#this is literally a fifteen minute doodle

[ghost-bxrd]

Some of the doodles/ideas for the charms. Might scrap them later and go for another design, but the over all vibes are heading in the right direction ✨

#pls ignore the atrocious proportions #this is literally a fifteen minute doodle #my friend adores Tim #Tim x coffee #charms #Nightwing the bird #Tim the (hacker) genius #red hood the undead Robin feat Lazarus pit #Damian the heir to the bat and the demon #keychain #dick Grayson #Tim drake #Jason todd #Damian Wayne #batfamily #batfam #bat bros #bat boys #Christmas present #design #art #digital art #painting #wip #work in progress #red hood #Nightwing #Robin #red Robin #chibi

[accio-sriracha]

Wolfstar and Markers.

~~~♤~~~

Sirius likes to draw on his friends.

It's just something he does when he's bored in class.

He writes Property of Sirius on each of them. Sometimes abreviating it to P.O.S. for the double meaning.

He draws little cupcakes and pieces of cheese on Peter's hand.

He loves to draw golden snitches and broomsitcks across James' thigh during the summer, charming them to fly around.

But, rather ironically, it was Remus who usually sat next to him.

It was an exceptionally boring day in history of magic class, they were all waiting for the lesson to end as Professor Binns droned on about the Great Goblin War.

Sirius pulled the marker out of his bag, grabbing Remus' arm without waiting for permission.

Despite pretending to be annoyed each time, Remus stayed carefully still.

A little too still.

He literally spent a good portion of the time Sirius was drawing on him not breathing.

It was secretly his favorite part of the day.

He loved the feeling of Sirius' fingers skating across his skin.

He loved watching his concentrated expression from the corner of his eyes.

He loved the way Sirius took his time, careful not to mess it up.

How Sirius always told him he wasn't allowed to wash it off.

He never did, keeping it until the end of the day.

He pretended to hate it but each time he felt himself falling a little deeper in love with his best friend.

Sirius moved on from drawing moons and stars to drawing hearts at some point during their fifth year.

It was literally all he would ever draw on Remus now.

He kept the same drawings on the others, quidditch themed for Prongs and various snacks for Wormy.

But always hearts on Remus.

Remus couldn't figure out why, but the tiny detail made his own heart flutter faster every time.

He wondered what caused the switch, wondered if it was as significant as he was making it out to be in his head.

One day, while Sirius was doodling on Remus' hand, James asked him,

"Why the hearts, mate?"

It was pure bored curiosity, there wasn't any real interest in his eyes when he said it.

But Sirius looked up, and his answer made Remus' entire brain malfunction.

"I'm waiting for Remus to ask me to be his boyfriend. This is about as obvious as I can get before I decide to ask him myself."

And then he just-

Went back to his doodling.

As if nothing even happened.

As if that wasn't the single most earthshattering thing Remus had ever heard in his life.

As if that wasn't something Remus had been dreaming of doing for years.

Remus could feel the shock on his face.

He could tell he wasn't doing a very good job of hiding any of the emotions swirling through him.

Did Sirius know then? This whole time had he secretly known how much Remus enjoyed their little moments together?

"Moons?" Sirius whispered.

Remus hadn't realised how long it had been since they stopped talking.

Sirius was staring at him, a small flicker of uncertainty passed over him, like he was realising there was a possibility he was wrong,

"You okay?" He asked.

"Can you hand me that marker?" Remus replied instead.

Sirius' eyes went wide for a fraction of a second before he nodded, passing it to Remus.

Remus reached out for Sirius' hand, Sirius gave it to him without hesitation.

He drew a single shaky heart, adrenaline pumping through him.

"Yes." He whispered, "I do want to be your boyfriend."

And that was it.

They've been together ever since.

Sirius loves to tell people the story of how they fell in love.

He always pays specific attention to the part where Remus sat shocked into stillness for fifteen minutes before Sirius finally asked if he was okay.

Remus proposed around Christmas, they were gathered at the Potter's home, watching baby Harry stumble around as he tried to walk.

Sirius and Remus were sitting on the sofa, Peter sat on the ground, holding his arms out for Harry, and Lily and James stood by the kitchen, watching them all with a smile.

Remus had told the others his plan already and they thought it was amazing.

"Hey Pads?" He whispered, kissing the top of his head.

Sirius hummed and leaned in closer to him.

"Can you go grab me a marker? I think I saw one on the counter earlier."

Sirius paused and leaned away, giving him a curious look, "A marker?" He repeated. Remus nodded,

"Yeah, I think it was in the kitchen."

Sirius shrugged and stood up, walking over to the counter to find the black sharpie Remus had placed there earlier.

He sat back down, passing it over, "What's this for?"

"Give me your hand." Remus whispered.

The others went silent, watching them quietly.

Remus could feel adrenaline shooting through him, just like the last time he'd done this.

He carefully drew a heart on Sirius' hand, big enough to reach from one side to the other.

Sirius smiled, "I didn't think you still remembered. It's been years since I've talked about that."

Remus nodded quietly, lifting his hand up so Sirius couldn't see what he was writing.

Sirius watched him, impatiently waiting until Remus let him see.

Inside the heart was now four words, written in Remus' neat cursive,

"Will you marry me?"

Sirius looked up so suddenly it caught Remus by surprise.

He threw his arms around him, burying his face into his shoulder,

"Yes." He breathed, "Of course I want to marry you, Moons."

They kissed, teary eyed and holding each other close.

The others ran to them immediatley, pulling them into hugs and shouting congratulations.

Sirius told that story for an even longer amount of time.

If you look carefully enough, you'll still find a black marker in every room of their home.

Every note they leave for each other are always signed by these, and always with a small heart at the bottom in place of a signature.

Sirius still draws little hearts on him when he's bored sometimes.

And it's still Remus' favorite part of his day.

~~~♤~~~

#harry potter #marauders #marauders era #wolfstar #wolfstar headcanon #remus lupin #remus x sirius #sirius black #sirius x remus #sirius loves remus #remus loves sirius #wolfstar textpost #wolfstar fluff #theyre so cute #ill never shut up #i love them

[sixeyescurseuser]

(Headcanon)

Thinking about Geto who journals a lot. 

He’s poetic in that he often writes in metaphors, referencing songs or movies or literature he enjoys. 

He’s romantic in that 60% of his entries are about Gojo. 

Geto would have written the mushiest thoughts after his and Gojo’s first official date. 

“He holds galaxies in his eyes  And I, a mere mortal, can only admire from afar and tremble in their sheer beauty” “Our hands brushed a total of three times before I had the confidence to interlock our fingers. I never want to walk down the street without holding his hand ever again”

“Satoru knows he’s the most charming and gorgeous person in the room. What he doesn’t know is I think so too.”

Cheeks burning, Geto slams his journal closed and is like “enough of that”

***

Imagine Geto's entry when they first kiss. 

It’s a whole page just of “AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!”

And then Geto composed himself enough to explain in the next page. 

“WE KISSED, WE KISSED I KISSED SATORU SATORU KISSED ME ON THE LIPSSS”

“I haven't known what breathing really was until it was you who poured your breath into my mouth. I pray you never stop.”

***

Sometimes, Geto writes directly to Gojo. Maybe it’ll be after a tough mission he had, and Geto is pouring out his burdens in his writing.

But the one highlight was of course:

“I didn’t expect you to have cleaned my room and done my laundry for me, but you’re just full of surprises, aren’t you, Satoru? All because you were bored when waiting for me to return from my mission?”

Geto taps his chin with his pen before adding:  

“…that’s so gay of you.”

Geto chuckles, then continues on. 

“But actually, it really warmed my heart. I think that as long as you’re around, my heart will feel full.” "Don’t change, Satoru.”

***

Then there’s also the entries like:

“GOJO SATORU, COUNT YOUR DAYS!! I HATED YOUR STUPID, CUTE FACE WHEN YOU CAME TO ME TO TELL ME YOU APPARENTLY FORGOT A RED T-SHIRT BETWEEN MY WHITE LAUNDRY - NOW EVERYTHING IS PINK. YOU’RE FILTHY RICH, REPAY ME AT LEAST YOU BASTARD!”

Geto writes and his pen leaves a trail of fire.

You know Gojo is in trouble when Geto says his whole name. 

Geto's penmanship is usually so pretty and neat, but when he wrote this, the lines were angry and slanted. There’s also a little doodle of one of his curses chewing Gojo up.

On the next page, Geto’s entries go back to lovesick paragraphs about a certain white-haired menace. 

***

Geto starts talking about marriage in his journal. His entries are his vows at this point. 

“You better not get sick of me, okay? Better continue kicking ass on your missions and bringing back your cute souvenirs. Let’s go apartment searching soon, yeah? I’ve been looking up places already, there’s a couple that I think you’d like. I can’t wait to move in with you and continue to build our life together. It’s you and me against the world. I really can’t wait to spend the rest of my life loving you, Satoru.”

***

Geto’s journaling also helps when they’re sent on solo missions abroad. 

“I can’t believe the first time I’m in Italy is for a stupid mission, without you by my side. We always said we’d come here to try the best pasta and sweets. I suppose I can be the navigator for when we do get the chance to visit together. There’s a few bakeries you would absolutely love…”

***

Geto’s journaling comes to light when years later, he and Gojo get into an argument about their first date.

Gojo: “There’s no way I was more than fifteen minutes late to our first date!”

Geto: “Yes you were!! I literally have proof!”

Gojo: “Where??”

Geto: 🤐

Geto: “Iweiebaboutinmtjeosual”

Gojo: “huh? What was that?”

Geto: “…I wrirhwabout it in my jaoruhal”

Gojo: “Suguru, speak properly, I can’t understand-“

Geto: “I WROTE ABOUT IT IN MY JOURNAL”

Gojo: “I-“

Geto: “Man, I was so pissed at you. How could you be late to your first date? With ME? You’re lucky I love you, or I swear to god I would’ve dumped your ass right then and there.”

Gojo: “You have a journal?”

Geto, walking away: “Nope”

Gojo leaps onto Geto’s back, clinging on like a koala: “Suguru~~ where can I find this little journal of yours? Have to make sure the proof you claim to have is sufficient and legit-”

Geto doesn’t react, resigned to carrying his human-sized backpack to god knows where.

No way is he sharing his journal entries until the ring hidden in his closet is finally on Satoru's finger.

***

w/ @no-one-says-hi

#jjk #satosugu #satosugu fluff #jjk headcanon #gojo satoru #geto suguru #satosugu fanfic #satosugu headcanon #fluff #journaling

[jeniffercheck]

Everybody moved on I stayed there (Karolina’s cramps hitting while they’re literally all on a private jet over the ocean and shiv helping her) (this may or may not be prompt if you want it)

a cute little one-shot for u under the cut!!! thank you for the prompt<333

words: 1.3k !!!

“Did you get that, Karolina?”

Karolina looks up from her notepad, an expectant Frank staring right at her. She tries to remember what it is he’d just said, something about stock market perception and if they should get out ahead, but ahead of what?

“Uh, yeah, I think—um,” she stammers her way through, poorly biding herself time, and stone-faces herself through another vicious twisting inside her abdomen, it taking everything in her not to cry out. She can feel the eyes on her, watching, as if she’s the only person in the room who could possibly have an answer.

“She already said it’s a non-starter.”

Shiv. All eyes are now on the redhead, whose rolling eyes are poking out from behind an issue of The New Yorker. Frank looks from Shiv and back to Karolina, she thinks if he were any smarter, he’d be suspicious. She also thinks if he were any smarter, he could tell she hasn’t been listening to a word he’s said for the past fifteen minutes.

“Right, thank you, Shiv,” Karolina says, and she scrambles, still trying to bide enough time for her mind to catch back up. “I just think, you know—if we want the public perception to stick with us, then—”

“You wanna know what I think?” Shiv interrupts, the magazine now in her lap.

“Not really,” Roman chimes in, obviously inconsolably bored since Gerri isn’t on this trip to torture. Karolina’s inconsolably tortured since Gerri isn’t around to buffer.

“Tough shit,” Shiv says as she leans forward. “Why are we bringing attention to it? A security guard got caught insider trading because he decided to fucking Watergate in the twenty-first century, so we fired him. That’s the response.”

Shiv eyes Karolina as she leans back, quirking an eyebrow. To everyone else, it must look like a challenge. To Karolina, Shiv’s just thrown her the ball.

“I hate to say it, but she has a point,” Roman says. “What kind of security guard forgets that we have, like, actual security?”

“Fine, say we’re covered on that end,” Frank says, “That doesn’t solve the issue of the stolen files.”

Karolina feels like she’s back in high school and just got caught doodling, put on the spot for a cold call about a chapter in the book she didn’t even know existed.

“Uh—do we have Gerri’s read on this yet?” Karolina asks. “We can’t say anything until we know the legal implications.”

Safe. Legalities are always a safe bet.

“She’s meeting us at the office after we land,” Karl says. “Ideally, we’ll have a statement or two prepared if we need to move.”

A statement or two. As if that’s not a whole day’s worth of fucking work, and they want her to do it in the middle of a plane ride, and go to the office after, all the while her stomach feels like it’s being carved out by a fucking spackle knife. She takes a deep breath, knowing it probably looks like stress rather than feeling like she could be meeting her untimely death by way of menstruation, but she takes a shot.

“Okay, well—if he’s threatening to expose, then that’s extortion on top of insider trading,” she says. “Blackmailers aren’t protected by whistleblowing laws, it’s simple.”

“And if he exposes us on his way to the big house?” Roman asks.

“Then, he’s a disgruntled employee who got caught with his fucking dick out and we say he’s lying,” Karolina says. “It’s not rocket science, boys.”

All three men look at each other, clearly surprised by the slight outburst. She doesn’t really have it in her to care. They’re being dense, and she’s about thirty seconds away still stuck in this conversation from puking up her guts.

“Well?” Karolina asks.

“Nothing,” Karl says, sharing a look with Frank. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“You’ll write that down?” Frank asks, and Karolina nods sharply, her gaze resuming on her notepad and her laptop. She stares at the blank word processor, willing the words to just come to her, but the pounding in her head is getting worse and the ache that was supposed to dull as a result of four painkillers is still rampant inside her, and she knows she’s getting closer to not being able to hide the pain.

It’s then that she feels a nudge against her arm, something like the pages of a magazine, and she turns her head to face Shiv, eyes less calculating and much more concerned than they seemed to be only moments ago.

