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tinycozycomfort · 9 months

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rest in the cup of my palms (part one)

pairing: no outbreak!joel miller x art student f!reader

chapter one: drawing from life

series masterlist | next chapter

series summary: you went back to school to find out who you are—to make another leap in the hope of self discovery. when you finally find that first glimpse of yourself, it’s in someone else. what happens when the mirror tries to pull you in? or you’re everything joel could’ve hoped to find. he doesn’t let go easily.

chapter summary: ellie volunteers joel to model for a drawing class on campus. you find someone worth dreaming about.

warnings/tags: no outbreak, no use of y/n, (for everything) -> mutual pining!, possessive behavior, smut (w individual tags to come), unnecessary descriptions of joel being beautiful, ellie is joel's daughter, ellie and reader attend the same university but reader is in post-grad, age gap (joel is late 40s, reader is not), alternating pov, slow-ish burn, joel miller wins girl dad of the century via unanimous vote (for this chapter) -> masturbation (f), intense feelings of loneliness, existential rumination

word count: 7.2k

rating: explicit (18+ only! mdni)

A/N: some good ol' work up, necessary to explain the rated r plans i have for them. ive been terrified of writing a series but i'm also tired of editing everything down to be one-shot appropriate, so today we try. im full-swing into my fixation era and on my 'i cant be loved + ive known how to love you for 1,000 lifetimes' bullshit. this fic is as self indulgent as they come, but i hope you can enjoy it! and for those of you willing to trudge through this with me, i love you.

read on ao3

“To photograph people is to violate them, by seeing them as they never see themselves, by having knowledge of them that they can never have; it turns people into objects that can be symbolically possessed.”

Susan Sontag - On Photography

───────

A halo of hot light falls through the pane of glass above the sink. Joel’s got one eye pinched semi-shut, trying hard to focus on not burning himself while he drains boiling water out of a pot of pasta.

When he woke up this morning, the blinds on every window in the house had been strung up to the lip. He’d barely gotten a hand around one of the strings in the glass frame above the couch before Ellie appeared out of nowhere to literally slap his wrist, ‘I’m drawing’. Still groggy, he tried to challenge her, ‘Do they all have to be open?’, to which she patiently explained—for what she probably feels is the millionth time—that she needed the extra light, and if she had them all open when she started, they’d need to stay that way until she was done.

So he left her to work, knowing she’s got midterms to finish, walking around with his eyes closed until he felt his way back into his bedroom. He came out once for coffee, and not again until dinner. This is their weekend.

Joel spoons out some of the food into bowls, leaving them to stay warm by the stove before he steps into the dining room. He stops himself half-way, hanging back in the archway to give his daughter another minute as the last shreds of strong sunlight start to wane out.

Ellie’s right where he left her: at the table, cross-legged in her chair with an eraser-less pencil held tightly in her fist. She’s hunched over a large pad of paper, the back of it lifted at an angle under a pile of old books and dog-eared tool catalogs. The sketchbook she uses as a reference guide is propped up on the corner of her left knee, leaned against the edge of the table. She rifles between two pages of it, eyeing some of the quick sketches—visual notes, as she puts it—that she took in class to help her navigate the larger, more detailed version with ease. Silent save for her short huffs of breath, she’s concentrated, wrist-corner lifted to not misplace any graphite. Her process is always the same; a little creature of habit.

She’s wearing her headphones, the cord winding dangerously low, threatening to dip into a cup of water she’d placed in the empty triangle between her lap—the same one he’d seen her with six hours ago. She hasn’t even touched it, still full nearly to the brim. He wonders if she’s gotten up at all. The girl works herself a bit too hard, he thinks, always falls head first into whatever project she’s working on, nothing if not like her dad. The corner of his mouth tugs up so tight it hurts. What is he going to do without her?

He just stands there, feet crossed on top of each other and arms in a twist over his chest, and watches her while she’s not looking, knowing she still gets shy sometimes when he catches her like this. She’s the sweetest reminder of everything good Joel’s ever done; another life he’d gladly offer his own for.

It’s always come naturally—to be what someone needs of him—in a way that transcends reward or expectation.

Joel had been his brother’s primary caregiver first, from birth and then well into their adulthood—always around to bail him out of jail or lend him money he didn’t have. Because he cared. Loved him. He couldn’t ever really say it, always had a problem with the wording, but he knew that at least some of what he wanted to explain had come across. He can see it in the way Tommy is with his own family.

His brother has Maria now, and the kids, and seeing how happy Tommy could be in spite of their upbringing was the first time Joel had ever put his priorities into question. Somewhere in all the caring-for he did, he’d forgotten about himself; the possibility of having his own wife and child and home. He’d always ached for that, deep down, but didn’t even know it was an option until he saw it happen. By that point, he wasn’t sure if he could do any of it, or if he even had the time to start. Then came Ellie.

She entered his life when a close friend of Tommy’s had died unexpectedly and no one came forward to claim her, unknowingly giving him a second chance; one he worked to make count. She was tough to crack at first—also like him in that way—but the love had always been there, waiting its turn after all the awkwardness and misunderstanding and adapting before finally showing its face. She’d needed him then, as much as his brother had all those years ago, carrying on the torch of purpose that Joel so feverishly searched for.

He rolls his eyes at himself; he’s been having too many misty-eyed moments about her lately. It’s so unserious, the actuality of it; of being her dad. Going to work and the supermarket and museums, being there to chaperone field-trips and take one-thousand mostly-blurry photos of her graduation. But it’s been everything to him. He’s desperately clung to the five years of her life that she’s shared with him, and he’s so proud to witness it, but he knows she’s getting to a point where she needs to be her own person. He’ll miss her when she’s only home for summers, then only home for Christmas, then only home once in a while—so he holds on to every bit, and tries not to think about what’s next for him.

He walks closer to her, tilting his head to try and steal a glance of what it is she’s working on. He catches a glimpse of the face of a woman, a portrait from shoulders-up. She’s pretty, with a soft and thoughtful expression, looking downward off the side of the pad. From what he could make out between the movements of Ellie’s hand, she even looks a little shy. His daughter rubs at the cheeks and nose of the girl on the paper, imitating the shadow-less areas where light would fall. Joel is mesmerized by the way she creates so effortlessly, like breathing.

Without moving her head, she pulls a tiny white bobble out from her ear, “I know you’re watching me, weirdo.”

Joel laughs, wet and thick in his mouth with the emotion he’s still climbing down from, “Is this how you treat me when I’m trying to feed you?”

She smiles, he can see the fat of her cheek rounding out even from this angle, “You should’ve just said that.”

Ellie leaves her set-up untouched, just getting up and moving down to an empty seat while Joel goes to bring the food out.

She shifts around in her seat, feet folded again on the flat of it, eating too fast—ill-mannered—and it reminds Joel of all the nights they spent at Tommy’s for family dinner, right at the beginning, back when they’d just begun to become close. When she’d push his patience with her behavior to see if he’d say something, to see if he still paid her mind—he always did, still does, “Jesus Christ, kid. Have I taught you nothing?”

She holds back a laugh, mouth full of tomato sauce, “You love it. I’m charming.”

He snorts, the two of them falling into a comfortable quiet for only a few minutes before she breaks it again, “Speaking of how much you love me, I need to ask you for a favor.”

“Oh no,” He jokes, “What now?”

“Remember those drawings I turned in of you last month?” She starts pushing around the last bite of her spaghetti, never a good sign, but he nods anyway for her to continue, “Well my teacher really liked them. And there’s been an issue with finding people to sit for the drawings. Sooo,” she really drags it out, “I signed you up.”

“What do you mean, you signed me up? For what?”

“To model,” Joel’s mouth pops open in an immediate attempt to oppose, but Ellie’s quicker, “Didn’t you say you’d always support me in school?”

“You know that’s not what I meant.” Joel finishes his plate and then they’re both just clinking their forks against porcelain for a heavy eightnineten seconds before she gives it another shot.

“C’mon, seriously. I’ll get extra credit if you do it,” She lets out a long sigh like she can’t believe she has to explain anything more than that, “My professor teaches a Monday session for the master’s program and they need people. It’s just one time.”

“Ellie. It’s Sunday. How are you gonna tell me this now?”

“Please, you just sit there for, like, two hours while they draw you and you don’t have to talk. That’s two of your favorite things. Three if you consider that you’d be helping me out.” she looks at him with a sticky-sweet smile, eyes crinkled—like she knows she’s getting away with it.

She might be.

“Why don’t you ask one of your friends to do it?” Joel gathers up their plates from the table to carry them into the kitchen. Ellie picks up their still half-full glasses as an excuse to follow him.

“Because we all have class together tomorrow on the other side of campus. Plus, you’re easy to draw and—”

“Hey.”

She ignores the flat look he shoots her, flipping on the sink, “That’s a compliment, by the way. But really, it’s no effort and you’d be getting me into a good place with my professor ‘cause she’ll be super grateful. The budget’s kinda tight this semester.”

“Then what am I payin’ for, if you’re gonna make me do this stuff myself?” It’s a half-hearted dig—he’s mostly annoyed because she probably already figured out he’s going to agree.

Her little smirk graduates to a shit-eating grin, she knows it, “Best dad ever.”

“You’re a pain in my ass, y’know that?”

“Just because I knew you were gonna say that, I actually signed you up for two.”

───────

Joel stumbles out of the elevator, filing hurriedly through groups of students with a new-found purpose now that he’s managed to make it to the correct floor. Ellie made a point of not mentioning that he had to be at the school at 7:30am until she was saying goodnight to him a few hours ago, because she thought it would dissuade him—she was right—so now he’s running late on top of everything else.

He’s got the little scaled-down, splotchy-printed version of the campus map gripped tightly between his hands. Room 14B is seemingly only two turns and one corner from where he stands—if he’s holding it the right way. He wants to ask for directions, but he feels too out-of-place to set aside his embarrassment. He’s older than at least half the staff, and some of the attendees are even younger, and he doesn’t want to run the risk of looking incapable, as foolish as it is. He wishes Ellie would have just offered to show him where to go before she headed off to her own class.

For someone who prides themselves on their ability to parent, he feels hopeless now without his daughter; not for the first time, but it’s especially harsh considering the circumstances. It hurts something bittersweet, to think about how much more they’ve bonded since he started working less and she decided to live at home her first year of college (though it’s coming to an end sooner than he’d like). Again, too many sad thoughts, and she’s not here, so he trudges on.

He walks in two more circles before he finds the right place—down a fucking hallway and hidden behind a door he didn’t know he was allowed to open, of course. A woman with long, dark blonde hair is sitting at a desk by the door when he enters. She doesn’t look up at him.

“Good morning, ma’am. Sorry I’m late. My—uh. You teach my daughter? I’m here for—”

“Ellie’s dad,” She cocks her head without meeting his eye, “Late? You’re about twenty minutes early, she told me you probably would be.”

She knows me too well, the brat. He chastises her in his mind but outwardly he corrects himself, “Yes, right, sorry. I’m a little turned around.”

“That’s alright. There’s just a waiver you need to sign, and you can get undressed in the bathroom down the hall. I’ll give you a cover-up to wear until I come to grab you.”

Right, he’d have to be naked. He already knew that—sort-of—having seen dozens of Ellie’s sketches from semesters past. He knows the students don’t see it that way, knows that they’ve all drawn the same things so many times they would be desensitized to his nudity. They’d probably all be desensitized to him as well; in their eyes, he was just a reference, as familiar as any of the memorialized piles of fruit or arrangements of glass that Ellie's also brought home.

Still, Joel feels a wash of anxiety come over him. He’s more than comfortable in his body, after putting it through so much, but this degree of vulnerability is severe in comparison to vanity or sex—it’s a state of living he hasn’t participated in for a long time. He doesn’t like to be seen, and being documented—having physical evidence of how he’s interpreted by others—makes his stomach turn. He hasn’t looked in a mirror for more than a moment in months, but it can’t be that bad, right? Ellie’s always given him a favorable light, but he worries she has a bias beyond belief. What if he sees something about himself he doesn’t like? What if everyone’s been able to see it all along?

Caught in his thoughts, he doesn’t realize the woman is still talking, “We have a scheduled break halfway through class. You can leave then. Next week it’ll flip and you can come for the latter half so they can finish.” She slides the form and a swath of black fabric across the table, and almost like she can sense his apprehension, finally raises her head to give him a meaningful look, “Thank you again for doing this. I know it can feel weird, but it makes a difference for them. There’ll be a joint show at the end of the month, too, with Ellie’s class.”

He just offers her a little nod of his head, thank you, signing the form and padding to the bathroom to unceremoniously disrobe in an empty stall.

It’s just two hours.

───────

If they make you take another figure-drawing class, you’re going to scream.

You’d think this far into a second degree, the school board would stop requiring you to take what is essentially the same class every semester. Sincerely, the only thing that changes is how long the session runs and what number follows the class title. It’s getting old.

To be fair, it’s not necessarily that you dislike drawing—it provides a pretty firm foundation for your personal work to stand on—it’s just tedious. Nothing is inspiring about assignment-based work, especially when they’ve decided the only way you can prove your skill-set is to make you draw the same three objects five-thousand ways.

But it’s not up to you.

So here you are again, two weeks from spring break, back in this frigid building after surviving another forty minutes of traffic, body still stiff from fighting the urge to fall asleep at the wheel.

It’s important, you remind yourself, to show up and put your fullest effort into everything, no matter how much you don’t enjoy it. Even if just to prove to yourself you can still finish things.

Coming back to school was an idea you’d toyed with for years after graduating.

There had been a lot of pressure on you to go in the first place, from your parents and your teachers and your nightmare of an ex, because according to them you’d get nowhere without it. After enough pressure and in a need to appease them, you folded and went; suffered every long night and pushed through every period of self-doubt and smiled for every ‘worth-capturing’ moment right up to the end. And then when it was over, gone faster than you could comprehend, you felt like something was taken away from you, even with how low it had made you—the worst kind of stockholm syndrome.

In an attempt to keep some momentum, you were over-eager for more right out of the gate. There was an initial need to continue, because you’d been reliant on academic structure just by the nature of familiarity, and maybe a little ill-prepared to face who you were without guidance. Without the instruction of someone with two degrees and a smoking addiction and no teaching license. Now it sounds silly, but then you spent a few too many nights uncontrollably looking into post-grad institutions or internship programs, googling professors and reading forums for first-hand accounts.

Then, after a year, the thought of continuing got a little less exciting, and you became comfortable in the freedom of nothing after being in school your whole life. So you pretended to research, emailed everyone about how great the options looked, signed up for one-on-ones you didn’t show up for—until people stopped asking.

It was at that point that you finally had the time to process what you were doing and why, and accepted that you didn’t have to have all the answers, despite what everyone had led you to believe. Truthfully, you still had no idea who you wanted to be and that’s okay—living with it and living alongside it weren’t mutually exclusive. You just took time to practice being yourself—sucked up the embarrassment and did the work, little exercises in unleashing yourself onto the world instead of letting every experience be done to you. If you were going to do anything anymore, even something like continuing your education, it had to be on your own terms, to try it all in the effort of self-discovery.

So yes, applying and getting accepted and attending every class—even this one—this time around was for you—to better yourself instead of just filling an expectation. You’re determined to make good on the opportunity.

And it has been better, so far. You even have friends this time around. Okay, two, and one of them is your roommate, but it's more of a support system than what you had going into undergrad.

