#sorry for the fucking essay in the tags i just have so much to gush about this event kudos to the admins this is sick

[silverraes]

10 BL Boys I Want Carnally

10 BL Boys That Make Me Feel Things™

(not sexual, not romantic but a secret third thing)

okay so I wasn't exactly tagged in this but I saw several people doing this and I'll take just about any excuse to scream about my favorite characters so I'm just going to very sneakily join in on this trend 👀

there is absolutely no ranking to these bc I couldn't rank them if I wanted to

(also I changed the name a little bc my ace ass is literally physically incapable of wanting anyone carnally but I still have lots of thoughts lmao)

1) Tharn (The Sign)

I mean. is literally anyone surprised that this is where we're starting?

he's the nicest person out there. he can kick your ass if he wants to. he lost his parents at a young age and is absolutely convinced that everyone he loves is doomed to die and he keeps seeing visions of people dying and he's told again and again that those he has wronged in a past life - which he doesn't even remember - are still out to get him and yet he has so much kindness left for the world??

also he can be such a little shit and knows exactly how to tease Phaya back I love him so goddamn much.

(also that mole-)

2) Kim (Kinnporsche)

was he also on my characters I'd hit with my car list? maybe. and what about it.

I love him so much. he's such a badass but he's such a loser. famous singer who falls for a fan he was supposed to be investigating but is too emotionally constipated to admit it. badass son of a mafia family who can kick ass but only if he wants to. who does it like him honestly

(it also helps that he's played by just about the prettiest man alive)

3) Babe (Pit Babe)

did I start watching this show ironically? yes. is every mention of alphas and mpreg and that mama/papa thing hitting me like a brick and causing me 9000 psychic damage every single time? also yes. did I absolutely fall in love with the show and just about every character in it? you bet your fucking ass I did.

but I especially love Babe. he's just so babygirl. special alpha man who has to act tough and strong but just wants to be babied by his dumbass loser (affectionate) alpha boyfriend. like, he's actually so goddamn soft?? I love him.

4) Guy (Bake Me Please)

I think we all knew this was coming. I was literally gushing about him for half of the episodes. Guy my beloved. that show did not deserve you.

he spends the entire show supporting his crush's every decision and trying to make sure he's okay literally how could you not love this man

(yes he was a petty bitch for like 5 minutes there but he immediately apologized for it the next episode. properly. unlike certain other people-)

5) Sprite (Twins)

he's so himbo coded. himbo of all himbos. the himboest. not a brain cell in that head. he's my little dumbass I love him.

he deserves so much better than what he's being put through. someone please just love and support him for who he is. and also take him away from that family

(please talk to your boyfriend tho I am begging)

6) Wei Wuxian (The Untamed)

MY BELOVED. I could write essays about him. he's such a great character I love him so fucking much. if you ever had to bear witness to me talking about him.. I am so sorry.

sassy emo bitch with a flute and a tragic backstory who's seen as evil by just about everyone but only ever had the best intentions. absolute fucking dumbass. kicks ass. always smiling despite the circumstances. loves his siblings so damn much. doomed by the narrative. what more could you possibly ask for

7) Zhou Zishu (Word of Honor)

I'm trying so damn hard to keep this list to one character per show and it really took me a while to decide if I wanted to include him or Wen Kexing but ultimately it was Zhou Zishu for me

just.. god. him. assassin sect leader just trying to retire who keeps getting dragged into the biggest bullshit but doesn't really mind bc the bullshit comes with a mysterious pretty man. also that whole god damn nail thing. I have so many thoughts and feelings about that but this post would get too long if I got started on those-

(also actually pulling the "I'm literally dying" card to get out of chores is so fucking valid of him. more characters should do that)

8) Milk (Choco Milk Shake)

he is quite fucking literally a reincarnated cat, of course I love him. I could list reasons for why I love him but it would be the exact same reasons just about every cat person on earth lists for why they love cats so. but here's a quick summary, just in case:

petty. dramatic. knocks over glasses. silently loves you so fucking much.

