#in fact...You could say that this “little” game was a express English class

[mariasabanahabanabana]

I don't believe in numerology, but here are a few of my favorite numbers....

real

[mstigeress37-blog]

whipped

Eddie.M x Sunshine!Cheerleader!Reader

Desc: Eddie never knew why you hung out with the cheerleaders. They were terrible people.

OR, Eddie’s whipped for a cheerleader.

-----

Eddie seemed to know every person in his grade, especially the cheerleaders. He knew them from when they begged for weed, begged for a fuck (since their jock boyfriends couldn't satisfy them), or flat-out just bullied him. Not everyone knew Eddie, nor did they need to, but Eddie knew everyone.

So when he didn't know you, he just assumed you were a new student that the cheerleaders and jocks adopted - you seemed too sweet to be friends with people like them, but for some reason, you were genuinely happy with them.

He sat in front of you for English class. Sometimes, he'd wonder if you ever stared at the back of his head, so suddenly his hair was just a little bit neater than it is on days when he doesn't have English class. You've talked to him once, and Eddie will forever kick himself over the fact that he practically fumbled the bag.

---

If it wasn’t for you, Eddie could be sleeping with his head on the desk right now. But he wants to behave nice for you, so he’ll prop his elbow on his table, resting his jawline in his hand (and maybe pretend he’s paying attention and actually sleep since you’d never know from your angle). 

He felt a tap on his shoulder. He glanced to his left, then his right, before concluding that it was *you* who wanted his attention.

“Eddie?” You said after he didn’t turn back. Maybe he didn’t feel you? As you panicked about whether or not he heard you, Eddie’s thoughts were going 1000 miles per hour. Hearing his name come from your lips made him freeze - his name suddenly sounded appealing to him.

As you were about to retreat and just ask Jason behind you, Eddie finally turns around with a facial expression that you could never describe: his face was blank, or was he trying to smoulder?

You give him a smile. “Sorry, my pen ran out of ink. Do you have a spare pen?” You softly spoke, tilting your head to the side slightly.

Eddie didn’t even have a pen for himself, never mind for someone else! Tongue down his throat, he just shook his head.

“It’s okay, no worries!” You said before slumping back and whispering to someone else, probably Jason. Eddie turns around, what the hell was that?

He admired her, sure. He thought she was cute, sure. He thought she’d make a good girlfriend, sure. But when she makes him that nervous, something is obviously wrong. Aside from her hanging out with awful people, of course.

---

Eddie was meeting up with one of cheerleaders right before a game for a deal under the bleachers - apparently she can only do the deal during a cheer rehearsal break - otherwise he wouldn't be here.

He watched from under the bleachers through the seats as they did their pyramids and their tumbles, yadda yadda yadda. He didn’t care until a familiar face showed up.

You.

“Sorry I’m late!” He could hear you yell. You were in a cheerleader’s uniform and you were walking in as you did you hair into a messy ponytail. A few of the cheerleaders greeted you with a smile and a hug, telling you to stretch before you joined them.

Eddie didn’t know how to feel. Was the cheerleader’s uniform always so hot? Was a rushed ponytail always so sexy? Should he buy some basketball tickets now? Shit, now he cant’ say that all cheerleaders are bitches now, especially since they seemed to treat you well.

He had to turn away as she stretched, he’d be no better than Jason and Andy then.

Soon enough, his buyer found him.

“Thank God. I’m about to die.” She complained, handing him the money. Eddie checked through it before giving her the bag.

“Thanks, freak. [Name]’s gonna love this!” She said as she turned to walk away. Eddie felt himself go wide eyed.

“No.”

She turned around. “Huh?”

Eddie didn’t know how to react again. He smokes weed, he smokes cigarettes. He knows he’s a hypocrite by trying to stop you from doing what he does, but so be it.

“That’s just enough for one person. You want someone else to try weed, you send them to me. I only sell 1 gram.”

She starts walking back to him in a slight rage. “Listen, fucker. Market your shit somewhere else. How’re you gonna know if I share this shit or not?” She cackles in his face, but he refuses to back up.

“Fine. Ask Chance if he’s fine with the bag I gave him the next time you fuck and sniff some of the white stuff, yeah? Or maybe I should ask his girlfriend instead.” Eddie smirks, tilting his head to the side innocently like how you did. Her face drops and she backs up.

“Cunt,” is all she says before walking away, walking backwards to hold eye contact and shoot daggers at his smirk before turning around and walking away.

---

Entering the cafeteria the day after a basketball game felt like hell. Somehow everyone loved the players enough to go into the cafeteria instead of their normal lunch space just to congratulate them. He finds his table and makes his way over to it before seeing you sit at his table, Dustin bombarding you.

You sat in his chair.

Good.

When Dustin notices him, he seems to panic. “Hey, you wanna sit next to me, [Name]?”

“It’s fine, she can stay there.” He smiles at you. He fucked up last time, he won’t now.

“Thanks!” You give him another warm smile. Never mind, maybe he’ll fuck up again.

Everyone moves down for Eddie to sit at least close to the top except for Dustin, to which Eddie has to clear his throat and slap his arm a bit before Dustin did so.

“So you were saying?” Dustin ushered.

“Oh yeah! So, I hurt my ankle, but at the time, it didn't feel as bad, guess it was the adrenaline, but the moment we finished and I sat down, I felt it and, guys, I can’t even describe the pain- Hey! Like, I’ve never sprained my ankle before, pulled a muscle sure, but- yeah, I’ll be there in a sec! But it was awful!” You ramble, people greeting you as they walked past the table.

Eddie caught himself whipped for you, taking in every word of her rant. She hurt herself? Shit, let him take care of you. You wanna know when she’s coming to your table? Listen to her, she said she’ll be there in a second so give her a second. She’s popular? Who wouldn’t like her?

The group talked for a bit until the bell rang.

“Oh, shit! Um, I wanted to ask if I could join your DnD games if you needed someone? I already have a character and everything if that helps!” You said.

Yep. He’s whipped.

[buckys-little-belle]

Hellfire Babysitting Club : The Sequel (Part Two)

Cafeteria Conversions

Gareth Emerson x Little!Reader (They/Them Pronouns used) / The Hellfire club x Little!Reader (They/Them Pronouns used)

Warnings - Mentions of eating, Mentions of bullying, Gareth being soft, the entire Hellfire Club being adorable in regards to their newest member

Notes Prequal - Please let me know what you want to see in this series! This one has a much more Introverted!Reader than the first instalment, so keep that in mind!

Notes - I know this took a longggg time to come out, I'm dealing with a lot right now, but really wanted to write some more and interact a little again, thank you to those of you who haven't left, and haven't stopped supporting me. I see your messages and asks, and I appreciate them, thank you <3 (THIS IS NOT MY BEST WORK, AND I AM AWARE OF THAT FACT.)

Notes Epilogue - Just to clear some things up for a few people, my idea is that last school year, Little Terror, Eddie, Gareth, Jeff, and Jason Carver were all in their senior year. This year Gare is taking his senior year again, and 'The Party' are now in the eleventh grade! Little Bunny is also in their senior year, this allows me space to make a third part with characters from 'The Party' be the leader of Hellfireclub and co, and another little set in the next year, if I chose to do so. (I am aware this isn't canon, but I'm making it my stories cannon!)

SFW - Please keep all interactions with this post, and this blog, SFW

+ + + + + +

Gareth walked Bunny to their first class, taking note of which room they'd be in just before lunch, promising to pick them up, but ever since then he'd been freaking out. He was excited, sure, but worry creeped in not long after, the reality of him being the lead of the group, not just leading them in D&D but now in babysitting was scary.

'I'm just a phone call away.' Eddie's words filled his mind, though they made him more mad than reassured, he could do this, he didn't want to seem weak to Eddie, to everyone else, especially not to Little Bunny.

When the bell for lunch rang the english class grew busy, Dustin running to Gare's desk. "Same lunch table?" He asked, his books spilling out of his bag, hair disheveled.

"No." Gareth nodded his head, trying to seem confident in his decision. "Gather the others and meet me in Game room." Gareth stood up quickly, getting ready to run to Bunny's classroom, leaving a confused, yet intrigued, Dustin behind.

+ + + + + +

"Y/n!" Gareth whisper yelled, Bunny turning their head to look at him, their nose scrunching in excitement. "Are you ready for lunch?" He panted, brushing a hand through his hair, trying to stay cool as sweat threatened to drip.

"Mhm." They smiled, following as Gareth led them to the Game room, swinging their arms back and forth.

"Good." Gareth cleared his throat before continuing. "Um, my friends and I meet for lunch, is that okay?" He asked anxiously, hoping his plan would work out.

"Are dey nice?" Y/n looked to him, a worried expression replacing their previously content one.

"Oh yeah, plus I'm sure they'll treat you like royalty." He added.

"Why?"

"Right." He chuckled, struggling to come up with the words to explain their situation. "We play Dungeons and Dragons, but we also babysat a little last year." Y/n nodded their head. "I don't have to tell the group that you're a little, but they're pretty good at knowing." He admitted, hoping that what he was saying was okay.

Y/n stopped walking, eyes trained on the ground, fingers playing with the hem of their shirt. "Are dey gonna make fun of me?"

Gareth's heart broke a little, he hoped that one day he could meet a little who hadn't been made fun of, but clearly a group of accepting and willing people was still unheard of. "No, no Bunny, they won't." He smiled, placing his hand on their shoulder, his thumb rubbing soothing circles. "They'll play games with you, they'll talk about toys with you, watch fun movies with you, hold your hand if you're scared, and babysit you when I can't take care of you, they're all very nice, and won't me mean at all." He reassured them, Y/n's eyes meeting his, not a sense of doubt found in his expression.

"You're gonna take care of me?" They asked, trying their best to hide back an excited smile.

"Of course, I found you, so I get dibs." He laughed, Y/n giggling back at his joke. "Anything you need, you can come to me, anything, okay?" The two of them nodded their heads. "And if you can't find me, you can find one of the group members, and they'll help you anyway they can."

"I don' wanna bother anyone though." Y/n admitted nervously.

"Bunny, you're not a bother! I was super stressed this morning, I don't like school very much." Gareth laughed. "But when I ran into you my day got better, you aren't a bother, if anything we will bother you."

"Okay." Y/n smiled. "Okay, 'm excited."

"Me too."

+ + + + + +

"Thank god!" Dustin called out as Gareth entered the room, Y/n behind him, not ready to truly meet the group. "Can you tell me why we're in here? I'm hungry!" Dustin's voice was loud, making Y/n instinctively reach for Gareth's hand, their head peaking past him to see who was yelling so loudly.

"Calm down." Mike whispered, more aware than Dustin that clearly something was happening.

"Who here actually likes eating in the cafeteria?" Gareth asked, the group looking to one another in confusion. "Lucas you hate the basketball guys, Mike you gave me a thirty minute talk in math today about how El struggles with loud noises, Dustin you talk about how your legs fall asleep on the benches, and I hate a whole room of people just looking at us, laughing at us." The room was silent, a few people nodding their heads. "So we're going to be eating in here, everyone pick a seat, and calm down." He smiled, walking into the room further, Y/n blindly following behind him.

"Who is that?" El loudly asked, the newbie not in Mike's Hellfire rundown.

Gareth ignored the groups whispers for a few seconds, setting his bad on the DM chair, his DM chair, and pulling a smaller seat next to his for Y/n. "This is Y/n." He said, still shielding them from the group slightly, not sure if they wished to be introduced fully to the chaos just yet. "They're new to the school, and needed a buddy this morning."

Mike and Lucas seemed to know what Gareth meant right away, that Y/n was a little, and that's why they were here, but Will and El looked very confused, and Dustin didn't seem to be on the same page as anyone. "So another player?" He asked, Mike and Lucas rolling their eyes as Gareth let his face fall into his hand.

"No, Y/n is a little, I'm not only changing where we eat lunch, but I'm starting back up Hellfire Babysitting Club." Gareth proudly said. "And this time we're going to have rules, and a schedule, I don't need Y/n eating soap, or getting into trouble like Little Terror."

Y/n giggled and the group smiled, El and Will still confused, waiting for a better explanation. "I don't get it." Will admitted.

"You guys." Gareth gestured to everyone but Y/n. "Explain what this all is, and what went down last year, and tomorrow we'll reconvene and talk about how things will work here on out." Gareth hoped that the group would respond well to some structure, Eddie liking to just hope things work out fine while winging it. Gareth hoped that making some rules, and implementing new things would let the group stay strong, and would alleviate the stress from his shoulders.

"Can we say hi to the baby?" El asked, taking her seat at the table, trying to peek past Gareth at them.

Everyone went silent, looking at El confused, Mike sighing before weighing in. "I talked to her about Eddie and Little Terror already." He explained.

"Baby please." She said a little more harshly, Mike sending Gareth a look full of warning, knowing El would move him if he didn't move.

Gareth stepped aside, Y/n's sitting frame, cheese string in one hand, the stuffed bunny in another, coming into view, a sweet smile on display for everyone. "Hi."

"I called them Little Bunny this morning." Gareth admitted, smiling as he watched Y/n look around the room, everyone smiling back at them.

"Little cheese fingers." El said seriously, opening her own lunch box and moving on, the group bursting out laughing at her words, though no one argued the name, just sat down too, pulling out their own lunch boxes and silently welcoming the new member.

[jo-harrington]

Blurb request: The immortal snail ☠️

…anon what?

But I have an idea.

Find other Hymns of Heaven here.

And find the Master List for As Above, So Below here.

April 1984

Eddie’s first DND character with Hellfire Club had been a Tabaxi Rogue named Perceval Stayne—after Sir Perceval of Arthurian legend…and of course who could pass up playing a cat burglar. He’d been a freshman, eager to play with real players and not just his friends. Mickey had said Perceval was cool.

Harvey Simpson, the founder of the Hellfire Club and the DM at the time, told him that Perceval would have been great…if only his best stat wasn’t charisma, of all things.

“Dexterity,” Harvey tapped at the character sheet. “Or intelligence should be your highest.”

“My uncle says my mouth is my best feature,” Eddie explained. He wanted a cool character..but he also wanted one that felt true to him to begin with. Make a good impression and not fumble endlessly. He’d get better. “I could sell ice during a blizzard.”

Harvey had huffed and puffed but ultimately let him do what he wanted. And Perceval’s big mouth is what got the party out of a few pinches several times.

Eddie’s big mouth got them out of several pinches.

It also got him a second date with you at, coincidentally, the library so he could do some prep for the next few sessions.

“It’s a really cool game, I swear,” Eddie explained. “I’m DM this year and we’ve got this freshman Gareth who is like…he’s been trying so hard. But seeing his eyes light up…that’s just why we play, you know?”

You whispered questions and answers to each other as the two of you perused the shelves—what kind of books you liked to read, favorite book as a child, that kind of thing—and then Eddie surprised you with a study room in the depths of the library reserved just for the two of you.

“So we can have snacks without getting yelled at,” he explained.

“Just snacks?” You teased.

“And maybe kiss a little without getting caught,” he grinned mischievously and you shut the door before planting one on him with a giggle.

The date was spent mostly in silence, the study room filled only with the sounds pages turning, a pencil scribbling, snack wrappers crunching, and the occasional laughter as one of you—usually Eddie—started playing footsie.

You grabbed a few books for yourself, easy reads, simple chapter books with mystery and fantasy and intrigue to keep with Eddie’s theme.

Currently you were lost in the pages of Tuck Everlasting, you even ignored Eddie’s last attempt to get your attention. He watched you for a moment, memorized the way your eyes darted across the pages and your expression changed.

He wanted to live here forever, in this moment. And something at the very depth of his being thought that he would feel this way about every moment, every second, that he was gifted with you.

“Obviously your favorite is Jesse,” he broke the silence and your eyes darted up to meet his. You fidgeted in your seat as you watched him watch you. “Handsome, adventurous—”

“Cocky,” you smirked.

