#in this house we take care of both our boys. by making them neurodivergent and nonverbal lmaoo

[flowercrowngods]

in which they lie on the floor and take care of each other, falling in love somewhere along the way between music and silence

🤍 also on ao3

When Eddie makes it to Steve’s a few hours after the others because he sort of got lost in that song he was working on and completely lost track of time when the words finally cooperated with him and the chords, he is not surprised to hear the sound of laughter and chaotic conversation, accompanied with the upbeat pop music Steve likes so much. What does surprise him, though, is the picture presented to him once he reaches the spacious living room.

The group is sitting in a circle on the luxurious sofa and on the plush carpet, talking and laughing and throwing the occasional pillow. So far so normal. What’s decidedly not normal is the fact that Steve is lying a bit away from the group, still included in their circle from the way they’re sitting, and he is absolutely still.

Eddie’s first instinct is to panic because surely Steve is having a flashback, an episode of some sort, maybe he’s been possessed, maybe he—

No. No, the others wouldn’t let that happen, wouldn’t let him lie there like that if it were at all concerning. Eddie tries to calm himself, to breathe away the panic and just be fucking normal.

He catches Dustin watching him and clears his throat, willing an easy expression as he asks, “Hey, uh. What’s up with Harrington?”

“Oh, he’s having floor time,” is what Dustin tells him like it’s the simplest, most obvious thing in the world. Like Eddie is supposed to know what that means.

Except, he does. Sort of.

And now that the panic is gone and he looks closer at Steve, he sees that his eyes are open but not unseeing as he is staring at the ceiling. He looks calm. That crease between his brows his gone and everything about him seems relaxed.

Floor time.

Of all the things Eddie could have imagined learning about Steve fucking Harrington, nail bat swinging national hero and hair care extraordinaire, this wouldn’t even have made the list.

And so, with a careful eye still on the boy starfishing on the white carpet, Eddie goes to sit down beside Dustin.

“So. Floor time, huh?”

The boy gives him a sideways glance and nods. “Yeah, it’s sacred. We used to do that at my place all time, it’s strangely calming. It’s kind of our thing.” And he says that with such pride in his voice, stage whispering like he is letting Eddie in on this huge secret, he can’t even find it in him to tap into that jealousy that always used to accompany every mention of Steve Harrington coming out of Henderson’s mouth.

Eddie bumps their shoulders together gently and promptly joins in on the discussion over whether or not it was boring to choose the human race in Dungeons and Dragons, which then turns into explaining to Jonathan why a paladin and a wizard are not the same, until everything derails completely and there are five discussions at the same time and Eddie is having a wonderful time keeping up with all of them.

All the while, though, he lets his eyes wander back to Steve. To the steady rise and fall of his chest, to his hands where they are still relaxed and twitching, not clenched, knuckles white, bracing to fight for his life.

He does feel oddly protective over the boy who usually does all the protecting, at least in that moment. Part of him wants to cross the distance and lie down beside him. Not to talk, not to touch, just to be there. Just so Steve doesn’t have to be alone.

It’s stupid. Steve’s not alone. He has a house full of his closest friends who let him lie on the floor and don’t ask for his attention until Robin grabs the phone to order some pizza. When Steve is back, he looks… Well, he looks good. He always does, sure, but this time he also looks like he feels good. And Eddie stares a bit before Will and Lucas vie for his attention again.

It does indeed become a Thing, like Dustin told him, because the next few times they’re meeting – sometimes at the Byers’, sometimes at the Wheeler’s, but mostly at Steve’s – Eddie will find him lying on the floor at some point of the evening. Not always quiet and zoned out, sometimes he’s actively participating in whatever conversation is the loudest, sometimes he’s watching with a smile on his lips.

Eddie has stopped watching him. Or at least that’s what he’s trying to tell himself. But Steve is okay, it’s his Thing, there is no need to worry, no need to watch. Even when sometimes Steve needs several tries at finding his words again, Eddie has stopped worrying.

It’s a Steve Thing. And it’s really fucking endearing.

He tries not to watch.

But then one day, after a really rough week and one too many threats directed at him, Eddie just… Doesn’t feel like talking. But he doesn’t feel like being alone, either, his hands still slightly shaking from running into Tommy H and his goons that seem to have missed the memo that high school is over and they can start behaving like adults now.

And so he finds himself standing in front of Harrington’s house, bracing himself for the noise, the questions, the demands, the stories, for all the words he really doesn’t want to say today. It takes him another five minutes to ring the bell.

Robin lets him in, and Eddie feels overwhelmed already, but it’s too late to turn around now, so he swallows and heads inside. His heart sinks further when he finds Steve walking around, joking, chiding. Chasing after El when she steals a cinnamon roll that just came out of the oven. Eddie’s heart sinks and it flutters at the same time, and it is that sensation that makes him crumble.

He lies down on the living room floor and hopes that it’s enough, that he won’t have to explain, that he can just… exist.

The noise around him doesn’t stop, but he finds that he doesn’t need it to, because they leave him alone, don’t try to talk to him, give him time to breathe, to gather himself, to be okay. The world fades a bit, but it doesn’t turn upside down.

Floor time is sacred. And he’s starting to understand why. There’s something oddly calming about feeling the hard floor beneath him, about watching everyone from this angle, about staring at the ceiling with no thoughts in his mind.

And he understands why Steve does this so often. Where his hands have been shaking just moments prior, they are calm now. Where his mind revolved around the Upside Down and Tommy H and run, run, run, now they are quiet. Dulled. Like they can’t rech him, like he is safe here. On the floor.

The only thought that comes to him is that everything would be even better with a weight on his body. And for a moment, he imagines Steve lying down on top of him, to ground him some more. Or Nancy or Robin or Jonathan. Hell, even Eleven would do. Maybe one day. It’s about time they implement cuddle piles into their weekly routine, but Eddie doesn’t feel like opening his mouth and asking for that right about now.

He zones out. Lets the magic of the Sacred Floor wash over him and thinks how that would actually make a fine addition to his campaign. Maybe another riddle for Dustin to decipher.

By the time he hears the music, he feels like a completely new person and it takes him a while for the fog to life enough, but then—No way. His eyes widen and immediately find Steve’s where he’s leaning against the doorway to his right with a gentle, knowing smile on his lips.

“It’s always better with music,” he says, almost sheepish, like he’s worried he maybe crossed a line. “Hot chocolate is coming up right away. Leave it if you don’t want it, Dustin will also drink it cold.” Definitely a smile now, fond this time as Steve’s eyes wander to where Eddie assumes he can find Dustin.

He doesn’t look away from Steve, the expression on his face probably still somewhere between disbelief and wonder. And he’s staring. He knows, because Steve gives him that sheepish smile again and starts to speak after a moment.

“I hope Twisted Sister is okay? I actually quite like this album, but I can go see if I can grab something from that Sabbath band you were talking about, or… Metallica? Something like that. Sorry, uhm. Metal is not really my strong suit, as you may have noticed.” He laughs almost nervously and Eddie just melts.

Steve, worried about his music choice for Eddie’s floor time, which he is absolutely ready and willing to go out of his way for as it seems, laughing and rubbing the back of his neck as We’re Not Gonna Take It starts playing is not what Eddie expected of his day when he woke up this morning.

He might actually have a little crush on the Harrington boy, he realises in that moment, as he smiles up at Steve in a way he hopes is reassuring. It’s perfect, he thinks. Like your stupid hair and your nervous little smile.

Steve seems to understand as he answers with another smile of his own, though all traces of nervousness or worry are gone now, replaced with patience and kindness and understanding. It’s almost too much for Eddie to bear and he looks away.

Moments later, Steve reappears in his line of sight and places a mug of hot chocolate well within his reach but still safe from overly energised teenagers.

Eddie is hesitant about it, but in the end it’s the best hot chocolate he has ever had, not even ruined by the smug grin on Steve’s face that said something along the lines of, ‘I have been babysitting this bunch of teenagers for three years now. I know how to make damn fine hot chocolate and you cannot deny it.’

Eddie just shakes his head in dramatic exasperation and hides his smile in his mug.

Eddie tries not to think too hard about his little crush on Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington. It’s probably nothing but a trauma-related attachment anyway, just like he has with all the kids, with Robin and Nancy and Jonathan. It’s nothing. It’s stupid.

But then one night there’s a thunderstorm rolling over Hawkins and everyone’s probably having a shit night, but Eddie? Oh, Eddie is a mess. Every noise is a bat ripping into his flesh, every time he wants to open his mouth he feels like he’s choking on his own blood. He can’t breathe, can’t drink, can’t eat, can’t stop fucking shaking. Pulling his hair has stopped working a while ago, and he wants nothing more than to go over to Steve’s stupid big house and feel safe again.

Before he knows it, he’s in his van waiting in front of Steve’s house, the lights still on, always on, holding his walkie talkie in shaking hands.

“Hey Stevie?” he finally begins, just as a particularly loud crash of thunder makes him gasp, but he bites his lip desperately and braves on. “You there?”

The answer is immediate and it makes Eddie breathe a sigh of relief. “Eds? Yeah, I’m here. Are you okay?”

It’s past 1:30am, but neither of them are surprised that the other is still awake.

“Yeah,” Eddie laughs, but it’s too shaky to be anything but pathetic. “Sure am. Was just… thinking, y’know.”

A silence follows and Eddie cringes at himself, at his words, at his presence. Why did he think it was a good idea to come over here again without so much as a plan? Oh right, he didn’t think. At all. Stupid, stupid, stupid!

“Hey, listen, man, do you wanna come over? I mean… Is Wayne home? Stupid thunder, right? I’m… I’m here if you wanna talk, yeah?”

“I don’t wanna talk,” is all Eddie says, his eyes clenched shut as another bolt of lightning lights up the night sky and he counts twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, until he hears that dreadful thunder rolling above.

No, he doesn’t want to talk. What he wants is to just not be alone. To be in the same room, lie on the same floor and share the same air as Steve. The thought of talking while thunder is rolling above them makes his skin crawl, and he deosn’t want to talk, doesn’t want to speak, just wants to— Steve.

