#rules and schedule

[subharryfest]

Sub Harry Fest Rules & Schedule

Hello hello and welcome to the newly rejuvenated Sub Harry Fest! Below you will find everything you need to know before we get started! You can always send a message or an ask if you have any questions ☺️

Rules

The primary requirement for writing in this fest is that Harry is a main character, and that he is submissive in some way. This can be sexually, in non-sexual kink, or he could even just have “submissive” qualities in his everyday life. As long as it’s clear that Harry is submissive in one way or another, you can interpret the word as you please.

That being said, smut is not required (though we do love to see it 😉), and if there is smut, Harry does not have to bottom. (Tops can be submissive too!)

You must be 18 years or older to participate.

Content will not be moderated for this fest. Anything goes as long as everything is appropriately tagged and warnings are used as needed.

Girl Direction, trans characters, and omegaverse are all allowed. Any and all pairings are welcome, or even “no pairing” if that’s your thing!

There’s no word count minimum or maximum—write what feels right! You may write with a co-author, and you may write more than one fic, as long as you feel that you can handle it. Using a beta is not required, though it is recommended.

This fest is not anonymous, so share as many snippets as you would like! Feel free to tag the fest so that your snippets can be reblogged!

Fics must be completed upon submission—no WIPs please! Extensions can be given as needed! Dropping out will not result in a penalty if this fest has another round in the future.

Moodboards/art are not required, but if you choose to include one, please no ai. Fics written by ai are also not allowed.

There are prompts to choose from, but you are welcome to write your own prompt if you’d prefer! (Prompt submissions are currently back open but closing soon!)

Signups will remain open throughout the fest, so feel free to join at any point! (Signups are currently open!)

Communication for this fest will take place via Tumblr messages rather than email.

This fest is run by @emilarry (not the mod of the original fest!)

Schedule

Prompt Submissions: March 14th - March 29th

Author Signups: April 1st - Ongoing (come sign up whenever!)

Fic Submissions due - September 28th

Fic Posting Starts - September 29th

Hope you come join us!! 🥰

[merlinfluffalooza]

Rules and Schedule for 2023

General Fest Guidelines: 

This is an 18+ fest, meaning you have to be 18 years or older to participate. 

We accept all kinds of ratings and all pairings (Merlin characters only).

The fest will be held on Tumblr, Livejournal and Discord. You are required to have an AO3 account for posting. If you don’t have an account, you can request an invite here (please make sure to ask for invites sufficiently ahead of time as they may take up to two weeks or more to arrive, especially in light of recent attacks).

To participate in the fest, please fill out the sign-up form (open before and throughout the fest). 

When you create something for the fest, we ask that you put a link in the dedicated discord channel, so that we can keep track (and for your work to be easily found by the other participants!). If you do not have a discord account, do not worry! We will also have a way for you to submit your creations on tumblr, where you won’t need an account.

Fanworks must be original, stand-alone works created for the purpose of the fest. Please don’t dust off older works and reuse them. 

On this note, all fanworks must be human made. No AI is allowed.

Types of accepted fanworks are fanfic, fanart (digital and traditional, moodboards included), fanvids, podfics.

Podfics must be a recording of an original work created for the fest. No podficcing fics that are already out there.

As a main requirement, participants are expected to post at least one fanwork for The Red Thread of Fluff main challenge. You are free to produce as many fanworks as you like if you feel extra inspired. The Bonus Challenges are not a must. (For more, see requirements)

Fics/fanworks must be considered fluff and must have a happy ending. You can write any kind of fic as long as it covers these grounds. An ideal estimate would be that ⅔ of the fic is centered around fluff.  

You are allowed to crosspost with any fest you want as long as permission to crosspost is given by other fest runners.

In case of defaulting, please contact a mod either on discord (@Admin) or by email at merlin_fluffalooza@gmail.com .

Guidelines for Creators: 

For writers, the minimum word count is 500 words for the Main Challenge: Red Thread of Fluff. There is no maximum word count. 

For artists, the minimum is one completed art piece for the Main Challenge: Red Thread of Fluff. (The definition of complete depends on the artist).

For moodboards, the minimum is 9 elements (pictures, background, titles,...) with at least 2 pictures with characters from the show.

For fanvids, at least 30 seconds of video is required for the Main Challenge: Red Thread of Fluff. 