“Can I run something by you?” Shiv asks quietly, gesturing behind her. The thought of getting up feels like voluntary torture, and even though she’s not a masochist, she is still a somewhat unofficial handler of the three heirs to the throne, and she and Shiv had promised each other they’d act normal. To not draw attention. So, giving in to a Roy child’s every demand, even if that demand is to go into the back of the jet and run something by her, is normal.

“Sure,” Karolina nods. She stands slowly, thankful the place is small enough for her to use her hand to brace herself against the wall without it being a big deal, and she follows Shiv into the jet’s only bedroom, grateful Roman had already put on headphones and closed his eyes before he could see them retreating.

It’s only a matter of seconds before that deep pain rolls through her again, and ss soon as Shiv locks the door, Karolina tries to get straight to business.

“What’s this about?” she asks, patience wearing especially thin.

“You looking paler than Karl when he saw the Q3 report,” Shiv says, “c’mon, sit down.”

Shiv takes Karolina’s hands and guides her to the small bed, and Karolina sits down, her eyes squeezing shut as she does, every movement opening herself back up to a resurgence of the throbbing. A gentle hand meets her forehead and she opens her eyes to Shiv’s worried gaze.

“What’s wrong?” Shiv asks.

“Just a little motion sickness, Shiv, I’ll be fine,” Karolina says. She knows it isn’t convincing, but the last thing she needs is Shiv hovering, especially when they have a newly lit fire to put out.

“I’ve flown with you how many times?” Shiv asks, “And you’ve never gotten sick.”

Karolina doesn’t have the energy to back up the lie, so she doesn’t. Shiv sighs quietly, a kinder sound in place of her usual scoff.

“It’s me, Karolina,” Shiv says. “I won’t tell on you, alright?”

And then Shiv’s hands are rubbing up and down the sides of her arms, and she can’t hold it back anymore. Tears spring to her eyes, despite what’s left of her efforts.

“It’s just—cramps, Shiv,” Karolina says, already embarrassed. “It’s not a big deal.”

Karolina’s tight knuckles and short breath aren’t as convincing as she’d like them to be, but she doesn’t have a choice. It can’t be a big deal, not when there’s work to be done.

“Have you taken anything?” Shiv asks.

“Enough to cause an ulcer,” Karolina says, dropping her head into her hands. She digs her elbows into her stomach, like the pressure will do anything, and the bed dips as Shiv sits down next to her, rubbing a hand across her back.

“Are they always this bad?”

Karolina nods into her hands.

“I have something stronger at home,” Karolina says, lifting her head. “And God knows how long we’ll be stuck at the office.”

It’s just her luck that her period would come early while she’s thirty feet up in the air, on top of the one trip that needs them directly back at the office, but that’s just life. Beyond that, Waystar isn’t exactly the most sympathetic employer when it comes to women’s issues.

“Well, how does this sound—we’ll bang those two plans out together right now, and when we land, I’ll go pick up the medicine,” Shiv suggests.

“Shiv—”

“Karolina, you could barely form a coherent thought back there,” Shiv says. Then, much softer, “Let me make this easier for you.”

Karolina’s brow furrows, whether from the pain or the small show of affection, she isn’t quite sure, but it seems pointless to deny this ask from Shiv, mostly because she’s too exhausted to reason with her, but also because it just feels good.

“Fine,” she says. “Thanks, Shiv.”

Shiv just pushes Karolina’s hair behind her ear, dropping a light kiss on Karolina’s forehead. The action makes her forget all about the aching in her abdomen for just a moment as she leans into the touch, and she wishes she could hold onto the feeling forever.

“You never have to thank me."

#this is crazy i dont think i've ever written sickfic before #work #shivlina #shiv x karolina #succession fic #shivlina fic #karolina novotney #shiv roy #duskfalls

[sourbat]

Kloktober Day 9: Inspired by Dethalbum IV

Summary: Pickles helps Nathan write a song.

Rating: M

Tags/Warnings: Swearing, blood, discussions about periods, trans male character, and booze

Read on Ao3 ,or read below!

Nathan took a bite of his freshly microwaved cinnamon poptart, letting the hot and constant chew bring his reading glasses down to the tip of his nose before flicking the glazeless corner edge onto the page of his journal. The large crumb bounced against the empty page before being wiped away by a dragging hand. Then, the end of a chewed up pencil tapped the bottom corner as Nathan searched for inspiration. How much time had passed since he started? Five, ten minutes? Oh god, fifteen? Normally, lyrics didn't take this long to construct, not when he already possessed a general idea of what he wanted to compose.

He ate away the minutes staring, doodling and finishing off the rest of his first poptart, and after no progress, groaned and sank into his seat. He shut his eyes and listened to the sink dripping water on some dirty dishes.

“Heeeyy, Nathan.” Pickles’ voice rang through the darkness, followed by the light rub of his sneakers hitting the kitchen floor. “How’s it going, dood?”

Nathan opened his eyes and found Pickles rummaging through one of the fridges. “Hey, Pickles,” he greeted with a low, tired voice. “Just trying to get something on paper.”

Pickles stumbled away from the fridge, a cold beer in his hand. As he cracked it open, he glanced to the table where Nathan sat, and at the near-blank page that only hosted a single word for the would-be song’s title.

He took a sip of the foamy drink before remarking. “Ya stuck?”

“Yeah.” Nathan rested his chin on top of his knuckles. He jabbed at the title with his pencil. “I got the title of a real good song here, but I’m having trouble making it happen.”

Pickles neared the table. He raised one of his pierced eyebrows and, once he had gulped down half of his beer, asked, “What’s the idea?”

“Bloodbath,” Nathan answered, then ceased stabbing at the sheet with his pencil to stare intensely at the scribbled title. “Like, a literal bathtub filled with blood! The image is fucking amazing, but what’s the story? Was there a murder? Did someone gut the guy in the tub? A pissed off chick, maybe?”

Frustrated, he brought a chipped, black nail in between his teeth. He could see the suffering he wanted to induce in his listeners, the red dribbles of sticky fluids pouring out into the warm water, but no matter where Nathan searched, couldn’t connect the pieces together.

“Bloody tub, huh?” He heard Pickles comment next to him. He took another large gulp of his beer, then pulled a chair out to take a seat besides Nathan. “Sound like my Saturday after the old snatch decided to hemorrhage out all its lining in a single night.”

Nathan dropped his finger from his mouth. “Uhhh, what?”

“Ya’ know,” Pickles suggested, making a slight face and wiggling his brows knowingly at Nathan. Once it became clear that didn't work, he made yet another face and, with a roll of his eyes, clarified, “Periods an’ shit.”

“Oh. Ooohhh.” Nathan slowly dragged his head up and down in barely acknowledged agreement. He saw Pickles still staring at him, and then admitted, “I didn’t think you still got… y’know…”

With a snicker, Pickles said, “Anything’s possible, as long as you still got the goods.”

“And you do?” Nathan inquired, then raised a finger over to Pickle’s stomach. “Have the goods?”

Pickles shrugged. “I think about getting the rest of the work done, but each time I start to wonder, what if it fucks with my drive?”

“Yeah, that would suck.”

Pickles downed the rest of his can before tossing it over his shoulder. Nathan watched it fly and hit one of the nearby countertops, and when returned to his notebook, he saw the title mocking him and inwardly groaned.

When he looked away, he saw Pickles back in the fridge, picking up the rest of the six pack he had typed with earlier.

“So, you filled a bathtub with your own blood?” he asked aloud, which, thankfully, gauged Pickles' interest.

“Well, sorta. Obviously I didn't bleed out. But it got real nasty,” Pickles answered. His smiles stretched from ear to ear as Nathan narrowed in on him. “Mind you, I ain’t spilling just blood here. There’s bits and pieces coming out of me.”

Nathan’s eyes widened. “Meat?”

“Well, err, the inner lining of the uterus,” Pickles corrected. He thought about it for a minute, rubbing his head all the meanwhile. “So, uuuuh, yeah? Kinda?”

“And this happens to you every month?” Nathan’s lower lip curled inward as he tried to imagine the scene, along with having to endure such a cycle for all of his existence.

“Well, not every month,” Pickles replied oh-so casually. “More like, once in a blue moon. Unusually after a heavy bender. Too much booze fucks with the hormones.”

“Oh, that’s not too bad,” Nathan remarked, notably relieved by the notion, until he remembered just how much and often he and Pickles drank till they blacked out. Confusion hurriedly blanketed his mind as he struggled to gauge how much was required to fit under the term “heavy bender.”

Pickles nodded in return, then cracked open another can of boose. “Yeah, but when it rains it pours.”

“What do you mean?”

Pickles held in a chuckle. “I swear, when I’m on the rag, I bleed out all at once.” He brought up a hand as though to stop Nathan from suggesting. “Again, not enough to fill a tub, but it’s enough to ruin some nice bed sheets. Oh, and the cramps.”

“Cramps?”

Nathan got cramps, usually when he consumed too much diary. When he tried to bridge the conversation with his example, though, Pickles held in a snort and hooks his head.

“Imagine what Mags did to you, but smack dab in the middle of yer’ naughty bits,” he explained, and earned an immediate cringe from Nathan. With a haughty smirk, he continued, “You got a muscle design to keep shut, and now it’s gotta force itself open so it can expel a bunch of rotten flesh and blood. Doesn’t matter what you tell the damn doctors either, they give you the same shitty painkillers and say take two every six to eight hours.” Pickles raised a can to the very thought, then loudly slurped at the fizz gathering at the top. Once he had thoroughly finished the can, he placed down upon the table with a rough clank. He wiped his upper lip with the back of his hand and said, “I take about five per sitting.”

“That sounds…” Nathan fell into a silence as he tried, but failed, to imagine himself in such a situation, “Well, Intense.”

Reaching for his third can, Pickles responded, “Oh, it is. And it used to be worse.”

“...what?”

Nathan couldn't fathom how something that was supposedly natural would be any worse than what Pickles had currently described.

Luckily for him, Pickles seemed to have no issue openly sharing the dirty details. “Dood, before I started HRT, I was irregular as hell,” he began, “I’d have two in a month, go three months without anything happening, then suddenly end up spending days at the hospital thinking I was about to die.” Nathan swallowed a dry lump as Pickles stared out into a distant memory, his freckles becoming more visibly abundant as his expression started to pale from the past trauma. He brought a hand on his chest. “My fucking nips hurt,” he started, “and I’d get pissed real easily. And the cramps! The pain was so bad I’d dry heave or spit up the plasticky, hospital water the nurses handed me. Like, you’ve seen me mad before? I can be pissy, but the anger I experienced while waiting for the IV drugs to induce my painless coma was insufferable. I wanted to rip those smart-ass doctors a new one, but couldnt cause if I moved too much I’d fucking vomit.” Pickles stuck out a dry tongue and feigned a heave as he reenacted the experience. “And you know my bitch of a mother wanted nothing to do with the ol’ B.C. So it was like that until I had money for a regular prescription. Soaking cold hospital sheets with my fucking blood clots while being so sick and hateful that just thinkin’ about looking into the mirror made me wanna jump out the window.”

Looking up, Pickles tossed his third can. Maybe it was because he was thinking of his mother, but Nathan noticed the force in Pickles’ throw. The can crashed into the ground, and Nathan stared at the deformed tab leading into the crooked hole, and he couldn't break away as it leaked out the remains of dark, fizzy beer.

He eventually caught Pickles watching him. “Oh” was all Nathan could stammer, then returned to a state of absolute silence from the horror his friend had casually constructed.

“Yeah, but that was a long time ago,” Pickles replied after some time, giving them both ample time to recover, though Nathan still remained uncomfortably silent. He picked himself off from his chair, took the rest of his half-consumed six pack by the plastic rim, and flashed a pleased grin. “Thanks fer listening, Nathan.”

“Uhhh, no problem.” Nathan replied, his eyes looking far into the distance. He shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. “And, uhh, sorry about all of that.”

He continued to stare out long after Pickles left the kitchen and retreated back into his domains. Nathan counted the days since Saturday, and then shirked in his seat. By the time his stomach had settled, Nathan’s remaining poptart had returned to its stony, tasteless state, though by now eating was out of the question. Instead, he brought a finger over to his sinking glasses, and pushed them up his sweaty bridge, back to his wary stare. Nathan glanced at the title of Dethklok’s next song scribbled on his notebook and, with a slight look of disgust, began to write.

#mlt #kloktober #nathan explosion #pickles the drummer #fanfic

[damnedrainbows]

second day in a row for a bad autistic melt down

and I mean I should be grateful really, it’s been so long since I’ve had a really bad melt down. Been a month maybe, which shows significant improvement. You’d never have known it happened yesterday, I was acting the same as always huh? just left for a couple hours

it’d be nice if I knew what caused them but I don’t. which I learned is an autism thing too. when I have them I have to ask myself ‘did I eat, did I drink, sleep, and go to the bathroom’ to at least check that off. I don’t even know when I’m overstimulated until I have the melt down or the headache

I went into my sensory swing to have it, the safest place to be since mine get…physical. best place to thrash and kick, but I hit the wall.

I just…wanted to draw and watch tv. once upon a time I could have the tv on as background noise and I could bear to listen to my computer fan. I miss the days when I didn’t get exhausted trying to listen to a conversation. was it really only two years ago that I managed to do forty commissions in a single summer? I haven’t been able to finish a page of fucking doodles in three days. now? the person I was literally feels like a fantasy. it feels like when I was functional that was a fever dream.

i don’t even feel like the melt down is done. i just feel like I’m suppressing it, as I have all my life. I knew it was coming. my breathing was tighter and I was more irritated and snapping at everyone, but I don’t know where it came from. I just…want to draw and watch tv. I want to play with my new craft kit my best friend got me.

and yet I went downstairs and even wearing my migraine glasses I felt the need to rip my fucjing face off because of the bright nightlight. I don’t know what to do, and my life falling apart isn’t for lack of trying for fucks sake

I had to leave college every year I attempted it. Three years of failure and it is wild to think how I even managed to complete anything when I have to put my head down after fifteen minutes of doing anything now. my only actual job outside art I was fired after a month because i kept freezing and getting disoriented at the cash!

it’s not lack of trying. my family thinks I’m lazy but jesus I try more than anyone! I never asked for this, I don’t know where my life went. and come to find out, it could be years until I get the official diagnosis because of this wait period? my grandmother is almost ninety, what am I supposed to do when…I have nowhere to go? i can!t support myself. i can’t even go in stores now without getting disoriented. my physical health is worsening as well. I can’t stand for long anymore with how deformed my knees have gotten

sometimes i think i’m not going to live much longer and i’m okay with that.

