#i always retained information well without studying

[meowdei]

You believe in soulmates. Alhaitham does not. It’s not as though he loves you any less for his beliefs, but he certainly doesn’t entertain your baseless theories.

You’re determined to change his mind.

“What would you do if we never met?” You ask, staring up at him with your cheek pressed against his chest.

He glances down at you, sighing as he shakes his head. Here we go, he thinks silently. “I probably wouldn’t do anything, considering I wouldn’t know you existed.”

“You wouldn’t be sad?” You frown.

“How can I be sad about something that I don’t know exists?”

“Well, you could know of me,” you insist, “just because you don’t know me doesn’t mean you don’t know I exist.”

“In that case, I probably would not do anything,” he snorts. You don’t like that answer, glaring up at him as he adds, “I wouldn’t know what I’m missing if we never met.”

“You’re a real romantic, has anyone ever told you that?” You grumble. There’s a vibration of his chuckle through his chest, right under your cheek in a soft, rhythmic feeling that you’re so used to, you think it might be familiar from another life.

Over the course of the Akademiya’s years, there have been two prominent theories that have been debunked about soulmates:

1. The law of conservation of mass-energy states that matter and energy cannot be created or destroyed—but only transformed. When a person dies, their body decomposes, breaking down into atoms that return to the earth, air, and water. These atoms then get recycled by nature, eventually becoming part of other living organisms, thus reincarnating from their previous life forms. It is possible, then, that two individuals could fundamentally be linked to reincarnate together from the same set of atoms in every lifetime.

It was later debunked by a scholar named Lamiya. Atoms themselves don’t retain information about where they’ve been or what they’ve been part of. They are interchangeable at a fundamental level, which means there is no difference between an atom in a human and a rock.

2. The heart and brain generate electromagnetic fields that extend outward from the body, with the heart’s field reaching several feet. Studies suggest these fields may be sensed by others nearby, subtly shaping feelings of comfort, attraction, and connection. It is possible that certain individuals’ frequencies may naturally align, creating a sense of harmony between electromagnetic fields, thus indicating that two individuals are naturally connected and could be labeled soulmates.

This theory was later disproven by a scholar named Dharmakirti. While human bodies do generate electromagnetic fields, there is no evidence that these fields influence interpersonal attractions or emotional resonance. Fields produced by the heart and brain are exceptionally weak and rapidly diminish with distance, making it unlikely they could be sensed or create harmony between individuals in measurable ways.

They fascinate you enough that Alhaitham pulls strings to allow you access to the archived files, but it doesn’t go unnoticed by you how he scrunches his nose in distaste as he sifts through them himself.

Soulmates have no plausible evidence of existing, he argues.

Lots of things have no plausible evidence, yet they exist, you always argue back.

You like to think despite all the differences, you and Alhaitham are soulmates—that some form of you, outside of your physical bodies, exists for each other and each other alone.

You think it must be the case when your eyes seem to find his in a crowd without even trying. What are the odds that in a sea of people, they always happen to come across his by chance? And what other explanation would there be for the way he always seems to just know you’re staring at him while he sleeps every morning, waking up not too long after your eyes fall on his face in admiration? And how else would you rationalize the fact that you could tell his presence apart from anyone. You’re certain that if two bodies were standing behind you from a distance, your heart would know which one belonged to him.

Soulmates, you argue. That has to be the answer.

“I think we were always meant to meet,” you murmur quietly, tracing a finger along the pale skin of his chest. “Don’t you?”

“We’ve shared numerous classes together and have offices within within the same hall,” he states blandly, “I think the chances of not meeting would be rather improbable.”

“Or maybe,” you huff, “we were always meant to meet because we’re soulmates.”

“I think that theory has been sufficiently disproven—”

“You never know! We believe in the divine even if we’ve never seen them, haven’t we? Who’s to say Celestia aren’t fake—”

“The Archons have spoken of them multiple times, and The Gods, in fact, do exist for us to see, so I think we can trust—”

“Maybe Celestia decide soulmates,” you reason, raising a pointed brow at him, “how will you disprove that? There’s no evidence that they haven’t, and you can’t collect much evidence about them, so I think it’s safe to say that it’s possible.”

“But then it’s equally as safe to say it’s not possible by that logic, as well,” he says smugly.

“Fine,” you huff, glowering up at him through puffed cheeks, “I guess you’re just too stubborn to convince.”

“I’m not stubborn,” he argues (which he does quite stubbornly, you want to say), “I apply logic and reasoning to my theories. Which is why they are hardly disproven.”

“Do you at least think we’d be soulmates in another world if they did exist?” You ask hopefully.

He looks like he wants to argue about the likelihood of another world existing altogether—it irritates you enough that it pulls a frown on your face before you grumble a quiet forget it, shuffling out of his arms and turning away to face your back at him.

He chuckles, shaking his head. Something fond blooms in his chest, like a fresh padisarah in May.

���If,” he emphasizes as his arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you flush against his chest once more, “if in another world we existed where soulmates were real, then yes. I do think it would be you and I.”

“Really?” You ask quietly.

“Yes,” he whispers. Suddenly, he sounds rather sure about a theory he never even believed in the first place.

“I wonder what we’re doing in that other world,” you hum thoughtfully.

He sighs, bringing the blanket back up to cover both of your bodies and mumbles, “I would hope we’d be sleeping at a reasonable hour before a work day.”

—————

Stay tuned for them being soulmates after all in another world *wink wink* ;)

[minus-plus-zer0]

So Pretty

♡ Genre: Fluff ♡ Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

You always knew Bakugou Katsuki was drop-dead gorgeous.

There was something absolutely perfect about Bakugou's looks. He was less intimidating due to his anger and more so due to his rugged face. His body was incredibly fit and strong, always looming over you no matter how tall you grew. And even though he was mean to other people sometimes, you liked his attitude as well because you knew he wasn't all bad. You didn't make excuses for him, but you supported him as he worked to become a better person.

Being around somebody like him was unnerving. Every time you went out to meet him, you dressed your best in hopes that he would look at you the same way. You wanted to fight for his eye contact, making sure you were the only thing on his mind.

Sure enough, Bakugou couldn't take his eyes off you. His thoughts always drifted back towards you, what you were doing and what you were wearing. While you found him intimidating, he found you terrifying. It was as if Bakugou missed out on all the cliche years of teenage romance and hormonal feelings only for those emotions to hit him all at once when he was around you.

This made every interaction between you two difficult. Bakugou couldn't possibly be expected to act normal around you when you were just so pretty.

It got worse when you two decided to study together alone just outside the dorms, and you sat face-to-face with Bakugou. The textbook in front of you could barely distract you. You just wanted to reach up to his forbidden fluff of hair and pet him like you always dreamed, but couldn't.

"Hey!" Bakugou barked. "Focus!" His pencil lightly tapped your forehead. "You're never gonna get this problem right if you don't study!"

"Okay, okay, no need for the pencil violence please."

"Then focus dammit!"

You tucked your head back down into your book to avoid further vicious pencil whippings. Your eyes dragged across the page without retaining any information at all, like a truly dutiful student. A few minutes into this unproductive activity, you caught Bakugou longingly staring at you from your peripheral vision.

You looked up and Bakugou jumped slightly, then quickly re-invested himself into his own unfinished homework as his poor heart raced.

"Were you staring at me?" you asked, meekly.

"HELL NO!" Bakugou barked, his head snapping back up. "My eyes just found your face, that's all. Why was your face in the direction of my eyes?"

"You can't victim blame me for this, Bakugou! If you didn't want to look at me you would've done so. That's on you. If you found me pretty, I wish you'd just say so..."

Bakugou looked taken aback.

"...You're not pretty," he said, and those words broke your heart for the briefest second. "You're fucking gorgeous."

Of course, Bakugou has only ever seen you as beautiful. Not only did he fall first, he fell way harder than you would ever believe.

(I can just imagine him pining so hard for you, he stares a lot but if only you would notice him for once...)

[partoffantasy]

Accidental Sleepover (Part 1) - Aaric Graycastle / Cam Tauri

⸻ image credits to artbycassmira & etherealbookart ⸻

summary: After an exhausting late-night study session, Y/N accidentally falls asleep on Aaric, only to wake up tangled in his arms, much to his smug amusement.

pairing: aaric graycastle x fem!reader warnings: fluff word count: 1.1k

Thank you for the request, anon! I hope you like it 💙

Part 2: Click here

⸻⸻⸻✦ ♡ ✦⸻⸻⸻

The halls of Basgiath were quiet at this hour, the usual sounds of students training, sparring, and discussing reduced to nothing but the occasional crackling torch and pages being turned. Y/N barely noticed the silence, her focus entirely on the open book in front of her, the flickering candlelight making the ink swim slightly on the page. She pressed her fingers into her temples, trying to force her tired eyes to focus, but the words blurred at the edges, her exhaustion creeping in.

Across from her, Aaric watched with an air of amusement, flipping a page in his own book as he leaned back slightly in his chair. His posture was relaxed, but she had spent enough time with him to recognize the sharp attentiveness beneath the lazy demeanor. He was always watching, always noticing everything.

"You look like you're about to keel over," he observed, his voice low and smooth, the teasing lilt in his tone unmistakable. "I'm fine," she muttered, rubbing her eyes before sitting up straighter in an attempt to look more alert. "I just need to finish this chapter." Aaric raised a brow, the candlelight casting golden hues in his green eyes. "You said that three chapters ago." She waved him off without looking up. "Yeah, well, I meant it then, too."

He exhaled, the sound more amused than exasperated, and closed his book with a quiet thud. He didn’t need to keep reading; he had probably already memorized whatever information he needed. That was the thing about Aaric—he retained knowledge as if it were second nature, a gift that often made Y/N both envious and impressed.

They had been studying together in one of the smaller rooms off the Archives, a secluded room meant for scribes but occasionally taken over by riders who needed a quiet place to read. Aaric had found it first, naturally—he had a habit of slipping into hidden spaces like a shadow. At first, she had suspected he only tolerated her presence in his study hideout out of reluctant amusement. But over time, it had become their place. Their unofficial retreat when the rest of Basgiath became too overwhelming.

Here, there was no weight of expectation. No professors breathing down their necks. Just parchment, ink, and the company of someone who understood the necessity of late nights spent poring over books. Aaric stretched, his arms lifting above his head in a slow motion that made his shirt pull tighter across his chest. "Suit yourself," he muttered, leaning back against the wall, tilting his chair just slightly. 

Y/N barely heard him, too absorbed in the words on the page. Just a little more, she told herself, gripping her quill with determination. Time slipped away unnoticed. The candle burned lower, the wax pooling at its base. The warmth of the room, combined with the sound of Aaric’s slow, steady page turns, was too soothing.

Her body grew heavier, her head dipping forward slightly before she jerked herself awake again. She blinked rapidly, shaking her head, but the exhaustion never faded. Aaric hummed—a low, knowing sound. "Just go to sleep, little scribe." Y/N scowled, even as her head lolled slightly to the side. "No." He smirked. "That convincing argument would have worked better if you hadn’t almost fallen off your chair just now."

She shot him a halfhearted glare, but the fight was slipping from her limbs. "Just a second," she mumbled, barely registering the amused look on Aaric’s face as she let her eyes flutter shut. Just for a moment. Just a second.

When Y/N woke up, the first thing she noticed was warmth. The second was the steady rise and fall of someone’s breathing against her. Her eyes snapped open.

Aaric. She was lying on Aaric Graycastle.

Her head rested against his chest, her legs tangled with his. One of his arms was slung loosely around her waist, his grip relaxed but firm, like it had been there for hours. Panic flickered in her chest. She should move. Gods, she should definitely move. But the problem was—it was comfortable. Too comfortable. Aaric was warm, solid, and smelled of fresh linen, parchment, and something else uniquely him. And his heartbeat—it was steady, soothing, like the distant hum of dragon wings.

Y/N swallowed hard, carefully shifting to gauge if he was awake. Big mistake. A low, sleepy groan rumbled from his throat, and he tightened his arm around her as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Mmh. Five more minutes," he murmured, his voice hoarse from sleep. Y/N froze. "What?" Aaric exhaled, the breath tickling the top of her head. "You’re warm," he muttered.

Oh. Oh no. Her cheeks burned. "Aaric, wake up," she hissed. Another low groan. His fingers flexed briefly against her back before he finally blinked his eyes open. For a moment, he was quiet, his gaze hazy with sleep as he registered their position. His arm was still around her waist. Their legs still tangled. Then, as if something finally clicked, his green eyes sharpened with realization. He blinked. Once. Twice.

And then, instead of panicking like a normal person, a slow, lazy smirk tugged at his lips. “Well,” he drawled, voice still thick with sleep, “this is a rather pleasant surprise.” Y/N groaned and immediately shoved at his chest, scrambling away. "Oh, shut up," she muttered, ignoring the way her face burned. Aaric let her go, but he stretched, the movement ridiculously unbothered for someone who had just woken up wrapped around another person. "You know," he mused, "if you wanted to cuddle, you could have just asked."

Y/N threw a book at him. He caught it, grinning. "You are infuriating," she muttered, crossing her arms. Aaric just shrugged, completely unfazed. He ran a hand through his messy hair, making it even more disheveled. "You’re the one who passed out on me, sweetheart. I was simply providing a comfortable surface." Y/N narrowed her eyes. "I don’t recall asking for a ‘comfortable surface.’" Aaric smirked. "Your body language suggests otherwise."

