#excuse the enthusiastic annotations. Got excited

[iwtv]

anaïs mitchell, “working on a song”

#hadestown #anais mitchell #working on a song #slant rhymes #excuse the enthusiastic annotations. Got excited #words #rickyisms

[asarahworld-writes]

Merry Christmas @vicapuleti​ !  I, @asarahworld, was your Zombies Secret Santa.  You mentioned a love of Zeddison, Zoey, fluff and angst, and AUs.  Well, it’s not quite an AU, but it is future fic where they’ve gone off to college.  We’ve got Zed.  We’ve got Addison.  Zoey makes an appearance. And without further ado...

Chapter 1

It had been six months since Zed had gone off to the state university on a football scholarship, six months since Addison had been accepted at her parents’ alma mater, and four months and thirteen days since the last time they had seen each other if you didn’t count the five minutes after the game two months ago.  The daily phone calls had slowed down to weekly; text messages became a quick thing to fire off between classes.

Addison was ploughing through a slough of research for her Writing Studies essay on “Classic Literature As Viewed Through a Modern Lens” when her phone buzzed.  Automatically, she reached for it and immediately flipped it over upon seeing that it wasn’t the cheer squad’s captain, Juliette Viconte.  (Unlike Seabrook High, the university squad had only one captain.)  She stared at the screen of her laptop, thinking.  She had just finished writing a decent-sized paragraph on Romeo and Juliet, exploring how if the leads hadn’t been so quick to act that the play would not have been the tragedy and leading into a comparison between the original storyline and modern adaptations. Star-crossed lovers destined to be apart.  Ultimately, every version of the play needed to end tragically, otherwise the message Shakespeare had intended behind the story was lost in the happy ending.

She stared at the screen of her laptop, thinking.  That was definitely the line of reasoning her professor would be looking for.  And yet she couldn’t help but see herself and Zed in the characters.  Two young people from feuding families (societies) fall in love. A relationship built on stolen moments. The relative innocence of one character balancing out the harsh reality lived by the other.  Theoretically, modern technology provided ease of communication that could have saved Romeo and Juliet from tragedy.  And yet, it was clear that just because one had the ability to communicate directly, that wasn’t necessarily going to happen.

She grabbed a pen and started re-working her notes.  Maybe this essay wouldn’t follow the professor’s expectations.  But Addison had her own ideas.

Her phone buzzed again.  Addison, in the middle of frantic scribbles, fumbling, turned it off.

“Hey, this is Addison-”

“Hey, it’s me,” Zed said cheerfully.  It was so nice to finally hear her voice.

“-so leave a message and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”  The accompanying beep following the end of the recorded message startled Zed, and he realized that he had reached her voicemail.

“Hey, it’s me,” he started over.  “I know it’s getting old, but the captain’s scheduled another practice and of course it’s happening Saturday morning.  Abraza garzi’ska, ag gar-gargiza ru,” he said softly, reverting back to Zombietongue.  Zed smiled gently as the memory of when they had officially decided to only use Zombietongue for endearments.  As horrible as that fight had been (not that it could even be considered to be a fight as they had resolved their issue without any drama), they were so much stronger for it.

“This relationship is with you, too, Zed,” Addison had said angrily.  “I want you to be able to be completely yourself.  And that includes being able to speak Zombietongue around me.  Excuse me for thinking that that was a reasonable request.”

That hadn’t been it at all.  But despite his best efforts, Zed had failed to properly explain what exactly he felt about his girlfriend’s wish to become fluent in his native language.  Zed hadn’t even been certain that he himself knew why he was against the idea.

All that he knew was that Addison now sat by herself at the front of the classroom during Revised Local History, cheerleading practice was after football practice, and that the cheerleaders once again had their own table in the cafeteria.

