#regardless of how much of this writing is about love. this author has a stupid idea of what love is

[androdragynous]

whenever some prolific author says some dumbass shit on twitter or whatever it's like obviously discrediting to their personal image but I don't know them so that doesn't matter. What does matter to me is the retroactive realization that they don't give a shit about the basic core of writing, such as Words Mean Things, and as a result their work scoots a few notches down the scale of "intentionally thought provoking and introspective" towards "monkey-with-typewriter type fluke" and there is no amount of literary impact that's going to make me slide that rating back up

[haologram]

pink stationery ❤️‍🩹 w.jh

synopsis: everything with junhui has been a step towards something, but neither of you are very clear on what when it comes to the other. genre: co-workers to lovers ; angst, fluff. pairing: office worker!wen junhui x fem!reader word count: 7.9k rating: 18+. minors do not interact. warnings: it's stupidly vague and i'm sorry for that. minimal swearing, i guess? mentions of eating and food. they're just stupid what to listen to: starstarstar - dosii ; take me - miso ; say yes - seventeen ; heart burn - sunmi ; i was made for lovin' you - kiss. author's note: i'm going to be honest, i've been having a really hard time with life and i just wanted to write something regardless of deadlines and expectations. i also don't care if it makes sense, i just wanna write. i love my collabs, though, and they will get done. i just want to be vague and mysterious and stupid for a moment in time and not worry. welcome our beloved junhui to the haologram blog <3 i've missed him so dearly. [star dividers] by @/saradika-graphics here on tumblr, and thank you to cam for the bar name! enjoy!

HE SMELLS LIKE LUMBER SOMETIMES.

He smells like the tree trunks he chops for firewood at his cabin on the weekends, and he picks up pinecones. He dusts them off and examines them, and the best one is always promptly delivered to your desk by lunchtime on Monday afternoons. 

That was the extent of your relationship with him, and really, any of your co-workers. He’d never spoken a word to you (not that you could remember, anyway) but has somehow figured out that you like pinecones. Particularly not ones that smell like cardboard boxes from the home section at Marshall’s. 

No one speaks to you unless they need something, and rarely does someone need something from you as a person. 

No invitations to drinks after work – you see them enough as it is. You hang up on remote meetings without saying much of anything, and you’re usually the first to leave the call without so much as a goodbye. Your emails and short and dry, signed off with only your name. You avoid the catered lunches provided by whatever restaurant your company paid out and stick to wedging yourself into the sixth-floor storage room with your package of fruit snacks and a sad turkey sandwich. There was a pink chair in the corner that you liked and tried multiple times to convince Mike (the janitor) to let you have but he refused. 

You do not make eye contact during breaks, and you don’t stop by the break room for coffee or complimentary muffins. You lied about why once, when you were asked by a coworker – and absently claimed a gluten allergy, only to be seen eating bread a few hours later. That coworker hasn’t spoken to you since, and you don’t think she plans to. 

But him? 

He started talking about two years ago, a year after you joined the company. He started talking too much, you could argue, but he would say it’s just enough. 

He’s too friendly, you thought. He dropped by your desk with a warm cup of tea every morning, if not your precious Monday morning pinecone. He slid a soft, lemon-blueberry muffin under your nose with a soft smile every once in a while. He asked you to lunch, to drinks, and he always sent you a separate follow-up email after remote meetings when he could very well just add your tasks to the bottom of the mass list he always sends in the group mail. 

He was just above you on the corporate ladder, but you felt no pressure to answer him in terms of social interaction. He didn’t make it a point, either – he just existed in your vicinity, and only came into your space when you allowed. Quite like a cat, you are. 

He told you about his life, quietly, calmly. He told you about how he learned wushu growing up, and how he played piano. He told you about how he got the cabin as a gift from a friend who was moving abroad, unlikely to return and much less spend time in the quiet woods surrounding your town. He told you about his late-night snacking habit, about his cat, Luna. He told you about his best friend, Minghao, and how he was the best man at his wedding a few years ago. 

But above all? 

He listened to you.  

He looked at you like every word from your mouth held weight, carefully nodding along to your mumbled stories of troubled childhood. He listened to you talk about your favorite dish, your favorite color, even your theories about how middle children suffer the most. He laughed at your wry jokes, the dry humor – though he would bite it back at the deadpan comments you’d make during department meetings. 

He always sat next to you in those department meetings. His knee was always just barely brushing yours, the soft material of his slacks making your skin prickle as it touched your bare thigh. He’d pass you doodled notes on his pink stationery with My Melody on the edges. He always adjusted the hem of your skirt down subtly when you stood up and pushed your chair in after you skirted around it. He waited until you’d gathered all your materials to leave, walking alongside you back to your desk even if his was across the office. 

And it made people wonder what about you had his attention so deeply. 

You’re not interesting to any of them, you never had been. You’re a liar (about a gluten allergy, of all things) and the kind of quiet that made them feel stupid if you looked at them for too long. They felt like you were judging them, when really – you were hoping they’d speed up their long-winded questions to end the painfully awkward social aspect of you fixing their problems. 

Sometimes, he’d send you home early to help you escape their judging eyes. 

He’d send you an email – the subject line usually only taken up by “🏠?” The body usually contained nothing more than a new picture of Luna, but you always appreciated it. 

He’d be looking over the edge of his monitor to watch you hear the dreaded Outlook ding, your eyes slightly lighting up at the sound before really brightening the moment you saw it was him. You’d look over the edge of your monitor, raising a brow that didn’t hide your shy smile as you sent him an email back before quietly packing your bag and slipping out of the office. 

It was always just a meme you’d found during your lunchtime Pinterest scroll – one you’re sure he’d seen you add to your shared board. 

Because, of all things, he’d chosen to first share his Pinterest with you. You saw his dream home, vintage cars, cool jewelry and the stupid memes he liked you send you in the middle of the night when he was thinking of you. 

You still reread that text, he sent it over a year ago. 

MESSAGE FROM: Wen Junhui ♡  [2:32AM] of course i think about you.  [2:33AM] i think about you all the time. after breakfast, when you try to sneak out of the office to hide in that storage room upstairs. even outside of work, sometimes i see things i think you’d like. but i mostly think about you now.  [2:34AM] i think it’s a comfort that you pass my mind before i go to bed. or maybe just an association i've made with the fact that i check our board every night to see if you’ve added anything.  [2:35AM] but...i prefer the former, honestly. goodnight, y/n. sleep well. ♡ 

You added the little heart to his contact name that same night. 

Granted, things between you and him never went further. He talked to you, he walked with you around the office, he gave you many ways to contact him outside of work even if you never texted him first. He shared moments of his day with you if you missed work or worked from home – which was rare and always worried him. He would send pictures of a lone pinecone sitting on your mousepad if you weren’t there when he delivered it, followed by whatever random emoji he felt fit the mood. Sometimes it was a hazelnut, sometimes it was a cat. 

Sometimes, it was the heart wrapped in a bandage. 

You tried not to overthink it. 

But it was hard not to notice the whispers about him. 

How a lot of your coworkers talked about him, and how cute he is. How sweet, smart, gentle. How he’s soft-spoken until he’s around his friends, even though you knew that his best friend was just as soft spoken. He worked two floors down, Xu Minghao. 

You met Minghao and his wife (and the rest of their shared friends) the first time you were ever invited out for drinks – and the first time you ever hesitated to say no. 

Junhui managed to get you right in the nick of time, too – right as the clock struck five. You hadn’t even gotten a chance to log out of your programs when he leaned over the wall of your cubicle with a twinkle in his eye that made your chest ache. 

“Have a drink with me. My friends are coming, too, but you know. I’ll be there.” 

And you had more than a drink – you had a good time. You had three blood orange margaritas and a sip of his beer, but it was like you were shining brighter than a million suns. You let yourself sink into the soft vinyl of the booth, surrounded by him and his scent and his friends. You let yourself talk, out loud and with gusto about everything. You were uninhibited, and you remember how they all warmly smiled as Junhui pushed your hair out of your eyes as you talked about how there was no way the megalodon shark was extinct. 

He walked you home that night, the two of you a little too tipsy to navigate the train or drive. He walked on the sidewalk closest to the street and held your pinchy heels in his fingers, letting you skip around and complain about the humidity. He only smiled, his hip bumping yours every once in a while, when you swayed a bit too far. 

When you got back to your apartment, he waited against the railing in front of your doorstep to watch you step inside. You remember hesitating before asking him if he wanted to come in for a nightcap. 

His eyes widened, and for a moment – he considered it. You saw how his eyes flickered to your lips, before he cleared his throat. 

“Maybe another night. Thank you for coming out with me tonight, I hope it wasn’t too overwhelming.” 

It hadn’t been, but his soft rejection was certainly disappointing. You shook your head then, staring at him for a split second more before speaking. 

“It was nice. I’d...I’d like to do it again, sometime. Just us.” 

You smiled softly, before giving him a curt nod and slipping into your apartment before he could respond. You leaned against the door, sliding down the cool wood before hearing him utter a soft goodnight. 

Since then, the two of you had gone for drinks over and over again – just the two of you, and with his friends. When it was just you, he’d talk about everything and anything under the sun. But when it was with his friends? 

They really liked you, enjoying the excitement that they never saw in the office. One of them, Kwon Soonyoung in finance, offhandedly mentioned that they hadn’t known you and Junhui were friends until he started mentioning you at random moments. Your face had felt hot as the rest of them giggled and agreed, with Minghao’s wife letting it slip that ‘random moments’ meant any time he could. 

“Yeah, he brings you up a lot. Oh, Y/N likes this. Y/N would love that. Y/N, Y/N, Y/N. It’s so cute.” 

You don’t remember Junhui refuting it, but you remember the flustered blush that settled in his cheeks after that. Things between you and him didn’t change, though.  

Until they did – one month, three days later, Junhui got a girlfriend. 

It was like he had vanished entirely – gone were the warm cups of tea on your desk, the muffins, the pinecones. No more invites to lunch or drinks with him or his friends. No longer did you receive emails asking if you wanted to go home early, no more pictures of Luna, no more separate follow-up emails outlining your tasks after remote meetings. 

None of it really bothered you, until you realized that your shared board hadn’t been updated by him in a while. Then, you noticed it, truly – he'd unfollowed you. Pinterest, Instagram, even Spotify. Spotify! 

He didn’t sit next to you at department meetings, either. No more passed notes, no more pushing your chair in. And he rushed out right after, not bothering to even speak to you. 

And people noticed. 

You hadn’t realized that by allowing yourself to associate with Junhui and his friends, you became more than a blip on people’s radar. People knew your name; they knew your face. The girls gossiped about what he could possibly see in you, unaware that you were reapplying deodorant in one of the stalls. Men speculated about your relationship status, wondering amongst themselves if you were open-minded – while they stood outside for a smoke, making you scrunch your nose in disgust at them for more reasons than one. 

People knew you – his friends, still said hello in the hallways. Minghao, gave you warm smiles and extended invites to drinks that you’d swiftly decline – with excuses of working late, of being tired, or whispering that time of the month. He always nodded, smiled...but you knew he didn’t believe you. 

Once you realized Junhui was avoiding you for what you believed was a girlfriend, it took you less than twelve hours to get back to your reserved demeanor. As long as you didn’t make noise in your cubicle, no one came around – and people realized then that your gaze wasn’t mean to intimidate or judge, but to time. You didn’t want to talk to anyone you didn’t have to, more than you needed to – and that was bothersome to most of them. 

Of course it was; in their minds, they’re great. 

They’re a catch, they’re fun to be around. 

But they’re not him. 

They’ve never cared to ask you a single thing about yourself beyond your relationship status and where you got your shoes. You always just stared until they left or mumbled something about the local DSW. 

Things with him never returned to the easy friendship you thought was starting to form, even as you rung in the new year at the company party. It made you sad. 

Maybe because you had a bit of a crush on him, actually. 

You thought a little too hard about the meanings behind his messages, the pictures of his weekend retreats to his cabin that he insisted you were always welcome at, especially if his friends were there. You missed the shared memes, the shared playlists, the way he’d sometimes find you inside the sixth-floor storage room, sitting on the dusty pink chair that always made him smile a little too fondly. 

You liked Junhui, more than just a cubicle crush that you could discuss with your girlfriends that you didn’t have. 

But he had one. One that meant more to him than you ever would, even with the way he opened his heart to you. 

You thought about what he shared with you – videos of him playing the piano at Minghao’s wedding for his first dance with his wife. He shared his presence and comfort, often walking you home and your hands always brushed. You felt like a schoolgirl every time you’d tuck your hand into your pocket. You once got caught in the rain together and stood under the bus stop before he fished his headphones out of his pocket and gave you one. 

He played starstarstar by Dosii as he pulled you out from under the safety of the bus stop, and the two of you walked to your apartment instead. Hand-in-hand, soaked to the bone, with the string of his headphones forcing even more proximity that made your cheeks heat. 

You don’t remember who interlaced your fingers. If it was you...you’re still happy. It means he was okay with it, maybe he wanted to. 

If it was him? 

He definitely wanted to. 

However, it’s all filed in your memories now – because you look over your monitor to see his brows fixed in concentration as he types across his keyboard, with you not even a blip on his radar. You watch carefully as he reads his own words over and over, before his eyes flicker up and meet yours. 

You’re not surprised when his shoulders sag for the umpteenth time, and he looks away. 

Like he wants to say something. Like he wants to talk to you, but the words get caught in his throat and he can’t seem to get them out. It’s been a year since you’ve spoken, and you would’ve forgotten the sound of his voice if he wasn’t your co-worker – but you never forget that night last spring, drenched in the rain. 

You would’ve kissed him; you could have kissed him. 

It’s spring, again. 

You walk to the train station after work in silence, with nothing playing in your headphones for the first time. You sit in between an elderly couple and a lone high school girl absently staring at a long thread of messages on her phone. They’re all left unanswered, and she repeatedly fills the text box with words before deleting them and starting over. 

You feel like that girl – except she’s brave enough to ask for answers and you’re gripping your purse in a claustrophobic panic. 

It’s a Wednesday in summer when you finally get tired of waiting for answers. Almost a year to the date when he first asked you to get drinks with him, you get an idea. 

Have a drink with me tonight. 

That's all it says. 

You stand over the copy machine, the sticky note you scribbled on moments earlier folded neatly in your hand. You wrote and rewrote it at your desk, your hands trembling and smearing the ink. You had to walk past his desk to submit the paperwork you were making copies of, and you planned to slip it onto his mousepad on the way back to your own. 

You don’t get a chance to do that, though. 

Your eyes are closed when you hear the copy room door open, but you don’t bother to look up as that same woodsy smell fills your nostrils. 

He doesn’t speak, but you know it’s him.  

You know, from the smell of lumber and the click of his shoes and the tension that makes you feel suffocated as you peer over your shoulder. He’s silent, thumbing at his own paperwork. He only glances up when he feels your eyes on him, but this time, you don’t look away. 

His jacket is gone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows and tie slightly loosened. You’d stare if it wasn’t against girl code to ogle someone else’s man. 

You turn, fully facing him as your last copy gets stapled by the machine and slides out. You gather them in your arms, before holding them to your chest and holding the sticky note out to him between two fingers. He glances at the hot pink paper, swallowing carefully before reaching for it. 

You give him a soft smile, before spinning on your heel and heading out of the room without a word. 

You’re moving at lightning speed to get out of the office before he can get a chance to catch up with you – shoving your copies into your manager’s hands with a rushed run-down of the day’s events and outages. You thank her with a bow, before beelining for your desk and yanking your purse out of the bottom drawer. 

You make it to the elevator without him noticing you, your eyes catching a flash of his white shirt and the hot pink paper unfolded in his hand. 

You feel your phone buzz in your hand as you reach the lobby. 

NEW! Message From: Wen Junhui (WORK)  [5:32PM] where? 

It’s nearing seven when he finally has the courage to get out of his car. 

He’s been sitting in front of the bar for ten minutes, hoping to see you walk by. If you’re late, you won’t notice that he is. 

Message From: Y/N ♡  [5:35PM] at dizzy’s  [5:35PM] 6:30? 

He waits another three minutes, watching the corner before his hand finally grabs the door handle and pulls. 

He sees you almost instantly, sitting quietly at a booth in the back. You’re not in your work clothes anymore, instead wearing a soft red dress and your hair is pinned back. You’re smiling at the waiter, who seems to be really interested in talking to you as he slides a margarita on the table. He holds the menu out, only for you to shake your head. 

He watches your glossed lips shape around the words: I’m waiting for someone. 

Him. He’s the someone. 

He wants to be the only one. Ever. 

He tongues his cheek as the waiter nods, patting the vinyl of the booth above your head. You lean your head back slightly, closing your eyes as your forefinger picks at your thumb’s cuticle. A nervous habit of yours, one he’d picked up on the first time he spoke to you. 

About pinecones, actually – but you don’t remember that at all. He doesn’t know what possessed him to bring them up – but he learned, through your hushed whisper in the elevator that morning – that you liked them. You like pinecones, because they are so diverse while all still being the same thing.  

He hadn’t understood it then, but he did now – albeit differently. 

He was like the pinecones, because he tried to show you that he liked you in so many ways...through the invites to drinks, the lunch, the shared memes. 

The pinecones. 

Sliding warm tea on your desk and lemon-blueberry muffins, to cracking jokes and passing notes to you on his pink My Melody stationery. To pulling your hair out and brushing your hair out of your face, to letting his friends embarrass him by practically outing his interest in you every time they got together with you and him for drinks at this very bar. 

To walking you home, even in the rain, just to spend a little more time with you.  

Only to realize that it was futile, because you didn’t see him that way. 

You didn’t see him as more than a friend, but he’s not brave enough to tell you why you should. 

“Hi.” 

