#like i do like my classmates and all that

[aceshigh10987666]

So, this is a case of "You're not wrong, you're just an asshole." (The NHS isn't incorrect but they are doing things that are hurtful.)

They're not wrong. Rates of being transgender are something like five times higher for autistics than for allistics. It is true that if you compare a group of trans kids to their classmates you will find higher rates of autism. In a safe, supportive world I'd agree with the conclusion that screening for diagnoses is good and this is a population that should be screened.

But in a social and political climate where people are choosing not to get diagnosed with autism to avoid discrimination by those who have access to their medical records, this is a move that puts trans kids at risk for additional discrimination. Additionally, you know they're not going to do good things with the statistics that emerge from this. They'll easily see that there is a higher incidence of autism in trans people and then the next wave of transphobia will feature ableism.

Somewhat off topic, but if anyone is curious why autism and transgender identities are linked, here is my opinion as an autistic. Devon Price noted that autism is linked to higher rates of trans and nonbinary identity in those who were raised as girls. In my opinion, the biggest reason for that is the autistic style of communication which is more direct, more literal, and more factual. It's more similar to the communication patterns men use than it is to the patterns women use. Autistic boys stand out as weird compared to other boys but autistic girls have an additional challenge in trying to communicate with their female peers.

Also, autistics aren't typically interested in following trends or meeting norms for gender expression. When we have a distinctive style it is often anachronistic. This creates even more distance between the autistic who was raised as a girl and their peers. For an autistic who was raised as a girl I think the obvious conclusion is that I am not a woman. I do not look like or act like the other women. I have more in common with men. From there it's natural to question whether you're trans or nonbinary and to embrace those gender expressions as an expression of your sense of being different from allistic women.

I applaud that. Embrace the gender identity that works for you. No criticism here at all. It's easier for me to interact with people when they're expecting me to communicate like men do. There are fewer miscommunications and misunderstandings. And what is gender expression anyway? It is so deeply not a big deal to be gender nonconforming, or it shouldn't be. It only is because of prejudice.

Anyway, my point in discussing the possible origin of increased trans and nonbinary identity in autism? It's to add the thought that maybe there isn't an ableist explanation for the difference in rates, but rather, a sensible one. One that is based on the fact that autistics communicate in ways that are clearly different from the patterns that are typical for women.

Saw this on Reddit today. Things just keep getting worse.

[charliedawn]

The Staring Problem

Eddie x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Eddie is pissed because he thinks you are staring at him and judging him like all the other students in Hawkins High. He doesn’t know that you have a natural staring problem and frequent spacing out episodes that you cannot control…An enemy to lovers story.

Un—fucking—believable.

Here you were again. Staring at him. Eddie was getting tired of those big googly eyes staring at him every time he had lunch with the kids…They were like two dark pits just staring straight into his soul. And quite frankly ? He would have been impressed by the power behind that unblinking ability of yours if it didn’t seem to be used against him every single time…He was used to the judgmental stares and the dark glares. But yours ? It was on another level. Nobody had succeeded in holding his gaze so long before, in case he would ‘curse’ them through his mind powers.

But then there was YOU. You. The damn girl he had been losing against in this recurring insane staring competition for the past few days.

Finally, he had had enough and spoke up.

“…Hey. You. You got a problem with me or something ?”

That was the first sentence Eddie Munson had ever uttered to your humble person. You were eating your lunch in peace, staring into space as per usual when he suddenly spoke to you. You blinked. You looked around to make sure he was indeed talking to you. He snorted.

“Yeah. You. I’ve been watching you for the past five minutes and you haven’t stopped staring at me all this damn time. What ? Got a problem with my face, Gazer ?”

Gazer ? You blinked again and chuckled awkwardly before you tried to defend yourself. “I…No. Not at all. I just…I wasn’t staring at you I swear. I was just—”

“Yeah ?” He interrupted you. “Well from where I’m standing. It kinda looked like you were. And I don’t like people staring at me. It ain’t cool.”

You wanted the ground to swallow you whole when everyone at your table was suddenly staring at you. You pulled your cap down over your face in shame and begged for a reprieve of this moment of sheer embarrassment. And as if you had been heard, a voice raised behind you.

“Munson. Cut it out.” One of the school monitors spoke up and Eddie huffed—but still complied. He sat back down with an angry thud and his arms crossed over his chest. Once the monitor was gone though, he glared at you.

“Don’t think this is over. I’m onto you, Poker Face. One more weird look from you and I’m breakin’ out the tinfoil helmet, got it ?”

You were speechless. You hadn’t meant to be staring at him. It was just that sometimes you had episodes of complete absence and you just started staring into space. It wasn’t your fault. You swear you hadn’t meant it. But before you could apologise, he was gone…You stood up as well and walked towards the exit. You REALLY didn’t want to run into him again.

…

The next time you saw Eddie, it was two days later—during a fire drill. You were standing on the grass near the edge of the baseball field, biting your nails and trying not to look like a lost idiot in a sea of yelling classmates. Your class was grouped loosely together, but you’d instinctively drifted off to the side, head down, eyes fixed on the trees past the fence. Until someone bumped your shoulder—deliberately. You blinked and turned. There he was. Eddie Munson. Same wild hair, same jean jacket, same permanent scowl. He stood with his hands shoved into his pockets, tilting his head like he was trying to figure you out.

“You doing it again.” He finally told you.

Your throat went dry. “Doing what ?”

He gestured to your eyes. “Staring. Spacing. Whatever the hell it is. Just…do it somewhere else, alright ?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Where else were you supposed to do that ? It’s not like the fire drill had been your idea. “I wasn’t looking at you.”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Sure you weren’t, Poker Face.”

You frowned. What wouldn’t he just leave you alone ? You had apologised. Multiple times. “Why do you keep calling me that ?”

Eddie tilted his head again, then shrugged before taking a step forward. “Because you’ve got this…blank look. Like you’re just…trying to win at an invisible game of poker in your head.”

You took a small step back. “I just…sometimes I space out. It’s not personal. I swear. I wouldn’t be staring at you if I could help it. I really just space out and you happen to be in my line of vision often when that happens for some reason.”

He blinked. The hardness in his eyes flickered for a moment. “…You for real ?”

You nodded, pressing your lips together, embarrassed again. “Yeah. I’m sorry. I can’t help it. It just happens.”

“Huh.” He looked away, scratching the back of his neck. “Well. You should tell people that.”

“I tried to tell you,” you muttered and looked away.

He didn’t respond for a second, then replied with a slight wince, “…Yeah. Right. Sorry. Guess I kinda jumped the gun on that one.”

You looked—really looked—and for a split second, he looked…sheepish ? Before you could say anything else, the principal blew a whistle, yelling for everyone to get back inside.

Eddie gave you one last look and finally smiled. Then he playfully ruffled your hair and told you: “Still think Poker Face fits though. But I ain’t upset anymore and I accept your apology. We cool, Gazer.”

And then he walked off. You were stunned by the unexpected exchange and it took you a second to get back inside…only to have one of the monitors tell you something that you really didn’t expect…

That night:

You were already sitting when Eddie strolled in the detention room. He froze. He really didn’t expect you to be there. But he then dramatically dropped into the seat beside you with a groan that was louder than necessary. The teacher at the front—Mr. Keller, who clearly didn’t want to be there either—glared briefly, then returned to his newspaper.

Eddie leaned over, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “So…” he whispered conspiratorially. “Was it you ?”

You blinked at him. “Was what me ?”

“The fire,” he insisted, like it was obvious. “You started it ? I’ve heard of love burning bright, but damn, Gazer.”

Your face dropped. “What ?”

He chuckled, clearly pleased with himself. “I’m just saying, if this was all some Bonnie-and-Clyde way to get my attention, it worked. You even got us detention together. Real smooth.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Eddie. It was a toaster short-circuiting in the teacher’s lounge.”

“Oh, sure,” he said, nodding solemnly. “But was it a metaphorical toaster ? That’s the question.”

You groaned, dropping your head onto the desk. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Flattered.” He shot back with a smirk.

You turned your head just enough to glare at him sideways. “You do know why I’m actually here, right ?”

Eddie blinked at you. It was his time to be surprised. But it quickly turned into amusement. “…Because you’re a criminal mastermind ? No ? Enlighten me.”

You sat up, arms crossed. “Parker. In biology. Said I was ‘ogling’ you during class. Then he told the teacher I was your stalker.”

Eddie stared at you—dumbfounded. “Wait—what ?”

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah. Apparently, I’ve been ‘following your every move’ and ‘writing your name over and over in my diary.’ Which is funny, because I don’t even own a diary.”

He leaned back slowly in his chair, eyebrows raised. “Wow. So you’re my stalker and a pyromaniac. What a résumé.”

You let out a heavy sigh. “Eddie.”

He put his hands up. “Kidding. Jeez.” Then, after a beat, “Parker’s such a dick.”

You blinked. He actually agreed with you. That was unexpected. He almost seemed to be feeling sorry for you…

Eddie then sighed and tilted his head towards you. “Alright, Gazer. Poker Face. Whatever. For real—I didn’t think you were, y’know, actually stalking me. I just thought you were…weird.”

“Thanks,” you replied dryly.

“But not in a bad way,” he added quickly and looked down—playing with his rings. “Like��you’re weird the way I’m weird. Which is probably why I reacted like a cornered cat.”

You eyed him skeptically and Eddie drummed his fingers on the desk, suddenly fidgety. “Look, I’m not great at the whole…being nice thing. But maybe I shouldn’t have called you out like that in the cafeteria.”

You stared at him. “Is that an apology ?”

He winced. “It’s the Eddie Munson Special™ version of one.”

You cracked the tiniest smile despite yourself and he grinned—proud of himself for making you slip. “You’re smiling. See ? We’re bonding.”

You rolled your eyes and looked away. “I still don’t like you.”

He smirked and nodded. “Even better. All the best friendships start with mild hatred.”

You rolled your eyes again…Right. As if…

The next morning:

You’d barely stepped into the building when you heard the whispers.

“That’s her.”

“No way. Eddie Munson ?”

“I heard they did it in the chemistry closet.”

Your stomach dropped before you even made it to your locker. You could already feel it—the way people’s eyes clung to you, half disgust, half fascination. The cliques didn’t even try to lower their voices. You saw Parker leaning against a locker with his smug little smirk, whispering animatedly to a few wide-eyed girls.

And then you reached your locker.

Spray paint. Sloppy, red, and dripping.

Devil’s Whore.

You froze. Your mouth went dry. Someone behind you giggled. You didn’t even turn to look. For a second, it was like everything slowed down. Your ears rang. Your fingers curled into fists.

I didn’t even do anything.

I didn’t even touch him.

You wanted to scream. Instead, you just stood there—glued to the floor.

“Hey.”

You turned—Eddie. He’d just rounded the corner, binder under his arm, chewing the end of a pencil. His eyes landed on the locker and he immediately stopped chewing and straightened up.

“What the—” He stepped closer, his voice sharper. “Who the hell did this ?”

You said nothing. Couldn’t. You were still frozen in place. Eddie looked at you. Really looked. And his usual teasing, cocky expression faded fast. You shook your head just a little, lips pressed together. He turned towards the hallway, eyes scanning the nearby faces like a wolf catching scent.

“Who the fuck wrote this ?” he barked and slammed his hand against the tagged locker. “Huh ? Parker ? Was it you, you little rat-faced shit ?”

Parker laughed. “Man, don’t look at me. I just heard what everyone else did. Gazer over here’s been—”

Eddie was already moving. He was about to deliver a punch that would hopefully rearrange the idiot’s brain right. But you quickly grabbed his sleeve. “Don’t. Please.”

He looked back at you, jaw clenched so tight it ticked. “They don’t get to do this to you.”

“They already did.” Your voice cracked. You hated that it cracked. The hallway was starting to go quiet. Too many people watching. Too many grins. But you didn’t want Eddie to get into trouble. He already had more than enough on his plate.

He finally glared at the students watching and raised his middle finger at them. “Anyone else wanna say something ? Huh ? Step right up. Come on. I’ve been dying to use my evil powers on all of you assholes.”

Silence. Everybody eventually looked away.

The bell rang.

Later, in the hallway outside the front office, Eddie leaned against the wall as you sat beside him on the floor. A janitor had painted over your locker in rushed, messy brushstrokes.

“You know,” he spoke up, “if we had slept together, I guarantee you’d remember it.”

You shot him a look.

He smirked. “Too soon ?”

You huffed. “Way too soon.”

Silence…Then—

“…You’re strong,” he complimented you suddenly, the teasing gone. “Most people would be crying in a bathroom stall right about now.”

“I wanted to,” you admitted. “Still might.”

