#and people wishing they were trust-fund kids

[bethanydelleman]

Jane Austen Characters and Neurodiversity

Jane Austen wrote characters who feel so real and interesting that scholars have been arguing about them almost since they were written. People identify with many aspects of characters that probably weren’t intended by the author, including reading Emma Woodhouse and Charlotte Lucas (among others) as queer. Headcanons are great and if you see yourself, as a neurodiverse person, in an Austen character, that is awesome. This post is only my opinion and I’m not an expert. It is also impossible to make a diagnosis based on a 200 year old book.

The main reason I don't attribute the behaviour of Jane Austen's characters to anything clinical is because I think Jane Austen was trying to show how wealth and the single-minded pursuit of wealth can twist people. Darcy is in the top 1% (or even the top 1% of the 1%) and even today, those sort of people don't come off as normal even if they are neurotypical. I think most of the characters' behaviour can be accounted for by 1. being extremely wealthy/powerful meaning they are unchallenged in a way that magnifies their faults, 2. the fact that most of these people don’t have jobs and are therefore idle and under-stimulated (even a lot of the ones who have “jobs”), 3. attention seeking behaviour and 4. being surrounded by fawning Yes Men.

There is also the complicated discussion of maybe neurodiversity would explain some behaviour but it does not excuse.

There are only two Austen characters that strike me as having some sort of possible psychiatric illness or neurodivergence: Mr. Woodhouse (Emma) and Anne Steele (Sense and Sensibility).

Anne Steele is the only character who is actually incapable of following social rules. She is about thirty years old, and yet twice in the novel she is kept from making a huge breach of decorum by her younger sister. She is obsessed with Marianne’s clothes/appearance, to the point of asking what the fabric and washing costs. Importantly, Anne is not wealthy or powerful enough to ignore social rules. She is trying to court favour most of the time and yet cannot manage it without Lucy’s help. Also, she is distressed that Lucy will no longer trim her bonnets, which suggests she is incapable of doing it herself. I’m not sure how difficult it is to change ribbons in a bonnet, but it stood out to me as a little odd.

The other is Mr. Woodhouse. He is tricky for me. We are told he’s basically been like this all his life, so it’s not a case of dementia (though that could be making him worse).

The evil of the actual disparity in their ages (and Mr. Woodhouse had not married early) was much increased by his constitution and habits; for having been a valetudinarian all his life, without activity of mind or body, he was a much older man in ways than in years; and though everywhere beloved for the friendliness of his heart and his amiable temper, his talents could not have recommended him at any time. (Ch 1)

Also, his health anxiety can’t only be a manifestation of grief from losing his wife, because again, we are told he’s always been this way and he married late in life. One of the interesting things is that he’s not just worried about his health, he is incapable of imagining that other people are unlike him in their health or even thoughts. That is a failure of theory of mind, a major developmental milestone.

He could have some form of anxiety, probably comorbid with something that accounts for his inability to understand others, but then again, he’s a very rich man that no one ever disagrees with... which makes me think there is a chance he’s just a health conspiracy theorist who’s gone off the deep end. This would fit better into Jane Austen’s overall thesis that wealth screws people up too. (Note: Isabella is very similar to her father. Anxiety disorders can run in families but she does seem to tolerate being challenged better than her father.)

Lastly, despite being so concerned about his health, Mr. Woodhouse is never actually ill during the novel, while other characters do have recorded illnesses. Isabella, who shares her father’s fears, has born five healthy children. So whatever is wrong doesn’t seem to effect them physically very much.

Another Note: I have heard an argument for Fanny Price having ASD based on her inability to stand the noise or eat the food at her home in Portsmouth. I found this compelling, but I think we are meant to understand that the noise is overwhelming and everyone else is just used to it.

Last Note: To reiterate, I am not arguing that anyone’s headcanon is wrong. A headcanon is meant to be something that can’t be proved or disproved by the book. I just personally don’t see enough evidence in the text for most other characters to fit a psychological diagnosis or neurodivergence, especially Darcy. Being the coddled child of overindulgent parents who told him the planet revolved around him because he was so rich and important seems like a pretty good explanation for his behaviour to me! (and is what he says in the book).

[battexthefox]

SuperBat #3: Paperwork

This takes place after the League all reveal their identities to eachother. Bruce funds a large chunk of the League, and Clark does a lot of the reporting and interviews.

Bruce tends to stay on-base for a while after the League meetings adjourn. It's so much easier to get paperwork done off-world, especially with how busy the Manor and Batcave can get. The interruptions are minimal, there aren't kids running around trying to spar with eachother, and Bruce doesn't have to worry about getting called into the field. Plus, the cafeteria has a fantastic view of the Earth below. What's not to like?

So there Bruce is, finishing up a watchtower expense report, drinking his coffee, when Clark walks in with full Superman gear and a notepad. He sits down at another table, not yet noticing the de-cowled Bat two tables over from him. He starts to read over his notepad with League accounts of the recent Legion of Doom incident when he hears the chair across from him move. Clark looks up, making direct eye contact with Bruce.

"New article?" The detective looks at the notepad.

"Yeah," Clark sighs. "I wish some of the League had thought to get media training. I don't know what to do with this quote." Clark points at a line Hal had given him about how the Joker wasn't "as funny as he usually is."

Bruce chuckles. "That's quite the statement. I'll look into setting up a workshop for us. God knows some of them need it."

Clark looks at Bruce, dumbfounded. He had never seen the Caped Crusader laugh so openly while in costume, even with cowl off. He shakes off the surprise, and looks at what Bruce is working on.

"Expense reports?"

"Mhm." Bruce nods. "Some damage occurred to a couple zeta tubes during the Legion of Doom fight. Repairs were pricey, but manageable."

"I didn't know you did the paperwork for that," Clark remarked, brows furrowed slightly.

Bruce smiled slightly. "What, did you assume I had someone manage it for me?"

"Well, I mean. Yeah." Clark scratched his neck, his face heating up slightly. "I mean, you can afford to, plus you always have a lot on your plate."

"It's hard to find people with accounting experience that we can trust with our secrets. I thought we'd be better off if I did them myself."

Clark nods. That makes sense, he thinks. Bruce isn't really a trusting guy.

The duo fall into a comfortable silence, working across from each other, enjoying the company. The next meeting, Clark asks Bruce to stay after again, and they do, enjoying the familiar silence and each other's company. After that, every League meeting also becomes a work session for the two.

[illdowhatiwantthanks]

Alex Cabot x Reader Headcanons

from my own wishful thinking & context clues & absolutely nothing else

Smart as fuck.

Loves brunch. Orders an omelet and a mimosa every time.

Grew up crazy rich. Trust fund baby.

New England law royalty.

Her favorite flowers are mums.

Would roundhouse kick anyone else who tried to hug her, but is super snuggly with you.

Eerily good at reading people.

Legendary speeches and closing arguments.

Would make an excellent politician, but doesn't like the ethically slimy things required.

Sees the good in you when you don't.

Stays up so late on weekends, then sleeps til noon. Even though you have told her time and time again that this is bad sleep hygiene.

Hot when she wears glasses and she knows it.

Chooses your outfits when you go on vacations because she wants the Instagram pics to be perfect.

Leaves you little love letters on sticky notes when she has to leave before you wake up.

Loves to Netflix and chill all weekend. With a big emphasis on the chill. 😉

Very hard to intimidate.

Not great about saving money, but she doesn't really have to be.

Spends an ungodly amount of money on omakase.

Doesn't let many people get close to her, but is very close to those she lets in.

Makes sure you're included in conversations because you can be a little on the shy side.

Ridiculously long nighttime skin care routine.

Has watched every single comedy special on Netflix.

Nearly unstoppable when she turns on the charm.

Makes you get to the airport 2.5 hours early, despite the fact that you both have TSA PreCheck.

A slut for cacio e pepe.

Will choose a hotel based on nothing but how the pictures there would look.

Her suitcase is always too heavy, and she always asks to put stuff in yours.

Has a parfait for lunch every day.

Cafe con leche supremacy stan.

Silk sheets only.

Sweeps you away on far-flung vacations as often as she can.

A gin-and-tonic is her Bad Day at Work drink.

Got in trouble all the time as a kid for playing with her mom's makeup.

Would 100% use her family's private jet if you hadn't convinced her it was socially and environmentally unethical. She hated that you were right.

Mulled wine on Christmas Eve. Always.

Will melt if you give her jewelry. Doesn't even care that she could buy herself better pieces.

Lets you get quirky and colorful with holiday decorations inside, but outside it's classic white lights and wreaths and candles only.

Would never ever admit it but gets pissed when you don't interact with her Instagram posts.

Favorite candy is Skittles, but she feels this undermines her badass bitch persona at work, so she'll only eat them at home.

Secretly likes to wind down with a joint on Friday nights after work.

Reminds you to wear SPF moisturizer. Every. Single. Day.

Holds your hand firmly in crowds so you don't get separated.

Takes so long in the shower in the morning that sometimes you have to get in, wash, and get out all while she's still showering.

Gets a facial and a massage every week like the bougie bitch she is.

Gives absolutely no fucks.

You do not want to be on the receiving end of an Alex glare.

The ultimate hype man. Believes in you so much that you actually believe in yourself.

Never not running late because it takes her so long to get ready. But somehow always gets there on time?

Compliments you incessantly. Like to the point that it flustered you at first.

Has to drink herbal tea instead of coffee after lunch or she'll be up all night.

[canonsinthehead]

Naruto Modern AU/Hollywood pt.2 - Kiri & The All-Star Team

There is a silent hierarchy among all countries and the terrible assumption that bigger countries are better than smaller ones. The large presence and funds of various territories, like the country of fire, wind, earth, and lightning, overwhelms and overshadows small nations, especially in sports where each country dominates certain disciplines.

The land of fire (Konoha): badminton, soccer, gymnastics, and martial arts

The land of lightning (Kumo): Tennis, basketball, and athleticism

The land of earth (Iwa): cross country, marathon, weightlifting, and cycling

But in the last decade, the land of water emerged in the sports scene. It was coming out of years of political conflict that left the country in shambles with record levels of poverty, putting them at the bottom of the economic ladder. Not only was it a smaller nation, but a lot of its endeavors and way of life were unknown to the rest of the world because of the long-lasting reign of violence that controlled the country for decades.

Well, Kiri has been perceived as "these islands far away" with the highest crime rate in the world for the longest but Its newly found peace brought interesting things; industrialization,  a new economy open to the world, the exportation of its products, but specifically the creation of various social classes. This was not the case before, since it was, the government/military vs the rest of the population in poverty.

This modernized economy brought the country a new middle class and other social statuses. It recently started experiencing the concept of celebrities like the rest of the world and most are athletes.

Being surrounded by large bodies of water, any form of water activity has always been intuitive to them. To the point where many accuse them of having a "genetic advantage". Athletes from Kiri/Country of Water can now join world competitions and are killing the game in the water department and making a serious name for their country. They are undefeatable in all forms of swimming kayaking, boat racing, surfing, diving, synchronized/artistic swimming, water polo, etc. Now most of the competitions for these sports are held there.

Kiri is getting recognized overseas for many things, but recently certain people have attained celebrity status for unconventional reasons building a solid international fan base

Mei Terumi, the female president, for her breathtaking beauty

Haku is the new sensation in figure skating. A discipline Kiri started to dominate recently but the young man’s high level of skills made him reach first place in all competitions. His likeability, pure heart, and pretty looks opened many doors for him, he often features in variety shows and commercials. He is also a good friend of the #1 YouTuber/streamer and boxer Naruto Uzumaki and often appears on his channel

Ever since basketball was invented, Kumogakure dominated the sport, but in the past year, the mysterious national basketball team of Kiri has made a name for themselves.

Overnight, a team of 195 cm tall men came out of nowhere and climbed up the world ranking to second place. The team’s name is the Swordsman of the Mist and the current coach is Gengetsu Hozuki It may not seem like it, but many of the members have interesting inheritances and backgrounds.

Kisame Hoshigaki: leader and tallest. Surprisingly decent from a prestigious clan from Kiri. Kisame is an academic genius, who has a diploma in biology from the most prestigious universities in the country of Water but decided to use the basketball scholarship he received instead.

His son Shizuma Hoshigaki is a part-time social media influencer. He is problematic in his own way, but not enough to be canceled yet. Shizuma is not worried because he is a trust fund kid but wishes to outshine his father as a professional swimmer. The jokes write themselves since he barely practices the sport but is among the greatest and fastest the world has to offer (his shark DNA, I guess). He is dating Raiga’s daughter Buntan, and her father is really salty about it

Zabuza Momochi: nobody knows about his background. He is the most muscular. Him and Kisame get the most brand deals and promotions. Zabuza is also one of Haku’s coaches. He took him under his wing under unknown circumstances. He is the first to recognize the boy’s unique talent and aiding him in his journey as an athlete regardless of their differences. Zabuza always had a sweet spot for Haku and considered him like a son. So, he is often absent to prioritize the figure skater’s training.

Kisame knows Zabuza well, they are lifelong friends. The leader lets him get away with missing practices (even if it drives their coach insane). His best friend is a man of a few words, and above all works extremely hard and exercises double their training schedule in his own free time.

Juuzo Biwa: He is the third star player along with Kisame and Zabuza (The Killer Trio). He has no sense of personal space. Ironically, he is the wealthiest because he owns a successful brand of luxury cars coveted by the new high class. He is genuinely funny, and the variety show's favorite.

Raiga: Loudest laugh. Lost a lot of money due to his jewelry addiction. He smokes a pack with the blood of his enemies. The mother of his child is still getting child support payments, and he is bitter, even if they’re legally separated.

Because of His herratic behaviour and anger issues, he is kinda of a self-made outcast. The other members can cooporate as co-workers and teamates but nothing beyond that (Raiga has is own circle of friends). Since Raiga is so unhinged, no matter their coach's efforts, him and Zabuza do not get along.

Hassaku Onomichi: professional dunker. He befriended a lot of Kumo basketball players. He often gets caught up in beefs with anyone.

The popularity of the basketball team has offered them fans all across the world for their incredible talent, pleasant chemistry, unique sense of humor, and good looks to the point where tabloids from Konoha have launched a misinformation campaign to stain their image and effort to defend their basketball teams after getting constantly crushed by those "foreigners".

The last match of the International Basketball League’s series opposing The Swordmen of the Mist from Kiri against The Lightnings from Kumo was the most anticipated and heated match ever organized. Taking place in Konoha, it made record engagement and attendance. For the first time in history, Kumo lost the finale to first timers. The news traveled all across the world and, certified Kiri’s team's celebrity status since they won.

With their success, many shady investors like Gato started to take interest in basketball as a means of proposing Kiri overseas and for other shady dealings. The weight of all those rumors pushed many fans who knew Gato’s involvement in Haku’s career to beg him to change his manager/owner ASAP.

PART 1 next part

[capricorn-0mnikorn]

More of my older writing on Monsters as Disability Metaphors (abridged, emphasis added to portions, to be louder for the people in back)

(Originally posted to LiveJournal/Cross-posted to Dreamwidth on 10 February, 2011)

The word "Monster" comes from the Latin for "omen" or "sign" (the same root as 'demonstrate'), and originally referred to human or animal offspring born with missing or extra limbs. Such births were interpreted by the priests and oracle-readers as a sign that the Gods were angry, and was taken as a warning to prepare for devastating punishments against the whole society.

I was struck, reading that, that it was not, originally, the monster itself (himself, herself, ouself...) that was angry or wished to wreak havoc, as we define the word today, but was simply the unwitting, and unwilling, messenger of the gods' anger. Blaming the monster for the coming wrath is like blaming the stop sign for the car that runs you over.

Human psychology being what it is, however, such transference is predictable. The ostracization of the disabled, the denial of our existence within a society, probably stems from a desire to deflect Divine Wrath:

"What? Who, us? Oh, no... We're not the people who're sinning... no, nope. You warned us, sent us an omen, Jove? You sure? 'Cause no such monster was born around here. You must be looking for that other village, over in the next valley."