9) Tew (My Dear Gangster Oppa)

I really did not expect to love him this much? greenest of green flags (except for the plot line we shall not talk about). can and will kill people and is fine with it (seriously it is so refreshing to see a mafia character not having a huge moral dilemma about being in the mafia). both a badass mafia man and a gamer guy who doesn't know how to talk to people and is absolutely whipped for his gamer bf.

also scars make a person just about 110x more attractive I don't make the rules. even if the scars are weird and yellow, it's the thought that counts.

10) Tian (A Tale of Thousand Stars)

I? love him??

I just love how he sets out to do something for someone he didn't even know because he feels like this person deserves that much at least and how he ends up genuinely loving and caring for those kids and the village and this inner conflict he's having the entire time but hiding oh so well and how he actually calls out his parents on their rich people bs and-

tagging everyone who reads this far and wants to do it. seriously. I mean it. if you want to do this, please go ahead and say I tagged you. I love reading everyone's thoughts.

[alottanothing]

OMG, okay….gurl. I have been DYING to read this since you tagged me in it way way back before Christmas. The holidays are so chaotic, I wanted the chance to indulge in this with 110% of my focus, because 1. This is a wonderful piece of writing that deserves that kind of attention. 2. I’m so wrapped up in this story I literally find myself thinking about it at work—like day dreaming—because of how much I love it. It killed me to not get to it the moment it was posted, and know that I have been thinking about when I’d finally have the time to sit and enjoy this; literally been looking forward to it for WEEKS. And, by no surprise at all this chapter was magnificent, even though I’m warm in my bed right now I could feel the dreary Indiana cold (probably too, because I actually live in Indiana 😋). I say it every time, and I’m sorry, I haven’t found a better way to describe how your work makes me feel, but your writing makes me ache because of how beautiful it’s constructed. It’s visceral, and poignant, and it keeps me on the edge of the seat just to know how you’re going to describe the next setting. And the dialogue is always so good and perfect for the characters. I’m pounding my fist on the table every time these two interact because I cannot wait until this slow burn finally ignites and wafts into full blown wild fire! 🔥🔥🔥. 👏🏻 Here 👏🏻 For 👏🏻 It 👏🏻. Also, how dare you with that image of Eddie chasing after and playing with their little boy in the store 🥲🥲. Nearly did me in. That was until, of course, Eddie writing his confession in his report and doing everything to write her story out of a corner. GOD. I was ready to cry too. I could literally gush about just this chapter with a 20k word essay, but I’ll spare you.

This ride you’ve taken us on has been phenomenal, and YAS, we’ve finally made it to the smut chapter 👀, gurl, after this amazing slow burn I am THIRSTY. My mouth is watering and I cannot wait!

Also, I have to point out this line:

“We could—fuck—I mean…”

I 100% mumbled “y’all Fuckin’ better…” to myself when I read it. 😂. Brilliant. Bravo. 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

Don't Stand So Close To Me — Chapter 16

Eddie x Teacher!Reader

Chapter 16/? 9k. Series Masterlist

���︎ Frustrated by inconclusive endings, Eddie takes a seat behind the wheel. 

✏︎ Series Summary: Forced to move back home to Hawkins after your fiancé cheats on you, you begin to fall in love again with an audacious 20 year old metalhead, only there’s one problem — he’s still in high school and you’re his English teacher.

While you struggle starting over in a place you never thought you would return, Eddie struggles feeling stuck in a place he can’t manage to leave — until you offer to help him. Of all the lessons learned, the most important are the ones you teach each other.

