#first class mail stamp

[acornsalessealsstamps]

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[susiestamps]

US 1998 Breast Cancer Research

[seellove]

Could You Stay a Little Longer // drug dealer!sukuna x reader

Masterlist

Chapter 4 // (8.8k words) // Explicit - 18+

\|/ AO3 - Chapter 4 | << Chapter 3 | Chapter 5 >>

You're pursuing a master degree across the country, but are currently back in your hometown housesitting for your parents. They've told you all about their undesirable new neighbor, but when you start to get to know said neighbor, you realize he isn't all that bad. Your controlling boyfriend won't let up on you and you grapple with enjoying the company of this drug dealing neighbor boy, Sukuna. Nothing about this is going the way you planned, but is it so bad to let yourself be treated well for a change?

The cultural setting for this is technically economically depressed, rural USA where good paying jobs are hard to come by and there's not many opportunities in small towns, but it could really be anywhere that meets this criteria!

Content Tags/Warnings Throughout Work: Reader and Sukuna are mid 20s, mentions of recreational drug use and drug dealing, mentions of abusive/controlling/manipulative relationship (not Sukuna), could possibly be considered cheating depending on your interpretation (not Sukuna), angst, smut, fluff, time skip, prison time, happy ending trust!

AN: FYI we go on a date but it's nothing super graphic. Also I don't know much about the inner workings of a relationship with an inmate, so I apologize if anything seems weird, I just hope I am capturing the complicated feelings that would come with it. Italicized portions are letters between us and Sukuna and bold time stamps are how many months have passed since Sukuna was arrested.

2 Months

Sukuna,

Sorry I haven’t reached out until now. It took awhile to figure out how to mail this to you, and it was hard to know what to say at first. I feel bad talking about my life out here knowing you are confined to a cell. Your lawyer told me your hearing is next month. Thank you for letting him contact me and keep me in the loop. Mr. Higuruma is a nice man and seems like a good lawyer. I don’t wanna to get my hopes up, but I’m optimistic that he can help make this better, maybe that’s just me in denial though.

Enough rambling, how are you though? Are you nervous? Scared? I’m sorry I’m so naive to what prison life is like…have you made friends? If that’s a stupid question just tell me. What’s your room like? I have so many questions, if this is annoying just tell me. The last thing I wanna do is irritate you considering you’ll get one of these every other month.

I’ve been able to hang out with my friends a lot since I got back home. When they heard I’d broken up with Cam, they were so happy. They never held it against me, but they truly didn’t know how else to help me while we were together because I wouldn’t listen to them. Having an outside party like you was really what I needed to finally cut the cord. It’s weird not being around him all the time, but I’m slowly learning how to trust myself and be independent again. 

Surprisingly he has pretty much left me alone. I think me cheating on him knocked him down a few pegs and made him see I’m not the huge pushover he made me out to be. Oh well, onto bigger and better things. 

The spring semester is almost over for me, I’m planning to teach some undergrad classes to make a little extra money but other than that I’m going to try and take it easy. Maybe do some hiking and camping, I’d like to climb some of the mountains out here so I’m going to start preparing for when the snow melts off the highest peaks.

I’ve included my address with this, so I hope you can write me back. I miss you, feel free to call me anytime. 

I hope this isn’t a weird sign off, but I do love you and hope you are okay. Don’t feel pressured to reciprocate.

3 months

Sukuna smiles when he sees the letter come in. The guard had slid it through the bars before he woke up so it was a nice surprise.

How am I? Fucking bored out of my mind, he thinks to himself, chuckling under his breath. You are so nice though and he appreciates how thoughtful you are, but goddamn anything you share is more interesting than what’s in here. Starting at a concrete wall and a steel wall of bars can only be so stimulating.

He won’t be calling you, that will just make things harder for him and you. He stands by his words of wanting you to have a normal life and leaving you to figure out whether or not you want to leave him behind. 

God he wants to reciprocate those three words. Nothing in his mind right now is constant, every day feels different even though the motions are the same: Wake up, breakfast, back to the cell, lunch, some yard time, back to the cell, dinner, back to the cell. Day in and day out.

While the physical routine is repetitive, his emotions and feelings are a roller coaster, never knowing how he will feel when he wakes up in the morning and when his head hits the pillow at night. He has no idea what his future holds, everything in the hands of some damn judge who just knows him by his charges and a lawyer who probably just sees him as another paycheck. He’ll get paid whether he wins or loses.

The only thing he can be sure of is his love for you, and that grounds him just a little. The thought that someone outside these walls cares and worries for him brings some comfort in those moments of panic.

Sukuna’s parents were beside themselves when they heard and offered no support. He tried to explain himself, but to them, it was just another failure in the litany of fuckups that was his adult life. 

How could he blame them? He just got lucky he met you when he did, you didn’t know him as the kid who could never get his shit together, who’d let everyone down for years. The piece of shit who wasted his parent’s money and time. 

Then again, you are joining him on this next chapter of his life which will surely be nothing but him disappointing you, so maybe you’ll feel the same way by the time he gets out, or more likely, sooner than that and drop his ass. This is why he doesn’t want to get his hopes up. 

He reads the letter over and over while lying on his bunk and eventually starts to read it every night before bed. Touching the same paper that your hands held before you sealed it up, the smeared ink that he can tell you brushed by accident brings him a comfort that he can’t explain. Maybe if he’s lucky, you kissed it before sliding it into the envelope. 

He stares up at the same ceiling he’s been looking at for three months now. Sukuna’s not sure if he’s slowly starting to lose his mind, but he swears he can discern patterns and shapes in the texture of the material. Squinting his eyes, he tries to put a name to the shapes, but it all just looks like a jumbled mess, an accurate representation of his current mental state.

His mind wanders to you as it normally does, the crushing feeling of shame and remorse settling in as he thinks about how he could be with you right now if he hadn’t stopped driving, if he’d let that family die. 

Having nothing to do but think all day does dangerous things to his mind. Once he gets sentenced and settled for a while, things should get better and he should get to participate in the various prison programs and activities available to a long term inmate. For now all he can do is work out and watch his pink hair get longer and messier. Oh and overthink every millisecond of his life to date and wonder what you were doing and who you were thinking about when you’re alone.

He prays you won’t hate him, but he wouldn’t blame you if you did when it’s all said and done.

4 months

Tomato girl!

Long time no talk. I’m assuming you know what my sentencing is from Mr. Hiruguma. Ten years with the opportunity for parole. Shit sucks, I’m determined to hopefully get this parole though, whenever that is. Mr. H said usually after serving a quarter to a third of the time they’ll reassess, but he said depending on the needs of the prison system and if they need more space, inmates can get moved around or even moved to parole early. 

How am I doing? Honestly, scared, sad, bored, any and all combinations of these words. 

Some things I am hopeful about though? Now that I’ve been processed and placed in my new home (long term detention facility :P) I can start participating in the prison programs. Thankfully I was deemed not a threat or a danger to others and myself, so I was able to go to a lower security facility that is focused on rehabilitation. I should be able to finish my degree, AND, they have trade programs I can get into as well. Pretty cool right? I had no idea this was even a thing. 

So maybe my plans aren’t as out of reach as I thought, just a bit delayed. It’s the first glimmer of hope I’ve felt in months. There is something relieving about not being caught up in a life of moving drugs and running an empire. Like I can finally just breathe and start over. Obviously being locked up is not the ideal way I’d have liked to do that, but I’m grasping at anything positive at this point.

I’ve made a few friends since coming to my new facility. My cellmate, Gojo, was a dealer from a rival organization. There’s some bad blood, but at the end of the day we respect each other. He wants to be better too, he’s got a girl on the outside, so we have that in common. He has a kid though he hasn’t seen. He got her pregnant right before he got arrested so she was born while he was incarcerated. He’s never met her, never seen her first anything. It makes me sad and it’s not even my kid. 

…you aren’t pregnant with a little mini me are you? The thought never crossed my mind until I met him and told him about you. I might actually lose it if that’s the case. I wouldn’t hate it though, it would just mean I’m the fuckin’ man and have the most elite swimmers ha. Just wouldn’t want to leave you alone to go through that.

Fuck Cam, don’t wanna hear about him anymore. He’s lucky I’m locked up is all I can say. I’m glad he’s gone for good. 

Please share anything and everything, I wanna hear it all. Also ask me random questions, nothing is off limits.

Hiking and camping sound awesome, I haven't done that in years but now I want to when I get out. I love fishing too. Something so relaxing when it’s just you and the river. Even if I didn’t catch anything, it was never a wasted day in my eyes.

Hopefully I’ll have a more interesting update when I’m more settled, but I guess for now I’ll just buckle up for this ten year long ride and hope some luck is on my side.

With love and a kiss on the cheek,

Sukuna

PS - do you ever seen patterns or objects in the texture of ceilings? Let me know, I’m collecting data.

5 months

You practically drop all your mail when you see the letter from Sukuna in your slot in the mail room. It takes all your willpower to wait to tear it open until you get up to your apartment.

You sit down on the couch and carefully open the envelope, not trusting yourself to stay standing once you finally lay eyes on it.

His lawyer had unfortunately shared the news about the sentencing and it had broken you when you heard. 

Your friends knew about the man behind bars. You’d shared the story one day when they dragged it out of you after breaking down in tears, overwhelmed by everything. They were very supportive and listened to everything you had to share, but also felt Sukuna wasn’t completely off base with wanting you to live your life. Ten years was a long ass time and it seemed unrealistic to expect you to wait for someone you’d known for so little time.

At one of your wine nights, you’d found his social media pages to show them what he looked like. Going through old pictures of young Sukuna had you all laughing, he was such a little punk and must’ve thought he was the hottest shit in high school and college with that fratty attire. White backwards hats over a mess of pink hair while holding red solo cups surely full of some kind of cheap beer with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth seemed to be his staple. You wished you could tease him in person but through a letter would have to do. 

They agreed though that his most recent pictures were hot and were very proud of you for fucking him all night.

Speaking of that, you were absolutely not pregnant. You can’t deny that the thought crossed your mind given how many times he’d blown his load inside you, but that birth control held strong, leaving you childfree. You can’t even fathom how much worse this could have been, raising your felon baby daddy’s child by yourself for ten years. Your parents would have just been thrilled. 

Which by the way, they knew nothing about what happened. Well, not exactly nothing, but an abridged version. Just that you’d met the neighbor and hung out with him a few times while you were house sitting. They were unaware of the anguish and suffering that had followed as everything blew up in your face.

7 months

Papa Kuna,

Let’s address the elephant in the room, you are not going to be a dad, at least with me…not sure about anyone before me though :D

That’s great that you get along with your cellmate. I’m sure it’s a little less lonely in there with someone you can at least interact with. I think being scared and nervous is completely normal. You got dropped into an unknown place where you knew nobody and had no idea how things operate, who wouldn’t be affected?

The news about your degree and trade school…that is so fantastic!! I looked into it too and sure enough, that’s a thing in other prisons. I hope they’ll see you want to be better when you get out and that helps your parole chances. 

I stalked your social media and saw some pictures of high school and college Sukuna. You were…something haha. Showed my friends too, we all had a good laugh, but we all agreed you were a cutie. I was so lame at that age you’d never have looked my way, I’m lucky I met you when I did. 

What is prison food like? I’ve been cooking a lot of Mexican food lately, throwing anything and everything into a taco. 

I’ve climbed three mountains so far this summer. I’ll have to show you the pictures one day, for now enjoy this stick figure drawing of me on a mountain at the bottom. I didn’t look nearly as happy as that horrible drawing shows me, more like a hot mess gasping for breath. But the views were amazing! I could see for an eternity it felt like, and I was really proud of myself for doing something like that. 

My classes I teach are full of some real brats. A lot of them are having to retake the class in the summer to stay on track and they just have the worst attitudes and seem to take it out on me. Like guys I didn’t tell you to fail, I’m just here. I don’t get paid enough for that shit.

Staring up at my ceiling now, I can see a few things. A dog, an alligator, and a banana are what I’m sort of seeing. What do you see? 

For your random questions:

Did you play any sports growing up? I played soccer and basketball.

What’s been your favorite vacation? Mine was a trip to a national park seeing all the animals. Especially grizzly and black bears.

What did you want to be when you grew up? I wanted to be a doctor but realized I’m scared of blood so quickly abandoned such endeavors.

Lots of love and a kiss on your dick,

Tomato girl

8 months

Sukuna’s jaw hit the floor with a gasp when he saw your sign off and then he got way too hard with the visual that bulldozed all rational thought out of his brain. 

“You good bro?” Gojo laughs from the other side of the cell, watching Sukuna’s face flush.

“No, not really,” Sukuna groans, staring up at the ceiling and adjusting himself as best he can. There’s no shame in here, no privacy, no secrecy, so he doesn’t really care.

“Get a sexy message?” Gojo teases. “If you did lemme see, gotta take what we can get in here.”

“She made a reference to sucking my dick,” Sukuna laughs, folding up your letter and tucking it under his pillow. “And no you can’t read it, for my eyes only.”

“Oh being possessive are we? Thought you said you two weren’t exclusive like that.” 

“Doesn’t mean I don’t love and adore her. I just can’t have her to myself right now,” Sukuna scoffs, pulling his shirt off now that he’s all hot and bothered. 

“Think she’s seeing other people?” Gojo asks. 

Sukuna shifts in discomfort at the thought. The images of you kissing his cock combined with the possibility of you getting fucked by someone else results in a whirlwind of emotions that he’s not sure how to process.

“I really hope not, but who am I to say? I don’t really wanna know honestly. Just want her to be there when I get out. I’d be okay never knowing. What about you?” 

“She better not be! Utahime better not bring my one year old daughter around other guys!” Gojo exclaims. “My daughter better never be around guys for that matter. Would you want your daughter hanging around pieces of shit like us?”

“Fuck no bro.”

Both guys laugh in response before Sukuna speaks again.

“Is she gonna bring the baby to see you?” 

“I told her not to until she’s older. While I’m dying to hold her, I don't want her coming to a place like this so young. It’s not right. It kills me to miss out on her firsts and knowing I left Utahime to be a single mom makes me feel like a disgrace. All I can do is make it up to her when I get out,” Gojo sighs, eyes getting glossy with tears. “What if your girl had gotten pregnant?”