*whistle* *eyedart*

That's the reason why I don't trust the medical model, or the medical industry. Doctors started out as priests, using magic and ritual to summon spirits and banish demons of illness. Scientific discoveries have changed the language used to describe phenomena, and have changed the way an illness or difference is analyzed on a physical level. But if you peel back the generational layers from teacher to student, teacher to student, it won't take long before you find the superstitious beliefs that link physical conditions to sin and/or righteousness.

Why else, when Christopher Reeve was recruited to help raise money for Spinal Chord Injury research, would all the attention be focused on "Getting up, out of the chair, and walking" instead of treating the invisible health risks of spinal cord injury that actually shorten lifespans (controlling blood pressure and body temperature, etc.), if not to hide the 'mark' of disability from the society?

Why else would people with visible disabilities be shamed for not seeking cures at the same time that people with invisible disabilities are shamed if they do?

Why else would Medicare (in America) only provide money for assistive technology if you need it to function behind the walls of your own home (and "function" being limited, here, to: eating, pooping, and sleeping), but would deny you the funding if you intend to use it to hold down your job, raise your kids, or volunteer in the community?

Why else would demands for inclusion be treated as if they were deliberately hostile acts?

It's almost as if people still believed that if Jove saw the "monsters" had indeed been born into our village, we wouldn't be able to dodge the floods and fires any longer... So that if a disabled person dares to go out in public, that person must want to invite the lightning bolts, and destroy our society. How dare they?! Why can't they just realize it would be better for everyone if they just stayed home, and focused their attention on being good cripples?

[julieverne]

"I can take her," Maura blurted. Already robbed once of a child she'd wanted to have, she couldn't see another slip through her fingers. Tasha had charmed her from the moment they'd spoken, despite the circumstances. Jane looked at her warily.

"You're single, and the hours you keep - I checked. Neither of us are eligible."

"Angela."

Jane's face grew pensive. She'd forgotten, somehow, that Angela lived with Maura and might be seen as an extra caretaker for Tasha.

"Let me ask for her. Please. She has such a brilliant mind; I cannot let it go to waste."

--

"Beacon Hill, hm? Six bedrooms and a guest house."

"She'd receive a trust fund, of course, once she reached majority." Maura wrung her hands nervously. "And my sister can help out too."

The social worker's eyes didn't even bother to flick to Jane; it was obvious Maura wasn't referring to her.

"And my grounds have a caretaker, who would be available for Tasha in the event I took a night call. She'd never be alone - unless she wanted to be."

The social worker sighed. She'd seen the cop fight for this kid, and her medical examiner friend plead for her too. She wished she could do something.

"I'm afraid I can't let her go to you. If you were married -"

Maura's hand shot out to cover Jane's, clearly to keep her from an outburst of what Jane had seen men do to their wives and children. Jane obviously calmed as soon as Jane touched her.

"We aren't yet," Maura said smoothly. "I mean, we've been seeing each other for years. She'll be staying with me too, once the hospital releases her. She just keeps her old place across town because she doesn't want people to think she's a gold digger." Maura's hand gripped Jane's, and Jane's eyes narrowed, then relaxed.

"I mean, look at her. And look at me. I'm not in her league."

"We're not playing baseball, we're fostering a child." Maura's brow was perplexed.

"I guess we are, babe," Jane said, her voice only a little sarcastic. "Look, tell me what paperwork we have to do - we're not common law, her family is kind of weird. But we'll get it to you by morning if it'll keep Tasha out of the system."

"Kiss her," the social worker told Jane, watching Maura blush.

"It takes all the fun out of it if it's mandatory," Jane grumbled half-heartedly, but she leaned in, the way she had when Hope and Angela had been watching with bated breath, and this time she didn't veer to the side. With the same affection she'd always shown Maura, she kissed her, sweet and gentle. "Now give us the damn kid," Jane demanded, watching as the social worker smirked and handed over some paperwork. Maura looked it over.

"Get your lawyers on it, babe," Jane said, sliding her hand around Maura's waist.

"You need to go back to bed," Maura said, concerned at how much weight Jane was resting on her, how unsteady she was on her feet. Jane complained, but she closed her eyes when Maura tucked her in.

--

Tasha woke to Maura looking out her hospital room window.

"What are you doing here?" she asked shyly, wiping at her face. She liked the other woman; she wasn't as funny or hard as Jane, but she was intelligent and compassionate.

"I should have asked," Maura said anxiously. "There's a way I can take you - you wouldn't be beholden to me, or reliant on me in any way. You would have somewhere to live, and social services would leave you alone. But you would have to live with me."

Maura's face was pale and drawn, like it worried her. Like she was offering too much.

"You don't have to." Tasha didn't want to say she'd wanted Jane to offer, not Maura. She didn't want Maura to feel like she owed Tasha anything.

"You don't have to, but Jane and I already - I mean, she'll be living there too, for the foreseeable."

"Oh." Tasha thought back to Jane talking about Maura, about how Maura had been so solicitous of Jane, always helping her without Jane having to ask or even noticing sometimes, since Maura was so subtle. About how Jane smiled at Maura like the taste of honey had burst over her tongue. "Oh."

"I mean, it's my house. I live there. But you won't see much of me if you don't want to."

"Why wouldn't I want to?"

"Well, you're very independent. And you and Jane get along, and I would just..."

It struck Tasha then that Maura was afraid of being turned down, of being the third wheel in her own relationship if they brought a child into it. Jane had been pregnant; they'd lost their child because of her. And they wanted her to take their child's place, in a way.

"Jane's mother lives with me. Us. She'd love to have another kid around the house. My sister is only a little older than you. You wouldn't have to deal with me."

"But what if I want to?" Tasha asked slowly, realising all that was being offered. "It's your house, isn't it? I had parents, once." Maura nodded, her eyes soft, obviously remembering their phone conversation. Tasha hated it when anyone felt sorry for her, but Maura had been practical on the phone, and it was refreshing to have someone worried that Tasha might not like them, if a little sad. "I had parents. But I never had aunts."

Maura exhaled slowly.

"I could manage that. I'm still getting used to being a big sister. I could never - I don't think I'm the nurturing sort, and Angela will smoother you the second she meets you. But I could fill the role of an aunt for you. You're a responsible, studious young woman, and you have some important exams coming up. I have the resources, but I don't have the time. As long as you understand I'm not trying to replace anyone - on your side or ours - I would very much like it if you stayed with me until either you're no longer legally required to have a guardian or you have another arrangement in place."

It wasn't exactly emotional. It wasn't exactly formal either. But Maura had offered, and she was a doctor and her sister was pre-med, so she would be a fool to turn them down.

She owed them a kid, anyway.

"Yeah. Okay. Just no more anatomically dubious stuffed animals, please."

"Angela won't be happy," Maura said with a wry smile, and Tasha smiled back. "I'm glad."

"Thank you," Tasha whispered. She'd been terrified of a group home, or worse, being fostered by a family for the money or less noble reasons. She felt so vulnerable in that hospital bed, and she relaxed a little, knowing that she still had a future.

Maura didn't try to hug her, but she did rest a hand on her forearm before she left.

--

"Wait, I have to stay in your room?" Jane's eyes were wide and scared.

"It's just for the home visit. I've already put all your things in the other dresser. You can go back to the green room once we've satisfied the social worker. Tasha doesn't know we lied, though, so we might need to figure out if we're going to tell her."

"What about Jack?"

"Oh, he got sick of me waiting around for you to get better. He's back with his ex-wife."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"I'm not. Tasha's future is worth more than his ego."

"You didn't lie. You just told them we weren't married."

"But all this paperwork, the domestic partnership, the taxes - my lawyer thinks you're a bad investment, by the way - all of that is a lie."

Jane studiously avoided Maura's eyes.

"Isn't it?" Maura's voice was small and insecure.

"I told you there's no one else I'd trust with my child. Tasha will be both of ours, and if we need to do all this to make sure she has a stable home for a year or two, I can think of worse things than being in a domestic partnership with you."

"Oh, Jane."

Maura's lips were wobbly, like Jane had said something sweet, but she'd just told the truth about their lies. There were worse things than living with Maura and a kid they were keeping off the streets. Hell, Jane practically lived there anyway. And people already thought they were dating. It wasn't like Jane's reputation would suffer any, being linked to Maura.

"We could tell her, but I don't think she'll notice. She's got a lot of exams coming up, and a bullet wound to recover from. Those hurt a lot, from memory."

The social worker came in, and Jane handed over the paperwork, then took Maura's hand.

"She's all yours, ladies. Your clearance checked out, your finances check out, and your house checks out. Congratulations."

"Thank you," Maura said, but she was looking at Jane with shining eyes as she said it.

--

Angela was thrilled. Maura didn't think Angela had ever met a kid she didn't like. Tasha put up with it with a gruff exterior, the same way Jane did, but she held onto Angela when she caught her in a bear (ursa) hug.

"Angela is across the courtyard, and you're upstairs and to the right. My room - our room -" Maura glanced at Angela, who looked at her expectantly. They'd had to tell her, and she'd been thrilled that they even had a chance to foster Tasha. She hadn't even mentioned that they were legally, for all purposes, common-law married. "- is to the left, at the far end of the house. You're welcome to any food, and you can add groceries to the list. I've put a child lock on the television but that's for Jane's brothers, not for you."

Jane snorted, and Maura rolled her eyes.

"I'd like to know where you are if you go anywhere; I am legally responsible for you. If you just want to sleep here and have nothing to do with me, that's okay."

"Maura," Jane chided her.

"I like you," Tasha blurted out. "I mean, not just because you're helping me out. I like talking to you. You're really smart, and you think I'm smart too. I'm not - like - ugh..."

"You said aunt, right?" Jane asked quietly, and Tasha nodded. "We're not trying to be anyone we're not. We just want you to be safe."

Maura looked at Jane as though she'd said something profound, and Jane smiled wistfully at her. Tasha was sure she'd missed something, but she'd already missed that they were a couple when it was so obvious now, with hindsight.

"I told you I was adopted. I have my own issues with parenthood, so if I'm lacking as a guardian, please let me know. I do work long hours, but Angela has agreed to stay with you in the house if I'm out late."

"I'll be fine. I've had worse."

Maura nodded as though she was unconvinced and Tasha had a sudden rush of anger for whoever had made this frankly lovable woman feel so unloved that she couldn't accept that someone might actually like her.

"We'll let you get settled, then," Maura said. "I'm going back to work tomorrow, but Jane is yet to be cleared. She'll be home for another week. Two, if she knows what's good for her."

"You are," Jane said, scrunching up her face.

"I'm what?"

"Good for me," Jane said, and Maura blushed and Tasha excused herself. She hadn't quite thought about what it meant to have two gay foster mums.

--

"You're hogging the blanket," Maura complained. Jane groaned and rolled herself tighter. "You know, when we get divorced, you signed a pre-nup, and that blanket is mine."

Jane rolled over to face Maura, relinquishing her hold on the blanket.

"Divorced?"

"I mean, once Tasha's aged out of the system. You'll find someone, and I'll..." Maura trailed off, her jaw moving as she wet her lips, unable to finish her sentence.

"I'm not getting any younger. And I could do worse. I got me a real trophy wife."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that's years away, Maura. If we meet someone before then, we'll figure it out. Together. And if we don't, then... I wouldn't have asked Casey. If he'd been here and Tasha had needed two parents to take her in. I didn't want to raise our baby with him. I asked you to help me parent, both times. And maybe that's because I know I can trust you with what's most important to me. And what's most important to me is you. So if you do want a divorce I won't contest it. But even if it's only common-law and just for CPS, I kinda like being married to you."

Maura looked like she was going to cry. Jane unwrapped the blanket from around herself and spread it over both of them.

"I don't have to pretend. Not with you."

"You lost the baby," Maura said finally.

"We lost - I lost our -"

"It's not your fault," Maura told Jane sternly. "I wish you'd waited for backup, but I can't bear to think about Tasha on one of my tables because you couldn't help her."

"I was thinking of it as Casey's. That's why I went in. But when I woke, and I knew... I'd been thinking of it as yours. As ours. And I wanted it then, so fiercely." Jane felt her face, wet with tears, then Maura enveloping her like she'd been waiting for Jane to fall apart all week. She held Jane and rocked her and hushed her and told her it wasn't her fault and that it was okay and that she loved her.

And that only made Jane sob more. She'd put not only her life on the line, but her potential child's as well. All because Maura had found someone, someone who had left her because of Jane. Jane just kept ruining Maura's life and stealing her blankets and making her adopt kids and...

... and Maura was crying too. And that was something Jane loved and hated in equal measures; she loved comforting Maura, but she hated Maura to be upset in any way.

"I'm so selfish," Maura whimpered, her face wet, trying to pull away. Jane held her closer, wiped her face with shaking fingers.

"You've taken in three strays, Maura. That's generous by any standards."

"It was your baby. It was your loss. But I feel it so strongly too."

"That's not selfish. That's empathetic." Jane gave Maura a shaky grin. "We can share the blanket if we sleep a little closer. It's not my fault your bed is enormous."

"I was hoping for an orgy," Maura said, completely deadpan.

"Well, we're one short. You'll have to make do with me." Jane pulled Maura close, adjusting their bodies, her aching bones and organs revelling in the warmth of the other woman.

--

Tasha saw the way they looked at each other when they thought she wasn't looking. She made excuses to dash off to the library, to give them some space, but the sorrow between them remained unbroken. Social services came every few months and seemed assured she'd been fed and bathed (the indignity!), and Cailin was a worthy tutor and Hope hovered in the background, offering suggestions and telling (literal) war stories. All in all, it was a good life, much better than the one she'd been living, always hiding, always scared and hungry, never quite clean.

Jane and her brothers were watching a game with Angela, and Maura joined Tasha in the kitchen.

"You don't mind, do you? They come over and ignore you."

"Everyone has their own hyperfixation. It's nice to see them get along." They watched Frankie and Tommy slap at each other. "For them, anyway." Maura looked at Tasha and smiled like she liked what she saw. "I'm glad you get along with Cailin and Hope. Constance is looking forward to taking you to France after you graduate, but I have to be honest. I'm going to miss you."

"It's only for a few weeks. And you have Jane."

There it was again, that look on Maura's face, like she was a kid outside a candy store. She was looking at Jane, who felt her gaze and turned to smile equally wistfully at Maura.

"I'm still going to miss you. I thought I was offering because you and Jane had a connection, because I'd been adopted and I couldn't let you go into the system. But the truth is I like you. I never thought I'd have children, but I'm so honoured that you let me have you, for however little time you needed me."

Maura had been more high strung than Jane. She liked things neat and clean, but so did Tasha. Jane and Cailin were the fun aunts, and Angela was a great grandma. Frankie and Tommy were a lot of fun.

But Maura had known when to step in and when to back away. She never took up too much space, never asked for too much, never took too much. And she gave and gave and gave, but never in a way that made Tasha feel indebted, even though she knew how much she must be costing them.

"That's too bad, because it turns out I kind of love you," Tasha mumbled quickly, trying not to be heard. She stepped forward, and Maura's arms opened for her, wrapped around her, keeping her safe. Maura pressed a kiss against her hair.

"I love you too," Maura whispered, her heartbeat high and flighty. Tasha had never even heard her say it to Jane. "And you are always welcome here."

And Tasha believed her, because Maura didn't lie.

--

"It's weird having the place to ourselves, isn't it?" Jane asked, putting the dishes away. "Feels kinda empty."

"I froze some eggs," Maura said suggestively, and Jane dropped an entire handful of knives.

"I just meant I miss Tasha. Jeeeez."

"Well, she'll be of age when she comes back from South America with Arthur. Then she's off to Indonesia with Hope for a MEND clinic, then she's off to Harvard. She might not want to live with us, once she's not obliged to legally."

"And then we wouldn't have any reason to live together either," Jane said, wiping down the counter.

