#Tetris Tuesday

[museum-of-screens]

Chock Chock (?) 

Creator(s): ZoomJam

Type: Flash

Language: [EN] 

Status: Available through emulation

#TetrisTuesday

[wingerb17]

Oh the dysphoria is bad today

https://www.twitch.tv/WingerB17

Not like gender but just existence in general

https://www.youtube.com/WingerB17

[puyopuyomemes]

It’s Tuesday you know what that means

[eldritchmochi]

i think, finally, after a year of living in this flat, i have found a solution to my Craft Hell Zone problem!!!!

it involves me continuing to do ill advised furniture tetris as well as hoping to god that the shelf i got actually fits the way i think it will. its a duplicate of a shelf i got for my living room last fall that i really like which, by measurements, has a quarter of an inch clearance between the top of my desk and the top of my wife's desk, except my desk is a vanity with beautiful curvy legs that have been the bane of my existence for the entire time ive had it. these legs mean the shelf, by measurements, is a quart of an inch *too wide* to fit in the space

but

the shelf

has a metal frame and open sides

meaning i should be able to slot the curve of the offending vanity leg into the open space of the side of the shelf and have just SO MUCH MORE storage for my eight million crafts

for context, The Craft Hell Zone, in its current iteration

it stresses me out so bad 🥲

[lovebugism]

Kissing eddie just as you’re both about to get out of the car and now he’s got a problem cause he’s hard, and all your friends are waiting for you and you’re both a little late and Eddie we really gotta hurry up! what’s the issue? and the poor boy is bright red to his neck over how gone he is on you

ty for requesting :D ps: i'm gnawing at the bars of my enclosure over this prompt –– when eddie's about to leave for a show, you make sure he knows exactly what he's missing out on (established relationship, st4 canon divergence, allusions to smut 18+ | 1k)

“How do I look?” Eddie wonders aloud as you trail down the creaking porch steps behind him. He plants his feet on the gravel driveway and spins on the heel of his sneaker to face you –– already bare-faced and clad in your pretty PJs for the night, a striking contrast to the lead guitarist of Corroded Coffin standing before you.

You pause on the second-to-last step and reach for his face. Eddie leans instinctively into your warm touch as you swipe your thumbs under his eyes, gently smudging his dark liner a bit more. 

“Like a rockstar,” you answer with a proud smile.

Eddie scrunches his nose sheepishly in response, ‘cause he has nowhere to hide with you cradling his blushing face like this. He’s still not immune to the way you look at him, even after all this time. “You’re just sayin’ that,” he mumbles, kicking a lone rock with the toe of his show.

You hum in agreement as your hands fall from his face. “Yeah. ‘Cause it’s true.”

“To you, maybe,” Eddie scoffs, trying hard to ignore the pang of anxiety in his chest. “No one else seems to think so.”

He never used to be nervous performing before Vecna tried to kill him. It was the world that was scared of Eddie Munson, not the other way around –– until it nearly ended, anyway. Now, just leaving the house is enough to induce a panic attack. A part of him is always distantly fearful that a stranger’s face will turn out to be the dark wizard’s, back to life and hiding in plain sight again.

“Hey,” you scold, only partially playful. “I think the crowd of five drunks who watch you perform every Tuesday would agree with me.”

Despite the ice-cold apprehension making his limbs feel numb, Eddie manages a breathy chuckle. “You’re right. We could bomb, and they’d still act like we were playing Madison Square Garden or something.”

You soften then, as though sensing his worry. “You’re not gonna bomb, Eds. You guys are gonna do great. Just like always.”

“Sure you can’t come?” Eddie wonders quietly, blinking up at you with a pair of chocolate button eyes that are hard to say no to.

“You know I can’t… I have an early morning tomorrow,” you coo sympathetically, fighting back a smile when the boy’s rosy bottom lip juts in a pout. “But I’ll be right here when you get back, okay? And I’ll make sure to heat up dinner when you’re on your way. So you have something to soak up the alcohol and adrenaline with.”

You tilt your cheek to your shoulder, squinting suspiciously when Eddie’s frown curls into a cheeky grin. He reaches for you with a pair of ringed hangs and squeezes at your clothed hips. “Just like a good little housewife, huh?” he croons mischievously.

You roll your eyes at him ‘cause you’re not a housewife by any means. 

You live in a trailer with his uncle, for one. And you work five days a week, for another. Besides, you’re not even his wife, which you think is usually the first step. (You have no idea Eddie’s already picked a ring out for you. Or that he plans on keeping that a secret until he plays enough shows to afford a house). 

You decide to humor him, anyway. 

“Sure,” you monotone with a slow nod.

Eddie’s grin widens.

“C’mon on, Munson! We’re gonna be late!” Jeff lisps from the passenger side window of the van. The rusted tin can is parked a ways down the drive, packed to the brim with all their band equipment like a perfect game of Tetris.

You lean forward to press a chaste kiss to his mouth.

“Wear that dress I like when I get back?” Eddie murmurs lowly.

You hum with your lips pursed to the side of your mouth, pretending to be deep in thought. “Hmm… I was kinda thinkin’ about wearing nothing, actually,” you answer, shrugging innocently. “You know, for easy access and whatnot.”

Eddie warms all over. His wild head starts to swim at the visual –– one he’s seen a hundred times before that he’s not quiet sure he’ll ever get over. “Have mercy…” the boy mumbles under his breath.

“Just try not to think about it too much while you’re gone…” you lilt knowingly, smoothing both your hands up and over the lapels of his leather jacket. “All alone… Naked in our bed… Trying to get myself off while I wait for you…”

Eddie stares at you with heavy, lidded eyes. He can’t take the chocolates of them off your lips as they curl into a mischievous, tightlipped smile. “How ‘bout I just stay home?” he offers lowly.

A resounding honk blares from the van in a wordless answer. 

Gareth leans out the driver’s side window, face screwed and sandy curls wild. “C’mon, Eddie!” the boy yells like an impatient younger brother. “Put your dick in your pants already so we can go!” 

Eddie’s head swivels back to face you again, chest deflating with a grieving sigh. 

“You have to go,” you tell him, soft and sympathetic, as you press another kiss to his pout. “Have fun, honey,” you croon and step back from him –– knowing exactly what you’re doing as you trek back up the wobbly wooden porch steps.

Before you shut the front door behind you, you flash the boy a curt wave and a pretty smile. It takes a world of strength to keep from following behind you. 

In a perfect world, Eddie would already have the door bolted shut with you pressed against it by now. He’d have your oversized shirt balled up at your ribs and your shorts pulled down to your ankles and his mouth licking over your pretty cotton panties.

He shakes his head in a physical attempt to remove the sinful thoughts from his brain as he stalks back to the van. He keeps his head bowed as he goes, trying to hide his reddened cheeks behind his wild curls. Gareth watches from the window as Eddie tugs at the crotch of his jeans, trying to un-strangle his hard cock like a teenager.

