notebook on the way to work, the decision is easy to take it for himself and begin a journal amidst the empty pages. What can't be expected are the words that appear overnight directly beside his own, written on the same day 400 years in the past. What are the consequences of a magical connection between two men of different centuries? And who, among it all, is the mysterious E who only exists on the other side of Louis' journal?

16) Made For Lovin’ You | Explicit | 52,637 words

The one where a quick, horny decision ruins Louis’ summer plans, but may also lead to unexpected discoveries. Featuring the road trip of dreams, misunderstandings, and a bit of fate. The one where a quick, horny decision ruins Louis’ summer plans, but may also lead to unexpected discoveries. Featuring the road trip of dreams, misunderstandings, and a bit of fate.

17) Gallery Of Us | Explicit | 55,778 words

Harry knew what he was doing in life, everything laid out in black-and-white, each day pleasantly predictable. Cue lively art student, Louis, trying to find his place. An almost insufferably happy person who sometimes forgets to hide the way they feel meets the person who is diligent enough to notice and determined to make a difference.

18) Untamed Hearts Align | Explicit | 55,795 words

For as long as Louis has known her, Lady Margaret Tomlinson has had two aspirations for the remaining years of her life. The first was to out-dress the Duchess of Kent at every soirée and gathering. The second was to marry off her omega nephew to the most honorable – and highly ranked – alpha suitor she could find. He does not expect for her to arrange a marriage between him and the crown prince, and he certainly does not expect to fall for him. Everything changes when Harry disappears.

19) I’ve Got You | Explicit | 62,988 words

As a reward for saving the king's life, Harry is offered omega Prince Louis' hand in marriage. Neither of them has any interest in the union going forward, and so they concoct a plan to prove to the king that they are far from a perfect match.

20) You're Umami Baby | Mature | 87,429 words

Harry is a chef who never experienced umami until he meets his new dishwasher, Louis.

21) Echoes & Omens | Mature | 100,707 words

Echoes of the dead come in many forms. Their imprints forever tied to the ones who'd killed them. Louis Tomlinson is able to track the dead using their echoes, they call to him. He's used that gift to aid Scotland Yard in their investigations, with the hopes of studying Criminology at Cambridge University. He's lived a life of privilege and good fortune as a Marquess, son of the late Duke Tomlinson, with his life mapped out since day one. Until two terrible truths are revealed. One, he's adopted. Two, his biological parents are London's most notorious serial killers. Against his family's wishes, Louis travels to Chicago to uncover the truth of their incarceration. Much to his dismay, his biological mother's Lawyer, Harry Styles, wants to take his case. Together, they work to uncover what really happened all those years ago, but perhaps more is revealed than they could've ever anticipated. Trapped in a whirlwind of portents and omens, Louis and Harry find themselves pitted against an enemy they'd not foreseen.

22) You’ve Got A Higher Power, You’re Once In Any Lifetime | Explicit | 113,444 words

Giving up and letting them think they're right were never valid options in Louis Tomlinson's mind. In a society full of prejudices, finding a family and being accepted, also seemed like an unrealistic utopia. Louis sets out to do what no other of his kind ever has before and in doing so, he finds love, friendship and more about himself than he thought he would.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[virusinfected-memes]

TIK TOK SENTENCE STARTERS, PT. 5 ;

85 starters. CW: cussing, sexual themes, violence. Some starters are just random quotes from Tik Tok creators, some starters are from Tik Tok trends that have popped up over the past year or so. The original sources of these trends are from various memes, shows, songs, and other popular media. Feel free to change words and pronouns as needed! [PARTS: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4]

"Alright, on your knees, mortal scum! You stand in the presence of _____!"

"Always remember: you may not be able to change the past, but you can still ruin the future."

"Am I ever gonna get it?"

"And if you call me a bitch, make sure to put 'sensitive' in front of it."

"And I keep my side of the street clean. You wouldn't know what I mean."

"But I can't forgive you."

"But I don't want to stay in the middle."

"Can I get a kiss? And can you make it last forever?"

"Come out and haunt me."

"Did I mistake you for a sign from God?"

"Don't be ridiculous, _____. Everybody wants this."

"Don't try to find me."

"Do you ever just have this deep seated desire to bother people? I have clown blood."

"Do you think I'm fragile?"

"Do you wanna dance, baby?"

"Everybody wants to rule the world."

"Get in, sparkle farts! We got chaos to spread!"

"Help me make the most of freedom and of pleasure."

"Honey, I love you. I think you're a terrific girl. But you have clothes like a fucking dickhead."

"I can't take Benadryl because I owe the Hat Man money and I don't want to see him."

"I didn't know I could love something this much until I laid my eyes on you."

"I don't ever wanna see you and I never wanna miss you again."

"I don't need to be fixed. I need to be rebuilt."

"If you touch that again, I shall kill you right now. Do not touch this! This is a 'no touching' zone!"

"I got nothing to lose."

"I guarantee I gotcha'."

"I have not behaved one single day of my life. Not one single day have I behaved and I'm fine."

"I just can't say goodbye."

"I just heard a butt-curdling scream."

"I know that violence is not the answer, but... Yes, it is."

"I know you see me looking at you on the daily."

"I know you want me."

"I love that Netflix was like, "OoOoh, we're gonna reduce your quality to 480p if you don't pay us more!" Like, bruh... I come from the land of 144p Naruto episodes cut into sixteen parts on YouTube. 480 is luxury. 480 is bouge."

"I'm absolutely a danger to my own mental health."

"I'm comin' back for you, baby."

"I mean, look at this thing! I can't imagine a more beautiful thing."

"I mean, what if I don't want to live the way you live?"

"I might be broke as hell tomorrow, but that's alright, 'cause I'm that bitch today."

"I might kill my ex. Not the best idea."

"I'm in a trance lately."

"I'm not going to nap. I'm just going to rest my eyes and clench my teeth for a little while."

"Im not like other girls. I'm worse."

"I'm one of those witches, babe."

"I'm sorry, but I'm just thinking of the right words to say."

"I'm the love witch. I seduce men with my spells, my potions, my eyes, and my body."

"I'm tired of working on myself. I will now be unapologetically insane."

"I never make the same mistake twice. I make it, like, six or seven times."

"In my dreams, I'm making you pasta and nothing bad has happened to us yet."

"I said I wasn't gonna be judgmental, but fuck it. I'm sick, I have an excuse."

"I think I like when it rains."

"It's already too late for you to try and run away."

"It's me. Hi. I'm the problem, it's me."

"I want to get on my broomstick and fly away with my kitty to another city to work on my witch powers, then live with a pregnant woman who owns a bakery and start a delivery service."

"I want to go to there."

"I was at about six there. You don't wanna see me go to ten."

"Mortals, behold! The glory of the kill is mine!"

"No, I don't think you understand. I'm obsessed."

"Normalize being a sleepyhead. It's okay to be eternally trapped within the realm of ancient dreams."

"Nothing ever lasts forever."

"Not working out? Not eating right? Fucked up sleep schedule? You aren't depressed. You're on your way to achieving tremendous arcane power. Become the wizard you were meant to be."

"Oh, you think the b-word's offensive? You should hear what I say in the Call of Duty lobbies."

"Okay, I don't know how you went this long without knowing this, but there are people out there who create original Sonic the Hedgehog characters, and often those characters fuck."

"Okay, well, what you said was some bullshit. That's what it is."

"Okay... Why'd you have to fucking bring that up?"

"One kiss is all it takes."

"Something horrible is happening inside of me and I don't know why."

"So you're telling me if I killed your family, you wouldn't be my friend anymore?"

"Take a swing. Here's my neck."

"The next time you feel lazy, remember that laziness is a puritanical myth based on the sin of idleness and is used to oppress people into forced labor."

"There are currently no bug-dragon dual type Pokémon, but I wanna share a few insects that I think would make good candidates for being the first."

"They keep on asking me who is he."

"What are you gonna do with that? You gonna hit me? Better make it count. Better make it hurt. Better kill me with one shot."

"Whatever I've done, I did it for love."

"Which was more culturally significant? The Renaissance... or 'Single Ladies' by Beyoncé?"

"Who wants to look simple when you can look stunning?"

"Why do I keep getting attracted?"

"Why don't you sit right down and stay a while?"

"Why do we keep telling people who aren't freaky that they're vanilla? Vanilla is the freakiest flavor. Like, look at ice cream, for example. It goes good with all of the toppings. Vanilla doesn't care who you pair it up with, so long as they get on top. I aspire to be as slutty as vanilla is. Also, if you are a slut, what flavor of ice cream are you, bitch? Pistachio? Neo-political? That's fucking disgusting."

"Will I get over it? No. But life goes on."

"Yeah, I'm gay. Good at Yu-Gi-Oh."

"Yes, I am doing blasphemy! Yes!"

"You better fix my entire life, you little shit."

"You can't keep me waiting."

"You might play the same games as me, but I play them in a far worse and more unskilled way than you ever will."

"You're just being cynical."

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Six (Part 2)

Later on, I arrive home to a house that smells like butter and sugar. My dad mutters a gruff “howya” through the ajar living room door as I hang up my coat and bag on the stairs. He’s watching snooker. I pause at the door. “How’s it going?”

“Grand yeah. Good match?”

I shrug. “It was alright. Not sure I’m converted into a football lover yet.”

“Tullamore win?”

“Yep.”

“Good stuff.” 

I go through to the kitchen where my mam is cleaning, as usual, and even though it’s turned cold while autumn has blown in, she’s in a sweat, wiping her brow with her sleeve as she works the mop into the floor with a vigour. 

“Hi.” I say. “Were you baking?”

“I was. A bit of tea brack.”

“Aw, yuck.”

“Yuck yourself. It’s always the sweeties with you, chocolate this, jellies that, there’s nothing wrong with a bit of good old fashioned brack.”

“Well I don’t like sultanas. Still.” I remind her. “Do you have anything for me?”

She stops cleaning and rests her elbow on the end of the mop. “What kind of ‘thing’?”

“I dunno, something quick, I just want to grab something before I get the bus back.”

She makes an outraged sound, shaking her head as she swipes the mop across the floorboards. “Sure you’re only just home and you’re gone again!”

“Yeah I know, there’s just not much to do here, I was going to go back and sort myself out for work on Monday, like, I dunno, maybe go to the stationary shop and get new pens.”

“New pens.” She repeats, like the thought of me wanting to get them is completely ridiculous. “If you want something to do I’ll find something for you to do.”

“Well, I don’t particularly-” I begin, but she’s already had an idea, so protest is futile. 

“You’ll clean your room.” She announces, and I groan. “Mam, no, I don’t have the energy for that.”

“It’s a tip! I’m sick of going up there and having to look at the mess on the floor, you’d think that you being long moved out would mean the place’d be spotless, but no-”

“Just shut the door then and you won’t have to look.” 

“-it’s still a state, every day. The amount of stuff you have in there that’s old and doesn’t fit you, or is no use to you whatsoever. The last time I was in there I saw the shoes I got you when you were going into your junior cert year, they’ve the soles hanging off them and all. What use are five year old shoes to you now?”