“Hey, it’s going to be okay, right? Eds? Hang on, is that—Oh Eddie.” Steve sighs, but it’s not exasperated, not annoyed, not angry. It’s fond. Kind. Patient. And Eddie wants to cry.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he just looks at the curtain moving behind the window before Steve spots his van. Eddie lifts his hand and just says, “Surprise?”

And then there’s a bit of static on the other end of the line before Eddie is only met with silence. The sudden moment of complete silence is a stark contrast to, well, everything, and Eddie panics for a moment. But then he sees the front door opening, Steve illuminated by the lights he always keeps on. He looks like an angel, even through the curtain of constant drizzle between them. Eddie’s treacherous insides melt some more when he sees that Steve is coming over with an umbrella in his hand. When he opens the driver’s door with that gentle little smile on his lips and simply offers his arm to Eddie in a gesture so chivalrous that the metalhead cracks a laugh and considers swooning for all but one second before he realizes that his laugh sounded more like a sob of relief.

Gods, but he is a mess.

Whether that is because of the thunderstorm that seems to creep closer and closer, or because he has just compared Stevie to an angel, and now here he is treating him like a gentleman, at ass o’clock, with a look in his eyes like there’s nowhere he would rather be, well. That’s between Eddie and his stupid heart.

Steve leads them inside, shutting and locking the door like he always does before turning back to Eddie. He takes one look at him, enough for Eddie to want to apologise for dropping in like this, but he can’t get the words out before Steve’s already asking, “Metallica or Motörhead?”

And Eddie wants to cry again. Because maybe Steve knows. Maybe he understands.

“Metallica,” he rasps and Steve nods. Smiles. Turns around to head into the kitchen and leaves Eddie where he is, allowing him to follow along or to find his own way, trusting him with that big empty house.

That’s when Eddie realises that he’s never been alone with Steve. Not here, at least. And he kind of wishes that he had come over in a better state, not quite this much of a wreck. But then he wouldn’t have gotten to see the kindness, the patience, the ‘We’re all fucked up here but you’re family so let me take care of you, dammit’-look that Dustin had to suitably dubbed.

Standing in the entry hall, feeling a bit lost and small, Eddie realises that he wants to follow Steve into the kitchen. Wants to stay close, touch him, drape himself over his back and just exist there, in silence and mutual understanding. He doesn’t. But it takes great physical effort to go find his way into the living room instead, sitting down in the white carpet where he had first seen Steve lying on the floor all those weeks ago. He breathes easier now as he runs his hand over the soft, plushy texture and finds himself unwilling to stop. He’s always had a knack for sensory stuff, and touch was by far the most intense, so he splays his palm over the carpet and moves his hands back and forth.

Then the music starts playing and it’s the rather slow first notes of “Fight Fire With Fire” that make Eddie look away from the white plush and back up at Steve, who is standing and watching with a barely-there smile.

The music isn’t very loud, just enough to create a comfortable atmosphere and drown out the rolling thunder. Just for him.

His heart is doing the traitorous shit again where it thinks it’s only beating for Steve Harrington in that moment. He doesn’t have the strength or the will to stop it, though.

And Steve, angel that he is, looking down at him in the dim, warm living room light, puts the two mugs of steaming hot chocolate on the coffee table beside Eddie before promptly sitting down beside him. He meets Eddie’s eyes with all that patience, all that compassion that it gets kind of heavy after a while.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Steve murmurs, barely audible over the music, and Eddie just shakes his head. There’s nothing to talk about, just stupid thunder and lightning making his brain feel like it’s being fried and splintering.

“Alright,” Steve whispers and falls back, lying down beside Eddie, who doesn’t have it in him to follow quite yet. His eyes sting. He will not cry in front of Steve fucking Harrington! But then there’s a hand brushing lightly over his back and his voice, so impossibly gentle, telling him, “C’m here, Eds.”

And who is he to deny, to resist, to refuse Steve ‘Kind Eyes’ Harrington?

Eddie slowly lets himself fall backwards, and they just lie there for a while. Not touching, not talking, not moving.

But this time, Eddie’s mind isn’t quiet, because Steve, Steve, Stevie is so close. So gentle. He’s there, he’s here, he understands, and he doesn’t judge. Doesn’t talk. Doesn’t question. How can his mind be quiet when Steve is perfect?

How can his mind be quiet when his heart is racing as he slowly, achingly slowly like they do in the stupid movies Nancy loves to watch, moves his hand closer to Steve’s. He’s powerless against the pull of the boy beside him. His heart is beating in his throat when Steve meets his hand halfway, wrapping his pointer finger around Eddie’s pinkie. Their feet find their way to each other, just resting there, basking in each other’s warmth.

He is weak when his head lands on Steve’s shoulder. His eyes close and he breathes — quietly, shallowly, for fear of breaking the moment.

He doesn’t break it. In fact, the moment lasts far longer than the record Steve had put on – because of course he had to play a Metallica record instead of a cassette like normal people would –, and then it is quiet. The soft lights fill the room with warm, indirect safety and finally help his mind quiet down.

Of course, the realisation that he’s maybe a little bit in love with Steve Harrington had to be a quiet one. Soft, gentle, kind, and definitely far from what he ever would have expected. Just like Steve himself.

Of course, where everything else in Eddie’s life was loud — from his music to his kids to the thoughts in his head when he can’t sleep at night —, this one had to be different. Quiet. And when Steve begins to draw patterns into his back where Eddie is now essentially lying on top of him, Eddie dares once more to reach for Steve’s unoccupied hand, tangling their fingers. Not to hold him, because Steve isn’t going anywhere, but simply to touch.

Steve understands, Eddie realises, because he brushes his lips over his temple and then leaves them there. Not to kiss, not really, but simply to touch.

And while Eddie’s heart is busy feeling like it’s going to burst from these sudden realisations, from how quiet and how safe he feels, from how utterly, indescribably right this feels, Eddie just closes his eyes and accepts the fact that he is actually, absolutely, irrefutably and completely in love with Steve ‘Floor Time’ Harrington.

[straighttohellbuddy]

World building is the best tbh. I’m forever world building and now I have several worlds to play in and my neurodivergent brain cannot stay still enough to focus on one lmao. SLOWBURN ROMANCES ARE MY LITERAL JAM LIKE PLS!!! I LOVE THEM!! Also!!!! Concepts!!!! Pls share!!!! I love learning about the worlds of my fave fics and I can hands down say right now that this fic will literally shoot to the top of my list of favourites which means you’ll occupy the top three spots. Sorry to hear that ur feeling rough, so am sending u the biggest hug. I’m not okay but I’m taking care of myself today so that I will be 🧡-🐈‍⬛

alsjfsldkjf i have too many worlds TBH, literally one of the best parts of my 2020 was writing for the classic rock fandom and writing one of my good friend’s ocs alongside mine, like there’s so many different worlds that our two characters have now, i’m like 26k deep into a high school au that i need to get back to at some point, and then i wrote a oneshot abt the high school au but they’re adults, and then there’s also the original timeline, and then there’s the present day in the original timeline where they have kids and i probably care too much about people who aren’t real...... hahaha

OKAY OKAY OKAY HERE WE GO I’LL GIVE KIND OF AN OVERVIEW OF THE ALBUMS AND A FEW SONGS BUT IF U WANT ME TO GO IN DEPTH ON ANY OTHER SONG JUST ASK!!!

yes i have a playlist for each, if you wanna hear how i interpret the vibes of the songs. if you interpret them differently, thats awesome!! i’d love to hear y’all’s opinions on them!!

testing one two - the first ep they release, the song titles are mostly themed (fast forward, press play, pause, rewind), but are mostly things y/n has been working on for a while but never got around to finishing, things they are rather proud of. i see you shiver with... is the first song they wrote specifically for the album, and it’s the last song on the EP because it’s a Rocky Horror reference; i see you shiver with...

a n t i c i p a t i o n - first full album!! the vibe is Hopeful But Hesitant it has all the songs from the ep, plus some new ones!! collabs with youtube musicians troye and dodie, and y/n’s label sets up a collab that turns into a genuine friendship. the breakout dance hit is what else is there to say ft. Troye Sivan, which is about not knowing what to make content about when it feels like you’ve already told the world everything. it featured the prechorus and hook

You, know, ev-ery-thing about me / gave it all for free / my life in HD / So, let’s dance, let me see your hips sway / we’re gonna be okay / what else is there to say?

So say that you love me, say that you love me, say that you love me / let’s die hand in hand. / I’ll tell you I love you, tell you I love you, tell you I love you / supply and demand. 

personally, i also conceptually enjoy srs bsns which is a really upbeat song about how they don’t care if people don’t take them seriously because they know in their heart that what they’re doing is good

hyperfocus - 2nd EP, a pretty substantial departure from their usual style, but also happens to quietly be Corpse’s favourite, and is actually y/n’s most polarising, because it has both the Grammy award winning HEARTBURN and the o brother where art thou which was written partially as a joke to capture a fond moment of them and 5SOS dicking around together in a hotel. written while on tour wit 5SOS, im writing the reader as having ADHD (because I have ADHD and i can do what i want), and the backstory is that they’d changed the medication/dosage they were taking, and as it’s their first full tour, they were under a lot of stress and were in a weird place mentally and emotionally, and hyperfocus is the result of that. i’m going through some stuff has HUGE agoraphobic vibes. 

HEARTBURN has the same vibes as Florence + The Machines’ Howl. It’s about being a demon without saying that or directly implying that unless you know demons real well. This is when the pressure for them to confirm their identity got real bad, and it was their way of working through those emotions.

tear in existence in the shape of a person / when i’m seeing clearly i can’t see myself / world can’t swallow what it can’t get it’s teeth into / got everything i wanted but i ain’t got my health

Got heart-burn--- / I’ll tear me apart / I’ll tear you apart / I’ll tear me apart. 

SCREAM gets rereleased as a remixed single featuring Fall Out Boy the following year. It won the MTV music award for best collaboration in 2018. 