You say yes now, too; not to everything, but to more than before. Which is maybe how you got roped into getting ‘introductory’ drinks later this evening with everyone, now that more people have joined the program as winter thaws out and it’s easier to commute. It’ll be nice to swap ideas and catch up and maybe even get laid instead of spending hours staring at the ceiling and willing time to pass. That thought alone is enough to keep you here.

It’s just two hours.

The room this semester is a little bigger, at least; probably the only perk that moving up so gracefully from Drawing II to Drawing III had earned you. It’s still unfortunately just another classroom; windowless to protect it from outside influence and drenched in fluorescent light to create a controlled environment. Old, stained art horses form a circle in the center of the space, crowding around a painted-gray wood pallet like an audience. A metal stool sits atop the make-shift stage, providing a seat for the subject. It’s clinical, the way the elements come together; a perfectly disarrayed scene that’s been neatly curated to emulate every ‘socratic seminar’ model you’ve seen in education since you can remember. Always the same.

You’re hoping for someone new today to rest on the chair; the department has been in less-than-preferred financial standing lately, so you’ve seen the same faces interchanged for most of the term.

Your professor is at her desk when you make your way in, greeting you with a grin despite the tired look on her face. A hardworking woman, the shadows under her eyes gave her a beauty you could only explain as determined. You knew she cross-taught for both sections of the department, and you respected her for it. It couldn’t be anything short of a struggle to toggle between those modes of seriousness—to have the patience to answer the younger students’ unending questions and the passion to keep the post-grads engaged.

Moving to get a seat as far on the outskirts of the cluster as possible, you watch as your classmates arrive slowly until all the slots are filled. No one really talks, probably all similarly bogged down by the early start and the cold weather outside. Ian, your friend who’d invited you out tonight, waves at you from four horses down and you halfheartedly nod back at him.

“Good morning everyone, we’ve only got two more classes after this until your week off, so we’ll make this next one a two-parter and have critique on the twenty-first. I want you guys to focus on composition more than anything else,” She turns in her seat to write some names on the board behind her, “We’ll go for two hours then break. If your name’s up here we’ll have a conversation about your thesis. The rest of you can go.”

Thankfully you’ve been spared this time—granted another seven-nights-straight writing the segment of your thesis that was meant to be finished two months ago. Your brain hurts inside of your skull.

You set up your little station, sketchpad raised against the easel, body straddling the drawing horse as you fiddle with some dirty erasers in your pack.

You can hear the slap slap slap of the model’s feet on the concrete floor as they enter—a long gait paired with hard, thudding steps; probably a man by the sound of it. Tall and heavy.

“Okay guys, we’re starting,” She winds up the dial on a plastic kitchen timer and sets it on the edge of her desk, “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be making a few passes throughout and we’ll exchange thoughts.”

You roll your neck, knowing the model tends to take a minute to find a comfortable position, and that people watching didn’t do anything to help. A tempered soundtrack—the poorly contained buzzing of the clock and the moan of the air-conditioning—plays on in the background. Your leg is asleep. It’s cold in here. You count to thirty in your head. That’s enough time, right? You shift again, stretching your arms once more just in case.

Looking up, you peer over the side of the easel to get a quick look at the model’s pose and immediately do a double take.

It is a man.

He’s sitting on the chair, facing the girl a few seats down from you so that you can only see him from a three-quarters view. He has one long, thick leg pushed against the lower bar of the stool, the other one, closest to you, hiked up on the seat, folded so that his knee points towards the ceiling. His arms are crossed, hugging his erect shin with his wide back wrapped over his thigh, effectively shielding the ‘naked’ parts of him from view. He looks shy, but not uncomfortable; either like he’s done this before or he’s accustomed to protecting himself—to hiding.

The frame of his body is captivating; he looks strong but used, little nicks and scars littering his shoulders and hands. Weathered. As you make your way up his torso, you find it’s a similar state of experienced, tan profile and neck bearing the slightest difference in color from the soft of his side, and you can see the faintest curve of a hem-shaped tan-line across the dip in his shoulder. Little wisps of gray-dusted brown curls frame the edges of his face. He’s beautiful in a gentle way, with a dark, heavy brow that leads into the sharp slope of his nose, plush lips pursed like he’s concentrating.

Part of you feels bad about staring, but it’s easy enough to disguise it as working, so you map him with your gaze again and again until you can still see him when you blink. It takes the constant movement of your classmate’s hand sketching something in your periphery to remember you’re being timed.

You choke out a cough, repositioning your body and grabbing some charcoal.

The way you usually approach this task is simple: get down the general gist of the body, careful to keep out the details of the person in favor of capturing light and weight—there’s a graded challenge to be considered, after all.

Yet as you watch him, you decide you can fulfill the requirements in a way that gives him more room to exist. You crop the drawing tighter, paying careful attention to the landscape of his face; the hills of his cheekbones and the valley between his lips. You want to immortalize him.

You’re suddenly deeply concerned with the history that’s woven itself into the shape of him, in what happened to make him look this way. It seems like life has been useful to him, but that he’d had to grow from something to make it so—like he had to work for it. He’s the living manifestation of his own grief and enjoyment and passion, and you want to know all of it.

Countless minutes pass as you take him in and spill him out, fingers moving quickly to recreate the weighted feeling of his posture, exhausted and heavy, muscles held together on the string of bone that runs through the center of his back. You write him down, again and again, flipping to a new page half-way through to get in one last version of him—one for yourself.

You’ve never seen him before, but you see part of yourself in him. He mirrors the anxious peace you’ve been operating under for the last few years, humming with energy but willfully stagnant. It makes you feel seen, less burdened by your recent inability to connect—he makes you want to keep trying.

You wonder if he writes or draws or makes, and if he’d show you. You want to hear him talk. You want to see the other side of him, literally and metaphorically. You want to feel—

The tinny ring of the alarm sounds off, and you’re taken out of the fantasy.

The second drawing is only really half done, but you didn’t make it with the intention of sharing it anyway, so you flip back to the original to hide it..

You try not to watch the man when he stands—remembering that just because he’d been hidden before doesn't mean he wasn't naked the entire time—maybe more for your sake than his. You peek around the room instead, taking a healthy, albeit competitive, glance around for other interpretations of the man; did they see him too, the way you do?

When you look up to take a comparative look, he’s gone. You’re a little disappointed, admittedly, but there’s still one more chance to interact with him, and you can make up for it then. You start to pack up your things in an effort to make it to the parking lot before the crowd. A sudden rise in the volume level in the room tells you that the shock of the early morning has started to burn off. You try to tune it out, so much so that you don’t hear someone walking up behind you.

“Wow.” It’s a man’s voice, deep and smooth. You pivot in your seat.

It’s him, in all his communal-robe wearing glory, even more gorgeous from head on. It’s a pleasant surprise, this reveal; his beauty is evenly distributed, like a handwritten note that extends into the margins or when a movie’s ending is just as good as the start.

“Oh. Hi. Thank you.” You feel exposed, like you got caught doing something bad, even though there are ten other people in the room with even more detailed portraits of him.

“Can I see the other one, too?”

“What?”

“You flipped your page. I didn’t see anyone else do that. Did you make two?”

You just nod, shocked that he was watching you back, peeling back the paper to reveal to him the unfinished drawing. He won’t question it if you don’t give him a reason to.

“Are you gonna finish it?” He asks, eyes rolling over it with an intense curiosity.

“Uh, probably not. I don’t like it as much as the first one.” Maybe lying your way through this would provide better reasoning than ‘I wanted a part of you that no one else could see’.

“Can I have it?”

When you can’t find something to say fast enough, he just continues.

“I’m sorry, is that rude? If you’re just gonna get rid of it, I’ll take it. It just… looks like me. I mean they all do, I’ve been told I have a ‘simple face’,” He coughs awkwardly in acknowledgement of his own tangent, “I just mean to say that it feels a lot like me. If that makes sense.”

“You’re actually very visually interesting.” Is the first thing you can think of, and fuck, did that come out really fucking wrong, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe it’s better if he takes it, if it’ll stop you from fumbling, “But yeah, you can have it.” You pull a little plastic mail-tube out of your bag, ripping the drawing free from its perforated tether and rolling it in on itself.

The edges of his mouth pull up, a cute little thing, free of laughter or judgement, “Thank you. I’m Joel.” One of his hands drapes across his stomach, palm spread over the knot of the wrap—he’s holding himself at length again. Why?

“Hi Joel. You seem to know a fair amount about this whole thing. Not your first time, then?” You offer him your name in return, and he parrots it back—guard still up, still standing too far away.

“It is, actually. The closest I’ve come to this is sitting in the yard for my daughter,” He watches as you slide the drawing into the cylindrical case, “You’re very talented.”

“Thank you.” It feels weird to hear the praise twice, “How’d they get you to pose for no money? I heard the department’s a little strapped. I’ve been subbing in for the undergrads too when I can.”

“My daughter volunteered me, she’s on the other side of the program. Your teacher was giving out extra credit.” He takes the roll when you pass it to him, going out of his way to grab it from the middle, his thumb grazing yours. Your skin heats up where he’s touched it, and you look down at the floor, suddenly nervous.

“Wow, this is the first time I’m hearing anything about that.” You continue to pack away items into your bag, “I’m owed quite a lot if that’s true.”

His face falls in on itself in a wince, “Oh. Didn’t mean to do her in like that.” You can feel him looking at you for a few beats too long, and his eyes narrow like he’s about to say more.

In the same moment, as if summoned, your professor turns on her heel, walking over to your bench.

“It’s okay. I’ll be okay without it. I’ll see you next week, right?”

He shakes a little, releasing his stare, and throws a thumbs up in your direction with his protective hand, “Yeah, see ya next week. Nice to meet you.”

───────

After another four-hour class and a too-long nap and a break for dinner, everyone from this morning joins together in a few cars to head to a bar downtown. You meet up with Ian, who offered to drive as a bargaining chip, because he knows by now that you’d back out if you had to show up on your own.

The bar is dark and divey and perfect for being overly-observant in secret. You’ve warmed up to this crowd enough, but you’re still on plus-one basis with a lot of them, Ian serving as your invitation. You like to just listen to them at first during these outings, strategically planning your involvement so you don’t feel put on the spot when they give you a turn.

It’s a lot like being in class; the group of you occupying a dimly lit corner, a round-table of bodies, with the person in the center alternating as the topic changes. Tonight you stay at the furthest end.

You cling to the single tequila soda you ordered, watery and flat by now with pea-sized ice chips bobbing around in the center to avoid the heat of your fingers. You watch them swim, tipping your cup to see them swirl in a frenzied circle until they disappear.

Some guy from your English class—Andre or Andrew or who cares—is talking at you, making his best attempt at what you think is supposed to be flirting. It’s really just him asking your opinions on his five favorite books, not hiding his disapproval when you mention you haven’t read one or the other.

You watch Ian, who left you twenty minutes ago in search of the bar-top for another drink. He’s caught now on his third conversation on the way back, maybe thinking he’s doing you a favor by taking his time. You try relentlessly to catch his eye instead, and he bounds over without question when he sees you. The glass of wine in his hand is already half empty, and the English-class-guy spooks at the sight of what he probably thinks is competition. So much for that.

“Having fun?” he prods when he slips in the chair beside you, already aware that you are absolutely very much not having fun.

Ian’s a nice guy, and he means well. You met him a week into your first semester—almost a year ago now—at orientation, because your last names were the beginning and end of the line of their respective letters. He was from somewhere in Canada, studying photography with a minor in painting and drawing. He’s maybe a year or two older than you, though you’ve never asked to confirm; tall and long and pretty, for lack of a better word, with big eyes and a permanent split in the little bangs that cover his forehead. He’s the first man in years you’ve been comfortable around, never initiating anything or pushing too hard for your friendship. All in all, no one’s been as welcoming to you, except the person you literally live with, and you’re happy to let him drag you out if it means he’ll continue to look after you the way he does.

“Of course, when have you ever known me to have a bad time?”

“No luck with Adrian?” Adrian. You were close.

“Just likes to hear himself talk, I think. I wasn’t interested in being an audience.”

He hums, “Someone else on your mind?”

“Like who?” You lean the lip of your cup against your mouth.

“Saw you making eyes at the model today,” He teases, nudging you in your rib when you take a sip of your drink so that you keel over slightly. You sputter, unamused with the tactic to get you to fess up.

Was it that obvious?

“Isn’t that the point of the class?”

“Yeah maybe, smartass, but that’s not what I meant. I saw him talking to you, saw you give him a little gift,” He bobs his eyebrows at you suggestively, “Excited for him to come back next week?”

“So I can stare more, you mean?”

“So you can get his number.”

“Ian.”

“I’m just saying you should try and find someone outside our section of the building. No writers, either, obviously.” He gestures to where Adrian is already trying his shtick on some girl from your class.

“He’s a little too old for me, don’t you think? His daughter goes here.” You muse. He’s mostly right about you needing to expand your reach, but you won’t let him off that easily.

“Maybe. But if you don’t care, and he doesn’t care, what’s it matter? He’s not too old to fuck you.” He makes a face and you roll your eyes.

The thought is nice, but you know forging relationships is unlikely when you’re concerned, at least as of late, “I don’t want to spend my night talking about people I’m not going to fuck.”

“Whatever you say.” He slinks out from his seat, mumbling something about a glass of water. A few steps away, he looks back over his shoulder, “You’re not doomed, by the way,” the asshole can read your mind, “You can enjoy yourself without feeling guilty. You’re allowed to like people.”

And then you’re alone again.

It’s like that for another hour, small attempts at chatter and meetings until you realize you’re too tired to fuck anyone, let alone continue to sit upright. Being up so early this morning took more of a toll than an hour nap could fix, and you're begging Ian to take you home. He agrees, spending the trip trying to plan another outing later in the week before everyone’s gone on vacation.

You give him a sleepy goodbye when he pulls into your apartment complex, making sure he’s still going to class tomorrow before letting him drive away. Once you’re inside, slipping quietly in through the front door, you realize your roommate isn’t home. She’s probably still in a late class or at her boyfriend’s or somewhere else. You enjoy the quiet enough to not think about it too hard.

The five sips of tequila-mostly-water has settled into your stomach by now, making you a quarter-second slower when you strip all your clothes off and climb into bed.

You twist under the sheets, and after a while your skin starts to feel too hot, even in the cold air of your room. Breathing deep, you try to think of something boring to get your mind to still, but when you sense the sleep about to take over, it switches.

You see his face behind your eyelids, the man from today, strong and pretty and delicate, remembering all your favorite details—the length of his fingers and the depth of his voice. You curse yourself for assigning this importance to him. He’s just another page in your portfolio, if you even keep him, yet you can feel a slow heat bubble up at your core when you remember the stretch of his body under the robe. It’s okay to be taken with him, you think, he’s objectively gorgeous.

Your conversation with Ian replays in your head—less about his sincere advice and more about how you need to get laid. It’s been too long; maybe you are just horny, and maybe taking care of it just this once could be enough to stop this hollow interest from growing.

You reach a hand down under your blanket, the tips of your digits pushing into the slit of your cunt. You’re wet, arousal tacky and pooled so much that the light pressure you meant to be exploring with is enough to have you accidentally slipping inside. Okay, he’s really hot. So what? Was it really that bad if you thought so?

