#apparently the full interview is out on monday!!

[cressidagrey]

Lessons in Math (and Humility)

Welcome to Mysterious Mrs Piastri's Mondays. Apparently this is a thing now. (Ever since I hear that interview where Kimi was asked which subjects he's scared off an the answer was Math, I knew I was gonna write this.)

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Kimi Antonelli thought he could handle anything — race cars, pressure, a wet track…but his math homework may destroy him. Enter Bee Piastri. 

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

Kimi Antonelli didn’t ask for help lightly.

Especially not with math.

He was a racing driver, not an idiot. He could handle telemetry, fuel loads, braking calculations, tyre degradation graphs — all of it — without blinking. He’d memorized braking points at Spa, figured out fuel maps on the fly, and survived radio calls with engineers who thought “you’re fine” covered every possible scenario.

He was good at numbers. At racing numbers.

But this assignment?

This nightmare of partial derivatives and matrix transformations?

It stared at him from his tablet like a personal attack, every line of notation a new insult to his intelligence.

After twenty minutes of glaring at it — tapping his pen, checking his notes, checking them again as if they might have magically rewritten themselves — Kimi finally let out a groan of pure, unfiltered despair.

He flopped face-first onto the hospitality couch, tablet slipping from his hands onto the seat beside him.

Without lifting his head, he announced, voice muffled against the cushions: “I’m going to fail math and bring shame to the entire grid.”

The nearest breathing human — unfortunately — was Ollie Bearman, who looked up from where he was very happily slurping a suspiciously neon smoothie.

Ollie raised an eyebrow. “What’s the problem?”

Kimi lifted one arm limply and waved the tablet in the air like a white flag of surrender.

“This. Derivatives. Partial equations. I don’t know. Numbers are evil.”

Ollie blinked once. Then grinned — the kind of grin that meant he was enjoying Kimi’s suffering way too much.

“You know,” he said thoughtfully, “Arthur Leclerc almost failed stats back in F3.”

Kimi turned his head enough to squint at him. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Like, barely passed.”

Kimi perked up slightly, seizing onto the news like a lifeline. If Arthur — who had a literal racing dynasty backing him — struggled, maybe there was hope for the rest of them.

“How’d he survive?” Kimi asked, sitting up slightly.

Ollie’s grin widened.

“Oscar.”

Kimi stared at him. “Piastri?”

“Yep. Quiet nerd back at Prema. Absolute lifesaver. Helped Arthur cram for finals and everything.”

Kimi narrowed his eyes. He thought about Oscar: quiet, steady, terrifyingly good at everything he touched, like someone had programmed him in a lab.

Of course Oscar would have hidden superpowers. Of course.

Kimi hesitated, pride warring with desperation.

And then sighed dramatically, letting his head thunk back against the couch.

“Fine,” he said. “Find me Piastri. I have no pride left.”

Which was how, ten minutes later, they ended up with Oscar Piastri sitting cross-legged in the McLaren motorhome, frowning deeply at Kimi’s tablet like it had personally offended him.

“Okay,” Oscar muttered, squinting, “it’s not impossible. It’s just badly worded.”

Kimi leaned forward, full of hope — desperate, grasping hope.

Maybe this would be fine. Maybe Oscar Piastri — quiet, unflappable, secret nerd of Prema lore — could fix this disaster.

Five minutes later, that hope was dead.

Oscar exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair. “I’m going to be honest with you, mate: I have no idea what they’re asking for.”

Kimi flailed, waving his hands like he could physically summon better news. “But you saved Arthur! You’re the math guy!”

Oscar held up a hand, grimacing. “That was basic stats, Kimi. You know, averages. Standard deviations. This—” he pointed at the tablet like it might bite him, “—this is multivariable calculus meets actual sadism.”

Ollie Bearman, who had been perched nearby pretending not to watch the trainwreck unfold, snorted into his water bottle.

Oscar sighed again, this time reaching for his phone.

“No—” Kimi said, panicked, feeling his dignity slipping further into the abyss. “Don’t call someone. Don’t bother anyone. I’ll just fail and move to a cabin in the woods, it’s fine—”

Oscar was already dialing.

“Relax,” he said, calm as anything. “Felicity’s here. She likes this stuff.”

Five minutes later, Felicity Piastri wandered into the motorhome.

Kimi had seen her around the paddock plenty of times over the last year.

The first two things he’d learned about Oscar’s wife were simple:

1. She was tiny and startlingly pretty — the kind of pretty that could probably kill a man if she wanted to.

2. If Felicity Piastri was somewhere, Bee Piastri, Oscar’s terrifyingly adorable four-year-old daughter, was never far behind.

Today was no exception.

Bee marched in beside her mother, two neat pigtails bouncing with every step, each tied with papaya-colored bobbles (a detail that felt almost aggressively on-brand). A stuffed frog plushie dangled from one hand, like a trusted battle companion.

Both of them — Felicity and Bee — looked unfairly bright and well-rested for how emotionally wounded Kimi felt.

Oscar, completely unbothered by the incoming reinforcements, handed Felicity the tablet without preamble.

She glanced at it. Paused. Then blinked slowly.

“You’re all stumped by this?” she asked, her voice dripping with mild disbelief.

Kimi wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

“It’s the notation!” he blurted defensively. “And the question’s vague! And the examples were misleading!”

Felicity tilted her head, looking at him with the kind of fond pity reserved for particularly slow puppies. “It’s literally just a chain rule application with a matrix shortcut.”

“That’s not helping!” Ollie said, muffled into the crook of his elbow where he was laughing himself into an early grave.

Meanwhile, Bee had clambered neatly onto Oscar’s lap without hesitation, perching herself like a queen surveying her court. Kimi noticed absently how Oscar automatically shifted to make room for her — steadying her with one hand, pressing a soft kiss to her temple like it was muscle memory.

“Mama, is it hard?” Bee asked, peering at the tablet with great seriousness.

Felicity smiled. “Not really. But it’s annoying.”

Bee thought about that for a second. Then squared her tiny shoulders like she was preparing for battle.

“Can I try?” she asked.

Oscar sighed deeply. “Bee, it’s complicated—”

But Bee was already moving, plucking the tablet from his hand like it was no big deal, mumbling to herself under her breath.

“Okay, so you take this one first because it’s inside the brackets... and then you swap the middle bits because that’s the rule from the blue notebook... and then you put it all together and it looks like a frog but it’s actually a plus sign.”

Kimi blinked.

Ollie blinked.

Oscar just shook his head like a man who had accepted the chaos a long time ago.

Three minutes later, Bee beamed, handed the tablet back to her mother, and swung her legs happily.

“There,” she said proudly. “Now it’s not grumpy anymore.”

Felicity leaned over, checked the solution... And grinned.

“She’s right,” she said brightly. “Great job, sweetheart!”

Oscar gave a low, half-proud, half-resigned chuckle. “Welcome to my life.”

Kimi stared at the screen.

A four-year-old. A four-year-old had solved the math problem correctly in under three minutes.

Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised. He had heard rumors last year — something about Bee spotting an issue with a McLaren suspension load calculation before any of the engineers did.

But seeing it in real time?

Devastating.

Absolutely devastating.

“I— how did you—?” Kimi stuttered, still struggling to comprehend reality.

Bee shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Mama says numbers are friends. You just have to make them sit next to each other nicely.”

Kimi blinked down at the tablet, then at Bee, then back again.

Maybe... maybe racing cars was safer. Maybe he should stick to corners and apexes where the worst that could happen was a spin, not having his soul annihilated by a toddler.

Felicity kissed the top of Bee’s head and said entirely too casually, “There you go. Courtesy of a four-year-old.”

Oscar smiled and held out a hand. “Great job, Bumblebee.”

Bee high-fived her father so hard the smack echoed around the motorhome.

Kimi slumped back into his seat, utterly defeated.

Maybe he had brought shame to the grid after all.

Later, Kimi found himself slumped in the corner of the McLaren motorhome, a half-crushed juice box in his hand — courtesy of Bee, who had handed it over solemnly “for bravery.”

The worst part?

He genuinely needed it.

He sipped the apple juice in silence, staring into the middle distance, quietly reconsidering his entire academic career.

Maybe he could just... never open a math textbook again. Maybe he could live the rest of his life solely calculating apex speeds and brake bias. Maybe if he was fast enough, no one would ever ask him to solve another derivative.

Maybe.

Across the room, Felicity leaned against the table, arms folded, smiling sweetly — the kind of sweet that definitely had shark teeth hiding underneath.

“Bee’s better at recognizing patterns than most adults,” she said casually, like she wasn’t casually shattering the egos of Formula One drivers before lunchtime. “She’s been beating Oscar at card games since she was two.”

Oscar, sitting beside Kimi and munching on a cookie he definitely hadn’t earned, patted Kimi’s shoulder with exaggerated sympathy.

“Don’t feel bad,” he said, trying — and failing — not to laugh. “She inherited her mother’s brain.”

Kimi just groaned into his hands.

It didn’t help that Bee chose that exact moment to skip past them, Button the Frog tucked securely under one arm and a packet of glittery frog-shaped stickers in the other.

She looked so pleased with herself. Completely oblivious to the devastation she had left behind. Or maybe — horrifying thought — not oblivious at all.

Kimi made a note to himself:

Never challenge Bee to anything involving numbers.

Never doubt Felicity’s terrifying brain ever again.

Maybe just stick to driving cars really fast. It was safer for his dignity.

Probably.

Maybe.

[xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx]

A Lesson in Honesty - Josh Dun x Reader

Pairing: Josh Dun x fem!bandmember!Reader Era: Trench (2019) Genre: angst to fluff / hurt/comfort Word Count: 7 003 Warnings: no use of (y/n), descriptions of pain, misogyny, Tyler has a small crisis (nothing bad), jealous!Josh, Tyler not minding his own business, mentions of pregnancy (Jenna) and Tyler as a dad, Josh’s in a bad mood Summary: You haven’t had a good week on tour and to make matters worse, Josh is behaving weirdly Prompts: playing matchmaker, one-bed-trope A/N: Okay so. I started this account right after I had to drop out of university because of depression. Back then I left everything behind that I had built for myself and returned to my hometown. I haven’t been back to that city since, not even that country. Until last week. I went to see twenty one pilots, who I started listening to while living there, and being back there, seeing the familiar streets, how little had changed… it was surprisingly easier than I had expected. But I thought since I’m having top brainrot rn, might as well write something in honour of being brave enough to go back there. And to starting my (hopefully) last semester in the BA-degree at my hometown university. Coming full circle? Whatever. Enjoy reading.

“No! I will not continue playing!”

This had to be the finale of this disastrous week’s events. From a twisted ankle on Monday night, over strange interviews and an unusual amount of Tyler’s antics to tonight being the third evening in a row that you were playing with a broken in-ear, it had been a week.

“You’ve played the last two nights like this, you can do it,” the stage manager encouraged, trying to dismiss your pain.

“Maybe having played the last two night like this, and today’s soundcheck, and having said multiple times that I need my in-ears checked, is the reason why now it feels like my brain is leaking out!”

Your patience was running thin. You had made it through the first two songs before the pain had become unbearable. What was maybe worse, was that you had no real idea what exactly caused the pain. It was not just the loud noise and the anxiety of only hearing the dead mic instead of also the music. It almost felt like there was a tone in your earphones, outside your hearing range, that caused the pain. You had pointed it out close to a dozen times, to different people, asking them to help fix it, but the pain was still there, and you just couldn't take it anymore. You had signalled Tyler, who had been closer, that something was wrong, and gone backstage, hoping to get your set of back-up in-ears. Except that the new stage manager was apparently a real asshole.

“I either get my back-up, or I’m not going back out there,” you threatened, trying to establish some semblance of dominance towards the man, who was a head taller than you and at least twice as broad.

“Oh, come on,” the stage manager rolled his eyes. “You’re being a bit overdramatic right now, don’t you think. Just get back on stage and do your job.”

For a moment you just stared at him in disbelieve, before reaching for his dead mic without breaking eye contact.

“Tyler, Josh, I need one of you guys back here,” you spoke into the mic.

You hated doing this, asking your male band members to stand up for you, but even though the thousands of people in the arena were here for you as much as for Tyler and Josh, there were still crew members who thought it would be okay to pay you less respect than them.

It only took a few seconds for the familiar form of Josh to come jumping down the stairs.

“What’s up,” he shouted, while jogging to your side.

“I need my back-up in-ears,” you answered. “These ones are still hurting my ears.”

Josh turned to look at the stage manager with raised eyebrows.

On stage, Tyler seemed to try his best to keep the crowd entertained. 

"And there goes Josh, too," he commented. "Keep it PG13, guys! Why do I never get invited to these things…"

Any other day, Tyler's harmless jokes would have made you roll your eyes playfully, maybe even earned a chuckle. But these kinds of comments had been going on for the whole week already, and maybe, if there wasn't a seed of truth behind his words – you wishing it were actually true what he was teasing about – then it wouldn't have bothered you. Instead, now his words brought you close to blowing up, which definitely was not helped by the stage manager’s refusal to acknowledge your distress.

“So?” It was subtle, the way Josh was pushing himself to stand between you and the stage manager, and for a moment you were not sure if you were flattered by him displaying his protective side, or annoyed. You decided on the former. “Where are her back-ups?”

“I’d take us a few minutes to set them up-”

“Then you better get going, people are waiting for us,” Josh offered his unapologetic demand, something he had learnt from Tyler over the years.

The stage manager stared at him for a moment, before gesturing to a technician, who stood by his side and quickly scrambled off, doubtlessly to search for what was needed.

“You okay?” Josh turned around to you, bringing his hands up to your shoulders. His dark eyes were soft and full of worry, as he leant in a little closer.

The usual response threatened to make its way over your lips; a ‘yeah, I’m fine’ almost on the tip of your tongue. But you had made a promise, the three of you, never to lie when it was about your health, be it physical or mental.

“No,” you admitted, your throat suddenly closing up. “It fucking hurts.”

“Oh, baby,” Josh gently grabbed your chin, looking into your face before pulling you into his arms. He was warm, and already a little sweaty, but you didn’t mind. You had been hugged by both him and Tyler, when all of you were dripping with sweat; years of touring together had gotten you used to it. What you were not used to, was the nickname, that sent your heart racing, and you quickly buried your head against Josh’s neck to hide the embarrassment.

A few seconds later, the technician came back, and Josh had to step away, so he could work on you.

Less than a minute later, you were good to go, your ears not feeling like someone had thrust red-hot wires through them straight into your brain anymore, and the show continued.

From there on, things seemed to go smoothly. Tyler was his usual upbeat self, commanding the crowd effortlessly to sing along, use their phone-torches or sit quietly. Josh, behind his drums, seemed as confident as ever, matching his expression to the music, his eyes either on the crowd, Tyler, or you. Whenever you felt his gaze, you walked over, to interact with him, and each time he broke character, a bright grin on his face as he adjusted his pace and energy to whatever you were doing. Things were like always, things were good. Until ‘Neon Gravestones’ came on.

Maybe you should have seen it earlier, the way Tyler’s shoulders were a little too tense, but when you stood on his platform on B-Stage that night, you could see that something was troubling him. You loved sharing quiet glances with Josh, loved looking out over the crowd during the calm song, loved taking in the faces of the people who connected so deeply with the music.

But tonight, your attention was on Tyler. He was a professional, brilliant at letting the crowd see only what he wanted them to see. But you knew him too well to be fooled by his acting. It was the way his shoulders were a tiny bit too drawn up, the way his eyes skipped over the piano keys.

You shot Josh a look, who glanced between you and Tyler and back to you. He had noticed it, too. Since Josh was on his own platform, trapped behind his drums, there was little he could do. So, it was up to you.

Hoping you were not drawing too much attention to Tyler’s quiet turmoil, you stepped behind him, close enough to press your side against his back, careful not to hit him over the head with your instrument.