Your voice is smooth as he finally slides into the booth opposite you, his skin warming at the sound of it. He clears his throat, giving you a curt nod as he adjusts himself in his seat. He shrugs off his jacket, tossing it to the side before feeling guilt begin to settle in his stomach. 

“Sorry. I was...” 

He gives up on coming up with an excuse, only running his hand through his hair as you nod. Your manicured fingers stir your straw in figure eights, the flash of an heirloom ring you never take off catching his eye. “I’m sorry.” 

“For?” Your eyes are curious, before tilting your head. “Being late? It happens.” 

He shakes his head like he doesn’t know, before clearing his throat again when the waiter swoops in to save the day. He internally thanks whatever God is out there as he asks for a beer, earning a scrunch of your nose as the waiter nods and leaves once more. 

You don’t say anything as he shifts, only stare. Maybe through him, maybe into him. 

He doesn’t mind the warmth of your gaze. He never has. 

“I didn’t know getting a girlfriend meant you’d treat me like I never existed.” You start softly, his eyes widening as you purse your lips. “I understand creating distance, because there is someone new. Someone who could perceive you and I as something more, when it’s not.” 

“I...I don’t know what to say.” He admits lamely, the shock of you thinking he has a girlfriend not yet settling into his bones. “Who told you I have a girlfriend?” 

You only shrug, taking a quick sip of your drink before shaking your head. 

“Does it matter?” 

He blinks, when the waiter slides the beer bottle on the table as he passes by. He touches it, the glass cold as he tongues his cheek. 

If this is a way to get over you, by getting you believe there is someone else when there isn’t -- he’ll take it. He’ll take it because then it means he never has to tell you how he feels, and he’ll never have to face the way you reject him so kindly. 

“I guess not.”  “Mmh.” 

You trace circles into the side of your glass with your thumb, before another smile graces your lips. 

“Are you happy?” 

How could you ask him that? 

Of course he’s not happy.  

He hasn’t had a proper conversation with you in an entire year, and he’s been too much of a coward to admit that he wants more. He wants to kiss you in the elevator, in the break room, in the storage room on the sixth floor during your lunch break. He wants to hold your hand on the way to department meetings, under the table at drinks with your friends, on the walk to your apartment before you pull him in for a good night kiss. He wants to come into your apartment for a fucking nightcap without knowing he’ll say too much and lose any chance of ever being more to you. 

So instead, he pulls away. 

He stops talking to you, he removes you off every social media platform he can think of, so he doesn’t have the urge to peek at your dream home board on Pinterest, or the way your dream wedding is so similar to his. So he doesn’t have to be subjected to the cute outfits you post on your Instagram story before you leave your apartment for work, even though he’ll just see it when you arrive and he’ll have to take a deep breath so he doesn’t scream about how nice you look.  

So he doesn’t have to know that you’re listening to the playlist he made for you to stay calm in the packed morning train on the way to work. 

On the way to him. 

“No.” 

Your eyes soften, your brows scrunching in that same worried way they do when you’re listening to someone explain their problems to you at work. You nod, that comforting look of understanding glazing over your eyes. 

“Can I ask why?” 

He doesn’t bother responding, his mind racing as he thinks about all the pinecones sitting in his car, the ones that he’s deemed perfect enough to place on your desk but hasn’t been able to. He thinks about the way you slip out of the office and how your heels sound as you sneak upstairs to the sixth floor during lunch. He thinks about when Mike caught him off-guard by coming down to his desk and saying that you liked a pink chair that was in the storage room and kept asking about it. 

A pink chair that used to belong to him, when he first got the company a few months before you did. 

He sighs, fishing his wallet out of his pocket and sliding two twenties on the table. 

“No. It’s better if you don’t.” 

He doesn’t allow himself to look at you as he slides out of the booth, his hand gripping his suit jacket much too tightly for it to go unnoticed. You don’t stand, only nod as you take another sip of your drink. 

“I hope it gets better. Have a good night, Junhui.” 

He fights back tears as he makes his way out of the bar, your understanding look stuck in his mind as he drives home. He doesn’t bother looking at the pinecones in his backseat or changing the playlist that blares through his speakers when he connects his phone – a playlist you made for him, for his long drive home from work. 

You’re in everything he holds dear to him. The music, the cabin – even if you’ve never been there. You know him, everything about him that is worth knowing in his eyes. 

Except the fact that he’s in love with you, and that he’s a liar. 

JUNHUI ISN'T AT HIS DESK ON THURSDAY. OR FRIDAY.

The whispering starts on Monday, with lots of wayward glances towards you and you almost want to go down to Minghao’s desk and ask if Junhui is okay.  

But you don’t -- you glue yourself to your chair until lunch time, only to see that the pink chair you loved is no longer in the storage room. Mike tells you that the original owner took it out on Wednesday night and offers a soft apology. You shake your head and say it’s okay, before turning around and going back to your desk. 

You arrive at your desk on Tuesday morning to your desk chair missing. There is a warm cup of tea on a coaster, and a cranberry orange muffin in front of your keyboard – but none of it distracts from the sudden pop of color next to your mousepad. 

A plastic pink storage box. 

You don’t bother to put your purse down as you crack the corner up, and your eyes widen as you realize it’s full of pinecones. There’s an envelope attached to the underside of the lid, and you pluck it off carefully before leaning against your desk. You peel it open gently, only to see the familiar pink My Melody stationery. 

Junhui. 

You ignore the urge to look up at his desk to see if he’s watching you over his monitor, feeling eyes from your co-workers trickling in as they spot the pink box. His handwriting is scrawled in purple ink across the stationery, and your heart sinks as you take in the slightly smudged words. 

My Y/N, 

I’m sorry about Wednesday. In fact, I’m sorry about the past year that I’ve gone without speaking to you. I have no excuse, only an explanation that probably won’t make things any better but will certainly give you some clarity. 

I pulled away because I knew things would get too much for me. I’ve got a weak heart, and I can’t take rejection well – so I figured I’d cut ties first. It never worked, cutting contact with you; I found myself constantly missing the sound of your voice. I wanted so badly for you to reach out first, but I should’ve known better than to expect that when I was the one who wedged my way into your life. Our friendship was fun, and I miss listening to playlists with you during the walks to your apartment, but it simply can’t be anymore. 

I like you so much, it’s painful to be around you and know you don’t feel the same. 

I wanted to kiss you that night last spring. The rain and everything, it felt like a movie. Maybe that’s corny, and maybe it’s too forward but it doesn’t matter anyway because nothing will come of this. I’m sorry, for being too much of a coward to ever explain this to you in person. And for telling you now, through a letter written on stationery.  

With this, I’ve got to admit something; finding out that you think I have a girlfriend when you’re all I’ve been able to think about since that first day we spoke is insane to me. Where do you get your gossip from? Is it a subscription? Unsubscribe effective immediately. 

Speaking of effective immediately, I’ve taken a new position at a new company. So not only am I a coward for confessing this way, but also because I’m running away from it all. I don’t think I could handle not going home to you, even after seeing you all day. I’m not equipped for the agony of a silent, one-sided office romance that you read about in books. 

I recommended you for my position. Don’t worry, people won’t talk to you nearly as much as they do now; but still...have fun, yeah? 

I hope you enjoy these pinecones, for whatever you might end up using them for – and the pink chair. Funny, it belonged to me when I first got to the company. That’s why Mike never gave it up, but he told me you liked it so I figured you should have it. 

Now it belongs to you! Quite like my heart. 

Have a good day, Y/N. I’ll miss you. 

Always and forever yours,  Junhui ♡ 

Your chest aches as you realize all the opportunities have slipped through your fingers. 

“Miss Y/N, Mr. Wen said he’d like for you to have this.” 

Mike startles you as you see the pink chair being rolled behind your desk, the fabric pristine and the small stain from spilled coffee at the edge is gone. Your fingers flit across the headrest, before you look at him with tears in your eyes. 

“Guess he changed his mind, huh?” 

He only smiles, nodding his head before turning on his heel and leaving. 

You look at the cup of tea. It’s still hot, so it must’ve been placed recently. You glance over at his desk; how vacant it looked. Almost like how your chest feels after having your heart ripped out. 

You don’t really notice that you’re moving until you’re in the elevator, nervously nibbling on your lip as you frantically press on Minghao’s floor number while balancing the box of pinecones on your hip. It feels like an eternity as the damn thing jostles, and you nearly trip as it finally opens on the third floor. You beeline for Minghao’s desk in the back, only to see him quietly arriving with his headphones slid over his ears and his wife’s lipstick still stamped on his cheek. 

He glances up as he feels your presence behind him, his eyes widening before a smile graces his lips. 

“Y/N! What brings you down here?” 

“Where is he?” You blurt, your hand still holding the note. He raises a brow, sliding his headphones off and onto the desk as he takes a seat in his desk chair. 

“Where is who, sweetheart?”  “Junhui.” 

His lips form an o-shape, making him nod before he shrugs. 

“Why should I tell you?” 

You gape at him, almost losing your grip on the box on your hip. 

“Because you obviously know, and if you care about me–”  “Tell me why I should tell you, Y/N.” 

You huff, your cheeks hot as you tap your foot. He tilts his head, an expectant look in his eyes before he speaks again. 

“I do have work to do, you know.” 

“Because I need to tell him that I...” You choke on your words, scoffing out a humorless laugh as you feel your eyes sting with tears. “Because I need to tell him that he’s an idiot.” 

“You can text him that, you know.”  “I’d rather die than text him how I feel.”  “So, you admit you feel some type of way about him.” 

He grins, slim fingers typing his password into his computer. You scowl. 

“I never said anything of the sort.” You argue, and Minghao gives you a look that says, really bitch? 

“You like him. It’s obvious to all of us, everyone in this office.” He reaches for his water bottle, his fingers aptly flicking the cap open. “So, admit it. Admit you have feelings for Wen Junhui, and I’ll give you the information you want.” 

You look at the crumpled stationery in your hand, your heart swelling slightly at his handwriting. 

My Y/N.  Always and forever yours,  Junhui ♡ 

“I love him.” You mumble softly as you stare at the paper, not catching how Minghao’s eyes widen. “I’m in love with him, Hao.” 

A single tear rolls down your cheek and you quickly wipe it away, before looking up to see Minghao looking at you with a soft glaze over his eyes. 

“I expect you and your boyfriend to get drinks with my wife and I this weekend in exchange for this.” His tone is warning as he reaches for a pen, his hand swiping a sticky note off the pad. You nod, ignoring the way your cheeks heat at the idea of Junhui being your boyfriend as he holds out the green paper. “Here, leave that. I’ll keep it safe, so you don’t have to lug it around.” 

He holds his hands out for the box, and you hesitate before carefully placing it down. You open the corner, taking one of the pinecones out with a wince as he raises a brow before you shove it in your purse. 

“I can explain.”  “Over drinks this weekend. I’ll work out your attendance with your department manager.” 

You smile gently, glancing down at the sticky note. It’s an address to an apartment building. 

“Thank you, Minghao.”  “Go, sweetheart. You’ll get caught in the rain if you stay any longer.” 

And you go. 

You don’t bother waiting for the elevator, practically flying down three flights of stairs. You sprint out of the lobby, nearly slamming into yet another of Junhui’s friends, Joshua, before yelling an apology over your shoulder. You make it outside, holding both pieces of paper in one of your shaking hands while the other fishes your phone out of your purse. 

A fat raindrop falls on the screen as you map out how far the address is, and you almost welcome the cool water falling onto your cheeks as you run to the train station. 

NEW! Message From: Hao  [8:02AM] day 1 of my best friend being a traitor. how is working from home, you bitch? 

Junhui snorts as the message comes in, settling carefully in his desk chair. He feels a bit alone as he texts back a simple, I’m sorry; the usual soft chatter of the office replaced by the sound of his aircon blasting. Everything feels too casual – his white t-shirt tucked into his blue jeans, the softness of his house slippers instead of his usual heavy dress shoes. He feels like he’s waiting for a lunch date with one of his friends, rather than signing into work for the day. 

He looks over the edge of his monitor, no longer seeing your warm eyes looking back at him; but a cat calendar flipped to July. He rolls his shoulders back, sighing inwardly when his phone buzzes incessantly on the desk.  

Your contact photo fills the screen. 

INCOMING CALL FROM: Y/N [PLEDIS] 

He feels the entire world stop. His breath is caught in his throat, and he suddenly can’t feel his limbs. He watches the phone ring until the call fails, nearly falling out of his chair as he stands up and grabs it. His hands are shaking too hard for him to press the missed call notification, only for you to call back again.  

His chest is tight as he shakily breathes out, his thumb swiping across the screen to answer it. 

“Hello?” 

“I wanted to kiss you that night, too. I have never once though back to that night and didn’t feel regret knowing I didn’t kiss you.” 

You sound slightly out of breath, and the sound of rain is loud in the background. He feels his stomach drop to his ass; feet rooted to his spot in his office.  

“Y/N, I–”  “You don’t have to say anything. Just come outside.” 

He blinks as the call ends, staring at his reflection in the dark screen.  

You’re outside. 

“Shit.”  

He nearly stumbles as he darts out of his office, beelining for his coat closet and shoving his feet into a pair of sneakers. He grabs the umbrella that leans against the frame of his front door, not bothering to grab his keys as he fumbles with the lock and throws the door open. A rumble of thunder startles him as he quickly shuts the door behind him, his fingers trying to fiddle with the umbrella when he hears your voice echo through the complex. 

“Junhui!” 

He glances over the railing, his eyes darting all over the courtyard before spotting you a few feet from the stairs. You’re wearing the black dress you wore the first time he’d spoken to you, and the attempt to wear open-toed shoes was ruined by the rain. 

“Wen Junhui! Get down here!” 

He feels laughter bubble up in his chest as he realizes you’re completely drenched, your hair is stuck to your face and your dress is practically dripping like the clouds above. 

“You come up! It’s pouring out here!”  “No, you have to come down here! I came all this way, it’s only fair!” 

He can’t really see your smile from where you are, but he can hear it. He can hear it and it’s like the rain doesn’t matter. It’s like this very moment proves he was an idiot not to overthink all those intimate moments between the two of you – the way your eyes would light up at his stupid emails, the way you’d let his hands linger on your neck or ears after brushing your hair out of your eyes. All the playlists, all the similarities down to the fact that you both want marigolds for your dream weddings. 

The way you interlaced your fingers that night last spring, and he’s so glad you did. 

“Junhui!” 

He shakes his head, dropping the umbrella on his doormat before sprinting to the staircase, hearing his heart pounding in his ears as he barrels down the stone steps.  

“What...what are you doing here? You’re going to get sick, I...” 

He trails off as he realizes you’re staring at him with a sparkle in your eye he can’t swallow. Your smile is all teeth, and he feels his chest ache as you shrug innocently. You take a step closer, tilting your head. 

“I thought you wanted to kiss me.” 

He feels his cheeks hot, and he absently runs a hand through his hair. 

“You’re drenched, Y/N.”  “I was that night, too. We both were.” 

You shrug again, before stepping out from under the stairwell back into the rain. You hold your hand out, the rain pelting it as he hesitates to take it. You wiggle your fingers, making him tongue his cheek as he takes it, letting you pull him out into the rain. You hand slides up his arm and cradles his jaw gently, and he fights himself not to lean into it but ultimately fails. 

“I told Minghao I’d tell you you’re an idiot.” 

He snorts, “Is that on his behalf or yours?” 

“Mostly mine, but I’m sure he has his own things to say about the matter. A year, Junhui? A whole year.” Your lip is jutted in a pout, and he sighs as the rain starts to soak in through his shirt. His hair is starting to stick on his forehead, and your hand swipes it back. 

“I’m sorry. I know that it’ll never be enough to say it, but I truly mean it.” He gently touches his forehead to yours, his heart warming at the way you peer up at him through wet lashes. “I don’t blame you if you don’t forgive me, either. It was a shitty thing to do.” 

He hates how your eyes soften, because he feels his knees grow weak as your other arm loops around his neck. He tentatively wraps his own around your waist, pulling you closer and he swears he sees your smile grow shy. 

“I wouldn’t have come all this way if I didn’t think hearing you out would be worth it.” You say softly, and a rumble of thunder makes you both flinch. A laugh escapes you, before your thumb strokes his cheek gently. 

“Is this still like last spring?” 

He smiles softly, “No.” 

“Did you ever think this would be the first time you get to kiss me? Like this?” 

He laughs, “No.” 

“Is it better, though?”  “Considering I’d hoped we would’ve gone on a date—”  “Say yes before I regret coming all this way.”  “Yes.” 

Neither of you move, but he feels it. He feels the same feeling of want he did that night, the same feeling of yearning that floated off you without a single word. You tilt your head up, your nose brushing his lightly . 

“I’m really cold.”  “I told you to come up.”  “This is more romantic.”  “I hope you know ‘romantic’ can also cost you three sick days at work.” 

“You’re worth all my sick days, Wen Junhui.” You mutter, pressing your lips to his. He can’t help but smile into it, his arm tightening around your waist as his other hand cups your face softly.  

All the warmth from your eyes, the bashfulness of your smiles, the kindness of your heart is too much for his heart to handle. He can’t believe you’re really here, in his arms...your lips so, so soft and eager against his. 

“We have to go inside. You’re going to get sick.” He forces himself to pull away, his heart melting at the way you chase his lips slightly. You frown, and he can’t help but press a chaste kiss to your pouted lip. “We can kiss all you want inside the apartment, I promise.” 

You don’t seem embarrassed at all as you smile at the mention of it, even if he feels his own cheeks grow hot as you nod. He feels his entire chest swell slightly as you interlace your fingers with his and pull him towards the stairwell, biting back his giddy smile. 

YOU SMELL LIKE LUMBER SOMETIMES.

You smell like the tree trunks he chops for firewood at his cabin on the weekends, and you roast his marshmallow for him – despite Minghao’s teasing.  

