warnings: senior year nostalgia, oblivious pining, excessively soft bromance
“Okay,” Lardo said, taking another swig from the bottle of gin they’d been passing around. “Worst class you’ve ever taken?”
The noise of another kegster, not their last together but frighteningly close to it, thrummed through the floor of the attic. Sometime after midnight Nursey and Chowder had started trying to go through various Haus rules, proper kegstand procedure and ratios for tub juice, with the Tadpoles like Holster and Ransom had done for the past two years, and Ransom had found himself hit with senior-year nostalgia again. It was the kind of weird, happy-sad ache that pulled from under his ribs and made him want to hold onto everything tighter.
He was going to graduate in May. He’d been accepted to med programs at Emory and UPenn, and he was waiting to hear back from a couple other schools. His future wasn’t some nebulous concept any more; it felt real. It felt too close. It was so much easier just to melt back against his bed, next to his two best friends, and to soak up the way their words seemed to roll around the room and fill it up completely.
Holster snorted and leaned against Ransom, reaching around him for the bottle but not moving away once he had it. “International Finance Theory with Professor Lawrence.”
“but you don’t look autistic”
i know, it’s shocking
i’m sure you were expecting scaly green skin
or another pair of eyes hidden beneath my bangs
but take a look
two legs, two arms, on pair of eyes
i look just like you
i look like a human
because that’s what i am
autism does not have a costume
our wardrobe isn’t embroidered with puzzle pieces and the color blue
like everyone else on this earth
people with autism are all different
our experiences are not stagnate across the globe
and just because i can disguise my stims
doesn’t mean i am more or less autistic than someone who cannot
and believe it or not
saying that is not a compliment
autistic people can have jobs
we can be loved by someone other than our family members
we can drive
and go shopping
not all of us are nonverbal
and while most of us cannot handle the horrors of eye contact
and certain stimuli
we’re all different
try not to act so surprised when we’re able to appear just as neurotypical as you
“oh, so you’re like Rain Man?”
if this is your way of implying that you can drop a bunch of toothpicks on the ground and then ask me how many there are
kindly fuck off
“autism is a disease and i’m sure they’ll find a cure for you”
we are not sick
we are not suffering
illnesses are contagious
you can’t catch autism
it isn’t going to spread if you get too close to me
this isn’t rocket science
it isn’t that hard to understand
you either have autism
or you never will
and more importantly
there is nothing about us that needs to be cured
instead of listening to a fear mongering
harmful group that markets itself on our existence and feels the need to “fix” autistic people
why not just listen to autistic people instead?
Five Myths / Things You Should Know About People with Autism (cc, 2017)
She’s barely three weeks old when, in the middle of the night with her little lungs wearing out from all of the screaming and tears, Killian makes the decision to bring her out to the Jolly.
Emma, just as tired and fed up with the hours of trial and error, agrees to go, grabbing everything she can think she might need out on the ship before she slips into her shoes and cradles the baby against her chest, trying fruitlessly to stop her cries.
“She’ll be alright,” Killian assures her. “If she’s anything like her father, the sea will calm her.”
Justin is a junior in high school. He knows exactly three things about his soulmate. One, she’s around his age. Two, she’s definitely American. Three, she has a thing for musical theater.
Ever since puberty. Everybody stares at me. Boys, girls. I can’t help it baby.
Justin, or Ranser as his hockey team knew him, sighs. He’s knee-deep in a practice SAT test. He knows his soulmate is American, so that’s where he’s planning to go for university. Even if they don’t end up at the same school, it’ll be exponentially easier to find her if they don’t have an international border between them.
So be kind. And don’t lose your mind. Just remember. That I’m your baby.
“Allow me to kiss your hand, be your man,” Ranser interrupts. “You know, I’ll understand…You see where I’m from, WC, I’m from Nigeria,” he murmurs. “Omo, you know say na criteria.”
Justin doesn’t know what skipping ahead in a song does to the music inside his soulmate’s mind. But he’s not one for singing,really. He finds the songs that suit his message and sticks lyric-less songs otherwise. Many reactionary music genres nowadays were mainly instrumental to resist the idea of finding soulmates through consumerism. It’s not that he didn’t care about his soulmate. But it’s one less thing to worry about if he has separate music for communicating with her and for enjoying for himself. Afrobeat has been particularly effective in balancing out her more…exuberant tunes.