#very personal under the cut fair warning this is a vent #of an autistic girl at her FUCJING LIMIT #tw vent #autistic burnout #tw negative #tw mental health #tw melt down #tw depression #i just want my life back #i’ve done everything i can to try and get it back but i dpcant

[voidfuldreams]

i’m packing up my room tonight. i was supposed to start a lot earlier in the day, but i got distracted doing laundry and procrastinating. also, i slept in for the first time in ages (yippee) and i thought that was worth mentioning.

I’m not sure what it is about packing that’s so tiring? but my back is absolutely killing me. it feels like i’ve literally just decided to carry the entire weight of my bedroom on my back. why. i am just taking posters off my walls.

it’s a little difficult going through my things for two reasons:

a) i’ve limited myself to three boxes of things, and the rest gets donated or dumped. the apartment im moving into is a shoebox and i’d rather not overcrowd it so i’m trying to cull as much as possible. so this makes picking and choosing what i’m taking relatively difficult, because sure i have a rough idea of what i want to take with me but actually going through everything is tiring. feels like i don’t know where to start.

b) going through a lot of my stuff tends to get emotional. i find goodbye letters from friends, things i haven’t seen in forever. some of it just strikes a chord and makes me all stupid and teary. which is dumb because ??? like fuck off it’s literally just junk.

but yeah i don’t know it’s fun! i like packing because it’s throwing away all the shit and the emotional baggage i’ve been hanging onto for years now. i’ve also decided to get rid of a bunch of my old sketchbooks (everything is digitised anyway and they’re old old so i don’t even remember what’s in them) which is good, but looking through some of the notebooks from the last few years where i was failing school and doodling to waste time kinda hit hard.

don’t get me wrong, i was trying to focus on school. but you can see me loose hope and get distracted and then just give up. it’s kind of funny though bc my drawings were banger in those notebooks so i took photos of them and then threw the books out.

i’m gonna live out of a suitcase for the next month and a half, because i don’t really do much other than work anyway so i’ll just leave out one or two pairs of pants, my work uniform, underwear and a few hoodies. then i can just pack that up on moving day and head out.

i’ve already laid awake for hours every night thinking about what i’ll bring with me and how i want my room to look. i’m so excited.

also! i’m going to build a pc so i can get my work done for my diploma. i have no idea how to build a pc, but i’m going to do it. i’m also incredibly excited for that. i’ve dreamt about doing that since i was a little kid and now i finally have the freedom and the space to do it.

i should probably mention i made it into the tafe course! i’ve signed my apartment’s contract too, so both of those are sorted! it’s no longer a hypothetical anymore, it’s straight up happening. i can’t wait. i am literally buzzing with excitement.

now all that’s left for me to do is land that starbucks job. i’m waiting for a phone call from them to see if i got the job or not. i’m trying to think positive because i feel like i aced that interview and they would definitely want me, so i have to keep manifesting that it’s going to happen. because that would absolutely be perfect. it’s at a train station a few stops away from mine. fifteen minutes travel time tops, and because i’ll be living right near the train station it’s not even a long walk. so convenient.

i’m writing this because i’m taking a break for my back to reset while i’m taking all the posters off my walls.

something smells burnt outside.

until next time

#being dramatic i guess #voidfuldreams #positive vent #vent #rant? #uhhhh

[nonunsnonunsnone]

*SLAMS HAND ON TABLE* HE LOVES HIS LADYWIFE

He’s 100% looking at Nadja im crying shaking throwing up 

#wwdits #laszlo cravensworth #fanart #laszlo fanart #wwdits fanart #this is literally the second thng I've ever drawn to completion that's not a doodle #also I am the number one fan of Laszlo's hair that bitch said floof #hope yall like it if you don't stfu thx! #my fanart #my wwdits fanart #hoping that in a year's time i can redraw this in like fifteen minutes and not five fuckig hours mates #ok i gotta stop ranting in the tags #enjoy the art reblogs appreciated!!!

[steelycunt]

oh oh ohhh these a goodd!!! and you’ll ruin me either way but because i don’t feel like feeling like particular shit i’m gonna ask forrrrr….. actually… okay im stuck between 1 and 13 so you take your pick!! this is a hostage situation btw if u make me sad i’ll… like. idk. threaten you with a nerf gun i’ve stolen from my brother or smth. i’m still trying to figure it out leave me alone!

(also also also sending u a bowl of soup with extra crackers thru the mail!! hopefully it stays warm!! and hopefully a kiss on the cheek will help you feel all better as well!! isn’t that how it goes with healing someone sick? a true love’s kiss? sending it either way! xoxo)

LIV LIV LIV!! LOML!!! i am so endlessly sorry this is so late...i am The Worst...but i wanted it to be happy after all i put you through with literally murdering remus in the last drabble....only the best and the loveliest for you!! you, the best and the loveliest!! here you go!! seeing as i did 13 before, i went with:

1. things you said at 1 am

He says: “Budge over, you.”

Remus obeys. When they started this, he might’ve asked, why or did you have a nightmare again or is everything alright. He never cared for the answer, but it used to buy him a few seconds—used to give him just enough time to swallow his own spit, just enough time to fashion a makeshift exoskeleton out of flannel pyjama bottoms and the dry skin of his elbows.

Now, he has less need of it: Sirius isn’t all that scary, really. At this time of night—Remus cuts a glance at his bedside table, 1 a.m. or thereabouts, supplies his wristwatch, dutifully—when he’s standing at the edge of Remus’ fourposter, he’s not so bright, not so blazing. A bit more fifteen-year-old boy.

“There you go.” Remus shuffles sideways, tugs his duvet away to let Sirius clamber in. “Feels like letting a stray in out of the cold,” he tells him; Sirius snorts as he burrows down into the mattress.

“Mm, well,” he murmurs, turning onto his shoulder, “I do have fleas.”

"God. Charming."

Sirius presses his chilled foot against Remus’ ankle—maybe to be spiteful, or maybe just to watch Remus snatch his leg away, only to move it back moments later (he doesn’t actually mind). “Horrible mutt,” Remus snaps, disgruntled, and Sirius cackles quietly.

Back when it was reserved for nightmares, this thing they do, there was none of this: Sirius would come hurtling, fleeing something, all torn about the mouth. He’d come rearranged, like a building turned to rubble (except for the times it was Remus, instead), and Remus would let him in and they’d sit here silently, stare into the dark like it could hurt them.

Neither of them have nightmares like they used to, but Sirius still comes—more and more, in recent months. This is the third night in a row, and sometimes Remus wonders if they’re too old for it to be alright: they barely both fit in the bed anymore, new bones jutting into sides and limbs stacked on top of each other. Like one of those old-timey carts piled with plague bodies waiting to be buried.

In the end, he decides he doesn’t care. This is when he gets Sirius: in the dark, in the quiet, when he’s soft. Stone mossing over.

“So. What are you thinking about tonight, Moons,” Sirius asks him, a ritual akin to a roll call. Remus Lupin, present. Sirius Black, present. Ten dozen nasty little thoughts jangling about in Remus Lupin’s nasty little head like pebbles in a child’s pocket, present. They do this every time—Sirius makes knowing him look so fucking easy.

Remus leans back against the headboard. His bed hangings droop at one corner; James and Sirius snagged them down during a playfight in second year. “Hm,” he begins, as he has every night, “let’s see. I’m thinking about, er…” he falters as he sifts through his options—he can’t say you, and he can’t say that strand of hair you haven’t brushed out of your eyes that’s been bugging me for the last minute and a half (you bug me, Sirius), and he can’t say last Tuesday you drew me that doodle of The Beatles being hit by a lorry at the Abbey Road crossing because I was humming Maxwell’s Silver Hammer in Charms, and I’m sort of worried that if you sit up right now you’ll see it sticking out of the textbook on my bedside table—but eventually he settles on, “I’m thinking about that Ginsberg poem. That one about seeing Walt Whitman in a supermarket, or something.”

“Why that?”

“I don’t know. I just am. There’s a—there’s a bit about peaches and watermelons,” Remus says. “Maybe I’m hungry, I don't know.”

He’s aware of Sirius looking at him, of their hips grazing through layers of ratty fabric. He’s aware, out of the corner of his eye, of the spill of fine dark hair over his own pillow. “You want to go down to the kitchens? We could go now,” Sirius suggests. “They’ll have that tea you like, probably. The disgusting one.”

“No, it’s fine. S’only what I’m thinking about, is all. You asked.” Remus smothers a yawn against the back of his hand (he likes to try and stay awake as long as possible, these nights when Sirius turns up), turns to his side so that their faces rest inches from each other. “I don’t know why you always bother to ask.”

“Ha. Wait—really?” Sirius inclines his head; Remus’ breath rattles. They're very close, and he’s newly conscious of the ugly pink scar scrawled across the bridge of his nose, and of the fact that his duvet will smell like Sirius tomorrow (loamy pine; cigarette smoke and that soap that comes in solid white bars). “You really don’t know?"

"What d'you mean?"

"Do you...why do you figure I’m here, Moons?”

Remus stares; his face flares hotly. “I don't understand. Is there a—is there supposed to be a reason?”

“Oh, my—you actually don’t, do you? Oh my god. I’ve—I’ve been here three nights in a row, Moons. I don’t exactly come because it’s—comfortable,” Sirius says, softly, punctuating his point by nudging Remus with his knee. Two beds over, Peter grunts in his sleep. “You’re so fucking daft. Just—think about it, for a moment. Or…ask me what I’m thinking about. Go on.”

Remus obeys, of course—he’s always going to—and Sirius barely has to move his head to kiss him the way he does, then, before Remus has even finished asking. It's brave, careful, half-hidden beneath the duvet: a brush of noses. Sirius' mouth is cool like peppermint and Remus feels it even after, has to resist the giddy, ridiculous urge to touch his fingers to his lips. To the place where Sirius just—kissed him.

“That’s what I'm thinking about.” Sirius watches him, blasted little dent in his brow, and says, “that’s…that’s always been what, Moons. Fucking hell, I thought you knew. I thought you knew why I was here. You lovely idiot.”

“Oh,” he mumbles. Feels a bit stupid, now. Sirius starts to smile. “That’s—er. Right. That's good. Can I—can I change my answer?”

#ridi drabbles #r/s #my fic #the line about the beatles doodle is the best thing ive ever written. dead serious about that too #i dont know why this took me two days to write! it kinda sucks! words were just not coming to me this weekend!! #but there is a law somewhere i think that all r/s writers have to write a bed sharing scene so. a rite of passage to check off!! #liv tag #also getting more comfortable in remus pov : - ) my lovely boy his head isnt so bad. ive lived in there a bit now. #ive opened some windows ive cleaned ive decluttered. ive thrown away all the empty cereal boxes he had lying around etc etc

[boomerangguy]

The Gaang as college students, because I am too pretentious not to throw in my two cents on this:

Sokka - Plans out his daily schedule for the entire semester after the first day of class. Still turns in assignments at 11:59 p.m. sometimes. Crams all his studying into the last 37 minutes before an exam. Says whacky (but lowkey brilliant) stuff during class. Shares inside jokes with professors. Gets straight As because he’s a certified genius.

Katara - Shows up to class fifteen minutes early. Writes down every word that comes out of the professor’s mouth. Spends every possible second in office hours until she gets kicked out. Turns in assignments at least a week before they’re due. Hosts bi-weekly study groups. Gets straight As through sheer force of will.

Aang - Shows up late to class pretty much every day. Class clown but doesn’t realize it. Always forgets to format his papers in double-spaced, 12-point, Times New Calderan font. Half his professors hate him, the other half love him. Knows the name of literally everyone on campus. Always brings snacks to Katara’s study group.

Suki - Big jock energy. Wears a backwards baseball cap and her BSSU Volleyball sweatpants to every class. Gets good grades, but inexplicably starts getting Cs for a semester. Athletics department assigns Water Tribe Husband Material as her tutor. Starts dating Water Tribe Husband Material. Grades return to normal. Mission accomplished.

Toph - Doesn’t attend class. Doesn’t do assignments. Doesn’t show up to exams. Doesn’t participate in group projects. Doesn’t answer professors’ emails. Still gets Cs because there are way too many buildings on campus named “Beifong Family Hall.” Joins Katara’s study group for the snacks and camaraderie.

Zuko - Stuck in an endless cycle of: a) trying really hard at school, b) not doing as well as he wanted to, c) giving up and doing even worse, d) convincing himself he just needs to try harder. Constantly compares himself to his sister. Eventually gets his grades up to Bs, thanks to both Katara’s study group and his mom emailing professors on his behalf.

Azula - Stares professors dead-in-the-eye all through class to establish dominance. Gets perfect grades in the courses she deems important (physics, chemistry, math, history). Skips classes she deems frivolous (art, literature, philosophy). Professors give her A’s anyway. Has been known to sabotage rival group projects.

Mai - Sits in the back of class and never speaks a word. Tries her best to make sure no one knows her name. Gets up and walks out of class when called on by the professor. Only participates in group projects when forced (except when Ty Lee is there). No one knows what her grades are like because she never bothers to check them.

Ty Lee - Doodles flowers and unicorns and rainbows in her notebook during class. Raises her hand all the time anyway. Is actually really smart but pretends to be ditzy so fratboy simps will do her homework. Changes majors at least twice a semester but always schedules electives with Mai. Occasionally gives group project presentations while in a handstand.

BONUS NOT-SO-SFW BELOW THE CUT!

Hakoda - Not a college student. Attends Ba Sing Se University’s Parents’ Weekend. Is reminded of the squalor in which the average college male lives. Meets Suki. Decides that she is the coolest human being to ever live. Sneaks away from party with wife. Revisits secret corner of library where their first child was conceived. History repeats itself.

Kya - Not a college student. Attends Ba Sing Se University’s Parents’ Weekend. Is reminded of the squalor in which the average college male lives. Tries to convince Katara not to study on weekend nights. Somehow finds herself in a very familiar corner of the library. Accidentally ensures that she will be attending at least one more Parents’ Weekend.

#I would never write anything more than a one shot for a college au but this was fun #kinda want to write that Hakoda/Kya fic tho 😏 #or one for jock!Suki and tutor!Sokka #college au #sokka #katara #aang #suki #toph #toph beifong #zuko #azula #ty lee #mai #kya #hakoda #kya lives #sukka #kyakoda #hakya #avatar #atla #avatar the last airbender

[chaos-burst]

direction to perfection

Dorian fought his parents to be here.