I roll my eyes. “Mam…” she props the mop against the counter and starts rifling through the bottom drawer in the kitchen. She seizes a roll of bin bags and tosses them at me. I miss, and they unroll ridiculously across the tiles. As I’m bending down to pick up and re-roll it she announces. “You’re going to go up there now and get rid of everything that you don’t want anymore. Put your clothes in a bag for the charity shop. And then you’re going to dust and hoover every inch of it, and it’s going to be sparkling clean when you’re done.”

“Yeah. Alright. Fine.”

“Good woman.” She says, wielding the mop once again. “I’ll bring you up a sandwich in a while. Off you go.” 

I’d never admit it to her, but my mother is right about my room. It’s bad. It’s always been bad, and while I’ve never explicitly cared that much about how bad it is, I can’t truthfully deny that it’s unacceptable. I don’t even know where to begin. I know that under the bed is crammed with stuff, old school books, birthday cards I can never bring myself to throw away, photographs, art supplies, sketchbooks. 

The wardrobes are bursting with clothes, none of which I wear, seeing as my entire adult wardrobe lives with me in Dublin. The drawer where I pulled the Tullamore jersey from earlier has collapsed off its roller slides and lies crookedly, half of it on the floor with piles of t-shirts and mismatched pyjamas spilling out of it. A cheaply constructed wall shelf my dad put up when I was ten is bowed in the middle from the weight of the old teen magazines I used to collect and props up the broken CD player I got from uncle Sean on my first holy communion. Looking at all of it makes heat rise to my neck and my chest heave slightly in panic. I don’t even know where to begin. 

I leave the bin bags on the floor and drop to my knees amongst piles of clothes and shoes, bits of useless papers and old bags. The breath that exits me is shuddering. What’s wrong with me? Why do I let things get like this? I pick up the first thing that my hand touches; A knee length white sock that was part of my school uniform. I haven’t worn these socks in over two years. I don’t even have faith that I’ll locate the other one, and I don’t care enough about it to try. This is the first thing that goes into a bin bag. 

After this it gets increasingly easier. Gone are the mickey mouse pyjama bottoms with an unravelling seam, the stack of coloured paper, scribbled with sketches I never liked, the lid of a vanilla body spray that I used up years ago, expired mascara, a tea stained leather coaster, broken earphones, the padlock from my old locker without its corresponding key. Before too long I have cleared the floor, exposing the carpet to the light for the first time in years, probably. I’d half forgotten what colour it was. I tackle the wardrobe next. 

There’s not much that interests me in it, out of style clothes, clothes that were potentially never in style in the first place. A heaping mass of hoodies, leggings, jersey shorts with drawstring waists and t-shirts, the clothes of a girl who desired only to blend in, dreading terribly the day that somebody might comment on her outfit. All of it goes into the charity shop bag. I am ruthless. Not a single item is spared. 

Once the clothes have been cleared, I turn my attention to the suitcase and the gear bags piled at the bottom. I recall that the suitcase is broken, those wheels got me nowhere on our school tour to Paris in fourth year, and I remember how a rock from the pavement got trapped in the wheel, preventing it from spinning, but instead of fixing it and holding up the tour, I decided just to drag the bag behind me, the bottom corner of it scraping horrendously against the paths until the wheel was worn completely flat on one side. I have few good memories from that tour anyway, as for most of it Kelly was in a strop over something that happened on the ferry, and went off with girls from her new maths class instead, leaving me alone to forge an emergency friendship with a group of Polish girls who refused to speak English to me even though they were fluent. I toss the suitcase into the discard pile by the door, then grab a gear bag.

There are things still inside one of them. I’m surprised to find it heavy, so I curiously lay it at my knees and undo the zip. More clothes. Yellow swimming togs. A few pairs of ankle socks, a denim skirt. I chuckle to myself as I uncover a pair of knickers. I remember these, mint green with a decal of Ariel from The Little Mermaid on them, the most embarrassing pair of underwear I ever had, and kept until I was far too old for them. I put them straight into the bin.

The bottom of the bag is grainy with sand, and when my fingers brush over it I’m transported back to the sunshine and the smell of salty air. This is the bag I brought to the mobile home that summer three years ago. I don’t realise I’m holding my breath as I look through it until my chest starts to hurt and I force it out of me. Memories from those scorching months spring up with every old piece of clothing I draw out of it. It’s so vivid that I can practically feel the sunshine on my face. It’s like a time capsule. I’m surprised I never unpacked this bag. Was it too painful to? Was I too distracted?  

At the end is a rolled up t-shirt, soft, grey, worn. I unroll it and hold it out, letting it drape over my thighs. It isn’t mine. The label reads a mens large, and I take a sharp inhale when I realise what it is. Hadn’t I ever given this back to him? I was always sure that I had. I lay it onto the carpet in front of me and snap a picture of it on my phone. 

Opening up my messenger I attach the photo, typing a quick message. 

By any chance is this your T-Shirt?

Jude is typing…

Hole in the armpit?

I check. 

Yes. 

I was wondering what happened to that. I assumed my mom had tossed it out after doing laundry. 

Well apparently I’ve had it for 3 years. Sorry! Hope it’s not your favourite.

Omfg definitely not.

Does this mean you still have my bikini?

Your bikini?

From when we went swimming. You said you’d wash my bikini and t-shirt. It was orange with a tie in the front.

Oh. THAT bikini. I’m wearing it right now, sorry, I thought it was mine. 

I’m taking that as a no.

No, I don’t have it. Are you sure I never gave your stuff back?

Pretty sure. 

It might be at the beach house? I’ll probably go back again next summer, so I’ll look for it. 

Oh! No don’t worry, it isn’t important, I just thought it was funny. If you want this T-shirt back you can have it.

Will you personally deliver it to Berlin? 

Hardly.

Come over though. 

You want a t-shirt with a hole in it that badly?

Come with or without the t-shirt. 

My stomach does a flip. 

Is that an official invitation?

A full minute passes before he texts back, and I stare at the screen the whole time. The little typing dots appear and then disappear. 

February?

Wow, that’s far in advance. It’s October.

Yeah but there’ll be a huge birthday party for someone, it’ll be fun if you’re there. 

One of your extravagant dress up parties?

Haha. Yeah. At my friend’s. He lives in a nice apartment. Plus, flights are cheap in February.

Cheap flights? I’m sold. 

Nice. 

It feels like the conversation has come to its natural conclusion, and yet I find myself wanting more. 

How’s Berlin right now? 

Alright. 

Nothing weird or wonderful?

Nah. 

Ah, great. Good talk.

Ha. How’s Dublin?

The same.

Nice. 

Yeah, nice.

Another minute passes. I leave my phone down and go about clearing out the rest of the gear bag, more old socks, a mostly empty bottle of suncream, cheap flip flops, a coin purse with two cent in it. The phone buzzes again and I reach for it. 

Hey, could you do me a favour?

I frown. 

Yeah…? 

Will you ask Michelle for her number for me?

Your ex?

Yeah, she got a new phone ages ago and I don’t have her number anymore. I know she’s going out with that guy you work with, so if it’s no hassle would you mind? 

Yeah okay. I just don’t know her that well. 

You can tell her that I’m the one asking. She’ll know what it’s about, but if you don’t want to, I completely get it. I can find another way to get it. 

I think I’m seeing her next week, actually. We’re going to the same party, so. 

Ah, Shane’s Halloween thing?

That’s the one.

I’m sorry if it’s weird to ask.

It’s not really, it’s fine. I’ll ask her for you.

I almost type “Jen doesn’t have it?” Before quickly curling my fingers into a fist. There’s so many things I want to know but I can’t ask him anything. Even if I did, I know that he wouldn’t tell me. It’s infuriatingly secretive, like the polar opposite of Jen, who tells everyone everything.  

I really appreciate it, Evie. It’s not urgent or anything, it’d just be good to have her details. 

Do you want me to give her yours?

Yeah, that makes sense. 

Alright. 

Thanks. 

I toss my phone onto my bed and head towards the chest of drawers, preparing myself for the ancient horrors that await me there, and it’s bad, like I expected and yet I don’t really mind it anymore. It’s a bit cathartic, honestly, to dump all of this old stuff. It’s like I’m clearing space inside myself too, emptying psychic drawers to make space for something new. It’s two hours before I’m finished, and as I lie exhausted on my bed afterwards, I reach for my phone to discover one last unread message. 

You’ll have to swear you’ll visit me in Berlin, btw. I meant it when I invited you.

I grin. 

Yes, of course. We’ll make it happen. 

Nice.

Nice.

x

Beginning // Prev // Next

[aeoki]

Grand Slam - The Old-Fashioned Sports Festival: Chapter 2

Location: Unknown  Characters: Tomoya, Hitsugi & NEGI

TL Note:

The name of the sixth of the Seven Mysteries of Yumenosaki, 悪夢ノ咲 / akumu no saki, is a combination of the words “悪夢 / akumu / lit. nightmare” and “夢ノ咲 / Yumenosaki / lit. blooming of dreams”. I’ve chosen to translate this as “Nightmenosaki”; a portmanteau of “nightmare” and “Yumenosaki”.

< The video that was open on Hitsugi Kurone’s phone. Time and place: everything unknown. >

Hitsugi: “Hitsugi and~♪”

NEGI: “His big sister’s~...♪”

Hitsugi: “Pre-recording for “Broadcasting Accidents”...☆”

NEGI: *Clap clap clap clap*

“...Do you really need to include that? And do you even need me?”

Hitsugi: “Of course, I do! What’re you saying? Are you an idiot, Onee-chan!?”

NEGI: “I’ve been called an idiot by an idiot. Poor me.”

Hitsugi: “Onee-chan, you’re always someone I need! It’s lonely being by yourself, after all!”

NEGI: “I think it’s just wasting time. All that trouble to switch between us and editing the video so that it looks like we’re having a proper conversation… It’s just a waste of time.”

Hitsugi: “But if we’re erased, someone else will come across this video, right?”

“In that case, if we make it an amusing video, it might pique their interest and maybe they’ll watch right through to the end.”

“And when they finish the video, they might realise something, follow in our footsteps and look into things.”

“It’s a rare opportunity! So I want to make it something that people will regret not watching!”

NEGI: “You’ve completely turned into a “producer”, huh. Too much influence from Anzu.”

“Don’t get too obsessed. You’re not intending on creating more of me, are you?”

“...Well, nevermind, let’s start. Where should we lift off from?”

Hitsugi: “We’ll cut the beginning and re-enact the important parts!”

NEGI: “Gotcha~ Elohim Essaim, Elohim Essaim–”

Hitsugi: “Ia! Ia! Cthulhu! Fhtagn!”

“............”

“............”

Tomoya: W-What? He stopped talking.

The video didn’t freeze, right? The video’s progress bar is still moving slightly…

Hm? Something seems off about Kurone…?

Mayoi (Hitsugi): “Over here, everyone…♪”

Makoto (Hitsugi): “H-Hey, is this okay? What’s this place? Uuu~ It’s cramped, dark and scary!”

Yuuta (Hitsugi): “Don’t be so loud, Yuuki-senpai. The noises bounce off the walls and it makes the inside of my ears throb.”