“I would say ‘confident.’” Eddie shrugged. “Tell me I’m wrong though.”

“You are wrong, actually,” you set the book down and folded your hands over it. “Miles is my favorite.”

Eddie frowned.

All of the girls in his 6th grade English class had a silly crush on Jesse. He never understood until he reread the book last summer when he was preparing for his first campaign as DM, hoping to include some secret stranger like the man in the yellow suit. Then he likened himself to Jesse. Enjoying life where he could, despite the hand he’d been dealt…or in spite of it. He was romantic…wanted Winnie to marry him one day…drink from the spring so they could be together forever.

“Jesse…he was impulsive,” you began, as if you could read his mind. “What more did he love about Winnie than the fact that he could be himself around her. Because the family’s secret was finally free. She was just a child who saw this…fantastical thing, this family and this fun older boy, and she thinks she’ll be free of this stuffy life in Tree Gap…and when trouble arose, she wanted to protect her friends.

“Jesse just wanted to repay her…there was no…real love there outside of maybe friendship. But he’s lonely too…wanted to reward himself. Maybe he could actually love Winnie one day…maybe…but he’d always have another person to be free with. Offering her immortality is for him more than it was for her. Or for love.

“Miles though…Miles was bitter, sure. Because he loved with everything he had in him. Love his wife, loved his family so deeply that he never wanted to be without them. He wanted a normal life together with them. No matter the circumstances.

“He would give anything—would rather die—than see his his wife and children hurt or unhappy,” you concluded, breathing heavily.

Eddie watched you for a second and contemplated your words. He’d never really thought of it that way before. Yes Miles was a character you could empathize with, his loss of the ones he loved…but…

“But he couldn’t die,” Eddie muttered.

“No he couldn’t.”

“So what would you pick then?” Eddie challenged. “A normal life with someone you loved, grow old, and die together…or an eternal carefree life?”

“Eddie, eternity isn’t carefree,” you deadpanned as you picked up the book and shook it at him. “Case in point.”

“Ok fine…you can live forever and do whatever you want,” he started and looked around the study room for a second to come up with some idea. “But…your eternal nemesis is a snail that will kill you if it finds you and touches you.”

“What the fuck?”

“Answer the question ma’am, the audience is waiting,” Eddie spoke into an imaginary microphone and then held it to you across the table.

“I would take the normal life, Monty,” you answered.

“Interesting,” Eddie leant back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest.

“Really heavy second date questions here.”

“Thank you. Gotta know if I’m gonna keep you.”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” you replied and shook your head. “I already kissed you after you said you’d drink trash juice.”

“Ha fucking ha.”

“Alright, spotlight’s on you now,” you held the imaginary microphone to your lips now. “Edward Munson. Normal life with someone you loved, or a carefree eternity?” You held it out to him.

“You forgot about the snail Alex,” Eddie spoke into the microphone.

“Clock’s ticking,” you urged and hummed the Jeopardy theme song.

“If I really had to choose, sure a normal life with you would be my choice sweetheart.” He winked and watched you fidget again.

“But I think we’re missing one key factor here. Miles didn’t know he was immortal until his kids were grown, until his wife was old. Otherwise, I would bet he would have definitely had them drink from the spring too. Both of the brothers had the same idea.

“So if, if we’re playing by Tuck Everlasting rules here,” Eddie leaned forward and spoke into the microphone, eyes never leaving yours, never blinking. “I think I would say ‘why couldn’t we have both?’”

[goldenraeofsun]

Prompt: Jason's Villain Era

Tim watches the Batcomputer screen, every sense on high alert for any sign of danger. According to the hacked Amusement Mile cameras, the place is swarming with goons, though, so Batman, Nightwing, and Batgirl have their work cut out for them. 

Jason, with his sprained wrist, is also relegated to backup duty in the Cave. He’s leaning against the console, a mug of tea in his good hand.

Who would’ve thought after the Titans Tower incident a year ago, they would ever make it here?

It took a solid month of Jason training to overcome the pit rage, spitting insults at Bruce and throwing furniture the whole time. But Bruce never gave up, no matter what Jason hurled at him. He modeled meditation strategies while Jason’s howled in fury, and he brought him food and pillows when the rage kept Jason from eating or sleeping.

Now, Jason swings by the Manor a couple times a week to hang out, pilfer first editions from the library, and spar with Dick.

He even has his own armchair and blanket set aside for Friday movie nights at the Manor. Jason fell asleep during The Hunger Games last week, and Dick got a great picture of him drooling on his shirt that he keeps threatening to blow up and frame every time Jason annoys him.

“Hey,” Tim says, his fingers drumming a nonsense rhythm against his leg. “D’you think you could look over my Gatsby essay? I’ve missed a bunch of classes because of,” he gestures to the Cave, “and I need to get at least a B or I’m going to fail.”

Jason’s gaze flicks to him, and Tim has to remind himself not to squirm. He raises his mug to his lips. “I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you,” Tim says gratefully. “Bruce said you used to be good at English, before – well, before.”

Jason just hums, and Tim turns back to the screen that shows Batman and the Joker in an epic fight. He toggles between ten different cameras, searching for an update on Nightwing.

Pain explodes in his right temple.

Tim tumbles out of the Batcomputer chair with the force of the blow. “What the –” 

“On second thought,” Jason says, twirling the handle of his now shattered mug on one finger, “I don’t think I’ll be helping you with your English homework, kid.” He slides a glock from the back of his belt, and the sound of the safety flicking off might as well be as loud as a gunshot in the nearly-silent Batcave.

“Jason –” Tim has no more words. Shards of porcelain bite into his palms as he scrambles back on his hands and feet, but he can’t look away from Jason’s face, cast in shadow, backlit by the Batcomputer screen. “What are you doing?”

Jason fires. Over Tim's yells of agony, he drawls, “Huh. Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one?”

Tim’s leg throbs as he staggers to his feet, his whole body shaking with more than just pain. 

Jason was better. The pit rage was gone. Tim was supposed to be safe.

This is all a misunderstanding. 

“Jason,” Tim pleads, still backing up, but he’s never going to get out of firing range in time, “this isn’t you.”

“Pretty sure this is me, kid,” Jason says casually as he stalks forward, and Tim has never seen that dead, cold expression on his face before. With the pit rage, Jason burned hot. Never cold. “In fact, I feel more like myself in months.”

Tim swallows. Jason is blocking his way back to the manor. The Batcave exit is at least fifty yards away, beyond the training mats and empty Batmobile garage area. “It’s me,” he tries instead, “Tim!”

“Now, nobody ever called me the smart one,” Jason says as he aims his gun again, “But I got enough little gray cells left to know your name, Pretender. Cuckoo.” His eyes flash. “Replacement.”

Tim’s stomach sinks. Alright, time to fight his way out, since persuasion clearly isn’t working. He readies his stance and nearly topples over again as the bullet hole in his thigh sears with pain.

“Do you know how fucking long I had to wait to get you alone?” Jason continues, looking almost amused at Tim’s attempts to recover. “Three months. A quarter of a goddamn year playing nice, playing house with Bruce and Dick. You should be flattered I went through all the effort just for you. Fuck it,” he strides forward, dodges Tim’s off-balance right hook, and smashes his fist against Tim’s temple, right where the mug hit him first.

Tim staggers, dazed. Tears spring to his eyes, and he can barely keep Jason in sight.

“So much more satisfying,” Jason says smugly. He sweeps Tim’s legs out from under him, and Tim once again falls painfully to the floor.

Jason stands over him, his expression inscrutable. “You put up even less of a fight than last time. Disappointing.” He aims his gun at Tim’s left shoulder and fires. From the white-hot fire licking up his neck, the bullet shattered his collar bone.

Tim blinks woozily up at Jason.

Wow, Dick’s gonna have to enlarge that stupid picture of Jason drooling and project it off the side of the Clocktower at this rate.

Tim passes out.

[franstastic-ideas]

Mei, I am definitely looking at the Nimbasa Ferris Wheel event with the X-transceiver like I’m on The Office. Starry-eyed has an extra layer of cuteness knowing she wears space-buns. Nagisa could be a reference to something other than the water relation, but again, the kind of softness that matches.

The little gremlin! I like the fact spirit can have a double meaning as a “sprite” not so much in modern english, but more in word origin. And I see it mostly attributed to children. Nox is def related to night, the moon, ghost-type, honestly the mythology writes itself. You literally have an owl archer. And something in my brain ticks it as a good choice you went with Nox over Nyx or any other feminine-esque name despite also referring to a goddess for some reason, intentional?

Akari, The Skyfallen Luminary, and the one I could suspect to be your favorite bc it’s all kinds of pretty and fun. Honestly gorgeous all around. It’s not easy coming up with three word titles that captures everything you want in a way that feels alive or cool, but you’ve done it for sure. And Seraphina? I’m giggling even more I don’t need to google that to know the religious symbolism here, and with fire. Oh, PLA and Volo. You’ve started a whole thing here aesthetically. I’m bouncing off the walls from it tho, the research that goes into this is my jam, bread and butter.

Juliana (The Straight A's Scholar) GIRL PLS I’m bout to cry, I am not gonna get anxious over a Pokegirl y’all don’t KNOW what real college is like for hard science majors in your cozy Pokémon World (just got out of an exam) but FINE go be a scholar like in the old days. PHDs ain’t no walk in the park either irl. But alas, yeah, that’s Paldea for you, I GUESS I have to say congratulations. She’s a good girl, and bonus points for the culturally fitting nicknames.

This is not something I know how to express, but I read each name like it’s a title card of a movie flashing across the screen with a dramatic and lit up sequence with all the girls and little made-up animations and whatever else I picture that goes along with the backgrounds of the names and I go “hm yeah” *nods* that be them. So kudos all around!

Mei seems to be under the impression that she's in a shoujo rather than an adventure game. She sets off from Aspertia City with the hope that her journey will be filled with romance, that she will finally find her true love, her prince...

As much of a sentimentalist as she is though, do keep in mind that Mei still defeats Ghetsis at his worst.

I consistently refer to Mizuki as a 'horrid little creature', even though she's actually one of the taller girls. She moved to Alola from Kanto and originates from Lavender Town, so she has a camaraderie with Ghost-types.

You know that girl who asks Red or Leaf if they believe in ghosts and if told 'No', she replies, "That white hand on your shoulder... I'm just imagining it." That's Mizuki.

Akari's title is indeed one I hold in high favor, because of the multiple meanings behind it. Skyfallen of course pertains to her falling from the space-time rift, and a luminary is someone who inspires or influences others, referencing how Akari brings about change in Hisui.

But luminary can also mean 'angel'. When you pair that definition with her status as The Skyfallen, it paints the image of a guardian angel descending upon the region. Which is certainly what Volo sees her as.

Juliana, she's essentially the perfect student. She shows up to class on time, she loves every second of it, and she's entirely devoted to her studies. So much so, the grand majority of her Pokémon's names begin with the letter 'A'.

She has to do the intellectual heavy lifting between her and Arven. Juliana would be more than happy to tutor him, though.

[none-ofthisnonsense]

1,4,14,19,20💛💛

[Ask game]

Thank you so much for asking! This was lovely.

1: Do you prefer writing one-shots or multi-chaptered fics?

Weeellllll I have many many ideas for multichapters, but the fact is I've only ever written one complete one, and it was two chapters. Something about making an outline just sucks all the joy out of it...

4: Where do you find inspiration for new ideas?

A lot of places, and nowhere? Mostly I just get ideas for specific scenes or lines of dialogue, and those come anywhere, anytime - in English class, at dinner, on the métro...

14: how do you write emotional scenes? Do you ever feel what the characters feel? Do you draw from personal experiences?

I usually draw on my own feelings but not my own experiences, mostly because I'm terrified of writing an inaccurate emotional response. Which is also why I've had so much trouble writing this past year: I've been content, and rarely had strong feelings that I could release through fic writing, so nothing much to draw on. But I usually try to write 50% my own experiences and 50% adapted to the character/story. I've done more writing recently that isn't based on me, so still a little unsure about that, but I like it.

19: What is the most-used tag on your ao3?

Fandom tag: Avatar: The Last Airbender, with 36. (I was going to say "my first fandom" until I remembered my Wattpad days...)

Character tag: Zuko (Avatar), with 21. Which is weird considering I wrote 32 fics about him and Katara...

Relationship tag: Katara/Zuko (Avatar), with 32. From when I did the ZKDD in 2020, 31 drabbles + 1 short fic.

Additional Tags: Fluff! Much to my surprise. Probably a remnant of my Zutara days, because recently it's been Angst galore. (I also wasn't aware that "Nonbinary Character" had 3 of my fics, since I only remember tagging one of them with that specifically. I don't mind it though!)

Have you noticed any patterns in your fics? Words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc?

apart from an overuse of though I use a LOT of commas. Settings are mostly undefined because they don't interest me very much, but recurring themes are probably growing up and acceptance (of different things, and not always happy. looking at that one fic about accepting war...)

[authoramalgam]

Okay so, bit preface, I know some stuff is different in the original french version. But, I have never played the french version, nor do I understand french (I took two years of french class and immediately deleted ALL of it from my memory the second I stopped taking the classes.) So this is all going to be based off what I remember from playing the english translation, and from the Wiki (Cause the wiki is funny as hell)

(Also, I don't know everything about autism, I'm just noting things that stuck out to me.)

So, just to get it out of the way, Batter absolutely Embodies the 'Autistic people are like Robots' trope. He shows very little emotion, and what little he does show is heavily subdued. Literally the 'angriest' he gets throughout the game is right after the first Enoch fight, and his biggest reaction there is to essentially call him a fat bastard. (And I think he was more upset about having to run from the fight than anything.)

He also may have flat affect, where he does not make very many facial expressions to show his emotion. (However, Dedan claiming Batter is smiling during one of their confrontations may show he Can express emotion, but only does so infrequently.) The biggest point showing Batter may have flat affect is the roller coaster in Zone 2 (Specifically the 'Picture of You' item.

(This could also be because Batter does not like roller coasters. I may be misremembering, but I believe Batter refuses to ride again after getting the photo with the Zacharie statue.)

Back to other things. Batter also shows a dislike for sudden changing of plans. Specifically, this happens when first getting to Pentel, where upon being asked to purify the spectres in the cow barns, he refuses, saying he wants to finish purifying the smoke mines first.

Batter also shows a very 'black and white' sense of morals (Even though his morals are very questionable at the best of times.) This is highlighted with the first Dedan encounter in Pentel, where after seeing Dedan be aggressive with his workers, he immediately assumes that means Dedan is a spectre, and must be purified. (However, this could also be Batter manipulating the player into continuing his plans.)

One of the details that I find personally interesting, but is also the wildest speculation from me, is that Batter may have an aversion to bright lights. This is just based on the fact that the Elsen in the smoke mines comment on how weird it is that Batter walks around with his eyes closed all the time, and how he isn't afraid of the dark. (His response is that the player is guiding him, and at several points in the game, Batter comments on things he sees, so he does occasionally open his eyes.) It's unclear if this behaviour is just Batter being Batter, or if it actually points to something like light sensitivity or possible vision problems.

Finally, the lowest hanging fruit, Batter is Hyperfixated on purification. Every action he takes, every move, even most of his dialog is either focused on it, or taken in order to get back to it. (This is also another thing that could be explained by other means, as it was stated that Batter (theoretically) only started existing at the very beginning of the game, and his entire purpose is to purify.)

The Batter from OFF is autistic as hell

[dr-solomon]

15 Minutes

warning(s): sarcastic&dom!gyu X fem!reader, dirty talk, slaps, choking, kissing, face riding (at school)

> my first language is not english, very sorry if i have mistakes! *saweetie's "lesgo" sound* <

"So funny..." Beomgyu muttered as he lay watching the ceiling. You raised your head from the test book and frowned. "What's funny?"

He lifted his head out of his bag and looked at you. "I'm waiting for the class to come back, as if I'm very eager for the lesson." when he laughed at himself, you smiled too.

