#hil writes!

[yeshihellodani]

I’ve been listening to the Silent Hill 4 ost on repeat lately, I had to draw my faves ^_^

Commissions info here

Full image:

[zukkaoru]

Ough okay. How about kunichuuzai with "Care to repeat that?"

“Care to repeat that?” Chuuya freezes, grimacing. Across from them, Dazai is grinning gleefully. Since Kunikida is standing behind them, they can’t see the expression on his face. But they can clearly picture his crossed arms and furrowed eyebrows and hardening glare. “I thought you were still in the bathroom,” Chuuya mumbles. When Kunikida doesn’t respond, they risk a glance back towards him. He has one eyebrow raised expectantly, clearly still waiting for a better response. Chuuya huffs. “I will not send the Agency a bomb just so it blows up in Dazai’s face.” “That’s what I thought.” Kunikida pats their head, which somehow feels both demeaning and sweet at the same time. “If you’re going to threaten to send him a bomb, pick a place where there will be no other casualties.” “Hey—!” Chuuya nods obediently, and they’re rewarded with a kiss on the cheek before Kunikida sits back down. Immediately, Dazai is crawling over into his lap, whining about how it’s not fair that Chuuya gets a kiss and he doesn’t when he didn’t even threaten to blow anyone up. Kunikida rolls his eyes, but kisses Dazai anyways. And Chuuya is content to simply watch them with a smile on their face.

(send me a ship + a sentence)

[ohwhataniight]

"Oh what a night" – The case of the BBC Sherlock transmasc aesthetics: Relating to problematic masculinities in search for identity

So I sat down and rewrote this silly essay I wrote one day after returning from my trip to the US. Flaneurism at its best (or at its worst, idk). Please bear with me but definitely send in your feedback if you read and feel like it, it means the world to me and it will definitely help me unpack some of my problematicness! Thank you <3

I take a deep drag of my American Spirit cigarette whilst the tail ofmy long black coat swishes behind me dramatically. Dusk-time Boston is lit up. The skyscrapers towering over my tiny figure are glittering against the dark through the blurry lens of my camera phone.

I am consciously imitating the aesthetic of the modern but also always Victorian BBC Sherlock, in the scene following John and Mary’s wedding, in which the world’s only consulting detective surrenders to his noble, quiet pining for his not-gay best friend.

What even is masculinity, anyway? What would I like it to be?

The creators of the series, Gatiss and Moffat, spent 10 years religiously denying the possibility of a romantic or sexual relationship between the two protagonists, while driving the hordes of fans into delirium every time that Sherlock (Benedict Cumberbatch) and John (Martin Freeman) made love with their eyes or confessed their devotion to one another. Despite the queerbaiting, the homophobia and the sexism in the Moftis series, despite the 4th season fiasco, despite the actors denying the possibility of their characters ever running together into the sunset, Sherlock himself never denied being queer. Gay, asexual, demisexual, the interpretations are many, a breath of representation in the relative democracy of fandom. And as if that wasn’t enough, Sherlock and John end up canonically raising John’s daughter together at their 221B Baker Street apartment.

The modernized urban Victorian aesthetic, the provocatively coded dialogues, the deep homosociality, and the simple, pure bitterness towards the creators, renders the community of Johnlock fans more alive than ever almost 10 years after the series’ finale. In some hidden, bright corners of the internet, like fanfiction.net and archiveofourown.com, women and queers publish analyses and fanfiction in which they explore the endless galaxy of human genders, sexualities, and forms of kinship, writing the insufferably British male characters as women, non-binary, FTM, Alpha and Omega, pregnant, high, and always together - two human animals exploring bodies and experiences that belong to us in the shelter of Baker Street, with their landlady, Mrs. Hudson, being their most ardent shipper. We write entire full-length novels for free, with our sole motive being the exploration, the practice in writing, and the communication with other queers, other women, other people who feel like us and live in different sides of the earth which, despite Sherlock not remembering, keeps on orbiting the sun with the certainty born by a Johnlocker for their OTP being endgame.

Back to Boston now, which looks like Glasgow on steroids, with its red brick buildings and the glass towers that pierce the skies - it doesn’t feel as cozy and familiar to me as European cities, but it is big enough to swallow and hide me, safely, away from the suffocating and often murderous, homotransphobic gaze of my motherland, Greece. Boston feels big enough to make me feel free, invisible, and at the same time more visible than ever.

Here’s how I made it happen: in the name of an egotistical but seductive flaneurism, in the idea that here I can be non-binary and roaming the streets while smoking without thinking that, at any given moment, I might be spotted by the people from whom I’m hiding both facts, I end up romanticizing a stroll on stolen land, as well as the tar in my lungs. I feel the need to wander around, heavily perfumed, with a hanful of product in my hair, dressed androgynously in a way that my mother only accepts because she doesn’t understand the meaning of it, smoking as the soundtrack of Frankie Valli & The Four Seasons’ December 1963 (Oh What a Night) blasts through my old headphones. As a queer person living in Greece, I never felt that the streets belonged to me. I’ve always felt like a pariah looking for somewhere to belong to, and the irony of going after that feeling in America as a white European tourist brings a certain sourness to my mouth. Is that how Columbus felt? Was he a sissy who didn’t feel accepted by his mum in their suffocating mediterranean society? No, fuck that thought. Fuck that circle, fuck everything I've been taught by the writers of history. I decide to leave these streets to their people, without it meaning that I’ve suddenly found the courage to reclaim my own back in motherland.

Exhaustion, flight, cowardice? Survival.

Later I will learn that the American Spirits with the Native American on their turquoise box are anything but native-owned. What’s certain is that, in this trip, I found solace while smoking stolen land.

What does that make me? A citizen of the world?

After all, in the entire trip, I pretend I’m Sherlock, the whitest man to ever white man. It’s not as if I don’t have my own personality - at least I hope that I do. It is that through relating (to fictional characters, actors, role models who remind me of an aesthetic I had to build from scratch for my trans self, with the help of other queer people who created fanart or fanfiction, moulding new arhetypes) I find a vehicle for the exploration of my existence more easily, I see my reflection (or the one I’d like to have) in the mirror. In the fandom nobody tells you how to imagine your favourite characters and how not to. Nobody tells you how to write yourself, and nobody blames you for doing it. You create with self-indulgence, and you’re applauded for it. And that saved my life.

For years I related to a genderfluid Tonks, a trans Remus Lupin, a fanon Jean Prouvaire from Les Mis. Through all those experimentations and games, the changing of clothes in the dark, the opening and closing of the closet door, I found a name for myself: Sam. And Sam, like every other trans masculinity with the name Sam, Skye, Noah, and Eliott, contains multitudes. 

For the timebeing, my persona of choice is that of Sherlock, perhaps the most insufferable (and one of the most privileged) characters in the history of British TV (which says a lot). “What do you have in common with that emotionally constipated man?” you ask me because you know that my own sentiments are constantly dancing naked before me. I wonder why that is. Indeed, what do I have in common with that guy and end up projecting so much on him? Me, who hesitates to even cancel a doctor’s appointment in pursuit of constant politeness and people-pleasing (AFAB, you see).

When Sherlock’s landlady, Mrs. Hudson, disapproves of his manners and threatens him with a tete-a-tete with his mother, Sherlock gives her his blessing, saying: “You can if you like, she understands very little”.

Sherlock and his turbulent relationship to his parents. Sherlock who always observes everything while staying outside, because he doesn’t know how to get in. Sherlock, always so different that he’s used to people laughing at him, gaping at him with awe, or wanting to punch him in the face. Sherlock who always attracts attention simply because he functions the way he functions, constantly failing to be a normal human being. Neurodivergent Sherlock, camp Sherlock, forgotten-in-another-era, flaneur Sherlock, who even in the Gatiss series (especially in the Gatiss series) is desperate to love, but he never manages to get it right. And finally, Sherlock the logical, the detached, the cynic: masculine elements that I never managed - and was never allowed to - acquire, and which I desperately, problematically craved, because in society and inside me they have been coded as masc.

I am the opposite Sherlock, and that makes me even more of a Sherlock, I decide, and if that helps me sleep at night, then so be it, for now. 