He fought tooth and nail to be allowed to live in a dorm, so there is no way he can back down from this decision. It’s his first shot at freedom and being normal and doing something for himself instead of his family.

Dorian will not back down.

He will persevere.

“Harder, come on!”

Loud moaning and the creaking of an old mattress accompany the dull thudding that comes from inside of his room. The room he’s currently standing in front of.

“I’m so close, so close, so close—“

Dorian stares at the door. His face is hot and he stands frozen in place as he tries to decide what to do. He needs his lute for the next bard class. He also needs to be far away from this room.

Gods, most of all he needs a new roommate.

“Oh, fuck, just like that—ah—“

Dorian closes his eyes and hides his face in his hands.

He was so proud after he finally convinced his parents to let him stay here. When he first entered his room he wasn’t even concerned about how small it was, or how his roommate’s bed was so close to his that stretching both their arms out would result in them touching hands.

And then he met Dariax, the guy he’s supposed to be living with for a long time.

“Dorian, are you literally standing here listening to Dariax bang someone inside of your room?”, Opal’s voice reaches his ears and he turns his head to look at her. She must see the desperation on his face because the next moment she gives him a pointed look before hammering her fist on the door.

“What the fuck, guys! Rent a room! And hurry up, Dorian needs his stuff!”

Dorian feels mortification creep from his face down into his stomach as he hears a loud thump, a shriek and a curse. The fact that Dariax knows that Dorian has been standing here makes him go through the five stages of grief so quickly that he can feel his insides churn.

Opal turns to face him and gives him a stern stop-putting-up-with-this look before she stalks away, twirling her dagger in her hand.

Dorian wishes it were that easy to voice what he wants.

To be sure of himself.

To live unashamed and free.

Sadly, his current repertoire covers none of these things.

The door gets yanked open and Dorian finds himself face to face with a white, half-elven woman wrapped in a bed sheet, her hair a complete and utter, blonde mess, her purple lipstick smeared across her left cheek.

“I was so close!”, she hisses as she holds up her index finger and thumb to indicate the fact that Dorian just ruined her earth-shattering orgasm.

“I—uh. I’m so—“

“Dorian! Gosh, I’m so sorry, I forgot that you had class, buddy!”

The half-elven woman throws Dorian the nastiest stink-eye and rushes down the corridor in nothing but the bedsheet wrapped around her. Dorian has no idea why she would do that, but Dariax distracts him.

Dariax, who is completely naked, his lips covered in purple lipstick, his cheeks flushed and his hair standing up from his head.

For decency, he’s holding a bottle of wine to cover his crotch.

Dorian wishes the floor would open up and swallow him whole.

“I—uh. Sorry to disturb the—ah. Fun? I just. I just need to grab my lute real quick”, he says weakly, rushes over to his bed and grabs the lute leaning against the wall beside it.

“Oh, don’t worry about it, buddy, I’ll just go jack off in the shower, it’s no biggie.”

Dorian stares at Dariax who grins at him, as if that was a perfectly normal thing to say to someone in this situation.

“Sure. Have fun”, he croaks, his cheeks still flaming, and flees out of the room and down the hallway.

Dorian fought so hard to be here but gods, he wishes he were somewhere else right now.

The class he’s attending is one of his favorites—one that covers Bardic Inspiration as a form of self-expression, but it takes him a while to cool down from the mortifying ordeal of having Dariax as his roommate.

They’ve been living together for almost three months now and it’s not like it’s all bad.

Hell, Dorian likes Dariax.

He’s funny, doesn’t take himself too seriously, he tells ridiculous, entertaining stories and is loyal to a fault. But he’s also extroverted in a way that makes Dorian go insane. There is no moment of silence when Dariax is in the room—because Dariax hates silence. He also brings back so many different people to their room without asking Dorian first. Not all of them are Dariax’ lovers—at least not as far as he knows.

But they’re always loud, always messy and always completely oblivious to Dorian’s social cues.

Opal keeps ranting about how Dorian needs to reinforce his boundaries, but Dorian has no idea how to do that. Never in a million years would he bang on the door of his room if he knows that Dariax is having sex in there. Opal is always so loud and unapologetic about everything—Dorian envies her for it.

Dorian has never kissed anyone. Or had sex. Or anything in between these things. How the fuck both Dariax and Opal know exactly what they like and who they like is beyond him.

“Excuse me, is this seat taken?”, a soft voice says right next to him and Dorian is ripped out of thoughts and into reality. The class has been going for an hour and there’s someone standing next to him he’s never seen before.

She’s definitely some sort of fey—the whole lower half of her body is goat-like and her long ears are drooping. The amount of ribbons her dress is supporting is truly astounding and there is a whole crown of poisonous flowers on top of her head that she wears like a crown. Dorian blinks before catching himself.

“Ah—no. Please”, he says and gestures at the empty chair next to him.

The faun sits down carefully and watches as she carefully places a panflute on her thighs.

“Which bard college do you specialize in?”, Dorian asks.

“Hm? Oh, I’m not a bard. I’m majoring in druid. I just like to make music”, she answers with a smile.

Dorian never considered just taking classes that have nothing to do with his major. Maybe it would be something his parents would disapprove of even more than they did of his bard major and his choice to sleep in a dorm.

“I’m Fearne, by the way”, she adds and nods her heads slightly. A single leaf falls from her head and onto her panflute.

“Dorian”, he answers. Fearne smiles at him.

“You have very pretty hair”, she says.

“Oh. Ah—thank you? You—you too. Your hair, I mean. It’s—uh. Very green.”

Fearne’s smile widens.

“Thank you!”, she says in a tone that suggests that this might be the compliment she’s ever received. Dorian on the other hand wishes he could bite off his tongue. Your hair is very green. What kind of compliment is that? It’s no wonder that he didn’t have any chance to kiss anyone yet if this is all that he can come up with.

Dorian turns around and tries to concentrate on the professor’s lecture but his mind keeps wandering. He takes only a few notes and as he looks over at Fearne he sees that she’s doodling all sorts of mushrooms into her notebook. Then there is a small screech coming directly from her bag.

The class falls silent and everyone turns to look in their direction.

“What was that?”, professor Brooke asks with a confused look on his face. “I don’t remember any familiar registrations for this class.”

Dorian looks at Fearne who turns her head to look around at all the people staring in their direction.

“That was just me”, Fearne says and points to herself. “I ate too much pudding for breakfast.”

Professor Brooke looks embarrassed and very apologetic.

“I’m sorry, dear. Let’s continue then.”

As the lecture continues, Dorian leans over to Fearne.

“Didn’t that come out of your bag?”, he wants to know. Fearne shoots him a sly smile and gently lifts the flap of her green bag. Dorian stares at a small monkey peeking up at him with weirdly glowing eyes. Then the monkey raises his index finger to his mouth as if trying to tell Dorian to shut up.

Fearne closes the bag.

“That’s just Little Mister. He’s my… friend.”

“I see”, Dorian says.

He supposes that this is what he left home for—to meet all sorts of people, learn about all kinds of different things that he would never get in touch with while under his parents’ wings.

So Dorian decides to simply accept that some people are friends with monkeys and carry them around in bags.

If he can manage to live with someone like Dariax, he sure as hell won’t judge someone for bringing an animal companion to class.

After another fifteen minutes, Fearne leans over to Dorian again.

“I don’t understand this concept that the professor is talking about.”

“Oh, they explained it in the first half hour, before you got here.”

“Oh, I see. I was late”, Fearne says and looks disappointed, as if she was only now realizing this.

“Uh—yeah. Like, half an hour.”

“Time is kind of hard, you know. It’s like—it’s like this weird soup. And I don’t think I really have it memorized how to read clocks.”

Dorian stares at her.

“So. Are you not from here?”, he asks and groans internally at his phrasing. Fearne doesn’t seem to mind, though. She nods gratefully as Dorian pushes over his notes so she can look at them.

“No, not really. I come from the Feywild. We don’t really have clocks.”

“Because… time is a weird soup.”

“Yeah, exactly. Is that a saying here, too?”, she asks, her ears turning towards him full of excitement.

“Ah—no. I don’t think it is. Not here, at least.”

“Well, now you know it.”

Dorian nods and watches as Fearne studies his notes to copy some of them down into her notebook. He tries to imagine a world without clocks and immediately gets anxious at the prospect of always being late.

In the last twenty minutes of the lecture, they actually get to play their instruments.

“You play beautifully”, Fearne says after listening to Dorian play for a few minutes.

“Thank you! Your music is really different from what I know. It’s interesting.”

Fearne beams at him.

“Maybe we could make some music together some time?”, she asks.

“I would like that, yeah.”

*

Dorian isn’t bad at making friends, he’s just not as good or fast at it as Dariax. Maybe that’s because he’s a little more selective about the people he hangs out with, but Dariax just seems to consider everyone he talked to more than once his friend.

Dorian never really had friends growing up, so he doesn’t consider himself an expert. But at least for him Dariax’ way doesn’t seem to be all that great.

So when Dariax asks: “Hey, do you wanna come hang out with me and my friends tonight?” Dorian feels less than inclined to say yes.

“Uh—I already have plans”, he lies, trying to figure out if he should try to convince Opal to spend the evening with him or if he should just take this opportunity to have some peace and quiet in his room.

“Aw, man. Too bad. We wanted to go skinny dipping in the gym’s pool”, Dariax says.

“Isn’t that off limits at night?”, Dorian asks, his brow furrowed as he looks at Dariax’ face that breaks into a wide grin.

“Yeah, that’s why it’s fun to go there”, he answers and winks at Dorian. Dorian feels his cheeks grow hot and swallows as his intestines suddenly feel the need to writhe around like living snakes.

“Oh, well—I’m not really a—uh. A rebel boy, as they say”, he says and laughs nervously. “You go and have fun, though.”

He tries not to picture Dariax completely naked in the dim, shimmering light of the campus’ pool but he fails miserably. His palms start sweating.

“Oh, don’t worry, I will, I will. But hey, maybe next time!”

“Uh—yeah. Maybe”, Dorian says weakly as Dariax saunters out of their room and closes the door behind him. Dorian stares at the locked door for way too long and he’s endlessly glad that no one can see him.

This doesn’t seem like a normal thing to invite someone to. When he went to college to learn how to be a bard, he envisioned parties, maybe some illegal weed smoking on a restricted rooftop, at the most.

He did not envision to be asked to get butt naked, break into a gym with a pool at night and go swimming with a bunch of—probably drunk—strangers he doesn’t even know the names of.

That was, of course, before he got Dariax as a roommate.

Now Dorian feels like he should be prepared for anything.

As Dorian grabs his lute and sinks down onto his bed he wonders if Fearne lives on campus or if she lives in the Feywild and somehow manages to travel here for every class that she has. That would explain the time thing, he supposes, because he learned that time works differently on other planes.

This is the first evening in what feels like weeks that he has the room just to himself. In between the pieces he plays on his lute he simply sits on the bed, enjoying the silence. When he opens the window the cool breeze from outside reminds him of home and he closes his eyes for a little while.

It smells like rain and autumn outside. Dorian turns to look at the small room that’s his now. It’s nothing compared to the big, bright room he had at home, but it feels special simply because this is the first time he gets to do what he wants with a space without anyone breathing down his neck.

There’s not much in the room aside from their desks, beds and the closet they share, but Dorian pinned a few posters and postcards over his bed for the very first time. His bed is unmade—something that his parents would have never allowed—and there are fairy lights dangling from the ceiling that he actually picked out himself.

The desk is covered in sheet music and books and for a few seconds Dorian looks at the small picture of his brother and himself that is sticking to his pencil holder, before turning his gaze at some of the articles he printed out yesterday.  

He might actually get some homework done in this blessed quiet.

At least that’s what he thinks until his phone rings.

At some point Dariax must’ve stolen Dorian’s phone and taken a selfie to make it pop up every time he calls Dorian, because as his phone lights up Dorian can see Dariax’ dopey smile appear. Dorian ignores the rush of heat he feels as he looks down at the glowing display, reaches for his phone and picks up the call.

“Dariax?”

“Dorian, hey buddy!”

He definitely sounds drunk, which doesn’t surprise Dorian. But there’s an edge to his voice that makes Dorian nervous.

“What’s up, Dariax?”

“I—uh. Remember how I told you that we were going to go skinny dipping in the gym and everything?”

“Yeah, I haven’t forgotten. It was like, three hours ago.”

“Cool, yeah. So the guys—“, and Dorian wonders who exactly ‘the guys’ are supposed to be, “were in a real funny mood. So. They stole my clothes and locked me in here—“

“They what?”

“I know, right? So… I tried to break open the lock, but I might be a little too drunk to get it right. And I was wondering—could you maybe bring me some clothes and get that door open for me?”

Dorian stares out into the night.

“How do you have your phone if they took all your stuff?”, he asks weakly.

“Had it with me in the pool to take some underwater selfies. It’s waterproof”, Dariax supplies cheerfully.

Dorian can see lights in the buildings all over campus and a crescent moon in the sky. He tries not to imagine what kind of pictures Dariax was trying to take of himself. Naked. In a pool.

“You want me to break open a door”, he repeats, just in case he misheard.

“I mean, kinda? Maybe? I really don’t wanna sleep in here. I slept in worse places, but it seems kinda shitty to wake up and immediately get into trouble for trespassing and all of that…”

Dorian isn’t sure if he wants to know in what kind of places Dariax has slept that count as worse as a college gym’s pool.

“But I guess I could just sleep in the showers or something.”

“I don’t really know how to get locks open”, Dorian sighs, but he’s already walking over to their shared closet. In theory, Dariax’ half is on the left, but he insists on just throwing all of his clothes in there without actually caring about which side they land on, so Dorian grabs some jeans, a hoodie and some underwear and stuffs it into his bag. He tries very hard not to look at the underwear too closely.

Dariax might not know what privacy is but that doesn’t mean that Dorian has to stoop down to the same level as his roommate.

“Fine. I’ll see what I can do”, he huffs.

“Aw, fuck yeah, you’re the best. I lo—“

“Bye”, Dorian calls and hangs up hastily before Dariax can finish.

His dreams of a quiet night dissipate into smoke as he throws the bag over his shoulder, grabs his keys, his jacket and his phone and leaves the room to head towards the gym.

Dorian, never in his life, has tried to open a lock with anything other than the key that was supposed to go into it. He doubts that he would manage to learn it in the heat of a moment so as he walks through the night, passing under a lantern every few steps he takes, he considers what he can do to get a locked door to open.