Sukuna pauses before speaking. A part of him would love it. So full of something he made with you except for no one would know it’s his. People would see you pregnant and not realize you belong to him considering he’s locked away. Plus his baby being fatherless for a majority of their underage life is sickening. 

Then what? He randomly appears ten years later to a woman and child who don’t even know him? He’d be just another man to his child…a stranger. He swallows hard, trying to maintain his composure but he’s spiraling faster than he can keep up with. 

Lord knows he wanted that with you. He fell so fucking hard and now here he was thinking about you as his wife and making the cutest babies. His throat feels heavy at the sad realization that he might never have that with you.

“It probably would’ve been best if she didn’t keep it,” Sukuna says softly, not wanting an ounce of that even though it would have been the most logical decision. 

Fuck why did he feel like he was fighting a tsunami from breaking through his eyes? He turns away from Gojo to face the wall, the gravity of his situation starting to crush him all of a sudden. Not only did he have the luxury of continuing your relationship normally, but he might have missed out on you choosing to spend the rest of your life with him, a family together, growing old and watching your kids grow up. He’s never had thoughts like this before and of course the first time he does, it’s tearing him apart. 

Shouldn’t something like that be happy? Sure he had stupid relationships when he was younger but normally it was his girlfriends spouting such nonsense while he was just in it for a good time, never thinking long term. 

Not you though. A good time would surely have been a given, but he’d been excited to face the challenges of life together, learning and growing as one. Life’s normal challenges, not this fucked up series of events.

He feels a firm hand on his arm, lightly tugging him to roll over. His eyes are burning as he squints hard, trying to hold back everything threatening to spill over from his crimson gaze.

“Sukuna, look at me,” Gojo’s voice is soft but firm.

“Fuck off man.” Sukuna’s shaky voice tries to force out, but his whole body is shaking, heart pounding so hard he feels like it might burst.

“No, turn around. It’s okay. You think I’ve never been where you are? You’re panicking. I get it. Talk to me, you can only bottle up shit for so long in here.”

Sukuna finally surrenders, rolling back around to face his cellmate. 

“I just, I-I really loved her. So damn much. And I tried to push her away, albeit gently, when I got locked up. I wanted her to be able to live a normal life, but I don’t fuckin’ want that man. I never did, I wanted us to be together, I still do. But I feel so helpless, I have no control over our future, I feel like one day she’ll stop writing back, and then I’ll know she found someone else. Fuck I feel like such a loser for even saying this shit,” Sukuna starts to cry, wiping the tears from his eyes in this moment of weakness.

Gojo just listens, not chiming in, soft blue eyes full of empathy for his cellmate…no, his friend. The only real friend in here. He understands, prison can break a man and do things to your mind that you’d never think possible on the outside. Even the toughest criminals with a bloodied past have someone they care about, someone who loves them. Being without them during life’s most challenging time is a terrifying and trying time. 

“It’s okay man, how could you not feel this way? You’re a good guy, you don’t deserve to be in here. We all had dreams of how our life would go and how we wanted to be better, that’s why we are in a rehab facility and not maximum security. Watching what could have been slip through your fingers is horrifying. Have you thought about telling her how you really feel? If you really love her, you owe it to her to be honest. She still writes you all the time…”

You also try to schedule visitation but Sukuna declines them all. For what? He doesn’t even fucking know. He’d kill to feel you wrapped up in a massive hug, your body pressed against his, your scent in his nose as he buries his face in your neck. 

He thought it was incredibly selfish to want you to wait for him, but maybe what he’s doing is even worse. Trying to control and manipulate your feelings like this suddenly seems wrong, no better than your ex. You have free will to do what you want, and if waiting for him was what you choose, who is he to fight you on that? 

He feels like he’s going to pass out, breaking out into a cold sweat, breaths so shallow he can’t even tell if oxygen is getting to his lungs.

“Here, get on the floor, take your pants off so you’re just in your boxers,” Gojo says sternly, yanking Sukuna out of his bed onto his back.

The cold hard floor takes Sukuna by surprise, offering a distraction from his racing thoughts. He spreads his arms out, letting the chill touch every inch of his skin, staring up at the ceiling, eyes searching for something, anything. 

He swears he sees a heart. A lopsided one at that, but it’s there, even if it looks like it’s about to break. Kind of like him, all this time he’s been trying to break your heart, but the best he’s done is bend it and likely just confuse you. 

His however? 

He’s broken it without even knowing. 

He needs to talk to you. He can’t wait another two months to get a response. He’ll call you, hopefully you’ll pick up but he wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. He’s been forcing you to live life on his terms, withholding multiple lines of communication this whole time. 

The guilt is gnawing at his stomach, the acid boring a hole in his gut as he tries to keep himself from vomiting in disgust. 

“I fucked up Gojo. I really did.”

“I don’t think you’re as bad off as you think. She still writes to you, apparently sent you something sexual, and asks you questions about your life. She wouldn’t be doing that if she didn’t care. She just would stop. But fucking call her you piece of shit. Acting like the phone is your mortal enemy like a little bitch, quit being a pussy and man up,” Gojo says, only half teasing. 

As much as Sukuna wants to argue with Gojo, he knows he’s right. White haired fuck.

Fuck that guy. 

Now he’s nervous like a teenager to call you. How pathetic to be 24 years old and terrified to talk to a girl you said loved…to her face. 

9 months

My favorite tomato girl,

Great questions at the end. I played football, quarterback to be exact. Your cliche high school jock that thought he was way too cool. Also I think I’d have liked you in high school just fine, I wasn’t above being friends with anyone, maybe if I’d hung out with you I’d have had a better future cuz you know what’s not cool? Jail.

My favorite vacation? Probably African safari for my high school graduation. I got to choose anywhere for a trip and I chose that. Seems we have wanting to see animals in common, my favorites were the lions. Guess when I get out we will need to plan some animal themed vacations. Polar bears in Canada, manatees in Florida, whale sharks in Mexico, take your pick, I’ve got enough fucking cash to fund anything you want.

What did I want to be when I grow up? When I was really little I wanted to be a chef, then when I was older I wanted to do something with cars and also have my own business. As you know I love working on my own car so I wanted to mod people's cars for a living. And…well here I am. 

When I stare up at my ceiling, I see a heart.

Also sometimes a truck. I’ll need to lay in other parts of my cell to see if there is anything else, that’s just above my bed.

I’m glad I’m not gonna be a dad yet. I’d prefer to do that together when I’m out…so you aren’t doing it alone. Give it some thought and maybe one day we can try for one…if you’d want it to be with me that is. 

I don’t want to burden you with my feelings, but I’m not doing well. It’s like the realization that this is my life for the next ten years suddenly hit me the other day. You’re the only person I can talk to though outside of here, I hope you are willing to entertain these feelings of mine. 

My cellmate Gojo is decent at listening, he’s been in here a little longer than me so he gets it, it’s nice to feel not so alone in that regard. 

I’m sorry, I’m rambling, almost treating this like a diary I guess. I want to call you, but I’m really nervous for some reason. If you don’t want to talk to me I understand, you can just ignore the call, but I wanted to wait long enough for you to get this letter before I did. I didn’t want you to get it out of the blue. 

I miss you tremendously, I really hope you’ll answer.

You read the letter as you are about to walk out the door to go out. 

Out on a date. 

You wanted to take Sukuna up on his request for you to try to see other people. The man had very little in the way of freedom to do what he wanted, so the least you could do was honor his wishes.

Your heart sinks and you feel a shiver run down your spine. The letter has you concerned for him, his mental state seems to have declined rapidly if he wanted to call you, something he swore he’d never do. 

You leave the letter on your kitchen table, you’ll revisit it later. For now, your Uber is waiting outside your apartment and you don’t want to keep your date waiting.

Slipping into the backseat, you greet the driver and settle in, buckling the seatbelt and pulling your phone out. You begin to scroll social media but eventually stop, opting to stare out the window instead at the buildings whizzing by. 

It’s been nine months since you last saw Sukuna, since you last heard his voice. One letter every other month was all the contact you had, but it’s how he wanted things to be. If you had it your way, you’d have talked more often, but his boundaries were more stringent than yours. He had his reasons you suppose.

This would be your first date since Cam. You and Sukuna never truly went on a date. Maybe you could call eating dinner at his house one, even though it had ended badly. Fucking all night hardly constituted a date either, but you’d gotten to know each other slowly up until that point. It felt more natural than meeting someone on an app and going in blind like you were right now. 

A pang in your chest was starting to develop. This isn’t what you wanted, you didn’t want another man, but you wouldn’t know for sure unless you put yourself out there.

The car abruptly stops, signaling the end of your ride. Thanking the driver, you get out and turn towards the trendy looking bar where you were meeting. 

Just go in there, the worst that can happen is you aren’t having a good time and you can just leave. You don’t even know the man, dating app meetups end this way all the time.

You swallow hard one last time and head inside, eyes darting around the room looking  for the guy you were meeting. Finally your eyes lock onto the familiar face you recognize from his profile. 

He stands up, smiling at you and waving you over. The first thing you notice is that he’s tall and muscular. The pictures kind of hinted at that, but in person it’s even more obvious.

“Nanami right?” you say nervously as you approach, holding out your hand to shake his. His handshake is firm but gentle, dress shirt cuffed up at his forearms which flex as he grips your hand.

“Yep, so glad you could meet today. I just got off work, how about you?” his voice is low but confident as he pulls your chair out for you.

Wow, what a gentleman. 

“I was in the lab most of today. I’m doing the last touches on my research before I really dive into my thesis,” you respond, scooting your chair in as he takes his seat opposite of you. 

“You said you should be graduating in a few months right?” Nanami says as he leans his elbows on the table, paying close attention to you. 

“Yes! Then it’s off to find a job,” you laugh, trying to settle into the small talk. The pit in your stomach is still gnawing at your insides as you attempt to relax. Maybe a drink will help settle you out. 

You order a simple gin and tonic while Nanami opts for a beer. Thankfully your drink is strong which should hopefully give you a quick buzz and calm your nerves. 

“So you’re in finance?” you ask, trying to keep the conversation flowing.

“Yep, investment banking. Not the most exciting job in the world, and I don’t like it enough for all the hours I work,” he glances down at the table while speaking, fingers trembling lightly against his glass.

Maybe he’s a little nervous too. You give him an encouraging smile in response.

“I’m sorry if it seems like I’m nervous,” you begin, “I haven’t dated in almost a year since I broke up with my ex. Then some stuff happened in my personal life, so I’m kind of testing the waters so to speak.”

That’s a generous way to put it, you think to yourself. Do you even mention Sukuna? Your boyfriend of a grand twelve hours that technically never broke up with you but told you to see other people? Who you won’t see again for a decade? 

Your throat feels heavy at the thought. Trying to push the feeling away, you take a big sip of your drink. 

“That’s okay. I haven’t dated since college two years ago. My job has been so demanding, I’ve never felt like I could devote time to a relationship,” Nanami says, sympathy in his eyes. “We can just take this slow, no pressure.”

The relief you should feel from his words doesn’t come, if anything you just feel guilty. You don’t want to lead the man on and you also feel disingenuous about keeping Sukuna a secret. Which in itself also seems disrespectful to Sukuna. 

What in the world have you gotten yourself into?

You try to remember what you told yourself earlier. Just see where it goes. 

“Thank you Nanami, I’d like that. Let’s just have fun and see where this goes,” you answer with a smile and another big sip of your drink.

Your hypothesis was correct in that the more you drank, the easier the conversation flowed and soon you both were bantering and laughing about your shared grievances with college and the working world. Nanami was a smart, well educated man who could hold an intelligent conversation which was right up your alley.

After a few shared appetizers and two more drinks, the bar was starting to fill up with the late night crowd. Nanami was very adamant about getting a good night's sleep before work, as were you, so he paid the bill and led you outside.

“Wanna come hang out at my place? Still have a few more hours before I should go to bed,” he asks, resting his hand on the small of your back. 

His heavy touch sent sparks through your body, warming your skin in the evening chill. You really enjoyed his company. Plus he was hot and respectful, a man of such tasteful flirting that wasn’t too over the top but made you feel comfortable and desired.

“Is this you asking me what I think you’re asking?” you give him a small grin, moving closer to him as his hand pressed you forward.

“Maybe. Like I said though, no pressure. I’ve just found your company to be enjoyable enough that I’m not really wanting the night to end just yet. I’ll be happy with whatever we decide to do after this,” he says with a kind smile. 

Fuck, why was he so nice? It’s not like you were complaining, but it really gave you no good reason to say no. You hadn’t planned on hooking up with someone tonight, but fuck it, you were really starting to lean that way. 

You missed feeling intimate and cared for by someone. The feeling of someone pleasuring you and feeling their skin on yours was a distant memory. Technically it had been years because lord knows Cam didn’t give you that feeling and Sukuna was essentially a one night stand given what transpired. 

You stand up on your toes, pull Nanami down by his loosened tie, and plant a soft kiss on his lips. His strong arms move to wrap around your back, hands not venturing any lower than your hips as he pulls you closer, swiping his tongue across your bottom lip. You part your lips, letting his tongue entwine with yours in a calm and slow dance. 

Fuck, you wanted to have sex with the man. He felt safe and respectful, which is what you needed right now. It wasn’t even about the emotional connection, you needed something physical. 

Making out on the sidewalk leads to straddling him on his couch in a high rise apartment, his hot breath on your neck as you ground yourself against his lap. 

Your eyes flicker open as the image of Sukuna pops into your head. The first time you’d ever kissed him was in a similar position on his couch, except you’d panicked and stopped, feeling like you were being unfaithful. 

Why did it feel like you were about to be again? He’d given you permission to do this, and you weren’t even sure if he actually wanted you after trying to push you away and denying everything you countered with. You’d never felt like you had physical needs before, but after that night with Sukuna, you were desperate to feel something similar again. Someone worshipping your body and focusing on pleasing you. 

“Wait,” you force out, briefly pulling away from Nanami.

“Is everything alright?” he stops immediately, hands hovering behind your back. 

“Yes, but I just want to be honest with my intentions,” you say with a shaky voice.

“Here, sit next to me,” Nanami guides you towards the spot next to him on the couch, eyes softly looking into yours as he waits for you to continue. 

“I, um, it’s complicated. Fuck, I’m sorry,” you shake your head trying to compose yourself. 

“Hey, we can stop if you want…” Nanami says, studying you carefully.

