#wires burnt in my brain when I read this!

[merry-andrews]

Okay so. What's a thing that would make Johnshi go all "hearteyes/weak on the knees/full on gaga brain got short-circuited send help" (even possibly "take me now" if you want to spice things up) about each other?

Hearteyes—when Kenshi puts his hand on Johnny's lower back. He could be doing it without a thought, just passing Johnny or trying to get around him, but it always makes Johnny's heart flutter bc it's such a casual intimacy, you know?

Brain short circuiting—when Kenshi flirts with him! Johnny is the one who's always smooth talking, complimenting and making moves on him left and right, but when Kenshi flirts back? Johnny just stops working, error 404 style. And Kenshi is smug with it too, loves to say his genuine affection out loud while backing Johnny to a wall just to kiss him because there's always a pleasure in rendering the infamous Johnny Cage truly speechless and flustered.

Take me now—Johnny loves watching Kenshi fight because by the elder gods, he is so skilled with his katana. The stance, the footwork, the grip change, Kenshi using his telekinesis to control the sword in air and incorporating Sento's power into the fight? Phewwww, the room is suddenly getting so warm all over or is it just Johnny?

[zoropookie]

WHAT YOU WON'T DO FOR LOVE (WYWDFL) — SIX

YOU couldn't be having a worse halloween night. choose your fate with your fellow readers and see if it gets better!

chapter five — chapter seven

soulmate!wanderer x gn!reader

You've had many hangovers. You've fell in the bathtub once after your nightly trip in the dark, or maybe more than once? Either way, you've hit your head enough that your consciousness was a concern. You were definitely lacking braincells...

And somehow, none of those moments ever compared to how you felt right now. Prying your eyes open, the throbbing was directed at the intricate grooves of your brain. Every time you tried to twist over to a better angle, your forehead touched something cold, and it sent shivers down your spine.

You couldn't see anything, not even a light that could present tiself as a crack. Laying there on your back helplessly, trying to recollect your steps before. As your brain wandered, with little reaction you mustered, you gasped once you were struck with your last moments.

'Imagine pulling a cheap ass shot like that and still losing', pushed to the front in particular. Your eyes dulled, mute rage in the void.

Whatever, loser. What a bold thing to say to someone who's running for their life from you, it's almost as if you're a threat to society.

What did he even do with you? Lifting your hands hesitantly to confirm your suspicions, your wrists were stopped by something hard and the clanking sound of you driving them onto the top making a thick thudding. Your wrists were tied together, alongside with your entire body, struggling to find breath with the rope hugging your ribs.

Your breath caught in your throat, suffocating by the second, your entire body moving in the rhythm of the car. At first you thought you were inside of a really prickly casket, but then as you thought about the acceleration and the subtle vibrations on your back, you squinted.

You were in his trunk, weren't you.

You reached out again, your joined hands reached out again to the top as you brushed your hands against the wired fabric, confirming your assumptions. You exhaled largely, hands falling limp back onto your torso, closing your eyes again to no avail.

Out of everything that you could have wished right now, you could have settled with watching Gossip Girl on your small television with the risk of getting evicted the next day. You could have asked Yoimiya or Itto for money to keep you afloat and be forever indebted to them, you could seduce your landlord, in a sense. You could have done anything right now, and been cozy. Not content, but cozy.

You just shouldn't have been nosy, maybe. Though, there's something ironic about everything you've read about in those niche Twilight fanfictions coming to life now. Just with twelve times the fear those people had getting napped by the vampires.

You moved your shoulders to reach for the rest of the trunk to find something you could get your hands on, but instead of that, you were met with something soft and cold instead. Gripping it, the texture felt stretchy in your hands, fluid and movable. You moved your hands further up, and immediately drew your hands away when you felt something wet.

The smell of copper overwhelmed your senses once your fingers were coated in what smelled like old pennies, hanging heavy around you.

Cringing, your fingers curled. "Oh my god," You whispered to yourself in a shaky tone, breath lapsing as you hit the back of your head against the trunk. You pushed yourself to the furthest point, and cried. "You fucking freak! I can't even be in here in peace?!"

The feeling of the other person was burnt into your head, his skin still soft and the bloodied clothing of his torso, the subtle pierced skin of his abdomen. Squeezing your eyes shut as you felt them sting with uncladded weeping. You were about to have a panic attack, but on the bright side, the fact that your only company was a newly made corpse was pretty funny.

Funny enough to make you hysterical, at least. You weren't interested in spending your last moments being a little bitch about it, at least, and you immediately started brainstorming in tears about how you were going to get out of here. Or call for help.

taglist is open as of ch.5!

[doukeshi-kun]

hiii keshi!! this is my first ask to you ever so i really hope tumblr doesn’t eat it !! i wanted to ask you a question about writing if thats okay with you but before i do i’d just like to tell you that your stalker kolya fic actually changed the wiring of my brain lol it was SO good!! i remembered reading it on the train when it first came out and being SOOOO devastated that i had no one to talk to about it!! its my all time favorite nikolai fic and i’d just like to tell you that <3

anyways!! my question to you is; is it normal to spend a long time on writing fics? 😭 it sounds like a very stupid question (trust me, i know) but it’s kind of been itching at my brain for a while now. so basically i’m writing this gojo x reader/OC fanfic (i dunno if you’re that into jjk or not) but its supposed to be in first person POV and a long fic having at least 20-25 chapters.. i have an idea of what i want it to be like, plans of subtle foreshadowing, backstories, plot points but i’m not really sure if these things should be taking up so much of my time 😭 it took me a day to plan out the first chapter and i’ve only gotten 20% of it done so far. I usually need a whole day to write 3000 words (i struggle) while i always see most writers posting about being able to finish a whole 6k words oneshots (which is SUCH a talent).

is it something that gets easier the more you write?? i’ve been writing for 5-6 years since i started at 13. what can i do to improve this?? or is it a case of ‘not every writer is the same’??

i’ve never talked to another writer before, never thought about reaching out to anyone but today i feel like i kinda do need someone elses opinion with this 💔 i’m so so sorry for the long ramble, it’s difficult for me to simply things <3333 absolutely love your work <3

haiii thank you so much for the kind comments ❤️ you can always talk about stalker nikolai with me hehe

so, to answer, yes it is totally normal to spend a long time for a fic! and you're planning to do a long fic that has like, 20-25 chapters, so it's totally normal for your planning to take some time. this is the case of "not every writer is the same"

take me, for example. i need at least two weeks to write a fic for stalker nikolai. and there was one time i had to take about almost 2-months for a trash sugar magic's chapter. and now, i can only post once a month because i need more time and i am also busy with other stuff in life.

so 3k words a day is very impressive! hells, 1k a day is also impressive. personally, there really is nothing to improve because you are working on YOUR own pace. i think, rushing to get a fic done will give more harm than good (for example, you might get easily burnt out or you feel obligated to keep posting in such a short period)

take your time, plan out your fic, write what you can and don't worry about whether you're a fast writer or not. you're still a writer ❤️

goodluck on your fic! 🫶

[melancholitas]

My coworker showed me the cluster fuck of a gem that is Nanowar of Steel's "Norwegian Reggaeton" and I might have fallen off the hinges completely ever since.

Despite the MV not being my cup of tea, I'm laugh-crying even harder because song wise that's exactly how I picture a party of the Strawhat-Heart-Kid alliance, in all it's suggestive and chaotic glory- - - At this point I don't know if I should be concerned about my brain or need someone to edit this into an animation.

This grease fire of a song awoke so many thoughts about some of my favorite ships, as well... (one of the dancers has a hat like Penguin, the makeup and wigs and sunglasses don't make it better in the slightest.)

Some lyrics and my hc's regarding under the cut. Proceed to read at own risk lmao:

Kid to/or (drunk) Law

Yeah, you drilled my heart and my blood is spilling, babe. Like oil from a platform in the North Sea (Blue). You fished me like a whaler in violation of international treaties, babe. Now I'm in an Oslo (Flevance) state of mind, honey. And you burned my soul like the Fantoft (City) church in June 1992, babe

Killer or Penguin or Shachi (maybe Wire as well)

Hypothermia, cuba libre, midnight sun, Sommer fiesta at Ragnarok beach. You were dancing, like a polar killer whale, when your bloodthirsty eyes crossed with mine

Kid pirates ft all

Corazón vikingo de Santo Domingo, la iglesia quemada, la piña colada (Viking heart of Santo Domingo, the burnt church, the piña colada)

Guerrero cubano, bailarín pagano, tomando mojito en el sacrificio (Cuban warrior, pagan dancer, having a mojito during the sacrifice)

Esta vida loca, a mirar la foca, asando un salmón - Norwegian (North blue) Reggaeton (This crazy life, looking at the seal, roasting a salmon - North Blue Raggaeton)

Kid or Killer (with the "softly" part thrown in by a Heart)

Nórdico latino, qué luciferino, mata al enemigo, pero despacito, vamos a bailar en la Playa del Mal (Nordic Latin, so Luciferic, kill the enemy, but softly, let's go dance at the Evil Beach)

Kid

Mueve tu cintura, con mi armadura, Satanás me sube la temperatura, vamos a bailar en maligno ritual (Shake your belt, with my armour, Satan makes my body hot, let's go dance in the evil ritual)

Kid to Law or a desperate and drunk Shachi / Sanji

My Drakkar is ready won't you get on board, while I proudly sail in the depths your fjord. When the storm is raging, and your booty is shaking, hold my pole tight and you ain't get no aching. Your breakfast is ready, isn't it good? It comes with my morning Norwegian (North Bluean) wood. I'm swimming against the stream, I don't care I'm soon getting there where the salmons dare

(↑the dude with the pilot cap getting shooed away during this kills me every time. Like, you tried, Penguin, you tried.)

Ft. an hommage to "In your head" from the soul king himself

Why. Just WHY. This shouldn't fit so well. The deadly yet horny viking vibe for the Kids, the Hispanic party touch from the Strawhats, and the nordic innuendos (polar killer whale, Law's seal spots, the dry humor pick up lines with the burning church including a side jab that might as well be Flevance) for the Hearts???

This will haunt me to my grave and I don't know if it's a blessing or a curse. Probably both.

[theheadlessgroom]

"All things in due time," Dorian added, in effort to come to her aid (as well as potentially shifting the conversation away from this particular topic), saying, "I-I mean, it's not that we aren't excited about it, don't get me wrong, it's just that the wedding is such a big event, w-we're still ironing everything out, getting everything ready, it's been the only things on our minds, we haven't really had the time to think of...family matters. Maybe once things are more prepared for the wedding, we have more of our ducks in a row...we'll be ready to focus on it more."

"Ha!" Mr. Gracey barked in amusement, looking to his wife as he commented, "And to think, darling, we could juggle all our plans for the future when we were engaged, and our son and his bride-to-be want to take things slow! Oh, how the times change!"

"How they do indeed!" Mrs. Gracey tittered with a tipsy giggle, while Dorian struggled not to glower (this was very common, unfortunately; his parents laughing whenever he didn't do things the exact same way they did when they were his age), instead opting to take another swig of his drink as his mother continued, "Well then, Dorian, darling, how was the cake testing? Did you find the cake of you two's dreams?"

"Yes, we did," he nodded with a forced smile, glad to be off that particular topic, adding, "We had a very nice time down at the bakery, and I checked on the progress on my hat, Ran-uh, Mr. Pace, is working very hard on it."

"Pace," his mother chuckled, clicking her tongue as she said, "To think, his mother used to tend to our gardens, and now he's making your hat! I hope he inherited his mother's work ethic, and not his father's...or lack thereof!"

At this, Dorian said nothing, but instead squeezing his sherry glass as he struggled not to glare coldly at his mother as she laughed and took another drink from her own glass, prompting Beau to refill it when she held it out wordlessly-no "please", no "thank you".

@beatingheart-bride

The family legacy is always at stake! Dorian thought to himself, resisting the urge to roll his eyes as he took another stiff drink, not at all missing the look Beau sent his and Emily's way; a look that said he clearly wished he could whisk the two away from this less-than-pleasant conversation.