In the time between hyperfocus and working on it, Y/N releases several singles, including a cover of Tell Him by The Exciters to be featured in To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before. They also take time to sort out their health, do a little bit more YT stuff, and travel internationally to do festivals. 

working on it - is kind of a middle ground between their original stuff, and hyperfocus, like pop-punk meets horror-pop meets whatever you’d classify halsey as. the first three songs were mostly written before the fic starts, so before they’re getting back to YT, but the last three, nightmare scenario, designed to hurt (touch me), and not scared were all written after they’d started hanging out with sykkuno and corpse. 

in-universe, imposter syndrome was originally something else, along the same lines of tired that they’re hiding that they’re a demon, but after meeting corpse nd sykkuno and having people who know, and lowkey being influenced by corpse’s music, the song changes directions, and YO OKAY YO::

I literally am so fucking flattered, my darling friend @bingusmode​ wrote lyrics for imposter syndrome and I’ve been yELLING about them ever since i’ve read them!! (also bunnie is fantastic and lovely in general 10/10)

if you thought you saw me 

i’d think about it twice

cuz while i know i’m naughty

everybody thinks i’m nice

cutest giggles get me

places that i long to be

but it’s not long before

everybody hates me

when you figure out i’m fucked up

you’ll probably think that can’t be right

but babe my image runs to save me

cuz i’m ugly day and night

nothing good about me

not the angel that i seem

cuz i’m a piece of shit

and i’ll ruin your fuckin dreams

i’m an impostor babe

you better run for your life

cuz there’s a bloodlust runnin through me

and you’re dripping off my knife

there’s no one here to save you

cuz you ate up all my lies

so beg me while you can

and draft up all your goodbyes 

if any of y’all are inspired by anything i put out, feel free to take it and run!! you have my blessing!! i am so overwhelmingly flattered by people who like my stuff enough to create because of it, directly or indirectly! lyrics, art, songs, anything!! legit! I love you!!

okay so designed to hurt (touch me) has big House of Memories by Panic! At The Disco vibes, and YES it’s about Corpse. YES it sends mixed messages. YES it has greek myth imagery and YES that imagery is confusing. not sure if any of these sets of lyrics actually go after each other but also idk??

will my fall from grace be graceful / as each move i see you make? / propped up on pedestals side by side / beneath our feet they shake / i’m the only one to hear you ask  / “What have they done to me?” / My boy, your wax throne is sun-drenched / you’ll fall in the name of your legacy.

eyes like yours watched rome burn / while hands like mine lit the pyre / we both heard me say we’d go down in flames / now you’re turning me into a liar / since you smile like that, like you can’t feel the sting / and we both know i can’t feel the fire

been telling myself i’m designed to hurt / but, baby, aren’t we a sight? /

check your reflection, your angles, apollo / you’re icarus in the right light /

we’re on the edge, i’m not scared to fall / we’ll take refuge in the night /

been telling yourself you’re designed to hurt / but, baby, doesn’t this feel right?

also, albumtouralbumtour is a reference to Bohemian Rhapsody.

OKAY AND FINALLY

n o s t a l g i a - the album the reader’s working on during the fic.

literally as i was writing this, bunnie sent through some FIRE lyrics for how the light gets in, (@bingusmode) i am going to be thinking about these on REPEAT for the next MONTH BRUV

little bit of darkness, treat me like a toy 

i got my hopes up and got them destroyed

bitter taste of regret sitting heavy on my tongue

can’t believe i let you convince me that you were the one

sitting here in silence, fabric running thin

petals burning in my lungs and stealing oxygen

embers from a cigarette falling to the floor

god i can’t take anymore

so i stumble to the window and pull the shades

and the moon pours in like you threw a grenade

i can’t understand why

i keep trying

cuz i never seem to win

but having any hope is how the light gets in 

from there, moment before impact ft. Billie Eilish is a club anthem along the lines of bad guy or COPYCAT, bass heavy with a drop that’s out of this world.

powdered pain, i’m in your veins / i’m the sting, the drip, the thing / you’re craving, but you hate to see me misbehaving / i heard my breakdown got you high / it’s true, but baby i can’t lie / i never got that rush, that burn / that makes you feel alive, i had to learn / to pick the slippery slope down which i fell / plan my pitstops on the way to hell / to pick my padding before i spiral / so if i break it’ll be in style

watch my misdirect, now freeze, / notice you can’t see the forest for the trees / you’re so desperate for my demise / but baby, i’ll make you watch me rise.

this is the moment before impact

controlled chaos, crash land / take a breath, trust the plan / i know you hope i’m not okay / you get off on my audio misery

controlled chaos, crash land / take a breath, trust the plan / i need you to know i want it this way / my breakdown won me a grammy

and this is the moment before impact

ur my favourite - interlude ft. sykkuno is probably one of my favourites, it’s just really soft, just a snippet of a conversation between the reader and sykkuno, maybe one of them told a joke and they both just sound real happy and sweet. its nice. it’s a nice moment.

means something is also for sykkuno!! it’s about how good-strange it is to be open and honest with friends, and how they usually aren’t but they’re glad they can be open and honest with him!!

meanwhile, i don’t think about u - interlude ft. CORPSE is a phonecall between corpse & the reader right after they announce they’re going to feature on acting like that, where corpse asks if they do this sort of thing to spite him, to which the reader responds ‘do i consider you when i’m making decisions about my career? no, corpse, actually i don’t think about you at all’ which then directly contrasts the song that ends the album, which is (how it feels to be) beautiful fireworks, which is essentially ‘i know how hard it is to exist like this, to be the centre of attention, to give off light and bring people joy, even when you���re in pain. i’m here for you. i love you.’

okay, i swear im done now, i’ll get back to writing the fic! (also i cannot BELIVE i managed to figure out how to embed those playlists but im so happy) edit: it didn’t actually work when i posted the ask, so anyways im sorry but y’all are abt to be spammed with playlists because i care too much abt this fic

[ashintheairlikesnow]

could we mayhaps see chris as he just starts to get comfortable. tentatively interacting with people in the house for the first time, antoni being a nice roommate and helping him feel comfortable. jake trying to hold in his excitement that chris is properly coming out of his shell and interracting🥺👉🏻👈🏻

CW: Referenced drugging, neurodivergent character trying to “pass”, VERY vague referenced to past noncon, conditioned internal dehumanization/conditioned behaviors 

Takes place directly after Chris Gets a Name

Tagging Chris’s crew:  @burtlederp , @finder-of-rings , @endless-whump , @whumpfigure , @stxckfxck , @slaintetowhump, @astrobly, @newandfiguringitout

“Hey, Chris, you’re up.”

Oh, he forgot that his name is different now, that he chose one for himself. It felt like part of the fever, he hadn’t been sure if he actually chose a new name or if he just made that up.

“Chris,” He repeats, knowing he sounds like a parrot, and his eyes trail over to the curtains over the kitchen windows, gingham curtains, old-fashioned and homey like a family on TV that he watches with Sir some evenings, curled up with him, warm beneath Sir’s blankets and feeling perfectly, truly cared for when the games are over and he’s won or he’s lost and he takes the pill and is allowed just to be quiet and still and good and not scared-

“My name... is Chris, now.”

“Yeah, and it’s a good name. Everyone, this is Chris.”

He has met all these people at the table, but they look at him as though they’ve never seen him before, and he cringes back and away from their murmured greetings. 

The tall blond man, Jake - who isn’t an owner, Chris understands that now, and he’s wearing a t-shirt plaid sleep pants - is sitting at the table and the boy’s eyes go immediately to the plates of biscuits with white gravy layered over the top, the smell of frying sausage heavy in the air in the kitchen, although an open window lets in a soft breeze and the scent of lilacs from a bush at the house next door.

The boy feels his stomach flip, uncomfortably unsettled. Miss Nancy smells like lilacs and Sir likes biscuits and gravy, has them every morning once per week, the boy thinks of days in the food Sir eats. Biscuits Day, Omelette Day, Cheese Danish Day. 

Is it Biscuit Day here? 

The others are at the table, too - not the older woman with brown hair, the boy could hear her talking to someone up in the attic when he first left the room. 

He felt like standing for the first time in days, since he’d gotten so sick and hidden in the storage room. His legs wobbled, weak and weary, underneath him as he made his way downstairs but now, leaning against the doorframe and wrapped in a big fluffy blanket that smells like some man’s cologne but not Sir’s, he feels better.

“D’you want to sit?” Jake gestures at the table. There is one chair empty, the lady’s chair, but the other seats are taken by the other ones like him.

Not like him at all.

There’s one girl with a ponytail, wearing a big sweatshirt and sweatpants, looking at him with nervous wide eyes that seem a little too big for her face. The other girl has short dark hair in a bob and barely looks at him at all. There’s a boy, too, older than he is (they’re all older than you are) who has dark hair mussed-up and shadowed, faintly feline eyes that turn up at the corners just a little, a hint of a smile on his face. He looks at the boy directly, and gives a little wave with his free hand.

The boy lifts his arm just enough to give a wave back, then drops it again, curling himself even more tightly up in the blanket. 

“Do I... want to... sit?” He paces his words, careful and calm, just like training. Try to figure out the expectations and deliver on them. “Should I...” He hesitates, swallowing hard. “In your... lap, Sir?”

The dark-haired girl chokes on her food and jerks forward, coughing into one hand, while Ponytail pats her on the back, whispers something into her ear. Both of them look back up at him, briefly, and Chris can’t tell if they hate him or pity him but their eyes are shuttered closed and he cringes away, ready to run back upstairs to the bedroom and the stuffed puppy he’s been petting while he stares out the window and wonders if he’ll be allowed outside, sometimes, here.

Jake clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably. “Uh... no, man. No, you don’t... no. We’re not like that.”

“You will never be expected to do that here,” The other Box Boy says, his eyes on Chris’s, warm and inviting. “Jake is offering for you to sit in the chair.” His voice is low and deep, his words soft and slow and gentle. 

They sink into Chris’s mind like the feeling of petting a rabbit’s ears, and he takes one step forward and then another. 

“In the... chair?” He looks around at them all, trying to understand. “But, but, but but but I’m not allowed-” He flinches-

silence is better than stammering, darlin’

-but when he looks back up no one looks angry, just... curious, still. Maybe nervous. Are they nervous, too? Chris is nervous, he doesn’t know what any of this means or who to be, here, how to be anything but what he’s always been, the only thing he remembers how to be.