Your class has come down to training for the basketball game that will take place tomorrow. And as two people who weren't on the team, you were in an empty classroom. This has been the case for almost 1 week, and now you are at the level where you are tired of everything you are doing today.

Still, you were putting your test on the desk, trying to pass the time somehow. Beomgyu, on the other hand, was lying on his side, as he always did, and was just bored.

"What time is it?" You turned to him again. Your eyes found to his eyes after wandering between his legs, which opened from side to side. "I-I don't know." damn stuttering.

"Oh, y-you don't know?" You gave a deep sigh when he imitated you. And he chuckled quietly at your stutter just now. "Then look at the time, girl?"

When he yawned and combed his long hair, you for no reason watched his legs a little longer. He always sat sprawling, but did the fact that he was lying down now make him more attractive in your eyes? You couldn't believe yourself.

When he suddenly raised his head and looked at you with frowning eyebrows, you panicked. "You have a phone too, Gyu." you wanted to bury yourself when he watched you a little longer like that.

"Yes, but it's in my bag." his response caused you to both breathe comfortably and roll your eyes. "Your bag is under your head?" he shrugged, "I can't ruin my comfort."

Shaking head from side to side, you looked at the clock on your phone and turned to him again. "There are 15 minutes."

"Oh," you heard him exhale an audible, in distress. "So keep getting bored for another 15 minutes..."

"Why don't you try doing a test, too?" you left your pen on the book and put your hand on your chin.

"Are you serious, girl??"

His facial expression was so funny that you approved him with a laugh. "Yes?"

He took his hand under his head and raised his gaze to the ceiling again. "How can I do it when even you can't do the test?"

You frowned, raised your book in the air and showed it to him. "No, I'm doing?"

Licking his lips slowly, raised his head. He put his hands on his thighs and looked at you from under eyebrows. "Well, are the questions here in my dick?

You continued to stare into his eyes for a while in a daze. It was impossible not to be crushed under his gaze.

"What are you talking about?" he grinned at the ridiculous question you chose. You could have sworn he thought you were stupid.

"I'm saying, if you really were doing that fucking test, the first place you looked every time you turned to me wouldn't be my dick."

When he didn't back down from answering your question, you swallowed. Your gaze landed on the test book. He was a really crazy and annoying bastard.

"Oh, has the princess been caught?" when he spoke with a laugh, you stuck your pen back in your hand and looked at the question you knew you would never be able to focus on.

"Poor baby... Can I help you read the question?

"Gyu."

"Please keep doing your test~"

His sarcastic tone had warmed the under your skirt quite well. You crossed your legs and tried to ignore him.

"Put your other hand under your skirt while you do the test with one hand. Maybe I'll believe more that you did the test."

"Beomgyu, shut up."

"Shut me up?"

The fact that he was looking at you seriously made you press your legs together. You've both noticed the different atmosphere that's formed between you. And God knows, if you weren't at school, you'd jump on him like a horny slut.

"I'm waiting, come on." you stood up angrily, even though you were aware that he was provoking you. You responded to his smiling face with a thin smile and you covered his mouth with your hand. Being touching him now and getting closer had gotten you into trouble.

"Gyu, there is little time left and I really want to do the test."

"Mmm," His tongue, which slowly comes out from between his lips and starts decently stroking between your fingers. He rolls his tongue beautifully and sucks as if he care about your cunt. You thought you had forgotten to breathe with his eyes shamelessly watching you. He looked so hot.

"Are you sure you still want to do test?" the tone turned you on more. You took his hand, which reached up to your skirt. "Last time I checked, there were 15 minutes and there are probably fewer left now..." he could tell by your face that you weren't happy about it.

When you took your hand out of his mouth, he got up, rising on his elbows, and rubbed your noses together. "I can make your pussy rain in 2 minutes." he looked into your eyes with confidence, arched his eyebrows. "Don't worry, you'll have plenty of time to do your fucking test." you could have begged him to whisper more dirty things to you.

You sat down on his lap with your leg through the gap in the place, his hands went under your skirt and grabbed your hips. When your lips joined with a great desire, you let out that moan that you have been keep in for a long time. During your messy kiss, his hands caressed both your thighs and your hips. His smile turned you on like crazy when your tongue was playing with his tongue. When you went further in his lap with a little jump, he wrapped his fingers around your throat and parted your lips. "Would this little princess like to sit on my mouth?"

Your heart began to beat with excitement, quickly shook your head and looked at him wistfully. You winded when got a hard slap on the cheek, but Gyu grabbed your throat again without letting you breathe. "Talk to me, slut!" he looked angrily in the face.

"Y-yes..." when you panicked and swallowed, you got a new slap. "Is that the loudest voice you can make?"

"Yes, daddy!"

He growled as you raised your voice, never caring about your surroundings. "Just like that..." he smiled.

"Daddy, huh?" after taking off his clothes, he approached your ear. "I like it." You tightened his shoulders excitedly. He whispered in your ear as he slowly unzipped your skirt. "Undress and leave the rest to daddy, hm?"

After helping you take off your skirt, Beomgyu lay back and watched with great pleasure as you excitedly took off your panties. "Come, my girl." you held tightly his hands and went along his chest. He smiled and stuck his tongue out. This shameless image of him have made you crazy. "Oh my..." he raised his eyebrows upwards and looked at you with mockery. "I want to eat your pussy right now, be a good girl."

You sat on his mouth, clasping his hands. Her huge opened mouth wrapped your pussy in the best way possible, and when he began to move his tongue up and down on your hole, your lips parted with pleasure. "Oh- Oh my God, B-Beomgyu!" you began to move your hips unconsciously. He was watching you without blinking as opened and closed his lips on your little wet pussy.

"Fuck, fuck-" your eyes turned with pleasure. He grabbed your hips with his hands and continued to taste you with great pleasure. "Mmm," watching him perfectly working mouth was making you moan like crazy.

"Delicious baby." he muttered in a muffled voice and continued to crush your clit with his tongue. "It feels so good- Mmmh" he opened his mouth wide, started making little circles on your hips with fingers, while sucking on your most sensitive points.

"Please don't stop, Ahh!" you ran your hands through his hair. He laughed at you as rolled his tongue over your hole, and it only made you moan more.

Beomgyu's mouth was ruining you in the best way.

"I-I'm too close!"

He was very good at it.

"Give me every last drop babygirl." now you've almost started jumping in his mouth. Your stomach contracted violently, you gave him your last moans in plaintive voices.

"B-Beomgyu" kept rubbing his mouth even while you were cum under his name. He seemed too hot when swallowed on your pussy several times.

He got up from where he was lying when you stretched out on his lap. You hugged his shoulders and took a deep breath. "It was my best orgasm..." you spoke out of breath. One hand stroked your naked hips, while the other hand combed your scattered hair and spoke in imitation of you. "It was the best pussy I've ever eat..."

He put a few kisses on your lips while you giggled at what he said. And then he took you off his lap and let you get dressed.

Hugging your trembling legs to yourself, sat back in line and watched him get dressed.

As he said at the very beginning, he cum you quickly and left you with quite a lot of time. But now you just wanted to make out with him a little more. "Gyu..." he turned to you, arched his eyebrows, when you quietly muttered his name. His red lips from sucking you made you swallow. You still wanted him so badly.

"We still have time?" he grinned when you muttered shamefacedly. Watching your needy face made him giggle, you averted your eyes.

Beomgyu stroked your cheek and looked mockingly at your face. "Oh baby... But there is little time left and you really want to do the test~"

thanks for ur pretty eyes bebe, hope u like it!!💕

[get-shiggy-with-it]

Ch. 1

Shigaraki Birthday Week! MINORS DNI DO NOT PUT THIS ON TIKTOK

Pairing: Tomura Shigaraki x fem!reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: reader is marked fem cause Tomura is a little sexist and hates you cause you’re a woman, no pronouns, incel!shiggy, collage au/no quirks, tomura is an asshole, gratuitous swearing, like so much, shiggy has a dirty mouth, mentions of shigs being anxious, let me know if I’ve missed something

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6

Summary: Tomura gets stuck taking an English class to graduate and is partnered with you, a bitchy try hard (his words not mine) for his final project. But over the course of the semester he finds that while he hates everyone, he might hate you just a little...less. 

AO3 mirror

The door at the back of the room creaked open and jarred Tomura from his half-sleep state. He didn’t look at who’d bothered to slip into this fucking class late, and instead tried to let the prof’s inane droning on Timothy Whoever The Fuck’s 18th weirdo letter book lull him into day dreaming. 

He only made it about a quarter of the way back into his boredom induced coma until he was dragged unwillingly into wakefulness once more. 

“Sorry, could you plug this in for me?” 

Tomura jumped again when you leaned over to whisper to him, computer charger in one hand, gesturing to the outlet on the wall by his head. You’d left the typical courtesy seat empty between the two of you and he stared blankly at the way you leaned your weight on the vacant chair. 

He recognized you.

The classic, dumbass teacher's pet who was always front and center of the room, iced drink at the ready looking like you belonged on the set of some god awful college b movie. 

Well, almost always. You certainly had that loud ass drink, but you’d tucked yourself at the end of his row towards the back of the room and was clearly a bit embarrassed for bursting in almost 15 minutes late. 

Tomura swallowed hard as your shirt gaped in the front. It took an immense amount of control to not gaze outright into the swell of your chest. 

“You good?” you asked softly, head cocked like you were straight out of a fucking manga panel—tits on display with that stupid innocent, puzzled expression.  

“Uh yeah, sorry,” Tomura mumbled. 

You offered him this gross, clearly fake smile—because why the hell would you be grinning like that if it wasn’t just because you wanted something from him—as he threaded the cord behind his chair and plugged it in. 

“Thanks,” you replied and turned back towards the professor, typing away cause you actually take notes in this class. 

Of fucking course you did. 

Probably trying to impress everyone with how you typed practically every word the prof said. Tomura decidedly did not take notes, and didn’t really pay that much attention in general. Usually he just played some trashy phone game under the desk or dozed with his head against the cement wall. 

It had gotten to that portion of the semester when it was warmer outside but the buildings still had the heat cranked all the way up, especially here in the basement where the classroom was. That environment along with his usual hoodie/joggers combo created grade A napping conditions that Tomura took full advantage of. 

As a rule, he actually cared about school and he did relatively well. But this was just some dumbass liberal arts requirement course that had nothing to do with his actual major, so he was perfectly fine with coasting. Why his comp sci degree required him to take a fucking Restoration era English class, he had no clue. Apparently neither did his advisor other than that the ‘administration recommended it’ so their students would have a ‘well rounded learning experience.’ 

It was almost certainly just a cash grab to make him take more credits than was necessary to graduate, but whatever. He was here now. And so were you. Your presence was overwhelmingly clear, typing away and smelling like one of those insanely specific laundry detergent label scents—fucking rolling meadows and grandmother’s clean linen or something like that. 

He’d never sat this close to you before, but that didn’t stop you from annoying the shit out of him for the previous whole half semester and going since it was just now passing midterms. Long enough for him to have pegged you as a textbook try-hard, pick-me bitch. You contributed to discussion at every opportunity, turned in shit early, and debated other classmates regularly enough to disrupt his in-course sleep schedule. 

The way you dressed pissed him off too, with a particular style that was enough to stand out but not so over the top that it would cause disinterest from any potential mates.

And now you were filling his corner of the room with the overpowering smell of freshly washed hair and demanding he do things for you. 

Fucking disgusting. 

“Tomura Shigaraki.”

He jumped a third time, attention directed from his lap to the front of the room where the prof stood, listing out names from the board. He heard your name next followed by Kai Chisaki. The list was projected on the board as well, grouping everyone into twos or threes with “Final Project Partners” listed in bold Helvetica font at the top. 

Only fucking English profs used Helvetica. 

He vaguely remembered mentions of a final presentation—one of like three grades in this class cause the prof was almost certainly a sadist. 

No, not almost—definitely. Otherwise he wouldn’t have stuck him with you and that weirdo Kai pre-med student who insisted on acting so elitist you’d think he already had his fucking M.D. 

One time he asked Tomura to move seats at the start of the semester because he looked “dirty” and Kai liked to sit in the back—which, fair enough, it wasn’t like Tomura showered as frequently as he probably should but what the fuck??  

With you rushing in late, chest out and panting every now and again from your apparent sprint across campus, Tomura was certain he’d be subjected to a whole 6 weeks of watching you try to mount that fucking Kai dude instead of actually working. 

This was going to be a nightmare. 

From the end of the table, he saw you shifting and turned to find that stupid fucking smile flashed his way once again. 

If you had a tail, he’d bet it would be wagging. 

“Hey, well that’s convenient,” you chuckled and plopped down directly next to him, sliding your noisy ass drink across the table with you and brushing against his thigh when you shifted your bag to the side. 

“Yeah,” he nodded.

It most certainly was not. 

But Tomura would never say that because—as his roommate put it so kindly—he was kinda a pussy. 

People made him nervous, they always had. That’s why he liked computers so much. Code made sense, there were clear rules and when something didn’t work out, he could fix it eventually, but you couldn’t see people’s codes. You had to fucking guess at shit and it made his anxiety skyrocket which the sides of his neck and finger tips suffered for. 

So he cowered like the fucking dog you probably thought he was instead and kept his eyes on the floor, letting you set up in silence. 

“Who was our third?” you asked, glancing around the room. “Sorry, I was busy making a shared drive and I came in  late so I missed that last bit.”

Why the hell did you feel the need to apologize all the goddamn time? Seriously, who would believe you were actually sorry for being irritating as hell. 

And god if he thought you were irritating. 

“Kai,” he grumbled simply as the man in question sauntered over to the table and fucking Clorox wiped down the seat before sitting.  

Tomura watched your smile falter just a bit and grinned inwardly at the slip in your fake little persona. But you didn’t say anything more, just moved your chair back so the three of you were in a semi-circle and pulled up a few pdfs on your laptop. 

“Cool, so I was looking over the directions on the syllabus last week and I set up a little work delegation thing so we can distribute everything pretty evenly,” you jumped right in, tone matter of fact in the down-to-business manner he was used to hearing from you during class discussions. 

It was better than you so clearly forcing yourself to be overly polite, and he honestly couldn’t really care less if you wanted to take charge of this thing. You seemed kinda bossy, but he begrudgingly admitted that your suck up behavior did mean you sort of knew what you were talking about. He was just here to pass and you might actually make that a lot easier. 

It was okay as long as he was taking advantage of you, he told himself. And you would be too stupid to notice, so he could play your game and play pretend nice all the way to an A. 

That walking condescension on the other hand— 

“I’m not doing that,” Kai huffed through his ever-present mask. 

Tomura wasn’t actually sure he’d ever seen the bastards face without it. 

“What?” you laughed awkwardly. “Yes you are, you don’t really have much of a choice.” 

You stared at your classmate who simply stared right back with his own, equally confused expression. 

“Why do you look so surprised?” you asked after a moment of silence. 

You weren’t smiling anymore and your voice had dropped down about a fucking octave. At least you sounded more like a person and not some wannabe uwu gamer bitch.

“People don’t talk to me like that,” Kai looked at you down his nose, legs spread wide and elbow resting on his knees. 

Tomura could feel the pretentiousness wafting from him in waves, and waited with bated breath for you to get kicked off your pedestal. Just a bit though, he did need you around to do most of his work for this thing. 

But in a shocking turn of events, you just laughed dryly twice and turned back to your laptop screen, mumbling as you did. 

“Really? Well they should.” 

Tomura would have laughed too, but he didn’t feel like inflating your ego. Kai on the other hand looked a bit like you’d just spit on shoes and furrowed those stupid, plucked thin eyebrows at the back of your head. 

“So Tomura, you code right?” you asked, turning away from Kai completely to address him. “I just remember you saying you were in comp sci when we did introductions.” 