As Hil Malatino writes in the chapter Fall Out Boy is Trans Culture of his essay Surviving Trans Antagonism: “The boy at the center of a [Fall Out Boy track, brackets mine] is [...] being eminently braggadocious and narcissistic [...]. He’s stationed directly at the center of a completely solipsistic universe. No matter how insufferable this kind of guy is in reality, I would have killed for a fraction of his swaggering self-confidence as a kid” (Malatino 2020, 17).

What even is masculinity, anyway? What would I like it to be?

“Do I look like Sherlock?” I ask you, hopeful and doe-eyed as I prance around in my black suit inside the house while packing for the trip. “Sherlock is gender, you know.”

“Do you really want to know how I see your gender? 100% honest-to-God?” you ask mischievously.

“Yes, I do,” I’m hanging from your lips.

“You are, deep inside your soul, in this tartan robe of yours, Bananas in Pyjamas.”

I think about it. Not exactly Sherlock. I smile though. I see my gender in your words. Goofy, boyish, vintage, loud, sleepy, badly dressed: Me. Headcanon accepted.

If headcanon and fanon - that is, reclaimed - Holmes played by (problematic) Cumberbatch teaches me how to be a boy or a man, then so be it, because I hope that my performance will be filtered, as much as possible, through my “girlish” (though still white) sensibilities. That, and the fact that there is a child inside me who never got to live as an openly, unashamedly neurodivergent, inquisitive little boy. Because there is a masculine side inside me that I must hide every day when I go to work. So I put together a playlist, I put on my scruffy headphones, and I tar my lungs, just a little more, a little longer until I’m able to finally leave my country for good and feel ready to love myself as I am. My coat swishes behind me as I dance alone on the street, invisible among the crowd, yet feeling more visible than ever before.

CITATIONS: Malatino, H. (2020). Trans care, University of Minnesota Press. https://doi.org/10.5749/j.ctv17mrv14

[that-was-anticlimactic]

Ouu okay okay how about kunikida + another character of your choosing and "Where exactly do you think you're going?"

i spun a bsd character wheel, and it landed on tachihara!

Tachihara quietly closes the door to Jun's door behind him and lets out of a soft breath of relief.

"Where exactly do you think you're going?"

He freezes, then slowly turns around to see Kunikida with his arms crossed.

Da.mn, of all the people to catch him, it just had to be the one with a major stick up his a.ss, huh?

"Hey, man," he says, slowly raising his hands. "I was just, uh, dropping something off."

"This early?" Kunikida raises a brow.

"Yup." He pops his 'p'. "I'm an early riser. So, if you don't mind, I'll be on my way--"

Just as Tachihara is about to book it, he sees Kunikida's eyes land on his neck. His very bruised neck. His neck that is covered in bite marks and hand prints that he plans to cover up when he gets back to his place.

"If you think that's bad, you should see the other guy," he blurts out.

Kunikid's eyes widen, and Tachihara thinks now would be a good time to pass out or, perhaps, keel over a die.

"Sh.it."

"Sh.it indeed."

"Look, dude, we really don't need to get into this, okay? It's perfectly natural for enemies to hook up every once in awhile. The whole fighting this is sexy sometimes! Sue me!"

Kunikida does not seem impressed.

"Gah, look. Just... please don't tell anyone, okay? He isn't ready to be out yet and he's terrified of disappointing you so--"

"Tachihara-kun."

His mouth snaps shut.

"I'm not..." Kunikida drags a hand down his face. "I'm not disappointed. Just surprised and... just don't let it get in the way of work and for the love of God, please make sure Kenji-kun and Kyouka-kun don't walk into... anything."

Oh thank GOD.

"That won't happen, trust me. We usually do it at my place but Naomi-chan is away for the week, which you obviously know, and there's something kinda hot about sneaking around here."

Kunikida wrinkles his nose.

"I don't want to... whatever. Does Naomi-chan know?"

"Heh, no. Not yet, anyways."

Kunikida nods. "That's probably for the best. She's really smart, though. Dazai trained her for a bit, and Ranpo has taken her under his wing. It won't be a secret for long."

"Yeah, we kinda figured." He scratches the back of his neck. God, this is awkward.

The silence starts to get to him, and, because Tachihara has no impulse control, apparently, he snorts and says: "What you aren't going to threaten to kill me or anything?"

A slow grin starts slinking up Kunikida's face. "I don't see the point in wasting my time when I know that Naomi-chan will threaten you in a most effective manner."

Kunikida clears his throat before Tachihara can properly process the threat and adjusts his collar (but not before Tachihara sees a patch of yellow and purple...) and bows. "I trust you can see yourself out."

"Yes, sir, I can!"

He's not about to refuse the out Kunikida so graciously gave him, so he shoots Kunikida with finger guns and bolts down the hall calling, "Seeya!"

[hilplusterrorss]

“Wait.” He can’t pick out a change in Hakuba’s tone, but there’s something under it that makes him pause. “Don’t go just yet.”

“Why not?” KID asks, giving him a carefully blank glance. “What does it matter to you?”

Hakuba looks at him—looks at him, straight through his face and his skin he’s wearing and through to his core. “It matters,” he says after a moment. “It just does. Stay, for just a little bit—just for some tea.”

KID hesitates. He’ll admit, he isn’t looking forward to going home and sleeping alone in his house with the ghost of his failure joining the ghost of his family. And the weekend . . . the whole weekend alone . . .

“Just for tea,” he murmurs, slipping off the railing.

——

A heist turns sour, and Hakuba insists that Kaito needs company. Kaito’s not so sure that it’s necessary, but it can’t hurt to indulge his favorite detective.

look who’s alive! I’ve been sitting on his for more than 6 months for the dcmk gen big bang, and it’s finally time! I’m so excited to finally share it ^^ anyway happy reading!

[hi-avathisside]

It wasn't anything,Right?

I- it wasnt that much significant, was it?

It wasnt something that mattered, did it ?

Never did. Never did for you.

My love, given to you with all my heart,mind and soul never was significant..

I am overreacting, right?

It wasnt even that big! Right?

Yeah, because i feel a little too much, i cry a lot. I cry everyday, even at the minorest,the smallest of problem.

Idk tu sahi hai ya main

Tu galat ya main sahi, nahin pata

Lekin yeh jo aansu hai yeh jhoothe toh nhin hai na , ab udaas hoon toh hoon.

How and why do i stop these ?

I am feeling this rn and since i am feeling this rn, ig this is valid, my feelings,my sadness,my emptiness is valid.

[notebooknonbinary]

Byler Week, Day 2: Seasons

This is Extremely not on November 1, but I started writing on the 31 and just couldn’t finish it until today. I’m not completely happy with it but, here ya go❤️

Day 2: Body Swap/ Fake Dating (a tiny bit fake dating but more like someone thinks someone is dating but isn’t it)/ Season

Brief Trigger warning for mention of SH. Only like two sentences but they’re there.

Finally on Ao3!!

Will used to love the snow.

Snow days meant staying home from school; they meant going outside to build snow-people with Jonathan. It meant pretty scenes to try and draw. Sometimes Mike came over, or Will went over to his house. One year, after a particularly heavy snowfall when Will was eight, he, Jonathan, Mike, and Lucas had built a sprawling fort in front of Will’s house. It had four rooms, built in snow-shelves (Mom had come out to help with that part), and had been guarded by three very ugly snowmen.

Later, when they got too cold, they came inside for potato soup and hot chocolate. They were excited at the prospect of maybe adding a few more rooms—and trying to figure out how to trap heat without melting the building, so that maybe they could sleep outside that night (Mom shot that down immediately). Still, they had plans to at least start to decorate it so it wouldn’t blend in with the rest of the snow.

Then Lonnie got home. And crushed the front of the fort (as well as its three snow-guards) with the car.

All of the boys had been devastated, naturally. All their hard work had gone to waste. And they couldn’t even tell off the culprit, because none of them had a death wish to try and berate Will’s dad.

The four had gone back to Lucas’s house—for safety’s sake, because Lonnie hadn’t been exactly pleased about the nonexistent damage to his car. The three younger had whispered about acts of revenge they’d never go through with, while Jonathan had entertained the suddenly appearing Erica (barely five and wanting her brother’s attention). Mike and Will had slept over at Lucas’s that night, grumbling over the loss of the fort they had definitely (not) been planning to sleep in.