Standing like this, you could feel his shaky breath as he fought his way through the end of the song before the lights dimmed and the last accord rang out in the arena. As soon as the big spotlights were turned off, Tyler turned around on his seat and hugged you around the middle. Unaware of Josh’s furrowed brows at the sudden display of affection, your hugged him back, running your hands through his hair.

“What’s wrong,” you asked, hoping he heard you over the crowd.

“What if my baby ever feels this way?”

It wasn’t public yet, that Tyler and Jenna were expecting a baby, but obviously Josh and you were already in on the secret. You weren’t surprised that these kinds of thoughts were the ones plaguing Tyler during a show; it wouldn’t be the first time.

“Then they’ll have the best parents in the world, who will make sure they get all the support and love they could ever possibly need and want, right?”

Tyler’s arms tightened around you for a moment, and you glanced over at Josh, who was watching closely, but with an unfamiliar tightness on his face. Just as the lights went back on, Tyler let go of you and turned back to the piano. A stolen moment of weakness in the middle of thousands of onlookers. Neither of you were oblivious to the smartphone cameras that had been pointed on you, but Tyler had developed a certain skill when it came to hiding his true vulnerability.

As he leant over the mic to announce the next song, you shot Josh another look. He was still watching, still tense. Cocking your head at him, you wordlessly asked what was wrong, but he just pressed his lips together and busied himself with a screw on his drums before you had to join Tyler for the next song.

That was the second incident of the night. The third one followed only a few minutes later, when all of you were supposed to head back to the main stage. Usually, you unplugged your instrument and carried it back to where you would plug it in again, but this time Tyler, who had semi-recovered from the emotions from earlier, stood up from the piano and just as you had made it off the platform, grabbed you by the wrist. A moment later, he had taken your instrument, and placed it down on the platform, before jumping down to join you.

Before you knew what was happening, he had wrapped his arms around you in a hug, lifting you up as if you weighted nothing, and begun walking. It wasn’t the first time he had done something like that, even though it was the first time in the middle of a show, but you didn’t pay it much mind, just let him drag you around, thinking he would place you back on your feet after a few meters.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he carried you all the way to the stage before he set you back down, laughing and flicking your nose before running up the steps to his piano.

Josh, who had been walking right behind Tyler and you, just walked past you, not looking at you, which made your heart sink. First, Tyler had been off, and now something was going on with Josh. Reaching out for him, you grazed your fingers over his arm, a short gesture you always used in the middle of concerts to assure him of your presence when you had the impression he needed some comfort. Normally, he leant into the contact, a short but defined moment of acknowledgment, sometimes he even reached out back, but today he drew away.

Yes, something was definitely wrong. And knowing Josh, he wouldn’t be as open about it to you as Tyler was, even if you had promised each other.

If Tyler had noticed, he had opted to ignore the tension, instead waiting for the two of you at the foot of the stage once the show was over, and throwing an arm around your shoulder.

“Thanks for earlier,” he said, nudging his forehead against the side of yours, like a cat.

“Anytime,” you grinned, patting his back, while trying to subtly keep an eye on Josh. “Just next time, try not to squeeze me to death if you want to carry me around, okay?”

Tyler laughed. “Bridal style next time, roger that. Hey, Josh, you good?”

Josh shot the two of you a glance, his eyes lingering a moment too long on the way Tyler had his arm slung over your shoulder as if he weren’t used to the sight.

“Yeah,” he answered, and you didn’t have to look at Tyler to know you both didn’t believe the drummer.

“Good,” Tyler nodded, but he didn’t sound convinced as he stiffly drew his arm back.

“Guys, I’m so sorry-”

You were just accepting a bottle of water from a stagehand, when your incident number… three? Four? – you had lost count – begun developing in the form of your tour manager sprinting along. One might think the day was over and done for you once the music ended, but even though you were not responsible for clearing out the stage or loading the bus, there was always more happening. Some days it was interviews, other days it was meeting fans, and today it was whatever had your tour manager’s brows in a deep furrow. If there was one thing you had learnt over the years of being a member of Twenty One Pilots, it was that you didn’t want a situation where the tour manager had a furrow in their brow and you certainly didn't want to be the cause for that furrow.

“What’s wrong?” Tyler – a moment ago happy, goofy, cheerful post-show-Tyler – immediately turned serious and went straight into problem-solving-mode. You watched him for a moment longer. Oh yeah, you could see it. He was already working on his dad-mode, and the baby wasn’t even born yet. Good.

“The hotel messed up our rooms,” the tour manager admitted, running a hand through his sparce hair. “The rooms for the crew are all okay, but instead of three singles they gave us one single and one twin.”

“That’s three beds, where’s the problem,” you asked, quickly chugging down the contents of the water bottle you had been handed.

“I know you usually prefer your own rooms,” the tour manager said, glancing between Tyler, who was already relaxing as it was no world-ending problem you were facing, you, who screwed the empty bottle shut and handed it back to the stagehand, and Josh, who looked as brooding and dark as if he had just been told someone had stolen their equipment.

“That’s okay,” Tyler shrugged. “We’ll just pair up.” Encouragingly, he patted both yours and Josh’s back.

On the way to the bus, having made only a short stop at the changing rooms to grab your jackets, you agreed that Tyler and Josh would share the double room, so you got some quiet time, especially after the unlucky incident with the in-ears from the beginning of the show.

You had half-heartedly hoped Josh would find an excuse to let Tyler take the single room, so you and him could join, but he kept quiet, too quiet, throughout the whole conversation, and you knew better than to keep poking at him. He and Tyler were very different in that matter.

When something was wrong with Tyler and he didn’t tell you immediately, a safe way to get him to talk was to continue asking. Eventually he would blow up a little before confessing to what was on his mind. Josh, on the other hand, just shut you out. Either he talked because he wanted to, or not at all. Both Tyler and you had learnt that the hard way over the years, although you couldn’t remember the last time Josh had felt bad and not actively sought you out to share his thoughts.

The ride to the hotel took almost half an hour, and you desperately wished you would have taken a shower before leaving the venue. But Tyler seemed tired and with Josh being in that weird state he was in, you thought it was better to get both of them to bed quickly.

On the bus, you checked your phone, when suddenly a message by Tyler came in. He had sent a video from a fan account, and quickly putting on your headphones, you turned on the sound. It turned out that it was a video collage, cut together from an interview the three of you had given earlier that week. You still remembered a few of the questions, and the stupid stories you all had responded with to questions you hadn’t fancied answering honestly. What you also remembered were the comments Tyler had made, similar to the one he had shared with the crowd while Josh had helped you discuss with the stage manager. Almost every second sentence out of Tyler’s mouth had been something that implied that Josh and you were an item in the romantic sense.

The video was done in an admittedly funny way, cutting between Tyler’s shit-eating grin, Josh’s eyerolls and your embarrassed retorts.

While watching the video, you couldn’t help but notice the way Tyler’s comments that day hadn’t left Josh entirely unbothered either. You hadn’t seen it at the time, not having dared looking over to him too much, but on the video it was quite plain that he had blushed sometimes and – contrary to your assumption – looked over to you several times as if to check your reaction.

When you clicked back from the video, you saw the message Tyler had added.

“You’re sooo subtle”

You took off your headphones and selected the middle finger emoji as a response, earning a delighted giggle from deeper inside the bus before turning off your phone and glancing over to Josh who sat with folded legs on the sofa. He was typing around on his phone, the occasional pausing making it look like he was chatting with someone. Was he texting Tyler or maybe someone from his family? Or a woman?

Pushing the bitter thought out of your mind, you focused on the way the white light from his screen danced over his face, catching at his lips and lashes, painting long shadows on his skin. He was beautiful, you thought to yourself, with his dark curls, brown eyes, that soft smile that more often than not tucked on his lips.

Now it was replaced with varying stages of confusion, almost annoyance as if whoever he was communicating with was upsetting him. If he was texting a woman, maybe he should forget about her. No, that was a selfish though, driven only by the hope that he would pick up on your interest in him. Which in and of itself was weird enough. For years you had worked closely together with him, had shared the narrow backs of vans while driving through the country, had confessed secrets and crushes to each other, had teamed up against Tyler and given your heart and soul for the band. And for what? To fall in love with him after almost ten years? Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid-

“What the fuck, man,” Tyler poked his head out from the bunk bed area, shooting Josh a playful glare. “That’s so out of line.”

Josh seemed not as amused as Tyler. Apparently, it had been Tyler Josh had been texting with, and not some secret girlfriend.

“I told you to mind your own business,” Josh protested, still obviously in a bad mood.

“Alright, alright,” Tyler sighed, making his way over to sit next to you at the small table. “Change of topic: Jenna wants to call later and honestly I feel like I might need some alone time. You wouldn’t mind…”

He trailed off, expectantly looking at you.

“Change rooms,” you offered. ‘Alone time’ was pretty much the code word in the band for asking for a single room.

Tyler nodded, visibly relieved that you had caught on immediately. “That would be great-”

“Tyler-,” Josh sighed, sounding annoyed from where he was sitting on the sofa, as if Tyler had done exactly what Josh hadn’t wanted him to do.

“That is, if you’re willing to sleep next to Mr. Grumpy over there,” Tyler teased.

Looking over to Josh, you found he was already waiting for your reply. Something about him was different now from before, as if he were uncertain about our response or what he should hope you would answer. If it came down to you, you knew you would prefer sleeping next to Josh over your own room for the night. You still remembered all the nights you had spent more or less on top of one another on the backseats of vans or sharing sleeping bags on the living room floors of some family friends who happened to live in the city you were playing at. And sometimes you missed it, the way he had wrapped his arms around you casually, as if you were a plushie he needed to be able to sleep, or how you had watched his eyes flicker underneath his closed lids while sleep evaded you.

Raising your eyebrows at him, you signalled him wordlessly that it would be okay for you, and he shrugged back.

“Not like I get much of a choice,” he grumbled, averting his gaze.

His reply lodged a sting in your chest. Whatever had happened between him helping you to get your back-up in-ears and now seemed not to go away any time soon, and where you usually would have looked forward to sharing a room with him, you now wondered how much worse his mood could get.

The hotel was one of the big business hotels that looked the same in every city. Tyler got off the elevator a few floors before you, leaving Josh and you as the last ones in the enclosed space. He wore an oversized hoodie, night bag slung over his shoulder while avoiding your eyes.

“Did you have a fight with anyone,” you asked carefully. “You usually are only this quiet when you had a disagreement with Tyler…”

Josh exhaled loudly and shook his head. “No, we’re good. Just… some thoughts.”

“Wanna share?”

“Not now.”

“Fair enough,” you shrugged, watching the electronic numbers counting up the floors. “I’m here if you need me.”

Josh hummed and for a moment silence fell between you, before he spoke up again. “Were your ears okay for the rest of the show?”

“Yeah,” you nodded. “The back-ups are never quite as good as the real ones, but at least I didn’t feel like my brain was seeping out through my ears.”

Josh scoffed. “That stage manager though- what’s his name?”

“Uhm…”

“Can’t wait until he’s gone. I hate that they just switched him in without any of us knowing who he is. And honestly, he should learn how to respect you more.”

“I agree with you there,” you sighed, completely understanding Josh’s frustration, both about not having been taken seriously and having been assigned a stage manager without ever meeting him before the first show.

“I was so close to blowing up in his face,” Josh admitted, a hint of shame swinging in his voice.

“You and me both, Josh, you and me both.”

Gently you boxed his arm, too late remembering that he hadn’t been in the best mood before. But instead of pulling away, he turned to look at you and sent you a tight smile; tight not because of you but because of the manager.

Your room was on the highest floor of the building, allowing you a nice view over the city through the huge window, before Josh turned on the lights. The moment of wonder at the lights glittering beyond the glass was only short lived though, when you saw the size of the bed.

“I thought they said it was a twin bedroom,” asked Josh, standing behind you in the door, glancing over your shoulder.

There were in fact not two beds, as the description of a ‘twin bed room’ would have suggested. Instead, it was a double bed, and not a big one at that.

“Should we- should we go ask for a different room,” you asked hesitantly. If you were being honest, the idea to share a bed with Josh made you giddy with excitement, but at the same time you hated the thought he might be uncomfortable.

“’s okay for me,” he offered, walking past you into the small room.

“Well, then.” You followed him, dropping your own bag off on one of the chairs, and hung your jacket up on a hanger.

“Do you want the door or the window side of the bed,” Josh asked, looking around the room. There was hardly any place to stand, the bed so close to the outside wall of the building that the window side was hardly accessible. Other than that, the room offered little more than a table with two chairs, a mini fridge and a small tv.

“Window,” you decided, and he nodded, throwing his own bag on the side of the bed closer to the door.

Sneaking a glance into the small bathroom you asked: “Do you wanna shower first?”

Josh looked back at you over his shoulder, his eyes flickering momentarily to the bathroom door.

“If that’s alright with you,” he asked back, and when you just nodded, he quickly pulled some sleepwear from his bag and headed for the bathroom.

While you heard the shower being turned on, you began grabbing your own clothes from your bag, and sat down on one of the chairs, looking out of the window as good as the reflection allowed. For a moment you considered turning off the ceiling lights, but you felt too tired to move around much more.

Instead, you allowed the racing thoughts in your head for a moment to scream as much as they liked, drowning out even the sound of the shower and the air conditioning.

The week had been exhausting, and you were grateful that there was no show tomorrow, even if that meant you had no real outlet for the frustration in your system. After Tyler had sent you the video earlier, you couldn’t help but replay all the other comments in your head, which he had made throughout the week.

There were countless teases about Josh and you, about how you made a good team, about how cute you’d be together. Then he had suddenly removed himself from situations, leaving Josh and you alone over breakfast or in the lounge of the bus. You had enjoyed these times, the conversation between Josh and you always flowing smoothly, and the first two days you hadn’t thought much about Tyler’s sudden disappearances.

Until the interview where the video had been taken.

He had been bolder then, suggesting time and time again that something was going on between Josh and you. You had almost forgotten about these interviews, the one where the video had been taken not being the only one where Tyler had been in this mischievous mood. But the first evening with your broken in-ears had made things difficult to focus on much else. Then there was Josh’s strange behaviour ever since you had comforted Tyler after ‘Neon Gravestones’, and Tyler once again making sure Josh and you were spending time together by making you stay in the same room.

Was he setting you up?

The idea was ridiculous for so many reasons. First of all, you were bandmates. If something happened between Josh and you, and it ended badly, the integrity of the band was at risk. Secondly, he was doomed to fail from the beginning on, considering you were the only one interested.

Admittedly, you had no way to check if Josh might feel the same. God forbid, you would simply ask him ‘Hey Josh, are you interested in me romantically?’ Then again, you wouldn’t put it past Tyler to have asked that question for you.

Your thoughts got interrupted by Josh calling your name, and a moment later the bathroom door creaked open.

“Already done,” you asked, turning around after seeing him poke his head out.

“I forgot my shampoo,” he admitted. “Could I borrow yours?”

“Sure. Wait-” Getting up from your spot on the chair, you quickly grabbed the bag with shampoo, shower gel, conditioner and all the other small things you needed in the shower and walked over to the bathroom.

Josh stood half behind the door, towel wrapped around his hips, water dripping out of his dark curls and running over his bare chest. It was stupid, really stupid, just as stupid your little crush (haha, little, as if) on him was, but something about him coming from fresh under the shower was more attractive than it should have been.

You had seen him shirtless countless times. He made sure to remove it several times each show. You had seen him with nothing on but pyjama pants. You had seen him in the swimming pool, as wet as he was now, wearing only a pair of colourful swimming trunks. But now, seeing him standing in the bathroom, dripping wet like a puppy that had fallen into a pool, that was what made your heart skip a beat? You could only hope your thoughts weren’t displayed too openly on your face.