It’s been days since he had a pill and his mind feels normal again, running on all his tracks, and he notices that the sausage gravy looks heavily peppered at the same time he thinks that Jake has lots of muscles and the girls are very pretty but one has a scar over her lip and eyebrow and the other one’s hands are shaking and are they shaking because of him?

“You are allowed to sit wherever you please,” The other Box Boy says, gently. “Whenever you want to sit there. There is no allowed, here.”

Chris’s eyes skip from him to the girls, who give him small soothing smiles, and then to Jake, who has pushed the chair out a little in an obvious invitation. Jake feels safe, he feels like maybe a good kind of handler, like he will be the one to teach Chris the things he needs to know and won’t even have to hurt him to do it. 

“I will... I will sit in the, the chair,” Chris says slowly, and moves into the room in a shuffle-step with the blanket still pulled tightly around himself. It’s a light blue downy fluff blanket that puffs out like the puffy vest Sir likes to wear on cold days - Southern affectation, I admit you can take the man out of the South but you’ll never get the South out of the man whispers his soft slick voice in the back of Chris’s mind - and he settles into the chair despite the bone-deep urge to slip to his knees, because he doesn’t get to use a chair unless it’s Sir’s.

“Chris,” Jake says, leaning over to squeeze his shoulder, and Chris closes his eyes at the brief warm touch that feels so good, so right. “You know I’m Jake. You’ve heard the other’s names but i’m guessing you probably forgot... this is Krista-” 

Ponytail smiles at him, a little more warmly this time. Her eyes roam over his face and whatever she sees makes her smile even warmer. Chris had expected her to go cold. The other ones never like the ones like him. He doesn’t know that he’s ever met one before but it doesn’t matter, they all know that, they always tell you don’t even bother, they’ll all hate you in the end.

But Krista only smiles at him and says softly, “Hi, Chris.”

She’s so pretty, with the ponytail that swings over her neck and her wide, wide eyes. He wants almost to kiss her, but he doesn’t want to kiss her at all.

What you want is no longer relevant. What are your options now?

Be g-good, or... or be in trouble.

He can kiss her, if he needs to. He can be good.

“H-hello,” He whispers back. Jake gets up and Chris flinches at the sound the chair makes as it scrapes along the kitchen floor. He still feels a little shivery around the edges, like the fever wants to come back and is lying in wait. He’s tired and weak and it feels like one of the nights Sir plays games, except he feels like they don’t do that, here.

He’s in a shelter. This is a safe place for escaped pets, he tries to remind himself of what he was told when they brought him inside. They call him a rescue, now, not a pet.

“And I’m Leila,” The girl with short dark hair speaks next, leaning over to catch Chris’s eye. Her smile is more impish than Ponytail’s, and he could definitely kiss her, too, but there’s also a distance, there. She seems... cautious of him. Or maybe of everyone. “All our names we pick ourselves. I like yours.”

“I am Antoni,” The other Box Boy says, smiling calmly at him. “Are you hungry, Chris? Jake made us breakfast.”

Chris swallows, hard, looking around at the plates of biscuits and gravy. He can almost feel Sir’s fingers wiping a bit of gravy from the corner of his mouth. “Can, can I please...” He swallows, hard.

Calm. Quiet. Careful. Slow.

“Can I... please just have something else?”

There’s a silence, as the three other ones stare at him, and Jake is quiet by the stove. Then, with nothing but the same genial welcome in his voice, Jake says brightly, “We have Pop Tarts, would you like those? It’s just strawberry, but Leila likes them, so Nat keeps them on hand.”

“What... what’s a Pop... Pop Tart?” Chris asks, hesitantly, then winces. Is this something he should have known? Will he be in trouble?

Leila’s eyes light up. “Oh, God, you don’t remember them. Oh, Jake, give him one of mine!” She looks at Chris, right at him, and he feels the urge to cringe away and lean closer, both at once. “You have to-... you’re going to love Pop Tarts, I promise!”

“‘Love’ might be a strong word...” Antoni murmurs, and Krista shushes him with a little giggle.

Chris discovers himself smiling, a little, as Jake opens a little rectangular foil package and lays what looks like icing-covered sprinkle bread in front of him. He picks it up - it feels hard to the touch, like it’s overcooked, but all of them are watching him, now. 

Sir has never fed him anything like this.

“Go ahead, man,” Jake says brightly. “Take a bite.” He drops back down into his seat, and Chris looks at him - strong and tall and muscular and nice-looking - and he thinks, I could be so good for you.

Chris picks up the thing and puts it in his mouth, takes a bite and chews. His eyes widen at a sudden burst of nearly chemical oversweet flavor, the crunch of icing and chewy bread part and then a kind of sweet filling like jam but it doesn’t taste like any jam Chris has ever had before. He chews and chews, it sticks to his tongue a little, but finally he swallows it down and stares at it, looking at the center full of a deep red something-or-other. It does look like jam...

Then he puts it back in his mouth and takes another bite. 

“See, I told you he’d like Pop Tarts,” Leila says, almost smugly.

“No, you told him he would like Pop Tarts,” Antoni answers, humor lacing his voice. “And so he does.”

“You owe me, Ant.”

“We did not make a bet!”

“I’ll tell Nat to buy some more,” Jake interrupts, and Chris looks over at him and smiles around his mouthful, and Jake smiles back. Chris pulls his feet up to sit cross-legged in the chair, blanket tight around him, and starts to tap on his stomach hidden by the blanket where none of them can see to stop him.

“I, I, I I-I feel better,” He says after he swallows. 

No one says anything about his words.

“I feel so much better.”

He really, really does.

[des-draws]

1-A autistic hcs!

Alright it’s already past midnight here but. I’m still posting this.

Back in my 1-A pride hcs post I also mentioned my autistic hcs, and said I might elaborate on them in April. But because I am a master of procrastination, of course I left it for last minute. 

But either way, here you go; over 3k of projection and infodumping. I’m gonna leave an AO3 link in the replies if it’s easier for you to read there.

(general tw for some mentions of ableism, and specifically tw for ableism/child abuse/ende*vor in the very first bulletpoint)

Todoroki

Ende*vor absolutely refused to believe that there could be something “wrong” with the one supposed to surpass All Might, and so he ignored any and all traits Todoroki would show, punished him for the ones he couldn’t ignore, and chalked up the meltdowns he caused him to Todoroki being a brat.

As such, Todoroki spent a lot of his life masking and hiding and suppressing himself.

Thankfully, much like with everything else, after moving to the dorms he’s starting to unlearn all that internalized shit and instead accept himself for who he is- including indulging in suppressed stims, special interests and other autistic behaviours in a safe, accepting environment. 

He’s found that cold soba is apparently a samefood for him- he knew he liked it enough to eat it all the time without getting bored of it (not that he actually does, since with their hero training a balanced, diverse diet is important), but he didn’t know there was a word for that.

Monotone voice and trouble with facial expressions, you know how it goes. He actually tries to use the “correct” tone and make the “correct” expression, if only so that the people he’s supposed to protect don’t think of him as “aloof”, but he gets easily tired of going back to the masking. He cares, he cares so much, this is just not one of the ways of showing it that comes to him naturally.

Can people please stop talking in metaphors and idioms around him and expect him to know the translation to everything. Thank you.

He’s reluctantly letting himself indulge in his recently discovered special interest on a certain manga series; he’s been buying the volumes, and at some point Sero found him reading one and they started bonding over it. Now Todoroki goes to Sero when he feels like infodumping- though, he has to be careful not to spoil anything. Sero is a way behind since he doesn’t go through the volumes like someone’s chasing him. He has, however, helped Todoroki make a blog where he can infodump about it, spoilers and all. He’s quickly becoming “fandom famous”, Sero says- and even though Todoroki’s not sure what that means yet, he’s very happy to see others as into the series as he is.

Iida gives him stim and fidget toys all the time- Todoroki is reluctant to keep them as the other says, since he could buy them himself, but Iida insists. Todoroki especially likes the tangles. He’s building himself quite the collection.

He’s also invested in some high-quality sound-cancelling headphones. Long overdue, but better late than never.

Favorite stim: TBA, although clenching his fists around his thumbs is something he’s always done- even before he had a name for it, or knew why it was so comforting. 

Midoriya

His special interests are Quirks and All Might (the Hero Persona™ rather then the person)! He can infodump about different quirks and theories on how to use them and “what if x quirk exists how would that work” for hours. He’s spent entire evenings arguing on forums about which of All Might’s hero outfits was most efficient and useful for what was needed. Inko, on more than one occasion, had to lure him out of his room with the promise of a rare comic book so he would eat something.

On that same vein, he is appalled by some of his classmates’ hero costumes. He’s too polite to be that crass about it out loud, but in his brain he’s always going “what in the everloving fuck is this???? Who let a teenager go into battle naked???? Did she just go ‘oh yea give me a pair of gloves and boots and I’m set’ and they let her??? Who agreed to this?? Nothing tracking her vitals, nothing keeping her warm in fucking December????? This is just irresponsible”

So you can imagine the rants he goes into when one of them does ask him for advice on how to update their costume.

He likes visual stims a lot- you know that thing where you shut your eyes and wave a bright phone screen in front of them? He loves that

Having trouble emotionally regulating means lots of crying. Not a bad thing, just. A thing. That a lot of people don’t expect when they first meet him.

Inko has always tried her best to accommodate him, but there’s only so much to do when they’re just getting by. He’s very understanding though. She gets into making DIY stim toys for him, and as he grows up he joins in and it’s a very pleasant pastime for the two of them (to the point that he’d rather keep them as mementos of the time spent together than use them for stimming).

Favorite stim: Hand-flapping and back-and-forth rocking!! Classic and good!

Iida

No volume control we die like men (he’s trying to work on it but a lot of the time he’s louder than he realizes. His friends never fault him for it tough.)

Always loved putting his toys in a line- lines are neat! Don’t you see how tidy everything looks now? This is fun! Unfortunately, kids his age didn’t have the same opinion and just chalked it up to him being a “neat freak”.