He still picks up pinecones. He dusts them off and examines them, and the best one is always promptly delivered to you at lunchtime as he drops by the company to whisk you away. The lunch invitations that once meant you’d be holed away in the storage room with a less-sad turkey sandwich from the deli down the block, now meant you’re getting bombarded with kisses before he finally lets you get out of his car with your to-go cup of iced tea. 

That wasn’t nearly the extent of your relationship with him. Now, he has a photo of you on his desk at home – and you have one of the two of you together on yours. Your pink chair is complimented often by your coworkers, and you’ve apologized to Diane for lying about a gluten allergy.  

Though you’re back to being under the radar, people notice the changes. They notice that Junhui, who no longer works alongside them, is still frequently in the lobby – but he’s picking you up. He’s kissing you; he’s spinning you around and calling you, my love.  

No one speaks to you unless they need something, and rarely does someone need something from you. 

But Junhui? 

He can’t help but need you every single day. He slips his pink stationery love letters into your purse before you leave his apartment on Sunday nights, even if he’s begged you to stay the night just one more time. He accepts invites to anything that means he can bring you with him -- drinks with Minghao, lunch with his mother, even a weekend trip that was meant to be strictly business, but he spent most of the time that he wasn’t presenting glued to you in the hotel room.  

Junhui doesn’t let you take the train anymore. Junhui takes your shy offers for a nightcap that usually end up with you kissing him breathless on your couch off two glasses of wine. Junhui, of all things, holds your hand on the table at drinks with his friends that are now yours, too.  

Junhui listens – to your complaints about work; to your theories about birthstones and how whoever chose them was clearly biased for September to have the sapphire; to your sweet whispers as you slip your hand down his shorts late at night, and the whiny moans of his name that slip from your throat when he’s pinned you against his mattress. 

But above all? 

Junhui loves you.  

Unabashedly, uninhibitedly and irrevocably. 

haologram © 2025 || no translations, reposting or modifications are allowed. do not claim as your own. viewer discretion is advised. your media consumption is your responsibility.

[lizmidfordsblog]

In the middle of writing my fic and just, I'm so baffled by the intricacy of this novel. All my respect to the author at just how detailed, ironic and yet deeply tragic KRS's very existence is.

Everyone that KRS has ever dared to love ended up dead or a fate worse than death. We have implicit confirmation that he began distancing himself from his team after LSH & CJS deaths. But I keep thinking back to him throughout the years (a little kid, teenage, young adult etc.) always grieving then daring to be happy only to have it shot down over and over again.

His parents passed away? His uncle takes him, only to abuse him.

He ends up at an orphanage? Sure he doesn't have friends but he's earning money and will go to college. Cataclysm happens.

He's stuck under debris for ages. But then he meets our movie star LSH, right? Wrong, LSH goes off to save other people, KRS gets bullied by PJT, the shelters collapse and he loses everyone. It's just this never ending cycle of tragedy over and over again.

At some point, during the early chapters, KRS commends Raon for not giving up despite all his pain. KRS lowkey detests himself having given up early on living a happy life. Still his heart wavers and yearns for companionship simply because that's a fundamental part of being human.

Every single time, he has to gather the courage to be hurt again. I'm thinking now, forget his OG world, in his current one too-- whenever KRS!Cale brings in another person into his family, he's subconsciously bracing himself to lose them. It's ironic that he thinks he stopped fighting back fate, when in reality, all his meticulous preparations, his scheming and his self-sabotage of his slacker life-- are all proof that KRS is not willing to lose these people. The OG!Cale's future is KRS's worst nightmare.

Every single time he brings another member into his family, KRS is silently saying-- I know this opens me up to hurt, for I've lost more people than I've ever had, but still regardless, I want you. I love you. I care for you.

All of this, in retrospect to the reveal about the WS' influence on KRS' life, makes this so much more tragic. The WS looked down on the importance human connection/companionship, considering it useless to the path of godhood. KRS embodies that importance, despite steeling his heart, he continues to care. He's our snarky self-sacrificial middle-aged twink, who finally gained a family willing to literally fistfight god for him. And you know, you know that if the WS stupid curse didn't parasite onto KRS's life, then you know from the Sealed God Test that he'd have had that family too in another life, in another world.

Just going on this rant gives me the heebie jeebies about writing my fic, purely because I keep wondering about how the hell I am ever going to give this man justice with my amateur writing. Sir, respectfully, I know you hate this question but, are you human?

[comicslina]

HELLO, FRENS. Let's talk!!

Note: This is primarily for Jason fans, but some of it applies to Helena's fans, too. So pay attention. Please.

(So far I've completely avoided using the Helena tags on Tumblr out of respect, and I haven't even LOOKED because I know most of the posts from the past week would make a geiger counter scream.)

tl;dr- We FINALLY have a writer for Jason who can or might want to write him how we've been begging for all this time. Fellow fans and hyperfixaters, we must NOT fuck this up for ourselves.

Already, according to the writer's social media: "Comics people are so interesting. I've had hundreds of them ask me if I'm going to do a bad job writing these characters, like maybe I'm some kind of literary demon out to ruin their lives."

If you've been doing this, STOP. APOLOGIZE. You will METAPHORICALLY SEND FLOWERS. 🔪

Fiction is important, but real life breathing people are MORE important.

Let us be a fandom people WANT to write for.

You have fears, you have questions, doubts. You want to quiz the author on her values and knowledge. We have been burned for YEARS by writing that makes our fave look stupid and perpetuates crappy narratives. Haters abound, writers don't care about him and his fans, and now we have a new book announced that's promising us everything we've been wanting and everyone is screaming because we scared.

CHILL for a minute.

IF you reach out to the author- which you should think twice, maybe thrice about, maybe don't do it at all- you will be RESPECTFUL. You will be POLITE. You will not SPAM or FLAME or MAKE DEMANDS. You will be a MODEL FAN.

We will become THE BEST FUCKING FANDOM TO WRITE FOR, and give this writer THE MOST PLEASANT FUCKING FANDOM EXPERIENCE IN THE HISTORY OF COMIC BOOK FANDOM BULLSHIT.

You will understand that NOT EVERYONE WANTS THE SAME THING for Jason and Helena, and that is okay. We all have perfect versions of these characters in our heads. It's why we have fanfiction. Jason's fandom in particular has built several competing Platonic Ideals of Jason Todd in our heads, and we get pissed each time DC fails to approach even one of them.

But that might actually change. We might get CLOSER.

"But its pro-cop-"

The author is vocally ACAB.

"Helena deserves better she's being treated like an object-"

The author is a TRANS WOMAN who is VOCALLY FEMINIST and LEFTIST. It might be Jason's book, but this author is FAR more likely to treat her with respect than, say, fucking LOBDELL. We don't even know what Jason and Helena's relationship is going to look like. That cover might have nothing to do with it. Covers do that. I am personally down for it if it's done well, but I'm a horny bitch.

And being trans means she has been Through Some Shit, so she probably gets it. (Whys and hows of Jason and Helena's trauma.)

"The Huntress and Red Hood fandoms hate eachother-"

Grow up. What are you, 6? People like the characters they like for myriad reasons. I imprinted on Jason first, and he is a hot man, so I'm more interested in him than Helena. That doesn't mean I don't think Huntress is cool or that she doesn't deserve good books. DC has done both characters dirty, but this series might be a jumping off point for both of them.

"But my ship-"

We are not in control. I want them to make out sloppy-style after a tense, issues-long standoff. Doesn't mean I'm going to get it or that it's going to happen the way I want. Many people hate this idea. Treasure your fanfiction.

And Helena makes a lot of thematic sense for the story, regardless of romance. The two characters have interesting parallels to explore and haven't interacted much, so it's fresh ground. Having another character would mean telling a very different kind of story.

"But the helmet-"

We all love the helmet. We might even get it back one day. But not at the moment, because they're trying something different, and if losing the helmet is the price we have to pay for better writing, than so be it.

"I don't like the art-"

Bummer! Treat the artist with the same level of respect as this post demands for the writer.

"I didn't like her take on Jason in Beast World-"

We're always calling Jason "Potential Man," but with this author- and a black label- we might ACTUALLY get something good. By that I mean something that isn't made to prop up Batman and his values and make Jason look bad in comparison. Something that appears to have considerate thought put into it. She'll be somewhat bound by editorial, but she's still got WAY more leeway.

Me neither. To me he does what he does to protect the weak from experiencing what he has, not takes his day out on them. But that take might change, and if this new book starts out that way, it may not end that way. Regardless. You will be PLEASANT. If you are PLEASANT, maybe she will seek us out and LISTEN.

Lets support her.

"What if I don't like it? What if it's the same crap all over again?"

Again, you will BE POLITE. You will NOT HARASS THE CREATORS. Vote with your wallet. Write a letter. It's happened before, it will probably happen again in the future.

We will live.

I know absolutely for sure there will be features of it I probably won't like, because I am not on the editorial staff to force my opinion. It will be the same for most of us. It sucks, but at the end of the day it's still a comic book, and we'll always have fanwork.

There's a lot of crap happening out in the world right now. Don't add to it.

Peace. Be good, kids! ❤️

[frvnkcastles]

I was wondering if you could write a fic where reader has abandonment issues and she's scared that frank will one day just get bored of her and leave?

love your work 💙

’TIL THE EARTH STARTS TO CRUMBLE ➵ F. CASTLE

Summary: You’re wired to always assume everyone will leave you. Frank is determined to change that.

Warnings: Abandonment issues, hurt/comfort, feminine nicknames

Word count: 1.4k

Author’s note: Thank you so much for the support anon! This was easy to write because this is something I also struggle with MAJORLY. I feel you, you’re not alone <3 It really sucks but the right people will stay and reassure you always!!

You didn’t want to be too clingy, you really didn’t. But when you’ve found someone like Frank, you’ve gotta cherish every moment with that person and make sure they won’t leave you, right? That was what you told yourself, anyway, not that you’d actually reveal what was going on inside your head to him directly. To you, it just seemed like opening up about your issues would only give him more reason to walk out on you, it would only push him away, and that was the last thing you wanted.

You had been this way for as long as you could remember. Desperate to be liked and loved, terribly scared of being left alone or rejected. It was all the same with people you dated and people you befriended, the constant checking that everything was alright and you were still doing good. You had learned the hard way it was too much for some people when your ex had done exactly what you had tried to stop him from doing — abandoning you.

So, you tried to tone it down. You tried to reason with yourself. Frank wasn’t going anywhere. He loved you and cared about you, and if anything, he had baggage, too. You appreciated him regardless, and you knew the feeling was mutual. It was just difficult to convey that message to your brain, the damn thing endlessly feeding you lies and doubt about the foundation of your relationship.

It was just a matter of time. It had to be. Just like everyone else, he’d leave you.

You managed to suffer in silence and cry about your fears in private for a while, but in a sick twist of fate, Frank began pulling away. He thoroughly explained to you his latest mission, told you everything he was going to have to do and how he wanted to keep you safe from his enemies. But it was in one ear and out the other. You smiled and nodded, promised you understood, but it didn’t take you long to start freaking out. This was how it started, the drifting apart, the building distance between you until he’d have to cut his losses and cut you off.

He left at night, which meant that most days you got to enjoy his company, only for your time together to be shadowed by the impending anxiety. And the nights you spent alone, your pillow wet with tears as you wondered when he’d stop returning home. When you woke up in his arms in the morning, you felt comforted and reassured and you swore to yourself you wouldn’t repeat the cycle that night, only to end up breaking your own promise.

A week passed with you slowly stopping eating and sleeping, an unhealthy habit that you were able to hide with Frank being gone. But he wasn’t stupid, and eventually, he picked up on it.

”Make sure you eat somethin’ tonight, aight? That sandwich I made ya was still in the fridge”, Frank commented while packing his bag for the night, shuffling around your apartment whereas you were seated on the couch, watching him bounce from one room to the next.

”I’ll try”, you spoke faintly, a yawn interrupting you, and stopping in his tracks, Frank looked over to you and frowned with his whole face.

”You didn’t sleep much last night, either”, he pointed out, hoping that his observation would be enough for you to open up, but you only gave him a half-hearted shrug in response.

”It’s fine”, you whispered, dropping your stare from Frank’s piercing eyes to your hands as you picked on your nails. You felt like you could throw up any second now, and the walls were closing down on you, inviting panic and terror into your soul. This was your least favorite part of the day and it didn’t seem to get any easier with time, but asking Frank to stay seemed so selfish and obsessive.

Figuring that it wouldn’t do any good to push, Frank nodded and finished packing his duffel bag. Once he was finished, he walked over to you for your nightly kiss on the top of your head, his routine of saying good night and goodbye to you.

But tonight, you just couldn’t help but act on your instincs. As he leaned down to kiss you, you closed your eyes and wrapped a fist around the front of his shirt to hold him close and not let him pull away. When he tried, he was stopped by your vice-like grip, and confused, he looked down at you only to find sheer fear twisted on your face.

”Hey, hey, what’s goin’ on, sweetheart?” he asked with concern, crouching down in front of you, his head tilted so he could catch your eyes. ”Talk to me, darlin’. I’m right here”, he reassured you while lifting his hand to caress your cheek, his thumb catching the stray tear that rolled down from the corner of your eye.

”I don’t want you to go. I’m so scared you won’t come back. I know, I know it’s just a matter of time before you get sick of me or bored of me and leave for good. I’m not good enough for you, I’m not interesting enough, I’m not pretty enough—”, you babbled, all the emotions you had been bottling up inside finally bursting out of you.

”Baby, baby, where’s all this comin’ from? I ain’t goin’ anywhere. Hey, look at me”, he was genuinely surprised, but his voice was firm as he took a hold of your jaw and lifted it so that your eyes could meet. Shakily, you opened your eyes, embarrassed to face him but there was not even a hint of judgment or annoyance in the brown depth of his gaze. ”You’re wrong, sweetheart. You’re more than good for me, you’re far more than my miserable ass deserves. And whaddya mean you ain’t interesting? You keep me on my toes all the time. Don’t even get me started on the pretty part, you know I fuckin’ adore you, head to toe”, he raved on, passion behind every word, and you so badly wanted to believe him.

Sniffling, you wiped your eyes with the back of your hand. ”I thought that admitting I was scared you’d leave me would just push you away. Or worse, you’d stay with me out of pity”, you admitted quietly, averting your gaze in shame, but Frank was having none of it, and quickly turned your head back to him.

”Oh, sweetheart”, he sighed, pulling you into his embrace, tightly folding his strong arms around you. ”I’m stayin’ with you because I love you. You’re everythin’ to me and I couldn’t do this without you. I’m not tryna belittle your feelings and fears, but I promise, it ain’t gonna come true. I’m stickin’ with you for as long as you’ll have me, I swear on my life, sweet girl”, he vowed while holding you against his chest.

”Do you mean that?” you asked with a wavering voice, ”everyone always leaves me.” Your words broke Frank’s heart, and he wished he could have made you see yourself through his eyes, wished you could have read his mind so that you’d know exactly how he felt about you. He considered himself the luckiest bastard in the world for being able to share a space with you, to kiss you and hold you, and he wasn’t going to walk away from that no matter what.

”Not me. You’ll see. I’m here to stay”, he insisted, pulling back just so he could cradle your head in his large hands and shower your face with quick but sweet kisses, from your forehead to the corner of your eye and from your nose to your jawline.

”Good, ’cause I really love you and it would break me”, you chuckled sadly, unable to fight a smile as Frank peppered your skin with kisses.

”I’m real sorry people haven’t ’preciated you before. But I’mma make sure that head of yours quiets down for a second, yeah? I ain’t gonna let you down”, he confirmed with dedication, and as he gave you a solemn look that was far from joking, you gave in and nodded.

You wanted to believe him, but you both knew it was easier said than done. But Frank wasn’t going to give up — he was going to show you again and again that he was serious about you, that he really was in love with you, and maybe, some day, you would accept that as the simple truth.

[luffyvace]

Hello first of all- Omg my new fav author I LOVE UR WRITING SM LIKE ???? APBDISBRQKOZ

I found your blog form the author!Reader the anon who ask haz a creative mind I loved the 2 post sm I already got addicted to it I hope u Dont mind me requesting sm form it

Imagine Kusuo getting a notification (he seems like the one has his phone on dnd but has his notification open for his s/o in all media) of her post sm in one of there public social platform saying "I'm turning into my emo phase if this writer block doesn't move on form me " and when checking her private acc (the it's only access for him and her older friend) she is all memes about her writer block and her saying "if I stop writing I give all my books and series to you my friend" just her and overreacting to her block writer

Hiii!! THANK YOU CUTIE!! It always makes me so happy to hear I can share my hobbies with others <3 ahhh I see! Of course I don’t mind dear :)

ohh so if I’m getting this right it’s Saiki finding readers second blog (in which she mostly posts unserious stuff about her writers block) I believe I get what ya mean :}

*･..°•*:.｡:3･.｡.:*･..*°.･

Lol if feel like almost every writer has they’re side blogs or blog where they not a writer they just read other’s stuff

and to me this blog seems like a kinda funny vent blog where reader can just complain about her writers block whenever she has it

LOL imagine going inactive on that acc for weeks and saiki’s wondering if you forgot about it or forgot the password but you just simply have had a lot of motivation lately

then all the sudden you come back and your rebloging all types of relatable author memes and making posts about how ‘your going emo because you have writers block’

honestly it’s kinda ironic to him

he likes your posts on both accounts to support even when your do have writers block

cuz who’s likes a guy who ups and leaves when you don’t have motivation?

the first time you threatened to give your books away he knew you were joking but at the same time he was like ‘wait don’t give all your books away they can’t write it as well as you can 😀’

’kusuo I’m joking’

🧍

‘me too I knew that’

(“Thank goodness..her books were the only thing keeping me sane from those nuisances..”)