Still, the incident hadn’t dampened Will’s love for the snow. During summers (in the years before the Upside Down), Will daydreamed about snow suddenly appearing and cooling him off. He preferred cooler weather over blazing heat, even if the compromise meant school would start. Mike who ran hot, but always felt a little cold, couldn’t comprehend wanting snow over summer. Karen was forever tutting over Mike coming home, sunburnt down his back and on his legs because he’d spent the whole day swimming without any sunscreen (he always ended summer practically plastered in new freckles). Even though Halloween was Mike’s favorite holiday, Summer was his favorite season.

After the Upside Down, after the Mindflayer’s possession of Will, things had changed. Halloween was no longer Mike’s favorite holiday, and Will hated winter.

The first snow, only a few weeks after he was released from the Mindflayer, Will had opened the door and had a panic attack at the blast of cold air. His nightmares worsened, to happening daily, and made him question what was real. Mom kept him home for the week, trying to keep Will from burning himself as he took three hot baths a day, drank only hot drinks, and ran their heater bill up. She had to hide all the lighters in the house as well, after she found him holding a lit one to his thigh:

“I need to make sure,” he’d sobbed. And Mom had cried along with him. “I have to make sure He’s gone.”

That evening, Mom had invited Mike over to spend the night, even though the Party had mostly been told to stay away. Mike’s presence was enough to stop the worst of it. And, though they never mentioned it or told anyone else, Mike had slept in his bed that night to keep Will warm. Will had been too out of it to get flustered at getting cuddled by the boy he had a crush on.

It helped. And by the next Monday, Will was back at school, a little worse for wear, and a new prescription for anxiety medication in his backpack.

A little less than a month after that incident was the Snowball, which hadn’t exactly given him any reason to try and like winter at all anymore.

It had started out okay, to be fair.

Will had arrived early, so Jonathan could set up the photo booth he’d be running for the night. Lucas had been next, followed by Max. Will could tell they were sending each other soppy eyes—the kind Jonathan and Nancy had been sporting as of late.

And then Mike had shown up.

Will always thought Mike looked handsome, but there was something about that night. Will thought he might swallow his tongue. He hoped he wasn’t blushing all that much.

But, maybe if he was, and Mike saw, would that be so terrible? These past few weeks, ever since the possession, Mike had been sticking close-by.

Maybe…

Mike gave him a grin when he stopped by them. “You clean up pretty good, Byers!”

Yeah, if Will had been blushing before, it was doubly so now. “You too,” he managed to blurt.

Mike ran a self conscious hand over his hair. “Really?” Will nodded a little too vigorously. Mike's smile softened. “Thanks Will.”

Not long after that, Dustin appeared, completing the Party (but for one missing, a mean little voice whispered in the back of his head, the most important). Dustin, in Will’s opinion, looked like a million bucks. His hair looked fancy, sort of like Steve Harrington’s. And his suit was the nicest out of all of them. Will appeared to be the only one thinking that though. He watched Dustin’s face fall as their other friends didn’t appreciate his new hairdo.

Just as Will was about to pipe up in Dustin’s defense, the song overhead changed. Slowed. Time After Time. He’d heard over the radio a couple times and he liked it (though he wouldn’t say so to Jonathan). It was a good song to slow dance to, maybe.

Lucas clearly thought so too, because he began to stumble over an invitation to Max, who smirked, teased him, and tugged his hand towards the dance floor.

Will smiled, then chanced a glance at Mike, who was watching them go, looking slightly confused.

Then, before Will had a chance to say anything, a girl he’d never talked to (but might have seen in a few of his classes) came up to them. She was looking at him, for some reason. “Hey Zombie Boy,” she asked, smiling shyly. Will tried not to flinch at the nickname. “Do you want to dance?”

Will automatically turned to Mike, hoping that he might have an excuse for Will to turn her down, without hurting her feelings. “Um…I don’t…” He pleaded with his eyes for Mike to save him.

Mike was not a mind reader. With his head, he gestured for Will to accept her invitation.

Well, now Will had to accept or he’d feel bad. “I mean…sure, yeah, cool.”

She beamed. With one last look at Mike and Dustin, he followed her out on the dance floor.

Mentally he was firm with himself, he would dance for one song and then politely excuse himself, so he could get back to Mike his friends. He wasn’t sure he’d want to make friends with someone who called him Zombie Boy.

“So, um, I know you’re in a couple of my classes,” he said, still trying to be polite. “But, I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

She beamed, cheeks turning rosy. “That’s okay! My name’s Rose, or Rosie to my friends!”

That was an invitation, he suspected. At least she wasn’t trying to ask him out—the thought was more than a little terrifying. “Why did you want to dance with me, Rosie?”

After all, he and his friends weren’t exactly considered popular.

“I’ve seen your drawings in art class,” she says immediately. “You’re really good. And you’re not mean to girls, like so many other boys.”

He was a little bit flattered (though self-conscious) that she liked his art. He was about to thank her, when there was the scattered sound of mean giggles. They both looked over to see three girls walking away from a crushed Dustin.

Rosie made a frustrated noise. “She’s such a snob.”

As they were watching, Dustin was ignored by two more girls. Just as Will was about to excuse himself to go comfort his friend (who’d gone to sit at the bleachers), he saw Nancy go over to him first.

“Who’s that?” Rosie asked, as Nancy began to lead Dustin over to dance.

“That’s our friend’s older sister. She’s chaperoning.”

“That’s nice of her to dance with him.”

Will was tempted to see what Mike thought of Nancy dancing with Dustin, but when he looked over to where they’d left him, he was gone.

“Anyway,” Rosie said. “Thank you for agreeing to dance with me. I know you didn’t really want to.”

Will bit his lip, ashamed and caught out. “I’m sorry. I am having fun!”

Indeed, Will was almost glad she’d asked him. Although he dreaded her potentially asking him to be anything other than friends. But the smallest, pettiest part of him was glad to be making a friend that none of the rest of his friends had interacted with. He’d felt a little left out that the other three boys had a friend that he had never really interacted with before this last month. And Max was more Dustin and Lucas’s friend than his.

So the idea of a friend that was just his, was a little bit cool.

He was about to ask, officially, if she’d like to be his friend, when he caught sight of the back of Mike’s head. He’d found a girl to dance with.

It took him a long moment to recognize her. It was El.

He’d only met her a few times since she’d closed the Gate. She wasn’t as standoffish with him as she was with Max, but they still hadn’t talked much. When the Party got the occasional permission to hang out with her at Hopper’s cabin, he and Max usually hung out—silently commiserating about feeling left out.

There was a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach, watching her dance with Mike. In the back of his mind, he knew what it was (jealousy), but he refused to acknowledge it.

Then the funny feeling took a downturn into devastation, because Mike leaned in and kissed El.

Will swallowed down the urge to throw up. He gave Rosie a pained smile. “I had fun dancing with you. And I’d like to talk with you more, but I need to go talk to my brother by the photo booth.”

He saw her glance in the direction of Mike and El (still kissing). She gave him a sweet, understanding smile and let her hands fall to her sides. “Thank you for dancing with me, Will. I’ll see you in Art on Monday.”

As quickly and quietly as he could manage, Will navigated his way outside. He immediately started to shiver, but, for the first time since the snow started, Will didn’t focus on it. He simply wrapped his arms around himself. He was too focused on what he’d just seen.

Stupid, he thought to himself. He already told me he liked Eleven. Why am I so shocked? Why does it hurt so badly?

There was a pain in his chest. Not a physical pain. His heart hurt.

He already knew why it hurt.

The warm wet of tears began slipping down his face, turning cold as they went down his face. Within a few moments the tears turned into silent sobbing.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there—perhaps only a few minutes, or maybe a million years. He sat and cried, and felt his skin burn and bones ache from the cold. Eventually, though…

“Hey Will, what’s wrong?”

Dustin sat down beside him, leaning to put a comforting arm over his shoulder. Will was far too into his tears at this point to swallow them down and answer. So he simply continued to cry, putting his face into Dustin’s shoulder. Dustin hugged him closer, not seeming to care that his suit jacket was getting wet.

Finally, as Will’s tears began to slow, he spoke. “I thought you were dancing with Nancy?” His voice came out rough and croaky, and he cleared his throat.