It was a familiar phrase in his parents' vernacular (and he figured it was no different with Emily's parents); always hammering into him the importance of the Gracey legacy, a legacy he was supposed to uphold-he was expected to marry well, have an heir (preferably a son), keep up the family business, protect the fortune, and so on and so forth...it was tiring to hear; he'd heard it all his life, and whenever it was brought up, he couldn't help but feel irritated; frustrated by the desire to snap back and tell them that he didn't care, that he would marry who he pleased and would do what he wished and there'd be nothing they could do to stop him, yet unable to voice his true feelings.

"...what about William? George? Oh, there's so many names of past Gracey's that would be perfect for your little one!" Mrs. Gracey was going on and on, as Dorian's eyes began to glaze over, and he struggled not to let his irritation show, as his mother continued, "And just think! So many beautiful French names to choose from too! I'm sure there's many names in the de Clair family that would be just darling!"

What if I had a daughter? Dorian thought to himself miserably, as his mother seemed to focus exclusively on male names-honestly, it didn't matter at all to him the gender of his and Elizabeth's child (or children, he hoped), but if he were to give in to his parents' plans, what if he had a daughter? Would they be disappointed? He could only imagine they would; they always made it clear they wanted a son to carry on the family name...

[tyo-mimt]

29/36. @tmnt-event-blog

Quality time and acts of service are considered love languages, right?

There was nothing Donnie hated more than feeling unneeded. It was even worse when he felt like he needed help with something he shouldn't need help with.

Mikey willingly coming into the lab to make himself busy didn't count; the box turtle being there was more akin to having a willing lab assistant than needing an aide, but the brain fog made things hard to remember. He found himself missing details, forgetting and skipping steps, unable to focus on code. He had a whole laundry list of unfinished steps, easily thrown off schedule like a common man. The greatest and strongest part of Donnie felt like it was slowly being taken away from him, and as much as he didn't want to admit it, he had to face the facts and understand that that might be the case.

So where did that take him?

"You look like shit."

"If you're here to interrogate me, go back to bed." Donnie squinted at the mess of code he had to read through. The lines were beginning to blur together. He had forgotten where he put his old glasses.

"Kicking me out already? I barely said five words." Leo threw himself onto a rolling chair, wheeling himself toward the softshell. The back of his chair bumped into the other's with a gentle jolt. Donnie turned around, scowl on his face.

"What do you want, Nardo?"

"Can't a brother look out for his younger twin?"

Donnie froze up at that, extending his arm. Leo chuckled, extending the other. Rock, paper, scissors. Leo's paper beat Donnie's rock, and the softshell could only relent to the statement.

"What are you planning?"

"You can't sleep, I can't sleep, so I'm better off making myself useful here."

"Right... I've never seen you in my lab, even to steal something," Donnie drawled, stifling a yawn, "What makes you think I'd trust you around experimental tech?"

Leo raised his arm. The prosthetic one. He crossed his arms afterward, "You taught me how to repair this for emergencies, which I have had to do before. Come on, Dee, trust Leon on this~!"

"I remember that six out of seven of said emergencies, I was also there to berate you on your shoddy craftsmanship."

"Yah, but there was also the one time you weren't there and the arm turned out just fine!"

Had him there.

"And if I were you, I'd have built this thing to not need as many emergency repairs as it does now."

Donnie rolled his eyes in response, turning back around before sliding a motherboard over to Leo.

"The wires are burnt out. Use the wire box on the top left shelf and find the thickest one. Because you already know how to replace those wires, I won't need to redemonstrate."

"Oof, giving me the easy jobs now?"

"Just be glad you're even allowed to touch that highly volatile component."

Donnie nearly missed the amused chortle Leo made, but it was a weight off his shoulders. The rest of the night followed the same structure: Leo finished a simple task and Donnie gave him another. The slider was still his signature flavour of annoying, but it never completely got on his nerves... It was even helpful at times, having another head to remind Donnie of a certain task in an irritating but strangely non-condescending manner.

At some point, the softshell did doze off on the desk he worked on, but Leo was there. He woke up the next day in bed with more mentally-listed tasks completed than forgotten.

[emeraldthelynx]

1, 11, 20 for Ask the Writer!

Hi! Thank you for the ask! Let's get to it.

1 . I don't really like playing favorites, but I really enjoy writing for the Battle Network series because I get to flip the viewpoints between Lan and Megaman so often. It's fun and interesting to see what their take on their two worlds are. A character I like writing for, I'd say any rival character. I just love figuring out how their brain is wired, especially about how they think about their rival.

11. Something I've learned writing, and it's not just fanfiction, is that you have to keep the character in-character. Don't force them to do something that they wouldn't do. If they rebel, it's because it's you, the author, piloting them as to make the plot continue. This gets even harder writing for fanfiction because there are so many different interpretations of who the characters can be. I'm a writer who tries to stick close to the source material when I can. I'm not above having headcanons though, like how I make Megaman absolutely hate being cold!

20. Something that I don't think people know about me is that I finish writing all my works before posting them. [Note: I know I haven't uploaded all of my side-story to Light the Future yet, but I really want all the chapters to have art, and I got seriously burnt out drawing content for the main story. The writing has been finished, but the art is still a WIP that I really should finish.] I just remember reading a really, really good Sonic/Pokemon crossover one time, and it was unfinished and I was so disappointed. I have a lot of ideas, but I don't want to disappoint somebody that the story they've been reading is unfinished. That's why I did the MegaMarch collection a while back, so I could show some of my ideas without having to finish the complete story.

Thank you for the ask!

[lazaruscorpse]

got to page 344 (of 399) without gagging which is. impressive. considering.

[caniasfire]

this is the first time in his life he compliments someone genuinely (it doesn't cross his mind to call it flirting because that concept has been twisted for him by devils and fiends), so to make sure he learns something from this he is going to keep track of his score. any interaction with another being could be graded, after all, and he had to make sure he knew if he got a good score or a bad score. he thinks his score will be positive.

one point. astarion likes the compliment to his hair. amay gives him a small chuckle at his exaggerated movements. he really does like just how expressive he is, he'll make a mental note to bring that up next time, though he's not sure how would he even phrase it. i like how you move your hands? i like how you move, in general?

two points. astarion likes the compliment about his eyes. yellow locks onto red, and amay tries his best not to look away. back in mephistar he'd stand his ground and glare back at whatever devil was looking down on him just to show he was not prey, but this feels different. the tension is different. the way astarion looks at him is different. he's not scared to move because the other might hurt him, he's scared to move because he might ruin the moment. amay's cheeks grow hotter as astarion leans in, and he wonders if he should lean in as well, but he stays put for now. it's not just that astarion's eyes are expressive but that they make amay feel . . . well, good. someone is looking at him so attentively, asking questions about him, saying nice things, and it can't be because he's trying to gain the favour of amay's patron because the party doesn't know who it is yet. he's looking at him. just him. the corner of his lips twitch into a small, embarrassed smile - it's barely there but it's way more genuine than the first one he had offered to astarion. he blinks rapidly as he feels something building at the back of his eyes, keeping it at bay.

then, amay gets a glimpse of something. as someone who grew up to be hyperaware of any slight shifts in the mood of the people around him to survive, it gets burnt into his brain, into his memory, before astarion masks it away. something changed in his smile, in his voice. minus ten points.

"i'm sorry. it was not my intention to call you old." he clenches his jaw, holding back the whirlwind of emotions inside him behind his usual stoic façade. there's rapid streaks of several shades of orange flashing across his eyes, a yellow glow pulsating ever so lightly around his iris as the vertical slit of his pupils grows thinner, the tiny particles around them trembling. the water he felt building up at the back of his eyes is replaced with a burning pain that spreads to his temples. "i am sure you can probably tell, but i don't know what i'm doing." why did he close the book? it will be too awkward to open it back again to avert his gaze by pretending to read, and he refuses to look at the fire, so he's stuck looking at astarion, punishing himself by noticing every single subtle change in the way the elf regards him. astarion says it's sweet, but it doesn't sound like it is. if it had been a few seconds ago he would've said it in a different way, one that made amay's heart feel bigger and beat faster. instead, it felt like there was barbed wire around his heart, pressing down slightly, shrinking around him with every breath he took.

what could he do to fix this? or was the conversation over? maybe he should leave. at least that's what astarion's body language was telling him to do. we're done here. he's honestly quite distressed he can't properly return the kindness astarion has shown him.

"speaking of swordplay," very natural, "maybe you could teach me how to use daggers sometime . . . ?" he knows his patron would be laughing now. raphael as well, probably. haarlep wouldn't never let him live this down. the texture under his hands feels different, and that's when he gets to tear his eyes off astarion. he looks down at the book in his lap, and when he moves one hand slightly he can see there's a thumb shaped hole in the leather-board cover of his book. he covers it back with his hand quickly, looking back up at the elf.

A smirk dances at the corner of his lips as Amay stumbles through his compliments, each one more genuine than the last. It’s endearing, really——watching the tiefling struggle to offer praise that, for once, doesn’t feel rehearsed or hollow. When Amay mentions his hair, Astarion can’t resist leaning into the playful nature of it, pretending to sweep a long, luxurious lock over his shoulder with an exaggerated motion, his eyes gleaming with amusement. ❛ Ah, yes, my curls, ❜ he says with mock vanity, ❛ they do have a life of their own, don’t they? ❜ His smirk widens as he lets his fingers trace a curl at his temple, playing up the pretense of self-admiration.

Then Amay mentions his eyes, and Astarion pauses for a beat, allowing his red gaze to lock onto the tiefling’s, lingering for just a moment too long. The firelight catches the crimson in his irises, making them glow like embers. ❛ Expressive, you say? ❜ he murmurs, his voice dropping a fraction as he leans in slightly, not enough to break the unspoken tension but just enough to make it known. ❛ I suppose that’s one way to describe them. ❜ He holds the gaze for a moment longer, watching how Amay reacts, enjoying the power that comes with being so closely observed.

But then the compliments take a turn, and suddenly, Astarion finds himself on less comfortable ground. Amay’s words about his laugh lines——about how they must mean he’s smiled often——strike a chord he hadn’t quite expected. For a split second, the playful mask slips, and something colder flickers in his expression before he can catch it.

Smiled? Laughed?

He almost wants to laugh at the irony. Two centuries of servitude, of endless nights spent suffering beneath Cazador’s cruelty, and here he is, being told he has laugh lines. How absurd. The thought sours his mood, and he quickly covers it with a quippy remark, forcing a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

❛ Darling, I’m far too young for lines on my face, ❜ he teases, voice light but with a subtle edge. ❛ Though I appreciate the thought. ❜ It’s a lie, of course, or at least a partial one. But he’s not about to dive into that particular well of misery, not now. So instead, he leans back, folding his arms with casual grace, letting the fire’s warmth take the edge off his discomfort. ❛ Really, how sweet of you to notice. I’ll be sure to treasure that sentiment… somewhere. ❜ His tone is dry, deflecting the moment with a veneer of sarcasm, trying to guide the conversation back into safer, more familiar waters where wit and charm can shield him from anything deeper.

[king-maven-calore]

prompt #25 “your hair is really soft” for marecal please 😙

I did this and "10 cal and mare please. idc who says it lol"👀 in a single drabble, I hope you guys don't mind. It's a modern AU I guess

Cal had been volunteering at the Scarlet Guard summer camp for two seasons now, this would be his third. The first time he’d been here as moral support for Ptolemus, who’d been sent here for his community service sentence. Ptolemus had signed up again for the following summers for Wren, a med student in charge of the infirmary, and Cal kept signing up because he found out he loved working with children.

He always had a great time helping the kids, training them in archery and other sports, patting their backs when they got homesick, leading them on walks through the woods belting out marching songs, sitting with them at lunch, and making good use of his excellent puns arsenal. The kids had a blast, and he did too.

In this part of the Greatwoods Region, he found paradise. His dad disapproved and Maven did not understand but was he too happy to mind.

It would have been a shame if he’d proven them right on his third year here when he almost died out of sheer stupidity. But could he be blamed? Could he be blamed when the five new counselors got down from one of the early buses and one of them looked like that?