- In Saiki’s head

he doesn’t get all the writer memes bc he’s not an author, obviously he’s not stupid so he does find some funny

i feel he doesn’t post on social media but if a post of yours does particularly good he’ll repost it

i think I touched up on him being supportive before but yeah I’m gonna say it it again bc it truly is an honorable mention

‘(Name/pen name) has posted!’

- notification

👆💥📲

- Saiki

the emoji combo was terrible but basically that’s him about to break his screen from how hard he clicked

he’s always the first one on your posts and interacts every way possible

except comments..

which sucks cuz it boosts it a lot but he just doesn’t interact online 😭

if it’s a social media where you can see who liked, aiura and torisuka always tease Saiki for being the first like every time

“Dang your a real simp huh? Your the first like on her every post!”

- Aiura

”MAN! You don’t miss a beat do ya Saiki? I can never beat you to it 😭”

- Toritsuka

“wow..you beat me once again. The second the notification pops up you’ve already liked, reblogged and shared before I can even click on it. That’s impressive I must say, but it’s also quite annoying because I would like to be the first one to support (name) one day. In fact you do everything first! You get the books before they publish! You like all her posts first! Satire or not too!- yadda yadda yadda..”

- Akechi

“you don’t even respond to me that fast! Sometimes you leave me on read or delivered for 2 days before you answer me”

- Kaido

Saiki also sees that your friend likes your second acc too

which he would figure since you two are close

ehehe..a bit short dearest but I hope it brings you joy regardless~ 😅💞

I have much to get out..need to be more active..

[icey--stars]

Heyyy I saw you're taking requests again and your recently posted a new fic (which I lovedddd) and I thought I'd share my idea with you too. You don't have to write it right away, I saw your posts that you are really busy these days so whenever you get to it, you get to it...I just wanted to share my idea

So I was thinking an Azris fic where the two have had their mating ceremony and everyone knows and everything. Azriel still works as a Spy master for Night and Autumn, working for the security of both the courts. But Rhysand being a controlling shit, tries to get Azriel more time in Night cuz he's still iffy about Eris. And Eris does the same so it becomes a tug of war. In the middle there is poor Azzy...working OVERTIME for both courts and going through his magic like crazy

One day, when the poor bat is at its limit, Azriel just collapses from exhaustion and draining his magic from his siphons. What do you think the reaction would be like? I think there would be guilt from both Rhysand and Eris but also a bit of a blame game

Anyways, you're welcome to take the story and spin it like you want. And even if you don't feel particularly inspired by it, it's completely fine (cuz the most recent one I saw from you was VERYYYY angsty too so I get why you might not be in the mood for ANOTHER angsty fic)

Still love your work and can't wait to read whatever you post about Azris

-🌹

Tug of War

Rhys and Eris get a tad possessive over their bat and fail to realize that he is trying to please both of them- well that is until he passes out. - 2.7k words

Author's Note: I deeply apologize for this being so late!!! I was incredibly excited over this idea so I actually don’t know what made me take so long xD. maybe the time skips I put in there messed me up, but regardless, I hope you enjoy! I won’t say this is my proudest work, but I hope I at least made your amazing idea come true <3

Content Rating: Teens and Up

TW: don’t work yourself to passing out because your mate and brother want you to be with them more than the other. that’s called people-pleasing and being a self-sacrificial fool. (don’t be like Az)

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

Azriel

“Can you check on the Illyrian camps for me tomorrow?” Rhys asked as Azriel handed in his third report for the week.

Azriel internally let out the loudest sigh of all possible. He was already running on reserves at this point. But he also knew how much work Rhys and Feyre had on their shoulders. And Eris. He still had to check on the town of Redwood for him later today since there had been rumors of some sort of rebellion for some stupid reason.

“Sure,” Azriel replied. “What in particular?” He hated the Illyrian camps, but so did his brothers. He was just glad Cassian was willing to take over the Valkyrie training for the next week.

“Ironcrest and Windhaven. I want an update on the training programs for females to make sure they’re actually being trained and not thrown to the wolves,” Rhys explained.

Azriel dipped his head. “Right. As long as there isn’t much for Autumn I’ll try and spend a day there watching the training,” he replied.

Rhys hummed. “How is Autumn at this point? Much work coming from Eris?”

“I’ve got to check on a town today for rebellion rumors,” Azriel replied, cracking some of his knuckles as he backed away from Rhys’s desk. “Then write a report on it.”

“We’re not working you too hard, are we?” Rhys asked cheekily. “Being spymaster for two courts has to be exhausting sometimes.”

“I’m managing,” Azriel replied. “But I’ve got to be off. I’ll get to the camps tomorrow.”

“Sounds good, Az. Are you still going to be able to make it to a family dinner on Friday?” Rhys asked, standing up from his chair and walking around the desk.

“Probably,” Azriel replied. “Hopefully Eris can come along too if he’s not too bogged down by paperwork.”

Rhys grinned. Azriel was too tired to notice that it looked incredibly fake. “Great. Tell him that Cassian still wants that arm wrestle, ay? And to bring some Autumn whiskey. I know that stuff has grown on you.”

Azriel rolled his eyes, offering his brother a grin. “Live in Autumn long enough to drink the shit nightly and it will,” he replied. “Anyway, I’m off, Rhys. It’s noon already.”

Rhys smirked. “See you later, Az,” he said, waving.

Azriel quickly made his way out of the River House, feeling exhaustion weighing heavy on him as he winnowed into Redwood. Honestly, while he knew both of his High Lords were busy, that doesn’t mean everything needs to be done immediately. It seemed to be some sort of tug-of-war situation over his time. He understood it, of course. His mate deserved his time and his brothers were still a little unsure over his mate so they likely wanted to keep checking on him.

He was doing his best, but he truly was exhausted.

Azriel slipped into an alleyway in his shadows after hearing voices and refocused on his task ahead. It’d be fine, he supposed.

–––––

A week later, it was most definitely not fine. He had eyebags, his siphons were practically drained since he’d been using the energy he’d normally spare to use for magic as day-to-day energy just to survive the sheer workload he’d been given.

Now it was time for another family dinner. This one was luckily one Eris could attend in between his busy schedule.

Thank the Cauldron or he wouldn’t have had his mate to catch him when he almost stumbled face first into a wall after tripping over the edge of the carpet in the living room of the House of Wind.

“Az?” Eris prompted once he’d rebalanced.

“I’m fine,” He said, waving Eris off.

Eris seemed suspicious, but once they entered the dining room, the look quickly vanished.

“Az!” Cassian shouted happily as he entered.

As soon as Cassian had barged through everyone to come over and likely hug Azriel… he paused right before with narrowed eyes. “What’s wrong?” He asked, looking Azriel up and down.

“I’m fine, Cass,” Azriel replied, rubbing his eyes. “I’ll rest tonight. Now get over here,” he commanded, opening up his arms for an armload of Cassian.

Cassian seemed a bit more hesitant, but wrapped Azriel up in his arms anyway. It wasn’t every day Azriel asked for a hug.

Eris still looked suspicious of him throughout the dinner, as did Cassian, but Azriel wasn’t spymaster for no reason. He had skills in hiding when he wanted to hide– whatever that may be.

“Oh, Az,” Rhys called as Eris and Azriel were about to make their way out. Azriel turned to look at his brother with a brow raised in silent question. “You think you could check the camps again to make sure the changes I ordered were actually implemented?”

Azriel internally groaned. “I’ll get to it,” he promised.

Eris seemed a bit tenser beside him, but Azriel was too tired to figure out the reason for it. “Still going to have time for the council meeting, Az?” He asked.

And fuck, right. Council meeting at noon, right. Some sort of new military policies as well as taxes.

“I’ll make it work,” he mumbled. “Camps can be done in the afternoon since the training sessions run late afternoon too.”

“Right,” Eris said, raising a brow. “I didn’t so much mean it that way, Az. I meant, will you have enough energy?”

“As I said, I’ll make it work,” Azriel promised. “Even be back in time for dinner probably.”

Rhys grinned at him. “Come visit me before you leave the Night Court, ay? Nyx wants to see his uncle a little more.”

Azriel nodded, holding back a yawn. He had to make this work. If his mate and his brothers were ever going to stop fighting over him, they’d each have to feel as if Azriel was giving them enough of his time. “I’ll come around,” he mumbled.

Rhys chuckled. “Go sleep, brother,” Rhys ordered. “I can tell you’re tired.”

“I’m fine,” Azriel insisted, wings flaring a bit behind him. “I’ve survived far worse than a little sleep deprivation anyway.”

–––––

Azriel barely slept that night. It was just one of those sleepless nights where his mind ran wild and nothing, not even Eris laying on his chest, could calm it. He had them from time to time, but this was possibly one of the worst times to have it. But regardless, when he woke up, he acted as if he’d had a semi-satisfactory sleep. He managed to conjure a well enough lie to Eris about having trouble getting to sleep for a little bit but eventually did. It worked to explain his eyebags anyway.

He and Eris prepared for the council meeting. Azriel kept having to go over the details in his head again and again, seemingly unable to keep his mind focused. He just had to survive today. And then tomorrow. He’d be fine even if his limbs might as well start shaking.

The council meeting almost put him to sleep with how boring it was, but he managed to keep up enough to support Eris throughout it. His mind was foggy, though.

The camps weren’t much better. He was just glad they were actually following directions at least for him. He should’ve probably stayed a while after to make sure, but his shadows were also weighing with his exhaustion. Most were lazy and some plain refused to go farther than a fingertip’s length away from him.

“Final thing,” Azriel muttered to himself, rubbing his eyes as he winnowed to the front of the River House. His head went dizzy and he swayed for a few moments, wings outspread for balance before he finally reoriented himself. He was surely fine, right? (He knew that was a lie but he had responsibilities.)

“Az!” Rhys called from the doorway happily, holding Nyx on his hip who was babbling excitedly and reaching out for Azriel.

Azriel smiled and reached over to take the little toddler from his father’s arms to nuzzle. “How’s my favorite nephew?” He asked, managing to put on a happy tone.

“Azzie!” Nyx screamed happily, wings outstretched in his excitement. “Play with me!” The toddler ordered.

Azriel smiled. “For a little bit,” he promised.

They all went inside and Azriel settled on the floor with Nyx to grab figurines and stuffed animals and play whatever imaginative game the toddler had managed to conjure this time. He had to admit, there was a migraine pounding in his head, only worsened by the toddler’s excited screaming.

Slowly, Nyx began to tire and then whined about being hungry. Rhys chuckled and moved to pick up the little one for dinner. Then his brother turned to him and smirked, “Oh, someone is here to pick you up.”

Azriel’s brows furrowed in confusion and he turned to see the front door opening to reveal his mate with that signature smirk on his face. Eris looked all too happy to have surprised him.

Azriel blinked slowly, taking in the information slowly and then began to stand up to greet his mate but his head began to spin and his limbs failed to obey. And then… nothing.

–––––

Eris

Eris had to admit, seeing his mate attempt to stand up and then collapse nearly sent him into a heart attack as he sprinted to catch the falling Illyrian. Rhys seemed equally alarmed, handing Nyx off to his mother before walking over.

“Az?” Rhys asked, poking his brother’s face.

Azriel didn’t stir which only served to alarm Eris even more. He tugged on the bond, but only found deep-rooted exhaustion. He knew his mate was tired, but tired enough to pass out? That was a whole new level.

“Do we need Madja?” Rhys asked, still concerned.

Eris hummed before shaking his head. “I think… I think he literally just passed out from exhaustion.”

Rhys seemed alarmed now, looking down at his brother’s head cradled in Eris’s lap. “Holy shit,” the High Lord muttered. “He was that tired? How hard have you been working him?”

Eris reeled a bit at those words, raising a sharp gaze to Rhys. “Excuse me? How is this my fault?”

“Well-”

“Don’t even start,” Eris cut in. “I honestly do not want to hear you attempt to place all the blame on me when you have also been giving him equal amounts of work to do. He was barely paying attention in my council meeting and then you put the camps on his shoulders-”

“This isn’t my fault,” Rhys growled defensively.

“Incorrect,” Eris said decisively.

“Well it’s not all my fault,” Rhys corrected, sighing. “Fucking hell…” he muttered.

Eris sighed as well. “It seems we need to coordinate a bit better before our bat decides to pass out again,” he mused.

“I didn’t think he’d work himself this far,” Rhys muttered. “He’s normally good at judging his limits, has even managed to judge Cass’s and I’s limits better than ourselves.”

“You know Az,” Eris muttered. “He works his ass off for the people he cares about.”

Rhys sighed, rubbing his face. “You’re both staying here tonight,” he said.

Eris shrugged. “Fine,” he agreed. Guilt was beginning to plague him, though. How did he manage to work his bat so hard that he passed out? He had been, he’ll admit, trying to get Azriel to spend more time with him. Guess he forgot Rhys was just as possessive over his family. And thus came their present situation: Azriel collapsed in a heap on the floor with his wings thrown every which direction and toy figurines digging into his sides.

“We pushed him too hard,” Rhys mumbled, but it sounded as if he didn’t mean for anyone to hear the words.

Eris sighed, reaching to grab the wood figurine to make Azriel a tad more comfortable. “We’re not making this mistake again,” he said.

“No, we’re not,” Rhys agreed. “Halve the work we give him?” The other High Lord offered.

Eris nodded while standing up and hauling Azriel into his arms with a grunt. “Tuck his wings, won’t you?” Eris asked, unable to stop his mate’s wings from dragging on the floor while he was just trying to hold Azriel’s obsessively large frame in his arms. They were of equal height, yes, but one of them was much stockier.

Rhys quickly moved forward, carefully and respectfully tucking Azriel’s wings where Eris could hold them off the floor. “His bedroom is this way,” Rhys said, leading the way through the hallways.

Azriel’s breathing was slow and calm as Eris set him down on his side in the bed. He took a moment to make sure his bat wouldn’t be sore from any positioned limbs before sighing and glancing back at Rhys standing in the doorway.

“Let’s let him sleep,” Eris recommended and, without waiting for Rhys’s response, used his own power to put out the faelights and walk out.

Rhys took one last glance at his brother before closing the door. “Are you sure we don’t need Madja?”

“Unless he hit his head on the fall, no. Which I’m pretty sure I saved him from,” Eris reminded him. “He’s tired. The only solution is sleep and I doubt he’d want a healer’s attention anyway.”

Rhys sighed and nodded, walking toward the living area. “Sorry for the immediate blame,” he mumbled quickly. “That wasn’t exactly fair.”

Eris hummed. “Forgiven,” he replied. “I’m pretty sure we can share the bat just fine.”

Rhys scoffed in amusement. “Guess we’ll let him rest for now.”

—————

Azriel

Azriel awoke to sunlight in his eyes and he groaned, rolling onto his stomach so his wings covered his face. Then he sat up quickly after remembering what happened before he had… passed out? He felt tired still, but maybe a little less exhausted than before.

He glanced around, relaxing at the sight of his room at the River House. And with Eris in the armchair with a book in his hand. Eris silently bookmarked his page and set down the book to look at him.

“Feel any better?” Eris asked.

Azriel sighed and turned to sit down facing his mate. “I’m-“

“If you start apologizing I might actually slap you,” Eris deadpanned, standing up as well to make the threat even easier to accomplish. “Do you feel better?” He repeated after reaching the bedside.

“Yes,” Azriel replied begrudgingly. “What happened?”

“You passed out from exhaustion,” Eris replied calmly. “Your brother and I moved you here.”

Azriel squinted a bit. “Which one?” He asked. Rhysand and Eris did not get along very well so he doubted it was-

“Rhys,” Eris replied, chuckling at his immediately confused and shocked facial expression. “And we’ve agreed to limit the amount of work we put on our poor bat before he works himself to death.”

Azriel huffed. “I’m fine,” he mumbled.

“You are somewhat fine now. About sixteen hours ago, you were not. And that falls on Rhys and I equally,” Eris replied firmly.

Azriel hummed. “Why do I feel like you two had an argument?” He asked, glancing at his shadows for confirmation.

“We did,” Eris replied before his shadows could even skitter to his ears. “And then we dealt with it like civilized High Lords. Relax, Azriel. Us changing your workload is to prevent your self-sacrificing ass from doing this again. And you are going to tell us when you are overworked, got it? If you don’t, you won’t like the punishment.”

Azriel huffed in disbelief. “I wasn’t being self-sacrificing-“ he protested.

“You were. Stop denying it,” Eris cut in. “You were trying to give us both your attention and we were fighting over you like a piece of meat. But we also need you now to tell us how much work is too much, Az. No more doing it all to make us happy. That isn’t how this works.”

Azriel sighed in defeat. “Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” Eris said, finally climbing into bed and running a hand through his hair. “Now, would you like a bath and then some relaxation time with your everloving mate?”

Azriel snorted at Eris’s words before asking, “Don’t you have to go back to Autumn?”

“My court can run itself for a few hours, Az. More than if needed. Even then, your only worry for now is to get back your energy so you don’t pass out.”

Azriel chuckled a little. “Alright,” he relented. “A bath does sound pretty nice.”

↢ 『 ☾ 』 ↣

A/N: hope you enjoyed!! :D

Tagged in all ACOTAR Stories: @bunnymallowo, @officiallyunofficialperson, @margssstuff, @rebloggiest-reblogger, @inpraizeof, @graciereads, @eos-princess, @bubybubsters, @fieldofdaisiies, @skyesayshi, @lilah-asteria,

Tagged in all Azriel Stories: @ladylokilaufeyson5, @marina468,

[pluckyredhead]

ur post abt the green lantern’s political leanings was so interesting!! can you do one for the bat family? (but only if u wanna!!)

Honestly, I can't, because their politics are so incoherent.

Like, take Bruce. (And again, like with the Lanterns, I'm talking about canon here, not how I wish things were.) On the one hand, you would imagine he's pretty progressive, right? He's almost certainly a single issue voter and that single issue is gun control. He believes in rehabilitating criminals and in fact a lot of Wayne Enterprises hires are formerly incarcerated people. He is an active philanthropist who pours money into schools, orphanages, hospitals, public spaces, and the arts. These are all leftist values!