He was taken aback by the knowledge that he existed as a person in your head outside of this room for a moment and simply nodded—suddenly feeling far too hot in his black on black sweats and hoodie. 

God just talking to you made his skin burn. 

“Great, cause we’re allowed to chose the medium we present in and I was thinking of taking it in a more creative direction cause I’ve had this prof before and he eats that shit up,” you begin to ramble again, scrolling through a bulleted list, shifting the screen for him to see. 

“Right,” he murmured, still surprised you’d thought this far and not...actively hating what you’d brainstormed. 

Well, it was a bit juvenile and you clearly didn’t know what you were talking about but the concept wasn’t horrendous. He could work with that and it shouldn’t be too hard. It kinda seemed like you’d overestimated a bit with how challenging it would actually be and saddled yourself with most of the heavy lifting. That or you were just a control freak which was a little more believable.

He wished you would stop looking at him over the edge of the screen. He could feel himself starting to sweat. Rivulets falling down the nape of his neck and racing across his bare chest under the sweatshirt. Tomura sorta regretted not wearing a shirt underneath but he knew that he wouldn’t have taken off the insulating layer even if that had been an option. 

It would just mean you had more drying, pale as fuck skin to look at and judge him for because he knew that’s what you were doing. Fucking vapid and shallow like everyone else. 

“It’s really rough so far, but I have it the gist outlined,” you indicated to another tab and then turned back to Kai who had been sitting silently glaring daggers into your back. “So, Kai, since you’re in STEM I figured you’d be okay with doing more of the preliminary research—”

“I don’t think so,” Kai interrupted, shaking his head and pushing off his knees to lean back in the cheap, plastic seat. “Look, it’ll be easier for all of us if you two just make it look pretty and I can handle the oral presentation.” 

You gaped and looked to Tomura with this pathetic fucking incredulous stare, like you thought he’d back you up. 

Which actually, now that he thought about it was probably a good idea—he did need you to remain somewhat cordial with him—but he certainly didn’t care enough to defend you in any way. Kai was a dick, sure, but he wasn’t gonna let you rope him into being your white knight or whatever. 

He settled for a similarly disgruntled downward twitch of his lips. The movement pulled at the cracking skin which stung as it tore open even more. Tomura felt the familiar crawling feeling on his neck and shifted in his seat to resist the urge to scratch. 

He couldn’t pinpoint why exactly you staring at him was so uncomfortable. He didn’t like you, he didn’t care about you and by extension didn’t give two shits what you thought of him, but anything he might have said shriveled on his tongue when you spoke or looked in his eyes too long. 

Tomura had never made a habit of talking to females and they certainly had never wanted anything to do with him either. 

Maybe he was fucking allergic or something. 

Whatever the case, you seemed to take his half frown as a sign of solidarity and leaned back in your own seat. 

“Okay, look,” you retorted. “If you’re seriously not gonna at least try to cooperate, then there is actually an option to do the project by yourself and I suggest you take it.” 

The look on your face was distinctly impolite. There was a sharpness to the set of your jaw that Tomura had never seen before, but it looked practiced enough that he could bet it was simply the snake that resided in every woman just waiting to come out. 

“Look sweetheart—” that masked jerk began, also for some fucking reason looking to Tomura for support. 

For someone who was very much used to blending into the background scenery, this was the most eye contact Tomura had ever made in a day. 

Except on the rare occasions his roommate had friends over and he had to make the dreaded trek from his room to reach the fridge. 

“Oh yeah I’m not doing that,” you closed your laptop sharply and rolled your eyes. “I get it, but I’m really just trying to graduate. I don’t think this is going to work out and you,” Tomura froze as you shifted your gaze to him once again, “seem okay, so Tomura and I can just work this out by ourselves and you can find a different group.” 

Kai scoffed behind the black layer of fabric covering his mouth and slung his backpack over his shoulder. “Whatever.” 

Tomura watched him saunter straight out the door as the room was filled with the shuffling of notebooks and zipping of backpacks. 

“God,” you huffed and turned back to him. 

His raw skin burned under the new wave of heat and accompanying moisture that slicked his skin when you scooted closer to him. That clean laundry and shampoo smell was suffocating from this proximity. 

Did you fucking bathe in the stuff? 

He was becoming increasingly aware of his less than pleasant aroma and the fact that you not scrunching your nose up in disgust just out of some stupid, ingrained need to appease him. 

“Well, that was...weird,” you chuckled in a way that was probably meant to break the tension. 

Unfortunately Tomura felt more like he was about to break out in hives if you came any closer so it really just ended up making the atmosphere ten times more awkward. At least for him. You, somehow, remained resolutely unaware. 

“Mhm,” he hummed in response and picked silently at the skin of his fingers. 

“Anyway, I have a meeting in a few but we can trade numbers and pick a time to meet up sometime tomorrow maybe?” you suggested, quickly saving the steadily degrading vibes of the conversation and pulled out your phone. 

He really hated the full body pulsation that rushed through him at the thought of getting a girls number. It made him fucking sick at himself for falling into your stupid trap to get him interested. Was your plan to just use him to get a good grade or whatever and then block his texts?

It wasn’t like Tomura didn’t know about his status as the class ‘freak.’ That one guy everyone whispers about and makes sure not to sit next to. And he knows you know, so why the hell else would you act so nice?

He wanted to say something scathing in return. That he could do the whole thing by himself too—which he definitely couldn’t but that was irrelevant—and that he didn’t need you bossing him around either. 

“Sure thing,” he said instead and took your offered phone all too eagerly, typing in his number and watching as you shot off a text back so he’d have yours. 

His phone buzzed against his thigh and he jumped a fourth time, but you seemed not to notice as you packed your bag and grabbed your basic ass drink. The ice clattered against the tumbler, dropping cool condensation against the searing skin of his hand. 

Tomura shivered as you waved over your shoulder and slipped out the door with another rush of students. 

He sat silently in the empty room for a moment, trying to process the last hour. He pinched himself idly, wondering if it had all been just a weird dream, but the results were inconclusive. A minute or two passed before he pulled out his phone to scroll through the list of reddit and discord notifs to find your text. 

Unknown Number:

— pEopLe DoN’t TaLK tO mE liKE ThAt 

— not very plus ultra of him...smh

— anyway, library at 6 tomorrow ?

 Tomura caved, digging his nails into the side of his neck and hissed at the pain, confirming the day's horrible reality. 

[androgynousblackbox]

could you expand a little bit on why you think the VIPs of Squid Game are anti-imperialist? i feel like i know what you mean but i want to be sure

I actually think that they are part of the anti-imperialist message that goes hand in hand with the overall anti-capitalist theme, not that the characters themselves are supposed to be anti-imperialist. I know that was probably what you meant and I got it, but just to clarify lol

Okay, so I have been reading a lot about this because I was waiting for someone else to adress this, but almost unsurprisingly, considering it was gringos talking, they didn't and not even leftist gringo seemed to even think about this. I think that the VIPs are intentionally written as they are and come off as, well, bad because this show doesn't care about glorifying rich white gringos and instead will plainly and clearly point them out as a responsible in everything bad that happens. I mean, just in a narrative stand point, they are responsible for all the bad shit that happens because they literally financied it just to see asian people (because we have no fucking clue if Squid Game happens on any other place) killing each other for fucking fun. The old guy goes on this entire rant about how he felt empty and there was no excitement on his life so that is why he decided to start the games, but he could have never pull the shit he did without the VIPs and without them wanting to have a fun show. So, already, and very obviously, these are our bad guys. They preyed on these people who were already vulnerable and literally desperate enough to want to risk their lives. Fuck, by the end they very clearly tell us that after everything they STILL kept tabs on the protagonist to make sure he got in the plane and move on from the whole issue, so who is to say that they didn't do that for all the players too during the period in which they decided to get out of the game and even pulled the strings to make their situations even shittier just so they would be more "motivated" to come back? They obviously have the money and resources, so why not? Would they really spend all that time and money into making this entertainment thing for the rich and then just, forget about it because the lower class said no? LOL, of course not. Bet you too that the players who didn't came back to the game end up fucking dead, absolutely. Alright, but then you look further than what and have to ask yourself about the decisions that were made. These could have been rich people from literally anywhere on the world. This a big production, if they really wanted to they could have pull that off. Fuck, they could have grabbed other rich asian people who also happened to speak english to put on that place. But they chose to put white men with gringo accents in these roles. Why? Well, because you can't adress anti-capitalism without adressing anti-imperialism and particularly how the USA works inside of this system to leech off everyone else. I am not an expert into the relation between Korea and the USA specifically, but from what I have read of some people, it's not great, in fact it fucking sucks, so it makes perfect sense that choosing to represent the ultimate evil this korean product went out of their way to manifest it on the bodies of unpleasant, crude, disgusting, awful gringos. Not gonna lie, I am kinda horrified when I see people expressing dissapointment that the VIPs weren’t cooler or something like that because that would have made the message go to shit. Go to a western american show to see rich people being badass and cool while they gorge themselves on the resources they deny to everyone else, and they are classist and racist and mean and petty but still kind on a “but you want to be like them, don’t you” way. You go do that if you want it so much. The VIP are a perfect representation of how we, we as everyone who is not american, views gringos from the exterior, especially those that have the most power over our lives and what happens to us. They aren’t cool and slick. They aren’t sophisticated and funny with interesting conversations. It’s Donald Fucking Trump and all his friends presented without any mercy or consideration because fuck that, you are paying to see this people get killed so why the fuck would you ever deserve that. They are akward and gross and annoying and vapid because how else could you represent such evil?  Like, okay, sure, some people could say “but those were the only english speaking actors they coul grab, there wasn’t any intention behind that” and to that I say fucking nonsense, because either way they work with the theme and message of the show and if you think “they should have been more intimidating” then you missed the fucking point. 

[mainveyn]

《 unspoken love 》 suna rintarou x reader

wc : 1.3k

genre : soft angst that u guys can handle :)

a/n : finding a divider that match w the picture is much harder than i thought 

series : silent love ▪︎ unspoken love ▪︎ nebulous love ▪︎ ardent love

practice was already over about an hour ago, but you insisted on staying back for free practice by yourself. your captain and teammates are concerned to have you clean up the gym all by yourself but you reassured them. after all, you need to stay back late enough to not cross paths with suna on your way to the school gate. surprisingly, you heard from his teammates that he went home quite early since the past few weeks but you didn't question it. you probably knew the reason already. 

even so, you still tried to avoid him at all costs. you didn't show up at your usual spot for lunch nor did you walk past his classroom anymore. he texted you daily but your replies are short and uninformative at all. you knew he probably noticed it but if he is not mentioning anything, you think it's better this way.

but it's not, not when you missed his presence so much. you missed those days when he walked you home and held your hands to cross the street. you missed him stealing food from your bento when he lied that he only brought chuupet for lunch. you missed him telling you to drop by his class and ask you to tutor him before he has to take an english test in the next two hours. you didn't realize he had involved himself in your life that much that you can never get him out of the picture anymore.

you regret for missing out all the opportunity to clarify your doubt with him. as much as you loved this wordless relationship with him, you didn't expect it'd throw you into the trouble of wandering to yourself just what exactly are you and suna. is he just being nice? does he only think of you as a friend? yeah, you should've asked while you had the chance. but now you can only imagine him rejecting your love when he already have someone in his heart.

the walk to your clubroom was pretty dreadful but you still dragged your feets toward it. the hallways are really quiet and peaceful now, which used to be your favourite place to take a stroll. but now you want nothing more than to quickly change out of your sweaty jersey and go home. you’re reminded of how you're totally off game today in practice as your mind only wanders around the memories of him. disappointment is just an understatement because you can't believe you're losing both the most important person in your life and the sport that you took pride in.

your hand stopped at the doorknob as you lifted your head to stop the tears that were threatening to fall, taking deep breaths in the process. you gave yourself a few minutes to steady your breathing before putting up a facade, trying to act normal again. as if god hates you right now, you caught someone round the corners of the hallway and halted a few metres away from you. and it's definitely the person that you didn't want to see right now. 

"hey," his gaze focused on you entirely, retrieving one of his hands from his pockets to wave at you. you merely gave him a side glance and faked a smile at him. "i'm gonna go get changed first. bye su-" "i'll wait for you," he cuts you off with his unfaltered stare as if he is telling you he won't take no for an answer. you could feel your shoulders tensed up at his stern tone but you knew you can't run from him now.

you didn't expect a confrontation would happen so soon nor are you good at it too so you find yourself shrinking under his stares. an exasperated sigh from you made him move closer to you, but he stopped as you turned to face him fully now. "you don't have to. aren't you supposed to be home early today?" you decided to go against him today, so that it's easier for you to reject his kind offer in the future. you insist it's better this way.

suna averted his eyes to the side for a moment before quickly bringing his eyes back to trace your feature. you didn't look angry or uncomfortable but he didn't miss the sadness swirling in the reflection of your orbs. "did i...make you upset or something? i don't remember i did anything but," he rubbed the nape of his neck out of nervousness before he continued.

“i’m sorry if i did. so stop avoiding me already," his stoic expression remains but you perfectly captured his emerald eyes laced with concern. he did nothing wrong and yet he is here apologizing because he is worried about you. you really didn't have the heart to push him away. probably never.

everything seems normal, like how you guys used to. you both walked in silence, except for the fact that your heart is getting heavier at each step you take. you two walked past the same convenience store, it's neon light sign lightened up the street in the dark just like every other night. suna stood in front of the same junction, eyes scanning for any cars even though the lights flashed green for you both to cross. he does it every time, making sure it's safe for you to cross before offering his hand for you to hold. you expected it so you walked ahead of him, not giving him any chance to do that.

you didn't notice you start picking up your pace as the distance to your house is getting closer. but you do after you feel a firm tug from the sleeve of your jacket. suna gave you an unamused look, but you tried to feint innocence and told him "i'm reallyyyy tired today! just wanna get home and rest." you hoped your smile was convincing enough.

you stiffened at the sight of his annoyed expression because he obviously doesn't believe it. you almost regret letting him into your life too much that he can read you so easily. he didn’t spare you a second and grabbed your hand instantly, ignoring that you tried to retract it and only held his grip on you firmly. the warmth from his palm is so comforting yet it hurts. but you’d exchange anything for his touch, including your heart. 

for the first time, the silence surrounding you two is unbearable. your house is just right in front you, yet he has no intention of letting go. you didn’t have the courage to speak up, just silently giving him side glances. suna looked up to the sky like he was thinking of something to say. you noticed his lips trembled a little so you squeezed his hand, trying to get his attention.

“what’s wrong, suna?” you whispered softly but he still remained in the same position. at this point, you loved him too much that you can’t leave him alone even though you’re hurting under his presence. even if you can’t be with him, you want him to be happy.

he turned to you swiftly, shifting both of his palms to your cheek now and pulled you in closer. you hitched at the sight of his face being just inches away as you balled your fist on his jacket. “y/n,” you watch his eyes drooped into a pleading look, his forehead touching yours now with so much affection. you didn't know what to expect, but you could feel he held back all the words he wanted to tell you before moving away with his shoulders slumped in defeat.

“there’s an important match tomorrow,” he said with his gaze on the floor, shoving his hand into his pocket to hide his nervousness. if you think you’re the only one who is afraid of rejection, then you’re wrong. because suna is afraid too, at least for now. 

“will you come and watch me tomorrow?” you can never say no, not even your heartache will allow you to do so.

reblogs are very much appreciated <3

[greenninjagal-blog]

The Rumor Mill Game (pt4)

I swear I didn’t forget about this au. This chapter is just....long.

Welcome back to this mess of an au :) If you need a refresher, you can find Part Three [here!] Or if you’re new check out the first part [here!]

Summary: Logan is...dealing with the fallout of him and his coworker, Remus, having created a rumor about them being married and now apparently having a kid except not because Logan screamed at the top of his lungs that Virgil wasn’t his kid. His boss has a different definition for what “dealing” actually means. 