You dip a finger further in, timid at first; you’re used to keeping quiet for this kind of activity, and even though your roommate was gone when you got here, it doesn’t mean she hadn’t come in in the thirty minutes of rolling around you’d done before giving into your desire. You lay your free hand over your mouth just in case, teeth biting into the meat at the base of your thumb to keep yourself quiet.

You slide in a second finger to the knuckle to join the first, the light stretch of it enough to make you pant. You see him again, hard and soft and beautiful. You think about what his skin would taste like, if he’d let you sink your teeth into the sinew of his neck. It feels weird to know what he looks like without his clothes, and you’re weirdly proud of yourself for holding back from seeing him fully; it's easier to dream about that way. You wonder how he’d present himself to you, how he’d want to fuck you. You imagine him winding a hand around the hinge of your jaw, fingers pressing hard into the soft of your cheeks. Would he be gentle? Would he make it hurt? You suspect either would be too much. You feverishly palm your clit, hips canting in an effort to climax. The pictures flash faster—his cock in your mouth, his tongue in your cunt, the way he’d spit and grip and hold—and you’re coming, drooling over your hand as you hear him say your name in your mind.

You take your hand away after a minute, breath pushing out heavily from your nose. It’s fine, you needed to do it, just one time. No shame in that. It’s out of your system now.

And if you see his face one more time before you fall asleep, it’s probably an afterthought.

───────

By the end of the week, you come to a horrible conclusion.

It starts the next morning when you take your sketchbook out, itching to get a handle on the many writing assignments you’ve been dutifully ignoring, hoping for an outline or a free-flow of ideas. Nothing comes to mind. You draw a little bit to fill the space while you think, just a mess of material on the page, strokes of your hand that leave barely anything behind.

Then on Wednesday you’re at your laptop, typing with one hand while the other one slides against the wood of the dining table, down and around in a loop, mimicking the same shape each time.

And again last night in the shower, letting the shame of a different semi-failed night-out wash over and off of you. You slosh your foot around in the water in the basin below, catching it as it runs down and pools, ankle dragging in a tiny, controlled movement.

It’s not until now that you put it together.

You’re sitting at your desk, with creative materials at your disposal this time, trying to make sense of what it is you’re forming. You find that no matter the medium, your hand automatically makes a single hard line. The same line, from memory. It’s negligible at first, just a light press of pen or pencil or crayon, until it drags down, down, down. It’s not until you lift your utensil that you recognize it. The hook of a nose and the crest of a top lip.

A hard pit forms in your stomach, blood draining from your head to gather in the center of your chest, a blooming sickness of obsession you haven’t felt in a long time. You’re drawing him. You’ve been drawing him. You know this feeling, have participated in this kind of behavior. These are the actions that cause the humiliating dregs of attraction to bleed over into fixation—juvenile and universal and unavoidable. He’s going to be a problem.

#joel miller fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller smut #pedro pascal characters #joel miller fic #joel miller/reader

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thorin-apologist · 1 year

Text

the big debut

sooo ive been writing this bagginshield fic on and off for the past 2.5 years, it isnt quite finished but im going to start editing and posting chapters very soon (expect month long hiatuses because im terrible) but i just wanna get it out there!!! so heres the prologue, which will be posted to ao3 along with chapter 1 whenever i finish editing it. if so much as one person likes this shit im gonna be spurred on to work faster. ANYWAYS heres the prologue under the cut!! (approx 2.7k words, no TW just slight angst)

Prologue

“You’d think I asked my cousins to die and leave behind a parentless child,” Bilbo said bitterly to Balin. He was getting quite sick of Thorin Oakenshield hastily leaving any room Bilbo walked into. In this instance, it was one of Erebor’s libraries.

“He doesn’t resent your decision to leave us,” said Balin as he led Bilbo to the section of books written in Westron. “In fact, I think he’s more ashamed of how upset he is – he thinks it is you, and only you, who should be allowed to grieve at this time.”

“Sounds ridiculous enough, so you’re probably right.” Thorin’s strange, stubborn ways never failed to exasperate Bilbo, even after one and a half years of knowing him. “So, is he just going to hide from me until I’m gone?”

“I’ll talk some sense into him, laddie.”

Bilbo perused the shelves with Balin at his side, flicking through books and handing Balin the ones that caught his eye. Although he had to force himself to skip over the thick, heavy, leatherbound volumes, he was determined to take as much of the Lonely Mountain he could carry back to the Shire with him, regarding all his chosen books and keepsakes as his real fourteenth share.

On the 22nd of September, just days ago, Gandalf had stopped by the Lonely Mountain to wish Bilbo a happy birthday - though of course, this was not his sole motive for coming. He joined the dwarven birthday celebrations, eating and drinking and singing with them all through the night, waiting until Bilbo’s merry mood began to dissipate with exhaustion before taking him aside and extinguishing any residual cheer left in him.

“I am sorry that I must dampen your spirits on a day of celebration, but there will be no right moment fit for this news and it’s best that I get it over with sooner rather than later.” Gandalf paused, waiting for the sleepy smile to slide off Bilbo’s face. “Upon my last visit to the Shire, I learned the news that your cousin Drogo and his wife Primula had drowned in a boating accident not long before my arrival. This was mere months after their son Frodo was born. He was taken in by the Brandybucks and will live at Brandy Hall indefinitely.” Gandalf fell silent again, but not for nearly as long as Bilbo needed to process the blow from this information. Gandalf’s next words echoed from far away: “Today is his first birthday - he shares the day with you. He would have a better life at Bag End…”

Bilbo had viewed the Shire as something he would ultimately return to when it pulled hard enough at his heart, but until that moment came, it wouldn’t hurt to stay in Erebor a little longer. However, a month had turned into two months, and two into three, and three into ten, and still he had not felt compelled to leave. It was only at this horrible news that he realised that life went on without him there - hadn’t stopped in his absence, waiting patiently for him to return at his leisure. In the end, it was the grief of losing two dear relatives, the thought of the orphaned boy, and the guilt of completely missing something so important that prompted his journey back to the Shire.

Balin must’ve done as he’d promised and given Thorin a talking to, because he finally came out of hiding and approached Bilbo just before his official send-off the next day. It was dawn, so the Lonely Mountain’s vast foyer was empty apart from him and Thorin. They faced each other in dim light by the towering entrance gates, Bilbo with an armful of books that Thorin narrowed his eyes at.

“Haven’t you outgrown burglary, Master Baggins?”

Bilbo smiled at Thorin’s folded arms, knowing he was not in any real trouble. “Maybe not. Why, going to banish me for it?”

Thorin laughed softly and dropped the stern façade. “Take whatever you desire. Erebor is forever indebted to you.”

Bilbo’s bare feet shuffled sheepishly on the smooth stone floor. He always felt awkward whenever anyone acknowledged his part in reclaiming Erebor. His actions had led to victory, but also to devastation for so many people, and the latter was what he remembered whenever it was brought up. He tried to push it from his mind, not wanting to dwell on it during his last moments inside this place. “Don’t tempt me, I might take something expensive.”

Thorin asked questions about Bilbo’s route home, whether Gandalf would accompany him for the whole journey, and if he had enough food and supplies to last them both. None of these things warranted a private conversation before the rest of the company came down, but Bilbo was glad for it to be this way.

Despite his close friendship with Thorin, they had rarely been alone together over these past ten months. Thorin was either out on regular visits to Dale and Lake Town, overseeing Erebor’s reconstruction, or being forced to sit down and look over what Bilbo liked to call ‘kingly paperwork’, which mainly consisted of reviewing outdated laws and renewing old trade agreements. Thorin worked hard, but for all his work, Bilbo knew that his gold-sick mistakes still plagued him. In any case, it was in Thorin’s nature to be among his people, joining in the grunt work instead of lounging on a throne and ordering others around. Bilbo enjoyed helping with the paperwork when he could, usually accompanied by Balin and sometimes Dain Ironfoot – Thorin’s most trusted royal advisors. On many occasions, Bilbo was invited to dine in the King’s private hall, meant only for royalty and any desired guests. This party usually consisted of Thorin, Fili and Kili, their mother Dis, and often Dwalin, Balin, and Dain. Bilbo would’ve liked to have seen Thorin outside of these settings, but this was virtually impossible. Now that he was leaving however, he knew he would cherish all the time he got to spend with Thorin’s family and the rest of the company.

The small talk drew to a natural close and a short silence fell. Thorin broke it.

“Do you have any intention of returning?” Thorin said it casually enough but refused to meet Bilbo’s eye. A book began to slip from under Bilbo’s arm. He caught it and wedged it back into place. Thorin added, “It will be a sore loss for Erebor’s counsel.”

“Balin will keep you right,” said Bilbo, stalling as he thought of how best to respond to the original question. “I would hate to never return. I hate that I’m leaving now.”

Thorin brightened. “So, you will come back? When you are able, I mean.”

Now it was Bilbo’s turn to avoid Thorin’s eye. “It’s not that simple. It was irresponsible of me to stay so long. Really it was irresponsible to come in the first place.” Thorin nodded, his eyebrows sinking back down. “Not that I regret it,” said Bilbo quickly, “No, not at all. But I have family; obligations…” Bilbo bit the inside of his cheek. “And I have already let them down by not being there. The funeral would’ve been months ago. And the boy, he needs—”

“Yes, of course. I know,” said Thorin gently, quelling Bilbo’s anxious rambling. “I know you must go back to your family. It was selfish of me to hope for anything else.”

On the contrary, it warmed Bilbo to know that Thorin Oakenshield wanted him to stay. A bolder Bilbo might’ve made it known to Thorin that he felt equally selfish, and that if Thorin elaborated on what he hoped, it might just persuade him to abandon his plans. But this conversation was already looking to become uncomfortable. Bilbo needed easy, clean goodbyes today.

Luckily, it was at that moment that the chattering of Fili and Kili began to echo into the foyer. They soon emerged from a connected hallway, accompanied by Dis, whom Bilbo had come to like very much. She had silver-streaked dark hair and a strong nose, like her brother Thorin, but she shared the same kind brown eyes as Kili. However, her beard was by far the most impressive of all her family; tamed, glossy, and styled in intricate braids.

“Knew he’d be the first one down. Thorin! Changed his mind yet?” Fili called as they all approached. Thorin rolled his eyes.

As soon as they came to the place Bilbo stood, Fili and Kili pulled him into a group hug, making him drop most of his books. Bilbo decided drop the rest so that he could reach up and put an arm around each of their shoulders.

These two had come especially close to death during last year’s war, as had Thorin. In the recovery tents as the battle died away, Bilbo sat at their bedsides with Dis, who had been a part of the army from the Iron Hills but had not managed to get to her family during the fight. During this time, she had opened up to Bilbo, telling him stories about Fili and Kili as children, and some surprising tales about Thorin in his youth. Bilbo learned about Frerin, her and Thorin’s brother who had been killed in battle before he could come of age, and of Dis’ late husband, who had died alongside him. It was then that Bilbo realised that her sons and Thorin were the only family she had left, and how close she had come to losing everything.

“Tauriel sends her love,” said Kili as he and Fili broke away, “she and Legolas are working on repealing the Elvenkingdom’s law against marriage between dwarves and elves. You might run into them in Mirkwood, actually – if they don’t end up banished again.”

“If I come past the Elvenking’s Halls, I’m marching inside and giving Thranduil a piece of my mind on the matter,” said Bilbo.

Dis stepped forward, smiling at him. “You are sweet, Bilbo,” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It has been a joy to have you here. Our family will never forget what you have done for us.” Fili and Kili nodded in agreement.

“It has been an honour to be allowed to stay here for so long,” said Bilbo graciously, choosing again to ignore the uncomfortable latter statement.

“Don’t be silly, I am reluctantly allowing you to leave us,” she said. Bilbo smiled.

Dwalin and Balin came down next. Bilbo pretended not to notice Balin’s overly wet eyes, not wanting to copy them. Next came Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur. It had been Bofur whom Bilbo had ended up spending the most time around during his stay, as he was simply wonderful to be around; always finding ways to make Bilbo laugh after such a dark time. He gripped Bofur especially hard when they hugged, receiving hearty pats on the back in return.

Oin and Gloin soon joined the throng, and finally Ori, Dori, and Nori. Now that everyone was there, there was no point in delaying the inevitable. Dwalin and Dori headed over to either side of the gates and hauled the chains that opened them. The gates slowly parted outwards, revealing the bare grounds stretched out before the Mountain. The only things that had been added since the battle were some hastily built pens and huts dotted here and there. Mist obscured the horizon and muted the low-hanging sun’s rays.

Just outside the gates, Gandalf was standing by a cart attached to two horses and laden with all of Bilbo’s things. Bilbo and the company walked forwards into the chilly autumn morning. He reached the cart and loaded the last of his books. Gandalf looked down his long, crooked nose at him with sympathy in his eyes. Without saying anything, Gandalf gently patted Bilbo on the shoulder and boarded the cart. Bilbo turned around to face the fourteen dwarves, who were already huddling around him. They all took it in turns to embrace him (with some coming back for seconds), wishing him good luck and a safe journey.

When it was Thorin’s turn, he murmured in Bilbo’s ear as he held him, “Please write.” Bilbo nodded into the thick furs of Thorin’s cloak. They came apart for a moment. Then, to Bilbo’s shock, Thorin brushed his forehead against Bilbo’s. It was brief, but unmistakeable.

He heard a murmur from the group and hid his face as he climbed into the cart. Bilbo had been around dwarves long enough to know the gravity of that gesture. Bilbo valiantly tried to maintain his composure as he faced his dwarves for the last time.

“I will visit, if I can,” said Bilbo to the group, though he was looking at Thorin. Maybe it wasn’t as impossible as he had been telling himself; he might be able to find a babysitter once Frodo was old enough. Another impulse of irresponsibility might attack him again, and he could find himself running out the door without a handkerchief or a second thought. He would have to try a bit harder to fight these impulses now that he would have a child to look after. But if the last year and a half had taught Bilbo anything, it was that he could never be certain of what he might do next.

“You’d better,” Dwalin growled, and many of the others agreed in mutters.

“And likewise,” said Bilbo, his voice dangerously close to breaking, “you are all welcome at Bag End. Anytime.” As soon as you can, as often as you like, as many of you as Bag End can fit.

Gandalf took the reins and started the horses, guiding the cart away from the Lonely Mountain. Bilbo tried to keep his gaze on the dwarves, trying to burn their faces into his memory as they shrank away from him, but found that his eyes began to well. So, he twisted back around in his seat and faced the road ahead.

As soon as all the formalities regarding Frodo's adoption were dealt with, he had written a letter to Thorin, recounting his journey home, and greatly emphasising that he would love for them to meet again soon. The local postman would've surely fainted if Bilbo handed him a letter addressed to Erebor, so Bilbo entrusted his letter to Gandalf, who claimed he would be flitting to and from the East and West on ‘business,’ and would make sure it was delivered in good time.

Months later, Gandalf returned with Thorin's strangely formal response; that he would like nothing more, but he had to prioritise his duties as king and the ongoing restoration of Erebor. Bilbo understood of course - he had his own duties, what with being something of a parent, to be getting on with. Instead, he kept Thorin up to date with lengthy letters containing details of his contrastingly quiet life in the Shire, and many questions about the wellbeing of the other dwarves and what life as King under the Mountain was like. Sometimes he asked for advice on bringing up his nephew, as he knew Thorin had experience with Fili and Kili.