And yet the modern Batman is also a completely unrestrained violent anarchic-libertarian power fantasy. Bruce has invented his own law, which he enacts and enforces completely arbitrarily, however he feels like doing so. He obeys the laws he wants to obey and ignores the ones he doesn't care about, while insisting he is law-abiding. He tortures people literally constantly and considers it righteous. He uses the profits from his publicly traded company to become a one-man military industrial complex. (The emissions from the fucking Batmobile alone...!) He illegally surveils the entire city and sometimes the entire planet (Brother Eye, anyone?) because he has decided that his moral authority overrides literally anyone's right to privacy, anywhere. He allows his defeated foes to be locked up indefinitely regardless of their mental state in an institution that would make any qualified mental health professional run screaming in the opposite direction. He's sexist. All of these things sit on the right of the political spectrum, but imagine me pointing to the right like Charlie from It's Always Sunny pointing to his murder board.

And none of the Batfamily is any better. Some of them are honestly worse in certain aspects. Dick was a cop. Jason loves guns. Babs and Tim are even more in love with surveillance than Bruce is. Remember when Tim wanted to replace the police with, like, a Bat-army??? BECAUSE I DO.

It's not really "their fault," as much as anything can be a fictional character's fault. It's the result of being written by writers who are, for the most part, consciously trying to write the Bats as good Samaritans, but are also living in a world where we have had our brains warped by all of our blockbusters being funded by the US military, in a medium where badassery is prized above everything else, and so all this really problematic shit spills out onto the comics page without being questioned. It's also kind of a boiling frog situation: i.e. Batman has always had a cool car, so as he got tougher and tougher, of course that car would eventually become a tank, and no one stopped to go "Wait, what the fuck? What the fuck? How is this billionaire driving a tank around helping anyone???" I guess god bless Zack Snyder for inadvertently highlighting how fucking stupid and counterproductive a Batman taken to his worst extremes is.

To be clear, I don't think this is what most writers are trying to do with Batman (some of them are, but fuck those guys). But it's what happens when all you care about is rule of cool, and the more I think about it the more I'm like...shit, maybe Alan Moore was right and superheroes are just stupid.

Anyway in conclusion, comic book writers should consider the ramifications of what they're writing occasionally. But Bruce Wayne probably still votes blue, at least.

[fckinwild-kiwi]

Our Love Child (Steddie)

Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson Warnings: Cursing (anything else let me know????) Word Count: 7.6k

Author's Note: To be honest, this might not be worth reading? I saw a prompt on Tumblr a few weeks ago and then this started rotting in my mind. I had to write it so that I could finally sleep at night! I cringed writing the kiss scene, that is not what I am good at. I am so sorry in advance :')

“Okay class, I have already paired you up for the next assignment. When I call your name, come up and grab your flour baby and join your partner at their desk.” A collective set of groans echoed around the room. Steve, being the oddball out, sat up straight as he listened for his name. “Munson and Harrington.”

With wide-eyes, Steve stood up to walk to the front of the room to collect his new flour child. “Hey, big boy,” He heard from behind him as he grabbed the sack of flour. 

“Munson,” Steve acknowledged, as he turned towards the metalhead. “You ready to be a dad?”

“I was nervous,” Eddie said, looking at the flour in Steve’s arms before looking up and at Steve. “But I’m less nervous knowing that I’m partnered up with the jock with the most motherly instincts.”

“Thanks, I guess,” Steve mumbled before turning to go back to his desk. Eddie quickly grabbed the baby blanket on the table next to their teacher’s desk.

“I didn’t mean that in a shitty way, Harrington,” Eddie said quickly, taking the seat in front of Steve. “I would much rather do this stupid project with you than anyone else. I mean I have already taken this class, as I’m sure you know. I should have graduated last year but the stupid gym credit, English class, and this stupid baby assignment really fucked me over. I’m trying to turn over a new leaf but at this rate, I’m not even sure it will be enough. It’s just so hard to come to school every day… But you have great motherly instincts. I’ve seen you with those kids you hangout with…not that I watch you all the time. And I know if we were to have our own kids, not that I’m thinking of us having kids , but you know we do share a sack of flour…our kids would be in great hands is what I’m trying to say. Ugh, slap me when you want me to shut up…”

“Nah, I wouldn’t slap you, Eddie,” Steve said, letting a chuckle slip up. The sound of the laugh and his name being said aloud caused Eddie’s eyes to whip up and look at Steve. “In fact, you can keep going if you’re going to continue to say nice things about me...how many kids are you thinking we are going to have? I’ve always wanted a big family.”

“Oh shut up,” Eddie said, barking out a laugh before punching Steve in the shoulder. “So how should we do this?”

—

Two days later, Steve was both exhausted and exhilarated. He was really starting to get the groove of this whole parenting thing. For one, Steve absolutely loved when he had to hold his flour child. There was something so comforting about keeping something that  you’re supposed to protect close to your chest. “What do you think, sweetheart?”

“Hm?” Steve asked, Eddie startling him from his thoughts. 

“I asked, what do you think we should name our love child? He’s two days old and it’s about time we named him. I was thinking of something metal like Ozzy.”

“We are not naming our love child after a man who bit the head off of a rat.”

“It was a bat and it’s hot that you even knew that,” Eddie said, looking up at Steve with moony eyes. “What name do you suggest then?”

“I was thinking something simple like, James?”

“Boring,” Eddie said with a faux yawn. “But whatever you think is best, sweetheart. I’ll love our little Jimmy regardless. In fact, I love him so much that I think it’s my turn to take him home tonight.”

“Are you sure you want to take him overnight?” Steve questioned, his grip on their love child tightening. He was excited for this project with Eddie, it’s his chance to get to know him better and hopefully curb this crush that has been bubbling for far too long but could he trust Eddie to keep Jimmy alive overnight?

“You don’t trust me to protect JimBo?”

“I don’t particularly like these nicknames you’re coming up with for our son,” Steve grumbled out, putting one hand on his hip as he cradled James in the other. “I don’t doubt your ability to take care of the child though.”

“Good, then it’s my night,” Eddie said, grabbing the bag of flour out of Steve’s arms before pressing a quick kiss to Steve’s forehead and running off.

“What the fuck just happened,” whispered Steve, touching his forehead.

—

Later that night, Steve was pacing. Why in the fuck is he so stressed about Eddie watching a bag of flour. This “child” of theirs was literally just a pantry staple. It wasn’t a real person! He can leave it on the table all night and it would be fine. The phone ringing at 12:46 a.m. was enough to get him out of his head for a split second. For some reason, the voice he was hoping to hear sent an odd feeling of dread down his spine,“Maybe you should have doubted me.”

“Eddie,” Steve groaned. “What the fuck happened?”

“I can’t explain it over the phone, I am so sorry Stevie,” Eddie whispered, Steve could sense his voice being clogged with emotion but the nickname caught him off guard.

“I’ll pick you up in the morning, Eds, we’ll run to the store and get a new baby. We will have to rename it too,” Steve said, trying to sound reassuring. It was a sack of flour for God’s sake. It’s not like Mr. Jones would know they purchased a new bag of flour.

“I killed our first child,” Eddie choked out. “I’m the worst partner ever, oh fuck. You should tell Mr. Jones that you need a new partner. There’s a reason I couldn’t even pass this last year.”

“Eddie, Eds, stop,” Steve said, as he began to laugh. “It’s a bag of flour. Shit happens, I’m not going to sweat it and you shouldn’t either. And for the record, if you decide you don’t want me as your partner anymore, you can tell Jones yourself. I’m not going to go willingly.”

“Keep talking like that big boy,” Eddie whispered, his voice catching in his throat, trying to play off his earlier emotions. “And I’ll start to think you have a crush on the Freak or something.”

“I’ve had crushes on worse people,” Steve whispered back, a small smile lingering on his lips. “Good night, Eddie. I’ll see you in the morning so we can pick up our new baby.”

—

Steve was buzzing, which maybe wasn’t the most unusual for him as he was a morning person but it definitely had something to do with this project with a certain metalhead. It was exactly 7:06 in the morning when Steve drove his Beamer up the path of the Forest Hills trailer park. Getting out of the car, he began to walk up the path to Eddie’s trailer. As he took the first step onto the trailer’s porch a voice called out to him, “What are you doing here, boy?”

“Oh,” Steve said, startled. “Um, sorry for the intrusion sir. I’m here to pick up Eddie. We’re doing a project together for health class and he called me last night to tell me he accidentally let our kid die. We’re going to get a new baby— I mean a sack of flour from the store.”

“That damn flour child assignment?” The man questioned.

“That’s the one,” Steve said, shoving his hands in his pockets and rocking on the balls of his feet. 

“Well, I’m about to head in and go to sleep, I’ll holler at Ed for ya. You’re welcome to come inside and wait if you’d like. I’ll be surprised if the boy is already up and at ‘em. Usually takes a miracle to wake him up in the morning.”

Steve nodded, following who he presumed was Eddie’s uncle into the trailer. As they walked through the threshold, Steve could hear whistling and a low humming coming from a different room. “You already awake, son?” Wayne called into the trailer.

“Ah, yes, Uncle Wayne,” Eddie singsonged, still in the other room. “Steve Harrington is supposed to be coming by to pick me up. You see, I might have accidentally let our first child die. And I might have not slept a wink last night after a very pleasant phone call from— AH!”

“Steve’s here already,” Wayne chuckled as Eddie walked into the room, noticing Steve’s figure and cutting himself off from telling his own story. 

“Hey, Eds,” Steve whispered, a small smile forming on his lips. 

“When did you arrive, my liege?”

“I just got here a few minutes ago, I was talking to Mr. Munson out on the porch—”

“Boy, you better call me Wayne,” interrupted the older man.

“Sorry,” Steve said, sheepishly. “Wayne and I were talking outside. He wanted to make sure you were awake.”

“Though this feels like a dream, I can assure you I am most definitely awake. Now that you two are introduced, we need to go pick out our second child and the old man needs to get some sleep, off we go!”

—

“So,” Steve began as he started backing the car out of Eddie’s driveway. “How did you happen to kill James?”

“It was a most tragic event. I sat him on Gareth’s couch last night, all wrapped up like a bug in a rug. He was sleeping so peacefully, I rocked him and everything,” Eddie assured Steve, his hand reaching out to touch his arm before continuing. “But then, as I was working on my current DnD campaign, I hit a groove that I wasn’t expecting. I mean just going to town and creating scenarios that I know the party is going to be pissed about. As I grabbed the manuals I was looking for, I must have accidentally put them on top of Jimmy and then Gareth was acting like an asshole and began to hit me so I had to take matters into my own hands. Long story short, I threw him onto the couch and he landed on our baby. Good news is, he didn’t feel any pain. The baby, I mean. Gareth definitely felt some pain.”

“Rest assured our child died peacefully,” Steve choked out, in between giggles. “Only you, Eddie Munson, would admit to killing our child, do it with the most earnest story, and not even try to blame the accident on someone else.”

“I’m nothing if not honorable,” Eddie said, lips quirked up. 

“Yeah, you’re honorable alright,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. Steve pulled into a parking spot, put the car in park and looked towards the boy in his passenger seat. “Alright, let’s go pick out our child. You will only have supervised nightly visits from now on. Until you can be deemed trustworthy again.”

“That is fair,” Eddie said, shaking his head before following Steve out of the car. “So what do these supervised visits entail?”

“Shut up, Munson,” He said, punching Eddie in the shoulder.

Side by side, they walked through the supermarket and straight to the baking aisle. As they approached the bags of flour sitting on the bottom row, Eddie grabbed the bag of flour sharing the same branding as their previous child. “I’m thinking we should name our new baby, Aragorn. I’ll probably call him Ari for short.”

“Eddie,” Steve said, releasing a sigh. “That name sounds like something out of DnD. Why that name?”

“You know DnD?”

“Um, yes… but I have no clue how to play it. It’s too much math and random things to remember. The kids I babysit like to play and you were just talking about it. It’s all very fantastical so a name like that would definitely stick out to me as DnD.”

With wide eyes, Eddie continues to stare at Steve, his mouth slightly agape. As the younger boy started to walk towards the cash register, Eddie trailed after him. “You’ve tried to play DnD?”

“A few times. But like I said, it didn’t work out for me.”

“Well, I’m going to try and recruit those pipsqueaks to my club to play with me and my friends. You’re also going to have to attend one of my sessions.”

“I could be persuaded,” Steve said, looking at Eddie before he grabbed the sack of flour he just paid for. “Come on, we’re going to be late for school.”

Eddie trailed after Steve, following him toward the blue BMW. “Lord of the rings.”

“What?”

“The name I picked out, Aragorn. It’s the protagonist of Lord of the Rings.”

“So I was basically right.”

“Yeah, Stevie,” Eddie said, letting out a laugh. “You were basically right.”

—

Steve had been fulfilling his fatherly duties the whole day. He brought the baby to all of his classes and in HomeEc, Steve passed the baby to his other father so they could “bond.” Those were Eddie’s words, not Steve’s. When the last bell finally rang, his next plan was to take baby Ari to the park and pretend to put the sack of flour in a swing. Even a sack of flour needed fresh air, right?

“Stevie!” 

Hearing the nickname that only Eddie used made his head rush, Steve, willing the blush on his cheeks to down, turned towards the metalhead. “Hey, man, what’s up?”

“I barely got to see you today—I mean you and baby Ari today! Where are you going?”

“Oh,” Steve said, flustered by Eddie’s choice of words. Of course he meant the flour baby. “I was going to take Ari to the park to ride in the swing for the first time! Did you want to come with me?”

“Um, I want to say yes,” Eddie started. “But I can’t, I have band practice tonight. I would like to see our son tonight though.”

“Oh, okay, right. Here—”

“No, Stevie,” Eddie said, putting his hands up to stop Steve from passing the baby over. “I have supervised visits, remember? Do you want to come to band practice with me and bring our baby? To make sure I don’t get into trouble, of course.”

“Of course, I guess I can’t trust you with Aragorn alone yet.” He paused, a smile on his face as he pretended to ponder his decision. “I’d love to watch you and your friends practice your ridiculously loud music.”

“Yes!” Eddie cheered, turning away from Steve and pumping his fist in the air. “Can’t wait to have my two favorite guys there to support me! I’ll even get some headphones out for baby Ari.”

“I drove us to school this morning, can I drive you to Gareth’s?” Steve asked, trying not to think about what Eddie just said about him being one of his favorite guys. There’s no way this man thought about him the same way he did. Steve was definitely going to bring this up to Robin later. 

“I’ve been giving Gareth driving lessons so I’ll ride with him, it’ll be good practice for the young padawan! Just keep our baby safe and I’ll lead the way,” Eddie said, winking at Steve before turning around and walking towards Gareth’s vehicle.

After quickly saluting the metalhead, Steve got in his car and began to follow him. This whole assignment wasn’t meant to make people fall in love but the last few hours had been the most domestic fun Steve has had in years. After Nancy broke his heart and stomped on it in front of the entire school, Steve had struggled with feeling fulfilled or worthy of this kind of attention. Robin would remind him how wonderful and deserving of love he was and that was great. It’s one of the best feelings when you find your best friend in this crazy world but he couldn’t help but ache for something a little more romantic. Eddie being so kind and actively wanting him to be around, when he could easily hate him for Steve’s past King Steve bullshit was not lost on him. He couldn’t help but fester his already pathetic lovesick crush on the boy. 

Three minutes later, Steve pulled in behind Gareth’s car in an unfamiliar driveway. Once the car was safely in park and the car turned off, Eddie jumped out of the passenger side, walking towards Steve’s BMW. 

“So what’s the verdict,” Steve asked, grabbing the flour baby and closing his car door. “Is Gareth a safe driver?”

“He’s got a lot of learning to go,” Eddie began as his friend scoffed in the back. “He’s getting pretty good though!”

Steve let out a laugh at Gareth’s reaction, stepping forward to become shoulder to shoulder with Eddie. A slight touch of someone’s pinky snapped Steve out of his daydream. “Follow me, Stevie,” Eddie said whispering. Glancing down at the metalhead’s pinky touching his hand, Steve felt his whole body catch fire and he did just that. As they walked into the house, Eddie led Steve through the entryway and into a side door leading to the garage. “You assholes are late,” came a voice in the garage, set up as a mini recording studio complete with couches, a full drum kit, rugs, amps, and microphones. 

“Sorry, Gareth was driving and my baby daddy and love child followed us so we couldn’t rush too much,” Eddie responded with a shrug before walking over to the guitar stand to grab his guitar and plug it into the amp. “This is my sweetheart, one of the great loves of my life, next to Ari and you of course,” Eddie said lovingly, petting the instrument as he mumbled out the last part of his sentence. 

With heat rushing to his cheeks, Steve pushed Eddie trying to turn his body away so he would miss the blush. From behind them, someone cleared their throat, making Steve jump away from Eddie.

“Ugh, hi,” Steve said, waving to the group of guys in front of him. 

“Steve Harrington, didn’t expect you to willingly hangout with the likes of us,” a man holding a guitar, who Steve remembered as Jeff, said. 

“I’m sorry for how I acted before in school, Jeff, not only to you but to Eddie, Gareth, and Doug as well” Steve said, hating how he could just never seem to escape the shit past he created. “That’s not who I really am and I’m trying really hard to prove that.”

“Good enough for me, a friend of Eddie’s is a friend of mine,” Gareth said. “Let’s get this show on the road, I have to go inside and babysit my cousin tonight. The parents are all going to Enzo’s to celebrate some big promotion of my Mom’s.”

“Let’s rock! One, two, one, two, three, four!” With a wink pointed towards Steve, Eddie began to play the guitar. Thirty minutes later, the band was taking a five minute water break and Eddie excused himself to the bathroom inside. “How’s the HomeEc assignment going?” 