Dustin gave him a small grin. “She danced with me for two songs, but she’s here tonight to chaperone. Even my charms can’t compete with extra credit!”

Will giggled a little. “I didn’t get to tell you earlier,” he said quietly. “But I think you look very cool tonight. Like Steve.”

Dustin blushed. He half reached up self consciously to his hair. “The rest of the Party—”

“—are brain-addled by crushes tonight. They wouldn’t actually notice anyone else if it bit them on the nose.” Will tried to keep the bitter sadness from his tone, but from the startled look he got, he didn’t quite succeed. When Dustin opened his mouth, Will shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

They sat in silence for a moment. “Well, the dance stinks this year anyway, do you want to skip the rest and have a sleepover?”

Will swallowed down grateful tears. Dustin was a good friend. “I’d like that.”

They went back inside to use the phone, made quick goodbyes to Lucas and Max, who had found a table for the moment, then Will’s mom drove them home.

(Mike was still dancing with Eleven when they’d left. Later, part of Will waited for Mike to call on the walkie to ask where he they’d gone, but the call never came. Will resolved to bury his hurt. At least he’d always have the Party and DnD.)

After that night, he was quieter about the cold scaring him. Mike was caught up in his new relationship, and he’d never told the rest of the Party. He simply bundled up more. He’d managed to make his nightmares silent, somehow, tricking his Mom into thinking they’d abated some.

And he snitched a lighter from his Mom's secret stash—for emergencies.

-

Things changed after the Snowball for Mike, both good and bad.

The good thing was that El was his girlfriend now! The thought alone was enough to have his stomach break out into anxious butterflies. He hoped he’d get used to the change soon so the feeling would stop—it made him a little bit queasy. Even though he couldn’t take her to dates at the diner, or to the new mall that was opening soon, it still felt special. It was El, of course it felt special.

The bad thing was, something was going on with Will and he couldn’t figure out what. He and Dustin had left early (Lucas said one of them hadn’t felt well, though he hadn’t said which one). Mike had thought about walkie-ing him after he got home from the dance, but thought Will might be asleep. And if Will was sleeping without nightmares, Mike was loath to wake him.

But, when he went over to the Byers house the next day, Joyce turned him away. She said that Will had come down with a bad cold and couldn’t see anyone. Joyce had never turned Mike away before, even when Will was sick.

Will was at school the next day, looking a little worse for wear. He was quiet too, and spent more time talking to Dustin during lunch than to Mike—Which was fine! Dustin was Will’s best friend too! But…

But when the girl from the Snowball that had asked Will to dance came up to Will in the hallway to talk about the class that only they had, Dustin grinned and elbowed Will and Will rolled his eyes and shoved back. Something in Mike’s stomach twisted.

“She's just a friend,” Will murmured after she was gone. Mike glared at her back.

“And Lucas said that about Max, and where are we now?” Dustin countered.

Will scoffed. “You danced with Nancy, but she’s dating my brother. Not everything has to have hidden feelings involved.” He seemed to notice Mike staring at that point and turned pink.

Suddenly Mike felt sick. Did Will have a crush on that girl? Why hadn’t he told Mike?

Why did that idea make him feel so badly?

“Mike, are you okay?” Will asked. Mike tried to grin at him.

“Just ready for the weekend!”

“Mike…it’s Monday.”

“I know but I won’t get to see El until Friday.”

Will’s face shuttered closed. “That’s true.” He shut his locker. “I’m going to meet up with Rosie before art class, I’ll see you guys later.”

He sped away down the hall.

Dustin’s brow was furrowed as he looked between Will’s retreating back and Mike. That was his thinking face. What had he figured out?

“What?”

Dustin blinked and the look disappeared. “Nothing, just…” He shook his head. “Nothing. We gotta go or we’ll be late for Spanish.”

-

Later that day, unbeknownst to Mike, a conversation was had:

“No, Dustin, I don’t have a crush on Eleven. I don’t even know her!”

“But you were upset at the Snowball, and your face gets all funny whenever Mike mentions his dates with El.”

“I just…” A sigh. “Everyone else is growing up and dating, and it feels a little bit like being left behind.”

“I mean, I may be getting taller, but I’m not dating anyone, at least.”

“That’s true. If we’re behind the others, at least we’re behind together.”

-

Will will never like the cold and snow. But after they defeat Vecna and close the Upside Down—after he and Mike get together—if either of them has a bad day, they can go to the other’s house for cuddling and hot chocolate. These days they’re both having nightmares a couple times a week, but, if they’re sharing a bed, they feel safer and sleep better.

[entropy-sea-system]

I'm done with my Chip n Dale aplspec aro fanfic drabble!! May have our systems Chip and Dale fictives beta it if they want (they read my first draft bc they wanted to read it) then publish it!!

[phntmeii]

Hil

Im not sure if your taking requests for writing, but if you are I was wondering if you could do a slashers × S/O who is very strong but doesn't look it?

If that makes sense...

Like the S/O is very sweet, short and small, like she looks petite and fragile but it turns out she can easily lift extremely heavy things, or can punch really hard.

Like even harder or stronger than the slasher.

If you could specifically add Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, (NBC) Hannibal and Will, and maybe Thomas Hetwit?

Sorry I don't know if that's too much to ask for, I just love your writing so much!

Being Stronger than Slashers .

[ SFW + Fem Terms]

Pairings: Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham, Thomas Hewitt x petite!strong!Reader General Warnings: Descriptions of Gore/Blood, Violence, Slightly OOC, Descriptions of panic attack/episode, Manipulative behavior mention

A/N: ty anon for request <33 Back to slashers :) Sad I haven’t posted more of them literally in Halloween month but I’m working on it (last second lol) </33

Bo Sinclair

Absolutely turned on to the fucking max when he sees your strength.

Small, sweet partners was always his type. He just loves fulfilling the typical male stereotype of being a protector over his partner.

When he turned the corner, looking to finish off the last victim of the lot within his abandoned town, only to see something better.

He watched as you effortlessly were carrying the body of the victim over your shoulder like it was nothing. Head completely caved in, more of a mass of flesh and blood than an identifiable person. Your other hand held a bloodied hammer.

Bo was completely still, but not of fear. He was standing there like a man who had completely re-fallen in love again.

His eyes were shining as his grin grew wide. Approaching, he was nothing but prideful.

His voice was light with a chuckle, thumb brushing away the blood on your cheek. “Shit, sweetheart… Never knew a pretty girl like you was so… strong. I love it.”

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent was overprotective a lot of the time. He was insistent you were never near his work nor would you be involved when victims were in town.

He loved you too much to have you a part of him and his brothers’ work.

Vincent was slightly startled, hearing the door of his studio open. He knew both his brothers were out.

Seeing it was you, he approached, silently looking down at you. You could tell there was an air of disappointment at you being in his studio when he didn’t want you to be.

A ragged, strained voice spoke from behind his mask, “Why?”

With a shrug of your shoulders and a smile, you walked past him, further into the studio. “Bo said he needed a box in here.”

Watching you walk past, his eyes were hidden but widened as he watched you easily lift up a heavy table to look under it, scrolling past the items underneath it.

He approached confused but didn’t stop you. “Oh! Here it is!” Your arms held up a filled box of tools and parts.

Vincent followed you around curiously for the rest of the day like a shadow. He was completely fascinated by your strength, wanting to see it again.

Once you returned from helping Bo, Vincent couldn't let go of you. He kept his arms around you, head on your shoulder. His quiet, strained voice simply said, "Show me again... Please?"

Hannibal Lecter

Hannibal always held an air of curiosity about you. Your sweet nature was like an untainted part of his life. A woman so far from himself.

Hannibal’s curiosity was never-ending. He took advantage of his intelligence to learn as much as he could. Stalking, Manipulative behaviors in “therapy”, etc.

You were almost always at his place. He liked it better that way although it provided some maintenance when it came to his extracurricular activities.

Hannibal had been making another of his fancy dinners for the two of you. The presentation had to be precise and perfect. Presentation was half the work for him.

He absentmindedly spoke while you were cutting vegetables beside him, “I have not set the chairs. I will do so in a moment, my love.”

Immediately, you wanted to assist. You always liked helping out. “I’ve got it!”

Watching you walk away, he expected to finish his current task before going off to assist you. Instead, he looked up to the doorway to see you easily walking past with a heavy wooden chair in each hand, easily carrying the two like they were just a stack of papers.