Words: 8292 (Holy shit remember when this au was 2k words)

Read on Ao3 || My General Writing Masterlist

When Logan had seen his boss after he made Virgil cry, he hadn’t expected it to end up like this.

Granted when he hadn’t exactly been expecting anything. He hadn’t been looking ahead, hadn’t been making plans, hadn’t been thinking at all. Which was most likely how he ended up outside the bar in the first place. 

Logan could, of course, count the number of times he had been drunk on one hand. College had been a time for experimenting, and of course for his twenty-first birthday his friends at the time had been insistent that he needed to imbibe an unholy amount of alcohol in one night. They had turned it into an experiment, where Logan documented exactly what he was feeling after each drink and he still had the notes in his desk at home, despite the fact that his handwriting had become illegible after the fifth drink and someone had spilled an orange soda based tonic on the third page. The notes themselves were worthless, but they served as a memoir to people who he no longer associated with and a younger version of himself who had still been learning.

And Logan did have a soft spot for that imbecile: Twenty-one-year-old Logan Ackroyd who still believed in the goodness of people and who wanted to change the world and who could fall in lov--

Logan pitied him-- that kid he used to be-- which he was certain that his younger self would be indignant about. Logan always did hate when people pitied him. Those emotions had rarely ever been genuine, rarely ever been helpful, rarely been productive. What was he to do about people feeling bad for him? About others being disappointed? About others making assumptions about him and how he felt?

He didn’t need pity, and he didn’t want it. Not when he got rejected to his first three colleges, not when flunked that English class and had to pay to retake it the next year, not when he had bought that ring and gotten down on one knee and made a whole carefully edited speech and--

And he’s not nearly drunk enough to deal with these types of thoughts. Or any thoughts for that matter. Wouldn’t it just be great to stop thinking? 

Then he wouldn’t have to remember the looks on his coworkers faces when he storming into the office less than fifteen minutes after initially leaving for lunch and demanded that Beatrice turn in her overdue spreadsheets in twenty minutes or he’d have her fired before slamming his office door hard enough to crack that frosted glass, or the look on Remus- fucking- Prince’s face when he tried to act like everything that had happened was not his fault and that Logan had taken the game to far by himself without any sort of prompting from Remus, or the look on Virgil’s face when Logan lost his self control.

Like an idiot. Like an asshole. Like someone who doesn’t think before he acts.

Like someone who should be alone for the rest of his life, because he can’t seem to get a hold of those useless emotions of his. 

And Logan wanted so very badly to blame Remus Prince for this whole endeavor, the whole production, the whole catastrophe. He wanted to say that without Remus he never would have gotten that angry, wouldn’t have had that conversation, wouldn’t have even gotten Thai today. 

Logan wanted to say that, but really it's his own fault. If he had just dismissed Remus’s rumor in the beginning, if he had just told Jen and Quin that his personal business was his own, if he had just ignored the urge to get coffee and finished the spreadsheets without getting up that last night.

His fourth finger itched around the base, the area where that little silver ring had been sitting for less than a day. It was ridiculous, utterly ridiculous, because Logan had never worn a ring before and now suddenly the absence of it caused his skin to crawl in a most unpleasant, unproductive way. 

Distantly Logan realized that by gifting Remus such a wonderful present, he had also thrown away four hundred dollars. And perhaps ironically Logan noted that he feels annoyed about it-- four hundred dollars had been sitting in a pocket of a dress jacket in the corner of his office for over nine months and he had tossed it aside in a fit of impulsive anger.

Logan had not been hurting for money recently, with how decently he was paid, and the amount of overtime he worked, and how little time he had taken off since that disastrous night.

But perhaps he might have been able to return it to the jewelers and weathered the terrible, awful pitying looks they would give him when he requested about their refund policy or a location where he might be able to sell it himself. It was a ring that was worth four hundred dollars and he had given it to Remus, and isn’t it funny that that’s farther than he got with the one for whom the ring had been originally intended?

And as Logan downed his next rum and coke of the night, he hoped that Remus found a better use for it. Newton knows it hadn't done any good for Logan. 

(Its stupid, Logan knew, to blame a ring for the way that he had screeched “He’s not and never will be our son!” Its stupid, Logan knew, to blame a ring for the way that Remus had hummed mischievously “I think I enjoy being fake-married to you, Logan." Its stupid, Logan knew, to blame a ring for the the way his last partner had said “We should see other people”. Its stupid, stupid, stupid--)

“Hmmm,” A voice behind him said, “I thought I would find you here!”

Logan didn’t realize he had closed his eyes until he heard the voice and felt every atom in his body figuratively threaten to combust. He wasn’t drunk enough to be thinking about him, and he most certainly wasn’t drunk enough to turn and look at the incessantly, perky man that had decided to sit down next to him.

Logan waved at the bartender and ordered another rum and coke and watched his freshly emptied glass disappear like the handful of others he didn’t bother to keep count of.

“And I’ll have two waters, please!” Patton Hart added with one of his peppy, happy, insufferable laughs, before turning to face Logan. “Hiya, Lo! It's been so long since we’ve seen each other!”

“Not long enough,” Logan disagreed, with a rueful smile that should very clearly, very precisely detail how much he does not want company at the current moment. “Don’t you have things to be doing tonight, Mr. Hart?”

Patton hummed, pressing his lips together as he thought-- a monumental task for someone like him, surely. Logan was partially convinced that if he removed his glasses he might be able to see the squirrels beginning to run on that rusted wheel in the other man’s brain. If Logan was of a less logical mind he might even be brazen enough to call this the first time Patton had used his brain all week.

“Well,” Patton said, carefully settling himself on the stool next to Logan. “I was graciously informed by my son that he would be enjoying the perks of being a teenager with no bedtime tonight and along with where exactly I could shove my homemade lasagna.” He laughed lightly, “Kids, these days! He really does keep me on my toes!” 

Logan did his best not to roll his eyes. “I do not know the whereabouts of your son, Mr. Hart.”

“Patton,” He said easily, “And I’m not here for my son. I’m here for you, Logan.”

“If this is about the glass in my door, you are very capable of taking that out of my paycheck.” Logan told him.

The bartender placed Logan’s new rum and coke in front of him and he reached for it almost immediately, only stopping when Patton’s hand landed on his forearm.

“Mr. Hart--”

“Patton,” Patton corrected with that smile that Logan suspected was the worst thing in the world. Worse than Virgil’s blank expression when he told them to get out, worse than Remus’s smug one when he suggested that Logan did indeed enjoy the ability to manipulate his coworkers, worse than Beatrice faulty excel sheets, than broken glass of his door, than a ring he never wanted to see again and yet he still felt like it was missing from his finger.

“Mr. Hart,” Logan said again, “I am going to get horrifically drunk tonight, and I will be calling out sick tomorrow, regardless of what you say. So my advice to you is, say anything of importance now, before I am too incoherent to register and respond accordingly.”

“That doesn’t sound too smart there, kiddo!” Patton said, like he was any older than Logan was.

“I do not feel like being smart right now,” Logan said snippily. Because being smart involved thinking, and Logan had done quite enough thinking for the day. He was tired of thinking, tired of memories, tired of the lump in his chest that had formed during his lunch break and hadn’t dissolved in the eight hours since. He was tired.

“Would you like me to be smart for you?” Patton asked.

Ah.

Yes, Logan remembered suddenly with just a few words why he hated Patton Hart so much. Why he hated those too-wide brown eyes, those stupid freckles, that soft smile. Why he hated the way that Patton had tracked him down despite the fact that he had turned off his phone, the way that Patton had ordered two waters, the way that he hadn’t taken off his jacket. The way that he had taken out his keys and put them on the bar counter between them and Logan could pick out his own house key from the jumbled mess of bits and bobs.

“I heard something pretty interesting today,” Patton said, when Logan didn’t reply because he was too busy remembering why he hated Patton so much.

“Please don’t pretend like you didn’t know about my so-called affair before I did.” Logan snapped. “Honestly, Patton!” Logan dropped his arm from the glass and instead pressed his knuckles to his forehead. “Playing dumb about your own company is my least favroite thing about you.”

“I thought you hated my laugh the most.” Patton looked at him, letting the smile slip into something more serious.

“I hate everything about you.” 

“Pay for the drinks, Lo.” Patton told him, “And I’ll take you home. We can have some of my lasagna and watch a space documentary, like we’re twenty years old again.” 

Logan hated Patton and hated the way his chest ached at the offer. His knuckles bore into the side of his head, jabbing the frame of his own glasses into this temple. He hated the way that Patton was looking at him, soft and sweet and naive.

He hated the way his fingers itched to take Patton’s hand and go home.

“And after all that,” Patton continued so lightly, “You can tell me all about how Remus Prince got under your skin.”

 Logan’s hand slammed on the counter, so suddenly he surprised himself. Patton, however, didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink, didn’t react other than to hold that smile. 

“I am not drunk enough to be talking about Remus Prince,” Logan spat. “Especially not to you, Patton.”

Patton was quiet and at first, Logan really had thought that he had won something-- he thought that perhaps Patton would grant him mercy and let him drown his sorrows alone and miserable in a bar until he forgot his own name. But Patton was too good of a friend and Logan really should hate him less for that.

“You know,” Patton said with a cold type of humor that doused Logan with awareness. Bad awareness. The type of awareness that sunk it’s metaphorical claws into Logan’s chest and pierced straight through his heart before Patton finished what he was saying. “I think….yeah that does sound familiar. Do you remember the last time you said you weren’t drunk enough to tell me something?”

Logan did.

Logan couldn’t forget if he tried. 

And he had tried so very hard for so very long-- except that Remus Prince had waltzed into Logan’s life, had called him a Robot, had smirked at him and run their coworkers around like cattle with pretty little words. Except that Remus Prince had gotten bored and decided that the only logical next course of action was to mess with Logan’s personal life. 

Except that Remus Prince had played along with the rumor game, and smiled at him, and kissed him, and---

And Logan had started thinking---

And Logan’s mouth had started moving--

And Virgil face had--

Logan reached for the glass in front of him, reaching for the cool ice and the spritzy carbonation and the burn of the rum.  

Patton watched him, blinking in the long, slow, dumb way of his that had fooled just about every person that he had come in contact with. With the goofy smile and the habit of deliberately misunderstanding key phrases and making puns and jokes when things were tense, it was hard to see him as anything other than a rich son who became CEO via thinly veiled nepotism. 

Logan knocked back the drink, blinking back the burn behind his eyes that were from the alcohol and definitely not from the lump in his throat that had started dissolving.

He didn’t want to close his eyes, because he knew what he would see when he did: a nice suit, a fancy dinner, a walk to the bridge dotted with fairy lights of all things. He’d see that stupid ring, that stupid face, that stupid end of the night that everyone had told him would be nice, and perfect, and everything he would ever want! 

And he didn’t want to think about how it had not been nice or perfect or anything either of them had ever wanted!

He didn’t want to think about how years ago he had come to a bar just like this, and tried to get so drunk he could pretend that it hadn’t happened, and Patton had shown up then and offered him a job and--

“He wants to go by Janus now,” Patton said, picking up one of the waters and taking a sip.

Logan squinted at him and tried not to be happy about the distraction from his own thoughts, “Who?”

“My son,” Patton said, like it was obvious he had switched back to a neutral topic. “He told me earlier during our phone call he wants to go by Janus, now. He said he’s hated the name Dante for forever. Can you believe it, Lo?”

Logan couldn’t actually. Because he had known Patton since they themselves were teenagers, since before Patton had brought up how empty being a CEO was without anyone to come home too, since Patton had first invited him to Sunday brunch and introduced him to the child he called “son”. Logan had babysat Dante when Patton had business trips and Dante had always been proud of himself, of his better-than-the-status-quo lifestyle, of his name that held power and prestige and weight.

Dante had been practicing saying his name in the mirror since before his voice cracked. Dante Hart, future CEO. Dante Hart, son of Patton Hart. Dante Hart. 

“He’s a teenager,” Logan said, “He’s rebelling.”

“Maybe so!” Patton laughed, and it dwindled down to something that was easier felt in the air than definable in terms Logan was familiar with, “Gosh, I love him so much, Lo. My baby! He’s growing up so fast now! The other day he told me he had a boyfriend. He’s at that stage where he doesn’t want me to help him anymore!”

And despite the buffoon having not had a single drop of alcohol, Patton was tearing up. Logan gritted his teeth at the implications of a weepy, teary, so-full-of-emotions Patton. He had spent enough time in college trying to console him as he figured out the whole “Why does it always have to be about sex? Why can’t I just love hugging someone, Lo? Why does everyone make me feel so broken?” Logan hadn’t been any good back then, and he definitely hadn’t gotten better with time. 

After that disaster with the last guy, Logan had decided that feeling things, frivolous things, emotion-like things, were not something he was into anymore.

Logan learned from his mistakes, after all.

Even the mistakes that started with “R” and ended in a $400 ring being thrown away.

“Is that why you’re here, Mr. Hart?” Logan asked, in that way of his that told even Patton with his squirrel run brain that it wasn’t actually a question at all. “You can’t baby your son anymore so you’ve moved on to the next best thing?”

Patton stuck his tongue in his cheek and set his water back down. “Patton.” He stressed. “And I’m not here to baby you, Logan. I’m here to be your friend.”

He said “friend” like it was a word in the dictionary Logan didn’t know. It was infuriating: the insinuation that Logan had never cracked open a dictionary before, that he was so unknowledgeable about the concept of a friend that Patton was about to show him the online Oxford dictionary definition, like someone who played dumb all day and peppered his windows with sticky notes in the shape of a game of Frogger knew more about something than Logan who had clawed his way up from nothing and was constantly needing to prove how he earned his position.

Patton nudged the second water in Logan’s direction.

Logan stared at it, at the condensation on the glass, at the ice cubes, at the refraction of the low lights from the bar counter. He stared at it like it was a portal back through time that would allow him to slam some sense into poor, pitiful twenty-one-years-old Logan before he let himself fall in Love.

Before he bought a ring or stopped taking days off unless Patton tromped down to his office himself. Before Remus Prince borrowed his cup and before Logan got it in his head that he was serving revenge rather than idiocracy. Before he let himself think too little and say too much and hurt a kid that had never deserved to be upset before in his life.

“If my son wants to be called Janus, I’ll call him that,” Patton says softly. “Because even if it doesn’t make sense to me, it means something to him. And even if my friend is struggling with emotions that don’t make sense to me, I’m still gonna try to help him, Lo.”

Patton ducked his head just a little, just enough that he managed to catch Logan’s strategically averted gaze and make something out of it: a swell of guilt, a sense of hope, a pinch of safety and unadulterated kindness.

His throat was dry, but it was the type of dry that couldn’t be fixed with a glass of water.

“I made a kid cry,” Logan said, because self loathing is a coat he had thought he’d outgrown but he can still fit his arms in the sleeves.

Patton nodded. “Yeah, I heard about that.” He sipped his water. “I think we all have at one point or another.”

“See, the distinct difference that you are missing here, Patton, is that you are a father.” Logan snapped, “And your son will cry at the drop of a hat if he thinks he can get something out of it. And you would never harm a child! Not for any reason in the entire world!”

“And you would?”

“I did.” Logan felt himself sink into the chair, sink like an anchor in the ocean, sink like the floor below him had turned into a blackhole. “I did, I did it. What type of person does that make me?”

“I hate to break it to you, Lo,” Patton said, as kindly as he could, which Logan knew was truly, sickenly nice. He wanted to choke on the sentiment but he found that he couldn’t quite make his chest hurt the way he wanted it too when it came to Patton’s pity.

 “But that just means you’re a normal person.” Patton smiled dumbly, tilting his head and shrugging. “Everyone says things they don’t mean sometimes.”

“You don’t.”

“I do,” Patton countered gently, “Like when I hired Beatrice before realizing that she had lied about knowing how to use Excel.”

“Fuck, Beatrice,” Logan agreed, because if he closed his eyes too hard he thought he might still see grid patterns as much as he might see Virgil’s hurt expression and he hated it so much. So much. 