✏︎ Series CW: forbidden romance, slow burn, true love, smut (18+ mdni), internal conflict, student-teacher relationship, 10 year age gap, mutual pining, sexual tension, emotions, drama, angst, character development, happy ending :)

✏︎ Chapter CW: general angst, paternal angst, drug mention

Thursday, December 12th 1985

Before the first morning bell, Eddie gave Judy at reception his best impression of Wayne over the phone. He wasn’t totally lying, he was in fact, quite sick. Sick of all the taunting looks from meathead jocks. Sick of the way Ms. O’Donnell cleared her throat every five minutes. Sick of waking up so goddamn early. Sick of wasting his time. So after hanging up the phone, he stuffed a few essentials in his backpack and made for the door. 

Like clockwork, Wayne always came home at around 8:10 AM, and though it would be far from the first time he’d skipped school, Eddie would rather not have to explain himself. Besides, he could use a change of scenery. There was no denying winter anymore, the ice he scraped off his windshield made sure to remind him. On a typical hooky day he would drive down to Lover’s Lake and toss open the rear doors, catch a breeze, light a joint, sit back and take in the ripples on the water and the rustling leaves. But that had all frozen over, so unless he intended to burn through his whole tank of gas, he would need to get creative. 

That was how he found himself at Benny’s at 7:58 on a Thursday morning, setting up camp in a booth at the back of the restaurant. He ordered his usual — bacon, scrambled eggs, and a stack of pancakes in addition to white toast. Tossing his fourth emptied sugar packet beside the leaning tower of creamers, he sat back in the sticky, padded seat and took his first deep breath all morning. 

The diner was bustling lowly, a handful of regulars perched on silver, spinning stools at the bar. From the frosted window leeching cool air beside him, he watched the funeral procession of headlights down Washington under a mournful sky. Just another day for the upright citizens of Hawkins, Indiana. From his cozy booth, Eddie sipped the top off his very full mug and smiled to himself. 

Sprawling his belongings around the piping hot plates, he popped on his headphones, cracked open his monster manual, and got to work. The first hour flew by like his pencil across the graph paper. Between the bacon bits that had leapt from hand to page, a formidable lineup of foes was taking shape. Bottom line; the boys were in for a world of hurt tomorrow. He did his best to resign the grease to the flimsy napkins, but by the time he was finished, syrup tacked the gargoyle and gorgon pages together. 

“Anything else I can grab for ya besides the check?” Sheri—according to her name tag—asked with a tired lean as she reached to clear his plates. 

Eddie glanced down sheepishly at his freshly topped off mug. “I uh, think I might be staying for lunch.”

Sheri forced a hot pink smile, catching the fork with her decorated finger when it threatened to slide off the plate. “Y’ want me to get a room set up for you too?” she joked with a wink of her spidery lashes. “Just teasin’ sweetie. You just flag me down when you’re ready.”

Switching out his tapes, Eddie shut the cassette player and stared out the window as the men at the bar tossed their napkins and fished out their wallets. Snow was falling in lazy clumps, clinging to his windshield. Somewhere behind the overcast clouds, the sun was rising steadily. It was dismal, a fitting backdrop for the opening track of Black Sabbath’s Heaven and Hell. Of all the seasons, winter belonged to metal. Like it was made for cruising down a quiet, snow-covered street in the middle of nowhere. Made for drowning out Bing Crosby crooning from the speaker in the corner above him. Tinsel glittered on the small tree perched on a cloud of fake snow beside the cash register. Ornaments on swags swayed to the thump of footsteps passing. Eddie sighed and stared into the changing street lights.

Glancing at his watch he figured you were probably wrapping up the film with second period, knitting your brow and drawing your pen across the papers you were grading. He wondered what you’d think when the bell rang for fourth and you found his seat empty. Would you think he was upset with you? There was a small part of him that hoped so, and another part that hoped you would understand. After all, he was giving you the space you asked for, was he not?

Like a siren, your story—tucked between his notebook and the magazines he’d exhausted twice cover to cover—called to him. Cracking open the plastic spine, he dove headfirst into the typewritten pages.