For podfics, at least 500 words of original fic and at least 7 minutes of reading time is required for the Main Challenge: Red Thread of Fluff.

Chaptered fics are allowed, however, all chapters must be posted before the end of the fest.

There is no specific requirements for the Bonus Challenges.

This is a lightweight fest, so having a beta is not required, though you can still choose to get your work betaed. 

Please tag/rate your works properly, and add warnings if there are any. 

And finally, remember to keep it schmoopy! Work must be considered fluff (⅔ of a written story should be happy making ;-))

Challenges explanations:

This year, the fest gets a makeover! Instead of asking you lovely people for prompts, the mods offer two kinds of challenges:

The Red Thread of Fluff

For those of you who have participated or followed Kinkalot, you may recognise this type of prompting as it is similar to the infamous Kink Link! We will give you a whole range of choices with this challenge. You will have to pick one option from each of the three columns (settings, trope and details), then create! Favourite combinations exhausted yet you want to create more, or simply looking to be surprised? We’ve got you covered, as we can offer you to roll a virtual dice, Dice Maiden, in a dedicated discord channel!

This is your main event and will run for the entire duration of the fest. Prompts will be revealed on September 24th allowing you a bit of preparation time before the start of the fest! Note that posting will only be allowed from October 1st.

Bonus challenges

Each Monday we will offer you a set of prompts in a new format. You will have until the end of the week to submit your fills. The prompts for the bonus are just for your inspiration, if you feel it works, it works for us.

Schedule: 

Fest will run from October 1st to October 31st

Sign-ups run from September 17th 2023 until the end of the main challenge on October 29th.

The Main Challenge, our Red Thread of Fluff, will run from October 1st to October 29th. The prompts will be revealed on the 24th September.

Posting is open from October 1st to October 29th. 

Each Monday, a fun and surprise bonus challenge will be provided by the mods. 

Link Collection - All the Links you’ll need!

Discord server: https://discord.gg/rD3esXdS 

Livejournal Community: https://m-fluffalooza.livejournal.com/ 

Tumblr: https://merlinfluffalooza.tumblr.com/ 

Ao3 Collection: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/merlin_fluffalooza_2023 

Contact the mods: merlin_fluffalooza@gmail.com or @Admin on discord

[workingchemistry]

Every time I picture JereJean meeting with Andriel in a Walmart parking lot to transfer custody of their mutual boyfriend I get another year of my life back.

[happypeachsludgeflower]

Feng Xin and Mu Qing have a fighting schedule. It has rules and a schedule and penalties for missing fights and petty retaliation schedules for when they miss a penalty match and even color-coded charts they both keep in their offices to organize the events.

They have never discussed any of this out loud. It was built entirely through trial and error over centuries of being bitchy when the other would miss a match. In fact, the color-coded charts were born because Feng Xin thought Mu Qing surely had one already and he wrote one up to make sure he could try to keep up with the other man's convoluted harem brain, and Mu Qing realized Feng Xin had one while snooping through Feng Xin's office one day, so he had to make one too, because that's the obvious solution, obviously.

From the outside looking in, it just looks like the two are fighting randomly every few days, but actually it's an elaborate courting ritual neither man will ever admit to. And if they did admit to it, well, the bystander would be honestly baffled at how these two are somehow functional adults at all, let alone martial gods.

[buck2eddie]

pulling the trigger, all wrong.

[fbfh]

did you know that Dean wakes up one morning and realizes he has a fucking bombshell of a wife/husband/spouse, a cozy (slightly rural) suburban house, and not one but three fucking daughters???? Did you know that he woke up one morning to toddler giggles and little kid bickering and baby babbling????? and your girls come charging in hushing their little giggles so they don't wake up mommy and daddy and so OBVIOUSLY he has to pretend to be asleep so he doesn't foil their plan. he focuses all his energy on keeping his face and body relaxed, keeping his breathing even. they're whispering and babbling and Dean peeks an eye open and looks at the love of his life and these three angels with their daddy's attitude and their mama's heart. they have your eyes and his smile. they're... the best parts of both of you, and there's something entirely new and beautiful in each of them too.

Bobby Dean is your oldest, and her 4th birthday is just around the corner. She's 3 and 3/4 right now, and won't let anyone forget it.

Your second is Jodi John, or JJ informally. She's fought her way half way through the terrible twos and is already getting a head start on the whole 3 going on 13 thing.