Subaru (Hitsugi): “If your head’s pounding, maybe it’s because there’s not much oxygen down here! Ahaha ☆”

Makoto (Hitsugi): “What was funny about that sentence, Akehoshi-kun!?”

Sora: “HaHa~♪ HiHi~♪ HuHu~♪ HeHe~♪ HoHo~♪”

Tomoya: (W-What on earth is this…? Kurone is re-enacting everyone’s actions and words?)

(I wonder if he’s re-enacting the video that was confiscated from “Broadcasting Accidents”.)

(It seems like it. Akehoshi-senpai, Yuuki-senpai, Harukawa, Yuuta – And that’s Ayase-senpai, right?)

(Why is Ayase-senpai there? Ahh, I remember hearing that Shiratori had him go in his place since he also got sick.)

(I remember thinking I should have asked someone to go in my stead too.)

(I-In any case, why is Kurone filming this…?)

Mayoi (Hitsugi): “The Seven Mysteries of Yumenosaki.”

“First: The Odd Cenotaph. Second: The Blood-Vomiting Beast. Third: The Earth’s Requiem. Fourth: The White God. Fifth: The Dead Chatter-box. Sixth: Nightmenosaki[*] .”

“That’s all. There are only six of the Seven Mysteries that have been identified.”

“It’s said the seventh will appear when the rest of the Seven Mysteries are all triggered, but the details are unknown.”

Yuuta (Hitsugi): “You hear that a lot with other Seven Mysteries, huh~ The last one is always shrouded in mystery. Anyway, you sure know a lot, Ayase-senpai.”

Mayoi (Hitsugi): “Uh, umm, they’re well-known stories, after all?”

Yuuta (Hitsugi): “No, I don’t think they’re that well-known. No one knew about it when we were investigating it last year, so we ended up at a standstill.”

“We got a lot of ridiculous rumours instead, though.”

Mayoi (Hitsugi): “P-Perhaps someone hid them intentionally. They hid the real Seven Mysteries and spread rumours that acted as a decoy instead…”

← Previous Chapter ᠂ ⚘ ˚⊹˚ ⚘ ᠂  Next Chapter →

[housewarningparty]

Book Asks! 1, 7, 10, 19!

book you’ve reread the most times?

answered :)

(bonus answer: the series i've read in full the most number of times is probably john scalzi's old man's war. though that was only like 2.5 times - i'm not really a big re-reader)

7. is there a series/book that got you into reading?

it's hard to really credit one specific thing, because i've pretty much always been into reading and writing. goosebumps and then later stephen king got me into horror. i credit NK Jemisin's broken earth trilogy as getting me back into fantasy, after being sick of it for years.

10. do you have a guilty fav?

GOD okay - matt wesolowski's six stories series. i listen to them at work, mostly. they're not "good" in the classical sense. there's a formula they follow that's kind of maddening, but i find them SO consumable and entertaining.

the premise is that there's this podcast series that investigates bizarre unsolved cases. it always follows this arc - there's this Terrible Mystery (usually related to a murder or disappearance) that has strange, supernatural overtones. The host (Scott King) begins to investigate - in each "episode" he interviews one person who has some kind of perspective on the case, to paint a picture of what happened. The chapters are interspersed with supplementary material - therapy tapes of the accused murderer, a tv interview of the mysteriously dead rock star, transcripts of a dead girl's youtube videos, etc. inevitably it all escalates to some ridiculous, off-the-wall, insanely improbably conclusion.

i mean, i'm not joking. it's truly ridiculous stuff. in one book the host discovers that the kidnapped kid he was investigating was - GET THIS - HIMSELF!!!!!!!!

god they're such fucking stupid books but i love them, i can't get enough, i'll keep reading them as long as wesolowski keeps writing them

19. most disliked popular books?

f/f romance enjoyers widely liked delilah green doesn't care but i couldn't fucking stand that book. i had to DNF like 1/3 of the way in. i was really distracted by some of the (i think truly well intentioned tbf) attempts to be inclusive and progressive that just felt totally unnatural and at times outright frustrating. the last straw for me was when one of the characters (a white woman, with a young white daughter) internally lamented about the fact that her sister's fiance wanted to have kids. boys. white boys born into a white boy world, or some bullshit. it was just like - eugh, yuck, it felt so tone deaf to me, so self flagellating and disingenuous. idk if i'm trying to just read a dumb romance novel i really don't feel like i should have to engage with a white writer's weird anxiety about their complicity in racism. i couldn't deal lmao

book asks

[angstyaches]

Raincheck

a.k.a. Asher’s just generally not having a good time.

CW: mentions of toxic relationship, general tension and drama and awkwardness, flashback mention of a breakup, gender dysphoria, bad self-talk and mental health. Unsatisfying ending.

But also doggo and cute/cringey fluff. And a bit of Asher/Connie backstory.

_______

Dear Asher,

 Happy Valentine’s Day, handsome. 

 Love,

X X X X X X

 P.S. Give Sparks a big ol’ hug from me.

 Asher’s heart came crashing down through his ribs as he read the card in the front hallway. His eyes skated over the inky words without reading them the first time; the second time, they seared themselves into his brain like each letter was a zap of electricity.

“Shhhhhiiiiiittttttt,” he hissed under his breath during the third read. He wasn’t sure he’d ever drawn out a swear word like that before, and it still wasn’t strong enough to convey his horror.

Six kisses. Six letters of a name. For one single, ridiculous second, he let himself enjoy the possibility that it was from Jayden. In the next second, he felt physically sick with guilt. He knew exactly who it was from, and it was a disgusting disservice to them to even consider otherwise.

He imagined viewing himself from above; a silly, selfish boy who’d been so busy feeling sorry for himself that he had forgotten to maintain a yearly tradition that spanned more than a decade. It was mildly hilarious. Asher would watch that movie and laugh at himself.

On another level, though, the sick pang of uneasiness in his gut was developing into a much more serious ache, unravelling the appetite he had worked up during the second half of his shift.

“Oooh-woo!” Alice’s voice made him jump out of his stupor. He wouldn’t have just cursed if he’d known she was about to walk out of the kitchen; Alice hated swearing, and had no filter around chiding him for it, as though he was her own child.

She had clearly not heard him, but she had spied the red envelope and very obvious-looking card in his hand.

“Lucky you! Huh?”

He should have known better than to open his post in the front hallway. Alice had eyes like a hawk. Having recently lost her son to ‘emigration’ (he was doing remote work and travelling in New Zealand for a year; but Alice had a flair for the dramatic), Asher had the horrible feeling that she was using him to fill a gap in her life. She was always far too eager to insert herself into Asher’s life and wring any potential ‘gossip’ out of him.

Alice raised her eyebrows and gave an open-mouth smile, like she was feigning excitement for a toddler. Asher got the feeling she assumed this was the first time he’d ever gotten a Valentine… or maybe the first time he’d ever gotten a piece of post.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot as his stomach ache deepened. His despair and self-pity felt sharper by contrast with Alice’s patronising cheerfulness.

“Let me see the front?”

Asher swallowed. He lifted the card up for her, though he couldn’t think of a single person who actually cared what the outside of a card looked like.

“I love hanging with you. And it’s a sloth hanging from a branch. Lovely,” Alice gushed. “God, to be young! I cannot remember the last time I got a card from an admirer. Sure, I’m grateful if himself even remembers it’s Valentine’s Day to begin with.”

Asher smiled awkwardly at her, not quite sure what kind of reaction she’d been expecting.

“Speaking of which, he’s playing darts tonight.” Alice rolled her eyes. “So I’m going out with some of my friends – we’re doing Galentine’s. Nice dinner and a cocktail bar.”

“Cool.”

“So, you’re on your own for dinner tonight…” Alice eyed Asher’s card again. “Oh, unless your special someone is taking you out?”

At this, she winked and poked the card with one finger.

Asher cleared his throat and tried not to flinch at her persistence. If she ever got hold of the information that he was casually seeing someone – someone totally separate from the person who’d sent the card – he’d never hear the end of it. Therefore, Jayden’s name was never to be mentioned under this roof.

“This was just from a friend.” Asher swallowed again. “A good friend. We send each other anonymous cards every year…”

Except you forgot about her this year, didn’t you?

“They’re not – they’re not serious,” he added.

Oh, but they’re deadly serious. More serious than you and Jayden, for sure…

Asher’s stomach churned heavily, bringing the taste of the cheese sandwich he’d had for lunch back towards his mouth. He wanted to glower at himself, but didn’t want to seem like he was making a nasty face at his landlady.

He gestured towards the kitchen – specifically, the back door. “I-I should… go and let Sparks in.”

“Yes, you should! And I should go get ready.”

“Mmm. Have a nice night,” Asher half-heartedly smiled at Alice and squeezed past her. It didn’t feel in his nature to be so… performative, or fake, but this sickeningly guilt was draining him of any desire to keep up appearances.

___

“I-I-I just…”

Asher felt like he was going to throw up.

Part of him was still wondering if he could backtrack on this whole plan. He’d lived a lie for the first seventeen years of his life, denying who he really was just to make things easier for the people around him; would it really be so hard to keep up one little lie in order to keep from breaking someone’s heart?

She was sitting quietly, her face uncharacteristically stony beneath her new haircut. It was strange – wrong, even – to still be thinking of it as ‘new’, when her fringe was overgrown and invading her eyelids, and the ends were starting to split from rough-handed brushing.

Asher took a deep breath. And tried again.

___

He had expected to spend Valentine’s Day alone and feeling miserable, but not like this.

Jayden being too busy to make plans with him had been a cosy kind of disappointment. Maybe Asher had been expecting it. Or maybe after the disaster that was Halloween, he was actually a little relieved that they wouldn’t be spending Valentine’s Day together. Jayden was too noncommittal, and Asher had unrealistic expectations. It was far better for them to keep Valentine’s Day at arm’s length.

Either way, he had slipped into sadness and self-pity like it was an old, familiar hoodie whose sleeves were too long and whose hood obscured his vision.

But this guilt? This splash of reality that told him he was a terrible friend? This was a different beast. It was not like a hoodie at all. It was like a white-hot rock that he’d swallowed, and now it was burning a hole inside of him.

He was splayed on his bed while Sparks munched away at her dinner on the plastic sheets in the corner of his room. His fingers absently pressed against the soreness in the pit of his stomach while he studied the too-white whiteness of the ceiling.

Asher sat forward, picking up the card and envelope from the bed. He sat at the very edge of the mattress and studied them both again, as though they would somehow reveal what his next move should be.

Her attention snagged by Asher’s sudden movement, Sparks wandered over, licking around her mouth. She sniffed the edges of the card, like she thought there might be snacks hidden inside. She always had room for snacks.

Asher groaned under his breath. “What do I do, Sparks? You think she’s gonna be mad at me?”

Asher had to have been imagining the sad glisten in Sparks’ eyes as she turned her gaze up towards him; given that she was a dog and a) couldn’t read and b) had no understanding of the human concept of tradition, there was no way she knew what was going on.

She was probably just sad that there were no snacks inside the card.

Asher glanced at the last line again; P.S. Give Sparks a big ol’ hug from me.

“Oh,” Asher muttered, sliding own onto the floor. He put the card aside. “This is from her.”