A small smirk curled at his lips as his hands slowed in their work. He whispered to himself, knowing his eager curiosity was not wasted, “You are… a delight, my love. You will make for something truly wonderful.”

Will Graham

Will was someone who was vigilant and aware. His mind always raced a million miles an hour with tiny observations and connections.

There was something about you but he just couldn’t place it.

But, what was there to prove? You were sweet and kind, seeming so far from what he knew. That was part of why he held love for you—You weren’t him.

Will was in his head again, silently panicked by his own mind. It was torturous to live in a prison of his own violent thoughts.

You were someone who always noticed. Always could pick up when these episodes started.

Holding his hands and speaking sweetly to him to draw him back to reality, unfortunately, wasn’t working this time.

His eyes kept darting back and forth while his breath quickened. With him standing still, quivering, you had to make the choice.

With simple ease, you picked Will up bridal style, walking away with him.

It took him a moment to realize what happened, breaking out of being inside his head. His eyes just stared at you when he was placed onto his bed, sweat drenching his forehead.

He broke out into a small smile, absentmindedly licking his lips, as was his habit. "I... didn't know you could do that."

"Is it a bad thing?"

"No. It's... really attractive, actually."

Thomas Hewitt

Tommy was always a protector. Toward his family, it was evident. A given. Toward you, it was an inherent need.

The last thing he'd ever want is for you to be hurt, especially when victims come around.

He would lead you and Luda Mae into a room, having you two barricade it while him and Hoyt took care of the unfortunate victims who made their way to the wrong home.

You waited, albeit anxiously. And it only grew once you heard a loud thud followed by Hoyt's yelling.

"Goddammit, Tommy! The fuck are you doin'?"

Immediately you knew something went wrong. Despite Luda Mae trying to keep you in the room, you ripped away the makeshift barricade on the door and rushed out.

Tommy was on all fours, holding the side of his head. A man, you assumed one of the few victims, held a hammer in his hand. He quivered holding it, as if horrified by his own self-defense.

Without thinking, you grabbed the nearest chair, pulling back and cracking it hard against the man. Aimed for his head, he dropped to the floor unconscious by the impact.

You rushed over to Tommy's side, panicked. "Tommy! Tommy! God- Are you okay?"

His arm just instinctively shot out and held you to his body, protecting you in his mind. He opened his eyes and looked past you to see the victim with broken wooden pieces of the chair on top of him.

With his mask on, his expression was hidden. But inside, his heart warmed at how you were strong enough to protect him too. His own protector.

[zukkaoru]

hiiiiiiiiii for the writing prompt thing: renga, “we’ll never get to sleep if you keep fidgeting like that”

also have not written them in ages so i hope this is alright🙏 featuring reki with tourette's bc. obviously.

word count: 464

(prompt requests are still open)

.

Reki has had sleepovers before. Langa is not his first friend, though Reki’s list of current friends extends to three adults he knows from an underground skateboarding ring, one middle schooler, his boss, and Langa himself. Reki has spent the night at friends’ houses, and he’s had friends spend the night at his house too. He isn’t even a stranger to sharing a bed with a friend.

But this— this is different.

Reki has had sleepovers with friends, but he’s never had a sleepover with a boyfriend. And though, functionally, it doesn’t have to be any different, that knowledge does nothing to quell the anxiety building in Reki’s chest.

He’s fluffed his pillow about six times in the past four minutes, he’s fiddled with his phone charger, he’s gone to the bathroom, he’s done about everything he can to delay the inevitable, and Langa has patiently sat with his back against the headboard, allowing Reki to make sure everything is in order before they sleep. But Reki is out of things to check and the lights are off and…

He adjusts the blankets as Langa sinks down, laying on his side, facing Reki. Reki doesn’t know why he’s so worried. He clicks his tongue, then begins picking at a stray thread on his sleeve.

“Reki,” Langa whispers softly. “We’ll never get to sleep if you keep fidgeting like that.”

Reki purses his lips. His fingers flex of their own accord.

“Is something wrong?”

Reki shakes his head. He slides down, beneath the blankets, lying on his back and looking up at the ceiling. “I’m just a little anxious. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid.” Langa reaches over, placing his hand on Reki’s shoulder. “I can sleep on the floor, if you want.”

“No!” Reki replies, a touch too quickly. “No, no— I don’t want to make you do that. I’ll…” he swallows. “I’ll be fine, I think. It’s just… You’re sure my tics won’t keep you awake?”

Langa chuckles. “Reki, you’ve told me yourself that I could sleep through the end of the world. It’ll be fine.”

Reki exhales slowly. Langa is right—once he’s asleep, he’s nearly impossible to wake up. Everything will be fine.

Carefully, Reki peels Langa’s hand from his shoulder, entwining their fingers instead. He presses his lips against Langa’s knuckles. “Yeah…yeah, okay.” There’s still an uncomfortable twist in Reki’s stomach, but it’s lessened significantly now, and his eyelids are growing heavy. He knows there’s no reason to worry—that no nighttime ticcing or fidgeting will be enough to make Langa leave him—but he needs to make it through the night to fully believe as much.

Luckily, he knows Langa will be there for him even when his stupid anxiety is acting up. Langa will hold his hand, and they’ll both be okay.

[wrishwrosh]

hey, i find your posts about historical fiction pretty interesting, do you have any recs?

anon this is the most beautiful and validating ask i have ever received. absolutely of COURSE I have recs. not gonna be a lot of deep cuts on this list but i love all of these books and occasionally books do receive awards and acclaim because they are good. in no particular order:

the cromwell trilogy by hilary mantel. of course i gotta start with the og. it’s 40 million pages on the tudor court and the english reformation and it will fundamentally change you as a person and a reader

(sub rec: the giant, o’brien by hilary mantel. in many ways a much shorter thematic companion to the cromwell trilogy imo. about stories and death and embodiment and the historical record and 18th century ireland. if you loved the trilogy, read this to experience hils playing with her own theories about historical fiction. if you are intimidated by the trilogy, read this first to get a taste of her prose style and her approach to the genre. either way please read all four novels ok thanks)

lincoln in the bardo by george saunders. the book that got me back into historical fiction as an adult. american history as narrated by a bunch of weird ghosts and abraham lincoln. chaotic and lovely and morbid.

the everlasting by katy simpson smith. rome through the ages as seen by a medici princess, a gay death-obsessed monk, and an early christian martyr. really historically grounded writing about religion and power, and also narrated with interjections from god’s ex boyfriend satan. smith is a trained historian and her prose slaps

(sub rec: free men by katy simpson smith. only a sub rec bc i read it a long time ago and my memory of it is imperfect but i loved it in 2017ish. about three men in the woods in the post revolutionary american south and by virtue of being about masculinity is actually about women. smith did her phd in antebellum southern femininity and motherhood iirc so this book is LOCKED IN to those perspectives)

a mercy by toni morrison. explores the dissolution of a household in 17th century new york. very different place and time than a lot of morrison’s bigger novels but just as mean and beautiful

(sub rec: beloved by toni morrison. a sub rec bc im pretty sure everyone has already read beloved but perhaps consider reading it again? histfic ghost story abt how the past is always here and will never go away and loves you and hates you and is trying to kill you)

an artist of the floating world by kazuo ishiguro. my bestie sir kazuo likes to explore the past through characters who, for one reason or another (amnesia, dementia, being a little baby robot who was just born yesterday, etc), are unable to fully comprehend their surroundings. this one is about post-wwii japan as understood by an elderly supporter of the imperial regime

(sub rec: remains of the day by kazuo ishiguro. same conceit as above except this time the elderly collaborator is incapable of reckoning with the slow collapse of the system that sheltered him due to britishness.)

the pull of the stars by emma donoghue. donoghue is a strong researcher and all of her novels are super grounded in their place and time without getting so caught up in it they turn into textbooks. i picked this one bc it is a wwi lesbian love story about childbirth that made me cry so hard i almost threw up on a plane but i recommend all her histfic published after 2010. before that she was still finding her stride.

days without end by sebastian barry. this one is hard to read and to rec bc it is about the us army’s policy of genocide against native americans in the 19th century west as told by an irish cavalry soldier. it is grim and violent and miserable and also so beautiful it makes me cry about every three pages. first time i read it i was genuinely inconsolable for two days afterwards.

this post is long as hell so HONORABLE MENTIONS: the amazing adventures of kavalier & clay by michael chabon, the western wind by samantha harvey, golden hill by frances spufford, barkskins by annie proulx, postcards by annie proulx, most things annie proulx has written but i feel like i talk about her too much, the view from castle rock by alice munro, the name of the rose by umberto eco, tracks by louise erdrich

[that-was-anticlimactic]

*eyes all the posts from the stage play* i wonder what corey watched recently……….