He nodded once, slow. “I guess I’ll wait outside the stall today, just in case.”

You smiled and he smiled back at you. He then nudged his foot against yours.

“Come on. Let’s go. I suddenly got the urge to go to class.”

You were surprised, but smiled nonetheless and nodded before standing up and he smiled back at you before following you.

A few days later…

You were halfway through stabbing a sad excuse for a salad when she approached.

Marcie Winters.

Cheerleader. Always smelled like strawberries and money. She sat down across from you like you were already friends.

“Hey,” she said, all faux-sweetness and sugar-coated venom. “You don’t mind if I sit here, right ?”

You blinked. “Uh…”

You were pretty sure she had never talked to you before…She didn’t even wait. Just plopped down with her friends and leaned across the table like she was about to share a secret.

“So,” she started, voice dropping to a whisper. “How big is he ?”

You stared at her with a confused expression. “W-What ?”

She smiled innocently. “Munson. You know. Big.”

Your stomach turned.

“I mean,” she continued, totally unbothered, “people say he’s crazy in bed, like wild. I just figured you’d know.” Her smile widened. “Unless the rumor was just fake and you didn’t actually—”

“Are you serious right now ?”

She blinked at your defensive tone, as if you were the one being unreasonable.

“I didn’t sleep with him,” you told her truthfully. “That was a lie. Someone made it up. And even if I did, why would I ever share such an intimate information with you ?”

Marcie pouted. “That’s a shame. I kinda liked the idea of him being as much a freak in the bed than in his everyday life.”

You stood up so fast your chair scraped loudly against the floor. But before you could say something that would land you in another detention, a familiar voice rang out behind you.

“Wow. Really classy, Marcie.”

You froze.

Eddie.

He’d shown up with a half-eaten bag of chips in one hand and a “do not test me” expression that was usually reserved for people who tried to touch his guitar without asking.

Marcie scoffed. “What ? I was just curious. Jeez.”

Eddie stepped between you and her, putting himself squarely in her line of sight. “You wanna know how big I am ? Why don’t you ask your boyfriend ? I hear he’s got a measuring tape and plenty of insecurities he’s trying to hide. Sooo…instead of asking the poor girl embarrassing questions, how about you take care of your own backyard for once, hmm ?”

The lunchroom snorted. Someone two tables over even clapped.

Marcie’s jaw dropped in shock before she scoffed. “You’re disgusting.”

“No,” he quickly answered, popping a chip into his mouth. “I’m selective. And you didn’t make the cut.”

She was silenced and stormed off with a huff. You were still standing there, wide-eyed.

Eddie turned to you and his gaze grew concerned. “You alright there, Gazer ?”

You blinked before sighing and huffing a bitter laugh. “Why are you always showing up right when things get really humiliating ?”

He grinned. “Maybe I’ve got a sixth sense for it. Or maybe,” he said, lowering his voice as he leaned just a little closer, “I don’t like when people talk shit about someone I like.”

Your heart skipped and your eyes widened significantly. “You like me ?”

He raised an eyebrow and smirked at the shock on your face. “I was kidding. Don’t flatter yourself, Poker Face. I just hate Marcie.”

He walked away, tossing the empty chip bag into the trash, but not before glancing back—just once—to make sure you were smiling.

You were.

A few days later…

You were nose-deep in a history book, fully zoned out when—

Tap.

You jolted so hard you knocked your pen across the table.

“Jesus—!”

Eddie was crouched behind your chair, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“Hi,” he said sweetly.

You slapped a hand to your chest. “Eddie. You can’t just do that—”

He didn’t move. Still crouched. Still smirking.

“I’ve been here for five minutes,” he informed you. “You didn’t even notice me creeping up. I could’ve been a serial killer.”

You snorted. “I wish you were. Then maybe I’d have peace.”

He gasped—mock hurt. “Gazer. Wounding me.”

You glared at him and turned back to your book, trying not to acknowledge the fact that your pulse was still hammering. But then—

Poke.

Your eyes went wide. His fingers had poked your ribs. Right under your arm. You stiffened.

“Oh ?” Eddie exclaimed, leaning closer, mischief radiating off him like heat. “Was that a reaction ?”

You gave him a warning glance. “Don’t.”

He wiggled his fingers again. “I’m looking for it. The tickle spot. I know it’s there.”

You tried to use the back of your chair as a shield against the assault. “I will kick you in the shin.”

“Promises, promises,” he sing-songed.

You glared at him and tried to focus back on your page, ignoring how close he was now, chin resting on the back of your chair. But he poked your side again and you yelped—actually yelped.

“There it is,” he grinned, triumphant. “Bullseye.”

You shoved your book closed and gave him a half-hearted glare, cheeks warm. “Don’t you have anywhere else to be ?”

“Probably,” he admitted with a grin. “But I like bothering you more.”

You huffed and stood up to walk out. You then sat cross-legged under the old tree near the edge of the field, unmoving. Your eyes were fixed somewhere off in the distance—nowhere, really—and then you just went into one of your weird spacing out episodes.

From the path, Eddie spotted you.

At first, he thought you were ignoring him. Then he realized that you weren’t.

He slowed as he approached.

“Hey…” he said softly, crouching in front of you. No reaction.

He waved a hand near your face. “Earth to Poker Face.”

Nothing.

He paused. This wasn’t the first time. He’d seen it happen before, but never quite this…deep. Instead of pushing, Eddie exhaled through his nose and lowered himself into the grass beside you. He sat close—but not touching—watching you out of the corner of his eye. You were still breathing slow. Calm. Peaceful, even. His gaze wandered. And then he saw it—your hand, resting lightly against your thigh, fingers relaxed. Something stirred in his chest. He looked around for any potential witnesses but no one seemed to be around at this hour.

Left. Right. No one watching.

His tongue poked out briefly as he wet his lips. He looked at your face again, searching for any flicker of awareness.

Still nothing.

So slowly—ever so slowly—he reached out. His hand hovered for a moment over yours like he was afraid you’d burn him. Then, inch by inch, he slipped his fingers between yours. His palm pressed against yours with the lightest pressure.

You didn’t pull away. He wasn’t sure that you were even aware that he had decided to hold your hand. So he stayed like that. Sitting beside you, hand in yours, heartbeat skipping like a stone across water.

A soft breeze rustled the leaves above.

He looked at you again—studying the curve of your eyelashes, the calm in your brow, the stillness that always made people whisper, what’s wrong with them ? But not him. He didn’t think anything was wrong with you. He thought you looked like someone who just…lived in a different kind of quiet. And maybe, for once, he wanted to know what that quiet felt like. So he stayed. Just sat there. No jokes. No jabs. Just some guy with his hand in yours, hoping maybe when you came back to the world, you wouldn’t let go.

A few moments later…

You blinked slowly and the haze lifted. Your fingers twitched and tightened slightly around a warmth you hadn’t expected. Turning your head just a little, you saw him—Eddie, eyes closed, head tilted back against the tree trunk, breathing steady and calm. He was asleep. His hand still held yours, fingers loosely intertwined. You hesitated for a moment, the instinct to pull away warring with something deeper. Then, instead of moving away, you shifted closer, letting your shoulder rest against his. The grass was cool beneath you, the sky above muted and gray, but in that instant, the quiet felt safe.

You closed your eyes.

The soft rise and fall of his breath was soothing to you. Minutes stretched and slipped by. And somewhere between the crunch of leaves and the distant chatter of classmates, you both drifted into a peaceful nap—side by side, hands still touching, shoulders leaning in.

…

The moon hung low and silver, casting long shadows across the empty field when you woke up. You stirred first, eyes fluttering open to the chill night air. Your heart jumped when you realized you were still pressed up against Eddie’s shoulder—and your hand was still in his. You jerked awake, coughing softly to cover your sudden fluster. Quickly, carefully, you slipped your hand out of his grasp, trying not to disturb him.

“Sorry,” you whispered, voice barely audible in the quiet.

Eddie stirred too, blinking slowly as he registered where he was and who was beside him. He smirked, eyes half-lidded in that trademark devil-may-care way.

“’S fine,” he mumbled, stretching one arm above his head like it was the most natural thing in the world. The two of you then stood up and started walking towards the school ground exit. The street was empty, quiet but for the wind rustling through the trees and your slow footsteps on the pavement. Eddie shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and glanced at you out of the corner of his eye.

“…You wear that cap a lot,” he noted casually and gestured to the one you were wearing. “Like, a lot a lot.”

You looked down quickly, fingers twitching with the urge to adjust the brim again.

“Yeah,” you acknowledged. “I know.”

He let the silence stretch, giving you the chance to fill it if you wanted to. You did.

“It’s not just because I like it. It’s sort of…a shield.”

Eddie raised a quizzical eyebrow at you. “A shield ?”

You nodded. “From people. From their eyes. I have a…habit. Sometimes I space out and stare. It makes people uncomfortable. Makes them think I’m doing it on purpose.”

Eddie tilted his head, quiet now.

You kicked a rock on the sidewalk. “So I wear the cap low. It gives me something to look at. Lets me hide a little. I know it’s weird.”

Eddie was quiet for a second longer, then replied with a shrug, “That’s not weird.”

You glanced at him and he looked away.

“I mean,” he shrugged again, “people stare at me all the time. But I guess it’s only cool when they do it.”

You smiled, surprised by his reassuring words.

He looked ahead again, a breeze lifting his curls. “So what, the cap’s like—your armor or something ?”

You nodded. “…Kind of, yeah.”

He smiled. “Well, I dig it. It’s got that mysterious ‘who is she under that brim ?’ vibe. Very mysterious and dramatic.”

You snorted despite yourself. “Thanks, Munson.”

He was quick to retort. “You’re welcome, Poker Face.”

And with that, the silence returned. You both kept walking, your cap tugged low and your secret out in the open. Eddie glanced down at his hand—still swinging loosely by his side—and suddenly stopped walking. You paused too, watching as he wiggled his fingers, the silver of his many rings catching in the streetlight.

“You know…” he began, quieter now, “these aren’t just for show.”

You tilted your head. “They’re not ?”

He held up his hand, turning it side to side, letting each ring glint like a tiny spotlight.

“Most people think it’s just part of the whole… metalhead, freak-show image. And I mean, yeah, sure—some of it is. Gotta look cool when you’re scaring preps and failing math.”

You let out a small chuckle. He smiled faintly, but didn’t drop his gaze from his fingers.

“But I started wearing them when I was like… twelve. Found one in a pawn shop. Cheap as hell. Felt heavy. Solid. Like I had control over something.” He glanced at you now, his face more serious as he continued. “It was stupid, but I used to think if I had rings on my fingers, no one would notice they were shaking.”

Your breath caught and your eyes widened slightly. He gave a nonchalant shrug. “Still do it. If my hands are bare, I feel…I don’t know. Off. It’s stupid really.”

You were quiet for a beat, then replied softly, “That’s not stupid.”

He looked at you again. You hesitated, then tugged your cap a little higher—just enough for your eyes to meet his. Eddie held your gaze for a moment longer than necessary. You didn’t look away this time. His lips quirked up into something real.

“Well then,” he said softly. “Guess we’ve both got our special armor.”

You hesitated just a moment—then, without a word, your fingers reached out and intertwined with his. The weight of his rings pressed softly against your skin. Eddie’s eyes flicked down to your hands, then back up to your face, surprised but not pulling away.

“If…you ever feel like your hand is shaking…you can just…hold my hand.” You suggested and for a long moment, neither of you said anything. Then, Eddie’s usual smirk softened into a small, genuine smile.

“Thanks, Poker Face. I think I’ll take you up on that generous offer.”

You chuckled. “Actually, the name’s Y/N.”

He gave you a dumbfounded look. “Yeah, I know. But I prefer Poker Face or the Gazer.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “…Wow. Thanks a lot, Munson.”

But you then both burst out laughing as you kept walking hand in hand.

The next morning:

You were walking towards the front steps of Hawkins High with a bounce in your step. The memory of yesterday still lingered—your hand in Eddie’s, the quiet promise you’d made. For once, school didn’t feel so unbearable.

Then you saw them.

Eddie leaning against the side of the school, talking to Marcie Winters—her laugh shrill and fake, her manicured fingers grazing his sleeve. He handed her something small—probably another drug deal—and for a moment, it was normal.

Until she looked up and spotted you.

Smirk.

Without hesitation, she grabbed him by the collar and kissed him. You froze. You knew she had probably done that to make you jealous. However, your stomach didn’t twist with jealousy. It twisted with rage. You stormed forward, every step harder than the last. Eddie pulled back, clearly startled, but before anyone could speak, you ripped your cap off and slapped Marcie across the face with it.

Whack.

Gasps echoed from nearby students.