Sparks sat still as Asher looped his arms around her, tucking his head against hers. He couldn’t help but feel he didn’t deserve the warmth of her fur, or the flicker of joy in his chest when her tail began to beat against the floor.

Why were human friendships so hard to maintain? He would have done so much better as a dog. Did Sparks even realise how easy she had it with the other dogs? The occasional chase in the park when their walks synced up, plus some good-natured sniffing, and bam. You had a friendship.

Asher sighed. “I fucked up.”

And sure, he could go out now, buy a card from the shitty selection that was still on the shelves at this hour on Valentine’s Day, send it, and blame the post office for processing it too slowly, but… Nah.

She would see through that. She’d pretend not to, but she would.

He could buy a card and hand-deliver it, but a last-second ditch felt cheap. And Connie’s love and nostalgia for snail-mail was half the fun, anyway.

Sparks thumped her tail a little harder against the ground. The house was old, built in a hurry, and the walls and floors had a distinctly hollow quality to them. The slapping of Sparks’ tail sent vibrations through the carpet, and made Asher’s guitar sing softly in its stand.

___

“I… see you,” he said.

She nodded. Her eyes were filling up with tears. She knew what was coming. She shifted on the couch, as though bracing herself for a physical blow.

___

Asher’s heart was thumping sporadically in his chest. He could feel it beating in the pit of his belly. He barely breathed while he waited for the video call to be answered on the other end. His phone was propped against his pillow and he was sitting halfway down his bed, hugging his guitar and willing it to give him emotional support.

Sparks had gotten distracted by the remains of her dinner, so she wasn’t any help.

The screen flickered into an image of a girl sitting on a bed, back resting against a wall of chipped blue paint. She had a curly bob of raspberry-red hair, damp as though she’d just come out of the shower. The look on her face was one of slight concern; as a fellow millennial, she was thrown by the arrival of a video call that hadn’t been preceded by a message reading, Are you free for a video call?

“Hey, is everything o–?”

“You’re beautiful,” Asher sang heartily, strumming his fingers over the strings of the guitar.

Though her expression didn’t shift, she snorted with laughter and covered the lower half of her face with her hand.

“You’re beautiful! You’re beautiful, it’s true.” Asher’s voice trembled as he veered towards a giggling fit.

Both hands were on her face now. “Oh, god, is this actually happening?”

“I saw your face… in a crowded place.”

“Asher O’Shaughnessy, I swear to God.”

“And I don’t know what to do.”

Connie slowly shook her head, resigned to her fate.

“Cause I forgot to send a card to… you.” It was too many syllables to fit the tune of the last line, but it was the best Asher could pull out of the bag at the last minute. He flashed a nervous smile and hoped that would make up for it.

Connie raised an eyebrow. “Okay, are you finished?”

Asher brushed the strings with a little flourish. “Yes. I’m finished. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“You are too embarrassing for this earth.”

“I had to do something instead of…” Asher almost choked. At this point, maybe she’d just thought his card was delayed and would arrive tomorrow instead. “… A card. I kind of forgot to send you one.”

One side of her mouth twisted up into a dull smile. “But James Blunt? Really?”

“Some cliches are cliches for a reason. And you really are! Beautiful.”

She rolled her eyes at that, but put up a peace sign next to her face as though posing for a photograph.

“I am... so sorry, Connie. I completely forgot. When I got home and I saw –”

“Hey, shut up,” Connie complained defensively. She gave a little shrug. “I send you those cards because I wanted you to have them. Not because I expect anything back.”

“Well, I appreciated it, so...” Asher picked at the bedspread. The sick feeling in his stomach had ebbed while Connie had been teasing him and everything had felt light-hearted. Now he just felt silly for stressing so much about something that she was entirely chilled out about. “Um.”

“Wait, why are you talking to me tonight, anyway?” she asked. “Thought you had that… that guy, Jacob? Is he not taking you out?”

“Jayden.” Asher’s tongue went dry. Talking about Jayden with Connie felt like letting two entirely separate sides of his life overlap for a second. Sides that shouldn’t – couldn’t interact; though, for what reason, he couldn’t immediately pin down. His brain lagged, as though unsure of what language he was supposed to be speaking. “H-He’s just... he’s working on something for college tonight. I think…”

“Seriously? He didn’t account for hanging out with his boyfriend on V. Day?” Connie had propped her phone against something too, to free up her hands. She was unscrewing the cap from a pot of moisturiser. “Does that not piss you off?”

“Well, that’s the thing, he’s not... he’s not exactly my boyfriend.”

“Okay, well, that ridiculous bullcrap aside...” Connie waved her hand dismissively before rubbing moisturiser onto her face. “You’re friends who boink. It’s international boinking night, and you’re not hanging out with the person who’s guaranteed to boink you, Asher. Don’t you think you deserve a boinking?”

“Can you stop saying ‘boink’?”

“Sure. What do you prefer? Getting jiggy?” Connie raised her eyebrows. “The dance with no pants?”

“None of those,” Asher laughed.

“Alright, alright. You know, I’m… I’m not rattling any headboards with anyone tonight either.”

“Ah.” Asher once again found himself not knowing what sort of reaction he should be having to someone else’s love life. He knew Connie had been reluctant to start dating since she’d come out, but she’d always been pretty private about that kind of thing.

“So I can… probably bribe my flatmate into driving me to the train station.”

Oh. Asher’s heart lifted.

“Is there anything good in the cinema right now? No, wait – bowling.” Connie inhaled dramatically, and Asher knew from the look on her face that she wasn’t asking. This was now a set-in-stone plan. “Oh, I am so in the mood to wipe the floor with you at bowling.”

Asher broke into a grin. He was looking down at his body from above again, shaking his head in disbelief at just how wrong he’d been. His and Connie’s friendship wasn’t dependent on routine and tit-for-tat. Those things were nice, sure, but at the end of the day, they were two humans stumbling through life and occasionally stumbling together. 

Like dogs initiating a game of chase when their owners happened to be at the park at the same time.

“Yeah,” he said. “Okay. Bowling. Let’s do it.”

“And wear something nice,” Connie murmured. “I still can’t believe you wore your work clothes to my birthday. My friends all thought you were in a costume.”

“I - wait, they did? You never told me that.”

“Sorry.”

“I’ll change before I leave,” Asher reassured her.

Connie’s lips twisted into a crooked pout. “Don’t you dare change, Asher O’Shaughnessy. You’re brilliant as you are.”

His grin deepened.

“Your clothes, though. Change your clothes.”

“Yeah. Got it.”

“I’ll be off the train at… Hmm, I need to blow-dry my hair.” Connie peered at her phone screen, clearly swiping through numerous tabs. “I’ll probably be off the train at 7:35. I’ll message you if I’m delayed.”

“Cool, I’ll meet you at the station.”

“Cool beans. See you soon!” Connie put up another peace sign before reaching over to hang up.

Asher lugged himself from the bed and positioned his guitar on its stand again.

He put on one of his favourite t-shirts – it had a tie-dye effect; pastel pink on top, fading into mint-green on the bottom – and a pair of black jeans. He stood in front of his mirror and combed his hair; he’d only dyed it a week ago, so it was still a fairly vibrant shade of cobalt. He looked at his bare face for a good, solid minute, before turning towards his nightstand and fishing out his eyeliner pencil. He hadn’t worn makeup in months, or maybe longer. There were a lot of things he’d stopped doing since he’d started seeing Jayden.

For some reason, this train of thought made Asher’s stomach start to knot up again. He shook out his shoulders to try to relieve the tension.

A lot of things that were typically considered feminine had been triggering his dysphoria lately, but putting on makeup to meet Connie felt safe. No, not just safe; it felt exciting. It felt like reaching back in time and giving his poor, confused, sixteen-year-old self a big hug.

Connie deserved a hug like that, too, and god damn it, Asher was going to give her such a good one.

When he was ready, he gave Sparks a really long cuddle to say sorry for the few extra hours he’d be gone tonight. Brushing dog fur from his jeans, Asher headed downstairs.

___

“I see you, Connie.”

“I know you do.”

“B-but I also see… me.” Asher’s voice was shaking now. “I’m a guy. And I like guys. And you’re…”

As soon as he started to form that last sentence, Asher stopped himself, reeling with horror at his own arrogance. How dare he make her think it was her fault, just for existing as herself?

But she reached over and squeezed his hand, as though he were the one who needed support. As though he were the one being dumped.

“I know,” she whispered. “I know, Asher.”

___

“Shit,” he whispered to himself as he jogged into the train station. The bus had let him off too far down the road, and he’d gotten soaked in the rain. Water dripped down through his hair and onto the back of his neck. He very much hoped that unlike him, Connie had remembered to bring an umbrella.

He stood against a wall, trying not to be in anybody’s way, before he slipped his glasses off and attempted to wipe away rain droplets with his t-shirt.

His belly grumbled quietly under the din of passengers and announcements. The heavy, sloshy feeling was completely gone now, leaving behind a cavernous ache. All of the hunger that he’d pushed aside came slamming into him full-force. Connie would find him dripping-wet and starving, like a lost pup. No doubt she would notice the weight he’d lost since he’d last met up with her, but whether or not she would say anything about it was a fifty-fifty toss-up.

The diner at the bowling alley had the trashiest, greasiest cheesy fries ever, and Asher was finding it hard not to keep thinking about them. This was going to be an expensive evening, considering his original plan had consisted of frozen waffles and a can of off-brand cola, but this would still be cheaper than a date with Jayden would have been.

He was hit with the realisation that Jayden would have rather drop dead than go bowling, wear shoes that a stranger had worn previously, and eat cheap, greasy food. Asher started to doubt that he would take any pictures of himself and Connie for social media tonight.

He hated himself.

Enough time passed that he began to wonder if he’d missed her. Maybe her train had gotten in early, and she’d headed over to the bowling alley by herself. She could have already gotten them a lane and shoes. She knew his size.

He shivered from the damp in his clothes as he pulled out his phone.

Asher’s stomach dropped, twisting as it went down.

 Connie:

Flatmate’s crying and throwing up. Gonna need a raincheck x

Through the haze of his disappointment, a panicked feeling rose in his throat. Was she lying? Had she tricked him? Had she made him come out here in the rain, with no intention of ever meeting him, to get back at him for the card thing? 

Did he deserve the hollow stab of disappointment in his gut?

Heart pounding in his ears, Asher noticed he had one more new message. He flicked it open without really thinking about, his brain subconsciously seeking validation or comfort or serotonin in some form.

Jayden:

Got finished a little early. Come over for a bit?

[taiblogcomics]

Apex Predator

Hey there, shaving nicks. Well, we're on our last issue of this batch of Avengers Arena reviews! We'll take another short break to cleanse our palate again--I have something very nice lined up for that--and then we'll do the last six issues over the course of the summer. After that... Well, who knows~? One travesty at a time, please.