“It’s going good,” Steve said, shrugging. “Eddie is kinda ridiculously clumsy. Our first bag of flour, named James, was murdered by him last night. That’s why I’m here. He said he wanted to see the baby but I limited him to supervised visits with our new baby Aragorn.”

“Clumsy? Eddie?” Jeff questioned, causing Gareth to let out a chuckle.

“Aragorn?” Doug said, pointedly. “Can’t believe you let him name the bag of flour after a Lord of the Rings character.”

“Yeaaah, he seemed really excited about the name though. It’s kind of growing on me,” Steve drug out, a blush coating his cheeks before looking at the guys skeptically. “Is he not a clumsy guy though? We didn’t even have the bag of flour for 12 hours before he killed it.”

“You see that guitar over there?” Gareth said, pointing at Eddie’s Sweetheart. “Eddie has had that thing for three years, and he has never as much let it get scratched. If that man cares for something, nothing is going to happen to it.”

“Oh, he calls it his sweetheart, right?” Steve asked, Gareth nodding in response. Clearly he didn’t care about their love child as he kept calling it. “Right, I mean it’s a stupid sack of flour so hard to compare them, right?”

“‘Course,” Jeff said, giving Steve a small smile before Eddie bounded back into the garage. 

“Ready to keep rocking?” He asked, walking over to where Steve was sitting and picking up baby Ari. As he scooped up the sack of flour, he began walking back towards his guitar, but as he turned, his foot got caught in the microphone wire. The quick motion caused Eddie to lose his footing and fall forward, the bag of flour falling out and onto the floor where it exploded open. “Stevie, I’m so sorry…”

“Honestly Eds, it’s fine,” Steve whispered as he looked between the pile of flour on the floor and the wide-eyed man in front of him. “I’m going to head home now though. I’m tired and I guess you don’t need supervision anymore if there’s no kid, right? You’ll be fine to get home on your own?”

“What? No, wait!” Eddie called out after him, following him to the front door. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.” 

“I know, Eddie, I know you didn’t mean to,” Steve said, running his hands through his hair. “But fuck, it’s like you don’t even care!”

“You know that’s not true,” Eddie said, taking a step forward, reaching out towards Steve before dropping his hands. 

“No, no I don’t. You’ve literally ruined two bags of flour in less than 48 hours. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Steve said, walking out the front door and hopping in his car to speed home. 

With tears in his eyes and an empty home in front of him, Steve locked his car door and walked inside. After kicking his sneakers off by the door, Steve picked the phone and called Robin. He felt ridiculous. There was no way Eddie even had a crush on him so taking his lack of caring personal was on him. Robin had spent months reminding Steve that you can’t put expectations on other people…and look at what he did. He expected Eddie to suddenly like boys and care about this stupid classroom assignment. It really was just a bag of flour. What was the big deal?

“I think you’re being too hard on yourself,” Robin said through the phone. “Eddie Munson is a great guy but he’s never been the best at school and he’s not known as some crazy Casanova. Maybe he just has a fatass crush on you and he continues to lose his cool?”

“Yeah right, please don’t put false hope in my head,” Steve grumbled, flinging himself onto his bed. “It’s getting late though and I have a stupid headache forming so I’m going to go to sleep, Robs.”

“Steve, I love you. Please be kind to yourself. Talk to Eddie, he’s a good guy. Honestly, what if he’s afraid of your King Steve persona beating the shit out of him? Like it’s not easy to be a queer person especially in Hellhole, Indiana.”

“I know he’s good, Robin. Trust me… I wouldn’t hit him for anything, what the fuck. Everyone knows my reputation with getting in fights,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. “But you do have a point. I'll talk to him tomorrow. I love you too. Bye.”

— 

Steve woke up with a killer migraine and way too much self-doubt to be considered healthy. Going through the motions, he showered, made a cup of coffee, and laced up his sneakers before slinging his backpack on his back and making his way to the car. He tried to drink some water while driving to school, hoping to ease the migraine. As he pulled into his normal parking space, he spotted Eddie’s rusted van parked a few spots over. The metal head leaning on the front with a baby blanket sitting in his arms.

“What the hell,” Steve whispered before exiting the car.

“Steven Marie Harrington, I am so sorry,” Eddie said loudly to get Steve’s attention.

“Eddie that is not my middle name,” Steve responded back at the same volume as he began walking towards the curly haired boy.

“Well that’s the best I could come up with,” Eddie said, cheeks warming up when Steve nudged his shoulder. “Look I’m—”

“I’m so—” 

“Let me first,” Eddie said, causing Steve to look up at him, wide-eyed. “I am so sorry for last night, Stevie. I was so fucking clumsy and I didn’t mean to kill our second love child. Second. I’m such a fuck up that I’ve killed two sacks of flour.”

“You’re not a fuck up,” Steve whispered, looking at Eddie’s arms where the baby blanket rested. “I also don’t think you’re clumsy. The guys told me that you’ve never even let so much as a scratch on your Sweetheart but you’ve killed two sacks of flour so it has to be that you don’t care or something. Which I get. It’s a stupid school assignment. But I just want to do well, Eds.”

“I want to do well, too,” Eddie said, exasperated. “I went to the store this morning, bought our third baby. This one is going to stick because third times a charm. And I think you should name her.”

“Her?”

“It looks like a pretty princess, right?” Eddie questioned. “She gets it from her Dad.”

“Sure, Eds,” Steve said giggling. “I think we should name her Beth.”

“Princess Beth, has a nice ring to it.” 

“Yeah it does, now hand her over, you’re limited to getting supervised time with her and that means that you can’t even hold her for a bit. We’re working back up on that trust.”

“Fair enough,” Eddie said as he let out a sigh. “Do you want to hang out tonight? Maybe watch a movie at my place? My uncle is going to be at work. We can do homework together too, work on this stupid report?”

“Oh, um…”

“We don’t have to,” Eddie said, backtracking as quickly as he could. “I need to keep working on my next DnD campaign anyway…”

“No!” Steve yelled. “I mean, no. I would love to hangout with you but I actually made plans with Robin and one of the middle schoolers I babysit, Dustin Henderson. We are going to Benny’s for dinner. Do you want to come with us?”

“Actually,” Eddie started before flinging his arm around Steve and guiding him towards the high school. “Benny’s with your girl and middle school bestie sounds fun.”

“Ew,” Steve said, wrapping his fingers around Eddie’s wrist draped over his shoulder. “Rob is not my girl. She is my platonic with a capital P soulmate. And Dustin is a little asshole who is too smart for his own good so don’t let the middle school part fool you, he probably knows more than all three of us combined.”

“I can’t wait, Stevie,” Eddie said smiling at Steve as they came to a stop in front of Steve’s first hour class. “I’ll see you in HomeEc?”

“See you in a few hours,” Steve said untangling himself from Eddie as the older boy began to walk away. Steve looked down at the sack of flour in his hands, “I am diving into deep waters, Bethie girl.”

—

Steve took a seat next to Robin in their shared U.S. History elective, the smile on his face and the sack of flour in his arms hard to miss. “You’re in a quite a different mood than the one you were in on the phone last night. Did your headache go away?”

“Actually, now that you mention it, I think it is gone,” Steve said, the smile still plastered to his face as he shoved the sack of flour on the table. “Eddie picked up our new child, this is Beth.”

“I think I’m going to drop out so I don’t have to do that stupid assignment next year.”

“Stop being so dramatic,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. “I also invited Eddie to eat with us tonight.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t like your tone,” Steve said, crossing his arms before narrowing his eyes at his best friend. “Why did you say it like that?”

“Last night you were crying about this boy probably not having feelings for you, now you’re giddy because he agreed to eat dinner with you, me, and a fourteen year old. You, my friend, are a dingus.”

“Shut up.”

“You need to either tell him how you feel or just find a way to move on. Do what I do, stare at your crush from afar and know that it’ll never happen. We can’t keep letting these crushes affect our entire mood. It’s not healthy.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Steve sighed, turning his attention to the teacher walking into the room. “I’ll try not to feel so much.”

“Steve, you know that’s not—”

“No, I heard you,” Steve said, cutting her off and effectively ending the conversation. 

Two hours later, Steve was making his way to the HomeEc classroom. As he made the turn into the classroom, he was stopped by Tommy H. An arm wrapping around his shoulders much like Eddie’s this morning but lacking the same warmth and safety as Tommy spoke,“Heard you were partnered with the Freak for your baby project.”

“Eddie Munson is my partner for the Flour Baby project, what is it to you, Tommy?”

“Just don’t want you to get wrapped up in that cult of his. We used to be best friends once, I’m just looking out for you.”

“Get the hell away from me,” Steve said, throwing Tommy’s arm off of his shoulders. “I would much rather be partnered with Eddie in every school project than be forced to talk to you for even a second. He’s awesome and has been a better friend to me in the last five days than you were in our ten years of friendship. So take your energy somewhere else.”

“Whatever,” Tommy scoffed. “You know he’s gay right? It’s written all over the bathroom stalls.”

“I’ve never been one to listen to what the bathroom stalls say about others, but I’d still like him just as much if he was gay. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get to class,” Steve said, before he mumbled under his breath. “Asshole.”

Steve entered the classroom right as the tardy bell rang. As he walked over to the desk that he and Eddie shared, he noticed that Eddie had not yet arrived. With a sigh, he sat down, placing Beth on the table and getting out his notebook. 

“Miss me, princess?” Eddie asked, scooping up the bag of flour as he plopped down next to Steve.

“Well only a little,” Steve said automatically before he realized what he said. “I mean, Beth. Beth obviously missed her dad, quite a bit. Not me, I just saw you a few hours ago.”

“Aw, sweetheart,” Eddie said. As he watched Steve’s cheeks light up pink, he leaned in and whispered, “I missed you too.”

“Shut up,” Steve said, giggling and nudging Eddie away. 

The rest of the class went without any hiccups. Together they began to write down their experiences and started the report that would be due the following week on Wednesday. Though they still had a few days left of this assignment, Steve was already feeling sad that it was almost over. 

“Do you want to ride to Benny’s together?” Eddie asked, breaking Steve out of his thoughts. 

“I have to pick Dustin up from school and Robin comes with me. She doesn’t have a car. You are more than welcome to join us, though?”

“Oh, um, I don’t want to take up your entire car,” Eddie said, awkwardly chuckling. “I’ll meet you guys there then?”

“Sounds perfect, Eds,” Steve said, eyes shining up at Eddie. He stood up, putting his stuff in his backpack before taking the sack of flour from Eddie right as the bell rang dismissing the class. “See you tonight, then?”

“Wouldn’t miss it!”

—

“Why did you invite someone else to our weekly Benny’s trip?” Dustin said, crossing his arms in the backseat.

“How do you know Steve invited Eddie, what if I did?” Robin questioned, turning to look at the younger boy. 

“You, Rob? Eddie Munson is so not your type,” Dustin said, tilting his head to challenge the argument. 

“Point taken, Steve did invite Eddie.”

“We are working on a project together,” Steve began. “I hung out with him a few other times this week and he’s been a lot of fun. I want to keep hanging out with him.”

“Are you into him? Like into him into him?”

“What?!” 

“Because it’s okay if you are, you’re getting a weird goo-goo look in your eyes, the same one that I get when I talk about Suzie,” Dustin said, looking at Steve in the rearview mirror. 

“I…I’m not sure,” Steve said, releasing a sigh. “I haven’t fully figured out my feelings” Total lie, I absolutely like Eddie Munson, Steve thought to himself. 

“Well figure it out,” Dustin said as Steve put the car in park at the Diner, spotting Eddie leaning against his van. “That boy is also looking with the goo-goo eyes. Weird star-crossed lovers thing going on here.”

“Shut up, dork,” Robin said, turning towards Dustin and giving him a glare before hopping out of the car. “Eddie! Weird seeing you outside of band. How are you?”

“I’m great, Birdie! Excited to see King Steve in a new environment.”

“Hah!” Dustin barked out. “This man is definitely not a king. He’s the Tweedledum of the duo there.”

“I haven’t been King Steve in a really long time, Eds. I’m not that guy anymore,” Steve said looking down before turning and leaving the other three outside while he made his way into the diner.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s a sensitive subject for him, Eds,” Robin said. “But, he’ll be okay. Let’s go.”

When they approached the table, Steve was sitting on the inside of the booth studying the menu as if he had never been at Benny’s before. “Are you trying something different today?” Dustin questioned as he scooted into the book next to Eddie, who was sitting directly in front of Steve.

“‘Course not,” Steve mumbled. Releasing a sigh, he looked at Eddie, sitting directly in front of him. “Hey, Dust, did you know that Eddie runs the DnD club at school? I bet he could run a campaign that even you couldn’t win.”

Watching the corners of Eddie’s lips twitch up, Steve felt the heat rush into his cheeks and down his neck. There was something so fulfilling about introducing people you knew would just get along so well. 

“Are you a DM?” Dustin questioned, turning his body to fully look at the boy next to him. “Our DM is looking to move so that would honestly be perfect.”

“Yeah, man! I’m ruthless though, don’t think I’d take it easy on you,” Eddie said, looking back at Steve and winking. Grabbing onto their love child tighter, Steve forced himself to look away, choosing to look to Robin instead.

Two hours later, four burgers, three sides of fries, one side of onion rings, and five shakes later (Dustin just had to try two different flavors) the group were heading back to their cars. Robin and Dustin were arguing about who got to sit in the front on the way back to their respective houses but Eddie grabbed Steve’s wrist before Eddie had a chance to speak, Steve cut him off, “I have to drop these assholes off at their houses but would you like to come over? To work on the paper?”

“To work on the paper,” Eddie echoed, a small smile playing on his lips. “I’ll be there shortly, big boy.” 

With his mouth agape and cheeks ablaze, Steve made it back to the BMW, facing a wide-eyed Robin and annoyed Dustin from the backseat. “Not a word, guys, not a word.”

“Thanks for finally introducing me to someone cool,” Dustin said, ignoring Steve’s warning. His comment caused Robin to reach into the backseat and slap the younger boy. Fifteen minutes later, Steve was pulling into his usually empty driveway to see Eddie’s rusted van sitting there, Eddie, once again, leaning against it. For the first time in ages, butterflies were swarming his gut. It’s now or never, he thought. In actuality, it would be smarter to wait until the end of the assignment, that way if Eddie wanted to kill him, they could avoid each other and forget it ever happened. Steve just didn’t think he could wait that long. 

“Sorry it took so long, Dustin wouldn’t shut up about you. He gave me a list of things to tell you about the campaign you guys talked about,” Steve said, locking his car door and walking towards Eddie. 

“He’s a cool kid,” Eddie said, reaching out his hands to take the sack of flour from Steve. “Not as cool as our kid though.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. He walked through the threshold of his front door, quickly ushering Eddie inside and shutting the door before taking off his shoes. Eddie followed suit, switching arms to hold the ‘baby’ as he took them off. 

“You’re being extra gentle with Beth tonight,” Steve said, looking at the sack of flour cradled in Eddie’s arms. Turning around, Steve walked to the couch, nodding to Eddie to follow.  

“I’m trying to prove to you that I care,” Eddie whispered, looking at Steve before taking a few steps to the couch and sitting down. “I care Steve.” 

“Eddie,” Steve breathed out. “I know you care, I want us to do well on this assignment, I want you to do well with this assignment…”

“I’m not talking about the assignment, Stevie.”

“What?”

“I care about you.”

“Eddie,” Steve started, breathing turning heavy. “You know what your band told me the other night? You were the least clumsy person they knew. You were excellent at protecting what you cared about. Ensuring that nothing ever happens to your things.”

“That’s true, I’ve never let my sweetheart get a scratch on her. I’ve also never had a boy I’ve had a crush on not only in the same room as me but watching me play,” Eddie said, scoffing. “You can punch me and kick me out, make me finish the assignment on my own, I don’t care. The reason my friends haven’t been able to see me falling over the place, ruining things, is because I’ve never brought my crush around them!”

“You—”

“Yes! Stevie, I have the biggest, fattest crush on you. It’s absolutely ridiculous.”

“I can’t believe it,” Steve whispered, his hands coming up to rub his neck, a nervous tick he’s had for years. 

“I’m sorry for making it weird, Steve,” Eddie whispered, rising to his feet. “Before I go, I wanted to say thank you.”

“Go? What? Where are you going? And thank you? For what?” Steve said, voice raising before he jumped up and grabbed Eddie’s hand, stopping him in his place. “I have a fat ass crush on you too, ask Robin. I was basically crying about it after your band practice last night.”

“Steve Harrington has a crush on little ole me?” Eddie questioned, turning his body back to face the younger boy and moving the both of them back towards the couch. “I didn’t even know that you were into guys?”

“I’m bisexual, Robin helped me figure it out last year,” Steve affirmed, sitting next to Eddie before turning towards him. “But thank me? For what?”

“I heard you with Tommy this afternoon, before HomeEc,” Eddie started. “No one besides the guys in my band have ever stuck up for me.”

“Eds…”

“It’s crazy because there are a lot of things said about me in this shit hole town, most are untrue. I am not a Satanist and I don’t run a cult,” Eddie said, turning towards Steve. “But I am gay. That part is true.”

‘Thank God for that,” Steve joked, leaning over to Eddie, lifting his head to meet his eyes. “Can I kiss you now?”

“God, yes,” Eddie breathed out. With a rush of adrenaline, Steve leaned up, grabbing the metal head’s cheeks before connecting their lips. “Wait.”

“Huh, what?” Steve said, feeling as though his hands were scalding hot and dropping his hands from Eddie’s face. “I’m sorry, did I misread this?”

“No nothing happened, you’re perfect,” Eddie reassured, rubbing his nose along Steve’s cheek and breathing his scent in. “I can’t kiss you knowing that I upset you earlier. What happened at Benny’s? What did I do or say to make you upset?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Steve said, brushing it off.