“I-I don’t know. It’s just, almost a year ago I met a guy. I loved him, I saw a future with him. But something bad happened and he’s, well, he’s in jail now. For ten years. We made it official and then twelve hours later, bam! Arrested. He didn’t want me to wait for him, so I’m trying to honor his wishes…” you start to spill everything while Nanami just listens, not interrupting. Your face heats up in embarrassment as you spew all of this at a stranger.

“I just feel guilty for enjoying this with you. And I wouldn’t want this to have any emotional meaning, just sex. Because I love him, and I don’t think I’ll ever love you, or anyone else right now. But I feel like I should at least try. And you seem so kind and respectful, but I don’t want you to feel used or taken advantage of,” you say, looking back at him. You have no idea what kind of response you are going to get, putting yourself in his shoes you can’t imagine what you’d say. Holy baggage.

“Wow, that’s a lot. Are you okay? Not just physically, but in general?” Nanami asks, the sympathy in his eyes is apparent. 

“I’m as okay as I can be,” you respond. “It’s been almost a year so I’ve kinda accepted it.” 

“I see. Well I’m sorry that happened to you, that must be so incredibly hard. I can’t imagine being in that situation and I bet there’s only a very small population of people who could truly understand what you are going through. If it’s just sex you want, I can respect that, and I won’t judge you. Truthfully, I’m not looking for anything serious either right now. I can assure you I won’t try to take you from him or sway your feelings if all you are looking for is some physical relief. But maybe you should take a bit to see if this is what you really want. I’m not sure what it’s like communicating with someone inside prison, but maybe talk to him, and if he’s okay with it, we can try again,” Nanami says, clasping your hands between his and pulling them to his lips. 

Tears begin to prick at your eyes as you absorb his words. This guy was so caring and you’d only known him for a few hours.

“I’m so sorry, this can’t be what you had in mind for tonight,” you chuckle as you wipe your eyes repeatedly. 

“I still had a good time regardless and worst case, I met a nice person who I could see being friends with. Life happens,” Nanami smiles, rubbing your back before going to fetch your coat from the closet.

Sukuna said he would call you in the letter you left at home. You’ll ask him one more time what he wants, and if he gives you some bullshit answer, then you’ll go back to Nanami. 

An hour later you are home, more confused than ever. Thank god Nanami was a good man, you both knew you would regret going further and decided to pause everything. You take Sukuna’s letter to your room and read it again. This time you realized your fists were clenched around the paper, wrinkling it from the way your fingertips twisted the delicate material. 

You were pissed. You’d been nothing but honest with Sukuna that last day, seeing him in person about wanting to stay loyal to him, but he couldn’t grant you the same. Instead he seemed to be dancing around the topic which resulted in this train wreck of a night. If he were here right now you’d slap the tattoos right off his jawline and demand him tell you how he really felt. 

It’s the least he could do, he wasn’t the only one with a mental state on the decline. 

10 months

“This is a collect call from an inmate at the Southeastern Regional Jail, press 7 to accept.” 

At 9AM you received a call from an unknown number and you were shocked to hear this. 

You sat there staring at first, unsure if you wanted to answer. All your pent up anger from the other night suddenly evaporated and fear was the only thing left. 

The prompt played 2 more times before you finally smashed the 7 button.

“Hello?” 

“Oh thank god you picked up,” Sukuna’s voice answers on the other line. Your breath hitches as his deep tone reverberates through your ear. You exhale loudly, not realizing you were holding your breath. Briefly you mute the phone as you try to control your breathing, trying to take deep breaths and calm yourself.

“Are you there? Hello?” Sukuna says your name almost frantically while you are trying to regain your composure.

“I’m here, sorry, I just can’t believe it’s really you. I haven’t heard your voice in so long,” your voice cracks as you hold back a sob. This is all you’ve wanted this entire time, not realizing finally hearing him would affect you this way.

“It’s okay. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too. That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about,” he continues, sighing audibly. 

“Well I have an earful to give you as well Sukuna, but why don’t you go first.”

“What? Why am I getting an earful?!” his whiny voice responds with a tinge of fear. 

You just sit silently for now, taking everything in you to not just explode at him.

“I know I deserve it, I just didn’t know you felt so strongly and it makes me feel worse,” he continues.

“Enough of the cryptic shit Sukuna, I have no idea what you are talking about,” you start crying.

“Okay okay, I’m here. Please just say what you need to say,” Sukuna’s voice deepens as if he’s trying to contain his emotions now.

“Do you want to be with me Sukuna? Like, actually want to be committed to each other? Only each other? And don’t give me any of this bullshit like ‘yes I do, but blah blah’. It’s yes or no. Enough beating around the bush,” you say sternly.

“Fuck you’re scaring me, where is this coming from?” he pauses before speaking. 

“I went out with another guy the other night and started to have sex with him, Sukuna. That’s what this is about, this is what it’s come to.”

“Shit…ahhh shit! Fuck!” Sukuna curses before going totally silent. Everything in you wants to apologize but you hold your ground. You refuse to apologize for this. 

“Wh-wh-what do you mean started to? What does that mean? Oh god I don’t know what to say…” his voice stutters and cracks, registering the pain in his words. 

“I told you point blank at the prison that I wanted to be loyal to you, but you shut me down and left it ambiguous. You told me you didn’t want me to wait for you, you told me you wanted me to try and move on, to see other people. So I tried Sukuna. I tried the other day. But we stopped because I still love you. How can I fuck someone else when you’re all I want?” you start crying, forcing out the words as best you can. “Y-you seem like you don’t want that with me though. You don’t want to talk to me, don’t want to see me, made it seem like you didn’t care if I strayed from you. So I’ll ask you again, do you actually want to be with me?” you say through a combination of sobs and hiccups.

“Oh my god, yes! That’s why I called you!” his pitch is higher as his voice cracks again. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Fuck! The truth is I don’t want you to be with anyone else! I’m sorry I wasn’t honest. I want to be together, I want to be loyal to each other. God willing you do too, but I don’t blame you if you don’t want that. 

“Listen, I - ah - fucked up. Real bad. I don’t know why I wasn’t honest back then, it was shitty of me. I don’t hold it against you for going out with someone and going however far you did, I don’t wanna know specifics so please don’t tell me. It is what it is. I never meant to put you in this position, I thought I was doing the right thing, but I realized I wasn’t and I love you more than anything. It was manipulative, I didn’t give you a direct answer and because of that, you had no agency in this, and that’s not okay.” he says through sniffles as his voice gets harsh with emotion. 

“Then why did you say those things?” you say through choked back tears.

He sighs again and you can hear him crying in the background before trying to speak again.

“I just felt so guilty. Felt like a shitty man to put you in this situation after promising you the fucking world. I didn’t want you to feel trapped, but I didn’t even listen to how you felt. It was selfish. I understand if you hate me-“

“You’re right I do fucking hate you,” you interupt him. “If I could pull you down by your stupid pink hair and slap your stupid jaw tattoos around and knock some sense into you I would. 

“I hate that you made me fall in love with you, that you’re the first thing I think of when I wake up and the last thing I see when I go to sleep. I hate when I wake up and you weren’t in my dreams, the one place where you and I can actually feel real right now because you refuse to fucking interact with me. I hate that I need to wait for you. I waited my whole life to find you and now I need to wait even longer,” you ramble on, crying into your pillow and twisting your nails into your sheets. 

“I hate that I can’t hear your laugh, can’t see your stupid goofy smile, can’t feel your soft touch. Fuck Sukuna I hate all of this. But I hate the thought of anyone else even more, so your godforsaken ass is worth the wait. I’ve already done it once,” you say with a humorless laugh, mouth dry and scratchy, eyes burning as you pour everything out into the open, holding your breath as you wait for his response. 

He’s silent and unresponsive. Fearing the call dropped, you were about to lose it if he didn’t hear anything you said. 

“Hello?” 

“I’m here sweetheart. You really mean all that?”

“What the fuck, of course I did. Boy I swear I would beat your ass if you were here, dense ass motherfucking-”

“I’m sure you didn’t mean that to be romantic at all, but I’m at a loss for words,” he interrupts with a chuckle. What you don’t know is now he’s leaning against the concrete prison wall, biting his tongue and looking all giddy as he tries to replay everything you just said over and over in his mind. 

“You think this is funny?” you lash out again. Holy shit this man is testing your patience.

“Kinda yeah. I’m just such a fucking idiot, I’m laughing at my asinine behaviour. I’m so relieved though to hear you say those things. You really love me huh?” he says and you are sure he’s fighting back the biggest grin.

“You’re smiling right now aren’t you?” you say more calmly than before. 

“Yup, got a big ole smirk on my face. And crying. You make me happy. It’s happy tears.”

“You make me happy too. And insane. But also insanely happy, even from a concrete cell,” you feel a laugh escape your lips. 

“Fuck, wish I could scoop you up and fucking break your little bones from hugging you so hard,” his voice is more husky and even now.

“Um ouch? A little violent don’t you think?” 

“I don’t mean it literally. Just that I wish I could be close to you. It’ll be worth it though. One day.” 

“Yes it will. Can you actually call me from now on? Also what’s this about wanting to try for a baby when you get out? When did I ever say I wanted one?” you blurt out, remembering that insane part of his last letter.

“Yes I will call. I can’t call often, maybe once a week at most. It’s pricey and I wanna have money left for me when I get out…well for us. 

“And yeah, about that. See my cellmate got his girl pregnant right before he got put in here and he got me all paranoid since I busted in you about six times that night. But then I was like well if we are mid to late thirties when I get out, better get to it since time isn’t on our side”

You burst out laughing but feel your heart swell at his words picturing little pink haired terrors running around his house. 

“Well you need to get your degrees and trades or whatever in order. I’m not footing the bill for all of us because for some reason I don’t see you being able to keep your hands off of me to stop at just one,” you tease.

“Oh please, don’t act all high and mighty. I saw you that night, begging to take every last drop-“

“Oh my god can people hear you?!” you squeal, interrupting him.

“Um, darling it’s a bunch of dudes locked up in here with no females to be found. You just get used to being shameless after a while. Like when we are done here I’m gonna go tell Gojo to look the other way while I jerk off.”

You practically choke on your own saliva. What the actual fuck?

“Uh, wow, okay. That’s pretty wild Sukuna not gonna lie.”

“I do the same for him after he’s talked to his girl. He owes me, horny little fuck,” Sukuna scoffs. 

“Oh, the call is gonna end in a few minutes. I’ll try to call you every other week on Saturdays around this same time. Sound good?” Sukuna changes the topic as the warning sound chimes over the phone.

“That sounds good. Keep writing too. I like it, it’s special and I look forward to it,” you respond, feeling the weight that was heavy on your heart start to feel a little lighter.

“Of course I will. Anything for you. I love you. So so soooooo muuuuuch,” he says in that whiny voice of his that just makes you smile and shake your head. He’s your whiny Kuna though and you love it. 

“I love you too Kuna, talk to you later.”

The call ends and the tears come again. Except this time they’re tears of joy. Relief. Filled with hope for what’s to come. Almost a year down with so much more to go, but at least now you know where you stand. Plus now you have calls to look forward to as you inch your way closer to being reunited. 

<< Chapter 3 | Chapter 5 >>

Masterlist

taglist: @clp-84 @zeunys @aquaberrydolphin @nynxtea @yuujispinkhair @ssc7514 @sukubusss @scorpiosugar @kiixonmm @xlilycoco

[oopsiedaisydeer]

pen pals ...in which postman!chris finds the very first letters he and starling exchanged

angst, childhood flashbacks, lost connection, letters, heartbreak?, nostalgia, slow burn, minor fluff, second chance, crying

word count - 1.1k

Chris hadn’t meant to find it.

He’d purposefully hidden it, ever since it came in the mail, no return address attached. Told himself he wouldn’t cry. Couldn’t. Couldn’t make it real.

He was just trying to clean his room. Not deeply, just a kind of half-assed attempt at tidying on his day off, which meant kicking laundry into piles and swiping dust from under the bed.

But then his hand knocked into the cardboard box.

It was tucked way back, past lost socks and old guitar picks and a broken yo-yo he never learned to use. The lid was slightly loose, like maybe he’d opened it once, briefly, then shoved it away. Pretended it didn’t exist.

But it did. It always did.

The box was quiet and unassuming, sealed only with an old green ribbon that had faded to a dull seafoam. Chris’s fingers hovered over it.

He sat on the floor.

The weight of it was deceptive. Light, but heavy. Familiar.

He lifted the lid.

Inside: letters. Dozens. Maybe more. All with her name written on the front in his handwriting, crooked but careful. Some placed carefully back in their envelopes. Some loose, folded gently like they’d been read a hundred times. Maybe she had hoped he would open them again.

He never had.

Not since the box arrived on his doorstep. No note. No stamp. She’d just… given them back to him. All of them. Tied up with green ribbon. The one he had given her.

He couldn’t bring himself to look at them. Not really. Not properly.

But today, the house was quiet. And his heart ached in a way it hadn’t in a long time. Like maybe it was ready to hurt again.

So he dug through them, used to the feeling of paper on his hands, and picked up the first one his fingers curled around.

It was small, yellowing. The envelope slightly crumpled. A tree frog stamp in the top corner. His own name, Christopher, written in wide, loopy handwriting. His own.

The date on the other corner said 2013.

Chris was bouncing in his seat. He didn’t mean to, really, his teacher had told them all to stay still, but he couldn’t help it. His body were always full of excited energy.

“Today,” she was saying, “you’re going to write your very first pen pal letters.”

The class buzzed with noise. Chris’s hand shot into the air, mouth already blurting out the question.

“Is it like sending a birthday card?”

“Sort of,” she smiled. “Except you won’t know the person you’re sending it to yet. But they’re your age, from another school, and they’ll write back to you guys.”

Write back.

Chris’s chest felt warm and light. He turned to Nick, his older brother by 4 minutes already slightly embarrassed by him, and whispered, “I’m gonna draw a spaceship on mine.”

Nick rolled his eyes, but Chris didn’t even catch it.

He’d already taken out a fresh sheet of paper, and was gripping his pencil like it might fly away as he began writing his letter.

He made sure to add a sticker in the corner. A banana. With sunglasses, because even though they tasted gross didn’t mean they couldn’t look cool.

Then he handed it in, grinning so hard his cheeks hurt.

Chris checked the mailbox every single day after school.