“Zed, you’re overthinking this,” she’d told him when he’d finally confessed his fear. “History’s hard enough as it is without having you right beside me.  You realize that you have gym the period before, right?  So either you walk in and your hair’s still wet and there’s water rolling down your neck from your hair or else gym ran late and you didn’t even have time to change, let alone shower, and you,” she laughed nervously, “to be honest, you always smell amazing but especially then.  I need to pass history.  Surely you can get by without me for one extra hour,” she’d said, giggling.

“When you put it like that, how can I say no?”

“That’s what I love about you.  Always willing to listen,” Addison had said with a smile.  “As for cheer, well, during your practice, we’re up in the weight room. It takes a lot of work to be able to do this stuff.”  Addison had been counting her rebuttals off on her fingers.  “And as for lunch, some of the new kids seemed like they needed a friend.  And the cheer squad is a family.  We’ve gotta be there for each other.”

“Abraza garzi’ska… ag gar-gargiza ru,” Zed had said tenderly, threading his fingers through Addison’s.

“Gar-gargiza…,” Addison’s smile had grown softer.  “Ag gar-gargiza ru,” she’d repeated.  “I love you.”  Suddenly, her gentle smile had turned into an excited grin.  “Does this mean I get to learn more Zombietongue?”  Zed had only laughed, repeating his declaration of love softly in her ear.

Writing annotated notes for her essay had taken her far longer than she’d anticipated and when Addison finally checked her phone, she was startled to see that it was nearly two a.m.  She stumbled across the room to her bed and was asleep before her head hit the pillow.

Addison had learned during her first semester why you didn’t take an eight a.m. course unless there was no other choice.  However, being an underclassman came with certain disadvantages. Being one of the last to choose courses was one of those disadvantages and with that came fewer course options. Taking English was mandatory for all students and Addison hadn’t had any other options to fill that credit without waiting another semester.  So she begrudgingly took the Writing Studies course, wondering why she hadn’t looked for one during her first semester despite her parents’ insistence that she take it easy her first semester.

When the alarm went off at six, Addison immediately hit the snooze button.  Once. Twice.  Three times the alarm was silenced and Addison lay in bed.  The phone rang.

“Addison, where are you?  Class is starting in five minutes and you know that Professor Jackson docks points if you’re late!”  Bree’s hushed panic broke Addison’s sleepy haze.  She leapt from her bed, quickly changing into the nearest clothes that weren’t pajamas, and swept everything off her desk into her bag.  She sprinted to the classroom, from the D building up to A, and up the flight of stairs to the second floor, barely making it in the back door as the prof began class.  Luckily, she’d grabbed a notebook and pen in her rush, and was able to at least take notes.

The rest of the day passed in a similar haze.  Everything was a mess, but salvageable.  After her three-hour English lecture, Addison had another three-hour lecture (this time for Anthropology), followed by a short dinner break and cheer practice; practice ran much later than usual as the neurotic captain was more obsessed with perfection than Bucky had been at his most neurotic.  Just like that, the day was over and Addison flopped into bed, exhausted.

Sleep, shower, repeat.

Wednesdays she worked part-time in a café down the street from the main campus.  Though the pay was negligible, the hours were steady and gave her a reprieve from the stress of being a student.  Seven a.m. to three p.m., then she was back to cheer practice and homework.  Thursday was spent organizing her English notes and drafting her essay, Friday was another eight hour shift at the café and studying for her Anthropology midterm.  The weekend only provided more of the same.  When Monday came, her first draft was finished and Addison treated herself to a relaxing bubble bath.  To her surprise, it was only six o’clock.

The phone rang.

“Hey, sweetie,” it was her mother.  “How’s school?  You didn’t call us yesterday, is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine,” she lied.  “I mean, I guess I’m just stressed with midterms and my essay.”  I haven’t spoken to Zed in a month.  There’s only so much you can communicate in a text and I only get to see him during the games.  Missy continued to press her daughter and Addison continued to say what she wanted to hear.  When her mother ended the call, Addison sat staring at the phone.