“Feel free to use whatever you need,” you offered him, holding out the bag, and he shot you a quick smile, taking the bag, but he didn’t close the bathroom door before you had turned around.

You tried going back to your thoughts, trying to sort them further, but their insistent screaming from before had dimmed to a consistent humming that now got overshadowed by the image of Josh, dripping wet, standing in the bathroom door. How pathetic could you be, getting thrown so out of your train of thoughts simply from seeing one of your best friends shirtless after having seen him shirtless the majority of nights for the past months? Then again, to your defence, objectively speaking: Josh was hot. That wasn’t just you. That was a fact.

Josh only took another few minutes before he was finished in the bathroom, leaving you to take your turn with the shower. You almost regretted a little that Josh had forgotten his shampoo, because now the bathroom smelled like your products instead of like his.

Just like Josh you quickly rinsed of, cleaning yourself enough to wash off tonight’s sweat and dust without taking too much time, before you dried off, brushed teeth, and joined Josh back in the room. He seemed to have rubbed his hair dry, because it was almost completely dry and very tousled by the time you packed your bathroom bag away.

Josh was sitting on the bed, legs folded, fiddling with a string from his pyjama pants. He had done you the favour of throwing on a t-shirt as well, one that was almost a little oversized, even for him, and made him look uncharacteristically lost. When he glanced up at you, there was an unfamiliar vulnerability in his eyes, but you knew that he wanted to talk about whatever he hadn’t been ready to share before. One look at him was all it took for you to understand that.

“I know it’s late,” he began, as he watched you pack your bag to the degree that would allow you to quickly change your clothes tomorrow morning and leave without much more packing to do. “But… can we talk?”

That was what you had been waiting for.

Abandoning the bag, you joined Josh sitting on the bed, and for a few moments he just looked at you.

“Do you wanna turn off the lights,” you offered, knowing how sometimes it helped Josh when the lights weren’t quite as bright. He had told you once, dimmer lights made him feel less exposed.

Instead of answering you verbally, he leant over to his bedside table and turned on the small lamp there, before he switched off the main lights. Immediately the room got bathed in a soft orange hue, but Josh still seemed as tense as before.

“How’re your ears now,” he asked suddenly.

Distraction. Easing into it. You knew he’d ask something like that.

“Didn’t you ask me that already,” you reminded him, keeping the tone light, but not denying him an answer either way. “They were humming a little bit for the rest of the show, but I’m good now.”

Josh nodded, keeping his eyes on your face as if he were trying to memorise it down to the last detail. Without warning he suddenly reached out, cupping your chin the same way he had done earlier that night backstage, reminding you of the nickname he had given you then. His hands were warm, and a little rough, but his grip gentle as he slightly turned your head, first to the left, then to the right, as if he expected blood to seep from your ears.

“You sure you’re okay,” he asked again, and you nodded.

“Are you?”

Slowly his hand fell away from your face, leaving a rapidly cooling imprint of the feeling of his fingers on your skin, and his eyes fixed back on his hands.

“What was going on with Tyler today,” he asked, instead of an answer.

So, he did want to talk, you concluded, he just didn’t know how?

“He suddenly got worried about his little one,” you answered, closely watching Josh’s face.

His mouth twitched and he looked up to your eyes again.

“He’s so concerned already.”

“He loves the little one,” you told Josh, who only hummed. Again silence settled over you and again it was Josh who broke it.

“Tyler and I had a conversation recently.” There you were. This was what had been weighing down on Josh. Nervously he focused back on the string that he now twisted around his index finger. “We were talking about the band, and our future, and he said something I never thought about, but really agree with.”

Expectantly you watched Josh, noticing how shallow his breathing was. He was almost panicking, you realized, so you reached out a hand, leaving it hovering over his knee, not touching him until he nodded, even though he didn’t meet your eyes. Gently you placed your hand on his knee, his warmth immediately seeping through the soft fabric of his pyjama pants into your palm.

“What did you agree on,” you asked carefully, hoping your own nervousness was not audible in the way you were talking. But being able to provide an anchor for Josh, being able to help him in some tiny way helped you distract from yourself.

“We were talking about how we’ve always been a band that was honest. And if we couldn’t be honest as ourselves, we put on masks. Oscar Wilde style.”

“Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth,” you recalled the famous quote.

Josh nodded. “But some parts of ourselves, that stop us from being honest, can’t be hidden underneath masks, you know,” he continued. “I asked, how we should deal with these things, especially if they become a threat to the band.”

“What kind of threat?”

Josh thought for a moment, untwirling the yarn from his finger before wrapping it around another one. “Like breaking up. If there were a problem so big, we couldn’t keep going, wouldn’t it be our responsibility to avoid creating such a problem?”

“Generally, yes,” you agreed, “unless it goes against who we are as people. If avoiding this problem means, we’re no longer true to ourselves, wouldn’t it be the honest thing to do, to walk up to the problem, admit we can’t solve it and if the band breaks because of that, then at least we stayed true to ourselves and the fans.”

Josh inhaled shakily. “That’s what Tyler said, too. That’s what I think, too. He said, we as people can’t tell our fans to live life on their conditions, only to throw ours away to obey whatever expectations the world places on our shoulders as a band.”

“That wouldn’t be very honest, no,” you agreed.

“So, do you think, if there is something I feel I should do, even if it might risk the band, I should do it?”

Biting your lip you considered Josh’s question. He was still not looking at you, still playing with the string in his fingers. It almost sounded like he was trying to hand over the responsibility of the decision to you, although you were certain he had already made his choice.

“I think,” you said slowly, “that we’ve been playing together for almost ten years now, and I’ve known you for even longer than that. We’re not so easily torn apart, and if you think you should do it, then do it.”

Josh didn’t answer, just stared at his hands before suddenly looking up to you. The light from the bedside table hit him from behind, making his messy curls glow golden while casting a shadow over his face. But the intensity in his beautiful brown eyes was not lost on you, actually made you hold your breath. And then, as if the words were so easy to admit, he said: “I’ve fallen in love with you.”

You stared at him.

It would be a lie to claim you hadn’t secretly dreamt of hearing those words from his lips, but being faced with a wide-eyed Josh, who so obviously feared rejection, made things so much more difficult. You wished you could simply tell him you felt the same and that you wanted to try what being with him would be like, but after all the time, months, almost years, of keeping your growing affection locked away, it was impossible to find the right words now.

“I told Tyler about it,” Josh continued, averting his eyes once more, but now his fingers had ceased their fidgeting. “He said I needed to tell you.”

Deafening silence settled over you. The rushing of blood in your ears drowned out the humming of the air conditioning. You needed to say something, or do something, anything to signal Josh that you were not rejecting him, but all you could think about was that it didn’t make sense for someone as gentle and warm as him to fall in love with someone like you.

“You’re in love with me?”

His eyes snapped back to you. “Yes,” he confirmed. Simple. Clear. Leaving no doubt. “Is that so hard to believe?"

You blinked at him, your mind feeling like a car that had raced onto an ice patch at full speed: surprisingly quiet, and completely out of control.

“It is to me,” you admitted. “I’m not the kind of person people fall in love with.”

“I did,” Josh immediately disagreed. “I do.”

Slowly it began feeling like you were regaining control over your limbs, so you carefully lifted your hand and brought it up to Josh’s cheek. There was no hesitation in his expression as he closed his eyes and nuzzled into your palm. His skin was soft and warm, a little scratchy where he needed to shave tomorrow, but familiar and safe.

“I’m in love with you too,” you admitted quietly, leaning in closer until your forehead rested against his.

Josh’s breath hitched and he shifted, nudging his nose against yours sweetly.

“Can I kiss you,” he asked, sounding out of breath, his voice barely a whisper between you.

You couldn’t help the smile that tucked at your lips as you whispered back: “Yes, please.”

He didn’t hesitate to close the gap, pressing his lips to yours while bringing his hands to your waist, holding onto you. His kiss was demanding, but soft, and you could feel him shiver when you ran your hand along his jaw, down his neck and into his hair. It made you feel better about the way your heart was hammering in your throat, and the heat that crept up your neck and into your cheeks.

Kissing Josh felt exactly like you had imagined it to feel, safe and warm and like he actually cared for you, but at the same time it was nothing like you had imagined it either. He tasted of mint from his toothpaste, leaving the sweetness of his lips seem like a second layer, hidden by the first. You could smell your body wash on him, and a surge of possessiveness flashed through you, making you press closer to him, grabbing him a little tighter and earning you an appreciative hum that you swore would have almost made you faint.

When Josh pulled away, his cheeks were flushed and his pupils blown wide.

“I didn’t expect that to actually ever happen,” he admitted slightly breathless and with a fond grin on his face as he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you to lay down next to him. On the narrow bed, you were grateful he held you this close, keeping both of you from falling off the edge on your respective sides. At least you could use the size of the bed as a valid excuse to stay in his arms.

“Tyler did,” you suddenly realized. “Tyler expected it to happen. You told him in the beginning of the week, didn’t you? He’s been weird ever since. And you’ve been jealous.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” Josh denied, burying his face into your neck. His warm breath made goosebumps raise on your skin.

“You definitely were jealous, when I checked up on Tyler today, and when he carried me back to stage,” you reminded him, unable to supress the teasing grin that pulled at your lips; lips on which you could still taste his. “And in that interview on Wednesday, when that guy complimented me.”

“Okay, maybe I was a bit jealous,” he admitted.

“No need to be,” you smiled, shifting to press a kiss against his hair. “I wasn’t really paying attention to anyone but you anyway.”

You could feel Josh smile against your skin, and his arms tightening around you a little more. And when you fell asleep, you couldn’t help but think that this development maybe made up for the week you had had. Perhaps you should thank Tyler for his obnoxious but eventually successful attempts to get you alone-time with Josh. How soon he would get to hear that thank-you depended entirely on how smug he’d be about the news though.

[yuh13lo]

𖤐 Just a game C.S.

If you ask anyone on the Boston University campus who Chris Sturniolo is, you won’t get just one answer.

“Hockey captain.”

“Frat boy heartbreaker.”

“Hot, cocky, but somehow charming.”

“The guy who ruined the curve in Business Ethics but still brought tequila to the final.”

Chris Sturniolo had it all—athleticism, confidence, the best parties at Alpha Epsilon, and a magnetic smile that made professors forgive him and girls fall a little too fast. He wasn’t mean, per se, but he didn’t exactly linger after breaking hearts either.

But if Chris was the storm, y/n Monroe was the calm that followed.

Everyone knew y/n. Honors student, lit club president, she tutored for free in the library and always wore sweaters that smelled like lavender. Professors adored her. Girls respected her. Guys secretly wanted her, but most wouldn’t dare.

She was the girl you protected. The kind who made you feel like you were enough just by looking at you kindly across the quad.

And she had never, not once, been seen near Alpha Epsilon.

It started one chilly October night, two months into the fall semester. The hockey team had just won a gritty match against their rival, and the post-game celebration had spiraled into a full-blown frat rager.

The music pulsed like a second heartbeat in the Alpha Epsilon living room, and Chris sat on the arm of a couch in his usual relaxed posture—hat backward, hoodie slung low, red Solo cup in hand. His teammates filled the space, beers clinking and laughter thick in the air.

“I’m just saying,” Jaxon began, already a little buzzed and full of bravado, “there are girls, and then there’s y/n Monroe.”

Chris raised an eyebrow. “What about her?”

“She’s like… unicorn-level. Untouchable,” someone else chimed in.

“Not even you could get her,” Jaxon challenged, grinning like he just cracked the code to the Matrix. “Sweetheart of the campus? Come on. She’d never go for a guy like you.”

That pulled Chris’s attention. “A guy like me?”

���You know what I mean.” Jaxon leaned forward. “You’re fun, sure. Hot, obviously. But she’s pure. Bookstores and coffee shops and homemade candles. You’re beer pong and shotgunning and ghosting girls before brunch.”

The room ooh’d like it was a roast battle.

Chris smiled. “So you’re saying I couldn’t get her to fall for me.”

“I’m saying you won’t even get close.”

Silence.

Then, slowly, Chris stood, running a hand through his dark curls. “What are we betting?”

“The next party’s named after you. Full send—‘Sturniolo Bash.’ Keg’s on us. Plus, you get out of pledge interviews for a month.”

“And if I lose?”

“You clean the house bathrooms every Sunday. With a toothbrush. For two months.”

The room erupted.

Chris leaned forward and grinned. “Bet.”

It started the next Monday.

He waited near the library, timing it to the minute. He knew she always left her afternoon tutoring shift at 4:00 sharp. When she appeared, backpack slung and cheeks flushed from the cold, he stepped into stride beside her.

he said smoothly. “You’re y/n, right?”

She glanced at him, confused but polite. “I am. You’re Chris?”

“Guilty. I’ve seen you around. You helped my friend Mason pass his stats class last semester.”

“Oh, Mason! He was so nice. He brought me cookies after finals.” She smiled warmly. “What’s up?”

“Well,” he said, scratching the back of his neck like he was nervous—he wasn’t, but he could act when it counted—“I’m dying in my writing class. I heard you were the go-to tutor.”

She tilted her head. “Writing? Aren’t you a business major?”

“Yeah, but apparently Dr. Edwards thinks we need to ‘express ourselves clearly’ or whatever.” He chuckled.

Y/n laughed lightly, the kind of laugh that made Chris take a mental snapshot. “Sure, I can help. What’s the assignment?”

And just like that, she was in.

What started as “tutoring” once a week turned into coffee before their sessions. Then walks to the quad. Then texts.

He found himself crafting every word like he was playing chess with her emotions. He asked about her favorite books, about her childhood dog, about why she loved poetry. He pretended to be more interested in Hemingway than he actually was, even bought a thrifted copy of The Sun Also Rises just to underline things and pretend he’d read it.

But somewhere between December and January, something shifted.

They were sitting in her dorm lounge, their laptops forgotten as she read him a paragraph from her own short story.

“I don’t usually share my writing,” she said, voice quiet.

“Why not? You’re amazing.”

She blushed. “It’s just personal, I guess.”

Chris was quiet for a beat. For once, no charm. No joke.

“I like that you trust me with it.”

And the way she looked at him in that moment—it wasn’t just the moonlight through the windows. It was hope.

And that terrified him.

By early February, Chris wasn’t even thinking about the bet anymore. He’d stopped going out on weekends if y/n had an early morning study session. He started turning in essays on time. He even turned down a blonde sophomore who literally climbed onto his lap at a house party.

But the party was coming—the one that had started it all. The big Alpha Epsilon winter throwdown. And Chris, like an idiot, invited y/n.

“You’ll come, right? Just one night. I’ll stay by your side the whole time. I promise.”

She hesitated. “You know I don’t do parties.”

“I know. But… this one’s different. I want you there.”

He meant it. But he didn’t know what it would cost.

Friday night came fast.

The house was packed. Lights dim, music loud, drinks flowing. Chris kept his hand gently on y/n’s back as he introduced her to his friends—half of whom were too stunned she actually existed outside of textbooks.

Y/n laughed nervously, accepted a slice of pizza and a soda from him, and leaned in close to speak over the music. “This isn’t so bad.”

Chris smiled. “Told you.”

She got up to grab napkins and another soda.

And then it happened.

She came back, unnoticed, as Chris’s friends stood near the beer pong table, already halfway through their third game.

“She’s here, bro!” Jaxon laughed, throwing his hands up. “I actually can’t believe you pulled it off. Y/n-freaking-Monroe. You won the bet.”

Chris froze.

“Dude’s a legend,” another teammate said, raising a cup. “I mean, we knew he’d get her, but she actually likes him. It’s hilarious.”

Then someone added—laughing—“And she has no idea, right? Damn. Cold, Sturniolo.”

Y/n stopped in the doorway.

The soda fell from her hand. It hit the floor with a soft splat.

The laughter stopped.

Chris turned. His eyes locked with hers.

Her face was pale, like the blood had drained from her soul.

“Y/n—” he said, stepping forward.

But she was already walking away.

Not running. Just walking, as if the weight of it all had snapped something inside her.

[tsukimefuku]

CHAPTER THREE PT. II: DIMINISHED CAPACITY ❀ HIGURUMA SENSEI SERIES

masterlist link | mdni! | oopsie, is that... a special banner? gee I wonder if there's something to see at the end of this chapter, huh?

❀ diminished capacity.

Diminished capacity refers to an individual’s impossibility to form the intent necessary for committing any criminal act, because their capacity to fully comprehend the nature of their actions is impaired. It doesn’t, however, completely exclude their responsibility, and they may be held accountable to a lesser offense.

wc: 5.5K ❀ pairing for the series: professor!higuruma x student!reader

❀ tags and c/w.

non-curse au. college au. slow-burn romcom. professor and college student pre-relationship. internship interviews suck. nobara likes to steal food from people. mentions of hypothetical violent crime. nanami gets pestered by gojo even here. higuruma likes sunflowers. nanami has a sixth sense.

❀ notes etc.

Apologies to any colleagues reading the word “evidence” in place of “proof” and feeling like tackling me with a broom, lol. Also, a huge thanks to everyone who came around for part one, I hope you guys get to enjoy reading this just as much I enjoyed writing it.

Argh… Monday.

Internship hunt was hell. There was no other way to spin that wheel. You knew it’d be incredibly hard, but not this hard.

Mondays were cursed days, but to know that not only cursed, they’d also start with terrible interviews — plural — was not in your bingo card for this week. Between  oh, you just started criminal law I this semester? and we will let you know laid the crumbling sounds of your utmost despair of knowing full well you were in for a ride for those next few days.

Well, if only daydreaming about him could save you.

It didn’t, though.

Unfortunately.

You arrived at the campus cafeteria where you were supposed to meet Nobara. Even on a fairly uncomfortable chair, she slouched nearly enough to slide down onto the ground like a rag doll, and it didn’t take you much to realize these past few days were throwing her through the wringer too.

“You look like death,” you joked as you pulled your chair to sit with her, putting your tuna sandwich and can of soda over the table.

“And you look like… like… hmph,” she scoffed while rolling her eyes and propping herself back up again.

“No snarky comeback? Are you that tired?” 

“Leave me alone,” she replied, and apparently, she really wasn’t in the mood for playful banter. You took a bite out of your sandwich, pondering if you should ask her about it, but she beat you to it. “Why is getting internships this early in college is so damn hard?”

“Apparently, places don’t trust complete newbies or youngsters,” you noted, “and they want someone who has already studied all the necessary subjects prior to hiring. Also, people with prior experience are preferred.” 

“Yet these are internship opportunities! Aren’t interns supposed to be newbies who are going to learn from the experience they’ll get through the internship?” Nobara irritatedly inquired, her implied commentary more a complaint than a question. You nodded.

“Absolutely. It makes no sense, it’s like they’re just trying to hire a junior lawyer with less rights and a lower pay rate,” you churned out through your mouthful of tuna and mayonnaise, “now that I think about it, it’s probably that, actually.” 

“I can’t go back home! I mean, I made it all the way here. If I had to go back I would never get over this. I need some money, and I need some money soon, otherwise this will all just have been a waste of my time. I should just get a part time job already instead of insisting in starting my internship as fast as possible.” 

Nobara covered her face, and she sounded genuinely upset. You paused your munching for a bit, and after washing it all down with a few gulps of soda, you leaned towards her, pulling her hands from her face.

“Hey, Nobara, we’re not letting that happen, okay? Neither me, Maki, Yuuji or Megumi.” you offered in an attempt to comfort her. She let you peel her palms away, and gazed at you in a mixture of frustration and anger, which softly subsided after your comment. You decided to push your luck, just a bit. “We can refugee you in Megumi’s car. We’ll get you a hammer so you can hit passerbies for shits and giggles to let some collegiate steam out.” 

Consternated, she shook your hands off of her while you chuckled. She made her best effort to still look pissed, but you noticed a tiny smile forming on the edges of her mouth.

“That’s a shit plan, but I’ll take you up on that hammer offer,” she said, and you smiled at her, a gesture she finally reciprocated.

“I’d expect no less from you. So, tell me, in which area are you looking for internships? Fashion law?” 

“Nope, entertainment.” Nobara picked your half eaten sandwich in her hands and took a bite before you could protest. “Maki had told me it was easier to get internships in entertainment law to garner some experience for a future in fashion law, but honestly? I’m skeptical now.” 

“There might be some openings soon. Have you tried Professor Gojo’s firm? It’s the same as Professor Nanami’s, isn’t it? I mean, that giant firm with dozens of departments and that nearly every teacher at our college seems to work for.” You stretched your hand to get your sandwich back, but she slapped you away. “Hey!” 

“I need it more than you, I’m sad!” 

“I’m sad too! I had four terrible internship interviews today, give it back!” 

You both entered a silly slapping match, and the few people walking past the table would look away nervously in fear of getting dragged into the middle of whatever war was going on over a cheap cafeteria tuna sandwich.

“You were having interviews today too?! How come you never told me?! I’m gonna eat your food for not telling me stuff, you’ve been weird ever since that party that you went off for a smoke and dipped!” She took another humongous bite and you jumped over the table, finally snatching whatever remained of your food out of her hands.

“I haven’t been weird!” you had, “and yes, I did. I am interviewing for internship openings in criminal law, but… well, you’ve been through that these days yourself. You know the drill.” 

She grunted with tuna smeared around her mouth, trying to reach for the rest of your sandwich, and it was your turn to slap her.

“Stop it, Nobara. Quit being so stingy and buy one for yourself!” 

“Not when I can eat your food for free,” she joked while taking a big gulp from your soda can, and you sighed, which only gave her a shit eating grin. “Did you interview for that spot they announced today?” 

“What? What opening?”

“I just saw it, there was a new flyer on the main hall board. It’s an internship for criminal law, apparently under the guidance of Professor Geto,” Nobara said while shrugging. “Apparently the huge firm now has a criminal law department too. It was announced last week or so.” 

“Did it say up until when they were taking applications?” 

***

Each and every tendon in your body tensed as you sat with the perfect lady-like crossed ankles at the 45º angle under your second-hand suit. The meeting room was, for the lack of a better word, mighty, having an entire glass wall peering into the rest of the office, and towered over you high enough to have you feeling like a tiny speck of dust humbly drifting its way over the clearly expensive brown, leather couch. A few people walked by as you waited, and the mahogany table seemed big enough to fit three people. It was probably worth your entire year’s tuition, and you wondered if the ceiling height really needed to be tailored for elves. Or ents. Tree people, perhaps.

The firm’s name hung high right in front of you, the logo and letters made out of stainless steel illuminated by LEDs behind it. Opulence wasn’t a big enough word to describe that pompous display of corporate wealth.

You were fished out of your rags to riches daydreams by the pivoting door opening, figuring it was your interviewer for the position. 

Surprisingly, it wasn’t the already well-known foxy-eyed, long haired Professor to come in, but a much more stoic individual with the polar opposite for a hair, not only in length but in color too. You already knew him from afar, as your commercial law Professor. He carried himself in a dignified manner, and upon further inspection, not only was his navy blue suit absolutely pristine, he also didn’t have a single hair strand out of place. You got up to greet him, bowing respectfully, and he returned the gesture.

“Good afternoon, Mrs.,” he said as he sat down on his chair across from you, “my name is Nanami Kento and I’ll be responsible for your interview today.”

You introduced yourself, and remarked, “apologies, but I thought Prof- I mean, Mr. Geto would be the one responsible for this interview today.”

 “As it stands currently, the criminal law department is my responsibility,” Nanami clarified, “so I decided I’d be the one responsible for interviewing our future team. I currently work in our corporate law department.”

You acquiesced with a professional smile. Something about how every tiny detail in him was on point gave you enough leads to conclude that of course this man took it upon himself to be the one responsible for the interviews.

“I’ve read in your resume that you are currently undertaking criminal law I and criminal procedure law I,” Nanami said as he held your resume in his hand, glancing at you and then at the paper, “which isn’t ideal for an intern entering a newly built department.”

Harsh enough?

You readjusted yourself on your chair before speaking.

“Yes, I am.”

He hummed quietly and pulled another paper sheet from his briefcase, and even if his facial expression was perfectly collected, something about how the edges of his lips curled gave away that he was less than happy about whatever was written on it.

“Our HR insisted I should bring this questionnaire with me today, so that I could ask you this list of questions as part of our interview,” he stated, his words followed by a quiet sigh. Nanami then proceeded to tilt the paper towards him and took a moment before proceeding. “Tell me more about yourself in three… captivating anecdotes.”

His voice sounded robotic, as if he was feigning not to loathe the question at hand, and deep down, you did find it amusing. Not enough to distract yourself from the fact that you were usually horrible at interviews altogether, though.

“I’m currently in my late twenties. I started law school last year, and worked during my early twenties to save money for tuition. I’m really passionate about criminal law, that is why I applied.”

Oh, God. What was that?

Well, you sounded robotic too, listing off obvious factualities as if providing a recipe’s ingredients. Both of you stared at each other in silence, wondering if that was what this question was supposed to infer, and it took the two of you so long to speak up again that it became uncomfortable.

Clearing his throat, Nanami unconsciously loosened his tie — barely — before continuing.

Well, at least I’m not the only one who’s uncomfortable.

“What…” he paused for a moment, and seemed to be biting down a discontented sigh, “animal would you be?” His gaze quickly darted down the sheet of paper, and his displeasure was palpable. For someone with such a straight face, his eyes were very telling.

What are these questions? Are we a hip tech company? Nanami thought to himself, wondering if he should make a new list to leave at HR. He was quick to discard the thought once he realized that meant he’d be telling other people how to do their jobs, something he did enough of already.

You didn’t quite know what the hell to answer.

“I… don’t know? I haven’t really thought about that in my life? A cat, perhaps?”

“I haven’t thought about that either, don’t worry, that’s unimportant. Let’s move on to the next question. How…” Nanami lifted an eyebrow, and that alone was enough to tell he was absolutely consternated, “many basketballs can fit inside a bus?”

“… Huh?”

Is this serious?

“I apologize, I believe there must have been some sort of mix-up at the HR, let me…”

Nanami was interrupted by three knocks on the glass wall. You both turned your heads to see Professor Gojo pointing at something — the paper Nanami held in his hands — while subsequently making a thumbs up, a wide grin smeared all over his face.

Without uttering a word nor missing a beat, Nanami got up, walked towards the glass and pulled on something you hadn’t yet noticed. Immediately, blinds slowly descended in front of the glass wall, and Nanami calmly walked his way back to his chair as Gojo’s face tried to keep peering inside the meeting room, descending alongside the rim of the blinds. He kept plastering his hands over the glass like a mimic.

A faint pained moan and a thud echoed once the blinds were about a foot away from reaching the floor.

“Is everything okay?” you inquired, pointing at Gojo’s direction.

“Ignore that.”

That wasn’t a request. You nodded. 

“Yes, sir.”

“Perfect. Let’s also ignore this for a while,” Nanami remarked while putting the sheet of questions aside with his fingertips as if it was radioactive. “Let’s try something else.”

Nanami had this feeling — a familiar one — that he’d be able to pry from you what he needed to know if he went about this interview in a more practical fashion. It reminded him of someone, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

“I’m going to describe a hypothetical scenario, and I want you to debate it with me,” he stated.

“Okay.”

“A client comes to this office being investigated of homicide and he wants to hire the firm to represent them in Court. They intend to plead not guilty.” you nodded, and Nanami continued, “The victim was shot, but there was no gun to be found in the crime scene. However, the client was the only person in the vicinity apart from the victim’s body. The client’s clothes — a long sleeved shirt and jeans — are evidence that has been collected at the crime scene, but no forensics were requested for it by the prosecution. When questioned in their first meeting, the client is adamant that they did not commit the crime. The attorney needs to decide which path to take regarding evidence they’ll request or submit. Now, I ask you, which type of evidence would the attorney request if the client is truly innocent?”

You took a deep breath while mentally going over the hypothetical scenario Nanami had just relayed, and considering all he mentioned, there was only one possibility.

“If my client was truly innocent, I’d ask for forensic evidence on their clothes. Guns leave gunpowder vestiges on things like clothes, so if this person didn’t actually pull the trigger, there should be no gunpowder on their sleeves.”

Nanami acquiesced, but remained silent. 

Ok, this is not the only thing he wants to know.

“Also… I’d tell exactly that to the client.”

Nanami’s face remained completely expressionless, but something about how he tilted his head less than an inch gave you the feeling that he seemed pleased with your answer.

“And why would you do that?”

“We need to work with accurate information. If the client was lying, and we submitted a request for that evidence — forensics on their clothes — we’d be tanking their defense. They need to know what we’ll be submitting as evidence and why. I believe telling that to our client would be enough to sway them into telling us the truth,” you sighed, before concluding, “people lie. Even when they shouldn’t.”

Nanami silently picked your resume back into his hands, and seemed to scan it quickly with his eyes. You knew your chances were slim, considering you had just started Criminal Law that very semester, something he didn’t fail to notice.

After a minute, he spoke again.

“Would you be willing to use some of your spare time to study topics you might not have seen yet in criminal law?”

“Yes.”

Your heart was thumping in your chest. This was it.

Here goes nothing.

“Then, it’s settled. Can you start on Monday?”

***

This wasn’t Higuruma’s usual go-to wish when he found himself behind the Passo’s wheel, but truth of the matter was, he hoped more than anything for his car to breakdown before he got to his destination. It wasn’t something completely out of the question considering his car’s track record, but as if some destiny’s mockery had been bestowed upon him that morning, even the clack-clack-clacks he was already used to hear for the past three months were gone. As Murphy’s Law would have it, the Passo glided over the asphalt like butter. 

“Of course you won’t fail me when I need you to, you unreliable piece of-”he muttered to himself under a discontented huff.

Put upon wasn’t strong enough to convey how Higuruma was feeling, his knuckle-white grip around the steering wheel being enough to give him a sharp pain in his palms that would surely follow him for the next few hours. In a sense, he had been knuckle-white tense ever since that morning, thinking about this endeavor he was kicking himself to push through. It was the nth time he’d tried to make that visit over the past year, one that he dreaded with each and every fiber of his being. 

The Professor eyed his passenger’s seat for a second, his gaze lingering on the plastic bag he carried with him that day. Inside, there were a bottle of Kirin, an incense, and a single sunflower. The flower was definitely too long to fit properly inside the bag, and it’s head peeped though the opening, yellow petals flickering while the car moved, every ridge on the road seemingly making it jump further and further out of its container.

With one hand on the wheel, and the other reaching out, he tried shoving the sunflower back into the bag, and in between eyeing the bag, then the road, picking the flower, pushing it, the bag sliding off the seat, loud news coming on the radio, Higuruma getting startled, his glasses slipping down his nose bridge, him pushing them back in place with his shoulder, tires screeching, a car horn, his heart pounding and his ears ringing, Higuruma came to the sensible conclusion that he should, as any responsible adult would, take a break.

I need a smoke.

Who he was visiting was definitely not going anywhere.

Checking where he was, Higuruma noticed a cafe nearby, and as fate would have it, there was a single parking spot right in front of it. He maneuvered the Passo, and the car fit neatly in between the white lines. Higuruma pulled his sunflower shawl — this time, not caught under any death trap, but laid over his back seat  alongside your scarf —, threw it around his neck and got out. He took a moment to stretch his fingers in the cold air, his breath clouding in front of his mouth, and tapped around his coat to take his wallet, finally inserting some coins into the park meter and crossing the guardrail by the sidewalk. 

He’d have exactly thirty minutes to get his shit together.

The cafe was warm, inviting, and strangely familiar, its orange light almost emanating the smell of coffee beans, croissants and decadent redemption for weary travelers. The store front had a glass display through which he saw an assortment of sweet and salty baked goods. Higuruma would probably pick one of those to eat — the greasiest one, if possible —, had he not been carrying a rock in place of his stomach for the past few hours.

With his resolution waning, he mindlessly took a step back while peeping, and sighed, his tired sigh weighing on his body deciding for him that an espresso was probably the way to go.

Stepping inside, Higuruma paid no mind to whatever was around him, and waited for his turn in line to order his drink. Across from him, you nearly choked, half a donut shoved into your powdered-sugar smeared mouth, nearly spilling your own coffee over your second-hand suit.

After your interview, you thought it’d be a good idea to have a snack, and made your way inside the closest, warmest, coziest cafe you found, which was across the firm. 

At that moment, you found yourself in a cliché adult life predicament — you just saw someone you knew, but they didn’t see you. Should you go over to greet them? Should you not? Would simply leaving be rude? Should you go actually talk to the man you definitely had — and shouldn’t have — a crush on?

You clutched your coffee harder as the thoughts flew around in your mind, as second nature at this point to avoid giving him another beverage shower.

After some quick consideration, you decided you would at least say hello, after all, it was the polite thing to do. You shoved the rest of your food into your mouth, washed it all down with the rest of your coffee, haphazardly cleaned around your mouth with a napkin and slowly walked towards him, stopping a few feet away. Somehow, he still hadn’t seen you, apparently too immersed in thought.

That was when you noticed a shawl around his neck.

It was pretty damn ugly.

“Professor, hi!” you greeted, and Higuruma got yanked out of whatever daydreams — or waking nightmares — he had been simmering in while waiting in line.

“Oh, hello. I didn’t expect to meet anyone here,” Higuruma replied, “I just stopped by for a snack.”

“Oh, nice. Their coffee is pretty good,” you said, “I got the espresso.”

“And… I hope that you’re finished already? With your coffee, I mean.” he asked while checking your hands, his usually unaffected tone slightly playful, earning him a chuckle from you.

“Rest assured, I’m not assaulting you nor your ugly shawl with my coffee,” you quipped, but his eyes only widened. His owlish eyes blinked once, and then twice, in absolute silence.

That was when you realized.

Oh. I said that out loud.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Awfully hypocritical of both of us, huh?” he noted, with a discreet smile pulling on his lips. 

Relieved, realizing he hadn’t taken offense, you sheepishly returned his smile, “I guess so. I don’t think I’ll get to keep being hypocritical about our ugly scarfs, though. I can’t seem to find mine, it’s been gone ever since that party.”

It was like a light bulb went on in Higuruma’s mind, and he cleared his throat before saying, “well, I may just prove you wrong. Follow me.”

Not fully understanding what he meant by that, you stood by him while he paid for his coffee, got it and walked outside. The cold winter breeze prickled your cheeks and your uncovered neck like hair-thin razor blades, and you followed Higuruma towards a car that wasn’t all that strange to you. Upon further inspection, you noticed that it was indeed his car, the old navy blue beat up thing you used as a shield for the wind during that night when you tried and failed at least half a dozen times to light a cigarette.

And then met him, and gave him a vodka scare.

And helped patting him dry with your-

“Here,” he called out, opening the door to the back seat. Sure enough, you saw that red, frizzly old thing tangled up in a ball.

“My scarf!” you reached inside and took it out, instantly throwing it around your neck. Higuruma noticed how you were genuinely pleased to have finally found it, and thought to himself that he’d most likely feel the same way if he ever lost and found his beat up, old shawl. 

It was just one of those things imbued with a sense of history and familiarity that only beat up, old tokens from days past had.

“Thank you,” you whispered, while sliding your fingers through the worn out cotton. “It was a gift. I might complain about it more often than not, but-”

“But it’s an important part of your life,” he replied, and you both glanced at each other while you nodded.

“Yes. Something like that. It’s my favorite curse to carry around while complaining about it, you know?” you mused, adjusting it around your neck and gratefully welcoming the warmth it brought around your neck. 

“I think I do,” he answered finally, taking a sip from his coffee.

“Let me repay you,” you offered. “Can I offer you a snack, or anything? Perhaps a smoke?”

“I’ll take you up on that cigarette offer,” he replied, and you pulled your pack out of your coat. Giving it a few taps, a cigarette popped up, and you took it in your lips, pulling another one and handing it to him.

Against his better judgement, Higuruma was slightly disappointed, and for a second, felt like kicking himself over it.

Idiot, you can’t seriously be expecting her to light a cigarette for me every time she offers you a smoke. Actually, I shouldn’t expect that at all.

 Against his will, Higuruma felt his cheeks warming up, and he tried his best to dive his face into his shawl while politely took the cigarette off your hands. You didn’t notice his moves and offered him your lighter — the same yellow, disposable one he had given you days ago. He picked it up, lit his cigarette and returned it.

“I see you still have it,” Higuruma noted, smiling gently, and you acquiesced.

“It has been my faithful companion for these past few weeks. I’m just glad I haven’t lost it like I lost my scarf,” you said before chuckling.

Higuruma leaned over the guardrail with his elbows, finally relaxing after… God knows how long. Slowly, he seemed to be getting lost in thought, and you seized the opportunity to better look at his shawl.  It had a sunflower pattern that went in a straight line right in front of it.

Still looking around as he stewed in his silent contemplations, you noticed there was a bag laying on top of his passenger’s seat. Peeping through it, stood a single sunflower, and what seemed to be the top of a Kirin bottle.

A sunflower man, hm?

The thought amused you as the corners of your mouth perked up in a gleeful smile, but you were quickly pulled out from it.

“Do you work nearby?” he asked, while taking a drag from his cigarette. “This is far from campus.”

“No. I mean, not yet. I was just… chasing my dreams,” you remarked, puffing some smoke. “What about you, Professor?”

Higuruma chuckled softly.

“I was being haunted by mine.”

You must’ve looked puzzled, because he quickly amended, “I was just on my way to visit someone and took a break for some coffee, that’s all.”

“Oh, I see,” you replied, realizing you were probably getting in his way. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you from your appointment. I-”

“It’s okay, there’s no one waiting for me. Or so I like to think.”

That comment left you with more questions than answers.

“Apologies. I don’t mean to keep you from going about the rest of your day too,” he bid behind a curtain of smoke, “and thank you for the cigarette. I really needed it.”

With your final puffs, you put your cigarette out and smiled at Higuruma.

“It’s okay, Professor. I should really get going, though. We are, indeed, far from campus and I’d like to get to my dorm before it’s dark.”

With a bow, you walked away, leaving Higuruma to his own devices. He sighed, alone with himself and his thoughts once again, turning his attention once more to the bag he had inside his car.

“Hiromi,” a familiar voice called out. Higuruma turned around, only to be met by Nanami, who had a indecipherable expression on his face.

Minutes before, Nanami decided to visit the nearby cafe and check if they had his favorite casse croûte that day. He wouldn’t mind getting a croissant, though.

 Upon stepping outside his building with dreams of pastries swirling around his overworked mind, he noticed you and Higuruma outside the cafe, and figured that was the perfect opportunity to approach you both and introduce you as the new intern for the criminal law department. It was just a matter of time before Higuruma accepted his offer, as Nanami thought, and you’d be both working together. However, before he could, Nanami noticed you and Higuruma were chatting, and not only that, but you approached Higuruma’s car and got something — apparently belonging to you — from his back seat. The ugliest red scarf Nanami had ever seen.

… What?

Nanami then remembered that you were a student on the very same university he tended to.

The same one in which Higuruma was a teacher too.

Why does Hiromi have things belonging to a student in the backseat of his car, of all places?  

Nanami was at a loss for words, and faltered for a few moments, wondering how he should ask Hiromi about this. That is, if he even should ask Hiromi about anything at all. Nanami decided to watch from afar, and something about the way Higuruma was carrying himself bothered Nanami.

He had only seen his best friend behaving like that in very specific scenarios, ones in which Hiromi definitely shouldn’t be interacting with a student of his.

After you left, Kento finally walked towards Hiromi, still uncertain if he should question his friend about the nature of your relationship with him. He could be imagining things.

But something was definitely disturbing him, he was sure of it. Something he couldn’t quite put a finger on.

“Kento, hi! Oh… I had forgotten, your firm is nearby, isn’t it?” Hiromi asked while looking around. “Sorry, I always seem to forget where it is. That explains why this cafe felt so familiar. Care for a smoke?”

“No.”

“You haven’t smoked with me in a long time,” Higuruma offered, pulling his own cigarette pack from his coat’s inner pocket. 

“I quit years ago,” Nanami reminded him, trying to put an end to this conversation detour.

“You still smoke on special occasions,” Higuruma offered, “eh, I wish I had your resolve.”

“You do, you just fail to direct it at things that will benefit you in the long run.”

“Just my little human shortcoming, I guess,” Higuruma finally replied, sparing Nanami a soft smile. He walked towards his car while unlocking it, “Let’s have something to eat, the coffee opened up my appetite. I just need to get more coins in case I end up going over the meter’s time limit, hold on.”

“Hiromi,” Nanami said once again, his tone graver than usual. That caught Higuruma’s attention.

“Hm, is everything okay?” Higuruma asked while leaning into his car.

Before Nanami could go on with his planned line of inquiry, he noticed what was over passenger’s seat. Especially the sunflower.

“Are you at it again?” Nanami asked, gesturing with his head towards it.

“Ah, you saw it…” Higuruma commented, as if he was a child being caught red handed while making a mess out of the house. “Well, yes. I’m trying to, and failing at it once again.”

“You know you don’t have to go, right?” Kento offered, while pulling some change from his pocket. “I have coins, we’ll be fine. Let me get you a snack, this cafe has the best casse croute around.”

“I do have to go, though,” Higuruma closed the door and stepped back onto the sidewalk. “I should, at least.”

Higuruma’s earlier energy seemed to wane ever so slightly, his shoulders falling while he slouched, unconsciously making himself smaller. 

“I don’t think I’ll manage to do it today, either,” he finally said, his eyes low on his feet, and his voice barely above a whisper.

Assessing the situation, it was clear that Higuruma was in no way in the right mindset to have that conversation regarding you, so Nanami put a mental note on it to ask about it at a later time. He stepped beside Hiromi and put a hand gently on his shoulder, sighing.

“Is it low tar?” Nanami questioned, clearing his throat to disguise his displeasure.

“Hm, what?”

“Your cigarette. Is it low tar?”

Higuruma huffed, a tiny smile forming on his lips as he said, “yes, yes it is.”

In a smooth motion, Higuruma pulled his pack back out of his coat and took two cigarettes out of it, handing one to Nanami along with a lighter. With the disposition of a man ready to face the electric chair, Kento pursed his lips around the cigarette, and lit it, only to be thrown in a coughing fit moments later.

“How the mighty do fall,” Higuruma noted with a discreet smirk on his lips, “you used to smoke more than me.”

“Shut up,” Nanami managed to churn out in between coughs, “this brand is awful.”

His friend chuckled while taking one long drag from his cigarette.

“Hey, Kento.”

“What?” Nanami considered tossing the cigarette as far as he could, but tried his best to survive it, even if just for Hiromi’s benefit.

“Is that offer still on the table? To…” Hiromi paused for a moment, clearing his throat, “hm, work in your firm?”

Managing to get his throat and lungs under control, Nanami glanced at Hiromi, knowing full well that good things came to those who wait.

Just like he had.

“Yes. Why do you ask?”

Hi, did you know I like to shamelessly plug people's work? No? So, yeah. I love doing that.

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[fuckingmeteors]

I have tried to make a transcript of the Radio Adelaide interview! There are a few places where I'm not quite sure what they're saying (especially when they speak over each other), so if anyone is willing to take a look at it, I would gladly welcome corrections! (Also I hope the formatting isn't too shit. If it is, I apologize.)

[introduction]

Host/Interviewer:

I spoke with Dan and Phil, who are on their Terrible Influence tour at the moment. I think they’re in Sydney right now, even though I had to call them on the phone via England [laughter]. They’re gonna be on at the Adelaide Entertainment Centre next week, Monday the 16th of December. And these guys, they’re British Internet Youtube radio hosts, they’re critics of games, they’re book authors, Dan and Phil, they’re currently in Australia having their Terrible Influence tour which lands in Adelaide at the entertainment Centre next week and they’re attempting to “take back what the internet took from them”!

So, it’s allegedly a screamingly hilarious live stage show. I have no doubt that it is hilarious. They’re “older, gayer and Phil’s gone blonde” evidently, and nothing is off limits. Now I was brought to their, uh, to the attention of them by some younger folk, who asked me to ask them certain questions, throw some sort of slightly strange questions at them, and I haven’t got time to include all of those questions and also I had a call after the interview from one of the duo suggesting that “oh, you might get trolled if you ask a question like that and people misinterpret it”, because I was asking, uh… I believe they’ve become a couple, I’m not sure if they’ve gotten married, but they may have gotten married or they may just be, like, going steady, but they’re a terrific pair of comic lads, in the vein of Kenny Everett, sort of. They don’t have a TV show as such, they were both youtubers, which means that they had a little bit of youtube shows, and then they started guesting on each other’s show, and then they eventually started doing stuff together. Very interesting lads. And I just really want to play the interview now.

[interview starts playing]

Dan: And I’ve got a mullet now that I’m in Australia because apparently that’s what people do. (?) Australians have more fun and I wanted to appropriate a little bit of the culture while we’re here doing the show.

Phil: I think it’s more of a micro-mullet, Dan, though, you know, you haven’t gotten to full mullet, it’s more of a micro-mullet.

D: It’s a mullet without the T, it’s just a mull-è.

I: Mull-è hahaha, all right! Just with that sort of…

P: Yeah, without the T, yeah!

I: That sort of hard E at the end.

P: Yes.

I: How has your tour been going so far, gentlemen?

D: It’s been amazing to be in Australia, no offense, we loved having a great time in America, but we’re very happy to be in Australia. Although, I know it’s summer, why is it so hot? Nowhere on Earth should be this warm.

I: You haven’t reached Adelaide yet, have you?

D: No, God, don’t tell me it’s warmer!

I: Yes, Yes, we’re in the middle of a very dry, arid area, very isolated, a long way from anywhere, but there’s only about maybe thirty of forty tickets left at your gig here?

D: We’re happy for the people of Adelaide, they’re, you know, they’re out here, in that dry, arid desert, and there’s nothing to do but come to the Dan and Phil show, and we love them for that, they’re all making responsible financial decisions, so we’re very grateful for all the people that are coming to the show.

P: And if there’s forty people listening, come hang out with us, it’s gonna be a fun time!

D: Yeah, what else are you doing on that night?

P: We’re gonna be pumping the aircon out.

D: Yeah, just come to have somewhere cool to sit in the theatre, you know what I mean?

I: Are you collecting things from your hangouts that you’re gonna discuss at the next show? Like before a show, if people hang out with you, give you a piece of art, or a little letter, a note, something like that, do you then discuss it in front of the (?)

D: Oh, a big trendy thing these days, yeah Taylor Swift had started this trend of the bracelets that people, that have things on (?), so people would make these bracelets that say “Dan” or “Phil” in beads, and the other day someone gave me a bracelet that said “vegemite" on it.

I: Hahaha

D: And I was like “what the heck?” and they said, “you don’t understand, this is incredibly culturally important, so I was like “okay, thank you, I will cherish the vegemite bracelet”.

P: I got one that said “koala daddy”, I’m not sure what that meant, but (?)

D: (?)

I: Koala daddy?

P: Yep, I think that’s what they were calling me!

I: Have you actually dipped your tongue into any vegemite as yet?

P: Uh, I would have to say it was one of the most horrific experiences of my life, I’m sorry! [Dan laughter in the background]

D: What, Phil, you don’t like a yeast-based condiment?

P: No.

D: How dare you?

P: Dan loved it, though. (?)

D: I’m just a yeasty kind of guy.

I: Yeah, it’s kind of up there with marmite, isn’t it?

D: It is, but I only eat sweet things, so I couldn’t handle it, but Dan was eating a second portion of toast this morning, and loved it.

I: Yeah, it’s good for you!

P: And last time we were in Adelaide we did a vlog where we explored the town, didn’t we? We got Tim Tams, we did a Tim Tam Slam.

D: Yeah. The national sport.

I: The national sport, sucking coffee through a Tim Tam.

D: Yeah, yeah.

P: I can get down with that.

I: Oh yeah, it’s a lot of fun to do! You realise that our Premier is the one who started the ball rolling with the social media ban for under sixteen-year-olds? You’re lucky that you’re here now at this stage of your career rather than at the beginning of your career, because there’s a lot of young people who have grown with you, who will be able to come and see your show!

D: Yeah, absolutely.

I: Are you relying on them sort of moving forward with you?

D: People have been with us for a long time and people tell us some things that are very disturbing.

P: Yeah, we’ve had some people meet us that are like, “I’ve watched you ten years ago, still watching you now, and I’ve got a whole child now!” and it’s like, what, what is happening!

I: Hahaha!

P: Time isn’t real!

I: It’s kind of a historic moment, you’re probably the first English lads to have linked in to youtube, and the Internet, and gone off the way that you have.

D: Nah(?), we were just… well, we come from an early generation, Phil has been doing it for so long that you couldn’t even make a career off youtube yet, there was no monetization, he was just doing it out of boredom, that’s how terrifying it is.

P: Yeah, I’m a youtube dinosaur, so yeah, I think definitely(?) I was one of the first ones to do it, but it’s crazy that we’re still doing it now, 15 years later.

I: It’s basically become a career for you, hasn’t it?

D: Absolutely, and none of it was planned, it’s been a constant runaway train since day one, and the emergency brake stopped a long time ago.

I: What kind of experiences are you getting to have in your down time while you’re in Australia this time around?

D: Well, I wanted to go to the beach, and then Phil said there’s a high chance you’re gonna get eaten by a shark, and I was like, “a high chance? I don’t know about that” and then we asked a guy and he was like “oh no, they’re out there, I see them every week”; so… [laughter]

P: I am hoping to look into the eyes of a wombat and have an emotional connection.

D: A  Deep spiritual moment? Okay.

P: My favourite animal.

I: A wombat?

P: Yeah, I love a wombat!

D: Underrated.

I: Do you like the hairy-nosed wombat, or just the plain old brown one?

P: I’m not sure of the difference, maybe I should find that out, maybe that’s gonna be my quest.

D: (?) Make a decision.

I: Yeah, if you come face to face or nose to nose with a hairy-nosed wombat, he’s more likely to roll over and let you cuddle his tummy. The other ones have got a (?) and they’re a little bit more aggressive.

D: Okay. Sounds like me.

I: [laughter]. Have the audiences been laughing at all the right spots so far?

D: Definitely, and they’ve been laughing at all the inappropriate spots where they’re not supposed to, as well. But we’ll take it. You either have an audience that laughs all the time even at the inappropriate moments, or a quiet one. And I don’t want a quiet one.

P: Also, a good thing about our show is that we kind of give everyone a recap of everything that’s happened in the last fifteen years, so if you’re like, “oh, I used to watch Dan and Phil a while ago”, you can still come along and you’ll get right up to speed.

D: Oh, we know that people are dragging their husbands, their mothers, their older sisters to the show, and these people are like, “what the heck is going on?”, so don’t worry, we cover the base.

I: Sounds good to me! I hope you have a fantastic time in Adelaide, and you continue to enjoy yourselves.

D: Thank you!

I: Ride the wave, don’t worry about sharks.

P: Excellent, well, yeah, we’re looking forward to it. Thanks, nice to speak to you!

I: You too, cheers lads! Dan and Phil…

P: Cheers!

D: Bye!

I: They’ll be at the Adelaide Entertainment Centre next Monday, uh, coming. On the 16th. So, if you are keen to see them do their thing live on stage, go and join the masses that have already bought their tickets, get in while you can.

[thinking-emoji]

While we're at it. Here's the Radio Adelaide interview!

Transcript under the cut!

Interviewer: What's been going on with me earlier today was I spoke with Dan and Phil, who are on their Terrible Influence tour at the moment. I think they're in Sydney right now. Even though I had to call them on the phone via England, they're going to be on at the Adelaide Entertainment Centre next week, Monday the 16th of December. And these guys, they're a British internet- YouTube- radio hosts. They're critics of games. They're book authors. Dan and Phil, they're currently in Australia having their Terrible Influence tour which lands in Adelaide at the Entertainment Centre next week. And it's attempting to take back what the internet took from them. So it's allegedly a screamingly hilarious live stage show. I have no doubt that it is hilarious. They're older, gayer. Phil's gone blonde evidently and nothing is off limits. Now I was brought to the attention of them by some younger folk, who asked me to ask them some certain questions and throw some sort of slightly strange questions at them. And I haven't got time to include all of those questions. And also I had a call after the interview from one of the duo suggesting that “ehh, you might get trolled if you ask a question like that and people misinterpret it” because I was asking- I believe they've become a couple. I'm not sure if they've got married but they may have got married or they may just be, like, going steady but they're a terrific pair of comic lads. In the- in the vein of Kenny Everett, sort of. They don't have a TV show as such. They were both YouTubers, which means that they had little YouTube shows and then they started guesting on each other's show and then they eventually started doing stuff together. Very interesting lads. And I just really want to play the interview now.

Dan: I've got a mullet now that I'm in Australia because apparently that's what the people do. I just think Australians have more fun. So I wanted to appropriate a bit of the culture while we’re here doing the show.

Phil: I think it's more of a micro mullet, Dan, though. You know, you haven't gone full mullet, it's more of a micro…

Dan: It's a mullet without the T. It's just a mull-e.

Interviewer: (laughs) Mull-e. All right. Just with that sort of hard...

Dan: Without the T, yeah.

Interviewer: Hard E on the end. How has your tour been going so far, gentlemen?

Dan: It's been amazing to be in Australia. No offence. We loved having a great time in America. But we're very happy to be in Australia. Although – I know it's summer. Why is it so hot? Nowhere on Earth it should be this warm.

Interviewer: You haven't reached Adelaide yet, have you?

Dan: No, God. Don't tell me it's warmer.

Interviewer: Yes, yes. We're in the middle of a very dry, arid area. Very isolated. A long way from anywhere. But there's only about maybe 30 or 40 tickets left at your gig here.

Dan: We're happy for the people of Adelaide. You know, they're out here in that dry, arid desert. And there's nothing to do but come to the Dan and Phil show. And we love them for that. They're all making responsible financial decisions. So we're very grateful for all the people that are coming to the show.

Phil: And if there's 40 people listening, come hang out with us. It's going to be a fun time.

Dan: Yeah. What else are you doing on that night?

Phil: We're going to be pumping the air con out.

Dan: Yeah, just come to have somewhere cool to sit in the theatre. You know what I mean?

Phil: Yeah.

Interviewer: Are you collecting things from your hangouts that you're going to discuss at the next show? Like before a show, if people hang out with you, give you a piece of artwork or a little letter or a note, something like that. Do you then discuss it in front of the next...

Dan: Oh, a big trendy thing these days. Yeah. Taylor Swift has started this trend of the bracelets that people spell out things on. So people would make like a little bracelet that says Dan or Phil in beads. And the other day I had someone that gave me a bracelet that said Vegemite on it. (Interviewer laughs) And I was like, what the heck? And they said, you don't understand. This is incredibly culturally important. So I was like, okay, thank you. I will cherish this Vegemite bracelet.

Phil: Yeah. I got one that said Koala Daddy. I'm not sure what that meant, but-

Interviewer: Koala Daddy?

Phil: Yeah. I think that's what they were calling me.

Interviewer: Have you actually dipped your tongue into any Vegemite as yet?

Phil: I have. I would have to say it was one of the most horrific experiences of my life. I'm sorry.

Dan: What, Phil, you don't like a yeast-based condiment?

Phil: No.

Dan: How dare you.

Phil: Dan loves it though. He's a bit of a…

Dan: I'm just a yeasty kind of guy.

Interviewer: Yeah. It's kind of up there with Marmite, isn't it?

Phil: It is, but I only eat sweet things, so I couldn't handle it. But Dan was eating his second portion of toast this morning. He loved it.

Interviewer: Yeah, yeah. It's good for you.

Phil: And last time we were in Adelaide, we did a vlog where we explored the town, didn't we? We got some Tim Tams. We did a Tim Tam slam.

Interviewer: Fun!

Dan: Yeah, the national sport.

Interviewer: The national sport, sucking coffee through a Tim Tam.

Dan: Hell yeah.

Phil: I can get down with that.

Interviewer: Yeah yeah. It's a lot of fun to do. You realise that our Premier is the one who started the ball rolling with the social media ban for under 16-year-olds? You're lucky that you're here now at this stage of your career rather than at the beginning of your career because there's a lot of young people who have grown with you who will be able to come and see your show.

Dan: Yeah, absolutely.

Interviewer: Are you relying on them sort of moving forward with you?

Dan: People have been with us for a long time and people tell us some things and it's very disturbing.

Phil: Yeah, we've had some people meet us that are like, I watched you 10 years ago, I'm still watching you now. I've got a whole child now and it's like, what is happening? (Interviewer laughs) Time isn’t real.

Interviewer: It's kind of a historic moment. You're probably the first English lads to have linked in to YouTube and the internet and gone off the way that you have.

Dan: No, we were, well, we come from an early generation. Phil has been doing it so long that you couldn't even make a career off YouTube yet. There was no monetisation. He was just doing it out of boredom. That's how terrifying it is.

Phil: I'm a YouTube dinosaur, so yeah, I think definitely I was one of the first ones to do it. And it's crazy that we're still doing it now, 15 years later.

Interviewer: It's basically become a career for you, hasn't it?

Dan: Absolutely. And none of it was planned. It's been a constant, you know, runaway train since day one. And the emergency brake’s gone off a long time ago.

Interviewer: What kind of experiences are you getting to have in your downtime while you're in Australia this time around?

Dan: Well, I wanted to go to the beach and then Phil said there's a high chance we're going to get eaten by a shark. And I was like, a high chance? I don't know about that. And then we asked a guy and he was like, oh, no, they're out there. I see them every week, so...

Phil: I'm hoping to look into the eyes of a wombat and have an emotional connection.

Dan: A deep spiritual moment, ok.

Phil: My favourite animal.

Interviewer: A wombat?

Phil: Yeah, I love a wombat.

Dan: Underrated.

Interviewer: Do you like the hairy-nosed wombat or just the plain old brown one?

Phil: I'm not sure of the difference. Maybe I need to find that out. Maybe that's going to be my quest in Adelaide.

Dan: You need to meet both and make a decision.

Phil: Yeah I will.

Interviewer: Yeah, if you come face-to-face or nose-to-nose even with a hairy-nosed wombat, he's more likely to roll over and let you cuddle his tummy. The other ones have got a wet nose -

Phil: Okay, good to know.

Interviewer: -and they're a little bit more aggressive.

Phil: Okay.

Dan: Sounds like me.

(Interviewer laughs)

Interviewer: Have the audiences been laughing at all the right spots so far?

Dan: Definitely. And they've been laughing at all the inappropriate spots where they're not supposed to as well. So we'll take it. You either have an audience that laughs all the time, even at inappropriate moments, or a quiet one. And I don't want a quiet one.

Phil: Also, the good thing about our show is we try to give everyone a recap of everything that's happened in the last 15 years. So if you're like, oh, I used to watch Dan and Phil a while ago, you can still come along and you're going to get right up to speed.

Dan: We know that people are dragging their husbands, their mothers, their older sisters to the show. And these people are like, what the heck is going on? So don't worry, we covered the base.

Interviewer: Sounds pretty darn good to me. I hope you have a fantastic time in Adelaide and you continue to enjoy yourselves.

Dan: Thank you.

Interviewer: Ride the wave. Don't worry about sharks.

Phil: Excellent. Well, yeah, we're looking forward to it. Thanks. Nice to speak to you.

Interviewer: You too. Cheers, lads. Dan and Phil.

Phil: Cheers!

Dan: Bye.

Interviewer: They'll be at the Adelaide Entertainment Centre next Monday coming on the 16th. So if you are keen to see them do their thing live on stage, go and join the masses that have already bought their tickets. Get in while you can.

@dnp-described

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Jay Kuo at The Status Kuo:

It’s not even been two months since 47 took office, and already there is talk of the dreaded R word. In a matter of weeks, the U.S. has gone from having the most robust economy in the G7—with low unemployment, tamed inflation, falling interest rates and steady growth in wages and GDP—to being on the brink of a big economic downturn. Yes, a recession now looms. How has this happened so fast? Let’s helicopter over the hellscape that Trump and his administration have created in such a short period of time and assess where the biggest trouble spots are. Any of these would be cause for alarm and would be top of the news on Fox had they occurred under President Biden. But with Trump, the response has all been rather muted. For now, anyway. Should conditions worsen, not even the best right wing spin doctors will be able to explain away the problems, blame them all on the prior administration, or somehow convince most voters that everything is still peachy.

Trump’s own big mouth

Even though we should be used to his words by now, and even though they’re full of lies, contradictions, non-sequiturs, ad hominem attacks and grammatical errors, Trump’s words apparently still matter. And they can roil markets. Trump’s statements indeed directly caused the stock market to tank on Monday. That’s because he gave interviews over the weekend during which he hinted that he was expecting a recession. [...]

Not just his words but his deeds

“Pay attention to what he does, not what he says.” We’ve heard apologists for Trump tell us that for years. The problem is, what he does these days is as bad as what he says. In some cases, it’s even worse. Take tariffs. Trump said a lot of things and gave a lot of reasons for why we need to hike tariffs not only on our competitor China but also on our closest allies and neighbors, Canada and Mexico. But tariffs have hard deadlines, and last week Trump allowed the tariffs to go into effect, only to yank most but not all of them back for yet another month, and then announce a new 50 percent tariff on Canadian steel and aluminum imports just this morning in retaliation for Canada imposing electricity duties on U.S. users. Trump may delight in being a chaos agent on trade, and he may believe this somehow gives him an advantage in negotiations later. But there are real costs to these reckless actions.

[...]

Terrorizing workers

Add to this the turmoil in the labor force. We’re all familiar with how Trump and Elon Musk have ordered mass firing of federal workers. This is part of a shock downsizing that is not only designed to paralyze the federal government and its functions but also to demoralize those who remain and force them out. Productivity has fallen, no surprise there, and many who remain are looking at options to escape the nightmare before their time in the barrel comes. But federal workers aren’t the only ones being driven from their jobs. ICE is targeting migrants across the country who normally labor in our fields, processing plants, construction and healthcare services. [...]

As outbreaks spread, RFK Jr. fiddles

Measles is making a resurgence, due in part to low vaccination rates and rampant misinformation about vaccines. There are now hundreds of cases in 12 states with two reported deaths from the disease.

[...]

A perfect storm

Our economy is resilient, and it can handle a great deal of pressure. But downturns often occur as a result of a confluence of negative factors, and weaknesses in even one sector can have knock-on effects in others. Here, we are seeing weakness and loss of trust and confidence across many sectors, with a predictable feedback effect. Higher prices shake consumer confidence, which rattles markets and causes hesitancy in business decision-making. And that begins the downward cycle anew. To use Trump’s own words, “Of course you hesitate.”

Jay Kuo has a solid analysis on the Trumpcession (aka recession) could be a fatal blow to the US’s economy.

Biden left him a good economy, only for him to squander it.

[autistpride]

Autism Acceptance

Prompt 11: Coffee shop AU

Wordcount: 1000

@wolfstarmicrofic

Remus had trouble finding work. He put in applications everywhere, for any position, because he was desperate. Despite passing all his courses and gaining the required GCSE’s, he bombed his interviews. So he had told his parents that he would take a gap year instead and get some work experience. Only no one called him for an interview and the few that had, turned him away within minutes.

After nearly two months, Remus finally came clean to his parents about his lack of employment. His mum had to hold his dad back from giving a few of the places he applied a piece of his mind. Never one to allow Remus to give up, Lyall decided he would open up his own coffee shop and hire Remus as an employee.

Everything moved quickly and soon The Full Moon Cafe opened its doors. A small quaint little hole in the wall shop that mixed coffee, library, and children’s playground together. One corner of the shop held a little indoor climbing structure, slide, and foam floors for children. The other two walls were covered floor to ceiling in books that people donated. The last wall housed the single unisex toilet and the tiny kitchenette space. It also had the counter and display case that showed off the day’s delicious baked goods that his mum made fresh every morning. 

It took Remus some time to get used to the position and how to make all the different drinks, but everyone was patient with him. By the time his gap year was over, Remus was a pro and asked to stay on instead of trying for university again. He had learned all the regulars names, memorised their orders, and even went so far as to have them ready for when they walked in. Remus hadn’t encountered a rude customer or a confusing order once, that could also have to do with the fact that it was a fairly small town and everyone knew everyone. No one came into the cafe that didn’t know Remus was autistic, at least not until Sirius Black. 

The bell dinged over the cafe door and the prettiest guy Remus had ever seen walked in one after the other. Remus had never seen anyone like them before. They were total opposites yet so oddly the same.

“I’ll have an iced Ristretto, ten shot, venti with breve. five pumps vanilla, seven pumps caramel, and four Splenda poured not shaken, but placed into a trenta cup so it doesn’t splash out the top.”

The look on Remus’ face must have betrayed him because the man looked at Remus and immediately changed his order. “On second thought, I’ll just have a tea.”

Remus nodded and rang the man up, asking for his name. 

“Sirius. Yes I am serious. Sirius, like the star,” the man said while pulling his hair back into a scrunchie he apparently kept in his pocket.

Remus wrote the name on the cup and poured the hot water into it, placing the loose leaf tea into a disposable tea bag and setting it into the cup to steep before handing it to Sirius, the star. 

Sirius nodded his thanks and set up at a small table near the entrance. 

For the following four days later Sirius came back, once again ordering a tea and nothing more. Remus didn’t work weekends, instead his friend James took those shifts. James played football with the local club and attended courses at university during the week, so he took all the weekend shifts.

Remus couldn’t get Sirius out of his head all weekend and when he showed up for work on Monday, Sirius was there right at opening. 

Another week went by and Remus and Sirius had started to talk more, just general pleasantries and small talk. Sirius never ordered anything more than tea and sometimes a pastry. Remus knew he could make complicated orders and he knew Sirius knew after two weeks sitting in the cafe and listening to some of the complex requests from customers that came in, but Sirius never asked for his original order again. 

That third week, Remus had Sirius’ tea ready by the time he walked in every morning, not unlike the other regulars. Yet what Remus never said was that Remus practised at night after the shop closed up. He was determined to get Sirius’ original order right. It took him another week to manage it, and when he did he cheered and danced around the shop.

Monday of the fourth week, Remus handed  Sirius his order when he showed up. Sirius looked at the cup confused. 

“Remus this isn’t a tea” he said with his brows furrowed and his nose scrunched up.

Remus shook his head no with a grin, “no its not.”

Sirius took a tentative sip of the drink and his eyes widened in surprise, stormy grey meeting golden.

“You made my order.” 

Remus nodded, proud of himself.

Sirius took another drink and moaned as if he was drinking the best thing he had ever tasted.

The noise was absolutely obscene in Remus’ ears and his ears turned dark red and his cheeks flushed. 

“Remus this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. You remembered something I told you like a month ago and you, you practised this didn’t you?”

Remus simply shrugged like it was no big deal. 

Sirius set the cup down on the counter before leaning over the counter and wrapping his arms around Remus in the most awkward hug Remus had ever experienced, and he experienced a lot of awkward hugs. 

When Remus didn’t return the hug Sirius dropped his arms and stuttered through another thank you and practically ran to his usual table, forgetting his drink on the counter. 

Remus looked down, seeing the cup, and bit back a laugh before walking it across the cafe to him. 

“Oh fuck thanks,” Sirius mumbled. 

“Hey SIrius?” Remus asked, “can we try that again?”

 Sirius smiled and nodded.

[littleapocalypsekitten]

Disabled Ace-Couple Kicked Out on Birthday! Ghastly!

Okay, so I hate to beg, but I need to beg, so here I am sitting with a little bowl and the sad eyes of a cat who has an empty spot in the middle of the kitty-kibble. On Monday of this week - July 7, MY FREAKIN' BIRTHDAY, by the way, we got a call from our landlord telling us that we needed to get out by August 31, 20025. We were not late on our rent - we are faithfully paid up. We wondered if he was talking about some upcoming work that the power company was slated to do later this month, but noooooo.... he apparently sold the building we had our apartment in without any consultation with us about it to a company that wants to demolish it - and he only gave us not quite two months to go on. My (common law / unofficial) husband is currently unemployed - he lost his job back in March(?) - a retail assistant manager position, so it didn't pay much to begin with, and has been looking ever since, with several interviews falling through due to ageism. (He is 64, doesn't qualify for full social security / retirement until his birthday in mid-December, and, since the law was changed, won't actually get true, full benefits unless he can work until 67, but this stupid, stupid country is full of companies that don't want to hire men in their sixties). He's had a couple of heart attacks and bypass surgery already, and he was kicked off of his health insurance immediately after losing his last job, so that's a little fun thing we've been having to deal with (his doctors were nice enough to still prescribe / give him a backlog of his meds while he's on Good Rx as a last ditch). Me? I have been receiving Disability since 2012 due to my severe bipolar disorder and currently have a part-time job within the very paltry earning-limit so that I may receive Medicare, which allows me to receive the medication that keeps me functional. In any case, we're damn poor and springing a huge "cost money" thing on us out of the blue with a stringent time-limit is something that should qualify as a crime against humanity, but, alas, landlords and destruction/construction companies that don't care about human lives exist. So, here's where I beg. The hubby put up a Go Fund Me so that we might beg of the world for a few pennies that may help us on our journey of finding a rare, affordable rental or maybe even an actual house (probably of the "trailer" variety). Don't feel I'm pushing you, though. I've spent all my time on tumblr not giving to people's Go Fund Mes that come across my dash because of the, you know, constantly broke situation. So, no pressure, flick a few bucks our way only if you can.

[thefabledson]

Untitled Parkner Drabble #1

A/N: This is just a silly little drabble I wrote, I’ve got 2 job interviews next Monday, like 12 hours of flights Thursday and just a lot of Stressful Events.

If you like this I have a more fleshed out fic called Tomorrow’s Roses! (Angst warning) and would really appreciate people checking it out <3

—

Rating: T

Pairing: Peter Parker x Harley Keener

Word Count: 692

Summary: Tony Stark is so over Harley’s terrible ideas.

Notes: Not set in any particular canon timeline, just a fun first meeting!

Harley knew he had bad ideas. Ever since he was a child he had his mom and sister telling him to be more careful, think things through before committing to whatever harebrained scheme he’d conjured this time. He wasn’t an idiot, he was definitely a genius on some level, but he was impulsive, quick to judge and even quicker to execute the whims of his imagination. It made him a great engineer but overall a terrible person to manage.

This was his worst idea of all.

He’d been in Tony Stark’s lab for all of 3 minutes before his mentor’s hand had landed heavily on his shoulder, clenching tightly in warning.

Because in front of Harley at that moment was someone who had to be sent from the heavens. He’d barely even got through the door before a whirlwind explanation on nanobots and carbon capture systems had been launched across the room at full volume. But the words had been so hard to follow, falling in cluttered sentences from a sweet pink mouth, hands gestating wildly that showed the flex of bicep underneath a well fitted t-shirt.

Harley hadn’t even said a word, his mouth was as dry as a desert yet he still felt like there was drool dripping from the corner of it.

Stark’s hand somehow grabbed tighter. Breath fell on the shell of his ear, and a well punctuated threat followed lowly and swiftly.

“If you lay a single hand on my kid, Keener, I know 43 ways to disembowel you.”

Before striding over to get the attention of that ridiculous brainiac model.

“Oh! I didn’t realise we had guests, Mr Stark,” He stammered.

“Peter, this is Harley. Harley, this is Peter. Against my best judgment you two will be working together this summer,” Tony announced, eyeing Harley warily.

Harley couldn’t help the smirk that contorted his face. Even better was the way Peter’s eyes widened before a similar look overtook him.

Peter walked over to the desk Harley had been leaning against by the door, cautiously moving to stand right in front of him, where Harley decided to at least appreciate the divine presence. At no point in his life had Harley felt that religious, but in this one moment it felt like all his prayers had been answered.

“What’s your speciality?” Peter asked, still blushing.

“Mechanics, what about you, sweetheart?” He lay on his accent thick, taking every care to watch the way Peter blushed deeper.

“Uh- I’m doing biochemistry right now, but my next project is probably electrical? I mean- I come up with a lot so I just need to-“

Peter was interrupted by Tony walking right by the two of them.

“I want absolutely no funny business, do you both understand?” His voice was no nonsense, and if Harley felt like he could say it without risking his intestines, too late.

They both nodded. Tony made his final statement with a harsh point to Harley.

“You, you especially remember what I said.”

“Yeah, hands off the artwork, I remember it loud and clear.” Harley, having apparently not thrown himself into enough shit just by existing in the proximity of Peter Parker, decided it was the best thing to say.

Tony put his hands to his face, rubbed his temples and made his way to the door. “I’m going gray, I have a very sensitive heart, and I want to know absolutely nothing about you two outside of your lab projects.”

When his footsteps sounded down the hallway, Peter cracked a broad smile.

“You staying in the tower?” He asked, finally relaxing a bit.

Harley nodded, very aware of just how fucked he was right now.

“Well, I’ll see you around.”

Before he could also leave, Harley grabbed his arm, Stark’s no touch rule was out the window the second he’d said it.

“Well, I’m so new to the city and all, I was wondering if you wanted to hang out tomorrow? You know, before we start working on anything.”

Peter nodded as soon as the question left his mouth.

“It’s a date.”

The ghost of Tony Stark’s hand tried to break his shoulder blade.

[thelioncourts]

https://x.com/jamreiderson/status/1863413868715737454?s=46 please share your thoughts on here they are so appreciated 🫶🏻 need to hear from likeminded fans, some of this discourse is just…

I'm afraid to get too into anything right now because I feel like when I answer rashly my words reflect that rashness and my ramblings become just that: rambling. But to get something "on paper" right now I'll start by saying that I have been part of the show-fandom since the day it started, possibly even earlier if my ravings about Sam and Jacob from February and July 2022 are anything to go by. I have also been in the book-fandom for over a decade. I have been here since I was in high school and I, myself, have grown and changed drastically in that time (makes sense given I'm now far beyond my university days and am a full-fledged adult, nearing her third decade alive, wow) and in turn my thoughts on these characters and these stories have grown and changed drastically too. I have witnessed book-centered conversations, I have witnessed everyyyy show-centered conversation, and I have been in fandom spaces my whole life yet I still cannot wrap my head around the people I share fandom spaces with.

I won't ever pretend to be any kind of expert on gender and sexuality; I took some classes in college that I really enjoyed about the subjects, and I love perusing literature and academic writings on the subjects as well (more since getting into Interview if I'm being honest) but that doesn't make me an expert, I get that. I also won't ever pretend to be any kind of expert on race; again, I took some classes in college that I really enjoyed, and I also peruse literature and academic writings on race (also even more since getting into Interview, which is great regarding what it's introduced me to and also a highlight on how little education focuses on anything but white-centered writings unless taking a class in college specifically centered on writings not by white people) but I am by no means an expert. But something that is so glaringly and alarmingly apparent in this particular fandom space is that a majority of this fanbase cannot uncenter whiteness from gender and sexuality, cannot empathize or even sympathize with a black lead, and will talk over black voices in the fandom over and over and over again and will take the clapping and cheering of the loud and TikTok-brained masses as validation.

The topic of gender and sexuality in this show (and I'm talking just the show, let's leave the books as their own thing in this regard) is simultaneously really simple and also incredibly complex. There is enough material to write papers and papers on every single character and gender and sexuality, there is enough material to write papers and papers on every single relationship in this show and gender and sexuality. And so, with that in mind, I also won't pretend that one tumblr post I'm typing out on a Monday night has answers, but there's definitely more coherency here than what is available on Twitter with its limited character-count and the skill issue of its users to not read entire threads/to address only one Tweet of a twelve-part thread.

There is always a huge pushback in the fandom when any conversation of femininity, gender, societal roles, etc. regarding Louis is at the forefront. And the pushback is almost always a majority of white fans talking over a majority of black fans. Now, is that a generalized statement? Yes, of course; there are white fans on both sides of this conversation, and black fans on both sides of this conversation (and it's crazy and sad how I'm talking "sides" like this is just that, but yet it is), but the fact is that it is a majority of white fans pushing back against a majority of black fans.

This pushback happens every. single. time. conversation about Louis in these basic parameters happen. And what I've noticed a lot this time around is that insane statements like "These Louis fans only want Louis to be a trad wife" gain momentum like crazy as though that's a commonality and not like. three fanfics total, garnering more people to invalidate Louis fans who are discussing his femininity, gender, societal roles, etc. (and, again, these fans are predominantly black fans who are getting invalidated by the loudest voices in the fandom). But not even bringing those statements into the mix, it's as though people cannot remotely stomach the thought that there are a million things about Louis that are feminine, that there are a million things about Louis' gender that point in a million directions, that Louis' societal roles are complex and also so explicitly written in so many ways, that Louis likes and craves and enjoys certain parts of submission, etc. etc.

Again, I know I'm missing things. And it's gross to watch it happen over and over and over again. And no one in this fandom (and this applies on a lot of fronts, not just this particular one, but that's a whole other conversation) wants to have a conversation at all, no one wants to think. They want to quote a line out of context from the books or take a line out of context from the show (and completely misread so many lines, I'm sorry, but the reading comprehension in this fandom is atrocious) or take some statement about gender or sexuality or something out of context from a reading that actually doesn't apply to any character whatsoever. If it can't be a hit Twitter blurb, no one cares. Like, I'll be incredibly honest, there are things this fandom talks about often regarding Lestat and gender that I genuinely do not understand where they are pulling their thoughts from. I'll see people talk about something as though it's super obvious and yet I cannot remotely find where they are getting this information, read, etc. And there's a world out there where I could say that and ask to talk to someone about it and have an actual conversation so I could perhaps see where they're coming from and, even if I never agreed, maybe understand it a little bit more. But I don't think anyone can have that conversation without insults being thrown, and I'm beyond wanting to have that conversation when the same conversation about Louis is met with antiblackness and the stereotypes about black men that further showcase how a majority of the white people in this fandom cannot uncenter their whiteness. And I'm still not sure if any of this makes sense. And I'm sure I'll have to turn anon off or something because I can already see and anticipate people sending gross things under the anonymous gift of Tumblr. But yeah. I don't want to have these conversations anymore, I've been having them for three years now, I can't help that new fans are joining and reinvigorating old discourse, but then the discourse, as discourse in this fandom so often does, becomes disgustingly antiblack and it's like -- it's just this cycle of awfulness and it makes things not enjoyable and it makes me angry and sad and it adds to my continued loss of hope that literacy skills will ever improve, etc. etc. etc.

[brennacedria]

Okay, work BS updates:

After being talked-to twice about how I should go down to a part time schedule (32 hours, still partial benefits) because of my appointments. I hated it, but I'm realistic: it would make life easier, in spite of the loss of a day of income, and I came to terms with it and was gonna agree to it--on the condition that my insurance would be one of the benefits I keep.

The last conversation was in the conference room with HR present and participating. That has an air of authority, right? That's why I assumed it was a basically done deal--there was basically an "or else" to the talk.

That was on the... 21st? 22nd? And it ended with, "talk to your husband about it, decide what's best for you two, and we'll talk about it next week after the holiday."

Sounds pretty official.

So we talked about it at home and agreed that it was my only option, but we had questions (about the partial benefits). Tuesday of last week, after the holiday, my manager pulled me aside to ask what I'd decided. I told her I had some questions still, and I emailed them to her to forward to HR that afternoon. She said she forwarded them and they'd let me know.

Thursday, I asked if they'd looked at it. Nope, not yet, one of the people making decisions was out of the office and hasn't had a chance yet. Fine, okay. Whatever.

I waited. Friday. Monday. After lunch yesterday. I sent a follow-up email asking for updates. A little while later I get an email from my manager asking what the urgency was, was I wanting to do the 32 hour week after all?

I replied no, but I'm being realistic and I need to know where I stand with the company. A little time passes. The Big Manager calls down to Immediate Manager's office (you can see on the phone display when different lines are active, and both managers' lines went active at the same time). About half an hour later, IM calls me into her office.

Apparently the multiple meetings telling me to go to a 32 hour week were "just discussions" and "not official." In the conference room. With HR present and participating. With printouts of my time out demonstrating the "problem" of my absences and tardies (due to properly documented doctor's appointments).

"Just a discussion."

I flat out told her that a meeting with HR doesn't feel or sound like an unofficial discussion, it feels and sounds like a demand.

"well also [Brenna], what are we supposed to do if everyone else decides to miss as much time? It's not fair to allow one person leniency but not others"

I told her that if their appointments are properly documented, like mine are, and they're getting their work done, anyone's absences should be excused like mine should be. What's the point of documentation otherwise? It's not like we're talking about just calling out for the sake of calling out.

The unofficialness came up again, and I reiterated that it's not unofficial when it's with HR.

"No, no, I want to keep you, and I want you to be able to stay full time." Etc

So now they've got me again. They made me say I don't want to go to 32 hours, they've said they aren't MAKING me do it, but I KNOW they don't want me anymore. And that kills any motivation I have to come in, but I have to because otherwise they can fire me for attendence. (Which could deny me unemployment.) But without the 32 hour week, I can't apply for other jobs, because I won't have time I can take to interview elsewhere. Unless, ofc, I take time off that won't be documented as doctor's appointments. Which, as mentioned, could get me fired.

So now I'm stuck in a place I don't want to be, that doesn't want me. It's different from the apartment complex 7 years ago, thankfully--I won't lose my home if I do get fired--but it's still a whole lot of bullshit. But I have to go in, and if they don't want to pay unemployment they have to keep me.

Anyway, it's time for me to go inside and clock in now. But that's a pretty much where I am. Fuck my life, for real.

[intothedysphoria]

If most people were to be believed, nobody liked the poor fucks who peaked in high school. Unfortunately for Steve, he was one of that number.

Being rejected from college was embarrassing enough. Then there was losing his minimum wage job. Getting married too young. Rehab. Realising he was gay. Divorce. Rehab again. Only seeing the kids once a month. And of course finding out the morning before yet another job interview that there was more hair growing out his ass.

A too bitter coffee that tasted like laundry detergent didn’t help as he ran from the subway because his licence had been suspended. Neither did the bottom of the barrel cigarettes he’d had before walking into the building.

William Hargrove, head of a nation wide charity outreach programme for abused children. He needed some low level admin support and apparently Steve fit the bill perfectly. It was fine, Steve told himself. He’d just be another fat balding white guy who was only in it for the money. Steve knew his own generation well.

Billy was not like that. He was incredibly sweet and patient during the job interview, which apparently he always did himself, picked up on Steve’s dyslexia almost immediately and offered in office support and was unequivocally the most beautiful man Steve had ever seen.

Steve got hired. He started Monday. That would have been fantastic if not for the fact that Steve knew his only good suit had a tomato sauce stain on which refused to budge. Fuck his life.

Decades of porn had put Steve under the impression that crushes on a boss were fun, sexy affairs that led to coitus on the office table. Whoever came up with that fucking lie owed him a sincere handwritten apology. Crushes on a boss were not fun and were never reciprocated.

Billy was a very hands on boss. He’d go around to everyone’s desk, asking if they needed anything, organised staff basketball outings every week and was just genuinely the sweetest guy ever. Steve had read somewhere that Billy could have been a millionaire but refused to compromise on staff wages or any of his programmes. He tried not to get warm fuzzy feelings about that.

Shame smoking was not helping matters, especially not when Steve found out that a certain other person frequented his spot. He gave up smoking at work after that. Steve couldn’t come across as a complete disaster.

Miraculously, Steve was actually very good at his job. It was straightforward and repetitive and the special font on the computer meant that he could read it better. His co workers were all nice, well adjusted 20 somethings and they were surprisingly happy to involve a 58 year old in their shenanigans.

On the Billy front, Steve had finally managed to get out a full sentence without sounding like a teenage girl at a WHAM concert (the equivalent was One Direction now??????? Steve couldn’t keep up with teenagers) and generally Billy seemed to think he was competent. Not a particularly special employee but enough to talk about the game with over crappy office coffee.

Billy was also gay. Which was very cool and should not have given him as much completely unfounded hope as it would. It wasn’t the 80s anymore and they were very much not the only gays in the village. Practically every man who walked into his office started immediately drooling. Not that Steve could judge.

An official invitation to “basketball Fridays” was new. Steve had mostly waved it off in the past, because it would just be him against much younger men and his ego couldn’t handle that. Still, he decided to take it up. Just because Billy’s hair smelled like lavender.

It was just Billy when he got there. Basketball shorts were criminally good on his figure. Again, Steve couldn’t help but hope he’d suddenly be transported into a porn.

“Don’t mind a one on one game, just us old men?”

How could Steve pass that offer up? It was really too good to refuse.

One game turned into two into five and suddenly Steve was back to playing a game once a week. Sometimes it had practically the entire building, sometimes it was just the two of them. They’d exchanged numbers, just to discuss Steve’s love of Sixteen Candles. It was nice, having a friend who wasn’t Robin or Carol for once. Another guy. Another queer guy.

The next week Anthony told him to resign. He was kind of like a mini Jason Carver from back in high school, bar the religious trauma. Resign he’d said. For Billy’s sake. That had to be some sort of hr violation. Steve didn’t tell on him though. Billy cared too much about his employees for that.

Slowly, more and more people started saying it. Resign. For Billy. It felt like bordering on bullying. Some type of ageism. Still, Steve resolutely ignored it until it came from Gemma.

Gemma was Steve’s favourite. They had outrageously green hair, thrived off shitty horror movies and was the first person to not laugh at Steve for not knowing what Instagram was. They were a saint. But then they told him to resign too.

“Please Steve.” Their voice was as soft and gentle as ever, like waves cascading over the rocks. “You’ve got to quit. For Billy. Trust me.”

Bottom lip trembling but refusing to cry in front of anyone, Steve marched to Billy’s office and rapped sharply on the door. He stuck to the script, announced he was quitting “for Billy” and turned to walk out the door until Billy gently caught his hand.

“Steve”

Steve was going to miss hearing that voice every day.

“Do you even know why you’re resigning?”

This was even worse than the recurring nightmare of taking an exam naked.

“No?” He tried, voice sounding about as confident as a five year olds.

Billy cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Look I don’t know exactly what the team has been doing but I think why you’re resigning is because I can’t exactly ask you on a date as an employee?”

Ah. That was unexpected.

Thankfully Billy didn’t mind the stubborn tomato sauce stain when they got to the restaurant. Or Steve’s garlic breath when they kissed. And Steve found himself for the first time in a while, thinking that maybe being him wasn’t all that bad after all.

[theallianceofcelestials]

Ello, seems im a bit late for this week’s Yap session haha. Some family stuff came up in the past couple of days and I just didn’t have the energy for the internet, sorry bout that my dears :P

Anyways, let the yapping commence /silly

-Sigma Anon

Welp I'm gonna start this cuz Sunray's currently not here, so this'll be answered a bit late, so sorry for that loves

This week has been spent with me being sick. :P Currently my nose does not wish to be used for its intended purpose, breathing, so I'm suffering with no air. But that's fine.

I'm also almost done in my current hell! Only like 1-2 weeks!!! I'm so goddamned happy, even if I'll still have a bunch of real hard exams right after which I'm very, very anxious about

I've also been trying to work on the second chapter of Embrace the Deep, but it's slow going with my head being full of static thanks to illness. Also, Sunray's birthday is approaching, so I should finish that up so I can work on his gift. Hopefully I'll manage somehow lol

And yeah, the doctor was mean to me too :( She's one evil female dog, who apparently doesn't believe in 21 year olds being too sick to walk the 15 mins it takes to get to her. When said 21 year olds are dizzy. And have opened the phone call with that information. That she then forgot. And then she broke my neck, and it went kachunk :(

So yeah, I'm dead now. Very sad and tragic.

I hope everything will get better for you! ^^ I'm always happy to hear from you, though I don't wanna seem pushy or something which is why I never contact you. Wish you the best tho! :]

If there's anything at all that you wanna talk about, privately or otherwise, feel free to approach us, or just me specifically on Discord! Even if I don't respond instantly I will. Once I'm awake or back home or in front of the computer :P

Anyways, now this is gonna sit here for a while, because my dear old friend, who's still the account owner despite my takeover, is not home yet, and also may want to play Cuphead (we got to King Dice yippeee) so it's gon take them a while

But yeah, good to hear from you again Sugars

Hey, Sunray here! Sorry this took so long to get answered because of me, but the past week has been very emotionally and mentally tiring. I may have mentioned here or on the Discord that I'm looking for a job, and on Thursday last week got some calls from 2 places, so I attempted an interview on Monday (and fumbled, the interviewer even dipping on me, which I'm pretty sure was just a nice little lie to "not hurt my feelings"), and checked out 2 potential positions from the second place on Tueasday.

Then on Wednesday I called back the second place to inform them I made a choice between the 2 positions, then went back there to get a whole bunch of paperwork I haave to fill out before I could start working there, and do a lung screening to see if I have TBC or something like that, and got a lab referral (for blood tests and all that jazz, which I'll be going back to do this upcoming Monday) cause it is a position in the healthcare field. So I'm currently procrastinating on them paperwork, because the wording of it is so confusing, I hate these official forms. Why can't they just write everything down very simply so that silly little entities such as myself can understand them. The secretary lady who gave me the "homework" also didn't really help with clearing stuff up while word vomiting at me and not letting me make some notes with the speed she was talking at.

So yeah, I'm currently crying about that and Moongleam is threatening me with us only watching Bee Movie for the rest of our lives if I don't do it, aswell as my mother ending me if she realises I'm not already done with them yet. So ya know, just end my suffering, haha.

On a brighter note, my (maybe) future colleagues were very sweet so far!

And on another note, I really want to continue writing my work in progresses, but simply lack the motivation to actually write. Just this morning I was bothering Moongleam about rambling about cat genetics, because of my Warrior Cats TSAMS AU, because I want Ruin to be a chimera cat, so he could have funky colouring (regular and dilute calico/tortoiseshell with white spotting, since I think those colours would fit him) aswell as having a mix of short and long fur (long mainly around his neck like a mane, and on his tail, and the rest of him short or medium furred).

And also have been thinking of my MASM fics that are collecting dust in my phone's notes app, and those stories do not deserve that. Also recently reread some of my brainings as I like to call them about a story from a previous fandom I was in, and since then distanced myself from, and I really want to write that story too, because it deserves to see the light of day, and I put so much thought into the stuff I have for it, Moongleam also helping with it, so yeah.

Anyway, it is your turn to Yap now, so do so, please! ^^

[2tcs]

Back on my Danny/Skylark thing I've done a few times

Danny: If I had a nickel for every time I've been chained up in the presence of a redhead named Vicky and a neglected kid named Timmy, I'd have 2 nickels. Which isn't a lot but it's weird that it happened twice

Vicki Vale: Do tell, this sounds like a scoop

Tim Drake: Yes, I'd also like to know why a singer is chained up before and why this is the first I've heard of it

“Well, it all started out when I went to this town called Dimmsdale. This was when we had just released ‘My Shiny Teeth and Me’.” Danny said as the kid, Tim, nodded as he listened closely. “One minute I was driving and the next thing I know a tree sprouted right in the middle of the road. Imagine driving and then a full-grown tree poofs into existence. Suffice it to say I crashed.”

“You know you shouldn't drink and drive right?” Tim said with the most deadpan expression.

“I was as sober as it gets. But anyway, I walked up to the house I crashed in front of and the person who answered the door was this teen named Vicky. Turns out she was crazy. She tied me to a bed with chains kinda crazy. Anyways, she was apparently babysitting this kid Timmy. It was the poor dude's birthday but apparently everyone forgot.”

“Where were his parents? And how did you escape?” Vicki asked. Looking like she was memorizing everything Danny was saying.

“The kid’s parents were at my concert. I don't know how but somehow the kid got ahold of my record handler. Saved my bacon. That situation was the basis of my song ‘Icky Vicky’.” Danny said. Just then one of the goons who kidnapped them came flying through the door followed my Night wing.

“Mr. Skylark, Mr. Wayne, Miss Vale. Are you all okay?” Nightwing asked as he finished tying up the goon and came over to free everyone.

“It's a Monday.” Tim said with a glare causing Danny to laugh.

“I don't know Timmy. I think it was quite captivating.” Danny laughed as Tim groaned at the pun and Nightwing chuckled.

“Well, I'm sorry for the wait. I was a little tied up.” Nightwing replied.

“Hay. You cut my rope so I'll give you some slack.” Danny grinned as he stood up.

“Well. As interesting as this was I for one am ready to get out of here. Mr. Skylark? Here's my card. If at all I would like to set up a proper interview with you.” Vicki said before walking out.

That night Chip Skylark debuted his new song. ‘Interview in Chains’. And the next morning Danny's record agency received a call from one Vicki Vale.

[monsieuroverlord]

This week's X-Men Monday features NYX writers Collin Kelly and Jackson Lanzing!

We got some early preview pages for issue #1 (above) plus the cover for #4 (below)

source here

This interview does do a lot to explain the inspirations for this series, how the characters were chosen, plus some general plot points to look forward to (I hope).

This series does seem like it will have a heavy focus on interpersonal relationships -- anole's dating life is specifically mentioned, whereas during the Krakoa era, he was "trapped behind a bar." so, they're looking to explore that.

Tommy and David are broken up :(

(apparently "amicably" but still)

And David has a new love interest in this series.

This interview also does absolutely nothing to assuage my fears regarding Laura:

I just -- really? A love triangle for Laura? I'm trying really hard to think positively and stay hopeful, but right now it seems like they'll shove Laura into a Logan-esque triangle, akin to Jean Grey/Scott/Logan.

Especially since they're hinting (basically confirmed) that the Krakoan is Hellion. (Officially, it's "no comment" but c'mon.)

And we also have this regarding the choice for Laura:

We haven't even seen Laura's dialogue yet, so I'm waiting to see how they actually characterize her, but I'm still being a huge worrywart about this. Character growth is good, and it could be interesting, but I don't think I'm really a fan of the details I've seen so far.

But we'll see! I'll reserve full judgement until it actually comes out!

It's a good interview though, I think it explains quite a bit of the dynamics we can expect.