At first, he’d run to it, backpack swinging off one arm, shoes half-tied. His mum would yell out, telling him he’d trip, but he’d just yank the lid open like he was uncovering treasure.

Nothing.

The next day, same thing.

And the next.

And the next.

It didn’t make him sad yet. He figured maybe the letter was taking the long way. Maybe his pen pal was drawing lots of pictures. Maybe the teacher meant it when she said their pen pals were really, really far away.

He started talking to the mailman.

“Hi,” he said one afternoon, trying to sound casual as he lingered by the curb.

The man raised a brow. “Hey there, kid.”

“Do you know if there’s a letter coming for me?” Chris asked. “It’s from my pen pal. I don’t know their name, but mine’s Chris. I think it’s addressed to me.”

The mailman chuckled, shuffling through envelopes. “I don’t see a Chris today.”

Chris nodded solemnly, as if this were a grave matter. “Okay. Maybe tomorrow.”

He did this every day for a week.

And then, one Thursday afternoon, there it was.

A pale purple envelope with little stars drawn on the front. His name in big careful letters.

Inside, a folded piece of lined paper that smelled like bubblegum.

Chris sat right on the front steps to read it.

Chris read the letter three times. Then once more for good luck.

He stared at the doodles of the moon and Saturn. Then, very carefully, as to not rip the paper, he peeled the glow-in-the-dark star off the page, cradling it in his small hand.

His own smile stretched so wide his front tooth wiggled.

He ran inside and yelled, “MOM! SHE WROTE BACK!”

That night, he stuck the glow-in-the-dark stars above his bed.

Just one.

He named it after you.

Back on his bedroom floor, Chris stared down at the letter trembling in his hand.

The edges were soft and worn, a little frayed at the corners from all the years. He hadn’t remembered even writing it, how everything started, but the second he saw it, something in him cracked wide open. Like a window he hadn’t touched in years finally giving way to wind.

Suddenly he was a kid again. Feet swinging above the floor, tongue poking out as he concentrated on writing to his pen pal. 

The memory hit him like a bruise, sweet, sudden, and sore. He hadn’t thought about those days in a long time. Hadn’t let himself remember what it was like to grow up reading her words and writing back.

He sucked in a breath, sharp and shaky, and wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. It didn’t help much.

His fingers hovered over the next letter in the box, the one addressed to her in a loopy, lopsided cursive. Not quite as old, but it had her name, the one he came up with, written on the envelope beside her full name.

Starling.

Just seeing it made something in his chest pull tight. Like homesickness, but heavier. Lonelier.

He didn’t open it.

Not yet.

His heart ached too much. If he read more words now, they’d echo too loudly in the quiet. His room too empty, hands full of words he’d written, his own heart mailed back to him.

So instead, he set it back down. Gently. Carefully. Like it was made of glass. He put the lid back on the box, tied the ribbon, and slid it back under the bed.

And then he folded forward, curled in on himself on the floor, and cried.

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws ꨄ

a/n: i put sm work into this so i hope u like it !!! their story is kinda sad atm but they are so in love so ah </3

[dear-ao3]

how to get f1 driver cards, a guide for mclaren, mercedes and williams (more to come)

im going to start by saying that there is a high high chance not everything on this is accurate. for some reason this is a stupidly complex process and i am just trying my best :)

what are driver cards? every year (most) teams have cards made of their drivers with their pictures and sometimes stats and fun facts, etc. they change every year and are collectible. theyre free, technically, as long as you pay for the postage.

ive sent away for some of them before, and those are the teams i have included as i know these ones work. will add more teams on as i attempt others this year.

MERCEDES

objectively this is the easiest one to get. you fill out an online form and if you are lucky you will get cards sent to you. the form is live for the 2025 cards as of me posting this.

beware: the address form is formatted for UK addresses only for some reason. if you are trying to send to the US with an address that is two lines (ie, a street address with an apartment number or a po box) there is a good chance it wont work. i have gotten it to work for street addresses only (both attempts to have them sent to an apartment address failed). this one also took the longest, several months.

all other teams require a double envelope, stamp and letter situation.

very basically, you address an envelope to the team and put yourself as the return address. it needs a stamp (domestic if the team is in your country, international if it is not)

write a letter to the team, something along the lines of "dear x team, i am a big fan of you and your drivers x and y and i like watching you / rooting for you for xyz reasoning (etc etc). i was wondering if i could get the 20xx drivers cards? thanks (name)." it doesnt have to be super fancy.

put this letter in the envelope along with another a5 size folded envelope addressed to yourself (this is the envelope that the team will send your cards in, make sure it is the right size and also has your correct address.

the a5 envelope also needs a stamp and here is where it gets a little tricky. if the team is based in the same country you are you use a domestic stamp. if you are Not in the same country as the team this is the terribly fun (read: tricky) part.

you can either include the pounds/euros needed to buy a stamp in the envelope or you can purchase an international stamp from that country and use that. i have gone the stamp route before (ordered royal mail stamps off of British amazon) and it worked. i put five second class barcoded stamps on each envelope and they came back to me okay. (could also use first class stamps, i dont remember why i ended up choosing the second class ones) (you have to check the stamp prices and make sure that the total stamp costs equal how much it costs to send a letter internationally (second class stamps are 85p as of me writing this and it costs 2.80 pounds to mail a letter internationally from the uk to the us specifically (all of this is findable on the royal mail site) so i would put 4 or 5 stamps to be safe per envelope in case stamp prices rise again)

put that whole folded envelope and your letter in your addressed envelope to the team and mail it out.

MCLAREN

they seem to be pretty responsive. i got my card for mclaren within i think 2 or 3 months. be extra careful when addressing your envelopes to the uk, the seven letter/ number combination is the most important and should be the most legible thing. i think this is formatted correctly. (again, im from the us. uk addresses confuse the hell out of me)

address:

FAO: Autograph Cards McLaren Technology Centre Chertsey Road Woking GU21 4YH UK

WILLIAMS

again, they were pretty responsive. i think i got mine in 2 or 3 months. my envelope was the wrong size for this team but they sent me the cards anyway in a different size envelope. again, really make sure that your seven number/letter thing is clear. there both a O and 0 in it so i would put a slash through the 0.

address:

Fan Mail Williams Grand Prix Engineering Grove Wantage Oxfordshire OX12 0DQ UK

fun little note: my sister and i both sent away for mclaren and williams last year. despite them having the Exact Same Addresses and being sent from The Exact Same Post Office on the Exact Same Day, my mclaren one was returned to sender for the reason unable to be delivered. my sister got her mclaren card in the mail the next week. and i got my williams card but my sisters got returned to sender for the reason of unable to be delivered. i have absolutely no idea why. not remotely. i resent both of them and had no problems the second time around.

good luck. its kinda challenging but it is fun. im going to try to send off for more this year so ill provide more advice once i figure it out but as for now, i know these ones work. i would wait until the start of the season to mail any requests, though fill out the mercedes one sooner if you want that :)

and, proof that i got my driver cards and im not just making this up:

[lancaiheart]

Hello all, I am selling “starscreambucks” parody stickers in order to fundraise for GFMs. I will not be profiting and donating 100% of the proceeds. (I know about the organic Starbucks boycott but I am not affiliated with them or Starscream, I think getting funds toward those in need is more important)

I decided to open this due to the revived Transformers hype and because multiple Palestinian families have contacted me in need. The list is locked in and I've verified them. If you want, slap this on a reusable cup and consider making coffee at home or supporting smaller businesses. You’ll also be supporting urgent needs such as medical care and basic necessities.

$5 + shipping: I will mail a sticker, first class letter no tracking will arrive in a week. Stamp cost: $0.75 USA / $1.65 International.

$10 + shipping: I will mail a button. If buying sticker(s) too, no additional shipping cost. Shipping cost: $4 flat, US Only.

$15 + shipping: I will mail a full set of 18 Lost Light crew stickers, first class letter no tracking will arrive in a week. Stamp cost: $0.75 USA / $1.65 International.

💌 get your stickers and stuff here:★ ko-fi.com/lancaiheart/shop ★

And...

★ STARSCREAMBUCKS GIVEAWAY ★ I am giving away three stickers! To enter: follow me + like + reblog this post I will choose the winner on Oct. 21st

EDIT 10/21/2024: The giveaway winner is now chosen. My ko-fi store will be open until Nov 1.

[bigmammallama5]

hey i'm a postal worker so here's a tip. if you get something in the mail and it says something like URGENT OPEN NOW or FINAL NOTICE, look up in the right corner where the stamp usually goes. if it's spam mail it'll say presort standard or will just have like a basic non forever stamp. if it actually is important, it will say first class or will have a printed stamp that will also have the date. hope this helps!

Ohh thank you!!

[https-rediation]

IEYTD Timeline

It has come to my attention that some confusion has arose in my last post about the dates in which the IEYTD games take place

I'm back to hopefully clear this up with a timeline based on what I've found 👍

(evidence + breakdown first, full timeline at the end)

Firstly, we know the games take place in the 60s based on the books found in Winter Break (IEYTD 1)

They are dated 1963, placing the events of the first game sometime after that

Our next big date comes from First Class (IEYTD 1) in the newspaper about Anna Ulanova

It is dated "Sunday, 30 October, 19--"

The Sunday portion is incredibly helpful, as October 30 falls on different days different years. The first occurance of it being a Sunday post 1963 is in 1966, the next one being 1977 which is far out of the time range.

This makes the full date of First Class "Sunday, 30 October, 1966"

The next two dates come from the Death Engine (IEYTD 1) in the Z-Mail files

The Madrid targeting (July 30) is in reference to Seat of Power (IEYTD 1) when Phoenix blows up the Zoraxis base using the Death Engine

The orange juice update (August 1) was the most recent mail, making the events of the Death Engine post-August 1

Both Jul 30 for Seat of Power and post-Aug 1 for Death Engine happen in 1977, as these missions take place after Phoenix's train escapade in October, making it a 9 month time jump inbetween

1977 as the year is further implied in IEYTD 2 with Stage Fright, as it's etched under the desk Phoenix is working at

We know this game takes place definitevly in August, as seen on the clapperboard during Safe and Sound

This makes the rest of the missions in the game simple to figure out as well, since they take place over the course of a week (Stage Fright 4 days prior, Jet Set 3 days, etc etc)

August 18, 1967 - Stage Fright

August 19, 1967 - Jet Set

August 20, 1967 - Eaves Drop

August 21, 1967 - Party Crasher

August 22, 1967 - Safe and Sound & Rising Phoenix

The third game is widely the most unhelpful for providing dates

Phoenix's liscense is dated 1967, but as it expires in 1968 it could also be the next year

The only other item I found that would indicate the time period of the game is in the file given to Phoenix by the Phantom at the end of the game

It is stamped September 17, making the events of the game somewhere around that

Typically I would say they're prior, but September 17 is the postmark. The postmark is dated when the package is dropped off at the post office, not necessarily when it arrives at its destination.

Do I think that this file got to Phoenix by normal, conventional means? No not really, but the point still stands

Im more inclined to place the 3rd game in 1977 as well because it means it would be directly after the 2nd, following that trend with the 2nd having started shortly after the 1st.

With that, here is our Complete I Expect You to Die Trilogy Timeline:

IEYTD 1

Friendly Skies to Winter Break: Pre-October 1966

First Class: October 30, 1966

Seat of Power: July 30, 1967

Death Engine: Post August 1, 1967

IEYTD 2

Stage Fright: August 18, 1967

Jet Set: August 19, 1967

Eaves Drop: August 20, 1967

Party Crasher: August 21, 1967

Safe and Sound: August 22, 1967

Rising Phoenix: August 22, 1967

IEYTD 3

House Call to KBOOM: Around September 1967

[ririya-translates]

Jack Jeanne March/April 2025 News

Apologies if someone has already done a big news roundup post but I figured I'd write one for covering the fourth anniversary stuff and new book and manga releases.

This year's anniversary art took a very different direction from the formal styles from last year's with a more streetwear look. Official website here.

We got a livestream too with Yuka Terasaki (Kisa), Masumu Ono (Kasai), and Taichi Kusano (Mare) where they read some fan mail about things people like about JJ and which class they'd be in. The stream didn't reveal a lot of new news, although it does sound like Ishida and Towada are working on the sequel pretty much every day. Towada also posted this cute art before the stream on Bluesky.

On another stream Kisa's VA did with Gakuto Kajiwara (Shirota) she mentioned that she's only met with Ishida twice so far (and that he reminds her of Kenshi Yonezu??) so it sounds like probably a lot is going on in the planning and writing stage, but they're not at the recording stage yet. Also please watch this adorable clip of them singing Faded Color together.

As far as anniversary news, a lot of it was the expected things (mostly stuff that's hard to access outside of Japan) like Joysound karaoke collab, Gratte cafe collab, popup shops in Shibuya and Umeda with a little digital stamp collection game. I'm expecting merch to be sold online on Broccoli's store after the shops close at the end of March (requires a JP address so you will likely need a proxy shipping service outside of Japan). In addition to the acrylic stands and pins, there was a cute Tummy coffee tumbler and a sorta itabag-style tote with a window in it for showing off merch. They also announced a new drama CD coming out based on Towada's birthday stories (currently untranslated to my knowledge).

But the most exciting thing is that we're getting some new content! The first is a novel by Towada called 玉坂の光跡 or "Tamasaka's Trail of Light" which includes both the first anniversary novel "Happy Anniversary" (which used to be free but has sadly been cut to just a sample) and a new episode of 30k characters. It's a bit over 300 pages long which makes it slightly longer than the summer novel and Seven Winds. There's also some pre-order bonuses (art from Stella Worth and a visual board with a short story from Animate)

The second is a manga collection titled ジャックジャンヌ FOLIAGE ～アンバー・オニキス～ (Jack Jeanne FOLIAGE - Amber & Onyx) which has both Puppet and Parsley manga with some new art. If you want to check out the JP versions, I suggest trying to do so before April 17th as I'm unsure if they'll continue to be available for free after the commercial release.

But perhaps one of the most exciting things is that just today Ishida announced a new two-part manga one-shot published in Ultra Jump on April 18th. It's called "Duckweed" and will be focused on Minorikawa's first year after being picked to the be class lead's assistant and his challenges in managing all the Rhodonite girlies. Unlike the others, I do not expect this one to be posted officially online for free since it's being published.