Bilbo wished for the same level of enthusiasm and detail in Thorin's replies but did not get it. In fact, each letter Bilbo received became shorter and more impassive than the last. Each time, Thorin found excuses to turn down Bilbo's (now somewhat persistent) attempts to reunite, whether it be in Erebor or Hobbiton. Bilbo couldn't fathom why this was. Thorin had earnestly requested that Bilbo write to him. Surely, he was not so busy that he couldn't write more than a few sentences. And if he was, why couldn't he get one of the others to write for him? After four years of this, Bilbo grew tired of how one-sided their friendship had become, and let frustration get the better of him. Halfway through a letter wishing Thorin a happy 200th birthday, he switched his tone and stated that Thorin need not reply if he no longer had the time of day for him.

Six more years passed, and he had not received another letter.

*****

aaaand because theres absolutely no way you could guess whats actually gonna happen in this fic just from the prologue, here’s a cheeky synopsis!

After years of lost contact, Thorin turns up on Bilbo’s doorstep with an awkward greeting and a dire warning. Upon learning about Gandalf’s uncharacteristically sinister plans regarding the ring, the hobbit and the dwarf king decide to take matters into their own hands. But are their hands the safest ones to carry the ring? (Spoiler: absolutely not).

#hope this at least intrigues someone lmao #if ive used a word/punctuation wrong PLEASE let me know i havent gone to school in 3 years #my fic #bagginshield #the hobbit #lotr

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furymint · 5 months

Text

2023 Creator Reflection

ffxiv.

1. dance me to the end of love

this one was fun! i always like merging a character's outfit with the bg so i liked doing that again. picking the colors for elliots outfit was also enjoyable. ive wanted to make smth w that cover for a while

2. shame was still the tyrant of his life

i only wrote two nol and eli things this year and neither of them are finished. the first was a continuation of a scene where nol kisses elliot against the blue stained glass in his room--i once posted it but then i deleted it bc it made me feel woozy for its allusions to sex. i wanted to rebuild it and take a shot at it now that im comfortable writing n reading sex, but i never got very far. theres actually lots of nice parts! i just like nols dumb angsting the best!

3. valentine

i really wanted to focus on nol's eye here, but also not make it too obvious lol. i used a ps filter like a schmuck but i wanted it to be darker without making it even more difficult to see, so i took away their bodies and limited the colors to make it what it is.

4. amateur cracksmen

the second nol n eli wip, which doesnt have many interesting lines rn, was a raffles-inspired story where eli drags nol as his valet to a rival artist's house and tries to steal back the brooch that he bought from an underground dealer feat. much babbling abt the state of societal responsibility that war is supposed to bring

ffxvi.

1. herz an herz dir

i wrote some reflections about this one already here. i honestly was very (distressed voice) cant believe im writing pure fanfic for the first time in over ten years and lacked a lot of direction when i started bc uhhhhh terence has 8 and a half mins of screen time. i tried to convince myself that it's not much different than me stealing brucemont for my own evil devices, but the unique perspective of seeing quite so much fan content def influenced my interpretation. i wanted their relationship to be much more imbalanced from the get-go initially--dion using his power unintentionally and terence barely passing a thought abt it until later bc he's just so accustomed to obeying--but i ended up giving terence a lot more sway & ammunition in their argument. the breakfast bed thing is also smth im rly fond of.

2. mund an mund

there's also additional meta for this one here. i made a silly doodle abt it also. dion kept picking fights here! it honestly turned out how i expected. when i first started this fic, i was gonna have dion start out right in oriflamme and meet ter and kihel there, but i booted them to northreach so i could have this stretch of conflict. i think it's like. Bad Pacing. technically. if i still believe the conflict introduced in the next chapter is the core one, that is. which i sorrrrta do. but i dont care bc i rly like the visual of kihel laying in dion's lap and getting to put a gun on the wall w ahmed.

3. eines atems

its been two months since the last chapter and this chapter is humiliatingly not written. i have all my scrambled notes and scenes that i jotted down in between the first two chapters, so i have a full direction, but it's been really difficult to write lately. ive been devoting all my time to trying to recoup my mental health and work on my teredio secret santa. ill start next year with this wip as a priority, so for now i only have the photoshop edit for it. kihel is holding terence's hand--it's his pov turn.

overall i didnt like this year very much. i didn't read, create, research or do a lot even though i tried to. i became really disconnected from all of my friends bc im too tired to stay for rp or hold online conversations. at this point, i dont play ffxiv at all except the few times i managed to rp a little. i moved into nanny's house and have my own space, but don't have the presence of mind to do anything about my pc, books, and so on, although i did make a lot of progress rewrapping my books w fresh wraps and some other things. my plans for next year are to reach out to a couple of my friends, build my pc, relearn + rebuild + relaunch my queer lit blog on open source code, survive school, and rediscover the productivity ive lost the past few years.

teredio has helped me a LOT to find community, inspiration, and art in my loneliest year yet. im very proud of my fic and grateful every day to the ppl who have reached out to me about liking it. even if im sorry about my productivity rate in comparison to how many extraordinary writers there are in the ship's fandom, i know i have to be easy on myself to relearn how to write, create a writing schedule that works for me, and stop punishing myself when i cant get the words out.

past reflections: 2017 | 2018 | 2019 | 2020 | 2021 | 2022

#ngl writing this out made me feel like #i reopened a lot of grief about my ability to work and create #and i need to walk away from it before i cry even more lol #thank u to my fc for still being the place #i love to visit when i wake up #even though all of us a struggling a lot #with life and ingame motivation #brianna babbles

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thekuraning · 1 month

Note

Could I please have 7, 9, 16, 24 and 27 for the fic writer ask? 💙

HFDUAIGHRQHG WOW THATS SO MANY thank you aria!!!!

as always... kura talk lots.... read more time!

7. your preferred writing fonts

For the longest time it was Arial, then basically from Covid lockdowns to maybe about a year ago I was a Comic Sans truther. But recently I've been using Optima and Trebuchet! There is something very delightfully round about them... they are soft like bunnies.... Bonus points, they're a bit of larger, thicker fonts, which makes is much easier for me to read. I have no idea if I'm dyslexic because I've never been tested but reading--while fun and one of my favorite pass-times--is like. So hard. And it feels like the longer I've been out of Lit classes the harder and harder reading gets. :') I've got a mountain of fics and books I'd like to read but it takes a lot of energy to keep track of what line im on that i gotta save it all up for writing... ive had city of dogs open in a tab for like months now bro i just wanna read.... TAT

But yeah I love me them thicker rounder weighted sort of fonts.

9. start to finish, how long did it take you to write the last fic you posted?

so the last finished one-shot i posted was Who We Don't Expect to See, which took probably about six months to a year wrestling to get the dialogue to behave. The last complete multi-chapter fic was the Baristsa on Autumnal Avenue, which took about nine months!

As for unfinished works, I'm expecting Maelstrom to probably take another year , maybe year and a half at this pace! Ideally, I'd love to have it done by December which would mean a year and two months total, but we'll have to see thinking emoji

16. favorite place to write

I'm usually either at my desk in my office or on my couch lol and that's just a question of whether I feel more like writing on my desktop or my laptop! But since I started back at my local community college, I've found INSANE productivity at the campus cafe!! I don't know what it is, but as soon as my ass is sitting at the table with a coffee I'm like fucking sonic the hedgehog the way I start pumping chapters out. Probably about 80% of Maelstrom fic's been written in that little cafe!!

24. how do you recharge when you’re not feeling creative?

banging my head against the wall until im creative again :( or until i knock myself out, whichever comes first

actually lol I spend a lot of my recharge time watching youtube or playing video games. I'm big into Splatoon and Phasmophobia! I used to be really into Fall Guys until Epic bought the game out. but mostly it's just youtube these days lolll cause once im out of creative juice thats like. it. my energy's gone and i tend to spiral, so I'll end up just snuggling my kitty and watching gamegrumps or something (i dont know why, he just really likes watching game grumps)

>:( we used to watch a lot of netflix together too but since they cracked down on account sharing and my parents managed the family account we can only get in on the desktop now... how are we supposed to snuggle like this!!! cozy kitty economy is in shambles smdh

27. your favorite part of the writing process

answered over here winky kissy face emoji

#i wish i could emoji on desktop #please settle for my descriptive emoji text #kurasays #ask game #isleofair #ty friend!!

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lurkingteapot · 9 months

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9 People You’d Like to Know More

Tagged by @shouldiusemyname and @recentadultburnout

Last song: Kenji Kawai - Utai IV Reawakening (Steve Aoki Remix), because I was watching this Street Dance of China performance:

youtube

Currently reading: I'm working my way through a thing I'm translating for a job, if that counts as reading? If we're just talking reading for pleasure: I just finished Yellowfever by R.F. Kuang and highly, highly recommend it. Content warnings out the wazoo (the narrator is an AWFUL person who doesn't come anywhere near realising how bad she is); I still couldn't put it down until I was finished. Next up is probably a few chapters of Queer Transfigurations and a whole lot of fanfic until Shelley Parker-Chan's He Who Drowned The World is released on the 24th.

Currently watching: Laws of Attraction, Be My Favorite, Tokyo in April is …, Not Me (re-watch for class purposes), SOTUS, Good Omens S2, and technically also 10 Years Ticket but I'm stalled on it

Next in line on my watchlist: I don't have a watch list as such, but I'd like to finish one of the shows I started but stalled on – other than 10 Years Ticket, maybe The Warp Effect?

Starting soon: Only Friends

Current obsession: gonna take a page out of @shouldiusemyname's book and try to narrow it down to just three:

in concrete fannish/fandom things, this is still Bad Buddy. I've watched and enjoyed other shows, but I keep coming back – to read fic, to analyse and speculate with friends and strangers, sometimes to write … and sometimes I go back and work through an episode or two in relation to 2.) or 3.).

slightly removed, there's Thai language and everything it connects to– I've dropped the ball on it a little for brickspace reasons, but I want to get back into it. Right now, the extent of my Thai practice is watching LoA without subs every week, preparing for and attending a class focussed around Not Me, and one 1-on-1 conversation class that's technically weekly but teacher and I have both been having life things happen, so it's not really been weekly for a while now. I wish I had the brainspace to challenge myself more, especially to speak. Feels hard to believe I had the spoons to do language exchange stuff daily and have regular convo classes for a while (u_u) I miss it.

and going into a slightly different direction again, BL academia/scholarship – I was fairly interested in this even back in university, but unfortunately it wasn't something I could pursue with the professors I had at the time, so I had to content myself with the classes and papers on gender studies, queer studies, and Japanese pop culture of the 20th century I could get, and reading whatever papers about BL "proper" I could get my hands on in my spare time. I'm glad to be getting back into it now, if a bit wistful.

I have no idea who has and hasn't done this because I've been pretty awol from tumblr for a while, but as an attempt: @dimplesandfierceeyes, @ephemeral-hiraeth, @fanonplussed, @galauvant, @isaksbestpillow, @liyazaki, @loveongsa, @plantsarepeopletoo, and @sixohsixoheightfourtwo, (if you already did this and I missed it, I'm sorry and will be happy for a pointer that way!) Obviously no pressure to do this at all :D

#get to know meme #meme #ask game #about me #my nonsense #q

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jujutsuflavoredpeach · 2 years

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ENDING (PART II) - AS HE IS

Pairing Inumaki Toge x fem!reader Other Characters Okkotsu Yuta, Shoko Ieiri, Satoru Gojo, Itadori Yuji, Zen'in Maki, Fushiguro Megumi Content angst, hurt, longing, anger, struggle, romance, fluff, friendship, hopeful Warnings jjk MANGA SPOILERS, CULLING GAME SPOILERS PREVIOUS CHAPTERS ﹢PART I - AS HE IS﹢ ﹢PART II - AS HE IS﹢ ﹢PART III - AS HE IS﹢ ﹢PART IV (I) - AS HE IS﹢ / ﹢PART IV (II) - AS HE IS﹢ ﹢PART V - AS HE IS﹢ ﹢FINAL (PART I) - AS HE IS﹢

A/N ❀ ¡Hello there! Here is FINAL (PART II) of AS HE IS. The second part of the final chapter of this series. This is the definitely the ending, meaning there will be no more parts after this. I really dwelled on the type of ending I wanted to give to this multi-chapter madness, and here it is. Don't know what to feel, honestly. Super duper happy I get to mention @androgynousweaselpatrolbat , because this person's words were so damn vital for me, and I'd also like to dedicate the previous chapter to her as well. I srsly hope for everyone to meet someone who is just as kind to you as she's been with me, 'cause the internet needs a lot of that. And... If you are reading this: ∗ ࣪ ˖ ♡ ˖ ࣪ ∗I APPRECIATE YOU BEING HERE.∗ ࣪ ˖ ♡ ˖ ࣪ ∗ ¡Hope you like it!❀

"Touch has a memory. O say, love, say, What can I do to kill it and be free?”

'Like she would forget a quote from a book she references fifty times a day and has read at least two hundred million times.' Toge thought to himself.

His breath came in short gasps as he ran towards the door.

"Locked." he gritted his teeth.

'I'm sorry Y/n, but I'll have to push myself even further.'

"EXPLODE"

This time it worked, Toge had taken advantage of you getting weak as his body shook uncontrollably. He started to run, to wherever that might be. It was door, after door, after door, filled with past events of you and him, but he couldn't stop and smell the roses, he just kept forcing his legs to push harder. He was on a race to find Shoko's office, a race against time to save you from death and he just couldn't see the end of it, until he came to an abrupt halt. One of the doors led him to a corridor, and there you were once more.

Your eyes were wide and filled with tears. Toge's breathing was rapid, feeling a bead of sweat running down his forehead. The atmosphere was becoming more and more tight.

"John Keats." you told him, looking into his dark eyes. "He was a romantic, with a capital 'r'. But the last part was a mistake. I wanted to feel your touch, not tell you to kill yourself."

You made a pause, looking into his eyes. They were full of determination, ready to finish what you already knew he was there to do.

"You need to go back with the others Toge. Remember the game, remember Satoru. It isn't about Tokyo anymore, it's about saving the entire world. You need to declare yourself, make yourself useful out there before time runs out."

Toge had gotten closer to you, so close that he was barely touching the tip of your nose. He studied your face for a while, the energy was escaping you and you felt suffocated as you focused on his face. You rested your head on his shoulder, as he held your body firmly against his.

"I didn't want it to be this way." you cried on his shoulder with your eyes closed. "That day when Maki told me I- You were the only thing on my mind. I couldn't wait to reach the door to Shoko's office and be able to breath again from seeing you alive. I can still recall the burn in my calves from running so fast. I wasn't even scared of falling, I just wanted to be by your side." you let out a breathy laugh in between your sobs.

You felt Toge's hot breath against your temple as he lightly kissed you there.

"You weren't ready. I'm deeply sorry, I was a selfish brat."

'Inumaki, stop being a selfish brat.'

He laughed softly, remembering Shoko's words.

"¿What's so funny?" you leaned back looking puzzled, as a smile grew on your lips.

"I was a selfish brat too." his eyes crinckled at the corners, and the two of you couldn't help but let out a laugh with tears running down your face.

"I love you. As you are." you looked him dead in the eye this time, placing a hand on his cheek. Toge's arm was wraped around your waist as you spoke and his gaze bore into yours. You tried to sparkle for him one last time.

"You were the first thing on my mind when I woke up that day."