“YOU NEVER KISS ANYONE WITHOUT PERMISSION, BITCH !” you shouted, fury lighting up your face.

Marcie stumbled back, stunned, hand flying to her cheek.

“AND YOU GOT A FUCKING BOYFRIEND !” you continued, voice cracking from the emotion bubbling out of you after years of staying quiet. “LEAVE EDDIE ALONE !”

Silence. Eddie stood frozen, eyes wide, half in shock and half in awe.

Marcie sputtered, “Wha—are you crazy ?!”

You didn’t even give her the dignity of a reply. You turned your back on her, shoved your cap back on, and looked to Eddie. Eddie blinked. Then grinned.

“…Holy shit.”

He then looked down at Marcie on the ground, then back at you, then at the students around with this look of ‘have you seen that shit ?’.

You barely registered Eddie grabbing your hand. One second you were standing your ground in front of a gasping crowd, and the next, you were running away from the scene. He tugged you through the hallway, laughing breathlessly as you ran past lockers and students to finally slip into a dark, musty janitor’s closet. The door shut with a quiet click. You stood in the darkness, the scent of mop water and dust in the air, your chest heaving from the sprint—and from what you’d just done.

“Oh my God, oh my God,” you whispered, pulling your cap low again. “I didn’t mean to—I just saw her, and then she kissed you, and she has a boyfriend, and I just—shit, Eddie, I shouldn’t have—”

Your voice was rising, a full-blown panic ramble—Until he grabbed your face and kissed you.

Full stop. No warning. No build-up.

Your breath caught in your chest and your pupils started dancing around in their eye sockets as you tried to make sense of what was happening. Your heart exploded in your chest and your hands flailed up and down in the air like a headless chicken.

When he finally pulled back, he was grinning like you’d just lit the world on fire.

“That,” he breathed, eyes gleaming, “was the sexiest, most badass thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

You blinked, stunned into silence.

Eddie leaned in again, forehead resting against yours, breath warm. “You really just smacked Marcie Winters with your damn cap, Poker Face ?”

You stammered and tried to justify yourself. “…It-It was the only weapon I had.”

He barked a laugh, squeezing your hand tightly. “You’re fucking insane. And I mean that in the best way possible.”

Your cheeks burned, but you didn’t look away. Not this time. “…You’re not mad ?”

He scoffed. “Mad ? I’m in love.”

Your lips were still tingling from the kiss. His words—I’m in love—echoed in your head like a dropped match in a room full of fireworks. You blinked. And then—

Gone.

The janitor’s closet faded. His voice, the heat of the moment, the nearness of him—it all softened into static as your mind slipped.

Eyes open, but not seeing.

Still. Silent.

You were staring into nothingness again.

Eddie tilted his head. “Hey…?”

No response.

“…Shit,” he murmured under his breath, the playful spark in his eyes softening instantly. “You’re doing the thing again.”

He didn’t try to shake you. Instead, he sighed and crouched a little lower, gently resting one hand on your shoulder and the other on your hand—the one still warm from his grip.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, “I got you.”

He glanced at your face. You looked calm. Peaceful, even. Like you were off somewhere far away where none of this mess existed. After a beat, he slowly moved to sit on the floor beside you, shoulder brushing yours again—just like that day in the grass.

“I’ll wait,” he whispered. And he did.

Suddenly, your lashes fluttered. The mop bucket and dim fluorescent light above came back into focus. The weight of the air shifted. You blinked, head turning slowly, and saw Eddie sitting next to you on the floor—elbow resting on his bent knee, eyes watching you carefully.

“…How long was I out ?” you asked, your voice still distant, like you’d just woken from a dream.

“Just a couple minutes,” he replied with a smile. “Not too bad.”

You looked down at your lap. Embarrassment started creeping in again. “Sorry.”

“Don’t,” he cut in, his voice firmer this time.

You looked up at him with wide eyes when he cut you off and he smiled. He shrugged, fiddling with one of his rings absentmindedly. “I mean…I get it now. You weren’t ignoring me. Or zoning out ‘cause I’m boring.” He smirked a little, but it faded quickly. “You’re just built different, huh ?”

A pause.

Then he asked. “Is it scary ? When it happens ?”

You hesitated. Then nodded. “Sometimes.”

Eddie leaned his head back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling like he was thinking hard about something.

Then, “Well…for what it’s worth ? You don’t look weird when it happens. You just look like you’re somewhere important. Like your brain’s off doing spy shit and forgot to bring the rest of you.”

You laughed, startled and warm. “Spy shit ?”

He nodded. “Yeah. You probably know all the secrets of the universe and just can’t tell me ‘cause I’d freak out.”

He nudged your shoulder gently. “Anyway, I’ve decided I’m gonna be your handler now. Like, your official lookout. You space out, I keep you safe. No questions asked.”

You tilted your head. “And what do I do for you ?”

Eddie grinned. “You hold my hand when it shakes. We’ve already got a deal, remember ?”

You smiled—small, shy, and utterly real. “…Okay.” Then you let out a small chuckle, rubbing the back of your neck nervously. “We should…probably get back to class though.”

Eddie groaned dramatically, tilting his head back against the wall like you’d just told him finals were moved to today. “Ugh, why ? We just committed a public slap. Shouldn’t we be fugitives by now ?”

You stood slowly, brushing dust off your pants. “You can go full fugitive if you want. I still have homework due.”

“God,” he sighed, getting to his feet and stretching his arms overhead, “you’re such a nerd.”

You shot him a dry look beneath your cap. “And you kiss nerds. So what does that make you ?”

He paused. Then grinned, stepping a little closer, his nose brushing yours. “A nerd lover, apparently.”

You blinked—then smacked him lightly in the chest with the back of your hand. “Let’s go, Romeo.”

As you reached for the doorknob, Eddie gently caught your wrist. “Hey…seriously.”

You turned back before he continued.

“Thanks for what you did. With Marcie. No one’s…ever done something like that for me before.”

You felt your throat tighten—but managed a quiet, honest: “Anytime.”

And with that, you slipped out into the hallway. Whispers were already crackling through it like static—students leaning in close to each other, nudging shoulders, darting glances. You didn’t need to hear the words to know what they were about.

You were walking beside Eddie Munson. And he was holding your hand.

You felt it then—that rising heat under your skin, the old instinct to shrink, to disappear, to pull the cap lower and pretend none of it was real. So you looked down. Your hand in his. His fingers tangled with yours.

Slowly, gently, you opened your hand—leaving it there for him, but giving him the choice.

If he wanted to let go, he could.

For a second, nothing happened.

And then—

His fingers tightened.

He didn’t let go. Instead, he laced your fingers together more firmly and lifted your joined hands a little—almost like a dare to the hallway around you. You looked up at him. He was already looking at you.

“Poker Face,” he whispered under his breath, leaning in just enough so only you could hear, “I’d rather be holding your hand than pretending I’m not.”

The whispers got louder.

But suddenly, they didn’t matter.

Not when his thumb brushed the back of your hand like it was second nature. Not when you realized he hadn’t even looked at them. Not once.

Just you.

Always just you…

You smiled and dared to stare into his eyes.

He smiled as his eyes met yours. “Welcome back to Earth, Y/N.”

[writeriguess]

hii, can I request a fic where the readers grandma is in the hospital with little to no chance of living and Bakugou is the only classmate who knows/comforts them. childhood friends/crushing maybe :)

The Strongest Shoulder

You barely notice the way the heavy rain pelts against the windows, each drop a sharp reminder of how cold the world feels right now. The sterile scent of antiseptics clings to your clothes, lingering long after you’ve left your grandma’s hospital room. The hum of the fluorescent lights overhead buzzes incessantly, but you’re too drained to care.

Class 1-A was quick to notice something was off—well, most of them. You didn’t want to talk about it, though, so you plastered on a smile and went about your day. No one questioned the bags under your eyes or the way your hands trembled when you held your chopsticks.

No one, except Katsuki Bakugou.

“You look like shit,” he’d grunted on day three, unceremoniously dropping into the seat beside you. It wasn’t exactly a comfort, but you could feel his eyes on you all class, sharp and unrelenting.

You didn’t answer. Didn’t want to. What would he do if you told him? Yell at you for being weak? Mock you for crying? He’d always been prickly—rough around the edges with a temper hotter than his explosions. But he never outright bullied you, not since you’d defended him in kindergarten. Back when he’d been a bratty kid throwing tantrums, and you were the quiet one tugging him away before he could punch the wrong person.

But things were different now. You’d drifted apart, just like childhood friends tend to do.

The days dragged on. Classes blurred together. You went to visit your grandma every evening, sometimes alone, sometimes with your parents. She was unconscious most days, hooked to machines that hummed and beeped like a heartbeat. The doctors said she might not wake up. The words sank deep into your chest, anchoring you in place.

“Oi.”

You blink back to the present, the hallway outside your dorms stretching long and empty. Bakugou’s standing there, arms crossed, expression sharp and annoyed.

“You deaf now?”

“What do you want?” you snap, weariness making you irritable. The last thing you need is him barking at you.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “You’re fucking useless.”

“Excuse me?”

“Can’t even talk to your friends, dumbass,” he growls. His voice drops. “You think we can’t tell something’s wrong?”

Something in your chest cracks. Your fists clench. “Not everything is your business, Bakugou.”

“Like hell it ain’t,” he snaps back, unflinching. “You’re moping around like a zombie, not eating, not talking, acting like you’re the only one who’s ever been hurt.”

Anger flares hot in your gut. “You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Then tell me!” he demands, stepping closer until he’s towering over you, crimson eyes blazing.

Your chest heaves, words spilling out before you can stop them. “My grandma is dying, okay? There’s nothing the doctors can do. She’s just—just lying there, and I can’t do anything to help her!”

The hall echoes with the force of your confession. You swallow hard, throat tight, tears pricking at your eyes. You won’t cry—not here. Not in front of him.

Bakugou’s expression shifts. The scowl remains, but there’s something softer behind his eyes. Regret, maybe. Understanding.

“Why the hell didn’t you say something?” he mutters, voice gruff but lacking the bite from before.

“Why would I?” you mumble, arms wrapping around yourself. “It’s not like anyone could help.”

He glares, but it’s more exasperated than anything. “You think I’d just ignore you if I knew? Idiot.”

“I don’t want pity.”

“Tch. Ain’t pity.” He grabs your wrist, grip firm but not rough. “Come on.”

“W-What? Where—”

“Shut up and move.”

He drags you to his dorm, kicking the door open and shoving you inside. You blink, glancing around. It’s cleaner than expected. Minimalistic, practical, with training equipment piled in the corner. A punching bag hangs near the closet, looking well-worn.

He shuts the door and flops onto his bed, gesturing for you to sit. “Talk.”

You hesitate, but the stern glare he shoots you leaves no room for argument. Sighing, you sit on the edge of his bed, arms wrapped around your knees. Slowly, you tell him everything. About your grandma’s condition, the hopelessness of it all, and how the thought of losing her feels like your world is crumbling.

He listens. Not a word interrupts you, though he frowns often, fingers drumming against his knee. It’s oddly comforting, the heavy silence filled only by your shaky breaths.

When you finish, the exhaustion catches up, and your shoulders slump. “She’s the strongest person I know,” you murmur. “I just…I don’t know what to do.”

Bakugou’s expression hardens. “You stay strong. For her.”

“It’s not that easy—”

“No shit,” he snaps, leaning closer. “But you’re not some weakling, right? You’re not gonna just sit there and cry until she’s gone. You fight. You stay by her side. She needs you.”

The lump in your throat loosens. His blunt, no-nonsense words ground you, carving away the fog of despair.

“I…” You look away, wiping your eyes. “I’m scared.”

“We all get scared,” he mutters. “Just don’t run from it.”

You sniffle, a weak smile tugging at your lips. “You’re surprisingly good at this.”

“Shut up.” He looks away, cheeks dusted pink. “Just don’t let yourself fall apart.”

You nod, heart a little lighter. “Thanks, Bakugou.”

He grunts, scowl softening. “Katsuki. Call me Katsuki.”

Your eyes widen. He looks away, embarrassed, and you feel warmth bloom in your chest. “Okay. Thanks, Katsuki.”

He crosses his arms, grumbling. “And stop hiding shit from me. You look like a damn corpse.”

You laugh weakly. “I’ll try.”

For the first time in days, a genuine smile tugs at your lips. Bakugou—Katsuki—scoffs, but you catch the hint of a smirk. The rain outside slows, softening into a gentle patter.

You realize then—maybe you don’t have to carry this alone.