For those who were maybe hoping for more sequel news, I do think the biggest thing we can take away from all this between the note at the end of Parsley, Kasai and Mare on the anniversary stream, and now a Minorikawa manga is that I get the strong sense the sequel will take place in the following year with Kisa as a second-year. I'm not sure how they will make this work with the graduated students, but that seems to be the direction all signs are indicating.

[gendzl]

USPS is raising the cost of first class mail forever stamps from 73 cents to 78 cents apiece starting July 13th, 2025. Stock up before then!

[leftshoeuntied]

Quick lil tf141 x reader scenario but also I haven’t studied the U.S. amendments in however many years so if there are mistakes give me grace hahah

I’ve been thinking about a situation where the reader is home and all of the sudden there is a forceful knock at her front door, and when she opens the door, she is met with four gruff men staring back at her.

“Hello” she says apprehensively eyeing each of men individual “can I help you?”

“This is 32 Spearhead Road, right?” one of the men asks her.

“Yeah” she responds with a nod, still a bit wary of the group of men before.

“Brilliant, thanks love” The same man says leaning down to pick his rucksack back up and begins to push through the slightly ajar door and shoulders by the reader, and the other three men begin to follow his lead into the mudroom and kitchen.

“Bi-huh, excuse me!” the reader exclaims after a moment of shock, turning to follow the men, hot on their heels “what do you think you’re doing?” as the four start to disperse into the house, too casually.

“You said this is 32 Spearhead, no?” the original man pauses, turns to look over to the reader, sliding the rucksack off his shoulder and dropping it onto the tiled floors, “we’re here for the housing”.

“Excuse me? What housing?” The reader exclaims, still shocked at the men who barraged into her home and with growing frustration at their casualness of the situation.

“Temporary military housing” the man says plainly with a nod towards the reader and a raised eyebrow, like she should already know what he is referring to, “Captain John Price” he says stepping closer to the reader and sticking his hand out.

The reader ignores his hand and looks at him with a look frustration and confusion, “I get that you say you’re here for housing, but I have no idea what you mean. I’m not military”.

“I was told you should’ve received prior notice of our arrival” Price drops his outstretched hand. “Something in the post?” he adds after noticing the even more growing confusion on her face.

The reader eyes the pile of mail in the basket in the middle of her kitchen island. She had been meaning to get to the ever-growing pile of mail from the last couple of weeks, but the anxiety of the red stamps stating ‘past due’ and ‘action required’ on a majority of the envelopes kept her from digging through it.

Pulling the basket closer to her, she starts rifling through the envelopes to see one envelope inconspicuously labelled as federal first-class mail from an address in Virginia. When she rips open the envelope, a plain typed letter falls out with the heading of ‘Central Intelligence Agency’ and the CIA’s seal in the top left corner. 

As she quickly scans the letter, a few things stand out to her, the ‘ask’ but more like demand that she houses an American ally’s soldiers for an indefinite amount of time, an offer of a weekly stipend for her support, and ending the letter thanking her for doing her part in support of the American military and our allies, that we could not win this war without the support of Patriots like her. She would have scoffed at the last comment if she wasn’t spiraling at the moment.

“No no no, I know my rights” she says pointing to her chest, finally getting her thoughts straight. “The third amendment says I can’t be forced to house any soldiers in my house against my will” the reader argues looking back up from the documents with a furrowed brow, but drops her gaze again, using her finger to scan through the document quickly one more time. “Especially not British soldiers” she mutters.

“Sorry love, I don’t know anything about your laws, I just followed the orders” Price says leaning against the kitchen island, watching as she continues to scan through the document, looking for an out.

______

TLDR: My thoughts are that the US has to formally declare war but during the formal war declaration process, congress slips through a law through that allows the U.S. military and intelligence agencies to override the 3rdamendment (there is some debate on if the U.S. could actually do this, but with the right scenario it could be pushed through only during active war), and with the average American focusing more on the formal declaration of war, the overriding of the 3rd amendment is purposefully missed on the formal announcement to the news from the American government because there would be so much outcry over it.

Is this anything? It’s been banging around my brain for the last week or so, so it’s nice to get it on paper at least hahah but let me know your thoughts, I would greatly appreciate it! 

[alex51324]

Mohela Saga Resolution

So, the whole experience with my Mohela student loans, from a couple of weeks ago has resolved (kinda) and I know I'm not the only one having a terrible time with this company, so I wanted to share.

The saga, as briefly as I can summarize it, is that my loans keep popping back into full-price repayment status because of the IBR freezes, and a couple of weeks ago, I spent and entire work day on hold with them, their phone system did some weird shit, and I was D-O-N-E done with trying to reach them by phone.

See here if you want to read the whole thing, but if you've dealt with these chucklefucks before, it probably won't be anything earth-shattering.

What's important is that I did eventually get my problem fixed, and I'm going to tell you how.

First, I wrote a letter. Here's what I included in it:

A brief summary of the history of my problem.

A description of my efforts to contact them by phone. I did, at one point, manage to speak to a first-level customer service rep, who said that they had to escalate me to the next level, so I summarized that conversation.

The resolution I sought. I said what I actually wanted (for my account to be in an income-based repayment plan) and that if that was not possible, I would accept a processing forbearance. I stated directly that I consented to either of these solutions.

My contact information. I provided a mailing address, email, and phone number, and stated that if they called and left a message, they would need to provide me with a way to get back to them, because I was not able to spend another entire work day on hold for them.

A list of all of the ways that I was transmitting this letter to them (mail, fax, email, uploaded document).

Note that, if your problem is anything to do with a payment you can't afford, and there is relief that is available to you in theory but not in practice--e.g., because the forms have been frozen due to ongoing litigation, or because you have a special situation that needs to be addressed by a human being, or even because you turned everything in and they haven't gotten to it--then the magic words are processing forbearance. This puts your payments at zero until they get around to putting you into IBR or whatever else you're supposed to be in. Interest does continue to accrue, unfortunately, but you don't have to make payments and your account won't go into collections.

Once I had my letter written, I sent it to them through every means I could find:

Postal mail to their "request for assistance" address, as shown here.

MOHELA 633 Spirit Drive Chesterfield, MO 63005-1243

2. Fax, to the number 1-866-222-7060 , as shown here.

3. The "contact us" form, here.

4. Uploaded as a document in the "inbox" section of my account.

Additionally, I put the full text of the letter, into the complaint form at Studentaid.gov, along with a brief note about why I was sending it to them. (Basically, because I didn't trust Mohela to actually do anything with any of their copies.)

After doing all that, every few days I checked on my account on the Mohela website, and about 10 days later, my account was back in a processing forbearance, with my payment set to Zero and nothing showing as overdue.

Nobody has contacted me, so I don't know which of these methods actually worked. But one of them apparently did!

For the postal letter, I thought about doing a registered letter--so I'd have proof of delivery if questions arose later--but I wasn't going to be able to get to the Post Office for at least a few days, so I just dropped it in a mailbox with a regular first-class stamp. I thought I'd do it all again, with a registered letter that time, if about two weeks went by and nothing happened. I ended up not having to, but that's an option.)

[joshym]

Le Morte d'Arthur: Chapter 1

Paring: Jake Kiszka x f!Reader

Summary: It all began with a passion for literature. What was once a dream to walk the halls of the University of Michigan is now a reality.

You thought you were prepared for everything.

A new town, a new school, a new way of life,

but what you were not prepared for…

was meeting the enigma that is Jake Kiszka.

Word Count: 8.8k+

Warnings: (for this chapter) mentions of stress & anxiety, mentions of a broken home, mentions of an ill, disabled parent, mentions of an oxygen tank & medications, jake is an asshole, (if I missed anything, please let me know)

a/n: it's here! i can't begin to express how excited i am to share this with everyone. this story has been in the works for quite some time now, & it's been such a joy to write. i sincerely hope you all love it. please don't be afraid to let me know what you think. 🤍

also, huge thank you to @jakeyt for being the best editor, & being my right hand in helping create this. i seriously couldn't have done it without you. love you SO much. you're the best sister i could ever ask for.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

As you walk up the stone steps of Angell Hall, you feel as though you’re walking into a book filled with ancient Greek Mythology. The pillars that resemble the Parthenon temple, the delicate stone work motifs that portray Athena's owl and Pegasus; you’ve truly never felt more at home than you do at this very moment as you take your first steps inside the building that houses the English Literature courses. The inside is rich with artwork personifying poetry and myth. The intricate neoclassical design of the ceilings, complete with gold leafing and imperial medallions. The most incredible building you’ve ever seen, and one of the many reasons you decided to make the transfer to the University of Michigan.

It’s been no easy feat to get here. In fact, it’s been damn near impossible. It’s by the skin of your teeth that you’re here today, walking the very halls of your dream school.

The road to get here has been hell. Pure, unadulterated hell. You’ve saved every last penny to afford the move here, while trying to take care of your mom and her declining health. It didn’t help that your dad decided it was all too much for him and left a year ago, leaving the two of you alone with hardly the means to afford even the bare necessities. With two full time jobs, online classes at some bullshit university, and tending to your mom’s every need for the last year, it’s a fucking miracle you’re standing here today. 

It’s only been a month since you received your acceptance letter in the mail. You worked your ass off the last two years maintaining a 4.0 gpa to be sure you’d be accepted. You’d applied back in January and waited six excruciating months to hear back, obsessively checking the mail at least three times a day. 

One day, you noticed a rather large, crumpled envelope stuffed in your tiny mailbox. It was wet from a rainstorm that had hit earlier that day, but you could still make out the sender information. 

The University of Michigan

515 East Jefferson St. 

1220 Student Activities Building

Ann Arbor, MI 48109-1316

You knew that the contents of this envelope would seal your fate for the next two years. You were hesitant at first to open, scared of rejection. You let it sit for a few hours before finally ripping it open as quickly as your fingers would allow.

You pulled out the sopping piece of cardstock, stamped with a golden “M” at the top left corner.

Congratulations, y/n! 

You’re in! We are pleased to inform you that you are admitted to the University of Michigan College of Literature, Science and the Arts Junior class entering fall of 2023.

Within two weeks of receiving the letter, you and your mom packed up what little you had and left the sleepy town of Cherry Tree, Oklahoma. 

Up until now, you’d lived in this tiny town your entire life. You’ve been so ready to leave, to find adventure elsewhere that would allow you to spread your wings. You’d been held back there for so long. You knew it was time, and as much as she could, your mother supported your choice to leave and she was eager herself to get away.

You managed to secure a low income apartment in Ann Arbor that has accommodations for those with disabilities. It’s a shithole. But it’s your shithole. 

You’re solely responsible for any and all bills as your mom isn’t fit to work. You’ve got enough saved up to last about a month, so one of your first priorities is to find a job that will sustain you. 

Right now, though, your current goal is to find your first class in this massive building. It’s intimidating. Everyone here is walking past you in a hurry to get where they need to go as you’re stuck, still trying to figure out where room 3182 is. There aren’t signs anywhere to help guide you through the utter maze that is Angell Hall. You haven’t the slightest clue of where to start.

You try asking a few people, only to be met with vague points in general directions, or people simply telling you ‘up stairs.’

Where are the damn stairs? 

You start trekking along in an attempt to find them, when you see a large wooden door that’s cracked open just enough to see, finally, a staircase. 

Some progress.

Making your way to the third floor, you assume you’ve finally found where your class will be when you look at a room number… and it says ‘2548.’ 

Dammit. 

You head back to the stairs to make your way up to the next floor, and to your relief, the class numbers all begin with a three. 

You head down the long, dimly lit hallway in frantic search for room 3182, to no avail. The hallway has so many twists and turns with no guidance for direction. There may as well be a scarecrow with arms pointing in all directions saying ‘this way!’

You’re stuck yet again, unsure of where to go. You assume everyone is in their respective classes as the hall is barren, so there’s not a soul to ask. With only two minutes until class begins, you’re nearing the point of giving up. 

Anything is better than waltzing into class late on your first day, no less your first day at a university where no one knows you. What a fantastic first impression to make.

Suddenly, a man comes barging down the hall towards you. He looks a bit unapproachable, wearing a large brimmed black hat on top of his shoulder length hair, sunglasses that mimic ones worn by John Lennon in the seventies and a matching all black ensemble of linen pants and a button up, with only the last few buttons actually secured. He jingles as he moves due to an obnoxious number of necklaces sitting on his bare chest.

You’re not sure you want to bother him but desperate times call for asking strange men for directions.

“Hi, excuse me. Could you tell me where room-”

Without even acknowledging your basic existence, he seems to be in a hurry as he slams into you, knocking your brown canvas bag off your shoulder and effectively dumping everything out of it. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles as he quickly turns the corner, not even bothering to help you pick up the mess he’s created.

“John Lennon wannabe motherfucker,” you mutter under your breath as you bend down to gather your belongings. 

You hear footsteps coming closer to you, thinking just maybe he's decided to come back and make amends.

“Sorry about him, girl.” 

You glance up just as she’s kneeling down, offering to help with your scattered books.

“Don’t pay him any mind. He thinks he walks on water,” she says as she helps you shove the last of them in your bag, now all disheveled and out of your perfect order. 

“God, thank you so much. Would you happen to know where room 3182 is? I haven’t the slightest clue where I’m going.” 

“Just keep going down the hall until you reach the bathroom, take a left and it’s the second room on the right,” she says, with a warm smile.

You thank her again and quickly head in that direction.

At last, you breathe a sigh of relief as you approach room 3182.

With a deep breath, you open the door to the massive lecture hall that appears more like an auditorium with its pitched floor.  

All eyes are on you, the room dead silent as the professor glares at you. 

“I’m so sorry I’m late, I had the worst time-”

“No matter. Just take your seat and do it quickly,” he cuts you off.

You scan the room in search of an empty seat as everyone continues to silently stare at you, eyes burning holes in your soul.

This is exactly what you wanted to avoid.

Finally you spot one on the far right corner of the room. Swiftly heading towards it, you make a horrid discovery.

Mr. John Lennon wannabe is in the seat right next to the empty one. 

Of fucking course.

Grudgingly, you take your seat next to him. He shifts his body slightly away from you as you situate yourself, letting out a long, dramatic sigh once you're settled.

You decide to try and humble him with your southern hospitality, asking his name with a kind smile, to which he only responds by cocking his head in your general direction and not bothering to answer you.

What an ass.