The kind to separate his food into sections. He had to get used to eating with company in school, since no one wanted to sit with him during lunchtime before, lest they be subjected to his “bizarre eating habits”.

His family is, thankfully, very supportive and accommodating. They were a little worried when he moved into the dorms, but he reassured them that his classmates are just as accepting and understanding. And besides, he’s not the only “out” neurodivergent kid around anymore!

Has copied the language habits of his parents around Important Customers and never stopped. No one in his family talks quite as formally as he does in casual settings, but hey, better to be too formal than too informal and be considered rude, right?

Owns quite the collection of stim toys. Cubes, squishies, tangles, slime, kinetic sand- you name it, he has it! It’s not so much for himself, since he has a few favorites and sticks to them, but keeps the rest more so for anyone else that might need them.

He’s partial to the fidget pen- he likes fidget cubes too, but they’re usually a little small for his hands and harder to work with.

Doesn’t use memes quite right, but is always eager to learn where they originated from. Kaminari (always good-heartedly) never misses an opportunity to explain them to him, and gets so proud when one of Iida’s attempts lands.

He was kind of worried he’d look out of place on stage in the Cultural Festival, but with his friends reassuring him it’s alright, not only did he go out there, but had lots of fun as well!

Very routine focused. He loses half an hour of sleep and he’s already thinking about re-structuring his entire schedule.

Orange juice is a samefood. That boy need his orang juice

Special interest in the mechanics that go into hero costumes and quirk-assisting gadgets. It’s why he was so eager to accept help from Hatsume during the sports festival (he has mixed feelings about this one), and he’s sure they would work well together if only she stopped trying to make him a test subject.

It’s also something he and Midoriya can spend hours going back and forth about. Iida doesn’t usually lose track of time, but he can’t help it when such an interesting conversation is happening!

Screw “quiet hands”. In this house we wave our hands around intensely enough to almost smack someone (“but not actually smack them!! Always be aware of your surroundings!!”)

Favorite stim: Believe it or not, running! The wind resistance, the stomp of his feet, is all Very Good!!

Kirishima

He used to chew stuff a lot- first as a way to get used to his new, sharper teeth, and then because he just liked how very stimmy it is! But he’d also chew stuff that’s not really supposed to be put your mouth so his moms helped him find healthier stim alternatives, since actual chewelry were either a) not stimmy enough, b) wrong texture or c) destroyed too quickly and he’d just go back to chewing unhealthy stuff.

Since he’s grown enough to not go through chewelry at a breakneck pace, he keeps a couple at hand for when he’s studying- helps him focus! He was kinda embarrassed to bring one to his and Bakugou’s study sessions at first, but after Bakugou admitted that he’s also autistic he started keeping one on his person during them- assuring the other that he’s taking proper care of washing it and everything.

He used to bite on his hands as well- still does when he's under extreme stress (imagine summer camp/AFO showing up at Kamino levels of stress) even though he's grown out of it for the most part.

Hyper-Empathy Station. Makes him good with people (and animals) but leaves him exhausted more often than not.

“Hey don’t you get tired of sticking your hair up like that every d-” “It’s routine bro you can’t just quit it that would be chaos”

Whether he wears it up or not, his hair always seems to be a very good tactile stim, both for him and, surprisingly, Bakugou. When it’s up, the pointy spikes are very satisfying to run one’s hands over, just rough enough to slightly scratch the palm, but just light enough to not completely bring them down. When it’s down, Bakugou doesn’t miss an opportunity to touch it, which works for Kirishima too, since having people run their fingers through his hair is very relaxing to him.

He Cannot handle kinetic sand and most slimes. It either feels grainy and dry or too wet and sticky. The crunchy sound sand makes when it’s cut is like nails on a chalkboard in his head. It’s just not for him.

Gullible. Please be nice to him he just wants to believe in the good in everyone

Special interest on Crimson Riot!! I mean, come on; basing his hero persona on him, naming himself after him? Turning to interviews of his in moments of doubt and uncertainty, finding comfort in media about him? Yeah

Has a couple Comfort Sweaters™ and a single comfort plushie- a shark one, the first gift his Ma got him when she met his mom. It’s been patched and stitched up dozens of times, and barely holds itself together, which is why he never takes it out of its safe place in the closet unless he’s seriously in need for some comfort and has already exhausted all other options.

Bro, We Are Autistic . Its Ok To Stim Around Me . Im Ur Best Friend . I Love You . ... Bro, We Are Infodump ing Now . . No Dont Stop Bro .. Bro ...

Favorite stim: Bumping his hardened fists together!! Sometimes he’ll simply rub his hardened knuckles back and forth together- it’s more discreet, and while not as satisfactory, still good for emotional regulation.

Bakugou

Branded a problem child early on, Bakugou had the majority of his meltdowns called “tantrums” instead. So he decided that if everyone treats him like a brat, he might as well be one.

Even before he started losing his hearing, he had some auditory processing issues- which is why he hates hates hates when Midoriya mutters (and similarly, why he didn’t immediately turn his back to Kirishima- the guy talks loud and clear like 95% of the time. Bakugou can appreciate that, even if he won’t say it).

Face blindness is inconvenient as all hell, which is why he gives people ridiculous nicknames: connecting names to faces is difficult enough, and at the beginning he doesn’t really care to try and memorize them anyway, so he just finds a prominent characteristic to remember each of them by. 

[Insert Smart Guy Meme] “You can’t be deceived by fake politeness and sarcastic compliments if you react aggressively to everything people say to you”

Loves his routine and having everything planned. If you drag him into something out of nowhere and disrupt his schedule he will be mad at you for a week minimum (something his friends found out the hard way)

Prolonged human interaction is absolutely exhausting, more than any quirk training exercise, and he gets cranky at the speed of light when he reaches his limit. As time goes on he does find a few people (first Kirishima and then progressively the rest of the Bakusquad) that aren’t as exhausting for him to be around for longer and longer. He still needs his alone time, but now he knows that he can recharge around them as well, if he feels like having company.

Drumming is Very Good stim-wise. So is spicy food, which is why he likes it so much.

Pressure stims are The Worst for him- weighted blankets, tight vests, anything at all that might constrict him in any way? He Will react like cats do to cucumbers. The only exception is that once in a while, when he’s exhausted but can’t seem to ground himself enough to drift off, he’ll ask Kirishima to just. Lie on him, also like cats do, just until he falls asleep.

This is a No Socks Zone. These foot prisons are absolute sensory hell, and with how sweaty he gets it’s only made worse. 

How Can People Talk About Emotions While Simultaneously Looking Each Other In The Eye This Feels Disgusting I Will Blow Something Up: an autobiography

Favorite stim: Tiny explosions popping in his palms. Sure, grand light shows are fine and all but small ones, just big enough to feel through the roughed-up skin of his palms have a certain calming effect. Sucks that people immediately jump to assuming he’s threatening them when he’s just trying to cool down.

Tsuyu

Very blunt. She doesn’t mean to be rude, but sometimes it comes across like it when she’s only trying to be honest and offer advice.

Raptor hands 24/7. what an icon

Has trouble with physical contact in the sense that she’s??? not really sure how to do it??? She offers hugs and hands to hold left and right but it always feels like she’s just. doing it. Like how one would tie a loose shoelace or button up a shirt. It’s not like she hates it, but her nonchalance when someone does hug her makes people assume she’s being cold- which is not the case at all! She’s just offering comfort in a way she knows other people will understand even if it’s not really doing much for her.

Jelly is a samefood! She likes sour apple jelly the best 

Kind of a black-and-white mind. She’s working on seeing the world in shades of grey though, since she saw how her Absolute thinking can impact her friends.

Low/no empathy. She hates that to some people’s eyes that automatically makes her a bad person. Kindness is a choice, one that she doesn’t need empathy to make every day.

Favorite stim: Her near constant kero-kero-ing is very much a vocal stim, as well as echolalia!

Yaomomo

Makes her own stim toys using DIYs rather than her quirk, and is very eager to make any personalized ones for her friends! 

She also likes experimenting with what kinds of textures she can make using her quirk.

Has a semi-popular account where she uploads videos of her playing with slime and kinetic sand regularly.

Much like Iida, she adopted the more formal ways of speaking from her parents and house staff and has trouble toning it down (not that anyone faults her for it).

Very picky about who touches her. She genuinely does not want to come off as the Snobbish Rich Girl but sometimes when someone touches her with no warning or consent she feels like crawling out of her skin 

In the exact same vein, she was extremely hesitant to admit that the futons at the training camp drove her up the wall with that hellish texture. She didn’t want to be the nitpicky one and make a new one using her quirk, either. If anything good came out of the disaster that was the training camp, it was that she didn’t have to sleep on it another night, she thinks (and then feels terrible about it).

Her special interest is tea! Like, actual tea that you drink. Just look at how she lights up when she gets an opportunity to talk about it, or make some for others!! It’s also a samefood for her- she tries to be diverse, but there are a couple with juuust the right combination of smell and taste that she will always go back to.

Sometimes she won’t even drink any- just the process of making it is extremely comforting.

Favorite stim: Double-sided sequins! Tactile-visual stim combo!

Koda

Largely nonverbal. Talking to people is too stressful 99% of the time. Animals are way better listeners anyway.

No volume control we die like men part 2 (but it’s the complete opposite from Iida, in that he can never seem to raise his voice enough)

Likes his peace and quiet, and can easily go into sensory overload if one too many sounds are happening at once. He wants to invest in some headgear for his hero costume that helps him tune out distracting sounds so he can focus on matters at hand while still being able to hear and help those in need.

A plushie hoarder if I ever saw one. His room is the Ultimate Comfort Corner. 

Favorite stim: Humming to himself. Reluctant to do it in the presence of others, but increasingly comfortable around friends.

Aizawa 

Samefoods with those juice pouches he always keeps around

Permanently exhausted due to having to interact with people

Talks in a monotone and has trouble making expressions

His sleeping bag is very good pressure stim. It’s also very hard for him to replace it, because it has to be Just Right, so by the time he does find one that is Just Right, the old one is practically falling apart.

The only reason he’ll sleep in a bed is if Mic is there to share it with him. Otherwise it’s too cold and exposed and weighted blankets can only do so much.