"Ugh." She turned away, collecting her things in a rush, trying very hard to ignore how her skin still tingled from where he had touched her. Aaric, of course, wasn’t done teasing. "Should we make this a regular thing?" he mused. "Study, fall asleep in each other’s arms… I’d say it’s quite efficient." Y/N shot him a glare. "If I ever wake up on you again, I’ll—" "What? Kiss me?" Her brain short-circuited.Aaric was grinning now, looking entirely too smug, and oh, he was enjoying this. Y/N huffed, turning on her heel toward the door. "I hate you," she called over her shoulder. "That’s not what you were saying last night when you—" The door slammed shut behind her. Aaric chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he leaned back against the wall. Best accidental sleepover ever.

Part 2: Click here

[stellanix]

(genshin impact spoilers incoming)

one aspect of furina's characterization that's pretty understated but that i really really really love is her intelligence and curiosity. usually in genshin, when a character's intelligence is an important trait of theirs, there are aspects of their design, writing, voice acting, etc, that very clearly tell you "hey this character is smart." albedo, for example, wears a labcoat, is always saying big sciency words in a calm, rational tone of voice, and other characters are always talking about how smart he is

but furina? nothing about her on the surface suggests that she's a "smart" character - quite the opposite, in fact. superficially, she's introduced as a bratty, conceited, overconfident person who actually has no idea what she's doing. we eventually learn in the archon quest that that was all an act, but even after she regains her freedom, nothing about her really seems archetypically intelligent, at least at face value

instead, furina's intelligence is always shown rather than told (the only exception being nahida's voiceline about her). she had an intelligence network across teyvat feeding her information, and we saw in the flashback how she directed researchers to study the prophecy and potential ways of stopping it. before things like lyney's trial or directing the two musketeers, she'd stay up all night planning and piecing things together all on her own. she loves learning new things, she has lines in the teapot about how, when she's interested in something, she wants to become the most knowledgeable person in the topic, and also how she'd like to disassemble the teapot itself to learn how it works, and she's quick to learn new skills (like surfing). and, of course, she's well read, and quite possibly teyvat's foremost expert on the performing arts

i like how furina sort of defies the concept of character archetypes. she's initially presented as an archetypical bratty, dramatic, spoiled popular girl, but that was a role she forced herself into because it's what people expected of her. but the real furina, while still retaining some of the flamboyance from her archon persona, doesn't really fit into a clear mold. she's smart without being a super-genius, and she's kind without being a soft-spoken doormat. it makes her feel multifaceted and real, and i really love that!

anyway, this is why it makes me mad whenever i see people calling furina stupid, cuz she's not!

[dedeinthewild]

Could you please do a pepe marti story where you’re both curled up under a blanket, sharing earbuds, listening to a song that means everything to them. “this part,” they whisper, right before the lyrics hit, “makes me think of you.”

pepe martí x reader, established relationship

~"this part, makes me think of you"

summary : Pepe and his girlfriend juggled uni and racing with fun moments—studying together, teasing each other, and enjoying lazy days. Simple, sweet, and full of laughter.

It was a rather tough period for the two of them. They were juggling their first university sessions, feeling the winter creeping in like a cold caress down their spines.

During a break, she had decided to book a flight that would take her to Pepe, tired but thrilled at the idea of balancing his Formula 2 season with his courses.

Before long, her subway pass for commuting to campus was replaced by running around the house, chasing each other like maniacs. Her jeans and serious-looking coat gave way to an old pair of sweatpants and a shirt she’d conveniently stolen from Pepe.

There was something magical about spending time with that boy, without a care in the world, talking about ten thousand things while binging nerdy movies. They never seemed to run out of things to say. They jumped from one topic to another—whether he was on the simulator and she was at the desk, or one of them sat on the bed while the other worked on a puzzle he’d been gifted but never had the time to finish.

“God, this smells,” she said, pulling out a shirt he often wore from a neatly folded pile of clothes.

Pepe grabbed the shirt instinctively, sniffing it to see if it smelled of sweat or if he’d forgotten to wash it. But it just smelled like his cologne.

“I wore it when I went to the restaurant with Mom,” he said, knowing full well she’d detect even the faintest extra spritz of fragrance.

“Yesterday, I was talking with Christian about how Gabi loves it when he puts cologne on her.”

“I hate cologne.”

“You don’t hate it,” said the Spaniard, arms crossed behind his neck, watching her search for something to wear after washing her hair.

“I simply prefer your natural smell,” she shrugged, opting to stick with the damp shirt she’d had on before climbing onto the bed and resting her head on Pepe’s lap.

He laughed, jokingly cupping her face with one hand, knowing he could always draw out one of those stunning smiles he loved so much. His hand drifted down to run through her hair.

“I should be studying chemistry,” she said, looking up at him from where she lay, noticing how he’d let his hair grow out and how, despite his packed schedule, he didn’t show a trace of fatigue.

“Want me to help you?”

How many times, before she started university, had he stayed up late, even with a race the next day, to help her with math homework? He’d patiently explain things, occasionally losing himself, and every time he did, she’d ace her exams anyway.

“I guess I’ll just procrastinate,” she said, turning to hug one of his legs and closing her eyes, feeling too cozy to start studying.

But Pepe, knowing she’d feel guilty later if she didn’t study as planned, sat up and suggested something.

“Go get your chem going, and I’ll do some laps on the sim,” he said. “Then we can play a game—your pick.”

She looked at him with one of those playful smiles, her sweet-smelling hair brushing his face as she leaned in to kiss his nose.

“God, I love you.”

The driver headed to his simulator, calling Christian and their friends to stream a quick race, while she sat at the kitchen table, firing up her computer to dive into genetics. It was a subject she’d always loved and still appreciated, despite the overwhelming workload, making it easy for her to retain the information.

There was something about him living life at 300 kilometers per hour while maintaining the kindness and purity that defined him, and her dedicating her life to her studies, finding fulfillment primarily through her achievements that tied her down. Perhaps, deep down, those two worlds complemented each other, meeting between Grand Prix weekends and bonding over their wildly different interests.

“I don’t want to be nosy, but if you can, be quiet,” said the Spaniard into his mic, gripping the simulator wheel as he drove a road car on the Nürburgring.

“You know us—when we beat you, it’ll be anything but quiet.”

“Come on, she’s studying,” he smiled shyly into the camera, his eyes fixed on the screen, wearing blue-light glasses.

Corner after corner, the Spaniard proved to be the fastest, barely trailing one of the bots. Meanwhile, she repeated key concepts aloud, her table covered in textbooks, notes, and a forgotten mug of tea amidst the papers. Pepe’s plan to separate into two rooms was paying off; hours later, he emerged victorious from the tournament with his friends and colleagues, and she, when she felt his hands on her shoulders, had already studied a third of what she needed to prepare over the next two weeks.

“Fancy a little break?”

“It’s interesting how you get me to study and then do the opposite,” she smiled, jotting down a few last notes and turning to him, realizing she did need a break despite feeling like she could keep going.

“I didn’t do much today, so I might as well waste the last hours with you.”

“Waste your time with me?” she raised an eyebrow.

He nodded, teasing her with that special smile of his, before flopping onto the couch and motioning for her to join him.

“Bed to bed, couch to couch,” she sang, parodying Smooth Operator as she referred to their lazy day. The day before, he’d taken her on a lovely walk in a place he knew, and the next day, they were planning a day trip.

He shrugged, smiling, knowing full well he wouldn’t do anything productive anyway, and opened his arms for her to cuddle up beside him.

They spent some time in silence, her head resting on his chest, his hand gently stroking her hair as they both closed their eyes to rest. Then, as they often did, she opened the book she was reading in her spare time and accepted one of the earbuds Pepe handed her to listen to some music.

Sometimes, it was her playlist—eclectic and adaptable to any mood. Other times, it was his, secretly curated just for her. A mix of vintage tunes, songs they’d heard on trips, and new tracks she loved discovering while close to him and immersed in a good book.

As she recognized the notes of a song her dad often played when reminiscing about his younger days, she looked at Pepe, who was rubbing his eyes.

“For real?” she asked, feigning boredom, even though she was the first to love ’80s music and its vibes.

“Classic,” he replied, humming along as she chuckled, pulling her legs up and wrapping herself around his athletic frame.

“This part,” said the Spaniard as the second verse began.

This is the sound

Always slipping from my hands

Sand’s a time of its own

Take your seaside arms and write the next line

Oh, I want the truth to be known

“Makes me think of you,” he whispered.

Through every high and low, there was something that kept him going beyond his passion for racing. That something was seeing her smile under the podium or hearing her sweet words when he returned to the garage. Teaching her math, urging her to study when he knew she’d regret not doing so, and spending lazy days together at home.

What an incurable romantic.

~ not proofread or anything, I feel like I can't capture anything well anymore... anywayss let me know :)

(it's so shorttt)

[det-agency]

payneland yule exchange 2024

@clementiiny

tw: bullying/abuse/ptsd/underage drinking

prompts: pre-canon, hurt/comfort, domestic vibes charles-centric fic

Charles eyes the space Edwin cleared out for him on their homemade bookshelf.

-------- ≪ ｡❅*⋆⍋⋆*❅｡ ≫ --------

It was funny at first, two ghosts were haunting an old abandoned building. Nestled in off streets on some abandoned development project in Southern England. He can remember when they first stumbled in on a mirror hopping exercise, and Edwin taught him how to concentrate so that he could help move the discarded clapboard pallets. The way the pressure built on his hand without the texture of the wood was so alien to him at the time. When the hastily nailed planks finally rose his eyes darted to Edwin automatically.

“Very good Charles,” his smile radiating in his voice and eyes.

“Thanks mate, I think i’m getting-”

The pressure dissipated instantaneously, the rush of sand colored boards falling in a blur and crashing so loud to reverberate in the unfurnished concrete building.

No one spoke or moved for a minute.

-------- ≪ ｡❅*⋆⍋⋆*❅｡ ≫ --------

Now two months have gone by and he has an empty shelf of the same discarded wood. Right next to Edwin’s growing collection of magical tomes and comics.

Somehow.

The sentiment is nice, but Charles isn’t much of a bibliophile. The last book he cracked open himself was probably Warriner’s English Grammar and Composition- complete course. If he had Edwin to read his coursework to him before his midterms- as well as the signs of faery possession- he might have had a better time retaining information.

He lets his mind fidget with the idea. Sneaking around to study with Edwin would have been loads more enjoyable than swotting up everytime he got wind of a quiz. For all the vapid consternated lecturing about their desire to teach the next generation diligence he’s surprised none of the teachers caught on to his more extreme study habits. He needed to revise twice as long as his mates, whilst still keeping on top of his cricket practice. The stench of smuggled coffee in the shared dorm space, sting of untreated paper cuts on his cricket bat, and echo of quickly flipped paper while on the bench-minutes before practice begins- still haunts him. No one can say his scholarship was not merited. To be candid, a few of his peers tried. They should put his name on a medal.

He winces.

They’d probably think that was lame though. With his friends there was always a give and take. Charles would be too excited or too visually distinctive, and then they would disparage him before intervening. He can almost hear them now, in his head, mocking him for caring enough to wonder what books Charles thinks Edwin would want next to his collection. They’d probably ring his bell if they caught him idling, grinning at it, like a gormless old twit.

Charles starts picking up the books Edwin had pushed to the far side of the room and carrying them back towards their place on the shelf. Each one aged into a different neutral hue.

It’s not like getting lumped aside the head is the worst, he’s just had his fair share of it. The sharp painful corrections reverberated through concert gigs, class, and his old house. With his Dad it was something you could count on. Like the chime of a clock or the clunk of his boots on the floor above him when he got home.

The closest he gets to that is when Edwin scolded him when he misplaced a hand-bound copy of Materials Toward a History of Witchcraft V. II.

His hands were steepled and eyebrows were pinched as he faced Charles.

“It is of our best interest to have our books on occultism organized if we are to keep helping any stray ghost that takes your fancy.”

His tone is sincere with “steps to make sure this does not happen whilst they are in each other’s company.”

It had been the first time Edwin had mentioned a future- their future- together.

So…there are more instances where he messes up with Edwin.

His first offense was gathering discarded vinyl records from the estate to solve the case of the mummified musician. He may have gathered more than necessary. The boxes littered their settled office with the crowded oppressive atmosphere of an obstacle course.

“ I don’t understand the importance of collecting memorabilia from his estate if his condition clearly exemplifies a pharaoh's curse, Charles.”

“Except he’s never been to Egypt, and something is wrong with these records, Edwin.” Charles tests.

“Whatever do you mean?” Edwin asks, hands centering more nervously.

Charles takes the dingy milk crate containing the cursed record to the top of their newly acquired office desk. “He didn’t have any photos of his parents in that house. Closest we got to them was that burnt photo with his passport. So whoever his family is in Egypt he isn’t going back to see them often.” He grabs the third vinyl ceremoniously holding it up and points accordingly.

“This band was based in the UK and was underground in the 70s; they did not have the money to parade around publishing records in Egypt, mate. It also doesn’t have English import tax added to the price on the back so we can figure whoever gave it to him wasn’t a distributor. Finally,” He slides the protective sheet from the record. “The Matrix numbers are utter gibberish.” Charles raises his head to find Edwin studying him instead of the vinyl.

“You know an awful lot about vinyl records, how come your interest has never come up before?” Edwin poaches.

“I’m not interested, mate, this case is just stupid convoluted and I’d really appreciate getting this case closed as soon as possible, yeah?” Charles twists away placing the covering back onto the record and into the jacket delicately.