“Don’t do that,” Eddie said, pulling back just enough to look in Steve’s eyes. 

“You called me King Steve,” Steve whispered.

“Stevie,” Eddie began.

“No, it’s fine. I have to accept that I did shitty things and hurt a lot of people during my reign,” He said, pronouncing reign with as much disdain as he could. “But fuck, it’s like that only thing people can seem to remember me for no matter how much work I do on myself!”

“No that’s not—”

“Eddie, you don’t have to try and make me feel better. I know I was awful. The name haunts me and I know you didn’t mean it in a condescending way. I think it just hurt coming from you, someone I care about,” Steve said, looking down at his fingers intertwined with Eddie’s.

“Baby,” Eddie whispered, causing Steve’s breath to hitch. 

“I like that one.”

“You like being my baby?” Eddie asked, his lips quirking up into a small smile before pulling Steve’s body close.

“Sweetheart, honey, love, Stevie,” Steve whispered, tilting his head up. “But yeah, I think I like being your baby the most.”

“You’re killing me here,” Eddie said, giggling as he tried to pull his hair across his face to hide. Steve reached up, brushing his fingers across Eddie’s cheeks before grabbing the metalhead’s hair from his fingers. Staring up into Eddie’s eyes, Steve found the confidence he had been looking for. Shivers rushed down his spine as their lips finally met, a small groan sounding in the back of Eddie’s throat. 

Steve responded with the same hunger, dropping his hands to Eddie’s nape to pull him closer. His body melting into Eddie’s, Steve couldn’t help but drag his tongue along Eddie’s lip, asking for more, but still fearful that he was asking for too much. Eddie quickly responded, not allowing Steve the time to overthink, opening his mouth to give the younger boy enough space to finally break the barrier, finally taste him. Steve could feel his entire body light up, this is what freedom feels like, he thought to himself. Emotion clogged his head as he pulled away to catch his breath. 

“What’s wrong?” Eddie questioned, his lips following Steve’s as the younger boy pulled away.

“I just—”

“C’mere,” Eddie said, pulling Steve even closer and wrapping his arms around him.

“I didn’t know it could feel like that…”

“Me neither, Stevie baby,” Eddie said, a small smile forming on his lips before pressing a kiss to the top of Steve’s head.

“We’re awful parents,” Steve mumbled into Eddie’s neck. “I think I might have forgotten Beth in the car.”

“No you didn’t, I sat her in the loveseat over there,” Eddie said, motioning to the chair in the far side of the room. “We literally talked about her before you got moony-eyed over me and wanted to eat my face off.”

“Excuse me, that is not how I remember that happening,” Steve scoffed. “If I remember correctly, you were also staring at me moony-eyed. And you’re the one who moaned first!”

“Who can blame me?” Eddie said giggling. “You quite literally kiss like I’m the most special thing you’ve ever touched, it made me feel weightless.”

“You are the most special thing I’ve ever touched,” Steve confirmed, leaning back into Eddie’s space. “Does this mean you’re my boyfriend now?”

“Do you want me to be your boyfriend?” Eddie asked, eyes wide. 

“Never wanted anything more,” Steve responded, pressing kisses down Eddie’s neck.

“God, yes, Stevie, want you to be my boyfriend,” Eddie groaned, hauling Steve back up and bringing their lips back together. “Want you to be my best friend, groupie, boyfriend, baby daddy, want it all with you,” Eddie whispered, against Steve’s lips.

“Kinda soon don’t you think?” Steve asked, pulling back with a smile on his face. 

“Not soon enough if you ask me, I’ve been pining for you since I was sixteen.”

“That’s crazy, I had a crush on you when I first watched you stand on a cafeteria table my freshman year,” Steve said, glancing up at the older boy. “So powerful and commanding but I could tell there was more to you.”

“Are you sure you want to be seen with me?” Eddie asked, getting quiet. “I would understand wanting to keep this between us and our friends for a while. I don’t want to make it harder for you at school.”

“Eddie Munson,” Steve began, face heating up. “I’m not embarrassed of you. In fact, I would shout it to the rooftops right now if it wasn’t ten o’clock at night. I’m lucky to be with you. I’m not embarrassed.”

“Okay, good,” Eddie said, settling back on the couch with Steve in his arms. “When we get married we will have to send Mr. Jones an invitation.”

“What? Why?”

“He single handedly set us up or at least pushed us together and allowed us to admit our feelings,” Eddie said, rubbing his hands up and down Steve’s arms. “If he didn’t do this, we would both pining for God knows how long.”

“Thank god for our love children and the flour assignment” Steve mumbled, turning around in Eddie’s arms before bringing his lips back to Eddie's.

[ramonag-if]

It is true that Erlan declared war on Ishari out of pettiness, wounded pride and misguided duty to protect Cyre from the Ishari’s gods… but we should all remember that it was Salyra who brought Erlan to that point by meddling in his marriage alliance. He wanted to remove the temporal power from the spiritual faction in a pacifistic way, but nope Salyra’s gods induced vision -that she wasn’t capable to interprete correctly- broke it so war it was…

If we really stop to think about it you could blame -other than Erlan- the gods, Salyra’s attempt to stop the war actually causing it, or just fate if you believe that it was always meant to be regardless of anyone actions. So Erlan has half, a third of the blame here (in case that wes what the gods wanted, if they are actually real in universe) or none at all lol.

But again Salyra is a narcissist hypocrite sooo to her probably is all Erlan fault, and she was totally justified in creating political instability that has caused: a continental war; the death of many innocent (her baby-daddy included ); immense sorrow to the many who survived the ravings of war (her abandoned child included).

As you can see Salyra was totally justified in her hypothetical selfish and reckless attempt to right her past mistakes and find relief from her guilty conscience by eliminating the evil tyrant. /j 💀

I actually love to hate these two characters they are so complex and stupid at the same time ahsbhdjd. This is a testament to your good writing dear author 😍

It's definitely a concoction of different people, bad decisions and a lot of anger, hate and pride that created the war that began. Of course, some would say it's fate because the MC meeting Irus just feels too perfect to be a mere coincidence. On the other hand, who has ever seen the gods walking amongst those in the game world?

Thank you so much for your kind words! I love writing about all these complex relationships and dynamics between the older characters - especially the parents. It's really fun getting to explore their different views on how everything started and needless to say, it's affected everyone around them in a very big way.

Thank you for playing and for the support ❤️️

[shions-stuff]

Headcannons: Grimmjow

here are a few questions that I found on the Internet a long time ago. I can't sleep right now, so I'm writing this. enjoy, I guess

(neither the character nor the art belong to me. thanks to the author of the art for such a wonderful work)

What does their bedroom look like?

Considering that he doesn't have his own corner, it's hard to judge. Despite the fact that he is called King Hueco Mundo, he does not have a permanent place of residence or he never stays there of his own free will. But if he had his own room, it would be as simple as possible. Everything you need, no small things and special decor

Favorite way to waste time and feelings associated with wasting time.

Categorically does not like to waste time. When he has nothing to do, he gets bored and usually does a lot of stupid things, which of course he never regrets later. He believes that everything he does cannot be regarded as a waste of time. You could say his motto is "Moving means living." His whole life is a movement.

Make-up and come to terms with it.

He doesn't care. He has these stripes under his eyes, but he will be very offended if you tell him that it is makeup. Don't get me wrong, he is very proud of His strength and himself, and the stripes under his eyes are part of that strength, part of himself, and he will be very unhappy with the devaluation of such things. As for the makeup of others, as I said, he doesn't care. He'll still want to kick your ass, no matter what's wrong with your face.

Neuroses? Does he admit it?

"What? Damn it, I don't understand what you're talking about." (the guy doesn't know what that means hahahaa) In any case, he will never admit that he has problems with anger and controlling his emotions. He will accuse everyone around him that they just annoy him. The problem is definitely with them! Grimmjow does not understand all this psychological nonsense, believes that such trivial things do not concern him and will never talk about it with anyone.

Sexual orientation? And, regardless of one's own orientation, thoughts about sexual orientation in general?

He has no sex drive. I'm sorry. The concept of love is alien to him and he does not know such feelings as lust, love passion. He always regards people as potential rivals, because he always likes to prove that he is the strongest. Regardless of gender, he'll want to kick your ass if you show any potential. And that's it. As for sexual orientation, he doesn't know anything about it either. For him, all these stupid formalities do not make sense, because he is a man who is used to taking what he wants and how he wants it. Therefore, he would most likely not understand these limits regarding sexual orientation.

Clothing preferences.

Grimm does not like tight clothes, which constrain his movements, preventing comfortable movement and performing techniques. He doesn't value clothes very much, because they are often destroyed during his transformation or a hard battle. He likes to have his arms completely bare, and is categorically against high-necked hoodies. He also often rolls up the sleeves on long sweatshirts. This way he feels a little more freedom. In terms of color, he likes light Tones. He likes the way blood looks on a white shirt.

Turn on/turn off.

As I said, he either doesn't feel like walking at all, or it's very blunted. There is nothing that turns him on sexually, he does not understand the concept of these things. As for the battles, you can go on indefinitely. The excitement in him lights up when he is challenged. He really likes to show off, so he gets excited without hesitation. But he is also able to quickly lose interest when his victim is very bad on the battlefield. He hates weaklings, but he likes it when they ask him for mercy.

How organized are they? How does this organization/disorganization manifest itself in their daily lives?

Surprisingly, Grimmjow is quite organized. Sometimes he makes lists, plans, mental notes about something. He likes order, likes when any task is backed up by a sequence of actions, but it is possible that he also likes to improvise if he sees fit. It helps him save face in front of anyone. He is capable of analysis and rational thinking, which helps him a lot in much more difficult Battles and in everyday communication. He's as good as the captain of his Fraction.

Reaction to a sudden intrapersonal disaster

After his defeat in the battle with Ichigo, his world was turned upside down. His thoughts were only occupied with how things went Wrong, how it could have been different if he had acted differently at some point. It was a kind of destruction of a part of his personality. the part that was successful and proud of him. It was a very serious change in his life, which also left its mark. Literally lol. He doesn't get depressed, no. Most likely, he will be angry at himself, at someone else. He will rethink, doubt his abilities for a minute, after which his wounded pride (or rather, what is left of it) will pull him back and drive these thoughts away.

What makes them feel guilty?

It would seem that almost nothing can make Grimmjow feel something like guilt. But he is not devoid of emotions, it is quite acceptable. He is an honest man and will most likely feel guilty if he treats someone dishonestly. The result of such an action will not bring him joy at all. But he is unlikely to do anything to fix it.he won't be consumed by these Thoughts for so long, but they will eat him up for a while, yes. He's too proud to admit His guilt or (oh my God!!) apologize. It's never going to happen, nope.

Can we say that they have a superiority complex? An inferiority complex? Not?

Not. He has neither. He has a fairly stable and adequate self-esteem. He values himself and his efforts and successes. He does not need to prove anything to anyone, more often than not he does things for his own entertainment than for some practical benefit or other meaning. He feels great in his own skin and doesn't hide it. He is who he is and always will be. Although sometimes he is prone to vanity. For example, he believes that he is a much more important and powerful member of Espada than everyone else.

Do they express their thoughts in words or deeds?

Deeds. He's not very good at words and he knows it. Words mean nothing to Grimmjoe, he demands action and does it himself Instead of speaking. He never liked the meetings that Aizen organized. He immediately understood what should be done when and how. And the rest of the formalities do not interest him. If you need anything from him, some kind of confirmation of his honesty or strength, wait for action. He won't talk about how great he is, wasting his time on useless chatter. He will make you see, feel and believe. Believe me, he can be convincing without words.

How do they express sympathy, affection?

If there are people to whom Grimmjow is not indifferent, then they immediately understand this. There is always a special attitude towards them. He will be rude, protective, loud, but it will never cross the boundaries. He gets angry when something doesn't work out for someone dear to him. Most likely, he will blame you for this, say what a weakling you are, "don't whine, rookie". But he worries deep down. If you occupy a place in his life, he will let you hang out with him. You can just relax together, wrestle, play games and the like. Grimmjow has a pretty funny sense of humor, so expect a lot of jokes and banter. He will be merciless!

Are they afraid of death?

Always was like " I'm already dead, aren't I?" He is not afraid of Death. He would have proudly welcomed it with open arms if he had lost in battle to a worthy opponent. It would be an honor for him to die as a warrior, because he has lived as a warrior for as long as he can remember.

[oleworm]

@girlmaturin tagged me! What were my six favourite books of 2023?

This is going to be a difficult one. First of all because I appreciate books for different reasons, it can be because I learned a lot, because it made me think about new things even though (or because of the fact) that it made me uncomfortable, or simply because it fits my aesthetic or thematic tastes. It wouldn’t be fair to pit completely different books against each other, but I’ll try to do what I can!

There’s also the fact that this is the year that I’ve read the most books in my life since I started counting them. Maybe not 100 but 96! You can laugh at me, but to be fair a lot of these were short books, or essays or short stories that I saved as an e-book and counted independently. I’ve been reading a lot of older books that I had at home or bought secondhand and it really makes me think that contemporary books are so big! It used to be normal to find lots of books that were 100-190 pages long about a specific topic or just because the author wanted to type out their thoughts. I don’t know how much the cost of publishing has increased, but it seems as if every book has to be definitive and huge in order to justify the expense.

1) The Fall of the House of Usher by Edgar Allan Poe

I’m counting this as a book since I found it as an e-book on Project Gutenberg. I was a child the first time that I read it, so a lot of the implications went over my head. This time around I was fascinated by how it synthesises the ideas of the epoch—the insularity of the upper classes in a time of increased social mobility (Poe was, after all, an American) countered with eugenic fears of fixing unfavourable traits into a bloodline through repeated inbreeding. It’s fascinating that the text lays it out so clearly. There’s this line that stuck to me, about how the house of Usher never allowed any branches to grow too far from the trunk of the tree, and then there was this part when Roderick Usher describes the psychological traits that afflict the family—I say afflict because they are disturbing to him—not as a result of the circumstances of their lives, but a part of their inborn nature. It brought to mind the way that Vincent van Gogh described his depression to his brother, who also suffered from it. “The root of the evil lies in the constitution,” that is how I remember it, though I could be wrong because it was in translation and it has been quite a while since I read about the subject. It reminded me of that, and how people describe dogs with behavioural issues caused by poor breeding.

Anyway, a little insect encased in amber for the neuroses of an age!

2) The Silver Metal Lover by Tanith Lee

A sheltered girl falls in love with a realistic robot—you would expect a pulpy romance novel but this was so much more than that to me.

It’s a story about a girl that has been sheltered all her life and does not realise that she is being abused by her mother, who controls every aspect of her life by making her feel that she is too innocent, too stupid to make a choice even with such personal things as her interests or her physical appearance. There were some mean-spirited interpretations of this little book, calling it a poor littlen rich girl story. But rich girls can cry too!

But besides, the heart of the situation, beyond all the fantastic, futuristic aspects, is one that can happen to anyone, regardless of their socioeconomic background.

One thing that I like very much about Tanith Lee is her ability to join different genres and settings. For example, in this one she described economic inequality and labour issues caused by automatisation and at the same time had the socialite characters talk in a droll, misogynistic manner that is right out of Saki. But writing this review I realise that these are not elements that are discordant with each other, though superficially they appear to be. Of the popular writers I have read she is one of those who best understands that the long 19th century may well be even longer—ha-ha, historians, don’t kill me!

I found it funny to be reading this book at the height of the AI-debate, as one of its main plot points was the fear that artists had of being replaced by machines that could “create” new and better works from the wealth of artworks that had been made by human artists before. I’ll probably remember that, if I live long enough to see what happens later.

3) Light in Gaza: Writings Born of Fire, edited by Jehad Abusalim, Jennifer Bing, and Mike Merryman-Lotze

Before this year I hadn’t read any books by Palestinian authors, so when I saw that this book was being shared freely and that it had some names that I already recognised I thought it would be a good place to start.

The fact that so many people contributed to it was the main reason that I chose it, there are so many different points of view, everyone emphasises a different part of life in Gaza, their experiences with their family, their work, their fields of expertise. There’s university professor who describes not only the subject matter of his lessons, but also the difficulties faced by students whose classrooms and study materials can be destroyed at any moment. The architect talks about the settlement pattern in Gaza, and how families prefer to construct their own homes in a way that the extended family may continue to reside together, though logistically it is not always possible to do so. The student provides a narrative of her daily routine, and how everyone must plan their day around the water and electricity shortages, and what difficulties this presents to cooking, cleaning and studying, activities that a lot of us take for granted. Most of the writers talk about the anger and frustration of having to deal with borders and checkpoints, the separation of family and friends for years and decades at a time across relatively short distances in the Palestinian Territories, in Israel and neighbouring countries, as well as the loss of opportunities abroad when people are impeded from leaving or fear that they might be prevented from returning.

Somebody said that it wasn’t right that Palestinians should always have to humanise themselves to the eyes of foreigners, hoping that we might care. I agree, because it is true that we should care for other human beings without having every detail of their suffering described to us. This book has sad parts, parts that are extremely frustrating, but it has moments of fun and happiness too. And the authors wanted people to read it and remember, and I want you to read it too.

The publisher has shared it for free download here.

4) When the Angels Left the Old Country by Sacha Lamb

I listened to the audiobook for this one on the Platform Formerly Known as Scribd and have ordered a physical version to have at home. I was so sad when it ended!

I loved reading about Little Ash and Uriel, a Jewish demon and angel who leave their shtetl when one of the girls from the village goes missing on her way to America. The research that went into it made me want to read more about the historical period in which it was set, and it didn’t stay a resolution—I did end up reading a book about Jewish life in the Russian Empire!