(where did you watch it?? i’ve been wanting to)

HI HI HI

okay. okay okay okay. hil. i cannot tell you how many times i've watched the stage play in the last week. both the first one and the second one. i just. frick. they're SO GOOD!!! and mob's stage play actor iS HIS VOICE ACTOR!!! and the costumes are amazing and God the actors are INCREDIBLE teru's actor literally was one of the highlights of the first stage play. his fight scene with mob... literal chills. and the guy who plays kamuro is just. so so so GOOD. incredible. and ritsu's actor is just. UGH. so good. incredible. and reigen's and dimple's and tome's and EVERYONE and shou is in the second stage play and he just has beef with reigen the whole time and he plays shou SO well and really nails the "i'm going to cause problems ON PURPOSE TEHE" vibes and just. y eah. AND KOYAMA'S ACTOR TOO UGH SO GOOD. and the vp of the student council plays a bunch of different characters and he kills it too. i just. frick. and i've watched the bows so many times too because the cast is just. they're such good friends and it warms my heart ahhhhhhh

omg and one of my favorite parts is. there's this part where dimple is doing some narration and it's the whole "the two have to deal with the consequences of their actions and one is like high off the feeling and one is depressed" but like he says it better than that lol aNYWAYS and when he refers to kamuro, his actor like doubles over in laughter and GOSH IT'S SO GOOD and when he refers to ritsu, he doubles over and SCREAMS UGH CHILLS CHILLS CHILLS

omg and teru's actor also plays hitoshi who is reigen's client at the beginning of the second stage play and gosh those two worked so well together oiuyfdxfghuijuhgf it was SO FUNNY

ahem. yes. i uh. i watched the stage plays. a. a very normal amount of times.

YES HOW TO WATCH THEM!!!

this has the link to the first one! there's a password which is in the post and then it'll give you another password and it doesn't let you copy and paste the second one directly from the website, but someone left instructions with an easier way to copy it in the comments!

this has a link to the second one! there's a password which is in the post and then it'll give you another password and someone copied and pasted this one in the comments so you can copy and paste the second password from there!

the third one hasn't been subbed yet:( i've watched as many clips of it as i can find, but there aren't a lot of clips yet so i've just been. rewatching the first two probably too much lol

LEMME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK I HAVE SO MANY FEELINGS ABOUT THEM

[hilplusterrorss]

"are you feeling alright?" + reigen & mob?

(Whoops this got long so the rest is under the cut)

"Shishou, are you feeling all right?"

Like every sound that's penetrated the stale office air for the past couple of hours, Mob's words pierce right through Arataka's skull and dig into the flesh of his brain.

. . . He really needs to stop reading so many horror novels. That was a gross thought.

He sighs, stopping himself before he can shake his head. It would probably explode if he didn't. "I'm fine, Mob. I've just got a bit of a headache. I've been looking at this computer screen for way too long."

"Oh." Arataka carefully cuts his eyes to Mob, who has his head cocked to one side and his hand lifted to his chin in a gesture that looks simultaneously very familiar and very wrong. It takes Arataka several seconds too long to realize that it's a gesture he's never seen Mob perform, but one that he's caught countless glimpses of when he sees his own reflection.

Huh.

Mob stands stock-still for several moments, then fixes Arataka with his signature stare, unreadable but not blank. "Should I turn off the lights and go get you some pain medication? The corner store should have some."

Arataka forgets this time to resist shaking his head and squeezes his eyes shut after doing so, hoping to crush the pain away with his face. It doesn't work all that well, but after a moment it subsides anyway. "No, Mob, I'll be fine. I just need to send a couple more emails, then I'll be done." He pauses. "Turning the lights out might help though."

Mob nods, eagerness flashing briefly across his features, and goes to get the lights. The second they shut off, Arataka feels a tension ease out of his temples. He closes his eyes and sighs.

He keeps them shut for a bit too long, he guesses, because the sound of Mob sitting back down in front of his desk startles him. "Ah. Thanks, Mob."

Mob nods, placid as ever, and does that Mob thing where he just sits there and looks at Arataka without any particular expression. An awkward silence settles over them. Arataka feels like he should say something more, but he's not sure what.

He looks at his computer screen again. It's not as painful as before, but it still stabs his eyes like blue-white knives. He grimaces.

"Y'know, I think I'll take you up on the painkillers. Here-" He rummages in his wallet for a couple of bills and passes them over the desk. "Grab whatever's cheapest, and a snack for yourself. And then once you bring them back, you can take the rest of the afternoon off. I think I could use a nap."

Mob nods and takes the money, smiling faintly as he gets up. "Yes Shishou. Don't strain your eyes on those emails."

He's gone before Arataka realizes that he just did exactly what Mob wanted.

(Proship DNI)

[gatheringbones]

[“In a 2019 tweet (since deleted), Twitter user Brooke wrote of ‘carving “trans” into every bone of my body so when they find my skeleton in two hundred years they don’t get too confused’. A reply parodied the response of an oblivious archaeologist: ‘We must be careful not to jump to conclusions about what these ancient carvings could have meant; This individual could have had a passion for mass transit, transcontinental travel, or a combination of poor spelling and a love of trance music’.

Every time I read jokes like this, I get a jolt of hurt and defensiveness: not all historians and academics are like that! I try so hard, every day, not to do the kind of history they’re talking about! And yet I can hardly blame these people for talking and writing the way they do. The fact is that the discipline of history is set up to erase queer lives, and particularly trans lives. We are expected to adhere to double standards of evidence, which encourage us to state with impunity that a historical figure was definitely cis, but to hedge with caveats the suggestion that they were maybe, possibly trans; to use phrases like ‘cross-dresser’ or ‘impersonator’ as if they’re neutral, and to write lengthy defences of ourselves if we decide to avoid them; to expect backlash from colleagues and reviewers if we choose to use any pronouns for a historical figure other than those associated with the gender they were assigned at birth; to say, like the caricatured archaeologist above, ‘We must be careful not to jump to conclusions’, even when the evidence for trans experience is actually abundantly conclusive. It hurts when people memeify the oblivious, transphobic ‘historian’, but it’s also not unfair of them to do it. History, while it may not perpetuate physical harm, still repeatedly enacts violence against trans lives in the past and the present. And it’s not the job of the communities we’ve hurt to give us the benefit of the doubt: it’s our job to convince them that historians can be different.

In this book, I’ve identified new ways, and new places, to look for trans history. I’ve argued for the presence of trans experience in histories of gender-nonconforming fashion; histories of gender-nonconforming performance; and histories of people taking on a social role that isn’t associated with the gender they were assigned at birth. I’ve shown that many trans histories are inextricable from histories of other experiences: the sexual, the intersex, the anti-patriarchal, the spiritual. I’ve argued both for acknowledging trans possibility in histories of widespread gender nonconformity that have previously been explained in other ways, and for understanding gendered histories on their own terms – including seeing them, where necessary, as both trans history and the history of other kinds of people and experiences.

In this last kind of history in particular, I’ve often been confronted by what writer and philosopher Hil Malatino (quoting fellow scholar Abram J. Lewis) calls the ‘irreducible alterity’ of people in the past: the fact that some histories of gender are not possible to map onto or relate to the way people experience gender today. Malatino characterises the acknowledgement of this ‘irreducible alterity’ as a form of care for those past people, an idea that speaks deeply to me. It struck me, when I first read it, how different this framing of ‘care’ was from the arguments historians more commonly make against describing people in the past as trans: that it is presentist, that it is anachronistic, that it inappropriately fixes past people in modern categories. These arguments have rarely seemed to me to come from a place of care for people in the past; instead their priority seems to be history or historiographical methodology as an abstract, faux-objective entity. Still more rarely do they seem to acknowledge the concurrent urgency of caring for people in the present: the people who are living now, experiencing and articulating their gender in manifold ways and drawing strength from the histories of people who have done the same. Might it not be possible to find ways of recognising the essential difference of people in the past – people who disrupted gender before we were trans – while simultaneously holding space for the feelings of identification with them held by people in the present, the people who are trans now?”]

kit heyam, from before we were trans: a new history of gender, 2022

[pangzi]

It's happening, finally! The Pangzi exchange is here! Together with the Pangzi server we have decided that there's no better way to celebrate our favourite guy's birthday than with a feast of fanworks all about him!