He can’t fault her for her love of Lady Gaga, but priorities take precedent over fun time. As if she understands his protests, the music dies down. Justin takes a deep breath, resuming his test. He can only hope she doesn’t do this during the real exam time. Although most administrators were understanding, it was a three strikes policy for singing during an exam.
If there’s one thing Justin’s learned about his soulmate, it’s that she sung everything she felt.
“What if I got a double major in music and economics?” Adam, or Birker, asks his teammate, Hobbs, one movie night his last year in Juniors.
Hobbs eyes him incredulously. “Why?”
Adam shrugs, “my soulmate listens to a lot of cool music.”
“So? Fucking congrats,” he snarks.
“No man, it’s like,” Adam gestures with two hands at the space in front of the coffee table. “Most of the stuff they like isn’t pop and doesn’t even have lyrics. Which fucking sucked when we were younger, right?”
“Sure,” he concedes.
“I learned how to play the piano and some other instruments so I could figure out what songs they were — and now I have all this musical knowledge that I won’t be able to use ever again.”
“Because…” Hobbs prompts.
“Because when I find them, what the fuck do I need to know this shit for anymore? If they like something, they can just show it to me.”
Hobbs rolls his eyes, “be a music major. Become a fucking teacher why don’t you?”
“You think I could handle that?” Adam inquires seriously.
“I think your other option is to get famous writing music, and fat chance of that ever happening,” Hobbs chirps.
“Thanks, you’re helpful,” Birker rolls his eyes dramatically.
“I don’t get why you’re going to college anyway,” Hobbs jabs him in the ribs.
“I’m not doing the draft, bro,” Adam reminds him curtly.
“Oh c’mon,” Hobbs eggs him on, “what’s the worst that could happen?”
“I miss my chance to meet my soulmate in college, I spend four years in fucking Syracuse before I get called up. I retire at 32 if I’m lucky with no degree or skills.”
“Except music,” Hobbs chirps.
“Except music,” Adam parrots.
Brownie comes back with a bowl full of popcorn and a bag of Twizzlers. “What’d I miss?”
“Birker’s whinning about his soulmate again,” Hobbs replies.
“What else is new,” Calvin shouts from the kitchen.
“Can we start the fucking show already?” Adam shouts back.
“Yeah,” Calvin comes running in, hopping onto the first body he sees (Adam).
Adam frowns when Calvin won’t get off his lap. “I really hate you sometimes.”
“Taking your way in the world today takes everything you’ve got.
Taking a break from all your worries, sure would help a lot,” the four boys chorus.
“Man, I hope for your sake she’s funny,” Brownie tells Birker.
Adam laughs hollowly. He’s very convinced that his soulmate’s a dude. Which is fine, Adam’s as bi as the day is long. The way Calvin looks back at him pointedly, reinforces his suspicions that he’s not the only queer guy on the team.
Which is exactly why he’s going to Samwell. It was one of the queerest schools in the country. He had no assurance that his soulmate will find him there. But at the very least, he can have four years away from the quite chaos of hockey. The NHL was still ignoring the fact that a good third (or more) of their players weren’t straight. The press was constantly writing soulmates off as “platonic”, and Adam was not about to put up with that any time soon. He wanted to go to school, do something he loves, and fall in love. Why was that too much to ask for?
Justin Oluransi wasn’t the greatest with surprises.
He was a plan man. Everything in his life could be narrowed down to a cleverly
crafted eight-point plan. He expected his day to go quite normally: wake up at
five; go for a run with Adam; have breakfast with Adam; do pre-round for the
patients he’s following; do round with the attending; write up progress notes
and orders; get lunch; go to lecture; follow up on labs; finish notes from
earlier; study and finish orders; go home and have a nice relaxing dinner with
Adam; watch Brooklyn 99 until they
both decide that they’re tired and go to sleep.
He hadn’t planned on coming home to find Larissa
Duan sitting in front of his apartment. She’s huddled in on herself, knees
hiding her face. But her signature purple beanie and the duck keychain attached
to her bag give her away.