Your eyes met with a flare of heat this time. You blushed, and he didn't hold back, but neither did you as you threw your arms over your shoulders and pulled him closer as you felt the fire ignite. The feeling of Toge's tonge against your lips sent a chill through your body, and soon yours darted out to meet his. The tingling sense was overwhelming. The kiss was urgent and strong, but his lips felt gentle like cotton. You arched against him as if begging for more, as his body was wordlessly saying just how much he loved you. He brushed his fingers across your shoulders, letting the straps of your dress fall as he attacked your neck with open mouth kisses, moving from your throat to your collarbone, slowly running a hand over your stomach as he then kissed your breasts. You were drowning in an overwhelming feeling of pleasure. He was drunk, completely lost in the feeling of your flesh against his lips.

Your eyelids fluttered when you felt Toge's lips capture yours as his firm hand brushed your cheek. Suddenly, it all stopped. You looked at him adoringly, as your lips caressed his and you stroke a hand down his back. His face became nothing but a blur, when a splitting pain erupted through your head. It was as if the pain was crushing your insides, claiming your body for its own.

Toge knew you were reaching your limit.

'O say, love, say,'

"I love you. " he whispered against your ear.

He had never felt so certain about anything else in his entire life.

'What can I do'

Toge laid your body on the floor as you contorted from the agonizing pain that cursed through you, forcing a moan to try and gain his attention. You were paralyzed, eyes wide with fear as your energy escaped you, filling you with a powerful sense of loss.

"D-don't"

"Tell the others to eat lots of tuna mayo for me, I'm going to miss it. Also, tell Yuta to not sweat it. He did a good job in keeping your secrets. Helping you, and keeping your feelings safe. He was being a good brother to you, like always. And, let's go on a date."

He said as he stood with his back turned to you.

"When I set you free, let's go on a date. I'm sorry I only had the courage to tell you this right now."

You watched him run as fast as he could towards the door to Shoko's office, hearing the voices from the inside getting clearer as he was getting closer and closer. Your voice.

"¿Are you hiding from me? You don’t have to-”

“Y/n, maybe he needs time to-”

Shoko's voice. Toge felt a surge of adrenaline as he reached for the knob.

"Let me help you now that I’m here… Please, don’t hide from me. As long as you are still breathing… ¡Look at me Inumaki Toge! ¡Please!"

Bursting into the room just like you did once, but this time it was all for you. The scene was collapsing around him, and the image of you with your back to him was now fading with everything else, everything, but his own image that was still standing, ready to unleash his cursed words on you, but he was ready.

'What can I do to'

“¡GET OU-!"

'to kill it'

"¡GET CRUSHED!"

'and be free?'

"W-ake...up"

REPORT OF INVESTIGATION. TOKYO METROPOLITAN CURSE TECHNICAL COLLEGE. Reported by: Dr. Ieiri Shoko. Patient: Y/l/n,Y/n. Sex: F. Case number: 0

INTENT OF REPORT: Counting and description of powers and abilities. Evolution and progress since 'Incident 0'.

Subject's Inner Domain Expansion (Apeiron Blue Genus Submission). The sorceress is able to conjure her domain by simply projecting her most profound desires and so, it takes the form of an endless field of blue colored nemophilas. A nemophila is born in conjuction with millions of other flowers creating an infinite sight, each flower being a copy of the other.

Her inner domain expansion was unleashed on 'Incident 0', reinforcing her innate ability, which gave her the highly advanced ability to control her mental structure. Added to it, was the clash between the flow of her cursed energy that acted as a shield against cursed speech technique, and the weight of Inumaki Toge's (Cursed Speech Innate User) cursed energy that expanded and attacked her brain. The sorcerer used both energies as resources to replicate a neuronal pathway that would only connect by impulse between her and Inumaki Toge.

Under repeated and arduous training tests, she has been able to far surpass herself, taking control of new powers and increased abilities.

The sorceress inner domain is one of a kind, and allows her to trap the target within her own mind, creating a separate space that she can handle at her own will, as well as moving indepently. Her power has increased significantly, using copy after copy, to torture, manipulate and kill her opponents from the moment they get caught up in it.

The sorceress can subdue her victims by accessing their minds, collecting their information through replication to acquire knowledge, even inducing a trance state on them before externalizing her domain to trap them in it. This has been substantiated by her testimony about the events of 'Incident 0'.

The sorceress can create anything she wants through her innate ability as long as she remembers it well. Objects, events, locations, powers, or memories, even combining them to create something entirely new from scratch. No limits, no damage, no side effects. Unlike the events that unfolded in 'Incident 0'. Capabilities include: Replicatin everything she sets her mind to, by will and desire. That includes the environment natural features. This means she can create, shape and manipulate the worlds within herself or within the insides of another individual by controlling its mind, heart, body and soul.

The side effects of 'Incident 0' have turned the sorceress into a high-lever user of cursed technique. The externalization of her domain by turning it into a physical environment and being able to bring others within it makes her a deathly force to be reckoned with. My observations are clear, that the sorceress is on her way to becoming a Special Grade Sorceress the likes of Okkotsu Yuta. Rare and one of its kind.

FURTHER OBSERVATIONS: As for medical, the sorceress is in good condition even if carrying vast levels of cursed energy. Speed, agility, meneuverability and stamina are paired. Undergoes weekly medical examinations, as oppossed to every two days due to the damage of an unknown incident inside the domain that made the energy distribute among her cells. The hypothesis revealed that only one cell remained, keeping active by feeding off of the cursed energy still present in her body. The resource the cell used to stay alive was a renmant of the new power she had created in the first place. The studies right after the incident revealed that a cell that belonged to a unified consciousness composed of several replicas survided, taking its place in the center of what may be called a 'mental hive'. Like a queen, the old sorceress throne was taken by a replica of her consciousness and spirit, thus keeping her alive, in addition to mantaining her powers and abilities.

Without further observations, I deliver this report to the appropriate authority Special Grade Jujutsu Sorcerer, Satoru Gojo.

Dr. Ieiri Shoko. TOKYO METROPOLITAN CURSE TECHNICAL COLLEGE.

"Next time you can write me a love letter similar to this one." Gojo Said as Shoko signed the papers and then handed him the pen to do the same.

"When you are dead maybe. I'll have to make your report then."

"¡Ouch! Good thing I'm already too good to be true, it'll be easy to write. Although, I feel sorry for you because you won't find enough paper to write so much about me."

"Mhm. I see that after being trapped inside that cube you still haven't changed a thing." she answered with a blank expression as she sucked on a lollipop. Gojo let out a long sigh, followed by his signature idiot smile while he clasped both hands behind his back to stretch his arms.

"I mean ¿Those two lovebirds were out for each other or what? ¡Y/n is third to me and second to Yuta now! She really turned herself into a deathly man trap."

"Yeah, I don't think that's-"

"¿How's our little tuna fish by the way?" he asked cutting Shoko off, which caused her to give him a death glare.

"It's been a year Satoru. You do the observations for that one."

Shoko looked at him dead in the eye and she could see Gojo's addam apple bobbing up and down, still holding a sly grin, but she knew he was just trying to seem unaffected.

Twelve months had passed. You woke up November 8th on a bed next to Toge's unconsciouss body with an violent shake. Shoko found you soon after, sensing the abnormal level of cursed energy from miles away. You had fallen out of the bed in a tangle of sheet and blanket, not being able to stand up due to the weakness in your muscles.

Six hours, that was how many hours Shoko barely managed to get you to rest with an iv attached to your forearm, then you went out to find Yuta and declared your participation to become a part of the ritual. You found him at the Sendai Colony after tracking his energy for at least three days straight. That gave you roughly eight more days to come up with a solution to wake Toge up before November 19th. The expiration date for a player to wake their cursed technique.

Of course, nothing went as planned. A few died in battle, a few got to live, and just half an hour before the end of Novemeber 19th the group was able to release Gojo from the Prison Realm, putting and end to Kenjaku's grotesque game. You felt nothing but relief, as Toge wasn't the only one who got saved that night, but millions of others.

But he never woke up since November 8th.

Ever since the day you came back you only spent your days next to him, thinking of Toge's own sorrow as you were standing in his shoes now, just like he'd been, praying that you'd come back to him. You did everything from cutting his hair, to clipping his nails and giving him massages. Shoko had set up a modest ICU in his room to facilitate his care, and Gojo let you keep his comfortable leather chair. Yuta didn't have to ask where you were. He knew he would find you sitting right beside Toge reading to him, or just talking about random stuff as you'd graze your fingertips up and down his forearm with eyes full of longing. Sometimes you'd cry your eyes out, or have a breakdown due to the stress, and sometimes, Yuta would have to force you to join him for dinner. He'd trick you out of there saying that Toge always asked you if you were eating well when you were busy, which was a tad bit cruel, but Yuta knew that if you surrendered to hoplesness then you'd end up just like him when Rika died. You'd lose the connections with those around you, and then you'd lose yourself entirely.

"I know you feel like you have a purpose, taking care of Toge." he told you one night.

"I do." you averted your gaze trying to discourage him from persuading you to leave his side. You knew he was at it.

"You need a bigger one."

"¡Okkotsu!" you stood up from the chair in the blink of an eye with gritted teeth and a fiery gaze, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt.

He was unfazed.

"¿What is he going to think when he wakes up and sees that all of his efforts were reduced to you looking as fragile as an autumn leaf?"

'¿Isn't it funny? We are in October. Autumn leaves reach their peak during the month of October, but I managed to make all these bloom inside my mind.' you had said to Toge that time, as he stared at the nemophila sea in awe. Your grip on Yuta's shirt weakened and he grabbed your hand as he placed his other one on your shoulder.

"Look at me." he said and you obliged as the tears fell. "We fought together recently, and it was pretty clear to me that not everything was under control out there. You need to train Y/n, be stronger." you took a few steps back shaking your head in denial.

"I'm not turning into Satoru's little killing machine."

"¡No, you won't! ¡I'm just trying to help a friend out here! My sister." Yuta said, desperately looking for your gaze. "I get it, it was the heat of the moment, a race against time. We were all desperate at one point and we allowed ourselves to be reckless for the sake of humanity, but you know that is not how this usually works."

You only had eyes for Toge as Yuta kept drilling into your skull with his words.

"If you don't learn to live with the level of energy that you are carrying right now, you won't become Satoru's weapon, you'll just be your own misery machine."

He paused for a moment, studying your expression from afar.

"Y/n, you are someone that cares about people, we care about you. Everytime you leave this room for training Toge will be leaving right with you, I promise. He wants you t-"

Before he was able to finish, Yuta's breath was taken away by having your arms around you as you hugged him for a long time. Sobs escaped you and the tears gushed down your cheeks. He let you hold on to him for as long as you needed, holding you into a gentle embrace as you let it all out. He knew it was hard for you to envision yourself going out of that room, leaving behind all the love you had left in the world, your last bit of sanity, but he cared for you, and he owed it to Toge.

First it was an hour of training, then two, then four. That was your limit, and then you'd go back running to Toge's room. Next it was Shoko who had you in and out for tests, check ups and therapy, and to those you simply couldn't say no. After all, you also owed your life to her efforts. She trully cared, and you were a new piece of information, even to yourself. As for Satoru, he'd constantly ask Shoko for updates on your progress and he would supervise your training from time to time, being a pain in the ass like the certified clown that he was. Even so, you were under the impression that he was eager to see you thrive, besides, he wouldn't ask too many questions, especially when you looked too much focused on your abilities. As for Maki and the rest, everything that happened after the ritual had caused significant changes in hierarchy. They needed to put things back into order as history had been rewritten. You both knew you were only a phone call away from each other. And so, that's what life has been for you without Toge, for 365 days.

"The temple sure is beautiful when it's snowing." you said looking out the window of Shoko's office.

Two months had passed and Christmas was right around the corner.

"Sure is." she gave you a tight lip smile. "¿Want to have a seat?"

"Nah, I'm good here." you answered calmly from your seat on the windowsill. "So, ¿what's it going to be today?"

"Well, you know there's been a few instances in which I've asked you the, you know, tough questions and-"

"¿I almost demolish the entire school involuntarily?"

"I mean, yeah, kind of." Shoko said as you both giggled at the almost incident that left Satoru more wide eyed than he's ever been in his whole damn life.

"¿Today it's a tough question day is it? You want me to describe that last part, right before..."

"¿Right before the walls of my office started shaking? Hm, no. It's more like a tough suggestion this time around." she cleared her throat. "¿Why don't you try and trully reach out to him?"

"Wh- ¿What do you mean? If I'm not training or in this office, I'm always right next to him. I tend to him, I clean his room, I-"

"Y/n, I'm talking about trying to reach Toge with-"

"I won't fucking do that." your eyes landed on her like a pair of grenades. "I'm not using cursed energy on him."

"You don't have to go big this time. You can do it slowly, gradually penetrate his senses and test his reaction. You've adapted and progressed, I think it's safe to say that it could be considered as a new option now."

"He'll wake up on his own terms Shoko. I'm not going anywhere near his mind."

"¿Why don't you try reading him your romance-?"

"I'm done with Romanticism. The only thing I read to him are his comics. ¿Can I just...?" you asked pointing at the door.

"Sure." Shoko sighed, but then she raised her voice as she realized something. "¡Oh, wait! You should now, the rest will be here for Christmas. You will all be together, and they want to be close to Inumaki as well, I'm sure."

"Yeah, okay." you nodded and immediately left the office, heading to Toge's room.

Christmas Eve.

"Hey ¿Don't you need to go change?"

You turned around to see Maki's face as you tied a little tuna ornament at the foot of Toge's bed.

"Yeah, It'll be just a sec." you said looking around the room, satisfied with the outcome.

"It looks amazing Y/n, you did good. I think he'd love it just for the little tuna thing, but it's great. Cozy." she said giving you a pat on the back.

You'd gone christmas shopping with Yuta a few days before. The group had gone through a lot altogether, and it's not like gifting each other was going to make you feel any better, but it was meaningful. You were family, and besides it gave you the opportunity to occupy your mind with other things. You decided to decorate Toge's room with faux candles that gave a sense of warmth to the atmosphere, and you had hung some garlands here and there. You loved realistic decor, and you had found a snow flocked pine garland trimmed with red berries that seemed to be covered with the first snowfall of the year. You thought it was lovely.

"¡Oh shoot! It's almost seven." you said looking at your watch.

"I'll stay with Toge for a while before heading back to the dining room, you go change. ¿Need me to do something else for you here?" Maki asked as she sat on the leather couch.

"Uh, yah. Toge's gift is in that bag. ¿Can you put it on his bedside table?"

"¿What did you get him?" Maki asked as she obeyed your orders, but before putting anything next to Toge's bed, she turned around as you didn't answer right away. "Y/n... ¿Are you blushing? Look, you don't have to tell me-"

"¡It's a matching couple set! Pajamas, with little onigiri patterns on them." You replied with your eyes glued to the floor, playing with the hem of your shirt.

"I'm only saying this 'cause it's you, I don't use a word like that, but, you are cute." Maki said, finally placing the bag on the bedside table.

You looked way too flustered, and also you thought it funny that Maki couldn't really look at you in the eye when she answered you. Checking the time once again you rushed to your bedroom and walked straight to your closet. You found this dress that you had never worn before, but that night you would wear it for Toge. Somehow doing things like that made you feel closer to him, but on the other hand, it made you feel a little pathetic. It was like a fantasy you were trying to hold on to. It was hard to be the only one who'd woken up, especially after having such close contact with him. Your first kiss and his first kiss. The first connection with another body that had fallen on your lips, as well as his. Even if he wasn't there to see it, it was defintiely the dress you'd want to wear around him. You had second thoughts because of the others, but Gojo had gone all out for you guys little reunion. It would be intimate, and expensive and everyone was going to be overdressed after all, so it would be fine.