Here's the cover:

Hazmat, dear, I don't think you should be watering the trees with blood. It's not healthy for them--in fact, you could say it makes them sick-amore. I know you took the time to dig out your little tournament bracket to fill with blood in order to do so, but... Just sayin'. Maybe you didn't need to spend the time to do that. Speaking of, this whole thing probably would've gone a lot smoother if Arcade had used a bracketed gladiator tournament model instead of the battle royale format. It was 2013! Battle royale games weren't even in vogue yet! If you just waited a couple years, Arcade, you could've invented Fortnite! Alas, we have only this to ridicule him for~

So last time, Hazmat got her groove back, and she and Reptil joined the others in going to look into what happened to Nico. Unfortunately, what happened to Nico was Apex, who we now have to endure as our narrator for this issue. And she starts with some pretentious twaddle about how "no one thinks they're the villain of their own story", and asking us who the villain of this story is. Is it her? Is it Arcade? Is it the superhero community that let this happen? Is it the audience who keeps this going? No, I'm pretty sure it's you, dear. You're the one murdering people.

And speaking of people she murdered, we cut over to Nico lying in the snow. Suddenly some purple energy crackles off the Staff of One, slurps into Nico's orifices, and raises her from the dead--and off her feet. The Runaways were probably the third-biggest name in this series after X-23 and Reptil, you didn't really think she was staying dead, did you? She's about to show everyone exactly why too much pink energy is dangerous, as she finishes reviving and takes off flying in a huge colourful cloud of flames.

Apex is still monologuing about her dreck, starting on about how Murderworld isn't a story, it's a game. Arcade said so! And that games don't have heroes or villains, just winners and losers. Oh, she's one of those folks who thinks games are just pure numbers and haven't evolved since the arcade days. She's also listening to Arcade, so she's definitely an idiot. Thankfully, Nico shows up to put a stop to her garbage musings. She then uses her wand to collect up all the forest fire and redirect it at Apex. Smokey would be proud~

Speaking of Arcade, we cut over to him being a smug douchebag, eating popcorn as he enjoys Nico's attack on Apex. Hey, man, you may have set up this scenario, but this isn't for you. He does, at least, helpfully exposit about Nico's new power-up. See, the Staff of One usually requires a blood sacrifice for her to use. A couple drops is sufficient. But she died. That's about as much blood as you can sacrifice. So the Staff's rebuilt her from the ground up (even regrew her missing arm) and filled her with as much magic as it can muster.

Apex is taken aback because she thought she already killed Nico, but she's happy to try it again. She breaks into her stupid villain monologue again, thinking maybe she's the hero because she's the only one playing Murderworld by its rules. "Villains hate rules", she says, completely failing to acknowledge that Lawful Evil is a legitimate alignment. Anyways, "maybe I'm not the villain here" is a valid line of thought. "Maybe I'm the hero here because I'm the only one killing people" is definitely not.

The battle rages on. Nico uses a spell to simply reduce Deathlocket's arm cannon to its component pieces, removing her lethality from the fight. The Darkhawk powers are a bit more complicated, so she then hits Chase with a hard enough blast to return him to his sense--for a moment. Chasehawk returns fire, and Apex snatches the Staff of One in the moment, starting a gloat. But Nico just recalls the Staff with a word, to Apex's surprise, and then just closes the dirt up and around Apex, taking her out.

Chase is returned to his senses again, and he tries to apologise. Nico doesn't want to deal with that right now, though, and she just wants to sit with him quietly for a bit. Meanwhile, the dirt that swallowed up Apex and Deathlocket has dumped the pair into some underground facility. Locket also returns to her senses, while Apex remains limp and lifeless. Sneaking around a bit, Deathlocket finds a room full of the preserved bodies of the other Murderworld victims, among other science experiments. She realises where she is: Arcade's inner sanctum...

This is what I’m gonna call a catharsis issue. Once the smug douche is done smugging it up, they get their very justified beatdown by someone we like, and the world returns to good things again. Hopefully it won’t be the last one of the series, I can think of another smug douche who also needs his beatdown. Otherwise, a pretty all right issue. Resurrected a character, beat up the insufferable jackass, and end on a bit of mystery.

Now we have only six issues left! But next week, as stated above, I’ve got a couple things on the back-burner to tide us over. Why ruin this good feeling~?

[cfsten]

So far in this little introduction to the world according to Sten (that's me, btw) I've told you that I did have a plan, but the universe decided to be a dick and set fire to it. Figuratively speaking. I've talked about amassing an impressive amount of debt in order to acquire a degree, aka the key to the creative and cultural industries where artistically minded introverts may be gainfully employed. I've also mentioned that I've struggled with gargantuan levels of anxiety and depression since childhood, possibly due to undiagnosed neurodivergence.

Today, I thought I would build on that by talking about why, as someone who recoils at the thought of being in the spotlight, I became an artist. And that takes us all the way back to a six-year-old boy who didn't quite fit into the stereotype of what he should be like. 

I remember seeing two boys in our pre-school bonding over their love of drawing, and they had so much fun I wanted so badly to get in on that. Initially, it was all about the camaraderie, but as a child with anxiety and a speech impediment, I think I was drawn to creative expression. Over the next six years I fell in love with arts, games, music, and storytelling and spent most of my time immersing myself into fictional worlds. It paved the way for me to attend a local arts college (where I got my GCSE's and A-levels in arts, photography, and design) before moving on to university. But herein lies the problem.

The point of any creative endeavour (outside of what we do just because we enjoy it) is to put our work, and by extension, ourselves, out there. The work is not complete until it's published. I understand that, but the idea of "success" has always scared the hell out of me. I have had many opportunities to grow a bigger following and capitalise on my skills, but I have a tendency to self-sabotage and keep myself tucked away in the cosy comfort zone that is my home, my family, my girlfriend, and my cats. I love it here, but I want more.

Moving to a new, safe, and affordable place was a big step forward. There is no more external chaos to hide behind now, but I still have daily battles with my old friends, Anxiety and Imposter Syndrome. They keep telling me I'm not good enough, that I don't deserve to have what I'm dreaming of, and that privacy is better than failure. Truth is, there's a part of me that believes them, but with coaching and some degree of gentle arm-twisting, I've spent the past few months taking stock of my situation and weighing up my choices.

I could go look for a better paid job and accept that I have a ridiculously expensive hobby. Alternatively, I could put myself out there and do what I was planning to do from the start. It may sound like a simple choice, but it wasn't. Still isn't. Anxiety really is a bitch, and the thought of going pro with all that entails makes me feel sick, but I do believe it's time for me to finally speak up about my dreams and aspirations. To nail down my goals, keep myself accountable by sharing them, and learn to acknowledge what I've accomplished instead of hyper-focussing on what I haven't.

It was a co-incidence that I stumbled across this Ko‑fi Sharetember challenge last night, but the timing could not have been better. I am going to do this, and here’s how and why I think it will help me:

I have a dream: I want to work and I want to settle down with my girlfriend. I believe in the projects I've been working on, and in the ones I have on the slush pile. It would take some time, but it's not entirely unrealistic to think I could make a living out of this. Like art, dreams have to be shared and this challenge is based on the idea of building a platform and sharing it.

I need a challenge: I could easily get stuck just thinking of all the problems and obstacles I'm going to face, and I've turned self-deprecation into an art form. To make my dreams come true, I need a space where I can share my artwork and other digital products. If I can stick to the challenge, I may actually have a fully functional Ko‑fi platform by the end of this month. 

I want to share: Well, want may be too strong a word here, but I’m not going to shy away from talking about mental health. It's hard to put yourself out there when you are your own worst critic, and I know many people have felt the same at some point or to some degree. I’m still figuring out how to live with my issues and be creative, and I think it would be helpful to share the journey with anyone who can relate. And anyone who just wants to be supportive and tag along to see where this road leads.  

It's been a very long time since I could post 25 random social media updates in a month, so this is taking me way out of my comfort zone. I'm not just doing this for the sake of the challenge, though. This is to hold myself accountable and force myself to keep moving forward, one step at a time.

So, here we go. I've just taken another step and earned my first check mark on the challenge card: 

✅ Introduce yourself 

[fuuka-preg-blog]

My First Blog Post

Date: Sunday, June 14th, 2009 Hi Tumblr! To be honest, I've been sitting at my computer for about 20 minutes trying to think of how to start this blog. I don't expect to see much traffic here (if any at all). I wouldn't normally write a blog in the first place, but my counselor told me that having a journal would help me process things. One of my friends suggested using a blog for journal entries, so, here I am!

I think I'll just get to the point. I'm creating this blog because of something I'm currently going through. Calling my situation "life-changing" would honestly be an understatement.

I guess I'll start in the beginning. A few weeks after I started 11th grade last April, I could tell something wasn't right. I started every morning feeling sick to my stomach. I felt ridiculously hungry, but I'd get severe heartburn and other discomforts after eating, enough to make me lose a lot of sleep. I was getting really bad brain fog, enough so I could barely pay attention during class. My school uniform was also getting tighter around my waist. I could've sworn I was even getting cravings.

I... spent some time with my ex-boyfriend during the break between 10th and 11th grade. I don't want to go into detail, but I always made sure to use protection. But these symptoms could only mean one thing.

It took a while, but I finally got myself to take a pregnancy test. I think I took more than ten separate tests. I didn't want it to be true. But every single test was positive.

I was pregnant.

I went to school every day feeling petrified. I was so scared. I didn't know what to do. My parents would disown me if my grades weren't good enough for them, who knows what they'd do if they learned their teenage daughter got knocked up by a boyfriend they never knew about. Not only that, I'm the shortest and skinniest girl in my grade. Some girls in my class have thighs wider than my waist. I'd love to be a parent someday, sure, but I'm only sixteen and I don't graduate high school for two more years. I don't feel mentally or physically prepared to be a mom.

The next couple weeks of high school were a total blur. I was only about six weeks pregnant, but somehow my belly was already sticking out a bit. I thought it was just bloating at first, but it never went away, it only grew. Even though it was already May, I had to wear a loose jacket so nobody would see my stomach. The morning sickness also got worse, I'd still be nauseous by the time class started. I started showing up at school early just so there would be less people around in case I needed to throw up.

...I just realized it's probably not fun to read that last part. Sorry! To be honest, though, I feel a lot better getting this off my chest. I promise the rest of the post won't be as depressing, a lot of nice things happened too!

This was just about when I met my friend, Yukari. I didn't know her very well at the time, I knew she was in my grade, she was pretty, and popular enough for me to know her name even though she wasn't in the same class as me.

Apparently, she was in the archery club, so she would sometimes come to school before class to practice. She later told me she'd been hearing me in the girls' bathroom for several days before going in and checking it out.

To be honest, I was terrified when I heard Yukari knock on the bathroom stall and ask if I was okay. I considered her as one of the last people I'd want to learn about my situation. She's such a social butterfly that the news would have spread like wildfire. Thankfully, I was wrong about that.

As soon as I came out of the bathroom stall, she asked what was wrong. I had no idea what to tell her, but Yukari only took one look at me and figured it out on her own. A girl throws up every morning without fail. She wears a loose jacket to school in May. She has bags under her eyes, looks like she hasn't slept in days. And when asked "are you okay?", she's too scared to tell the truth. I must have been so gross, I was sweaty and I probably smelled like barf, but Yukari just smiled and pulled me into a hug. I won't lie, I started bawling like a baby into her shirt. Nobody had ever been so nice to me before. Yukari just held me tight, she told me she wanted to help, everything would be okay. I cried even harder hearing her say that. I'm actually crying a little bit right now remembering this.