“Lardo?” He says hesitantly. Frankly, he’s a little
worried she’s a figment of his imagination (or worse, dead).
Larissa sniffles, unfolding her legs. Her eyes won’t
meet his; they’re fixated on the rips in her jeans. Her eyes are listless. It
occurs to Ransom that it’s November. Although Baltimore hasn’t seen its first
big snow of the season, the wind is still brutal and unrelenting. He debates picking her up himself, but
remembers that Lardo hates being manhandled without permission.
“Do you want to come inside?” Justin flinches at how
condescending his tone is. How mechanical and pseudo-empathetic it’s become.
Like Larissa’s his patient instead of one of his best friends. She was one of his best friends.
Lardo doesn’t seem bothered, however. She rises with
a graceful dexterity that reminds Justin of the afternoons when she and Eric
would see who could balance more random shit on themselves until they caved
(Bitty won most of the time). As Justin
unlocks the door, he wonders how Larissa found them (and when had hockey
nicknames slipped off his lips like a tainted memory).
She slips in quietly behind him. He murmurs
something about tea; she nods hastily, dropping her bag next to the couch. It’s
green like the one back at the Haus. Adam had been sentimental when they found
it on Craigslist.
“Make yourself comfortable,” he calls out as he
turns on the stove.
As he fills up the kettle with water, Justin
contemplates texting Adam. He doesn’t have a game until tomorrow, so he should
be on his way back anyhow. It wasn’t easy figuring out where to settle down. Baltimore
had been something of a compromise. The commute was a bitch for Holster, but he
had an apartment in Arlington for nights when the drive was too much or a
roadie was set to leave early. They were both happy with the careers they’d
chosen. They were in love. If Adam scored a puck bunny every now and then, it
was good their foreplay for later.
He doesn’t have the slightest idea why Larissa’s
here. It’s been three years since they graduated. Everyone tried to keep up the
first year, when Bitty was captain and the Frogs were juniors. Ransom and
Holster had hardly heard from any of them in two years. There was a text in the
group chat every now and then. But life went on, and the earth kept spinning.
Justin doesn’t realize that he’s staring out into
space (and generally in Lardo’s direction) until he finds her staring back at
him. Her scowl is hardened yet exhausted. As if she’s lost all the vigor and
fight he used to love about her. He maintains eye contact longer than he
assumes is polite. Ultimately, Larissa caves, going back to scrolling her phone
as she curls more in on herself on the couch.
The kettle shrieks behind Justin. He scours the
cupboard for the Jasmine tea mix he remembers Lardo sending as an apartment
warming present (back when they’d first moved here, but that was two places
ago). He puts that and the water into an infuser, letting it sit while he goes
to attend to his house guest.
“We have a guest room around the corner,” he points
out the general path. “There’s fresh towels in bathroom.”
It was most unusual for anything to disturb Kisuke’s
slumber, because once asleep, he slept like the dead. Yoruichi, by contrast,
was known to be a night owl and an early riser. More often than not, he’d found
himself awakened in the morning by a cold, wet cat-nosing, or in the middle of the night by
a warm, wet kiss. But something – or someone – else had awakened him tonight, something he couldn’t yet quite
Moonlight streamed in through the window of the upper room, washing the floor
and bedsheets with a pale, ghostly glow, creeping across the contours of Yoruichi’s
side, as she lay with her back to him. The first trimester of pregnancy was
taking its toll; she was more tired during the day, more prone to sleeping
soundly at night. And he suspected that
having to refrain from transforming to cat form was taking an awful toll on her
napping pattern. So he was rewarded with a rare treat: the sight of a sleeping,
He’d always thought she was beautiful. That was a given. He
couldn’t recall a time when he’d thought otherwise, even as a boy. Her golden
eyes, striking against her dark skin; her lustrous black hair… even when she’d
cropped it short, it still crowned her head luxuriously. He was glad she’d
grown it long again. His hand couldn’t resist reaching out and twining it
around his fingers, letting the strands slip through them like silk. Her skin,
too, gleamed in the moonlight, sleek and smooth like satin, and he was strongly tempted
to wake her with a caress, if only he didn’t believe, just as strongly, that her rest
was more important. Well then… he’d simply have to avoid waking her, as he stealthily moved closer to drape a warm, possessively affectionate arm around her waist, burying his nose and lips in her hair, pulling her close against his chest, and resting his palm just below her navel.