You looked in the mirror admiring the blue bodycon style dress. It fit you like a glove, although you thought the sweetheart neckline perhaps would be too much, but you shook the thought from your head real quick. You'd been wearing enough shirts and sweatpants, so this was okay. It was velvet floral with adjustable strips at the back. Once you were done with your hair, you put on a pair of heels and hurried to gather the gift bags that you had left at the foot of your desk. The only one that didn't have a bag was Megumi's gift, which you had set aside on the desk, on top of a stack of books, so you wouldn't forget it. You had bought him a novel that he could devour in his spare time. Once you took it, you were about to take a step out the door, but stopped yourself right away, turning your face to the desk once more to look at the object next to your keyboard.

It was a thick violet hardcover book, with a title plated in gold letters.

'Poetry Of The English Romantics’

The sight of it sent a jolt through your limbs and made your body tense up.

'¿Why don't you try and trully reach out to him?'

You sucked in a breath at the remembrance of Shoko's words, and then eased the air out of your lungs slowly, thinking long and hard while you chewed at your lower lip. The strength with which you clung to the handles of the gift bags turned your knuckles a ghostly white color.

"Dinner will have to wait a little longer."

The bags fell to the floor with a light thud and you grabbed the book from the desk, heading to Toge's room.

As soon as you walked in, you were enveloped by an atmosphere of silence and stillness, although you were surprised by an object that you had not seen before. A pink throw blanket drapped over your arm chair. It was for you, with a small gift card attached to it.

'¡Pink! Like my hair. Don't hate it 'cause it's pink :( Stay warm. ¡Merry Xmas! Itadori.'

"That's cute." you murmured under your breath. Touched by Yuji's sweet gesture, you grabbed the blanket with a smile and threw it over your shoulders for comfort and sat next to Toge's bed. The room was the perfect temperature, but your skin was made of goosebumps. The curtains were open enough to see the snow falling gently from the dark sky, and the ground floor covered in a thick blanket of powdery white.

Your eyes soon landed on Toge's body, focusing on the rise and fall of his chest. The air from the ventilator fed his heavy lungs and beating heart. His face was paper white, kissed by the soft tinkle of dim yellow light coming from the faux candles. Thin lips, soft and glossy, from the moisturizer you applied to them every night. He'd gotten much skinnier. His stomach was smaller and softer, but he mantained a nice firm arm.

Finding the right page, you closed your eyes and drew a breath, letting it back out with a loud sigh. The environment changed dramatically, still warm, and still the two of you together, but now within your inner domain. You didn't overdo it, you kept it intimate and peaceful. Darkness claimed the both of you, surrounded by nothing more than an inky blackness, until round specks of blue light began to spring from the nothingness, making it kindly tranquil and luminous.

Toge had tried to end himself, but he had only gone against the dark side of him. Fear, loss, insecurity, frustration, vulnerability, anger, shame. It was only a memory that was a part of him. At the time, you only needed his touch, you needed to feel that he was getting closer to where you needed him to be, but the way his heart was pouring out of his mouth made you desperate. It was you, thinking how to end the whole situation. Your soul screaming from the dephts of your own fortress. He grabbed those words in the end, thinking that the answer resided on him taking his own life for your sake. Somehow, it's as if he had lifted a weight from the both of you. That saved you in the end, and you had used every bit of what you had left in that moment to stop him, walking him up from his trance to get him out of there, barely. You knew he'd taken advantage of the fact that you were literally dying to run after the opportunity of giving you one more breath to last a lifetime.

He didn't die in the end, but he was lost, and if Shoko said this could be it, then maybe it could.

You got up from the chair and, carefully and delicately, climbed onto the bed, accommodating your body next to his. You rested your head on his chest and put a hand over his heart, while you held the book with the other, tightly against your chest. Toge's heart drummed within your ears, making your pulse vibrate. He was the root of your dreams and you still felt him long after he let you go.

Feeling a small lump sitting on your throat, you read to him in a small voice.

"What can I do to drive away Remembrance from my eyes? Touch has a memory. O say, love, say, What can I do to kill it and be free In my old liberty? How shall I do? More dismal cares Seize on me unawares, Where shall I learn to get my peace again? To banish thoughts of that most hateful land, That monstrous region, Whose rank-grown forests, frosted, black, and blind, Make lean and lank the starv’d ox while he feeds There flowers have no scent, birds no sweet song, And great unerring Nature once seems wrong. O, for some sunny spell To dissipate the shadows of this hell Say they are gone,- with the new dawning light And let me feel that warm breath here and there To spread a rapture in my very hair, O, the sweetness of the pain Give me those lips again Enough, enough, it is enough for me To dream of thee."

"Don't let go." you whispered softly in his ear.

You cried, swearing he'd grown colder since you had laid there with your body against his. The tears fell from your eyes easily as you went through the memories that were embedded in your brain after the incident, since many others had been lost, or were too blurred.

With a saddened face, you raised a hand to his neck, stroking his soft skin. You straightened up on your elbow, and gazed at him, wistfully and adoringly, gently pressing your warm, sweet lips against his cheek.

"Guess this wasn't it." you gave him one last look and got off the bed, but the weight of your heart almost brought you to your knees and the book slipped from your hands, falling at your feet.

"¡Whoa, watch out girly!"

"¿Satoru?"

He had your arms wrapped around your body, keeping you steady. You had internalized your domain without even realizing it, returning back to the cozy, Christmassy room. You clung to Gojo's arms feeling a litte dizzy and turned around to face Toge. You took a deep breath when you saw he was breathing calmly.

"¿All good?" Satoru asked you with a slight grin on his face.

"Yeah, it's all good. I was just trying to- I wanted him... to find that door. But, I- It doesn't have to be today." you finished under your breath and stormed out of the room as soon as you felt your eyes well up with tears.

The night had turned out to be very nice and quiet. The food was superb and you genuinely tried to be present. Yuta was right, these were people you cared for and they cared for you too. You were fortunate to have those moments with them, and in everyone's mind, Toge was always there with you.

Yuji was ecstatic when you thanked him for your blanket, and everyone gifted you something so as to say you should take care of yourself more. Toge had his own presents too. Moments later, everyone's attention turned to Gojo as he clinked his glass with a knife.

"¡Thank you very much ladies and gentleman for your attention! We are gathered here today, not because it's Christmas, not because Jesus was born, no. We are here because I am simply the best. ¡Gojo Christ!" he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air.

You, Maki and Yuji covered your faces, trying to hold back the laughter. Yuta looked on with his lips parted, closing them back soon after, and Megumi simply had his eyes closed waiting for the cringe to drain entirely from his body. That usually took a while.

"¡God, I can't believe we saved your ass!" said Megumi, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"¡Ah, yes! ¿How could I forget? The time I saved myself through you guys. Because of my own teachings you were able to do that. One more thing I should thank myself for. But you know, some things I simply cannot do."

They would have laughed if Gojo's expression hadn't been so hard to read at the time, but he never lacked that mischievous smile. You were already used to his phrases with double meanings, although the issue was rather to find out what other meaning they had.

"¿You didn't buy us presents?" Yuji asked worriedly, putting a hand to his chest. possibly thinking of the twenty things she had asked Gojo for Christmas that he wouldn't see under the tree.

"That I did, that I did." he nodded, taking a sip of champagne. "I put together this little affair all by myself... And only me, the best, can make it be better. So, I'll be taking that credit." all of a sudden his gaze met yours, and there it stayed. "But when it comes to bringing people back from oblivion, that I cannot take the credit for."

Maki's head turned towards you. Everyone was watching you, waiting for you to answer Gojo. Maki didn't know why, and she didn't care either, but your eyes were even redder and waterier, and it wasn't just from the wine and exhaustion.

"¡Stop with the bullshit or I'll go berserk on your ass!" Maki threw her napkin to the side and stood up from her chair making a loud noise as she leaned over the table, piercing Satoru with her gaze.

"Well, I certainly didn't expect that reaction. ¡Come on you guys! ¿Don't you wish you could share some tuna filled onigiri with your friend?"

"Satoru, stop. I'm begging you." Yuta looked at him with pleading eyes as he immediately ran over to your chair and placed both hands over your shoulders.

You were frozen in your spot, looking Gojo dead in the eye, brows raised and a bone dry mouth. You tried to reach for a glass of anything but your vision went fuzzy for a second there. Then, you felt a gentle grip on your wrist as someone put a glass of water in your hand. It was Megumi.

"Here, drink slowly." his voice was faint, you let him help you pour the liquids down your throat as Yuta grabbed a napkin to dry the corner of your mouth.

'He saw me, of course' you thought 'He saw me reciting the poem to Toge, but- ¿Why is he doing something this cruel? This was supposed to be special.'

"Stop with the sick joke." Megumi gave Gojo a death glare, but he didn't stop. "¿Remember that time Yuji died and came back?"

"¡Toge isn't dead you asshole!" Megumi blew up in his face, and Yuji stepped between him and Satoru, trying to de-escalate the situation.

"Yuta... I don't feel so well." you told him with beads of sweat running down your face. Maki, Yuta and Fushiguro still arguing in the background.

"¡I gave you a surprise didn't I!" Gojo screamed at everyone, while Yuta picked you up bridal style to take you to your room. "¿You are taking her away? ¡Great! Your surprise is on the other side of that door."

Yuta came to a halt when you pleaded Gojo in between sobs to stop talking and looked down at your face. You were a crying mess now. He didn't know it, but you had tried tonight to make some sort of connection, guide Toge back with your voice, and you couldn't. You just couldn't do it tonight, and Satoru's delusional disorder was another thing you couldn't handle. The room was in complete silence as your grief poured out your mouth and your body wracked with an onslaught of sobs and tears. "Once I put Y/N to bed and she's calmed down, I'll come back to leave you sitting on that chair for at least the next five years." Yuta spat his words at Gojo with his back still turned to him and then continued to walking towards the door.

"¡Wait, you need help to open up!" Maki said running towards the door, and once she did she stood behind to let Yuta walk out the room, but something stopped him and he could not continue. With your head buried in his chest you heard him speak to Gojo one more time. "I'm- going to kick your ass... anyway."

Opening your eyes slowly, you turned your head and your sight was met by a lined sheet of notebook paper with a question written in black ink.

'¿Is this the correct door?'

Still with Yuta's arms around your shoulders, you pushed the notebook away from your face and found Toge looking at you with a trembling lip, and a sea of tears falling down his cheeks. You weren't really sure if you were breathing or not, you couldn't say a single word. Your eyes were wide open, your mouth was hanging, and your body trembled nervously.

Not even Satoru, clapping in the background like an egomaniac, was enough to make the group snap out of that painfully hopeful vision. It was real though, and Satoru had to stop clapping when Yuji looked at him with an expression on his face that let him know they had gotten the point. Yuta realized that you were now standing completely on your own and took a few steps back leaving you alone with Toge to stand behind you, along with the rest.

Toge placed his hand on your hip to pull you closer to him, gazing at you with a yearning expression.

"¿Is this real? Please... Take away my pain before I-"

You hadn't finished talking when Toge had already taken off his oxygen mask to connect his lips with yours. Reality faded while your mouths ate each other in unison, and you became oblivious to the world around you. He broke the kiss suddenly and brought his hand up to cup your cheek. You wasted no time, nestling into his hand as you helped him put the mask back in place, feeling all his warmth radiate through the palm of his hand. He wanted to give you more and you felt it in your flesh, but you understood, as he was telling you with his eyes that he was simply too weak at the moment. And your friends were in the room.

"Good to have you back, Inumaki."

Yuta's voice was the first to rise. The two of you turned to see the smiling group that had been looking at you all this time. Yuji cried as much as when he saw the end of Titanic.

"¡Ha! ¿See? ¿What did I tell ya? ¡Merry Christmas everyone!"

Gojo came into view, holding his cell phone up in the air to catch everyone's expressions.

"¿You videotaped it? ¿What are y-?"

While Yuji tried to snatch Gojo's cell phone from his hands, Maki was trying to hold back her tears of happiness as best she could from her place next to Megumi, who was simply staring at the two of you, still puzzled, but it didn't take long for him to show a satisfied look.

2 months later

Japan came to life, like some dreamy spell.

Some say the spring season is a strong symbol of rebirth, but Toge still had a long way to go to get his voice back.

The information that remained on his side regarding the memory of the day he had erased your memory was almost extinct in his mind. It was very painful, and it was not easy at all having to review the incident that Shoko had called 'Incident 0'.

Toge had attacked the end of the path that you had created, which belonged to him, so to understand many things, many had to be explained again.

The first warm days of the spring season were refreshing. Thanks to what was left of the winter, the two of you had already shared enough cold nights without being able to separate from each other.

Not much time had passed, and the lack of strength and stamina had greatly affected Toge's spirits. That's why you waited for this time of year that refreshed both the air and people's minds. In that way, Toge could start to improve and begin the process of coming to terms with his body.

He wanted, and couldn't wait, to ask you out the day the school garden began to bloom. He still had to take care of himself, especially since his mind sometimes played tricks on him and seemed to get confused between one event and another, awakening erratic attitudes from time to time. It was not easy, but you tried to supplant the painful moments by creating new memories from the heart.

Before Toge is able to train again and can truly use his technique, it will be many more months, maybe a whole year, but he could speak a few words here and there when he was alone with you. They were nothing more than mere whispers in your ear, single words.

It didn't hurt the two of you at all.

Toge surprised you one day when she said the word "love" and pointed his finger at you, as your bodies lay entwined on his own bed. That gave him quite a bit of hope that in the future the two of you might actually be able to speak a little more fluently with each other.

He had loved being able to tell you all the things he never dared, being in your domain. The sound of his voice speaking more than only one word, even if you both were trapped in a dark cave of despair... You had given him a voice, and he did not intend to lose it for the world.

Still he had you, as he always had, and you had him too.

A few days before the beginning of spring, the humidity in the air and the scent of something new turned the two of you into one.

You claimed each other completely.

That night Toge slept snuggling his head against your breasts, and his hand rested on that place he longed for so much. No skirt, no stockings in between. Where his skin ended, yours began.

It was hard for you to believe the little argument you had had between looks and gestures, just to see who would sleep on top of whom, but you left him win. You would never say no to him, not on that night, and you wouldn't for the rest of your life.

With the first bloom, Toge wasted no time asking you to choose a day you would like to have a picnic with him, and so you did. The condition was that you would have to wear the same dress as last Christmas, because that night you had told him that you had worn that dress just for him and that you had never worn it before. You couldn't have looked more beautiful that night, just for him. You stayed true, even though he couldn't see you. It had made his skin boil, and he remembered how he couldn't take his eyes off you. But Toge had fainted shortly after Gojo's lousy surprise operation. Everyone was ecstatic at his return, but the excitement had been short-lived because he, well, he had just woken up from a coma, and no one had told Shoko that it had happened.

Gojo was to blame for that of course, but Toge he felt like he had ruined it by being careless and scaring you once again. The panic everyone felt was indescribable, thinking that his return had only been temporary. But he woke up hours later, without being able to save himself from Shoko's grumbling, who almost did not let Gojo see the end of the tunnel as far as scolding was concerned.

