#atrocious algebra

[lyliux]

[sylusjinwoon]

{ 197 }

me and you

academy arc

jinwoo sung x fem.reader

{ we’re the new face of failure | prettier and younger, but not any better off | bulletproof loneliness, at best, at best… }

your heart was pounding with anxiety when your teacher began passing back your exam for algebra 2. your palms were sweating, and you felt nauseous at the thought of seeing your score.

his humming was heard, and the moment you saw your teacher completely eclipsing your form from prying eyes was when you knew you had failed. your test was flipped on its back, but from the sheer amount of red marks seen, you knew that the grade couldn’t possibly have been a passing one.

your heart was still felt thrumming against the base of your throat when you slowly turned it over-

revealing a 50% marked in bolded ink along with a message that read, ‘come see me after class.’

you internally groan, feeling the tears threaten to well up in your eyes as the frustration began to mount against you. it wasn’t like you didn’t study-

math was just an atrocious subject for you, and that fact will never change.

once the final bell rang, you wait for the students to head out first, their laughter and carefree attitude seeming to put a damper on your mood as you begrudgingly stepped closer to your teacher’s desk. he pushes up his glasses while keeping his hands folded on top of some assignments. he says your name in a gentle manner while meeting your gaze, taking note of the tears that threaten to fall from your eyes.

“now, i’m not upset with you. i just worry that you won’t understand the concepts well enough; that you may fail this course. because this is just our first exam, i’m willing to give you another chance.”

you give him a grateful smile and begin wiping away your tears. “thank you so much sir! so, what do i need to do?”

your teacher considers your words before telling you, “if you can correct every question you missed on this exam and turn it back into me by tomorrow, i’ll give you a passing score of 80%.”

upon listening to his explanation, the hope of a second chance was immediately ripped away from you, making the tears nearly drop from your eyes once more. before you could start bawling, your teacher suddenly lifts a hand to stop you. “now wait a moment, i wouldn’t be cruel enough to make you do this on your own. there is one young man who scored a perfect 100% on this exam, and i am going to enlist his help right now.”

he focuses his attention on someone settled behind you before calling out his name, making your heart practically freeze in response upon hearing the syllables that made up his name.

“sung jinwoo, could you please help this young woman and tutor her over the concepts covered in exam 1 along with correcting her answers?”

you look back to see the said boy with perfectly styled ebony locks of hair and stormy eyes meet your gaze. he was simply conversing with his friends when the teacher called out to him. he looks back to see your wide eyed gaze before giving you a beaming smile.

“sure, i don’t mind helping her at all.”

and it was at that exact moment you knew you were screwed-

because you had the biggest crush on jinwoo the world has ever known-

today was not going to end well.

he says his goodbyes to his friends before coming closer to you, running a hand over his hair as you had to look up to meet his gaze. despite being only 16 years old, he still towered over you (and over 95% of your classmates), making you wonder just how he had gotten so tall.

“my apartment is a little cluttered, and my sister may have gotten home from school, too. if it’s alright with you, can we head to your place instead?”

you give him a stiff nod, trying to keep your expression neutral and your voice even as you walked out of class together with him. he remains close to you, hands being shoved within the pockets of his coat. he maintains a safe distance from you, but didn’t stand so far away that you couldn’t admire his features up close. he was focused on the scenery that passes by from your periphery, and a part of you felt a deep sense of guilt for potentially wasting his time.

“jinwoo?”

he lets out a hum of your name, “yes?”

the sound of your name coming from his lips makes you shiver, nearly making you do a double take when you shake your head to help with calming down, letting out a sigh. “i’m sorry, i didn’t wish to put a damper on your plans or anything. it’s just… i have always been bad at math.”

jinwoo lets out a rich chuckle, “i know, but i never once minded it.”

a strange sense of nostalgia was felt coursing through you, halting you in your steps as you looked back at him to see his gentle smile. you kept opening and closing your mouth, unsure of what to make of the strange familiarity of his words. jinwoo ends up shaking his head before telling you, “don’t take this the wrong way, i just meant to say that i don’t mind helping you out, so it’s no trouble at all.”

satisfied with his reassurance, you visibly relax and continue your trek back home, unaware of the knowing smirk that paints jinwoo’s features as he keeps his eyes on your back, stepping in line from close behind you, as if wishing to shield you from any potential dangers.

after spending some time walking, you finally arrive in your neighborhood, heading towards your house as you placed a hand on your front door and unlocked it, allowing jinwoo to enter first. a casual smile paints his features when he thanks you, entering your home while taking off his shoes.

“my parents are still at work, so we’ll be by ourselves for the most part, if that’s okay with you…?”

jinwoo simply shrugs before gesturing at you, “it’s no problem at all. lead the way.”

you both end up being settled on your dining room table along with some snacks and bottles of cold water. jinwoo then starts spreading out his notebooks, pens, and calculator throughout the table before taking a seat next to you. he asks to see your exam with a sweet smile, and you hand it to him, still feeling shaky at the thought of your crush potentially judging you.

instead, he simply hums while moving his seat so that he was closer to you.

“it’s okay, i see your work, and you got very close to the right answer. your steps were just mixed up, that’s all.”

his voice remained kind and calm, never once becoming agitated with you as he slowly guided you through each problem that you missed. a few hours pass, and when you saw that you managed to correct all of the questions that you missed you couldn’t stop the wide grin from spreading across your face.

“oh my god, jinwoo, i did it!”

his grey eyes shine with mirth, “of course. i had no doubt in my mind that you could do it. you just needed some clarification and a gentle push in the right direction.”

when jinwoo was done commending you, he lets out a happy sigh before uncapping a bottle of water, taking a huge swig of it. as you put away your corrected exam, you couldn’t help but keep your gaze on jinwoo, watching the way his adam’s apple bobbed with each sip of water that he takes.

you were mesmerized at the sight of him, unable to look away as your eyes seemed to follow a single droplet of water as it made its descent from his lips all the way down to the base of his throat. he stops drinking from his water bottle moments later, now smirking at you when he asks, “what are you staring at?”

an undignified squeak was heard coming from you as you quickly look away from him, your features completely flustered as you found it difficult to meet his tranquil gaze. “it’s nothing! uhm…”

jinwoo lets out another rich chuckle when he puts his empty water bottle away before asking you. “have i shown you my favorite formula for algebra? i promise you, its helped me through many tough situations, and i’m sure it can help you, too.”

feeling grateful that he changed the subject, such talk of this amazing formula was enough to make your eyes go wide. “y-yes! please, show me this formula… if you don’t mind…”

jinwoo gives you a nod before leaning closer to you, taking a hold of your notebook as he opens it to a fresh page before uncapping his pen. it was then that he began writing against the lines in a neat script:

me + you = ♡

your heart rate becomes slightly erratic as your breath hitches in response. you meet with jinwoo’s gaze, seeing the look of adoration in them when he leans closer to you, not saying a word as he proved his feelings for you in a slow and sweet kiss.

you feel him smiling against your lips, causing a strange warmth to fill and course through your veins. jinwoo’s gaze never once strays too far away from you when he pulls away from you and admits, “you’ve always been on my mind. ever since the moment i first saw you, i wanted nothing more than to protect you… and keep you by my side.”

you wanted oh so desperately to tell him how much you liked him-

how you had always felt so strongly about him and basked in the way he made you feel-

but sadly, you knew that mere words alone would never be sufficient enough to convey your feelings for sung jinwoo.

so you did the next best thing-

you surge forward to capture his lips in another searing kiss, and upon hearing the way jinwoo lets out a soft growl of your name before returning your kiss, you didn’t think he minded your wordless declaration one bit.

a.n. omg i have such a block for jinwoo, but i’m trying; i’m trying so hard to balance everything and not have sylus taking over my life, currently unedited but i’ll make corrections later once this is posted 😭🙌🏻 there might be a double update since man i can’t get sylus out of my head lol ooops

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

[14carrotghoul]

WIP Not Wednesday/Google Search

Hi hi playing catch up! This week was NUTS (RIP MY CHILDHOOD DOG 😭😭) and am busy prepping for a crazy fun June so wanted to share some before more shit hits the fan!

Thank you for the tags @cha-melodius @firenati0n and @alasse9 for the Google game! I use incognito mode for literally everything BUT here are my latest rabbit holes, some sillier than others

The Game: share your last fic/writing related Google search, with as much or as little context as you want to give.

Insta stalking Casey to figure out where they have done author readings/ Q&As

Barbie swan lake constellation video

Swan princess butler name

Austin author events

Brooklyn author events

And thanks to @xthelastknownsurvivorx @heysweetheart-writes @cha-melodius @myheartalivewrites @littlemisskittentoes and @suseagull04 for today's and Sunday's tags!! Here is more infidelity fic bc I have zero self control w this one and hit 12.5k this week!

My best friend surprises me an hour later, holding more wine and a box brimming with goods from home.

“Angel from above, where is your luggage?” I hastily make room on the nearest surface for the box.

“This was an emergency. I have spare pants and my favorite shoes. Your wardrobe will suffice for the rest,” he answers before crushing me in a tight hug.

Percy "Pez, like the sweets" Okonjo has been a fabulous, beloved thorn in my side since we were precocious posh misfits at Eton. We were seated next to each other in maths so that I, the reserved sensitive boy who happened to be atrocious with numbers, could temper his loud mouth while learning a thing or two from him about algebra. This was a scheme that backfired tremendously, and we've raised hell together ever since.

Open tag bc my brain is a mess!!! And also tagging the friends above that haven't done the Google search game to do it!!! :D

[gods-little-lamb]

hi !! my name is emmie. feel free to msg me or send me asks <33

all are welcome here (i’m always looking for friends !!!) but i do not tolerate intolerance

this blog is to help tether myself to God and to push myself to be better. i’m also going to be using this blog as a personal diary and to help me study for the upcoming school year. also here to work on my atrocious attention span and just generally fixing my literacy.

my interests include child development, linguistics (even though i’ve just started and am quite horrible at it :>), marine biology, old furbies, new furblets, and the color pink!! i also really enjoy reading but haven’t had enough energy to lately ( • > •)”

extra information below ⬇️

next year i will be taking:

algebra 2

ap psychology

child development (1 semester)

personal finance (1 semester)

honors civics

world history

botany (1 semester)

zoology (1 semester)

early childhood education

ap language and composition

i’ve also just started studying the bible. my parents forbid it because they had bad experiences with religion but i’ve felt extremely drawn to christianity and to God. my mother used to be catholic so i figured id start there 💗

i’m getting my books and other religious materials from the thrift store so if there’s anything in particular i should look out for just let me know!!

i really enjoy making things with beads so i’ve half made myself a rosary but i don’t have the centerpiece or the crucifix so im making do as-is :<

i have a loving boyfriend that i absolutely adore ❤️❤️❤️❤️

[dykentery]

like ok outing myself as a dumbass of my own flavour here but i am atrocious with pronouns. it takes me a long time to be able to process what pronouns people use and my brainpower speed is just too slow to be able to implement pronouns quickly so i end up fumbling and defaulting to ‘they’ for 90% of people when responding to something in quick succession and it’s an active effort on my part to avoid that as much as possible and its like….im here tackling complex algebra with no calculator and these idiots are complaining about entering 2+2 onto their fancy full screen calculators with stylus attachments and their own special covers

[wsancho]

Thanks for the great recommendation!! I was like "ok I see, ok, ok… Oh SHIT they went there!" 😳 I do agree with every point made in the review!