He is not strong enough to pry it open.

He has never learned how to do that trick with a credit card and isn’t sure if it would even work on this door even if he knew how.

There is no spell he knows that would be useful to open a door.

The only thing Dorian is good at is music and talking to people.

He makes his decision as he heads for the closest security guard patrolling campus at night.

“Excuse me, hi”, he says with the most honest and simultaneously nervous smile he can muster. The young man looks him up and down and seems to come to the conclusion that Dorian is worthy of his attention because his body turns towards him and offers a small smile back. He’s white withshort, brown hair, a long nose and arms full of tattoos.

“Can I help you?”, he asks.

“Well—this is so embarrassing. I—uh. I was in the gym earlier and I forgot my phone in there and my girlfriend wanted to call me tonight and I—uh. I already missed the last call so…”

He trails off as he tries to looks as bashful and stressed as he can—something that isn’t hard because Dorian still has to think about how Dariax is naked and probably dripping wet and how they’re most likely going to get into so much damn trouble.

“Oh wow, that sucks”, the security guard says and Dorian nods.

“Yeah, I’m—this is so dumb, I know you have better things to do, but… If you could just let me sneak in there for a minute and grab my phone? That would be a total life-saver, man”, he says and brings his hands up in front of his chest in a pleading gesture.

“Well, I guess we can make an exception. Don’t want to be the cause for trouble in paradise, right?”, he answers with a smile and Dorian forces himself to laugh.

“Thanks so much, I’ll drop off some cookies next time I see you around”, Dorian says and the security guard chuckles and makes a joke about bribery that Dorian doesn’t actually find funny but laughs about anyway. Since he officially ‘lost’ his phone he has no idea how to let Dariax know what his plan is.

All Dorian can do is hope that Dariax isn’t standing right behind the door butt-naked. Dorian supposes that he could always claim not to know him then—something that would only hold up for so long.

They walk towards the gym and Dorian can feel his heartbeat picking up.

What if he gets suspended? Kicked out? Sent home?

When they arrive in front of the gym everything is silent. Dariax is not banging on the door from the inside, calling Dorian’s name. Dorian decides to take that as a win as he nervously watches the guard fiddle for the master-key before opening the door.

“So, where did you leave your phone?”, the guard asks him and Dorian looks around hastily to see if he can spot Dariax anywhere.

“Uh—over on the benches, I’ll be right back!”, he says with an apologetic smile before rushing through the gym and towards the benches on the other side of the building.

“Dariax!”, he hisses into the darkness towards the corridor that leads to the locker-room and the pool.

“Hey bu—“

“Pscht. There’s a guard there. I had him open the door, you have to sneak out!”

Dorian starts crouching down on the floor and drops his bag so Dariax can reach it. He’s peaking his head out of the dark corridor and Dorian hopes that the security guard doesn’t spot him as he reaches his arm out towards the bag with Dariax’ clothes inside it.

“Did you find it?”, the guard calls over and Dorian can hear his footsteps coming closer. He hastily fishes for his phone and slides it under one of the benches.

“Not yet, it’s pretty dark in here”, he says. The rustling in the corridor next to him tells him that Dariax is hastily getting dressed.

“I have a flashlight, one sec”, the guard says and crouches down next to Dorian who feels bad for lying to the poor guy. He’s so friendly and forthcoming—Dorian decides that he actually has to get this man some cookies.

“Oh, there it is!”, he says and points to the left as the light of the torch reaches his phone.

“I’m afraid my arms too short to reach that”, the guard says and scoots back so Dorian can extent his arm and grab his phone. He tries hard not to look behind him to check if Dariax already made it out or not. He gets up, stuffs the phone into his pocket and dusts off his pants before turning towards the guard with an embarrassed smile.

“Man, thank you so much, this is really clutch.”

“No problem. I hope it works out with your girlfriend”, he answers and leads Dorian back towards the door.

“Thanks. If I see you again I’ll keep you posted!”

They step outside into the cool night air and Dorian can’t see Dariax anywhere. His heart is still beating rapidly in his chest and his palms are terribly sweaty. He wipes them off on his pants and decides that he needs a hot shower and his warm bed after this terrible disaster. His body feels as if he just ran a marathon.

So much for a quiet, peaceful night.

As soon as the guard leaves Dorian looks around frantically. If Dariax didn’t make it outside, there’s no way Dorian can convince this guy to open the gym up again without telling him the truth—something Dorian desperately does not want to do.

“Hey, over here!”

Dorian turns around and sees Dariax waving out of one of the bushes. His hair is wet and sticking to his forehead, his face is flushed and his eyes glassy, but he has a wide, reckless smile on his face that makes Dorian’s heart leap into his throat and press on his windpipe.

“What the fuck, man?”, Dorian hisses as he walks over to Dariax who gets up now, slightly swaying on his feet. There are some yellow leaves stuck in his auburn hair.

“Damn, buddy, that was awesome! You seriously have a velvet tongue, how did you even do that?”

“I asked nicely. What the actual fuck, Dariax? Why did your friends think that was a good idea?”

Dariax looks at him sheepishly and shrugs.

“Ah—to tell you the truth, I don’t know.”

“Sounds like they were fucking you over”, Dorian says and starts walking back towards the dorm. Some fine mist hangs between the trees, which look mostly black except for those who reach into the light of the street lamps. The orange and brown colored leaves remind Dorian of Dariax’ hair.

“Yeah. Sounds like it, huh.”

Dariax is quiet after that, something which Dorian, for some reason, finds even more disturbing than hearing Dariax’ sex-noises through a locked door.

“You okay?”, he asks after two minutes of walking in silence.

Dariax turns to look at him and the smile that appears on his face doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Yeah, sure. You know how it is, people just fuck you over. That’s how it works, I guess.”

“It doesn’t have to work like this”, Dorian says, his brow furrowed and his hands itchy to reach out and tussle Dariax’ wet hair for comfort. He doesn’t even know if Dariax wants to be comforted. Or wants to be comforted by Dorian specifically.

Dorian doesn’t even know why he feels the need to comfort Dariax, seeing as to how it’s his own fault for getting into such a situation in the first place.

“Hm, maybe. But I guess you showed up to save the day”, Dariax says, looking at Dorian thoughtfully.

“Yeah, I didn’t fuck you over”, Dorian agrees and holds open the door for them as they reach the dorm.

“Yeah. You didn’t. Thanks, buddy. I owe you one.”

*

The security guard’s name is Orym, he knows Fearne from taking some druid classes on the side on top of his fighter classes and he enjoys blueberry muffins.

“So, how did it go with your girlfriend?”, he asks while chewing on the muffin that Dorian handed him a few moments ago.  

“We broke up”, Dorian replies with a gravelly voice and Orym pulls a face.

“I’m sorry, man.”

“Don’t worry about it. Thanks again for helping me with my phone.”

“It’s no problem at all. Thank you for this muffin.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll see you around.”

*

Dorian is pleased to find that the steady trickle of loud people that Dariax used to invite to their room before is thinning. He still goes out drinking and partying a lot, and he still has guests over to play Mario Kart or some horrible drinking game, but overall Dorian’s having more peace and quiet than ever before since he moved into this room with Dariax.

On a Wednesday night Dariax is sprawled out on his bed flipping through his phone. Dorian wonders if he’s going through his contacts, considering whom to call on for some. Well. Drinking or sex, probably.

Dorian hopes it’s not sex. And if it is sex, then for sex that is supposed to happen far away from here.

“How come you never go out?”, Dariax wants to know.

Dorian looks up from the sheet music he’s working on. He’s humming along quietly as he writes down, erases, writes down again and corrects the song he’s trying to write. He finds that he actually likes working in companionable silence, even though he didn’t think this would be possible with Dariax as his roommate a few weeks ago.

Dariax doesn’t seem to mind not talking as long as there is some sort of sound in the room—and Dorian’s humming apparently counts.

“How do you mean? I go out all the time”, Dorian says and looks up from his paper, cocking his head to regard Dariax who’s head is now hanging off of the side of the bed so he looks back at Dorian upside down.

“Yeah but like, partying. Drinking. College stuff, you know. You just hang out with the scary lady and she seems to like partying.”

“First of all, her name’s Opal. And I guess she can be kind of scary, but only if you’re a dick. And second of all, I hang out with other people! I met this very nice faun in my bard class and we’re making music from time to time. And—I don’t know. Partying is just not. Uh... It’s just not...”

Dorian sighs and leans against the wall behind him. The room is so scrappy that some of the wallpaper is coming down in little flakes in some places. He absentmindedly starts picking at his pillow.

“I never really went to parties before coming here. It’s just. I don’t know. New. I’m not like you. You know, with all the drinking and partying and—and uh. Sex. I guess.”

He can feel his ears burning and his cheeks heating up as he mumbles the end of his sentence. Dariax blinks at him and drops his phone on his face.

“Ow, fuck—okay. Wait. Are you saying that you’re a party-virgin and an actual virgin?”

“Oh come on, man, why do you have to say it like that? I’ve been to parties! But not—you know? College parties! And I never really drank alcohol before. It seems... I don’t know. Shifty.”

“Shifty”, Dariax repeats and a shit-eating grin spreads over his face, lighting up his eyes with a shimmer of mischief that Dorian finds very disconcerting.

“So you are a virgin.”

Dorian throws his pencil at Dariax and misses.

“So what? There’s nothing wrong with being a virgin! We can’t all walk around like you sleeping with people left and right!”

Dariax chuckles, obviously pleased with himself.

“Very true, I’m one of a kind. So, okay. But you kissed people, right?”, he wants to know.

“Why is that even relevant?”, Dorian hisses. He decides to throw his pillow next and Dariax almost falls off the bed trying to dodge it as he laughs.

“It’s not, I’m just curious! You’re always super uptight and mysterious, I know shit all about you and you’ve basically seen me banging someone at least twice!”

Dorian tries and fails to keep his poise as he flails his arms around.

“I could’ve lived happily without having seen any of that!”

“So that means you never kissed anyone?”, Dariax asks again, his grin wide and his eyebrows offensively wiggling. Dorian wishes he had some sort of cake that he could press Dariax’ face into.

“No, never. Are you happy now?”

“Would you like to kiss someone?”, Dariax wants to know and leans forward on the bed. He seems to have decided that sitting upright is the better choice in case Dorian decides to throw something else at him.

“I—I mean. I don’t know? I haven’t found the right person to kiss yet!”

“Ah, you’re one of those guys”, Dariax says with a wise nod that drives Dorian up the walls.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know? Like a romantic. True love and shit.”

“I wouldn’t—I. I haven’t really thought about it much. It’s not that important to me.”

Dariax pulls a face and nods, as if he understands perfectly what it means to not much care about kissing, sex or relationships. Dorian doubts that he actually understands with the frequency in which he drags people into his bed.

“I guess it’s not bad to wait for someone special”, Dariax concedes with a lopsided smile. “My first kiss was a total disaster, I didn’t know what I was doing at all and the dude told me it was like kissing a bowl of rice pudding.”

Dorian stares at him.

“That’s such a horrible thing to say”, he answers and Dariax shrugs.

“Yeah, I guess. He could’ve been nicer about it.”

Dorian’s brain is reeling.

Dariax had his first kiss with a guy. Dariax doesn’t only like women.

“Oh gods, I wish you hadn’t told me”, Dorian groans and presses the palms of his hands on his eyes until he sees little, colorful specs dancing on the inside of his eyelids. “What if I kiss someone I actually like and it turns out to be a completely terrible?”

He lowers his hands and stares at Dariax who stares back at Dorian with an intensity that surprises him.

“I mean. I guess you could just practice”, Dariax says.

“Oh yeah, sure. I’ll ask the first random person I meet in the hallway—“

“I would do it. Practice with you, I mean.”

Dorian blinks. He can feel the heat rising in his face and knows that his cheeks are turning purple.

“I—uh. That’s. Well. That’s very kind of you. But I’ll—I guess I’ll just figure it out on my own.”

Dorian chuckles nervously and glances back at Dariax who looks at him for a second longer before flopping back down onto his bed.

“Sure thing, buddy”, he says quietly and it’s probably just Dorian’s imagination that he sounds a bit disappointed.

*

“Dorian. Hey, Dorian!”

Dariax’ voice cuts through a dream about flying through space naked and Dorian opens his eyes. He is met with darkness and turns his head over to look towards Dariax’ side of the room. It takes a few seconds for his eyes to adjust and the confusion and sleep to drain out of him.

“Huh?”

“Hey, sorry. I—uh. I kinda had—I kinda had a nightmare?”

“Sorry to hear that”, Dorian rasps and rubs at his eyes, “was it the one about the giant dwarven woman again?”

“Ah, no. Not this time. I—uh. Do you mind maybe just… I don’t know. Talking to me a little? Or, ah—humming? I would scoot over but your bed is probably a bit too small”, Dariax rambles and laughs nervously.

Dorian is too tired to get flustered about the prospect of cuddling with his roommate.

“You can scoot over. But don’t hog the blanket”, he mumbles and makes room in his tiny bed, pressing his back against the wall and lifting his blanket up, his eyes already falling shut again.

“Oh fuck yeah”, he hears Dariax whisper. There’s a rustling, the sound of naked feet on a wooden floor and then the mattress dips and Dariax climbs into bed with him, his body way warmer than Dorian expected it to be.

He’s wearing nothing but boxers.

“You sure this is okay?”, Dariax whispers into the dark and Dorian makes a noncommittal noise at the back of his throat before letting the blanket fall down over Dariax. His arms simply drops which is probably way too close to a hug in this position as they lie face to face on the mattress that was not made for two people to sleep on it.

“Thanks a lot, buddy. You’re the best”, Dariax whispers. Dorian knows that Dariax is pretty dense simply because he’s a dwarf, but while he drifts back off to sleep he feels the tension in Dariax’ body. This nightmare must have been deeply upsetting for someone as carefree and jovial as Dariax to ask for goddamn snuggles in the middle of the night.

Dorian starts humming. It’s faint and definitely not his best and probably not even a real song, but slowly, ever so slowly, he can feel Dariax relax beside him as they both fall asleep again.

What his sleepy brain did not account for when Dorian allowed Dariax entry into his bed was how they might wake up in completely different positions to the ones they fell asleep in and how his body was a mean betrayer set out to humiliate Dorian.