As an immigration story, it made sense that one of the tensest moments in the book was the medical examination by the immigration officials—sadly, in many countries the discrimination of sick and disabled people is still a real problem, though I hope that it will change in our lifetimes, as it did with racial quotas. It’s sold as a Young Adult book but adults would enjoy it too, as it deals with complex issues in an accessible manner but without leaving them flattened.

5) The Idiot by Elif Batuman

As a reader of Russian literature I’m surprised that I didn’t find this book earlier! It was really funny and cute and you could tell how young Selin was supposed to be in this story. Like when she imagines her crush to be like a love interest in a Russian book even though they’re in the 20th century and he’s a completely different type of Eastern European just because his name is very similar to Ivan! There’s a very funny scene also where she talks with a psychologist about her mostly online relationship with this person and he says “Hm… He reminds me of the Unabomber,” and she gets all defensive about it because there is a kernel of truth to it, he is posing as this edgy intellectual and she does not truly know who he is outside these characters they have created in their epistolary world.

I love the way Selin talks about her friends and the books she reads, Elif Batuman really captured what it’s like to be that age, and it was refreshing to read a book about a girl where horrible things don’t happen to her and she can continue learning and being herself.

6) El miedo en el Peru, siglos XVI al XX, edited by Claudia Rosas Lauro

A series of academic articles about fear in Peru in the 16th to 20th centuries. What people were afraid of and what were the social, cultural, religious and political reasons that they might be afraid of a particular thing.

I am adding this to the list because of one specific article—it is introduced as being about the fear of one’s parents, but in particular it talks about a number of legal cases where people were attempting to leave monastic orders claiming to have been made to join under duress—either because they were underage at the time of their vows, or because they had been threatened with physical violence by their relatives, often their parents. I found it interesting, there is a clear parallel between being forced to join a monastic order and entering an unwanted marriage. The arguments that can be used are the same, that the person was too young to meaningfully consent, or only accepted to preserve a degree of bodily integrity. Many of these victims had been threatened, even with death, because the parents wished for their properties to pass on to another one of their relatives. Having taken a vow of poverty, a monk would no longer be entitled to it. It also happened sometimes that these young men would join a monastic order to escape violence in the home. There were other cases where it wasn’t a relative, but rather a priest or another religious authority that convinced a young person that he should take monastic vows, while being too young to understand them or not having received a proper explanation of the terms.

There were other cool articles, such as the one where the fear of piracy overlapped with the fear of heresy because most of the pirates that accosted the Spanish Empire were Protestants from Great Britain or the Netherlands, or the one about the people who chose or were made to starve to death under siege because of Royalist propaganda about the Republican army’s brutality.

This came out rather long… Because I haven’t been typing it directly on the computer where there are so many distractions. I ordered myself an AlphaSmart 3000 over the holidays, it’s an electronic typewriter that you can plug into your computer to transfer what you’ve written before. It’s very pleasant to type in, and it’s also satisfying to see how the letters appear on the word processor when the device transfers the text, it emulates a keyboard so it looks as if it were typing in real time. Don’t worry, I’m not being paid to advertise for a company that no longer exists. If people with similar tastes to mine found it fun or useful I thought I may as well try it out. So far I’ve written a story on this and half-way typed up a draft of a much longer one. Just make sure that if you use different languages on your computer that it’s configured to the English keyboard when you transfer text, otherwise strange symbols may appear!

I’m tagging @bacchanalium, @sifilide, @tetrachromate, @osmanthusoolong, @bogfox and @sherbertilluminated if they want to!

[dduane]

Oh gods, THIS!!

From an earlier post:

...On some summer night in 1962, my folks took me to the drive-in and we saw a film called First Spaceship On Venus. (God only knows why they did this, except I was already a space nut and they were humoring me.)

To say I was absolutely smitten with this movie would be putting it mildly. Even so I wasn’t smitten enough to last all the way through to the end: this was the era of double features, I have no memory of what the first movie was, and then as now I wasn’t much good at staying up late. But I carried the memory of FSOV well into adulthood as a terrific movie with a beautiful spaceship and wonderful aliens—just a completely fabulous movie, a seminal experience in a life already grounded on an understanding that science fiction was a wonderful thing.

Fast forward fifteen or so years, to the point where I’m working as David Gerrold’s assistant. David has always been an early adopter, and he had gotten one of the very first domestic VCRs, a massive U-Matic thing (I think this is the one. Dear God what a dinosaur). At some point or another I noticed that FSOV was scheduled on TV on one of the LA-area channels that showed old movies late at night. I begged David to record the thing for me, as though I hadn’t seen it since I was ten, I could still remember how it thrilled me way back when.

So he recorded it, and the next day after I finished what work needed doing, I sat down and watched it.

I wouldn’t be understating to describe this film as a train wreck from beginning to end.* (It’s been on MST3K, with reason.) I watched in horror as a badly put-together plot full of stilted performances unspooled itself between two planets. And those cool little alien robots?

They were ping-pong balls with pipecleaners stuck in them.

I was, to put it mildly, disillusioned.

…And left in a quandary. What the hell had happened? Why were the little alien robots or whatever so wonderful in my memory? Why did memory insist it was a terrific movie when adult experience made it plain it was a turkey? It wasn’t about comparative critical ability… not that much. I could be pretty scathing about bad movies when I was ten.  Don’t get me started on The Brain from Planet Arous. Or The Crawling Eye, which terrified me out of my wits for about a week until I saw it a second time on one of the local NY stations that would repeat a single film three or four times in a day/week] and thought, in a burst of shattering clarity, “Boy is this stupid!”

I came back to the problem occasionally as the years went by, and worried at it in search of answers, and got none… until I started getting fan mail on my books. The praise went way beyond heartening, sometimes. People were waxing enthusiastic over stuff I was sure I had not done—didn’t think to include, wasn’t smart enough (yet) to write. Textual inspection was no help. I knew what words were there but not how these readers were deriving what they saw and loved from it.

But slowly a theme started to emerge.  These readers, regardless of age, were making my work better than it really was—for the author’s value of “really”. They were doing with my stuff exactly what ten-year-old-me had done with FSOV. Their enthusiasm and wholehearted commitment to the material was helping them find virtues in it that I couldn’t feel responsible for… and maybe it didn’t strictly matter who was responsible, or if they were. Enjoyment happened. And who the hell in their right mind would step on that, just for the sake of being right?

At the end of the day, it’s just love, I guess. You fall in love with something and you’re impelled to make it better, willing to forgive it all kinds of faults and improve it inside your head. Here as in so many other places, perhaps it’s that simple: “love is the answer.” …Who knew. 😄

*At the meta level too, it turns out. Including uncredited, unlicensed music from other SF or horror movies, and a script with three writing teams and twelve drafts of the screenplay. Sweet holy Thoth but the mind boggles.

nothing like rereading a book you loved when you were younger only to realize the author can't write

[faces-ofvenus]

Author's Warnings: Daeron has been aged, but still has no adult content, I just wanted to leave the warning anyway. Not initially I wouldn't write to him, I don't know would I be on the back foot from doing something totally horrible but come on.

If you are a woman from a lower house, which I can see would not be totally impossible, because Alicent is not in full control of Daeron while he is in Oldtown I feel that he certainly allowed himself to meet you, whoever you were, a servant, cook, saleswoman whatever, he is not a man who loves quickly, but he regardless of his birth felt interests in you so deeply that he could only think of meeting you and marrying you.

He was very nervous to ask you to marry him, is he a prince? Yes, coming from two great houses, for sure, but at the same time, he wouldn't take almost anything he thinks, honestly no matter how much he gives for the house or his brothers, he knows that he will never have half of what they will have, much less the same recognition, to the point that they don't even know that Alicent and Viserys had another son after Aemond.

This hurts him, he doesn't hold grudges against his parents, his siblings or grandmother, it would be too much for him to live with grudges, but in that situation he just wanted to be the heir, he just wants to have a future where you are the queen herself, and have everything you ever wanted, when he asks for your hand, he gives you this speech, that he may not be able to give you everything you want (like the crown) but he will give you everything within his reach, even if it costs you your life.

You obviously don't believe this nonsense, being with Daeron was better than pounds of gold, or a highly uncomfortable fucking metal throne, and you shut up all that unholy nonsense coming from your lover, or rather your fiancé, with a sweet and chaste kiss on the lips, maybe it was your first kiss, maybe not, but it had worked.

Such was your shock when one night in his room, after long conversations about marriage and how your married lives would be from then on, not that the two of you before all this hadn't thought like crazy about the whole situation of husband and wife, when Daeron suddenly seemed to remember something, whoops, he was supposed to write a letter to your mother about the wedding, you were in shock, he at least warned your parents, and if they didn't approve what would they do?

He shrugged his shoulders, said that he would marry you, with or without them, and that he is only telling you in case you want to invite your mother, which he also wouldn't object to if you don't, just like that, Daeron would say with such simplicity, "If you want to invite my family, invite them, if not, I'll support you," as if this whole situation was fine, and for him it really was fine, he didn't see his mother for a good part of his life, he was about 17 when he came of age, and they didn't seem to care about that, so their presence would be insignificant, but if you wanted them here, the way he would do absolutely everything for you and whatever you said would be seen as law (yes this man is totally "if my wife says so, so be it")

You would want to get married in Oldtown in a small place reserved only for extremely intimate people, in the end you invited your other Targaryen relatives, most of them came, especially your brothers, your mother came almost against her will, Daeron never told you if she had accepted your engagement well or not, mainly trying not to make you sad with the answer, What you were thankful for, on the one hand, was your dream wedding, you wanted to get married before, Alicent exchanged few sentences with you, and the few were still spent with little jabs, and questions to test you, which you obviously realized, but just as you're not naive at all, you wouldn't be stupid either, maybe that's what made Daeron fall madly in love with you.

[badgerbl00d]

how the one piece boys show they're in love <3

☆ characters: luffy, zoro, sanji, usopp, ace, smoker, shanks, mihawk

☆ up next: drinking with the one piece boys part 1

☆ summary: how different one piece boys show their love and make you feel like the only girl in the world

☆ a/n: mihawk's is soooo self indulgent, i just think he's so romantic and handsome!!!! and writing this made me lowkey develop the tiniest crush on usopp :)))

luffy shares his authority. on the head of the merry, he scoots over enough so that there’s room for you, and eagerly calls you over, excited to share his favorite spot with you (a habit that persists regardless of the ship). as you sail on the open sea he gestures out to it, telling you about his dreams and plans, asking what color shirts you think he should wear when he’s king, and if you think he should part his hair in the middle so that he looks scarier in wanted posters. if he needs someone to hold his hat while he fights, he makes sure it ends up in your hands, always adding “they’re captain now!” he loves the way you give each question plenty of thought before answering, showing him that everything about him, from his smallest worries to his biggest hopes are as important to you as they are to him. and if he likes you enough, he might share his food with you. might.

zoro protects you. it starts during naps, when he wraps his arms around you, hugging you to his chest, making sure that no one can so much as lay a finger on you. eventually he urges you to train with him, and yes he finds it hard to tear his eyes off of you when you’re dripping in sweat and managing to keep up with him while sparring, but he insists that he just wants to know you’ll always be safe. he shows you move after move after move, and he only realizes how much pride he has in you when you’re facing an enemy and use a move he taught you to successfully knock them off their feet. after that he trains with you all day long, stopping only to nap. you start to love it just as much as him, especially when you pick up a move faster than he had when he was learning it and for just a split second can see an inkling of jealousy creep into his face.

sanji reminds you. not an hour goes by without the chef giving you a loving reminder, or three. from chaste kisses to your forehead and hands, to heart shaped breakfast in bed, he tries his hardest to assure you that he is completely, and entirely yours. his touches are gentle and particular, a hand resting on your back, an arm pulling you into him, a finger trailing up your cheek. he wants you to know that there is truth in everything he says, and so when he says it he makes sure that you’re looking him in the eyes, so you can see that with you he means it. with you, what he craves most isn’t your reciprocation, but your understanding. though he still has just as many nosebleeds.

usopp teaches you. he shows you how gears work, and how if you put just the right amount of baking soda and lemon juice into a sealed bottle of ketchup, it’ll explode right as someone goes to use it. he shows you the ins and outs of all his proudest inventions and gadgets. and though he knows it’s his favorite way to spend time with you, he can’t exactly say why. maybe it’s because you look up at him with so much admiration when he explains things that everyone else always told him were stupid, or maybe it's the sweet, childish, innocent reward of your laughter when a prank works just right. regardless of the reason, teaching you is his favorite pastime. that is, until he lets his guard down and falls victim to the same pranks he taught you.

ace listens to you. if you want to tell him about your day he’ll ask for detail upon detail upon detail, making sure you spend the highest possible amount of time talking so he can enjoy your presence. he’ll urge you to talk to him about everything, if you’re upset about something, exciting to see someone, sad about something that happened with the crew, or eager to talk to someone about the new book you just read, he’s your go to person. and if you don’t feel like talking that’s alright too. he listens to you hum to yourself, listens to you laugh when he makes a bad joke, listens to your gentle breaths when you fall asleep on him, your head against his shoulder. your openness with him secures his trust, and the fiery boy can’t help but love watching how you warm up to him.

smoker indulges you. when he comes home exhausted from work all he needs is a quick glance at your face to pick himself back up. his stoic demeanor forbids him from being too obvious, but you recognize the gleam in his eyes when he’s around you. walks around the city on cool, quiet nights are his favorite way to spend time with you. it gives him an opportunity to spoil you, and he makes sure to point out any stores you might miss while talking to him about your day. he’ll discreetly point out the ice cream shop on the corner, making it seem like it was really your idea all along, but nothing warms his heart more than seeing you smiling up at him as you remain adorably oblivious to his methods. a busy man like himself has little time for the usual romantic expectations, but for you, he would move mountains… of paperwork.

shanks stays sober around you. occasionally, he might slip up and get as drunk as he’s used to getting, but when you’re around he always wants to make sure he remembers everything. from your melodic, soothing voice to your heart warming laugh, and how you look on a gently rocking ship under a moon that must also recognize your beauty because it only illuminates it. you bring joy and laughter to a ship that has seen a fair amount of misery after all her years on the sea. and to the emperor, you’re nothing short of treasure. a priceless beauty that even the best pirates would be lucky to find. after all his years of drinking it takes quite the amount of beer to get him drunk, but he only needs the slightest bit of you to feel an equally thrilling buzz.

mihawk lets his guard down. your presence is so relaxing, perfectly tranquil and indulgent. you’re the opposite of all the hectic, headache inducing happenings of his stressful work. when he comes home to his castle, cool air and silence greeting him, he knows he only has to make his way towards you, and everything will be perfectly okay. a glass of wine in his hand as you’re lazily draped over him, running your fingers through his hair, toying with the collar of his shirt as you listen to him recount his most recent adventures with the red-haired pirates, and disagreements and meetings with the warlords. your feather-light touch and gentle kisses coax him into relaxing, falling asleep under you. he’s even found himself wanting to leave just so that he can come back to you over and over and over again. and though he loves the peace you bring him, he’s not one to complain if you both drink a slight bit more than originally planned and end the night on a… less clothed note.

[strawhateden]

saw you were doing requests so how about a classic bakugou x reader where he goes out with the reader as a bet, but ends up falling for them, angst to fluff please <33

pairing(s): bakugo x y/n authors note: hello! thank you SO much for this request, i had so much fun writing it! i hope this is good enough :) Sorry that it's so short :( REQUESTS ARE STILL OPEN! :) content warning: cursing

You and Bakugo had been dating for around six or seven months now. He asked you out, and you were completely and totally shocked. It almost felt too true to be real...and unfortunately for you, it was. "You did what?" You froze, staring at Bakugo in shock, face twisted up in pain and anger. "So this whole thing, our entire relationship was just a game to you?!" You scoffed, eyes watering up. "At the beginning, yes." Bakugo angrily muttered in return, crossing his arms. "But, now, no...I truly do love you. Regardless of that stupid bet with fucking Denki." Bakugo rolled his eyes. "You fucking..." You muttered, sliding your shoes on. "Come on, dumbass, I just told you I loved you! I know I fucked up at the beginning but you're just being petty now!" Bakugo scoffed, as you looked up at him in disbelief. "I'm being petty?! Bakugo, I was a fucking bet! A bet!" Your voice cracked, tears falling down your face, Bakugo taken aback by the use of his last name in comparison to what you normally call him. "The goddamn best bet I've made, so calm down! I love you, so much. What more do you want?!" "An apology!" You spoke, tears soaking your face, as he sighed. "Look, I'm sorry." Bakugo muttered. "I'm sorry, alright? But...please don't just get up and leave! You're one of the least annoying people I know. That bet simply brought us together. Everything I've said for the past 5 months has been completely truthful." Bakugo flipped his head, bending down. "I'm going to hug you..." Bakugo sighed out, wrapping his arms around you, as you continued crying. You were hurt...but you loved Bakugo so much. And you were pretty sure he was being truthful. If he didn't actually like you, he'd probably have broken up with you by now, right? "I'm still mad at you, just so you know." You muttered. "But...I'll forgive you for now." You muttered, wiping your tears. "...Thank you" Bakugo muttered out. "Can you make me my favorite food?" You giggled a bit, wiping your tears again as he sighed. "Whatever." He sighed, as the two of you got up. "Can I kiss you?" Bakugo sighed out, as you nodded. He cupped your face, pulling you in for a gentle kiss. He pulled apart from you and wiped the tears off your face. "I'm sorry I made you cry." Bakugo crossed his arms. "Can we also watch my favorite movie tonight? And possibly could you get me this necklace I've been looking at?" You laughed a bit again, as he glared towards the last part. "Mind you, I shouldn't be forgiving you." You muttered, as he sighed. "Fine." Bakugo trailed off, as you kissed his cheek. "I love you...even though I'm still partially mad at you and slightly hurt." "Yeah, thanks and sorry...I love you too."