The Pangzi Birthday Exchange is a fic, art and video exchange like any other where the participants will be matched anonymously to create a gift for each other. The only difference is that it has one very important rule: whatever you create must center around Pangzi, he must be the star of your creation.

The exchange will be held on AO3, which means you will need an account to participate. If you do not have an account please notify me or ask a friend with an account to send you an invite!

Schedule:

Signups open: 18 January 2024

Signups close: 25 January 2024

Gifts due: 11 April 2024

Gift reveal: 18 April 2024

Creator reveal: 25 April 2024

Guidelines:

This exchange is about Pangzi so your creation should be about him. This means the main idea, plot and/or ship should be about him.

Write something based on your assignment's requests. You aren't obligated to follow their prompts, write something you think they will enjoy. Pay close attention to their Do Not Wants.

Minimum requirements are: 1000 words for fic (or 500 words + sketch); clean, lined sketch for art (traditional or digital); 45 seconds for video.

Do not discuss your creations publicly until after author reveals.

Anyone can create a treat for anyone, if you aren't sure you want to sign up, you can consider making someone a treat. Pay close attention to the person's request and especially the DNWs.

If you need to drop out, please contact @hils79 directly before dropping out. Someone else will be found to make your recipient a gift. If you want to be a pinch hitter, please also let Hils know directly.

If you need an extension, let me or Hils know on time to see what can be done.

After reveals, leave a kind comment on your gift.

[faarkas]

hilary show me the forbidden content of the fwb valenzo fic, i need it NOW 🤲

rules: post the barebones plot of your wips and let people send you an ask with the title that intrigues them the most and then post a snippet/tell them something about it! post

@arklay @morvaris

OHHHH RENA, LEAH, AND NICO,,,, Pandora’s box u have opened :/ I’ll give like. three chunks since the three of u asked but be warned…..ITS CRINGE

ANYWAY. I give you some of the beginning of the date, after the date, and them on his couch. Its almost 3k. Some nsft ish stuff under the cut. no smut but they do be getting kinda frisky. also they're a lil tipsy. c'est la vie. If any of you actually make it through any of this and don't immediately regret it I'll owe you a life debt

Also so far the plot is: Val gets ready to go on a date, is a lil nervous, calls Lorenzo for advice and like the absolute well-meaning dumbass he is he suggests he bring his date and they go on a double date. Their dates end up TOTALLY wrong for them and actually better suited for each other (stupid corpo financial dudebro who comes back up later and a very shallow model. not to rely on stereotypes or anything. also she has the same color eyes as val just so u can laugh with me.) and they end up like, making out with each other in the corner of the restaurant. And then valenzo leaves and hooks up AHSKDKAJ and agree to the whole fwb arrangement ™️ BUT THEN. Val’s dad shows up (very bad no good man) and is like pwease help me i’m so pathetic and she reluctantly agrees. And that’s where we’re at now but there’s hijinks and there’s going to be a lil love triangle moment and it’s just. Listen if u wanna know more u should probably dm me at this point it’s so convoluted but also not AGDJFKWBK

The air is still warm, golden light painting the sides of the buildings as the sun starts to set, but Val can’t help but shiver a little bit as the breeze nips at her darkly nyloned legs, goosebumps forming over her skin. She’d decided on wearing some cheeky thigh highs along with everything else, the lacy band keeping them up just peeking out from under her skirt when she twists the right way and making her feel a little sexy.

It could just be the cool breeze, but it could also be the anticipation of the evening. It’s almost 7:30, and she’s outside the restaurant, trying to wait patiently for anybody to show up as the last corpos make their way past her with dead eyes and crinkled suits. She inspects her nails to distract herself, trying to resist the herculean urge to pick at the fresh coat of black polish while she ignores the dig of the skinny strap of her purse digging into her bare shoulder.

A somewhat distant call of her name pricks her ears up, looking up to see Lorenzo waving to her cheerfully from down the street, a blonde girl at his side. Val zooms in with her kiroshis as she waves back, eager to get a look of Lorenzo Date No. 493 and see if she can glean anything from her before she actually has to talk to her.

She’s really beautiful with her glowy pale purple optics and long blonde hair, honestly she really looks like she could be a model with how long her legs are, the short bodycon light blue dress she’s wearing helping to show them off. A quick scan on her reveals that her name is Erica. Of course Lorenzo would bring a very hot girl with a pretty name to her date, Val internally laments as they continue to get closer with each step.

Erica is tall too, with her heels she’s only a couple inches shorter than him. She tries to stamp down a flicker of anxiety, and another weird feeling she can’t place when Lorenzo tilts his head down to murmur something in Erica’s ear that makes her laugh, the big hand he has on her waist squeezing and pulling her closer.

He looks really good too honestly with how he’s dressed sharply in all black, not too formal but just dressy enough to be classy, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up halfway to show off his heavily tattooed forearms.

“Goddamn. Lookit you, Val. I love this skirt.“ Lorenzo says warmly when they come to a stop in front of her, casting a quick look over her outfit.

“Don’t look so bad yourself.” Val counters with a small smile, starting feeling a little awkward and self conscious in front of two hot people now, even if one of those hot people is one of her closest friends.

A beat of silence accompanies her thanks, Val trying to figure out how to introduce herself smoothly just as Lorenzo mercifully jumps into action.

“Oh god, please pardon my absolutely fuckin’ terrible manners. Erica, this is my friend Valerie. She’s the netrunner extraordinaire I’ve told you about.” He gestures to Val with the hand he doesn’t have wrapped around Erica’s waist. “Val, this is the lovely Erica. She runs in the fashion circuits, does some modeling for Avante."

Val sniffs as they start the walk to Lorenzo’s place in thoughtful silence, the rhythmic sound of her heels clicking on the sidewalk and his shuffling steps providing a weirdly comforting soundtrack.

“Hey don’t take that personally, okay?” Lorenzo says a couple minutes later when she sniffs hard, her mascara starting to burn her eyes a little.

Really, she's been holding it together really good so far. It's just the way her eyes keep tearing up is going to ruin her mascara, and her nose is starting to run, and her hands are too full to rub at either of the offending parts of her face.

The way she feels like she's just becoming more and more pathetic is painful. Her date is back there with his tongue down that models throat, and she’s doing what feels like a walk of shame to Lorenzo’s place with arms and a purse full of stolen food and alcohol, with her makeup running.

“It’s just…kinda hard not to, y’know?” She says roughly, sniffing hard again.

Like, is she really that undesirable or something? She doesn’t really think she’s the prettiest girl on the block but she does look pretty good tonight. Better than Erica, even with her mile long legs and perfect skin and–

“I know, but you didn’t do a single thing wrong. You look like a trillion bucks, Val, and you’re always a class act.” Lorenzo’s gentle words cut through her thoughts like a knife through butter.

The compliment makes her chest flutter a little bit as she looks up at him, seeing a couple very dim stars in the sky above him as they walk. Honestly, they probably aren’t even stars. More than likely just orbital stations. Still cool, but not as neat as real stars would be.

“That’s sweet of you to say, Enzo.” Val teases with a cheeky smile, thankful that it’s too dark for him to see her raccoon eyes.

Lorenzo gives her a look, quirking his brow and adjusting the hefty sushi under his arm while he brushes the back of a tattooed hand against her upper arm. “Oh, c’mon, I mean it. Don’t you ‘enzo’ me.”

She giggles, thankful that her eyes are drying up now. Though that probably won’t last for super long.

“Listen, she was fucking annoying but…I’m sorry about Erica.”

He just shrugs, looking a little defeated.

“Don’t be, it wasn’t gonna work anyway. Trips to France every year? I can only manage to get home to see my family a couple times a year, and even that can be kinda tough sometimes" He pauses for a second. "She didn’t even know what a wrench was.”