[ballsandbabes]

The Firelight Between Us: Geum Seong-jae x Reader

Authors Note: I normally dont write about other things than Sports, BUT...I started with Weak Hero and find the story really exciting. While reading, I found Geum Seong-ja's character very interesting. So i thought i try my take on his character// Y/n = your name// not proof read// GIF not mine // Have fun <3

Summary: What if Seong-jae gets too close to Baekjin's good friend because he finds her interesting. But what no one knows is that no one dares to approach the boss's crush, you.

Genre: Universe of Weak Hero, Romance, Action , Angst, Drama, Gang AU

You always told yourself one thing: Don't get involved with the gangs. Your school, Ganghak High School, was not in a good area. The other schools were no better than yours either: ruled by the terror of the gangs, defended with bloody fists, going to extreme lengths if necessary. A friend of your brother was once saved from a fight by a boy named Yeon Sieun.

Ever since he came home with one less tooth and one cheek covered in blood, you had been sure of one thing: these gangs were scum. People who wanted to exercise their power fantasies or who had a psychological problem.

You werent a sensible person, but because you knew exactly how dark and bloody that their world was. Your mother was friends with Tiffany Na, a rich boss of a jewelry company. Your mother was looking for work at the time and Ms. Na was the only one who hired your mother. That's why it was important to your mother that everyone got along well. Above all, it was important to her that you and Baekjin got along well. While was Baekjin, was considered family by your mom, for you, he was also the walking embodiment of danger—sharp-edged, unreadable, with a temper as quick as his fists. You loved him in that complicated way people love a reckless sibling, but you'd learned how to keep your distance.

You had known each other since you were children, but you had made one important rule. No involvement in his gang stuff. Never!

Which made your growing crush on Geum Seong-jae particularly inconvenient. You kind of liked him. How his arrogant nature allowed him to believe he could do anything, like he owned the world. His unshakable self-confidence. His good, bad boy look. And certainly also the fascination with evil that emanated from him.

With the connection to Baeckjin, however, that was a recipe for disaster. Which is why you decided you'd just forget about it. Soon everything would be normal again. One last nice school year, well as nice as it was possible at your school.

For you Seong-jae wasn’t like Baekjin—at least not on the surface. Seong-jae was chaos incarnate, sure, but there was a warmth to him. That crooked grin, the way he’d swagger through a storm like it was a dance floor, how he fought with a fire that looked more like art than violence. You noticed him too often. In the same alleyways. At the wrong parties. Across crowded streets where sirens howled.

But he never noticed you. To him you were probably just nobody. A classmate, a person to fill this human hell with extras. Same today, you sat in the classroom and waited with your friends for the last lesson to start. You had stopped listening to your friends whispering, totally lost in your own world of thoughts. Your gaze wandered around the room, past the window, the dead plant next to the window handle and in the distance the boys' sports class.

The teacher was completely overwhelmed when it came to taming the chaos troops. Not to mention that most of the boys were in one of the local gangs and were therefore very strong for their age. it was just before a fight. And there he was, in his maroon shorts and white shirt, cigarette on his lips: Seong-jae. His hair fell effortlessly over his face, uninterested in the fight. You knew that he only wanted to fight "real" opponents, people on his level. This was nothing more than a joke to him. And with that bored expression and casual body language, he's never looked better.

The bell for class woke you up to your thoughts, class was starting. As always, you did your best. It was part of the path to achieving your dreams. Good grades meant a scholarship, an therefor was a ticket to be accepted at a good sports academy. For a girl you were strong but above all fast. A true track athlete. It was getting late again at training and you had just stuffed your shoes in your bag trying to catch the last bus. But it ran away from you. shit! You just regretted not changing. It was warm, but the cycling shorts with the sports bra and the zip jacket from school weren't a particularly good outfit. In this area you could also be mistaken for a prostitute.

So you were walking home —hood up, headphones in, heart set on a cup of ramen and solitude—when you saw it. Seven guys, iron rods in hand, circling someone like vultures. Like the boy in the middle was prey. You didn't actually want to get involved, but the narrow light from the street lights made the edges of a pair of glasses flash. Seong-jae? Was that Seong-jae?

You had stopped, hiding behind a garbage can in the dark. He could fight, very well in fact. Not to say he enjoyed it. But even he couldn't do these guys alone. Did he have reinforcements?

At first, you wanted to turn and walk away. Rules were rules. Stay out of it. But then one of them swung—blunt and brutal—and Seong-jae faltered, blood trailing from his lip.

Your body moved before your brain could stop it. Revealing yourself from behind the trash bins. You grabbed a trash can lid and threw it like some deranged Captain America. It smacked one of the guys clean in the back of the head. “HEY!” you shouted. “Your mom know you fight like cowards?”

All of them turned. Seong-jae blinked at you like you were a hallucination. He knew you, you were the girl who always looked at him, when he had gym lessons. The first time he noticed it was because your voice came to him from above the classroom. You had music lessons. Your voice sounded like that of a goddess, sweet, tender and yet full of pride and strength. After that, he became more and more bothered. And then there was that one Friday afternoon. Nobody wanted to spend any longer in the musty rooms of the school; there was a rush everywhere to get out of the building. In all the chaos, there was you, your elbow resting on the window ledge, your long hair draping your pretty face perfectly. The wind made it dance softly and the cherry blossoms made the scenery look like a romance manga.

“What the hell are you doing?” he growled.

“Saving your impulsive stupid gang ass,” you muttered, picking up a metal pipe from the ground.

He grinned then—bloody, amused, a little amazed. “Okay crazy princess, I like it.”

You didn’t have time to answer before the fight resumed. You weren’t a fighter, but desperation made you resourceful. A kick here, a smack there, some well-placed distractions. Somehow you and Seong-jae moved like they’d fought together for years—his punches flowed into you smart distractions, a seamless, messy ballet of survival. When you ducked a swing and he caught the attacker’s arm mid-air, your eyes met for a split second, breathless, wild, and grinning. You somehow enjoyed the feeling, this madness gave you. You felt powerful.

"Left!" she shouted, and without hesitation, Seong-jae spun and took the guy down with a knee to the ribs, trusting you completely. Back-to-back, bruised and bloodied, you two held your ground like twin storms refusing to break. As the final guy ran off, Seong-jae looked at you with laughter in his voice and blood on his lip: “Damn, you sure you’re not in a gang?”

When it was over, the street was littered with groaning bodies, and Seong-jae was looking at you like you’d just rewritten gravity,“You always throw trash lids for fun, or was tonight special?”

“Shut up,” you muttered, breathless. “I’m going to blame adrenaline for everything that just happened.”

He chuckled—loud and bright. “You got a name, adrenaline girl?”

It should perhaps be mentioned here that he already knew your name. He had wanted to know who the cherry blossom girl from the window of class 3-1 was. You didnt know and gave it to him.

“Im Seong-jae,” he said, shaking your hand like it was a pact. “I owe you.” You thought that would be it. One night, one fight. But he had diffrent plants, kept showing up. Once with ramen. Other times with random questions. With that wild spark in his eyes whenever you talked about things like stars and books and music he pretended not to like but secretly did.

You tried to keep it platonic. Tried. But he’d smile, and you’d forget. He’d laugh, and you’d fall a little more. Since he now knew how badass you actually were, he started giving you boxing and fighting lessons, in return you took him to the track to improve his fitness. A perfect symbiosis.

“Ey Y/, you keep dropping your shoulder,” Seong-jae said, stepping behind you to adjust your stance, his hands firm but careful on your arms. “I know,” you muttered, flustered by the sudden touch, as his chest brushed your back—close enough to feel his breath on your neck. “Relax,” he chuckled, voice low, guiding your fist up with his hand over yours, slow and steady like you might break if he moved too fast. “It’s not about strength, it’s timing—wait, here,” he murmured, repositioning your legs, one knee between yours, and you forgot how to breathe. You threw a punch, and he caught it with ease, his fingers curling gently around your wrist. “Better,” he said, eyes lingering on yours longer than they should, smiling cheekily, something electric in the quiet tension between you. “If you keep touching me like that, I’m going to forget we’re training,” you blurted out, half-teasing, half-desperate to defuse the heat crawling up your spine and certainly surprised of what you just said, cheeks burning red. He smirked, leaning in just enough to make your pulse stutter, “Then maybe we should stop calling it training.”

And thats when Baekjin found out. When he found out his favorite girl, had a favorite boy, and it wasn't him.

As usual, it was late again in the library. The night watchman, who knew you well, had once again asked you sternly but kindly to leave the school grounds. When you noticed that your bag was still in the classroom, he offered to open it again for you. So you walked through the hallway on the way to the school gate. He cornered you in said hallway this night, eyes dark and jaw tight. “You’re hanging out with him now?,” Baekjin asked coldly. You crossed your arms, not liking the tone of his voice. “What? I don't know why that concerns you...aside from that he’s not like you,” you tried to say as calmly as possible. “That’s exactly the problem,” Baekjin snapped. “He’s not like me. He’s reckless. He’s stupid. And he’s in deeper shit than you know.”

“You think I don’t know how deep this gang bullshit goes?” you hissed. “I’ve lived in the shadow of your messes my whole life. The bloody evenings in which my mother treats all sorts of wounds and says nothing to your mother. I chose to stay away. I dont want to be a part of your world. But I couldnt stay silent when—”

“When what?” His voice dropped, sharp and angry. “Until he smiled at you?”

There was something strange in his voice. Almost... hurt. He had always protected you with all his means. You always thought it was because of your rule, never ever get involved. But now….it clicked. “Hey Baekjin, what is your fucking problem...you like me or something,” you snapped at him.

Baekjin’s silence was the loudest confirmation. “I never said anything,” he muttered. “Because I knew you'd never—”

You stepped back. “You're right.” Baekjin looked at you angrily in hurt.

Seong-jae found you later that evening, pacing on the rooftop of a nearby building, wind howling around you both. He didn’t say anything at first. Just offered you a drink and sat beside you.

“You okay?,” he asked while opening the can. “No,” you said looking to the ground. He looked over, worried. “Was it something I—”

“No,...No you didnt do anything” you said, meeting his eyes. “It’s just... I knew this would be...messy. And now it certainly is.”

He reached out slowly, fingers brushing yours. “I dont know why its messy, but if it is, let it be messy.”

You stared.

“I don’t know what I’m doing most of the time,” he said. “I fight too much. I don’t think enough. I’m not safe. But with you... I want to be.”

Your heart clenched.

“So,” he said, voice soft, “let it be dangerous. Let it be chaotic. Just don’t walk away yet. I will protect you, you know?”

And somehow, despite the warning bells in your head, you nodded. Because falling for Geum Seong-jae wasn’t safe., it probably never be. But it was so real. And in a world full of lies, blood and broken loyalties, real mattered the most.

Weeks full of beautiful moments passed, your love for Seong-jae grew stronger and so did his. He would do anything to protect you from his world. He loved lounging around on the field and watching you train. You were incredible to him.

Baekjin didn’t come with a warning. Just fists. It happened in the back alley of a closed noodle shop, right as Seong-jae was lighting a cigarette, thinking about your cute victory smile from the tournament, this afternoon.

“You couldn’t just stay away, huh? I told everyone, keep your hands off Y/n!” Baekjin’s voice was low and bitter, already angry, already pacing like a predator. Seong-jae turned, casually, like he didn’t feel the danger creeping in behind the syllables. “Didn’t realize I needed your permission to fall for someone.”

That was the last sentence before the fight broke out. Baekjin wasn’t sloppy. He hit like a ghost—fast, calculated, and personal. Seong-jae fought back, of course. He was scrappy and stubborn and too proud to back down, but Baekjin fought like a man with something to lose. Something to prove. By the end of it, Seong-jae was on the ground, bleeding from his lip, knuckles split, ribs aching like hell. And Baekjin? Gone. Leaving behind the message in bruises.

You found him by chance—half-stumbling, half-leaning against a telephone pole two blocks from your dorm. Your breath caught in your throat.

“Seong-jae?!,” you cried out loud at the sight. He looked up, eyes hazy but still managing that crooked, stupidly charming grin. “Hey, crazy Angel. You should see the other guy.”

“Ugh you idiot,” you whispered, rushing to his side. Your dorm room was small, but it felt like sanctuary as you sat him down and grabbed a first-aid kit with trembling hands. That you had never needed it as much as you did with him. Ever since you two knew each other, you always had it in your school bag or purse.

“What....what happened, Jae?” you asked, dabbing gently at the blood on his lip. Dried and stubborn to remove. He winced but didn’t pull away. “You know...jealousy’s a hell of a drug.”

You paused. “Oh...Baekjin. I am so sorry Jae...”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. When you reached for the hem of his shirt to check the bruising along his side, he raised an eyebrow. “You dont need to be sorry for loving me, angle....but you should be sorry for undressing me...already?”

“Shut...shut up,” you snapped, cheeks burning with heat. But your voice softened when you saw the angry red across his ribs. “God, Seong-jae…”

He let you touch him—your fingers tracing along bruises, your breath catching at the intimacy of it, ever so soft. And then, the moment shifted. Tilted. Your hand lingered too long. His gaze dropped to your lips.

“You should’ve stayed away,” you whispered. “Couldn’t,” he murmured. “You’re the only thing that makes this madness worth it. Understands the crazy light in my eyes.”

Then he kissed you. Not soft. Not slow. It was heat and want and aching relief. Like he waited his lifetime to do so. Your hands slid into his messy hair, his over your waist, pulling you into his lap as if he couldn’t get close enough. He groaned against your lips when your hips shifted, giving traction to his lower parts, mouths moving hungrily, desperately, like the world outside didn’t exist anymore.

You didn’t stop when your hands moved over his bare skin. You didn’t think about Baekjin, or the gangs, or the mess. Just the way Seong-jae’s breath stuttered under your touch. He pulled back just enough to look at you, forehead pressed to yours, pupils blown wide.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathed.You didn’t.

The kiss deepened like a storm building in silence, and your hands were in his hair, pulling, needing, as Seong-jae held you like he was scared you'd disappear. His shirt layed forgotten on the floor, and your fingers explored the heat of his skin—marked, bruised, but alive. You felt every shiver under your touch, every sharp inhale as he let his walls fall just for you. He kissed you like he needed to remember what it was to feel something that wasn't pain.

"You're sure?" he whispered against your neck, voice low, hoarse, reverent. You nodded, forehead to his, breath trembling. “Only if it’s with you.”

That was all he needed. He carried you gently—arms around you like you were sacred—and laid you down like the world outside didn’t matter. The streetlights cast silver slashes through the window, catching on your skin as he undressed you slowly, like a secret being unwrapped one breath at a time.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t careless. It was chaos and care, lips and whispers, bruised hands worshipping soft skin. Seong-jae touched you like he was memorizing you—each kiss on your collarbone, your shoulder, your spine, etched into you like fire and silk. He whispered your name between gasps and promises, over and over like it meant something more than it ever had before.

And you returned it—touched him like he wasn’t broken, like he wasn’t bruised, like he was yours. That night, you didn’t just fall together.

You loved each other. Through the quiet moans, the tangled sheets, the lingering kisses between breaths, and the warmth that settled after—you found something more powerful than the danger outside. You found each other. And by the time dawn bled through the curtains, you were still tangled in him—his arm over your waist, his heartbeat slow under your palm, his lips brushing your shoulder as he murmured, half-asleep, “I’ve never had anything good… until you. Its just like a firelight is between us, pulling us towards each other.”

In the chaos of the world, he was fire. But with you? He was home.

[mothaphoric]

Not only jobs that can get people killed if performed improperly but also jobs that are pretty damn important for society in general. Like, I am in uni for Linguistics/Literature/Translation, several of my classmates Will be teachers whether they like it or not, just because it's the most offered job in the area -several already are, in fact, because in a Lot of schools, apparently, you don't need to be graduated to teach.

But. A lot of these people, they just, don't want to read any of the assigned readings at all - think about that person you know that doesn't read non-fiction at all and the last work of fiction they read was H*rry P*otter, at twelve, which they think is a personality trait, then put them in a Literary Analysis class because its the further they could get from math - they will, apparently, rely almost exclusively in ChatGPT summaries.

And I understand that sometimes there's really no time at all to do coursework or read everything you need for next week, I go through that all the time too, but a person that doesn't care / can't understand that a paper/reading shoddingly done (or not done and then covered for with extra work) is way, way better for your education then a cheap, spitted out by some machine, bullshit that is likely not even vaguely true is not someone I want teaching kids to read critically.

"i don't care if they make their whole way though uni with chatgpt" i think you guys are so internetpilled that you have forgotten there are actual jobs out there that require people to know what they are doing in any way possible or else people die

[itsnesss]

hihi!! could you please do a younger driver (like ollie or kimi) and a piece on missing the reader’s graduation bc of a race?

𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐫 | oliver bearman × fem!reader

summary | you graduate, but ollie misses it because of a race. you give your speech, heart heavy, thinking of him

warnings | fluff, soft romance, mild angst, long-distance struggles, emotional vulnerability, comfort

word count | 1.5 k

🖇 more ob87 🖇 f1 masterlist

Your dress has been hanging in the closet for days, protected by a garment bag. It’s the same one you picked out with your mom, the one Ollie said made you look like a movie star.

Less than 24 hours to your graduation, and as you place the cap on the bed, you check your phone one more time. Nothing. No new messages. No calls. No news from Ollie.

You knew. You knew there was a chance. A high chance, to be honest, that he wouldn’t make it. But you had made so many plans… He himself promised he would try everything to be there.

“What if I get there just at the end, and I give you a hug when you finish your speech?” he had said excitedly, days before.

You practiced that speech with him. Several times. On video calls from hotels all around the world. He corrected you, laughed when you made a bad joke, asked you to say it slower when you rushed.

And you did it hoping that, when you walked on stage and read the final words, his eyes would be waiting for you in the audience.

But now, less than a day away, everything points to him not being there.

You sit on the bed and dial his number. It goes straight to voicemail.

You take a deep breath, swallowing the disappointment. He loves you. You know that. But sometimes loving someone who also loves their dream is… lonely.

You want to scream. Not at him. At the world.

Then, your phone vibrates.

A voice message from Ollie.

“Hey... love. I’m sure you probably already know what I’m about to say. I tried, really. But I’m not going to make it. I’m stuck here because of the rankings. They won’t let me move anything. I’m so sorry. So sorry. I thought if I didn’t tell you earlier, there might still be a tiny chance. But there isn’t…”

Pause.

“It hurts more than I can explain not to be there tomorrow. I know how much it means to you. To both of us. But even if I can’t see you walk across that stage, I’ll be watching you from wherever I am. And when you finish, when you have your diploma in your hands… call me. Please. Because even if I can’t hug you, I promise I’ll be with you in everything that comes after.”

A tear escapes.

Tomorrow is still ahead.

The sun falls perfectly over campus when you leave the house with your cap in hand and your eyes still swollen from crying the night before. You look in the rearview mirror of your dad’s car and smile automatically. You’ve waited for this day for years. You imagined it again and again. But in all those versions… Ollie was there.

When you get out of the car, everyone seems to be shining. Your classmates take selfies, some rush to meet their families, others joke about not tripping going up the stage. You just look for a face you already know you won’t find.

The ceremony begins. Your name is on the program. You’re going to give a speech. One you practiced with him. One you read over and over so he could hear it between training, interviews, and flights.

“Now, please welcome our graduating class’s guest speaker…”

You’re asked to go up.

The lights blind you a little. The auditorium is huge. It feels bigger without him.

“Good afternoon. I want to start with something very simple… thank you.”

Your voice is steady. No one notices how tightly you grip the edge of the podium, or how your eyes wander over the rows, hoping to see him somewhere. Hoping you could trick fate and make him appear.

“Thank you to my teachers, my parents, my friends… and to someone who isn’t here today. Though he was in every rehearsal, in every word of this speech. This person… believed in me when I didn’t. He listened, encouraged me, interrupted me with bad jokes so I wouldn’t take everything so seriously. And even though he’s not sitting here today… he’s with me. I’m sorry. Because that’s what the people we love do: they’re there, even when they can’t be.”

There’s a long silence. Some people applaud. Others smile, not fully understanding who you meant.

But you know. And that’s enough.

When you step down from the stage, your chest burns a little. Pride, sadness, a warm hollow that carries his name.

You go through the ceremony like a spectator of your own movie. You receive your diploma. You get hugs. Your parents congratulate you. Friends take pictures with you.

And you smile. Because you made it this far.

But something is missing. And no matter how much you deny it, you feel it.

Later, when you’re at home, the dress already wrinkled and the cap on the table, your phone vibrates.

Ollie: Can I call you?

You answer with a simple “Yes.”

Seconds later, his name appears on the screen. You pick up.

“Hi,” you say, barely a whisper.

“You look beautiful,” he says without hesitation.

“How do you know?”

“I watched the whole stream. I had an interview at the same time, but I snuck away. I saw you give the speech. You have no idea how hard it was not to cry like an idiot at the part about ‘the people we love are there, even when they can’t be’…”

You bite your lip. There’s a huge knot in your throat.

“I really wanted you to be there.”

“Me too. Every second. Every damn second. Can I send you something?”

Before you can answer, a notification arrives.

An attached file. A video.

You open it.

It’s Ollie, in his hotel room, still wearing his team suit, holding a small homemade sign that says “Congrats, love. You did it. I’m so proud of you.”

“It’s cheesy,” he laughs from the phone. “But I made it while watching the ceremony. Just in case… you couldn’t see me, so at least you’d know I was with you. In my way.”

And you… you break down crying. Silently. With the full weight of having wanted that moment so badly with him.

“Thank you, Ollie.”

“I’m going to make it up to you. All of it. I promise.”

“No need. Just… thank you for not making me feel alone, even though you were so far away.”

Silence. Warmth.

“I love you,” he says suddenly, steady.

Your heart stops for a second.

“I love you too.”

And at that moment, even though you’re miles apart, even though you haven’t seen each other, even though there’s no photo of you both at your graduation… you know this day will live in your memory as one of the most beautiful ever.

Only three days have passed since your graduation, but it feels like an eternity. After the call with Ollie, everything was bittersweet: you knew he loved you, you knew he tried, but not being able to hug him that day hurt more than you thought.

And you accepted it. You learned to let go of the idea of “the perfect moment.”

Today is Sunday, and you’re at home, in pajamas, watching a documentary you’re barely listening to. Your family is out. You have the house to yourself. Your phone is silent. You don’t even know what country Ollie is in now.

Someone rings the doorbell.

You frown. A package? A neighbor? You get up dragging your feet, expecting anything but what you see when you open the door.

“Hi, love.”

And there he is.

With his suitcase at his side, a cap crooked on his head, hair messy like he just ran out of the airport. His eyes lock onto yours like he can’t believe he’s really seeing you. Like he’s afraid you’re part of a jet-lagged dream.

And you… you’re frozen in shock.

“Ollie,” you whisper.

“I didn’t want to miss another important thing. I took the first flight after the GP. I just arrived. I couldn’t tell you. My battery died, I lost signal, then I got lost in the airport… but… I’m here. And I don’t care how I look now, or that I don’t have a gift, or that I’m sweating like crazy. I just needed to see that you were okay.”

Your eyes fill with tears.

And then you run.

You don’t think. You don’t hesitate. You just hug him like your body finally remembers what breathing well means. Like he fits with your chest, your arms, your story.

He laughs into your neck, his hands firm on your back.

“It was so hard not to cry earlier,” he murmurs. “But this… this is a miracle.”

You pull him tighter.

“It’s not a miracle. It’s that you love me.”

He pulls back a little just to look at you. His fingers brush a strand of hair from your face.

“So much.”

“Want to come in?” you ask with a teary smile.

“Only if you give me coffee and a tour of a brilliant graduate.”

“I’ll give you anything. But the tour starts with you hugging me for another half hour.”

“Deal.”

You close the door. He puts down his suitcase. And without another word, you hug again in the hallway, as if the world has finally aligned.

[danadiadea]

I don't think we are using snucius to it's full toxic potential. Lucius (17, wealthy, aristocrat, pureblood, prefect) "befriends" Snape (11, poor, working class, half-blood, outcast) – I've never heard one more predatory thing in my life. 6 years is not a big age difference for adults, but we know that Snape had some connection to Lucius at school. How? Sirius is aware of it, and Sirius had nothing to do with Snape after graduation – didn't know he's a Death Eater, nothing. But he's aware of Snape’s relationship with Lucius enough to call Snape his "lapdog" as an insult, and use that relationship to hurt Snape – considering it about the same level of hurtful as Snape's comment on Sirius hiding in his mother's house.

Sirius also is the one who mentions Bellatrix and Rodolphus as a part of Snape's "gang". Bellatrix is 9 years older, Rodolfus – at least 7. Now, Bella and Severus don't behave like they had ever been close – so is Sirius just listing older DEs who Snape could be seen with if he sticked to Lucius? How old Rosier and Wilkies were? Rosier held his own against Moody well enough, I don't think a teenager was likely to do that. Avery and Mulcibier, people we know Snape had something to do with during his 5th year, could be his classmates (I think it's likely), or could be a bit older. So how old were underage Snape's "friends"? The ones who already had social, economical, psychological upper hand in the relationship because Snape was a neglected, dirt poor, muggle raised, traumatised child?

Lucius pats Snape on his back when he sits at the Slytherin table. Just a welcoming Prefect greeting a new student, sure. But for some reason this particular kid, with a muggle surname and visibly unloved, uncared for look, found a place to sit near the Prefect (and quite popular I'd imagine) Lucius Malfoy himself. How very convenient. Narcissa calls them "old friends" – how old, exactly? Even if we take Snape's oldest school year – 18yo being "friends" with 27yo is plenty predatory, especially considering their gap in social standing. Especially considering the organisation Lucius was a part of and his closeness to the Dark Lord himself during the first war.

This shit is deeply disturbing. Snape was a child and a teenager groomed by adults. Adults with very low morals and great proficiency in manipulation. Adults who had all the instruments to pull his strings. Is it any wonder Severus fell for it?

[goldkirk]

It’s so so cool every time I see my own former classmate from high school on TV or the news website or social media as an official meteorologist.

Like girl we both grew up with Steve Templeton rolling up his sleeves and going into storm mode, and now YOU’RE talking back and forth reporting data and feeding information to Steve Templeton while he’s in storm mode. He mentions her on air and I’m like!!!!!!! Girl you did it! You put in the work and the years and you’re all the way full circle! You’re the one doing the posts and the updates and the weather reporting! You did it!

[panerasbox]

B – Backup

She’s the first person to stand behind you when things go down at school (or in life).

word count: 497.

It starts with a parent.

One of those parents. The kind that doesn’t just raise their voice, they weaponize it. Who walks into the school already convinced that the problem is you, and not their kid throwing pencils at classmates or telling the lunch lady she smells like old broccoli.

You’d been bracing for the confrontation all morning, pacing the teacher’s lounge with your phone clenched in your hand and your stomach doing Olympic-level gymnastics. Your voice wavers even thinking about standing up for yourself. You’re good at a lot of things: lesson planning, silly voices during read-alouds, remembering birthdays, but confrontation? Not your strong suit.

And Melissa knows it.

She doesn’t say anything, not really. Just watches you from her spot at the coffee machine, arms folded like she’s seen this a dozen times before. Which, to be fair, she has. But she’s quiet until you sigh, until the time on your phone ticks over and you know it’s time to face the music.

“I’ll be fine,” you say, mostly to yourself.

And Melissa doesn’t correct you, but she does mutter, “Yeah, and I’m the Queen of England.”

You blink. “What?”

“Look, I know you wanna handle it yourself, and that’s admirable or whatever,” she says, stepping closer, lowering her voice, “but I also know that when you get flustered, your sentences turn into soup. You forget half the stuff you wanted to say. And this guy? He’s a yeller.”

Your jaw tenses.

“So.” She shrugs like it’s no big deal. “You’re not goin’ in there alone.”

Sure enough, five minutes later, when the parent storms into the classroom, red in the face, gesturing like he’s directing traffic in a hurricane, Melissa is already leaning casually against the desk beside you, eyes sharp, expression neutral in that way that somehow reads as try it, I dare you.

The parent barely gets three sentences in before Melissa clears her throat. “Sir,” she cuts in coolly, “this teacher you’re yelling at? She’s here before the sun comes up and stays long after your kid goes home. So unless you’re here to say thank you, maybe lower your voice.”

It isn’t just what she says, it’s how she says it. Calm. Unflinching. She doesn’t puff up or match his volume. She just stands there, solid and immovable, like a wall between you and the storm.

The meeting ends faster than you expected.

When the door finally closes behind him, you sag in relief. “Thank you,” you breathe, your voice still shaky.

Melissa glances at you, her tone softening. “You don’t gotta thank me. That’s what I’m here for.”

You smile, a little bashful. “My backup?”

She smirks, but there’s warmth in it. “Always, hon.”

And she means it. Whether it’s a pushy parent, a rude administrator, a field trip meltdown, or just your own self-doubt creeping in, Melissa’s always in your corner. Quietly, fiercely, no questions asked.

Your backup.

Your shield.

And maybe, if you’re lucky, something even more.

[analviel]

DC comic writerd always wanna rush characters into growing up EXCEPT FOR TIM OH MY GOD

I agree with everything except for killing Tim lol bcs no, there's a limit to how many of Jason's milestones he's also gonna meet

Yes exactly exactly for Babs and and Dick!

Steph is overdue for a space mission. Also personally, I want nunchuks for her (is that how you spell nunchucks)

Gosh I want that for Duke so much! Also imagine Damian always cameoing as his younger brother who may or may not actually be enrolled in the same school. But mostly the focus gotta be with him and his crew.

Duke (and sometimes Damian) drop by Babs' dayjob as a librarian to pester her on his current case and just generally pester her.

Like just, I'm imagining an animated scene of Duke and Damian talking about a case with Babs (because no one outside the Batfam is supposed to know her real identity so none of Duke's crew does) and then a sudden voice 'Delievery!' and Damian perks up and we're introducing a grinning Dick with pizza.

I don't actually mind Dick being a cop but at this point I just want it as a job he HAD, so yeah, let's go with USPS. He could be anywhere in the country lol.

Then Duke is doing his episodic cases and one in particular leads him into a fight in a mask and we encounter a gang war and then a flash of black and he's got a back up so they tie it up quickly. BlackBat motions for him to follow her. Cut scene to a bat hideout and Cass takes off her mask.

You know those animated scene where the scene freezes on a close up and we get an intro of, ex. Cassandra Wayne, Black Bat, Duke's older sister. Hates shirts that aren't croptops. Yeah I want that to happen, with the Duke crew, Babs, Damian, Dick, etc.

Cass shares with him the case she's investigating that brought her through almost three cities now and back to Gotham, tied to that last gang war, and they end up closing it up together.

We meet Tim several episodes later where Duke comes home to the manor to find him and Damian already playing a video game. Tim helps them for this newest case, but only in the investigating part, leaving the final bust to them because his main case at the moment was a W.E/corporate thing vs Delon Cusk. Tim's introduction does not include coffee whatsoever. And at the end of this episode/case, Tim fishes them out of the water into his murderboat.

Selina Kyle also appears for a bit, dropping a basket of kittens for Damian, Duke asks her about something related to his new case of an priceless antique.

So Duke is the focus of all of this, and we get him in his class with girl troubles, a few scenes where PE poses a problem for him for a completely different reason than his classmates, all while he's having superpower problems, except unlike Spiderman he's got people he can call in a pinch to cover for him. And also now and then we get a peek of news clip or a social media comment about the Waynes implying how reserved they are save for a couple of family members and some rumors and suppositions about them. And then the next news is about the Red Hood shooting someone, or JLA, or another Wayne project. It is heavily implied that much of the other Bats except for Signal, Robin, and Red Hood, are more likely to be with their teams or helping out with Batman Incorporated in an International capacity. Just to keep them away.

Almost every other episode opens up with him fighting a Githam Rouge in broad daylight.

Neither Bruce or Batman appears even once, except maybe his name in an email.

I didn't expect to write so much.

[lostpiewrites]

a/n : so there were these two requests of Sugishita which basically asked for same thing so i decided to merge them into one post. And also a little reveal here , Sugishita is by far the only windbreaker member i have written about 3 solo fics for because people keep asking and you know me i can't say no. The irony is , he is my least fave character in windbreaker and 99% of the time i'm like "ok what do i write this time ?". I'm sorry this is late tho. 😓 (art credits unknown)

Falling In Love For The First Time ❤️‍🩹

Ft : Sugishita Kyotaro from windbreaker

The Crush Phase...

Everything started with you moving to Makochi just because house rents were cheaper there than anywhere around.

People were like family there so this made it easy for you to adjust to your new neighbourhood.

Especially useful for a people like you because you liked to help people whenever you can but people you have met so far have always used you for this.

He saw you first while both of you were walking through a street , in opposite directions.

You didn't look extravagant , ornamented etc... But you forced his attention on yourself with just a genuine smile.

It wasn't even directed at him , it was directed to a saleswoman who reduced the price by 30% for you.

He walked past , trying not to care. Ignoring the heat that was crawling up his neck.

You were just a random girl he saw on the street. What would you even have to do with him ?

But there you were , carving yourself into his memory like an ancient hieroglyph in just about 0.5 seconds.

Whenever he slept , he woke up hoping to see you. Sometimes he just stared up at the ceiling thinking about you ; then thinking about why he is thinking of you.

Whenever he wanted to eat out , his feet unconciously took him to a cafe or a restaurant nearby where he last saw you.

He made excuses to leave the school early just so he can stroll around and "accidentally" meet you again.

Did he know what was going on with him ? Nope. Did he notice that Furin was starting to catch on to what was going on with him ? Also nope.

Did he learn that Hiragi , Tsubaki and Umemiya placed big money on bets about how long will it take for him to confess ? Once again , nope.

He regularly stood like a statue with humpback on the rooftop of the school , listening to their teasings and lectures. At least once a day.

He was done with himself because of indecisiveness. He either should rip you off his mind or go befriend you. But in his eyes ,he was a coward who could do neither.

He was DELIGHTED to say the least when you came up to him at a cafe and make the first move by saying sth like :

"I see you here often , are you a regular here ? If so , you've got a good taste in coffeé."

He still felt like he failed as a guy but at least he was happy , now that he got to talk to you.

The lover(?) phase...

You have pestered him for months for him to introduce you to the Furin boys , his friends in general. When you first came to visit them at their own high school , you were awestruck by the beautiful graffities on the walls. You two climbed the stairs to the rooftop , everybody from 1st to 3rd grades were there. He expected you to be scared at first but you were like "OMG MORE PEOPLE THAN I EXPECTED ? HELL YEAH!" All of his classmates and close friends looked at him with shit eating grins and wiggly eyebrows. You take some of Umemiya's grown vegetables and cook them sth on the spot with the grill they use for special occasions or festivals. They start calling you sis-in-law. Because the way to a man's heart is through his stomach right ? As for Sugishita, he is just watching you doing whatever from a far. He doesn't know why he feels even more drawn to you now. You're kind , helpful , friendly. That's how you have been all the time he knew you. But why does he feel like he is at a point of no return ? Or like he wants to scream into a pillow ? You were doing sth so mundane like cooking but he saw you like you were doing art. He knew he couldn't get away from you for a loong while.

"Why do i want to strangle you for occupying my mind uselessly but also want to wrap you in a warm blanket and make you sleep over a bed made of clouds ?"

[bluemousewithanxiety]

University Days | Geto Suguru

Pairing: University Crush!Suguru x Fem!reader

Synopsis: After pinning after you from afar for two months, on Suguru's worst day the universe decides to give him the opportunity of a life time: getting to talk to you.

Warnings: University Au, Classmates to friends to lovers, literally all fluff, very fem-oriented in general although details are very vague.

Authors Notes: thank you everyone whose been liking and rebloging, its very much appreciated! This is the end of this "series", but I do have some long form Suguru content on the horizon!

Parts: i | ii

UniversityCrush!Suguru stands awkwardly outside the front arches of the cafeteria, with his lips parted slightly, eyes unblinking, you stand still in a sea of other students fluttering around, purchasing overpriced fruit and caffeine for the morning. You're alone under the warm cafeteria lights, dressed in comfortable baggy clothing, different from what you wear usually, you appear to be in your head, deep in thought while staring at several small baskets of baked sweets, head moving from side to side, lips pursed, nose scrunching up with hesitation on which choice to make. 

UniversityCrush!Suguru shakes himself from his daze, quickily flattening any wrinkles in his shirt, wiping away any sweat from his hands onto his pants, pulling his phone out from his back pocket to make sure his hair looks presentable, compeletly ignoring the texts that appear on his home screen.  

UniversityCrush!Suguru slides his phone into his back pocket, takes a deep breath, fixes his posture, puffs out his chest a little bit, and slowly walks through the arches, and takes the time to slowly make his way around the cafeteria before strolling up next to you as if he never noticed you at all. 

UniversityCrush!Suguru has been thinking about what he wants to say to you for weeks, but in the moment, all it takes a whiff of your perfume and his brain loses all rationality, he blurts out the first thing that comes to his head, “are you in line?” 

UniversityCrush!Suguru watches your lips curl into a small smile and shake your head “no”, but then you pause, your posture changes, standing a little straighter, becoming a bit self conscious of who you were talking to, and eyes flicker his and as they swirl with curiosity, “hey, you're in my afternoon classes on Tuesday’s and Thursdays right,” you question. 

UniversityCrush!Suguru found himself unable to initially form any words. When you stare up at him, eyes shimmering in anticipation, almost entrapping him under your gaze, he just wants to lean in to look closer. He's interrupted by a little voice in the back of his head tells him, get it together, you're just staring at her, he mentally shakes himself from his daze and he covers up his silence with a gentle smile, eyes curling, tilting his head to the side to say, "yes I am, you sit in the front row with your friends right?"

With a simple response, UniversityCrush!Suguru has completely opened the conversational flood gates. Your eyes light up even brighter, as your posture relaxes with your guard coming down, and you start talking with him as if you've known each other for years. You start asking him about his thoughts on the class: "What do you think of Professor Kenneth?" "Oh my god, remember the guy whose girlfriend came storming in last week, accusing him of cheating?" "How'd you feel about the class being punished with a pop-quiz cause of the obnoxious jerks that sit in the back?” 

UniversityCrush!Suguru has a gentle smile across his face while trying his best to keep up with your rapid thoughts and curiosities, answering the best he can without seeming too enthralled by your presence. 

UniversityCrush!Suguru is acting like a little sponge, soaking up your words and being overwhelmed with his bubbling emotions for you, when hearing your laugh up close, seeing your dimples become visible, seeing your eyes crinkle and fill with so much life, he feels his heart beating a little faster, curiosity growing within his mind, eyes trailing over the shape of your face whenever your eyes drift away from his. 

UniversityCrush!Suguru is trying to encapsulate this moment into his brain and tightly pin it to the walls of his memory for him to remissness when the universe goes back to how it was. 

With UniversityCrush!Suguru’s quiet and gentle presence, you start overthinking, realizing the guy you've been crushing on for weeks is standing in front of you, but the small seeds of insecurity start to grow and your words lightly fade off your tongue, you stretch your arm out towards a neatly packaged strawberry danish that crinkles under your fingertips. 

UniversityCrush!Suguru's eyes linger on the packaging as you clutch it near your chest. His eyes flicker upward and notice that your cheeks have started to brighten with a pinkish hue, almost as if you’re more nervous to talk to him, staring deeply onto the tiled floor, unsure of how to continue past with barrier of awkwardness that was accidentally created. 

UniversityCrush!Suguru���s heart beats rapidly reminding himself that this is his only chance, so not wanting to end this interaction and determined to brush away the awkwardness that has fallen above you both like a cloud, he quickly lifts his arm to grab a similar sweet bakery that he knows he won't eat, and gestures his sturdy arm in the direction of the cashiers to check out.  You look up at him shyly through your eyelashes and softly nod your head. 

UniversityCrush!Suguru and you walk side-by-side in the direction of the cashier at the end of the short hall of food selections. Your eyes no longer meeting his, they're swinging to large fridges filled with sandwiches and energy drinks, people jokingly jabbing their friends, people with crips metal name tags pinned to their chest discussing weekend plans, you hope with these endless distractions take his attention away from you so that he doesn’t notice how nervous you are to finally spend time with HIM, and the fact that he’s still next to you makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter excitedly. 

UniversityCrush!Suguru does notice you not in the way that you think. He walks just one step behind to admire the way your hair curves over your shoulders, admiring the curvature of your silhouette even through you’re wearing an oversized sweater with equally baggie sweatpants, looking at your fingers twitch nervously around a scrunchie on your wrist, his eyes further trail down to the mis-matched socks you probably picked in a haze to get out of the door. Eyes then trailing back up to your face, developing a thrill to see if you will catch him in the innocent act of observation.

Once you both get to the registers, you start digging around in your bag for your wallet when UniversityCrush!Suguru utters your name to get your attention, you look up and he offers another kind smile, and says that he’ll pay for your danish, your eyes widen and speak with hesitation, “Oh, you don’t need to, we just met,” without missing a beat he replies, “let it be a treat on me, for being great company." 

UniversityCrush!Suguru sees the way the cafeteria worker gives curious glances to the two of you, with your cheeks being lightly dusted in pink and the tips of his ears turning red, he senses your silence as a answer as he takes cash out of his wallet without any hesitation. 

UniversityCrush!Suguru and you now stand in the middle of a crossroads of hallways, standing in a silence that can only be broken with whomever speaks first, but neither wants this moment to end as if it may be the last. A faint repetitive, Buzz…Buzz….Buzz…Buzz, comes from Suguru’s back pocket. He closes his eyes and sighs deeply, he’s supposed to be in a class right now. You take this cue to break the silence and leave, as he pulls out his phone, you give him a small wave and say, “I hope that I didn’t keep you from your class. Thank you for paying, hope to see you around, Suguru,” and take your leave. He is just left standing there watching as your figure retreats around the corner towards the library. 

UniversityCrush!Suguru feels as if buckets of dopamine are rushing to his brain, making his movements feel so much lighter. His phone is still vibrating steadily in his hand, his friend is wondering where he is as the class started fifty ago, and he just stands there, questioning his entire existence. 

UniversityCrush!Suguru found himself not being tricked by the mirages of your silhouette anymore, he finds himself being alone with you more often after that point, catching you walking to class without headphones in your ears, seeing you in the library studying from the viewpoint of the front door, cafeteria debates continue early mornings about what sweet treats to get, you linger around the class much longer than you used to almost waiting to leave the same time as him, as much as he wants to spend more time with you, you appear to want that as well. 

UniversityCrush!Suguru doesn’t fully understand why that is; he went two months without seeing you at all outside of class, but now you’re suddenly everywhere (not that he complains about it). What he is unaware of is that you were also infatuated with the mysterious, gentle giant that sat six rows behind you, occasionally turning your head to see if you could catch his eyes staring at you, but his attention was always somewhere else. In reality he didn't want to be caught starring at you.

Since speaking with you for the first time in the cafeteria, UniversityCrush!Suguru has always made sure he dressed his best, his long hair styled away from his face (or down on occasion), wore clothes that emphasized his authentic shape, lightly sprays a specific cologne that only you could recognize as his scent on his clothes (specifically his sweaters).

UniversityCrush!Suguru and his friends happen to run into your friend group in the library one afternoon, although sitting at a large table with more than a dozen seats open, Suguru gravitates towards sitting directly next to you. He will subtly lay his arm on the back of your chair, and whenever you would talk to him, he'd lean down close to hear you much better. 

UniversityCrush!Suguru would be the type if he overheard you talking to your friends at the front of the class that you commute and when you missed your subway/train/streetcar/transit super late yesterday night and had to stand for an hour before the next one showed up, he would find that unacceptable.  The next time the two of you were together, he would casually bring it up when you leave class, that he lives close by (he does not), and he's willing to stay with you until you need to leave.

UniversityCrush!Suguru will stay with you until you safely get on your transit home, sometimes giving you his soft sweaters to keep you warm against the persistent chilly winds. Will tell you to text him when you get home safely. He tells you that if you're ever alone on campus at night, just text/call him and he has no problem.

UniversityCrush!Suguru when the two of you have developed a comfortable routine and his heart only claws for more. He was somewhat hesitate in in the beginning just because he doesn’t know how you feel, but when you reciprocate flirty banter, or when he, from the corner of his eyes, catches your eyes working their way down his body (cough especially his hands cough cough), always makes excuses to spend as much time with him even if that means getting home later, he takes this as a sign to be little bit more bold. 

UniversityCrush!Suguru being the giant that he is, will lead you through large crowds by reaching behind him to interlock your hands together to make sure that you don’t get swept away from him. 

UniversityCrush!Suguru will start asking you to come to basketball games wearing one of his old jerseys. Instead of spending the night celebrating the team’s win at a local restaurant, he will hang around the gymnasium with you on the bleachers, laughing and eating overpriced vending machine snacks. 

When the first sight of snow covered the campus like a thin blanket, winter break was right around the corner, the two of you are tucked away in the corner of the library, in your own little world of contentment. UniversityCrush!Suguru allows his focus to drift away from his work to you.

There is something in the way that your hair softens in the warm lighting above, or maybe the way your shoulders are hunched over your computer, comfortably drowning in the sweater he gave you months ago, the way you always seem to purr when his fingertips graze your arm or brush your hair away from your face, the way your laugh sends butterflies to his stomach, how soft and gentle you are to old ladies in need to the snails on the sidewalk after rainy day.

UniversityCrush!Suguru spent weeks not talking to you, to weeks getting to know you and not labeling this "thing" between you both, and he doesn't think he'd want to be with anyone else, he wants to store all these moments and feelings in his heart for the rest of eternity.

UniversityCrush!Suguru utters a "hey", quietly under his breath. You hum in response, not breaking eye contact with your computer.

UniversityCrush!Suguru asks you have any plans on Friday, and if not, he'd like to take out on a date. Your head whips to look him dead in the eyes, without missing a beat you beam that you'd love that.

Friday comes around and you nervously flatten out your outfit before you get a "I'm here," text from Suguru. You quickily pull on your jacket and lock the door behind you. Your gaze is initially towards the ground, and as you walk a few steps making sure you have everything, once you lift your eyes you see UniversityCrush!Suguru standing in your driveway, dressed in a form fitting outfit appropriate to where you're going, in front of his car with a bundle of your favourite flowers and the ever so charming gentle smile.

Both of you are thanking the universe for bringing the two of you together.

[madscientistshowdown]

Top 3 Will move onto main bracket

PROPAGANDA

Mikage Souji:

Was also known in the series as Professor Nemuro - I don't know if he ever had a doctorate or not. He's referred to as professor, but he's also the age of a student. He is described as a computer-like genius and was working on some mysterious research project that he did not even know the goal of. He ends up burning down a building that has 100 boys inside of it. In the present day, he has not aged at all even though those events happened a long time ago…. and no longer goes by the name Professor Nemuro…. and now he gets students to come to his evil therapy elevator where he brings their darkest feelings to the surface and become Black Rose duelists, and then they go to try and kill the main characters of the show.

Dr Bryony Halbech:

She works on cryonic preservation, has killed multiple people while experimenting on them, and she kept traumatising her only survivor test subject as a part of her experiments. What makes her mad is that her morals are non-existent when it comes to her research

Dr Dick Hardly:

Yes, there is a character in a children's cartoon named "Dick Hardly." Though he was only in one episode, he's one of the most memorable villains in the show, effectively being Professor Utonium's evil counterpart. He tricks the Powerpuff Girls into giving Chemical X so he can make more PowerPuffs and sell them for profit. Like many mad scientists, he is mutated into a horrible monster at the end of the episode, and then killed by his own mistreated creations.

Dr Frankenstein:

Usually simply referred to as "The Professor", he is the creator of the various androids that serve the Phoenixes (Monster Royal family). His current form resembles that of a giant brain in a jar.

Inari Sakihira:

Using your scientific genius to turn your classmate into a dog without his consent, is not what we in the science biz like to call "Ethical"

Cave Johnson:

Gosh, Mr Johnson I never realised that large, morally questionable scientific facilities could be such a force for good in this world!

Pearl Forrester:

Clayton's mother who kills him and vows to continue his work as revenge for his death (even though she killed him). She drives a space van, survives multiple planets exploding while she was still on them, has an ego bigger than the sun, and hits people she doesn't like with cheez-its. One time she had a super chill porch-van chat with the guy she was torturing. Also pretended to be a roman goddess, ran a scam public television channel, stopped the timeline from being changed so gambling machines and chicken in a biskit snack crackers would continue to exist, gave LSD to robots because she could, drove her space van to LA to threaten famous movie critic Leonard Maltin, and spent at least an hour scamming a couple into thinking her evil castle was a cruise ship. I love her

Dr Clayton Forrester:

he's a mad scientist who lives a very unserious life in a cave, what's not to love? mad scientist activities include showing a guy in space (that he kidnapped because he didn't like him) bad movies until he cracks, then kidnapping a second guy to do the exact same thing to when the first one gets out. hobbies include killing and then reviving his second banana/roommate/boyfriend frank, dealing with the random people/fictional characters/entities that come to his cave, begrudgingly hosting thanksgiving, and creating inventions that are sometimes evil but mostly just kind of strange.

Monsieur Mallah:

A super intelligent gorilla who lives a simple life of peace with his cyborg husband. Aside from when they got bored and made a bunch of mutants. But aside from the army of mutants and making a black hole, they live a simple life of peace.

[self-loving-vampire]

I should clarify that the dig against HPMOR was just an example of how badly this kind of idea could go, and because I really don't like HPMOR, not that this was specifically what the OP was suggesting.

My argument is also not that you should write escapist fantasy (which I think is trash), that you should make stories where people are unaffected by their society, or that you should write stories where sexism doesn't exist.

It is that you should not have a stereotyped or narrow view of what someone's life may be like based on something like gender when women are infinitely varied. Even calling this variety "exceptions" reduces that variety into "normal women who are shaped by sexism in these specific ways" vs "exceptional women who are not."

You made a comparison to racism and I think that's probably illustrative of what I mean to say here as well: Not everyone of the same racial or ethnic group has the same experiences with racism and even the ones who do may still feel differently about those experiences.

It's the same if you want to write a character who has experienced child abuse. You can totally have that be a factor in why they behave the way they do and research possible consequences of child abuse, but once do that you may realize that not only is "abuse" a category encompasses a huge range of things that will naturally have very different effects but also that even the same type of abuse can have very different effects in different people based on all kinds of other factors you have to take into account.

There isn't one singular abuse narrative that represents everyone. Some people were abused by parents, others by classmates. Some people were beaten as discipline and strictly monitored, others were neglected. Some people react to abuse by becoming more aggressive while others become withdrawn, insecure, and submissive instead. Some people were just never abused at all despite being in social categories that are more likely to experience that (such as disabled people and queer people).

It's like that with women as well, that's why just "write them like normal human beings like you would do if they were men" is more applicable advice in my opinion. A lot of this stuff (like "what women are physically and emotionally attracted to") doesn't really have a simple answer you can just discover through research because it is built on subjective experiences that are unique for each individual woman, even if you were to narrow it specifically to cishetero women.

That is what I meant. Not "people completely separated from society" but "the ways in which individuals engage with their societies are incredibly varied and you can't just invent clearly defined and universally applicable "male socialization" or "female socialization" because that's going to be different based on time, place, and etc."

Occasionally you'll see a writer question like "how do you write women?"

And the answer that's given is often "WOMEN ARE PEOPLE".

I just ... I don't think that this is a good answer? It's true, but I think it's not that likely to help men convincingly write women unless they're starting from "women are magical unicorn creatures". Which, yeah, sure, some men are starting from there, and "just write a person" might actually improve their situation.

I think a lot of men fail with "ah, just switch the pronouns". They write women whose socialization and life history is unacknowledged. Women who have not suffered harassment, discrimination, male attention, etc. Women who wear makeup but don't ever think about the makeup. They get the texture of the emotions wrong. They get the history wrong.

And for a single character, I would argue that sometimes this just doesn't matter. An individual can go against the grain, and have their own quirks and foibles. You can have a woman who wishes that she were a man. Though ... a woman who wishes that she were a man because men have the "better" gender role would be quite distinct from a man, right? In terms of her internal motivations and backstory and stuff? All people live within a society, and are shaped by that, and by their socialization, and their gender role, and their reaction to all that.

So for writing women, you have to know what it's like to grow up as a woman, to be seen as a woman, taught as a woman, all that stuff. You can and should do research on these things! You should read stuff that women have written about what it's like to be a written, how it feels to be looked at by men, what female friendships are like, what women are physically and emotionally attracted to, the particular texture of fear and anxiety that women often have around men in certain situations, the emotional labor that women are expected to do, all that and more. There's a lot to it! And as with most research, most of it will not make it to the page, it'll be a thing that you think about, and then it becomes part of the background texture of the character.

And yes, this is the same approach that you take to all character writing, whenever you're trying to write someone who isn't yourself, when you have to think hard about internal experiences of other people and marshal an understanding of the circumstances of their life.

So I think "women are people" can serve that role, and at a really basic level, writing women is like writing any character with traits you don't have, but there's also a bunch of specific stuff that naturally would come up during research and talking to women that could help a lot more than just "idk, do your own research, just make sure they're not unicorn fairies".

[jackattack20writes]

This is probably my hottest gquuuuuux take but I don’t actually think Machu’s as rich as people are thinking like she’s not poor but she’s not what people would consider rich either. Now until five minutes ago I was thinking that she’d at least be upper middle class if not just upper class, but I just had the realisation that her phone is still broken in ep 6 and I just double checked to be sure and yeah Machu’s still using the phone with the broken screen. And this is a big thing because it adds another layer to Machu’s layers of insecurity while also bringing her closer socially to Shuji and Nyaan and explains some of the more anachronistic aspects of her character when you consider her as a “rich girl” which I actually talked about in another post where I went into what impact her schooling may’ve had.

I think this is actually a massive thing because it does explain a lot of the stuff around Machu, her mum and what little we got about her absent dad in this weeks ep. So firstly I can’t talk for certain about what sort of culture Japan has around private schools because I’m not Japanese but I do know that round where I live it’s not uncommon for families to prioritise the fees of a private school over almost everything else with it being one of the largest costs they’ll have in a year and sacrificing in a lot of areas to afford the luxury. The possibility of this being Machu’s situation is one which I think can both explain the absence of Machu’s dad and at least in part the emphasis her mother has on school. To begin with we know that Machu’s mother is a public servant with some level of responsibility, she seems to be in charge of part of the audit division but she’s not high up enough to not have the responsibility of checking over her subordinates work. So she’d be decent pay but nothing extravagant, especially not the sort of money that would afford a high school that’s prestigious enough Xavier knows about it. So that implies that Machu’s father is gone working wherever he is, and working somewhere that communication seems to not be easy so I’d assume outside of the colony, as well as not something overly prestigious that would put him in a position to communicate frequently. (Also I must highlight that a lot of this is inferred and guesses based basically off only Xavier’s comments about Machu’s school the fact Machu still has a broken screen on her phone weeks if not months later and the absence of Machu’s father.)

Now this is all relevant to the broken screen because it shows that both outside of the clanbat reward money she’s putting toward the earth trip/shuttle Machu doesn’t have access to a lot of money, not even enough to repair her phone screen and she’s unwilling to talk to her mother about getting it fixed. Showing that she has an awareness about their financial situation. This is important because it adds to Machu’s clear feelings of inadequacy as if she’s aware of the financial strain her schooling puts her family under with how she reacts to everything else it’s clear that that would be another stress point for her and making her feel useless. This sort of thing also explains why unlike her classmates Machu isn’t shown to be friends with the other girls at the school, we see them admiring her and trying to be friendly with her multiple times but she just brushes them off, something that makes sense if she knows that she’s in a different world to them, if they don’t have their family making sacrifices to get them schooled there. Also it’s shown at least a little with how her classmates got so excited about the gambling site in ep 4 while Machu’s just boggling at the idea of that much money (which is almost enough for one of the ships Shuji was looking at), but for them it’s just spending money for an afternoon with friends but for Machu it’s mindboggling large that she doesn’t even know what to spend it on, at least until Shuji’s

This is also another reason why her parents would be so on her ass about school, if they’re sacrificing to make sure Machu can attend with her mother constantly working long hours and her dad possibly leaving them to work outside the colony it makes sense from their pov why Machu’s seeming disregard for school is such a massive issue. It also explains why Machu’s almost sad when she talks about stuff like the careers goals, almost like she wishes she could put something else but she’s unwilling to lie about what she wants.

Like it’s been staring me in the face and I only just realised it, like it gives more detail to why Machu’s clashing with her mum as it’s a common belief with parents that send their kids to private schools that it’s the best thing they could possibly do and the kids just don’t understand that. So of course it’s entirely unreasonable for Machu to try and fluff around instead of keeping her head down and studying properly like she should be, and of course the absent father would have even more issues because he’s sacrificing time with his family so they can afford it. And of course this feeds even more into Machu’s struggles with her identity and value as a person because her parents not only have an ideal she’s not reaching, they’re spending beyond their means to try and get her to reach it and she just can’t because it’s not who she is. Giving her a very concrete example of her relationship with people worsening because she isn’t performing her role, something that is reflected in her ep 5 freakout about the Kira Kira. Except that time it’s not her personal failings as the issue, it’s her friend “taking” her role away from her and with it her arguably strongest connections at the moment.

[gtlurker]

Chapter one

Pin

Each thunderous footstep outside my hiding spot sends a brand new wave of fear coursing through my body. For the past six months I have been coming to this highschool, after finding a herb in the garden of the house I live in that lets me grow to a human size.

And it had been without incident! I'm absolutely great at acting like a human, after all, I had been studying them the majority of my life. I know that humans like conversing with strangers, so I was sure to introduce myself to every human I met. People talk about me constantly, which must mean I'm pretty well liked.

And I'm sure that if any of my classmates found me like this, they'd be kind since they already know me and enjoy my presence. Still, it's not a risk I'm willing to take, it would not just jeopardize my own safety, but also the secret of my kind as a whole. I'd rather not be the reason for my entire race. And that leaves me in my current predicament, alone, hiding behind something I heard someone called a “resickle bin” trying to figure out a way to get home.

The bell rang close to an hour ago, most students had left. Once all the lights go out, I'll try to find a way into the walls. If those herbs grew in the backyard of my home, they should probably grow around here too! Plants do grow outside, and there's a garden in the school. So logically there should be some here too. Until then though i'll camp in the walls, hopefully close to the cafeteria in order to get some food. A sudden, loud,

BANG “fuck.”

Falls next me, unmistakable, terrifying, and all to close. A human, and from the curse and loud crash, I'm assuming he fell. My chest tightens, nails digging into my palm as I start to back away until I hit the wall. Humans, while fasictating from afar and interesting when at the same height. Are terrifying beings who can, and probably will hurt me, or try to capture me if one sees me like this. I've seen what they do to the frogs in the labs, will the human do the same to me if he sees me?

Will he pin me down by my hands and ankles to drag his scalpel over my flesh? Will he have the mercy to kill me first? I start to pull at the threads of my dress as his head turns, tears prick in the corner of my eyes as I turn to run, hoping to move before he notices me. I duck behind the second bin, the grey one i've heard people call the “garage bin” hoping, praying, that he doesn't see me. My prayers go unheard or unanswered, a quiet whisper. “No way. . .” leaves the boy, and I know I'm screwed. I press my hands to the baseboard, hoping to find a loose board I can use to get into the walls, to safety. A loud scraping of the bin against the floor makes my blood run cold and my ears ring. I'm frozen, feet stuck in place while I scream for them to move, to run. To do anything to get out of here and away. This whole thing was a mistake, thinking a borrower could live amongst humans was insane and foolish, and it's going to be the reason I die. Ill be the reason the entirety of my kind will be discovered, killed, captured. It will all be my fault. All because I was curious. “Um, hello? Little one… wait is that offensive?” I flinch and wip around at the sound of the human voice. Our eyes meet, mine wide with terror and his sparkling with wonder. A moment passes, a long, painful moment where we just stare. And then I see it in his eyes the moment it hits me. Recognition. He recognizes me. Elliott wood. Him and I share a few classes together. He's the one who comes over and pulls me away silently from conversations with the kids who make comments or question my clothing or actions. He's kind, yes. But curiosity tends to kill kindness. “Holy shit- pin? Why are you. . . small now? What happened?” he asks, voice too loud, i take a step back as he leans closer. I can't bring myself to answer. He does not seem to realize I'm not human, and I might be able to use this to my advantage. I keep my mouth shut so I don't verbally screw myself over. “Okay, um, okay. Should I take you home? Your parents probably would want to know their daughter is uh, four inches tall.” he says. Actually i think they'd be quite relieved i'm still this height. Shit, what do I say? I don't have a conventional home to go back to. And I don't have parents he can give me to. Timidly I shake my head no, fingers crossed in hopes he'll leave me be now. He opens his mouth to say something, but it is cut off by the click of heels against the floor. “Elliot? Schools over, what are you still doing here?” the voice of an older woman, most likely a teacher asks. Elliot turns his head to face her. “Oh um, I just lost my earbud. Trying to find it.” he says. He glances at me, an apologetic twing in his eyes. Before his hand reaches out. I barely have time to react before his fingers are wrapping around my torso and pulling me up. My hand flies to my mouth as I bite back a scream. The rest of the conversation between him and the teacher is muffled to my squirms and fight for freedom as he tucks me into the front pocket of his backpack. He zips it shut, leaving a small hole for air not big enough for me to climb out. I'm sent tumbling to a corner as he lifts his bag and ungraciously slings it over his shoulder. The wind is knocked out of me and I'm left gasping for air. Nausea soon hits as I'm aggressively jostled around in the bag. Everytime i think I've gained balance I'm knocked off my feet. Bile rises in my throat, and I'm quick to force it back down. Each step he takes rattles me to my core. It's like being thrown into a dryer put on the highest setting as he sprints down the street to what I can only assume is his home. This is bad, this is so very, very bad. Getting caught by a human is already a shit situation, being taken to a second location? Way worse. And the head injury I'm going to get if he keeps running only adds to the hell of this. Luckily though, there is a positive. He knows me already, and he thinks I'm human, a very small human.

But human nonetheless. Reaching to either side of me, I grab the shifting fabric of the bag to stabilize and pull myself into a sitting position. Finnialy, I hear a door open and shut, before he sets the backpack down with a thud that forces me to yelp involentarly. I hear him mutter an apology, followed by three more apologies that i dont pay attention to.

Im to busy stealing my nerves and preparing myself to face my classmate, without him figuring out my secret.