“Right, of course.” Edwin reassures.

The following offense had occurred after a few days of dodgy eyeing on Edwin’s part. The silent treatment had gotten so intolerable he had resulted in point blank annoying him about the local bands when they walked past the building on their way to pick up new comics and magical tomes from the only occult shop in London to sell to “new ghosts.”

The cold morning air clung to the energy around their forms as they made their way through almost empty city walkways. The greys and blues of the world still clinging to the buildings and street as Charles prattles on about trumpet melodies and inconsistent show times. They had been trotting by a street light holding fast against the elements when Edwin had stopped walking and Charles went ramrod straight.

“Did you use to go to shows frequently?” he asks hesitantly, but his eyes are narrowed and posture is straight, holding a brick sized hand bound french magic book and a recent batman issue with the same reverence, snug against himself.

Charles feels the panic, in his arms and stomach, unfurl their tendrils.

“I-er-well, we all had the go-ahead to leave campus, right, but we could never make it back in time if we went too far, did we? This venue didn’t card, so we always found our way here…eventually.” Charles stammers.

Edwin’s eyes drift to the unassuming dark building with torn weathered posters littering its wall. “You mentioned going to see the Po-Goues in January, but the poster says they were playing January 14th, which is shortly after your holiday. So I may surmise, you came back to St. Hilarion's and then went to a concert in which the interim school faculty would be exceedingly vigilant. You must care about them a great deal.” His eyes roam, and lock back onto Charles, assessing.

“Didn’t think you were actually listening, mate.” Charles teases.

“The Kon 5 is playing next week, so we could attend a show, if you are still interested in such things.”

Edwin steels himself, takes a breath, and then points to one of the newer additions to the wall. Charles follows the line of action from the base of Edwin’s shoulder to the mass-produced poster for the stupid band he used to wait in line to see.

-------- ≪ ｡❅*⋆⍋⋆*❅｡ ≫ --------

The building is dark. Metal and Brick both painted over with worn black overcoats. The stairs lead to an expanse of hallway with an open bar and doors. He remembers Mark used to remind him not to be an idiot and forget the stuff they came in with. Abandoned high heels, coats, and a metal bat line the walk-way. If you follow it you can pass the bathrooms to the back and you can see the open floor of an expansive former church turned remodeled stage.

The members come up one after the other. Each fiddling with equipment and performing checks on their respective instruments.

Charles’ energy is erratic. His hand had phased through the bars of the catwalk; they were camped atop up to his forearms. Being inside shouldn’t be putting his nerves on edge. He should be able to differentiate being in the building now with Edwin for one of his favorite bands and the “friends” who introduced it to him.

Nevertheless, every place his eyes rest rip memories from the depths of his mind to the cold air around him. He remembers, agreeing to help one of his roommates move to afford one of the coats everyone wore. Being too scared to decorate it. Skipping class so no one would see him go to a Citizen 8 gig alone. Standing in the dorm’s communal bathroom, looking in one of the mirrors to the shades of purple on his body, no recollection who to inculpate. “It was just a lark, we didn’t mean any harm.”

Getting harrassed.

Getting Killed.

”Hard Lines mate, maybe next time.” muttered at his fucking funeral.

“Are you alright?” Edwin asks.

“What-er- yeah” Charles stutters, “Sorry, we’ve-I’ve- just never got here early before.”

“Oh, that’s good.” Edwin hesitates.

“Oh, yeah, brills.”

It’s strange they don’t have any roadies or stage-hands aside from the band members. Charles points to the stage. “That is the lead singer James doing the mike check. and-” his arm halts its motion as they both watch in horror as the drummer touches his kit, glows red, dives behind the curtain, and begins screaming hysterically backstage.

Edwin looks at him quizzically.

“Well, that was the drummer.” Charles stammers, “Er-‘m sure, he’s fine, mate”

The Kon 5 are about twenty or so minutes into their set. The trumpets and drums are sycophantic in their rhythm drilling the crowd. Shouts of encouragement and lyrics are spurred out from the people around them. He looks to his right, Edwin stands in his school uniform tight and pristine despite the dingy atmosphere and sub-par lighting. His soft, thoughtful expression breaks into a smile when his eyes lock with Charles.

Guilt stabs him inextricably.

Edwin’s face falls and he pulls him towards the front of the venue. The Green lighting is strained on the hallway to the bathrooms that Charles has had the misfortune of painting in sick after a few too many jars.

“It’s okay if you don’t like the set we could head to the office and-” Charles starts.

“That is not the drummer.” Edwin states matter-of-fact.

The words left no room for negotiation, and were left between them.

“The Glowing was reminiscent of faery possession.”

“They just got back from France,” Hammering draws from Charles’s heart and hits his stomach.

“The shows-the tour,” he supplies, “They might have picked it up in Paris. ‘Right, Edwin?”

“You have the list of tour destinations memorized?” Edwin asks.

Charles feels stinging behind his eyes first.

“No, no, I just used to have their albums on tape and the upcoming tour destinations printed on back ‘innit.”

“You had their albums on tape? I had no idea you were passionate about music when you were alive,” he states.

“ We should see if the drummer could lend us some tapes after we rid him of his faery infestation.” Edwin mutters nodding to himself.

“Passionate?” Charles squawks.

“I don’t know why you insist on pretending you have no-interests or hobbies Charles, but you are clearly knowledgeable on the subject at hand.I had hoped your admission to your interest in music had been an olive branch between us, since you are so pliable to my rantings on thaumaturgy and protection charms, but you seem more fretful. ” His eyebrows are knit together before he continues, “I do not want our companionship to be so one-sided. I don't know any of your passions nor do I wish to have our place of residence devoid of your impression.”

“Mate, i didn’t mean-”

“I saw you restocked the bookshelf. Do you not see the office as a worthwhile place to store your belongings?” he continues. “Honestly, Charles, if you have no plans to stay we need not discuss it, but at least give me something to remember you by.”

The clawing in his throat builds with the silence between them.

“I-er,” he tries looking towards the cheap drywall, “This is just the first time it was okay to care about things, y’know?

And- yeah. I don’t, er- ” his voice breaks, and he half expects Edwin to shove him.

He doesn’t.

Instead, Edwin’s hand is steady as it grips his lapel.

He follows the pale pressed fingers to his wrist, up his covered arm and settles his gaze near Edwin’s face.

“Maybe on our return from our next trip from the occult book shop we can purchase some recordings.” He whispers.

Charles feels the buzzing energy in his hands again. He weighs everything said before him. The new revelation stripped the version of himself he had presupposed Edwin saw.

“Five minutes backstage,” Charles surrenders, picking up one discarded aluminium bat.

“Or we are summoning that drummer.” - ------ ≪ ｡❅*⋆⍋⋆*❅｡ ≫ ------

On the way back they pick up a walkman and cassette tapes for the Po-goues, rage parade, and Citizen 8. They leave behind a newly faery-exorcised signed guitar as payment.

When they get back to the office they make it to the middle of the floor before Edwin stands before him with his hand extended.

“What, right now?” Charles asks.

Edwin remains waiting patiently.

The magic canvas bag prognosticates. He swats his hand inside and picks up the cassette player, a tangled mess of earbuds, and the Citizen 8 tape all in one go.

Edwin’s hands dip for a second under the unexpected weight of the cassette player, but adjusts accordingly. Charles presses the eject button and places the tape into Edwin’s other awaiting hand. His fingers hold it in an unconventional manner while Charles stares in awe.

Too soon he presses the cassette into the cartridge and the hand is tucked under the handheld player.

“The earbuds please, Charles.”

Charles' eyes and hands return the mess of wire that he is desperate to untangle. He separates the left and right sides from the main auxiliary cord. Edwin’s hand reaches below and takes the jack and presses it into the aux with succinct precision. He returns, thumbing the earbud from Charles’s left hand to press it to the side of his face. He feels the loss of contact, and then watches Edwin take the earbud from his right hand before putting it to his own ear.

For a moment, he watches the cord between them.

The black wire joining their faces is short, forcing them a little closer than they usually get. His eyes flicker over Edwin’s face, but they find no discomfort. No, Edwin’s face is concentrated as he works. His eyes pinched with the ghost of a smile on his lips. They’re so close he can see the hint of stubble atop his lip and jaw. The coil coupling them taps below his ear twice before-

Edwin pressed the cartridge closed.

The guitar riff expels gruff and triumphant. Five seconds in the drums pick up a heavy beating in the heart of the song. Their lead singer screeches her arrival in a familiar melody.

Edwin’s eyebrows pinch slightly before a soft smile exposes a hint of dimples caresses his face next to the wire joining them. It takes a dull ache in the side of Charles’ face to realize he’s been smiling too. He feels the contact of Edwin’s fingers against his own before realizing he’s unconsciously reached to support the cassette player with him. The weight is lighter than anything he’s held in this new form.

It takes a few minutes before Edwin wanders to pick up his place in a discarded french spellbook. With both ears filled with the rapid pounding of a drum beat he places the remaining two cassettes on his spot on their shelf. With his energy still warmed from Edwin’s presence, he lays a hand on the exposed wood and lets himself press to feel the pressure.

[storm-angel989]

Hello!!

I was wondering if you could do a Val x daughter teen reader.

- She’s super duper sleep deprived (yawning every other 5 minutes and it’s so obvious she’s fighting to stay awake), and relies on a crap ton of energy drinks to keep her up and going. How would Val, Vel, and Vox react to finding out about this?

Hi Friend,

Thank you so much for your patience <3

As all three of the Vee’s very well know, sleep is so important. They want to see Reader succeed, but not at the expense of her own health. So take a peek at what happens!

Enjoy!

<3 Mandy

My official bedtime is eleven. I crawl into bed at two. 

My day started at 4:30.

Get up. Drag myself to the gym. Lately, I’ve been listening to my textbooks on audiobook while I run because I, for the life of me, can’t get my brain to retain any of the information. My first sip of an energy drink is paired with water as I frantically scramble to scrub my hair and get dressed in my uniform before I need to leave for school. 

Seven thirty. Skip breakfast in favor of the second energy drink of the day. Slide into my homeroom seat exactly six minutes before the bell rings. I can’t be late, or else I risk getting kicked off the water polo team. 

School ends at three. I lose track of how many energy drinks I buy, how many cups of coffee I consume. All I know is it’s easier to study and drink coffee than it is to study and eat. And midterms start tomorrow. 

Practice starts at three thirty and by the time I get in the water, my week and a half worth of cramming for midterms is starting to catch up to me. It’s all I can do to stay awake, and unlike the other girls, I’m grateful for the freezing cold water. 

This routine had been mine for the past two weeks, and I was exhausted. Cramming for exams always sucked, but this time around felt harder than most. 

“I just need to review one more chapter,” I promised myself as I climbed into the limo. The ache in my head matched the heaviness of my eyelids and I let out another yawn. “One more chapter, and then…”

Out of habit, I pulled out my exam schedule. I felt my heart drop and jolted awake as I read through the test list for the next day. Fuck. Science was tomorrow. Not history. I hadn’t even started to review science.  I opened up another energy drink as I stared into the eyes of what would be another all nighter. As the last drop of liquid entered my body, I could feel my heart beat- an uncomfortable buzz. I tried to ignore it as I exited the limo and trudged upstairs. My mind blurred as I went through the motions without remembering exactly what I was doing. 

“Ah, princessa, I’m glad you’re home,” my father’s voice floated across the room. “Your Uncle Vox just finished making dinner. Come sit.”

“I can’t, Daddy, midterms start tomorrow,” I replied through a yawn. “I have to study, I mixed up…”

“You can’t study on an empty tummy. Your body needs fuel,” my Aunt Velvette replied.

Her tone told me I wasn’t getting out of it. I dropped my backpack and hazily made my way across the living room. I stumbled but caught myself on the table. I could feel all three sets of eyes on me as I righted myself and slowly sank into my chair. 

“Babygirl, are you feeling okay?” Vox asked as he pressed his hand to my forehead. “You don’t look good.”

“No, no you don’t,” my father added. “Did you eat before practice?”

I tried to remember but the memories of the day wouldn’t come. I shrugged in response. 

“Have you been drinking?” Velvette demanded after a moment of silence. She crossed her arms. “You’re stumbling, you’re pale, you’re slurring your words, something is wrong.”

“No! I’m just, I’m really tired,” I protested as I tried to bite back a yawn. “Midterms, they're tomorrow and I..I need to study. I can have another energy drink, maybe that will help.”

I went to push myself up from the table and felt the heaviness of Vox’s hands on my shoulder hold me in place. His other hand reached over and clicked on my VoxTech watch. 

“When did you go to bed last night?” My father asked gently. 

“More importantly, how many energy drinks did you have today?” Vox asked. 

Unable to hold back, I yawned. “It's midterm week, I dunno. Guys, I have to study, I…” 

I watched all three of them exchange glances. Vox hit a button on my watch and they both looked at their phones. Alarm spread over each of their faces.

“No. You’re not going anywhere except to bed,” my father said firmly as he stood up. 

“Dad, no, I’m…I’m fine..” I started to protest as he lifted me into his arms. “Daddy, I’m sixteen, lemme go…” I laid my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes as I tried to push myself away from him. 

“Mhm, yeah, you’re right, you are sixteen,” he replied softly.

The next thing I knew, he laid me down in my bed and pulled the covers over me. I felt the weight of his body on the bed as he sat down next to me. 

“Close your eyes, ninita,” he said softly. “You need to rest.”

Under the warmth of the covers, snuggled in the comfort of my bed, exhaustion swept over me. Unable to fight, I sank into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

It could have been days, or hours later. As I slowly came to, the red digits of my alarm clock flashed. Eleven thirty am. Panic rushed through me. Late! I was so late! I sat straight up, but before I could swing myself out of bed, Vox’s hand pushed me down. 

“Hey, hey kid. Calm down. Relax, you’re fine,” he said soothingly.

“No, Uncle Vox I have my history midterm today, I have to go, I’m so late!” I babbled as I tried to push against him.

“You’ll make them up, deep breath,” he replied evenly. “It’s okay, I promise. I’m going to let your Dad and Vel know you’re awake. If I let you go, will you please stay down?”

Slowly, I nodded as the panic began to subside. He released me and sat down on the bed next to me. A few moments later, the door opened and they both walked into the room. 

“How are you feeling?” my father asked. 

“Better? Dad, my midterms, practice, I have homework,” I began.

He held up his hand. “Stop. Take a breath. Uncle Vox called the school. Your midterms are rescheduled for two weeks from now. Lots of time to study without you running yourself down to nothing.” 

“As for homework and practice, you don’t have to worry about that until Monday, which is when you’re allowed to go back to school,” Velvette added. 

“Allowed back to school? What the fuck does that mean?” I asked. 

“It means you’ve been asleep for almost a day and a half. It’s Thursday, sweetheart,” Vox said gently. 

Panic washed over me. A day and a half? I slept for a day and a half?

“See, the problem with sleep deprivation is that it catches up to you. No amount of energy drinks or coffee can fix the issue. The only way to feel better is to sleep,” he continued. “And it appears that you, little girl, pushed yourself to your max.”

“And could have done some serious damage to your body in the process,” my father added. “So this is how the rest of this weekend goes. You’re going to the doctors to get checked over…”

“Why? I was just overtired,” I protested. 

“No, you were exhausted. And you consumed so much caffeine your heart rate and your blood pressure were sky high,” Vox answered.

“Your Aunt Velvette, Uncle Vox and I have been taking turns sitting with you just to make sure you were okay,” my father added. “So no. A checkup is not negotiable. We’re also going to have a discussion with the doctor on the importance of sleep and the negative effects caffeine can have on the body. Anyway, after you get the all clear, you are going to spend the weekend resting. You can watch movies, study for a few hours, I don’t care. But when your body is tired, you need to sleep. Otherwise, you’re not going to recover from this.”

I felt myself deflate. “Am I grounded too?”

“Call it grounding if you want, but you’re staying home all weekend,” my father replied calmly. 

A thousand protests raced through my mind. I had an away game this week. I needed to keep in shape. I had projects to do and laps to swim. But as I studied the concerned expression on my fathers face, I realized that nothing I could say would make them change their minds. The creeping feeling of exhaustion swept over me and I yawned as I settled back against the pillows. 

I felt lips press to my forehead and I snuggled back under the covers. Maybe a bit more sleep wouldn't hurt.

[theshiftingwitch]

God like Intelligence

Affirmations:

I am incredibly intelligent

I am always the smartest person in the room

I have the highest IQ imaginable

I am both book and street smart

I am so skilled in everything I try

I am brilliant in every subject at school

I have the mental capacity of a god

I am a genius

I perform well on every test even without studying

I possess the mathematical skills of the best scientists in the world

I have a photographic memory that allows me to remember all of the important information I come across even if I've only seen it once

I do math so quickly and efficiently in my head that I never need a calculator

Everything is so easy for me to learn

I always do so well on tests and I always get the best grades in classes

Everyone is so amazed at how smart I am

Nothing is ever difficult for me to understand

My brain is a super machine that retains all the knowledge I could possibly need

I am always open to learning new things

I am attuned to the secrets of the universe and I know things nobody could even prove

Science, math, biology, chemistry and philosophy are all so easy for me to master

I learn new languages easily and instantly

My brain is attuned to the knowledge of the cosmos

I understand every subject perfectly from the first try

I rarely ever have to study to excel in school

My thirst for knowledge propels me to discover all the secrets of existence

I am the smartest person to have ever existed

I am eloquent, efficient, and easy to understand

I can always get my point across effortlessly and people always compliment my communication skills

Happy manifesting ❤️

[kennymcchronicle]

I'm so excited that you rb it! You're not a bother at all!

1, 15, 38, 59, and 73!

I know I also sent a lot, but I'm going feral here.

Time to get Lonny'd!!! (ask game)

1. Who fell first? Who fell harder?

The way I have them played out now, technically, Lotta fell in love first. She started crushing on Mysterion, however, Kenny was already slowly developing feelings for Lotta at that point, so he is in love with her before she finds out he's Mysterion! This approach, at least, is the most fun for me to think about anyway hehe. As for who fell harder, I would say they're pretty even! Lotta starts out kind of in denial because of her previous heartbreaks, she really wasn't excited to love someone again, but spending time with Mysterion helped. Kenny's feelings for Lotta do more or less stem from her medical treatment of him, so these feelings just consistently grow the more time they spend together. Though, there is a very fun scenario that I discussed think would jumpstart Kenny's feelings from "Oh I like being around her, maybe I have a little crush?" to "I am never leaving your side ever" but I will spare you guys that iykyk hehehe!

15. How do they comfort one another when the other is upset?

Lotta's best approach to tricky situations is objective rationality; While she loathes being mistaken for a therapist by peers she has no business hearing out, she will absolutely do so for the people whose well being she cares about on a deeper level than purely physical. She will provide a neutral perspective and definitely try and think of a solution to make Kenny feel better when she notices how he's feeling, but most of all, she'll just hear him out. That's what I also think Kenny does, he's just pretty good at... being there, y'know? He'll hear her out and offer doing something else to get her mind off of things, or offer to help anyhow he can. They're pretty mutual in that regard as well! I feel like the bigger struggle would be Lotta communicating that she is upset because she's prone to want to handle that stuff herself even if she can't lmao

38. What would be their ideal evening in?

Spent hanging out Lotta's place, 100%. She doesn't have a console or anything, but she has a computer in her room so they just play free games or watch stuff on there together! Or they put on her music and Kenny just lounges around and chats with Lotta while she's doing some medical studying or drawing! The former of which he also sometimes helps with!

59. Is there a spot they tend to kiss or caress habitual?

Ohhh dude... this is on the list of art ideas I haven't drawn yet and probably never will but. You know that thing about kissing scratches and small wounds better? Lotta suspects that there is barely any medical benefit from this method, and at most provides comfort due to associations unrelated to whether or not this helps heal the wound. Kenny asks her - without a second thought - if she could try it anyway and come on, not like she can say no to him lmao. So sometimes when he gets a smaller injury, after it has been properly tended to, Lotta will kiss it better!! Not quite habitual i think, but I could see it become the go-to for Lotta to kiss Kenny!! As for caressing, Lotta pats his head!! That's just it!! Nothing you can do about that!!

On the flipside, hmm... refer to the picture above, I think Kenny would go for the cheek most!! They are within reach and perfect to express his love!! I have no deeper idea for this, I just think Kenny would really enjoy kissing and so this is how he can always do that!

73. Who knows the other better? Why is this?

This one's kinda tricky... I would think Lotta knows Kenny better? Not to say Kenny isn't but Lotta is quite observant and when it's a person of interest to her, she's quite good at retaining information that may present itself for just a moment. Besides, knowing the ins and outs of someones physical condition also helps finding out a little about them I'd imagine! Though this only comes to play depending on the headcanon you would have for how Kenny's continual death and reincarnation affects his body, if at all. What's also necessary to consider is, like I said, Lotta wouldn't voluntarily present everything about herself. Sure, most people don't, but she's become accustomed to veiling things, especially those that conflict with her image of being a professional doctor, the image that for most of the time that Kenny is around her at first, is all he gets to see. If she doesn't deem it important, chances are she'd never talk or try to think about it, but this is something that can very well change over time, with her warming up to the idea of letting Kenny in on her emotions more. And that's not to say she keeps it all hidden! If she feels the needs to explain herself about something, for instance. That stuff can get crazy is all I'm saying dsdgsdgf but yeah, overall I think Lotta at least catches on and learns about Kenny and his thoughts, mannerisms, etc. a little quicker than Kenny does about Lotta's.

[fancygremlin]

Gordon and Warren are two characters that are quite secretive when it comes to sharing information about themselves. However, it's interesting to look at how one character has full control of what he is willing to share, while the other doesn't.

Gordon keeps a record of everything he likes, and also of everything he does (daily) on dictaphones. Despite the great amount of information about himself he possesses, he seems to have never shared anything with anyone. He keeps everything close to his chest, but he seems eager to share his interests more than he does personal information. What's important is that he is always able to decide what and when he is ready to share anything of his. Like when he was enthusiastic about sharing with Warren the songs he made with his high school band, but refused to play his memoir (in five parts, unfinished draft).

On the other hand, Warren has other people keeping tabs and information about him at all times without him knowing or really consenting to. Despite the great amount of information about himself, he possesses none of it... and he barely remembers most of it. He keeps all personal information and interests close to his chest, and is never eager to share any of it. However, he was never in control and never given the possibility to decide what or when to share anything of his. For example, when he went back to his hometown everyone knew about it right away, or when Clive went ahead and spoke to Gordon about Warren's personal problems over the phone (before their road trip to Red Valley). Clive also had absolutely no qualms in revealing even the most private or embarrassing details in front of everyone later on. There is no way to know how much information the Red Valley facility archives holds about Warren, but I doubt he had any way to control what was being recorded or not.

That being said... in short, I feel like this summarises pretty well Warren and Gordon's friendship:

This disparity is going to be a constant theme throughout the podcast, isn't it?

Gordon is someone who records and studies with so much passion everything he loves and his interests. He will know everything about others, while others will not know much about Gordon instead.

On the other hand, Warren's perception of the world and himself is going to become more and more muddled as he is continually put in and out of cryogenic sleep. He will know nothing about himself, while others will know everything.

One character will keep knowing more and more about the other, while the other will become less and less of himself and never be able to really retain information (about himself or others).

I am scared of the implications... the very end of the season 1 finale does not make me feel better.

[nyoaeuikhoudu]

Elite Force highschool hc's

stealing this idea from @texanmarcusdavenport because I too have headcannons that I must scream into the void.

Centium city is located close enough to Logan High that the kids all go there. Bree and Chase changed their last names so they can go to Logan without being recognized. Their alias last name is "Douglas" because they're not creative and it's hilarious to see their teachers meet Douglas Douglas during conferences.

While the bionic teens are well known around the world, there wasn't quite as much coverage of them in the Philly area because it wasn't super local, so Bree and Chase are able to fly under the radar easier since they're not household names around here.

Idk if yall know what this is, but I feel like it would be fun to have their school structured under the academy system. In short, along with required core classes like math and english, you have to pick an area of interest or career for your other classes. You get cords for completing courses in your academy and most of your electives will be centered around that area of study, plus it helps with college applications.

As always, we'll do this in alphabetic order

Bree:

After much deliberation, she decided on the Natural Resources and Agriculture academy (green). She originally wanted to do Human Services and join ROTC for drill, but Chase wouldn't let her because that would draw too much attention to them.

- her adhd makes it difficult to retain information, so she struggles with classwork, especially lectures.

- in the gifted program w/ Oliver (Chase is jealous lol) no, the gifted program is not based on grades, it's IQ based.

- not super interested in her academy, mostly just in it for the field trips.

- thrives in English classes, can whip out a grade A essay in 20 minutes.

- expert procrastinator, usually doing her homework the morning it's due or in between classes

Chase:

Part of the Business and Computer Technology academy (blue). Though he'd probably thrive more in Engineering, he mostly just joined to work towards inheriting Davenport Industries like Donald wants him to.

- very booksmart

- sacrificed his perfect GPA for maintaining cover. (He's sitting at 3.5, though he's definitely capable of 4.0)

- not the most social, trying his best to lay low.

- started working the schools coffee shop and snack hut for the finance side of things

- refused to test for the gifted program, pissed that Bree did behind his back despite his insistence that they don't draw attention to themselves.

Connie/Skylar:

Part of the Arts and Communications academy (purple). While she's not particularly skilled in the arts, she does enjoy marching band and likes spending time with Jordan and Gus (who are also both in AnC, art and film respectively.)

- gets decent grades. B average

- took an interest in theatre after Gus's Skylar Storm movie, and now helps out on tech.

- works the booth for shows, light design and helps out with mic checks

- surprisingly good at history for an alien- she convinced Chase to join her at history bowl and their team obliterated the other schools.

- involved in multiple sports, namely wrestling and dance team, but colour guard is still her favourite.

- so used to the name Connie that she doesn't even realise when people call her that outside of school, though the twins still slip up and call her Skylar in class.

Kaz:

Part of Health Sciences academy (red) to help with work, though he's less serious about it. If given a choice, he'd choose not to belong to any academy and just go home. He focuses more on the sports injury side of things, learning how to prevent injury rather than treat it for the most part.

- his grades don't reflect his intelligence

- struggles in class due to his adhd

- the only reason he's not failing his medical courses is because Oliver helps keep him on task

- tried three other academies before MM, none seemed to fit him best.

- the only elective he takes outside of HnS is shop, he especially loves welding and blacksmithing.

Oliver:

Also in the Health Sciences academy (red). Though he originally joined because of Mighty Med, he actually found a love for field, focusing on the Medical side. He's been taking extra science classes for fun along with academy courses.

- gets good grades, but definately not perfect.

- terrible at anything that requires math

- builds study dates into his schedule to spend time with Kaz and help him learn the material.- has been in the gifted program since elementary school.

- was originally part of AnC with the rest of his friend group, but switched early his sophomore year when he started working at MM

- still participates in band, playing the oboe for concert and marimba for marching season.

Ages:

Skylar is a senior, everyone else is a junior.

[lesmisletters-daily]

How Jean May Become Champ

Les Mis Letters reading club explores one chapter of Les Misérables every day. Join us on Discord, Substack - or share your thoughts right here on tumblr - today's tag is #lm 1.6.2

One morning M. Madeleine was in his study, occupied in arranging in advance some pressing matters connected with the mayor’s office, in case he should decide to take the trip to Montfermeil, when he was informed that Police Inspector Javert was desirous of speaking with him. Madeleine could not refrain from a disagreeable impression on hearing this name. Javert had avoided him more than ever since the affair of the police-station, and M. Madeleine had not seen him.

“Admit him,” he said.

Javert entered.

M. Madeleine had retained his seat near the fire, pen in hand, his eyes fixed on the docket which he was turning over and annotating, and which contained the trials of the commission on highways for the infraction of police regulations. He did not disturb himself on Javert’s account. He could not help thinking of poor Fantine, and it suited him to be glacial in his manner.

Javert bestowed a respectful salute on the mayor, whose back was turned to him. The mayor did not look at him, but went on annotating this docket.

Javert advanced two or three paces into the study, and halted, without breaking the silence.

If any physiognomist who had been familiar with Javert, and who had made a lengthy study of this savage in the service of civilization, this singular composite of the Roman, the Spartan, the monk, and the corporal, this spy who was incapable of a lie, this unspotted police agent—if any physiognomist had known his secret and long-cherished aversion for M. Madeleine, his conflict with the mayor on the subject of Fantine, and had examined Javert at that moment, he would have said to himself, “What has taken place?” It was evident to any one acquainted with that clear, upright, sincere, honest, austere, and ferocious conscience, that Javert had but just gone through some great interior struggle. Javert had nothing in his soul which he had not also in his countenance. Like violent people in general, he was subject to abrupt changes of opinion. His physiognomy had never been more peculiar and startling. On entering he bowed to M. Madeleine with a look in which there was neither rancor, anger, nor distrust; he halted a few paces in the rear of the mayor’s armchair, and there he stood, perfectly erect, in an attitude almost of discipline, with the cold, ingenuous roughness of a man who has never been gentle and who has always been patient; he waited without uttering a word, without making a movement, in genuine humility and tranquil resignation, calm, serious, hat in hand, with eyes cast down, and an expression which was half-way between that of a soldier in the presence of his officer and a criminal in the presence of his judge, until it should please the mayor to turn round. All the sentiments as well as all the memories which one might have attributed to him had disappeared. That face, as impenetrable and simple as granite, no longer bore any trace of anything but a melancholy depression. His whole person breathed lowliness and firmness and an indescribable courageous despondency.

At last the mayor laid down his pen and turned half round.

“Well! What is it? What is the matter, Javert?”

Javert remained silent for an instant as though collecting his ideas, then raised his voice with a sort of sad solemnity, which did not, however, preclude simplicity.

“This is the matter, Mr. Mayor; a culpable act has been committed.”

“What act?”

“An inferior agent of the authorities has failed in respect, and in the gravest manner, towards a magistrate. I have come to bring the fact to your knowledge, as it is my duty to do.”

“Who is the agent?” asked M. Madeleine.

“I,” said Javert.

“You?”

“I.”

“And who is the magistrate who has reason to complain of the agent?”

“You, Mr. Mayor.”

M. Madeleine sat erect in his armchair. Javert went on, with a severe air and his eyes still cast down.

“Mr. Mayor, I have come to request you to instigate the authorities to dismiss me.”

M. Madeleine opened his mouth in amazement. Javert interrupted him:—

“You will say that I might have handed in my resignation, but that does not suffice. Handing in one’s resignation is honorable. I have failed in my duty; I ought to be punished; I must be turned out.”

And after a pause he added:—

“Mr. Mayor, you were severe with me the other day, and unjustly. Be so to-day, with justice.”

“Come, now! Why?” exclaimed M. Madeleine. “What nonsense is this? What is the meaning of this? What culpable act have you been guilty of towards me? What have you done to me? What are your wrongs with regard to me? You accuse yourself; you wish to be superseded—”

“Turned out,” said Javert.

“Turned out; so it be, then. That is well. I do not understand.”

“You shall understand, Mr. Mayor.”

Javert sighed from the very bottom of his chest, and resumed, still coldly and sadly:—

“Mr. Mayor, six weeks ago, in consequence of the scene over that woman, I was furious, and I informed against you.”

“Informed against me!”

“At the Prefecture of Police in Paris.”

M. Madeleine, who was not in the habit of laughing much oftener than Javert himself, burst out laughing now:—

“As a mayor who had encroached on the province of the police?”

“As an ex-convict.”

The mayor turned livid.

Javert, who had not raised his eyes, went on:—

“I thought it was so. I had had an idea for a long time; a resemblance; inquiries which you had caused to be made at Faverolles; the strength of your loins; the adventure with old Fauchelevant; your skill in marksmanship; your leg, which you drag a little;—I hardly know what all,—absurdities! But, at all events, I took you for a certain Jean Valjean.”

“A certain—What did you say the name was?”

“Jean Valjean. He was a convict whom I was in the habit of seeing twenty years ago, when I was adjutant-guard of convicts at Toulon. On leaving the galleys, this Jean Valjean, as it appears, robbed a bishop; then he committed another theft, accompanied with violence, on a public highway on the person of a little Savoyard. He disappeared eight years ago, no one knows how, and he has been sought, I fancied. In short, I did this thing! Wrath impelled me; I denounced you at the Prefecture!”

M. Madeleine, who had taken up the docket again several moments before this, resumed with an air of perfect indifference:—

“And what reply did you receive?”

“That I was mad.”

“Well?”

“Well, they were right.”

“It is lucky that you recognize the fact.”

“I am forced to do so, since the real Jean Valjean has been found.”

The sheet of paper which M. Madeleine was holding dropped from his hand; he raised his head, gazed fixedly at Javert, and said with his indescribable accent:—

“Ah!”

Javert continued:—

“This is the way it is, Mr. Mayor. It seems that there was in the neighborhood near Ailly-le-Haut-Clocher an old fellow who was called Father Champmathieu. He was a very wretched creature. No one paid any attention to him. No one knows what such people subsist on. Lately, last autumn, Father Champmathieu was arrested for the theft of some cider apples from—Well, no matter, a theft had been committed, a wall scaled, branches of trees broken. My Champmathieu was arrested. He still had the branch of apple-tree in his hand. The scamp is locked up. Up to this point it was merely an affair of a misdemeanor. But here is where Providence intervened.

“The jail being in a bad condition, the examining magistrate finds it convenient to transfer Champmathieu to Arras, where the departmental prison is situated. In this prison at Arras there is an ex-convict named Brevet, who is detained for I know not what, and who has been appointed turnkey of the house, because of good behavior. Mr. Mayor, no sooner had Champmathieu arrived than Brevet exclaims: ‘Eh! Why, I know that man! He is a <i>fagot!</i> Take a good look at me, my good man! You are Jean Valjean!’ ‘Jean Valjean! who’s Jean Valjean?’ Champmathieu feigns astonishment. ‘Don’t play the innocent dodge,’ says Brevet. ‘You are Jean Valjean! You have been in the galleys of Toulon; it was twenty years ago; we were there together.’ Champmathieu denies it. Parbleu! You understand. The case is investigated. The thing was well ventilated for me. This is what they discovered: This Champmathieu had been, thirty years ago, a pruner of trees in various localities, notably at Faverolles. There all trace of him was lost. A long time afterwards he was seen again in Auvergne; then in Paris, where he is said to have been a wheelwright, and to have had a daughter, who was a laundress; but that has not been proved. Now, before going to the galleys for theft, what was Jean Valjean? A pruner of trees. Where? At Faverolles. Another fact. This Valjean’s Christian name was Jean, and his mother’s surname was Mathieu. What more natural to suppose than that, on emerging from the galleys, he should have taken his mother’s name for the purpose of concealing himself, and have called himself Jean Mathieu? He goes to Auvergne. The local pronunciation turns <i>Jean</i> into <i>Chan</i>—he is called Chan Mathieu. Our man offers no opposition, and behold him transformed into Champmathieu. You follow me, do you not? Inquiries were made at Faverolles. The family of Jean Valjean is no longer there. It is not known where they have gone. You know that among those classes a family often disappears. Search was made, and nothing was found. When such people are not mud, they are dust. And then, as the beginning of the story dates thirty years back, there is no longer any one at Faverolles who knew Jean Valjean. Inquiries were made at Toulon. Besides Brevet, there are only two convicts in existence who have seen Jean Valjean; they are Cochepaille and Chenildieu, and are sentenced for life. They are taken from the galleys and confronted with the pretended Champmathieu. They do not hesitate; he is Jean Valjean for them as well as for Brevet. The same age,—he is fifty-four,—the same height, the same air, the same man; in short, it is he. It was precisely at this moment that I forwarded my denunciation to the Prefecture in Paris. I was told that I had lost my reason, and that Jean Valjean is at Arras, in the power of the authorities. You can imagine whether this surprised me, when I thought that I had that same Jean Valjean here. I write to the examining judge; he sends for me; Champmathieu is conducted to me—”

“Well?” interposed M. Madeleine.

Javert replied, his face incorruptible, and as melancholy as ever:—

“Mr. Mayor, the truth is the truth. I am sorry; but that man is Jean Valjean. I recognized him also.”

M. Madeleine resumed in, a very low voice:—

“You are sure?”

Javert began to laugh, with that mournful laugh which comes from profound conviction.

“O! Sure!”

He stood there thoughtfully for a moment, mechanically taking pinches of powdered wood for blotting ink from the wooden bowl which stood on the table, and he added:—

“And even now that I have seen the real Jean Valjean, I do not see how I could have thought otherwise. I beg your pardon, Mr. Mayor.”

Javert, as he addressed these grave and supplicating words to the man, who six weeks before had humiliated him in the presence of the whole station-house, and bade him “leave the room,”—Javert, that haughty man, was unconsciously full of simplicity and dignity,—M. Madeleine made no other reply to his prayer than the abrupt question:—

“And what does this man say?”

“Ah! Indeed, Mr. Mayor, it’s a bad business. If he is Jean Valjean, he has his previous conviction against him. To climb a wall, to break a branch, to purloin apples, is a mischievous trick in a child; for a man it is a misdemeanor; for a convict it is a crime. Robbing and housebreaking—it is all there. It is no longer a question of correctional police; it is a matter for the Court of Assizes. It is no longer a matter of a few days in prison; it is the galleys for life. And then, there is the affair with the little Savoyard, who will return, I hope. The deuce! there is plenty to dispute in the matter, is there not? Yes, for any one but Jean Valjean. But Jean Valjean is a sly dog. That is the way I recognized him. Any other man would have felt that things were getting hot for him; he would struggle, he would cry out—the kettle sings before the fire; he would not be Jean Valjean, <i>et cetera</i>. But he has not the appearance of understanding; he says, ‘I am Champmathieu, and I won’t depart from that!’ He has an astonished air, he pretends to be stupid; it is far better. Oh! the rogue is clever! But it makes no difference. The proofs are there. He has been recognized by four persons; the old scamp will be condemned. The case has been taken to the Assizes at Arras. I shall go there to give my testimony. I have been summoned.”

M. Madeleine had turned to his desk again, and taken up his docket, and was turning over the leaves tranquilly, reading and writing by turns, like a busy man. He turned to Javert:—

“That will do, Javert. In truth, all these details interest me but little. We are wasting our time, and we have pressing business on hand. Javert, you will betake yourself at once to the house of the woman Buseaupied, who sells herbs at the corner of the Rue Saint-Saulve. You will tell her that she must enter her complaint against carter Pierre Chesnelong. The man is a brute, who came near crushing this woman and her child. He must be punished. You will then go to M. Charcellay, Rue Montre-de-Champigny. He complained that there is a gutter on the adjoining house which discharges rain-water on his premises, and is undermining the foundations of his house. After that, you will verify the infractions of police regulations which have been reported to me in the Rue Guibourg, at Widow Doris’s, and Rue du Garraud-Blanc, at Madame Renée le Bossé’s, and you will prepare documents. But I am giving you a great deal of work. Are you not to be absent? Did you not tell me that you were going to Arras on that matter in a week or ten days?”

“Sooner than that, Mr. Mayor.”

“On what day, then?”

“Why, I thought that I had said to Monsieur le Maire that the case was to be tried to-morrow, and that I am to set out by diligence to-night.”

M. Madeleine made an imperceptible movement.

“And how long will the case last?”

“One day, at the most. The judgment will be pronounced to-morrow evening at latest. But I shall not wait for the sentence, which is certain; I shall return here as soon as my deposition has been taken.”

“That is well,” said M. Madeleine.

And he dismissed Javert with a wave of the hand.

Javert did not withdraw.

“Excuse me, Mr. Mayor,” said he.

“What is it now?” demanded M. Madeleine.

“Mr. Mayor, there is still something of which I must remind you.”

“What is it?”

“That I must be dismissed.”

M. Madeleine rose.

“Javert, you are a man of honor, and I esteem you. You exaggerate your fault. Moreover, this is an offence which concerns me. Javert, you deserve promotion instead of degradation. I wish you to retain your post.”

Javert gazed at M. Madeleine with his candid eyes, in whose depths his not very enlightened but pure and rigid conscience seemed visible, and said in a tranquil voice:—

“Mr. Mayor, I cannot grant you that.”

“I repeat,” replied M. Madeleine, “that the matter concerns me.”

But Javert, heeding his own thought only, continued:—

“So far as exaggeration is concerned, I am not exaggerating. This is the way I reason: I have suspected you unjustly. That is nothing. It is our right to cherish suspicion, although suspicion directed above ourselves is an abuse. But without proofs, in a fit of rage, with the object of wreaking my vengeance, I have denounced you as a convict, you, a respectable man, a mayor, a magistrate! That is serious, very serious. I have insulted authority in your person, I, an agent of the authorities! If one of my subordinates had done what I have done, I should have declared him unworthy of the service, and have expelled him. Well? Stop, Mr. Mayor; one word more. I have often been severe in the course of my life towards others. That is just. I have done well. Now, if I were not severe towards myself, all the justice that I have done would become injustice. Ought I to spare myself more than others? No! What! I should be good for nothing but to chastise others, and not myself! Why, I should be a blackguard! Those who say, ‘That blackguard of a Javert!’ would be in the right. Mr. Mayor, I do not desire that you should treat me kindly; your kindness roused sufficient bad blood in me when it was directed to others. I want none of it for myself. The kindness which consists in upholding a woman of the town against a citizen, the police agent against the mayor, the man who is down against the man who is up in the world, is what I call false kindness. That is the sort of kindness which disorganizes society. Good God! it is very easy to be kind; the difficulty lies in being just. Come! if you had been what I thought you, I should not have been kind to you, not I! You would have seen! Mr. Mayor, I must treat myself as I would treat any other man. When I have subdued malefactors, when I have proceeded with vigor against rascals, I have often said to myself, ‘If you flinch, if I ever catch you in fault, you may rest at your ease!’ I have flinched, I have caught myself in a fault. So much the worse! Come, discharged, cashiered, expelled! That is well. I have arms. I will till the soil; it makes no difference to me. Mr. Mayor, the good of the service demands an example. I simply require the discharge of Inspector Javert.”

All this was uttered in a proud, humble, despairing, yet convinced tone, which lent indescribable grandeur to this singular, honest man.

“We shall see,” said M. Madeleine.

And he offered him his hand.

Javert recoiled, and said in a wild voice:—

“Excuse me, Mr. Mayor, but this must not be. A mayor does not offer his hand to a police spy.”

He added between his teeth:—

“A police spy, yes; from the moment when I have misused the police. I am no more than a police spy.”

Then he bowed profoundly, and directed his steps towards the door.

There he wheeled round, and with eyes still downcast:—

“Mr. Mayor,” he said, “I shall continue to serve until I am superseded.”

He withdrew. M. Madeleine remained thoughtfully listening to the firm, sure step, which died away on the pavement of the corridor.

[sencubussubs]

Effective (Topic-)Umbrella Affirmations

hi lovelies!

Here is how i create effective umbrella affirmations for specific aspects of my life :)

remember that just because i do it this way doesn’t mean it is the only way or that you have to use umbrella affirmations at all

i do this as opposed to listing every affirmation about how i want that part of my life to be because it is just easier. The process is less about the final umbrella affirmation and more about feeling comfortable and certain that you know what the umbrella affirmation will bring you!

Of course you don’t have to do this, i personally struggle with using umbrella affirmations without this process because i enjoy being very specific about my desires hehe.

this is gonna be a very short post, because it is a simple process.

1. Decide on the topic

e.g. Uni life

2. Ask myself what that aspect of my life would ideally be like

I make little lists of all the aspects:

e.g.

Grades: effortlessly get the highest grades in my cohort, only get 9’s and 10’s, easy assignments, retain lecture information long term, All the material is easy for me to understand

Social: lectures with my best friends, good group work partners, fun and effective study seshes, well liked by my mentors, always invited to house parties and nights out,

etc

3. Umbrella Affirmations time!

now you can pick a simple short affirmation, like for this example “i love my perfect uni life”, because you have made clear for yourself what that perfect life looks like for you! You can use I am or I have statements, i personally like to use ‘i love’ because of the way it makes me feel. Find something that feels comfortable or fun for you to say, you can also have an askfirmation as your umbrella affirmation if you like!

This process for me helps me prevent extra resistance towards my affirmations and avoids tiring me out from needing to name endless affirmations about how my life looks. To me umbrella affirmations start me questioning on what my perfect life is, etc, so once i am sure on exactly what it is then i feel more comfortable and trusting when affirming for it,

I do, however, use a multitude of affirmations when i am rampaging! but for the rest i find it easy to both mindlessly and consciously affirm with a short umbrella affirmation.

Love,

Saph

[thestarryeyedadmirer]

I came into Art School thinking that it’d be a walk in the park. I mean, I’ve been making art my entire life — painting, sculpting, printmaking, and working with wood for as long as I can remember. Not to brag… but, I’ve won so many awards for my work, my parents had to buy an entire storage unit for me, just to have somewhere to store all of my accolades. I’ve even been recognized on a national level for some of my pieces. The things that many of my peers are only now learning how to do in college, I’ve been doing as mere hobbies for most of my life… and, I’d like to think that I’ve mastered them… so, it was only natural for me to come into my first year of university operating under such an ignorant assumption.

When it comes to school, I usually don’t have a hard time being successful. My academic records and transcripts speak for themselves. In all my years of education, I’ve never gotten a grade lower than a B, not even once, and I’ve been a Top Scholar since second grade. I’m good at juggling my responsibilities — making ample time for studying, doing and turning in my homework assignments earlier than I need to, acing every test, and racking up the hours of extracurricular activities — but, this semester, I’m having some trouble focusing in my Art History class… just the one class… and it’s not for any reasons that you may be thinking.

See… I have this professor — Professor Pascal — who teaches my Art History course… and when the year began, he was already about six months pregnant. I’m talking belly popping out underneath his shirt, outie navel as big as a doorknob, chest all puffy and leaky, feet so swollen that he can only wear Crocs and open-toed shoes in class, constantly moody and complaining about his body aches, binge eating in class, and too foggy-headed to maintain a straight line of thought pregnant. Like… pregnant, pregnant. Extremely pregnant. The man is at least forty-five years old… which is concerning on its own… and he’s as big as a house.

To make matters worse, he always wears clothes that he bought before he got knocked up — before he started to gain weight, and his belly began to swell — and they’re so obiously tiny and uncomfortable. Sweaters that are meant to be loose, stretched past their limits and tucked into his pants, to cover his massive stomach. Button-downs that pop open several times during lectures, exposing his hairy, bloated torso to hundreds of students at once. Suit jackets that don’t accommodate for the extra weight that he may have gained. Khakis that hug him so tight that they look like a second layer of skin. Underwear that peeks over the waistband of his bottoms, rides up his butt crack, and shows off a visible outline of his engorged genitals.

He so pregnant that it’s honestly hard to ignore. You know how, usually, when someone’s expecting, you can just acknowledge it and move on… most times, without things being weird or awkward? Well… it’s not like that with Professor Pascal. Not for me, at least. I just can’t stop staring at his belly in class… thinking about it. It takes up so much space in my mind, I think it may be making me… dumb.

No matter what the subject of his lectures are, what assignments he may have us doing for the week, or how many pages of notes that I take, I can’t stop gawking at it… curious. It’s like, I can’t see anything else, or hear anything. The huge whiteboard and padded, sound-reflective walls behind him fade into a plain, flat backdrop… and his words slowly turn to gibberish. I get tunnel vision… stop taking notes, and everything. I can’t retain any information… and then I have to cheat on my homework, my quiz grades drop… then my test scores, and then, my GPA. It’s a slippery slope.

I’ve never, not once in my life, had an overall letter grade lower than a B… but, in Professor Pascal’s Art History course, I’m going through the semester with a C+.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me… or what I can do to improve my grade. He doesn’t offer extra credit, or accept late work. He says that his class is “too easy for anyone to fall that far behind”… and yet, here I am, with a C+.

It’s just… when I’m sitting in that lecture hall — in the very first row of seats — that tunnel vision sets in, and I start to daydream. I… I fantasize about him coming down from his low-rise stage and walking up to me. He picks me, out of a crowd of nearly three hundred people, even though my hand isn’t raised, and presents me with a question regarding the curriculum… something that I’m supposed to know the answer to. Of course, I fumble the response… and, as he’s standing in front of me, waiting impatiently for me to come up with even a single sentence that makes sense, his button-down shirt bursts open, and his beautiful belly spills out, hitting my face like a fuzzy airbag. Next thing you know, I’ve lost control of my tongue, and I’m slurping at his navel as though a life-giving nectar is going to leak out of it… or something like that… in front of everyone — just making a sloppy mess of saliva on my professor’s pregnant belly.

It’s sick… I know. Maybe I’m disturbed, or there’s something wrong with me. Maybe I’m a freak… but I just can’t control it. The fantasy is too good. All I know is that, for the first time in my entire academic career, I’m falling behind… and, the worst part about it is that I can’t pin the blame on Mr.Pascal for being a shitty professor, or make the claim that he’s harboring some deep-seeded hatred for me. My poor grade is all my fault… and I have to live with that.

[natsuki208]

Happy Birthday to my best girl Hange Zoe! 🎉 🎉

It’s very strange how I declared Hange to be my top favourite of Attack on Titan, and yet I don’t talk about her that much. Well… I think now shall be a good time.

(yes, I’m fully aware Hange is confirmed non binary but I’m too use with using female pronouns at this stage)

Ever since I first layed eyes on her and heard her voice, I knew instantly that this girl is something. Hange claimed to have an odd fixation with studying the titans, which makes sense for the story and for us the audience to get more info about said creatures, but man does she take it to another level.

Her enthusiasm with further discoveries (like with Eren being a titan shifter) and energetic behaviour always brought a smile to my face. Even if the rest of the cast thinks she’s a maniac - especially Moblit.

Oh, did I mention that Jessica Calvello did a fantastic job with bringing Hange to life? She really brought out the craziness of this mad titan enthusiast, but also delivered during her more serious moments. Oh yes, this gal isn’t all just freaking out over carnivorous giants.

Hange can still be very mature when the situation calls for it; like during the uprising arc while fighting against Kenny Squad and Reiss, or looking out for the younger scouts and Levi. This eventually goes further when Erwin had to be left to rest and she had to take his place as new commander… but that’s when things became a complicated mess.

During season 4, she almost retained some of that old crazy enthusiast but on a whole, just didn’t feel like herself anymore. I get that she had to deal with so much new information about Marley and plans including Hizuru and the rumbling, but that’s just it.

This poor veteran was forced upon a role where she ended up acting like she had no idea what she was doing. On top of all that, this led to her making one of the stupidest deaths in the entire story (all thanks to that red headed f***er) and we’re left with nobody for Levi to comfort with and share stories about this to future generations without titans.

I still love Hange a lot, but the last season barely did anything with her except be where the story needed her to be until she got kicked out for drama sake. The best girl deserved more than being half-baked and left for dead, both literally and figuratively. That’s all I will say about this for now.

[like-a-bantha]

Sleep Study

Summary: When there's no time for piloting lessons, you suggest a sort of learning-by-osmosis experiment to Tech. What could possibly go wrong?

Pairing: Tech/GN Reader (No Y/N)

Rating: T

Warnings: Language, not beta-read

Word Count: 6.2K

AO3 | Masterlist

Now, this might sound weird – maybe even a tad disrespectful – but bear with me.

I’ve recently begun piloting lessons with Tech and I couldn’t ask for a better teacher. He knows, while I am a proficient mechanic, I’m a total novice when it comes to actually flying, and the man deserves a medal for his patience with me. I’ll ask the same question five times and he only gets mildly agitated around the third, but he’s always been understanding. Not everyone can be a certified genius, after all.

So lessons have been going pretty not bad, I’d say; it’s the workload that’s been causing problems. Cid’s got us going from job to job with almost no breaks. Lately we’re lucky if we get half a rotation to stop and refuel, let alone catch our breath. We’re all exhausted. We’re all on edge. It’s gotten to the point where we’ve had to put a pause on the lessons for a few days just to keep up with general maintenance on top of the back-to-back missions. Thankfully, in those few quiet moments where we can get to that maintenance, I’ve been able to sort of keep up on my lessons thanks to Tech’s rants. And maybe, for whatever reason, my brain decided these rants were incredibly soothing on one particular sleepless flight. And maybe, who knows why, I may have fallen asleep just a bit. It didn’t seem like Tech was angry, or even upset. He was almost apologetic when he gently nudged me awake.

Today, after landing on Ord Mantell for an incredibly brief pit stop, Tech and I work in silence below the ship. He’s been quiet with me since my last accidental nap and I just can’t figure out how to voice how sorry I am without sounding — I don’t know. Disingenuous? And if I’m honest, how do I avoid sounding like a total creep? But we’re just working next to each other, neither of us saying a word, and it’s nice but it’s not us and there’s this massive knot in my gut saying well, it’s your own fault, don’t you remember? 

This silence is awfully comfortable. It really would be such a shame if something were to change that.

“Hey, Tech,” I jumped in without a plan and I’ve given up hope on this being eloquent in any way, at this point I’ll be glad if my question is at least somewhat coherent, “I’m sorry about,” I trail off a bit, I don’t want to finish that sentence actually, “I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but I just, I had this idea — weird idea — and maybe a request? Feel free to shoot it down, I mean, if it’s too much. Would you mind sending me the audio files of your lessons? Sorry, just, they’re really interesting but also relaxing and, and, maybe it can be a sort of experiment, y’know? If I fall asleep listening will I retain the information? Strange idea, sorry.”

Tech stares blankly, and when I turn to meet his gaze after giving myself a moment to reboot, he continues to stare blankly. His head is just barely tilted, and he wears a look somewhere between genuine confusion and borderline concern. With a slight shake of his head he finally responds, “Forgive me, I’m afraid I do not follow.”

If only there was a way to smash your head into a wall a few times without doing any real damage. I’d kill for that right about now. I could’ve just kept my mouth shut but no. Real bang-up job on my part.

“I, uh, I fell asleep the other day because – well, because I was tired, mainly – I don’t know, I just find your voice really soothing? Like, everything’s been really chaotic lately but listening to you talk about paralight systems made it,” I take a deep breath, no going back now, “ah, it made it a lot less chaotic. Like everything was quiet for a minute. Safe.”

Another long exhale. Tech’s still silent, processing, but his brows are raised now and his eyes have gone a bit wide behind his goggles. I can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing just yet. It’s probably best to go against my gut and keep my mouth shut for a few minutes, but now the minutes feel longer than usual. Karked this one up a bit, I think.

“So you would like the audio files to… study?” I nod before he even finishes his sentence. “Or will you be using them to fall asleep?” I’m still nodding and it certainly isn’t helping his confusion at all.

“Both?” I shrug.

He raises his gloved hand inquisitively to his chin, and his face is blank aside from the visible pondering, and now I’m really starting to think I’ve karked it all up. I could’ve put more thought into it, taken my time both in the apology and easing him into the idea of sharing his pre-recorded knowledge, but instead I sloppily tossed all my cards on the table knowing I had a shit hand. And not just any shit hand, no, it’s an alarmingly weird hand. Just as I’m about to start spewing apologies his hand drops slightly from his chin, index finger extended, “An interesting experiment indeed. I shall transfer the files of our previous lessons as well as my own personal recordings.”

Huh.

Wait. “Personal recordings?” Why do my ears feel warm?

Luckily for me his face is buried too deep in his datapad to notice the tinge of red creeping up my neck. “Yes, before you joined our squad and long before our schedule became so hectic, I kept an audio diary of sorts. Detailed accounts of my findings on missions.”

“Cool,” Yes, I can feel how wide and dopey my grin is but I’m still riding the high of my botched opener somehow working and couldn’t care less. “I feel like I remember seeing you telling a bug facts about itself way back when I met you guys. Makes sense now.”

His brows immediately furrow as he finally pulls his gaze away from the glowing screen in his hands. “You assumed I was talking to the insect?”

Straight faced, I raise both my hands like I’m pleading innocent. “Hey, I don’t judge.”

I break first. My shoulders begin to shake, then my still-raised hands, as the laughter bubbles up. Tech isn’t far behind. We look at each other as we laugh and I can’t help thinking that if it were anyone else I’d hide my face, but it’s like I’ve just now realized turning away would mean missing this uncharacteristically uncontained joy. 

Normally I hate sleeping in my helmet. I know it’s for protection or whatever, but there are few things worse than waking up with a crick in your neck and the gnarly one-two punch that is the bed-head-helmet hair hybrid. Alas, I am dedicated to not only my experiment but also not getting mocked by Wrecker for the next week for listening to Tech’s lecture on, let’s see… “Botanical Symbolism in Folklore Across Kashyyyk”? Sounds interesting. But since I’m not on watch for another seven hours, I can actually take my time choosing rather than scrolling a few pages ahead to the B’s and picking the first one that stands out. I kept scrolling and skimming for a while, he must’ve sent his entire audio library to me; there are hundreds of pages and I’m barely halfway through the aurebesh. Then I’m suddenly scrolling rapidly back to the top of the page as if my subconscious just had a great idea that I’m simply too conscious to understand, and that great idea is to sort the files in chronological order.

I don’t have to scroll back very far at all, Tech wasn’t kidding when he said he only stopped his audio diary when the work started. There’s one titled “The mountainous planet of Guntcania 5” from a few days before we last left Ord Mantell. We’d been sent to loot a newly abandoned Imperial shipyard, driven out by a group of formidable freedom fighters whom we were told were not in it for the profit but the valiant cause. Turns out it was both. I remember Tech quietly commenting on the geological formations to no one in particular. I remember standing a bit closer to hear his comments. I fell asleep just shy of eleven minutes after hitting play.

He caught me in the kitchen not long after I woke up, both of us beelining to the instant caf.

“Thought your shift was over,” I grab two packets from the drawer as Tech retrieves two mugs from the cupboard, “Want some of that herbal tea instead? Get some rest, maybe?”

It’s nice, these quiet moments with him. I’ll watch the kettle, if that old saying is true maybe I can buy us a few more of those moments.

“I have yet to decrypt the schematics from the refinery,” With a heavy sigh he sets the datapad down on the countertop, his shoulders hang and his exhaustion is visible, “Once I’ve completed that and analyze the data I will rest. Until then, I will stick with caf.”

I give a sympathetic smile, “Y’know, I’d offer to help but I think that isn’t exactly my area of expertise.”

“I would more than appreciate the company,” Tech interjects, and by the look on his face I think it took us both by surprise. “If you would be so kind as to join me, that is. Though, if you have duties you must attend to I completely understand and–”

My surprise quickly melts into a warm smile. “‘Course, Tech. I’d love to.” And his face softens in turn. And then there’s a beat where we’re just standing there smiling at each other. Then another. And another. Have you ever seen a tooka knock a cup off of a table and jump at the sound of the crash? Now, imagine that but instead of a tooka it’s two mercenaries, and instead of the clatter of a cup it’s the kettle coming to a boil with an abrupt screech. I think we’d find it much funnier if we weren’t still in the vast realm of half-asleep. Right now, it’s just enough to elicit a soft chuckle at most.

Tech retrieves his datapad as I fix the caf. “Have you begun conducting your experiment? I’m sure you’ve already seen, but I have transferred all of my files from the past year or so, I’m interested to hear your findings.”

It’s enough to slow my movements, brain power diverted to processing his question as I reach for the milk at half speed. “Oh. I, uh, I played the one from Guntcania 5. Didn’t last long, though, I was out by the time you got to regional climates.”

“You were with us for that mission. Perhaps choosing a mission or topic you are unfamiliar with would better prove your theory.”

I nod once before turning to join him, a steaming mug in each hand, carefully placing the caf in front of him as I sit. “Realized as soon as I woke up. Any recommendations for tonight's file?”

He names several from memory as he works on his own task, giving brief descriptions of each without giving away too much — that could skew the results. I add them all to a separate folder, sorting them in order of how excited Tech seemed at the topic.

Of course, things got hectic again and I didn’t have time for experiments – I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been listening to those files, though. Five rotations, a standard week’s worth of sleeps and dreams in the tune of Tech’s voice. I’m waking up well-rested despite sleeping only a handful of hours at a time. I’m practically begging the force to fry some wiring or call off a job to spend even just a few minutes with him. I’m starting to think I may have a problem.

Cid called while we were out hunting down puffer pigs for one of her clients. Hunter walked away with the holoprojector about halfway through the conversation, he later told Omega this was to avoid scaring the animals but Echo and I overheard the real reason. That’s another ten credits in the swear jar. When we get one, that is; right now it’s sort of just an honor system. Next mission – big client, big payout, big enough to hack away a good chunk of our debt and take a couple days off – was called off at the last second, she’d try talking to the client again but, right now, and I quote, “He ain’t budgin’.” We’re still on call, though, and flat broke after our last refuel, so this is really just the galaxy’s worst vacation. Hunter’s hushed and extensive vocabulary perfectly summed up our feelings on the matter.

I was going to try to get some rest on the way back to Ord Mantell but puffer pigs are noisy enough in a relaxed state, toss six of them in a cramped starship and toss that starship into hyperspace and you’ll start to realize noisy doesn’t even begin describe it. Poor Hunter’s locked himself in the ‘fresher, of course Tech installed some sound dampening element to the audio relay in his helmet, but that can only do so much. Omega and Wrecker tried calming the animals to no avail, they’ve resorted to tossing bits of ration bars at them as – I’d say tasty, but eugh – edible bribes. Echo and Tech are arguing over something; it’s small, I think, but I’m too tired to step in and mediate right now. What was supposed to be a short flight felt like years.

“Never thought I’d be happy to be back here, but it sure beats being stuck in hyperspace with these things,” Echo says quietly, carefully lowering the crate in his arms, making sure not to wake the puffer pig that had just fallen asleep. I gently placed the crate I was holding right next to it, maybe when they wake up in this new place seeing one another will calm them down. Or they’ll freak out together.

“Between you and the puffer pigs, I must choose the latter,” Tech mutters, still snippy after the long journey, Echo and I turn to look at him in unison.

Echo’s expression is that of a brother who’s accustomed to that sort of teasing, flat and unphased. Mine, however…

“Hey,” I do my best to keep my voice down, “Not cool.”

Echo’s expression is no longer unphased. It is phased. There’s confusion, surprise, the hint of a smile; he seemed as tired as the rest of us before, but this clearly perked him up. Usually when I step in on these little disagreements I remain as unbiased as I can but I am now, very clearly, taking Echo’s side and now he’s visibly interested in seeing how this plays out. I know I still look hurt by the comment that wasn’t even about me. And Tech, his shift in emotion is visible, I could see him process his remark and my reaction, and his furrowed brows loosen as he looks between the two of us.

“You are correct,” Tech nods once, looking to his brother, “Apologies, Echo, I did not mean that.”

After a moment, a smile graces Echo’s face, “I’ll accept that apology.” And gives his brother a solid pat on the shoulder on his way over to the bar.

“I get grumpy-tired, too, I know how it is,” I bump him with my shoulder, an attempt to break a tension that was not there.

“You do not seem grumpy right now,” Tech breathes out a laugh.

I shrug, “Well maybe I’m not tired right now. Maybe I’m just–” My body decides this is the perfect time for an unsuppressable yawn. “Maybe I’m too tired to be grumpy-tired.”

Tech hums, “A valid theory, it seems.” With a tired chuckle and lazy nod I glance around the near-empty bar. Wrecker and Echo sit at the counter with their drinks while they recount the mission to Cid. Hunter’s setting up the cot for Omega, who is already beginning to fall asleep at Cid’s desk, before he joins his brothers. “I am going to head back to the Marauder and get some rest if you care to accompany me.”

“Yes, please, a quiet ship and sleep sounds like heaven right now,” He stands aside, allowing me to lead the way out of the parlor after saying goodnight to our squadmates.

The cool air of Ord Mantell is enough to keep me awake just long enough to carry myself back to the ship. I hear the ghost of a laugh beside me as another yawn takes hold of me. “I fear you may have conditioned yourself, the sound of my voice alone seems to be putting you to sleep.”

Turns out I’m not too tired for a good laugh, “Yeah, keep talking and you’re gonna have to carry me the rest of the way.”

“I assure you, I was trained to carry men twice my size across the battlefield, I can manage.”

“Right,” I nod, later I’ll blame my dopey smile on exhaustion, “Hey, wait, why men twice your size?”

“It is standard protocol.”

“No, like, isn’t it a one size type of deal? Clones and all, y’know,” He stares blankly at me. “Well, yeah, a few exceptions, but broadly speaking it’s just the one size.”

“I see,” Tech says, and I’ve got this look like I just beat a holochess master, “Your exhaustion has caused a state of delirium. Perhaps this means I’m forced to carry you the rest of the way to best keep you safe.” A barked laugh escapes me at that. “Very well.”

Wait. “Wait! No, no, I’m good! I’m up! I’m awake!” And I am, very much so now as I pick up my pace to evade capture. After my laughter subsides I slow my steps to a walk, and Tech quickly catches up, as we traverse the familiar streets of Ord Mantell.

The Marauder’s ramp lowers with a hiss as we approach. “Dibs on the sonic,” I call over my shoulder as I scurry towards the refresher, Tech makes no protest and takes his time boarding the starship. Our water supply, while it is thankfully abundant these days, always seems to be stuck at the average human body temperature – no warmer, no colder – but at least the cycle itself doesn’t last long at all. A full-body shower only takes about three minutes in the sonic, Republic standard for conservation of resources and time between missions according to Tech. While it is efficient, I do miss a good boiling hot, thirty minute shower to tell the truth; I’d never tell the squad that, though, I’m grateful for what we’ve got.

The chime of my datapad sounded halfway through the sonic’s cycle and I emerge to find a message from Tech. A new audio file and a handful of recommendations. I dress myself with an all-too-giddy smile. After hastily gathering up my things from the ‘fresher I elbow the door control, ready to shout my thanks to the clone and surrender the now warm ‘fresher to him. Instead, however, I am met with the clone himself, standing in front of the doorway, datapad in one hand while the other is in position to knock on the now open door.

He retracts that hand quickly, though, he still looks as if he’s about to say something but nothing has come out yet.

I decide to take the lead. “Hey, thanks for the message. ‘Fresher’s all yours.” 

His parted lips form a smile. “I- you are welcome.” But when I exit the refresher and step to the side he makes no move to enter. “After reviewing a handful of files I found those to be most interesting, I hope this helps your experiment.”

My grin widens, “Thank you, Tech, it’ll definitely help.” He nods just once with a smile before retreating into the ‘fresher. Maybe I stared at the door just a second too long. Maybe I even let out a quiet little giggle before heading over to my bunk.