"You can get your divorce, Jane. I know I'm not easy to live with, but it was worth it to make sure Tasha was safe. Thank you."

"You're not a burden - you're not something I just put up with for her sake. You know that, right?"

Maura shrugged and Jane put the knives she'd picked up back in the dishwasher for another cycle. They'd kissed that once, for the social worker. They slept together, lived together, worked together. They raised a kid together.

"I think Tasha turned out okay, so if you want to try again, you've got those eggs. And you've got me, if you want someone to raise them with."

"I love you, Jane, but I need someone who loves me."

"I do," Jane said seriously. She closed the distance between them easily, pushing Maura back against the counter. "I always have. Why do you think I moved in? Why do you think I common-law married you? Do you still doubt me, after all this time?"

"You never said - you never told me."

"I had to tell me first. And really listen, not just deny or try to tell myself that this is how women feel about their friends. You know what I mean, don't you?"

"I don't," Maura said, nearly crying. Jane leaned down a little and kissed her. Maura froze and Jane pulled away, scared she'd ruined everything.

"I love you the way a woman in a common-law marriage loves the other woman in her common-law marriage. The way a woman loves a woman. The way a woman feels about her wife. I didn't ask you the first time, it just kind of happened. But if you did want to marry me, not just common law marry me, I'd really like you to. I'd like to do it properly."

"Oh."

"Um. Sorry."

"Okay."

"Okay what?"

"Yeah. Yes. I'll marry you. We already live together. We're already married."

"It's convenient, huh?"

"It's convenient because... Jane. God. All this time we've been sleeping in the same bed and..."

"Do you want to go christen it?" Jane said, her mouth suddenly dry. Maura nodded emphatically.

"But it's too far away, so let's christen the couch instead."

--

The social worker smiled as Maura handed over the last of the paperwork.

"I'm glad you got to adopt her formally as an adult. It's not often I see one of these fake marriages work out in favour of the kid, but she's absolutely thriving. Harvard!"

"Wait, fake marriage?"

"Oh, you two were so full of shit. But she needed someone to take a chance on her, and if you two were game I wasn't going to bust you."

"But we're... we're married. Proper married."

The social worker gave them both a big wink, then looked down at Jane's swelling belly. "Congratulations," she said. "I know you're going to be great parents."

And then she was gone, leaving a bemused Jane and Maura in her wake.

[gx-gameon]

Does Jaden ever feel guilty about Yugi 'giving up' his early adult years for him? I can picture Jaden in high school now finally realizing just how young Yugi was when he adopted him and maybe hearing a comment from the other students (not about him specifically maybe just some high school drama) that being a teenage parent is like throwing your life away.

Like he knows his Dad loves him and doesn't regret but he can't help but let his mind wonder to what Yugi's life could have been like with out him.

Oh yes.

Obviously he doesn’t get it when he’s small but when he goes away to school he starts to understand.

He can hear people talking about teen parents and the ‘waste of potential.’ He can hear his friends talking about their much older parents ‘who established themselves in their careers before having kids.’

His parents/family is young. Closer to older siblings than adult family members. But they did a great job being his dad/Oto-san/Uncles/Aunts. They went above and beyond for him. But they also sacrificed a lot.

He’s always seen the rumors in the media or at school. ‘Yugi Muto secret teen dad?” “Yugi Muto hides child for four years!” “Is Seto Kaiba ready for a family?” “Can the CEO have it all?” He grew up with the gossip rags and the social media speculation. His family shielded him when they could but they couldn’t always do that.

He’s know for a while that their family ain’t normal but it isn’t until Duel Academy that he starts to get over whelmed by guilt.

His friends are hanging out and some one brings up Yugi and his early career. And someone makes the comment that “Man I wish I could have seen where Yugi could have done if he wasn’t held back by his kid.” Yugi Muto is still the king of games and undefeated. But he doesn’t go to every tournament. (Jaden knows this is impart to work schedual and the fact that his Dad and Soto-San don’t trust all everyone who runs the tournaments. Zigfried for one. But people commonly blame the kings absences on his son. It’s rarely Jaden’s fault but the public opinion was already set against him.) Jaden can’t even defend himself without giving away his identity so he has to sit there and listen to his friends debate whether or not his adoption ruined his Dad’s life.

It happens several times.

People will even bring Seto into it. A delay happens of something gets put back. ‘I bet his son got in the way again.’ A different Deul Academy gets more funding or a unique opportunity. ‘He’s showing favoritism cause his kid goes there.’

But the guilt really doesn’t hit until Jaden is 18. He’s saved the world a dozen times (just like his Dad) but unlike his dad he’s traveling the world and finding himself. He has so much freedom and family supports him so much. But he’s also the same age Yugi was when he adopted him.

And he has to wonder. How much of the world did his dad get to experience before taking Jaden in? How much freedom did his Dad give up to give him stability? Jaden feels awful, he stole his Dad’s youth. He stole the whole DM cast 20s instead of being young and finding themselves and parting they were taking care of him.

And it kills him. He’s not worth it. He ruined their lives

Note the DM cast does not think this at all.

Jaden has been a blessing to them all. They all adore him and think he’s one of the greatest things that ever happened to them.

He brought Atem back (accidentally)

He reunited the friend group. They were all starting to drift towards their careers but Yugi needed help with Jaden gave them a concrete reason to still all hang out.

Friend group drift after high school. Unless they put in the effort to stay together. The DM cast loved each other and would always be close. But Jaden was a reason to get together regularly.

(Jaden’s first Christmas. Jaden’s birthday. They wanted to give him the best childhood and that meant being around when they could and calling when they couldn’t. Téa might have been in America and Mai might have been traveling but they are still Auntie Téa and Auntie Mai because they are there for Jaden.

Yes it was hard work. And they couldn’t do things normal people in their 20s can. But they also gained a lot with Jaden. If they wanted to do a friend trip Gramps could watch Jaden so they could be young and crazy or they took the kid and had a blast introducing Jaden to different things and experiences.

They all love this kid. He was worth it to them.

Jaden’s just is a real dark place already and being hit with the guilt of ‘forcing’ his family to give up their youths is hitting him at an awful time. Couple with the trauma from the dark world and wooooo.

Someone needs to sit the kid down and remind him how much they love him.

[thedrowsydoormouse]

Ok I don't know if I'm sleep deprived or if this actually makes sense but bear with me because I think I've figured out the backstory for Finetime! Spoilers for Dot and Bubble below the cut.

Ok so what do we KNOW about Finetime?

It's on a different planet than the Home World

It is literally in a bubble that is cut off from the outside world

Everyone there is between the ages of 17-27

It's filled with all the rich (racist) kids who could afford to go there

They "work" for two hours each day

The weather is controlled by a satelite

The home world was also overrun by the slugs

So what can we hypothesize from that information? (Side note, anything you are about to read that is racist, classist, or both are not my actual words but what I would assume someone from that society would think or say. I do not hold those beliefs and I do not wish to associate with anyone who does.)

The grown ups back on the Home World (an already racist, classist society) had already started to drive their Dots insane and they knew their days were numbered. So they gathered up a bunch of their "least valuable" (to them) citizens to Boldy Go and find a new planet that won't immediately kill them and build a new settlement, not really caring how many of them make it back, if any, because again, racist and classist.

While the new settlement is being discovered and built, the people back on the Home World got to work planning. They knew there would only be so many spots available in the new community (think like lifeboats on the Titanic) so the easiest way they could think to secure those spots is to have people pay for them and they needed to make sure every person going could fend for themself (more or less) and was within reproductive age, thus the 17-27 year age limit. But that creates a problem. If your entire population is made up of a bunch of rich 20 somethings who have no marketable skills, how will society continue to function? So they automate everything with computer programs and AI to handle the nitty gritty and the 2 hours of "work" are basically games that keep the AI running smoothly. Then construction of Finetime is complete, the "undesirables" leave the bubble and move out into the jungle (I'm assuming. We never really find out what happened to the people who built everything because the only person we meet who would know is Ricky and well ...........), the bubble is sterilized because poor people cooties, and the stage is set for our "adventure".

So off they go, a rocket full of Rich White kids who, if they were told they were going to be the last of their kind, they either weren't paying attention or didn't care. They assume it's going to be a long holiday and once they turn 27 they'll all head back to the Home World and back to Mummy and Daddy. So they continue on, business as usual. They play their little games for two hours every day to maintain the status quo then spend the rest of their time living like rich kids on vacation. All the while their Dots are plotting to wipe out all of them the same way they started (and eventually finished) back on the Home World because nothing has fundamentally changed. The problem is the computers that run everything need above a certain population to continue functioning normally, so the first few slug victims (#allhailthegloriousslugs) didn't really make that much of a difference. But as more and more of them get eaten, the computers start to struggle to keep up and things start to go a bit haywire, like the weather satellites having issues (I know that was a real world issue and not meant to be part of the plot but it works so well in my backstory theory that I'm going with it).

TLDR: a bunch of rich, racist assholes did what rich, racist assholes do and basically destroyed their planet, used a bunch of working class people and people of color to find and build a new society on a new planet, sent their obnoxious, self absorbed trust fund babies to go live in that society, and the the completely expected thing happens when the problems continue in the new community because nothing about the society itself fundamentally changed. Any of the people who managed to escape Finetime who also manage to not drown when the boat their on inevitably runs aground (because they can't even walk without arrows, no way in hell they'll know how to drive a boat) are either going to starve to death or have to contend with countless wild animals and potentially even the people who built the bubble city in the first place. Not a single person on that boat will live longer than a week.

[s4bbatical]

YOUR GIRL | Part 4. Patrick Zweig x Female!Reader

Pairing: Patrick Zweig x female!reader, Tashi Duncan x female!reader (platonic)

Summary: After your parents announce their divorce, you're sent to New York to pursue your passion for the arts at NYU. Your cousin, the infamous tennis player Tashi Duncan, introduces you to her insufferable colleagues at a house party in the upper east side. Already a sore thumb from rural Canada, Patrick can't help but find interest in an untouched territory.

Word Count: 5,5k

Warnings: Foul language, mention of cannabis.

MINORS DNI

Notes: The timeline is inaccurate in comparison to the film, this is an AU. All characters introduced are barely in their early 20s, unless stated otherwise. No use of y/n.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

CHAPTER FOUR: “Sutphin Boulevard”

"Believer - monologue exemplifies a lust. It's so true."

You didn't really like November.

The month between Halloween and Christmas was as useless as a trust fund kid hosting a charity event, which you did in fact have to attend with Tashi right after your exam week. Thankfully, you were not obligated to be present on campus besides exams and classes, giving you the excuse to not face your problems anywhere. You knew running away from it wouldn't last forever. However, it was the only thing you could do for now.

The first two weeks of November, Tashi and Chloe take turns spending time with you, making sure you weren't alone with your thoughts for too long. You tried to focus on your studies, excelling in them due to the lack of outside obstacles. You no longer wanted to attend gatherings as it was another way to run into him, only leaving your house if it was necessary.

Tashi had told your grandmother about the reason why you had taken the life of a hermit, so she gave you a position at her flower shop, thinking it would be nice to distract yourself from the noise.

All you could do was think about it, really. What you would do if he apologized, what would he say, and what would you say if he really wanted you. Or wanted nothing to do with you. You couldn't help it. You even made a pro and cons list on your phone when you were on the subway earlier that day, swearing to yourself as you thought you saw him sitting in the next cart over. It was not him. You weren't even in his neighborhood, for god's sake. It was you who had chose to cut contact with him, and you knew it was up to you if you wished to reconcile.

You stood behind the counter at work, busying yourself with bouquet assembly as Chloe wandered around the shop aimlessly.

"How many orders can you possibly get in one day?" Your best friend says, grabbing a lily and sniffing it before putting it back in it's place.

"The people are very grateful for Thanksgiving, you know." You say, tying up your 10th order of the afternoon. "If you're bored then you can help me out." You suggest to Chloe, who pretends to think in deep thought for a moment.

"I'm okay, thanks though." She smiles, taking bite of her shawarma wrap that she bought across the street. She had gotten you one as well, which you already devoured about an hour ago. "So," She starts speaking, swallowing her food. "You feel like coming out of hiding for the Manhattan holiday market? We could go skating, too. Tis the season!" She says in a sing-song voice, shimmying her shoulders.

You laugh, starting another order. "Yeah, sure. I used to be a figure skater when I was younger, actually." You admit, putting away the last order of the day.

"Seriously? How am I hearing about this now?" Chloe asks, taking another bite of her wrap.

You shrug. "I haven't done it since I graduated high school. My parents..." You trail off, recalling the pain and anger of the divorce. It tore your house apart. "They didn't wanna pay for it anymore." You simply say, smiling slightly.

Chloe nods, finishing her last bite. "Well then it's settled. When's your shift over?" She asks.

"Well... technically I'm done the orders for today, but I have to stay around for another two hours." You say, glancing at the time on your phone.

"That's fine. I'll just do my homework here then." She says, grinning. "That okay?"

"Course, Chloe. You know I appreciate your company, I love ya." You say, deciding to pull out your new read from your bag.

"Awe, I love you too." She giggles. She takes a moment before speaking again. "Have you.. heard from him at all?" She asks timidly.

You frown slightly, your heart dropping. "No. Why?"

"Oh, okay." Chloe says, fiddling with her hands. "He asked me about you the other day." She looks up at you. "He's really sorry about what happened, you know."

"Good, he better be." You say curtly, tucking your hair behind your ear.

"I think you should talk to him." Chloe says abruptly. "I-I know you don't want to see him and you know I don't like the guy." She laughs before continuing. "But he looked devastated dude. Like, really upset that I wouldn't tell him anything about you." She says, pursing her lips with a sympathetic look. She stares at you, but you say nothing. "Just think about it, okay? It might be nice for you guys to resolve things. I know you're not happy about it either." She says.

"Yeah, I will." You say flatly, trying to focus on your novel. "I have more important things to do than think about that."

"Sorry but, were you there when you literally complained about it for half an hour over margaritas for movie night two days ago?" She recalls, raising a brow.

You shift your body from one foot to the other. "I was drunk, everyone complains about stupid shit when they're drunk." You argue, trying to read your book.

Chloe scoffs. "You're really stubborn, you know that?" She says, closing your book.

"Hey I was reading that!" You say, glaring at her.

"You can't keep avoiding him forever." Chloe says sternly. She sighs when she sees you frown. "I'm sorry, I just care about you a lot dude. I don't want you to keep feeling this way. You care about him, and he cares about you too. I can tell." She says softly, crossing her arms.

You hold your face in your hands, groaning like an overstimulated child. "If it'll make you happy," You throw your arms out in defeat. "I'll talk to him! Fine!" You exclaim.

"Thank you! Finally!" Chloe exasperates, mirroring your actions. "Jesus, Tashi owes me twenty dollars." She breathes out.

You gasp. "You guys betted on me?!"

Chloe stammers. "I-I uh, nooo..." You squint your eyes at her. "...Yes?" She squeaks. "Please don't be mad! We both wanted this to be over with!" She explains, holding your arms. "It's out of love."

A customer then walks in, causing the both of you to go quiet.

"We'll talk about this later." You mutter. "Hello! Welcome!" You greet the customer warmly. "Can I interest you in our Thanksgiving arrangements?"

-

"Do you think I should get this ornament for her? She likes cats." Chloe asks, holding up a felt ornament that resembled an orange tabby cat.

"You've literally been on one date." You point out.

"And? Have you ever heard of lesbianism?" Chloe retorts, putting the decoration back down.

"I thought you were all for breaking stereotypes, not becoming the definitive version of one." You jest, looking around.

Before hitting the rink, you and Chloe decided to see the Christmas market in downtown Manhattan. The various different stalls of gifts and treats galore were very alluring, but god was it expensive. You had decided to buy a hot coco the size of your hand made from pure chocolate, and that alone was creating a dent in your wallet.