As a kid I sympathized with Cid because he says he's sorry 🥴

It's quite easy for media to manipulate audiences into loving the despicable and hating the righteous, especially if the audience are children. But I see adult gamers quickly comparing Cid to Professor Mengele, as they should, because all the Nazi references are there.

But the game pushes for forgiveness and tolerance:

In Edgar's words, "The Empire's evil. But not all of its citizens are".

Imperial Generals are honorable, but unaware of the true nature of their Emperor.

Cid was so driven and passionate about knowledge that he didn't stop to see the moral tradeoffs he was making.

The ninja assassin is a good guy because… Eerrr he helped us? and he's like, really cool and likes dogs??

Actually the Returners are warriors and murderers that we are siding with and rooting for... Because they are reacting to threat, standing for integrity and overall fighting the good fight. But fighting, even when it's just fighting back, calls for atrocious acts.

As Jocko Willink put it, when you go to war you have to be willing to kill (collateral damage will happen, so a soldier must be able live with himself when accidentally killing innocents) and to die (some of your fellows or maybe yourself, will only make it back home in a coffin). I dare saying that the acceptance of these harsh truths can only be obtained by sacrificing part of one's "humanity": lose some of that compassion, or else you'll lose your mind.

This fanfic shows some of that in an elegant way, which invites reflection 👏🏼

To paraphrase JBP, there's no virtue in doing no wrong when one is not even capable of wrongdoing (physically or morally). But being capable of wrong and still choosing to do right, now that's virtue (also self-mastery). Our heroes are very capable of atrocities, but that capability becomes heroic when properly mastered and channeled.

And that is also the greatest of burdens I can think of: being a kind, caring and truly compassionate individual who must live on having done so much wrong, just in order to create the opportunity to do some right. Moral algebra is not for the faint of heart.

A character like Cid is not only evil, but is probably the most dangerous type of evil: incredibly talented but with a herd mentality, has no discernment and just goes about life in autopilot allowing others to leverage his inability to take ownership.

…And yet reading the fic still made me uncomfortable about all the characters.

I think the game makes good cases for Celes and Leo. Their atonement feels genuine because they risk their lives to actively go against the Empire. The game tries to redeem Cid as well, but having a closer look, it's just too little too late.

As for mah precious bois, they were the ones keeping it together when all the other teammates fell apart, they're the comedic duo, the wholesome pair that can overcome any pain and challenge because both have such huge strong generous beautiful hearts... And this fic has the nerve to show the shadow that is cast by their light 😭

So yeah, it throws me off and even breaks my heart a little bit, but I still feel it's perfectly in character. Fair enough!

Fanfic: Every King Needs His Guard (by Rynling)

I found this story on Archive of Our Own. Approximate read time is probably around two or three minutes (unlike this blog post of mine, which is now probably clocking in around ten minutes of read time because I can't stop having thoughts).

Here's the author's description:

Cid finds his way from his outpost on a solitary island to the kingdom of Figaro, where he offers his services to the king. Edgar is duty-bound to protect the people who come under his care, while Sabin will do anything to protect his brother.

SPOILERS AHEAD

This story has stuck in my brain in a very uncomfortable way, which is an odd way for me to begin since my goal with sharing fanfics is to highlight what I liked about a story. But this one took me a bit to appreciate, I think, because it was much darker than I was expecting.

This story made me ask myself a question I had not given any prior thought to before: Given all his history and his actions that took place before we meet him in the game, does Cid deserve to be redeemed? He is, after all, the primary scientist through whose work and "genius" an entire species was subject to torture, experimentation, and death - to say nothing of the human cost of his work for the Empire.

This question had never really occurred to me because by the time we meet Cid in-game, he's already shown to be remorseful about what his work has enabled. There seems some level of obfuscation - either deliberately through the game's designers, or by the expectation of traditional allyship that the "Cid" character plays in each Final Fantasy title, or perhaps both - that separates Cid from the monstrosity of the Magitek factory and its purpose. To me, the horrors of Magitek science were more associated with Kefka, although in retrospect, that association may have been due more to my own biases - associating the obviously evil factory with the obviously evil man.

After the factory section of the game, Cid isn't really seen again until Celes' introduction into the World of Ruin. That entire sequence frames him very sympathetically; he first functions as Celes' caregiver, then as her adoptive "grandfather", then as her first palliative charge, and finally as the catalyst for her own emotional nadir (or alternatively, as the much more boring guy-who-points-her-to-the-staircase-with-the-escape-raft).

All in all, the framing of Cid throughout the entirety of FF6 paints him as a misguided but lovable father figure, who rescues the Returners and then Celes before quietly and nobly succumbing to the mentor's death required for our hero. A "good guy" death.

But is Cid really a "good guy"? Moreover, should a "good guy" be allowed a chance at redemption if all his prior work arguably led up to the destruction of the world?

"Hey, this is a blog about Sabin! Why are you yammering on and on about Cid???"

Okay, fair point. Although also, shut up; I can do whatever I want.

If Cid's redemption is the question posed, this fanfic provides an answer as seen and carried out by Sabin.

(See? I was going to bring it back around!)

This fanfic is presented mostly from Sabin's viewpoint in third-person. Although he doesn't say a word the entire story, we get tremendous insight into how well he knows his brother Edgar, and how far he'll go to protect him not just physically, but emotionally and - with surprising awareness - politically.

This story stuck in my brain in a very uncomfortable way because Sabin gets his hands dirty in a way we've never seen. By the end of the story, on a surface level, he appears as nothing more than a hit man, a thug, or a goon. I thought it was very out of character for him to simply be the brutal "muscle" for doing dirty work.

But because the story kept bouncing around my brain, I've since realized that it's exactly in character for him. Sabin loves Edgar to the extent that he's willing to be his unofficial, unsanctioned executioner. He wants Edgar to keep his hands clean so that he can be the ruler he needs to be. He understands Edgar's true desires without needing them to be spoken, without needing to make eye contact, without Edgar needing to break a part of his own soul by even acknowledging the darkness he desires. Sabin reads this darkness solely by watching his brother's face, and by knowing Edgar's soul as well as he knows his own.

It may be Sabin's attempt to repay Edgar for the sacrifice he had made for Sabin. Edgar shouldered the burden of the kingdom so that Sabin could have his freedom, and now Sabin will shoulder the burden of retributive justice so that Edgar may have his peace.

I'm not sure whether I'll adopt this version of post-game events into my own personal head-canon; I honestly think I need more time to reflect on it. But I'm very glad I read this piece. It's one of those works that challenged me in a surprising way, and will likely color how I think about the world and characters of FF6 forever.

Rynling has several other pieces that I've also enjoyed tremendously, so I highly encourage everyone to check them out. I can't wait to write up about "The Queens Tears" later.'

You can find Rynling on AO3, as well as a couple of Tumblr accounts:

https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rynling/profile

https://pocketseizure.tumblr.com/

https://rynling.tumblr.com/

[sunshineduo]

i Will make it through the week to watch mcc24 yellow yaks i Will make it through the week to watch mcc24 yellow yaks i Will make it through the week to watch mcc24 yellow yaks i Will make it through the week to wa

[mossy-covered-bones]

Ope, yet another Logan doodle created in one of my math classes

Edit: just realized I forgot the glasses :/

[queenimmadolla]

Out of Touch In Harmony

SUMMARY: in which Eddie and his arch-nemesis smoke a couple of joints and talk about how much they (don't) hate each other. then proceed to suck face. WARNINGS: A whole lot of banter and misunderstandings. some fluff with a liddlebito spice. NOTE: the random thought that turned into +4k words. i tried to leave the timeline vast enough for drabbles and other stuff in case this becomes a series or something. i was also high the entire time I wrote this, and seeing as how I just finished like 5 mins ago, there are definitely gonna be mistakes because i am still indeed trippin. i'll fix it later though. also don't steal my shit i guess.

masterlist

You could feel the tension sloshing throughout the classroom, threatening to burst through the door and flood the halls.

English class with Ms. O’Donnell wouldn’t be considered entertaining to literally anyone in the entire world and truthfully it’s neither the subject nor the teacher (she’s too fucking expired to be as much of an old crone as she is) that keeps a smug smirk plastered on your face.

It’s the dumb ass super senior two rows back, one seat over.

You weren’t like the others. No, you hadn’t judged Eddie Munson based on reputation only. To you, he had the chance to prove he wasn’t a freak or a loser. And that’s were you went wrong. Unfortunately, that stupid little crush you had on him in the fourth grade when he was the only one to compliment your (admittedly) atrocious hair cut (which you still gave your mom a hard time about to this very day) clouded your judgement. He was two grades ahead of you, and your little self had been heartbroken when he moved onto high school, while you stayed in middle school. 

You were completely fucking flabbergasted when you finally followed and saw he began to develop the sense of style he had currently, shit, you hadn’t even thought it was weird. It was hot and most certainly an awakening. You were meant for a different crowd, though. Joined Cheer as a freshman, and quietly pined for him. Then you found out he had a crush on Chrissy Cunningham sophomore year, so naturally you hated him. 

That bitch Erin hadn’t been able to shut the hell up about it in the locker room. And Chrissy, the endearing little chick, found it cute. Not cute enough to date him, thank god, but cute nonetheless. Plus, you didn’t like how he ripped on other people’s interests just because some (okay, most, but not all!) didn’t like his. It hadn’t been too big of a deal until it had been your table that was the focus of one of his Public Lunch Announcements. You’d been so embarrassed, especially after seeing the way he smirked as he soaked the sudden emotion up, proud of the fact that he’d humiliated you.

You didn’t join the of hierarchy of popularity though until senior year. Freshman year was spent pining (and then hating) in quiet after him and being plain, sophomore year was spent more or less the same except your body proportions didn’t match your face, junior year you were almost there and losing the meek-ness that anchored you down from ever reaching confidence. You’d managed to squeeze Volleyball and Softball into your schedule. You’d also easily managed to maintain straight A’s (we don’t talk about how you’ve barely made it to Algebra 2 and that math is the subject you had to actively sweat your vagina off studying to pass) which pleases the parent (ensuring a bit more freedom), and then your cheer coach Connie announced that you and Judy would be taking over as Co-Captains since Alizae and Carmen graduated. Of course, Chrissy managed to become the most popular girl in school, but you still managed to obtain a validating amount of respect, and everyone says 'hi' to you first now.

Except Eddie. No, you two hadn't acknowledged each other’s existence except in instances to cause the other as much public embarrassment as they could in a single sitting. 

You still maintained the latest victory after sticking some gum to the beginnings of a stream of toilet paper and managing to smush it against his dirty reeboks under the guise of kicking his shoe in class. He’d made it to his next class before he noticed what the looks were about. People usually had the decency to save the laughter for lunch, he should’ve caught on sooner.

He had failed senior year. Twice. Another thing you liked to use against him when you two got particularly nasty with each other.

It was a genuine hateship, one that had never managed to meet this amount of tension until this particular class. While you’d had the Senior Citizen for other classes before, the teachers mostly lectured. O’Donnell asked questions. Which gave you so many chances to embarrass him in front of the whole class by correcting his dumbass answers with as much snark as you could.