“Now that it seems we finally have everyone here, let’s get things started. Welcome to English 450, The Quest for King Arthur. My name is Dr. Movack and I will be your instructor throughout the semester.” 

You start pulling out all of your books on King Arthur, annoyed that some of them now have bent pages thanks to the mysterious man wearing all black sitting to your left.

“One of the requirements to be accepted in this class, aside from the prerequisite courses, is to have more than just the basic knowledge of Arthurian lore.” Dr. Movack continues, “Taking that into account, there is no need to waste time in starting from the beginning. However, I would like to take a moment to test your knowledge. Each person who answers correctly will receive a point towards extra credit.” 

Dr. Movack begins going around the room, asking everyone basic questions and facts about King Arthur when he finally gets to you.

“I would like you to tell me which text offers the earliest reference to Arthur.” 

With booming confidence, you answer, “I believe it’s around the 7th century when he is briefly mentioned in the poem titled Y Gododdin.”

The John Lennon look alike on your left lets out an obnoxiously loud chuckle while shaking his head.

“Dr. Movack, it’s a well known fact that Arthur isn’t specifically mentioned until Historia Brittonum in the 9th century. She’s clearly wrong,” he blurts out. 

You know your stuff when it comes to this lore. You’ve studied it for the better part of your life and you’ll be damned if you let this man who, for whatever reason has developed a vendetta against you, try to outwit you.

“No, you are wrong. You obviously haven’t read the poem or you’d know he’s named when referencing the bravery of Gwawrddur.”

He waves his palm in your face in an attempt to silence you, the gesture causing your lip to curl in frustration. “Tell her, Dr. Movack. Tell her she’s wrong and has no idea what she’s talking about.” He asserts.

Talking about you instead of to you is a great way to piss you off and he’s on the right path towards it. His refusal to even look at you has you nearly in flames with rage.

“What’s your name, miss?” Dr. Movack asks.

“Y/n,” you respond.

Your heart is thumping out of your chest as you await the professor's response.

“It seems there may be someone here who knows even more than you, Kiszka.” Lennon’s jaw nearly hits the desk beneath him. “Y/n is absolutely right. Y Gododdin does, in fact, mention Arthur. The introduction is so slight that it’s often missed, but scholars argue that this piece does indeed contain the first true reference.” 

Even through his obnoxious sunglasses, you can see the frustration painted on his face. Proving him wrong in front of the whole class serves him right. 

Poetic justice at its finest.

You laugh through your nose and give yourself a metaphorical pat on the back, anticipating more praise from Dr. Movack when he says “However, miss, you will not receive your point for being late to my class.”

Lennon cackles at this, of course, feeling he’s somehow won this educational battle.

He answers his question correctly, receiving his point and commendation from Dr. Movack. 

He sits back in his chair, arms crossed with a smug face, wearing a ‘kiss my ass’ grin on his lips.

You just roll your eyes and look the other direction, envisioning yourself ripping those ridiculous sunglasses off his face. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Something you’re not used to yet, and perhaps will never get used to, is the Detroit traffic. Stuck in your beat to hell ‘92 Firebird in bumper to bumper traffic, you’re at a near standstill as you’re desperate to get home after a long day of classes. What should only be a fifteen minute drive home has already lasted more than thirty, and you’ve hardly moved an inch.

You’re sitting in silence as you don’t even have the luxury of the radio to keep you company. You’re lucky enough that this car even runs with as much shit as it’s been through. A hand-me-down from a hand-me-down, losing parts and gusto after each set of hands it passes through. You figure you’ll be the last to drive it before it meets its timely end in the very near future.  

WIthout much else to preoccupy you at the moment, your mind is wandering with recollection of your first day at the school you’ve had your sights set on since your first comprehensible memory. Feeling like a fish out of water would be the most comfortable way to describe your day. It goes far beyond that. 

You know it’ll take some time to settle. But you’re afraid that time won’t fix the fact that you may not truly belong here. You’ve never really fit in anywhere, even in your tiny hometown that you’d lived in your whole life. You were never fully accepted there, so what makes you think you’d be accepted here? You’d always felt so isolated in Cherry Tree, too small of a town to feel such a way. Now, you have the intimidation of a rather large city to amplify your isolation.

Aside from the nightmare that was finding your first class and the man who made you late to it, your other classes went about as well as you could’ve hoped for. You’d still managed to get lost a fair amount, but on the brightside, you’d found the campus coffee shop so you had been able to stay there for a while this afternoon.

The man, who you can only refer to as Lennon given he so rudely refused to give you his first name, was also studying in the coffee shop today, much to your dismay. 

And the way he’d locked eyes with you for a brief moment before quickly looking away…

You were not sure why, but now, you can’t pry him from your ambulant mind. Something about him, aside from his insolent demeanor, is oddly enticing. He’s dark, almost mystifying. There are secrets in the air he breathes. Whether or not you want to know them, you can’t quite decide. Nonetheless, you’re intrigued.

Traffic finally begins to move at a steady pace, breaking your trance and causing your disoriented image of him to return to one filled with anger.  

Mystifying or not, he was an ass for absolutely no reason. You’ve made up your mind that you will never give him the time of day again. 

You pull into the parking lot of your apartment complex, your car sputtering its cry of exhaustion as you’ve put it to the ultimate test far too many times lately. 

“I need you to hang on just a little longer, old friend.” You say as you throw the gear shift in park. “Just a little longer, then we’ll lay your heaping metal bones to rest.” 

You trek up the stairs to your apartment, stopping at door 264. You smile as you look down to see “Don’t Knock Unless You Brought Wine” stitched on the doormat beneath your feet. Your mom insisted on it, and as ridiculous as you think it is, you’re grateful for the smile it’s brought to your tired face. 

You search through your disarranged canvas bag for your key, silently cursing the fact that it’s not in its designated spot.

Finally spotting the shining silver, you pull it out and twist it in the rusted bolt to open the door.

Your mom is sprawled out on the couch, her oxygen tank filling the quiet apartment with a subtle humming. The living room television is on some old sitcom she loves with the volume muted, as per usual for her.

You don’t want to wake her, as it’s imperative that she gets as much rest these days as she can. You keep as quiet as possible while heading to the kitchen to start dinner for the two of you.

You decide on something simple; bowtie pasta with alfredo and grilled chicken. 

Your mom always had a knack for all things culinary. Her skill remains unmatched, although it’s not as easy for her these days.

You sadly missed out on that trait from her. You’re lucky if you don’t burn the water. But, over the course of her illness becoming increasingly debilitating, you’ve taught yourself some easy and quick recipes to get by. 

You spoon a healthy amount of pasta on each of your plates, even garnishing them with a few basil leaves for a little aesthetic.

You pour yourself a much needed glass of merlot before taking your mom’s plate to her. 

You gently wake her by carefully nudging her hand. 

“Dinners ready, mom. I hope it’s okay.”

She slowly begins to stir awake, looking happy to see you as you sit next to her. “I’m sure it’ll be great. Thank you, sweetie.” You help her to sit up and get stabilized before handing her her plate. “How was your first day?” She tries not to wince as she takes her first bite. Her years of being a culinary expert have made her awfully picky when it comes to food, but she’s never once outwardly complained about your cooking. Although you can tell she’s less than impressed, she would never tell you that. She knows you’re trying your best and she’s so grateful for it, especially since your dad left.

“It was alright, I guess.” You take your first bite and instantly understand her initial aversion to it. Undercooked noodles and over cooked chicken. You’re glad it’s not the other way around this time.

“Just alright?” she asks.

You don’t have the heart to tell her how draining today truly was, so you just tell her that classes were a little stressful but that it really was a great day.

You switch the subject and talk about the beauty of the campus and how badly you wish she could see it. “Maybe someday,” she says.

You want nothing more than to get her out of this dingy apartment for a day and take her around, to show her the wonder of the city. It’s been incredibly difficult watching battle her illness. She seems to grow weaker with each passing day. Although she tries to conceal it from you, you know your mom, and you can see her deteriorate before your very eyes. It breaks your heart in a million pieces, but you still hold out  hope that she will get better someday. 

Hope is all you have.

Until then, you just try to enjoy each and every moment you share with her.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’re situated outside of room 3182 nearly thirty minutes early this morning, drinking your steaming coffee and reading House of Leaves that was assigned to you yesterday in your Classic Horror course. 

The real inescapable horror, however, would be sitting next to him again, so you’re here early to avoid the unnecessary cruelty you faced the other day. 

Taking advantage of your extra time, you allow yourself to become immersed in the daunting novel. 

You read of a man on a slow descent to insanity, discovering a manuscript that details a home that transforms on the inside, yet stays the same on the outside.

Unlit hallways that continue for ages, doors appearing where they hadn’t been before. An architectural conundrum, this house.

The words in the book appear in strange prints, some pages with them upside down, placed in strange patterns; some pages with no words at all.

The word “House” is always in the color blue, even on the cover. 

The novel both fascinates you and terrifies you all at once, having read it twice before. You’ve yet to make your own interpretations on this book as they seem to change with each read. A bit of a mindfuck, as it were.

Just as you’re diving head first into the maddening depths of Danielewski's story, you hear keys jingling followed by the door to the classroom opening. 

You’d been so lost in your book you hadn’t even noticed that most of the students had joined you in the hall, waiting for class to begin.

You’re the first to head inside, much to Dr. Movack’s shock. You take your seat in the front row near the podium, the furthest one away from where you assume Lennon will sit.

The rest of the class piles in, taking their respective seats and gearing up for class. Here comes Lennon, clad in all black once again– sunglasses and all. He walks right past you, humoring you by ignoring your presence. 

Good. Keep walking. 

As more students pile in, you notice one mindlessly walking towards you before he abruptly stops and eyes you in your seat. You simply smile and nod as he stands there with a curious look about him. 

He slowly walks away, leaving you a bit puzzled but you choose to ignore it.

The hands on the antique brass wall clock strike 10:00 am, and you notice Dr. Movack is still out in the hall speaking with someone. Of whom, you can’t quite tell.

You and the rest of the class wait patiently, when finally Dr. Movack walks in, but he’s not alone. He’s with the student who glared strangely at you just moments ago. 

The student is standing near the professor, as if he has something to say, when Dr. Movack clears his throat and begins speaking. 

“I feel I needn't say this, but it’s clear some of you aren’t aware of how things are done around here, so I will say it this once so that we all understand. Once you choose your seat on the first day of class, that becomes your designated seat for the remainder of the semester. It is disruptive to your fellow classmates to decide to take the seat they specifically chose as their throne for learning.”

Your chest tightens and your face becomes flush with unease. 

You know instantly that he’s talking about you. 

“So, I will end this here: if you are not sitting in the spot you chose on the first day of class, I suggest you move to said spot immediately so we can get started with our business.”

Shit.

You’re utterly humiliated as you slowly stand up, you being the only one to stand up and making it abundantly clear to everyone in class that you were the cause of this.

You take your things and move to the spot you so desperately wanted to avoid, right next to Lennon who is covering his mouth with his hand, giggling at your shame.

The student standing by Dr. Movack takes his rightful seat as you take yours.

The class you had been most excited for this semester is quickly turning out to be the one you wished you had never signed up for.

You made a terrible impression on the first day by being late, and now on the second day of this class, you’ve broken an unspoken rule that you had no previous knowledge of. All of that topped off with the man sitting next to you who has made his distaste for you rather clear… the only thought tormenting your mind is how badly you wish you could crawl in a hole and never have to show your face in this class ever again.

“I have an important announcement,” declares Dr. Movack as he takes post behind his podium. “Through the entirety of this course, you will be working on a semester-long project relating to the appropriation of Arthurian legend. This project is fairly at your liberty, meaning there are very few stipulations for you to follow.”

Okay, this is something you can handle. Something to sink your teeth into, something you know you’ll excel at. 

“This will not be a solo project, however.”

Oh no.

“There are exactly fifty students in this class, so you will be paired in twos for a total of twenty five projects.”

Please no.

“As far as who you will be assigned with, that is very simple. The person seated next to you is who you will work with for the remainder of the semester.”

With Lennon being the very last seat in your row, and you being directly next to him, this means…he will  be your partner. For the entire semester. 

You were cursed from the first day you stepped foot in this room and had to sit next to him. Fate would have it so things would not work in your favor, it appears. 

“This project is not to be taken lightly as it is worth sixty percent of your final grade. Everything in this class will lead up to it, so I suggest you take your readings very seriously.”

He will ruin this for you, no fucking doubt. 

He won’t even give you the grace of telling you his first name, and now you have to work on a huge project with him for four months? A project worth more than half of your grade? 

That hole you debated on crawling in is sounding better and better by the minute.

“Well, guess that makes us partners.” To your disbelief, Lennon speaks his first words to you in lieu of his typical 'at you' approach. “The nice thing is that it guarantees me a good grade.” 

“Is that your way of admitting I know more about this than you do, Kiszka?” you snark. He cocks an eyebrow above his black lenses as you dare to utter his last name.  

“Not quite.” He snorts a condescending chuckle, “I can tell you’re the type to work towards the best grade possible, hence, ensuring my success in the process. Shall I thank you now or later?”

Lennon’s got you there.

You take projects like these rather seriously, and this one will be no exception. As much as you’d love to set him up for failure, that would warrant your failure right along with him. 

It’s the perfect scenario for him and a living nightmare for you.

Lovely.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You walk through the open doors of the lecture hall for your next class, spotting yet another familiar face amongst the students, only this one much more kind and welcoming. 

You recognize her as the kind soul who helped you the other day when your bag was senselessly knocked off your shoulder by your favorite Lennon impersonator. 

“Hey!” she says as she notices you, “Come sit next to me!”

You’re nearly taken away by her beauty as you sit beside her, finally able to get a better look at her this time.

Her glowing caramel skin, her eyes light and honest with a sepia tone, her dark brown curls that are unruly yet flawlessly styled, held perfectly on top of her head with the most beautiful satin scarf. 

“Thank you again for helping me the other day. You’re a saint for that.” You hang your book bag on the back of your chair, pulling out its contents for class. “You’ll never believe this, but that guy that slammed into me with no remorse, he’s in my class. The one that he made me so late for. And because of that, we’re partnered together for a semester-long project.” 

“Ah yes, Jake,” she says under a giggle, adjusting her dark green, slouchy sweater off her toned shoulder. “He’s something else, that’s for sure. He’s got a good heart but he covers it with that mysterious, dark facade that he thinks makes him look so cool.” 