So that was the only condition. That you got ready for him, just as you had that night. You cooked all his favorite dishes and you both devoured them under the same tree spot that you used to practice with Yuta, which was kind of funny. Now it was his turn to eat all your delicacies.

Tilting your head up, enjoying the slight warmth of the sun's rays as you sat on the blanket, you felt Toge's hand on yours. You smiled for a long time with your eyes closed, knowing he was already looking at you when you finally met his gaze. Toge felt a slight static, perhaps from the breeze, or the natural energy emanating from one another due to the contact between the two of you.

After a while, your expressions became somewhat serious, and despite continuing to rejoice in each other's presence, there was something that separated the two of you. Toge motioned for you to get up from the spot and you nodded. You watched him very carefully while you remained somewhat restless standing on the blanket. This time, Toge instructed you to close your eyes and extend both hands to the front. 'I can not keep going like this.' you thought to yourself, dying of anxiety. Toge took a deep breath, approaching you once more, holding the book of romantic poems you had last read to him a year ago. Letting out a shaky breath, Toge rested the book in your hands, and when he looked up he saw that you were smiling quietly, still with your eyes closed, while a single tear fell down your face. "I'm pregnant." "M-mary...rry me." You two whispered to each other at the same time.

With nothing but tears in his eyes, Toge motioned for you to open the book, and you did so carefully. After turning the page with the title embodied in small cursive letters, your heart fully stopped. Toge had carved a heart into the book, creating a small space in which there was a shiny, thin white gold ring.

Toge took you by surprise when his arm came around your body and pulled you towards him, kissing the corner of your mouth with half-lidded eyes, as he looked through your eyes at the life you were carrying inside you in that very moment. You clung to Toge's shirt, as if you still couldn't believe that something like that could be real after all, turning your head to brush your lips against his cheek. You couldn't get enough of your own little moment, drowning in mutual adoration. In Toge's mind you had created something more powerful than any power or technique that could return to him, and you couldn't wait to blossom endlessly alongside him, like that blue sea of nemophilas that never stopped growing inside you.

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spaceoddball1969 · 2 years

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Falling for the Freak - Eddie Munson Fix-It Fic Chapter 09

I have genuinely no idea how we’re already nine chapters into this thing. This is wild. I’m so happy to see more and more of you finding this fic each day. It’s such a treat seeing people interact with it. I am coming to you today actually having had slept a little bit. I’ve got one more shift at work and then I get my day off. I’m so excited. I hope you all really enjoy this chapter and as always thank you so much for reading it.

CHAPTER SUMMARY: They’ve traded clothes by accident. Is she going to give Eddie his shirt back? I certainly wouldn’t. When I have a partner I hoard their clothes with a burning passion. Anyway...the reader continues to battle with her feelings for Eddie until they come to a head. And then just wait to see what happens next! (Can you tell I write these before I’ve written the chapter???)

WARNINGS: Fluff. I feel like you’ve probably seen or at least are familiar with Star Wars but in case you aren’t, spoiler warning for Star Wars. And just in case you are wondering which movie they’re referring to in the fic, it’s the first movie that came out in 1977 otherwise known as Episode IV: A New Hope. When it came out it was just called Star Wars so that’s why it will only be referred to in that way in this chapter.

Chapter 9

I didn’t quite know why, but I hadn’t give Eddie his shirt back even though it had been over a week since I technically stole it from him. I also had begun to sleep in it most nights. Well, I knew why I had done those things but I didn’t like to think about that. Instead, Eddie and I just didn’t talk about the clothing we had accidentally given each other. I didn’t know where my sweater was and he didn’t really know where his shirt was. He never asked about it, so I figured he couldn’t miss it too much.

The second half of the semester was picking up quickly. I began to spend all of my free time studying. The only way I ever saw anyone was to have study sessions. Sometimes Dustin and I would sit together at the kitchen table after dinner doing our homework together. When I told Eddie about this one evening on the phone, he asked if he could join us next time. The three of us began spending most evenings together at the table, our heads buried in books. If it wasn’t too cold or snowy, we would take breaks by going on short walks around the block.

Eddie and Dustin often would finish their homework before me and would end up in Dustin’s room planning out campaigns for Hellfire. Sometimes, if I didn’t have too much work to do, I would join them and listen to their discussions. Before Mike, Lucas, and Dustin had met Eddie, it usually was Mike who would plan their campaigns. However, now that they were in Hellfire, that task had fallen on Eddie. Dustin was curious about picking up the skill though, so Eddie let him help with writing the plot and coming up with characters.

“What if he was missing his left eye?” Dustin asked one night while we all were hanging out in his room. Dustin was sitting in his desk chair on one end of the room while Eddie leaned against the windowsill. I sat on the floor with two books on demons open in front of me and a notebook in my lap.

“And his left arm!” Eddie said excitedly.

“Oh that would look wicked!” Dustin laughed. “He’s going to be gnarly,”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Eddie said, a grin growing across his mouth.

“You’re really not going to tell me anymore about this campaign?” Dustin complained.

“Henderson, I’m dungeon master for a reason,” Eddie said. “You’re going to have to wait for The Cult of Vecna just like all the other peasants,”

“I’m not a peasant,” Dustin protested.

“Who’s Vecna?” I asked. “And what kind of cult are we talking about here? Are you thinking more like Charlie Manson and his Family or like Heaven’s Gate?”

“Vecna’s an evil sorcerer,” Dustin said.

“And what do you mean what kind of cult? There’s more than one kind cult?” Eddie asked coming to sit next to me on the floor.

“Of course there’s more than one kind of cult. Don’t you know anything?” I said.

“Apparently not,” Eddie shrugged. “Enlighten me,”

“What’s their ideology?” I asked. “How are they bringing in new followers? What do the followers have to do to be a member? Are they hyperfocused on an impending doomsday? Or do they believe in aliens? Or are they creating a race war?”

Eddie and Dustin both fell silent. Dustin looked mildly concerned while Eddie looked impressed. Eddie shook his head and chuckled.

“You’re a little freak aren’t you?” He laughed.

“No,” I said, “I’m just interested in cults,”

“Ha!” Eddie cackled. “I’m just interested in cults. Because that makes you normal. Anyway, I should get going. But I’m deeply interested in continuing this discussion. Maybe you can help me develop what kind of cult an evil wizard would run,”

“I’ll walk you out,” I said, standing up.

Eddie and I strolled to the front door. He slipped on his coat and stepped out onto the porch. Before Eddie left, he turned to me and leaned against the doorway.

“Hey are you into Star Wars?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah, sure I like Star Wars,” I said.

“There’s a showing of it tomorrow night downtown. At eight. You wanna go?” he asked.

“Oh,” I said, “yeah, sure. I think I’m free,”

“Cool,” Eddie said.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll check with Dustin to see if he wants to go,”

“Oh, uh,” Eddie stuttered, “I was actually kind of thinking that we could go. Just us.”

I nodded slowly. “Uh, sure, yeah that’s fine with me,”

“Ok,” Eddie said, “should I pick you up then? Or do you wanna meet me there?”

“You can pick me up,” I said.

“I’ll get here around seven?” he asked.

“Seven works.” I said. “Then we’ll have time for you to buy me popcorn”

“Then we’ll have time for you to buy yourself popcorn,” Eddie said with a laugh.

We looked at one another for a silent second. Then Eddie sighed and pulled his keys out of his pocket. “Well, I guess I’ll be going then,”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said.

“Looking forward to it already,” Eddie said as he turned around to walk to his car.

---

“He asked you to go to the movies?” Robin asked the next afternoon as we restocked the candy shelves at Family Video. “Without Dustin?”

“Yeah, but we’ve hung out with Dustin a lot recently,” I said, trying to come up with an explanation as to why it wasn’t weird that Eddie, my just friend, and I were going to the movies alone. “I think he just doesn’t want to feel like we’re babysitting.”

“He asked you to go see Star Wars though,” Steve chimed in from the front counter. “Isn’t that like one of Henderson’s all-time favorite movies?”

“I guess,” I shrugged, feeling a bit guilty.

“So wouldn’t it make more sense for the three of you go together?” Robin asked.

“I guess,” I said again, “but come on, Dustin has seen Star Wars like a billion times, it won’t kill him if he doesn’t watch it this time,”

“But this time it’s in a theater,” Steve said.

“Are you trying to make me feel guilty for not taking Dustin?” I asked.

“No,” Steve said, “I’m just trying to point out to you that Munson asked you on a date and you’re in denial,”

“I’m not in denial,” I said, shaking a box of Junior Mints at him. “And it’s not a date,”

“So what is it then?” Robin asked.

“Just a couple of friends going to see one of their mutual favorite movies together,”

“It’s a date,” Steve said. “He likes you, you like him. It’s a date,”

“It’s not a date!” I said. “I don’t like him!”

“He’s all you talk about!” Steve said. “It’s a date,”

I glared at him but he was unphased.

“It’s a date,” he repeated.

---

When I got off work, I sped home and tried to cram some homework in before Eddie came by to pick me up. I tried to pick out an outfit that looked nice but not so nice that it could be a date outfit. I ended up going with jeans, Converse, and an oversized red and black striped sweater. I thought it looked casual but when Eddie came to pick me up his eyes traveled up and down my body before landing on my face.

“Hey,” he said with a smile. “You ready?”

“Yup,” I said, pulling on my coat.

It only took about fiften minutes to get to the theater, but it felt like a long fifteen minutes. I didn’t really know what to say. Steve’s insistance that this was a date had gotten to me. My brain kept flooding with the reasons why I couldn’t date Eddie. But then he’d smile or flick his hair or I’d get a whiff of his cologne and all of those reasons would go flying out of my brain and all I could think was God, he’s pretty.

“You ok?” Eddie asked as he parked his van. The lot for the theater was already full, so we had to park a block away and walk.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said. “A bit stressed. School is going to kill me,”

“I know you feel like you have to study a lot to get good grades,” Eddie said, as we walked towards the theater, “but you’re literally a genius. You could sleep through all your classes and pass with flying colors,”

“Thanks,” I said, smiling down at my feet. “But I really want to learn something this year. I’ve been waiting so long to go to college that I just really want to get everything that can out of it,”

“I wish I had your dedication to school,” Eddie said. “Maybe then I would’ve graduated when I should’ve,”

“You shouldn’t feel bad for taking longer though,” I said. “A lot of people need more time. And you are really smart,”

“If only you could convince the teachers at Hawkins High of that,” he chuckled as we got in line to buy tickets.

“You’re going to graduate,” I said. “We’re going to make sure of it,”

“Yeah?” Eddie asked.

“Yeah,” I said.

“Promise?”

“Promise,”

---

Watching the film was nerve wracking but in the best way. I had seen Star Wars countless times but I had never watched it with a cute boy in a dark movie theater. As it was almost ten years old at this point, there were not that many people out to see it that night. It was mostly parents with their kids who had been too young to see it in the theaters when it was originally released. Eddie and I sat in the back in order to avoid being too close to any potentially noisy children. He bought a large popcorn for us to share and insisted that I didn’t split the price with him despite his protests from the night before.

While I was enjoying my viewing experience, I definitely felt anxious about the whole thing. I told Eddie he could hold the popcorn but it was mostly because I was scared I would drop it by accident. I sat with my legs crossed for a while, trying to hold in any fidgeting I might mindlessly do. Eventually I got stiff and unfolded myself in the seat. I hadn’t noticed that my leg was bouncing until I felt Eddie’s large hand rest on my knee. I could feel the heat of his skin through my pants. I froze as he leaned over without taking his eyes off the screen.

“You ok?” He whispered.

I nodded and he gave my knee a little pat. I expected him to move his hand after this, but he let it stay there. I was scared to move for fear that he would interpret that as my wanting him to move his hand. After about five or six minutes he slid his hand up just above my knee, gave my leg a little squeeze and then went back to eating popcorn as if nothing had ever happened.

After that I felt less anxious. I inhaled the popcorn with Eddie as Luke Skywalker stared out at the double sunset of Tatooine. I leaned over closer to Eddie.

“This is like my favorite film music ever,” I whispered.

Eddie nodded vigorously as he shoveled popcorn into his mouth.

As it was a movie that had been out for a while, the audience was made up pretty much entirely of people who had already seen it. This gave us the liberty to cheer and clap when the heroes succeeded and to boo when the villians came on screen. Though Eddie could help but clap for Darth Vader when he first entered.

“Traitor!” Somebody yelled at him and threw a piece of popcorn at us.

“Hail Lord Vader!” Eddie shouted back at him, tossing a handful of popcorn in return.

As the Luke and Han received their medals of honor from Princess Leia we all screamed and clapped. When the credits rolled, Eddie sat back in his seat with a bright smile on his face. He sighed contentedly.

“Now that’s how I want to watch every Star Wars movie from now on,” he said. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah it was fantastic,” I said, “this definitely beats watching it on my tiny tv at home,”

“Or at Family Video,” Eddie smirked.

“Anything beats watching a movie at Family Video,” I laughed.

We gathered our things, threw away the crumbs of popcorn we had left, and began walking back to the van. It was lightly snowing and the flakes that landed on Eddie’s hair got stuck and soon melted. By the time we got back to his car, the top of his head was speckled in white and drips of water ran down his curls. He gave his head a quick brush with his hand and then turned to me and did the same to my hair.

“You were all snowy,” he explained. I couldn’t help but smile.

The drive back to my aunt’s house went by too quickly as we were excitedly reviewing our experience watching the movie. It felt like I had seen the film for the first time all over again. I had forgotten how much I loved Star Wars and this night had completely revitalized my adoration for it.

“I think next Halloween you should dress up as Princess Leia,” Eddie suggested as he pulled up the driveway of my aunt’s house.

“And you could dress up as Chewie,” I teased. “You have the hair for it,”

“You injure me so carelessly.” Eddie said, “You just stab me in the heart like it’s nothing,”

“Do you have a degree in drama that I don’t know about or something? Because you’re really good at being over the top,” I laughed.

“Nope this is just pure natural talent,” Eddie laughed.

We fell silent and then our eyes met. I had one hand on the door handle, geting ready to get out. My bag was in my lap, but for some reason I wasn’t getting out of the car.

“This was fun,” Eddie said. “We should do something like this again some time,”

“Most definitely,” I said.

We watched each other for another minute as if we were both daring the other to make the first move. When it seemed like nobody would, I decided it was time for me to go.

“Goodnight,” I said, opening my door finally. “Call me when you’re home,”

“Will do,” Eddie said, giving me a salute. “Goodnight,”

I climbed out of the van and walked to the side door. Eddie waited until I was in the house and then pulled out of the driveway. I checked in the living room for my aunt or Dustin, but nobody was around. I listened at Aunt Cladia’s door and could hear her snoring. When I cracked open Dustin’s door, he was sitting in bed doing homework.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey, how was it?” he asked.

“It was good. Bunch of little kids though. Not many cool people,” I said. “How was your night?”

“It was good,” Dustin said, “Mike and Lucas came by for a bit.”

“Good,” I said. “I’m going to bed. Don’t stay up too late,”

“Sure thing,” Dustin said as I shut the door.

I crossed the hall to my bedroom and shut the door behind me. I quickly changed into my pajamas - which now consisted of a pair of black and white striped shorts and Eddie’s shirt. I pulled my hair up into a ponytail and went to brush my teeth. I decided to do just a little bit of studying before I went to bed, so I got out my textbooks and sat down at my desk.