"God Christ everything is so expensive." You say, although you knew your statement didn't make any difference. Most of the vendors were trying to make an income, it wasn't their fault. Well, for the most part at least.

"That's what makes it a New York Christmas, baby." Chloe states, doing some weird shake with her hands that resembled jazz hands.

"The closest thing we had to this back at home was my next door neighbor selling mulled wine for ten dollars." You explain flatly. "Capitalism is a beautiful thing." You hum, already finishing your hot chocolate. "I already finished my three ounce drink, what a pity." You say sarcastically, discarding it in a nearby bin.

"Let's just go skating then. I'm kind of over this too." Chloe says, rubbing her hands together. "Fuck my hands are cold." She complains, breathing on them heavy to warm them up.

"Didn't I remind you to pack gloves like four times this morning?" You recount, pulling out a spare pair from your messenger bag. "Take these."

"How would I survive with you?" Chloe says, kissing your cheek gingerly.

You grimace, wiping your cheek. "I'm surprised you haven't died yet, to be honest." You joke, the both of you laughing.

-

The two of you make it to the Wollman rink in Central Park, and to no surprise, had to buy admission.

"I can't believe it costed ten dollars to skate for an hour." You complain, tying up your rental skates.

Chloe doesn't respond right away, distracted by texting someone on her phone. You clear your throat.

"Huh?" She says looking up from her phone and putting it away in her pocket. "What were you saying?"

"Nevermind man." You say, dismissing your statement.

The two of you climb onto the ice, only taking a few strides before your skills came back to you. You held back a laugh as Chloe's legs wobbled, unable to let go of the railing.

"Chloe, it's not that hard I promise. Just push yourself forward." You say, reaching out to her. "You can hold onto me if you want!"

"Fuck no, I'm chill." She states firmly, putting a hand up. "Just give me some time to warm up. Go do some laps or something." She reassures, gesturing for you to go ahead.

"Alright then." You shrug, turning away. You glide gracefully across the ice, feeling the spirit of the holidays warm you up as Last Christmas By Wham! plays over the speakers. You're doing forward and backward spins, overjoyed by the reconnection of your old passion. You're grinning madly as you smoothly skate between people, nearby children very entertained by your moves.

You try to find Chloe, who seems to have disappeared. Confused, you slow down your pace, yet keep gliding in circles. You turn and face one of the entrances to the ice, seeing the last person you'd ever expect to.

Patrick is standing there, watching you from the edge of the rink.

You forget how to stop yourself, causing the loss of balance. Before you realize what's happening, you've landed on your back. You groan loudly as the ice makes contact with your body, knowing you were going to feel it tomorrow. "Shit." You whisper, wincing as you sit up and hold your head. That's what you get for being too cocky with your strides.

You hear the scuffling of shoes beside you, looking up to make eye contact with Patrick.

He looks at you with concern, a sheepish smile on his face. "If I was supposed to catch you, I did not get the memo." He jokes, offering a hand.

You glare at him, getting up by yourself and ignoring his offer to help. "Why are you here?" You ask passive aggressively, skating past him to step off the ice.

"To talk to you!" He exclaims, trying to keep pace with you. He nearly slips at least three times before stepping off the rink.

You're flustered, and very annoyed with his presence. "Well, you've spoken! You may leave now." You say bitterly, walking over to the worker in charge of shoe rentals in order to get your boots back.

"No, don't do this right now." Patrick pleas. He awkwardly waits for you as you ignore him, retrieving your shoes then sitting down on a bench to change out your skates. "Chloe said you wanted to talk, so I came here." He admits, crouching in front of you to meet your eyes. He places a hand on your knee.

You glare at him. "Chloe told you to come here? No wonder she was on her phone so much." You mutter, taking off your skates and also knocking off his touch from your knee.

"Can we please go somewhere else and talk?" He asks, nearly begging you on his knees. You continue to pretend you don't hear him, putting on your shoes then getting up to hand over your skates to the worker, thanking him.

"You can't ignore me forever." Patrick exasperates, getting up and following you as you start walking away from the rink.

"Where's Chloe?" You ask yourself, looking around for your friend.

"She's with Art," Patrick explains. You finally look at him, confused. "He came with me." He says.

You roll your eyes, readjusting your scarf as the two of you continue to walk through the park. You finally decide to sit down on a nearby bench, allowing space for Patrick to sit beside you. You didn't feel like walking away from him anymore.

He does so hesitantly, looking at you from the corner of his eye. "We've both been avoiding each other," He says calmly, sighing. "I don't understand why."

You stay quiet, looking forward.

"Are you choosing to become a mute right now?" He asks, still no response from you. "Fine, alright then." He says, leaning back against the bench. "I've missed this, you know. Your stubbornness." He says, now looking right at you, the side of your face at least. "And you." He adds quietly.

You then finally look at him, your heart skipping a beat as the two of you make eye contact. "Anything else?" You say flatly, as if it was obvious that he would miss someone as great as you.

Patrick scoffs, laughing as well. "Nope, that's it." He jokes, sitting up straight. "I um, I wanted to apologize." His tone switches, sounding very sincere. "What happened last month was very out of line, and I shouldn't have done what I did. I guess I didn't like the fact that your attention wasn't on me for some selfish reason, but that doesn't mean I should've kissed you." He admits, sighing. "That was very uncool, and I shouldn't have led you on like that." He finishes.

You look down at the ground for a moment, taking in his words. You wanted to tell him that you wish he'd kiss you like he meant it, not that he was being selfish and thinking with his groin. You knew what was best, and feeling a little hesitant about accepting his apology.

"Can you please say something?" He says quietly, frowning at you slightly.

You look back up at him. "I'm not sure what you want me to say." You mumble, tucking a loose piece of hair behind your ear. "I have been thinking this over a lot, you know." You look up at him. "I'm also sorry for how I reacted. You didn't deserve for me to just cut you off without explanation." You reason.

Patrick smiles weakly at you. "Don't apologize please. I deserved that. Made me more insightful if anything." He tries to joke, shrugging his shoulders.

"Yeah, you needed that more than most." You joke, nudging Patrick. He chuckles slightly. "I forgive you." You finally say, smiling at him. "I-"

"But-" He starts to say.

"Sorry, go ahead." You say.

"No, you first." He insists.

You nod, taking a moment. You're grateful for his apology, that is evident. However, you have to make a decision for the better. You're not just looking to fill the void of what you thought could've been, but rather to move forward in a healthy way. If he didn't feel the same, it wasn't worth confessing to anything.

"I want us to be friends, Patrick." You say adamantly, looking at Patrick for a response. You watch as his face falters, quickly covering it up with a meek smile.

"I think that's a good idea, yeah." He says, although not sounding very confident in his own words.

You search in his face whether or not he was lying. You couldn't read him, you were never good at it. "You don't sound so sure of yourself." You say, laughing awkwardly.

Patrick shakes his head, smiling even more. "Sorry, I am. I want us to be friends." He says affirmatively, although he wasn't sure if he was just saying out loud to convince himself.

"Good." You smile. "I missed you too, dumbass." You say, raising your hand for a high five.

Patrick stares at you for a moment, laughing before smacking your hand with his own. "You're so fucking weird."

You gasp. "What? I'm not a big hugger." You say in defense.

"That's fine." Patrick says, sticking his hands in his pockets and leaning back. "I didn't wanna hug you anyways." He shrugs.

You eye him closely for a few moments before going in, hugging him from the side hastily. His eyes widen, letting your warmth fill him up before he slowly hugs you back. He wouldn't say it out loud, but he really liked the sensation of getting a hug from you, even if it was against your own wishes.

-

A few days later, Patrick is spending the night at your place. You had both met up to do homework together earlier that day, you suggesting if he wanted to come over to watch some comedy movies together.

"How is a sheet of moist supposed to make my skin look better? I feel like a snail has ran across it." Patrick asks monotonously, trying not to move his face so much.

You both were wearing sheet masks that resemble cartoonish animals, managing to convince him to do some self care together to rewind on a Sunday evening.

"Wait, don't move." You pull your phone out and take a photo of him.

He simply stares up at you from the desk chair.

"Oh Jesus." You say, laughing manically as you look back at the photo. Your facemask starts coming off, deciding to discard it entirely.

"What? Do I not look beautiful like you promised?" Patrick asks, feigning being upset. He also takes off his mask, throwing it away.

"You look just fine, now hold on."You exit your room and grab a face towel from the bathroom, dabbing the excess moisturizer before returning to your room and handing it over to him. "I also have a gua sha I'm gonna use on your face, is that okay?" You ask.

He furrows his brows at you, dabbing his own face now. "A what now?" He says, utterly confused by the item he's never heard of before.

You retrieve your gua sha from your desk drawer. "It's to de-puff your face and make sure you have good circulation. I'll be gentle, I promise." You say in a taunting manner, grabbing ahold of his chin to tilt his face up towards you.

He stares at you as you glide the rose quartz stone across his face slowly, focusing on his bone structure. "It feels cold." He whispers, staring into your eyes a little too intensely.

"It's supposed to feel good, Patrick." You tell him.

"It does." He simply says, keeping eye contact with you. The both of you stare at each other for a moment as your movements cease.

You clear your throat, walking away to sit at your vanity and use the gua sha on yourself. "This is what a lot of women do every day, you know." you say matter-of-factly.

"Why? It makes no sense. These extra serums and shit, it's like witchcraft or something." He mumbles, his face flushed red. You assume you may have put too much pressure on his skin, not that he was flustered in any way. No, surely not. "All women are beautiful." He states, moving over to your bed.

"I know you think that, most of them can't escape your wrath." You say smugly, putting away your skincare.

"What? You jealous or something?" He says playfully, laying on his side with his arm holding up his head. "You had your chance."

"Oh how will I ever live?" You sigh dramatically. "Oh right, peacefully." You remark, getting up to join him on your bed.

Patrick sticks his tongue out at you in response.

"Very mature, Zweig." You say, leaning against the headboard as you grab the remote and turn on a streaming service.

"Have you seen the new Thor movie yet?" He asks, sitting up to lean his back against the wall.

"Nope, why you ask?" You say, putting on Glee.

He groans. "Glee? Seriously? You're just like my sister."

"It's fun! just watch a few episodes with me."

"I have no options, I know." He says in defeat. "But I was wondering if you wanted to see Thor on Friday." He asks.

You almost say yes, but realize very quickly that you were unavailable, because of a date. "I can't, sorry. I'm actually already going to the movies with someone else." You say, shrugging as you focus on the television.

The day after you and Patrick reconciled, a very attractive man you recognized from campus came into your work. He hung around for an hour, simply conversating with you before asking you out on a date later on in the week. His name was Seth.

"And who's more important than me?" He says, pointing to himself.

"If you must know, I have a date." You state, grabbing your diet coke off the coaster and taking a sip.

Patrick smirks, eyeing you closely. "Ooh, a date. With who?"

"Does it matter?" You quip. "It's just some guy."

"It can't be just some guy if you, the pickiest person of all time, said yes to him." Patrick states, poking your leg. "Just tell me! Maybe I know the guy."

You purse your lips before deciding to tell him. "His name is Aaron, he studies Art History at school."

"Hmm, doesn't ring a bell. Sounds like a total fucking nerd if you ask me." He mumbles, turning his head to face the television.

"Well good thing I didn't, Patrick." You say in annoyance.

"Why are you always so defensive? I'm just asking you a question." He whines, tilting his head back.

Sorry, I just didn't think you'd care so much." You say, repositioning yourself.

"I'm your friend, I think it's fair give a shit about you sometimes." He argues. "Especially if you're dating randos."

"He's not a rando, I met him at work. Not on the internet mom." You say sarcastically, causing Patrick to laugh in response.

"Still, he could be a weirdo and you just don't know it yet." He tries to explain, speaking mainly with his hands. "He could lead you to a vacant parking lot at midnight then kill you, or other evil things." He says.

"You're starting to sound like those podcasts you've been listening to. Fucking relax." You say firmly. "Nothing is gonna happen. He's taking me to see Gravity at the movies and that is all. Dinner too, I think. I don't know where because he's surprising me." You simply state.

"Gravity? I thought you had a fear of space." Patrick says quizzically, furrowing his brows.

"Well I tried suggesting that remake of Carrie, but he hates horror movies." You admit.

"But you love horror movies?" Patrick says rhetorically, scoffing. "He already sounds like a horrible match, maybe I'm just crazy though." He says, putting his hands up before clasping them together in his lap.

"If I didn't know you already, I'd say you're jealous." You mutter.

Patrick reaches over you, taking the remote and pausing the television. "I'm not." He says firmly. "I just don't want you to waste your time on someone not worthwhile and you're ignoring the fact."

"You're not gonna let this go, are you?" You snap, laughing out of annoyance. "It's just a fucking date, it's not like I'm gonna marry the guy. Christ Patrick." You exclaim, standing up from your bed.

Patrick sighs. "I know, I know." He says. "Calm down, you're taking my word too seriously!" He argues, staying on your bed.

"Just drop it, okay? I don't wanna talk about it anymore. Clearly it's a sensitive topic for some reason."

"It's not! God, no it's not." Patrick tries to reason. "I'm sorry, it's not that serious. I just care about you."

You glare at him, crossing your arms. "You mean it?"

"I mean it." He heavily accentuates. "I hope it goes well, for your sake." He says.

"Yeah, me too." You say, although now unsure of yourself. "Me too." You whisper to yourself.

-

It's Friday, November 29th. The cusp of the true holiday season, and the end of a drought for your romantic conquests.

The date was going great, incredible even. The two of you got along swell, and any worries you had about him has dissipated as the night went on. You and Aaron just had some Italian dinner at a restaurant a block away, and had just set foot into the movie theatre. It was small, but had its unique charm that has stood against time.

"You excited for the movie? It has great reviews so far." He grins, hand in hand with you.

"I'm not great with space stuff to be honest, but I'm stoked nonetheless." You admit, smiling shyly.

"Really?" Aaron's eyes widen. "You should've told me, we don't have to see it..." He says, halting the two of you in front of the snack counter.

"No, it's fine. It's not a bother." You say, smiling.

The two of you are now in the screening room, waiting patiently as advertisements cross over the screen. Aaron is already eating his popcorn, and you're scrolling aimlessly on your phone. You see a new Instagram post from Patrick, recognizing the photo had been taken by you.

pat_zweig 【┘】 4 hr

❤︎‬ 213 likes, 9 comments

pat_zweig: naughty or nice?

You laugh quietly to yourself, leaving a comment on his post.

loverg1rl: you're getting coal in your stocking. photo creds btw? hello

You put away your phone, turning it off as the movie begins. You can't help but redirect your thoughts over to Patrick, wondering if he was enjoying his evening. Maybe you'd be watching Thor: The Dark World with him, and enjoying it a lot more than the motion sickness you're about to endure due to the outer space set up.

You start thinking about how this date would go if it was with Patrick instead, finding yourself slowly imagining him instead of Aaron. You knew it was bad, horrible even. You couldn't help yourself, he's left such an impact on you since you moved to the big apple.

Patrick Zweig was something you could not have, no matter how much you wish you could. It was pointless, everything would end in flames if you tried. Why not? You'd ask yourself, but why? You also say.

You look over at Aaron, smiling when he makes eye contact with you. Without thinking, you lean in and kiss him. He kisses you back, and it feels wonderful. This is how it's supposed to be; no pain, just pleasure. You ignore the feeling that you're forcing yourself, you just aren't used to Aaron yet.

You'll learn to like someone else, even if they're not who you really want.

The movie ends. You find yourself outside with Aaron, the cold air engulfing the two of you.

"That was insane, maybe of my favorite movie of the year." Aaron says, smiling wildly.

"It was good, yeah." You say casually, checking your phone. Patrick texted you, his name saved as the one he put in your phone as.

Patrick the Almighty: how's the date? i'm at art's. chloe's here, we're watching glee. thinking of you

You smile fondly at your screen.

"How are you getting home tonight?" Aaron asks, taking your attention away from your phone.