And then he felt it again, the tingling presence that had
awoken him. With a growing, comprehending smile, at last he knew what it was he
was sensing: a faint, yet undeniable, scattering of crimson reiatsu so similar to his own that he might have
mistaken it for Benihime; yet somehow… other.
It did not emanate from within himself. It was coming from her.
And in that moment, she became more beautiful to him than he
thought was possible, because of what grew within her: a manifestation of their
whole lives, their whole love, compressed into one tiny point, vibrant and pulsing
I was heartlessly accused of being unable to write fluff without infinite amounts of angst and pain by a certain Moriel Queen (*cough* @abookandacoffee *cough*). Thankfully, Korean-Dramas came to my rescue.
The One Where Nobody Dies
Summary:In which Azriel is terrible at texting back, Morrigan continues to endure the idiocy of her dysfunctional family, Cassian becomes The Bride of Spring, Amren cannot maintain long-distance relationships with goats, and Rhysand is barely mentioned.
Special Guests Include: Flower Crowns, Polygamous Nymphs, and most dangerous of all, Vegetarians.
Week Day 4 (March 29th): Training
Summary: Hinami has a little plan to mess with Ayato through the guise of training together. Basically Ayato being completely and hopelessly caught in her little game. (2k words)
I almost wanted to make this smut but I doubt the Goats would appreciate them fucking in the training room. Maybe some other time. Ayato is a horny and hormonal teenager. I also realize my title ended up being the prompt, therefore the inverted commas.
“If I get you down you win. If
you get me down, I win,” Hinami says, her arms crossed with a playful smirk.
Ayato stares at her for a long moment, before turning to his bag with a wide
and visible sneer. Watching his side profile, Hinami scowls, stamping her foot
“You can’t even take me on at
your strongest. What makes you think you can take me on right now after one
year of rotting in a ghoul prison with nothing but books and a pathetic stew?”
he asks. He pulls out his bottle, takes a long swing and returns it. As he
heads on to the weights, Hinami steps in front of him, holding her hands out to
her side in an attempt at obstructing him.
“Hinami,” he sighs, resting a
hand on his hip. “You’ll get thrashed.”
“Training. Now. I didn’t dress
up for nothing,” she says and he has to hold in the urge to burst out in
laughter at her statement. Really? Dressing up for training? She is such a girl. But as his eyes scan her from top
to bottom, he has to admit that she looks pretty good and ready. Her body looks
tough under the purple tank top she is wearing— though he can’t really tell if
it was fats, muscles or a mixture of both. She was wearing a pair of black
shorts and it’s so rare to see her in anything that isn’t a skirt or a dress.
But even without her usual clothes exhibiting her usual ultra-feminine look,
Hinami looks downright adorable as she leans her body forward, crosses her arms
and stares at him with her cheeks puffed out.
“Come on, just once! Pretty
He can’t say no to that look.
He just can’t.
“Alright, alright,” he sighs.
Hinami giggles victoriously, grabbing his arm to pull him to the middle of the
room. She steps away from him, making some distance between them before taking
on a prepared stance, legs parted and her arms raised in front of her face.
Ayato watches her in silence for a moment, resisting the urge to laugh.
“What are you doing?” he
“I’m getting ready to fight,”
she says. “The first person to pin the other down on the mat wins.”
“And then? What do I get?”
Hinami pouts slightly,
probably from his assumption that he’s going to win. “The loser has to listen
to the winner for the rest of the day and become their slave!”
I don’t know how much use it will be but they need to know that they’re giving money to people who at this point purposefully shit on a certain portion of their audience in the cruelest fashion imaginable. So I feel like it’s reasonable to let them know that what Mofftiss just did on Sherlock is not ok.
You’ll have to answer a couple of questions before you can write your complaint and unfortunately that has a word limit so make it precise and to the point but I guess it’s better than nothing?