He kinda misses the time before he got top surgery for the sole reason that binders offered a very comforting pressure stim. However, he acknowledges that it’s for the best he got it, since a lot of the time he’d bind for longer than it’s safe. He was lucky to still have the option of getting surgery.

(this has been a safe binding psa, please don’t do what he did)

He does however, tend to wear a tight, though still breathable undershirt at near all times. 

As much as he complains about Mic’s mustache, he actually likes it. He tried to kiss Mic once when he shaved it for the first time in forever and instantly went “yea no. This isn’t working. Feels wrong and bad, Put It Back™”. Didn’t kiss him again until it grew back.

Everything Happens So Much

He talks back to cats. Like, actually meows back at them. Very good echolalia, makes Mic’s day to walk into a scene like this

Favorite stim: Petting cats! The fur of different breeds offers a variety in texture and when they start purring a very good auditory stim is added to the mix! And when they sit on him and add a pressure stim? Cats are the whole package!!

That’s all (for now?) Thanks for reading!! Hope you had a nice Autism Acceptance Month!!!

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

We’ll Carry On - Chapter Forty Five

We’ll Carry On Tag

General Content Warnings: Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, Substance Abuse, Abandonment, Minor Character Death, Transphobia, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Dissociation, Bullying, Homophobia

March 14th, 2019

Patton was having so much fun. It was his and Virgil’s birthday, and they hadn’t celebrated like this since before Charles was around. Everyone was laughing and eating dinner at the place Virgil and Patton agreed on. Virgil looked over at him and grinned, such a pure expression that Patton hadn’t seen on his brother’s face in a long time.

If this was what happened when he had a birthday with his new family, then he definitely wanted to stay with this family for years and years. He loved everyone looking as happy and excited as he felt. It just...worked. It felt right. And he could always be happy with things feeling right.

March 14th, 2020

Patton was eating breakfast quickly, swinging his legs as he ate. He was in a good mood, all things considered. Today was his and Virgil’s birthday, and while no one had said anything about it yet, the day was still early.

It was a pretty day, too. He was eating breakfast out on the deck while Virgil played with Vanellope in the yard. There was barely a cloud in the sky and a crisp spring breeze blew across it. He was having a good day, and it had barely started.

Logan came out onto the deck with a book and said, “Happy Pi day, Patton.”

“Pi day?” Patton asked, turning to look at him.

“Three-point-one-four, March fourteenth,” Logan said. “The first three digits of pi line up today.”

“Oh, that’s kinda cool,” Patton said. “It’s also my birthday. And Virgil’s.”

“Yeah, I know,” Logan said with a smile. “But I figured we could also take a moment to acknowledge Pi day.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence until there was a crash inside the house and Ami screeched, “Emile Thomas Picani, you get back here!”

Dad dashed out of the house, laughing, clutching Ami’s jacket close to his chest. “You’ll never take me alive!” he crowed. “You’re not wearing your jacket today! It needs to be washed!”

Ami followed him out and Dad jumped down into the yard from the deck. “Give. Me. Back. My. Jacket!” Ami growled.

“Dad’s middle name is Thomas?” Patton whispered to Logan.

“It’s his maiden name,” Ami growled. “He took it as his middle name when we married, and I will continue to use it until I get my jacket back!”

Dad laughed and shrugged on the jacket, crossing his arms. “Rem, it’ll take all of ten minutes to wash and twenty to air dry! Half an hour, and you can wear your jacket again! But this?” He pointed to an obvious stain on the left elbow. “Needs to go.”

“It’s not that bad!” Ami exclaimed indignantly.

Dad shook his head. “You’re worse than Linus with his blanket! But this is getting washed, and you can’t stop me!”

Ami seethed as Dad sauntered back up the deck and walked back inside the house, tossing a, “Thirty minutes!” over his shoulder.

Logan blinked a few times, and Patton empathized with his confusion at this sudden turn of events. Virgil had come up to the deck with Vanellope, and Ami let go of a deep breath, before opening his eyes. “Good morning, boys. Happy birthday Patton, Virgil.”

“Thanks,” Patton said. “Um. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you yell before.”

Ami took another deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, sorry about that. I shouldn’t have shouted. But every time Emile insists on washing that jacket, I worry that it’ll get destroyed.”

“I mean, he doesn’t put it in the washing machine, he spot cleans, right?” Logan asked.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean he knows what he’s doing,” Ami said. “And I don’t want to lose that jacket. I love that jacket! I’ve had it for five years!”

“I’m sure Dad will be careful with it,” Virgil said. “He’s always careful with my blanket, and with Patton’s cat. He knows what he’s doing for the most part, and this can’t be the first time he’s spot cleaned something off that particular jacket, right?”

“Doesn’t mean I’m not worried,” Ami sighed.

“That’s valid, but you don’t have to worry,” Logan said. “And you don’t have to chase Dad around the house, trying to get it back.”

Ami groaned. “How likely is it that Dee and Roman are going to recreate that to whoever asks about it?”

“About as likely as the sunset tonight is going to be,” Logan replied with a small grin. “Because those two are dramatic enough to pull it off.”

“Okay, that’ll be a problem,” Ami groaned, staring regretfully at the back door. “I just hope they don’t hurt themselves, because I’m pretty sure I can’t stop them.”

“I could try,” Logan offered. “Sometimes those two will push back at authority figures purely because they see authority figures as people who don’t understand that they’re just having fun. But if a peer explains to them why they could get hurt, and why it might disrupt other people, they might listen more.”

“You shouldn’t have to parent your own brothers, Logan,” Ami sighed. “But you have a good point there. If I had simply said that they might be bothering you guys, they’d do the same thing, but quieter. If I explained they could get hurt, they might actually listen.”

Logan shrugged. “Sometimes the quickest solution isn’t the best one. Sometimes you need to think before coming to a solution that works well. And...we all know that thinking is somewhat of a specialty of mine.”

Virgil laughed. “I know. You have a ‘processing’ face sometimes if someone interrupts you or says something you haven’t prepared yourself for them to say.”

“It’s not a bad thing!” Patton rushed to add. “I think Dee has one too. Although his happens pretty much every time someone says something to him.”

“Well, he probably doesn’t think through as many options as I do when I think of people’s responses,” Logan said.

“You use scripts?” Ami asked.

“I...Um...Yes?” Logan asked, blinking repeatedly and frowning. “Assuming that means practicing what I’m going to say in my head, and planning out possible responses.”

Ami made a huh noise. “I should probably tell Dad about that. He might be able to help you script if you want. He knows more about it than I do.”

“Why? What is it?” Logan asked.

“It’s a neurodivergent...thing,” Ami said, waving his hands around. “Look, Dad can explain it better than I can, and I have to tell Roman and Dee not to tear up the house, so we need to table this conversation, just for five minutes.”

Logan leaned back in his chair as Ami left and he groaned. Vanellope came over and gently tugged on his pant leg. He grumbled as he picked her up and began to pet her. “I don’t like tabelling discussions,” he sighed.

Virgil took a seat at the table and asked, “Why?”

“Means I have more time to script bad situations,” Logan said.

“You know...I remember Dee telling me that Dad told him he thought you could be autistic,” Patton said.

Logan shrugged. “I’ve done some research on it in the past, and I have some of the symptoms, but how many is enough? How much of that is just me being neurotic? And it doesn’t impede my life much outside social situations. I do fine in school. So why would I look for a diagnosis that would discriminate against me?”

Patton considered. Because, yeah, comparing what Dee did and what Logan did, they had some really similar responses, and preferences, and behaviors. But Logan had a point. If he would only be hurt by an official diagnosis, why would he want one? It made no sense. “I just know you sometimes act a lot like Dee does, only in slightly different ways, or smaller amounts,” Patton said. “And he’s only seven. You’ve had nearly ten more years than him to blend in to other people.”

Logan sighed. “Yeah. You have a point. I just...don’t know. And I’m okay not knowing if it doesn’t hurt me in the long run.”

“That’s fair,” Virgil said. “If you can do the stuff that Dee does to help and not get an actual diagnosis, and doing what Dee does helps you in any way at all, then why even go to the doctor? It’s not like they have some medicine that would make this go away.”

“I wouldn’t want it to go away, provided there even is an ‘it,’” Logan muttered. “But enough about me. You two should have all the attention today. It is, after all, your birthday.”

Virgil offered them both a small grin. “I’m excited,” he admitted. “Like, really really excited. I don’t know why. There’s something about being nine that feels really exciting.”

“You’re one year closer to hitting double digits,” Logan offered. “I, meanwhile, will be screaming in existential terror on my birthday, because that will be my final year before I have to sign all my own paperwork.”

Patton giggled. The thought of Logan screaming at anything in terror was hilarious. He finished the last of his juice that went with his breakfast and asked, “What do you think we’re gonna get as a birthday present?” he asked.

“I know what you’re getting, Patton, but I will never tell,” Logan said with a smug grin. “I helped Dad and Ami pick it out.”

“Oh, did you help with mine?” Virgil asked.

“A little bit,” Logan said. “Only in the sense of Dad and Ami asked about your potential gift, because I knew more than they did about it.”

Virgil pouted. “That doesn’t narrow it down at all!”

Logan shrugged, grinning. “That’s the point, Virgil! It’s a surprise!”

Virgil scowled until Dad came out on the deck, this time jacket-free. “Hey, boys,” he said. “What has you talking so seriously?”

“Birthday presents,” Patton answered solemnly. “Logan knows both of ours but he’s not telling!”

“Well, good, because that was the agreement we made when he helped us,” Dad said with a grin. “But if you want to see those presents, we could go inside now and open them, if you want?”

“Ooh, please?!” Patton asked. Virgil agreed quietly.

Dad nodded and ushered the three of them inside. There were two balloons being held down by two presents each. One of the balloons was baby blue, and the other deep purple. Patton and Virgil immediately went to their favorite colors and grabbed the balloons, then looked at the presents. Ami came in the room with Roman and Dee trailing behind. “Oh, the time has come already, huh?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Dad said with a laugh. “Now, we’re going to spoil the fun just a little by saying that both of you each got a set of books we thought you might enjoy, and then something else we know you two would want. One experiment and one thing for certain, sound good?”