The phone rang.  And rang. And rang.  No answer.

The phone rang.

“Zoey!”  Zed couldn’t help smiling as he answered the phone.

“Hey,” his little sister replied enthusiastically.  “Did Addison tell you she enlisted Miss Zàrate to work with the Zombeans while you guys are at college?”

Zed nodded in remembrance.  “Yeah, said that someone had to make sure you rascals kept up with practice,” he joked.

“Is she there?”  Zoey asked. An innocent enough question, but one that tugged his dead heartstrings anyway.

“Uh, no.  It’s the end of the semester, everyone’s pretty busy with final projects and exams. How’s your schooling going?”  Zed changed the subject.  He didn’t want to talk about how the past few weeks had been hard, how they hadn’t even talked on the phone, much less seen each other. Zoey happily told him about Zombeans and her experiences at her new school. She talked about their Dad and Puppy, about the changes to Zombietown (the rusty gates had finally been removed, there was a bus that took the kids into the human part of town for school and a regular city bus connecting the neighbourhoods “we get to take the regular school bus with the humans to the bus stop,” she’d explained solemnly), and everything else that was important to an eleven-year-old girl.

“When are you guys coming back to Seabrook?”

Zed sighed.  “I don’t know, Zozo.  Probably pretty quickly after the semester’s over.  Five weeks maybe.”  He could practically hear her pouting over the phone.  “I miss you and Pops and Puppy,” he said.  And Addison.

“We miss you too,” Zoey assured him.  There was a brief pause while she said something to their dad. “Dad says I should let you get back to school stuff.  And he wants to go over my homework.  I told him it’s fine, but…”

“Math?”  At his sister’s hum, Zed continued: “you just gotta keep checking.  Try to memorize the uses of each formula and always check your work.  At the end of the day, all that matters is that you pass.”

“Thanks, Zed.”

“Hey, isn’t it just about bedtime?”  He could practically hear her rolling her eyes.  Laughing gently, he told her good night and hung up the phone.

MISSED CALL. ADDI.  Read the call display.  Zed cursed, a mix of English and Zombietongue, and hit the speed dial.

The phone rang.  And rang. And rang.  He cancelled the call, not wanting to hear her voicemail again. Instead, he sent a few messages. Fifteen minutes and a response later, he texted Addison.

U R FREE SAT! PICK U UP @ DORM @ 430.  SEE U GORGEOUS.

He added a green heart emoji at the end of the message, slowly smiling.

When he woke up the next morning, there was a new message from Addison:

YOU MEAN LIKE A DATE? followed by a single pink heart.

It was Tuesday.  He had three days to plan the perfect reunion date.

 Zombietongue and translations all taken from Ly’s amazing masterposts. @unusual-ly

Zombeans belongs to Sarah @fist-it-out

Abraza garzi’ska, ag gar-gargiza ru.  |  Sorry garzi’ska, I love you.

#ZomSecretSanta2019 #vicapuleti #zombies #zeddison

[dreamingoffairys]

Teardrops & Coffee Chapter 9

Hello hello everyone! Thank you so much for your positive feedback on Chapter 8! It made me feel great after that long hiatus, and I'm super inspired for continuing this fic now ;) 

Sorry that I didn't get this chapter up as soon as I expected, I've been busy with school, my job, and with the WWTDP event (not to mention coordinating Stingue week!). So yeaah, I'm busy. Lmao. Thankfully, I've already begun working on Chapter 10, so hopefully that will be done by the end of the month!

I hope you enjoy this chapter, it's chalk full of new characters. Sting's finally going to make some more friends!

[Sidenote, kudos to @splendidlyimperfect for inspiring me to add genderfluid Freed to this fanfic!]

AO3 LINK HERE.

Sting felt like today was destined to be a shitfest no matter what actually happened.

He didn’t sleep at all the night before, so heartbroken from Rogue leaving that he couldn’t relax. It didn’t help that today was apparently club day, which meant that if you wanted to join a club, you had to go the main square on campus to check out all the booths.

Although Sting originally had been really excited for club day, now he was dreading it. Rogue would probably be there. Hell, Rogue might even be in a club he’s interested in. And if there’s one thing Sting does not want to do today, it’s talk to Rogue. In fact, he doesn’t even want to see Rogue. What the hell was that asshole’s problem anyways? Why had he took off so suddenly last night? It still infuriated him beyond belief.

In a moment of sobbing rage, Sting had blocked and deleted Rogue’s number last night. Looking back on it, that was one of the dumbest things he could’ve done, but it was too late to go back on it now. Sting is going to be Rogue free for the next few days, no matter what. He needs time to cool off at the very least before trying to confront Rogue about everything that happened.

Currently, Sting finds himself in the library after his English class, fuming over the required reading due next class. The words swim before his tired eyes, blurring together and becoming even more of a confusing mush than before. “Fucking dammit-!” Sting hisses, nearly knocking over his Cup Noodles sitting on the table beside him. “I fucking hate this! I fucking can’t-”

The sound of someone clearing his throat jolts him so much that this time, he actually does knock the noodles over. “Shit-!” Fortunately, he manages to grab them before it spills much, just splashing a bit of hot broth on his white sweatshirt. “Fucking-”

“Could you please keep it down the library, please?” the stranger says, and Sting looks up at him to send him give his best death glare. “Some of us are actually trying to study,” the guy scoffs. Sting gets a good look at him before saying anything. The man has long dirty blond hair, greenish brown eyes, a pair of thick red glasses, and is wearing a white button-down shirt.

Sting shoots him a nasty look. “Look, I was trying to study too. Mind your own business.”

The man raises an eyebrow at Sting. “You more looked like you were getting frustrated and swearing loudly. Oh, and spilling things.”

Sting fumes and slams the book shut. “I’m really not in the mood. I didn’t sleep at all last night, and I’m fighting with the person who usually helps me study.”

The man stands up and walks over to Sting’s table. “Oh. I’m sorry for being rude, then. I simply thought you were causing a disturbance.” He gestures to the book Sting’s reading. “Pride and Prejudice?”

“Unfortunately,” Sting grumbles, rolling up his sleeves to hide the yellow stain from the shitty processed broth of his early lunch. He keeps speaking without thinking, too annoyed and tired to process his thoughts before he voices them, “It’s a bunch of heterosexual nonsense.”

The man with glasses laughs and sinks into the seat besides Sting. “Slightly. But I quite enjoy it. I wrote a 10 page paper on it last semester.” He pushes his glasses up his nose. “What is your name? If I’m going to help you, we should at least be acquainted. I am Rufus Lore.”

Sting blinks, surprised by everything about this man’s reaction. “Uhhh...I’m Sting. Sting Eucliffe. I’m new here this semester, so...I’m kind of overwhelmed.”

Rufus nods and clicks his tongue, “I remember the feeling. I do not fault you for being frustrated, then. I’m assuming literature is not your strong suit?”

Sting shakes his head, “I’m majoring in Computer Sciences. Which is funny, actually, because I’m bad at math too.”

Rufus laughs softly, “A...friend of mine is majoring in Music, but his voice is terrible. No one has told him yet. I do not want to be the person to burst that bubble.”

Sting nods and sets Pride and Prejudice back down on the table. “I don’t blame you.” He cracks the book open, goes back to the page he was on, and starts to read aloud:

"His pride," said Miss Lucas, "does not offend me so much as pride often does, because there is an excuse for it. One cannot wonder that so very fine a young man…”

About an hour ticked by for Sting and Rufus, and by the end of the study session, Sting felt more level-headed and prepared for class than ever. He had two pages of notes in his composition notebook, as well as some annotations in the actual book itself. Before leaving, Rufus gave Sting his phone number so they could text back and forth if Sting had any questions. Rufus even promised that if they met up again, Rufus would bring his own, fully annotated copy with him and let Sting read through it.

Sting left the library with a grin on his face, not caring that his sweater has a stain on it or that he and Rogue aren’t talking, because he’s prepared for the English discussion. This is probably the first time in his damn life he’s felt this confident about it! He’s going to strut in there and be the most educated motherfucker in the whole room. All the boys are gonna stare at him in awe, and all the girls are gonna be envious of his rad analyzing skills. Fuck yeah, he’s gonna show them!

That excellent mood is immediately shattered by the sight of far too many booths all spread out in front of the library. Shit. He’d almost forgotten about club day! Sting checks his reflection in his phone camera and grimaces. He looks like total shit, dark circles and all, with his hair an ungelled disaster crammed into a dirty beanie. Not only that, his sweater looks stupid rolled up at the sleeves like this, and the skinny jeans he’s wearing weren’t originally supposed to be ripped. Oh well. He was going to have to wing it.

He walks out into the crowd, having to push past quite a few overly enthusiastic sorority girls. One of them has long white hair and smiles at Sting kindly when he moves by, and she’s the only one who doesn’t make him extremely uncomfortable. The others stare at him as he passes, and he feels like he’s at high school all over again being ogled by the cheerleaders as a target either to flirt with or to criticize.

Once he manages to squeeze through, he takes a look around at the booths. He sees a sign reading “Improv Club” in sparkly letters with the two drama masks on it, and behind the booth is a familiar redhead and blue haired man with a tattoo on his face. Beside them stands an orange haired man with glasses, who is talking to a girl while clearly flirting with her. Nooo thanks.

Next he sees the Earth Club, a group of students with green t-shirts tending to little plants, talking passionately to bystanders about recycling, or handing out pamphlets about water conservation. Sting spots Yukino next to a girl in overalls with braided pigtails and smiles at her awkwardly. To his surprise, Yukino smiles and waves back, clearly unaware of the drama going on between Rogue and Sting.

Sting’s eyes skim over the signs for some other clubs...Dance Club, Chess Club (it’s there he spots Rufus), Debate Club, Video Game Club (where Natsu is hard to miss, screaming at some heavy-set man about cheating), and Acapella Club.

Finally, Sting spots the club he came here to join: the LGBT+ club. But before he can walk over there and introduce himself, a voice echoes through the speakers set up in the grass. “Hi everyone! My name is Jenny Realight, and I’m your Student Body President for this semester! And this here is Hibiki Lates, my amazing Vice President.”

Sting sighs with annoyance and glances up at where the two of them are standing. Jenny Realight looks like a stereotypical sorority girl like you see in the movies: sorority shirt, tight jean shorts that show off her legs, long blond hair curled perfectly, and makeup that’s visible from here. Beside her stands Hibiki Lates, a slender young man with “handsomely messy” hair and a dazzling smile. They both made Sting feel even more pissed off than he already was. They were the kind of people he’d prefer not to associate with.

And so, he walks across the way towards the people he did want to associate with. There are people behind the booth, all sporting various pride pins and sitting in folding chairs. On the far left is a brown-haired woman with a bisexual pin wearing a crop top and maroon jeans, her sandaled feet up on the table, drinking out of a matte dark blue water bottle. In the center is just an empty chair, but Sting sees a white jacket draped over the back. On the right is a person with long green hair wearing a red jacket with a genderfluid pin and a gay pin. Sting already felt very welcomed.

“Err...hi, my name’s Sting Eucliffe, I’m new here…” He bites his lip nervously, then carries on. “And I’m uhm, I’m gay, and I was wondering if I could join the club.”

“Obviously,” the brown-haired girl grins lazily and hiccups, and it’s then that Sting realizes that water bottle definitely contains something stronger than water. “I’m Cana, and this is Freed. Hold on one sec, I’ll call Lyon over to get you signed up.” She takes a huge swig from her water bottle, hiccups, then turns her head and shouts over her shoulder, “OI! LYON! GET YOUR GAY ASS OVER HERE, WE GOT SOMEONE WANTING TO JOIN!”

The green-haired person (Freed?) smiles kindly at Sting. “Thank you for considering joining. We’re always happy to have new members.”

Sting grins and rubs the back of his neck. “Thanks. Uhm...sorry, I don’t mean to be rude but ah...your pronouns?”

“Oh!” Freed sits up a little taller, looking proud, smiling wider. “That’s not rude at all! In fact, I appreciate your consideration. They/them, please.”

Sting nods, mentally filing that way. “Okay, gotcha. They/them. Easy enough to remember.” He flashes Freed a shy smile, and they beam back at him.

“Ahem!”

Sting’s head snaps up at the sound of someone clearing their throat, then does a double take. The man standing above him was perhaps one of the most...eccentric...people he’s met so far. His hair, dyed bright white, has so much gel in it Sting swears he can see it shine in the sunlight even from under the cover of the booth. The man’s eyes are lined with black eyeliner, and he has a bit of white glitter on his eyelids. The top he wears is a black cropped sweater with light blue writing on it that says DRAMA QUEEN in big bold letters with a crown on the “Q”. A pansexual pride pin sits right over his heart, attached to the “shirt” (if you could even call it that). His pants are tight light-washed skinny jeans, and he tops off the look with a white belt with a sparkly buckle. Sting feels like he’s just walked into a gay bar and met one of the strippers.

The man shoots Sting a smug smile, then extends a hand. “Hello! I’m Lyon Vastia, I’m the Vice President of the LGBT+ club. Oh, and I’m also a member of the Improv Club, which you should join as well, we could always use new members.” He eyes Sting for a moment, the smirk widening. “I have a feeling you’d fit right in.”

Is he...flirting with me?! Sting screams mentally, feeling like he’s falling into some alternate dimension. He’s too stunned to shake Lyon’s hand, simply staring at the man in front of him in embarrassment.

Cana rolls her eyes and leans back further in her chair. “Lyon, chill. You’re scaring the poor kid shitless.”

Lyon sighs and passes Sting a sign-up sheet on a clipboard. “I’m simply trying to be a good host, Cana, because one of us has to.” He quirks an eyebrow in the direction of Cana’s “water” bottle, then clears his throat again and turns back to Sting. “If you sign and put your phone number down here, we’ll contact you about all club events. We meet every Wednesday at 3pm in Professor Bob’s classroom, our first meeting is next week.”

Sting takes the clipboard and the pen. There are four columns on the page, each with a question. What is your name? What is your phone number? What are your preferred pronouns? Are you out or closeted?*

Sting follows the page to the asterisk, finding a small note that says We simply ask this because we may sometimes do on-campus events, and if you are not out yet or are uncomfortable in participating in pride events, we won’t put you on the sign up list for responsibilities for set-up, etc.

Sting smiles at how considerate this is, then scans the list of names. Is Rogue…?

Returning Members:

Lyon Vastia (he/him), out.

Cana Alberona (she/her), out.

Freed Justine (they/them), out.

Meredy Fernandez (she/her), out.

Juvia Lockser (she/her), kind of…

Hibiki Lates (he/him), out.

Sting pauses for a second, blinking at that last name. Wasn’t that the guy from Student Government? Sting suddenly felt bad for prejudging him.

New Members:

Lisanna Strauss (she/her or they/them), out.

Flare Corona (she/her), out.

Kagura Mikasuki (she/her), closeted.

Eve Tearm (he/him), closeted.

Sting lets out a sigh at the lack of Rogue’s name, then realizes he has no idea if it was a sigh of relief or a sigh of disappointment. Pushing away his confusing feelings, he answers the questions: Sting Eucliffe, his phone number, he/him, and I’m out & proud.