"Oh, my cousin is picking me up." You say, putting your phone in your pocket.

"I see, the tennis star right?" He says, referring to your conversation from dinner.

"Yes, the tennis star." You laugh. "I'm sleeping over at her house, so." You add.

"That's very cute, I haven't had a sleepover with my cousins since I was a kid." Aaron says, looking off to the side for a moment before returning his gaze to you. "I can wait with you, if that's okay." He suggests.

"Sure, I'd like that a lot actually." You say, grinning madly.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" Aaron asks, pulling out a pack of what you presumed to be cigarettes.

"Go ahead, I smoke too." You say.

"Weed?" He asks, almost giddy to hear you say it.

"Oh, no... cigarettes." You say sheepishly.

"Oh!" He says, raising his brows. "These are joints, sorry." He says, referring to the pack in his hands. He takes one and sticks it in his mouth. "Is that alright still?"

"Yeah, course. I've had it a few times before, back in Canada." You say, zipping up your jacket as the cold breeze creeps under your blouse.

He nods, lighting up the joint. "Did you... Want some?" He asks, inhaling then exhaling the joint.

You stand in silence for a moment, debating. "Yeah, sure."

He hands the joint over, allowing you to take hold of it.

You bring it to your mouth and inhale, holding it like a cigarette. You exhale, coughing a few times but holding your composure. "Fuck. That shit bites." You wince, taking another hit before handing it back to him.

Aaron laughs, taking the joint back gingerly. A vehicle pulls up beside the two of you, Tashi revealed in the driver's seat as the window rolls down.

"Gotta go." You say, tilting your head towards the car. "I'll see you, yeah?" You grin, giving Aaron a wink as you open the passenger seat.

"Yeah, see you." He says, inhaling his joint and giving you a small wave before you close the door.

"Well well well," Tashi grins, driving away. "He's fucking hot." She says, tapping on the wheel in sync with the music.

"Oh, I know." You say, the joint taking over your senses. "I smoked weed with him." You say abruptly, giggling profusely.

"Are you high?" Tashi asks, gasping as a smirk grows on her face.

"Mmm, a little." You grin, pressing your cold hands to your warm cheeks.

"You must've had a good time then." She laughs, looking over at you quickly. "My mom has some news to tell us once we get to the house, so I hope you can keep it together."

"What?" You gasp, turning to face Tashi. "What is it? Tell me now!" Your urge, grabbing her arm.

"Hey, I'm driving!" She exclaims, swatting your arm away.

"Sorry, sorry!" You apologize, sitting back in your seat. "Is it to celebrate your exam results?" You ask, your stomach grumbling. "I'm hungry." You whisper.

Tashi laughs profusely, trying to hold it together for the rest of the ride. "Well, kind of. It's to celebrate us both." She says, her smile never leaving her face.

"Can we go to Mcdonalds? I want a happy meal." You say, rolling the window down.

"It's cold! Don't do that!" Tashi warns, rolling the window back up with her driver control.

"But I'm too hot!" You exasperate.

Tashi groans, turning off the heat in the car. "You're too high." She argues, turning into the closest Mcdonalds.

-

You enter the Duncan household with Tashi, managing to sober up a bit after your nugget meal and finishing off the bottle of water your cousin keeps in the car as always.

"Mom! We're here!" Tashi yells, leading you into the living room.

Diane and Mike were sitting on the couch, Diane with a book and Mike with amaretto on the rocks, his usual. The radio plays in the distance.

"Hello girls." Diane grins, putting her book down. "How was the date?" She asks you directly, catching you off guard.

"Oh, it was great, yeah." You say quietly, looking down at your hands.

"He's very nice to look at, and seems to be very nice mom. He's good friends with Emeline, from my ethics class." Tashi adds, sitting down in a nearby armchair. You quickly sit down as well.

"Has Tashi told you the big news yet?" Diane grins, clasping her hands together.

"Erm, no. No yet... What's going on?" You ask, giggling awkwardly.

"We are going... To Italy!" She exclaims, waiting for your reaction.

You gasp, covering your mouth with your hands. "No fucking way!" You exclaim, cheering with Tashi.

"We're going with Michelle and her family, we hadn't gone travelling together since we were in college so..." Diane adds, watching both of your faces falter slightly.

"Michelle? As in the Zweigs?" You ask, mouth slightly agape. You quickly pull out your phone to text back Patrick.

"Yes, that Michelle." Diane says, laughing. She notices the look on your faces. "That's fine, right? You're both good friends with Patrick I figured it was okay?" She says.

You: we're going to fucking italy????

He texts you back instantly.

Patrick the Almighty: my mom just called me about it. isn't this fucking awesome??

You forcibly smile towards Diane, still a bit too high to comprehend it. "No, it's great." You say through gritted teeth, exchanging worried glances with Tashi.

Great. Fucking awesome.

-

this took awhile sorry guys,,,,, ive been watching rivals and my mind is running with ideas. see you in the next one!

[theonlyren]

Ryme City Gengar

This is Kati

She's my Gengar partner.

DISCLAIMER: The following is my account of how I came to own my Gengar, Kati. It is a true story, however, I have falsified names and omitted the direct address of relevant parties in this story for their “protection.” Please do not seek these people out or harass them. They are not worth your time or energy. This is not a happy tale, especially if you like Ghost-types, are a Hex Maniac, or have a shred of common decency. Now, without further ado.

Consider the Gastly.

Gastly is one of the most well-documented, well-known, common ghost types across the regions. It’s in Oak’s original Pokedex and even shows up in Laventon’s old field journals. Its body is 95% gas, and it’s one of the lightest known pokemon in the world, to the point where a stiff wind will make the thing vanish (it’ll re-materialize later just fine, though). The remaining 5% of it is somewhat less clear. It could be argued that this 5% is undoubtedly what gives the Pokemon its Ghost typing. Some believe it is the souls of those its gas has killed, others believe it’s the ghostly essence of graveyard grievances, or forlorn memories of departed people or places.

All Kati remembers is waking up in front of the grave of a girl named Catherine.

I was backpacking through Galar at the time, I had the clothes on my back, the spares in my pack, some few thousand Pokedollars, basic Pokemon care and healing supplies, a phone, and my Eevee and Zorua, Vivi and Aka, respectively. I was looking for a place to crash for the night and wound up at a village in the southern edge of the region. Extremely quaint, very lovely, and I ran into the residents of a very old chateau, whose family had lived there for generations. They were trust fund kids, basically. The husband, who we’ll call John Doe, lived in the estate with his wife, Jane, his parents - his father being the local (and, if you’ve been following my Chatotter, a certain) reverend - and his grandparents. I met John and Jane at the town's only pub, and they were utter sweethearts; to this day, I still wish them well and the best for them. Upon telling them I was the son of Pokemon Rangers, and an Arceist, they asked if I could help them with an issue they’ve been having at the chapel.

Now, to a normal person, this probably would’ve set off every red flag in the universe. Supposedly rich family is inquiring about an outsider for “help”? Boi they’re about to steal your Pokemon and lock you in the basement. Turns out, something being locked in the basement was the issue. I initially declined, but then John made an offer to pay me a… moderately life changing amount of Pokedollars, provided I could solve the issue, which- er, piqued my curiosity enough to at least humor the couple. I figured I had Aka with me, and if things become sketchy he could use a clever illusion to help bail me outta there.

This village I went to was absurdly secluded, they hardly ever received tourists or travelers. The local authorities were in the back-pocket of John’s parents, which he was quick to explain as he led me to the estate. Once we arrived, he played me off as a guest of his wife’s side of the family, and I was introduced to this man’s elders.

I know the saying goes to respect your elders, but one look at this man’s family told me everything I needed to know about why John trusted an outsider with this. These were the most miserable, leery-eyed, snobbish, conservative-ass, “only polite because I have to be” motherfuckers I have ever had the discomfort of meeting and breaking bread with. The bread was the only good thing about their dinner as well, come to think of it, with unseasoned vegetables, beans, and… ok, the shepherd’s pie was alright, but still.

Later that night, John led me out as if to politely escort me off, but detoured around the back of the mansion to the village’s church, where we went through a cellar entrance.

And that’s where I would meet Kati for the first time.

As he opened the door, I saw paper talismans on the interior side. Cleanse tags. Prayer tags. The like. They dotted the stairwell down, to a locked door, which my escort unlocked to reveal a room, lined - wall-to-wall - with tags. And sitting, suspended in a cage, also laced with these tags, was a Gastly.

Cleanse Tags have long been a staple item for the traveling trainer, useful in helping ward off unwanted wild encounters, if a little uncomfortable for most pokemon to hold. A ghost type can handle holding one for the sake of their trainer.

An entire basement lined with them is torture of the highest order. Especially for a ghost.

This Gastly was well and truly trapped. Being locked in stasis inside a Pokeball would’ve been a kinder fate. Everywhere in this room that she could look, she saw searing wards and condemning reminders that told her in no uncertain terms that she was an unwelcome monster. She could not escape this place, the talismans well and truly suppressed any and all ghost energy she could even try and muster. No phasing, no vanishing, no shrinking or morphing, nothing.

John wanted her freed.

I was quick to agree.

It was clear the man was wrestling with the idea of freeing her for a while, and, when I pressed him about why the poor thing was locked away in the first place, he explained that the Gastly had been locked down here for generations, his late great-(great?)-grandfather had apparently caught the thing at the local graveyard, “communing with Giratina,” if you believe such malarky. So his family took it upon themselves to “catch” the ghost and seal her away in their church to cleanse or contain the sin within her, to the point where it’s become an obsession for the family, and they’ve never known peace since. So it was, she remained down there for something to the effect of over eighty years. 

At least three generations of Does is apparently what it took before one realized “hmm, maybe this Gastly down here is fine???”

So of course because things had to be dramatic, we heard the upper cellar door open the moment I tore enough tags off the cage to get the Gastly out. John told me to get my Zorua out and hide as he’d go distract whoever it was. I did so and told Aka to blend us into the wall. John went up, tried to tell his father the Gastly had escaped, and when he angrily came down to verify, well.

The Gastly didn’t like seeing the old man’s face.

She gassed my face to break free and immediately went for the old-timer. The illusion broke and I now had an angered reverend cursing my name, breaking every rule of engagement, since “the next coming of Giratina” was on the line as he threw his entire fuckin’ team at me. A “prize” furfrou, a machop, and a houndour. 

Trying to remember the fight as best I can, Vivi was strong enough to take out the Houndour, but the Machop made quick work of Aka. My new Gastly friend managed to poison the Machop in turn, but a bite from the Houndour nearly took her out instantly. Vivi weakened the Furfrou and Machop with a quick Swift, but, well, at the time my two team members were both weak to fighting, so the Machop was quick to take him out as well.

It was at that point I discovered the Gastly knew will-o-wisp as it cursed the Machop with its flames, taking it out, and I had an idea.

It was time to run from a trainer battle.

I kicked the Houndour in the face (sorry pup!) and told Gastly to set the remaining tags on fire. With the ones I had already desecrated, she had strength enough to set the room ablaze, which freaked out the reverend father and his pokemon enough that I was able to throw an empty pokeball at the Gastly to “catch” her, lob her out of the cellar as she struggled to break out, and get the absolute hell out of there.

John was waiting in a car outside. An extra broken-and-lobbed pokeball later to get the Gastly away from the reverend, we were driving from the estate and I had a very angry Gastly I was trying to calm down in the backseat of a speeding vehicle. It took a while, but she calmed down when it became clear we were tearing her away from that awful place.

John dropped me off at a graveyard, presumably (and, I would later find, purposefully) the best spot he thought to release the Gastly, - cliche, I know, - he wired me the money, and sped off. The Gastly tore itself free from me, and hovered at one particular grave. It was an old headstone, weathered and faint, but I could just barely make out the name “Catherine” on it. I sat near her as she stared at it. And we stayed there for a while; long time. Appropriately, I think we left at about midnight, when I offered her one more Pokeball and the chance to travel with me, safely, and see the world she was locked away from. Gave her the name “Kati” then and there, both as a shortening of her old name, and because it translates to “Pure.”

We beat feet from that village and never looked back. 

My backpacking journey was a lot more comfortable after that, I’ll say that much. Dude gave me bank.

But, here we are, me and the reverend, locked in something of an awkward stalemate where if either of us try and report what happened, we have to inadvertently confess to crimes we ourselves committed. Pokémon Abuse for the Does. And uh, Arson and Pokémon A&B for me. Trainer Disengagement too, but that’s a misdemeanor more ‘n anything. The fact that both of us have a decent amount of influence, should things get legal, doesn’t help either. Haven’t been back in or extradited to Galar since, and it’s basically been something like a 10 year cold case, so I’m not too concerned about this actually biting me in the ass, but the Reverend Father Doe sure is getting spicy with me on Chatotter.

He can rot for all I care.

Kati’s mine.

And she can burn through any holy tag you throw at her, now.

[sundaynightlive]

august of ‘85 (Steddie, Part 1)

Steve’s hands are shaking, which is not entirely conducive to safe driving. His legs, too—he’s trembling all over. He’s had (and seen) enough panic attacks to know what’s happening. He feels like he’s going to throw up. He feels like he’s going to pass out.

He drives.

He struggles to maintain an acceptable speed, struggles not to plow through stop signs and over curbs to take corners a little sharper, get there a little quicker. He curses his parents for building a house so far from Hawkin’s tiny little doctor’s office, stupidly wishing he could’ve run there, because maybe that would’ve gotten rid of some of this nauseating adrenaline. He can’t tell if he’s building or crashing.

He coughs. It’s half a gag. Now is not the time to be gagging.

Steve tries desperately to take his mind off it, but all he can think about is Eddie. Eddie.

And August of ‘85.

But first, the end of July—

“I’m sorry, pumpkin,” his mom is saying over the phone.

It’s not like he’s all that upset—he had expected this. At least this time his parents had had the decency to warn him they wouldn’t be joining him at their beach house in Maine. The last three years, it had been a crapshoot, and if they did show, they stayed a week, max, and left Steve alone for the majority of August. This would’ve been fine, if Steve had brought anyone down there with him, but he always chickened out of inviting people, false hope overcoming harsh reality each time.

Being alone wasn’t so bad. He had all the time in the world to watch movies, visit the sights, walk along the beach, and read old books (that he suspected were meant to be decorative) he found around the home.

And he cleaned. He cleaned and managed the upkeep. He hired people to paint and he moved furniture around sometimes or bought something new if he decided his mother’s tastes had changed—he’d be damned if he was going to let them sell this place, not when all his happiest childhood memories resided here, and not when it was his only real escape from Hawkins, Indiana.

No, the house would be kept and it didn’t matter if his entire trust fund went towards it. He wasn't going to college, wasn’t moving somewhere expensive, wasn’t buying sports-cars or a thousand-dollar engagement ring for a long-time girlfriend.

He was keeping this damn house.

It’s all he had left of them.

“I’ll still go down,” he tells her, “But, yeah, that’s alright. I figured.”

“Aw, pumpkin, have fun, okay? I know you love it up there. Maybe take Nancy?” Steve flinches. Had he forgotten to tell them? Or had she just forgotten? He can’t remember.

“Right, okay. Love you, mom.”

“Love you, too, pumpkin. I’ll talk to you later.”

And by later, she means sometime within the next few months or so.

Steve hangs the phone on the receiver and sighs, stretching a little bit and mentally shuffling through possible outfits. It’s almost noon, and he has plans. Well… half-plans. He hadn’t exactly agreed to meet Dustin and Munson for lunch, but Dustin would be expecting him, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to disappoint the kid. He’s pretty apprehensive about being seen in public with the local drug-dealer and town-pariah, but Dustin has been insisting for a couple months now (all summer) that Eddie is ‘cool’ and Steve should ‘get to know him.’

How did you even fall in with this guy? He’s, like, greasy.

Freshman orientation—and he is not. Greasy. He’s really, really cool and funny and I want my two best-friends to also be friends.

Why are both your best-friends full-grown adults?

Why’s your best friend a 14 year old?

Touché. But I’m not wrong about Munson—he’s sketchy. He sells drugs.

This sounds like ‘King’ Steve talking.

King Steve wasn’t wrong about everything, Dustin.

Yes. Yes he was.

And the argument had gone on, but Dustin is impossible to outsmart or convince, so Steve had ultimately been roped into this whole ‘coffee date’ situation.

Not date. It’s not a date. It’s coffee. He’s not sure why he put it like that.

In fact, this is so casual and so pointless and so stupid that Steve is going to wear his least-expensive pair of jeans, and a t-shirt.

That’s how much he doesn’t care.

He puts some version of that on, and then immediately decides against it. He’s not used to looking so casual, and he will be in public, and despite the fallout with his friends, and his quest to be okay with being unpopular, he’s not exactly willing to also be unattractive. Not that clothes are always what makes people attractive, but it is what makes him attractive.

The nice jeans that sculpt his ass, the polos tight against his chest and working wonders for his arms—yeah, that’s Steve.

Nice jeans, blue and green polo shirt—he checks himself over in the mirror a couple times. He feels good, normal, right.

So he leaves.

On the drive over, he finds himself nervous, and understandably so. He gets along with most people easily, but Eddie Munson isn’t most people. Eddie’s like Robin, and Robin didn’t come to him easily at all. On the bright side, Steve had never been one of Eddie’s tormentors—that had been reserved for ‘popular’ upperclassmen. Eddie was technically a grade ahead of him and therefore higher on the high school food-chain despite his well-known loser-ness. Steve didn’t deal in making kids older than him miserable—just younger.

But Steve was still a well-known ass, and Eddie knew that, and if it was going to be anything like talking to Rob was, then Steve was in for a barrage of snide little side comments that he ultimately deserved, but made him uncomfortable, anyway.

Might as well prepare all his sincere responses—

I’m not like that anymore.

I’m sorry.

I know. I was stupid.

He parks. He sighs. He runs a hand through his hair. He steps out of the car.

He freezes.

Dustin and Munson are standing outside the coffee shop, chatting, and the sight sends something incredibly foreign into his guts, something he wants to clock as jealousy, but doesn’t feel like jealousy. It feels more like—

No. Nope. Nada. Not that.

Eddie Munson doesn’t look the way Steve remembers at all. He remembers choppy brown hair, wiry limbs, and clothes that never fit him—most of this is from ages ago, though, when Steve was a freshman. Eddie was in his home room that year, but after that, he rarely even saw him in passing.

This Eddie Munson, on the 20th of July, 1985, is not wiry, and wearing clothes that definitely fit him, with brown curls (like Nancy’s) clipped back to keep them off his neck in the heat. His outfit—this cropped band tee and jeans and boots—flatters him. It does more than flatter him, but Steve doesn’t think like that, so no it doesn’t.

It just flatters him.

Anyway—

Steve unfreezes. Dustin finally spots him and grins, waving him over. Eddie spots him, too, which is greatly unnerving, but whatever. Steve runs his hand through his hair again, trying to ground himself.

What is happening?

“Hey Steve, this is Eddie. Eddie, this is Steve.”

Steve extends a hand—sort of a peace offering—and is relieved when Eddie takes it.

“Dustin tells me you’re not a douche anymore,” Eddie says.

Oh, here we go.

“Trying not to be,” Steve answers, politely.

“Cool,” Eddie replies, dropping his hand, “How do you feel about Star Wars?”

What? Star Wars? Steve’s brow furrows of its own accord. He looks over at Dustin, who’s trying and failing to feign some sort of innocence.

“You told him I like Star Wars?”

“It’s the only thing you two have in common,” Dustin admits, and Eddie grins—blinding. His smile is blinding. That’s all Steve has to say about that.

“Luke Skywalker or Han Solo?” Eddie asks, and Steve’s brows raise this time, instead.

“Solo. Obviously.”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong—“

And it comes alarmingly easily to them. Talking with Dustin and Eddie is like spreadable butter on toast, and it has Steve in a daze of disbelief for about the entire time. The conversation doesn’t even cease when Dustin gets up to go to the bathroom—they’re arguing about the band on Eddie’s t-shirt, whether or not Steve would like metal if he tried it, if it’s “the future of music” or just a bunch of screaming. Eddie doesn’t get mad about it, just insistent.

Steve concedes, eventually, that he doesn’t actually know what he’s talking about, and that most of his opinions are just other people’s opinions.

“We’ll listen, sometime,” Eddie says, “I have tons of tapes—I’ll bet you a hundred bucks you like it.”

“Are you free tomorrow?”

And that’s how Steve and Eddie end up hanging out at Steve’s the next day, listening to all sorts of stuff—a lot of the harder stuff isn’t really Steve’s thing, but he has to admit, at the end of the day, he did like a vast majority of what Eddie played for him.

And he really enjoyed Eddie’s company. A little too much, maybe.

“Pay up, Harrington.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve relents, “I owe you.”

“Good thing, too,” Eddie jokes, “I do not have a hundred bucks handy.”

Steve laughs. He had suspected that, but it didn’t matter to him. He liked Eddie’s company. Spending the day with someone he actually liked would’ve been payment enough. Steve doesn’t usually get to do that unless he’s working—he and Rob hang out sometimes, but her mom’s so goddamn strict trying to convince her to let Robin hang out alone with a guy is near impossible.

Hopefully, when summer’s up she’ll let Steve drive Robin to school or something.

“Figured that,” Steve replies.

An offended gasp— “Are you calling me poor, Steve?”

There’s a beat of silence, Steve’s heart sinking a little. Had that been presumptive? Why had ge automatically assumed Eddie wasn’t good for it?

Shit.

Shit.

What? No, I—“

“Steve. I’m joking. I am poor. Obviously.”

Steve glares.

“Asshole.”

“You really have changed, huh?”

It feels really good to hear someone like Eddie say it.

The rest is ancient history. They’re friends, good friends, for the rest of July. And sure, that’s only eleven days, but nine out of eleven of them Steve sees, or at least talks to Eddie. He comes into family video, they chat over the phone, Steve even goes to one of Eddie’s goofy ass garage-concerts.

It’s not half bad. Eddie’s a fantastic guitar player. That part is impressive. More than impressive.

Maybe.

“You really won’t come?” Steve whines a few days before he’s set to leave for Maine, and Robin glares at him, obviously annoyed. He’s asked about twenty times in the last two days, and for the last twenty-times, it’s always the same answer—

My mom would never in a million years let me be alone with you for an entire month. And I have to work, idiot.

The idiot part seemed unnecessary, but it is kind of his fault for asking a billion times.

“We have talked about this, Steven.”

“That’s not even my name.”

“Didn’t ask, don’t care,” Robin says. “I’m not going.”

“But maybe you could meet a cute girl or something! I’m sure if we told your mom my parents will be there—“

“Steve! I. Am not. Going.”

“Going where?”

Steve jumps. He had been so busy begging he hadn’t noticed the door open, even with the bell on it, and somehow Eddie was already right next to him at the counter, leaning over on his elbows. Steve huffs.

“I’m going to Maine for the month,” Steve says, shooting a glare in Robin’s direction, “And someone refuses to go with me!”

“You’ll be fine by yourself,” Robin argued, exasperated, “You’re always by yourself!”

“But it’s boring.”

“I think you can handle boring,” Robin snaps, turning around, “If you need someone to go so bad, ask Eddie!”

Ask Eddie.

Right. How has he forgotten about Eddie?

Steve turns to him, and Eddie immediately straightens, hands up in mock surrender.

“I like ya, Stevie, but alone together for a whole month,” he chatters, nervously, backing away, “We’re basically strangers. We just met, what? A week ago?”

Steve pouts. He puts on his very best puppy dog face. He doesn’t wanna go alone—not this time. It’s fine and productive, sure, but knowing that his parents won’t be there and there’s not even a sliver of a chance of spending quality time with them? He doesn’t wanna be alone.

“Please?”

Eddie blinks. Then, he hangs his head dramatically, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Fine.”

“Ha!” Steve cries, pointing a finger at Robin, “You’ve been replaced!”

“Please,” she says, unphased, “You could never replace me.”

She’s, ultimately, correct.

And then, August—

“You wanna do a 16 hour drive in one go?” Steve asks incredulously. Eddie shrugs.

“I mean, why not, man? You take eight, I take eight, and bam, we’re there.”

“Dude, we have an entire month to be down there. Taking a couple days to travel—“

“I hate motels,” Eddie insists, “I sleep in a shithole, but at least I don’t pay to sleep in a shithole.”

Steve can’t help but grin a little at that, despite how it’s mostly sad.

“Your uncle pays to sleep in a shithole,” he points out.

“Are you calling my home a shithole?”

“Eddie—“

“Kidding… I’ve gotta tell you something before we commit to this.”

“What? You snore?”

“I’m gay.”

Steve frowns, and glances over. They’re sitting together on his couch, almost an entire cushion apart, which is weird, but Steve supposes it’s comforting for Eddie in this moment of vulnerability. He looks awfully pretty today, in his sweatpants and baggy band t-shirt.

Steve is totally confident in his sexuality. He can totally, casually think his friend is pretty.

“And that’s important… why?”

Eddie is clearly surprised by this response. He opens his mouth to explain himself, and then closes it, and then matches Steve’s frown.

“You don’t care?”

“No,” Steve says—he doesn’t. Of course he doesn’t. He might have in high school, but he has changed. Extensively. He thinks about telling Eddie Robin is also gay, but realizes before he does that’s probably rude and also a breach of privacy.

“Oh.”

There’s a brief awkward silence.

“So… what’s that like, anyway?” Eddie giggles a little and then bursts into full laughter. Steve should be offended because he’s being laughed at, but he can’t help but grin along with it, anyway.

“Hey—I’m just curious!”

“Curious!” Eddie repeats, giggling up another storm. Steve sighs, shaking his head.

“God forbid a guy try learn something—“

“No, no,” Eddie breathes, putting a hand on Steve’s knee. Something jolts through his spine like lightning.

Woah.

“It’s just such a stupid question.”

“Ouch?”

“You know how you like girls?”

“Yeah.”

“Well I like guys. That’s it. You’ve got the hots for the Leia Organa’s of the world, and I’ve got it for the Luke Skywalkers.” Steve raises an eyebrow.

“The Luke Skywalkers? The goody-two shoes golden boys?”

“You’ve got a problem with my type?”

“No,” Steve says quickly, hoping not to appear judgemental, “I just thought—you just seem like more of a “bad boy” kinda guy.”

“Maybe I am,” he teases, “Maybe I like to do a little corrupting, first.”

Steve swallows hard. Eddie’s tone takes him totally off-guard—all low and suggestive. And the smile he’s wearing is so cocky. Steve should be used to this, as Eddie is often a cocky, theatrical bastard, but when it’s directed straight at him talking about “corrupting good boys” it’s just… a lot.

He doesn’t stop to think about why that might be a lot—just accepts that it is.

“Just kidding,” Eddie says. Then, “I really do just like nice guys.”

Nice guys like me? Steve wants to ask.

“Noted,” he says instead. He’s not sure which one of those was worse. “So. I take it you’re not backing down on the 16 hour drive?”

“No, sir.”

“Do not call me sir.”

“Sorry, ma’am.”

“Jesus Christ, maybe this is a bad idea.”

“Too bad,” Eddie sing-songs, “You’re stuck with me.”

They actually do make the trip all in one go, much to Steve’s surprise. 8 hours and 8 hours isn’t totally awful when you’ve got someone to talk to (or occasionally glance at while they sleep, fighting the feeling you get when you realize just how pretty and peaceful they look).

Yeah, it’s not terrible.

“Holy. Shit,” Eddie says when they finally make it. It’s coming up on three in the morning, but Steve isn’t even remotely tired. He’s too excited to be back, happy to finally be out of the car and far, far away from the town they came from. “It’s on the beach?”

“Oh—did I not—“

“We’re going swimming. Right now.”

“We can’t right now.”

“Why the hell not?!”

“Sharks,” Steve says, putting the car in park in the driveway and popping open his door, “But there’s a pool.”

Eddie looks over at him, incredulous.

“Why would you have a pool right next to the entire fucking ocean?”

Steve grins— “For when you want to swim at 3 in the morning and not get eaten by sharks, duh.”

Eddie pops the handle and kicks open his door which is something he has been consistently doing for the last 16 hours, and Steve cringes every single time. He also doesn’t bother going for their bags—just bee-lines for the front door, Steve hot on his heels, fumbling around in his pockets for the keys.

“Holiday House?” Eddie asks as Steve steps past him. A fancy metal name-plate with those very words rests below the number on the door.

“My parents name all their properties,” Steve says as he fumbles around. This lock has always been a little fidgety, but he hasn’t had the heart to fix it. It’s too nostalgic to jiggle the handle the way his father used to while his mother told him all the fun things they had planned for the month of August.

That feels like forever ago.

“They have an apartment in New York called The Skyline and a flat in London called Elton.”

After Elton John, who Steve’s dad often called ‘the piano fairy.’ Steve’s pretty sure Eddie wouldn’t enjoy that bit of information, though.

“What’s the one in Hawkin’s called?”

Steve finally gets it. The door swings open into the hall and he steps over the threshold. The windows need to be opened and the shelves need dusted—it’s stuffy.

“The Kid,” he answers quickky, hoping to avoid any further conversation about that. He flicks on the lights in the hallway, and heads straight for the windows and blinds and curtains as Eddie shuts the door behind him and follows slowly, taking it all in—the foyer, the great room, the sun room, the dining room, the kitchen.

Unlike Steve’s house, the place has a more “lived in” feeling, with soft rugs thrown over the hardwood, fabric couches with throw pillows and blankets, and little trinkets lining the walls. There’s family photos, his mother’s art, awards won by his father, candles, memorabilia. It’s still grand, and boasting wealth—

But it’s still cozy, with white and blue tones and more windows than were probably necessary and a lofted upstairs that opens into the main area so it never feels like you’re truly away from everyone else.

Steve loves it here.

“This is insane,” Eddie says, plopping down on the couch. Steve feels himself being watched as he begins opening windows, running his hands along the sills to wipe away some of the dust before he breaks out an actual duster tomorrow.

Later today, actually.

“Welcome,” Steve says, “You’ve got a month to get used to it.”

“I’ll never get used to this,” Eddie says, breathless. Steve turns to look at him, all wide-eyed and awestruck by a house that, for Steve, is just house. A house full of good memories and comfort, but still just a house.

Eddie looks like he’s seeing the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel for the first time.

Steve kind of wishes it was his first time coming here. He wishes he knew what Eddie was feeling in some way.

He wishes he could forget what this used to be for him.

“You gonna swim?” Steve asks, turning back to the windows. Eventually, he reaches the curtain pulled over the sliding glass door, pulls it away, and reaches for the outdoor lights. “Hopefully these—“

The pool, patio, and steps to the beach spring to life in warm light. Steve’s happy to see none of the string lights have fallen or broken—those were a new addition last summer and he’s actually quite fond of them.

“Are you?”

Steve hums, considering it.

Why not?

“Yeah, sure. Just let me get these open, first.”

Eddie moves past him, and at first, Steve’s unbothered at the notion of Eddie swimming out there while he’s opening windows and turning on lights in here, but then pale skin catches his eye—

He’s captivated.

Eddie’s just… taken off his clothes, fully stripped down to his boxers, and Steve probably should’ve assumed that’s what he was going to do, but it didn’t even cross his mind until it had already happened. Eddie’s standing at the edge of the pool, tying his hair back behind his head.

Oh wow.

Steve’s done a very good job of pushing it down, but this is the last straw. It floods over him, just how hot Eddie is, and sets his heart into a full race—

You like him.

You think he’s cute.

You like boys.

You like girls and boys.

But you like boys.