This time he couldn’t provide an example of a hyperbole and you’d offered up the solution. Sure, it was in relation to his embarrassing life and everyone laughed, but he hadn’t appreciated it.

You could feel the heat of his stare the rest of the class, but by the time lunch had ended, you’d forgotten about each other’s existence. He’d gone off to do stuff for hellfire and probably sell or whatever else it is he does, and you went to cheer. 

Practice had ended earlier than normal when coach Connie hurt her hip and started crying over losing her youth.  Sensing the oncoming breakdown, the team had encouraged her to just call it a night, which is how you found yourself on the wooden bench some ways into the woods behind the school.

With your schedule, you didn’t get as much downtime as you’d like this early in the day. Very disheartening, considering the sun was about an hour from sunset. So you’d thought you might just give yourself some time to yourself rather than go spend it with your friends. Besides, you had a nice joint to keep you company and your walkman. 

You were about halfway done with the joint and you lowered your headset to swap out the tape when you heard a branch snap behind and nearly had a heart attack, twisting around to actually find someone sitting behind you.

You gasped, a hand rushing up in attempt to calm the organ through your clothes somehow, relief flooding you when you realized it was just Eddie.

He had that stupid smirk plastered on his face, probably got a thrill from scaring you.  “Hey-,” it only widens as you settle enough to relax in a huff. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you, spitfire.” There’s nothing nice about it.

It’s definitely the weed allowing you to be this cordial, because you find yourself saying, “It’s fine. Never thought I’d be happy to see your face. You, as opposed to like Jason Voorhees or some other killer.”

Eddie squints at you, slight disbelief on his face before it morphs into something resembling realization as he gives the air a good sniff, the corners of his lips twitching.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute.” He pushes himself dramatically back from the table, taking a few steps back all the while his expression takes on mock shock. “Spitfire…Spitfire, are you high?”

You can’t help the slow smile that you find your lips pulling up into, you give a pathetic attempt at hiding it before you give in. “Yeah. Uh, I am. Why is that surprising, you seem shocked.”

He stares at you, grin softening while he tongues his canine. You realize, thanks to your delayed sense of any self preservation, that his gaze is focused on you. Like hyper focused on you. Oh, shit. He had you when you were unable to defend yourself from an insult. 

Then he just chuckles, gaze flickering to the ground and then back to you as he flicks his wrists before crossing his arms over his chest. “Nah, I just guess I never entertained the idea that you might smoke. Anything other than a cigar, anyways.”

You wince, but giggle knowing he’s referring to your projected air of sophistication compared to his. “Don’t even put that thought in my head, just the thought of a cigar tastes terrible to me.”

He laughs along with you, slowly making his way closer. “No cigars, noted."

You’re feeling relaxed, plus you know no one is around so you decided to offer a moment of truce. “Would you care for a temporary olive branch? Olive joint?” 

Eddie scoffs and mumbles, “Would I care for a…” But he trails off, gaze feeling heavier as the those stupid big beautiful eyes stare at you. You can feel yourself beginning to react, how every single one of your nerves seem to be coming slowly back to life. Why did you feel like something was happening? “Yeah. Yeah, I’d care for an olive joint.” He closes the distance between you two, keeping an arms length away (his arm).

You had no idea touching fingers could feel as good as it does when his brush yours as they take the joint. You glance up at him to find him still watching you, then he moves to sit on the bench next to you, elbows leaned back against the table as he wraps his surprisingly plump for a dude’s lips around the filter and inhales. He exhales slow, the smoke wafting around you two, and pulls it away to eye it. “You make this?”

“Yup.”

“Nice craftsmanship.” It sounds genuine, which pleases you again for that mystery reason,

“Thanks, I spent an hour on it.”

He lets out a low whistle, looking thoroughly amused from you to the joint. “If you’re trying to impress me, spitfire, consider it a job well done. You craft instead of roll, so I’m guessing you don’t get to smoke often?”

You rest your elbows on before answering. “No, I smoke pretty often.”

“So then you don’t smoke often and get to enjoy it?”

“That’s right.”

“Pity.”

You spend the next 15 minutes passing it back and forth before it’s done. Eddie tosses it and rubs it into the dirt with his shoe before producing another one from seemingly nowhere. “Guess it’s my turn to extend the olive joint.” 

It’s stupid, but you grin wide, trying to ignore the way his stare keeps flickering back over to you while he takes the first hit. 

You take that moment to really look at him. How pretty his hair was, your fingers twitched, just itching to play with the waves. You wonder how soft it would feel, twirling around your fingers,  would it be easy to run your hands through? How would it feel like, pressed up against your neck, or with thebottom half framing your face if he was on top? And those eyes, should be illegal for a man with a smile like his to also have eyes that beautiful. So intense, but so telling. That’s how you could always tell when you managed to push his buttons. Those eyes wouldn’t let him hide a thing.

Jesus. So much for being over Eddie Munson. The attraction you had nail gunned to the back of your head all those years ago came back much faster than you’d been able to learn how to ignore it.

You hoped like hell it was just the weed.

You couldn’t sit in silence anymore. “Why didn’t you try?” You ask, taking the joint as he offers it. 

Eddie sort of gets this far off look in his eyes, and you know he’s aware of what you’re talking about, trying to decide if he’s going to play dumb or answer your question. It almost surprises you, “First time, I guess I was rebelling or some shit like that. Just didn’t care all that much, wasn’t too big of a deal for me. Second time, I got a little too comfortable. Thought I knew enough shit to scrape away with the bare minimum, but Ms. O’Donnell changing her final was a move I failed to anticipate.”

“Didn’t roll high enough to survive, huh?”

You noticed how he suddenly went stiff, turning to you slowly. “What did you just say?”

Oh, god. You were trying not to break the peace by saying something nice and relative to his interests but you’d probably fucked it up. Was that not how it worked?

“Isn’t that a thing?” He just stares at you, leaving your panic to heighten slightly and you flounder. “In D&D? Dungeons and  Dragons? The game you play?”

He finally put you out of your misery, lips curling up into the biggest smile you’ve ever seen on his face. God, he’s so cute. “Yes, it’s a thing. In D&D. Dungeons and Dragons. The game I play.”

You let out a sigh of relief, ignoring his chuckles. “God, Eddie. You almost ruined my high!”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t expect you to know any terminology, let alone use it accurately.” You go back to sitting side by side.

“Good, that’s what you get for judging people.” You pulled your cardigan a little tighter around you and you dropped the stub to the ground. The sun was dipping low, barely visible behind the tree line. 

“Now, wait just a minute. You’re trying to tell me not to judge anyone?” He sounded incredulous and you did not appreciate that.

“Are you implying I’m judgmental?” Your arms crossed just under your chest, and you caught the quick glance down he made. He seemed embarrassed about it.

“Implying? No. Stating? Yes.” Your mouth drops open in shock, and he continues. “C’mon, I know the score, Spitfire. I don’t exactly meet the criteria for normal or Christian around here. You took one look at me, and knew I was a bad apple.”

The Christian comment has you biting back a smile. “I did no such thing. I remember you from long before you were even a headbanger. Back when you could strike a match on that head of yours.”

He stands up at that, pacing a little in front of you before facing you with that shy look on his face and his arms crossed. “You remember me?”

Did he remember you?

“Yeah,” You don’t even bother to hold off with some teasing. “Yeah, how could I forget the first boy who ever lied to me to spare my feelings?” 

His smile is so soft now, and it’s making that feeling in your stomach long for him again. “I really did like your haircut.”

You squint, slightly suspicious but he said it so softly. “You’re lying.”

He shakes his head, brown waves framing his face. “No. I thought you looked cool.”

You don’t know what to do with that. Fourth grade you would have fainted. “Huh. Guess it’s my turn to be surprised.”

It’s quiet for a few beats. 

“Sooo, is there a reason why you decided you were gonna be a bitch to me in a high school?” He’s smiling when he says it, so you know he’s still being playful.

“You had it coming! I never thought you were a freak, or any weirder than any other teenage boy finding out who he is, anyways. I actually…” Why does it feel like you’re offering the villain in your life a huge chance to kill you? “…kind of admired you. Despite how hard everyone ragged on you, you just never conformed. And you didn’t just take their shit either, you gave it back.” Then you think about that day in the cafeteria, when you’d been on the other end of that.

“Sometimes, to people who don’t necessarily deserve it, too. Like my Sophomore year, when you told the whole school to take a good look at us because they were witnessing overachievers who would amount to nothing but a couple of retail salesmen in the making. Future Failures of America.” You avoid looking at him as you stare down at the pitiful little nub of a joint on the damp dirt.

If you were looking at him, you’d see him wince, a hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “Senior Year number one. Rebel who doesn’t care about anything phase. Always finds a way to continuously come back and kick me in the ass.”

Yeah, it hurts but some part of you, the embarrassed part probably, found it silly that you’d hung on to that grudge for this long.

“The part that really bugs me is how I’m pretty sure you were right.” You don’t see the way his face contorts into a deep frown. “I’m an overachiever, I get the good grades, I play sports, I cheer, and I’ll be happy to do the college thing, but then what? I get an overpriced degree for what? I have no drive to do anything. I don’t want some boring job, I don’t want to be trapped in a nine to five, I don’t want to be a lawyer, or a doctor, or have any big career goals. It’s sounds nice at first, but the amount of depression that comes with realizing your life is just something you’re good at and not something you love is not for me. I just want to be happy.”  Because that’s definitely not what you’re experiencing right now. No, that’s an existential crisis for you later. Not you now.

There’s no sadness in your voice, why would there be? You’re just stating facts. 

“That doesn’t make you a failure,” He’s crowding closer to you, pulling off his jacket and denim vest to place over your lap. You hadn’t even noticed you were shivering, the thigh highs and leg warmers not enough to keep you warm. “That just makes you human. You don’t have to have your whole life planned out. Plenty of people don’t and stumble onto their thing. Like Ozzy. He dropped out, went through a ton of jobs, and found his calling. I don’t think he was necessarily searching for it, but he found it. One of the world’s greatest fucking rockstars. Wouldn’t have happened if he tried to plan his life out.”

“Or if he hadn’t been traumatized.”

“That, too. The point is, you’re doing just fine. Better than fine actually. Better than anyone else in this shitty town.” 

You finally raise you gaze to meet his and the warmth in his eyes nearly takes your breath away.

You don’t know what to say, you’re on good terms with the former bane of your school hour existence. You give him a small smile. “Thanks, Eddie.”

“You’re welcome. Hey—I have a question.”

“I might have an answer.”

“Where do you get your weed?”

“From you.” You squirm a little, unable to stop yourself from giving up your secrets. 

You know he thinks you’re lying because he’s doing some hardcore scrutinizing, but the small smile stays on his face, “Pretty sure I’d remember selling to you of all people, Sweetheart.” You’re pretty sure that up until your truce, he wouldn’t have sold you anything other than oregano. The glint in his eyes confirms it.

“It’s your stuff. Judy tells me when she’s gonna meet up with you to buy, I give her money, tell her what I want, and you unknowingly sell it to me. It’s not that complex of a plan.”

He groans, leaning forward to hunch over and rest his palms against the table. “You are breaking all the rules, Spitfire! All. The. Fucking. Rules.”

“I wasn’t about to go to Reefer Rick. I don’t think Rick is even his name. These rules I don’t know about suck, Eddie. Which ones did I even break?” You’re curious now, body very much so aware of how close he is. 

You can smell his shampoo, and it pleases you that it’s a surprisingly sweet scent. 

“You,” He begins, shoulders shagging like he’s giving into defeat, despite his coy smile, “were not supposed to be so damn cool. You’re not supposed to be sweet either, or even prettier up close. Pisses me off!” He’s grinning like mad at you now, and you’re beaming right back at him even though you’re not entirely sure what’s going on because you had to have imagined him calling you pretty. 

“And you’re so fucking witty, too. Fuck, like in English today. What’d you say?” He says rather than asks, and you realize he knows exactly what you said. Memorized it, probably, because he quotes you from earlier except in a nasally, high pitched voice that doesn’t sound at all like you. 

“‘You being able to graduate will suffice.’” And you don’t flood with shame, the opposite actually. You warm up inside because something about the grin on his face and the way he’s beaming makes you feel like that had somehow been the right thing to say. “That was so fucking hot. It made me mad.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, tongue peaking out to play with the left corner of your lips. “Wow. Is that all my carefully planned verbal sparring was to you? Foreplay?”

He laughs low, pushing himself up again, this time he moves to linger directly in front of where you sit, but he doesn’t make a move.

Were you missing something?

Was he? Maybe you misread his signs. 

Or maybe you didn’t make yourself clear. 

“You know, I used to kick myself in the ass in elementary school. I got held back in the third grade for not wanting to shake anyone’s hand, which meant you were two whole grades ahead of me, instead of the much more attainable one. I was gutted when I realized I wasn’t gonna be able to go out of my way to see glimpses of you anymore after your eight grade promotion. Then I got to high school and you got really hot, and I got my glimpses back, but you just had to go and like Chrissy—“

“Chrissy? I didn’t like Chrissy like that.” He interrupts you, making your heartbeat pound in your ears. It was one thing to be brave enough to vomit the truth like you were but now you were gonna have to try and make sense of the word vomit, to a guy you know is very aware that you just admitted your attraction to.

“Erin Miller said she overheard a couple of the guys on the football team giving you a hard time about making eyes at a cheerleader you were interested in. ‘Said it was Chrissy.”

“They said it was Chrissy. You were her partner during that little cheer thing you did at the homecoming pep rally. And you had on an eyepatch.” You remembered that, it was when you started trying your hand at softball. You’d gone to the batting cages the weekend before homecoming and came back home with a  black eye that stuck around for a little longer than a month. “They were a little right though, I was definitely making eyes at a cheerleader, just got the wrong one down.”

“Oh. I guess we’re both victims of vast misunderstanding.”

“Guess so.”

He leans down and you lean up to smash your lips together, mouth immediately opening to welcome his tongue when it seeks yours out.

Eddie groans, one hand moving to hold the back of your head and the other moving to rest against your side as he pulls you to the edge of the picnic bench, licking any uncertainty remaining right off your tongue. It’s messy and urgent, but so satisfying given that it’s been years in the making. 

He uses his hold on your head to angle the kiss deeper, there’s no doubt he’s in control. You nip at his bottom lip, causing him to gasp and creating a chance for you to explore his mouth instead.

He tastes mostly like weed, but there’s a hint of something underneath that must be Eddie, and you’re desperate to get a better taste.

Eddie’s moan is absolutely obscene as your tongue rolls over his, his grip on your side loosens so he can move his jacket out of the way and slide his hand down to rest on your thigh. The warmth of his hand on your skin makes you feel intoxicated (even more so) and he gives your thigh a good squeeze before tugging it just over his hip. You can feel him hard, and warm pressed up against your covered core. The bulge prodding at you is larger than you would have allowed yourself to expect from him, it’ll be a stretch for sure. Your terry ring shorts make it easy for his jeans to provide some much needed friction.

“Fuck.” He hisses, breaking the kiss when you grind your hips forward. “Fuck, I really—I want to—“

You can’t help but pout, lips swollen from the thorough job he’d done. “Why do I sense a ‘but’ coming on?”

He leans forward to give you another kiss, this one is sweet but just as passionate. “But, you’re still high. If this is gonna happen, I need it to happen when you’re sober. I need to know you want to do this, You’re just so fucking beautiful and you look so hot in these shorts, and the thigh highs…” He grits out, fingers snaking under them to rest against the warm skin of your thigh, just for a moment, before his hand is retreating. “It’s like all my little fantasies, dirty and not, are coming true. I couldn’t resist. What kind of satanic witchcraft is this?”

You laugh as he presses a long kiss to your forehead, before forcing himself to give you room to hop down. “Just a little something the women in my family have been passing down since Salem. Old recipe, if you will.” 

He watches you, smirking before he pulls you into him again. “You’re making it really hard to to be platonic here. You’re not supposed to have a sense of humor, either.”

“Well, you’re not supposed to be charming. You’re failing to live up to your reputation, not even half as scary as you try to look.” You retort, not eager to leave the warmth of his embrace.

He pulls back to look down at you, intrigued with your statement. “Sweetheart, you thought I was scary?”

“As scary as you thought I was.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to terrify you like that.” It has the desired effect, you laugh and playfully slap his shoulder. 

“Shut up!” Despite the return of your affections for him, the sky is darkening significantly, and your dad is gonna have a heart attack if you’re not home by the time he leaves for his night shift. So, you reluctantly step away, his hands falling back to his sides as you shove your things into your bag.

“I gotta go.”

“I figured as much. Did you drive to school?” He knows you did, he just wants to be able to cover all possible grounds in an attempt to get a couple more minutes with you. He doesn’t care if you’re not gonna fuck.

You feel guilty, completely stupid. You should’ve just made the 45 minute walk to school instead of the 10 minute drive. Selfish. “I did.”

“Damn.”

“What were you doing here, anyways?”

“I’m supposed to meet someone around─” He glances down at his watch. “Now.”

You scoff, but you can feel your cheeks tingle. “And you were still gonna offer to drive me home?”

He shrugs his shoulders, looking irresistible in that hellfire shirt. “I’ve got my priorities straight this time. ‘86, baby. I know what I want.”

And the smoldering look he’s giving you has your kneecaps rattling, you gotta go before you risk it all. “Looks like I was wrong, you’re definitely no hyperbole.”

He lets out a loud laugh as you walk backwards, stomach still warm with affection for the super senior.

“See you around, Eddie.”

“Oh, I hope so.”

You can still feel his eyes on you as you make your way out of the woods, wondering if you’re gonna need to find a new arch-enemy or not.

[therenlover]

The Boy With The Easel (A Young Artist!Helmut Zemo x Reader Oneshot)

(Hey! If you end up enjoying this fic, it’s the first chronological part of a new fun expanded AU I’ve created with @creme-bruhlee​! Their fic Bliss is part of the same timeline and takes place about a year after this one, so you should check it out!!!)

Synopsis: About a month into your first semester at Novi Grad’s top university, you finally meet the strange young man that you’ve taken to calling “easel boy” in the back of a bookshop. From a distance, he always seemed cold and aloof. As you get to know him, though, you realize things aren’t always what they seem.

Tags: Meet Cute, College AU, First Meetings, Coffee Date, Artist!Zemo, Embarrassment, Awkward College Kids Falling In Love

Rating: T

Warnings: Very Vague Mention of Sexual Content, Swearing, Zemo Says The Word Daddy In Reference To His Father and The Reader Thinks It’s Kinda Hot

Word Count: 7000~

This fic has been crossposted to my AO3!

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                                    The University of Novi Grad

                                                 Fall 1996

Mornings in Novi Grad could be beautiful if you knew what to look for.

Sokovia was… different from America in many ways. From the language to the scenery, you often found yourself adrift in the strangeness of it all. There had been nothing quite as old as the buildings in the historical district of Novi Grad back home, no towering grey behemoths serving as a reminder of a bygone fight against Soviet invasion in the memories of your childhood. Still, though, there was beauty in the strangeness nonetheless.

From your tiny room in the Helena Lyudmila International Scholar’s dorm, for instance, you had a perfect view of a large campus courtyard hosting a statue of the donor by the same name. She was some royal who had invested in education a few hundred years ago, and by the looks of her metal likeness, she had been quite pretty. The sight of her shining in the early morning sun was one of the things that made uprooting your whole life seem worth it in the end, no matter how silly that seemed.

There were other small comforts that you had found beauty in during your first month attending your prestigious university, too.

You found beauty in the way the sunlight streamed over the rooftops like the opening to an Oscar-winning film. In the sound of traffic below and the overcast skies above. Sandwiches from corner stores, wildflowers growing in the median of the road, cups of the worlds best black coffee served steaming by scowling attendants at the cafe; Everywhere there was something small and kind and just familiar enough to relish in, more than able to distract you from the stress of living hand-to-mouth in a country where you didn’t even know the language. It made it all worth it.

That being said there was something else too…

Someone else to be specific.

The campus tended to run like clockwork. The same groups of students would walk past your window to their classes, the same professors would get their coffee and lunch at the little cafe across the square, and every weekday morning at 8 am on the dot, easel boy would set up his palette and canvas and paint the same bustling street.

He was talented, that you couldn’t deny. Even from the 6th floor, which was a considerable distance away, it was possible to admire the detailing and consistency with which he painted. His talent wasn’t when kept you captive at your window in the morning, though. Though you were sure his art was beautiful, he himself was a thousand times more stunning.

All dark eyes and dark hair and dark clothes, he parted crowds with his piercing gaze alone. He was always dressed like the protagonist of some awful artsy film. Massive argyle sweaters, untucked button-ups, corduroy jackets, and flare bottomed pants that must have survived his father’s wardrobe from the ’70s… his style was as close you could get to atrocious while still being impeccable as possible, and that wasn’t even getting started on the smudged black liner always present under his persistent gaze. You had never had the pleasure (or embarrassment for that matter) of meeting him in person, but you were sure that you would have had the same awed and slightly frightened reaction if you ever did. He could have been plucked entirely from the pages of some awful romance novel.

You were well and truly smitten with the idea of him.

If you looked at your morning routine through the eyes of a stranger, you’d consider yourself odd for your strange obsession with him, but you didn’t look at it like that. It wasn’t an obsession. You never overstepped your bounds. He was simply pleasing to look at and so you did. That didn’t constitute as obsessive, right?

Even if it did, you weren’t causing any harm.

Easel boy, as you had come to refer to him, was simply a tool you used to ground yourself in your new and frightening environment. Nothing more. If you ever met him, you would surely hate him from the short interactions you’d seen him have with strangers. They never ended well. He would remain an unattainable, attractive ideal in your mind until he eventually faded away into a funny memory you’d share with your kids one day.

Until then, though, you would watch him from your window before your morning classes and refused to feel guilty about it. So, that was that, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

On the morning in question, you had woken up a little late and in a foul mood. In preparation for a test in your foundations of algebra course you had spent the better part of the night pouring over formulas while your upstairs neighbor’s bed slammed repeatedly into the wall and floor. Though you were sure they were having an excellent time, you were most definitely not. It all culminated in you missing your original alarms and despite the fact that your first class started at 10, you were exhausted, furious, and not looking forward to missing breakfast to finish the assigned reading you had put off the night before. The only thing keeping you from throwing in the towel and just giving up was the promise of seeing the painter.

So, when he arrived for the day at 8 am sharp, you were positioned at the ledge by your window, textbook in hand with a mug of instant coffee at your right. It was like a breath of fresh air.

As usual, he retrieved a small pack of cigarettes from the back of his eternally paint-stained jeans only to bring one to his lips and light it quickly. He always smoked before he worked, and just like always, he took an extra cigarette from the pack to tuck behind his ear for later. Then, he got to work setting up his easel and the small stool where he set his palette.

Pulling tubes of acrylic, brushes, and pencils from his well-worn messenger bag, easel boy flipped out the kickstand without any problem and set his thick, pre-primed canvas on the worn metal. You watched in fascination. Art had always seemed so unattainable to you. Instead, you were drawn to the more academic. The man before you, though, created beauty with an ease that had evaded you all your life, and it had you both jealous and entirely intrigued. Slowly, you reached down to take a sip of your coffee as you let your eyes drift back to your reading.

Learning about ancient Babylon was far less interesting than watching him, though.  

When you next looked out the window and away from your work the handsome artist had created his base sketch already. How did he do it so fast? You assumed it was practice. He had been drawing the same 3 buildings every weekday morning for at least a month, so after a while, it must have been second nature to measure out the lines and put things into perspective. You smiled. He tended to have that effect on you.

The process was repeated until a little before 9:30. You would read a few paragraphs then look up to watch the painting progress from a sketch to a full-fledged work of art. It was good today from what you could see. The colors were a bit more muted than usual, but that was only on account of the awful, dreary overcast sky that threatened to dump rain on the city at any time. Overall, you would have considered it a masterpiece. Easel boy didn’t seem to think the same.

He regarded the painting with a sort of begrudging satisfaction that bordered on disappointment before he pulled the second cigarette from behind his ear, lit it, and began the process of packing up his materials. You finished the last of your coffee watching him do so. Smoking, well, smoking tobacco at least, had always been a vice you had avoided and yet you often wondered what it would feel like to take a drag of one of his cigarettes after it had been between his lips. Then, the magic lifted.

He folded up the flimsy easel, tucked it away with his materials back into his messenger bag, hoisted the stool under one arm and the painting under the other before taking off at a brisk clip down the street away from your window. You watched him until he was out of sight.

You were snapped from your concentration by a knock at your door.

“Y/N,” a heavily accented voice called, sending you scrambling for your bag, “If you are not outside in the next 15 seconds I will break down your door,”

Shit.

“Coming, Sasha!” You wailed. It took about 10 of those seconds to grab your backpack and shove your textbook inside, an extra 2 to check your appearance in the mirror- you looked slightly disheveled, but it was the best you were gonna do after the night you’d had. Besides, it wasn’t like you were doing anything important. You didn’t need to be dressed for a date -and you were opening the door for a quick save at the 14th second. Your door was safe for another day.

Out in the hall waited Sasha Balandin, arms crossed and grey eyes piercing in the flickering light of the terrible overhead fluorescents. As a fellow international student, you had become fast friends with Sasha. He was a little rough around the edges, and definitely didn’t take your bullshit, but he was a rare friend. “I have been waiting for 10 minutes,” he griped. You tried your best to look apologetic. “Don’t do that,”

“Do what?” You asked, closing and locking your door behind you as you began walking down the hallway.

Sasha huffed. “Do not pretend you were not too busy ogling that painter in the courtyard to hear me knocking on your door,” His Russian bluntness was on full display now as you shook your head in mock disbelief.

“I can’t believe you’d accuse me of something like that!”

“It is not an accusation if it is true,”

“There’s no way you know for a fact that I was watching him again,”

“But you were. This happens every week,”

You sighed, pausing at the top of the stairs. “I was,”

Taking the stairs in twos, Sasha sighed. “You are too soft, Y/N. Besides, you have said so often that he seems like an asshole. Why do you continue to get all mushy at him out the window if this is the case?”

“Because… well, because…” for a moment, you floundered in search of an answer that wouldn’t make you sound like a complete freak, but you found that there really wasn’t one. It came down the one small factor. “He’s just really hot, okay?”

The look Sasha gave you could have killed. He kept his mouth shut, though, choosing to let his silence shame you more than anything else did. It worked. For the entire trip down the stairs and the mile-long walk to your lecture hall, you felt the weight of shame heavy on your shoulders. Or maybe it was just your backpack. You didn’t know which you’d prefer. He did start speaking again eventually, going on about some party you had missed in favor of studying, but the feeling never left. Even as you sat down for your lecture it was still at the forefront of your mind. In fact, you were so busy thinking about your crush on easel boy and the problems with it that you barely paid attention to the professor’s rehashing of the Epic of Gilgamesh.

Your error only hit when the professor flipped the PowerPoint to the final slide.

“Before you go, I want to remind you that you have a paper on the importance of Enkidu in the Epic is due at the beginning of class this Friday. The details and requirements should be listed in your syllabus. Class dismissed,”

Fuck.

Friday was only two days away.

You were so screwed.

The problem was, you didn’t have a spare copy of the Epic of Gilgamesh just lying around your dorm room. Usually that wouldn’t have been an issue, the professor for your current history course used English for her slide because her particular history course was specifically for first-year international students. Unfortunately for you, though, you hadn’t been taking notes. Instead, you had been daydreaming about how it would feel to have easel boy blow his cigarette smoke in your face and then subsequently scolding yourself for having thoughts like that about a total stranger. In a terrible twist of fate, the professor only held office hours after her last classes on Mondays and Fridays, so even getting the information from her then was off the table. Dread began to pool in your stomach.

Any other student would have been able to cut their losses, rent a copy from the library, slog through it in a night, and write the damn essay even without the help of the classroom slides for context. The only problem was all the books in the library were in Sokovian, and you still barely knew how to order a coffee correctly. Reading the language in a full Cyrillic alphabet would just be impossible, especially for a book as stupidly old as the Epic of Gilgamesh.

In short, unless you could get your hands on a copy in the next day or so, you were absolutely, well-and-truly fucked.

Sasha was quick to find you as the hall cleared out, waiting near your seat as you packed away your notes. “That was all bullshit, no?” He asked, but the second he took in your slightly panicked expression he stopped short, pinching the bridge of his nose and breathing deeply. You knew what he was going to say before he ever said it.

“Something is wrong. You were not paying attention. Were you thinking-”

“Yes. Okay? Yes, I was thinking about him,”

He shook his head slightly. “I am concerned for you,”

“Who isn’t?”

Despite his usually stoic demeanor, that made Sasha huff out a soft laugh. “You got yourself into this mess, Y/N, you will get yourself out somehow,”

Your jaw dropped as you slung your bag over your shoulder and started making your way towards the door. “You’re not gonna help me?”

“Though I would love to be helpful, you forget that my English is poor. It will do me better to read the book in Sokovian myself than to use the information from class,”

Oh, yeah. You winced. “Sorry, Sash’”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he shrugged as you walked out onto the lawn, chilled to the bone by the wind that whipped in every direction.

A storm was brewing. It might not fully take hold of the city for a few hours yet, but it would make the walk to your evening class absolute hell if the rain fell as hard as it had several weeks prior. You could only hope that it wouldn’t start until after you had walked home. Your odds were looking slim, though, based on the way you could already hear thunder clapping in the distance. After a moment you hit the edge of the sidewalk where your paths would diverge.

“Good luck with the paper,” you offered weakly.

Sasha replied with a sharp, “Good luck with your crush,” and then he was off in the opposite direction without another word. Sasha was blunt like that, never overstaying his welcome or lingering when he didn’t need to. There was something enviable about it. What you wouldn’t give to be able to simply say things as they were without an unnecessary sugar coating to save face and spare feelings. It lingered on your mind for the whole half-mile walk to the campus bookstore. Speaking of which...

There was only one place where you might possibly find an English copy of the Epic of Gilgamesh. It wasn’t the big student bookstore, most of the textbooks there had been in Sokovian, Russian, or German and you hadn’t even tried to set foot in their actual book section. No, your only hope was the tiny hole-in-the-wall bookstore you had stumbled upon during move-in. It was only about half a mile away from your dorm from any of your lecture halls, so you often found yourself wandering inside when you had time to kill. They were one of the only stores you’d come across that sold anything in English, magazines included, so despite the fact that the young cashiers rarely spoke your language you often found that the back shelves of that tiny shop kept you from going mad.

Now, they might also be keeping you from ruining your GPA.

You could only hope. If anybody could save you, it was them.

Ducking in through the small doorway, you were greeted by the soft ring of the bell above your head. The attendant at the register simply regarded you with a polite nod. You had seen her there before and she knew you barely spoke a lick of Sokovian, so she didn’t attempt a pleasantry. Instead, she simply let you wander through the entrance and into the towering bookshelves, passing a few other faceless shoppers on your way towards the back. You were grateful for her nonchalance.

If there was anything worse than feeling foolish for not knowing Sokovian, it was being talked down to in perfect English by a Sokovian citizen. Most interactions left you wishing you’d actually taken anything away from your high school French class other than emotional trauma from your teacher and a caffeine addiction. Damn America and its terrible public-school language programs…

The path to the English classics section was one you’d walked many times since discovering the book store. It was right in the very back corner of the shop, tucked away where the city natives wouldn’t have to address or see it. You had snagged a copy of Pride and Prejudice a few weeks back, so you knew exactly where to search. The only problem was slogging through every single book on the shelf in search of the one you were looking for.

Your eyes scanned the wall.  

Gilgamesh, Gilgamesh, Gilgamesh…

Gilgamesh!

On the 6th shelf up sat one small copy. Score! You were saved! As you reached up to grab it, though, you were met with yet another roadblock. The shelf it was on was juuuust a little too high for you to reach. Oh, come on…

You hopped a little, extending your hand up as far as it could go, but your fingers just barely brushed the spine. Somewhere behind you, you could hear footsteps. Then someone coughed to suppress laughter. The shame was plain on your face. As your flannel rode up and you stretched up in one last desperate attempt to grab the book when suddenly someone, you assumed the same person who had been laughing at your misfortune, spoke.

“They have stools, you know,” he said, accented voice thick with amusement. The English surprised you, but you assumed they used it for your benefit. You were in front of the English language books after all. Besides, the shame of it all kept your mind from questioning it too much. “For reaching the top shelf,”

Of course they had stools.

If your face hadn’t already been burning with embarrassment it definitely was now.

In a split-second decision, you decided playing dumb was the only way you could walk out of the situation with any dignity left at all, so you plastered on a confused smile and spun around to greet the stranger. “Really? I had no cl-”

You stopped short.

Oh.

Oh no.

You’d know those paint-stained jeans anywhere.

There, with his hands in his pockets and the most self-important, thin-lipped smirk you had ever seen, was easel boy in all of his cocky, intimidating, hot glory. Had you really noticed how hot he truly was before? It didn’t feel like it. Not now that you’d really seen him close up and reveled in the way his dark eyes hypnotized you with their smudged liner that felt borderline obscene. You could smell him too, all charcoal and turpentine and cigarette smoke. If you had it bad before when he was just a blurry ideal out your window, you were completely and utterly smitten now.

He regarded you with a sort of practiced annoyance, and yet there was a strange softness to it that you hadn’t found in many native Sokovians, especially ones that saw you as the stupid, bumbling American wandering blindly around their country.

“Would you like my help?”

“Huh?” You were so lost in his eyes that you couldn’t even focus on his question.

“To reach your book. Would you like my help?”

“Oh!” With a brisk nod, you stepped away from the shelf to make room for easel boy, “yeah, I’m just trying to grab that one there. The, uh, Epic of Gilgamesh,”

In one swift movement, he was stepping right beside you to easily reach up and grab the offending piece of literature. The closeness of it all nearly sent you into a tailspin. That wasn’t even mentioning the way your heart thudded just a little faster when he finally handed the book to you, his calloused fingers brushing against your own. You barely find a grip on your brain strong enough to thank him through the fog of embarrassment and attraction. Eventually, though, you managed to choke out a placation as your eyes explored the cover of the book.

“Thanks for that,”

“It was no problem,” he shrugged. He didn’t move though, still standing just inches away from you. When you looked up from the book you found his eyes were still on you, watching intently as if he expected something from you. The answer to what he actually expected was a mystery but you could tell he wanted something. When you didn’t speak, he spoke for you. “So, The Epic of Gilgamesh? That’s definitely a bold choice,”

You looked up at him sheepishly through heavily lidded eyes. “It’s not a choice at all, actually. I’m only buying it so I can write an essay,”

“Ah,” Something about his tone was almost disappointed as the conversation stalled.

You quickly changed the subject to the first thing you could think of.

“Your hair is really nice!”

“My hair?”

“Yeah… your hair,”

Smooth move, dumbass.

Easel boy’s expression seemed to soften once more as his signature grin crept back onto his face. “Thank you, I grew it myself,” Between his accent and the way he was looking at you like he was going to eat you alive, you weren’t exactly sure how you hadn’t had a heart attack yet. Still, the attention was nice, even if it was bourne out of you repeatedly embarrassing yourself in a never-ending cycle of fuckups. He ran a hand through his loose brown hair. “I like your shirt. Very American,”

Silently, you cursed yourself for not taking a few extra seconds to pick out a better outfit when you woke up. Standing next to him, even while he was dressed in his paint-stained jeans and undone button-up, you looked like a wreck in comparison. He didn’t seem to be speaking from a place of judgment, though.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was being nice, but that couldn’t be the case… could it?

“Maybe it’s just that I haven’t met very many Sokovians that are fond of America, but I’m not sure if that was meant to be a compliment or an insult,” You joked. It was a bit sarcastic, the lilt of your voice masking your deep insecurity, and to your surprise easel boy laughed. He really laughed. From your place beside him, you could almost feel the warmth radiating off of him as he shook his head.

“It was definitely a compliment,”

Oh.

Your heart skipped a beat.

That was a new revelation.

You steeled yourself with a deep breath. Fuck it. It was now or never.

“I, uh… I’m Y/N, and you are?”

He regarded you once again with that strange expression of expectation. “What?”

“I asked for your name,” you repeated, and yet he still stood, slightly dumbfounded, staring down at you with that same expectant expression from earlier. For a moment, you almost thought he expected you to know it already. That fact was quickly glossed over when he moved to rub the back of his neck with his hand, eyes drifting down to the floor.

“Sorry,” he chuckled, “I’m not very good with people. My father thought college might help me finally connect with my peers, but I don’t think he expected that I was the problem, nor do I think he expected me to pick a degree in the arts,” Suddenly, he paused and stuck out his hand to you. “I’m Hel. It’s very nice to meet you Y/N,”

With only a moment of hesitation- because wow, your name had never sounded more right on someone’s lips -you took his large calloused hand in your own and shook it gently. His palm was warm, his fingers lingering on your own for just a moment even as he pulled away. It wasn’t much, just a soft brush against your flesh, but it sent a flash of heat and liquid confidence through your chest.

“Is that short for something?” Your eyes met his in the soft yellow glow of the overhead lamps. Seeing him like this, so up close and personal, he looked a lot more human than he had from your window. Sure, he was imposing. Underneath the initial harsh facade, though, was something softer and almost poetic. You weren’t an artist by any means but if you had been, you had no doubt that he’d be your muse.

“It’s short for Helmut, but only my father calls me that, and only when he’s cross, which, unfortunately, is most of the time,” he chuckled, “Besides, it’s an old man’s name. It doesn’t suit me,”

The words left your mouth before you knew what you were saying.

“Well, it’s better than calling you easel boy,”

Shit.

Today really just wasn’t your day, huh?

In the split second where you were mourning your chances with the most stupidly handsome guy who had ever shown any interest in you, you almost missed the way Helmut’s eyes lit up at the admission.

“Easel boy?” His voice was teasing, but not demeaning. That didn’t do much to ease your mortification, though.

“Is there any chance that I can get you to forget I said anything?”

“If you already have a nickname for me when we’ve barely met, I think you already know the answer to that question,”

His knowing smirk was enough to get you pleading. “You can’t just let me off the hook this once?” you begged, scrubbing a hand across your forehead in a desperate attempt to get away from his piercing gaze. The things those brown eyes did to you could be classified as obscene… “I will genuinely do anything if you don’t make me explain myself right now Hel,”

Hel quirked up an eyebrow. “Anything?” The way your stomach turned at just one word from him was both terrifying and extremely exciting. It felt like a promise. Without hesitation, you nodded. That made him smile. “In that case, get coffee with me today?”

Once again, you were rendered speechless.

“My treat,” he added, “unless you’re not interested…”

“No!” Your answer left your lips embarrassingly fast, “Or- yes? No, no, I think I meant no. No; I am very interested. Yes; I would like to get coffee with you,” There was a hint of shame in your words, but only a hint. After the day you’d had already, there wasn’t very much there to be ashamed of. Still, that same pit of dread began to open up in your stomach as you mulled over your choices.

Thankfully, Helmut continued to take it all in stride. “Wonderful! Is there anything else you’d like to do here before we go? It’s best we leave soon if we want to beat the rain,” He offered up his arm as he spoke like some sort of Disney prince. It was, by far, the cutest gesture you had ever been lucky enough to receive.

You linked your arm with his without hesitation. “As soon as I pay we can get going,” He was warm. It radiated off him in waves just like the warm hints of tobacco and wintermint that seemed to seep from his skin and clothes. With that, you made your way to the front desk as Hel shot you a sly smile.

“Who said anything about letting you pay?”

True to his word, he didn’t let you pay for a single thing for the rest of the afternoon.

The two of you made your way up to the cashier together, and Helmut only separated from your side to grab his wallet before you could grab yours. He then spoke in rapid-fire Sokovian to the lady at the register and pulled what could only be described as a wad of Sokovian koronas while you set the book on the counter, and from the looks of it, she seemed more than pleased with the two of you. Who wouldn’t be, especially when Hel seemed to insist that she keep the excess? In the end, after the book had been wrapped nicely in a paper bag and deposited in your backpack, Helmut held the door open for you like some sort of gentleman and followed you out into the grey afternoon.

Then, you were off down the street on Hel’s arm, pushing through the wind and the biting chill that had settled in the air.

“So, you don’t sound like a big fan of your dad,” you asked, half laughing as you attempted to broach conversation once again.

Helmut groaned beside you. “My father is a menace who is unable to understand that some people want more in life than to sit behind a desk all day making phone calls. In fact, most of my family is the same way. The only reason I haven’t completely cut them off and changed my name is the money,”

“I assume you get a lot of it if it’s worth sticking around someone you hate so much,”

“Never ask a man about his net worth,” he chuckled, gently elbowing you in the ribs, “but yes, I’m very comfortable. I have my own apartment just far enough away to be considered off-campus with my own car and as much money as it takes to keep me happy and getting good grades; Daddy makes sure of that,” The word daddy was a deep sneer, barely there in the wind, but something about it sent butterflies through your stomach. Well, that was never something you thought you were into… “Little does he know, I’m not here to make money. I’m here to find inspiration worth my time while out from under his thumb,”  

You snorted softly. “Artistic and rich? You’re just ticking all the boxes, Hel,”

“Good for me. Would offering help on that essay of yours endear you to me further?”

“Absolutely,”

The next 5 minutes you spend discussing the Epic of Gilgamesh. Surprisingly, in one of the first stokes of good luck you’d had all day, Helmut seemed to be one of the only people on earth who knew plenty about Enkidu off the top of his head. When he was the one lecturing you in his smooth, heavily accented timbre it was so much easier to pay attention to something so very tedious than when you heard it from your aging and often monotone professor. In fact, you were so enthralled by his retelling of the tale that you barely noticed you’d made it all the way to the cafe that sat across from the international dorm.

If you didn’t consider Hel to be smart as a whip and twice as clever as he was smart, you would have thought it was a coincidence. It couldn’t be though. No, there was no way anything was a coincidence with Helmut around. You shot him a smile when he opened the door for you and ushered you inside.

“You know Hel,” you muttered, “I’m starting to think you might know more about me than you initially let on,”

He shrugged. “You’re American, so it’s unlikely you live anywhere else and I wanted to make the walk home easy. It’s supposed to rain, you know? Besides, despite the… interesting waitstaff, they make the best pastries in town right here in this cafe,”

“Did you mean it when you said you were paying?”

“Absolutely,”

“Then I can’t wait to try one,”

The two of you were seated quickly (you assumed it had to do with the waitress finding Hel as hot as you did, because you caught her looking at him from behind the counter and whispering excitedly in Sokovian to her coworker at least twice over the course of the meal) and the conversation flowed easily as you waited on your coffees and the deserts Helmut insisted on splitting to let you try. Millefeuille, pear tart tatin, chocolate devil’s food cake, and a towering plate of apricot kołaczki awaited you, and they kept you sitting and talking and snacking for over an hour as you really got to know each other. The more you learned, the more you fell in love with the man across from you.

Over the course of the afternoon, you learned that Helmut was majoring in studio art while minoring in psychology just because it interested him, he hated the Beatles almost as much as he hated Freud’s theories on women, his favorite color was purple, and he spent most of his free time reading or getting high off his ass in his massive studio apartment in what you now knew was one of the most expensive areas in the city. He, in return, sat at rapt attention across the table as you gushed about your life in America, your reasons for going to university in Sokovia, your favorite books, and the ridiculousness that was trying to pass college-level classes in a country that seemed to avoid English at all costs.

Eventually, though, you did touch upon his nickname.

“I just thought it was really interesting that you did the same thing every single day, no matter what,” you explained, grabbing one of the last kołaczki from the plate and ignoring the powdered sugar that stuck to your fingers, “and by watching you… I don’t know, I guess it kind of felt like I had another friend who’d share breakfast with me in the morning if that makes sense,”

Hel nodded, swallowing his last bite of chocolate cake. “I understand completely. It can be lonely, coming to a new place without any friends or connections, but you were brave enough to take the leap. I admire that,” He brought his napkin to his lips before crumpling it and setting it one of the now empty plates before him, “But I can’t say I’m not a little disappointed that you didn’t watch me because I’m attractive,”

You nearly choked on your pastry. “Well, I wouldn’t say your pretty face didn’t help…”

The grin that spread across his face was heartstopping. He grabbed a napkin from the little holder next to the two of you and grabbed a pen from one of his pockets as he spoke. “In that case, you should join me tomorrow morning. Bring coffee if you can, I never have enough hands to bring a cup for myself, but even if you can’t bring some, if you want to come and watch me work I’d be more than happy to have a companion for the morning,” he paused for a moment, flustered, “or every morning, for that matter,”

“That sounds like a deal,” Your cheeks were hot, but not from embarrassment this time. No, it was anything but, because here you were across the table from a kind, attractive, intelligent Sokovian boy with money to spend and time to spare for you. You couldn’t help but feel a little bit proud too. He wanted you back, after all. You could see it in the way his eyes lingered on you just a little longer than he should, and even more plainly in the way he wrote his phone number in bold blue ink on the napkin and signed it with a doodle of a heart before passing it across the table to you.

“I’m going to go pay,” he said quietly while standing, “but I’ll be back in a second to walk you out. Alright?”

“Alright,”

There was something strangely similar to sorrow sitting in your chest when you watched him walk away. The sight of his ass as he went made up for it, though. Once he was obstructed by other patrons, you turned your attention to the napkin in your hands. Hel’s handwriting was neat as far as artists’ handwriting goes, but it still held a sort of looseness in its curves, a freedom in the way the numbers had flowed effortlessly from his pen. You popped the last kołaczki in your mouth as you admired the blue ink before devouring the final bites of pear tart and millefeuille. How had you gotten so lucky to have someone like him giving you his number and buying you pastries? You pondered the bizarre nature of it all until Helmut returned.

You stood quickly, folding the napkin and putting it away in your pocket. “Ready to go?”

“If you are,” he replied. In an instant, you were standing beside him again as he opened the door for you. The wind was even stronger now, strong enough that his loose hair whipped wildly around his forehead from the force of it. You couldn’t help but giggle at his appearance.

He caught you off guard as he walked you across the street. “You have such a pretty laugh,”

It was like you were seeing him again for the first time. You fiddled with the strap of your backpack as you got closer and closer to the door to your dorm. “Thanks. I’m pretty fond of your laugh too,”

Then, you were there, just two college kids standing awkwardly before your first departure.

“So,” you said before you could stop yourself, “when I tell my one friend all about this afternoon after my math class tonight, should I say it was a date?”

Hel’s cheeks flushed pink. “You can call it that, if that’s what you would like it to have been,”

“I think I would,”

“Good, good,” he let out a little chuckle, “I’m glad. Would you… would you consider going on another? I promise I have much more to offer than just small talk and tips on where to buy the best pastries,”

Looking into his brown eyes, so full of uncertainty and hope, you knew you couldn’t have denied him even if you wanted to. Still, you weren’t going to give in to his advances without a little bit of taunting. It made it fun, a game to be played where, hopefully, you both would win big in the end.

“That depends,” you teased, letting your lower lip catch between your teeth, “what do you have in mind?”

Helmut shoved his hands into his pockets as he rocked back and forth on his heels, pensive. “If you want to, we could go to my place and I could actually show you all of the paintings I’ve been working on while you watched me. The view from the rooftop is lovely too. We could have dinner up there while looking out over Novi Grad. I have to warn you, though, it’ll probably be takeout. I’m an atrocious chef,”

Slowly, a brilliant smile spread across your face. “Does Friday work?”

The smile Helmut shot back was as bright as every star in the night sky and even more enthralling. “Friday is perfect. Can I pick you up at 7?”

“As long as you come in that fancy car you were talking about,”

“Then it’s a deal,”

“Well,” you turned away, walking up the steps towards the door before turning back to him, “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Hel, and I’ll bring coffee. Have a good night,”

“You too, Y/N. Parting is such sweet sorrow and all that,”

With that, he gave one last short wave before turning on his heel and pulling out a cigarette from the pack in his pocket. You watched him walk away until he turned the corner and disappeared from view. Only then did you enter the punch code and race up the stairs to your room.

Your back was pressed to the door of your dorm room the second you had shut it, your hands clutching at your chest in a desperate attempt to keep your heart from beating right out of your ribs. The second you were in the privacy of your own place, your cool facade had melted away to reveal just how much of a wreck you really were.

He had invited you over to his apartment.

He liked you.

Easel boy really, honestly liked you.

No, not easel boy. Helmut. Hel.

Hel liked you, and he invited you over to his apartment, and you had plans to meet him with coffee as he painted the next morning.

You smiled softly under the fluorescent lights and pulled the book that had brought you together from your backpack. It seemed so unassuming now, just a fresh paperback with an unbroken spine, but in reality, it was so much more than that.

Hel.

It was such a nice name. You liked it a lot.

Now you couldn’t wait to see what else you liked about him too.

------

a/n: I have been so excited to start sharing this AU with you guys, and it’s finally here!!! If you liked this fic, I once again will direct you to Bliss by @creme-bruhlee​ because that’s technically next in chronological order for this AU. I hope you enjoyed!!!

TAGLIST: @tatestripedsweater , @elaineygrace, @multiyfandomgirl40 ,  @lovelymischief , @rami-malek-trash , @avgravy , @wh0re-4-techno , @forcebros , @sugarsweetkiss , @grandmuffinsharkbailiff , @killsandthrills , @novasstudy , @thnksfr-ptrkstmp , @inmate-marmalade, @alanathedeer , @your-pixels-are-showing , @shit-post-things , @bbarton​ , @sux-ubus , @halefirewarrior , @janelongxox , @rax-writes , @mossybank​ , @simsiddy​ , @xxspqcebunsxx​ , @be-cautious-around-bri​ , @metaphorical-love-for-a-car​ , @frothonthedaydreams​ 

[lyliux]

“Nothing seems to add up”

Atrocious Algebra is the result of all of my hc’s and backstory ideas, that I will hopefully continue to add onto slowly overtime!

Idk if it’ll all be in chronological order but it’ll be a mix between Collin’s University years to canon compliant.

[tragedy-for-sale]

Wild Blue

Look, it's not everyday I give you wholesome shit, hell not even every month. But you got luckily... apparently. Boys playing in the water and being stupid? Yes please, I think we need this.

◈ ━━━━━━ ◆ ━━━━━━ ◈

The boys didn't often have a minute to themselves, but when they did, when they had free time, Havoc was never quiet. "I'm saying it's impractical to wear our armor when we don't have a mission, we have civilian attire for a reason, Echo." Tech rolled his eyes, he, as you imagine, was not wearing his armor nor his blacks, but whatever clothes they'd stolen over the years. "... and if we want to go steal stuff, we'll blend in perfectly with the population." Tech smiled, knowing he and Echo had made plans to do just that.

Echo frowned, "Yeah whatever." He crossed his arms, pouting as he tried to think of something witty as a way to insult Tech, but that thought was quickly interrupted, "Uh Wrecker, why are you carrying around Hunter?" Echo asked, looking up from his holopad. Tech also looked up, the smallest smile on his face.

"Oh!" Wrecker's smile grew, "He was just sitting there so I picked him up, he's just living in the moment now! See." Wrecker then turned around.

Hunter, who looked as if he had been sleeping, lifted his head, "How's it hanging?" He smiled, waving softly. Echo chuckled a little, hand to his mouth to try to hide it. Hunter then let his head fall again, maybe he was trying to sleep.

"He likes it!" Wrecker said as he turned back around.

"Yeah!" Hunter assured, there was a little laugh in his voice, it was as if they were cadets again. Wrecker always picked him up. Hunter had been pretty weirded out the first time Wrecker did pick him up. But he'd gotten used to, Hunter was never doing anything better and Wrecker also took him to the right place. Where ever his brothers were.

Crosshair peaked his head out from the doorway, and with a giddy laugh he ran up to Wrecker and jumped, "Me too!" He would've tackled Wrecker to the ground, but Wrecker wasn't caught off guard. Also, Crosshair is not strong enough to knock Wrecker off his feet.

"Ah! I got 'em both!" Wrecker laughed, picking Crosshair up and slinging him over his other shoulder. Crosshair took a minute to ensure he wouldn't fall, once he did he looked down to Hunter and fist bumped him. "Time to go!" Wrecker started moving, getting nonstop laughs from his brothers. Tech and Echo trailed closely behind as Wrecker ran outside the ship.

"Just run and jump on him, you'll fit." Tech prompted, taking note on how Echo eyeballed the three.

"Oh no, I couldn't." Echo shook his head. Tech gave him a shove, "Oh fine!" He huffed, running and jumping up on Wrecker's back. "I'm here-!" Crosshair and Hunter both made sure Echo wouldn't fall, their hands on his back that only moved once he felt he wouldn't fall.

"Ah!" Wrecker laughed, adjusting to the weight of another brother. "Tech you coming?" He turned around and looked at his brother. Hunter lifted his head, almost falling in the process. Echo was holding onto Wrecker's head and Crosshair was just sitting there, sticking his tongue out at Tech.

"...I don't think there is anymore room, so..." He stated, a small smile creeping on his face as he came up with an excellent idea. "...See ya, losers!" Tech laughed as he bolted the other direction towards the lake they'd landed nearby. As he ran, he threw his helmet at his brothers, luckily Echo caught it before it hit Wrecker. Who was charging full speed after Tech into the water.

When Wrecker had ran deep enough into the water, he flung his brothers off, sending them flying into the lake. Wrecker then picked up Tech, "Can't escape me, brother!" he laughed as dunked Tech's head underwater, then dropping him.

Tech floated back up to the surface, lifting his goggles up to wipe his eyes, he then threw them to shore. "How about we play a game of- Shit!" He screamed as Crosshair, who was underwater, yanked on Tech's leg and made him fall again. Crosshair emerged and burst out laughing.

Hunter had Echo on his shoulders, they were going after Wrecker, the two tackled their older brother, he plunged into the water. He stayed underwater for much longer than he should have. "Uh oh." Hunter said as he scanned the water trying to see Wrecker under the water. "Echo abort! Save yourself!" Hunter cried as Echo jumped off, swimming to safety with Crosshair. As soon as Echo was gone, Hunter was pulled under the water, Wrecker waved to him before swimming up. Hunter lingered there for a minute before he resurfaced.

When he did, he saw his brothers playing chicken, which is what Tech was going to suggest before Crosshair interrupted him. He came over, watching them, a smile on his face. Crosshair lost against Echo, falling off Tech's shoulders and into the water. Hunter then intervened, allowing Tech to get on his shoulders for round two.

As you can imagine, the boys went about this until the sun had set. Echo and Tech had completely forgotten about their plan to rob several stores of their foods and alcohols. "...But could we even buy alcohol? 'Cause at 79's they know we're clones" Echo asked, he was laying on the ground with Tech, the two were stargazing, "Also, we don't have IDs and like, we're all twelve."

Tech turned his head, chuckling softly, "No, I don't think we could, that's why we made a plan to steal it, Vod." He rolled his eyes, flicking Echo's head.

"You were going to steal something without me?" Crosshair asked, sounding genuinely offended. He stood by their heads, looking down, he had plates of food in his arms. They two of them made Crosshair get them food, he was the youngest, he had no choice.

"Damn right." Echo smiled as he sat up, taking a plate, "Thanks bubba." He said, grabbing a fork and taking a bite of Hunter's 'infamous but not really 'cause it's Hunter's mac-n-cheese.' Tech took his plate and also thanked Crosshair, who sat down with them.

"The night is still young, we can go, but it's almost your bedtime, Crosshair, you'd have to ask Hunter." Tech smirked, eyeballing Crosshair as he took a bite of his food.

Crosshair shot Tech a defeated glare, he tried to be offended, but he failed. He made a face before turning his head, "Hunter! They wanna go steal stuff, can I go?!" He yelled. Echo and Tech burst out laughing, not expecting him to actually do it. He did it out of spite. Hunter would say yes and then they'd have to take him.

Hunter turned his head away from the grill, "What? Yeah, just don't do anything to the population!" He called back before turning back to Wrecker. "Yeah, so I was tellin' Tech that just because he's smart doesn't mean he can tie his shoes."

Wrecker nodded, "Exactly, doing algebra scary fast doesn't mean you can get all of us ready to fight in fifteen minutes before a battle." Wrecker took another bite of the mac-n-cheese, looking over to his brothers, who were all laughing together over in the dirt.

"You get me," Hunter said, "It's not about book smart, it's about street smarts."

"But I don't know shit about streets-"

"Not actually streets," Hunter shook his head, "... I think." He mumbled before shoving his face with food to avoid questions. Wrecker nodded, very wise was his little brother.

"Anyway, look at Crosshair, can you believe him?" Hunter shook his head, making eye contact with Crosshair, who had gotten up and had come towards the two.

"What did I do?" Crosshair asked, "I just wanted more food." He whined, shuffling to them as Hunter set down his plate, took Crosshair's and gave him more food.

"I can't believe you, you're atrocious." Wrecker gave Crosshair a soft shove, Crosshair tried to hide his grin as Hunter handed him his plate.

"Oh yeah, I'm terrible, ya'll should just leave me on Kamino one of these days." He laughed as he turned away, walking back to Tech and Echo.

"What an idiot."

"Ugh, I know right?"

The two shared another laugh and continued to diss their little brothers, but luckily, they were doing the same thing. "Yeah, no, Hunter's hair? Nothing special, now General Skywalker is fucking ugly," They all nodded in agreement as Echo spoke, "But he knows how to do his hair. Hunter needs to use better conditioner, the general would go to Amidala's place and come back smelling like an angel." Which helped with his face.

"I agree, in comparison to General Skywalker, Hunter's looks are not on a vomit-inducing scale." Tech added, stacking his empty plate on top of Echo's also empty plate.

"But he's still ugly."

"Oh, very."

Crosshair laughed as he chewed, trying his best not to choke. "Can we go now?" He said when he'd finished eating. Tech and Echo both glared at him for a solid thirty seconds before nodding and getting up. Crosshair got up, having to catch up with them. They dropped their plates off. Echo and Tech simply said they were heading out, but Crosshair lingered, "We'll be back, I- I can do the dishes when we get back," He muttered, "Uh, bye."

"Bye, bubba." Hunter smiled, waving Crosshair off. Crosshair had a giddy smile, giving them a nod and a thumbs up before turning around and running after Tech and Echo, who were practically already out of sight.

"Hey! You assholes!" Crosshair screamed as he ran after them, "Wait! I'm scared of the dark!" He called as he caught up with them. Wrecker and Hunter smiled fondly. It was a good day.

"....Crosshair isn't gonna do the dishes." Hunter said once they'd stood there in silence for several minutes.

"Yeah, no he isn't." Wrecker agreed as he helped Hunter clean up. Wrecker loaded their grill back up as Hunter took the plates and food back inside. "We'll make Tech do them." Wrecker called as he locked the compartment the grill was in, he then headed back inside, "Hide his armor so he'll have motivation." Wrecker suggested once he was back inside. Hunter was putting the dishes in the sink, he looked up to Wrecker and chuckled,

"Good idea!"

◈ ━━━━━━ ◆ ━━━━━━ ◈

[elmo-is-a-forgotten-god]

What all tr*mp supporters look like:

-people who would make me feel uncomfortable at a gas station, especially at night.

-the “human” form of various mammals except 68% more moist (derogatory) looking.

-“people” who had their license taken away due to multiple DUIs.

-is in to vore and eats roadkill to satiate it

-that they eat candy without taking off the wrapper because they prefer the tast that way.

-like the closest thing they have on to deodorant is beer they spilled on them

-someone who would try to unironically validate incest

-the stunt double who didn’t get the part because their fake tan was just too atrocious. (Has teeth exactly like a donkey)

-has never even seen soap that isn’t either a 5in1 or axe brand

-let’s their dog kiss them on the mouth

-a randomly generated Sim (derogatory)

-a severely malnourished version of an anime character who hasn’t seen the light of day in years

-the kid that jacks off in algebra

-budget Jar Jar binx post gang bang

-if the unknown hair on the side of the shower at a public pool was brought to life in “human” form

-the globgloglubgalab but with “human” feet

-they use hotdog water as mouthwash

-a Ken doll from the 60s except they grow teeth (specifically molars) on their genitals

-stretch Armstrong but his diet is exclusively dry wall and piss

-they were initially cross bred with an invasive fish species and were later raised by skunks

[evans-heaven]

After this atrocious algebra exam I am treating myself to ignoring my responsibilities and watching Hawkeye ✌🏽

[addicted-to-darkness]

pros: » His powers ,despite being brought to Creation so far from the Source, prove his devotion to those important to him and the willingness to go to great lengths to impress them.  » Master of the dark arts and forbidden knowledge. Always wanted to summon Cthulhu? Look no further! If anyone has an instruction manual on it, it will be him. » Surprisingly charming and flirty. Likely will shower you with compliments. Sometimes very, very inappropriate ones. » Humorous and delightfui company. If you’re ever feeling down, Nabriales will know how to put a smile on that face again.... That, or the palm of your hand in disbelieve.

cons: » An ego to match the size of Amaurot, definitely requires someone with a bit of common sense. » Will eat all your junk food. No hiding place is safe from him, no snack too sacred to touch - will leave crumbs all over your bed and get whiny if there’s none at home.  » Gleeful about other people’s misery, including yours, and will never let you hear the end of it. Remember that one time you ran off the plattform in the Navel? No? He does.  » Very demanding for attention and high maintenance. Basically a hyur sized cat with the ability to shoot lasers.

pros: » Surprisingly creative and inquisitive. Prepare for long nights of constructive conversations and the most fantastic of tales. » Independent and hardly jealous. You will have plenty of freedom to do as you please, so long as you don’t meddle with his schemes to bring doom upon the spoken races. » Controls fire and flame. It’s always pleasantly temperate around him, even in the cold planes of Coerthas. Such warm, much toasty. Wow.  » Nerd. Science homework struggles? Look no further. If you managed to convince him your mortal existence is worthy of his attention, there is no doubt you can convince him to help you with your algebra homework, too. 

cons: » Grouchy. There has yet to be a sighting of any sense of humor in him. At best, puns will be answered with an indifferent glare. At worst, he leaves you standing to contemplate the sheer audacity of it all by disappearing for a week of silent treatment. » Holds grudges literally for eternity. » Absolutely atrocious at taking care of most living beings. You may as well set your house on fire instead of entrusting him with your pets. Plants are okay. » Will stop to order a single black coffee at McManderville’s.

pros: » Significantly reduced chance to be attacked on the spot in his company compared to being seen with other Ascians, thanks to his status as emissary.  » Incredibly soothing intonation. This man could read you the newspaper and make it an invigorating experience.  » Musically gifted and educated. Will play you any song you desire on his grand piano, even Despacito.   » Diplomatic and willing to compromise. Will cook dinner if you offer to do the dishes. 

cons: » His job as emissary of Zodiark will always come first. » While his skills of self-preservation surpass that of his brethren, this does not exclude him from having absolutely terrible decision making skills. » Cheats at board games and knows how to get away with it. Prepare for an extended stay in monopoly jail. » If you happen to smudge his white robe you will learn first-hand why every single other Ascian dreads his rants.

pros: » If she dedicates herself to a goal or a person, she will dedicate herself to it fully and without reservations.  » Fond of little gifts. Whenever she’s out for an extended period of time, she will come back with a little something. Not all of them may be save for the hands of mortals.... » Strong and independent lady, capable of sweeping you off your feet and beating up that guy who just put you into monopoly jail. » Has a secret passion for dark romantic poetry and is not afraid to use it. Sometimes a little too dark.

cons: » Her mask will make it incredibly hard to smooch her. » Her complete devotion comes at the price of a tendency for jealousy.... which happens to come with a tendency of people disappearing in your vicinity.  » Has a hard time sitting still to let time pass and enjoying it for its own sake. Lasts exactly half an episode on Netflix before calling it a waste of time and disappearing to commence the ascian ruining lives schedule. » Cold hands, cold hands, cOlD haNDS--

♥ Garleans (including Emet-Selch)

[introvert-celeste]

I think I might be mildly dyslexic but I could also be tired all the time. Or being tired makes it worse.

It’s kinda hard to tell. I have trouble reading--ironic, being an English Literature major and all--and I often find myself skimming entire paragraphs, only to realize I missed something important, and then I take twice as long laboring over it to glean any sort of understanding of the situation. My brain switches numbers and words around pretty frequently when they’re close together. Like today, I was at the register and the total came up to be $17.13, and I called it $11.73. The word thing only happens when I’m writing or typing (mostly typing), where I will literally skip over a word like I already typed it, switch two words around, or constantly misspell easy words I use all the time. I also get suffixes confused all the time, like using -ing instead of -ed, or nothing at all.

When I was little, I had terrible handwriting. Spelling has never been a big problem aside from common mistakes, but my handwriting. Was. Atrocious. It’s not great even now, but at least you can read it. Up until late middle school, I had to go pain-stakingly slow to make it look decent. It was never bad enough for my teachers to complain about, but it was bad enough to where I was embarrassed to show other students. I also write some of my letters...upside down? B and D are the most noticeable...I can’t describe it. Here:

See where it starts? And the small part at the bottom? I didn't realize other people didn't do that until late middle school.

I also had a huge problem with making my “a”s look like “u”s and my “y”s look like “x”s. It was such a problem that, when I started Algebra 2 in high school (where x and y are common variables), I actually trained myself to draw cursive “y”s instead (one curvy line instead of two straight lines). I also remember one of my math teachers complaining about my 4′s looking like 9′s bc I used to write the triangle looking 4′s, but I changed to the boxy 4′s to make it more legible. I feel like that’s just a common experience for younger students, though.

There was also a time in kindergarten or 1st grade when a teacher recommended that my mom take me to a speech pathologist because I struggled with "s" words, I think? I didn't actually need it and it probably wasn't related, anyway. It sure would suck if I did, bc both my first and last names start with s.

But it isn’t really that bad, just a series of minor situations that don’t stand out in the grand scheme of things. I feel like it only happens when I’m under stress, but that could just be when I notice it.  I could just be tired, but that could just make it worse. I don’t know...I type all this out here because whenever I bring up stuff like this irl it gets dismissed as anxiety. I mean, it usually is just anxiety, but this is a thing I’ve been dealing with my entire life and never really thought about it.