Mary Cass, or Cassie, is your youngest. She's just over a year old, and wants to do everything her big sisters do.

And Dean is looking at your little girls, and at you. He sees the way the morning sunlight dapples in through the window and illuminates their tangled hair and disney princess nightgowns. Your face is all puffy from sleep, and you still smell like the apple pie you made yesterday.

it's real, he realizes. that pipe dream that apple pie life.

you gave that to him. you did that. you turned his deepest, most unspoken desires into a reality like it was nothing. and every ounce of joy and love and peace he feels every moment of every day, he owes it all to you. You try to tell him on occasion when he gets all sentimental on you, he deserves it. he deserves every good thing he feels, and he's so great with the girls, he's a natural dad and you couldn't possibly dream of a better husband to do it with.

Because at his heart, Dean is a family man. He's your family man.

[yourfavouritecharactersasdragons]

Newt Geiszler from Pacific Rim, please? OuO

[andhumanslovedstories]

Writing prompt: death wants to retire

Thanks for the prompt! This sentence is a link to a video where you can watch me write it in real time!

I thought it'd be fun to record myself writing. Partially to keep myself focused, partially because I watch a lot of people play video games for background sound and I was like, "I can do that but nerdier," and partially because I thought other people might like writing along. We can all do one big asynchronous writing sprint together. It's available for free over on the Cracked Spines patreon, which seemed like the least intimidating way to post a 45 min video of me, alone, doing a creative work. It's like a lofi ASMR video. I talk very softly. I cannot stress how asleep everyone else in the house was while I did this.

I wrote the story below in about fifty mins. I wrote most of it by hand in thirty minutes. That's the video. Then I typed up what I wrote here, did some minor edits, and then actually tried to reach any conclusion. The ** below marks where the writing originally ended. I tried to stay true to the idea of free-writing by hand, so I just put down words and powered ahead.

First there was nothing. Then there was something. Then there was Brittany. In the name of efficiency, I am skipping over a few eons between my creation and Brittany's.

She wasn't a bad person. People who believe certain people should die young wouldn't have said she deserved such a fate. No one deserves anything. I am not a matter of morality. A quick survey of any tragedy will tell you such, and there has never been any shortage of tragedy to study.

She died in her bathroom. A lot of people die in the bathroom. That sounds undignified to those who care about such things, but I personally find the concept of dying at all anywhere from anything mortifying. It has never seemed to make much a difference what room of your house sees your end. Still, we must cater (or at least, I occasionally chose to cater) to the tender sensitivities of mortals. Especially those who have just learned how mortal they are.

"Can I please just pull up my pants?" what remained of Brittany asked me. The container than had once enclosed her was slumped face-down on the tile floor. The position looked like it would feel uncomfortable if the body had the capacity to feel.

"No," I said.

"Please?"

"It's not a matter of permission. I have no power to affect the physical world. Neither do you."

Brittany bent down and passed her hand through her corpse a few times. Humans never just believe you. "What if my unfinished business leads me to become a ghost? Do I get ghost powers? Can ghost powers do anything here?"

"There is not such thing as ghosts."

For the first time since I informed her that she was dead, Brittany looked surprised. "Then what am I right now?"

"A soul."

"How is that different from a ghost?"

"The idea of a ghost is that after a person has left their body, something of them remains behind."

"Which I am, right now," she said.

"You're not. I am getting you. After this, I will take you. There can never be such a thing as a ghost because I do my job."

"Every time?" she asked.

"Always."

"What about everyone else who died at the same time I did?"

"I am talking with them as well." I paused. "Most of them have already moved on."

"Sorry that my death is slowing you down." She did not sound sorry. Humans say things like that sometimes.

"It is not. Nothing slows me. Nothing stops me. This moment between us will never be longer than a moment."

Through force of habit, Brittany tried to check her phone. Because the habit was so deeply ingrained, she succeeded. Now separate from the imposed frame of the physical world, everything she was and had right now was whatever her mind could conceive it to be. "When did I die?" she asked, looking at the clock.

"You didn't at the precise moment that we are talking. You will never get another moment."

She kept looking down at her phone, though she didn't seem to see it. "I guess that's okay," she said at last. "Who wants to see their roommate find their dead body? God, do you think she'll even be sad?"

Insomuch as I can, my form being what it is, I shrugged. I did not have experience with aftermath. By definition, by the time it arrives, I am gone. "Come," I said.

"Hmm," she replied. "What if--hear me out--what if--"

"There is nothing you can do to rearrange your corpse."

"That's not what I'm asking."

I knew that. She was making her boring request. I received it more often than a human mind can conceive, and each time the person requesting it thought they might be the exception.

"No," I said.

"C'mon."

"Compelling argument."

"I'm not saying forever!" Brittany protested. "Just--not right now. A little more time."

"You may remain in this moment for as long as you see fit," I said. "Then, you will go."

"Do you stay with me the whole time?"

"Yes."

Brittany made an expression that a less detached manifestation of the universe might have found insulting. "So I can spend forever in this exact unchanging moment in time, stuck in the bathroom where I died on the toilet, with the Angel of Death who keeps tapping their foot and checking their watch."

Reader, I possess neither feet for a watch. This is one of the many ways in which Brittany Park misrepresented the situation.

"You are dead," I reminded her.

"But I don't want to be!" She threw up her hands. They were already less hand-shaped than they'd been when we'd first started talking. She was forgetting the shape she used to inhabit. It would not be long now.

"Please," she asked.

**There is no construct in all of creation that has been pleaded to more than I. Once--when I was just formed and new to the concept of myself, when the something that came out of the nothing had just realized that everything eventually ended--begging affected me more. You cannot let such appeals hold sway. As I told Brittany, this was not a matter of permission. She was asking gravity to not pull her down to earth. If gravity felt guilt, what use did that serve anyone?

"No one escapes death but Death," I told her.

She brightened up suddenly. "Okay! Then how do I become Death?"

No time passed in the forever moment we inhabited. If time had passed, you could have said there was an inordinately long pause that followed this statement.

"I am Death," I reminded her.

"Sure," Brittany said flippantly. "But like, forever?"

She completed the dying process shortly after this conversation. It was inevitable. Liquid water does not hold its shape when the vessel that contained it breaks. When she forgot herself entirely, when she could no longer conceive of the division between that which was her and that which was everything else, I swept her gently into my coin purse. Across the world, across the universe, across a vast endlessness that ate even now at the nothingness from which everything had emerged, I performed the same function for uncountable organisms on every scale of existence. I reaped a microbe. I reaped a star. I reaped Brittany. And the work continued, unchanged, as it had been unchanged since the beginning, as I had been unchanged since the distant agony of my first death, when I decided what I did could never again be allowed to hurt so deeply.

And yet I keep hearing the question: forever? She had said it the same way she had said, "C'mon." An appeal to my reason. Asking me to admit what we both knew was obvious, what we both knew was ridiculous. Forever? I am what I am forever?

The answer is in the affirmative. Anything else would be impossible. Humans enjoy pondering the counterfactual. I have never seen any reason to concern myself with more than what is. I will forget the words in time, as I have undoubtedly forgotten others like it. If the thought seems to linger, then there has simply not been enough time. I can wait. I have forever.

[han-ban-bam]

apparently there has been a shift in tone for (1) Hercules Debaudin. @noshirdalal plz review for quality control 🙏 he heard there was a leak in the submarine

[helpiamlostsomewhereinthegarden]

Belphie pissed tf off and tired like always: You think you’re cute don’t you?

MC who used a new spell to shock him awake and grinning wide af: Bitch I’m adorable

[fallout4bigbang]

Fallout 4 Big Bang Event Details

What Is A Big Bang?

I don't want to be a writer or an artist, can I still participate?

Of course! There is also the option to be a beta reader for the event's writers, or to be a moderator for the Tumblr or the Discord server. Aside from that, however, you'll just have to follow along for updates and wait for posting week! (we'll be posting teasers in the months to come)

Do I have to join the Discord server to participate?

No, you do not! It is helpful for brainstorming, writing sprints and connections with other writers and artists, but it is perfectly fine to simply create your own group chat (Tumblr, Discord, or elsewhere) once your group is announced.

Event Schedule

Submission Requirements

5K word requirement for fanfiction. You can, and are of course, encouraged to, go over the requirement!

Tag appropiately. You are allowed to be dark in your fiction, but we require that content warnings be given with the writer summaries and that important tags are included with both the art and the fiction in our event.

Art can be traditional, digital, animatic, animation, sculpture, comic, moodboard, etc. As long as it was selected as one of the art forms the writer is okay with, it is fine.

Any work, art or fanfic, does not have to be perfect. It does however have to have time put into it. Please use your best judgment.

Art must be made by you. Plagiarism is not allowed, and use of generative AI to make your written work or artwork will be cause for removal from the event. Please don't.

Have other questions? Feel free to ask!

[citricjoy]

i think i know why kyle wasn’t a part of the strange darling press circuit

[dbh-bb]

Five weeks to go!

Writer sign ups will be closing in FIVE WEEKS for this year's Detroit: Become Human Big Bang and RK50K Mega Bang!

What do you need to do to join up?

Still got questions? There's also our master rules document and FAQ, or you can come along and ask a mod in discord or send your question to this tumblr!

Interested in joining and haven't signed up yet? Our writer sign up form is here, but don't forget to join the discord!

[generic-enthusiast]

Modern Purim Stevepop AU

“Sodaaa! We’re going to be laaaate!”

“Pony, we’re half an hour early!” 

Soda could hear Ponyboy pouting from halfway across the house. He rolled his eyes, then decided to never externalise that again because, if his reflection was anything to go by, it was not a good look on him. 

All right, maybe not never again, but not for the next two hours. He had a Boy to impress and two hours a year to do it in. 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be out in a sec!” He checked himself in the mirror, fixed a strand of hair that was out of place, and unlocked the bathroom door. 

Can of soda for the third year running, and the joke wasn’t getting old. 

They’d been going to the synagogue to read the Megillah Esther for as long as Soda could remember, but the Boy only appeared when he was ten or so. 

He’d walked in alone, startlingly small among the mostly adult crowd. Someone had been walking by when they noticed he wasn’t wearing a yarmulke and plopped one on his head without a second though. 

He’d jumped about a foot in the air. 

Then he’d grabbed the yarmulke, smiling a bit when he realised what it was, and looked around to find who’d put it on him. 

He didn’t find them, but he did meet Soda’s eyes from across the room. 

Soda obviously looked away in the most conspicuous way possible and instantly fell in love. (Or, maybe not in love, given they didn’t know each other, but the Boy was his bi awakening.)

The Boy didn’t stay for the party afterwards — although it wasn’t much of a party, more of a potluck / awkward family reunion where old people would come up to you and claim to have changed your diapers — and never dressed up as anything for purim. He came and left alone, even when he couldn’t have possibly been much older than Soda. 

“Really, Soda? Coke again?”

Soda grinned at Darry widely. “S’a good joke.”

Maybe Darry was about to respond, but Ponyboy was downright glowering at the two of them, so they shuffled over to the car quietly and let Ponyboy take the left-hand seat. 

The Curtises talked on the way to the synagogue, but it was unclear who was talking and what they were talking about because in Soda’s head the Boy was talking — his voice was hard to pin down but Soda imagined it’d be a bit lower than his own, he seemed a bit older —, complaining about school with Soda, and then he was laughing and his laugh was so pretty and it was because of something Soda said and —

“Move, idiot, or I’ll shake you till the bubbles make you explode.”  

Soda rolled his eyes, then cursed himself internally and frantically (but surely subtly) looked around to make sure the Boy wasn’t around. 

Once he made sure his dignity was intact, he shoved Darry back and got out of the car. 

Darry clambered out after him and flicked his forehead. Soda made a grab for his hair — long enough to pull at now — but Darry grabbed his hand and started twisting his arm around —

“Boys!” 

They both froze and turned to face Mom sheepishly. 

“Sorry, Mom.”

The bitachon nodded at them as they stepped inside. They’d all come to pick Ponyboy up from his bar mitzvah classes at least once, and Lutz had a good memory when it came to faces.

“Rifka!” A woman came over — Naomi? Deborah? — and hugged Mom. Her husband followed close behind, and soon Mom and Dad were laughing about something that happened ten years ago, sons utterly forgotten. 

Ponyboy was reading from the piece of paper in his hands under his breath, pacing as he recited it. He got the tenth chapter, the shortest one, but that didn’t stop him from stressing about it incessantly. 

Darry and Soda stood awkwardly next to each other. There weren’t any other kids in the community they were really friends with — just the Boy, but he was nowhere to be found and it wasn’t like Soda had even talked to him —, but they also didn’t have anything to talk about, so they had to spend the fifteen minutes until the service actually began standing around, occasionally making chit chat with people who all seemed to know them, despite them not having any recollection of their existence.

At around 7, they started filtering into the actual synagogue to start the service. 

There were a couple of rows facing the bimah and a couple rows perpendicular to those on either side. The ones facing the bimah were generally taken by the more religious people — Soda thought of them like the nerds but in Judaism —, while the more casual attendees took the perpendicular seats.

The Curtises always sat in the second row on the left side of the synagogue, and Soda made sure to be the last one to go in so that the Boy could sit next to him when he arrived. (Even though the Boy didn’t know he existed. Surely he would see the empty seat and feel an undeniable attraction.)

Ponyboy fidgeted with his paper all throughout the barchu, and when Soda tried to put a hand on his shoulder to comfort him, he flinched him off. 

Halfway through the sh’ma, the Boy walked in. 

He wasn’t dressed up this year either, unless he didn’t usually wear jeans and a loose shirt. His hair was combed back, although he didn’t have any swirls in it. Did he stop doing it or did he just not feel like it today?

He stepped inside and took a seat in the nearest place he could find — front row of the right-hand side, almost directly across from Sodapop.

That had to be on purpose, right? There were lots of empty seats — it wasn’t a big synagogue to begin with, but they still didn’t manage to fill them all —, and he chose the one right in front of Soda. It had to mean something, right?

Or maybe not everyone’s obsessed with some guy they see once a year that they don’t even talk to 

Then they got to the amidah. 

Soda had nothing against religion, but G-d, did he hate the amidah. Everyone standing in silence, just reading from the siddurim. It wasn’t like he could read Hebrew, and even if he could, he wouldn’t be able to concentrate for that long. 

Pony loved it, obviously. He didn’t use to be able to read it, but now that he was in bar mitzvah classes, he’d learnt the Hebrew alphabet and read along excitedly. 

Mom and Dad had been going to the same synagogue for years, and every time they did they would read the amidah. They must’ve had it memorised by now, but they still read it every time without fail. 

Darry was staring holes into his siddur. He knew how to read Hebrew, but just didn’t like to. Said it was a pain and he didn’t like praying anyways. 

The Boy was looking at his siddur intently, mouthing the words as he read along. Watching him was the only way Soda got through these things, really. The little frown he had when he reached a word he didn’t know how to pronounce, the almost unnoticeable smile when he got through a sentence easily.  

“Today we’ll be reading the Megillah Esther to complete the Purim mitzvah. We’ve had ten volunteers to come up and read this year, and we’ll be reading in ten different languages,” Rabbi Sarah said, “Rebecca will be reading in Yiddish; then David will follow her in English; Susie over there — recently did her bat mitzvah, very insightful dvar torah — in Italian; Yael will be reading it in French, which she’s learning to honour her family; Deborah offered to read in German; Will in Spanish; I’ll read the seventh chapter in Hebrew; Laura will read in Dutch; Emma in Turkish; and finally Ponyboy will read the tenth chapter in Hebrew as well.”

And so the reading began. 

Ponyboy was biting his nails beside Soda, tapping his foot all throughout the first chapter. 

“You’re gonna do great,” Soda whispered to him as Rebecca stepped out from behind the bimah and went back to her seat. 

“You don’t know that,” Pony whispered back, moving onto his other hand.

See, the issue Sodapop had with going to the synagogue was that it sounded real nice in theory, but he couldn’t sit still nearly long enough in practice.

He liked the feeling of community, even if he wasn’t entirely clear on where he stood relating to G-d. Knowing that here he was safe, here everyone was like him, it was a warm feeling. Something as simple as opening the siddurim from the right hand side and seeing everyone else do the same… It was nice. A sort of home. 

But then there was what came after opening the siddurim. And that was where Soda lost the connection. He couldn’t concentrate for long enough to decipher the Hebrew words or understand Rabbi Sarah’s dvar torahs. He couldn’t focus on what the words in front of him were saying during silent readings of the sh’ma or the amidah, because his mind loved to wander. 

So even if he wanted to do the mitzvot and he wanted to listen to the Megillah Esther, he just couldn’t. Because the moment Rebecca started talking, his mind went to a completely different universe. 

Then there was David, who he more or less understood when he could get himself to listen. 

And then there was Susie, accompanied by Two-Bit (they got there too late to ever hang out beforehand, but it was fun to talk during the party afterwards). They were in matching Mario Bros costumes, Two-Bit as Luigi and Susie as Mario. 

Every time Haman’s name came up, Two-Bit roared like the place was on fire and got everyone all hyped up about it. It got annoying after a while, but Susie still giggled every time so maybe it was worth it. 

Then came Yael and Deborah and Will and Rabbi Sarah and Laura and Emma (painfully long chapter), and then finally it was Ponyboy’s turn. 

What Soda hadn’t accounted for would be that everyone would turn around to look at them as he stood up to let Ponyboy out of the row. What he hadn’t accounted for would be that “everyone” would include the Boy.

So when his eyes snapped to look at the Boy — as they always did, whenever something happened, because he wanted to see his reaction —, he found him already looking back. 

Soda stumbled as he sat back down. 

Everyone was looking at Ponyboy, thankfully. Everyone but the Boy. Soda smiled sheepishly at him and the Boy smiled sarcastically. 

But he didn’t look away. 

And then Ponyboy started reading and Soda had to look away from the Boy because Pony would ask for a fifteen-hundred word analysis of everything he did — every gesture and twitch and falter — the minute he sat back down. 

And also because it was an important moment for Ponyboy and all that. 

And when the applause started and Ponyboy stepped away, failing to suppress a smile, and Soda looked over at the Boy to see what he thought, his eyes were still locked on Sodapop. 

Soda tilted his head in questioning. The Boy tilted his head right back. 

Then people were getting up and grabbing their things to move to the room next door where they’d have the imitation of a party. The Boy put his jacket back on and left the synagogue without a word to anyone.

Soda made a split second decision between the hamantaschen that he knew for a fact were the best ones in town (although he would never tell Mom) and the love of his life. 

“Dar, Dar— I ain’t feelin’ too good, so I’m gonna head home, all right?”

Darry raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Yeah, okay. I’ll let Mom and Dad know.”

“Thanks Dar. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it.” His smile turned into a shit-eating grin. “And, hey, you might just get him this year.”

Soda looked up slowly. “I will actually murder you if you say another word about it.”

“Hurry up, loverboy,” Darry whispered mockingly, the glee plain on his face, “your true love’s getting away.”

Soda shot him the ugliest look he could and shuffled out of the synagogue, deciding against flipping Darry off at the last moment, lest someone else see it and start yelling at him about how vulgar and grotesque this generation is.

He touched the mezuzah quickly, kissed his fingers, and caught sight of the Boy less than a block down the right. 

“Hey!” he called out, and the Boy turned around. It took less than ten seconds for Soda to catch up to him running, and less than five seconds for him to realise he had no idea what to say. “Hey,” he said again, quieter this time. 

“Hey,” the Boy said back, brow furrowed in confusion. 

Shit. Was this a mistake? Was the Boy even looking at him? Did Soda just misinterpret everything?

“Why’d you leave before the party?”

The Boy was a bit shorter than Soda. Not much, not enough to be noticeable across the synagogue, but he was a bit shorter. 

He shrugs. “Didn’t feel like it. Don’t know anyone there. S’not like parties are really my thing or anything.”

His voice wasn’t all that deep, really. Sorta like Soda’s, only heavier, in a way. 

“S’not really a party, more like a potluck.”

“What, d’you want me to go?”

“No!” Soda said, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. He didn’t really know what he was doing, or why he was doing it. “Well, I don’t not want you to go, but I don’t want you to do something you don’t want to do.”

“Okay.” 

And the Boy just stood there. Not doing anything. Not saying anything. Just standing there.

“Can I walk home with you?” Holy shit, Soda, could you find any way to sound creepier?

The Boy blinked. Shrugged. “Okay.” And turned around to keep walking. 

Soda sprinted a couple steps to catch up. 

“What’s your name?”

The Boy looked up as if he were surprised that Soda was talking to him. 

“Steve.”

Left, right, left, right.

“Yours?”

“Sodapop.”

Steve snorted. “Yeah, right.”

“No, really! Dad was awful original, that’s all.”

The Boy — Steve — stopped for a moment and looked Soda up and down. Soda tried his best not to squirm. 

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

He shrugged again. “Okay.” And they started up again, walking at a much slower pace this time.

Left, right, left, right, left—

“How long’ve you been coming here?” And Soda could scream because Steve asked a question and that meant he was actually interested in having a conversation and —

“S’long as I can remember. You?” he asked, as if he weren’t acutely aware of every minute he had spent in Steve’s presence. 

“Since I was ten.”

Left, right, left, right,

“Why’d you start coming?” Soda asked.

“My mom’s Jewish but my dad isn’t, so we never really did much. I got curious, I guess.” Steve shrugged again. “Your whole family’s Jewish, I guess?”

“Yeah. Pony’s the most religious out of all of us, weirdly enough.”

Left, right,

“Pony?”

“Oh, right. My brother. Little brother. His name’s Ponyboy.”

Steve snorted. “Did your dad really just name you two that?”

“Yeah. Thought he was funny. He got free reign after my mom fucked up with my older brother.”

“What’d she do?”

“Well— wait, are you sephardi or ashkenazi? Or mizrahi or something else.”

“I— I don’t know.”  

Right, left,

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

Left, right, 

“My mom never told me, I dunno.”

Right, left, 

“Oh.”

Left, right, left, right, 

“You were talking about your brother’s name?”

“Oh, right!” Soda forced himself to sound chipper, ignoring whatever had just happened. “Well, my mom’s sephardic, dad’s ashkenazi. So Mom named Darry Darrel, after Dad, because for sephardic people it’s sorta an honour. She named him in the hospital and forgot about how it’s bad luck for ashkenazim, I guess. So Dad got all mad — I don’t know how seriously, though, they laugh about it now so I don’t think it was too bad — and decided he could choose the names for any future children they had.”

Steve didn’t respond, but he was smiling. 

Left, right, left, 

“Hey, why don’t you ever dress up for Purim?”

“What do you mean, ‘ever’?”

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. 

“Just that I noticed you weren’t dressed up other years, too.”

“Oh.”

Right, left,

“Never had anything to dress up as, I guess.”

Right, left,

“Huh. Yeah, that makes sense.”

Soda started heading to the right while Steve turned left. 

“Oh,” Soda said, disappointment leaking into his voice, “I guess we split here.”

“Yeah.” 

Neither of them turned to move.

“D’you have a phone?” Soda asked, immediately feeling stupid. 

“No,” Steve deadpanned, and for a second Soda believed him. 

“Can I have your number?”

“I don’t know, can you?”

Soda rolled his eyes and cursed himself internally because he had to last two hours, dammit, it’s one stupid gesture. 

Then he held out his phone so Steve could put his number in. 

…

“Darry Darry Darry Darry Darry Darry—”

“You are so lucky it’s a Thursday because if my phone rang during Shabbat you bet your ass Rabbi Sarah would’ve killed me.”

“Darry Darry Darry—”

“What?”

 “I got his number!”

“Yeah, no shit, it’d be impressive if you didn’t. Didn’t you see the way he was looking at you during the reading?”

“No? I was busy looking at our little brother who was taking a big step in overcoming stage fright?”

“Yeah, well I can multitask. And he’s not subtle— yeah! Behind the toilet paper.”

“Darry?”

“No, that’s the ibuprofen. You wanna take the aspirin.”

“Darry, what the fuck.”

“The one in the red box, y’know?”

“Darry, are you okay? Genuinely.”

“Mom was walking by, genius. You want her to know you left the purim party to pick up some guy?”

“Okay, first of all, he’s not just some guy—”

“The correct answer was, ‘no, Darry, my wonderful older brother, I didn’t want her to know. Thank you for being so nice and covering for me!’” Darry said with fake cheer.

“No, Darry, my wonderful older brother, I didn’t want her to know,” Soda said, as emotionless as he could manage, “Thank you for being so nice and covering for me.”

“Eh. Could use more feeling. 6 out of 10. I gotta go though, some old ladies are giving me these absolutely vicious side-eyes. Which is better than unwanted shidduch, but not much.”

“Speaking of... How’s Talia’s niece?”

“Still gay.”

“You still broken up about it?”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Wait no! Don’t go, my love! I accept you in all your aromantic glory!”

[lovesodeepandwideandwell]

Not having senioritis about my dissertation but I AM having it about writing tutoring

[mugwot]

isa, my everything isa