As he slowly comes back to consciousness Dorian realizes how incredibly warm it is. The next thing he notices is that there is a quietly snoring dwarf pressed against his side, one leg pushed over Dorian’s legs. Dariax, sometime during the night, has curled into Dorian so his nose is now pressed somewhere close to Dorian’s ribs. He can feel Dariax’ hot breath tickle his exposed skin.

This is the most skin-on-skin contact Dorian has ever had with someone who is not related to him.

Dariax’ arm is curled around his waist and Dorian has no idea how he’ll be able to get to the bathroom without waking Dariax up or alerting him to the fact that Dorian is suffering a terrible case of a morning boner.

Yeah, he definitely didn’t think this through when he allowed Dariax in here. If Dariax pulls his leg up a little more his thigh will absolutely come in contact with Dorian’s dick and he is not ready for that to happen.

Not even a little bit.

Dorian can’t help but notice that Dariax smells kind of nice. And the feeling of naked skin on naked skin feels so much better than he imagined it would. He should probably not think about skin on skin contact too much in his current predicament but Dariax decides that this is the right moment to move his leg.

Dorian makes an undignified noise in the back of his throat as Dariax’ thigh rubs against his erection and before he can really consider what his best course of action might be, he’s already shoving Dariax off of him.

Since these beds are tiny, that also means shoving Dariax off the bed.

There is loud thunk as Dariax hits the floor and bolts upright with a yelp, his hair tousled and untidy, his eyes barely open.

“I didn’t do it!”, he slurs loudly, holding both hands up in a gesture of surrender and Dorian can’t help but wonder what in the nine hells Dariax has been dreaming about.

“Sorry, man. You were—uh. Getting a little close”, Dorian says and sits up, carefully pulling the blanket over his crotch.

Dariax blinks up at him.

“Sorry, buddy. Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable”, he mumbles and sways to his feet to stumble back over to his own bed.

Dorian immediately misses the warmth and the feeling of naked skin against his but he pushes the thought away and clears his throat.

“Did you sleep okay after your nightmare?”, he asks.

“Hmhm. Like a baby”, Dariax mumbles into his pillow. His face is pressed into it and he didn’t even take the take to cover himself with his blanket. “You have the most beautiful voice.”

Dorian’s cheeks begin to burn and he grips the blanket tighter.

“Thank you.”

“’S no problem.”

Dorian glances over at his roommate. Dariax looks surprisingly peaceful like this and it doesn’t take long for him to fall asleep again. The quiet snore returns and his mouth falls open slightly. When Dorian finally gets up to take a shower, he shivers slightly in the cold before carefully stepping over to the other bed and pulling the blanket over Dariax.

*

“You know what, I feel honored that you’re going to trust me with your first time”, Dariax says, looking endlessly pleased with himself.

Dorian sputters.

“Excuse m—“

“Your first time drinking, buddy”, Dariax explains and laughs as he sees the flush on Dorian’s cheeks.

They’re both sitting on Dariax’ bed—because Dariax doesn’t care about getting spots on his sheets at all—with a bottle of liquor that is bright red and looks a little radioactive.

“Well, I think I would just—uh. Prefer it… to try this out with someone I trust before I make a fool of myself in front of a whole party, you know”, Dorian says. When no answer comes, he turns his head to look at Dariax.

Dariax’ eyes are shimmering with something that Dorian can’t quite read but it makes his heart race in his chest. Dariax never looked at him like this before. His expression is almost soft with the barest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Glad to hear you trust me, Dorian. I trust you, too.”

Dorian clears his throat and looks away, the tension in the air between them suddenly too much for him.

“I am very trustworthy”, he jokes and grabs the bottle to unscrew it and smell the liquid inside.

“Ugh—it’s revolting”, he remarks and coughs a little.

Dariax chuckles.

“That’s how you know it’s good”, he says with a nod and gestures for Dorian to take the first sip.

Dorian has tried some champagne before, some beer. Some wine. But never more than half a glass. He never tried drinking any hard liquor and this stuff is burning his throat and sending heatwaves through his whole body immediately.

“Wow”, he coughs and hands the bottle to Dariax.

“Good stuff, right?”, Dariax says and

“It’s terrible!”

“Yeah”, Dariax says with a wide grin and a twinkle in his eyes.

“I don’t think a thing can be both good and terrible at the same time”, Dorian remarks, his face still in a grimace as he tries to get used to the burning sensation of hard alcohol in his throat.

“Nonsense, those are like, all of my favorite movies!”, Dariax says and takes a huge swig out of the bottle before handing it back to Dorian.

Dorian feels weirdly honored that Dariax decided to stay in on a Saturday night just to hang out with him and test the waters with his roommate while no doubt all his friends are out there partying.

“Like what movies”, Dorian wants to know and takes another careful sip out of the bottle. His mind provides him with the terrible thought that this might as well count as an indirect kiss, something that is entirely idiotic and not useful at all.

“Okay, so, you know when someone asks you a question about yourself and suddenly you have forgotten all of your interests and hobbies and favorites and pretty much everything about yourself?”, Dariax says, his brow furrowed as he tries to think of a movie that is both terrible and good at the same time.

“Tell you what. I can say that two of my favorite movies of all time are Pacific Rim and Mad Max, and those are not terrible, mind you, they’re just good. But if I manage to think of one that is both terrible and good, I’ll tell you immediately.”

Dorian has neither seen Mad Max nor Pacific Rim. When he tells Dariax as much his roommate looks aghast.

“Oh my gosh, Dorian. Buddy. My boy. That is—no. No, I can’t let this stand. Grab your laptop, we’re watching Pacific Rim right now”, Dariax orders and looks at Dorian expectantly.

This is how Dorian ends up crying about giant robots. And maybe also brothers.

Dariax hands him a tissue and sniffs.

“Good stuff, right?”, Dariax asks and empties the bottle as the end credits start rolling. Dorian nods and watches as Dariax throws the empty bottle to the side before pulling out a second one from under his bed.

Dorian is definitely tipsy. He drank way less than Dariax, of course, but he can feel a faint buzzing in his head and his vision seems to be slowed. There is a feeling of heaviness in his legs as he accepts the new bottle—this time the liquor is bright blue and tastes even worse—and drinks.

The new sensations in his body aren’t unpleasantly.

In a way, his soul feels lighter like this, less anxious, less unsure about things, which is pretty nice.

“So, what’s your favorite movie?”, Dariax wants to know.

“I—hm. I don’t know. I’m not much of a movie guy. I suppose I liked Lord of the Rings when I watched it a few years ago”, he says, thinking about the movies he has seen and which ones he enjoyed the most. Weirdly enough it’s exactly as Dariax said—now that someone asked about what he likes, Dorian can’t seem to remember much about himself.

“Good choice”, Dariax says with an approving nod that makes Dorian feel weirdly pleased.

“I guess we could totally do a Lord of the Rings marathon, you know? Get some snacks, order pizza, get fucked up. Hey, we could make it a drinking game!”

Dorian isn’t sure why there’s a tingling sensation under his skin, or why his heart starts beating faster in light of Dariax’ suggestion. Maybe it’s because he feels happy that Dariax wants to spend more time with Dorian. Maybe it’s just because the alcohol is getting to Dorian.

“What about your other friends?”, Dorian asks.

“What about them?”

“Well—wouldn’t you rather spend more time with them? You know—partying. Going skinny dipping. That sort of thing.”

Dorian knows that he’s fishing for compliments. He knows and he feels embarrassed about it but he can’t stop. Validation is something that he craves way too much for his own comfort, but the alcohol has lowered his defenses—or raised his stupidity. Either one of those.

“Well—you know when we went skinny dipping and they fucked me over, that was like. Not cool? And you got me outta there, even though you don’t really do that sorta thing, you know? So—that was not the first time I got fucked over by people I called my friends, but it was totally the first time someone bailed me out of stuff. So yeah. I’d rather stick with you, if that’s alright with you”, Dariax says, taking a few long gulps from the bottle of blue liquid.

Dorian feels a rush of heat under his skin. It’s not unusual for him to feel strongly about being praised or validated, but it usually doesn’t hit this hard.

He swallows and laughs nervously, grabbing the bottle from Dariax and taking a big sip that burns his throat.

“Yeah—yeah, alright”, he croaks and Dariax beams at him.

“I’m sorry, by the way. That—uh. That those people left you behind”, he adds quietly and hands the bottle back to Dariax.

“Oh, you know. I suppose it’s on me. I’m not very smart and I’m not good on my own, so I tend to follow people’s leads and they—uh. I guess they get bored with me, or something? Anyway. It’s not really important. Hey, how do you feel about watching Mad Max, too?”

*

“Hey, my friend is throwing a party on Saturday. Do you want to come?”

“Are you kidding? Do I wanna take your partying virginity? Hell, yes!”

“Dariax...”

“Sorry buddy, I got carried away.”

*

Dorian is still thinking about rice pudding on Friday.

The fact that somewhere out there is a person who would tell someone else something mean like this makes him nervous to try and kiss anyone. What if he actually likes the person he’s kissing and gets told that his kisses feel like a bowl of rice pudding?

Or worse, something even slimier?

He’s trying to get another song for one of his bard classes done, but he’s unable to concentrate.

“Hey, Dariax”, he says and looks over at Dariax who’s watching cat videos on YouTube, “can I ask you something? About—uh. About... kissing?”

Dariax looks up at him with bright eyes.

“Sure”, he says and grins.

Dorian swallows.

“Uh—I was thinking. How—uh. How did you get better at kissing? Did you practice with anyone?”

“Nah, not really. I mean, not like that. I just went for it again and again until I got better at it. Guess it would’ve been nice to have someone around for practice, but I made it work anyway. No one’s been complaining for a while now.”

Dorian chews on his bottom lip and pokes the paper he’s working on with a pencil.

“So—uh. You said—“

“Yes”, Dariax shoots back immediately, as if he knows what Dorian is going to say next. Dorian feels the familiar heat rise up in his chest as he looks at his roommate who seems very intense all of a sudden, leaning forward and shutting his laptop, his eyes fixed on Dorian.

“I—uh. I don’t. I don’t really... I don’t like... guys?”, Dorian says and his voice sounds way too hoarse in his own ears. Dariax’ shoulders sag a little but he shrugs.

“Doesn’t really matter for this, right? It’s just kissing.”

“Right. Okay. Uh—so. If I—if I wanted to try this...  how do you—how do we make this work?”, he asks.

His heart is beating so fast, Dorian is afraid it’s going to break his rib cage and fly out of the window. Dariax puts his laptop to the side and pats the mattress beside himself, his eyes still fixed on Dorian’s face with an intensity that makes heat pool in Dorian’s lower abdomen.

He pushes the feeling aside and gets up from his own bed to sit down next to Dariax.

“I know what this is about”, Dariax says with a sly grin.

“Uh—you do?”

Dorian doesn’t know what this is about aside from his own nagging sense of anxiety and the fact that he can’t stop thinking about kissing Dariax—which is entirely Dariax’ fault because he offered this whole practicing thing in the first place.

“Yeah. You’re going to check out some ladies on that party tomorrow”, Dariax says, his grin widening as he scoots closer to Dorian. Dorian can feel Dariax’ body heat and he presses his back against the wall, his fingers digging into the blanket crumpled below his legs.

“Ah—yeah. You got me”, he lies and laughs nervously. Dariax winks and gives him fingerguns.

“Don’t worry, buddy. I gotcha! I’ll be the best wingman ever. Here, just lemme—“

And Dariax climbs into Dorian’s lap, straddling him, his face so close to Dorian’s that Dorian can feel his breath on his cheek.

He holds his breath as he notices all the freckles on Dariax’ face, his scruffy beard, his hazel-brown eyes...

His heart is stumbling in his chest.

“Thanks”, he rasps.

“No need to be nervous, I’m sure you’ll be way better at this than I was the first time around. Just lemme take the lead, okay?”

Dorian nods.

If he gets hard now, Dariax will definitely feel it.

Fuck.

Dariax raises his hands and tilts Dorian’s chin up while his other hand gently cups Dorian’s cheek. It’s already almost too much for Dorian. His lips open slightly and his eyes widen as Dariax gets closer still, his nose gently touching Dorian’s.

“If you want me to stop, just smack me real hard”, Dariax whispers and his breath tickles Dorian’s lips before the distance between their mouths is closed and Dariax is kissing him, his hazel-brown eyes closed.

Dariax’ lips are warm and a little chapped and Dorian gasps against his mouth helplessly—something that Dariax seems to take as encouragement. He tilts his head to the side to get a better angle and then his lips press against Dorian’s in earnest.

Dorian’s heart stops for a few seconds before restarting with doubled speed.

His whole body seems to be on fire all of a sudden and he can’t help but raise his hands to touch Dariax—just touch him anywhere. He needs to ground himself, hold onto something, or he might just get lost in the feeling of Dariax’ warm lips carefully moving against his.

It’s a slow kiss, almost sweet, but Dorian’s skin is set aflame.

I don’t like guys, he thinks as his whole body decides that he must get closer to Dariax, wrap his arms around him, pull him in, cup the back of his head so he doesn’t move away—

“This okay?”, Dariax mumbles against his lips and he sounds so out of breath as if he just sprinted a whole mile.

“Yeah—I. Yeah.”

“You wanna try with tongue?”

Dorian swallows. There is still heat pooling in his abdomen. He should say no. He should stop doing this. This feels dangerous and stupid.

But it also feels so good.

“Yeah, okay”, he whispers.

Dariax doesn’t wait for another invite, he immediately leans forward again to close the distance between them and as Dorian’s hands dig themselves into the back of Dariax’s shirt and his heart starts racing even faster Dariax slides his tongue into Dorian’s mouth and Dorian’s mind goes blank.

There is a sound that is dangerously close to a moan and it takes him a few seconds to realize that it’s coming from him.

He holds onto Dariax like a drowning man before he manages to kiss back.

The second their tongues slide against one another there is a sound from Dariax too, one that shoots directly into Dorian’s lap. His hips buckle up involuntarily, his arms wrap around Dariax tighter and Dariax presses closer, his hips grinding down against him.

Dorian is lost.

And he’s so, so fucked.

It feels so incredibly good to kiss Dariax. He forgot why he even started kissing him, all he knows that he doesn’t want to stop, that he wants to get closer, wants to touch more skin—

He’s hard by now, and so is Dariax. Dorian can feel his erection through the jeans that Dariax is wearing.

Dorian buries his hands in Dariax’ hair and pulls. Dariax makes a helpless sound and bites down on Dorian’s bottom lip before sucking on it lightly and Dorian is afraid that he might come in his pants just from kissing and the delicious friction of Dariax’ crotch rubbing against his.