About a half an hour had gone by when I realized I hadn’t gotten a call from Eddie to tell me he had gotten back to his trailer. I figured he probably just forgot and tried to let it go. Around fifteen minutes passed and then I heard a light tapping at my bedroom window. I turned to look at the window and saw a face peering into my room. I jumped at first but then I recognized the outline of the fuzzy hair and the shape of the big brown eyes. I stood up and rushed to open the window. Eddie stood before me, shivering in the cold.

“I thought you were Ted Bundy coming to murder me,” I hissed at him, pulling my arms to my chest to protect myself from the cold.

“Well, clearly I’m not,” Eddie said. “Are you going to let me in or am I going to freeze?”

I stepped away from the window to signal that he could come in. Eddie pushed himself up and through the window until he was standing next to me. I quickly shut the window, blocking off the cold. I felt bare. I felt exposed. Eddie was here and he was tall and handsome and he smelled too good for words and I was barefooted and in my pajamas.

“Nice pj’s,” Eddie smirked.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“Well I never went home,” he said.

“And why not?” I asked. “Where did you go?”

“Well I started to drive home,” Eddie shrugged, sitting down on the edge of my bed. I stayed standing and we were now just about eye level with each other. “But then I couldn’t shake this weird feeling, like I had forgotten to do something. So then I just started driving around and I ended up back here. I drove around the neighborhood for a little while hoping that something would jog my memory. I drove by this place and it started to feel a bit better. I went by and then turned around to come back.”

“Ok...” I said, stepping forward towards him. “But why are you here? What didn’t you forget?”

I went to sit down next to him, but Eddie reached out and grabbed my arms. I froze, my arms crossed over my chest, his hands now wrapped around my biceps. His hands slid down until they reached my waist. My heart began to race. Eddie wouldn’t look at me.

“Eddie,” I said. It wasn’t really a question. It was more of a call back to reality. “Eddie what did you forget?”

“I forgot to kiss you goodnight,” he said and finally looked up at my face.

My mouth fell open slightly and Eddie’s eyes watched the movement closely. He pulled me nearer to him gently. I shuffled until I stood between his knees. His hands moved up and found mine. Eddie laced our fingers together and brought both of his hands up to his lips. He placed a soft kiss on each and then lifted his eyes to my own. Eddie stood up slowly. He towered over me as he dipped his head down towards me. I could feel his breath on my lips and that was when I panicked.

“Eddie-” I started and he froze like a statue. “Eddie, I-I can’t. I can’t do this,”

He remained silent. Eddie sat back down on the bed but wouldn’t look away from me. “Did I just like - did I just read the room entirely wrong or what? Have you not been flirting with me for like four months now?”

“It’s not that Eddie,” I said, feeling a horrible sicking feeling in my chest. “Eddie, it’s not that at all. I just can’t do this. Not right now. Not with you,”

“Why not with me?” Eddie asked, his eyebrows pulling together. “Is it because I’m the town freak? Are you scared of what people would think if I was your boyfriend?”

“No, no, please, don’t ever think that,” I said. “I wouldn’t be ashamed of you at all. It’s Dustin,”

“What?” he asked.

“You’re so close with him,” I said, “And he worships you. If you and I got together and for some reason it didn’t work out and he were to lose you in his life, I couldn’t bare it. I can’t do that to him. There’s more than just us to think about here,”

“You’re going to not date me because of your fourteen year old cousin?” Eddie asked, clearly upset. “Y/N that’s ridiculous. We’re adults, we can make our own choices and I’ve made my mind up with how I want this relationship to move forward,”

“Eddie,” I sighed, trying to fight the tears that were burning in the back of my eyes. “It’s not just that,”

“Ok,” Eddie said and then raised his eyebrows at me. “I’m waiting,”

“I’m not going to be here forever,” I said. “And you aren’t either. I’m not staying here any longer than I have to. I’m going to transfer to a real four year college some day. And you’ve got so many opportunities for your future, who knows where you could go after high school. We would never make it,”

“So instead of giving us a chance you’re going to write it off because you think it would be too difficult?” Eddie asked standing up.

“Don’t say it like that,” I said, stepping back as he moved towards the window.

“No, I will say it like that because that’s what you’re doing,” Eddie said, opening the window. “You’re scared you’ll get your heart broken if something bad were to happen between us. And you’re so scared of that because you know how much you care about me. You’re choosing to deny your feelings so you can avoid any chance of getting hurt,”

“Eddie-” I started.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Eddie said, climbing out the window and storming off through the snow.

I stood frozen at the window watching him go. When he was out of sight the tears finally released from my eyes and I let out a sob. I cupped my hand over my mouth to stifle the sound and closed my eyes so tight I saw stars. I shut the window and crawled into bed, once more losing a night’s worth of sleep because of Eddie Munson.

Previous Chapter: Chapter 08 Next Chapter: Chapter 10

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#eddie munson #eddie x reader #female reader #falling for the freak #chapter 09 #eddie munson fanfic #fluff #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson fix-it fic #fix-it fic #stranger things #stranger things fanfic #joseph quinn #ooooh things are getting serious #I'm pumped to write this next bit #slowest of all burns

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midorishinji · 6 months

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Disappearing act - chapter XIII

Geto observed her more carefully, trying to decide whether she was being serious or not. — Killing non-sorcerers? — It's an option, but I don't take it seriously. Do you? — Yuki pressed him with a loaded question. Suguru Geto thought of them all — Shoko, Nanami, Haibara, Riko, Kuroi, his parents, Satoru — and his chest filled with an unbearable pain, but also an incredibly monumental love, so much that it felt like it would stretch and burst at the seams of his heart that could not contain it. He thought of his father again, reading him "Night on the Galactic Railroad" when he was young, and he thought of Satoru reading his own copy now during his leisure nights. He thought of Giovanni and Campanella, and of the Scorpio of the night sky, and of the nobility of sacrifice, of setting yourself on fire to warm the world.

Satosugu ｜Finalized｜Long fic｜Also being published in Portuguese and on AO3

Chapters: I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII - IX - X - XI - XII - XIII - XIV - XV - XVI - XVII

Chapter XIII: it's enough for me to be sure that you and I exist at this moment

A week of forced vacation. Boredom had pushed Satoru to the limits of sanity: he had met his sleep quota for the year, played more sports than ever before, trained against every student at Jujutsu High until he got sick of it, finished every video game he had ever bought and hadn't played yet due to lack of time, and he even had started cooking as a hobby — and, to everyone's surprise, he turned out to be a good baker — and none of that could make him feel more comfortable with the abundant spare time he had.

Suguru had convinced him to read some of his books, and he devoured entire classic collections quickly, discussing the meaning of Natsume Souseki's symbolism in the most irritatingly pedantic way a person could. Nanami had tried to help him by offering to teach him how to play chess, a hobby that initially was challenging for Satoru, at least until he learned the most common moves and openings and became a competent chess player. Shoko hid inside the infirmary whenever he was around, because normally a visit from Gojo meant an entire afternoon discussing some sensationalist medical story full of half-truths that he found in some sketchy magazine, and that she would have to explain and demystify until they arrived at a reasonable truth. Haibara had initially taken advantage of his willingness to train, but Satoru's brutal pace and the difference in power levels between a grade two and a special grade sorcerer caused Shoko to have more work than ever, and she eventually banned this pastime.

If he couldn't do anything constructive, it could only mean he had a good opportunity to annoy others. The biggest victims, Megumi and Tsukimi Fushiguro and Mimiko and Nanako Hasaba, didn't think about saying no to the fancy impromptu day trips, but they were busy with their own school routines — and Suguru, like a good responsible person, forbade Gojo from taking them out of school to go to a maid café or to buy manga in Akihabara. Professor Yaga, who gave Satoru this punishment, avoided him and his incessant complaints and requests to be given some task, any task at all: after all, Satoru really was serious about carrying out any chore, including cleaning the floor of the sports court with a toothbrush, because boredom was consuming his brain. Another victim of his antics was the poor social worker who handled the case of the four children, at Masamichi's request, and who was reminded daily by phone call that Satoru Gojo would turn eighteen on December 7th, and that she better have the adoption papers prepared until then.

Suguru Geto quickly understood why Gojo spent all his salary: he had absolutely zero self-control, and gave in to any impulse to buy without thinking twice. Shopping filled his time, so Geto didn't mind paying for the mangas, video games, books, DVDs, and all kinds of crap Gojo felt like buying; action figures? Sure; a new lamp? No problem; a giant mirror for his bedroom? Go ahead and pick. Suguru tried to convince himself that it was just guilt for getting Satoru into this mess where they both ended up without a salary, but he couldn't help but feel a certain indescribable pleasure by spoiling him rotten, not when he saw Satoru smile so brightly because he bought a limited edition of a sticker album of his favorite anime.

It was a Friday, and the activity that occupied Gojo's mind since early morning was organizing a pre-birthday movie marathon — the creation of the “pre-birthday” concept had also been one of his ideas. He had spent the day convincing Shoko, Nanami and Haibara to participate in the film session in the dorm's common room and won them over with his insistence and enthusiasm. That was where the five Jujutsu High students were now, trying to choose their first movie.

No one agreed with any of the presented options, of course.

Shoko likes slasher horror films, but Haibara’s afraid of blood. Nanami likes thrillers and documentaries, but no one likes watching something that requires thinking this late at night, except for Geto. Haibara suggested a comedy movie and got hit with all the couch cushions at once. Satoru suggested an action movie, and Nanami answered by saying that he would rather go to sleep. Suguru then came up with the idea of a cinema classic, something that everyone knows and likes, and that was a democratic swoop: the idea pleased everyone, although no one agreed on which classic they should see.

— But what about “Grease”? — Satoru said, with the DVD in hand.

— Is it a musical? I hate musicals. — Kento grumbled — If someone started singing in front of me for no reason, I would probably commit a crime just to get out of it.

Gojo put the DVD away, taking another one from the shelf, without letting himself be shaken. — So what about “Saturday Night Fever”? This isn't a musical, it just has music...

— Why do all of your suggestions involve John Travolta? — Shoko asked.

He shrugged. — Ah, Suguru likes his films.

The comment went unnoticed by the others, but Geto quickly changed the subject. — I like the guy, but it doesn't matter to me, it doesn't need to be one of his films. How about “The Godfather”? It's a trilogy, even, we could watch all three...

— Huh… I still vote for “Silence of the Lambs”. — Shoko said.

Haibara was against it. — Too much blood, yikes. Let’s see something light-hearted, like “Titanic”! Or “Romeo and Juliet”, or “Love Letter”...

This time, it was Satoru who was against it: — But “Love Letter” is so sad…! You know what, that’s enough, let's watch “Back to the Future” like I said ten minutes ago and that's it. — he said, taking the DVD of the American film out of the shelf and putting it inside the DVD player. As the only one still standing, he turned off the lights and sat down on the couch, next to Suguru, tired of being the mediator in the arguments. The opening credits rolled while the audience watched, silently.

(...)

The third film of the night, “Silence of the Lambs,” was playing on the television at low volume. After Nanami was the first to sleep, still halfway through the second film, and soon after Haibara also fell asleep, and Shoko felt free to choose what she wanted, considering that the other people awake were precisely the least demanding. Despite this, she had left the room to have a late-night snack, even though the film continued playing, halfway through.

— Hey. — Suguru whispered, getting closer to Gojo — Since when do you watch romance movies, Satoru?

— Me? Nah, I don’t watch them. — the other replied, putting a handful of buttered popcorn in his mouth.

— But you said “Love Letter” is sad, how do you know then?

— Oh, it's because I’ve watched that one. — Satoru said, drawing a sigh of frustration from Geto — But it was Utahime's thing. She wanted to watch something, and she only watches romance movies, and she picked this one.

Geto raised one of his eyebrows. — And when was that?

— Last year, during the school event with Kyoto, don't you remember? It was the day you went out to visit some museums, or whatever. The two of us stayed back at Kyoto High.

— Oh.

Silence.

Suddenly, Satoru Gojo opened a huge grin of pure amusement. — Wait a minute... Are you jealous of Utahime? Is that right?

Geto seemed insulted by that insinuation: of course not! Why should he be jealous, anyway? Satoru was free to do whatever he wanted, with whomever he wanted, whenever he wanted, and that included watching romantic movies with a girl; and, knowing Iori Utahime as he did (a person who liked to appear tough, but who actually had a soft heart), he was also free to offer his shoulder for her to cry on... And, knowing Satoru Gojo as he did, he knew that he wouldn't offer just the damn shoulder. What a miserable little… — Of course not, that’s bullshit… — Suguru replied, whispering between his teeth, feeling his facial muscles become more tense and locking his jaw in a tight position, even without meaning to.

The reaction only increased the almost childish amusement Gojo felt. — Really? Doesn't seem like it.

— You’re reading too much into it. I'm just thinking of how Utahime could handle spending an entire afternoon with you, considering you're insufferable. — Geto said, being careful not to raise his voice. The more he talked, the more he realized how clear it was that he was jealous of Satoru, and that was ridiculous, he shouldn't feel like that. Biting his tongue, he stopped himself from speaking any further to avoid showing how he truly felt.

— Just like you enjoy spending time with me. — Satoru teased him, sticking out his tongue — By the way, why don't we watch “Love Letter” then, the two of us? Another day, not today because it's already pretty late.

Suguru didn't want to give in, even if he was interested. — What is it about, anyway?

— It's the story of this girl, Hiroko, who loses her fiancé in an accident in the mountains. On the anniversary of his death, she finds his old address in his high school yearbook so she sends a letter to that address, and receives a reply. But she doesn't know that the person who responded is the girl her fiancé was in love with at the time, who coincidentally also had the same name and surname as her fiancé, Itsuki Fujii, and she doesn't even know that this Itsuki girl is identical in appearance to her. They continue exchanging letters about the guy they both loved, and… — Gojo interrupted himself — I won't tell you the rest either, otherwise I'll just spoil everything.

— Let’s watch it then. — Geto agreed.

—But just the two of us. It's pretty sad, so if you end up crying, I’ll understand... — Satoru said, very diplomatically.

Suguru Geto realized that perhaps he had misjudged him... Maybe it wasn't Utahime who burst into tears over a movie, but a certain idiot who was more sensitive than he liked to let on, and who never talked about romance or love because he kept everything to himself. — Right… You're funny, Satoru. Have you ever fallen in love with someone, by the way?

— I have.

The answer, short and honest, resonated in the room for a few seconds.

— When I watched that movie with Utahime, I was pretty weirded out for a while, thinking about it... Because either you stay with the first person you fell in love with, or you spend the rest of your life looking for them in other people. I think that’s kind of scary. — Satoru said, eyes focused on the film.

Geto swallowed hard, wondering if that was true. The more he thought about the type of person he liked, the more he realized he had a very, very specific type, and that revelation was like a punch to his stomach.

— But what about you, Suguru? Have you ever fallen in love with someone?

Before he could answer the question, Shoko returned to the room, carrying a plate with a sandwich, and that was enough to end the matter definitively. Geto mentally thanked Shoko's unexpected return, because it stopped him from having to answer that yes, he was in love with someone, and he was trying to confront that feeling inside him.

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo satoru #geto suguru #satosugu #nanami kento #haibara yu #shoko ieiri #toji fushiguro #megumi fushiguro #kenjaku #writing #fanfiction #jjk fanfic

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