“Like… the maintenance tool?”

“The very same.”

A laugh works its way out of her before she can stop it, the ridiculousness of the situation finally hitting her until she can’t stop laughing, leaning into his side to keep steady when her heel slips on the concrete sidewalk and she teeters a little bit, Lorenzo’s free arm snaking out to wrap around her waist and right her before she goes down with their dinner.

“H-Hey, don’t drop the goods.” He says, amusement clear in his voice as he starts to laugh with her.

“Sorry, it’s just ridiculous. All of this is so ridiculous.” She says as her phone starts to vibrate insistently from inside of her purse. “Zuzu, can you look? My arms are full.”

“Thats better, much prefer that nickname, especially comin’ from you.” He says as he fishes into her purse for her phone, the bottles of sake jostling and clinking as he searches for it. The blue glow casting sharp shadows across his features a few seconds later.

Val throws back another shot of sake as she sniffles loudly, the starting montage of The Princess Bride and all the mushy ‘as you wish’ stuff choking her up more than it ever has before as she plucks another piece of sushi out of the boat that’s nestled securely in her lap, her legs in Lorenzo’s lap with his sushi boat resting on top of them as they lounge on his shitty old red couch. 

It’s just kind of like, when’s it going to be like this for her? When is she going to get her whirlwind romance with someone who actually cares enough about her to invent some kind of code that secretly means ‘I love you’ or just be devoted enough to love her no matter what, over years? It’s just not realistic, she knows that, but the alcohol mixing with some long starved and pushed away feelings of wanting to love and be loved that have been brought to the surface with this latest rejection are making her a little crazy. 

Val hastily swipes a hand across her eyes, shoving a few pieces of sushi into her mouth as she does in some poor attempt to disguise the movement. Lorenzo had been kind enough to let her use some of his makeup remover when they were getting all comfortable so she wouldn’t be sitting there with burn-y mascara eyes for hours, so at least she can cry in peace now, though she still doesn’t really want to bring down the mood more than it already has been. 

Lorenzo’s been uncharacteristically quiet too, just largely eating and drinking and offering a few quiet comments about the movie as they sit all tangled up together.

“Hey, you alright?” He finally breaks the silence, resting a large very warm hand on her nyloned calf and squeezing a little when she reaches for the nearest bottle of half empty sake to pour another shot. 

She’s clearly already feeling the effects and Verde warned her about drinking too much of this stuff too quickly before, so she figures this will be her last one. She’s not a big drinker anyway, so this is good enough for her. Lorenzo on the other hand, has already downed most of his bottle– He is a lot bigger than her, and usually pretty good at holding his drink, but she can see even in the dimness of his living room that he’s starting to get a little glassy eyed too.

“I’m good, I swear.” Val says, offering him a watery smile as her stomach churns a little at how unhappy and almost suffocated she’s starting to feel. Though not unhappy that she’s here, she’s never unhappy to be with Lorenzo, she’s just…tired. To the bone and spirit kind of tired and bruised.

And the alcohol that she had been hoping would loosen her up and relax her is just making her feel weepy and kinda heavy.  

“Tell it to me straight, I’ve been tryin’ to pretend not to notice you cryin’ for the last ten minutes now.” 

Val sighs, setting the half empty boat on the low table beside them in front of the couch before flopping back into the couch, settling in comfortably with the lack of springs to resist her. Maybe she is just feeling miserable enough to actually share her feelings, or it’s the safe environment, or maybe the alcohol, but she starts to spill before she can stop herself.

“It’s j-just, like– I want this kind of love. Or something. I just want someone to care about me and like…” Val trails off, feeling a little embarrassed that she’s actually voicing this. A short glance to him reveals that he’s just watching her interestedly, waiting politely for her to continue. “Like my last date before this just stood me up. I saw him walk in, look at me, and then just turn around and leave. Am I that hideous or something? I-It’s Night City, I don’t expect syn-roses and candles and some happy suburban fairytale life or anything like that, I…I don’t know. And I love my toys, don’t get me wrong, but I’m just kinda tired of relying on them and my own hands to get any kind of satisfaction… but maybe that’s just my lot. God, this is so embarrassing– I’m sorry.”  

Lorenzo pats her leg gently, and she almost thinks she can see him tearing up in the low light of the room. “Don’t gotta apologize, Val. I get it. I really get it. You deserve someone that’ll treat you right, more than anybody else in this fucked up city.”

“Oh, I dunno if I’d go that far-” 

“No no no no no, you do. You really do.” Lorenzo says so earnestly it takes her aback for a second. 

“I mean…there was absolutely no chance of any kind of real love with Chris, you saw how corpo through and through he was, I think I was just really looking forward to getting laid. It’s been so long. Ugh, that’s another TMI... I’m sorry.” 

Deciding to just be quiet, Val bites at her lip, tasting some of the waxy residue of her lipstick and lingering chemicals from the makeup remover as embarrassment starts to gnaw at her properly now, her stomach churning a little with the sudden anxiety in her gut. And Lorenzo isn’t saying anything, just looking thoughtful.

Honestly if the floor could just open up and swallow her whole right now that might be good. Or maybe she should just excuse herself and teeter her way home to bed. It’s really not far.    

“Maybe I should-” 

“We could sleep together.” Lorenzo blurts out, interrupting her, his eyes immediately widening as she looks at him with surprise, the hand he still has resting on her calf pulling away to cover his mouth instead. “Oh god, I’m sorry. I mean it’s an option, you’re fucking stunning and I’d love to make you feel good…but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable- and we’ve been drinking and I shouldn’t have said anything and, um-” 

His words are a little muffled by his hand, a terrible silence falling on them as the movie plays in the background and she tries to figure out how to react. It’s not that he’s not handsome- On the contrary, Lorenzo is gorgeous, but he’s also just… Lorenzo. She’s never really thought about him that way before. But the idea….

She won’t deny that it’s appealing, he looks and smells so good and she’s so needy that this is becoming more of a good idea the more she thinks about it. Friends sleep together sometimes, right? It’s not a big deal.

Or that’s what she tells herself as the next words leave her mouth. “I...think I’d like that.” 

The mortification still on his face melts into surprise. “Wh- Are you sure? I’m really tryin’ not to be a creep or anything.” 

“Do you want to do this?” Val asks as she picks the half emptied trays of sushi up from her lap and calves and sets them on the table with the sake.

“Yeah, I mean I feel kinda responsible for you not getting laid tonight, and I’ve got hands and a mouth and a working dick. It’d be my pleasure.” He says earnestly and Val adjusts herself, sliding her legs out of his lap so she can crawl into it instead, her heart thumping in her ears.   

Lorenzo looks up at her, his optics glowing in the low light of the room, the light from the TV highlighting his profile handsomely as his hands move to rest on her waist, and the skin exposed from her crop top. They’re so warm, and oh god they so big they almost encircle her entire waist. 

Bolstered by the liquid courage now, the feel of his hands on her waist, and the way Lorenzo is gazing at her like she’s responsible for hanging the stars in the sky, she leans in, the loose lock of wavy pink hair framing her face falling forward and brushing against his cheek as she tentatively kisses him.

His lips are surprisingly soft, warm and gentle against hers as he returns the kiss, his hands tightening on her waist. A warm tingly feeling washes over her as the kiss gets deeper, the alcohol on his breath and how good it all feels making her head spin. She wraps her arms around his neck loosely as she moves her lips against his, finding an easy rhythm so quickly it surprises her a little bit. 

Val pulls away after a few seconds to catch a breath, her underwear already starting to feel a little damp and sticky as they look at each other cautiously, Val trying to ignore the creeping feeling in the back of her mind that things are not going to be the same after this. 

“Is this okay?” She asks when Lorenzo uncharacteristically says nothing, just breathing heavily as he stares at her lips. 

His eyes dart up to lock with hers for a split second before they flick back down to her lips and he pushes up to kiss her, the movie utterly forgotten as he kisses her so gently it takes her aback for a second, hunger and desire clear in the way he’s pulling her close now, one arm snaking around her waist while the other slides up between her shoulder blades and he holds her body tightly against his solid chest, the tenderness in how his lips move against hers making her feel like she’s just going to melt from the intensity of it.