“I also told-- Janus once that I would get him anything he wanted for his birthday, and he asked for a snake.” Patton shuddered, almost comically, “And you saw how that turned out.”

“I’ve always been impressed with his ability to sneak things into the school buildings,” Logan sighed. “I doubt anyone has ever forgotten that Show-and-Tell.”

Patton chuckled quietly. It was almost lost in the buzz of the other patrons in the bar. He drew a smiley face in the condensation on his glass and Logan reached over to wipe it away, like he had done a hundred seventeen times since college.

“So….Lasagna?” Patton offered. “We can make some garlic bread too.”

“I regret ever meeting you,” Logan said, even as he picked up the keys on the counter between them. He wished that Patton didn’t look so self satisfied, so pleased, so smug when the words tumbled from his lips, but Patton had never been one to pertain to the wishes and whims of Logan like that.

Settling his tab was quick; a pile of bills from his wallet that he didn’t actually check, but decided the bartender deserved anyway and then Patton linked their elbows together so that Logan couldn’t walk off the way that he used to when he would agree with Patton just to get him to shut up. Logan snagged Patton’s glasses from his head and fogged them up with his breath, before taking on the tedious task of cleaning the fingerprints off the lens meticulously while walking in a wobbling straight line. 

Patton laughed like silver bells and it alone brightened the entire street with a type of magic that Logan had long since given up on trying to scientifically explain. The poet in him that Logan had buried under Calculus classes and Statistics courses and a Business degree and only let out when the alcohol out weighed the blood in his system, whispered that it was because it was Patton and his aloofness, and his kindness, and his generosity that never made any sense, and wasn’t that reason enough for the universe to lighten up?

It was drizzling outside, scattered raindrops and dark heavy clouds that whispered of a thunderstorm later. Patton skipped, Logan rolled his eyes and let himself be dragged towards the familiar pale blue punch buggy. It was the same exact car from their college time together, if one ignored the frankenstein replacements of just about every single component in it. Patton clung to the car the same way he had clung to the delusion of Logan being a good friend; sticking close through every breakdown, excusing every letdown, and spending far too much money on it when economically it would have been more beneficial to just let them go.

A wave of self loathing wrapped over Logan again when he pulled on the car door. Patton was genuinely a good person, a good friend. He was stupid at times and he made decisions that made Logan was to strangle him, but he cared so much more than other people. He offered fourth and fifth chances when Logan would have stone-walled his offender at one. 

Not to mention, he had come out in the rain to find Logan specifically, probably traversing through three other bars to find the one that Logan had chosen to be his misery echo chamber.

By some sort of lucky happenstance, Logan had originally walked far enough to hail a taxi  to get to this bar, leaving his car in the safety of the parking garage where Patton’s company paid a nice sum for security. Logan had tried to argue about that expense with him back in the day, but Patton had pulled out a picture of his toothy grinning son-- Janus-- and said “Lo!! What if my son comes to visit when he learns to drive?! I don’t want to worry about him getting attacked in the parking garage!” 

Logan had brutally pointed out that his son would never visit him during work, and so far he had been correct in that assessment, but that didn’t stop him from feeling the slightest bit guilty about his bluntness even so much time later.

Patton had always looked for the best in people, had more strength than most of humanity, had more hope in happy endings that Logan had trust in fact and numbers.

“Is your son okay with me calling him Janus? I’m unsure of etiquette on this. Should I wait until he tells me his preference or should I just make the switch and not bring it up to him?” Logan asked with a sigh as Patton pulled out of the parking spot and set them towards Patton’s house on the other side of town. Unobstructed and following the driving laws, it would only take them about fifteen minutes, and yet Logan wondered about the possibility of Patton having Advil in the car.

The back of his head was already aching from the days events: banging his head on the keyboard all morning leading up to his disastrous lunch date, Remus, Virgil, squinting at spreadsheets until he couldn’t make out the numbers anymore, and the of course stumbling his way to the bar and dealing with Patton.

Patton giggled. “Oh yeah! I asked him earlier if it was okay to tell you. He said he wanted you to call him Janus now. He also said to tell you, you can take a hike.”

Knowing Janus, it was probably something more volatile than “taking a hike”. Most likely it had been something that might have required him to put a full five dollars in the swear jar that they kept on the counter next to the cookie jar. Not that it would matter much. Logan had stayed over at their house dozens of times and every single time he had come across Janus taking that money back out of that swear jar.

As far as Logan was aware, the swear jar had never actually been full. Patton must have noticed at some point-- probably that very first time Janus had taken the money back out-- but he was irritating insistent that he play dumb about it. Thus, Janus continued to swear in excess, Patton continued to make him put money in a swear jar for no real reason, and Logan continued to never understand either of them.

The radio in Patton’s car had been broken fifteen times since Patton had gotten it, but Logan assumed from the silence of the drive that it was now sixteen. He rested his elbow on the window and watched the drizzle turn into a steady rain and the windshield wipers flutter across their vision to occasionally bring them clarity.

The night life was somewhat dreary. The driving pace was slow, and they hit every single stop light in the city because that was just Logan’s luck. There were a few people running around in the rain: a family with a small child who was jumping in every slowly forming puddle on the sidewalk, a couple sharing an umbrella walking so close together they appeared as if to be one misshapen form, a group of friends chatting outside a 24 hour dinner in raincoats, and a few smokers huddled under an alcove with embers burning just enough for Logan to make out their forms through the downpour. 

Logan realized almost immediately that the pit in his stomach was much more bearable if he instead focused on the raindrops on the window that are much easier to look at, much less representing something that Logan had always expected he might one day have, much less accusatory in wondering what is wrong with him that he can’t act like a normal human being, this isn’t working, who wants to marry a robot like you--

That was the reason why he wasn’t expecting the sudden jerk of the car coming to a hard stop at a yellow light that they absolutely could have made. 

“PATTON!” Logan yelled.

The car behind them blared it’s horn and Logan rubbed his neck and reset his glasses from the sudden movement, ready to question what exactly Patton thought he was doing, because truly of all the things Logan was not in the mood for, this was one of them. 

Except that before Logan could get any words out, Patton had put the car in park and whipped off his seatbelt to kick open his door. A wave of rain came pouring into the car as the man threw himself from the driver's seat like there was something wrong with the car, and for a second Logan entertained the absurd idea that they were going to blow up.

Which truly, would have just been a fitting end to his horrific day.

“Patton!” Logan hissed, grabbing after the other’s coat to pull him back inside before the rain soaked into the seats. “Get back in th--”

The other man ignored him, frantically waving to someone in the rain. “REMUS!! MR. PRINCE!! OVER HERE!!”

If Logan knew slightly less about human biology he might have been inclined to say that his heart jumped straight to his throat and climbed its way up his esophagus to strangle him. He wouldn’t have recognized the figure on the street corner on his own: Remus Prince was wearing a black leather jacket and jeans with holes in the knees. He was soaked to the bone, without an umbrella, and his usual bouncy brown curls were matted to his head, as if he had been walking out in the rain for much longer than the rain had been sweeping through the city.

He was standing with the smokers under their minimal tarp, although he, himself, was without a cigarette at all. When he turned at the call of his name, there was only confusion and exhaustion in his face. None of the smugness, or the ego, or the energy that he usually had.

Logan didn’t know why that bothered him. He was hurting from earlier; that was good. 

After all, it was Remus’s ridiculous game that he had dragged everyone else into. 

((Logan’s finger itched and he dug his nails into his skin so deeply he was afraid to glance down in case there was blood pouring off hands.))

Remus ventured out to meet them, dodging across the lanes of traffic without a care in the world, or perhaps with a death wish. Remus didn’t seem particularly like he would mind getting run over by the way that he opened the back door, climbed in, and shook the excess water out in the interior of the car like some type of undomesticated dog. 

“Is this a kidnapping?” He asked, rain dripping down his face. “A murder? Do I get to know your name before you dismember me, cutie?”

Patton laughed joyfully, even as Logan felt his face screw up at the sound of Remus calling their boss “cutie”. It was beyond unprofessional, even if Remus was apparently unaware that his career hinged entirely on not insulting Patton. It took a lot to make Patton angry enough to fire someone-- his patience was the best and worst thing about him, as Logan had been reminded every time they interacted-- but once Remus crossed that line, not even a cockroach like him would be able to drag himself out of the metaphorical wasteland Patton would make out of his life.

Cutie, honestly. Who calls anyone they’ve just met cutie. Logan could understand Remus having called him Lovebug and Lolo, but cutie? 

For Patton?

Patton climbed back into the car, snapping on his seatbelt and managed to get out of park at the very same moment as the light turned green. He wiped his sleeve along his glasses, and brightly said, “I’m Patton! And you already know Logie here!”

“Logie?” Remus repeated, sitting back against the seat taking in Logan for the first time. “Oh shi--”

“Do not call me that,” Logan said. “Patton, you can drop me off at the next corner. I will walk home.”

“Don’t be silly!” Patton said, in the same tone that he had used during their college days to coax Logan into driving him to the nearest grocery store after he had successfully managed to pull two all nighters in a row. Logan hated that tone, and Patton knew that well.

“If you do not stop the car, I will throw myself from it while it is still moving.”

“I can get out, actually!” Remus said far too loud for the small car. Logan resisted the urge to turn around and scowl at him. Surely, his pea-sized brain had managed to figure out that he was the point of contention here and that his best move would be to shut up, so why had he decided to open his mouth? “I need to get home anyway. Big day tomorrow and everything.”

“Oh?” Patton said delightedly because Logan would not ever play into subject changes willingly. “What’s tomorrow?”

“I’m getting fired,” Remus said with a nonchalant shrug.

Patton blinked for a moment-- his squirrel-run brain jamming at the sudden twist of the words because whatever he was expecting from his visitor it was not that. Logan resisted the urge to reach over and give him a shake at the shoulders: of course he wouldn’t be able to expect anything with Remus Prince. The man was insufferable and illogical and he wrought chaos for fun. 

With everything that had happened, did Patton really think that there was an exaggeration in there?

Remus wanted attention. And he said whatever he needed to in order to get it: a fake affair, a fake divorce, a fake child-- Of course he would say he was getting fired tomorrow if it got Patton to have to use all of his meager brain cells to figure out how serious he was.

“Is that something to celebrate, Mr. Prince?” Logan cut in coldly. “Getting fired?”

“And here I thought that you would be happy, Ackroyd,” Remus said. “Unless you think you’re going to miss me.”

“If only I would be so lucky,” Logan said, digging his phone from his pocket, and turning it back on. The screen was blindingly bright and Logan’s eyes ached just glancing at it in the corner of his vision. “Patton, pull over. I am not doing this tonight. Or tomorrow. Or ever again.”

“I’m not going to let you walk home after however many rum and cokes you had, Logan.”

“Patton,” Logan snarled. “If you continue to treat me like you treat your son, I will tender my resignation tonight. Pull over now.”

Patton opened his mouth, but whatever he was going to say was swallowed up in Remus’s empty voice speaking. 

“You went drinking?”

“Do not talk to me, Mr. Prince.”

“You’re not even yelling.”

Logan wasn’t sure what that was supposed to mean, which may have irritated him more than the fact that he was so insistent about continuing to talk when Logan was liable to push the car to crash and kill all three of them. Remus was already staring at him, his expression dark and serious in the passing car lights and somehow Logan thought that he looked vulnerable. 

Logan gritted his teeth as his headache pulsed behind his eyes. 

“Shut up,” he said. “And put on your seat belt.”

“Or what? You’ll divorce me?” Remus pushed forward between the seats until he was just a few inches from Logan’s own face, grinning with all his teeth. It was at once the same smile that Logan had catalogued through every week of working with him and also something completely foreign.

Remus had pulled him into a kiss earlier that morning, and Logan remembered the taste of pickles on his lips just as well as the smirk he kept as Logan walked away. But this expression is somehow inverted, somehow shifted, somehow a weapon more than a challenge.

“Boys,” Patton said. “Please don’t fight in my car!”

“If you did not want us to fight, why did you invite him in this car?” Logan asked. “You, of all people, know my opinions on--”

“Logan, you’re drunk.”

“What does that have to do with this?!” Logan bit out. He glared at his phone: there were three missed calls from Patton and a handful of text messages from him that Logan couldn’t actually read in the combination of the bright phone light and darkness around them. His eyes were blurry even with his glasses on and the frustration of not being able to read only heightened as he made out the notification for his email which meant that Beatrice had managed to finish her work (allowing Logan to be able to go fix it) or that news of him yelling at a child made it around the office and now he was going to harassed by them as well.

All because of Remus Prince’s inability to shut up. 

 Patton threw a hand out and grabbed Logan’s phone from his hand and carelessly tossed it over both their shoulders to Remus.

“Patton!” Logan hissed, rubbing the irritated tears from his eyes. “Remus, give it back!”

Remus, however, was just staring at the phone in his lap like it was some type of bomb. Logan’s phone locked itself and the screen went dark, and still Remus sat inhumanely still in the seat, staring at it, with a type of blank expression that Logan oftentimes related to their coworkers when Logan asked them to perform any sort of math without a calculator.

“Remus,” Logan said again.

Remus jerked at the sound of his voice, snapping out of whatever fit the phone had put him in almost meekly-- if Logan could describe anything Remus did as meekly without it being a blatant falsehood. “Meekly” itself had never seemed to be a word in Remus’s vocabulary which was another irritating fact about him that made Logan break out in figurative hives.

Logan knew how Remus was.

He knew Remus.

It didn’t matter that he had never talked to Remus before today, that his thinly veiled contempt for his coworkers kept him from being willing to stand in their presence more than he was being paid to, that this fake affair was the first stupid relationship of any kind he had gotten outside of Patton and his son since his last boyfriend had dumped him on the night he was going to propose and hadn’t he thought he’d known him too? Isn’t that what led to all this? 

It didn’t matter. 

Logan was smarter, now. Logan was better now. Logan was--

“I don’t…” Remus said, trailing off as he stared at the messages popping up on Logan’s phone and Logan wondered why it felt like his lungs had shrunk right in his chest. “I don’t think you should be reading these right now.”

“He definitely should not!” Patton said, with a very convincing amount of forced happiness. “Hold that for him will you, Remus? Oh and why do you think you’re going to get fired tomorrow?”

Remus looked up at Logan and then at Patton and then back at Logan, like Logan was supposed to know what that meant in addition to every other stupid look he’d given Logan all evening. Logan shoved his glasses up to his hairline and rubbed his aching eyes, and yet somehow that still didn’t fix the pounding in his head or the exhaustion hollowing out his bones. It also didn’t make Remus disappear from the backseat, which was equally annoying, even though Logan hadn’t truly thought he was a shared apparition for him and Patton.

“You didn’t mention anything about today to your… what are you a fuck buddy?” Remus said.

And Patton laughed. 

Logan grabbed the door handle and yanked on it, but of course the ridiculous safety locks were engaged, and Logan had spent far too many sober years getting locked in this car to try to puzzle out the broken locking system in order to drunkenly throw himself out of the car. He was not in the habit of wishing for miracles, or even believing in deities, but he imagined that some powerful entity was finding ruining Logan’s life to be semi enjoyable.

“See this is why I can’t fire him!” Patton said through giggles and Logan thought maybe he was being addressed for this. Patton met Remus’s gaze through the rearview mirror and shook the last bit of water from his damp hair. “You make everything so entertaining!”

“What?”

Logan grit his teeth and yanked on the door handle again. “Remus, meet Mr. Hart, the CEO and your boss. Also put on your seatbelt.”

Remus blinked at them both, leaning between the seats and definitely not putting on his seatbelt. Logan counted backward from ten, reminding himself that one of the hiring requirements for Patton’s company has always been must be the stupid beyond belief. He’d known for a while that his coworkers were idiots on a good day, hazards to his health on bad ones, and yet somehow in the whirlwind of the day he’s had, Logan had forgotten that Remus counted as a coworker still.