Shit, shit, shit, shit—

Before Dorian can make a fool of himself Dariax pulls back.

He’s panting, his eyes are glassy, his lips red and wet from kissing and he looks so pretty, Dorian is momentarily stunned by the revelation that he might not be into girls or guys or pretty much anyone.

But he’s definitely, terribly, irrevocably into Dariax.

Fuck.

“S—sorry”, Dariax gasps and clambers off of Dorian’s lap. “That was—I’m. I—uh. I got carried away a little. Didn’t mean to overstep any boundaries.”

Dorian swallows and stares at him, his eyes wide and his heart pressing against his rib cage.

“It’s okay”, he rasps. “I—uh. I got a little carried away, too.”

Dariax throws him a lopsided smile.

“Well. I’d say you’re good to go.”

And he gets off the bed and stumbles over to the bathroom, leaving Dorian behind with a rapidly beating heart, tingling lips and the revelation that he has the world’s worst crush on Dariax.

#doriax #critfic #exu fic #critical role #dariax zaveon #dorian storm #exandria unlimited #exu #fanfiction #screeching into the void #text #this has an M rating on ao3 jsyk #we have ~9k of practice kissing/college au magical realism here my guys #dorian #dariax

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Their Girl

Loosely based off of several cases that have, unfortunately, taken place in schools.

Mabel defends herself when a boy touches her, only to be the one to get in trouble. Not on her grunkles watch.

~~~~~~~~~~

“In 1930, the Republican-controlled House of Representatives, in an effort to alleviate the effects of the - Anyone? Anyone? - the Great Depression, passed a - Anyone? Anyone? - a tariff bill. The Hawley-Smoot Tariff Act, which - Anyone? Raised or lowered? - raised tariffs, in an effort to collect more revenue for the Federal Government.”

Mabel leaned back in her desk chair to stretch. It was cold in the high school, but luckily her seat was right in the sunshine, warming her up like a lizard on a rock. Her baggy yellow sweater fell off her left shoulder and she let it without giving it much of a second thought, then watched some birds on a tree as the Economics teacher droned on.

“Did it work? Anyone? Anyone know the effects? It did not work, and the United States fell deeper into the Great Depression.”

Tenth grade was too young to learn about something so boring. This was for suckers who paid money for it, like college students. Mabel held her breath to keep herself from snorting over her own inner thoughts. Grunkle Stan would be proud of her, she thought, and her thoughts wandered to him and Grunkle Ford, until she was snapped back into reality. Literally.

“Today, we have a similar debate over this, anyone know what this is? Class? Anyone? Anyone? Anyone seen this before? The Laffer Curve.”

A boy behind her (his name slipped her mind at the proper moment) was playing with her exposed bra strap. It felt like he had grabbed it, barely pulled it back, and let go. At first, she thought maybe it was an accident. Unlike, but possible. But then it happened again, this time the boy pulled the bra strap far enough that when he let go it slapped against her skin a little. It didn’t hurt, and the teacher’s boring voice drowned out the noise, but still.

“Anyone know what this says? It says that at this point on the revenue curve you will get exactly the same amount of revenue as at this point.”

Mabel turned around sharply at once and gave him a deadly glare. “Stop it.” She whispered firmly.

The boy grinned menacingly, and sneered just as quietly, “Make me.”

Mabel whipped her head back, making sure her long ponytail hit him in the face, but though her actions stopped him for a moment, soon he was back to pulling on her bra strap, each time pulling back farther and farther.

“This is very controversial. Anyone know what President George H. W. Bush called this in 1980? Anyone? Something-D-O-O Economics. Voodoo Economics.”

A loud snap sound echoed, a yell of pain and aggravation, and then Mabel Pines stood so sharply her chair fell backwards, turned around, and punched the jerk in the face, left-hook boxing style.

“Ms. Pines!” The teacher scolded loudly.

The whole class was on the edge of their seats. All the kids had seen what happened; the ones sitting closest to the pair had been well aware of what was going on since the beginning. While they were hopeful the jerk would get what’s coming to him, they all knew that wasn’t likely. Not under the most sexist teacher’s nose.

“To Mr. William’s office. Now.” He growled.

“But he was touching my bra!” Mabel defended. “He was invading my personal bubble even though I told him to back off!”

“It’s a very small classroom, Ms. Pines. And maybe he wouldn’t have touched it if you didn’t have it out for the whole world to see.” The man said coldly and pointed to the door. “Now please leave my classroom.”

Mabel knew there was no point in defending herself. She did a quick glance around the room to see if anyone would defend her, but no one looked ready to jump into the line of fire. She understood why. This guy had a bad reputation. Mabel loudly stuffed her notebook filled with doodles into her backpack, took it and her small purse, and stomped out of the classroom.

She did manage to catch the blood coming out of the boy’s nose and grinned.

At Mr. William’s office, the sweet secretary with old-lady glasses offered her a mint and was very nice to her. But soon Mr. William entered the room and had Mabel enter his office. Apparently the teacher had called ahead so Mabel didn’t have to tell the principal what happened, leaving the girl to feel like she was walking into the Lion’s Den.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dipper left his Robotics class to meet up with Mabel, who normally would be leaving Economics, so they could walk to their last class, Language Arts 10, together. Economics emptied pretty quickly thanks to the boredom, so Dipper was a bit confused when he didn’t see his twin sister out in the hall, and wondered if she was in the bathroom.

He saw a fellow student who shared Mabel’s Economics class, Rose, leave the ladies’ room, and so he asked, “Hey Rose, is Mabel in there?”

She shook her head. “Nah, didn’t you hear? She got sent to the office for punching Jeremy.”

Dipper grinned with pride, but it quickly went away; Mabel would only do that if Jeremy was doing something. “What’d he do?”

“Smacked her with her own bra strap.” Rose pulled down the neck of her t-shirt and demonstrated, “Like this.” And she pulled her bra strap and let go, making it snap.

“Are you kidding me?!” Dipper yelled and his eyes landed on the teacher to his right, standing with his arms crossed and looking out for rule-breakers.

The young man growled in his throat like an angry dog, ready to tell the jerk off, but he felt a buzz in his pocket and pulled out his phone while Rose walked away. Dipper calmed down a little, sighed, and walked to the lockers to lean against them as he responded to his newest text. He had no intention of going to Language Arts. He’d be on his way to the office soon enough in case his sister needed him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ford re-read the maps and plans for Spring Break with an exciting grin all over his face. Soon the kids would be out of school and take a bus to the pier where he and Stan had docked the Stan O’ War II, then they would sail alongside the California shore, fishing, sailing, and occasionally swimming, for a whole week. They had been planning this since the holidays, when they had all facetimed for five hours while the old sailors were on the shores of the Netherlands. The kids had practically begged to go on the boat with them, and so they agreed to sail alongside Russia and visit California, planning to then re-visit Alaska quickly before sailing down to Oregon for the summer.

Stan climbed up from the cabin below as he pulled on his white t-shirt. “How much longer until the kids are free from prison?”

Ford rolled his eyes and checked his watch. “Ninety minutes. And it’s a twenty minute drive, so it’ll be about another two hours, Stanley.”

The youngest of the pair by fifteen minutes groaned and collapsed on the couch. “I could always hotwire a car and we could see them now. We can pretend one of us died and so we need the kids now.”

“Stanley, no.”

“Stanley YES!”

Ford chuckled and rolled up the map. “Text them if you miss them so much.”

“Maybe I will.” Stan snorted and pulled out his phone to text in the group chat. “Surviving okay, kids?” Just a casual greeting, and he and Ford were pleasantly surprised to get a little buzz back not a minute longer.

“Not really.”

Stan raised an eyebrow while Ford had his back to him and was organizing his papers. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Little dots appeared and reappeared. Stan knew what that meant. Dipper was being careful how he answered. Stan decided to check, and sure enough Mabel hadn’t even seen the texts yet. When he got a small paragraph back, Stan nearly crushed his phone in his fist. “WHAAAAAT?!”

Ford jumped a foot in the air and held his chest. “Christ, Stan, what…”

“Check your phone, Genius! We’re going to Piedmont. NOW!” And Stan slapped on his beanie and stormed out of the cabin of the ship with a slam of the door.

Ford picked up his phone, which had been lying face-down on the table, and once he was caught up on messages, he matched his twin’s anger and made sure his ray gun was in his blue hoodie as he left.

~~~~~~~~~~

Mabel sat in her chair with her arms crossed over her chest, letting Mr. Williams go on his tangent. According to the school nurse, she had broken Jeremy’s nose. Good. That’s what he gets for touching her. But apparently Mr. Williams disagreed, saying things like how her actions were unlawful and that she had no right to punch another student.

“Under no circumstances should you ever punch a fellow student, Ms. Mabel.” Mr. Williams said firmly.

“But he was touching me!” Mabel quickly injected, in some effort to defend herself. “He was pulling on my bra strap and smacking me with it! And I told him to stop, but he wouldn’t leave me alone.”

Mr. Williams snorted as he reached into his desk. “Well maybe next time you won’t wear such revealing clothes? How else are people supposed to pay attention to the lesson?”

Mabel felt her heart drop. She looked back down at her sweater, her purposely baggy yellow sweater that she had knitted herself a few months ago. This sweater - in fact, none of her sweaters - had ever been a problem before. Mabel plucked at her top and said in a quiet, timid voice, “But I made this.”

Mr. Williams glanced up from what he was writing for a second, before mumbling bitterly with his cold eyes on his paper, “Let the professionals make your clothes, okay? If you don’t want to find yourself in trouble then try wearing suitable clothing.”

Mabel felt her entire face turn red. She was so angry and so hurt and she saw no possible way out of this, so she decided to bite her lip and hide the lower-half of her face in her sweater, shrinking in her seat and lifting her yellow sweater up a bit.

“Now, I am giving you three weeks of detention.” Mr. Williams said. “Two for violence and invading a student’s personal bubble, and one for breaking dress…”

The door opened sharply. Mabel turned and her jaw was wide open to find her great-uncles at the foot of the office. At first she was jubilant to see them again, but then terrified to see them so angry. She had never seen them so mad. She knew they could be scary when they wanted to, but they had always seemed like soft old teddy bears to Mabel, what with their fluffy gray hair and warm hugs and squishy tummy-tums to snuggle against. Mabel was a little unhinged to find their faces darkened with anger. She could see a vein popping out of Stan’s forehead. Ford appeared to try to be collected, but his aura was as black as an imploding star, matching his brother’s quite well.

Mabel stood on shaking knees. Her uncles softened, ignoring the cold look Mr. Williams was giving them, and Stan was at her in an instant, with Ford right behind him, rubbing her shoulders and looking over her. “Mabel, sweetie, are you okay? Did he hurt you? I swear to Moses if that…”

“I’m okay, Grunkle Stan, I promise.” Mabel soothed, trying to smile, but she was still really nervous. “I… Wow, it’s great to see you guys, I missed you, but why are you here?”

“Dipper contacted us.” Ford said softly. “Said you were in trouble. What exactly happened?”

“She pu-...”

“I didn’t ask you.” Ford growled at Mr. Williams. Mabel actually shivered. She was so used to hearing a smooth, warm, comforting voice come from him, that hearing it growl like an animal like that startled her. “I am talking to my niece.” His eyes moved back on Mabel and he was instantly much warmer and not as scary. “What happened, pumpkin?”

“I was in Economics when this boy, Jeremy, was plucking at my bra strap.”

“Please show us exactly what he did.”

“Does it matter?!” Stan snapped. “He touched her!”

“Stanley, please,” Ford gave him a firm look, then returned his attention back to their girl. “Humor me.”

Mabel nodded in agreement. She had pulled her sweater down so it had covered both shoulders and sagged a bit on her chest. Now she moved it so her left shoulder was completely exposed, and she pinched at her strap. “It started like this,” She barely lifted it up, having little effect or sound. “But then after I told him to stop, he did this.” And Mabel pulled back far enough that when she let go it made a harsh slapping sound against her skin.

“Wait a minute,” Stan had caught a glimpse of it the moment she lowered her sweater. He gently turned her to look at the back of her shoulder, and he saw red. Literally. Her skin was reddening from the aggression. Not enough to swell or require ice, but enough to indicate just how invading and violent the action had been.

Stan was growling in his throat. He squeezed Mabel’s forearms reassuringly and said, “We’ll handle this, pumpkin.”

“Gentlemen,” Mr. Williams said firmly, still acting professional and snobbish. “Your niece here has violated several school rules and even went as far as to break a student’s nose.”

“You did?” Stan asked and patted her back. “That’s my girl!”

Mr. William’s nostrils flared. “Gentlemen, that is not what we should be teaching young…”

“While breaking cartilage is unfortunate, sir,” Ford said coldly, stepping forward, “It’s abundantly clear that she was only defending herself. Not only did the boy have no right to touch her, in any sense, in any manner, she was even gracious enough to give a verbal warning before she acted as she had to to get the boy to stop.”

Mr. Williams crossed his arms over his chest and snarled, “Well maybe if she hadn’t dressed in such a distracting way Mr…”

“Oh HELL NO!” Stan marched forward and slammed his fists down on the desk so hard he actually left cracks in the wood from the impact. “YOU’RE NOT PLAYING THAT GAME, ASSHOLE! NOT ON MY FUCKING WATCH!”

Ford made no attempt to silence his twin. In fact, he was smiling cunningly, like a policeman letting his dog go after the target. He gently walked Mabel to the door and ushered her outside. “Why don’t you wait outside, my dear? Dipper is waiting for you with a snack and some water to calm your nerves, you look a little shaken.” He said quietly.

Mabel dipped her head and smiled, unable to find the words, but Ford understood and closed the door after her.

Dipper was, in fact, there with a package of peanuts and bottled water in his hands for her. They sat in the cool office, listening to the conversation. While exact words were muffled by the walls and door, it sounded like Stan and Ford both were yelling and cursing at the principal. While Dipper and Mabel probably should have been more nervous, they weren’t; they were calm and they both knew that everything would be okay.

About half an hour later, just when the old men’s throats were getting a little sore, they left, leaving Mr. Williams to try to kill a small fire on his desk. Stan swiftly pocketed his lighter and smiled warmly at his kids. “Let’s ditch this hellhole.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Mabel was sipping some hot chocolate with extra marshmallows while Dipper was in the shower and her uncles elsewhere on the boat. She rubbed her shoulder with her free hand, elbows on the table, as she thought about the day. While she was grateful to not be in trouble and that the whole situation was over, it didn’t feel over. At least, the feelings it gave her hadn’t gone away.