I remember meeting up with Yukari after school, she took me to the pharmacy in Paulownia Mall and bought me some medicine to help with my symptoms. For the first time in weeks, I stopped feeling nauseous and I could actually think straight.

We sat down together to figure out what I should do. Yukari mentioned that she lives in the dorms with the student council president, Mitsuru Kirijo. I wasn't sure if it was a good idea to tell the daughter of the school's owner that one of the students got knocked up, but Yukari told me she was sure Kirijo-senpai would know what to do.

When I met with Kirijo-senpai the next day in student council room, I was prepared to hear that I'd be expelled or suspended, that a pregnant student would damage the school's reputation. But instead, Kirijo-senpai handed me some printouts and calmly listed out accommodations available to me. She went over different nutritionists, physical therapists, and even pregnancy-focused massage parlors. She offered to accompany me to any of them, saying they would offer the best treatment possible if a member of the Kirijo family was with me. I couldn't help but cry a little bit again, I wasn't expecting that kind of support. I started to feel like things would work out.

That didn't last long, though. The day after I talked to Kirijo-senpai was the worst day of my life.

On the morning after my talk with Kirijo-senpai, instead of my alarm clock, I woke up to my mother screaming at me and yanking my bedsheets away. I had overslept for the first time in my whole life. But I soon discovered that was the least of my problems.

The night before, I noticed my midsection was poking out so much that my jacket could only barely cover it up. But when my mother yanked the covers away, I couldn't believe what I saw when I looked down.

My belly looked like it doubled in size overnight. My womb was about the size of a golf ball last night, and now it was almost as big as a baseball.

My mother screamed at me, my father overheard and joined in. For fifteen long minutes, they shamed and berated me, calling me lots of horrible four and five letter words. When they were done, I had tears streaming down my face. Before they walked out of my room, they told me to get dressed and go to school. But once I leave, I'll never be allowed back into this house.

I packed my school bag full of anything I wanted to keep. I knew whatever I didn't take with me would end up thrown away. I couldn't stop crying. I was terrified, but I was also furious. I cursed my small, skinny body, This belly wouldn't be so noticeable if I wasn't so scrawny. If I had a body like Yukari's, I wouldn't show this much for at least another month or two.

My eyes were still red from crying by the time Yukari met up with me on the way to school. She noticed my coat couldn't hide my pregnant belly anymore. Once again, I didn't need to say a word.

When Kirijo-senpai heard what happened, she got Yukari to take me to her dorm room to let me get some rest. I was about to protest, afraid to impose, but then I realized how heavy my eyes were. I had been putting up with these early pregnancy symptoms for a full month. I couldn't remember the last time I'd gotten a good night's sleep. Maybe talking with Yukari and Kirijo-senpai helped me relax, so I was far less anxious than usual when I went to sleep last night. Maybe that knocked me out hard enough for me to sleep through my alarm.

I remember Yukari gently guiding me to her bed, then waking up twelve hours later. I didn't even remember laying down. When Yukari told me it was already evening, I still felt like I was ready to go back to sleep.

Kirijo-senpai was waiting for us in the lounge. She told me that we needed to discuss some things, but first, she sat me down at the table and brought out an enormous plate of food. Normally, I try my best to eat politely, but I was so hungry that I didn't even care.

After dinner, they led me to one of the dorm rooms, and when they opened the door, I couldn't believe what I saw. All my belongings were waiting right there for me. Kirijo-senpai told me it didn't take much to convince my parents to part with all my belongings. I couldn't stop myself from crying again, I was so grateful for their help.

I took the next day off from school to get more rest. I spent the whole day thinking about how I won't be able to hide my pregnancy at school anymore. The next day, I felt a lot better, but I didn't feel ready to come to school. I told Yukari that I wasn't sure how to tell everyone I was pregnant. She told me not to worry, she'd be right there with me whenever I feel ready to make the announcement.

I decided to show up at school around lunchtime. I sent Yukari a text let her know I was coming. I couldn't stop thinking about what to say to everyone, I felt like no matter how I phrased it, I probably wouldn't get a great reaction.

But when I arrived at my classroom, I saw something I couldn't have possibly imagined.

"SURPRISE!"

The classroom was decorated, complete with balloons and banners reading "Congratulations!". The chalkboard was covered with little notes of encouragement, and a few cute doodles of baby stuff like cribs and pacifiers. I saw Yukari smiling over at me from the other side of the classroom, she wasn't even in my class, but she still went out of her way to organize this for me.

I cried, again. But this time I was smiling while I cried. I'd never felt so happy before.

Everyone in my class started being really nice, they asked if I've thought of any names for the baby, if it's a boy or a girl, when the baby's due, all kinds of things like that. Yukari was worried I'd be overwhelmed, but I didn't mind at all.

Also, while I was absent, Kirijo-senpai apparently called an entire assembly about me. Yukari had seen people bullying me before, and told Kirijo-senpai about that. Things could get out of hand if they didn't act quickly. I was told that Kirijo-senpai said something along the lines of: "Sometimes, accidents happen. And when they do, our school will strive to support and accommodate our fellow students on their path to success."

Also, I'm not 100% sure, but I heard someone say she ended the assembly with her signature dagger-like glare, saying "Any reports of discrimination or harassment against Yamagishi will treated with a zero-tolerance policy." I feel very lucky to be on Kirijo-senpai's good side.

To be honest, I felt embarrassed she went to all that trouble, and I still kinda do. I told Yukari I don't feel worthy of that much effort, but according to her, Kirijo-senpai had her eye on me since long before we met the other day. I only kept my grades up because of my parents, but she still "sees great potential" in me after seeing how high my grades have been since middle school. She even brought up the projects I submitted back when I was a member of the computer club in middle school. It's hard for me to believe what she says, I still don't feel like I'm anything special. But I feel grateful to have friends like Yukari around to help me convince myself otherwise.

Oh, that reminds me! After the surprise party, Natsuki-chan just walked up to me and started being nice to me! It was a bit of a shock, up until now she would always poke fun at me and call me names, but now she wants to take me out shopping for "baby bump outfits" sometime! Apparently, I'm not the first pregnant teen she'd be spending time with, so she knows a thing or two about what would look good on me. Also, she's the one who told me to write this blog in the first place!

Whew, that's a lot of text. I'm surprised Tumblr lets you write this much for a single post. If you're still reading, thank you! I only have a few more things to write, but trust me when I say that nothing I've written so far can compare to what happened next.

I started feeling much better after the surprise party, but I could still feel something was a bit off, specifically that growth spurt. I felt like my belly was a lot bigger than it should have been, even on my scrawny body. I brought this up with Kirijo-senpai about two weeks ago, and she took me to get looked at.

After measuring me, they told me that I'm definitely larger than expected given the estimated time of conception. I told them about the fatigue and the morning sickness, and they said my symptoms were significantly worse than they should have been.

These were all indications of a multiple pregnancy.

At the time, I never even gave it a second thought. Every pregnancy is different, so I assumed this was nothing but a false positive. I also read online that Japan has a lower twinning rate than most other countries. Plus, I'm only sixteen. The chances of me having twins would have to be at least one in a billion.

I thought about this through the week of school, until Kirijo-senpai brought me in to get an ultrasound last weekend.

I remember feeling really nervous. I couldn't see the monitor well, there were multiple technicians whispering to each other. I felt a pit in my stomach. Something wasn't right.

When they turned around, they looked like they saw a ghost.

They found three babies in my womb. I was having triplets.

Not even twins. Triplets.

Remember in the beginning of this blog entry, when I said calling my situation "life-changing" was an understatement? This is what I meant. I said earlier that it was a one in a billion chance for me to have twins. A triplet pregnancy must have been one in a trillion.

Kirijo-senpai refused to accept what she heard. She made the technicians check again, and again. After hearing the same answer for the tenth time, it had to sink in. The impossible somehow became possible.

Everyone at the clinic was trying to smile and congratulate me, but as soon as I came home, I cried into Yukari's arms. This was not good news. A singleton pregnancy would already strain my scrawny little body. There was absolutely no way I'd be able to successfully carry and deliver triplets.

At least, that's what I thought.

I woke up the next morning to Kirijo-senpai knocking at my door, telling me I won't be attending class that day. She had bags under her eyes as she told me she had a car waiting for me outside. She was up all night scoping out the best medical professionals in the area. From morning until evening, we drove to several different universities and advanced medical centers. Kirijo-senpai was able to force herself into their busy schedules for my sake.

I honestly didn't expect to hear any good news, but with each successive appointment, I felt my spirits lifting a little. Kirijo-senpai feverishly wrote down notes during each appointment. They found reports of pregnancies similar to mine, and use any available historical data to determine the best treatment for me.

Kirijo-senpai's notes spanned dozens of pages, writing down details on nutritional intake and exercises, or anything that can help me grow three entire babies.

But one of the proposals stood out more than the rest. A cutting-edge, experimental stimulant to increase litter size for mammals. This treatment invokes "increased ovulation" and "rapid and adaptive cell production in the uterus walls". This enables the mother's womb to expand beyond its typical limit, and results in litters that are double or even triple the expected size.

This treatment was sponsored by American beef and pork distributors and had been in progress since 2004. Within the past year, they were able to reach a 100% success rate in lab rats, and recently achieved the same with cows and pigs.

At its current point in development, it could be sold for billions, but the team wanted to see if their infusion could benefit in the medical field.

Normally, the infusion is applied before conception, but there have been cases where they discover the subject was already pregnant during the infusion. Even without the increased litter count, the subject's uterus expanded beyond its typical limit, resulting in longer pregnancies and larger babies. The team decided the next step in this direction was to observe primates with this infusion. All twelve subjects experienced slightly longer but noticeably more comfortable pregnancies, and delivered big healthy babies.

Kirijo-senpai and I saw where this was going. This could completely turn the tide for my situation, plus any future pregnancies similar to mine.

I received the offer to participate as their first human test subject. I won't lie, I didn't even hesitate, I agreed immediately. I'm a huge nerd for cutting-edge scientific experiments like this, so I was feeling giddy at the thought of being able to participate.

Of course, Kirijo-senpai was concerned about potential risks. The research team emphasized that I had no obligation to participate, but if I wanted to proceed, it would need to be as soon as possible, two weeks at most.

I thought about it for a long time since then. I'm not as much of an optimist as Yukari and some of the experts I talked to. I think that infusion is my only real chance at getting through this pregnancy. It's not fun to think about, but whether or not I follow the diet and exercise instructions from those experts, it would only result in my triplets being born slightly less prematurely. The chances of survival for my triplets, and maybe even for myself, would still be pretty low. I'll definitely think about it some more, but I feel like the infusion is my only real option here.