You like Eddie, who you’ve invited to spend an entire month in a house with you alone.

You’re screwed.

Fucked.

Ruined.

Steve only feels the tears on his face after they’ve fallen. He takes a shaky breath and wipes them away, because how stupid to be crying over this? He knows better—he’s past the point of thinking it’s wrong or unnatural, Robin made damn sure of that.

But now he’s… now he’s stuck here with Eddie. And he likes him. And he can’t have him, because how would that even work? Logistically, they can’t date in Hawkins, they can’t get married—

God, who’s even thinking about getting married? They’re nineteen and twenty!

Steve. Steve’s thinking about getting married.

But who’s to say his feelings are requited? No one. And he shouldn’t just assume because Eddie’s gay that he automatically has a shot. He’s probably the exact opposite of—

I really do just like nice guys.

Is Steve a nice guy? Lately, yes. Before? No. And does Eddie think of him as Old Steve or New Steve? King Steve or Babysitter Steve? Who’s to say?

Why is he even getting worked up. Why doesn’t he just open these windows and go outside and get in the pool? Just be normal. He should just be normal. And he should ignore all this, because it’s too much to deal with right now, at the beginning of his vacation.

Their vacation.

The last thing he’s gonna do is ruin Eddie’s vacation by having a crush on him—god, a crush? This can’t be happening.

The universe fucking hates him

Steve finishes with the windows and heads outside. Eddie’s already in the pool, and he looks downright blissful, floating around running his hands over the water like he can’t believe it’s real.

When’s the last time he went swimming?

“Don’t pee in there, or anything,” Steve says, which is stupid but he’s flustered and he wants to say something but he doesn’t know what— “Because then I’ll have to drain it and no more night time swimming, unless you’re risking the sharks.”

Eddie scoffs, turning to face him, “Steve, why the fuck would I piss in your pool?”

Fair question. Steve’s cheeks burn.

“I don’t know!”

“Too late, anyway. I already did.”

Steve, in the middle of unbuttoning his jeans, freezes.

“Are you—“

“No, I’m not serious,” Eddie laughs, coming up to the edge and dropping his chin onto his arms, grinning up at him.

It’s beautiful. And blinding. But mostly beautiful.

“You really need to figure out jokes, Harrington.”

“Maybe you’re just bad at making them.”

“That,” Eddie says, “Is not possible.”

There’s something in his voice as Steve pulls his pants over his feet that nearly knocks him off balance. Something… breathy and… Steve’s not sure. Just something, something more than teasing. Steve wants to believe it’s because he’s seeing Steve almost naked for the first time, but he’s afraid to read that far into it.

If he does, he’ll never make it in the water.

“Is it cold?” he asks, carefully sitting himself down on the edge.

“No,” Eddie replies, so Steve sinks his feet into it, and Eddie’s right. It’s a nice temperature, probably from the sun. “Is it always full?”

“No—somebody filled it last week,” Steve answers, kicking his feet a little. The water’s nice, Eddie’s nice, the warm summer air is nice.

He’s feeling a little too nice, actually.

“Are you gonna come all the way in, your highness?”

It’s Steve’s turn to scoff, then— “Stop calling me that.”

“Make me.” Eddie pushes away from the wall, and good thing, too, because he’s too busy floating away to see Steve malfunction at the insinuation. Insinuation? Maybe Eddie wasn’t insinuating anything—he has a tendency to be a bit of a drama queen.

Maybe it’s nothing at all. It’s probably nothing at all.

Steve pushes himself off the edge and into the water.

“Fuck,” he groans. He hasn’t swam in awhile, either, he realizes, and the wet feels nice and relaxing around all his limbs. Eddie is spinning in languid circles, trailing his arms through the water. He looks ridiculous, but Steve’s only thinking—

Cute.

“We have to get groceries tomorrow,” Steve says, an effort to keep a conversation going. He can’t help himself. He wants to keep talking to Eddie—it’s been like this since he’s met him.

Eddie’s just so good to talk to.

“Hmm,” Eddie hums, “You gonna cook for me, big boy?”

Steve burns. Even hotter.

“Unless you wanna waste all your money on takeout,” Steve confirms.

“Tempting,” Eddie replies, which is like him. If Steve’s learned anything about Eddie in the past 12 days, it’s that he loves Chinese food, and he’s very good at convincing Steve to get him some.

Or maybe Steve is just very eager to please him.

“And we should probably check if we have toilet paper, sunscreen—and wash our sheetd, even though I—“

Steve is cut off abruptly by a wall water smacking him in the face, getting in his mouth and up his nose. He coughs, sputters, wiping himself off and mourning the loss of what had been a really good hair day.

“You’re so—“

Steve’s turn. He splashes Eddie back, and from there it’s an all out war. Steve hasn’t been in a splash fight in a swimming pool with anyone in probably a decade, and here he is, barely breathing, laughing uncontrollably, shouting unintelligible nothings until Eddie’s seizing both his wrists and lifting them above his head—

“You lose.”

“Yeah, right.” Steve wrenches easily from his grasp and tackles him in the water, initiating some form of wrestling until Eddie's pinned to the wall, arm twisted (as gently as the angle will allow) behind his back, both of them wheezing for air.

“Asshole!” Eddie gasps.

“You started it,” Steve snaps back.

“Ow—let me go—“ Steve does as he’s told. The last thing he wants to do is—

Oh.

When Eddie turns, they’re practically nose to nose. Steve’s breath blows out of his lungs like it doesn’t belong there, and he finds himself unable to keep his eyes on Eddie’s eyes—it’s too intense.

Fingers brush over the side of his face.

This can’t be happening.

“Is this okay?” Eddie whispers.

More than okay. Perfect. Kiss me. Fuck me. Have me. Marry me.

“I—uh—yeah, yes. Please—“

Eddie silences him finally with his mouth. Steve’s eyes flutter closed—the boy tastes like pool water, spit, and morning breath, but Steve could honestly care less. He melts into the kiss, pressing into Eddie as closely as he’s afforded.

Until Eddie pulls away from him.

“Two things,” the metal-head says, breathless, but firm, “One—I refuse to be the thing that ruins your life.”

Ruin his—what does that—?

“Two—wait a week. If you still want me for the rest of August, I’m yours.”

Eddie pulls out of his grasp.

Now, today, July 18th, 1986, Steve knows in this moment, he should have snatched Eddie back and told him all sorts of things—

You won’t ruin my life.

We could be good.

I’m not waiting for you, I want you now.

Let’s do this.

But then, in the small hours of August 2nd, 1985, Steve could barely breathe, let alone think, and as he watched Eddie push himself out of the pool, boxers clinging to his ass and thighs, hair tied up and dripping, smooth skin and more smooth skin and so much skin, all he could think was that September 1st was an eternity away.

And he would take what he could get.

End Part 1

(Next Part)

[thebluestbluewords]

CYOA: Endurance Game 

(read the previous section here)

You swallow back a really, really inappropriate giggle. “Carefully.”

Over the roar of the crowd, Evie eyeballs you. “Carefully.” 

You let the sharp grin that’s been threatening to take over your face slip free. “Yeah. Really, really carefully.” 

“I trust you with my life, Mal, but you have the worst plans,” Evie hisses, before turning back to the crowd gathered below, the one made up of kids who aren’t going to have to grow up like you did. Kids who are going to have a future because of you. 

You’re not a perfect politician yet, (and oh, you can just hear Ben laughing about that understatement already), but you have half a plan and a hell of a lot of angry kids backing you up, and if you know one thing about the Auradon gossip chain, it’s that once something goes on TV, it’s out there forever. 

Good luck taking it back now, High Council. 

The kids are getting off. 

*

“You could have told me what you were planning, you know,” Ben says later, ensconced in the conference room where you’ve set up your crew. “I would have backed you up.” 

You lean back in your chair and throw another handful of blueberries into your mouth. “I didn’t know I was going to do it. It just sort of slipped out.” 

“You said you had a plan.” Evie points out. “Lying to us all isn’t the way to start your reign as queen, M. We all would’ve appreciated a little warning.” 

“I didn’t know.” you repeat. Again. It’s not like you’ve been having this conversation since you stepped off the Isle, or anything. “I meant to read the speech like we planned, I swear. I wasn’t planning on changing the whole plan. I just…” 

You saw the kids. You’re pouring all of the funding that the Bureau for Isle Affairs will give you into improving living conditions while Ben works with the high council to get programs set up to remove the kids safely, but you saw their faces all looking up at you, and the part of you that’s especially like Maleficent kicked in and screamed that these are your people. 

You’re not exactly a fairy godmother, but there’s something to be said for fairies and wish-based magic, and your current theory is that the force of all the wishes that the kids have never even had the opportunity to dream of before sort of took hold. A wicked fairy-godmother kind of thing. The Isle is your home for better or for worse, and the magic that runs in your blood likes to latch on to things. Places. Like the moorlands that you’ve technically inherited from your mother, and the island that you called home for most of your life, even though they’re both awful places to live. 

Actually, knowing the rules of magic now, (don’t breathe too deep when the pixie dust comes out, and always have faith in your own ability to not fuck things up) it wouldn’t surprise you if there’s some sort of ancient magic tying you to all the shitty, swampy places in the kingdoms. 

You’lll have to investigate that thought more. Moor. Swamps. 

Later. 

“I think it was magic,” you finish. “It didn’t feel like me saying it. It felt like something else was guiding me.” 

Your friends are staring like you’ve grown an extra head. 

“Um, Mal?” Carlos asks. “Did you know you’re sort of–?” 

“What?” 

He shrugs. 

“What?” you demand. “Tell me or I’ll fill all your shoes with glitter again.” 

Evie steps forward and lays a hand on your arm. “You’re glowing.” 

“I’m what? No I’m not. That’s ridiculous. I’m not a fucking pixie.” 

Evie holds out her mirror. “You are. Here, look.” 

“What the fuck.” you snap, pulling back reflexively. Glowing magical mirrors aren’t a good thing in your books, but Evie grabs your arm before you can recoil too hard and pushes her mirror in your face again. 

“Look! The mirror isn’t in magic mode, it’s just a regular mirror right now. You’re the one who’s glowing.” 

“Like you’re a lightning bug’s butt,” Carlos snickers. “Like you took a glowstick transfusion.” 

You look. He’s right, but that doesn’t mean you appreciate him saying it. You’re glowing from the inside out, a soft pink-y light that looks like your blood is lighting up under your skin. Like it’s been replaced with the juice from a glow stick, or like you took a bath in Evie’s glow paint experiments. 

“Evie?” 

Evie’s hand on your arm tightens just a fraction. “Yeah, babe?” 

“I’m not joking about that magic feeling. I think this is what my powers want me to do.”  

“I know.”

“It feels…” You make a grasping gesture. Your actions today felt right, in a deeply satisfying, completely intangible way that’s a little bit concerning and a lot more comforting in the way that you’ve learned comes along with using your magic for good.  “Good. It feels right. I think this might be why I’ve been here all along.” 

“To glow in one of the castle conference rooms,” Carlos says, nodding. “It all makes sense now.” 

“No, dumbass. To fix the isle. I think maybe the reason we were chosen–” you glance at Ben. He knows that you dreamed about him before you came over, and you know that he dreamed of you too, without knowing who you were. Magic, before you were supposed to be able to access any. In a very literal sense you’re here in Auradon because Ben chose you four, but in a larger universe sense, it would be fitting if you were brought here because an intangible magical sense drove Ben to pick your crew in particular to come to Auradon first. “I think we were chosen because the magic knows that we’re going to fix things.” 

You glance around the room. You’re pretty sure that this is right, but your crew seems less than certain. Evie’s still holding on to your arm like she thinks you’re a flight risk, and the boys are all staring at you with varying degrees of skepticism. Except Ben, but that’s only because he’s a sweetheart and his default expression when he’s concerned is a smile. He’s like Evie that way, in that they’ve both been taught to hide their feelings behind looking pretty for the public. 

“Not to ruin the moment,” Jay says slowly. “but should we maybe consult with FG about the whole glowing skin thing?”

You close your eyes, which thankfully aren’t glowing yet too. “No. We don’t have time for that right now. We have to make a plan for getting the kids off the isle.” 

“Well, we could start with four,” Evie suggests. “And maybe bring them over in batches. Just a few at a time. Like we planned?” 

You shake her off. You need to pace. “It’s not enough.” 

“Mal–”

“It’s not enough!” you say, because it’s not. “We need to get them out before our parents can retaliate. If we do this carefully, we can pull kids out in larger groups. I’m not saying we take everyone at once, but we can do more than four at a time. We’re better than that.” 

Evie pinches the bridge of her nose for one second, like she’s got a headache coming on. Only she’s been doing it intermittently since your announcement so… maybe she has a point with the whole logistical difficulty thing.  

“Okay. If we bring a van over instead of a limo, we can fit thirteen kids each trip. We have about two hundred applications, so if we divide that, we get sixteen trips, give or take. We don’t have the space to fit more kids in my castle, so we’ll need places for them to stay.” 

Ben raises his hand. “I can help with that. My parents have a summer castle they don’t use most of the time. We can send the kids there temporarily, until we can find different places for them to stay.” 

“Can we put them with Auradonian families?” Evie wonders out loud. “Some of them already have family here. Cousins, grandparents, we could push for quick kinship placements. Dizzy’s already agreed to meet her cousins.” 

“They don’t want us.” Carlos says, after they all digest the thought for a second. “They’re the ones who got rid of us in the first place. You think anybody wants a bunch of isle kids they’ve never met before living in their house?

He’s probably right. 

“I don’t care,” you growl. “They don’t get to throw us away again. We’re not a problem they can just ignore until we go away. If we bring over all the kids, they can’t just lock us up in boarding schools and ignore the root problem.” 

Your’re aware that your eyes are glowing, but it’s hard to care when you’re right and you know it. 

Jay leans over the table. “Woah there, killer. Not that I disagree with anything you just said, but you're doing the magic eyes thing again and the last time you did that we lost curtain privileges, remember?” 

The last time you had this much magic burning through your veins, you burned a hole in the curtains of your dorm room, set off every smoke alarm on the floor, and had to use a fire extinguisher to put out your hair. 

“I’m–” You take a deep breath. If you set another pair of curtains on fire, you’ll lose valuable planning time putting it out. You’ve gotta keep your cool. “Whatever. We can’t let the people of Auradon turn their backs on us again. The kids deserve better than that. We’re going to get them something better.” 

“A school.” 

You whirl around towards Ben. “What?” 

He lifts his hands. “I was just– thinking out loud. You guys don’t like going to school here because people are mean to you, right?” 

“We’re villains.” Evie says immediately. “We’re wicked. We’re not supposed to be likable.” 

“No, I know that. I just meant, you’re afraid the Auradon families will bully the new VKs, right?” 

Are you? Feelings aren’t your strong suit. 

“Sure,” you say anyway, because what the hell, maybe you are afraid. You’re reluctant to throw the new kids to the wolves, that’s for sure. Maybe wanting better for the kids coming after you is something you can use for emotional leverage. You didn’t have anyone but each other to watch your backs, so– 

Oh. You didn’t have anyone. 

That’s a thought you’re going to just shove down and unpack later. Or never. Never would be good. You’re totally, completely acclimated to Auradon now. No need to worry about the constant anxiety you feel about only having four people in your corner. You’ve got four whole people on your side now, and they’re conveniently all right here in this room! No need to remember what it was like to be sixteen and squinting into the sun for the first time as you lined up to meet a literal prince and move into a school with prissy princesses who were primed and ready to hate you for everything your parents did. No need to remember that at all. You didn’t need to protect yourself then, because you had each other, and you don’t need to worry about protecting the kids you’re bringing over now, because they won’t be walking into the same thing. You won’t let them walk out unprepared. 

Maybe this is the feeling that Ben’s talking about. 

“So we get around the problem by setting up a summer school!” Ben is saying. “A place where the VKs coming off the isle can stick together and all learn how to choose goodness. Sort of like a training camp, only we could make it fun. A place where you can support each other.” 