Alas, Lennon does have a first name after all. Although, you prefer the nickname you’ve given him. 

“Well, Jake has made it rather clear that I am not his favorite person and I can’t for the life of me figure out why. I’m not sure how we’ll manage to make it through this semester together with his shitty attitude.”

She hums under her breath, slowly shaking her head as if to say ‘just you wait.’

“My name’s Natalia. Where’d you fly in from?”

The way her name rolls off her tongue with her slight accent is nothing short of beautiful.

“Just a miniscule town in Oklahoma. Is it really that obvious that I’m not from here?” you answer in a hushed tone, half embarrassed to admit such a thing.

She grins as she sings a few words from the title track from the beloved Rodgers and Hammerstein musical, showcasing her stark white teeth that compliment her glowing, tanned skin perfectly.

“I hate to tell you Ms. Oklahoma, but you do kind of stick out like a sore thumb,” she quips. 

Having gone from a small, southern town to the outskirts of Detroit, you’re bound to look like an outsider until the culture shock wears off, much to your discontent. 

As much as you wish you could quickly adapt and easily blend in, it’s just not possible. Your face twinges as you remember your first day, specifically that one class you’d care to not mention any further. 

“Welcome, students, to Women in Literature. My name is Dr. Lacey and I’ll be your instructor through the duration of this course.” 

Class begins and you both submerge yourself in a study that’s particularly important to each of you.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

“I can’t call you Ms. Oklahoma forever, you know.” 

You and Natalia have the rest of the day free from classes, so you decided to walk with her to the Central Campus library to do some studying.

“I guess you’re right,” you say through a laugh. “My name is y/n.”

You walk across the large courtyard full of lush green grass, intricate steel benches and the most lovely hydrangeas colored a deep purple. 

The Michigan landscape is a far cry from anything you had ever seen in Oklahoma. Everything's so green and flourished, so full of life. Vibrant colors paint the scenery in the most beautiful vision. 

The weather is nearly perfect, with the temperatures never exceeding the mid seventies and the humidity far below the excruciating levels of the southern states. 

You’re in awe as you go day to day with the sheer beauty of the nature that surrounds you. 

Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, your curiosity begins to take over your every thought. Jake Kiszka. Your semester-long partner. You need to know more about him, as much as you attempt to relinquish the desire.

You finally build up the courage to ask. “So, how do you know him?”

She looks at you upon your inquiry, squinting her eyes as she studies your face. “Who, Jake?” She says with a sinister grin about her. 

“Yes, Jake. What is it about him that he feels the need to treat people like they’re beneath him?”

“Ah, Sir Jacob,” she says. “He’s a bit of an enigma, I guess you could say. And yes, he is single.” She throws you a wink as you stare at her with utter disgust at her wisecrack.

“I do not care if he’s single,” you respond, causing her to snort a chuckle. 

“I’ve known the guy for years. We go all the way back to the golden days of our youth. He and his twin brother graduated high school a year before me, and their younger brother was a year below me.” A twin? There’s two of him? “I’ve known their family for the better part of my life. Good people, truly. I can’t begin to tell you how much they’ve helped my family and me.”

You’ve only just met him, but the words ‘good’ and ‘Jake’ don’t seem to belong in the same sentence. 

“Incidentally enough, his twin, Josh, and my brother, Malachi, have been partners since they graduated together. So, they’re kind of my family, too.” You walk up the steps to the library as she holds the large wooden door open for you.“I promise you, y/n. He’s not all bad. You’ve just seen what he projects to people he doesn’t know. Like I said, he thinks it makes him look cool.”

Your thoughts momentarily stop as you take your first steps into the library. You’re in shock. Though, you shouldn’t be. Every single building you’ve stepped foot into on this campus is absolutely immaculate, and the library is no exception.

It’s almost bewitching, with thousands of books lining the walls, reaching chandeliers that seem to hang from the clouds at their height. 

The alluring musty scent of aged novels fill your senses and take you back to a time long since forgotten. 

It’ll be far too tempting to spend all of your time here, getting lost in the pages that fill the space of grandeur.

You’ve been stuck in a near trance by the beauty surrounding you, you hadn’t even noticed that Natalia moved behind the circulation desk.

“It’s also his way of keeping his guard up. It’s rare that anyone gets to discover the true Jacob,” she says as she types away at the computer sitting at the desk.

“Um, Natalia?” You quietly ask. “Should you be back there?”

She laughs as she takes in your slightly terrified expression, “Well I would say so, ya know, since it’s the start of my shift.”

“You work here?” How could anyone be so lucky as to work in such an immaculate setting?

“It’s a pretty sweet gig. It’s not the most thrilling job but it’s nice and quiet. I get to spend my days among books, and the tuition break is a pretty nice incentive.” She secures her gold plated magnetic name badge to sweater, making her look rather official.

A job on campus would be utter perfection for you. You’ll be spending a vast majority of your time here anyways, and the tuition break would be a significant help in your situation. 

“Do you happen to know of any other jobs on campus that are hiring?” you ask, almost embarrassed, but you have a feeling you can trust her. “I’m kind of in a pinch to find something soon. Desperate, actually.”

She rests her chin between her index finger and thumb, seeming to ponder your question. “I know of a few,” she says. “One that just so happens to be in this very library, if you’re interested.” Her voice carries an almost sarcastic tone, she knows you’re interested. 

“Oh my god, are you serious? I would love to work here!” you say.

“I figured you would.” She rummages through the credenza and pulls out a sheet of paper entitled ‘Employment Application’ and sets it on the desk in front of you. 

“Go ahead and fill this out, and I’ll consider putting in a good word for you.” She winks at you as she hands you a pen. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

Classes have become increasingly difficult. It’s nothing you can’t handle, but you find it hard to make time for much of anything outside of work and school. 

You started your new job at the library one week ago today. You pick up as many shifts as possible, mostly evenings and nights as your days are taken up with your classes. The library stays open until ten o’clock, so most nights you don’t get home until at least ten thirty. 

You set aside a little time after class everyday to run home and take care of your mom before work, making her dinner and being sure her nightly medications are set out before you head back to campus.

As busy as you are, you truly love your job and you’re immensely excited about your studies.

Your friendship with Natalia has bloomed beautifully over the last week. 

You’re so grateful for her. She has been your saving grace lately as this last week has been a bit treacherous. Her companionship has been a major help in your adjustment to this new way of life and your somewhat rigorous schedule.

Jake, on the other hand–well, things are about the same. You’ve set aside your pride a few times this week in an attempt to get along with him for the sake of your project, but he just brushed you off, every single time. 

This project is massive, and not having it started yet, or even having a single idea about what you’ll do with it, is giving you serious anxiety. 

The tension with him seems to grow by the day and you’re almost at the end of your rope with it. You don’t know how to fix it, but you need to figure out something soon so you can bury this unnecessary hatchet and focus on your shared assignment.

–

After running home to make dinner for your mom and tend to a few chores, you make it back to campus just in time to begin your shift.

Tonight, you’re in charge of contacting students with missing books and tacking on late fees to their accounts if necessary. 

You’re sitting at the computer, scrolling through the seemingly endless list of students and calling them to let them know of the fees they’ve accrued. 

Most of them are rather displeased with you upon your notice, some of them even giving you a small piece of their mind before abruptly hanging up on you. 

You make phone call after phone call, trekking through the list organized alphabetically by last name.

At last, you’ve made it to the end of the J’s. Your task for the evening was to make it halfway through the list, and you’re nearly there as you begin contacting students whose last names begin with K. 

Upon reading the name of the next student, your heart sinks to the pit of your stomach.

Kiszka, Jacob T (1): Le Morte d’Arthur (Norton Critical Edition) - Mallory

“You can’t be serious,” you mumble.

You debate on ‘accidentally’ skipping him, but you don’t want anything to jeopardize your brand new job.

You have to call him, and you’re not looking forward to it.

You suddenly hear the voice of your boss in the back of your mind, “It’s proper etiquette to always state your name when calling students, so be sure to introduce yourself with each call you make.” 

You quickly make up your mind that you will not mention your name during your call to him. The last thing you need is any more awkward air between you two.

You dial his number and wait, listening to the ominous ringing from the other end. 

Your eyes are pinched shut, your palms sticky with sweat as you secretly hope he doesn’t answer. 

Then, the ringing comes to a stop, “Hello?”

Shit. 

“Is this Jacob?” You use your best professional tone, hoping to disguise your voice as much as you can.

“This is he,” he responds, the statement ending in more of a question.

“Hi, Jacob. This is y/n with the Central Campus Library.”

Fuck.

You throw your head in your hand, mentally cursing yourself for letting your name slip through. Maybe he didn’t notice, you think to yourself.

There’s an uncomfortable silence for a moment before you clear your throat and continue speaking.

“I’m calling about your overdue copy of Le Morte d’Arthur.”

“Y/n? Aren’t you in my class?” he asks.

So much for him not noticing. 

Ignoring his question, you proceed “It looks like you checked it out over the summer and it’s now twenty eight days overdue. Per policy, there has been a fee of seven dollars and fifty cents added to your account. If it is not returned by the thirty one day mark, you will receive anoth-” 

He patronizingly cuts you off before you can finish, “You’re in Movack’s class, huh? You sit right next to me.” 

With a sigh of frustration, you finish telling him that he must return it within three days or he’ll receive a much heftier fee.

“Yeah, okay. We’ll see about that,” he says before hanging up on you. His short tone has infuriated you beyond belief.

“Asshole,” you exclaim as you slam the phone down on the receiver causing a booming echo to erupt throughout the building. Luckily, the only other person here with you is Natalia. She’s been in the back sorting books while you’ve been dealing with overdue rentals.

Her boisterous laughter adds to the echoing bouncing off the walls. “I heard that,” she yells.

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

You’re especially dreading Dr. Movacks class today after your phone call with Jake last night. You know for a fact that things will be even more tense with him today, and you’re just not in the mood to deal with it.

The exhaustion from everything piled on your plate has really begun to set in. Jake is the last thing you want to worry about. With each unpleasant interaction with him, your impatience grows to new levels.

With the support of your large cold brew in hand, you gather the nerve to walk into class. 

“So you work at the library, huh?” Jake says as you take your seat. 

“Yep,” you say in response. You pull out your phone and scroll mindlessly, giving him the hint that you’re less than interested in talking with him.

Class begins, and Dr. Movack starts his lecture on Arthurian timelines. You’re trying to pay close attention, but you find yourself becoming increasingly distracted– by Jake. 

He smells so good– a mix of sandalwood and vanilla. You’ve noticed it before, but for some reason it’s particularly exhilarating today. 

You chalk it up to delusion from fatigue and force yourself to pay attention to the lecture. 

But fuck if it isn’t hard has hell to ignore. 

You reach for your coffee, glancing Jake's way when you make yet another intrusive realization.

The way he grips his pen so tightly– the veins in his hand and forearm protrude in the most captivating way. 

Your eyes slowly follow a trail to his pecks, the curve of them seen just beneath his partially open, black—of course—button down. You watch them tense slightly with each word he writes. 

Dr. Movack ends the lecture and you suddenly realize you’ve been staring far too long.  

“Can I help you?”  

You’re instantly mortified at him catching your stare. Desperate to find any excuse, you happen to see his copy of Le Morte d’Arthur sitting underneath his notebook. Thank god. 

“Your book,” you point to the novel. “You need to return it.” 

He huffs a laugh as he takes his sunglasses off, leaving you stunned. This is the first time you’ve seen his face without their obstruction—and the first time you’ve ever seen his eyes. 

His eyes are kind and warm. They glow amber brown like a glass of whiskey on the rocks, intoxicating you just as the smooth drink would.

“I still have two days, right?”

You saw his lips move, but the sound that came from them was muffled in your head as you’re entirely mesmerized by his eyes.

“Right?” he asserts, breaking you from your trance.

You blink your eyes a few times to bring yourself back to earth as your brain registers what he had said.

“What? Y– yes, you still have two days,” you say. “You know it’s not a required reading until later on in the semester, right? Why do you need it right now?”

“Maybe I wanted to get a head start,” he says while tossing it in his black leather satchel. “Maybe it’s not any of your business.” He swiftly gets up and walks away, leaving you completely frustrated yet again. 

Your journey to your next class feels more like a rigorous trudge. You’re walking fast and hard, stomping your feet with each step as your anger towards Jake exudes through your body. 

Not only are you pissed at his stupid fucking attitude, you’re pissed that you find him so damn attractive. 

How could you possibly find someone like him appealing? Appealing to the eye, yes, but that’s where it stops. He’s a walking rain cloud hovering over you, stealing all the sunshine from your day in only a matter of a single class period. 

You’re impatiently counting the days until this class– until this project– is over and done with so you can move on and live a peaceful existence. 

⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎ ⚔︎ ⛨ ⚔︎

It’s just about time to close the library and you could not be more ready. The last few days have been incredibly draining. With homework piling up in heaps, multiple tests to study for and working nearly every night, your stress is at an all time high. 

Thankfully, tomorrow is Saturday. This will be your first day off all week and you’re beyond ready for some much needed relaxation. You just need to get through these next five, excruciating minutes.

It’s been awfully quiet tonight and you’re grateful for it since you’re the only one working, but the lack of students has made the shift feel much longer than usual. 

You glance up at the clock that says it’s two minutes until ten. Given you haven’t seen any signs of a student in hours, you figure it would be okay to go ahead and lock up a few minutes early.

Just as you're about to twist the lock on the bolt, someone from the other end hastily turns the knob and pushes open the door with great force, causing you to stumble backwards.

Standing before you with their overdue book in hand, and to your utter disgust, is Jake. 

“We’re closed, Jake.”

He takes a few steps inside as he points behind you at the clock. “According to that, you’re still open for one more minute and I need to return my book.”

Of fucking course he waited until the literal last minute. 

You want nothing more than to turn him away and tell him he’s shit out of luck, but technically, he’s right. He’s entered the building before closing and according to policy, you have to serve him.

Son of a bitch. 

You bring your hand up to rub your forehead, trying to relieve some tension before you begin this process with him. “Follow me,” you say as you head back to the desk.

There’s an awkward silence lingering between you two as you sign into the computer, the only sound being his fingers tapping away at the desk as he impatiently waits for you.

“You could’ve just put it in the drop box outside, you know. They would’ve gotten it on Monday morning,” you tell him.