The boy leans between the front seats as Eddie climbs into the driver’s side, slamming the screeching door shut behind him. “You’re pathetic,” Gareth teases through a fit of boyish laughter.

“Shut up,” Eddie grumbles.

[alwerakoo]

''Dream about me''

ROTTMNT Leonardo & Michelangelo - centric Post-krang roadtrip AU, 5k words

After stopping an alien invasion (of the world-ending kind), a road trip across America feels like the most logical next step. A brilliant idea, as far as Mikey is concerned. His siblings still treat him like particularly fragile glass statue, Leo refuses to look at him, and there's a deep knot, constantly tightening somewhere inside of his chest. But the views are nice, at least.

(Art by @nerdy-turtle-enthusiast)

Read on AO3

------ “That's not going to close.”

Donnie, carefully trying to balance a third suitcase on top of two others, leans back to look at April.

“Maybe it would, if one of you actually tried to help.”

Raph and April, both equally invested in the task of trying to look busy, quickly avoid his gaze.

He's not looking at Leo, because it would probably cause him to say something like: 'You think this is a three-arm job?', which would make Donnie's face turn into that deeply and unexpectedly sad expression, which would make Leo feel so guilty he's shaking with it, and it's just a little too early for all that.

“You're doing great,” Mikey says, just to be encouraging.

He's not really doing anything either, but Donnie doesn't look at him.

He was supposed to paint the side of the minibus because he said he would, but the brush felt frail in his soft grip, the lines coming out shaky and uneven, and then he knocked over the paint bucket and almost started crying.

He's sat on the floor now, with a fresh, bright orange stain on the concrete next to his feet, a few ugly scribbles on the car, and a deep knot in his gut.

Which is stupid, really, because that's what he wanted to do, and getting upset over it makes him feel like an inconsolable child.

“Do we really need all this?” Leo asks.

The fact that he's responsible for at least half of their luggage seems to escape his mind at the moment.

“If we run out of food,” Donnie takes a slow step back, like he's trying not to startle the game of Tetris he created out of their bags, “we're eating you first.”

“We're not going to run out.” Leo rolls his eyes, rocking on his feet. “You know, there's this thing called 'grocery stores'? You go in there and you can exchange money for items. Crazy things that humans come up with.”

Donnie looks at him.

“Are you being annoying on purpose?”

Leo huffs, like he's taking great offense to that, but doesn't say anything else.

Mikey's not sure which of them is right. He's never been on a road trip before.

The idea was sudden and spontaneous, like a spark that quickly turned into a blaze, until it was all any of them could think about.

“I want to get out of here,” April said one evening, lying flat on the couch, her legs thrown over the armrest. “I feel like I'm going crazy.”

And that was that.

By the next Monday, Leo had drawn out a thin line in red ink over a map, cutting the country in half. On Tuesday, Mikey spend excruciating hours convincing their father that they were well equipped to deal with far worse dangers than dehydration, high gas prices, and white vans full of potential kidnappers. On Wednesday, Raph came home carrying every tourist guide he was able to hold in his arms, which was a lot.

By the next Sunday, Donnie had the car ready.

A minibus, to be precise. It was a new and shiny thing, with rows of seats, sliding doors, tinted windows and many other possibly illegal modifications. Mikey was also almost certain none of the steps his brother took in order to obtain it were quite lawful, but his excitement quickly outweighed his already brittle moral compass.

He wonders, now, if with a bit more of a foresight, Donnie would've opted for something with a bigger trunk.

Carefully, Donnie pushes the back door of the car closed.

Inside, their suitcases rattle to the floor.

He sighs, resting his forehead against the metal.

“Hey, Leo,” Mikey tries, pushing himself upwards. He's already feeling restless. “Wanna help me make lunch?”

He doesn't need help, and if he does – he doesn't want it.

But he wants Leo, the opportunity to talk to him.

“Nah, I'll help Donnie here before he pops a vein. But Raph has been reading the same page for twenty minutes now, so I'm sure he'd be happy to help.”

Quickly, Raph closes the little booklet in his hands, cheeks pink.

Leo turns to smile at Mikey, almost on instinct.

But then his gaze falls on the car, his face drops, and he turns around awkwardly, like he's not sure what to do with himself for a moment.

Mikey wants to grab and shake him until he finally tells him what's wrong.

He thinks they might be fighting, which is strange, because he has no idea why they would be.

It took him a moment to realize it at first.

The first few weeks after the Krang were spent on mending old wounds, ripping out new ones, and it felt like years and years of things held back, never spoken out loud, spilling out all at once.

Mikey can recall the one time Leo found him making pancakes at four in the morning. Or attempting to, because his hands started to bleed again, and Leo held his wrist in place under the faucet, washing his palms with cold water and screaming himself hoarse.

And then Leo yelled: 'Are you trying to hurt yourself or are you really this dumb?', and suddenly Mikey felt like it wasn't about the pancakes at all.

But it's been three months since then, and there's no longer any doubt in his mind.

Leo is avoiding him.

It's confusing and it hurts, and it feels like he just woke up to find half of the walls in his house missing. And the worst part is just that:

He doesn't know why.

“Okay,” he says, all casual, because if Leo can lie, so can he.

He watches Leo forget himself for a moment, bringing his palm to his stomach like he wants to rub his hands together. Then he freezes, just for a moment, before letting his arm fall.

Mikey stands, giving his brother one final look.

Leo can't run forever, but he knows him too well to think he won't try.

It's a good thing Mikey isn't anything but stubborn.

***

America from a passenger window, as Mikey finds out over the next few days, is a lot bigger than he expected.

It's miles and miles of fields, and forests, and fields again, and he watches all of it roll pass with the sort of squashed amazement, like he can't quite believe it's real until they stop for a break, and he can take a breath, cities and villages, and trees, and lonely gas stations stretching out before him.

Mikey managed to convince Draxum to let them borrow his old cloaking brooches, and they quickly make great use of them, stopping at every monument and museum any of them finds mildly interesting (which in Leo's case includes not one, but two ''world's largest balls of yarn'').

But Mikey's favorite moments are the nights.

They sleep on the sides of the road, in the woods, in front of someone's field; in small tents with the occasional bonfire to keep them company, away from the busiest roads and civilization.

Just a few years ago, the thought of sleeping on hard, cold ground probably would’ve made all of his siblings wince in vague disgust. But they've grown tougher over the years, rougher around the edges, and he can't decide if it's a good, or a bad thing.

The days are hot, and the cold of the night feels soothing, and Mikey spends hours with his head tilted back, watching the stars, to then promptly pass out in his seat as soon as they start up again.

“Lucky bastard,” Donnie tells him one morning, yawning. “You get to be a passenger princess.”