Among the newbies, there was a petite girl with golden skin that seemed to sparkle under the early morning sun. She jumped down from the bus and a cloud of dirt exploded around her already dirty Vans, her toned legs were generously exposed under her jean shorts, and the lines of her abdomen peeking out from under the camp’s counselor reglementary red polo shirt as she stretched and arched her back to tie her dyed brown and purple hair in a bun, scowling at her surroundings with something akin to distrust. She was the loveliest girl he’d ever seen in such a violent way... was it really his fault he didn’t pay attention to the lightbulbs he’d been changing at the side of the dining hall, perched atop a rickety ladder 10 feet above the ground? It wasn’t. Electricity didn’t give a shit about whose fault was it though when he blindly stuck his hand in the exposed wires next to the light socket.

A white explosion, sparkles, and a sensation of being pulled away at 1000 miles per hour.

Next thing he knew, he was on his back and there was a warm mouth against his. Warm, soft, insistent— on breathing air into him. And good god, this person smelled like heaven; jasmine and rain. Much to his dismay, the scent and the mouth left him and his chest started getting crushed in rhythmic, urgent motions.

Cal gulped air and shot upright. He was surrounded by 20 consternated young faces and one barely inches away from his face. Beautiful, wide brown eyes, thick long eyelashes that brushed against high cheekbones when the girl who’d just saved his life blinked twice.

“Dude.” Kneeling next to him, the girl with the purple hair knitted her brow. “What the fuck?”

And Cal couldn’t help but smile at her. A reflex. She was even prettier up close.

“I think we should check for brain damage,” a blond with bottle green eyes muttered.

Oh, but his brain was fine. It was his heart he should get checked, for he’d just been struck by Cupid’s arrow.

And electricity, of course. The smell of burnt hair, clothes, and flesh reminded him.

The result of that encounter turned out to be quite positive. Yes, he got a second-degree burn on his right hand and a dislocated shoulder from the fall but he refused to be sent home, it had been worth it to get to meet Mare Barrow.

She was 18, from Albanus, only here for the money, best friends with the blondie jokester and— as he learned after a dubiously moral social media stalking session —single and interested in men.

The only thing he regretted from that “meet cute” was that he’d been mostly unconscious (technically dead) for 99% of the time her lips were on his.

He lived for the moments they crossed paths during their daily activities around the camp. His heart grew in size about five times when she teased him and lightly punched his stomach or ruffled his hair.

Ptolemus cocked a brow but kept his mouth thankfully shut when Cal decided to start sitting on the counselor’s table during dinner instead of with the kids, as he had grown accustomed to.

It was miserable and extraordinary how he even found the way she ate her food endearing. More often than not, miserable because he couldn’t A: get her to like him, for she was too laser-focused on doing her job efficiently and getting the hell out of the camp; B: touch her as casually as she did with him because his hand was bandaged, and C: relationships between counselors were strictly forbidden.

By the time his hand was healthy enough to be of any use, three weeks had passed and he was head over heels, neck-deep (to not use other body parts for reference), stupidly in love with the sarcastic girl who had put her own breath into his lungs, challenged him every time they got the chance and looked at him like she wanted to sink her hand into his ribcage to take a bite out of his heart. Needless to say, he wanted to touch her. Badly. Ok, maybe do a bit more than 'touch', but you get the idea.

His excuse was handed on a silver platter by one of his favorite campers, Luther Carver. The kid who was usually off-standish and grim— just misunderstood, in Cal’s opinion – had signed up for the braiding lessons that Mare was unhappily in charge of.

On his way back from the lake, his crew of kids trailing behind him, he passed along the group of girls and Luther taking their lesson, sitting in a circle on the grass between the pine trees. An idyllic image of children focused on their task, and Mare’s poorly concealed discomfort as she sat on a log bench and supervised the activities, biting the inside of her cheek, elbows on her knees. It should be illegal to be that beautiful without meaning to.

“Hi, Cal!” Luther chirped as a girl behind him stared with furious determination at her handiwork. “How does my hair look?”

Cal signaled for his group to keep walking back to the camp and approached the small clearing.

“It looks amazing, buddy!” Cal gave him a thumb up. To be honest, his braid of long black hair was slightly (very) crooked to the left, and Mare noticed. She hid her laugh behind cough and a fist. “It is very original.”

Luther beamed and turned slightly to wink in his fellow camper’s direction. The girl blushed and giggled and Cal wanted nothing more than to give them a bear hug and tell them how smart and kind they were. Kids were the best thing in this world. Especially when they said things like...

“Mare’s hair is still the same,” Luther sighed wearily. “Someone should do something about it.”

All the girls hummed and nodded in agreement and Mare closed her eyes and Cal could read her thoughts as she counted to ten.

“Fine, you guys win.” Ah, so her untouched hair had been a recurring topic. “Cal can braid my hair!” she said with fake excitement that went over the kids’ heads, thankfully. “If he knows how to, that is.” Her brown eyes locked with his in camaraderie, fully expecting him to turn down the task with some excuse to appease their audience.

“Ok,” he shrugged happily as he walked over to her and her smug face dissolved into a confused frown and the kids cheered.

He made a shooing motion with his hand and she moved to sit on the grass awkwardly while he took her place on the log bench, sitting with his feet placed on either side of her body.

“What the hell are you doing?” she whispered through gritted teeth so only he could hear her, craning her neck up to glare at him, when he started cracking his knuckles for dramatic effect.

Were this any other context, he would savor the warmth her body radiated to the inside of his legs. Not this context. Absolutely not.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he smirked down at her. “Now stop moving and let me braid your hair.”

With one last suspicious look, she heaved a breath and stared ahead as he tugged the scrunchie off her hair and let the brown and purple waves spill down her back.

Cal had no fucking clue how to do braid but how hard could it be? It was like a knot with hair. Right? He looked at what the girls sitting on the grass were doing. Ok, that seemed doable. He combed his long fingers through Mare’s hair to loosen any knots and... Holy. Fucking. Shit.

He successfully hid a shudder while Mare uninterestedly hugged her knees to her chest.

He was choking on his own breath. Her hair was so soft and the scent of it was so amazing it pierced his fingertips, reached his bloodstream, and shot to his head. Jasmine and rain like that first day. Cal stilled for a moment and blinked forcefully to regain some semblance of rational thought.

“What is it?” Mare muttered curtly. Was it his imagination or did it sound more like a gasp than scolding?

“Nothing,” he said and started imitating the nearest girl’s technique. No point in lying, he bent down to whisper in her ear. “Your hair is really soft.” It wasn’t meant to come out so raspy and needy, and still...

Mare turned to the side and they were face to face. She seemed offended, but not really, with a confused glare darkening her burning gaze, a lovely red tint spreading all over her cheeks and neck, slightly parted plush lips.

She looked on the verge of kissing him or punching him. Cal prayed and ached it was the former because she licked her lips, leaving a glossy sheen and he wanted nothing more than to...

“OHHH Mare and Cal sitting in a tree!” A girl squealed, pointing at them from across the clearing and suddenly 10 pairs of devilish eyes were on them and chanting. “K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

They jumped away from each other so fast one might think they had been electrocuted again as they rushed to explain that “No, they were NOT doing anything of the sort!”

[theunrealinsomniac]

hello!! i hope you are doing well. maybe youve talked about this before but do you have writing advices to stay inspired? and how is the process for you to organize your ideas and get to work? im very curious about that, hope its not too personal!

Hello, I'm okay thank you!

I actually don't think I have talked about how I stayed inspired, mostly because it's something of a fluke half the time lol.

But I do have some tricks that might help others so:

Make a writing playlist. No seriously, find songs that inspire you to write and put them on a playlist. I personally have one for NaruSaku and one for NSFW writing on Spotify and that can normally be relied on to get in the mood to write.

Reading stories and watching TV shows about what you're trying to write can work too. That's a bit of a double edged sword though, you don't want to copy things whole hog, but it can help to get the ball rolling.

I actually started writing at 15/16 cos I was reading fic for NaruSaku and in my teenaged hormonal arrogance was like 'god, I can do better than this!' and that's how I started lol.

And much to my shame, reading bad fic and needing to put something 'better' out there does still work for me. I don't do that quite so much anymore thankfully lol, now it's more reading good fic and going 'oh my god, that's fucking great and it gives me ideas!'

If you're in the process of writing and you lost the thread or you've suddenly gotten a little self-conscious? Find someone you trust, someone who won't mind spoilers, possibly someone who doesn't even read your work but is a friend ... and ask them to read what you've got so far, or just the latest snippett.

The reassurance of someone you trust telling you what you've got is good? Especially if they're willing to riff on the idea with you, is golden. I've recaptured flagging inspiration by doing that a lot.

I sometimes go back and reread previous chapters of my work too. Reminds me where I want to go, what I've said in previous chapters and so what I have to stick to, gives me direction.

Did that just last night actually.

Now if you've just lost inspiration? Or the drive to write at all? Stop.

If you are forcing out every word or couple of words? Stop writing right now.

You're burnt out, you need to go do something else. Sleep, eat, shower, go for a walk, play a video game, watch a TV show or movie just for fun. Talk to your friends, play with your dog/cat/rabbit whatever.

Inspiration will not come if your brain is so wired you can't think straight. The best writer in the world will tell you that nothing is better for inspiration than healthy life habits, even the ones who spent half their time coked up.

Now as for my process lol.

God, this is gonna show me for the fraud I really am lol.

Firstly I need it to be understood that this is not a good thing lol, what I'm about to tell you is not good, it's just what my brain does.

Okay? Okay.

My brain doesn't shut the fuck up. Whether that be with all the things I need to do in a day housework wise, all the stuff I have to do at work or all the ideas I have for stories.

Cos in my case? You will only ever see a handful of the ideas that my brain throws at me cos I can't keep up.

So half of the battle for me is actually picking an idea to even start writing lol. I get stunlocked so often it's actually why I've had to instigate a 'no more than three chaptered fics at a time' policy.

And honestly, I would prefer it be one at a time but my brain rebels if I'm not at least spinning three plates at a time. And then it will throw curveballs at me in the shape of oneshots.

But once I've picked the writing for the day, eventually, I just start writing, no plan but the idea that inspired me and I just go. And it's normally just whatever idea appealed to me most lol.

Chapter One of every single fic, or the opening lines of the oneshots, are always 'seat of my pants figure it out' exercises.

You can actually tell when I click into the main theme of the story pretty easily in most of my work, at least I can see it, and sometimes that's before the end of the first chapter, sometimes we're way, way in and the story is kind of all over the place until then.

But okay, chapter/story is done, first draft is done. I wrote until I hit a natural stopping point and I have a completed first draft.

Then I edit.

I do a basic spell and grammar check first. Then I read through for typos and iffy tenses. That's Draft Two.

Then I read through again, finding more typos and iffy tenses and maybe make some edits to the flow of text. That's Draft Three.

Rinse and repeat until satisfied. Picking out dodgy lines, changing scenes where necessary and correcting any typos I've still missed or punctuation errors, you get it.

Then I post and wait lol.

And normally I'll take a few days to a week off and pick up whatever I'm writing next. Normally another story but in the case of the Wedding AU that sucker was just a constant stream of writing lol. It's a miracle I didn't freeze up lol.

Which is another reason why I have three chaptered fics going at a time. Let's me swap between as I go and avoid freezing up for longer.

But yeah, hope that was interesting lol.

Thanks for asking!

[tmngoose]

Some Assembly Required: a Rottmnt story

Remember this post? Well, I decided to clean up what I had and show it to y’all. This was supposed to be a much longer story, but back when I was writing it, I jumped ship for a different fic I was working on and never came back OTL Characters: Donnie, Mikey, Raph, Leo, April, Shelldon, Draxum, Huginn & Muninn (albeit super brief) Tags: Lab accidents, fires, minor injuries, hurt/comfort, obscure UHF reference I won’t be uploading this to Ao3, so you can read it under the cut :U

For the longest time, Donnie dreamed of the perfect lab partner. Though Shelldon was an impeccable assistant, there were moments where Donnie longed to work side-by-side with another scientist. Someone with a thirst for knowledge! Someone who shared his passion for all things technical and methodical; a scientist, just like he considered himself to be! 

To think Baron Draxum would be Donnie's long-awaited lab partner was not a scenario the Softshell had ever fathomed. Still, it was one he accepted with great enthusiasm. 

Draxum and Donnie saw no reason to doubt their capabilities. However, the rest of the family remained wary whenever the two of them went off meddling in the lab. With April's help, Raph, Leo, and Mikey devised a strict set of guidelines to ensure Donnie and Draxum wouldn't get into too much trouble. 

"Scoff!" Donnie threw the hefty packet of rules down at his feet, offended. "What do you take us for: a pair of unhinged Frankensteins? Y'know, it'd be nice if, just for once, you guys would have a little faith in our scientific endeavors!" 

"It's not that we don't trust you guys," April explained, "It's just... you guys tend to get a little carried away with your projects, that's all!" 

"What's that suppose to mean?" 

"The last time Barry was in a lab, he created the Oozesquitos," April folded her arms, "And don't get me started about the time you messed with your brother's brains."

"Okay! I get it!" Donnie sighed. He picked up the packet of rules and flapped the dust out from its pages. "We won't get carried away: Todd scout's honor." 

April smiled, "Thanks, Dee." 

"Yes, well, if you'll excuse me, Draxum and I were just about to partake in our latest  scientific acquisition: Professor Philo's Chemistry Set for the At-Home Scientist!" Donnie started off for his lab, tucking the packet into a compartment in his battle-shell.

April shook her head, smiling as she headed inside the living room, where the sounds of 8-bit gaming welcomed her. Raph and Mikey were too invested in whatever racing game they were playing to notice April. 

"Soo, how'd it go?" Leo asked from his beanbag chair. "Is Donnie mad that we're afraid he'll bring Potatozilla into existence or what?"

"I say he handled it pretty well!" April plopped herself down in the recliner. "I told Donnie that we just wanted to make sure he and Draxum toned it down a bit, that's all." 

"See? I told you he'd listen to April!" Mikey grinned smugly at Leo.

Leo rolled his eyes, "Whatever." He went back to scrolling his social feed on his phone, "I'll believe it when they don't create a giant mutant potato or somethin'."

"Be nice, Leo," April swung her legs over the armrest. "We've gotta have a little faith in 'em. Besides, I've never seen Donnie this happy since-" 

KA-BOOOOOOM!!!

A powerful tremor shook the lair, taking everyone by surprise. The trinkets Splinter's 'Do Not Touch' cabinet rattled and shook, a few of the lighter items clattered to the floor. April held onto the armchair with Raph steadying it before it could topple over backward. Mikey hid inside of his shell out of reflex as Leo jumped to his feet, prepared to face whatever threat was upon them.

"Omigosh!" Mikey exclaimed, popping his head out of his shell. "What was that?!" 

"You don't think DIGG's tryin' to take down the Kaufman Coliseum again?" Raph frowned, trying to rub the ringing out from his ears. 

"Um, guys?" Leo sniffed the air, "Does anyone else smell something burning, or is that Raph's 'Taken-By-Surprise' stink?" 

Raph sniffed at his underarm, "Nope. It's not me!" 

April and Mikey took a moment to smell the air, their noses wrinkled at the familiar acrid odor of smoke. 

And smoke could only mean one thing: something was on fire. 

Oh no! Donnie! Barry! April's stomach dropped over the thought. She bolted out of the living room with Raph, Leo, and Mikey right behind her. "Please let it be a giant mutant potato!" 

It wasn't a giant mutant potato. 

By the time they entered the atrium, a thick cloud of smoke had spilled out from the mouth of Donnie's lab, billowing up into the rafters above. Although they couldn't see it, they could hear the fire roaring from deep within the lab.

"Mad Dogz!" Raph barked, "Initiate ‘Fire Safety Plan Alpha!’"  “FSssPAH!” Mikey pronounced the acronym from the back of the group.

But before Raph could lead the rescue, Draxum leaped out from the smoke carrying Donnie in his arms; their matching lab coats singed. Shelldon flew out, not too far behind, with Huginn and Munnin holding onto his back. 

"Barry!" April ran up to the soot-stained alchemist. "What happened?! I thought y'all we're gonna take things easy? Didn’t y’all read the packet?!" 

"We were," Draxum rasped, passing Donnie's limp body into Raph's arms. "If it weren't for a pair of idle hands." He gave his gargoyles a sharp look while removing the safety goggles from his face, leaving clean rings around his eyes.

Munnin's wings sagged, "The instructions weren't joking when it said 'everything in this chemistry set is a fire hazard.'"

"Yeah, including the instructions," Huginn hung his head, "Our bad."

"So, how're we suppose to handle this whole situation?" Leo asked, gesturing to the raging inferno that was (formally) Donnie's lab.

"I'm on it, dudes!" Shelldon replied, concentrating on his emergency protocols hardwired into his drives.

The fire-alarm system blared to life. Then came the hissing of the sprinklers going off and the gush of extinguishing foam spraying deep within the lab. Slowly, the smoke was beginning to ease up, much to everyone's relief.

Slowly, Donnie began to stir, groaning as he slowly regained consciousness, "Ugh... what? M-my lab..." His confusion morphed into panic as he realized the severity of the situation. "My lab!!" He squirmed feebly in Raph's arms, mortified.

"Woah, take it easy," Raph held Donnie against him, firm enough to subdue him yet careful not to hurt him. "That chemistry set of yours nearly got you guys barbequed." 

Donnie frowned, "No, you don't understand!" His eyes stung with tears as he thought of his life's work gone in a blaze of unsupervised stupidity. "Everything's ruined!"

"Hey, you don't know that for sure!" April gently touched Donnie's shoulder. "Besides, what's important is you're both okay!" 

"April's right," Mikey agreed, clinging to Draxum's side, "We're glad y'all made it out safely. A little flambéed, but you get the idea."

"But my lab," Donnie emphasized. 

"Lab shmab, we can worry about that later!" Leo nudged Draxum with his elbow. "For now, let's focus on getting you toasted marshmallows taken care of."

"Yeah, what Leo said!" Raph adjusted Donnie in his arms, heading for the bathroom where the first aid kit was kept. "Just you wait; maybe it's not as bad as you think!"

                                                            -x-

Raph's sense of judgment was always a mixed bag, and this time, he couldn't have been farther from the truth. 

The lab was a smoldering mess, virtually unrecognizable to the Turtles, Draxum, and April. The walls were blackened, and the smell of burnt wiring and computer parts hung sourly in the air. Puddles of foam and water gathered in parts of the floor, adding to the disarray.

Donnie searched desperately for anything salvageable, but the prospects were slim to none. The bandaged Softshell approached the remnants of his workstation, absolutely gutted. He reached for what was once a prototype for a new battle shell, but it crumbled into ash in his hands. 

"Alas, this must've been what it felt like to lose the Library of Alexandria," Donnie mourned poetically, sinking to his knees. Shelldon drifted up to his heartbroken creator, pressing his head against Donnie's side like the loyal drone he was.

"Okaaayyy, so it's a little charbroiled in here," Leo cringed. "But if anyone can fix this, it's you!" 

"Do you have any idea how long that'll take me?" Donnie moaned, overwhelmed by the daunting task. "It took me years of refurbishing junk and computer parts, and now I have nothing! Zilch! Nada! No equipment, no materials, no anything!"

Donnie's outburst left the others speechless. They had seen him upset before, but nothing to this extent. 

Quietly, Draxum approached Donatello, "As someone who has lost their life's work twice, I understand your plight," he said, joining the turtle on the floor. "However, unlike myself, you are fortunate not to face this endeavor alone. You have your friends, your brothers, and... your lab partner," Draxum looked off to the side, somewhat flustered by the sentimental mushiness his words implied. 

"Draxibald's right, Donnie!" Mikey beamed. He was so proud of Barry for stepping up to the plate. He popped up in between them, slinging his arms over their shoulders, "You've got us to help you! We'll have your lab up and running in no time!"

Leo smiled, "Yeah, with you bossing us around, we can totally get the job done!"

"But a total rebuild of this scope requires a certain level of technological sophistication!" Donnie deflated, "So unless you know of any tech-savvy geniuses out there, I don't see how any of this is possible."

"Oh, I know a guy," April answered, "And I'm lookin' right at him~" She smiled at Donnie, who didn't know how to process the compliment. "Have a little faith in yourself, Dee!"  Donnie blinked, stunned that his own words were used against him.

"Yeah, you said so yourself!” Raph joined in, “You and that big brain of yours built this lab out of nothin' but junk! If there's anyone who can build back better than ever, it's you! So whaddya say, Don?"

Donnie looked at Raph's hand extended out to him. He then glanced over at Leo, Mikey, and April, all eagerly awaiting his response. He turned to Draxum, who gave a curt nod.

Touched by the support of his family, Donnie wiped away a tear from the corner of his eye, "I say let's order some pizzas and chop-chop! Rome wasn't built in a day, people! We've got our work cut out for us!"  He took Raph’s hand and was lifted up from the ground.  Yes, Donnie supposed he could have a little faith in himself, and everyone else as well.

[knickynoo]

You wrote about it in Harborage but now I want to know all the details: what went down during the great midterm fiasco of 1985? (In both timelines). Loving your fic, btw!

LOL, I figured that little moment might stick out and prompt questions. Glad you're enjoying the fic!

Some context for others: I headcanon Marty with ADHD & that Doc is the first one to put the pieces together regarding it. In my fic, during a conversation, Doc and Marty make reference to "The Midterm Fiasco of January 1985", which isn't elaborated on but is basically implied as being the event that prompts Doc to have a conversation with Marty regarding his suspicions.

Now, some details for you, anon. (I do have a whole backstory on it because I wrote a one-shot a while back that was similar-ish in concept, but I never posted it and probably won't at this point. So...here!) LONG post ahead...

Marty's staring down the barrel of midterm week, and he prepares accordingly by telling Doc he won't be by the garage for a while because he's going to be going straight home to study.

Doc is like, "Great, let me know if you need help," and when he doesn't see of hear from Marty, he assumes it means all is going well.

Until Marty comes flying through the garage door at full speed the weekend before his exams start, in a complete panic. He's all disheveled, and he drops his half open backpack to the ground and just sort of gives Doc this wide-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights look.

Doc figures Marty is overwhelmed or burnt out, so he assures his friend he can help and asks what subject Marty wants to focus on.

And Marty just stands there a moment and goes, "All of them." Which makes Doc go "????" because Marty's supposedly been at home studying all week, so he asks, hesitantly, if Marty has studied at all yet even though he knows the answer to that.

"Marty...what have you been doing all week??" Cue a distressed shrug from Marty and, "I DON'T KNOW."

No, really. Marty has no clue how he managed to somehow waste away the whole week, feeling stressed out of his mind but unable to open up a book. He kept telling himself he had time until oops, he's got less than two days before the tests and has done nothing.

Doc, of course, has seen this scenario before (albeit on a smaller scale with other assignments) so he calms things down first and then asks if he can take a look at Marty's exam schedule, his notes/study guides, etc.

Except...um...Marty doesn't have any of those things. He dumps out his backpack, which is pretty much just a mess of wrinkled papers, a hundred pencils, food wrappers, and probably a few things he thought he had lost a while back. Exam schedule? It's somewhere in his room. Maybe. Notes? They're sparse, and a lot of what he does have is disorganized or illegible. Study guide? HA!

After a nice, nutritious fast food meal and some time to regroup (and a trip to the McFly house so Marty can find his schedule), Doc helps him form a game plan and attempt to sort through what notes he does have, as well as zero in on the specific topics he most needs to focus on.

There's only so much Doc can do though, because Marty is attempting to cram like, 4 months worth of material into his brain at once which just...doesn't work. So, it's a very tumultuous week that Marty spends panic-studying at the garage and barely sleeping. And, as Marty is prone to do, he gets all caught up in the self-blame spiral, which does nothing to aid in his motivation.

Doc keeps helping to get him back on track, but he also kind of paces the garage, doing some work/small tasks and thinking through the whole situation. He's well aware of this familiar pattern of procrastination and last minute scrambling, as well as many of Marty's other tendencies and general quirks. The impulsiveness, the time blindness, distractibility, executive functioning issues, etc.

Doc had come across some literature on ADD a while back (which is what it was referred to as then. It was changed to ADHD in 1987) and he became fascinated with the topic, as well as the clear connection he saw to Marty. He'd kept the information to himself though, never quite sure if he should bring it up for fear of upsetting his friend and also the chance he could be wrong.

But as he stands by, listening to Marty complain and drown in stress, Doc is like, Okay, yeah, we're not doing this anymore, and sits Marty down for a chat.

He says that there could be an explanation for what's going on and slowly wades into the topic, explaining all the things he'd read and his own observations. Marty's heard of ADD, but at this point in the 80s, it's still regarded by many people as not even existing, and most cases that are acknowledged/treated are the most severe ones, primarily made up of really young kids (almost exclusively boys) who are "completely out of control" and have significant discipline problems. So, Marty sort of brushes him off at first, but as Doc continues to list facts and refer to his research, Marty can't deny that he identifies with most of the things he's hearing. Plus, he trusts that Doc wouldn't just toss something like this out there without having genuine reason to.

They talk for a really long time, and lightbulbs are just going off everywhere above Marty's head as he takes things in and is like, OH. Well...now what??

Unfortunately, because of the limited understanding of the condition by most people (and even professionals), lack of resources, and Marty's less than involved parents in the original timeline, there aren't a whole lot of viable options. So Doc turns the focus to strategies they can implement in order to help with those day to day tasks that are most difficult. But more than anything, Doc makes it clear to Marty that it doesn't make him "a slacker", that being differently wired isn't bad, and that he's incredibly bright and capable.

The conversation is a lot to take in, but it's a beneficial one. Marty is still very much Marty, and a lot of things stay the same, but feeling fully understood helps a lot. The fact that Doc is open about his own eccentricities and differences is an added bonus.

When all is said and done, Marty makes it through the whirlwind of a week with his sanity mostly intact. His grades aren't spectacular or anything, but he manages to pass every exam, and the week is soon fondly dubbed "The Midterm Fiasco of January 1985" by the both of them.

The end

Thanks for the ask!

[dionysianfreak]

some spicy things I do in my practice because of ADHD

given that it's literally my brain, adhd takes over a lot of things in my life. it finds a way to wiggle into everything I do in both bad and good ways. it's just how it is being neurodivergent and it's just how life goes for me, but that doesn't mean it doesn't aid me in many ways. growing up we aren't taught about mental divergency. we're taught the abled and neurotypical way and that's it, but in truth neurodivergent people only struggle due to not having the resources to do things the way that'll let them work efficiently. so here is a list of ways my personal adhd effects my pagan practice and ways I incorporate it into my worship !

stimming

stimming ! i stim a LOT and sometimes, if the emotion I feel is strong enough, they turn to uncontrollable tics. this also means that when during things like rituals, I'll have to pause so I don't tic and ruin something. this is totally normal and okay ! I've never once had a problem with it, and the Gods just patiently waited for it to pass as it always does. we both know it's just something that happens and it's apart of me, it isn't something to be ashamed of or hide.

accepting stimming once I was diagnosed was also something I did as a devotional act to Dionysos ! instead of trying to mask or push down the urge to stim, I'd allow myself to just let it out. my stims vary between very overt to covert, and accepting the overt ones as normal was a feat worthy of devotion imo. you can also keep stim toys on your altar when you're not using them, if you wanted to.

time and schedules

consistent worship ????? never heard of her. same goes for offerings. sometimes I give 294894 offerings in a day and sometimes I've given one offering in a week, it just depends on my ever changing behavior. there's no need to be stuck on a schedule if you don't want to or even make one to begin with. when I first started out, I asked Hermès, Apollon, and Dionysos (who I worshipped at the time) if I should make a schedule and the no was so hard I haven't asked since. my worship is a part of my daily life, as just like I don't drive places every day I don't worship every day. both are still important in my life regardless if I'm actively doing it or not. if you stuggle with consistency, I urge you to speak with the Gods you worship and see if making things more fluid would help !

hyperfixation is also a pain in the ass sometimes, especially when it becomes something other than paganism. due to the free nature of my practice and that I've chosen to devote, it sometimes translates into "well I don't haveeee to do this" and suddenly poof, all the motivation is gone. it's VERY hard to come back when your brain is so wired on something else entirely, and I understand the feeling. during these times I personally do very small things to keep up. if I make dinner for myself, I'll offer a portion and eat with the Gods just to show that I'm participating even when I'm struggling to. the small things count.

RSD - Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria

my RSD is crippling in my life, and it's reach extends to paganism sometimes as well (if you're unaware, RSD is the extreme sensitivity to perceived rejection in any form). sometimes during readings I receive a card that I believe is saying something "negative". sometimes it's criticism, sometimes advice, sometimes it's a slap on the wrist, but no matter what it is in reality I'm at the mercy of my brain to interpret it. so this has lead to meltdowns, long depressive/anxious episodes, and crying fests when I think a deity is angry with me. it has gotten so bad before that delusions have appeared and made me believe false memories or feelings of hatred from the Gods.

it's so hard and I'm so sorry if anyone else has to deal with it. to help with this, I have to fight to remind myself that advice is not an attack. the Gods are trying to help me and, even if They were angry at me, I've made mistakes before and They've allowed me to grow from them. i also have a checklist of questions I ask myself to allow logic and reality back into my head. a few questions include "have i done anything recently that's worthy of anger from a God ?", "is this something that will last forever ?", and "is this a message that has something to teach me ?".

impulsiveness

ask most people with ADHD about being impulsive and you'll probably receive a nervous side glace. we're impulsive often, which can do a multitude of things in paganism. one, starting a devoting and never finishing it. i am SO guilty of this one, and it make me feel bad even now. i have plenty up unfinished plans, drawings, and other devotional items that look around and guilt me. I've been in this cycle for a year and I don't think I'll ever grow out of it, but from what I've noticed the Gods don't mind. doing some of a devotion is a wonderful feat, and the energy that took is a wonderful offering even if you don't finish it.

I'm sure other adhd people and probably some autistic people have been in the position of "I just discovered this new Deity and oh my god I NEED to worship them RIGHT NOW or I'll DIE". They're just SO COOL and you automatically feel a connection. then three weeks later you feel demotivated to worship Them and now you feel terrible about it. don't worry, me too. to help with this nowadays I personally honor for a bit then worship if the worship relationship doesn't involve any help between us. this is what I did with Pan, and it worked VERY well for me. i recognized our connection but I didn't feel the pressure to consistently worship Him.

back to the start of the second paragraph, if you're stuck in that situation just communicate with the Deity. it can be hard to admit you're wrong, especially with adhd. however, just sitting down and calling to Them to let them know how you feel and that you think you made a mistake is a huge communicative step !

demotivation

this. one. sucks. inbetween hyperfixations, being stressed out or anxious, going through a depressive episode, and more can cause very deep demotivation and loss of energy in people with ADHD and other disorders. sometimes I'll just lay in my floor with my headphones on for hours because I literally can't find the energy to get up. a lot of people worry that this directly conflicts with Paganism and would slow progress. i understand why it seems that way, especially since adhd is a very "GO FAST, DO THIS THING N O W" disorder. there's actually a few solutions here I can think of

devote your personal healing to the Gods as this can give your brain a "reward" and can help you personally feel better in many ways. after weeks without a shower, devote a bath to a Deity or maybe eat breakfast at Their altar if you haven't been eating much. allow Them to be your motivation

take a break entirely. paganism certrainly isn't a 24/7/365 commitment and your practice molds to your needs. if you're just absolutely knocked out and need rest, take a break. I've taken MANY breaks before. I've been forced on breaks too because the Gods noticed my mental health declining before I did. never feel ashamed for needing time for yourself

do multiple small things rather than big things. a little bit of your dinner when you eat, redecorate Their altar or space, listen to music that reminds you of Them, think of Them when you're out and about in case you see something. you can weave devotion into daily acts in order to reinforce mundane things you need to do and calm your mind about paganism.

and finally, miscellaneous list of other things I do that are too small for their own section.

if you need to keep track of divination readings, no need to write down every reading you've ever had in detail. you can voice record them as you go, take photos of the cards, or use apps like Labyrinthos that can act as a tarot log.

your altar doesn't need to look perfect, it should reflect your worship and your devotion to a Deity. this means if your altar looks like a mess, as mine ALWAYS do, it's perfectly okay ! clutter aesthetic altars are the most beautiful altars in my eyes, and they're so worthy of adoration. I've never once heard of a Deity disliking an altar, They appreciate our work to put in a space just for Them. let your altar look messy and wild as you want, altars don't need to be aesthetic or color coordinated

you see everywhere that many of us are devoted to one deity in particular or multiple, I fit in here too. i just wanted to say that you never have to devote to any Deity if you don't want to. you could worship when you need help from a specific Deity or worship a different deity every month. never feel like you have to tie yourself down just because other people feel comfortable doing so.

you don't have to celebrate every festival. it's okay to skip celebrations that don't really apply to you or are at an inconvenient time ! you could also reschedule if you find yourself wanting to celebrate but burnt out or busy.

[t-treb-clef]

i feel like posting today, so here’s my random compilation of “little things about making things feel clean/little things about cleaning that i wish i knew sooner”

it’s long, and i ramble about each thing a bit, so i added a cut to this post.

(mostly random to be honest. i just spent a good hour today cleaning and realized “huh i know some small things i guess.” and felt like spitting my brain onto the internet)

-spray bottles. i have two, both filled mostly with water, but one has some of my favorite scented oils and the other has a very very little bit of detergent. When I don’t feel like lighting a candle or someone is coming over and i need to seem like i have it together, i’ll use the first one to make it smell like not air and the second one i use sort of like a cleaning thing for my furniture? I use spray bottle mixtures to clean basically everything if we’re being honest. (note; i read somewhere that lavender cancels out other smells, so the scented one has lavender because sometimes that food in the fridge i forgot about goes bad and makes the kitchen smell bad.)

-non electric vacuums. holy shit i got one recently because someone was talking about how their mom used to have one and i was like “hold on. hold on what” and it’s a lifesaver. it’s not loud, there’s no wires, it’s tiny and i keep it by my bed in the corner because it’s so small but i could actually put it anywhere and you can take it apart and it wouldn’t even be a problem. it’s like 2 or 3 small rods and a box thing that’s sort of like a broom. it’s kind of a broom with the dustpan attached. but it’s a brushroll so it works on carpets and on tile and wood and it’s really useful because i have 1 broom and it’s a mess because i keep it outside and i hate vacuuming because it’s loud and i hate the wires and it’s big and heavy. and if you like the vacuum lines if you pull it backwards a bit it pulls the carpet and makes those lines. (note: i havent had it for super long yet so i have no idea how it functions and affects carpets in the long run, but it function like a normal vacuum and does pick up dust!)

-baby wipes. some baby wipes are antibacterial, but not all, so for actual cleaning you should probably use an antibacterial wipe (esp for food surfaces), but baby wipes are good to have on hand. they’re good to wipe your hands off sometimes but they work fine on most electronics as far as i can tell (dont hold me to that) and are better for when you just have to wipe down the counter or stove, though following it up with a slightly damp paper towel or microfiber cloth is good on stoves so there’s no residue just in case, but if you let it dry anyways it should be fine.

-subsequently, microfiber cloths. they’re versatile, don’t leave too much behind, and make sure that whatever you’re cleaning won’t streak. though they’re not super absorbent, gotta be honest

-if you have a gas stove, keep in mind that you can pop open the surface and remove the burners to make cleaning easier. currently, i don’t have a gas stove anymore (or really any stove for that matter), but i had one growing up and learned this way too late and felt like it was worth putting in there

-canned air!! i love canned air. it’s a duster without too much effort, but it doesn’t always get everything.

-just to note, if you’re like me and have that one fan that’s been running for like weeks straight with barely no interruption, please clean it. at some point. especially tower fans. dust builds up in there and it’s not good to breath in. also about fans, again tower or any rotating fans, don’t leave it to rotate for days at a time because that can hurt it. just give it a break sometimes. mine now makes a weird noise when rotating because i burnt the poor thing. something i learned also is that you can lightly brush like. scented oils or perfumes on the back of the fan and it’ll make the room smell nice (i should stress that you should not put it inside the fan. do not put things, anything, inside of a fan.)

-this is about a specific product, which is barkeeper’s friend. there are variants of it that are non-abrasive and some that are. i recommend the lightly abrasive liquid version. it’s a versatile cleaning product that works on most tiles, stones and granite surfaces, cookware and metal dishes, and for sinks and bathrooms. it’s. it’s just good. there was one specific sink that was bothering me because it had rust or buildup or something in it that was not going away but this and a sponge got rid of it pretty nicely so. i don’t know, i like it i guess lmao

-swiffer. if not a swiffer literally any rod that you can put a paper towel or clorox wipe on. it’s useful for things you can’t reach, and if you don’t have a mop, for the floor. you don’t really need to buy the designated swiffer pads either, just use a wipe.

-quick note about clorox wipes while i’m at it, you can squeeze them out a bit if you’re cleaning something that you’re not sure should be wet.

-castile soap. not a must, i don’t buy it often because it can be kinda expensive, but it’s worth it sometimes. it’s basically just all purpose soap- for your dishes, floor, counters, hands, cabinets, most anything really. you just water it down into a solution that’s appropriate for what you’re doing and that’s all. you can mix it with other stuff, too. for counters, tables, or chairs i’ll sometimes mix it with a little dish soap or detergent or for a floor, floor cleaning stuff? i don’t remember what it’s called at the top of my head

[cotncandyboifics]

Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High?

AO3 Link

My Main Masterpost

Pairing(s): Romantic Dukexiety

Word count: 6.9k (Remus would be proud)

Story summary: A pseudo-songfic; 5 times Remus called Virgil high, and one time Virgil called Remus high.

Content Warning: Marijuana, Characters high on Marijuana, Description of the experience of being high on marijuana, Food, descriptions of eating, descriptions of preparing food, vague anxiety descriptions, insomnia, cursing, Remus Being Remus,(let me know if i missed anything please!)

Author notes: this is just. dorky fluff stuff. Idek lol. Enjoy

...

Virgil grimaced vaguely at his phone, which had begun to buzz periodically. More specifically; Virgil was glaring at the displayed name at the top of the screen, communicating who was currently calling him.

TrashMan 42069 is calling...

Remus never called Virgil. As in... never never. And even if he did, it was 7 am; Virgil sincerely doubted that Remus I-wake-up-at-2-pm-every-day Prince had ever been awake at this time of morning in his life.

The call didn't stop after 5 buzzes, and so Virgil picked his phone up, hurriedly accepting the call and pressing the phone to his face.

"uuum, hiiii...." Remus drawled from the other end of the line. Virgil scoffed under his breath. "I'll have a.... extra large cheese pizza, and another extra large with... extra anchovies...." Remus continued. Virgil genuinely couldn't tell whether Remus thought he was actually talking to a Pizza parlor employee or not, but more pertinently, he was very much disconcerted by the way Remus was acting. He had half a mind to ask if he'd hit his head on something, but... Virgil was gradually growing used to Remus' antics, and every time he'd asked out of his own anxieties in the past, Remus had been More Than Fine. He pushed his nerviness aside with a heavy sigh.

"Re, what are you doing?" his voice came out a bit husky, and Virgil realized this was the first time he'd spoken that day.

Remus didn't reply for a few long moments. Of course, this had exactly nothing to do with the fact that he was having a gay panic over the sound of Virgil's morning voice, which - again - was decidedly not happening.

"Haay Virge," Remus scarcely strung his words together, and they fell on top of each other as they rolled off his tongue in a quite klutzy fashion. It was almost soothing, in its way. "I thought if I pretended that you... that I was... that I thought you were a pizza man, then I'd forget to do... why I called you." Remus scrunched his nose to himself, taking his time to find his words, but eventually he got there. Virgil had been struck with realization part way through Remus' rambling, and was now scowling as if Remus could hear his facial expression through the phone.

"Remus, are you seriously high right now?" Virgil hissed.

"I mean... I think so... I definitely remember..." he pointedly enunciated each syllable of 'definitely remember,' before seemingly getting distracted by his thoughts. Virgil cleared his throat to prompt him. "...uhhhh... I don't wanna call you. Why did I... think that was...good." Virgil couldn't tell if Remus was talking to himself or not.

"Dude, go take a shower and... like, drink some water or something. I'll see you at work later. Please come in a better mental state than you're in now." Virgil hung up, setting his phone back down on his desk face-down, resuming his script read-through of the next production being put on at the theater he worked for.

Several hours later, Virgil was adjusting a few bolts on a light fixture, one of many all lined up on the long bar that he'd lowered from the fly deck earlier. He and Remus were stage technicians, and had both worked at this theater together for nearly two years now.

Remus burst through the set of doors off stage left, arms wide and his custom green tool belt slung over one shoulder like a sash. He bowed a bit dramatically to the stage and everyone on it (which, at the moment, was only Virgil; they were the only two in the theater, since Virgil regularly showed up early and Remus was here early too for once for... some reason) before stepping in long strides toward a burnt out light fixture, a few feet away from Virgil.

"You good?" Virgil murmured, feigning intense focus on a particular few wires. Remus had learned by now that Virgil was a man of few words and many thoughts; there was always a lot more to what he was saying than the small string of words he poured out.

"Heh. Sorry about that. I woke up in a funk, and though a wake and bake might... help. Didn't anticipate calling... you, though." he rubbed the back of his neck a bit sheepishly, focusing his line of sight on the company logo branded into the lighting fixture. "Can't say it won't happen again though! If I call you when I'm that stoned it means I really, really like you," Remus waggled his eyebrows, winking (specifically to highlight his sarcasm - a wink was a telltale sign that Remus' words were entirely a joke) at an utterly deadpan Virgil.

"Sure." Virgil paused for a moment. "Why're you here so early though?"

"Huh?" Remus replied, finishing twisting the bulb out of the fixture before looking up at Virgil, who was now presenting his phone screen to Remus, showing him the time. "Damn! High me can get punctuality! I thought it was three, not  two... I was wondering why you were the only one here!" Remus had resumed his adjusting of the light fixture, hunkered over and partially upside down in a way that made Virgil's stomach churn. He only grunted in reply.

...

A recent sound design project had Virgil and Remus talking a lot more than usual - nearly every day. Virgil thought Remus would be a massive pain in the ass to work with, but he was a surprisingly diligent project partner. His ideas were often... eccentric, and at times too far-fetched, but they served as an excellent foundation. They clashed well with Virgil's taste and general groundedness (by extension, a minuscule helping of insecurity) that he brought to the table. They'd worked together over discord for the last few days, voice chatting and messaging through brainstorming sessions and developing their project.

It was 5pm, and Virgil was just beginning chopping some potatoes for a mash dinner when a message notification popped up on his phone.

TrashMan 42069 im tiiiired. gotta get up early to head into the theater, can we work tmrw mornin instead of tn ? wanna have an early night

Virgil smirked to himself, typing out a response.

since when do you sleep before 1am

but like, go off ig

see ya in the ams

Remus never responded, and Virgil resumed his chopping, and soon was plopping the potato portions into a pre-simmering pot.

Night arrived and fell entirely, leaving Virgil alone with his thoughts in bed, staring at the ceiling desperately as if it would put him to sleep. His bouts of insomnia made for horrible company, and yet another reminder of just how awfully lonely he truly was. He rolled onto his side, facing his bedside table just as his phone lit up and started buzzing.

Remus. Again. Odd. And it was... 11pm, according to the bleary text in the top corner of Virgil's phone screen. Not too bad, I might get to sleep by 2, Virgil noted to himself. He accepted the call before his drowsy brain could think through the decision.

"Shit, hi," Remus breathed. The usual sharp edge of his brash voice was gone, leaving soft, rolling words in its wake. Virgil sighed to himself.

"Hi."

"Did I awaken you from the sleep? I didn't think you'd answer..." Virgil recognized the drawl in Remus' voice then, but he didn't mind it so much. He was too tired to be grumpy about this.

"No, I couldn't sleep. I thought you were having an early night?" Virgil ran his fingers through his hair, rolling back onto his back.

"Ah... right... I told you that..." Remus spoke slowly, as if carrying each word, each syllable the way a mother carries her child. Virgil smiled softly into the darkness. "I was feeling like shit, so... I was just gonna, toke up. Knew I... wouldn't be able to... do any of the project... like this."

"Gotcha," Virgil mumbled. He had closed his eyes, letting himself ease into the sound of Remus' uncharacteristically gentle voice.

Remus started humming on the other end of the line, and that only proved to relax Virgil more. He felt himself grow heavy in the bed, limbs going slack and muscles and tendons untensing.

"Are you still alive?" Remus spoke suddenly. Virgil hummed.

"Yeah, I think so," Virgil said. "Your humming is putting me to sleep," he laughed lightly. Remus grew silent. "Uh, that's not a bad thing," Virgil resolved, "I have a hard time... sleeping, sometimes. Nothing usually helps. That's... uh, helping. If you wanna keep... humming, or talking..." As he spoke, Virgil realized just how weird what he was saying - what he was asking for - truly was. He cleared his throat. "Nevermind."

"I have nothing better to do right now, I can hum you to sleep, Virge," Remus' careful voice replied, ever so slowly. "If that's... what... you meant."

"Um," Virgil chewed on his hoodie sleeve absent-mindedly. "Yeah," he finally huffed, "I'd... like that."

Virgil anticipated a lot more awkwardness at this entire situation from Remus. But Remus was a generally oblivious person to awkwardness, seemingly especially so when he was stoned. He almost immediately resumed his humming, and Virgil was out like a light less than ten minutes later.

"Virgie? Did you go... fall into the sleep?" Remus asked after a while. When he was met with silence other than subtle, even breaths, he smiled to himself. He'd helped someone, even while he was like this. He truly didn't want to be doing anything else right now, so he just kept humming into the phone for a while. Maybe it'll help Virgil sleep even better.

The thoughts that an intoxicated mind produces truly are an enigma.

...

Remus and Virgil's sound design project was one of three being proposed to the directors and head technicians for the next production. The three were created as presentations, just the general idea of the design put together so that the one chosen of the three could be put into proper production by the entire sound team.

Virgil's and Remus' won.

They celebrated by indulging in a pizza lunch together before they were to head into work. A large, half pepperoni and half anchovies.

"Are those things actually good, or do you just eat them because everyone else thinks they're gross?" Virgil asked, chasing the floppy end of his next slice with his mouth. Remus grinned with a glint in his eye that Virgil knew all too well; it meant one thing, and one thing only. Mischief.

"Whah if ih's bof?" Remus spoke through his mouthful of anchovy pizza. Virgil scrunched his nose, punching Remus in the shoulder.

"Chew your food and don't talk with your mouth full, that's hecka nasty dude," Virgil laughed. Remus rolled his eyes in a very unconvincing manner, considering he was still smiling.

"Yef, mom," Remus spoke again through his unfinished mouthful. Virgil shoulder bumped him, and finally took the first bite of his next slice.

Not a week later, Virgil woke up rather late. Well, late for him; around 7am. He slapped a hand to his forehead, sitting up a little too fast. He set his hands on the bed beside himself to try and fight the onset of dizziness. After a few deep breaths and shaking his head and hair out, he reached for his phone.

No notifications, other than 2 missed calls from Remus, at 3:12am. Virgil sighed, laughing to himself slightly. He opened his messaging app.

why do u only call me when ur high lmao

...

Virgil was at the grocery store, milling through the dairy aisle, when his phone started buzzing in his pocket. He was surprised to see Remus' contact as the displayed caller ID, although not that surprised. Remus had called Virgil a few times while he wasn't high since Virgil had sent that message, usually to discuss theater-related things. Though, it wasn't like him to call at 8 in the morning. Virgil pressed the answer button, bringing the phone to his ear.

"Hey Re, what's up?" Virgil said as he started checking the expiration dates on a few cartons of heavy whipping cream.

"Virgieee... Are you walking around with no shoes on?" Remus' voice was calm and subdued.

"Uh-" Virgil was so caught off guard by the question -and the petname- that he literally looked down at his feet to check. Nope, he'd definitely put on his black high tops that morning. "No? I'm at the grocery store. Wh... what?"

"I saw someone," Remus blurted, speaking slowly. Oh, right. Virgil's lips tightened into a annoyed-and-disappointed expression. Of course he's just baked again. "They looked like you, kinda... no purple hair... but jacket- or, i mean, sweater... uhhhm, no... what's it called?"

"My hoodie?" Virgil offered, glancing down at his purple patchwork hoodie.

"Yeah, yeah, that," Remus drew in a long heavy breath. "they had a hoodie." Remus stopped then, as if awaiting Virgil's explanation expectantly. Virgil scoffed.

"So. You saw someone walking around with no shoes on, who looked kind of like me only based on the fact that they were wearing a hoodie?" Virgil recited.

"Well, yeah!" Remus said as if offended that Virgil needed to ask. "They were black shoes, and... and the hoodie was... just like your black plaid one."

"The one that I like... never wear? How do you even... have you even seen me wear that?" Virgil didn't know why he was asking; he must have if he knew of it.

"You did," Remus started slowly, "one time. The pizza time. Said your other one was dirty." Remus spoke like a small child who was being scolded and felt really bad for what they'd done. "And I thought... maybe you'd... dyed your hair back. I don't know why." Virgil sighed.

"Okay? Well, I promise I have my shoes on, and my hair is still purple, and I'm not wearing that hoodie today. I'm at the grocery store right now." Virgil's voice was harsh and quick, and he immediately felt guilt drop into his stomach like a brick. He had no real reason to be this cross with Remus... he was just a bit cranky that morning. "Can I... pick you up anything while I'm here?" Virgil immediately cringed at his attempt at amendment. What a weird thing to say-

"Ooh! Are you at Trader Joe's?" Remus' voice had a newfound excitement. Virgil smiled to himself, glad that his fumbled recovery wasn't really very fumbled, thanks to Remus'... Remus-y-ness. "They have these chocolate truffles that are soooo good..."

Remus gave moderately incoherent directions to where the truffles were shelved, though Virgil knew his way around the store enough that it didn't matter. After a few minutes, he came upon a small red carboard box with cursive gold lettering and a picture of a chocolate truffle on the front.

"Found them. I... text me your address? I can be over in... well, soon. I guess I don't know where you live." Virgil invited himself over extremely awkwardly.

"You got it, sunshine! See you soon," Remus' tone was a lot lighter and he spoke more quickly and sharply, as he did when he wasn't stoned out of his mind. Perhaps the prospect of having his favorite chocolate truffles had granted him some mental clarity.

The call ended, and moments later, two texts came through from Remus. The first was an address, as promised. The second left Virgil with a familiar sense of blind confusion.

ill start heating the milk

Virgil slid his phone back into his pocket, humming to himself. He'd gotten all the items on his grocery list already, so he headed to checkout. Soon after, he was loading a couple bags into the back seat of his car, setting the two boxes of truffles for Remus on the passenger seat as he strapped in.

The drive was surprisingly short to Remus'; less than ten minutes. He triple checked the address when he pulled up to a three story Victorian house, three doors lined up at the top of a set of marble steps.

He took a breath or two, staring down at the boxes of truffles in his hands and reassessing his situation. You're standing in front of Remus' house like a massive dork because you felt bad for getting annoyed at him on the phone. You decided completely on a whim to bring him some chocolate - of all things, but at least he's the one who specifically asked for it - and show up to his house???? his house. Yeah, this totally isn't weird at all.

Virgil took the steps two at a time, ringing the doorbell at the door farthest to the right. He heard the chime from inside, followed shortly by a shrill screech. A few moments later, there was stomping sounds, and Remus came into view through the window on the door, trampling down the stairs like an eight year old rushing to an ice cream truck. He made it to the door, unlocking it and flinging it open.

"VIRGIE!" Remus yelped, looking ready to bear hug Virgil, but was quickly distracted into marveling over the boxes of truffles Virgil was clinging to his chest. "You bought two!? Gods, this is better than Christmas! Get in here," Remus stepped behind the door, allowing Virgil to step inside.

"Did you... screech, a minute ago?" Virgil asked, looking around. He and Remus were standing in what served as a tiny, tiny foyer, a small rectangle of flooring that gave direct way to a rather large flight of wooden stairs. Virgil could see a shoe cubby and coat rack at the top of the steps, and started stepping up them cautiously as Remus closed the door behind him.

"Yeah. People usually can't hear if I say words, like 'COMING!', so I just kinda... scream. It works!" Remus was tromping up the steps a few stairs below him, and Virgil quickened his pace.

"Got it..."

Virgil slipped his shoes off at the top, stuffing them in the cubby. "See? Shoes," he gestured to the shoes now fit snug in one of the cubbies. Remus smiled a bit too wide, nodding his head harshly. "I also don't have that hoodie on today," Virgil spread his arms, displaying his usual patchwork hoodie.

"I'm mainly glad your hair is still purple. It looks h- I mean, I like it." Remus coughed slightly to himself before stepping around Virgil, starting to sock-slide down the hardwood floor hall. "Kitchen's through here! The milk should be ready!"

Virgil laughed to himself, stepping into the hall to follow Remus' trail. He came upon a slightly ajar door, and seeing a glimpse of a stovetop, he slid into the room.

"I also made some whipped cream!" Remus gestured behind himself at a bowl of whipped cream on the counter as he stirred at a simmering pot of milk.

"What's... what's it for?" Virgil asked slowly, feeling like he missed something entirely.

"Oh! Right," Remus seemed to realize he hadn't filled Virgil in. "The truffles are so frickin good by themselves, but I discovered - sort of by accident, don't worry about it - that they make the best hot chocolate. And I... well, I figured we could have some!" Remus spun around at the last part, saucer of milk in hand and smiling a bit maniacally at Virgil. He stepped over to the counter where there were two mugs beside the bowl of whipped cream. "Bring them things on over here. This show can't go on without the starring role."

Virgil shuffled over to Remus, setting the truffles down beside the whipped cream bowls. He felt the need to speak, but couldn't think of any suitable words.

"one or two? I usually do two, I like mine real rich," Remus said, tearing open one of the boxes of truffles.

"Two," Virgil coughed. Remus smiled brightly at him again.

Virgil observed Remus' process. He plopped two truffles into the bottom of each mug - in the process, popping one into his mouth and offering another to Virgil, who accepted - before pouring the steaming milk over them, nearly to the brim of both mugs. Virgil hadn't expected the truffles to float, but there were two bobbing brown balls rolling around on the surface of the steaming milk in each mug. Remus retrieved a small spoon, stirring gingerly as the truffles rapidly shrunk and dissipated into the darkening milk.

"Will you grab the chocolate syrup? It's in the door of the fridge," Remus commented, beginning to spoon whipped cream onto the surface of the hot chocolate. "Oh, and- nevermind, I got it." Remus reached into a drawer beside him, pulling out a small cheese grater.

Virgil returned with the chocolate syrup, setting it beside Remus' arm.

"Check this out," Remus said, pulling another truffle from the box. He started grating it over the whipped cream dollops, and it gently snowed chocolate shavings. "Isn't it pretty?" Remus glanced at Virgil as he switched mugs.

"Yeah," Virgil breathed, watching the little flakes fall and settle on the surface of the whipped cream.

Virgil felt himself becoming infinitely more relaxed and less anxious the longer he basked in Remus' presence. It had always been this way with him, although maybe it was slightly amplified now that they were alone. He leaned himself on Remus, chin on his shoulder. Remus didn't react, other than softening his movements significantly, as though he were afraid he'd scare Virgil away.

"Yes, yes, yes! Man, this is the good stuff!" Remus exclaimed as he squirted a trail of chocolate syrup over the flakey rain on the whipped cream mountains. Virgil chuckled, reaching for the mug nearest him. "Hey! Not yet!" Remus batted his hand away lightly.

"What else could you possibly want on hot chocolate? Come on, it's getting cold," Virgil whined. Remus only smirked.

"Pantry, top shelf, you'll know it when you see it," He spoke, glancing at the cupboard door a few paces away. Virgil stepped toward the pantry cautiously, opening the door slowly. There, presented proudly on the top shelf, was a bag of mini marshmallows.

"Oh fuck yeah," Virgil reached up, realizing he was far too short to reach the bag. "Uh, one sec," he said, stepping entirely into the pantry, reaching up with all his might. Even stretching as far as he could, he barely reached the base of the top shelf.  Remus chuckled from over by the mugs.

"Here, let me help." Remus came up behind him, making to reach over Virgil's head just as Virgil tried to step out of the pantry and out of Remus' way. Virgil essentially walked right into Remus' chest, face to face with his stubbled Adam's apple as he reached for the mallows easily.

Virgil was frozen in place, feeling his face grow hot. Remus looked down at him, suddenly realizing their physical predicament.

"Shit! Sorry!" Remus stepped back, mallows in hand, giving Virgil more than enough room to step out.

"s'fine, don't worry," Virgil mumbled, cheeks red and staring wide-eyed at the floor. Remus laughed a bit nervously, stepping back over to the mugs and beckoning for Virgil to follow.

Once their mugs were properly marshmallow'd (although not s'more'd; neither wanted to go full Ned Flanders on this rainy Saturday afternoon) Remus led Virgil out of the kitchen and further down the hall, to the door at the end which opened up into Remus' bedroom.

Virgil didn't know what he was expecting Remus' personal living space to look like, but whatever it was it wasn't this. There was a very cozy-looking bed that took up most of the floorspace, and a very soft patterned rug at the foot. Against the far wall, beside a wide windowsill, sat an equally cozy-looking loveseat. There were blankets and pillows absolutely everywhere, crowding the loveseat, covering the bed and turning the windowsill into a cozy sitting nook. There was no other furniture, aside from a rustic-looking wooden bedside table that matched a small, overstuffed bookshelf. The walls were entirely covered from floor to  ceiling with posters, art pieces, the like; but more than anything, sketches. Scores upon scores of sketches covered every wall, pinned up with colorful tacks and a certain few of them connected to others with  small segments of colored string. As well, strung up on some of the hardier tacks were a few strings of fairy lights. Those, plus the salt lamp set on the bedside table made for some extremely lovely mood lighting.

"Woah," was all Virgil could say as he looked around in wonder.

"This is where the magic happens," Remus shoulder shimmied, sidling around Virgil to sit cross-legged on his bed, beginning to nurse his cocoa as he set down the boxes of truffles. Apparently they were far too precious to keep in the kitchen, where Remus' brother could very well steal them.

"Yeah..." Virgil stepped up to a particularly large sketch, one whose tack was connected with string to several others. Something occurred to him. "Are these..." He gestured vaguely at the walls, "are these all yours?"

"All the sketches, yeah," Remus breathed, hiding behind his mug as he took a large sip. He watched Virgil over the brim as the man stared in complete awe.

"That's..." Virgil couldn't think of the right words, and so drew a large sip of his own cocoa. Remus was right, the truffles made for an incredible hot chocolate. He sighed slightly, smiling to himself.

Remus finished his cocoa, tilting his head back to slurp at the residue and remaining whipped cream as he leaned back on his bed slightly. Virgil smirked behind his own mug, licking at his whipped cream.

Remus set his mug beside the salt lamp on his bedside table, beckoning for Virgil to sit with him on the bed. Virgil did, cross-legged an leaning against a pillow that was propped against the wall. He glanced to the windowsill nook.

"You got something of a view," He murmured, craning his neck slightly to see out the window. Remus giggled.

"Yeah! That's where I saw mx. no-shoes earlier." He smiled at Virgil giddily.

"Oh, I see." Virgil smiled back. "Well, I'm here now, purple hair and truffles in the complete package," he spread his arms slightly, and Remus' smile turned into a full grin. He retrieved a truffle from the open box and popped it into his mouth, then throwing a second one at Virgil. It hit him in the chest, and he picked it up, starting to gnaw at it. "You were right, these are super fricking good," Virgil mentioned, taking another large gulp of his cocoa.

"I know right!? Where have you been all my life, beloved truffles," he picked up the unopened box and held it high in one hand, beginning to serenade it. Virgil laughed at him, slapping him on the arm.

"You're a massive dork."

Remus' eyes glinted. "Well I-" He stopped short, the glint disappearing as soon as it returned. Virgil watched his face. No, no dick jokes right now. He gulped and cleared his throat, retracting his arm and pulling out another two truffles from the other box. He held one of them out to Virgil on the palm of his hand. Virgil took it carefully, holding it between his fingers as he took the final sip of his own cocoa.

"Here," Remus reached his empty hand out to take Virgil's mug, setting it beside his own behind them on the bedside table. Remus resumed chewing his truffle, watching the comforter shift with his weight as he leaned back and forth slightly.

"Can I?" Virgil pointed to a few more sketches over the head of the bed. Remus nodded. Virgil got up onto his knees, nearly pressing his chest into the wall as he looked at the many sketches.

Remus got up onto his knees too, sort of knee-waddling over to Virgil's side. Virgil's eyes continued scanning the sketches before they fell onto a particularly familiar looking one. His breath caught in his chest. He reached up to it, tracing the familiar purple plaid of his very own patchwork hoodie. Remus cleared his throat from beside him.

They both spoke at the same time.

"Um, you should probably know that-"

"Remus, I wanted to tell you-"

Virgil turned to look at Remus then, and belatedly realized just how close together they were. Remus' lips were pursed, and Virgil could see that he was chewing at the inside corner of his mouth.

Virgil drew in a breath to speak as Remus moved slightly closer. Pursing his lips shut, he changed his mind, deciding to take a risk.

He surged forward suddenly, shutting his eyes. Remus met him in the middle, and just like that, they were kissing.

It was soft and still at first, lips pressed firmly into each other's. Remus reached one hand up, gently cupping Virgil's cheek.

Virgil pulled back suddenly, but Remus' hand didn't leave his cheek. "I-I'm sorry, I really should've- asked- I meant to say things, i mean, before-" He stopped as Remus set his other hand on Virgil's waist. His face looked incredibly soft and gentle, lips parted slightly as he looked at Virgil like he'd hung the moon.

Virgil intertwined his fingers on the back of Remus' neck, and Remus pulled Virgil back into the kiss.

...

two days later, Virgil was up late again, unable to push himself into unconsciousness. His body was restless even if his mind was exhausted - or perhaps it was the other way around, his mind restless and his body exhausted? He really couldn't tell.

It was nearing 3am, and he was sitting curled in on himself, hugging his knees as he watched the stars out his window. His phone, face-down on the bed beside him, began buzzing.

He tilted his head, sighing as he fought an oncoming wave of exhaustion. He picked up the phone, flipping it to see the caller ID, although part of him hoped knew who it would be.

He pressed the answer button, bringing the phone to his ear.

"Hey, Remus."

He heard Remus gasp on the other end of the line, before murmuring a small "hi."

"I... are you not sleeping good tonight?" Remus' curious and confounded expression was almost palpable through the phone. Virgil smiled lazily, recognizing Remus' demeanor immediately.

"No, I'm not, but that's okay. The stars are pretty tonight." Virgil paused, scratching at his chin a bit. "Are you stoned again?"

A long pause. "Yeah," Remus blurted. "Sorry I... I nodded, but then, I realized... you can't see me."

Virgil smiled to himself again. "It's okay."

A long, comfortable silence followed. Virgil was too tired to feel the obligatory need to make conversation, especially with Remus. He'd be a fool to expect any awkwardness after a make out session with the spontaneous blob that is Remus, but he'd still been nervous to see or speak with him again. That all melted away now though, exhaustion and vague contentment taking its place.

"Virgie - uh, Virgil?" Remus piped up after a while, rousing Virgil from his trance.

"Yeah?"

"Do you, remember..." Remus trailed off, and didn't speak for long enough that Virgil almost responded to prompt him. "Did you come to my house, and also, kiss me, or was that a dream?" Even through his stoned lilt, Remus spoke a bit quickly, like he was trying to shove the words out of his mouth before he could change his mind.

Virgil chuckled. "That wasn't a dream, Remus. Yes, I remember." I don't think I could forget it if i wanted to tried.

"Oh." Virgil could hear the smile in Remus' voice. "Can we- I mean, do you want to, uh, do it again? Some time?" he didn't sound hesitant, no; just hopeful, and perhaps as though he felt like he needed to be excessively gentle. It was the sweetest tone Virgil had ever heard.

"I'd like that," Virgil smiled.

Remus sigh-laughed on the other end of the line, and Virgil's smile grew. "Cool," Remus said almost under his breath.

Virgil didn't do it consciously, but a big, loud yawn decided to worm its way out of him at that moment.

"Are you sleepy Virgie?" Remus asked in a strange partial baby voice. Virgil snorted at him.

"I'm literally always tired, so if the answer was no, that would be more concerning," Virgil quipped, but his voice sounded spent. Remus giggled a little.

"Can I hum to you?" Remus asked, smile still discernable in his tone. Virgil felt something warm spark in his chest, like a lighter being flicked and lit.

"I'd like that a lot, too," Virgil murmured, curling up beneath his covers as Remus started to hum.

He was out like a light in less than 5 minutes.

And if Remus stayed on the line for another half hour or so, humming to him and listening to his even breaths, who was to know?

...

Virgil felt like an idiot.

That wasn't an entirely rare feeling to him, but this particular time was different.

Despite his general edginess and rebel-against-society vibe, Virgil had never touched a drop of alcohol or gone near any intoxicating substance in his life. Until today.

He'd been Remus' boyfriend for almost three months now, and it was everything he could have hoped; haphazard night trips to convenience stores that ended in oddly romantic motorcycle rides, the odd gestures Remus's... eccentric mind came up with, and Virgil was in dire need of more hoodies he could let Remus steal. All this, but Virgil was still Virgil. He still had his anxiety disorder, he still dealt with insomnia. Though, sleeping in Remus' arms was proving an impressively effective remedy to the latter.

So, when Remus suggested Virgil look into the medical benefits of marijuana in regards to both anxiety and insomnia, Virgil was... intrigued, to say the least.

He did find a lot of supporting evidence through his research, and... well, he thought, what the hell, right? If Remus smokes it pretty much every day, and if this many articles are claiming its reliability... what harm would it do to try?

So here he was, sitting on his couch, having taken a couple of edibles, waiting for the high to hit him. His hand ghosted over his jean pocket, assuring himself that his phone was there in case he needed to call 911 or something. He was trying to do breathing exercises to maintain some sort of calm, but sitting still wasn't his strong suit.

He'd chosen edibles since he didn't want to have to deal with the whole... smoke and coughing side of things. And he really didn't like the sound of vaping. He figured this would be fine as an introductory experience, but he realized that he had no clue when the edibles would kick in.

He pulled out his phone, typing into google.

Marijuana edibles generally take 30 minutes to an hour to induce any psychological effects on the consumer.

Oh.

Well, he figured, there was no way he could sit still for that long.

He stood, deciding he'd make himself some dinner. Something to busy his hands with, and the leftovers he'd planned on heating up would last another day or two anyways.

He settled on some fettuccine alfredo, fairly simple but one of his childhood favorites. He had a feeling he'd appreciate the comfort food while he was... in an altered state of mind.

Virgil, however, hadn't accounted for the fact that he had an almost unnaturally high metabolism, and before he'd even gotten the pasta in the boiling water, things started to get a little funky.

The first thing Virgil noticed, before he'd even registered that the edibles were kicking in, was how he could hear his thoughts. Not literally, but it felt as though his stream-of-consciousness thoughts were more slow and clear to him, as though he was speaking directly to himself.

As he thought this, his vision suddenly came into alarming focus, and felt oddly like an unstable skyscraper. He stared down at his feet, and they seemed so far away, the floor looked far too far away... He gripped the counter nearest to him, trying to steady himself even if he wasn't actually falling. He didn't feel like he had any control over his center of balance, and even if he was mostly stock-still as a pencil, he thought he might fall down at any moment, down the many stories of building beneath him. But there was no stories beneath him... it was only his legs, which he didn't remember being so long. He stared a little harder at his feet. They weren't abnormally far away, were they?

Virgil vaguely registered the sound of over-boiling water as the realization hit him.

Oh. So this is what it's like.

He turned so that his lower back was stable against the counter, sliding slowly down onto his butt. Standing didn't feel safe right now, even if that made no sense.

He didn't really like this. He felt so isolated, so alone in this moment. He was too out of it to focus hard enough on those thoughts for them to really take root, but he was generally aware of them. So, he did the first thing he could think to do.

He pulled his phone very slowly and carefully out of his pocket, as if he thought it was a brittle sugar cookie. He stared at the dark screen for a solid minute, wondering why it wasn't turning on. Then he realized he had to actually touch the screen for that to happen, and so he did.

From there, it was relatively easy; he unlocked his phone, found the calling app, scrolled around a little haphazardly up and down the contact list before finding Remus' contact.

If anyone could help him feel less alone, if anyone knew what he was experiencing... it would be him.

He took a deep breath and held it as he pressed the call button, bringing the phone to his face as it rang.

It only rang twice before Remus answered. "Hello, Jack Skellington! What can I do for you this evening?" Remus' voice sounded a little extra mischievous, and Virgil couldn't even begin to place why.

He was quiet for a little too long, vaguely trying to decide what to say. "Hi." Not the most eloquent, but it worked for a start.

"Hi," Remus replied, the troublemaking lilt of his voice dissipating slightly. "Is everything okay, Surly Temple?"

Virgil giggled a bit. Your brother is funny. You keep stealing his nicknames for me. "I'm, yeah. Sorry, talking. it's hard. Right now." Virgil spoke haltingly, each word firm but isolated from the last.

"Hmmm..." Remus stroked his mustache from the other end of the line. Virgil giggled again, realizing he couldn't actually see Remus stroking his mustache, but could imagine it vividly all the same. There was no doubt in his mind that he was doing exactly that.

"Oh, 'm high," Virgil added quite belatedly.

"Oh! Well that makes a lot more sense!" Remus laughed, but quickly composed himself again. "What are you doing? Are you feeling okay? Is this your first time? What's happening?"

"Skyscraper," Virgil replied matter-of-factly, as if that cleared the air entirely.

"...right..." Remus replied slowly. "Stormcloud, is it okay if I come over? I don't... I want you to be- uh, to feel safe right now."

"Yes, please," Virgil clung to the phone like it was Remus' arm. "I miss you I'm kinda scared," his words slurred together, but at least he managed to say something slightly coherent. Remus grunted in acknowledgement.

"Okay. I'll be there in ten. Want me to stay on the line?" Virgil could hear shuffling around in the background.

"What're you doin?" He asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes at the refrigerator door, since he couldn't actually look at Remus.

"Putting on my shoes, silly! What room are you in right now?" Remus replied, a sense of protectiveness twinged in his voice.

"Kitchen. floor." Virgil swirled his fingers on the wooden floor.

"Okay. Do you want me to stay- oh, fuck it. I'm staying on the line till I get there, okay Virgie?" Virgil heard the sound of a door slamming, followed by vague trafficky noises.

"You're coming," Virgil spoke, registering it in his mind finally.

"Yeah, I'm coming," Remus repeated, and the sound of Remus' car starting sounded shortly after.

Virgil smiled at nothing. "I love you."

The words were a bit slurred together, but he heard them out of his own mouth loud and clear. He almost clapped a hand over his mouth, a little horrified that he'd just said that.

Sure, he'd known he loved Remus for a while now, but they hadn't said it before. He'd almost said it, once, earlier that week while he was laying in Remus' arms on a drowsy Sunday morning, watching the lines of his face shift and harden as he slowly woke up. But he didn't. And now he'd just gone and said it, while he was stoned out of his mind for the first time, sitting on his kitchen floor about to break into tears-

Remus' voice, a little bit strained, interrupted Virgil's thoughts.

"I love you too."

A pause. "I'm almost there, okay? Everything's gonna be fine."

Virgil snuggled down further into his hoodie.

"I know, cus you'll be here."