Sorry! I just realized this got all gloomy again. It's almost been a full week that Monday full of appointments, Yukari and Kirijo-senpai have been helping me get the hang of those diet and exercise plans. Also, the nutritionists told me that as long as I get the nutrients they laid out, I could eat as much of anything I wanted otherwise. My parents never took me out to eat, and I'd never tried fast food before, so Kirijo-senpai just handed Yukari a credit card and told her to make sure I'm eating well. I've been to lots of different restaurants in the past few days, and all of them have been amazing. Yukari says I eat a lot for a girl my size, but that's because I'm "eating for four now". It's a little embarrassing when she says that, but I also kinda like hearing it. Maybe it's my maternal instincts kicking in.

I've also been going out with Natsuki and her friends after school. She's been taking me to lots of different clothing stores and picking out all kinds of maternity clothes for me. She's really sweet. She doesn't know about the triplets yet, Yukari and Kirijo-senpai are the only ones who know. I'm thinking I'll tell everyone about the triplets after I make the decision about the infusion.

...wow, that was a lot. I doubt anybody read this all the way to here. But, if you're reading this, thank you!

Kirijo-senpai is taking me in for another checkup later today, then we're getting dinner. I'm guessing she wants to discuss the treatment. I'll write more posts as I go. Bye!

[ijumpedacrossforyou]

What a whirlwind of a week (last week). I went on vacation. I went out dancing. I got extremely drunk and told him I loved and missed him. Then I lost my phone. I received his responses on my watch. He "missed the living shit out of me." But then he realized I must've been drunk and didn't take me seriously. I was able to make a short response saying of course I meant it, but of course I wouldn't have sent it if I hadn't been drunk.

Upon receiving a new phone, I discovered I had no backup. I was devastated. Six years' worth of memories gone. Literally from the month I met him. More tragic irony. I was sad about losing a lot of my younger dog's entire life, half of my older dog's life, little light of my life. But him. Every last tangible piece of my time with him - conversations, screenshots, notes, the few photos I had of him and of us. All of it's gone. Also gone is the video evidence I have of the harassment I experienced from the mother of his children, of her stalking and breaking into my house. It may be in an email somewhere. I don't know yet. I haven't tried to look.

I continue to wonder how the bad things in my life all seem to play out oh-so-horribly perfect. Like said break-in. Him showing up when he did. Both of my doors being unlocked. Me deciding to lay down with him and falling asleep instead of getting ready for work. Losing my phone, drinking too much (I'm still not sure how). I fell into some water. My phone must not have been in my bag far enough, because it wouldn't have fallen out of it had. A friend had tried to stop me. At least wanted to take my bag first, but I went in before she could stop me. I was just trying to put my feet in.

It's been two weeks without that phone, a week since I realized everything was gone, and I'm actually feeling at peace. I went through my phone logs to get his number since I hadn't had it saved or memorized. I still don't. I'm debating on blocking it. I should. I did for a few minutes but panicked. I don't know why I'm still struggling. The worst is over, but it somehow doesn't feel it.

I told my therapist this all felt like a punishment in some way (maybe more divine intervention). Like the universe is shaking me and screaming at me, enough is enough. Stop. Just STOP already. Because he was right. He's caused too much damage. You'd think giving me an STD and lying about it would be the final straw. I randomly imagine him tenderly loving on her, and on the teenager, and it all makes me so fucking sick. A small part of me wonders if I'm wrong about everything, though. It's more than possible that the child is just some ridiculous coincidence. Chlamydia really is very common. It's just weird. And he told me he'd wanted to explain her in person. I couldn't think of a reason I needed one, but I think of him telling me, he was so drunk he couldn't stop her. Barely an acceptable reason, but I can see myself falling for it.

I need to block him. I need to cut off his access. I don't owe him any explanations. I feel in a way I owe it to myself, but what I really owe myself is maintaining this peace. Moving forward and becoming comfortable without any trace of him.

[dine-on-nervine]

I really wish all the Xkit extentions still worked.

1. Who was the last person you forgave? How long did it take you to forgive them? I have a hard time answering this one because I don't have a good track record on the concept of forgiveness. I may at times be able to set aside what they've done wrong and try to move forward, but it never completely leaves me... mostly because they then think they have carte blanche to do it again. But for the sake of providing an answer: Suzi. 10%, maybe 25%, definitely not entirely, but I've done a bit of forgiving. Not because I was wrong because I was not, not because she was right because she was ridiculously wrong on several fronts [explanation available privately since you do not know anything whatsoever if you're not a friend], but because there has been a bit of clearer perspective in seeing things in the rearview. I was becoming less happy as time passed because of how she'd changed. What people have said about her has started to sound like things I didn't want to face in the moment. I may have a few stings stinging but I am trying to put the past behind me since the future, already in progress, is different but bright.

2. Is going mushroom hunting in the woods something that would interest you? Probably. So long as I'm not the mushroom being hunted.

3. What is your favorite junk food? How about your favorite health food? I adore Wunderbars and a good spinach salad.

4. Are you listening to anything right now? Do you normally listen to music while you take surveys? Just the tinnitus and my fans.

5. What were you doing the last time you hung out with a friend? We had some places to go, and I talked her into a visit to Value Village because I couldn't get over there before I went to her house. :-D

6. Is there anything about you that might cause others to dislike you? "the more you know..." Which is true of nearly anyone, though I am sure I have my set of objectionable issues.

7. Is there anything you’re really particular or specific about, anything that has to be done a certain way every time? There probably is but I can't think of anything specific right now.

8. Are there any chores you need to get done today? I did my chores yesterday. Except for the putting vitamins in the pillbox, which I should do right now.

9. Where was the last place you went shopping and what did you buy? I've been many places to shop lately, but I haven't bought anything in the last six. Last thing purchased was milk.

10. What was the last big change you made to your physical appearance? I haven't changed my appearance in ages.

11. Are you more likely to shut people out of your life or try to fix things no matter what? Depends upon who and why. I've always sucked at shutting people out but I'm getting better at it; when possible I try to fix things but sometimes that's not worth the cost.

12. Where was the last place you went out to eat? Is going out something you enjoy or would you rather cook at home? I had dinner at Wendy's. Presently I like dining out because I don't use the kitchen at this place. Once I've got one of my own, I'll cook, I swear.

13. If you have any pets, do they seem to notice when you’re sick or sad? Cheddar did for me. Pistachio has with my ex, which is why the cat pretty much hates me now.

15. Is anything you’ve done lately going to matter in a year?  I presume so. Like starting a relationship with Tanya, for instance.

16. What was the subject of your last phone call? In about 30 seconds I will be on the phone with Tanya and the main subject will be what all we did with our day / how work was.

17. Are your hobbies something you’d rather do alone or with others? I'm good either way with Perler beading. I just have more room to work and iron if I'm alone. :-P

18. Is there anything about yourself that you’re trying to improve? Simple answer is Yes. You didn't ask what.

19. What are you doing today? Went to work, got home three hours ago, and pretty much have just watched videos since then.

20. What did you dream about last night? Your mother.

21. When was the last time you visited relatives? Do you see extended family often? My parents was last November, and that's pretty much the only family I visit. I should see my sister sometime but she shys away from making plans so that's not happening I guess. Will try again sometime.

22. What was the last relaxing thing you did? I was hours behind schedule yesterday (Monday) and that was quite peaceful.

23. Will this weekend be better than last weekend? I don't know that there will be any real appeal to this weekend, but next weekend I'm going to Leavenworth (unsure if it's a daytrip or an overnighter as yet) and that will definitely be a welcome distraction.

24. When was the last time you were there for a friend? Last Friday. I couldn't solve the problem because I couldn't replicate the problem, so I am taking it at her word that there was actually a problem that I was being asked to solve.

25. Do you have any jewelry you almost never take off? Nope.

26. What are some of your favorite words? Oaf. Fuck. Legs... and I'd like to spread the word.

27. Do you have any journals from when you were younger? If so, do you ever go back and read them? I do have a couple diaries from junior high or high school, but I didn't really write anything interesting in them. I wrote a lot more in college but I haven't read them in several years... I did look at them once and tried to figure out what I was leaving out since I didn't really give enough context half the time.

28. Are there any holidays you used to celebrate, but no longer do? I don't think so. Other than maybe Shit & Ice Cream Day, but that's coming up in a month if I recall correctly. Both of the people that I would celebrate it with are dead, physically or emotionally.

29. What was the last occasion for which you dressed up? I went to church with my girlfriend -- she doesn't attend it, she was playing in the bell choir -- so dressed up suitably.

30. Is there anything you wish you could say to anyone? I have a ton of things I'd love to say but know better. But I guess the one most recent and on my mind a few times a week is: I don't know what I did to make you ignore me, but I see more benefits than problems with it so I don't really need to know so long as it doesn't become malignant.

[hermannsthumb]

hermann for suffer in silence please?

Suffer in Silence - for whatever reason, (character) doesn’t want anyone to know they’re sick, and does everything they can to hide it

from sickfic prompts here (that I reblogged TOO LONG AGO sorry)

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

It starts as an ominous tickle in the back of Hermann's throat: a tiny little scratch, barely noticeable, barely distinguishable from the sort he'll wake up with back in the Shatterdome when he's not had enough water the day before, or his allergies are acting up. Not even a proper cough. It's certainly nothing he thinks he need be concerned about. Traveling, allergies, lack of sleep, lack of proper self care, all those sorts of things that a silly little tickle can be very easily blamed on, and Hermann would hardly have the time to concern himself with it even if he wanted to. From the moment their flight lands (the second of two, with nearly twelve hours of a layover in between) they're shuttled about from once place to another with scarcely a chance to breathe—from the airport to the hotel (where they discover Newton has left one of his checked bags on the luggage carousel), from the hotel to the airport to retrieve it and back again (necessitating the cost of two additional taxi fares), from the hotel to an upscale restaurant in the heart of the city (where they're twenty minutes late to their reservations to make a good impression on their mildly famous and highly-ranked PPDC official host, and which drags on for nearly two hours longer than they anticipated), and then, at last, blessedly, back to their hotel room.

Yes; tragically, but one hotel room. At least they each have a bed this time. Hermann is not keen to recreate the experience of the conference they attended last year where they somehow found themselves booked in the honeymoon suite, and the hotel staff did not get the memo that they were not, in fact, there to honeymoon, though Hermann admits the complimentary champagne was welcome after the disastrous panel he led wherein Newton leapt to his feet halfway through and accused Hermann of shoddy mathematics. His exact words. Absolutely ridiculous.

Hermann collapses onto his double bed gladly, jetlagged, and exhausted, and not even bothering to remove his shoes, and doesn't wake until the hot beams of the afternoon sun are peeking through the window blinds what could be twelve or thirty-six hours later. Newton is sitting up in the bed next to his, nose buried in a graphic novel he picked up at the airport, some cooking show silently blaring away on the television perched atop their dresser. "Good morning," he says, peeking over the top of his book at Hermann while Hermann stretches and yawns into consciousness. "I ordered us breakfast, but it's like...very cold by now. It's on the counter if you want any. If you stick it in the microwave it'll probably be fine."

Hermann spots a room service tray of darkened toast, a metal pot of what he assumes is hot water, and what will undoubtedly be rubbery scrambled eggs resting on the kitchenette counter next to the sink. Fairly depressing. But it's paid for on the PPDC's dime, so Hermann will take it, though he does wish Newton had been a bit more inventive with the menu and perhaps at least ordered them some fruit. Even a singular banana. He fumbles for his cane with another yawn, and finds his body is terrifically sore when he attempts to push himself to his feet—more so than a day of travelling and a night of sleeping on an exceedingly uncomfortable mattress might typically entail. He clears his throat once, twice, unable to shake the irritation at the back of it. "What time is it?" he says. On the television, two women in aprons chop away at some onions frantically. Hermann massages his temple with a wince. "Agh. I've got a wretched headache."

"Advil's on the tray," Newton says. He turns a page in his book and glances at the alarm clock on his bedside table. Hermann's eyesight is still too blurry to make out what it says beyond a few glowing red shapes. "It's, um, one? Two? Two-thirtyish."

"Already?" Hermann is due to moderate a panel at five, and he's still got to unpack and finish preparing his own presentation for a different panel tomorrow afternoon. At the very least he'll need a shower—a fresh change of clothing—something a bit stronger than the pathetic instant coffee or cheap black tea-bags that room service will have sent up— "Why on earth didn't you wake me? Were you planning to just let me sleep all day?"

"I don't know, man, you seemed pretty conked out," Newton says with a shrug. "It's fine, we always do shit last minute."

Hermann grumbles as he clacks over to the tray and inhales a piece of toast, not even bothering to spread jam or individually packaged margarine on it first. He ignores the eggs in favor of mixing and gulping down a lukewarm cup of instant coffee. His head throbs; his hip does, too, and his back. Suddenly finding himself light-headed, unsteady on his feet, he clenches onto the counter with a small hiss of pain, screwing his eyes up tight. He hears Newton's hotel bed creak behind him. "Hey, you good?" Newton says, voice coming somewhere by his right shoulder. One nervous hand flutters over Hermann's tight grip on the counter. "Are you gonna faint? Do you need your meds or something? Can I help with...um, anything?"

"No, no," Hermann says. He blinks a few times. Newton is peering at him, his frowning, bespeckled face swimming in front of Hermann. "I—er—I'm still bit jetlagged, is all. A hot shower will set me right."

This seems to satisfy Newton, though he does grin a little at the mention of a shower. "Good luck with that. I think the showerhead is busted. I tried to use it last night and the water pressure sucked ass. It's worse than it is at the base, if you can believe that."

Hermann is only half-listening, still in a bit of a daze, but he manages the eyeroll and long-suffering sigh that he knows Newton is expecting. "Just our luck, I suppose," he mumbles.

Yet Newton shadows him to the shower anyway, not releasing his elbow until Hermann forcefully bats him off (with a repeated insistence that he really is fine); and, when Hermann emerges some twenty minutes later wrapped in a complimentary off-white bathrobe and still a bit worse for wear, it's to find a cup of fresh tea from a cafe across the street steaming away on his nightstand and two tablets of his personal migraine medication from his toiletries bag. He suspects Newton is often more perceptive about these sorts of things than he gives him credit for. He doesn't thank Newton (who is typing away at something on his laptop, likely only just starting work on his own presentation for their panel tomorrow, because Newton can only work well under pressure), but when he towels off his hair and changes into a fresh pair of trousers, sweater, button-down, and blazer, he does make a point of tapping his cane against the ground before immediately ducking out of the room. Newton does not turn to face him, but he does perk up just slightly at the sound. "Goodbye," Hermann says. It's more courtesy than he usually shows Newton.

"Don't forget," Newton says, fingers clacking wildly across his keyboard. "Dinner at seven-thirty downstairs. We're supposed to meet that. Um. Guy. Robotics guy?" Click, click, click. Hermann's head throbs with each of them. "Rich one. Obviously just wants to get his name on a jaeger."

Hermann swears under his breath. "Ah, I'd forgotten that was tonight. Well, then, I'll see you at dinner." Rich one. He looks at Newton's dirty combat boots, the mud caked on their soles and their fraying laces. "Do wear something...presentable."

"Nah," Newton says. "Also. Bring an umbrella. Probably gonna rain."

The tickle in Hermann's throat evolves into a genuine irritation while he waits for a turkey sandwich in the pick-up line of the same cafe where Newton acquired his tea earlier that afternoon; and, after being unable to stomach more than a few bites of it, while his gaze upon the powerpoint he's pulled up on his laptop screen grows steadily blurrier, it transforms into a fully-fledged cough. The honey he adds to a second tea does little to help, and soon he's rushing from the cafe to bury his face into the crook of his arm and hack up a lung. He wipes at his eyes with his handkerchief when the fit is over. Above him, the murky grey sky finally confirms Newton's predictions, and Hermann realizes (as he's pelted with a fine drizzle) that he's neglected the man's advice to bring an umbrella. What a nightmare.

His mobile buzzes in his pocket, and he knows before he even reaches for it that it'll be Newton. The damned little man is probably watching him from a rooftop and laughing at his misery. He probably made it rain just to spite Hermann. feeling ok? he's texted. Another buzz. A string of emoticons, their meaning incomprehensible to Hermann beyond Newton probably just thinking they look cool.

I feel fine, Hermann replies, scowling, and punching in each letter venomously. He coughs again. His thumb slips on the screen and he nearly fumbles his mobile entirely as he attempts to send the message, gone too slippery with rainwater. He does feel fine. He feels perfect. Hermann simply cannot be ill on a day like today—in a week like this week. He will see to his responsibilities, and then, when they return to Hong Kong, he will simply lock himself in his Shatterdome bunk for a few days of recuperation.

The rest of the day passes in a muddled and bewildering blur. The panel he's meant to moderate is an unmitigated disaster: he arrives five minutes late, having forgotten the correct room number and gotten lost somewhere on an entirely different floor, and when he does finally show up (out of breath and still damp with rain) it's to find that his headache has worsened so terribly that he can scarcely read the introductory notes he penned for himself on notecards. He mumbles out what little he can remember and improvises the rest in a spectacle he knows even Newton would be embarrassed about, hoping fiercely that his father—or, indeed, anyone ranking even moderately above him in the PPDC—is not watching the virtual livestream of the conference. When the floor is opened for questions, one of the presenters very kindly murmurs to Hermann that they can handle it from here, so Hermann makes a dash for the exit before he can embarrass himself any further.

Newton is waiting for him in the hallway outside, slumped in a leather armchair and holding two paper cups of something warm and steaming. He looks surprised to see Hermann, but not as surprised as he should be. Perhaps he has been following Hermann around after all. "Oh, hey," he says, leaping to his feet as Hermann clenches his teeth in annoyance. He does not feel like dealing with Newton's antics right now. "You're out early. They laid out some whole snack table thing in the lobby, I got you some coffee."

"I don't want coffee," Hermann says.

He pushes the cup at Hermann anyway, and Hermann takes it, privately grateful for the small blossom of warmth it sends through his clammy palm. He grunts out something that might be thank you, and Newton squints at him with a frown. Most likely expecting Hermann to put up a fight over the damned coffee and surprised that he's not. "You look like shit," he says.

Hermann is too exhausted to put up much of a fight over that, either, knowing it's almost certainly true: his face was lined and pale in the mirror that afternoon, circles like bruises under his eyes, and he's finding it difficult to keep himself upright. He eases himself into the armchair Newton's just vacated with a sigh. If anything, this seems to alarm Newton even further. "I feel a bit—overtired, is all," he says. His throat tickles, and he coughs again into his elbow, sloshing coffee onto his trouser leg. "It's the stress of it all. Traveling, and—presenting, and..."

Newton's hand rests cautiously, lightly, upon his shoulder, moving up to graze his forehead. Hermann must be more delirious than he realized, because the touch is so pleasant he almost leans into it. "You feel kinda warm," Newton says. His voice sounds a million miles away. Hermann shuts his eyes. "I think you should probably lie down or something, man."

"Mm," Hermann says. Newton says something else, indistinguishable in the fog Hermann finds himself slipping into, and he nods, not entirely sure what it is he's agreeing to. He feels his cane pressed into his grasp, and gentle hands upon his shoulder and waist as he's ushered to his feet.

"C'mon," Newton says, softly.

He doesn't remember making it back to their hotel room, but he must, somehow, for when he awakens, it's to the sound of Newton clicking the heavy door shut behind him, and he finds himself to be laid upon his double bed: comforter tucked up to his chin, shoes, blazer, sweater, and glasses stripped off of him. The top button of his shirt is undone. There's a sweatshirt tugged atop it, somewhat baggy and smelling distinctly of Newton's deodorant and hair product. The television is switched on to some archaeology documentary, the sound muted. Newton's footsteps are muffled across the carpeted floor. He stills when he notices Hermann squinting blearily at him. "Hey, dude," he says.

"I feel bloody awful," Hermann finally admits. His voice is rough and raspy to his own ears.

"Yeah, no shit," Newton says.

He sits on the edge of Hermann's bed. Something rustles in his hand, and Hermann spies a plastic bag emblazoned with the logo of a pharmacy their taxi passed by last night, which he settles on the end table a moment later. He begins pulling out a series of various medical supplies and tossing them into Hermann's lap—lozenges, Advil, a thermometer, even a microwavable bowl of soup and a bottle of some sports drink. "I cancelled our dinner reservations," he tells Hermann. "Told the robotics guy to fuck off, we don't need his money."

"Did you really?"

"Nah," Newton says. "I did cancel the dinner, though. I just made up some bullshit about an emergency k-science meeting and he bought it. Said he'd be happy to connect later." He unwraps the cardboard package of the thermometer and removes a piece of plastic from the tip. "I asked if we could reschedule our panel tomorrow, too, but that didn't really fly with anyone, which, like, whatever, it's literally our panel—can you open your mouth? I want to check your temperature to make sure you aren't dying or whatever."

Hermann does so obediently, and Newton thrusts the thermometer in. "Anyway, I told them we probably wouldn't be able to make it, so they should probably just cancel it," he continues. He pulls out the thermometer and frowns at it when it beeps. "Okay, you're not dying, that's good. You probably got whatever that stupid bug going around the Shatterdome is. But I think that worked. I mean threatening to cancel it. They said that they might be able to squeeze us into the make-up sessions on the last day. Miiiiight be. We're literally the only k-scientists left, we're the headliners, man, who the fuck else would people come to see at a k-science conference?"

"M-modesty," Hermann croaks out.

"Yeah, whatever." Newton hoists himself up onto Hermann's bed entirely. "Move over, I don't have any room. Is this show okay? Do you need any more medicine or whatever? I can change the channel. I put it on 'cause there was some show about how telescopes are made on an hour ago, and it looked cool, and I thought you might like it, but you were kinda asleep for all of it. I watched it, so if you want to know how they're made I can tell you."

"'S fine," Hermann says. He should snap at Newton for encroaching upon his personal space, and for assuming things about the state of his health, mild fever and cough aside. And for taking off his shoes. And for deigning to put him in his own ridiculous clothing. Completely inappropriate behaviour from someone who is meant to be nothing more than a colleague. Hermann is going to file at least two HR complaints about this when they make it back to the Shatterdome—unprofessional behavior and harassment, certainly.

"Do you want to watch a movie?" Newton says.

"Mm," Hermann says. He closes his eyes and presses his head to Newton's shoulder.