“Yeah, but then it would’ve been late. I’m not letting you all charge yet another absurd late fee,” he retorts.

“You should’ve turned it in on time, then.” 

You seem to have struck a nerve with him given the way his jaw clenched at your statement. You just can’t bring yourself to care– he’s the one forcing you to stay late when all you want to do is go home and go to bed. 

You go through the return process as quickly as you can. You finish, giving him his copy of the document that states he brought the book back. 

“Thanks,” he says. “Now I would like to check it back out, please.” 

Are you fucking kidding.

You know he’s doing this just to spite you.

You throw your hands down on the keyboard, “Seriously? Why can’t you just come back on Monday?” 

“Because I need it this weekend,” he claims.

“What could you possibly need it for?” Any semblance of patience you may have had left has officially walked out the door.

“Didn’t I tell you it was none of your business?” 

You take a deep breath and push it back out in a long sigh. You just don’t have it in you to argue anymore, so you accept defeat and begin checking it back out to him. 

You don’t say anything as you hand him a pen and the checkout slip for him to sign. He grabs the pen, looking at you with a slight guilt-ridden expression before giving his signature. 

“I’m working on a film with my brother, and I need the book to help him write the script.” This is the first time you’ve ever noted a hint of sincerity in his voice. The features of his face have softened– you can tell this is important to him. 

You flip delicately through the tattered and stained pages of the book. “I have my own copy of this out in my car,” you say. “I’ll just let you borrow mine. It’s in much better condition than this one, anyways.”

He agrees as you take the slip from under his fingers and crumple it, throwing it in the trash can under the desk. He waits a few minutes, letting you lock up. 

Then, he follows closely behind you to your car to retrieve the book.

You bend at the waist to dig for the book in the mess of your backseat. When you do so, you hear him take a deep inhale, and then blow it out in an exhale.

Is he annoyed with you having to dig? Because he can get the fuck over it. 

Just as you hear him clear his throat in impatience, you’ve found the book. You stand and hand him the book, annoyed with him and ready to leave. He thanks you, and you nod, bidding him a hasty ‘good night’… you’re just ready to get home. 

He begins to walk away, but stops and turns back around to face you.

Fuck. You’d been so close to being in the car, on your way home. Dammit.

“This film my brother’s doing,” he says. “Its focus surrounds the adultery of Arthur and Guinevere. He asked me to help him, and I was thinking…” You nod your head to let him know to keep going. “Well, if we both helped him, we could use it for our project.” 

Your interest is certainly piqued. “Yeah, that could work. I’ve written a few scripts and designed theoretical sets for a couple film electives before… so I could definitely do that.”

“He could use more help with all of that for sure, but what he really needs are actors, specifically ones to play Arthur and Guinevere. He’s been begging me to play Arthur and I agreed, but now he’s on my case about finding someone to play Guinevere and, well...” He gestures his arms towards you, signaling that he thinks you should play her. 

“Um…,” you take a minute to figure out how to politely turn him down as you feel a blush rise to your cheeks. You’d never admit it, but just the mere thought of interacting with him so intimately in those roles has your stomach doing weird flips. “Jake… I– I don’t know about that. I’m much better behind the camera, acting just isn’t really my thing.” 

“Just give it a try,” he insists. Why does he seem so adamant? Geez. “And if you hate it, you can do something else. But I think you’d be great at it, really.” He smiles at you, the first time you’ve seen a true, genuine smile from him.

Well, fuck.

You want to say no, you should say no. With how he’s treated you thus far, you don’t owe him anything. But– you can’t deny how it would help your project. And this project in Movack’s class… It's important to you. It would be fantastic to have it to back up your own project… 

And, aside from that, his smile is making it awfully hard to turn him down right now. 

If you were alone, you would have slapped your forehead at the utter chaos in your head, leading to your ultimate decision.

With a little hesitancy, you speak up, “I guess I could stop by. Feel out the role…”

His features seem to lift more at that. You pay it hardly any mind. 

And with his final reply, his velvet-toned voice has a brand new, excited, air to it. “It’ll be really amazing, I promise.” Then, he chuckles, almost to himself. “It’ll definitely be interesting,” he shakes his head, a grin still lifting his cheek. “But really… I think it’ll be great. I know my brother and you will get along. He’s also one hell of a director.” 

Minutes later, as you’re climbing into your driver's seat, you take a few minutes to sit in the silence of your car. 

Trying your damnedest to block out the obnoxious fluorescent lighting of the parking lot, you stare through your windshield into the black night sky. 

And when normally, the blanket of black would bring you a sense of peace and comfort, tonight it’s different. Tonight, you can’t help but feel a burgeoning sense of timidness as you fail to find answers to your new predicament in the night sky.

What in the hell had you just agreed to?

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Le Morte d’Arthur Masterlist

Masterlist

[oralmisery]

Dear the King of Hawkins

The Love Letters were a means of catharsis, a way for Eddie to bare his soul. In private. They were never supposed to be sent.

Especially the one to Steve Harrington.

Basically a To All the Boys I've Loved Before au💌

[ complete fic on ao3 ]

Rating: E | WC: 12,293 | tags: Fluff and Smut, Light Angst, Happy Ending, Light Dom/sub, Dom Eddie, Sub Steve, One Shot, Porn with Feelings

When Steve sees the envelope he isn't sure what to think. It takes him a moment to even register who Eddie Munson is. In Steve’s circles, he’s usually referred to as “The Freak”. 

Munson is practically a permanent fixture of Hawkins high. A smear in the background, here to blemish Steve’s senior year since he flunked his own. If it's not Munson then it's some other oddly dressed weirdo. There's always people like that. The outcasts, the dregs, the ones you ignore. Except Munson. He’s pretty hard to ignore when he’s standing on lunch tables and being generally obnoxious. It's probably why there's so many rumors about him. Well that and being one of the only sources for drugs in town, Munson squeaks out of most beatdowns; what people can't punch they talk shit about.

People say all sorts of things. Satan worshiper. Nerd. Loser. Trash. Creep. Dangerous. Freak. Steve’s not sure how he can be a nerd and dangerous at the same time but he doesn't give it much thought. He's never even spoken to the guy. Tommy always got the weed on the rare occasion they wanted to smoke. 

That's why getting a letter from him was weird. It came in the mail. The mail. Mixed in with bills and coupons. It has a stamp, a little American flag. There is no reason for the guy to reach out to Steve, especially through the postal service.

Dear the King of Hawkins,

I'm sure every day is a sunny one when it's spent on a throne and under a crown. The way you walk these halls no one would believe otherwise. Everyone around you–drawn to your wealth, your looks and confidence–are just subjects turned fools. Led equally by charm and wrath. I wonder what it would be like to be favored in your court? To sit at your side, shoulder to shoulder, instead of distanced by so much more than just space? I can only piece together a flawed fantasy. A distorted image made from the glimpses I get from outside the castle gates. Assuming I’m even considered part of the kingdom, that is.

What the fuck is this. Steve snickers, did the freak send him a sad hate letter? Maybe to everyone in school? Tommy was going to have an absolute riot when he showed him, maybe they can compare letters.

I hope you at least know my name, Hawkins being as small as it is. You've never once looked at me like you actually see me. I know because I can't stop looking at you. Even though you're an entitled asshole, I happen to agree with what anyone with eyes can see. You are so beautiful I think they need to make a new word for it.

Alarms start ringing in his ears. He scans that last line over and over. No matter how many times he reads it, it doesn't change. He checks the front of the envelope to make sure it's really from Munson.

I wasn't surprised when you received your royal title. You’ve always had a way of commanding attention. Inspiring people to follow you blindly with enduring loyalty. I noticed it when I first moved here. I joined the 5th grade class halfway through the school year and everyone already knew each other. I was alone and scared shitless. I know you don't remember but that first week you invited me to a game of tag on the playground. You were genuinely nice, funny even. You made me feel like I could actually have friends here. Then Tommy returned to school after having the flu and we never talked again. I still remember your grin though, you had a tooth missing on the bottom row. Sometimes I see hints of that kid now, usually when you're talking up girls. I've got this sadistic urge to see your smile with a few teeth missing, just to compare you with your younger self. Which is entirely plausible with the fights you get into, but I fear the temptation to kiss you better will be too much.

He's right, Steve doesn't recall that at all. He's trying in vain to remember, but his memory has never been great and he's coming up blank. Can't even imagine Munson as a little kid, probably without his signature long hair. Nobody describes Steve as nice and actually means it. He skips over the word kiss because it’s giving him a terrible stomach ache. He drops into a chair and sets the letter on the kitchen table so the sweat on his palms doesn't smudge the paper.

Ya know, while I agree with the king stuff, I much prefer “The Hair”. Talk about temptation. Your hair haunts me. It makes my brain stutter, I want to simultaneously pet it softly and pull it out of your skull. I get why people used to give locks of hair as mementos. If I had a piece of yours, I'd twirl it around my fingers, imagining what I could do to the source. I want to see those brown waves messy, tug on them until your head looks like a bird nest. I want to see your hair spread out on my sheets. I want to find strands of it on my jacket, in my van, and clogging my shower drain.

It's hopeless, this infatuation. Fucking terrible in all honesty. You're a distraction I can't afford. I'm pretty sure I failed history last semester solely on the fact that you chew pens. It's a cruel combination; wandering attention and a vivid imagination. With the amount of times I've pictured you stretched around my cock, fingers, and tongue I can almost recall you clenching down on me like a real memory. I imagine opening you up real slow until you're begging for it with tears dripping down your face. The background changes like flipping through channels on a TV. Over the hood of your stupid car, Mrs. O'Donnell desk, the picnic table behind the school, anywhere that has a surface really. I probably imagine us most in my bed though. 

Steve’s stomach twists and revulsion burns his throat. It's fucking gross, Munson is a guy . And why the hell would Steve be the receiver in all this? Unwanted, graphic images play behind his eyes. He can't help it, the letter is descriptive. He can feel cold metal on his stomach and wood chafing along his back. Taste phantom salt from tears. He reaches up to run a jittery hand through his hair but aborts the gesture midway when he thinks about Munson wanting to do the same exact thing.

He considers just ripping up the letter without reading the rest but sick curiosity stops him. Like peeking out between fingers to watch a scary movie.

If it was just lust I could handle it. Teenage hormones and all that. But it's deeper than that, more than sex, I want you to look at me like everyone looks at you, like a king. It's horribly cliché but I want you to call me baby and hold my hand. Most of all I want to show you that someone cares about you because I'm worried you don't know that. There's this look on your face when no one else is watching, like you're not here but you want to be. Like you're waiting for something that's not coming. I think it's loneliness. Heaven knows I've felt it enough to recognize it. Maybe that's why I'm still harboring this torch for you even though it’s pointless. I wish I had the chance to make you happy, to take care of you and erase the word abandonment from your vocabulary. Even now, through the crowd, in the bleachers, the other side of the cafeteria, across the entirety of this shitty town, you're not alone because I'm there loving you every second of the day.

Yours,

Eddie Munson

A drop of liquid falls onto the paper, right next to Eddie’s signature. It knocks Steve out of his mental spiral and he reaches up to wipe at his eyes. He didn't even realize they were leaking tracks down his face. 

you're not alone because I'm there loving you every second of the day.

What the fuck is this. Eddie “the freak” Munson is in love with him? What's more upsetting is Steve’s gut reaction; he doesn't deserve it. This level of devotion. He suddenly sees himself from an outside perspective. He's not a good person. There's an inherent reason why his parents are gone most of the time, his friends are mean and shallow, and he jumps from girl to girl. There’s something lacking in him that drives people away, unless he–what were Munson's words?– leads with charm and wrath .

How does Munson know he's lonely when Steve didn't even know? It's mortifying to put an actual word to the feeling. That his efforts to surround himself with people, the “right” people, have apparently meant fuck all. He must look so pathetic to Munson, a deadbeat loser, who sees through him like glass.

What’s the guy’s deal? Why did Munson even send this? What does he expect from Steve? He wrote the words himself. Hopeless. Pointless . There's no ask to meet up, not even a request for an answer. He just drops this bomb into Steve’s life and expects to make a quiet exit? Just wants Steve to know he's loved for the sake of it? That’s dramatic even for the freak. The guy spends too much time doped up if he thinks he's going to flay Steve open and get away with it.

Yours,

Eddie Munson

Steve traces over the word Yours, with a finger. He’s going to get answers. 

[ continue reading ]

[todaysdocument]

Letter from J. B. Densmore to the Secretary of State Regarding the Number of American Citizens Who Had Sailed for and Returned from Europe from August 1 to August 12, 1914

Record Group 85: Records of the Immigration and Naturalization ServiceSeries: Subject and Policy FilesFile Unit: European War - German Refugees - Deportation of Italians - Alien Deportations

53854/39 August 14, 1914.

The Honorable,

The Secretary of State.

Sir:

In reply to your telegram of the 12th instant, requesting information as to the number of American citizens who have sailed for Europe since August 1st and the number who have returned to America from Europe since that date, I beg to inclose a table, prepared by the Bureau of Immigration, giving the desired data for the period from August 1st to 12th, inclusive.

Respectfully,

[stamped in blue] EXACT COPY AS SIGNED BY J. B. DENSMORE MAILED BY [/stamped in blue]

Acting Secretary.

[8/14 and illegible letter written over the stamped information]

SWM-F

Inclosure No. 1070.

Arrivals of United States citizens from Europe August 1 to 12, 1914, inclusive:

Port First Second Third Total

Class Class Class

New York 2265 2136 1076 5477

Boston 144 460 63 667

Philadelphia 2 150 46 198

Canadian Seaports 494 413 310 1217

Total 2905 3159 1495 7559

Departures of United States citizens for Europe August 1 to 12, 1914, inclusive:

Port First Second Third Total

Class Class Class

New York 284 595 747 1626

Boston 8 62 12 82

Philadelphia 73 29 102

New Orleans 4 4

Total 296 730 788 1814

Departures via Canadian Seaports are unreported.

[kireilien]

RAHHH i love the post office-inspired theme.. it's so unique and cuteness omg hello

THE MEME IS KILLING ME LULLLLL but thank u as i say as if i didnt rip out my hair making my pinned BRUH IDK IF I STILL LIKE IT OR NOT i love the stamp i made but is it like too red bc my other first class mail are more multicolored IDK ANYWAYS FROM MISS BEST THEMES HERSELF i bow