I can hear the sonic start as I finally turn in, scrolling through highlighted files on my datapad while I try to get comfortable on the flat old mattress pad which always proves to be an impossible task. My sights lock in on a file between two of Tech’s suggestions labeled “Repairs and Maintenance”. Do I already know the in’s and out’s of most starships? Of course. Do I still learn something new everytime Tech talks about the in’s and out’s of the Marauder? Of kriffing course. Perfect.

The sonic’s still running when I put my helmet on and hit play, and I’m promptly out like a light.

I wake with a stir when I feel something plush fall on my helmeted head and open my eyes to see a large hand reach down and grab the offending object. Wrecker whispers an apology as he gingerly retrieves his Lula after dropping her into my bunk. Still half asleep, I can’t decide if that sorry was for me or the doll. The guys are back.

With a quiet, sleepy groan, I roll onto my side and pull my knees to my chest, blindly reaching for the datapad behind me. Waking the device is a mistake as I am instantly shocked by its brightness, my eyes snap shut and I dim the screen. I’ve moved onto a new recording, it seems. This one is titled “Atmospheric Changes of Taccoh”, about five minutes in. Taccoh was one of my first missions with them, I remember my excitement at how well we worked together as a team. I’m not usually good on a team, but clicking with these guys was just easy. It just felt right.

“—they seem to be adjusting rather well to mercenary work. I must say, they are quite the knowledgeable mechanic and are proving to be a great asset to the squad. Wrecker’s comments on their romantic interest in me are, in my opinion, absurd. Though I would not be opposed to such interest, I find the probability highly unlikely. Their interest, as I’ve observed, lies both in their work and the pursuit of knowledge. Qualities I find most admirable, as well as —“

Pause.

The heart rate monitor on my dimmed HUD glows an ominous red as the number rises.

Oh god. Kriff. I found Tech’s kriffing diary.

I pry the helmet from my head, foregoing any attempt to fix my surely frazzled hair, still damp from the fresher, and swing my legs over the side of my bunk to sit up. My whole body is tense, my knuckles pale from the force of my grip on the durasteel frame. Fresh air. Yes. Fresh air would do me good right now, I’d say.

The room seems to spin as I fumble for my boots and the sheer volume at which my mind screams nearly drowns out Echo, half-asleep and confused, staring at me through squinted eyes from his bunk.

“You alright?” His tired voice repeats.

“Yes, yeah,” I answer, all too quickly, “just need some air, is all. You okay? You good? Sleeping okay?”

Echo’s brows furrow, he shifts slightly to face me properly, “I was,” he suppresses a yawn and I hurry up with my boots, “but then you shot up like you saw a ghost.”

My laughter is quiet but crazed, and I can barely hear it, “Ship’s not haunted, Echo, go back to sleep.” 

I stand to leave but the quiet call of my name stops me in my tracks, I turn to face the sleepy clone. “You sure you’re alright?” 

“I’m fine,” I try to make it sound convincing but I know it’s a sorry attempt, “really, get some rest. Be back soon.” His gaze remains fixed on me for a moment longer before he shuts his eyes, nodding before settling his head on the pillow once again. I let out a portion of a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding as I hurry out of the ship and into the crisp night air of Ord Mantel.

My feet take me to Cid’s. She shut the sign off but I can hear the jukebox from the street, no luck kicking out the regulars for the night, it seems. My feet then decide to take me down the stairs. Then to the bar.

“Great, I try to kick two out and a third appears,” the trandoshan huffs from behind the bar, “If you’re looking for dark and broody and the kid, they’re sleeping. Not sure how, these two bozos won’t shut up.” She shouts in the direction of the booming jukebox and patrons as she pours two drinks before sliding one to me.

“Hey, can I get your take on something?” I down the drink, extending the cup in a silent request. 

She glances tentatively first at my now empty cup, then at her own drink, before quickly finishing it to pour us each a second round. “Depends.”

“On?”

“Tell ya after I hear it.”

I laugh into my drink. “This stays between us.” She laughs into her drink. “Or I can just finish my free drink and leave.”

“Fine, fine. Between us.” She waves a dismissive hand. “But it better be interesting or these are going on your tab.”

My brows furrow, I nod just once before finishing my second drink, and the second the empty cup makes contact with the sticky countertop I blurt it out, “I listened to Tech’s diary.”

She waits for me to go on, I wait for her to be a voice of reason. Neither of us get what we’re looking for. “Alright, you found Goggles’ diary. And?”

“And?” I echo, incredulously. “I accidentally listened to some really, really personal stuff that I can’t un-listen to, what do I do? Do I tell him? What, do I say ‘Hey, Tech, so the learning by osmosis experiment was a bust but a little birdie — you, you’re the birdie — told me you had a big ol’ crush on me, for, like a while, so I just wanted to —‘ I don’t know what I want. Kriff, this is bad, isn’t it?”

Cid stares at me like I’m a three-headed mythosaur for what feels like hours, I try to calm my breathing, try to take a sip from my already empty cup. I’m only pulled out of my thought loop by the howl of Cid’s laughter. It even manages to pull Bolo and Ketch’s attention away from the jukebox, if only for a second. In all the time I’ve known her, I’ve never heard Cid laugh so hard. My look of shock remains even as her laughter subsides.

“Good one, kid. You almost had me for a second there.” She gently wipes a tear from the corner of her eye, but the laughter returns when she notices my expression is unchanged. “Oh, you’re serious?”

“Obviously I’m kriffing serious! Cid, I’m kind of in deep shit here, I need advice, I don’t need you laughing in my face!”

“Oh, relax, it’s not like you didn’t know. You idiots have been pining over each other from day one. Didn’t think Goggles would make the first move, though, I owe Muscles ten credits.” She mutters, though clearly still amused.

“I didn’t know! Force, how would I have known!” I put my head down on the bar with a sigh. “So, what, everyone knows and I’m just the last to find out?”

“Got it.”

All I can manage is a dramatic groan.

“Just talk to him, what’s the worst that can happen?”

I don’t even need to think about it, “I say exactly what I said before, weird him out, and go back to working by myself because he never wants to see me again.”

“Yeesh, try living a little sometime, kid. It’ll do you good,” Cid cringes into her cup, “Talk to him. Trust me.”

With a roll of my eyes I extend my empty cup one last time, Cid fills it without a word and I down the drink before leaving the empty glass on the bar as I stand, “Those were on you, I could’ve gotten better advice from Bolo and Ketch.”

“Can’t argue with you there, they’ve been together as long as I’ve known them,” She rinses out the empty cup and tosses it into the washer. “He’s crazy about you, kid. Just tell him how you feel.”

Cid’s words play on repeat in my mind as I wander the now empty city streets. Talk to him right, easier said than done. What if he’s not ready for a relationship? What if I’m not? We’re already so busy, will we really have the time? What if this changes our dynamic irreparably? What if I lose my closest friend?

It takes hearing someone call my name to pull me from what could’ve been an eternal thought loop. I’m back at Cid’s, a weary Hunter stands below the glowing sign, his arms crossed and he somehow looks both concerned and amused, “Going for a fourth lap around the block?” My lips part as if I could form a response but I come up short, opting to shrug instead. “Care if I join you?” I nod and we walk side by side, allowing silence to settle between us.

“Thought you were asleep,” I break that silence. Better to get it out of the way now, I figure I know where this is going.

“Not with all that noise,” Hunter lets out a deep sigh, he must know he could just power the damn jukebox down and get some rest. “I don’t know how Omega does it, that kid can sleep through anything.”

“She’s exhausted,” I let out a sigh of my own, “We all are.”

“Cid’s focused in on this puffer pig client, that’ll buy us some time to regroup, rest up.”

“Good. That’s good.”

Hunter nods, the silence that follows is not as easy or relaxed as earlier. He breaks it first, “I’m assuming you know what I’m about to say.”

“Yeah.”

“What’s the plan?”

“Talk, I guess. Can’t not now, huh?”

“That’s your choice,” He stops walking, catching me off guard, I stop a few paces ahead and turn to face him, “Never thought I’d say it, but I’m with Cid. The happiest I’ve ever seen him is when he’s talking to you. I get the feeling the same goes for you.”

I bite the inside of my lip, suppressing the smile that threatens to light up my face. Not the time. I nod, crossing my arms, “It does.”

“Good,” He smiles this warm, genuine smile before his serious sergeant demeanor returns, “Don’t let it get in the way of the job.”

“Copy that.” I give him a mock salute, to which his head drops with a tired laugh before his ears perk up. I raise my eyebrows in question as he turns his head in the direction of the parlor.

“Music’s stopped,” Hunter takes a step forward, extending an arm to pat my shoulder before retreating. “Get some rest.”

“Thanks, Hunter.” I give a little wave and watch as he retreats to the now quiet bar down the dimly lit street.

I begin my walk back to the ship, my mind still racing but not nearly as catastrophically quick as before my chat with Hunter. He’s probably still asleep, and I’m not planning on going back to the ship to wake him up and talk about this. My best bet would be to shoot him a message, ask if we could talk when he wakes up. Word travels too fast with these guys and the last thing I want is Wrecker bragging to his brothers about how he put his money on Tech and won. When I reach for my datapad I find the pocket is empty. Of course. I pick up the pace, almost frantically trying to recall whether or not I locked the device in my hasty departure. Odds aren’t looking great, though.

I take my boots off at the bottom of the ramp and tip-toe up in bare feet. Two out of the three men aboard are light sleepers and the last thing I want is to wake them as if I’m some teen sneaking back home after a party. Quiet as a mouse droid, I make my way back to my bunk as Wrecker’s snores reverberate through the durasteel walls. I’m greeted by my helmet, tossed haphazardly next to my pillow, but no datapad. Uh-oh. I glance into Echo’s bunk and find him sleeping, but the bunk above his, Tech’s bunk, remains empty. You’ve gotta be kriffing kidding me. Back to my tip-toes, I make my way to the kitchenette first, also empty, then the cockpit. The control panel is dimmed and all of the seats turned forward, if it weren’t for the tell-tale glow of a datapad screen I’d have thought Tech had simply vanished.

Without a word I join him, only releasing a quiet sigh as I sit in the copilot’s seat. He doesn’t look up from the datapad, its screen displaying the evidence of my discovery in bold text. “I didn’t intend to include such personal files.”

“Yeah, I didn’t intend to listen.” He nods before handing me my device, our gazes still not meeting. I take a turn staring at the display, rereading the title of the file over and over as I continue, “I fell asleep listening to ‘Repairs and Maintenance’, woke up to this one.”

“I, again, must sincerely apologize for any discomfort this finding has brought you, I was not planning to tell you in such an impersonal manner.”

“How did you…” I trail off, he was fast asleep when I left, I never pegged him for the type to pretend to be asleep and his quiet snores sounded so real.

“Echo woke me up, it was shortly after you had left. He said you appeared to be in a state of shock, I found you’d left your datapad open on your bunk.”

“That checks out.” Now that I’m here with him I can almost find the humor in the situation, I even manage a quiet laugh, “I’m sorry I flipped out, I just wasn’t expecting to wake up to that, I guess.”

He finally turns to face me, “You have nothing to apologize for.” “Neither do you,” I retort, meeting his gaze with a smile. I can almost see his thought process before his mouth forms an ‘o’ shape as he realizes the meaning behind my words. I continue, regardless, I heard him spill his guts, it’s only fair I do the same for him, “I feel the same way, Tech. I have for a while. Come to think of it, maybe I always have. Your feelings didn’t scare me, the possibilities did.”

He cocks his head in question, “Possibilities?”

“I’m scared of our dynamic changing, I’m scared I’ll kriff it all up and lose you. I’m no good at this kind of stuff and the last thing I want is for our relationship to suffer because of me,” I ignore the tears beginning to form in my eyes, turning my attention back to the viewport. Tech’s gaze, however, remains locked on me.

A hand reaches out, resting gently on mine, his thumb ghosting across my shaking fingers, “My darling, the fact that you are willing to voice these fears should be evidence enough that you have nothing to worry about. You contain a level of emotional intelligence that will never cease to amaze me. Should you choose to act upon these feelings, I assure you, we will be just fine.”

My eyes meet his, I don’t notice a tear has fallen until he reaches his hand up to wipe it away. When he notices how I lean into his touch, he cradles my cheek ever so gently, and I shut my eyes to savor the feeling, letting a warm smile wash away my worried frown. I rest a still-shaky hand upon his, opening my eyes to meet his once again, “What do you say we figure it out together, then?”

“A wonderful idea, darling,” Tech closes the small distance between us, placing a kiss upon my forehead. I can feel his smile. “However, I’ll need to review my files before you continue your experiment.”

I pull back, a look of faux shock on my face, too giddy to feel the real thing right now, “You mean there’s more?”

“Frankly, an embarrassing amount, perhaps we will review them someday but I’ve taken the liberty of deleting the more… risque files from your library.”

I’m glad the door to the cockpit is closed, otherwise the volume of my laugh surely would’ve woken both Echo and Wrecker, “Risque?!”

“I would greatly appreciate it if you refrained from mocking me,” Tech sighs, the mirth in his tone evident.

“Maybe that can be the next experiment,” I laugh with a smirk.

“Mocking me does not sound like an experiment I would have any interest in partaking in, thank you very–” His mild offense fades away in realization, “Oh. An interesting experiment, indeed.”

A/N: Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed! As always, comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated, I love hearing your feedback! Part two will be posted soon <3