The door opened and she smiled to see her favorite uncles coming inside. “Hey there, pumpkin.” Stan greeted warmly, but grew a little concerned. “You okay?”

Mabel blinked and tried to make a more convincing smile. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“That principal rattled you pretty good.” Stan pulled out a chair and sat next to her, rubbing her back. “C’mon, what’s on your mind?”

Mabel looked down at her hot drink, sighed, unsure of how to properly express her emotions, but managed to settle with, “It wasn’t fair.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Ford said firmly and stood on her other side. She looked up at him and the old scientist said, “What happened to you was completely unfair and should never be tolerated.”

Mabel nodded in agreement. “It’s just that… not only should Jeremy not have touched me, but you’d think people would have my back for defending myself, but… they made it seem like it was my fault…”

“Mabel Pines,” Stan moved his hand to her shoulder and squeezed gently. “That was not your fault. You did nothing wrong. You dress how you want and punch any guy that touches you if you don’t wanna be touched, and don’t let anyone tell you you should act differently.”

Mabel smiled weakly and nodded. “Okay.”

Stan chuckled and ruffled her hair. “That’s my girl.”

“Now hold one minute, Stanley.” Ford teased and wrapped Mabel up in a one-armed hug, making her giggle and hug him around his waist. “You were always terrible at sharing. She’s my girl, too.”

Stan smeared playfully and tickled Mabel’s ribs to loosen her grasp on Ford, pulling her into a big bear hug as she laughed. “Nu, uh. My girl.”

Mabel rolled her eyes as the twins only kept up the charade for another minute, filled to the brim with appreciation and power.

#GF #gravity falls #fanfiction #ford pines #stan pines #mabel pines #dipper pines #overprotective grunkles #Thanks for reading!

[2bitts]

dating johnny headcanons

i was supposed to post this ages ago omg i’m so sorry to the person who requested it. tbh i have no excuse i’m just very absent minded and ended up forgetting about this blog altogether. but i love johnny with my entire heart and i kinda compensated by making this a lil longer so pls enjoy mouah. 

he has a great sense of humor, and makes you laugh easily.

he’ll mutter something funny out of absolutely nowhere and you’ll just lose it.

he calls you a million different nicknames. 

they’re really clever tbh.

he lays his head on your shoulder a lot, and you lay your cheek on his head.

you can’t do the same because he fidgets in his seat a lot.

he likes to grab your hand and trace random patterns on it.

he accidentally squeezed your hand too tightly once, and has been really gentle ever since.

if you paint your nails or get acrylics, he will literally grab your hand and just stare or trace on them for like fifteen minutes. 

he picks flowers from random parks for you.

he puts them together and gives you little bouquets.

johnny doesn’t hold your hand but he likes linking your arms together. 

he likes when you hold onto his arm with both hands.

you play hand games together all the time.

his favorite is chopsticks, even though he always loses.  

johnny loves it when you just ramble on and on about something.

you think he stops listening halfway through but he’s attentive the entire time.

he’s so gentle omg like he’ll just randomly rub your back.

he hates when you compliment him and ends up awkwardly blushing.

he rarely compliments you too but only because he’s shy.

johnny naps a lot.

he’ll chill in your room and accidentally fall asleep twenty minutes later. 

he deadass fell asleep against your drawer once.

he also falls asleep during movies.

he’ll lay his head on your shoulder, and you’ll realize he’s asleep when his entire body is leaning against you.

he likes watching you do things.

he’ll just sit and watch you do your homework.

or will sit on the counter and watch you do the dishes.

he likes when you proofread your essays to him.

johnny can’t stare at you without smiling. he likes you so much that just the sight of you makes him happy.

he’s always down for anything.

you could be like “let’s go hiking” at 4 in the morning and he’ll get up and be like “ok, let’s go”.

he’s pretty reserved and doesn’t speak much, but he’s so eloquent that anything he does tell you has you entranced.

he could literally talk about how he brushed his teeth that morning and you’d be like “tell me more”.

you sometimes just sit in silence and enjoy each other’s company.

you’ll sit in the park and stare at the sky together.

you take long walks together.

he leads you through a shortcut and gets you lost like 99% of the time.

he likes to tag along with you when you run errands.

he could sit at the dry cleaners for forty minutes with you, and he wouldn’t complain once.

johnny doesn’t have his license so he often asks you to drive him places.

he always lets you choose the music, and will sit through it even if he dislikes it.

he pretends his hand is a microphone and lets you sing into it whenever you’re feeling the music.

lots of spontaneous road trips.

tbh pony tags along alot.

he just doodles in the back seat and hums to the music while you and johnny stare at the mountains around you.

he always beats you at zitch dog.

you share sweaters tbh.

you also share socks.

he’ll come in your room, remove his socks, and wear yours instead jfhsjf.

tbh all your socks are fluffy so that’s probably why.

you randomly found out johnny loves froyo, and have been taking him to get some like once a week ever since. 

you choose each other’s flavors, which always end up being weird.

like strawberry jalapeno, or maple bacon donut.

he got sick once and you felt so bad.

he gets you little gifts every once in a while, like collectible keychains.

he likes playfighting with you, but super gently. 

he once tugged your arm and you pretended to cry lmao. 

you visit the animal shelter together all the time.

even though the dogs always end up injuring him somehow. 

he doesn’t mind tbh, he just laughs.

you two have a pact that one day, when you have enough money saved up, you’ll adopt an animal together. 

it’ll be a mess because you have nothing else planned but hey.

he does little things that show you how much he cares about you.

like, if you forget to wear a scarf on a cold day, he’ll silently take his off and wordlessly wrap it around your neck.

or if you finish your drink while you’re watching a movie, he’ll hand you his without a second thought.

he’s always there when you need him, and gives great advice.

honestly, you’ll probably end up together forever cause johnny knows for a fact that he’s irreversibly in love with you. 

#yes i'm crying #no i'm not ok #johnny cade #johnny cade headcanons #johnny cade imagines #johnny cade imagine #johnny cade x reader #the outsiders #the outsiders headcanons

[mandoalorian]

Hi 👋 hope your staying safe! Can I request something with Santi, please? Could you write something where Santi and reader used to be friends as kids, Santi having looked out for reader when she was picked on or if she fell over at school, but then after he graduated they lost contact until years later reader reaches out to him randomly and they reunite, maybe fall in love??

Sorry if it's strange, I'm going through something similar but I'm trying to get the guts to reach out to the guy, it's nerve wracking!! 😳😨 Maybe reading something will give me a boost 😂

Tinder [Santiago Garcia x F!Reader]

Word count: 1,700

Rating: 18+ I guess? I don’t know. Nothing explicit, it’s just Tinder is an 18+ app.

Warnings: food mention, tinder mention, allusions to sex

Masterlist

Tinder. It was so tedious. An app that had gained it’s reputation for being nothing more than a “hookup app” or even a “sex app”. It was associated with superficiality and laced with sexual innuendos. It was the app that had been accused of igniting modern day hookup culture. It was the app that Santiago Garcia frequented every damn day. The man even paid a premium! It was a quick and easy way for him to meet girls for drinks and a quick fuck. It’s all a man like Santiago had time for. Falling in love wasn’t an option for him. It was something he’d never considered until Games Night last week. 

Once upon a time, Will’s small living room was just filled with him, Santiago, Frankie, Benny and Tom, but the head count had grown extensively over the past few years. Tom had reconciled with Molly, Yovanna and Benny had something going on, and now even Frankie was engaged to the blonde haired, blue eyed girl who sat quietly in the corner sipping tea and doodling in her sketchbook. 

Santiago didn’t mind the girls. In fact, he actually enjoyed their company, but their presence only had him yearn for something more. He’d never been one to think about settling down or starting a family of his own, but he felt an indirect pressure. Maybe trying out one long term relationship wouldn’t be so bad after all? But he was so used to his flings. How was he ever going to grow out of his commitment issues and find someone he could really connect with.

Truthfully, he’d already found her, about fifteen years ago.

You and Santiago Garcia were the best of friends. You used to do everything together; walking home from school hand in hand, singing and dancing when you thought no one was around, playing LEGO and building up jigsaw’s. He was your soulmate, in every sense of the word. But you can’t stay young forever and eventually Santiago left your small neighbourly town to join the military. And you never saw him again.

Which is why it was a surprise when you, half asleep at 2 am, and drooling on your pillow, lazily swiped right on his profile. You weren’t even paying attention. Just another tanned skin man with dark brown hair and chocolate eyes. It was a haze, and your desperation to move on from your ex boyfriend had you yearning to meet someone new. You groaned tiredly, deciding you were never going to find someone as good as your ex, switched your phone off and shoved it under your pillow before finally getting some sleep.

At around 3 am, Santiago still wasn’t asleep, thanks to his roommate Frankie and his fiancée keeping probably the whole apartment complex awake. He pulled out his phone from his nightstand and checked Tinder. That’s when he saw you. Before even checking your name, he could tell it was you by that familiar sparkle in your eyes, and the way your perfect lips curled into a smile. It might have been fifteen years since he’d last seen you, but just looking at your photo made it feel like yesterday. He couldn’t contain his wide grin as he flicked through your photos. You looked just as beautiful as ever, and Santiago recalled the crush he had on you when you were both kids. He wondered how come you hadn't settled down already. He knew you always dreamed of getting married and having kids, with a big house and a big dog. So why were you on Tinder?

In a simple spur of the moment, Santiago swiped right.

‘It’s a match!’ the words blew up on Santiago’s screen and illuminated the dark bedroom. Streamers and confetti exploded around your photo; the typical thing that always happened when he matched with women on Tinder, only now it actually felt like celebrating. This meant that you must’ve swiped right on him too. 

You spent the morning the same way you always did, laying in bed and checking the notifications on your different social media. Just before you were about to get up, you remembered how you’d impulsively installed Tinder the night before and, on a whim, you opened the app to see if you had matched with anyone.

You scrolled through the eight matches you’d gained through the night, frowning and twisting your face in disgust at some of the profiles. You really hadn’t been paying attention to who you were swiping.

Your eyes went comically wide when you read the name at the end of the list.

‘You have matched with: Santiago Garcia! Say hi!’

It was like time had frozen and you read the words over and over again. Santiago Garcia. Santiago Garcia. Santiago Garcia. You wondered how many Santiago Garcia’s lived in New York City - or more specifically, only three miles away?!

You hammered your thumb into your screen to view his profile and you were blown away as you went through his photos. That was definitely him. That was definitely your childhood best friend. Although his hair was once dark and curly, it was now short and slightly salt and peppered. He had a slight graze of facial hair in all of his photos, and in most of them, he was seen to be hanging out with a bunch of other guys. Wait- was that Francisco Morales too? They were still friends?

You were so nervous to say something. Truthfully, if you had come across his profile at any other moment where you weren’t half asleep, and hopelessly desperate for love, your fear would’ve stopped you from swiping right. You’d been in love with Santiago since pre-school. It had been over a decade but you still thought about him every single day and cherished those long lost moments you spent together. 

But the reality was, that he’d swiped right on you too. He was interested in you as well! Which had to count for something. You took a deep breath and typed out the words “Hello :)” before quickly turning your phone off and throwing it across your bedroom. 

You sat bolt upright in your bed for a few moments, contemplating what you had done. You told yourself it would be okay and asked yourself what was the worst that could happen. You sighed and forced yourself out of bed to get ready for the day ahead.

Turning off your phone was a good idea because you’d actually forgotten about messaging Santiago until about lunch time. You flicked through the television channels, holding a lazily put together sandwich in your free hand, and landed on a dating game show. You considered applying, thinking about how fun it might be, when you remembered you might already have a shot with someone else. Santiago. You dropped your sandwich on the coffee table in a frenzy, ran to your bedroom and turned on your phone. The painful minute it took to completely boot up sent butterflies rampant in the pit of your stomach.

Santiago: Hey! How you doing? I gotta say I was really surprised to see that we matched last night. It’s been a long time!

Oh my god. He’d replied. He’d replied three hours ago and you hadn’t said anything back. Shit. You wondered if you had already blown your chances, but little did you know, Santiago had been holding out for a message from you for a long time.

You: Right...almost fifteen years, I think! I’m okay. How are you?

You pressed send and took a deep breath. It was okay. Just casual small talk. It would be okay. You slid your phone into your pocket and went back to eat your sandwich. No matter how hard you tried to focus on the game show, you just couldn’t stop thinking about Santiago.

“Santi! You got a new message!” Frankie called from the other room, taking a huge, messy bite out of a candy bar and picking up his phone.

“Frankie! I’m literally on the toilet… can it wait?” Santiago cried, face palming and chuckling incredulously. Living with his best friend for five long years meant that Santiago had become accustomed to interactions like this.

“No, I don’t think so,” Frankie mumbled, knotting his eyebrows together as he read the notification that had popped up on the screen. “Hey, are you talking to Y/N L/N from high school?”

“Wh- what?” Santiago asked, feeling his cheeks flush.

“Oh my God you are!” Frankie gasped excitedly, typing in his friend’s passcode for his phone and getting inside. “On Tinder!”

Santiago finished up washing his hands and walked out the bathroom, an unamused scowl drawn upon his lips. Frankie swallowed at his best friend’s expression.

“This has to stop,” Santiago warned, taking his phone from Frankie’s hand. “I love you buddy, I really do. But you’re getting married next Summer. You can’t keep trying to talk to me while I’m on the toilet!” 

Frankie laughed and rolled his eyes before getting back to his video game. 

Santiago was shocked to be reminded that you had remembered exactly how long it had been since you last saw each other. He began to compose his next message. You practically screamed when you felt your phone vibrate at the notification.

Santiago: I’m well, thanks for asking. Would you be interested in meeting up sometime for a few drinks? I’d love to catch up.

Drinks. A catch up. It sounded perfect. You already found your mind racing as you wondered what to wear.

You: That sounds great!

Santiago’s reply came fleetingly.

Santiago: Are you free tonight? X

Tonight was so soon… but you were free, and it felt like you’d been waiting forever to reunite with your childhood crush. And he felt the same way. It was so exciting for both of you.

You: Tonight sounds great. See you then :) x 

You and Santiago spent the rest of the day in anticipation to see one another. You didn’t know then, but the accidental Tinder encounter turned out to be the long lasting and perfect relationship both you and Santiago craved. The soulmates were reunited at last.

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