He hands the clipboard back to Lyon and finally manages a smile again. “Thank you. I can’t wait for the first meeting. I wish I’d had this opportunity back in high school, I haven’t had enough queer friends throughout my life.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Cana tips back more liquid from her water bottle. “I’ll drink to that.”

Freed looks at Sting supportively. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. That’s why we’re here, to provide a safe space, spread awareness, and to help LGBT+ students meet other people like them.”

“All great goals.” Sting adjusts his beanie nervously, feeling his anxiety kick in just a bit. Do these people actually like me…? What if after the first meaning they decide they don’t want me there anymore…? “Well, um, thanks for helping me out...I should get going now, I’ve got homework to do.”

“Wait, Sting, before you leave,” Lyon holds out a hand, and Sting turns to look at him. “You’re a freshman, right?”

Sting nods, “Yeah, I’m totally new...only my second week here.”

Lyon shoots him a smile. “Then you probably haven’t been to a party yet, have you?”

“Oh shit!” Cana exclaims, her chair landing back on all fours with a thunk . “Yeah! This guy named Orga throws fucking awesome ragers, and most of the people at his parties are either queer or just hella chill with everything. If you wanna meet more LGBT+ people, you should totally come.”

Freed nods, “They are a great way to relieve some stress.”

“There’s one tomorrow night,” Lyon folds his arms across his chest. “Orga’s brother has a fairly big flat like 5 minutes from the campus, he lets everyone come over and party. If you want to come, we can meet out by the front sign?”

“Look,” Sting holds his hands up, “I appreciate the offer, but like, I’m not really interested in you-”

Lyon snorts. “I got that part. I was just teasing you. I’m inviting you as a friend. Think of me as your mentor in the college life of an LGBT+ person.” He moves his hands to his hips, smirking proudly. “I’m taking you under my wing.”

Cana laughs into her water bottle, “Pffft, please don’t. Remember what happened last time?”

Lyon sighs dramatically, “Oh, you bitch, it wasn’t even my fault. Why’d you have to bring that up?”

“Um-” Sting stammers out, starting to feel overwhelmed and anxious. “I’ll think about it! Um, you have my number on the sheet, ah, text me when you’re at the sign and...and I’ll let you know if I’m coming or not. Thanks!”

Not wanting to be there any longer, Sting takes off through the square towards the dorm rooms, wanting nothing more than to collapse into bed and watch Brooklyn Nine-Nine until he passed out. To his relief, he makes it there without running into anyone he knows, and immediately strips down to his boxers and socks and face-plants onto his bed. He jams his earbuds into his ears and pulls up Netflix, finally feeling relaxed with his stomach full of budget ramen and his body resting on the comfort of his favorite blankets.

He’s getting better, very slowly, day by day. His anxiety is something he pretends doesn’t exist, but the more it resurfaces, the more he realizes that repressing it only makes it worse. Now that he’s acknowledged it, he can tell when he needs a break from social interaction like this. The best thing to do is to detox by being naked (or mostly naked, since he had a roommate and he didn’t want Laxus to walk in and see his bare ass sticking out) and making himself laugh.

After a few episodes, his phone buzzes with a text message. For a split second Sting forgets that he blocked Rogue’s number and feels a spike of both anxiety and excitement, hurriedly clicking on the banner without even reading it. Instead, the message is a notification saying he’s been added to the group “Magnolia University LGBT+ Club”.

Both relieved and disappointed at the same time, Sting dumps his phone onto his nightstand amongst the food wrappers and Coke cans, and then buries his face into his pillow and lets sleep overtake him.

#my writing #stingue #ftlgbtales #ftfanfic #ftfanfics #sting x rogue #fairy tail fanfic #gaybertooth #teardrops & coffee #teardrops and coffee ch 9 #sting eucliffe #rogue cheney #fairy tail #sabertooth guild #stingue fanfic #lgbt+ fairy tail