“I’m not… getting fired?” Remus said, acting much like a computer after being turned on. “Why do you know my name then?”

Patton shrugged, flicking on his blinker to change lanes before the next light. “You have interesting ideas for your advertising strategy! Of course I would know your name! I’m sorry about vetoing that last one. I know Logan liked it, but I wanted to stick to the family-as-a-whole angle.”

“Patton,” Logan warned with an edge.

“Logan liked…?” Remus echoed, before turning towards Logan with a look of bewilderment that annoyed Logan far more than it had any right to. “You actually look at my shit?”

“Put on your seatbelt, Remus,” he said, because wasn’t it obvious that Logan looked at his things? Before the whole Robot incident Logan hadn’t had a problem with Remus at all: he was effective and efficient and the rumors were irritating but below him to indulge in. Before Remus had dragged him figuratively kicking and screaming into this mess, Logan approved the budgets that came with the projects Remus created.

He still did that, just with more anger than before. Petty feelings for Remus himself aside, his work was objectively good. 

Logan knew that about him.

“So!” Patton said over both of them, with his signature grin that Logan suspected he would still be wearing even if Logan decided to kill him right now. It must be the by-product of being controlled by rodents running on a wheel. “How was your volunteer work Remus?”

Remus froze in the back seat, going unnaturally still again. “Are you some kind of stalker-- uh sir?”

“Will you knock that off?” Logan snapped, which only made Remus’s shoulders jump straight to his ears. “And put on your seatbelt.”

“Just curious!” Patton said, ignoring Logan entirely. “Darlene is a good friend of mine! I make sure to send monthly donations to the organization since I don’t have a lot of free time to jump over and help.”

Remus didn’t say anything to that. He swallowed audibly and leaned back against the seat, dragging fingers through his wet hair and then tucked his arms in his own armpits. Logan pressed a palm to his forehead watching the street lights bend from behind his eyelids because that was easier than staring at Remus act like Patton was trying to pull his teeth out.

“You actually do volunteer work?” Logan said. “You don’t seem like the type.”

“Ha,” Remus said without any inflection. Logan thought that was the quietest that he had ever been. Where was that stupid ass smirk? Where was the stubbornness that pushed back against everything? Where was that loud voice and that confidence?

“Put on your seatbelt,” Logan said again.

“Why do you care if I wear the belt or not?”

“Remus put on your seatbelt or, so help me Newton, I will climb back there and put it on for you, myself!”

The air simmered from the acid in his tone, making the silence figurative chafe against his ribs. Remus stared at him, blinking slowly, with the street lights casting roving shadows on his face. His dark eyes were just so-- so--

Logan dug his nails into his palm. Why was it Remus Prince could make him feel like this? What gave him the right?

“It’s okay!” Patton said, setting the car to park. “We’re here anyway!”

Logan reached up and pulled his glasses back onto his face properly, but it still took him a moment to realize that they were near a bunch of townhouses, double parked outside one that Logan had considered moving into all those years ago when he had first been looking for an apartment for after college.

Remus too, apparently needed a moment to recognize the area. “We… are at my apartment? Holy shit, you are a stalker.”

Patton giggled, flashing Remus with his blinding smile and reached back to pick up Logan’s phone from his hands. “Thank you so much, kiddo! We’ll wait until you get inside all safe and sound, and I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“You will not,” Logan said. “Tomorrow you have a business deal two hours away to complete and if you miss it--”

Patton stretched back in his seat and let out a hugely exaggerated yawn. “But they’re so boring! Maybe I should bring Janus with me. He always makes my business deals entertaining. I love when he sets his snake on people. He looks so happy and he laughs and--”

Logan squeezed his eyes closed and recited the first twenty digits of pi in his head to keep from grabbing Patton’s squirrel run brain and slamming it into the steering wheel.

“Homicide is wrong,” Logan said.

“I’ll help you vouch for insanity,” Remus said. “I mean, tied together through a murder, and possibly hiding a body is much more juicy than a fake marriage that’s falling apart. We’d be the talk of the office.”

“They would not find any body that I hid,” Logan said. “Nobody would.”

Remus opened his mouth to say something more, but whatever it is he decided against it. Instead he slid over the seats and kicked open the door right behind Logan and stepped out into the night air.

“Thanks for the ride, Mr. Hart, sir,” he said, strangely formal, then squinted and added, “Daddy?” 

“I’m not firing you, Remus,” Patton said. “No matter what you call me!”

Logan ran his tongue over his teeth counting each and every one. Remus looked at him but ultimately finally adhered to that whole shutting up thing. He closed the door to Patton’s blue punch buggy and started towards the door to the apartments.

“Oh,” Remus said, and turned back at the last second. He knocked his knuckles on Logan’s window a few inches from where Logan’s gaze fixed itself on a light. Patton apparently knew more about what to do than Logan because he pressed the window lowering button and Remus reached his entire arm into the window to drop a small object right into Logan’s lap.

Logan caught it mainly due to reaction rather than skill and his skin tingled at the familiar item. Even in the dark, Logan’s fingers roll over the shape of the ring that had always reminded him of the worst day of his life. It was still warm from being in Remus’s pocket.

“I think that should stay with you,” Remus said, like it wasn’t a big deal at all. “You know… for the next boytoy you take to your sex dungeon or whatever nerds like you do on weekends.”

And then he turned around and fled towards the apartment building. Patton turned off the hazard lights and slipped back into traffic and Logan wondered if he would be polite enough to not comment if Logan started crying right then and there.

His throat felt swollen, his tongue too big for his mouth, and the headache thrummmmmmed painfully. 

Logan knew Remus Prince.

“You know that Remus Prince isn’t gonna be like him,” Patton said to fill the silence.

“Remus Prince isn’t like anyone.” Logan didn’t whine. To whine would be unbecoming. And childish. And embarrassing.

So Logan didn’t whine and Patton mercifully didn't call him out on his not-whining.

And neither of them mention the choked tone that Logan had for the rest of the night.

When Logan had seen his boss after he made Virgil cry, he hadn’t expected it to end up with him clutching that ring like a lifeline, but as he ran his fingers around the rim, he wondered if it had fit on Remus’s finger at all.

(Part Five)

[chloelucia13]

It’s Nice to Have a Friend

Pairing: Steve Harrington x platonic!Henderson!reader, Jonathan Byers x reader (mentioned)

Prompt: After Jonathan had abandoned you so he could go god-knows-where with Nancy, you found comfort in the boy who had also been ditched and a beautiful friendship began to bloom.

Warnings: this is some nice comforting fluff, maybe a tiny bit of angst, some language, pretty chill

A/N: So this is a sort of deleted scene that I couldn’t fit into the Stranger Things rewrite, but I felt like it was still important to the character development with the reader and Steve, so I’m deciding to post it separately. You don’t need to read the whole rewrite in order to understand the plot (it’s based in season 2, so if you haven’t watched it then there will be some spoilers), but I would appreciate it a lot if you did read my rewrite! As always, requests and tag lists and my inbox are all open!

“Y/N, hey!” a voice shouted to your right, prompting you to turn your head and look at who was speaking.

Steve rushed over to you, his backpack hanging on one shoulder and a couple of crinkled papers held in his hand.

You furrowed your brows slightly in confusion, stopping at the side of the hallway and waiting for him to catch up. “Hey, Steve,” you drawled out, slightly confused by his presence.

Steve had sat at the bleachers with you that day after both of you had been ditched. Steve was ditched by Nancy and you by Jonathan, both of whom were now attached at the hip.

It was nice to talk to Steve about everything that was going on and, frankly, it was nice just to have someone there. You two seemed to have more in common than you once thought, and though some of that common ground was the fact that you both were abandoned by the person you loved, it was still something.

However, you thought that lunch was it. It was surprising that Steve Harrington, the former King of Hawkins himself, wanted to spend time with you.

"What’s your next class?” he asked, nervously shifting from one foot to the next. 

“It’s, uh, English. Why?” You tugged on the strap of your backpack.

“I was wondering if you maybe wanted to help me with something?”

A look of hesitation washed across your face for a moment. “I don’t know, Steve. I really can’t miss class-”

“Please? I just need help on this essay for my college applications and I have no one else woh can help me. I just... Please?”

You let out a sigh, glancing around as you mulled it over in your mind. “I... I guess. Should we just go to the library and rent out a study room?”

He let out a sigh of relief, all of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Thank you so much. And I already did.”

“Oh, so you were planning on me saying yes?” You squinted at him and tilted your head.

Panic crossed over his features. “No-no, I didn’t mean it like that-”

“Steve, I’m kidding. Chill out.” 

He let out a chuckle, nodding as the two of you began to walk to the library. His actions were clearly fueled by anxiety, with his shifting gaze and his hands constantly going in and out of his pockets.

“Why are you so nervous around me?” you asked, glancing up at him as the two of you stepped through the entryway to the library.

“What do you mean?” he scoffed. “I’m not nervous.”

You arched an eyebrow at his response, falling behind his step so he could lead you to the study room he reserved. “You’re fidgeting and you won’t look me in the eye. You weren’t acting like this earlier at lunch.”

He pushed the door open and waited for you to step inside before he also entered the room, closing the door behind him. A small sigh left his lips as he set the papers down on the table. “I don’t know, maybe... I guess I’m just not used to spending time with anyone other than Nancy. Especially when other people see me.”

You gave him a sympathetic look and nodded, sitting down at one of the chairs and taking the papers in your hand. “Well, there’s no need to be nervous around me. You know that. I’m not exactly some cool person that you have to act perfect around.”

Once again, he scoffed. “You are a cool person.”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head as you searched in your bag for a pen. “Come on, Steve. I’m already helping you with your essay, you don’t need to butter me up.”

He sat in the chair next to you. “But you are cool. You don’t give a fuck what people think about you, and I think that’s pretty damn cool.”

You sighed, beginning to scribble a few notes on the paper. “If only you knew, Steve.”

“What do you mean?”

“God, I care so much about what people think about me all the time. It’s exhausting.”

He was silent for a moment, watching you mark the paper as he thought. “Do you care about what other people think about you, or do you care what Jonathan thinks about you?”

You were about to argue with him, but once you realized that he was right, your mouth shut. Instead, you lifted your pen from the paper. “Did someone else edit this already? There’s pen all over it.”

He stiffened awkwardly in his chair, his lips pursing into a fine line. “Nancy was, uh... She was helping me out with it. Until, ya know, everything happened.”

You nodded slowly, slipping the cap on the pen before setting it down on the table. “But why are you having me check the draft that Nancy already checked?”

He let out a sigh, a hand combing through his hair as he stared at all of the markings on the paper. “I think Nancy wasn’t being honest with me about it. I thought that you would be more blunt about what you think about it.”

You searched his expression, leaning back in your chair and taking the papers in your hands. “You want me to be honest about it?”

He gave you a nod. “Please.”

A heavy breath fell past your lips. “Steve, it’s awful.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Geez, at least sugarcoat it a little!”

“You told me you wanted me to be honest!”

His mouth opened so he could retaliate, but no words came out. Instead, he huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “What-What’s wrong with it?”

“It... It just seems very disingenuous. Shallow.”

“What’s shallow about it?”

“You wrote about a basketball game for one of your biggest struggles that you’ve overcome.”

“And then I said it was like how my Grandpa fought in the war! That’s genuine and powerful!”

You stared at him for a moment, completely at a loss for words. “At least you’re pretty, Steve.”

“Okay, fine. What should I have done instead?”

“Steve, we’ve fought literal monsters. There has to be more to talk about than a basketball game.”

“But I can’t write about that. Can you imagine how crazy they’ll think I am?”

“That’s just an example. We’ve gone through a lot this past year. There has to be something from that time that you can write about.”

He nodded, silently thinking over what had happened in the past 12 months. “Do you think that leaving your bad friends and becoming a better person is a good example of overcoming a struggle?”

You gave him a kind smile.��“Absolutely.” You crumpled up the papers you had in your hands and tossed them in the trash can before pulling out a few clean pieces of looseleaf paper and sliding them over to him. “Let’s get an outline going. What made you realize that you should change?”

He thought for a moment, a sad look settling on his features. “Last year. I uh... I did something really mean to Nancy.”

Your head tilted in confusion. “What do you mean? What happened?”

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes flashing from left to right as if he was reading from a script, when in reality he was trying to find the right words to say. “After Nancy had ditched me for Jonathan, Tommy and Carol thought that it would be funny if I spray painted ‘Nancy the slut Wheeler’ on the marquee sign at the theater. So I did it.” He risked a glance over at you, noticing the look of disappointment on your face that you failed to disguise. “Nancy and Jonathan saw it, and it escalated.”

His words slowly sank in, and your eyes widened in realization after a few moments of silence. “That’s why you were all beat up? Because Jonathan fought you?”

Steve nodded, his lips pursing closed as he didn’t know what else to say.

“Well, I can’t say you didn’t deserve it.” Again, he nodded. You reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. “But I can say that you’ve gotten a lot better. And ditching Tommy and Carol definitely helped a lot.”

“So should I write about that?”

It was your turn to nod, a kind smile on your face. “Absolutely. Should we get started?”

He mirrored your smile, leaning forward and pulling a pencil from his backpack. “Let’s do it.”

[neonponders]

Here’s part 1 and the soulmates comic that inspired all this.

I’d also like to thank the Harringrove community for giving me mutuals who enable the worst best part of me 💞 You’re all fantastic 💗

• • • • • • •

Steve’s teeth clenched as his shoulder blades hit the brick walls of the alley between the gymnasium and school building.

Their English class was only two doors down from an exit, and Billy Hargrove, of all people, gripped Steve’s jacket the moment he passed out of the classroom door, and hauled his ass outside.

Now Steve had a face full of California freckles that made the accompanying blue eyes look like tropical waters. Billy had been a menace ever since he got to this town, and all of Hawkins’ fields didn’t leave enough room for the both of them, apparently. Shoving Steve around during gym. Parking next to him like the noise of his frigging Camaro would eclipse the humble BMW’s existence.

Billy released him but stayed crowded in his space as he ordered, “Get a pen.”

“What?”

“A pen, Harrington. I know you have one.”

Yeah, I just failed a test with it, he thought bitterly, but he’d also been using it to talk to Billy Freaking Hargrove all morning. He pulled it out of his binder and bit the cap to push the end into it -

“OW. Don’t - ” Steve shoved him back a step, interrupting the zagged line Billy was scoring into his hand. Into Steve’s hand. “ - press that hard. Jesus Christ.”

He waved said hand in front of Billy’s face. “It’s real, all right? It’s me. It’s me! What? Did you expect to be taller than me or some - ”

Steve’s head knocked the brick this time when Billy shoved him back, fisting his shirt to the point of stretching the fibers

And kissing Steve’s mouth like he had the water in a desert.

Everything Billy did was aggressive, so he supposed this shouldn’t be much of a surprise, but 

But the stubble scraping against Steve’s chin sent sparks launching down his spine. Soft lips with a little edge of teeth, and Billy’s warmth radiating through their shirts into Steve’s chest...

He tried to lean forward, to adjust the kiss, to give his neck some space, but Billy caged him in. Steve’s nose pressed into his cheek and his hands found Billy’s denim jacket to get his own grip and shoved Billy back by his own kiss.

But the guy who doodled on his body, an artist who couldn’t eat cake and liked authors who waxed romantically - Steve’s special person - was a slab of muscle dressed in denim and leather. He held onto Steve’s front while his other hand framed his jaw and man-handled him back into place.

“Billy,” Steve tried. He stopped just shy of Steve’s mouth, like he intended to claim Steve’s oxygen as well as his space. “Gimme some space. There are bricks back here.”

Steve registers Billy’s pretty, long, long and pretty lashes moving before he sees the expression behind them. The look Billy has. Like he’s deciding between one type of aggression and another.

“You’ve been in my skin for years. You can handle some bricks.”