They nodded. Patton looked to Virgil and Virgil looked to Patton. “I opened mine first last time, you go!” Patton encouraged.

Virgil took the top present off the counter and felt it in his hands. “I bet this is the books,” he said. “It’s heavy enough to be.”

A quick rip and the paper was falling off and floating to the floor as Virgil stared at the books in shock. It was a series of four, the first four in the entire series of Animorphs. “No way!” Virgil exclaimed. “That’s so cool!”

Logan was stifling laughter. “I mean, you’re close enough to being a fourth grader that you can probably handle most of the stuff in the books. And if not, well, now you know, and you get those cool covers to stare at.”

Virgil grinned. “I’m gonna have fun reading these!” he said. “Even if it gets intense, that’s half the fun!”

Patton opened the top present on his side and he laughed when he saw the books enclosed. “The Magic Treehouse! I love these, even if they’re a bit of an easy read. Sometimes it’s nice to relax with a book that you know is gonna end well.”

“See, that’s where our tastes are super different,” Virgil pointed out. “I like stuff with lots of suspense, you like things that are relaxing most of the time.”

“Don’t you worry that what you read is going to make you more anxious?” Patton asked.

Virgil shrugged. “Not really. I know it’s not real and it can’t hurt me. The only way I’d get a panic attack from reading is if it went over something I was already scared of. Like Charles.”

“Oh. Okay then,” Patton said. “Should I go or you go?”

“You go,” Virgil said.

Patton nodded and opened his other gift, and laughed. “Oh, cool! A new Lego set! This one...it looks like it makes a couple little buildings! Cool! I need somewhere for my creations to go around, and this could help me set up a little town!”

Virgil laughed. “You’re gonna have fun with that. What’s...mine...” Virgil trailed off as he opened the present, before squealing in surprised delight. “It’s Avatar! I don’t believe it! It’s the whole Avatar series!”

Patton grinned. “Oh, that’s neat! You can watch it whenever you want, now!”

“I know!” Virgil exclaimed, positively beaming. “This is fantastic!” he ran over to Dad and Ami and hugged them both. “Thanks so much!” he exclaimed.

Patton joined in on the hugs, and then the two ran off to their room, where Patton’s Legos and Virgil’s reading nook were, leaving behind two very stunned dads and three laughing brothers.

[100-yardstare]

I can’t believe I missed ace awareness week. I wanted to blog a little about it, but my computer charger failed on me and it’s taken about a month for me to prepare for the bill to replace it. I feel yucky right now so I just felt like writing about what’s going on in general instead.

I’ve been on so many interviews. I was screwed over on my last big job interview (the one I ranted about last time) partially because I think my old boss that said she be a reference flat out told me she wasn’t going to do it AFTER I submitted her as a reference to the job, so I’m almost 98% sure I was passed over because of that. In addition one of the committee members that interviewed me got mad at me for calling her “ma’m”. She explained she wasn’t from Texas, and I apologized and said something on the lines of it must be a culture shock for her and I didn’t mean to offend. Somehow people think the term is used as an insult now, and that is beyond me. I guess I’m old school lol age is catching up with me and I’m not even realizing it.

So I’ve been on plenty of interviews since then but I keep getting passed over. The last one I had to take a aptitude test, and after receiving feedback from them as to why I was rejected, it’s apparently because I’m a slow calculator/clerical worker. Big whoop because I already know that. I am really feeling the negativity now as an adult looking for work about neurodivergent people trying to find a place in a neurotypical working world. I don’t want to disclose me being ADD to anybody in pre-employment screenings because I don’t want that label to penalize me. But one way or another being ADD does just so anyway.

Because it’s been about 9 months now without work I’ve been seeing my savings decline heavily. My medication bills are at least 155 a month, and on top of that I’m still paying off a stupid hospital bill from 3 years ago that was roughly 2,000 dollars for swallowing barium and a doctor looking at an X-Ray. So that comes to immediately at minimum 200+ dollars a month just on that. Add in the other stuff and I’m fucked without an income. I’ve applied to so many retail jobs too, but nobody gets back to me either.

I don’t go out much anymore because I can’t afford to charge for dinners, so I eat whatever my mom cooks. If she is too sick from her RA, then I try and cook, but because we don’t go to the store as often anymore to save on bills (my parents are having a hard time too) I have resorted to eating canned beans, soups, and others of likeness that don’t go bad. My father is also emotionally abusive to both me and my mom, and it’s gotten worse ever since he started having problems with his job. I can’t leave because I don’t have the money to live on my own. My hobbies have heavily declined. I used to make at least two big cosplay’s a year, and go to conventions, but I can’t do that because, OH NO, I don’t have enough money, and I can’t get a job. I cry all the time because I am so bored. I go out of the house only to volunteer once a week because gas money is tight, and to take my mom on errands. I dream constantly of going on trips. I feel trapped in this house I might as well be a ghost. I stare at my phone all day in hopes of either getting a response from an employer or validation from my social media, it’s pathetic. Imagine being so bored and trapped in your house AND being ADD. It’s like my mind is constantly going places and running around, and I just get emotionally exhausted because I have to tell myself, “no, I can’t afford to go eat at that place, I can’t afford to go on a roadtrip, I can’t buy the material to do my hobby”.

Here is what I learned from all this, which I’m sure a lot of you have already learned, or will learn. Getting a degree doesn’t do you shit. The world hates you and doesn’t care about you, yet values you only on how productive you are and how much money you can make. I see my friends trapped in this mindset right now, but what am I supposed to do? Tell them to give up on their dreams? My cousin is going to grad school for her SECOND Master’s because her other one isn’t getting her good jobs. She even has a full time job on top of it, but her car broke down, and with a full-time paying job she CAN’T AFFORD TO FIX IT. My friend is going to college to get a degree in computer engineering of the sorts, but she’s already 40,000+ dollars in loans. Tbh I’m so glad my brother dropped college. He was trying to complete a degree he didn’t even like, loathed as a matter of fact to the point of attempting suicide. My dad always told him trade school was bullshit, which is A LIE, so I’m sure he felt like he didn’t have any other options when he started. The trades are an awesome career path, and I have a deep respect for anyone who can become a welder, plumber, or whatever. Whatever he ends up doing I’ll be proud of him regardless. I’ve learned that there are other ways to make something for yourself. The traditional route of college doesn’t bring the American Dream, only our persistence and spirit does.

If you’ve gotten this far reading this, this is NOT to say drop out of school. But plan ahead. Don’t jump into college right after HS just because it’s expected of you. Don’t do a degree that you think is good just because it will make you money. One thing college did for me was teach me about myself. I have a massive learning disability, and I graduated. I worked hard for YEARS, thinking I’d never graduate because I had such a hard time keeping my grades up, managing my health, and all the sorts. But I did it! I graduated. The world has told me that doesn’t matter. The world is going to tell YOU that nothing you do matters or is of worth. But it is. You matter. You are NOT a burden.

I will say that all that has happened to me makes me a fierce advocate for those with disabilities and mental illness. My last job working at an ABA clinic showed me that babies (yes, literally BABIES) that don’t act neurotypical will be punished for it. I’ve seen in the work world that if you don’t act neurotypical, you are punished for it. Where I currently volunteer now there is a huge respect for disabled individuals. I see a lot of kids with cerebral palsy, autism, ADHD/ADD, and even physical disabilities. This one boy with CP couldn’t even walk before, let alone stand up, and now thanks to Equine Assisted Therapy, he can sit up and walk with assistance. He did that! That was his accomplishment and I am so proud of him. And yet a lot of people in the world will look at him with just another kid with disabilities that will probably not amount to much. See where I’m getting at? I’m so protective of these people because I am like them. One way or another, we have to stand up for eachother. My story with ADD may not be the same as a particular person with autism, CP, or mental illnesses, but we have to look out for each other. Going through all this has made me a stronger person and I will defend us with everything I’ve got.

FYI if any of you reading this wants to donate to a good organization this year for the holiday’s I’d HIGHLY recommend SIRE Therapeutic Horsemanship in TX. Great wonderful group of people and animals.

Yes, I’m in a horrible place right now. But I’ve learned. I sincerely hope things will change for me soon so I can better take care of myself and my mom, but of course I’m human and I’m going to suffer anyway in the moment. I hope 2020 is going to be better for me because this year was terrible. I crave financial independence, the ability to travel and see and experience new things, and be in a better spot professionally, and personally to do the things I want to do. Graduate school isn’t even an option right now because I can’t afford it, and as of now, I don’t care to go to graduate school. Maybe someday, years from now, but at this rate I’m so sick and tired of expectations from society I just say fuck it. I’ll get there at my own pace. And I’ll be successful without the worlds opinion on what makes me successful.

[elenajohansenauthor]

Fictober, Day 6: “I’ve heard enough, this ends now.”

OCs: Shannon and Noah

Project: Untitled paranormal romance for Fictober18, now tagged #spookyromancenovel on my blog

Potential Triggers: really emotional shouting!

Word Count: 2,432 (um, wow, I had no idea I’d written so much today, it was just flowing out of me)

About: The rest of the scene I started with yesterday’s prompt. The first big fight between my lovebirds, and the first time I get to make it clear what they each value most.

Again, #spookyromancenovel has a WIP page now, where you can find all the Fictober posts if you need to catch up, as well as the novel’s [temporary] blurb, character info, and eventually world-building stuff! I’d really appreciate asks from anyone who’s interested in knowing more.

Eating the pizza seemed to improve his mood, but I bit my lip against giggling when his stomach growled loudly—after he'd finished the slice. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“Don't worry about it. Let's get started, so you can get out as soon as the sun's down.”

He surveyed the table. “This looks alarmingly like all the times we crammed for tests together.”

Just like that, a hundred memories competed for space in my head all at once. Being neighbors had led to us being friends, in the way that kids will when they're young and geography is more important than shared interests. Staying friends throughout high school had naturally evolved into study partners. Both sets of our parents approved, which was great—as long as we studied camped out in the living room at his house, at least. Noah's mother was the type convinced that “studying” in private meant something entirely different, and no way was her son going to waste his education kissing girls.

My parents hadn't cared one bit where we studied, because as far as they were concerned, if I couldn't find a nice Vietnamese boy to settled down with, at least Noah was some form of Asian. Half-Japanese was fine with them, so if we wanted to canoodle, that was all good, as long as I didn't “get into trouble.”

The only sex talk I'd ever gotten from my parents was a repeated string of warnings not to get into trouble. I couldn't blame them, though, for my complete lack of a sex life. I was never the type to rebel against authority just because, and I realized early on that dating someone who didn't look like me just to annoy my parents—anyone, white or black or brown—would make me pretty awful. So I tried to have crushes, and I tried not to restrict myself to any one type of guy.

It didn't end up mattering, because I'd had my heart set on Noah since I was six years old. No one else measured up.

But I wasn't supposed to be mooning over him now, while he watched me space out with a faintly curious and concerned expression. Good sign—he wasn't as numb to emotion as he feared. I rallied myself by grabbing the nearest notebook and looking through it with one hand, while picking up a fresh piece of pizza with the other. “So, let's break this problem down to basics, which means even obvious shit is back on the table. What makes you, Noah Hargrove, different from any other human afflicted by the gargoyle curse?”

“Other humans didn't have their heart removed and replaced with a magically driven construct.” He thought for a moment.

I switched to my current Noah-notebook and started a fresh page with “BRAINSTORMING” in giant letters across the blank space at the top. His response became item number one on a list under the heading Noah's Not Normal. “What else makes you different? Literally anything you can think of. Like—a congenital defect of some kind. Asthma. Whatever.”

“You know I don't have asthma. But, uh...I had my appendix out, remember? When I was ten.” He smiled. “I think I still have the get-well card you made me, in a box somewhere. Or, my parents do, I mean.”

Noah's current relationship with them was far too complicated for me to touch, not now, when we needed to focus. “Right. I doubt the lack of appendix is helping you resist the curse, but it goes on the list.”

By the time I'd finished the pizza, we hadn't come up with anything else relating to his body. He'd been a generally healthy kid, aside from an occasional injury or case of the sniffles. And we'd ruled out any neurodivergence, because he thought his mild social anxiety as a teen couldn't possibly have been a factor, not when he'd taken steps to get over it long before the curse hit him.

“It's weird, though,” he added thoughtfully. “In a lot of ways, this, this isolation, like you called it, reminds me of how I felt then, when I could hardly talk to anyone.”

“Except me.” The parallel was obvious, as soon as he mentioned it.

“Except you. Thanks for always being there for me.”

That. That right there was why I'd been in love with Noah as long as I'd known him, even before I'd realized that how I felt had a name. He'd never pretended he was tough, that he didn't feel things. And he never let an opportunity to thank someone pass him by.

I studied the two-item list so I didn't have to keep looking into his eyes. Missing heart, missing appendix. “This is an ancient curse, and ways of thinking always shape magic. It's from a time before people understood that the brain is the organ of reason, intelligence, and personality. So taking out your heart is what's preventing the transformation from completing.”

“I'm glad you didn't try to take out my brain instead.” Completely serious. “But how did you know what to do?”

“Honestly? Best guess. I know I seemed calm, but I was panicking inside. You were dying.” It was easy to admit when I didn't have to see his reaction. “But most curses involve blood, somehow. If not in casting or transmission, at least to spread it through the body. There's a reason blood magic has such an unsavory reputation. Blood is power. It can be used to good purpose, but it lends itself far better to evil.”

“I think the vampires agree with you.” He paused. “Is that why they hate gargoyles so much? I mean, I don't want to be one, but as far as monsters go, they're reasonably benign. They just, I don't know, hang out on top of the Cathedral and fly around at night to find ghouls and dead animals to eat. I've always thought—well, scavengers do have their place in the food chain.”

“Vampires hate gargoyles?” This was news to me.

“Oh, yeah,” Noah said, almost off-handedly. “It's even in the news. That Conclave that got postponed due to bomb threats? You know, in D.C., between the government and the Vampire Embassy? The proposals were posted online, and I read them. It's low on the list of priorities, but the vampires want recognized government assistance in the extermination of gargoyles.”

I remembered the Conclave being announced, but somehow its postponement hadn't been a blip on my radar, and I sure as hell hadn't paid any attention to what the vampires actually wanted. My stunned confusion that Noah had must have shown. He said, “Miss Conquer with Research doesn't pay attention to politics?”

“Mr. Ghoul Hunter on the Run does?”

“Well, if the entire vampire nation would want to hunt me down and kill me, that's worth knowing.”

“Right. Okay.” I thought for a moment. “Did they want to exterminate anyone else? Like werewolves or banshees or something?”

Noah shook his head. “The whole vampire-werewolf thing is mostly fictional, far as I can tell. Werewolves can't be turned, and vampires, being dead and all, don't get infected with lycanthropy. So they're not really a threat to each other. From what I've seen, as long as the vamps respect wolf territory, there's an understanding of mutual non-aggression.”

“Which is basically how the wolves treat everyone. Got it. I never really researched vampires much, aside from confirming that trying to turn you not only wouldn't lift the curse, it also wouldn't work. Which let me sleep better at night, I'll admit—if vampire were made of stone and could fly, it wouldn't take many of them to pretty much wipe out humans. But if I had been paying more attention, I would have heard about the work on the Archives ages ago, not just today.”

Noah made some small noise, and I looked up to find pure fear on his face. “What?”

I gave him the condensed version of what Wes had told me, finishing up with: “So, I thought, I know it's a stretch but if I could figure out some way to get in there, I'd have access to so much. I'm not expecting to spend an hour there and find a cure, I'm not that naive, but anything I can learn could help.”

“No.”

His flat denial of the first ray of hope I'd had in far too long hurt more than I'd care to admit, and when I go on the defensive, I get flustered. “I wouldn't do it if I couldn't find a way that didn't guarantee my safety--”

“No,” he repeated, louder. “Don't try to find the Archives. It's too risky.”

“But Wes--”

“Wes sounds like a magical wunderkind and all, but don't assume you understand what's going on. Vampires aren't benevolent, they don't share for no reason. If Wes has a skill they can use, they'll barter for it, and they won't turn him instead  to get it for free because vampirism wipes out magic. But you don't have that defense.”

“I'm a Healer!” I protested. I hated arguing with Noah, and this sounded like it was heading for a real fight, but if he wanted to be a sanctimonious ass about my safety, he deserved it. “What good would it do to make me into a plain-Jane vampire?”

“If they managed to get in and saw you doing research about preventing gargoyle transformation--”

“Why wouldn't they want that?” I interrupted. “If they hate gargoyles so much--”

“That would only stop more humans from becoming them, not do anything about the ones that already exist. And that's not my point. You show them you're a genius, and they'll want you to be their genius. Vampires collect people. They'd want you.” He huffed. “It wouldn't even take that. You're gorgeous, they'd turn you and make you into one of their seductresses.”

“What?” Which part of that hurt worst? That Noah casually called me “gorgeous” in the middle of a fight, or that he thought it was a bad thing which made me a candidate for vampire hooker?

He mistook my question for an actual request for enlightenment. “You know the stereotype, Shannon, pretty Asian girl, slinky dress, the fangs only come out after the guy gets what he wants--”

I stood clumsily, knocking the pizza box off the table and banging my shin painfully in the process. “I've heard enough, this ends now. I don't care if you think you're protecting me, you do not get to talk about me like that, like I'm just some, some thing, and you do not get to tell me I'm too young and pretty and unworldly and stupid not to realize that getting into the Archives would be dangerous.”

Noah stood, towering over me. “I never said--”

I was on a roll, though. I rode the momentum and really let him have it, even though part of me feared going too far. Only I didn't know if that meant saying something I could never take back, or pushing Noah to hurt me. I was so angry I almost didn't care. “You call me a genius in one breath, then act I'm an airhead too stupid to live the next. Oh, sorry, big magical protector, didn't mean to threaten your masculinity by assuming I was allowed to look out for myself. What did you think I was going to do, walk into a vampire den and calmly ask them, please don't bite me, take me to your secret collection of priceless manuscripts instead? If I do this, I will have a plan. One that doesn't involve me becoming either a vampire or a freaking prostitute, by the way!”

He grabbed my shoulders from across the table and drew me in. His hands were huge, strong, and uncomfortably cool, but the pressure was gentle. “Promise me you won't do this.”

“No.” I made the single syllable every bit as hard and cold and definite as the stone he was turning into. “How can you ask me not to pursue something that might save you? And you're not even asking, you're demanding.”

He took several heaving breaths before he spoke. I expected rage—I got sadness. “How can you ask me to stand by while you risk your life? What you've been doing so far, devoting yourself to find a solution, that's already so much of your life you've given up for me, don't think I don't understand that. If you save me, but lose yourself in the process—how could I ever live with the guilt?”

Damn him. Damn him for being right, while also being so, so wrong. I put my hands on his chest and pushed, not because I could break free, but because he would know to let me go. I couldn't win against that argument, but I was too riled to capitulate. I ran to my room instead, like any naive, stupid little girl would do. I slammed the door and locked it behind me.

Five or ten minutes into a really satisfying cry, I heard a tap on my door. “Shannon? Are you okay?”

Dumb question, but Noah had never been great at dealing with me when I cried. He did his best, he tried, but it never got easy for him, and I'd had to forgive a lot of well-meaning bumbling over the years. Being direct usually worked best. “I don't want to talk to you right now,” I told him, loudly enough to be clear through the door.

“Okay. When you are, I'd like to apologize.” Not the first time we'd had this exchange.

“Okay.”

“I'll leave you alone, then.”

I cried myself out in maybe half an hour, then lay listlessly in bed, trying not to think about the things he'd said, and failing. Another tap came on the door. He could break it down if he weren't careful, and we both knew it.

“Sun's down. I just, I wanted to let you know I'm going out. I'll try not to wake you when I come back.”

If I didn't answer, he might think I was asleep already, but I doubt he'd believe it. Too early. And he'd worry. I was still angry, but I didn't take any pleasure in being cruel to him. “Okay. Stay safe.”

“You, too.”

When the front door shut, I started to cry again, even though I didn't really understand why.