“Goodness camp,” Jay offers. “Like remedial goodness, but not shitty?” 

Ben flashes him a smile. “Yeah. And then as we find families, the kids will have had a chance to adjust with their friends already, so it’ll be less of a culture shock.” 

“It’s got potential,” Evie admits. “I think we could bring the kids over in batches, so long as we know they’ll all have a place to stay. We can rent the school vans, and do a convoy sort of thing. Get enough kids to have a cohort, so they can learn together before we set them loose on the larger public. I think we could make this work, you guys.” 

“And our parents don’t have to know when we’re picking them up.” Carlos adds. “Keeps us safer that way. We could use the message boards that Dragon Hall set up to send them coded pickup times, so the adults never know when we’ll be there. They can't retaliate at us directly for taking all their kid labor  if they don’t know when we’re in and out of the barrier.” 

Evie’s nodding. “We can leave messages with Facilier too. He wants his daughters out, he’d help us get there in secret.” 

“I’ll call the council,” Ben offers. “We have a location, and a plan, and if you four are all on board, I’ll vouch for you.” 

“You dad won’t flip out?” 

Ben shrugs. “He will. But it doesn’t matter,” he smiles, and it’s like the sun coming out. “He’s not the king.” 

*

You get the children out. 

It takes a slow start, but you get them out. You pull them off in vans and trucks and barges, at five in the morning while the rest of the isle is sleeping, and at noon when the bright cover of the sun on the water obscures your movements. You pick the first group up before dawn, and they stumble into the vans in the gray light of the isle, and tumble out into the pink dawn of Auradon morning. 

You bring Dizzy back to Evie’s house, because you built a place for her there and it seems like a shame to let it go to waste. 

You bring all the kids back to Evie’s house for dinner, and they demolish her beautiful white kitchen and leave it feeling more like home than the expensive interior design team ever could. 

You get the children out. 

You keep getting them out, day after day after day, until one day you get a message from your contact at Dragon Hall. 

Zero children waiting for pickup. 

You did it. The children of the Isle are free. 

The End 

[f0point5]

hi! you generally have such an on point read with ppls vibes and I love hearing your evaluations so I was wondering what you think abt Alex SM like as a wag, as a "private" wag, what her job/presence really is etc just your thoughts

I have no idea what her job actually is. In the nicest way possible, I think it’s “ceremonial”, in the same way trust fund kids get degrees in Fine Art and then go off to work at Sothebys (bit of lore that was almost my career path) yet get three months off every year to do Euro Summer. I think she just brings in good press to the gallery and works there when she has time.

I don’t think she’s really “private” now that her Instagram is public but she was never really private to begin with. She’s always been making paddock appearances and doing PR. The “private” thing was something her fans made up to virtue signal, because according to the internet gossip cesspool a wag has no value as a human unless she is considered to be a “private” person. Which is reductive and backward in and of itself. I do think she didn’t start out wanting to be an influencer because she probably saw how nasty people can get and how critical people were of Charlotte for being an influencer, but she probably got so many offers and realised people were shitting on her anyway so why not? She doesn’t strike me as someone who is trying to make a career out of it, just some quick cash while it’s being offered.

She gives me very much Kate Middleton vibes, a proper old school social climber. Not after followers but an actual levelling up of lifestyle and connections.

And none of this is to say she doesn’t like Charles. Clearly they have a lot in common, they seem happy together, etc.. I honestly think she’s a good match for him. She’s beautiful, she’s his type, she complements him in the spotlight and doesn’t compete for it.

I do get the sense that she’s a bit awkward. She doesn’t look comfortable at the big events, even in the paddock she doesn’t seem to know quite what To do with herself. If you contrast it with Rebecca who you can tell is comfortable in very public environments (always moves with intention), it seems clear that Alexandra isn’t at home with that much publicity. But I guess she will get better at it with time, or she’ll stop feeling like people are observing her all the time.

Idk I just feel bad for her tbh the kind of attention she gets isn’t something I’d wish on anyone. Certainly not over a boyfriend

[vee-crytraps]

Kiss Me More | Ch 4-5 | {Ornament}

AN: Last part!

{Trigger warning/Themes Masterlist} First | Previous | Next | 

“Fuck,” You pull away, reaching towards your ears. The once cold sting of the gold bracelet on your wrist was also absent. “You know what? Well played. I can’t even be mad.” “Welcome to the club.” Bruce chuckles, pulling you into your dance once more. "I'll have them replaced." During the silence that follows, you manage something else to say. “I think it’s cool,” You blurt out. Bruce simply raises an eyebrow at you, and you quickly backpedal. “No! No, not the…Selina stuff. Though you have to admit-" Bruce cuts you off with your name. “I mean the rail. And making the busses run for free was a complete stroke of genius. Everyone who really needs it can get a reliable ride to work, and all the uptown types who are terrified of poor people pay to take the nice new rail, which funds the busses-“ “I can do a little bit without the mask,” Bruce interjects, mirth in his voice.

It’s fucking genuine, and it makes you smile. “I’m proud of you, you know.” He continues, though he looks a little uncomfortable saying it. “I’ve always been proud. I know we don’t spend much time together, but-" “I understand,” you say, strictly out of politeness. It’s true and it’s not. You don’t want him to be too busy for you, and you don’t love being excluded from the ‘family business’. You just want time with him, the man your mother admired so much that she trusted you with him even knowing about the cape and cowl. “Just like…thanks. For taking me in and stuff. I know we've been having a lot of disagreements lately, and you have a lot going on, but I appreciate you looking after me-” “You’re my daughter.” Bruce says, with no hesitation. “You don’t need to give me some big speech. I don’t know what in the world compelled your mother to trust you with me, but I’m glad that she did.” “Well, she was hardly ever in her right mind,” you joke, and it makes Bruce crack a smile. “Everyone thought the whole funeral-of-the-century thing was totally nuts.” “Everyone who didn’t know her like we did,” Bruce assures you. “I think she was onto something. It was…a good last memory. “ There was a question you had that hung in the air. Once that you’d never had the courage to ask. So you let it end there. You may never really know what the inside of Bruce's head looked like. And if you were honest, you didn't really need to know. At the end of the day, you were content with what you had-the promise of a dead woman who loved you, and her reclusive billionaire best friend.

“Chelsea Conroy left a bloodied rabbits foot in my locker today. On one hand, I can’t really blame her. I mean, really. Everyone’s gone mad ever since I rocked up to dance on the arm of Bruce Wayne. He may be kind of a serious guy, but even I'll admit that he's hot enough to drive anyone crazy. On the other hand, it wasn’t like the paw of a squirrel or a raccoon or some kind of local bird she found crushed on the side of the road. I mean, it was a nice rabbit. White fur and everything. Jesus, I hope she didn’t buy a rabbit just to pull some sort of Godfather jr. shit on me. I wouldn’t put it past her, though. I’m a girls girl, but Chelsea is a D1 hater. And apparently an animal dismember-er. I wish my parents had just sent me to public school instead. These rich kids are serial killers in the making, and if Bruce doesn’t stop hanging around with his handsome face, I can’t be sure I’ll even make it to graduation. I told Bruce to let it go. He's stubborn as an ox, but I'm worse. He offered to help me bury the poor thing afterschool. There's family cemetery behind his manor, with a small section for pets. He said we could name the rabbit posthumously, even if we don’t have the whole body. I’m going to take him up on his offer. It's so fucking weird, but also? So…thoughtful.”- 12.03.2001

[lovevalley45]

#fictober24 - day twenty-two

"Why are we doing this again?"

original fiction (dungeons and dragons) (continuation of yesterday's prompt)

word count: 1464

tw: implied drug use (for comedic purposes)

Of all the things Darius could be doing on a Friday night, hanging at a house full of business majors was far from his favorite. 

He could have been meeting up with his friends to hear about the latest drama they were all getting up to. He could have been at home with his cat, Olea, and a National Geographic documentary. Hell, he could have been stuck at one of Dr. Vallus' boring soirées, schmoozing professors and drinking free champagne. 

Yet, he was here, watching the crowd. 

Beside him, Cassandra nudged his shoulder. "That's him." 

Darius eyed the group of people that had just walked in, talking with one another. "Which one?" 

"That guy." She gestured towards a skinny guy with long, blonde hair. He had a face that annoyed him on sight. 

"Really? That guy?" 

"Don't judge my taste," Cassandra said. 

"Well, you roped me into helping you get one over on this guy, so I can judge all I want." Darius turned to her. "Seriously, why are we doing this again? Do you really care about this guy that much?" 

She looked down into her beer, as if the narrow neck of the bottle was easier to face than his gaze. "Call me prideful. Or spiteful. But it's not that he pretended I don't exist. That professor already hates me, and he makes it so much worse." 

He took another look at him - Galsariad, or whatever his dumb name. There weren’t many people he hated on sight, but he had pretentious, trust fund kid vibes that set off warning bells in his head. He’d spent too much time in private school as the only kid there on a scholarship, both the only Black kid and the only kid from the backwoods. Fuck it, he decided. “Yeah. Screw this guy.” 

“See, I knew you’d get it.” Cassandra stood on her toes, even though she already looked over the heads of everyone else in the room. “Where’d Milo go?” 

“He’s probably taken my car and ditched us,” Darius said. 

She shot him a withering look. “He knows his part in our plan.” 

“Doesn’t mean he’ll want to participate.” 

Cassandra rolled her eyes, but he knew she agreed. Darius didn’t understand why she’d picked Milo to be their man to drag Gal away from his friends. Though he hated the guy on principle, he could’ve seduced him away. In fact, he was ready to, rolling up the sleeves of his hoodie as she continued to look around. 

“Okay, please don’t take my mortal enemy to bed,” she said. “Milo will come through.” 

He still had his doubts. But it wasn’t long until Milo appeared. He touched Gal on the arm, saying something that neither of them could hear over the music. As Gal nodded and headed off, Milo shot them a look. It didn’t take much interpretation to know what he was thinking - You so owe me. 

As they waited for an appropriate time to pass before they could follow him, Darius asked, “What’d you tell him to say again?” 

“Try to sell him coke,” Cassandra said casually. 

He nearly choked on his beer. “What?” 

“What? This is why I sent Milo to do. He looks like a preppy guy with access to coke. You look like you deal weed.”

“Rude.” 

“The earthy, hoodie-wearing, slacker vibes you give off don’t help you there,” Cassandra told him. “Even if I know that you’re a snob for a good wine and… have you ever even smoked weed?” 

“There was that one time Zenith came over when you weren’t home,” he mumbled. 

“Oh my God,” she said. “Why did you never tell me that?” 

“Later.” Darius threw back the rest of his beer. “Let’s go.” 

The crowd parted as the two of them walked towards the stairs. He had scouted out the house earlier and determined where Milo should lure Gal: a bedroom of one of the house’s inhabitants that was left unprotected, but had an air of college boyness that would kill the mood for any potential hook-ups. It made him wish that Cassandra had one of the scented candles she’d lit around the apartment in her purse, but he doubted she had considered that in her planning. 

Besides, committing arson was not in their plan. He wasn’t a chemistry major, but he figured some of the fumes in that room must have been combustible. 

When they stepped into the hall, Darius let Cassandra lead the charge. Being in the trajectory of her wrath was not his idea of a good time. 

She wasted no time heading to the room they'd designated for their confrontation and opened the door. "Hey, boo. Miss me?" 

Darius peered into the room to catch Gal's surprised face. He pitied him for what was going to come. Only a little

As Cassandra walked in, he followed and shut the door, standing in front of it. He wasn't very good in a physical fight, but he looked deceptively imposing enough that he would take standing guard. 

"What the hell?" Gal asked. 

Milo looked up from the desk, putting on his best innocent face. And- 

"Milo!" Cassandra cried, taking in the lines of white powder on the desk. "I didn't think you actually had cocaine on you!" 

Somehow, Darius found it hard to be surprised. Of all the things Milo could be up to behind their backs, dealing drugs was the tamest possibility. 

Their roommate merely shrugged. "I didn't do any. Designated driver, remember?" 

Gal backed up as Cassandra started rifling through her purse. "What is going on here?" 

She pulled out her tablet. "You are getting blackmailed."

Darius leaned forward. "I don't think you're supposed to tell people when they're getting blackmailed." 

Milo agreed silently, having dropped into the desk chair to spectate. He had a feeling that he'd gone along with their plan because he wanted to see just how things would unfold. 

He'd be lying if he said he hadn't thought the same. 

Gal sat on the edge of the bed, hands laid in his lap. "Well. What do you know?" 

"I know that you forged your letters to get into Waterdeep University's masters' program. I did some sniffing around - you know, you should tell Dr. Teflon to get a better lock on her office door-" Cassandra tapped on her tablet. "Your professors at Jigow State - wonderful school, I nearly considered it - say you never consulted them for a recommendation." She turned her tablet out. "Why did you lie?" 

"You're insane," he said. 

Unfortunately, Darius kinda had to agree with him there. He had no clue how Cassandra retrieved that information, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to ask. 

"I'm right. I can prove it, and I can send that information to some high-up people in the university. The Dean of the College of Natural Sciences like to drink with Dr. Vallus, doesn’t she, Darius?” 

He didn’t like using his connections on campus like that. But he nodded, solemnly. “Dr. Vallus and I are real besties.” 

Gal started to sweat. “And you’re going to tell her I do coke?” 

“No,” Cassandra said. “I’m trying to ruin your career, not get you thrown in jail.” 

He sighed in relief, hanging his head. “Fine. What do you want?” 

“I want you to change my grade on my paper for Teflan’s class to an A. I did A level work! And you gave me a C.” 

“All this over a C on a paper?” Milo asked, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Shut up, coke dealer,” Cassandra said, holding a hand up. 

“Fuck. Fine.” Gal raised his head. “It was a B- at best, though.” 

“So you did grade me down!” 

“Okay, I did.” He stood up. “I will fix your grade. And I will make sure that you pass this class and any other class that I have to TA. Shit.” 

Cassandra put her tablet together satisfied. “Deal.” She turned to Milo. “Did you charge him for the coke?” 

“Yeah,” he said. 

Darius sighed dramatically. 

Gal started to stand up. “I’m just gonna go-” He walked up to him nervously. 

Cassandra shot him a look, and he stepped out of the way. Gal scammered out of the room, shutting the door behind him with a slam. 

“Don’t just leave your coke in here,” she said, before following him back out into the hall. 

Milo turned to Darius, as if waiting for him to make a comment. 

“If I ask questions, will you kick me out?”

“Yes.” 

“Okay, fine.” He tucked his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. “I think I’m ready to go home.” 

“Agreed. I just have to-” Milo waved his hands over the desk. 

Darius turned to head out. “Alright.” 

At least he’d have quite the story to tell his friends.

[winwintea]

OKAY WAIT I HAVE A NEW GAY COUPLE IN MIND

sinfw the beginning but i never said that because i thought i’m makinh too many stc references and i felt like it was annoying you but umm

johnny and minghao the next yanan and ten??? I MEAN EVEN JOHNNY SAID HIM AND MINGHAI COULD BE MORE THAN JUST FRIENDS I MEAN IT WASN’T ME YOU SEE

Also omg me and minghao twinning we are all trust fund kids slay

i wish he was my actual younger brother not this bitch i have🙄

Praying minghao and johnny the next yanan and ten because umm they look good tgthr and it is not me who said that it is johnny

ofc u do

that sounds mean i just love opening asks from u bc ur always like "what if people were gay" and its so funny

see the thing about johnny is that. he's unpredictable, and nobody can tell if he's serious or not. one of the comedic effects to his character. y/n's lowkey not gonna question the minghao statement bc she's not sure if he's joking or not.

unpredictable, dgaf, sarcastic boss johnny core

HELP YOUNGER BROTHER??? bestie minghao is like 26... but trust fund kid indeed he is

sure johnny may have said it but nobody knows if he's serious or not!