He starts kissing Steve again, and for all the good he’s giving, he gets spittle and laughter in return. When he finally retreats back to those millimeters of space, Steve giggles, “You’re so conceited, I swear to god.”

“I’m the same person I’ve always been.”

“I thought you were so sweet. Always drawing me things.”

“I have my moods.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Steve laughed breathily and pivoted his face before Billy could kiss him again. He wedged his jaw beside Billy’s neck and held onto the back of his jacket as he made the guy carry his weight.

“What are you doing?”

“Hugging you.”

“I always knew you were a sap.”

Steve smiled a little even if Billy did not see it. He leaned his head into Billy’s, feeling the soft pillow of his hair, the curve of his ear. “I didn’t think I’d ever meet you. I’m glad I did.”

Like Billy’s marking on his skin, Steve listened to his silence but felt his fingertips drawing on his backside.

And if Steve expected Billy to relax or be nicer to him

He was dead wrong.

Billy got worse.

Steve had been told more than once that he was needy, touchy-feely, thrived on attention, but Billy was something else. Steve woke up with a full rose drawn on his forehead. He was almost late to school from washing it off. Then Billy stole his lunch. Outright took Steve’s tray off the table and went who-knows-where; Steve had to get back to world geography class or he’d fail the class for too many skips.

Then came gym. Word had clearly spread that Steve and Billy were spoken for, and Steve had never witnessed teenage boys shower faster in his life. Steve glanced around, just now moving his soap bar over his arm while Billy smirked fondly at him from under his own nozzle. "For no reason, have you ever done anything sexy in public?"

"Ate a girl out during a homecoming game."

That knocked Billy's features down a notch, and Steve laughed, "I'm not blowing you in these disgusting bathrooms."

Billy scoffed and twisted his water off. "I guess it should've landed that you were a prude when you had to be somewhere without markings on your body."

Steve flicked his eyes at the ceiling, because Billy was hot - a fact he already knew, but now he had hours of experience writing all over that rippling skin. And Billy’s hair curled really pretty when it was wet.

Steve liked to practice decency, okay.

He did let his gaze drift and fall to land on him, though, when he replied, “I have standards. High ones. Maybe stop complaining and consider yourself fortunate.”

Billy lingered for a while longer, just absorbing that before strolling out of the communal shower.

Billy definitely got worse.

Grinding pens into his hand until Steve threw himself out of bed in the middle of the night to turn his light on and read: Come outside. Pool. 

And yeah, Steve marched his ass downstairs in his slippers and robe because it was his own damn house and he liked soft things. And because he genuinely didn’t know if Billy would or would not throw a rock at his window if he didn’t get dressed fast enough.

Billy had already found the control panel and turned the pool lights on. He took lethargic steps around the water as Steve slid the glass door closed and crossed his arms. “You know, I’m all for staying up late, but not for my sleep being interrupted.”

Billy ignored that to kneel down and wave a hand through the water. “Didn’t know you had a pool.”

Steve shrugged. “I’ve got a bed too. You wanna use it?”

Billy laughed and stood back up - to start removing his clothes. “I want to go swimming first.”

Steve exhaled tiredly and let his face fall into his hands. “Billy, why am I out here?”

He got his answer in the form of Billy gripping the sash around his waist. He didn’t undo it, but pulled so Steve’s hips lurched forward. “What’s under this?”

“My tired ass that wants to sleep so I can keep up with the new kid in Hawkins.”

Billy chuckled and slipped his hand inside the folds. Steve bowed a little against the cooler hand wandering his bare skin. Cradling his naked waist. “What’s he like?”

“The wrong kind of pain in my ass.”

He’d caught Billy off guard with that one. Billy coughed a laugh and his chuckles dwindled as he let his perusal of Steve’s body loosen the robe. Then he pulled Steve to him so his mouth could press slow kisses over the slope of his shoulder. Steve’s head fell back when those lips found the tiny moles on his throat.

Steve’s arms encompassed him and he felt the familiar, soft press of Billy’s ear against his cheek. “I’m tired.”

“I want to swim.”

“You’re already naked. Go ahead.”

“You can’t think you’re going back inside without getting wet.”

“And you’re not getting in bed with me before rinsing in the shower. We’re both high maintenance.”

Steve swam in the pool.

Billy wore his robe and slippers into the house.

They showered together and, to Steve’s delight, Billy snuggled in close without putting his damp hair on Steve’s chest. The latter fell asleep with a large arm over his diaphragm and ocean breaths in his ear.

Steve woke up to the wet sensation of Billy drawing on his chest with his markers. Instead of opening his eyes, Steve mumbled, “If you’re drawing more penises...”

Billy hummed with mirth. “Just some unicorns humping each other.”

Steve earned a yelp when he reared up and tackled Billy to the bed. He kissed him silly and tasted his soul mate’s skin in his own bed. He made Billy’s hair a fluffy nightmare by the time he was through, and licked and sucked all of his muscles into jelly before he went to the bathroom to relieve himself...

Two birds under his collarbones framed a script spanning over his chest.

I can’t say sweet things. But you are beautiful.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s Sky Date - Prologue

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date prologue, 云霄之约, which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

Do note that you have to read this before embarking on the actual date, because it contains background information and sweet domestic bliss you wouldn't want to miss :>

[ This date was released on 14 April 2021 ]

[ Part One: A Dream About to Take Flight ]

MC: Ahhh! My life is up to me. Not. Up. To. Fate!

The small dice in my furled hand is tossed around several times. When I loosen my grip, it rolls quickly on the map -- ‘2′.

Gavin: Hahaha--

Gavin laughs, but hurriedly retracts his smile when he senses my murderous gaze.

Gavin: It’s okay, things will definitely take a favourable turn in the next round.

Sulky, I let out of a huff. I watch as he picks up the dice, casually rolling a '5′. Then, he cheerfully shifts his own plane on the map by six spaces.

[Note] In the game of Aeroplane Chess, your plane can only leave the starting point if you roll a ‘5′ of ‘6′!

MC: ...

It’s a Saturday afternoon. Gavin and I had nothing to do after eating, so we randomly grabbed a set of Aeroplane Chess from the supermarket to play. But I didn’t expect to have such a terrible gaming experience!

Although it’s been the sixth or seventh round, I just can’t the ‘6′ I need to get my plane out of the hangar. On the other hand, Gavin has always been able to get it to take flight smoothly, and very quickly reaches the goal.

MC: Gavin, with your kind of luck, there’s no need to waste it on playing games with me.

After pondering for a long while, I offer him a serious suggestion.

MC: Let’s head out to buy a lottery ticket?

Gavin: Why don’t we play something else? The paper model from last time was only half done. Since we have time today, we could get it done at one go.

At this moment, the phone on the floor beside me rings. Seeing the familiar number, I tap on the hands-free function.

Nurse: Miss MC, the physical report done at our hospital is ready. Please bring your receipt and collect it within fifteen working days.

MC: Mm, got it, thank you.

Gavin is currently storing the Aeroplane Chess pieces into the box. Hearing this conversation, he gives me a puzzled look.

Gavin: Haven’t you already gone for a physical examination this year? Are you feeling unwell?

MC: No, no. I’m using the report for the registration.

I deliberately pretend to be secretive, leaning towards him. Then, I show him the registration form that I had submitted online beforehand.

MC: I’m going to get a Private Pilot License.

-

[ Part Two: First Day of School ]

On the first day of aviation training, I set the alarm to wake me up at 6.30am. Even Gavin is stunned at the level of enthusiasm I have for learning.

Gavin: The courses for the aviation license can get pretty dry. You have to be mentally prepared.

MC: Are you referring to things like meteorology, aircraft structure, air traffic regulations?

Gavin: Mm. Aside from the exams, such knowledge is necessary for aircraft pilots.

While he speaks, he lifts his head to give me a smile.

Gavin: But they definitely won’t stump you.

After packing my things, I grab a random jacket and prepare to leave.

The classes take place in the suburbs, and it takes an hour to get there. Despite waking up early, I’d be late if I don’t hurry up.

But Gavin is clearly not too worried about this matter. He holds a slice of bread in his mouth while looking at his phone.

Gavin: Since I’m sending you there, you won’t be late. Before your first official lesson, I’ll give you a flight class.

I walk over to him, pulling up the zipper of his uniform, and also picking up the motorcycle helmet from the table.

MC: To prevent this from being a mere flash in the pan, I want to leave the joy of flight to the end of the course. But if going by land would make me late...

Gavin rolls the bread into his mouth, taking the helmet from my hand.

Gavin: No matter the route, you won’t be late. Oh yes, what class are you taking today?

-

[ Part Two, Option 1: Principles of Meteorology ]

Instructor: I’ll ask some small questions to test your foundation and see if you take note of knowledge in this area.

He opens the PowerPoint presentation, then uses a laser pointer to point at the image on the first page - it's a cumulus cloud with a flat bottom layer and a high, upward curve at the top.

Instructor: Does anyone know what this cloud is called?

MC: Cumulus congestus cloud.

Instructor: Correct. The next question - when the International Civil Aviation Organisation observes cloud volume, how many segments do they divide the sky into?

MC: It should be eight segments.

I recall that Gavin brought this up before.

Instructor: Not bad, miss. You did preparatory work beforehand, didn’t you?

MC: No no, I have a friend who has a better understanding in this area, so I was just influenced.

After saying this, chuckles drift from the surroundings. The instructor nods in understanding.

Instructor: In that case, you won’t have a problem during the exams.

MC: ...I’ll do my best.

After all, my confidence is limited when it comes to exams.

Just as I’m thinking about this, I receive a notification on my phone. Gavin has sent me an incredibly large document file.

Gavin: I don’t know how to teach, so I compiled some materials you might need for the exam.

I grip my phone, suddenly feeling like the weather is so good that it makes one carefree and relaxed.

It’s just an exam. I’ll definitely be fine.

-

[ Part Two, Option 2: Aviation Regulations Class ]

At 2pm in the afternoon, the sun shines from above. I had a full meal, so fighting against the sleeping bug is a difficult challenge.

Instructor: Before the flight, the captain has to carry out the necessary inspections of the aircraft. Until the inspections are complete, you can’t take off. This regulation is easy to understand. In fact...

When the dullness of the course matches how fine the weather is, the entire classroom gets immersed in a drowsy atmosphere.

I take a few deep breaths and pat my face... but I still feel like sleeping.

Instructor: Okay, we’ll take a 10 minute break. You students look sleepy, so go wash your faces to freshen up.

The moment he finishes speaking, the sound of heads plopping down on the tables can be heard all around.

Just as I prepare to stand up and stretch, my phone suddenly vibrates.

Delivery boy: Hello, I’ve placed your take-out at the main counter.

MC: Take-out?

But I didn’t order take-out...

While I’m puzzled, the young lady from the main counter very politely brings the item to the classroom - it’s a cup of coffee.

There’s only one simple line on the note of the take-out: Persevere for a little longer. Gavin.

I retrieve the coffee from the bag, taking a tiny slip. The instructor walks past, giving me a glance from the side.

Instructor: Are you drinking coffee or milk tea? You’re smiling so happily.

MC: Being able to swim in the ocean of knowledge is always meant to be a happy thing.

The instructor gives me an expression which says, “like I’d actually believe you”.

MC: Instructor, let’s continue with the lesson. I’m not drowsy anymore. Learning for another four hours is no problem at all!

-

[ Part Three: Being Your Co-pilot ]

Gavin: Do you want to head out for a stroll after dinner? It seems to be really cooling outside.

I’m currently taking out plates from the kitchen drawer, subconsciously craning my head to glance outside.

MC: It’s going to rain, isn’t it...

Gavin: Really? I’ll check the weather forecast. Earlier in the afternoon, Eli mentioned taking out some time to wash his car at night. I even thought today would be a good day.

I step into the living room, setting down plates on the dining table. 

MC: There are just some cumulonimbus clouds in the sky. It might not really rain.

Gavin scrolls through the real-time weather, then gives me a smile.

Gavin: It’s really going to rain.

He gets up, opening the rice cooker and scooping a full bowl of rice for me.

Gavin: At first, I even thought you’d find such theoretical knowledge boring. I didn’t think you’d learn them so earnestly. Looks like you really want to get the license.

MC: Of course. I want to be your co-pilot.

Although Gavin hasn’t even scooped rice for himself, he’s already served me a huge pile of vegetables.

Gavin: Sure. I’ll wait for the day you get your license.

Just as I’m about to talk about how assured I am about getting the license, I realise that the plate on my hand is becoming fuller and fuller. 

Before I can even voice my question, Gavin responds.

Gavin: Learning is tough. You need to eat a little more. I also bought you ice-cream. It’s in the second compartment of the freezer. I remember you mentioning that as long as you eat something delicious during difficult times, you can press on easily.

MC: ...hahaha! Mm! After having this meal, I’ll complete all my post-class homework!

-

[ Aviation Terminology Class ]

MC: Calling for the control tower. Number N8596 has arrived, and is requesting for a landing gate.

Gavin (through the phone): Number N8596, you may use aircraft Gate Number One.

Gavin’s light-hearted laughter drifts from the phone.

Gavin: Shouldn’t your class end at 7pm? It’s only 6pm.

MC: The plan was to be dismissed at 7pm, but... for some reason, those in my class were really interested in the Aviation Terminology class, so they did their preparatory work in advance. The three hour class was over in one and a half hours. The instructor said that we already grasped all the key points, so we were dismissed early. What about you? How much longer till you’re off work?

Gavin: For me... less than half an hour. You could think about what to do with this unexpectedly free hour. I remember that there’s a new dessert shop opposite the cinema.

MC: You remembered? I never even told you about it. How could you remember? Officer Gavin, you better tell me the truth. You didn’t remember it - you specially searched it up.

Gavin: Mm, I specially searched it up. I even found that there are claw machines along the shopping street on the ground level of the cinema. 

MC: Looks like what I’m going to do in the next hour has already been scheduled. 

Gavin: Wait for me at the office first. I’ll look for you once I’m done with the work on hand.

-

[ Part Four: Flight Practice ]

Today’s the first flight practice class. The instructor is sitting in the co-pilot seat, watching my every move throughout the entire journey.

I wasn't nervous at first, but each time he glances at me, I involuntary wonder if I’ve done something wrong.

In an instant, I recall the fear of taking the aviation exam...

Until the plane successfully takes flight, I keep feeling as though the thing suspending in the air isn’t the plane, but my heart.

Instructor: It’s rare for you to make a trip up here. What’s there to be nervous about? Come, lift your head and look at the sky.

At this moment, countless gripes flash across my mind: What’s so nice about the sky? I’ve seen all kinds of skies. Right now, all I want is to fly the plane...

But the moment I lift my head, I’m rendered speechless.

Instructor: How is it? The first time I saw it, I was so stunned that I couldn't speak either.

MC: It’s really beautiful.

Sunlight casts a layer of golden hue on the soft and white clouds, blending the colours of gold and crimson.

I’m unable to describe how the scenery before me makes me feel. 

It’s a feeling which... makes one feel that life has meaning.

All of a sudden, another thought surfaces in my mind: I wonder what went through Gavin’s mind when he saw such a sight for the first time.

The instructor sitting next to me glances at me from the side.

Instructor: Thinking about your boyfriend again?

MC: [blushing] ...no!

Instructor: It’s normal. Each time I’m flying, I can’t help but think of my wife. There isn’t a reason to it. It’s just a sudden thought, an involuntary reaction.

The instructor laughs as he gives me advice with a contagious smile.

Instructor: If you’re thinking about him, just do it. It’s fine. It’s a normal thing. When you see certain things, your natural reaction is to think of someone.

MC: ...Instructor, I usually can’t tell, but you’re actually quite philosophical.

I grab the joystick of the plane, watching as countless clouds drift past leisurely.

All I want to do is take a photograph of this moment for Gavin.

Date: here

-

Gavin watching as I drool over the thought of Eli scrubbing his car in the rain while wearing a singlet: