#my hyperfix may of switched but these two have never left my brain!!!!

[raan-miir-tah]

Ignore Hannah’s salad fingers lookin ass hand the girlies are out on a pretty picnic! 🧺🌹🥕

[dreamteamspace]

So this stream I got a bit confused with what was going on with the whole spiel with schlatt and dream, and I dont actually think theres a traitor. However if there was one why not niki ya know? I mean, he kept saying how it would be way more unexpected than eret in the independance war, and literally everyone so far has been thought of as a potential traitor to pogtopia,, except well,, why not niki? She also had this letter to her "dear friend" that sounded like a new turn for her character and idk man why not?

Alright I’m a very texting type of person and you’ve got my started on my hyperfixation here we go-

My thoughts on the whole situation and why I think Fundy is the traitor:

I think from Dream’s perspective: Everything makes sense. I’m HIGHLY certain that Schlatt’s deal, which Dream said is “Something Wilbur and Tommy would never give him”, was that L’Manburg will either cease to exist (become part of the Dream SMP, and we know neither Wilbur not Tommy would ever do that), or that Dream would essentially become leader of it.

That’s why, in this flip situation, if he wins, he wins all of it. This also makes sense, as Dream is 100% alright with Wilbur just blowing it up, too: Because essentially he achieves the very same thing: L’Maburg/Manburg is no more.

Dream is absolutely right that he was never on their side or really on anybody’s side. Dream is his own side. It’s his server. He IS the Dream SMP, in that sense, just like Tommy is the spearhead of the rebellion right now.

I’m also fairly certain Dream will pull a lot more people than they think into this, and I think they ALSO know, in a meta-way, that they won’t be fighting only Schlatt and Dream and one traitor. He’s just letting them wallow in their security, although I have to say he LOVES dipping in his dramatic implications about what he’s doing or will do. In this case, he might’ve managed to keep quiet to let them think they’re safe.

So for Dream: Either they win, and L’Manburg is his/no more, or Wilbur sees they start losing, and L’Manburg is also no more. Honestly? He just has to make Wilbur panic hard enough to hit that button... and then he wins. It would be bad if he loses, though, so I do think he’ll pull together for this. He’s very competitive.

(Lot more juicy theory as to who the traitor is under the cut)

I predict that a good portion of BadboyHalo, Georgenotfound, Sapnap, Punz, potentially also people like Thunder or Alyssa?, are going to join Dream’s side. Sam seems close to the rebellion, but he’s also friends with George and Sapnap, but I just can’t see those two seriously fighting against Dream. If the stakes really are high, they’ll flip over to him, although I also can’t see them convincing Sam.

Most likely, George and Sapnap are just going to stay out of it entirely, and let Sam fight on the side of the rebellion. Maybe the current pet war might change that, though, say if Sapnap develops a new hatred against Tommy or even Sam? (I dont know what the pet war’s at atm but didn’t Sapnap and Sam fight over pets?), he would join in on Dream’s side. George? I have no idea. Most likely he just won’t be there. He doesn’t want to go against Sam (Who provides him with like. Everything), but he also doesn’t wanna fight Dream. IF he fights, though, I’m tempted to say he’d be on Dream’s side, but I’m honestly not up to date enough on his streams to say for certain.

As for the traitor: I actually haven’t seen Niki’s letter (to my great regret, I saw the news float around though), since I’m very focused on watching Tommy and Wilbur’s POVs. Honestly, if it’s Niki? That would be MASSIVELY surprising, and the biggest brain move I’ve ever seen. It’s possible, but I honestly don’t think it’s likely.

They’ve kept their characters fairly consistent, and while this IS kindof meta to say, I don’t think (with how things are atm), that Niki would betray L’Manburg, UNLESS she’s doing a double-agent thing and plans on tricking Dream in the end. That I could potentially see happening.

But knowing that she changed the anthem from Wilbur’s posessive “My L’Manburg” to just “L’Manburg”, that she’s been loyal even when they kinda half left her alone with Schlatt to tax her, and even during the pet wars she never strikes blood, but rather takes hostages and wants a sincere apology... I don’t see it right now. Then again, I don’t watch Niki’s streams on the SMP, so I could be wrong, as I’m not quite familiar with the intricacies of her character on the SMP besides the surface level.

On on hand... I also doubt whether there is a traitor at all, and Dream is just hoping to drive them apart and make sure they don’t get things done as efficiently as they could, because they’re busy pointing fingers at eachother, suspecting eachother, potentially even throwing somebody out once the tension between them snaps.

He needs to win this fight. If he does, he gets EVERYTHING. What they think of him after that point doesn’t matter, so the lie doesn’t matter. They can laugh at him afterwards, but he’ll still have won. I don’t know how many actually highly important details Dream would drop into conversation like that.

Consider, he does have a traitor. Why would he tell them he has one there? Why tell them that they’ll never guess? It just sows chaos in their group, and that’s what he wants. If he DID have one, he might just not say anything.

On the other hand: He might just be dramatic like that honestly. We all know they’re meta-fighting for the next spot in a sad-ist animatic, so Dream could very well be taking a more active role to insert himself into the story and cause some drama. Even if he DOES have a traitor on the inside, saying it still sows chaos. It’s a little risky, but if it really is something they won’t guess, then the chance that they’ll suspect the wrong person might be high enough, and make it worth it.

If he DOES actually have a traitor, my top sus are honestly Fundy, Tubbo, and maybe Ponk. I’m very sure it’s NOT Wilbur, Tommy, Sam, or Quackity.

Ponk doesn’t seem like the type of person to be reliable enough. He’s just kinda in it for the ride, and he’s too quiet to set a focus on. I don’t think Dream even considered him on the side of the rebellion for certain until today. It is, however, still possible. Tommy seems to trust him, and he’s not in deep enough for them to intently interrogate him on his loyalty, cause they know he’s more laid back when it comes to that. He feels only half in the rp to begin with, just wanting to fuck around with everyone. And then, BOOM, he’s actually been playing a massive role this whole time. It’s a little bit of a safe target, too, albeit a little underwhelming.

Tubbo... listen. We all love Tubbo. Tommy loves Tubbo, and we know Tubbo cares greatly for Tommy. Tubbo also seems(?) to care for L’Manburg. But I just....

It’s Tubbo, man. I have no idea. He seemed SO close to ACTUALLY flipping over to Schlatt before the festival. Everyone keeps pushing him around like this innocent tiny kid when he has the biggest third eye out of everyone and is the only one actually doing any work.

Tubbo has stated before that his official motivation is that he just wants peace for everyone. He just doesn’t want to fight and wants to do fun stuff. So of course he sounds horrified at the prospect of having to hunt down Tommy after Tommy was exiled, but happily went along with the festival. He was excited to do his speech. Schlatt actually placed responsability on them for once. He truly did seem happy about that.

It doesn’t matter as much to Tubbo who’s who. What matters is that the fighting preferrably stops, and they all just have a good time. Dream gave the line “I’m very convincing”, so I think he did actually have to convince the traitor, if there is one, to join his side. It wasn’t automatic.

Technically speaking, if L’Manburg is no more, and they’re all part of the Dream SMP again, doesn’t the fighting stop? If there’s no nation to fight over, then there’s no reason to fight. If L’Manburg is no more, then Schlatt has 0 power, and if Dream takes over, he could’ve promised to un-exile Tommy and Wilbur. And then they’re all part of the Dream SMP! No more fighting! Everyone’s on the same side!

Tubbo seems to care less for nations or sides, and much more for people, and for the people around them to be happy. His switch to enthusiasm at Schlatt’s festival came quickly, because many of the people he cared about still partook in it, and he never did hurt Tommy, because he does care about him.

But Tubbo DID say the line “may the festival begin” after his speech, and they knew what that would start. So why? In a way, I think Tubbo waged his options. Who does he care about more? Tommy, to his knowledge, is on Wilbur’s side. He might’ve decided in a moment of uncertainty that Wilbur and Tommy’s opinions of him are more important to them than the opinions of the other people there. Mostly Tommy, because we know those two would die for eachother. They chose Tommy over everyone else at that festival, potentially even over their own motivations, over their own gut.

Fundy, in fact, has MANY reasons to be the traitor, but isn’t quite obvious in that sense. They thought he was a traitor, actually, but once he showed them his diary, he essentially convinced all of them very certainly that he’s not the traitor, and they believed him. Dream joined the call later, so it’s possible he heard that part or Fundy told him about it (They’ve all been known to listen in on convos sometimes to know whats going in. They have to in order to build a good story line.)

Fundy has all the reasons. Reason number one, to me, is Fundywastaken. It’s canon in the Dream SMP lore, they just surprisingly haven’t done anything with it. During the independance war, that wasn’t a thing yet, and since they ARE a thing in canon now... they’ve never actually fought eachother. In fact, as things are now? We’re EXPECTING to see Dream fight his canon fiancé. Fundy officially joined the fight when Tommy asked him, confirming that they can count on him and that he will fight. We know for certain that Dream will fight.

If Fundy isn’t the traitor and doesn’t become one, then Dream and Fundy are inevitably meeting in battle on the 16th.

Consider his storyline: We’ve all been highly expecting Fundy to either punch Wilbur in the face or at LEAST be dissapointed in him or SOMETHING. He hasn’t, as far as I’m aware. He’s just standing there near him, very very quietly, giving a firm but quiet “yes” when Tommy asked him if they could count on him.

Fundy hasn’t expressed much to Wilbur at all, despite heving been left alone with Schlatt by him, despite how much he deserves to be angry at him for being patronized and not trusted with anything.

And, y’know... He’s officially Dream’s fiancé. The others don’t seem to know yet, and I don’t know how many people do know or not. It’s possible they just don’t know, and of course Dream wouldn’t tell them anything, not even tell anyone, this close before a fight. Dream might not even tell his close allies out of fear that the information could spread or that they could turn on him.

So honestly... Fundy seems the most likely for me to be the traitor, especially because there’s been plenty of foreshadowing for it, there’s a good setup, he has good reasons, and it wouldn’t seem like a cheap plottwist, but rather a gradual change.

Not to mention that meta-wise, Fundy has been actively involved in the rp and been dropping some pretty good lines himself. This isn’t something that Dream would have some non-rping person do.

I’m also kindof sure it’s not Technoblade, because Dream laughed it off and half-indicated that it is (Tommy: “I bet it’s Technoblade” Dream, cracking up: “I didn’t say that, you said that���), because he profits from doing so. He profits from them thinking Technoblade is the traitor. And also I really, really don’t think Techno would team up with Dream in this rp. Then again, Dream recently proclaimed to be on the side of chaos.... so who truly knows? I’ll definitly be surprised if it’s Techno, but I suppose it is a possibility. I just don’t think Techno can be convinced to much of anything, unless of course all it took was saying “Hey it’s Schlatt and Me against like 6 people so if we want an actual fight for once-” “Finally some bloodshed and war. I’m in”. I mean, I doubt it, but I’m leaving the possibility open.

TLDR: Dream wins if he wins the fight OR if Wilbur blows everything up. The traitor is likely either Fundy, Ponk or Tubbo, and I think there will be more people fighting on Dream’s side than just Schlatt and one traitor.

[blooddrop-palace]

Project Updates - What to Look Forward To

<3 Hello all! I've realized (humbly) that I have a small following of very nice people that seem quite interested in what I've written so far, and after seeing some mutuals post update-status posts, I thought I should share what's going on with my projects, also. (Thanks for the encouragement, @queenmuzz!)

Updated Dec-10-20

Sons of Fortune

Probably somehow my main focus now, though I am steadily working on other works. Currently working on the “In Between” special short before I start on Chapter 12.

I would also like to talk a little bit about my plans for this story: if anyone has paid attention to this story's tags, yes, I am touching up on the plots of most of the games. In fact, all of them, and the anime. (I already dealt with DMC4. No, I will not tear apart Fortuna lol.) Not all relevant tags are in, yet, because small spoilers. It looks like it's going to be a long while before I even get to the Temen-ni-gru, though. (There is a reason why that event is getting pushed back.) I want to have fun with the family fluff that is the twins each learning how to parent, first. 

Hell Froze Over, and We Shall Reignite It

The drama of it all! Dante and Vergil are finally back from Hell, and Nero doesn’t even know his mother is now standing right in front of him. Meanwhile, even I’m anticipating seen how Snow and Dante is going to handle the obvious things currently unsaid... and I have a feeling a small measure of stupidity is still going to be involved.

Current chapter progress: Outline complete.

It's going to feel so interesting, shifting from "Fortune" back to Reignite. I get to write Sera and Vergil falling in love all over again, with a different set of circumstances. Whoa.

And, and... Nero meeting Sera... odd that I'm saying this as the writer, but I have a "I hope he likes his mom" feeling going on. 

Also, no doubt Dante's brain is going to 404 when he sees Snow. 

Nico prepares popcorn.

This is Not an Office Rom-Com

I have... about 8 new skits planned out. Nothing more written just yet.

That’s all I’m saying about this for now. =P

Hierarchy of Kings

Purely indulgent M/M romance of Vergil and an OC, existing all thanks to

@wordborne

Working on chapter 2. 

I know I said 3 chapters only. I might have lied depending on how much I want to write. It's supposed to be just... awkward fluff of a listless part-devil who somewhat-recently lost his mate, got in a bit of a tiff with his brother, and now his children are trying to set him up with the prospective-king-of-hell, Vergil. 

I think about this one a lot but I haven't written anything new for it yet, only because "Fortune" is taking over my life right now, haha.

Through the Lens of the Beholder

Okay, so...This story has no real plot. As a result, my drive for it is purely down to "if I think of a badass or cool photograph to describe." There is a TINY bit of plot. Only a little. And I don't know when I'll update. But this is why I'm trying not to START new projects. Four  is a lot already! But because this one is supposed to be simpler than the other two, I will most likely finish this one before the others, so I can open a new project. 

---------------

Speaking of new projects... Here are things ideas bouncing through my head:

- I still have a prompt from @maybeishouldwait sitting in my inbox. I WILL have it done one day, when I find the perfect way to write it. 

A whole, entirely royally late set of Dadgil week fics.  Yep. I want to write them. They just won’t be on time. 

Written in Ink

A plot-less post-DMC5 story. 

I say plot-less. There is a plot. The plot is:

Dante: Damn it, Verge, are you trying to turn my office into a zoo??

In which Vergil compulsively starts contracting strong demons he's defeated, left and right, because he's discovered "the joy of pets." The demons all take on a dark animistic form and things get wild. 

A Persona and DMC fusion/AU

I have no title for this yet, and I absolutely cannot start this one until I have finished one of my other big projects. This one will take a lot of big planning, because I am making a new plot, using the mechanics of Persona, with DMC characters and setup.

What I want to write, is a teenage Nero as the protagonist, trying to solve a mystery... probably starting with the sudden disappearance of his mother. (Most likely Sera.) And he meets a lot of "new" people, and even finds new family... and yes, he will find his dad. (I'm thinking he'll know about Vergil, though. At least in name and a photo? Isn't that an interesting difference?)

For those of you not familiar with Persona, the major theme I really want to play with is that of the protagonist growing as a person (and in power) by befriending different people that helps them grow as a person. Each party member and important NPC is represented by a Tarot Card, signifying the type of journey the protagonist (The Fool) "embarks" with that character. There is growth in both the protagonist and that characters. 

Again, this is ambitious to try and pull off... but it's in the back of my head. I'll focus on it once I've cleared some other stuff. 

Sugar Sweet

A somewhat short-chapter series reader fic... of a surgeon/doctor!reader (barely 30 and good at what you do) who often saves the lives of shady people (e.g. mafia) because you care about saving lives, not the politics. But you do make good money out of it. (Hey, you gotta be at least a bit morally ambiguous if you're going to deal with devils.)

You meet one mess of a young mercenary named Dante, who is totally not human and deals with things like having bullets healed into his back, and he can't reach them to cut them out. 

Dante doesn't care about bills for his office, or a lot of the debts in his life. You don't know where his money is going, or if he even makes much money at all (for the kind of specialty work he does? Money's going somewhere, but that's none of your business.)

You won't pay Dante's bills, or his debts, but he will accept pizza and ice cream. And new parts for his jukebox. And maybe a motorcycle. Or a new coat. Or a new car...

And you might complain to him about your dumb patients. Or just listen to him talk about his job. Or you two watch a movie together.

And this just continues. For years. 

Tokusatsu DMC fusion/AU

So. First thing's first: I'm a big fan of Sentai/Tokusatsu. What is that, you might ask? It's a Japanese genre, and if you're familiar with Power Rangers, that's derived from Sentai. 

Basically: Masked heroes with transformation gadgets, sometimes with motorcycles, fighting against evil. ("Magical girls" but strictly the opposite, a lot more physical combat involved, may involve upgrade gadgets, and not strictly limited to male heroes though mostly a male cast. Also not strictly for male-only audience. Girls like the eye-candy, too. :eyes-emoji:)

Why am I thinking about this?

Because I have found out that: Vergil's VA, Dan Southworth, was the Quantum Ranger (WHICH WAS RED). Nero's VA, Johnny Yong Bosch, was a Black Ranger and a Green Ranger. 

...And Dante's VA, Reuben Langdon, had a role in a Japanese Toku show as "B-Fighter Yanma" forever ago???? (HE WAS BLUE!!)

What am I going to do with this info? I'll let you know later. But my Sentai/Toku-loving little heart is about to burst with hyperfixation overlap. 

If I ever write this out, expect it to be just as cheesy as an actual Kamen Rider show. Or, at the very least, expect some art. I love Kamen Rider stuff!

Family Fantasy MMO

Snow introduces Dante, Vergil, Nero, and Kyrie to Final Fantasy 14 (because that’s the MMO I play) for family bonding. Yep. Mainly for silly indulgence.

Stardew Valley Visit

Post DMC5, Vergil and Dante accidentally end up going on a vacation when they try to leave Hell. No pairing with the farmer, but instead just a relaxing and somewhat introspective moment of the boys being stuck with most of their power temporarily sealed, learning how to take care of a farm, and maybe do a bit of healing by interacting with the townsfolk while they try to find out where their swords went and how to get home. 

Re-Colourize

Otherwise what I would call the “re-colour of Nero and Snow” AU. 

What if Vergil was found by Kassy’s family and raised among them? What if Dante ended up briefly in Fortuna and then convinced Sera to run away from the island?

What if we have a Nero who, though brash, is outwardly more soft and open-hearted, and has red-orange and gold colours instead? What if we have a Snow who is named Chiyuki, who wields her katana more like Vergil does, and has a more ice-queen aura about her, and has a teal and blue colouring about her?

This is my excuse to switch up the pairings, but also write Vergil being taught to fight more like an assassin. 

Raised by the Blade

Imagine: Yamato, cracked, broken, and separated from her Master... desperately searching for a way to get back to him, and ended up washed up on the shores of Fortuna. Humanoid, but clearly not if anyone saw the cracked, broken, and no-normal look of “shattered” in her torso, that she would have to keep covered. 

Made from the power of Sparda, she is pale with white hair... and she finds herself drawn to the orphanage...

Where she finds the toddler that is Nero.

Devil Hunters’ Podcast

Nico “accidentally” finds entertainment in recording the Sparda Family arguments as they talk about hunting; after all, they all share one braincell. 

Ascended Monochrome

A white angel remains by the side of Nelo Angelo. Mundus was not pleased by the behavior of his second creation, from the human woman that he had picked up with the treacherous Son of Sparda. But he later discovered that by using her, he could keep Nelo Angelo complacent. Eventually, underestimating love will be his downfall.

Fall to Royalty

A story of where Vergil wins against Mundus the first time, and takes the throne of Hell. But what is he to do next? Eventually, ruling Hell seemed meaningless when there was no one by his side, so he goes to seek out the Lady Knight that he had vowed to never think of or go back to unless he had obtained the power he sought.

Doppelganger Woes

So, I heard Capcom retconned Gilver to be some sort of imitation created by Mundus. I’m all for this! And I’m going to DO something with this.

Side-Project: DMC Tarot List

I started on this maybe months ago; and I have a tentative list oh what characters go with what card and a few detailed descriptions. I think I should confer with

@harlot-of-oblivion

at some point about this, and anyone else interested in, well, Tarot stuff. 

[smolbeandrabbles]

Somethin’ I’m Good At - Gerry x Reader (Mississippi Grind)

@sufferthesea​ - Not the one I had in mind, but one none the less ❤

I want to call this a Pre-Sequel to Diligence. Because it is a sequel, but it’s not the one that ‘Reason Why’ is waiting for.

Author’s Note: I remember telling @mandy23b​ that Brett Eldredge songs were to be earned, but then I went to see him in concert on Friday and this one smacked me in the face. And here we are...!

That isn’t to say Gerry didn’t earn this

Somethin’ I’m Good At - Brett Eldredge 

Disclaimer: Mississippi Grind Characters not mine / lyrics not mine / gifs not mine / lyrical liberties taken.

Premise: Having dated for a few months, Gerry knows for sure, there could be one thing he’s good at...

Words: 2056

Warnings: Fluff, mostly.

______

I'm a real bad liar, I'm a burnt toast kinda guy Or if I try to build a fire I'll burn the woods I ain't a mover or a shaker, can't keep up with the pacer Never met a dancefloor that ever did me any good I got a poor sense of direction, sometimes too strong of affection For a whiskey made in Lynchburg, Tennessee If there's a hole in my boat son, you bet that's all she wrote I'm a Titanic sinking down into that deep blue sea I can't change the world, no I can't change a flat If you give me your heart, girl, well, you may never get it back You said you'd never smile again, but oh no, here it comes Would you look at that? I finally found somethin' I'm good at

---

It'd been a few months down the line since your little talk over hot chocolate. When you'd given him your number, and he'd waited two days to call you. When you enquired as to what had taken him so long, he'd simply told you he didn't want to bother you on your day off. And you thought that maybe he hadn't quite grasped the point of you handing your number over.

 Gerry still used the cafe like an office. It was well frequented, but had long periods of quiet where - to him at least - there was little difference between this and being in the estate agents. Besides, most of the time he also had you here. And now he knew that all those small looks and gentle smiles were for him. Really for him.

 You didn't think you'd been in a relationship quite like it. Gerry was, as his demeanour would suggest, just adorable. You'd thought that before just watching him - but now he got to be yours, and somehow he could up the ante on that. The little I saw this and thought of you - which happened fairly often. Or, if you or he wasn't working or...  At least in the cafe on any particular day the I was just thinking about you... messages you'd get on your phone. And each one was sweet - unlike texts along those lines you'd ever got before.

He was cute, and according to a lot of people who had commented more than once, the two of you together we're even cuter.

 He liked watching you work sometimes - but also just liked leaving you to it, and he loved when you'd walk passed and just brush gently against him, or lace your fingers just long enough for it to be considered holding hands, until his arm refused to stretch after you or bend back any further. Or on occasion you'd even reach out and run your hands through his hair - and if he was busy concentrating on his laptop that was your favourite time to do it. Gerry longed for those fleeting moments the most, and you liked that sound he emitted and that excitable shiver as his heavily fixed concentration switched from whatever he was reading to the sensation of your fingertips.

Sometimes you'd stop by because he wanted to show you something, and you'd lean your arms on his shoulders and your head on his, and on occasion kiss his hair - and for a moment things didn't get better for him. But you didn't stop by all the time, and he didn't want to hinder your work either. He just liked being surrounded by you. Even if you were super busy and all he got was the scent of your perfume as you ran back and forth between tables. He would still smile absentmindedly and get to think about you.

 But, if you ever had a break between the busier and quieter shifts, or you got a full lunch break you still liked sitting with him. Gerry might have told you about the way he hyperfixated on things... How his obsession, and addiction, to gambling had all culminated and been put on... you. But if it was supposed to induce pressure, you never felt it. And he was the only consistently calm thing in the room. You knew he'd slide his laptop and notes to one side and give you his full attention as you told him about your day, or picked his brain for advice. He knew when you came first. If you had an issue, and what hadn't he been through!?, he likely had some kind of solution. He just liked seeing you smile - and being the cause of such a beautiful thing. Gerry knew just when to make the right joke, or be gentle and easy going, or get excited about something... He'd watched you so long he knew your emotions, your expressions... Your body language. That was something he’d picked up from tables that he could be thankful for. Perhaps he knew you better than you knew yourself - and he was only getting more used to it now you were dating. And that obsession meant he wanted to know everything, and help in whatever way he could. You were still responsible for keeping him from tables, after all.

Sometimes he still felt like he was gambling with feelings... It wasn't like Gerry could possibly know where this was going to lead.

 Sometimes he'd drop by for a few hours and then leave and come back, the way he used to when you'd have his coffee order ready for him by the time he crossed the parking lot. Only this time the name Gerry was accompanied by a heart, and he got to kiss you over the counter as he picked up the cup and left. ‘See you later’ really meaning that, even if he didn't return to the cafe.

When he did return from his house viewings though, he was always happy, and all he wanted to show you were these houses. And Gerry didn't miss out on one single detail, because sometimes pictures couldn't do any justice to it. You gotta hear about this one, it has the works!! He didn't seem like the type to get so excited about houses - even if he was an estate agent. And, usually, Gerry would agree with you... That was simply what his job happened to be. And he was just pretty good at it. But, he wasn't thinking about the people he was showing around, or even the houses themselves. (Heck, not even the pay check and well it's a job!) But he was thinking about aspects of those houses, and you.

It always came back to you.

What would you like to live in? What sort of house would you walk into and say this is where I want to be. Would it be with him? That's obviously where his thought process was going. But Gerry knew it was far too early to start asking you questions like that - and he kept it quiet. But secretly he'd show you these houses and take note of what you liked. Or, what caught your interest when he described them. If he could build up that perfect picture in his mind - he knew eventually it would come onto the market... Even if it was only close enough; and he'd find it.

 Back when you'd first had a real discussion, you'd talked about being therapy for him. But you didn't talk like any therapist he'd ever known. And he thought you were doing better for him than any therapist ever could. And sometimes those conversations got intense - and you took a lot of Gerry's emotions and burdens on for yourself. So he would pull you to him and cuddle you and end up reversing the situation. He was as much a remedy for you.

The end goal was just to see you smile again - he didn't matter what kind or how small - he'd count it as a win if he saw one. Usually it didn't take long, the second you were wrapped in his arms and one of his extensive collection of jumpers, you were almost always good to go.

 But today you were having a tough one, and he could tell that the second you sat down. You had this cheerful service front you put on. But Gerry knew all about fronting situations - and yours was a real poker face - so he'd been worried from the moment he'd heard it. Your shoulders slumped and you placed your head in your hands - exhaling loudly. "What's up?" This time he closed the laptop as he slid it across the table - and leant forward on his elbows "Nothing." You looked up at him "It's okay." Well, he knew - or at least from what he'd heard - that it wasn't customers, so it must have been personal. "You know you can tell me anything." He reached for your hands, "And you also know that you won't get passed someone who spent a lot of his life at card tables with a face like that-!" He meant your fake little smile; the only one he wouldn't accept seeing. "I dunno, I don't want to bother you with it." He gave a shrug "You might as well, I'm going to worry anyway." "Well that's really the last thing I want." Your eyes met his, "Me too, so just tell me." "I dunno... Maybe it's all in my head." "Boy trouble?" He raised an eyebrow, and you laughed - and it was score 1 to Gerry because that was genuine. "No, you know, for the first time in my life I actually don't have boy trouble." His smile became playful, "Good - had me worried for maybe half a second..." You ran your hands across the tabletop to his, and let him hold you between his; large hands enveloping yours safely. "I guess… I just… Sometimes I guess, it just feels like my friends would be better off without me��� Then there’s times you miss one thing and you just feel totally lost.” You gave a shrug, “I don't think it's conscious - I can't blame 'em. I don’t blame them. But… If you go quiet for a while what happens? Does it show they care if they don't bother you because they are respecting your space? Make you think they don't care if they don't check in? Maybe I'm just fragile. I'm certain some of it's in my head." You looked to him "You ever get that?" Given that his hands were in yours, Gerry tipped his head as he began thinking; "I'm sure everyone wants to give you their 5 cents on it." "For sure, but I'm asking you." "Friends? I ran out of a lot of them a long while ago when I was incredibly bad at paying people back. Enjoy the ones you have. Remove the ones you no longer enjoy. Not worth risking your own health if it keeps happening, huh?" He gave a gentle smile, "Ask me and my... Acquaintances!" You smiled gently; "I'm not so great at forgiveness either..." or maybe you just weren’t good with the right words, sometimes you felt you found them a little too late… "Forgive those worth forgiving. Unless the bridge is well and truly burned… But that’s not my decision to make – is it?" "But what if my reaction-!" His eyes narrowed; "Hey. Who do you think I care about more?" "Me." "You." He nodded in agreement "So, whose side am I always going to be on?" That smile continued to grow as you realised what he was getting at "Mine." "Yours." His smile continued to coax yours out of hiding. "I'm happy to talk it out with you, but I want you to realise that all I'm going to want at the end of it is you happy..." "Well that's all I want for you, too." "Me?" He tipped his head once more, gentle sparkle in his eyes "Whenever I'm with you I'm happy. So, of course..." He chuckled "Yeah. I'm... I'm happy." But then he pushed it right back where it belonged; "Are you?"

There was silence for a moment as you looked between his eyes, and that prolonged smile on his face. That you were just as responsible for as he was the one manifesting on your own. You realised that it was a longer discussion for another time - but you knew that by what he was saying he'd help you as far as he could... But the decision was yours. Still, it was a million-dollar decision, and he'd probably made a billion of those in his life. Probably not always called right, so hopefully he'd help you with the right call. Even if that would be all your own.

 "I'm happy." And there it was, a genuine, beautiful, full smile. Almost a beam, but there was a soft blush across your cheeks as you admitted it all out loud. And he knew it wouldn't be long until he got it there.

Gerry wasn't good at much, he knew. But he sure was good at that.

---

@dennismitchell @happyskywhale @wltz-bby​ @3134045126​ #MendoTagSquad.

[avelera]

*emerges from their grace* a chubby Newt that stress eats???? Also hi it's been a while :v

aaaah, babe it’s been too long!! Thank you for the prompt!

This one’s gonna combine a few Anon prompts too including: 

Chubby Newt never manages to lose his lovehandles even in the middle of the war, his eating habits aren’t always the best and there’s always junk food wrappers in his room but he’s always comfortable and soft and friend-shaped.

&Newton’s one of those kids that stacked on the puppy fat as a teenager but assumed he’d grow more and even out but he just… didn’t? Like, he’s taller than he was which is nice but he’s also still got chipmunk cheeks and a few stretch marks on his thighs and for all his talk of being a “rock star” he can actually be quite sensitive about these things, especially when it comes to being intimate with someone (he’s had a few bad experiences). But he’s still got a rockin bod! 

And mostly:

sickfic type thing with (a lil chubby) newt who ate too much and hermann taking care of him—

On the Risks (and Benefits) of Stress Eating

Also available on Ao3

Words: 2,682 (I knooow)

Ship:Newt/Hermann

Timeline: Shatterdome era

Man I just remembered I was thinking of tying my SFW Shatterdome era prompt combo one into the tattoo prompt but then sickfic took over. OH WELL. I’ll get to that one soon cuz it’s amazing.

This ficlet is proooobably gonna lead into my NSFW prompt combo, just FYI ;3

—-

“Newton, maybe you should slow down?”

Newt grunted in acknowledgement of Hermann’s point, whatever it was, and went back to summarily ignoring it. The LiDAR mapping of the latest Kaiju attack had just come in and he needed to square them with the video as well since there was almost zero chance he’d get any live samples from this one. He’d have to make do without. He crunched on another potato chip without tasting it and when the bag was empty tossed it on the ground with the pile of others. His brain hummed, streamlined and focused from taking his medication twice today and if he stayed focused he could ride this wave to getting a week’s worth of work done in an evening. And if he could manage just a few, oh, thousand more nights like that then maybe they’d have a shot at winning this war.

“…Newton, that’s your fifth bag of junk food, this is getting obscene. At least let me fetch you a meal from the cafeteria before it closes? Perhaps something with a vitamin buried in it somewhere?”

“No thanks,” Newt muttered. Could the guy not see he was busy? Cafeteria food meant knife and fork which meant freeing up his hands which meant breaking his concentration and he was on a roll. Achieving this level of focus was a once in a blue moon thing for him, usually he needed to bounce between three projects to finish any and sure, that meant three projects got done in the time it took most people to do one, but he wasn’t going to stop now when hyperfixation was helping him out for once. Just to make the point he blindly reached over and grabbed another bag of snacks, tearing it open with his teeth and burying his hand inside to stuff his mouth full before returning his hands to the keyboard.

“… Newton, I…”

Newt snarled and spun in his chair. “What is it, Hermann? Can’t you see I’m working, or at least I’m trying to if you wouldn’t interrupt every five minutes?!”

Hermann recoiled, his hand snatching back from where it had presumably hovered at Newt’s shoulder. He drew himself up, expression growing pinched and severe. His suit jacket was tossed over one arm and he gripped his cane hard in the other hand. “It’s been three hours since I last interrupted you and before that it was another two. I only interrupted this time to tell you I’m retiring for the evening, so do remember to switch the lights off this time,” he said stiffly.

Newt blinked then his eyes drifted to the clock blinking military time on the wall. 2300 hours. Oh. His vision swam now that it broke from the screen and he realized he didn’t feel so great. Like, not great at all, maaaybe more than a little nauseous.

Then he spotted the pile of junk food bags and wrappers in a halo around his chair. His lap was encrusted with crumbs and his keyboard wasn’t much better. He prided himself in his total lack of squeamishness but this was…kinda more than a little disgusting.

About as disgusting as he felt right now.

Hermann’s wide lips thinned to a line. “I did try to warn you.”

Newt groaned and flopped back in his chair, which was a big mistake because the accidental stretch sent a pang through his belly and he doubled over, heaving shallow breaths and trying to swallow back the nausea.

“And don’t throw up on my shoes, if you would be so kind.”

“No promises,” Newt wheezed. Hermann took a careful step back out of the “blast radius.” Newt swallowed a few more times, fumbled for water bottle on his desk and took a swig. His medication left him dry-mouthed so he always had one handy. After a tense moment, the wave of nausea passed which only reminded him of the other gross part of his hyperfixation bouts.

Stress eating. His whole body felt bloated and gross and his stomach distended to just this side of pain. The buttons on his shirt were tight and if Hermann would just take off already so he could unbutton his pants and breathe he’d feel much better. His stupid, tight pants were only a fashion statement when he wasn’t spilling out of them like an over-ambitious muffin in front of the guy he’d been hopelessly dreaming about boning since he were twenty-fucking-three, and right now he couldn’t imagine feeling any less sexy. Newt buried his face in his hands with a groan.

“You can go. Don’t worry, I’ll get the damn lights,” Newt muttered into his hands, then scraped them back through his hair as he sat up. Hermann was still standing there looking, if anything, kinda… worried.

“Are you certain you don’t need help returning to your quarters?” Hermann said. “I know how it can be with your… your mind the way it is, and it does you no favors when you lose track of your surroundings, and worse, your own wellbeing like this.”

“You say “lose track” like it was something I had control over,” Newt said dryly.

“My apologies, I know it’s not as simple as that, I merely meant…”

Newt waved him off. “Nah, don’t worry about it. Thanks for trying earlier, sorry I was a dick about it.”

“Well, I won’t contradict you on that point.”

Newt snorted. On any other night it would be way too embarrassing to let Hermann walk him back, people might get ideas. They might get the exact idea that Newt was really hoping someone would get, and that someone was Hermann, when Newt went through waves of getting handsy with the guy when the crush got too bad and then scrambling away again when another fight flared. Usually because Hermann had a stupid opinion about Newt’s research, or Newt had an opinion about Hermann’s stupid research. It was just how they were, and fighting was almost as good as fucking when it came to breaking up the very one-sided sexual tension.

Ugh, sexual tension. No fucking chance of breaking that tonight. Maybe it was for the best.

“Actually, y’know what? I think I could use that hand,” Newt winced.

He wasn’t sure if he should expect another exasperated retort or jibe for that one, but Hermann said nothing, only offered his arm to Newt the way he’d done countless times in return.

Hermann must have deemed this episode to be on the no-insults side of the line that existed between them, where dwelled the topics Never To Be Discussed, mostly stuff they had no control over. Newt never brought up the leg unless it was logistically necessary and Hermann never brought up Newt’s weird brain except for similar reasons (one time Newt heard that Hermann tripped a J-tech with his cane for calling Newt that spastic freak in the dungeon but try as he might Newt couldn’t get anyone to verify that crowning moment of awesome). Their insults always stayed in the realm of the other’s stupid research, or stupid clothes, or stupid hair/tattoos, stuff that they had control over (and god if only Hermann would take control of that wardrobe). For whatever reason, Newt stuffing himself with junk food on a work binge counted as “stuff they couldn’t control” and for that he was endlessly grateful.

The floor swayed beneath Newt’s feet and he had to swallow back another wave of nausea as he stood. He leaned on Hermann’s arm more than he’d really meant to when he’d accepted, he didn’t want to hurt the guy, but while their progress was slow out the lab (Newt got the lights on the way) and down the hall to their rooms. Hermann hesitated outside Newt’s door.

“Would you like me to come in…?” Hermann said hesitantly.

God, yes, Newt thought, not that he could ever say it.

“God, yes.”

Crap.

“… and see you settled?” Hermann finished.

Double-crap. Just play it cool, Newtster.

“Sure, I feel like total shit. Maybe you could rub my tummy or something?” he winked.

That wasn’t cool at all.

Newt grimaced. It’s not like he cared what Hermann-stick-up-his-arse-Gottlieb thought about him (ok he did care, a lot, way too much) but even his not caring was more about hoping that attitude came across in a reckless, devil-may-care, sexy bad boy kind of way. Not because he was too nauseous and bloated to give a shit that he was covered in crumbs instead of engine oil or alien guts, and just generally gross.

Instead of waiting for Hermann’s inevitable exasperated huff and retort about Newt’s talking nonsense, he opted for spinning the industrial-grade lock on his door and going inside. He stumbled through the doorway and only then turned to see Hermann still standing there, his cheeks lit up like Christmas.

“Is it something I said?” Newt hazarded.

Hermann shook himself. “Your… stomach, is it really hurting that much? All jests aside, Newton, the medical bay is closed but I’d be happy to help however I may. Your health is a serious matter.”

Newt’s eyes narrowed. Since when was Hermann helpful about anything? “You want to rub my stomach?”

Hermann’s face turned crimson and for once it was definitely not with anger.

“I…” Hermann said in a strangled tone.

“Look, I’m gonna get ready for bed,” Newt said and jabbed his thumb back over his shoulder at his rumpled pile of comforters. Godzilla sheets poked out at the corners, it wasn’t exactly a love nest. “You can do whatever you want.”

Newt turned and back to unbutton his shirt. The iron door clanged shut behind him and he sighed, exhaling to allow his gut to hang over his pants and sighing with deeper pleasure when his fingers reached the top button of his pants. He’d have to file that blush away for later, because for now if he was going to take another stab at seducing the human personification of a sweater-vest (why did he crush on that guy so hard, why?) it would have to wait until he felt human again at all.

There was a polite cough from behind him.

Newt shrieked and whipped around, his hands flying to cover himself since the pants had slid halfway down his thighs. Hermann stared, his fist covered his mouth until he slowly lowered it. “I… you said whatever I… I’d feel better if I knew you were…” Hermann cleared his throat. “I’ll just see myself out, then.”

“Wait,” Newt blurted. Seriously, Hermann was still here? Newt had said he could do whatever he wanted and he’d stayed? “Was that offer serious?”

Hermann turned back and the blush was there again, heating up to his ears. “I… I wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t,” he said stiffly.

“I, well… sure? Hell, why not? It’s not like I was going to get any sleep without it,” Newt said. Right, they were just pals here. Pals who were mostly rivals, pals who definitely didn’t have crackling sexual tension filling the room like a Tesla coil gone haywire. That was only in Newt’s head. He tentatively finished unbuttoning his shirt and tossed it over the back of his desk chair before bending to shuck his trousers. “Thanks, man, I guess that means I owe you.”

“What are you doing?” Hermann squawked.

“Getting ready for bed?” Newt said with a raised eyebrow. “Dude, you stayed, sorry if that means you get the whole package because I am not wearing anything except boxers to bed.” He paused, and it couldn’t get much worse anyway so he added with a wink, “And even that’s a concession.”

He snickered under his breath as Hermann sputtered but then, the guy had volunteered and there was something going on with that blush that had the wheels in Newt’s brain turning. It’s not like he could do anything more to sabotage his future chances with Hermann anyway, so might as well not worry about it. He flopped down on the bed, then winced and curled in on himself as the pangs returned with a vengeance. Yeah, it hadn’t been a total joke about the not being able to sleep. The first time he’d had a night like this was when he started undergrad as a teen and back then he’d averaged at least one night like this a month.

“Here, just let me,” Hermann huffed as he sat down beside Newt on the bed. He was still wearing the shirt and sweater-vest, which made Newt feel a little underdressed for the occasion until he reminded himself that Hermann was overdressed which instantly made him feel better. Hermann’s fingers were cold but it was nice, kinda soothing as they began to massage slow circles around his belly. His soft, protruding belly with its gaping Kaiju maw and airbrushed flame abs that definitely weren’t fooling anyone at this point.

It was only a few minutes before the pain began to ease and even with a double dose of meds, Newt found relaxation taking the place of the manic energy that had powered him through the night and probably would have gotten him to the morning just in time for a spectacular crash if he’d kept riding it.

“Dude, you’re really good at this,” Newt murmured and let his eyes slide shut.

“I…ermm, I’ve watched some videos on the matter,” Hermann coughed.

Newt’s brow furrowed and he cracked an eye open. The blush was back. Interesting. Hypothesis time. “Sorry I’m so gross right now,” he said. “I know this is more up-close-and-personal you wanted to get with me, especially with the whole swollen tummy and over-eating thing.” Hermann’s blush spread. “It’s not like I plan it or anything, I just lose track of time. It’s been like this for ages, I was never a skinny kid or anything, but the freshmen fifteen hit pretty hard especially when my dads weren’t around to keep healthy food out and, uh, I grew out of a few wardrobes…”

Hermann gave a muffled squeak and his fingers dug a little too hard into Newt’s stomach so that he winced. “That’s… interesting,” Hermann said faintly. “Hrm. That is… you should be more careful in the future. I’d be happy to keep you well stocked in food of some nutritional value if it will spare you another night like this.”

“You’d feed me? That’s sweet of you, Herms,” Newt said. Jackpot. Hermann looked like he was going to start sweating if he blushed any harder, he might have already. “I’d eat from your fingers if it meant not feeling this cruddy again any time soon.”

Hermann released a deep, slow breath that shivered at the end. “D-Don’t be absurd.”

“I’m not.”

Hermann jerked to stare down at him and Newt looked back up frankly. Forget gross, he was starting to think he’d stumbled upon being quite the opposite.

He yawned hugely. “…But not tonight. I’m wiped and I need to let a little of this to go down before I think of eating anything more,” he said and patted his stomach, rubbing it once for good measure. Hermann’s eyes widened. Yup. “You can stay here if you want.”

“Why would I stay here when my quarters are next door?” Hermann said and sounded like he was trying to be offended but the words came out breathless.

Newt shrugged. “Why not? I don’t mind,” he said and curled over on his side and shut his eyes. “It’s up to you.”

He didn’t open them, just waited to hear the heavy iron door open and shut.

It didn’t.

—

[andreaphobia]

fic: the aerodynamic properties of eggs. (HARUKA & MAKOTO)

Characters: Haruka/Makoto, Kisumi, Asahi Wordcount: ~2200

Summary:

Makoto eggs Haruka's house for a dare, then ends up asking him out.

Also on AO3.

If this was the last thing Makoto ever did, he wanted everyone to know that it was one hundred percent, without a shadow of a doubt, entirely Kisumi’s fault.

He can think of roughly a million other places he’d rather be, and a billion other things he’d rather be doing. Like... flossing, or folding his underpants. Doing his math homework. Literally anything besides standing in the middle of a dark street somewhere in his neighborhood, clutching a carton of eggs, and trying not to hyperventilate until he blacks out.

His phone buzzes in his pocket, and without having to look, he knows what it says. It’s either Kisumi or Asahi, reminding him of the terms of their game. Trying to make sure he doesn’t chicken out. This is a real problem when it comes to Makoto, who is not big on rule-breaking as a whole. Without the reminder that someone out there is keeping tabs on him, he probably wouldn’t be here at all.

Fortunately for the two of them, while Makoto doesn’t make a habit of juvenile delinquency, he is susceptible to peer pressure. Which brings us to the present: Tachibana Makoto has to egg someone’s house.

Why? Because he was dared to, and Kisumi and Asashi already did: it’s as simple as that. Furthermore, neither of them got caught doing it, which raises the stakes somewhat. Now, not only does Makoto have to egg a house, he must also completely avoid detection, Mission Impossible-style. And, if he should be caught, he’s on his own—he’ll have to talk his own way out of it.

(Such are the ways of young men and the idiotic games they play with each other.)

In the first place, Makoto wonders, in increasingly growing dismay, how does one egg a house? He hasn’t the faintest idea. Oh, sure, he can make an educated guess based purely on the necessary physical logistics of it—you know, reach into carton, grasp egg firmly in hand, fling egg, repeat until someone calls the cops, and then hightail it out of there.

But it’s the other stuff that isn’t so clear. Should he stand on the sidewalk to maintain plausible deniability, or get way up close so he doesn’t miss? Would it be more efficient to try throwing the whole carton at once, and, if so, should he do it underhand or overhead? Is an airborne egg likely to retain its physical integrity as it flies, or is there a chance of, say, spontaneous egg combustion?

His phone buzzes again, insistently, and he almost drops the entire carton of eggs on his foot.

“Okay, okay, I got it already,” he mumbles, although it’s not like Kisumi or Asahi can hear him. There’s nothing else for it—he has to do it, consequences be damned.

Makoto fumbles the carton open, then stares at the contents within, immediately paralyzed by the array of choices laid out before him. Should he start with the egg in the top left corner? The one next to it? How much of an effect does the size and shape of the egg have on its aerodynamic properties? Also, does any of this even matter?

He shuts his eyes and snatches one at random, partially squishing it in his panic. This almost certainly compromises its aerodynamic properties; nevertheless, with eyes still shut, he draws his arm back over his shoulder and then flings the fistful of crushed egg in the general direction of the house. And that’s when the lights go on.

Makoto leaps several feet into the air, lets out a high-pitched whisper-scream, and actually does drop the carton of eggs on his foot. Then stumbles, and steps on them, for good measure. A shadowy figure has peeled away from the tree in the front yard, solidifying into the shape of a man. The man is holding a flashlight, the beam of which is pointed directly at Makoto’s face, blinding him.

“So,” a gruff voice says, “you’ve been egging houses on this street, have you?”

“NO!” Makoto wails, immediately. He shields his eyes, which allows him to sort of make out some of the details of the figure who’s standing in the yard pointing the flashlight at him. An adult. An older man, who looks very grumpy indeed. And not at all impressed by Makoto’s denial, either—understandably, given the egg bits dripping from his hand and the carton of broken eggs under his feet.

“A likely story,” the man says, brusquely. “Trying to play dumb even though you’ve been caught in the act, eh?” At last, he lowers the flashlight and crosses his arms, which gives Makoto’s eyes a bit of a reprieve. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself?”

Without any apparent input or engagement from his brain, Makoto’s mouth leaps into action. He babbles something only partially coherent about a dare, something about his friends doing it first and feeling like he had to and he’s really sorry he didn’t mean it he’ll never do it again he doesn’t even like eggs—

“—I see,” the man interrupts, after listening to this word vomit for a solid twenty seconds. “A dare... is that right?” He shakes his head, sighing heavily. “You know, lad, you’re about my Haruka’s age. You really ought to know better.”

Alarm bells are going off in Makoto’s head, but unfortunately his brain is still out to sea, so his mouth can no longer be stopped. It has latched on to the name ‘Haruka’ as someone who can be used as an excuse, and barrels on into oblivion, guns a-blazin’.

“Haruka—um—we—it—my friends dared me—because we’d—gone out on a date—but it didn’t—I mean—we didn’t work out—but I still—”

The man stares at him.

“You... went out with Haruka?” he asks, in a very funny tone of voice.

There’s a lengthy pause, during which Makoto’s brain labors to catch up to the conversation of the past couple of minutes. Then another one, during which he screams internally and tries to rewind time to that period of blissful ignorance, before he was aware of the words that had just come out of his own mouth.

“Uhm...” Finally, Makoto decides that—if nothing else—he can at least make his story internally consistent. (He intuits that this will probably be a mark in his favor, when he’s going up on the stand in juvie court.) “Yes...?”

It comes out sounding like a question, but fortunately the man doesn’t seem to notice. He fixes Makoto with an unreadable look, which lasts for so long that Makoto hyperfixates on the feeling of the sweat dripping down the back of his neck, and starts to panic.

Then the man switches off his flashlight, tucks it under his arm, and turns over his shoulder to bellow, “HARUKA! Get out here!”

After an excruciating minute, the porch light on the front of the house comes on, and the front door swings open. A slim figure emerges from the house wearing flip flops, trotting down the gravel pathway and then down the lawn (taking care to avoid the aborted egg splatter that only ended up making it halfway to the house).

The figure comes up next to the man, who Makoto assumes is his dad, and looks back and forth between the two of them, expressionlessly.

“...What?”

Makoto gulps. Okay, first of all, Haruka is a guy. Which—not a bad thing, but definitely a surprise. Second of all, he’s—uh—how do you say it? Oh, right—smokin’ hot. Shorter than Makoto, with dark, silky hair and blue eyes; nice wrists and cheekbones, and a tight waist that looks just the perfect size for Makoto to grab him by and carry him around. Nice mouth, too, and kinda... sexy... lips. (Even in the privacy of his own head, this thought is enough to make him blush.)

“Boy said he wants to talk to you,” Haruka’s father says, his voice gone weirdly gruff again. “I’ll—uh—leave you two to it.”

“I thought you were trying to catch the kid who was egging houses on our street.”

“Never you mind that. Just—tell me about it later, okay?”

He claps Haruka on the shoulder affectionately, then turns and heads back up into the house.

Haruka watches him leave blankly. Eventually, he turns back to Makoto. He doesn’t say anything, however, and at this point Makoto becomes acutely aware that he is still standing there with egg drippings on his hand, and is standing on a carton of eggs. (As far as good first impressions ago, he figures this probably doesn’t even make the top two hundred.)

“Uh—sorry.” Good start—but future prospects are dim. Anyway, given the fact that he’s been caught with egg on face (and hand—and shoe), he feels like he may as well be honest. What has he got to lose? “My friends dared me to egg your house, and your, um, your dad caught me. So I told him that we... er...” This part is a bit of a sticking point, but he stands firm, “...that it was because we... um... broke up.”

Haruka blinks.

“But we’ve never dated,” he points out, quite reasonably.

“You’re right, we haven’t.”

“I don’t think we’ve even met.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

With the facts of the matter confirmed, Haruka lapses back into what appears to be a thoughtful silence. Makoto is just starting to wonder if he can excuse himself to go wash the egg off his hand yet when Haruka finally speaks.

“But we need to break up anyway.”

“Uhm...” Makoto tries to think about this logically, but his brain is fried. He shrugs, instead. “I guess so? Yeah.”

Haruka nods, like it’s all starting to make sense now. “So we should go out on a date.”

“Yeah, we—wait, what? That wasn’t what I—”

Makoto’s idiot mouth is on the cusp of producing another stream of idiocy when his brain finally seizes the wheel, stopping it in its tracks before it can scuttle his chances with smokin’-hot Haruka any worse. “You... want to go out with me?”

“It only makes sense,” Haruka says—slower this time, as though he’s talking to a moron, which is both kinda funny and also really rude. “We need to break up. But we’ve never dated. So we should date... so that we can break up.”

Makoto blinks. If you selectively disengage all the parts of the brain that process conscious thought, he supposes it almost starts to make a weird kind of sense.

“Uh... where do you... want to go, then?”

Haruka doesn’t hesitate. “The beach. I’m free this weekend.”

On some level, Makoto is starting to feel as though he is perhaps just having a very weird and specific dream. However, dream or not, Haruka still has a sexy mouth and a sexy everything else, too, so at this point it seems reasonable to decide that he’s just going to go wherever this wild ride takes him.

His phone buzzes again, reminding him of its existence. Thanks to that, it occurs to him that maybe they should exchange numbers, so he reaches into his pocket to grab it, and by the time he remembers he has eggy hands it’s already too late.

“Oh, crap—darn it.” Helplessly, he wipes his phone screen off on the seat of his jeans, and then his hand as well, because what the hell, right? “Here, do you want to give me your number, then? Sorry about the... um... the egg.”

Haruka takes the phone from him without a word, dials in a number, then hands it back. Makoto saves it into his contacts, then returns the phone to his pocket.

That seems to be that, and he’s not sure what to do next, so he just laughs, awkwardly. “So... see you on Saturday, I guess...?”

“Bye,” Haruka says, turning to go back into his house.

Part of Makoto feels like he’s won the lottery; another part suspects he’s actually making a mistake. (The last part just enjoys the sight of Haruka walking away; those jeans look like they were made to be peeled off of him.)

The door shuts behind Haruka, and then the porch light goes out, leaving Makoto standing alone in the dark.

For quite some time, he doesn’t move, still processing the events of the last ten minutes. Eventually it occurs to him that he’s got texts waiting, and re-extracts his phone. There are several unread messages in his inbox:

10:31pm > no waiting! no pulling out! the house must be egged! THE GAME HAS SPOKEN!

10:32pm > did you get caught?

10:37pm > you got caught, didn’t you?!

10:40pm > WE’RE DISAVOWING ALL KNOWLEDGE OF YOU, OPERATIVE MAKOTO!!!

Makoto sighs, scrapes a fleck of egg shell off his phone’s screen, and hesitantly types out a reply to the last message.

10:42pm > I’m not really sure what just happened, but I... got a date, somehow?

The reply is nearly instantaneous (“WHAT?!?!?!”, though depicted here with less punctuation for brevity’s sake), but Makoto has already put his phone away. After being put through the wringer like that, the least he can do for revenge is make them wait a couple of hours for all the juicy details.

As he reaches down to scoop up his ruined carton of eggs, it occurs to him that he never told Haruka his name. Makoto’s gotta admit, he admires the chutzpah of a guy who’ll ask a complete stranger out without even knowing what to call him. Well, that’s what he got Haruka’s number for (and thank God he’d had the foresight for it).

Feeling strangely cheerful for no particular reason at all, he picks up his eggs and heads on home.