Mikey, one of the two passengers not allowed behind the wheel, leans out of his seat to look at Donnie in the rear-view mirror.

“I wouldn’t be, if someone agreed to teach me how to drive.”

Donnie frowns, wrinkling his snout in a funny way.

“Let you drive my cars? I don't think so.”

Mikey doesn't even take it for anything other than a joke until Donnie's eyes widen suddenly, real panic quickly flooding his face.

“I mean, not like I think you'd be a bad driver!” He turns around to look at him. “It's not because of the- It's- I was just joking.”

“Dee, eyes on the road,” April says quickly, making a weird gesture like she wants to lean over and grab the wheel herself. She always seems a little on the edge when Donnie's driving, and no one can really blame her for it.

Donnie turns back with a quiet swear under his breath.

Behind him, Leo and Raph exchange silent looks. They all fall quiet for a moment, like they're expecting Mikey to flip out, and really, that makes him want to do just that.

Instead, he says:

“It's fine. I didn't assume you meant it that way.”

He probably shouldn’t feel too offended, even if Donnie did mean it in that way. He doesn't think he'd be able to keep the wheel straight anymore.

“Hey,” Leo says suddenly. He's holding a map Mikey didn't notice him grabbing. “There's another yarn ball, like, five miles from here.”

Raph quickly grabs at the map.

“No way.”

“I'm telling, you, man. There are so many.”

“They can't all be world's biggest,” April says from her seat next to the driver. “You think they just keep building new ones every once in a while?”

Leo's good at this. At turning everyone’s attention so effortlessly, so quickly, it's hard to even realize it at times.

Mikey watches him for a moment, trying to catch his gaze.

It never happens.

***

One day, when April's 'no radio until I've had my coffee' rule keeps them all quiet for the good chunk of the morning, Mikey pulls out his sketchbook.

He hasn't touched it in a while, and the thought of doing so now feels heavy. But the road is quiet, the view behind the window nothing but grass and flat ground, and he feels warm.

It's not until he opens up the sketchbook, pencil gripped in one hand, that he feels Raph lean forward, looking over the back of his seat.

Mikey can't see his face, but he can feel the way Raph's fingers tense on the material, the slow exhale that escapes him.

Mikey feels his jaw clench, his jagged nerves already flaring up.

“I'm fine,” he states, before his brother has a chance to say anything.

He feels like his whole life is now revolving around those words.

Yes, I'm fine. No, I don't need help. Yes, I can do this on my own. Over and over again.

Mikey clenches his pencil a little tighter, the contrast of the white pages and his black compression gloves stark.

Raph makes a face, like he begs to differ, but is not sure if he's ready for that fight.

“Are you sure?” He asks despite it. “Raph doesn't want you to-”

“Raph.” Mikey turns in his seat, pushing against his seatbelt to look at him better. “I'll be fine.”

He knows that his stare tends to be intense at best and intimidating at worse. Luckily for him, that is exactly the reaction he's currently seeking.

“I know,” Raph placates. “I thought-”

He doesn't really finish. His mouth draws into a thin line, a vague hum rising in the back of his throat.

“Hey, Big Guy,” Leo says suddenly from his seat in the front (it's his third time in a row winning the paper-rock-scissors for it, and Mikey starts to suspect he's cheating, somehow). “It's okay. Leave him be.”

Raph gives him a look, one that only older brothers seem to be able to understand, until he finally sighs, falling back against his seat.

“Alright, alright, sorry.”

A flash of familiarity washes over Mikey.

In many ways, Leo's always been like this.

First to laugh, first to say 'I told you so', first to back him up, first to defend him, even when Mikey was elbows deep in teenage rebellion and barely gave him any ground to stand on.

He was funny, the coolest person ever, larger than life and it made Mikey's chest swell with pride to say: ''This is my big brother and he's my best friend''.

Leo turns to him, cheek rested against the headrest, sending him a conspiratorial smile. Then his gaze drops slightly to the sketchbook thrown over Mikey's lap.

His expression wavers, something complicated showing in his eyes, until it all collapses. He turns back, eyes on the road.

Mikey clenches his jaw, feeling his own smile fade.

***

Mikey falls in love with roadside dinners – head over heels.

The food is mediocre at best and beyond vile at worse, the floor always feels sicky, and the tables seem dirty even when he watches the waitress wipe them down.

But there's something about it.

About walking in, their cloaking brooches pined to their shirts, and piling into a booth. About laughing, arguing about the menu and anything else that comes to mind. About making everyone at the dinner give them a dirty look, because they're being obnoxious and they're being teenagers.

Moments like that make Mikey feel whole again. Better, even.

Infinite.

Like they're just normal kids on a trip to catch last breaths of freedom before college, and they're young and unburdened, they have nothing to be afraid of, and things like 'death' simply don't happen to people like them.

“I'm getting the eggs,” Raph announces finally, putting down his menu.

“How many portions? Six?” April teases.

It sounds like she's joking, but Raph seems to actually be considering that option, humming softly.

Mikey turns to look out the big window. Kansas is nothing but fields and grass, and he watches the few lonely trees sway in the wind.

Absentmindedly he rubs his hands together.

They feel dry and achy today, like something's pushing at the tight skin from underneath. It feels weird with so many fingers. He's not going to let that ruin his day.

“How come they don't have vanilla milkshakes?” Donnie huffs, turning the menu over again. “That's, like, the most basic option.”

No one questions him on why he wants a milkshake for breakfast, because he will be driving later, and having him behind the wheel in a bad mood feels like a death wish.

“How dare they,” Leo says, in that tone of his where they can never tell if he's joking or not.

The waitress, previously busy with trying to start the coffee machine (seemingly by punching it several times), finally walks up to them.

She's looking down at her notepad, and there's a vague, practiced smile on her lips. She's around their dad's age, maybe with kids of her own, because she doesn't seem all that bothered by all the noise and chaos they've been causing.

When she's standing in front of their table, she finally looks up.

“Hey, what can I-”

She goes quiet, all of the sudden.

Her eyes sweep over all of them, her mouth slightly open, like the words she's been speaking every day for so long have suddenly escaped her mind.

And this is Mikey's least favorite moment.

The moment the illusion breaks.

Because they're not normal kids, they're here because their whole world fell apart just a few months ago, and there's nothing any of them can do to change that.

Her eyes go from Raph’s eyepatch, to the scars covering April's and Donnie's faces and arms, to Mikey's palms, finally landing on the left sleeve of Leo's hoodie.

“Oh,” she says, quietly.

(Art by @nerdy-turtle-enthusiast)

Leo wouldn’t sit next to Mikey, which hurt, but it means he can see his face now, the way his expression folds in on itself, until there's nothing left but a blank slate. It's hard to tell when he barely looks like himself.

Mikey aches.

Donnie clears his throat, loudly and only a bit rudely. Carefully, he raises one eyebrow.

“Oh!” The waitress blinks, suddenly flustered. “I'm sorry, I just- I'm sorry.” She looks to the side, embarrassed. “What can I get for you?”

By the time they get their food, it all slowly rolls back to normal.

Leo's smiling and joking along, and if there's a slight downturn to his lip – they all pretend to not notice.

He finishes his portion faster than Raph, which is almost absurd, and Mikey quickly gets the feeling they'll be stopping again very soon for him to vomit it all back on the side of the road.

“I'll wait in the car, okay?” Leo says, pushing back his empty plate.

He doesn't wait for a replay, grabbing his jacket and exiting the dinner like it burned him.

Mikey watches him go.

“He just needs a moment,” Donnie says, following his brother to the car with his gaze through the window. “He'll be fine.”

Mikey wonders then, if any of them noticed what’s happening between him and Leo.

He tells himself no, because that is what he hopes for.

But that's another lie, probably.

***

They're stopped at some forgotten rest stop, and it's a quiet evening, the setting sun covering the horizon in a pink hue. It's the sort of view that makes Mikey want to step away for a moment and just watch, because there's only so much family time one can manage in one day.

He's not the only one.

He finds Leo sat on one of the covered benches, his back pressed against the plexiglass. The left sleeve of his hoodie was trimmed, and he's playing with a loose thread, eyes fixated on something in the distance.

There's a nervous feeling in Mikey's guts, like all the butterflies turned into a mush and he might throw up at any moment.

But it's a chance he has to take.

“That's coming undone,” he says, chin pointing to his sleeve.

Leo blinks slowly, turning to him, like he needs to take a moment to fully digest his words.

“Oh,” he says. “Yeah.”

“Want me to fix it for you?”

He's not sure why he says it, because it was Dad who spent hours carefully altering every piece of clothing Leo owns. But he needs to say something.

“It's fine.”

They stay in silence for a moment, and Mikey turns his eyes to the horizon.

“What's so interesting out there?” He asks, not expecting to get a real answer.

Leo opens his mouth, stops for a moment.

“I don't... Know,” he says, but it sounds different.

Because he's been different since the Krang, and all of them know this by now.

He's quiet at the most unexpected of moments, distant and hazy, like your hand would go right through if you tried to reach him.

He smiles and laughs but it's not the same, like a speaker that's been dropped one too many time – everything sounds just slightly pitched.

Mikey wonders where he goes when he disappears like this.

“Gotta remind myself the world isn't all gray,” Leo says, suddenly. “Not like...”

He stops.

He blinks, looking at Mikey once again, and there's a strange expression, like he just realized who he's speaking to.

“Like what?”

“Like New York on a cloudy day,” Leo says, an easy smile fixed onto his face. “Come on, let's get back to the car.”

Mikey wants to scream.

Because they used to tell each other things like this, and Leo knows he knows, and he can't figure out why he's being lied to. Why his brother won't talk to him.

If he's trying to protect him in some misguided, backwards way, he's being a fool. If he thinks Mikey can't hear the way he wakes up some nights with a gasp, a silent scream still lingering on his lips. If he thinks Mikey doesn't notice the way he rubs at his chest sometimes, like he can still feel a linger of old pain there. If he thinks Mikey never notices the way he goes silent at the sight of red lights, static behind his eyes.

If he thinks Mikey doesn't have nightmares of his own.

Leo stands and Mikey wants to cling to him.

He wants to grab at his arms and dig in his claws and scream at him until Leo tells him what he's done wrong. Why he doesn't want to be his friend anymore.

He doesn't, and Leo pats at his arm as he passes him.

***

Utah steals Mikey's heart in all possible ways.

It's all red sand and dry land, cold night and the echo of something old and bigger than him in the wind, and stars that look back when he tilts his head up.

They camp further away from the road, where it feels like they're the only people left on the entire earth, and all of this, every moon, every rock, every breeze, is just for them.

They set up a small campfire inside an old metal barrel and sit around it for hours, swaddled in blankets and hoodies, and sweats, because the chill is calming, but unforgiving.

Mikey wears three layers at any given moment, curls up close to Raph in his sleep, and wishes the sun would never raise up again.

He wakes up one night, the sun still far behind the horizon, and there's a small rustle outside of his tent.

He doesn't stir at first, because his general aversion to anything horror related made his mind less likely to jump to axe murders and ghosts at the first opportunity.

But the sudden familiar footsteps make him frown, and he sits up. It's a full moon, and he watches Leo's shadow pass his and Raph's tent, his movements quiet but not silent.

Slowly, Mikey rises to his knees.

By the time he manages to pull on all of his clothes and crawl out of the tent without waking up his brother, Leo's already by the car, leaning against the hood, ankles crosses.

He's wrapped in jackets and hoodies, and they almost hide the way he flinches when he finally spots Mikey out of the corner of his eye. Almost.

“Hey. Why are you awake?”

Leo looks at him for a moment, then he squints slightly, like he's trying to hide a different expression.

“Why are you?”

Mikey considers telling him the truth but then doesn't.

“I had a nightmare.”

He feels bad lying when he doesn't need to, but it's worth it for how quickly Leo's face softens. It's half a truth away. He woke up this morning with cold sweat running down his back.

“Oh. Sorry.” Leo's quiet for a moment. Then, a little shyly: “Me too.”

It's a start, a small crack between the door and the frame, and Mikey throws himself to shove his foot into it.

“What was your about?” He asks.

Maybe it's a little too forward, because Leo doesn't answer him. He stares up at the night sky.

He's holding onto what's left of his left arm awkwardly, clenching and unclenching his fingers, like he's trying to soothe it over the layers of clothes.

Mikey's gaze lands on the side of the car, on the ugly smudges of paint he left on it, before quickly deciding he doesn't want to look at it any longer.

He walks up, sliding on the hood next to his brother.

“I've never seen a sky like this,” Leo confesses.

Mikey follows his gaze up, up, up.

“Yeah.”

“Not in New York.”

He says the last part oddly, and Mikey can't decide if it's homesickness, or the exact opposite. He looks down, watching Leo move his fingers again.

“Does that hurt?” He asks, pointing to his side with his chin.

“Not really,” Leo answers far too quickly, dropping his hand.

But Mikey knows he's lying.

There's some real elegance to the way Leo lies, like watching an expert work their craft. Would've fooled anyone else. Maybe even Mikey, just a few months ago.

But he sees the slight downturn to Leo's mouth, the way his jaw shifts in place, the way his chest staggers for a moment with every breath.

He's hiding pain, and it's the kind of pain Mikey knows all too well now.

“My hands hurt, too. Sometimes.” He stretches his arms, the scars on his shaky palms stark in the dim light.

He's trying to encourage vulnerability, but it must be the wrong thing to say, because his brother's mouth turns into a thin line, and he looks away.

His hand rests on the hood, like he's ready to push himself forward and run at any moment, and something in Mikey snaps.

“Are you mad at me?” He barks, finally.

Leo blinks, turning to him again. He seems slightly panicked, like that was the last thing he expected Mikey to say. Mikey would feel bad, if he wasn't so damn angry.

“What? No.”

He sounds honest. More than usual anyway. Mikey wants to believe him.

“You're being so weird around me.” He wraps a loose string from the edge of his hoodie around his finger. He doesn't pull it loose, because that would hurt more than it's worth. “I don't know what I did.”

Leo watches his hands, like he can't bear to look him in the eye.

“Nothing,” he says. “You've done nothing.”

Mikey bristles.

“Stop lying to me, that's so annoying.” He pushes his hands inside his pockets, and that finally makes Leo meet his gaze. “I feel like you hate me. I know you don't, but it feels like that, and I don't know why.”

It's all been brewing in him for longer than he realized.

It feels unfair.

He knows he's not entitled to Leo's attention, to his love, but it feels like he is, and he's past the point of caring about all the different ways in which that makes him selfish.

“I don't- Mikey.”

He says his name like Mikey just hurt him so deeply he's lost for words.

“Just tell me what's wrong,” he pleads. “Please.”

You're not alone, he wants to say. I want to be friends again.

I miss you.

Finally, Leo sighs, and it's like the breaking of a dam, his eyes suddenly glossy and wet in the moonlight.

“Mikey,” he says. “I ruined your life.”

That makes Mikey pause. All of it – his anger, sadness, bitterness – coming to a stop.

“What?” He asks, mostly for the lack of anything better to say.

And, because, really: what?

“I know you can't do art anymore.” Leo pushes himself away from the car, pacing nervously, counting down the fingers of his one hand. “I know you struggle at training. There are eggshells in everything you cook now and I-” He stops, taking a deep breath. “It's all because I did something stupid, and you had to save my ass.”

Mikey stares at him.

He stares and stares for what feels like hours, until he finally feels his voice return to him.

“Are you being deadass right now?”

There's the start of a laugh in his voice, but Leo must realize he doesn't find any of this funny, because his face remains appropriately miserable.

“I'm sorry.”

“Leo.” For a moment, Mikey wants to walk up to him. But then he doesn't, taking a breath. “If you ever thought, even for a second, that I wouldn't die for you, you were wrong.”

Leo laughs, a hollow and hysterical thing.

“Angelo,” he says, like he doesn't really believe he's being serious.

But he is.

He'd die for all of them, his whole family, over and over again.

“Master Michelangelo died opening that portal,” Casey told him months ago.

And Mikey thought: 'Yes. I would.'

He steps forward.

“You're right. You did a stupid thing. Because you're stupid and brave, and you always want to save everyone.” He walks up closer, taking one hand out his pocket to point it at Leo's chest. “And I saved your ass, because I love you.”

Leo's face softens, a small frown forming between his eyes.

“I wish you...” For a moment, Mikey thinks he might say: 'hadn't' and almost punches him square in the face for it. “I wish you wouldn't have to.”

“Me too,” he says, honestly. “But this isn't your fault. I knew what I was doing. Sort of.”

He doesn't want to say the last part out loud, but if he's being honest, he might as well go all out.

“I- Okay.”

Leo doesn't seem too sure, but it sounds like he's been holding all of this back a lot for a long, long time.

“You saved me too, you know?” Mikey asks. Leo looks at him like he didn't know that, and that's so absurd it almost makes him laugh for real. “You saved the entire world, idiot. And it-”

“Costed me an arm and a leg?” Leo smiles, all wobbly and unsure, and Mikey giggles, honestly.

“Exactly.”

“I was scared,” Leo says, “that you were going to hate me for it. I wouldn't blame you if you did. But I didn't want to see it.”

It's like weight off his shoulders, like finally digging far enough to notice the root of the problem. Even if he doesn't know quite what to do with it - he can see it now, and that makes everything click into place. “I won't.” Mikey holds out his hand, pinky pointed out. “Promise.”

Leo wraps their fingers together, shaking their hands a little.

“Yeah. Okay.”

And for a moment, it feels like they're kids again, sharing secrets and promises in fortresses made of blankets.

Leo lets their hands drop.

“Gosh!” Mikey tilts his head back with an exaggerated sigh. “I can't believe you got me so worried over something so stupid.”

“Sorry,” Leo says, and it sounds like he's only half joking.

He holds out his arm, fingers flexing.

And Mikey doesn't hesitate to reach forward, wrapping his arms around his brother’s shoulders.

Leo holds him like he's a lifeline, like he's afraid one of them will disappear if he lets go.

“Are you going to stop avoiding me now?” Mikey asks.

He meant for it to come out as a joke, but Leo's voice sounds dangerously shaky when he responds:

“Yes. I'm sorry.”

Mikey just holds him tighter.

He doesn't think this fixes everything. He doesn't think this fixes much at all, all things considered.

But the deep knot inside his gut is gone, and when he wakes up tomorrow – his home will feel whole again. That's all he wants for now, really.

They can deal with the rest later.

Step by step.

[clockwayswrites]

What yes? I didn't write one.

WC: 808 Masterpost

Jason didn’t see Danny until Tuesday. Which was fine.

It was fine.

He knew how busy Danny’s Monday classes were. But knowing that Danny was busy and waiting out the other’s expected arrival were two very different things. Jason did his best to occupy his time with reviewing the proposition for the new Park Row Library.

His kitchen counter covered in baked goods showed how well the distraction went.

It’s just that if he thought to much about Danny and all of the… surrounding Danny-ness, he started over thinking everything about it. It was better to just not think, which was hard, so baking. Baking always calmed him down. But now Jason had nowhere to set down the tray of cookies that were in hand. Maybe he should invite his siblings over, all of this would be gone by nights end with that swarm of locust.

A knock at his door paused Jason’s attempts to Tetris his counter into order. Thanking his good balance, Jason pulled up his door camera on his phone.

It was only Danny.

Fuck, it was only Danny.

Plate of cookies still in hand, Jason opened the door. “Danny, hi.”

Danny opened his mouth, closed it, and then took a step back. He brought a hand up to cover his grin. “Jason.”

“Danny…,” Jason said back warily.

“I, um,” Danny did his best to muffle a snicker. “,ah, like your apron. Did Dick get you it?”

Jason had to glance down at the apron he had put on that morning. He didn’t really look at them, it’s just whatever was on top of the clean stack. Today though, meeting him was the upside down text of ‘Titty Protector’. It was bright white on the blue apron.

As Jason sighed Danny gave up on trying to hide his laughter and just cackled.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up and see how many cookies you get.”

“No! I’m sorry,” Danny whined, trying to get his laughter back under control. “It’s a great apron. Amazing. Would ogle again. Dick totally bought it for you, didn’t he?”

“Actually it was Stephanie, friend of the family.”

“She must be something,” Danny said. He snagged a cookie as Jason backed up to let him through the door, only to pause with it halfway to his mouth. “Um, prepping for a bake sale?”

“No,” Jason grumbled. He locked his door before joining Danny in staring at the counter covered in baked goods. It really was absurd looking at it with fresh eyes. Even his siblings might have issues with this pile.

“So… ah, why all the food?”

Jason just frowned and clicked his nail against the edge of the plate. He didn’t know how to explain this to Danny.

“Oh Jason,” Danny sighed. He took the plate from Jason’s left hand, snagged his right, and led them over to the couch. The cookies got set down on the coffee table. “Hood talked to you, didn’t it?”

Jason nodded.

“Jason, it’s okay. We can still just be friends, right? I promise I won’t try anything with Hood either, it’s both of you or neither of you—”

Jason jerked his gaze to Danny. “What?”

Danny smile was sad and a little wobbly. “Like I told Hood, I’m not a home wrecker and clearly this is stressing you out. You don’t have to worry about letting me down gently.”

“Danny.”

“I just… I’d still like to be friends?”

“Danny! I’m stress baking because I want to say yes. I mean, we both want to say yes.”

Danny’s mouth snapped closed. His brow furrowed. “Saying yes is stressing you out?”

“Well… you have kept me waiting. You never did ask me, actually, and—”

“Hey Jason?” Danny asked, cutting Jason off.

Jason didn’t know whether to smile or sigh. He settled for both. “Yes Danny?”

“I’d really like to date you and your boyfriend. I think you’re both pretty amazing and I’ve gotten permission from your boyfriend to ask you. So, what do you say, want to date me too?”

“It could be dangerous.”

“Luckily I’ve been getting self defense lessons.”

“I’m a public figure.”

“I’m pretty oblivious to news, or you can keep me a secret like Hood.”

“He’s a crime lord.”

“Let’s be real, he’s a philanthropist with guns.”

“I’ve… only dated Hood. I might be really bad at it.”

“Luckily I already like being around you. And you feed me. Come on Jason, date me?” Danny asked, finally taking a bite of the cookie he had been holding this whole time.

Jason rolled his eyes, but could feel the smile pulling at his lips. “How can I say no to that?”

“That a yes?”

“Yes.”

Danny whooped and leaned in to press a quick kiss to Jason’s lips.

“You taste like cookies,” Jason said. He was grinning now.

“Yeah, and who’s fault is that?”

---

AN: Thank you for the suggestions! I actually had a few lines of this one written so I went with it because I've been slayed. Had some bad new from work on the end of 3 meetings and then came home to a disturbing comment so I'm just a little done today.

BUT! We got something cute! And the boys have the scene where they start dating! Woohoo. Stay delightful and kind, darlings.

I no longer tag, you can instead subscribe to the masterpost.

[intriga-hounds]

another good weekend for us.

ponzu competed in NOTRA for the first time and ran keen and clean. then she ran her fourth LGRA meet today, earning her Junior Straight Racer (JSR) title.

her babies both ran a half course thru an open box and looked phenomenal. then they came over to celebrate their 6 month birthday, which is on tuesday.

very pleased with how ponzu is doing and how her kids are turning out. excited to hopefully breed her again next month. 🤞

on a related note, i got to take my new car to her first dog events and i am loving the extra space. being able to nap in my car between programs is a game changer, and it’s awesome to not have to play tetris every time i pack for an event.

[lastoneout]

Hey uh @ people with ME/CFS I got a question...

Everything I've read and heard about kinda seems to go hard on the idea that over-exerting yourself tends to lead to exhaustion that just never gets better at all no matter how long you rest after, and like I always assumed I didn't have it, because yeah overexerting myself tends to make me way more exhausted than is does other people and the exhaustion lasts like, a week or more sometimes, but it does eventually get better.

Like last weekend I went shopping for my birthday and also to an art gallery, and then I did a few small errands, and I conserved my energy as best I could, resting often, using mobility aids, ect, but I had to spend Mon-Fri in bed doing basically nothing aside from watching youtube, listening to music, and playing tetris because that was all I had the physical and mental energy to do. And granted that was dragged out a little because I had to go to the ER on Wednesday due to a migraine that got triggered by all this(bcs overexerting myself almost always triggers a migraine) and on Tuesday I sat in the car while we took my cat to the vet for a quick nail trim, but aside from that I just rested and even though I am feeling a bit better today I'm still just SO fucking tired and I know I'm going to have to take it easy for a few days more just to be sure I'm okay.

Which like, idk doesn't sound normal, that's for fucking sure, but I do know that with enough rest eventually I will return to my normal, which isn't everyone else's normal but is still normal enough that I can make myself easy meals and sit at my desk and talk to people and make phone calls and run errands without it killing me too badly.

But like idk my doctors seem convinced that I don't have any kind of autoimmune condition(although they haven't actually ran any tests they just keep insisting I'm not showing the signs of one and to keep up with physical therapy even when I tell them that just going clothes shopping for a few hours puts me on bedrest for the next 2-3 days) but idk again this does NOT seem normal. I legit feel SICK sometimes when I push myself too hard, like I think I'm coming down with a cold or something but it never actually turns into one, I just have that "eugh" sick feeling for a day or two and then it goes away once I've rested enough(also for clarification I never get any real cold/illness symptoms like a temperature and I mask literally everywhere and this ONLY happens after exertion so I don't think I'm actually getting sick). I also don't usually feel rested when I sleep but I always chalked that up to the insomnia more than anything?? But it does happen even when I have a good night's sleep with no tossing and turning or nightmares...

Anyway if anyone who does have Chronic Fatigue Syndrome could maybe explain to me what it's like for them I would appreciate it because idk what else could possibly be going on with me but I am so fucking tired of my doctors acting like there is nothing wrong. It might not be ME/CFS, and I have been diagnosed with fibromyalgia so maybe this is all just that? So I also wouldn't mind if someone who has fibro can tell me if this is all just fibro stuff. But idk I just want to know for sure, you know? (If it helps in addition to the fibro I also have arthritis, hEDS, orthostatic Intollerance, and occipital neuralgia.)

[museum-of-screens]

Invatris (2010) 

Creator(s): Arcade Boss Games

Type: Flash

Language: [EN] [DE]

Status: Available through emulation

[wingerb17]

Happy Birthday Alexey Pajitnov!

https://www.twitch.tv/WingerB17

And on Tetris Tuesday, too! What luck~

https://www.youtube.com/WingerB17

[tearwolfe]

Hello hi Duff it is very late over here (exactly 11:20 pm on a Tuesday)

I’ve come to ask questions! Specifically two

1. How in the world do you consistently draw. I know you’ve probably been asked this but I really need to know.. I’ve been suffering horribly from art block and I want to go back to drawing 💔 (I had a very cute Father’s Day art idea with Ken and A but I had no motivation…)

2. THIS IS A VERY SHORT ONE COMPARED TO THE FIRST. Have you, oh dear Tumblr user Duff Aka Tearwolfe, Heard of a little game called Puyo Puyo Tetris 2? (Or the game series in general)

Apologies. That is it.

HI it is also late for me but i'm usually up at this time anyway.

no idea. i don't get art block, if i don't draw for too long i get really Weird and i have to draw. i get like Super Annoyed if i don't have any time to draw for a day. sorry, i'm the last person you should ask for art block advice.. i've heard some people say just doodling, drawing something you like to draw the most, or drawing something you never would have thought to draw helps? can't give you any personal advice

yes, i've heard of it. i don't play many games so i haven't really looked into it. i see that it has multiplayer options, and it doesn't look painfully complicated, so maybe if i can pry myself from my drawing tablet (unlikely) i'll think about it..

[palettepainter]

When we first saw Cementoss in the anime I was convinced the guy was going to be one of the older teachers at UA, I just always pictured him as being on the more mature/older side, so I was in fact VERY shocked when I learnt he's only 28 (guy looks like he's pushing late thirties early forties-)

Because Cementoss is prolly one of the few teachers who isn't actively having years of life removed daily from his life span from stress, I like to believe instead he's become that one teacher that has learnt to just let the chaos happen and observe. That Bakugo kid from 1A nearly killed his classmate Midoryia? That's an average Tuesday.

When he and Chikara are in the early stages of the relationship she probably dubs him various playful nicknames (Tetris is what she has him listed as in her contacts). Along the line I can see Chikara calling Cementoss "old man", like in a scenario where Chikara assisted eagerly in one of Hatsume's experiments and got herself hurt, and Cementoss is - rightfully so - lecturing her, and the nickname just slips out

Cementoss at the time rolls his eyes at the nickname because he's more focused on the fact Chikara is hurt to begin with, but one day I can see him turning to Chikara and telling her he's only in his late twenties, and she's flabbergasted. I know I made a post with Powerloader's siblings ages ago, and I thiiink I posted their ages?? I think Chikara was 32, four years older than Cementoss, but Chikara would still be shocked to learn SHE'S technically the "old" one in the relationship

Cementoss: (stands up from the kitchen table with a grunt, paperwork strewn across it) Chikara: Pft, you good there old man? Not gunna keel over on me are ya? Cementoss: (groans a little and turns to her) I'm only twenty-eight, do I really look THAT old?

Chikara: (shocked)....What? Cementoss: (crosses his arms) How old did you think I was- Chikara: (pointing to herself, mortified) Thirty-two.... Cementoss: (blinks)...... Chikara: (looking down at her hands, flabbergasted) I've been calling you old man as a joke, for months. And all this time, I'VE THE OLDER ONE?!

After the shock I think Chikara's old man jokes would morph into teasing "When I was your age-" comments, to which Cementoss rolls his eyes again, and on the rare, rare, VERY rare occasion when Cementoss is feeling particularly smug, he may drop an "old lady" comment

[pinkpastels113]

How about bechloe meet cute

Ugh. Another day, another coffee run.

Beca clutches her phone to her ear with her shoulder as she pushes open the cafe door. "Uh huh, and he wants that foam thing on top too right?"

Theo on the other line sighs. He at least sounds just as tired. "Yep. And I think that's about it. Don't forget to get something for yourself too!"

"Duh," Beca responds, getting in line. It's surprisingly short on a Tuesday morning. "Already planning to." She tucks away her pen, staring down at the notebook in her hand with all the coffee drink orders from just about everyone in the office. That's what you do as a newly hire, she supposes, starting your day off with a coffee run. It doesn't matter if she doesn't like it; she's just grateful she got the job.

Theo says goodbye. Beca shoves her phone in her pocket, moving further up the line. She's so distracted with the music playing constantly in her mind and the thought of the people that she has to meet that day at work that she doesn't even notice when it is her turn at the counter.

"Ahem. Excuse me." Beca looks up, right into the eyes of the barista. "What can I get for you today?"

"Oh, right." Beca is already fumbling. She hates it when she runs into awkward situations like this. "Here." She pushes the notebook at (the name on the barista's apron says Aubrey) Aubrey, smiling nervously when Aubrey lets out a small breath through her nose. "Sorry, it's kind of a long list."

"It's fine," Aubrey says, short and clipped. She gives a tight smile. Beca watches her tap on her ordering screen. "Is this all?"

"Almost. Can I also get an Americano? For me." Beca fishes out the company card, slipping it onto the counter. "And charge everything on this, please."

When everything was said and done and placed into their drink carriers- and Beca finished with her two sugars in her black as her soul Americano- Beca reaches a new predicament. There is not enough space.

Apparently, there were some extra staff in the office that morning who collectively decided to come in early. That would be the only reason why Beca is currently playing Tetris at the moment with the three carriers, her bag, and her own drink, with her uncoordinated hands. She was just about to walk out the door praying that she doesn't drop everything on her feet when she very nearly bumps into someone rushing the other way.

"Oh shit," she says, swerving just out of reach. "My bad."

"Here," that person replies, voice warm and friendly, "Let me help you." They pick up the drink carrier balancing half on Beca's arm, lifting off the dangerous weight on her in such a way that finally allows the chance for Beca to look up.

And there's tumbling red hair. Bright blue eyes. A welcoming face and long elegant cream coat that screams a career as a teacher or something equally as professional.

"Do you need me to call an Uber or are you driving?"

Whoa. Super nice too. Beca blinks, mentally shaking her head. "Driving." This is not the right time for girlie attraction, damn it.

"Great!" She is already leading the way out. "I'll walk to you to your car."

Beca's still in a daze when she unlocks her car door and situates everything in their manageable spots. She's throwing her bag in the passenger seat and taking the last carrier from the redhead when she realizes she doesn't even know her name.

"Thanks for that, by the way. I'm Beca." She then shifts on her feet, hoping the redhead would get the hint. There's also a tiny bit of hoping that she would get to see her again. It is a small world after all.

"Chloe." She then gives Beca a hug, close enough to be thoughtful, but quick enough to not be creepy. "And no problem! Don't want you to put all of that to waste should it become pigeon food." Chloe winks at that last part. "Now off you go, and be careful with the red lights!"

"Yes ma'am." Beca salutes, rather gayly. She gets in the driver's seat, slams the car door, makes sure Chloe is safely in the coffee shop, yells for a solid thirty seconds, and then proceeds to get on her way to the production studio, radio blasting sappy pop songs the entire road there.

[antagonistchan]

Touhou Tuesday episode 6 has arrived

watch us play a Panel de Pon/Tetris Attack/Puzzle League clone that doubles as a shockingly sweet and honestly really funny yuri VN, and also lose our shit over the Playstation 6

[iinitialfern]

The Bookworm and The Biker

14.1: Time to Get Personal

Zeke needed to get that paper typed and printed today, preferably before school closed so he wouldn’t have to go to the public library and pay to print it there. Besides, he’d rather spend that time after school working on the generator — especially now that he and Charlie were this close to finishing it.

Taking a deep breath, he mentally prepared himself to start the heinous process. By the time he took his seat and the first bell rang, he begrudgingly started. Before he put pen to paper, he needed to compact the information and find a thesis. He always hated this part, usually not giving a flying fuck about the topics, but this time a handful of memories flashed in his mind.

The handshake with Charlie.

Jeanette naming him Kestrel.

The first energy drink Virgil got him.

Lexi frowning at South Carolina.

All those instances came together to form something he wanted to preserve and maintain — with that, Zeke knew what he wanted to write about. He glanced at the clock, mildly surprised only five minutes had passed.

All right, then. At least he could move onto sorting out his thoughts. He remembered the conversations with Lexi and the passages he skimmed, trying to find a way to connect the topics like Tetris.

Individualism. Collectivism. Independence. Co-dependence. Freedom. Control. Give-and-take. Loneliness. Transactions. Connections.

On and on, he mentally searched for a way to make the topics come together and make sense. At the shop, when it came to reading new blueprints, Zeke always knew what the finished part was supposed to look like. But it wasn’t until he finished flipping through every drawing — analyzing dimensions, tolerances, weld symbols — that he’d understand how it all came together.

This was the same thing.

With everything categorizing in his thoughts, he knew he was on the brink of seeing how they’d work together, and halfway through the class, he saw it — the shape of an argument. Zeke quickly scribbled out the outline while it was fresh in his mind.

By the time he had to go to health, he was ready to look for quotes in the book. He’d brushed up on it Tuesday evening before he went to bed, paying closer attention to it than he had over the weekend, so he was familiar with the most relevant sections in it. As always, he got there before Virgil. He got out his outline and a new sheet of paper to abbreviate the relevant quotes in. Cracking the book open, he carefully started scanning the relevant pages.

He vaguely saw Virgil approaching, steps slowing the closer he got, and Zeke felt his amused stare boring into him.

“I can read,” he muttered, same as when he finished reviewing the time machine blueprints. “You can stop staring now.”

Virgil chuckled. “To be fair, this is the first time I’ve seen you digging for quotes, dude. Even when we shared that math class back in freshman year.”

Zeke turned back to the pages. “Gotta make sure it’s airtight. Dillard said we’re using the same book for our mid-terms.”

From the corner of his eye, Zeke saw Virgil lean curiously to get a glimpse of the outline sheet.

“Lexi helped you come up with all that?”

A majority of the shit there was based off their talks, so in a way—

“Yeah,” Zeke shrugged.

Virgil whistled. “Told you she was a gold mine.”

Zeke shot him a playful sideways look. “Dude, it’s starting to sound like she did all the work in your project.”

“Uh, no—that’s not—we actually did equal parts—”

The bell cut him off. Zeke shook his head, his grin taking over. It felt good to get under Virgil’s skin for once. The lecture was a continuation of emotional health and all that junk. Zeke wasn’t missing out on much. He spent the entire period scanning the book for quotes.

When they broke for lunch, Zeke packed up his stuff and told Virgil to go to the cafeteria without him. He was going to hate himself for not eating, but fuck it. This needed to get done like yesterday.

Instead of awkwardly sitting at one of the computers lined against the walls, he decided to see if he could check out a laptop, remembering there were carts full of them that were loaned out to classes occasionally. He wanted to make sure he could sit at Lexi’s table. Today would mark the end of their little talks, and it only felt right to finish the paper next to her.

Zeke stopped by the checkout desk and asked the librarian if he could check out a laptop for the remaining lunchtime. Surprisingly, she said yes.

“Beat her here today?” she asked, scanning the barcode on the Dell.

Zeke hated observational questions like that.

Oh really? I didn’t notice.

He gave her a thin smile. “Yeah.”

At the table, Zeke pulled out his outline, booted up the laptop, and opened a new Word document. He’d just saved the file on his flash drive before he felt her presence. Like Virgil, her footsteps became measured. Attentive.

“Hey,” Lexi said. “This is . . . new.”

Zeke glanced at her. “Had to get a head start. I need to finish this today.”

“Fair.” She took her usual seat and pulled out her physics. “Good luck, I guess.”

Zeke grinned; she sounded painfully awkward, but her sincerity came through.

“Thanks.”

They worked in comfortable silence. The only sound that came from the table was the clacking from the keyboard and her calculator inputs. The paper was solid—argument tight, quotes tying into the themes, structure clean—it was ready.

Then he checked the word count.

Two pages.

He needed three. He sighed, running his hand through his hair. If he wanted to hit the page requirement, he had to go deeper.

Time to get personal.

Zeke hesitated for a second, then let his fingers fly over the keyboard.

‘My version of selfhood is a lot messier than the author’s. It doesn’t come in a single moment. It comes from trial and error, from working on things that slowly start to matter. From being frustrated, challenged, and even wrong sometimes.’

Yeah. Wrong.

He came to terms with a lot of issues he was ignoring, mainly his growing attachment to the gang. Although it was true, admitting it now — even privately — made his chest tighten uncomfortably. Zeke paused over the keys, trying to ignore how weird it felt to be so attuned to this fucking paper, and braced himself; it was about to get more honest.

‘A lot of what I know about myself now came from being in the middle of things. Making stuff with my annoying friend Charlie. Trading drinks with my funny friend Virgil. Trying to understand my quirky friend Jeanette.’

He glanced at Lexi beside him. She was typing another equation in the calculator, absorbed in her worksheet. Despite the uneasiness typing out his conclusion, it was working with the overall draft, and he recognized that it was all possible because of her. He looked back to the screen.

‘Talking with my smart friend Lexi, who added to my world view more than anyone else, and was the one who remembered that our little group was given names. Like Liberty 5-3000 or “Gaea.”’

As he continued typing the conclusion, he was aware he was just throwing words on the page, but it wasn’t until he finished skimming through the thing that he realized how . . . well everything worked together. His eyebrows raised.

Well, goddamn.

The writing itself wasn’t polished. It wasn’t academic. But fuck it — it was his. His shoulders relaxed when he finally saved the document. Hearing the laptop snap closed added to his relief and it called Lexi’s attention. She glanced up from her worksheet.

“Everything look good?”

Zeke looked at her once more, thinking how he wrote possibly the best paper he’d ever get to write because of their little talks.

But he wouldn’t ever tell her that.

He gave her a small grin. “Yeah. It’s over.”

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