For the whole narrow path into Rower’s End, Cybelle had sat in the front of the caravan, breathing the briny air unhindered by a barrier. Lazarus admired the brilliant fullness of her smile as she watched the seagulls soar overhead, under the clouds she had only ever seen from above. The sunlight had graced them then, beaming down in golden rays, glinting on the distant waves as they approached the sleepy seaside town. 

Eddie could feel the corners of his mouth tug as Lazarus regaled Cybelle with a story of a time when he’d accidentally taken a crab home with him after spending a day at the beach, followed by an explanation of what a crab was. Cybelle seemed delighted with the prospect of seeing one, even more-so when he told her how he’d discovered the little hitchhiker when it pinched his rear in bed that night. Eddie noticed the way Cybelle leaned closer whenever Lazarus told stories, the way her hand came to shield her bare face with a giggle when he mentioned his rear. The way her delicate, copper fingers lingered over the soft skin of his forearm when she checked beneath his bandage. The wound was healing nicely — no sign of infection and not a thorn in sight. She warned that it might scar, but Lazarus did not appear concerned—rather the opposite actually—as if a strange part of him was pleased with the idea of having something to remember her by. 

As they dipped over the final hill toward Rower’s End, Lazarus told her another story. A dream, rather, of a little cottage in Shantiglade with a full sized bed, and a garden, and a goose egg omelette big enough for two. A dream that would likely never come to pass. Cybelle seemed equally enchanted by it. Sitting back against the boxy, wooden seat of the caravan, she breathed in the salty air and imagined how good it would feel to do so every day. To experience the feeling of sand between her toes, of the ocean at her ankles, of propping her elbow against their shared kitchen table and gracing Lazarus with a naked smile before trying whatever an omelette was. It was good like this too — bumping along under a clear blue sky as Turnip plodded down the scarcely trodded path, watching the wind caress the wild grass and Lazarus’ even wilder curls, hearing his tales and his laughter.

Around the time he would be slumping into his desk in the back of your classroom, the bell dinged over the door of the restaurant. Eddie cranked the volume on his headset to drown out the chatter of a family of four clambering into the booth in front of him. The little boy had brought a pair of plastic drumsticks with him, beating a rhythm on the steel-rimmed table much to the annoyance of his little sister, who was clutching her book the way Eddie was yours. Dipping his few remaining fries into the smear of ketchup, he wondered why they weren’t in school on a Thursday afternoon. As he focused back on the type-written letters, he figured he should be the last to judge. 

Eddie felt for Lazarus, he really did. The way he looked at Cybelle as she emerged from the cave, cradling the ghostfern like a pale, translucent child. The scene was as beautiful as it was somber — waves lapping at the rocky shoreline as the setting sun cast its deep orange hues on both of them. The rocks—slick with algae—had Cybelle stumbling, but Lazarus was quick to offer his arm. She accepted without hesitance, clutching the plant like a bouquet as her deep earthen fingers braced the pale angles of his. He lead her down the cascading stone as if it were a chapel aisle, slow and steady until they reached the flat edge of the water. There—in the golden remains of the day—seagulls dipped and soared over the glittering ocean, clasped hands swayed in the lapping wind, and for a moment, they had everything they came for.  

After what seemed like both a small eternity and an aching second, it was Cybelle who broke away, tracing the ridges of his fingers as hers fell, stating out loud what both of them knew — that night was coming soon. 

The journey back to Torgaard proved easier than the journey out, at least in terms of natural foes. No fenfinks or villainous vines, but the sky seemed to hang much lower. Dark, stormy clouds loomed overhead, casting its pale grey light over the moss curtains outside of Fenwood, over the verdant  forests that shuddered in the gusting wind. There was a tension, a dread looming on the horizon that grew with each passing day. Even Eddie could sense it — the way Cybelle stared out into the swath of shifting green like she was attempting to soak up enough for the rest of her life. The way that Lazarus’ jokes were swallowed the creaking of the caravan. How nights that were once spent laughing over a roaring fire were now spent silently watching its crackling embers.

One day—just a few outside of Torgaard—the sky came crashing down. It sobbed in sheets, heavy enough to soak through Cybelle’s coat, to find the tear in her tent and make a lake of it. Lazarus ushered her inside the wagon, offered her a shirt that fit like a dress, offered to sleep on the floor. Assessing the size of the bed, and then the hard, narrow walking path, it was Cybelle who insisted they share it. She was small enough, or at least that was what she rationalized out loud. Lazarus did not argue. Her logic—unlike her tent—was water-tight. And so she climbed in between the soft linen sheets, tucked herself under the weight of the down blanket, and rested her damp, weary head on a pillow that smelled just like him.

Eddie glanced sheepishly around the restaurant, shielding the binder with his arm as Lazarus climbed in beside her. He hinged on each type-written word, lingering over the ones that stirred a fuzzy feeling. Written with careful attention to the way Lazarus’ chest rose and fell, how stiff their bodies were in hyper-awareness of the nearness to each other. How solid his shoulder felt under Cybelle’s cheek when the corner of pillow no longer sufficed. Slowly, they relaxed into the feeling. Not enough to sleep, but enough for Lazarus to free the arm that she was crushing. Enough to wrap it around her shoulder, to relish in the feeling of her cold nose in the warm crook of his neck.

It was good like this. Better when her fingers draped across the landscape of his pecks, felt his chest rise and fall like waves. Best when they awoke in the morning to the sun steaming in through the small, stained glass window above them. When their giggles shook the wagon. When their eyes met, closer than they’d ever been before. There, in the dim cocoon far outside the turning world, the smile that she had hidden for so long finally grew brave enough to capture his. And by the time they reached the towering stone walls of Torgaard, there was nothing more to hide from one another. 

Eddie flipped the page to find only a black, plastic pocket. He rubbed it with his fingers to make sure it wasn’t sticking to another. When it failed to separate, he sat back and fumed. That was it. There was no more. No ending, no closure.

Sheri leaned against the top of the booth seat opposite him, hand on her hip, shifting between her dirty white sneakers with a tired sigh. “Listen sweetie, I’ve got ten minutes left of my shift. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want, but I’ve gotta cash you out before I leave.”

Eddie glanced at his watch, almost 2:00. “Yeah—yeah, no problem. Sorry for the trouble.”

“’S no trouble, just the way it goes around here. Hope you enjoyed your stay,” she said with a wink as she dropped the check. 

After six hours and two meals, Eddie had gotten his fill of watching the world turn through an old, frosted window. His head was spinning enough on its own. With a frustrated huff he peeled his graph paper and manual away from the sticky table before shoving them into his backpack. Slugging it over his shoulder, he grabbed the grease-stained check and made his way to the register. That was when he noticed it — the lonely, half-eaten omelette on the bar.

“Alright that’ll be ten seventy-five,” chimed Sheri. 

Tinsel glittered on the tree. Red, metallic bulbs swayed in the echo of his footsteps. Judy Garland caroled on about a merry little Christmas and he wondered if your characters would ever enjoy anything over their shared kitchen table or if that dream would be abandoned for their duties as well.

“Sir?”

Snapping out of his trance, he fished for his wallet and palmed her a twenty. “Keep the change,” he muttered before turning toward the door with a hoist of his backpack.

Her jaw hung open. “Oh my word, are you serious?” she called to his back, but the bell above the door was the only answer she received.

______

Main Street Vinyls was a ghost town on a Thursday afternoon, and Eddie preferred it that way. Aside from Jerry at the counter, it was just him and his noisy thoughts, accompanied by the slow plod of his own heavy boots as they weeped against the carpet. At least in this store he could escape the onslaught of Christmas tunes. Jerry—old hippie that he was—at least had some sense. Sometimes even sense enough to play some halfway decent rock music, but today Eddie would settle for Neil Young over the jingle bell garbage blasting through every speaker in Hawkins.

Glancing down the rows of plastic cassette spines, Eddie perused the M section as he kicked himself for giving away almost ten dollars. There was an album by a new band he’d only read about in magazines called Megadeth. Turning the tape over in his hands, he examined the cover. Everything about it spoke to him — the skull with its mouth chained shut surrounded by knives and candles, the title — Killing Is My Business. Flipping it over to the back, the phrase continued in haunted red letters …and Business Is Good! 

The change he gave away in a fit of blind stupidity would have easily afforded it and left him with some to spare. With a bitter sigh, he shoved the tape back in its slot, knowing for a fact that the cash register at Benny’s had eaten the last bill he had in his wallet. Padding slowly down the aisle, he began his calculations. 

He had a few regular deals lined up this weekend but would need to dig into his “savings” in the bottom of an old tobacco tin and pay Rick a visit before any of that happened. He might make eighty bucks if he was lucky. Maybe eighty more over the course of the week between the deals at school. Nobody wanted to spend too much time outside this time of year, so the park bench location was always iffy depending on how bad it was. He would resort to other classic meetup spots, like under the bleachers or the back of his van. 

If he networked enough he might have some left over after helping Wayne with the bills. Scanning past the Tina Turner and T-Rex tapes, he wondered how much Wayne suspected about his little business. Surely he had to have some suspicion. Gig money, odd jobs, and oil changes for neighbors couldn’t possibly afford the kind of gear he had, or the ink in his skin, or the cash he contributed monthly. Wayne was sharp, and though he was no saint himself, he shuddered to think what he would say if he discovered his nephew was straying down the same path his brother took.

Peering back over his shoulder, he eyed the Megadeth tapes again—only three in stock—lined up like gifts wrapped in cellophane. They were such tiny things. Small enough to hide beneath his palm, to slide into the pocket of his coat with room to spare. Glancing up at the angled surveillance mirror in the corner of the store, he saw Jerry at the counter, humming obliviously as he stuck price tags on a fresh shipment of tapes. Over the tall shelf that separated them, he expected to meet his own eyes, but instead saw another man. A man he hadn’t seen in quite a while.

Eddie remembered finding a G chord for the first time; how big the fretboard felt in his small hand, how awkwardly his fingers had to stretch, how a larger set of hands had helped him find it. He earned a broad smile when the chord rang out, one he would search for again and again with every strum. 

Sometimes in the late evenings as he crept past Wayne with a lunchbox full of drugs while he was watching reruns of Bonanza on the couch, Eddie would tell himself that at least he wasn’t stealing cars, or drinking himself half to death, or rotting behind county bars. At least he was still in school, something Warren Munson couldn’t say even at sixteen. At least Eddie could say he was trying.

With a bitter shake of his head, he continued down the aisle, leaving the tapes behind for the record bins that lined the walls. Mindlessly he walked his fingers over the cardboard spines, glazing past titles he’d seen a dozen times. Nothing new. Nothing different. Few things ever were in Hawkins. Every day he’d wake up and slog himself to a different type of prison, sit in a classroom for eight hours and actively feel his brain rotting. He would crumple up his failed tests and shove them in his backpack, endure the stares from kids whose parents cared enough to give them a ride to school, day after day. And every day he would come home and see the twinge of pride on Wayne’s face for the fact that he’d gone at all.  

There were a few perks to sticking around, like running his club, and saving lost sheep, and seeing his friends everyday. Like having a swath of potential customers all in one place. It was safe and familiar, like a cage. His little business might be dangerous and criminal but at least it could afford him one thing he valued even more than ink or gear — freedom. Time, for another thing. Flexibility. It sure as hell beat making three dollars an hour flipping burgers or having to answer to some corporate boot-licker telling him what to do. Eddie huffed sharply, wondering what you would think if you knew. You, with your tightly buttoned blouses and endless patience. You, the very last person he wanted to disappoint. 

The last look he’d seen on you destroyed him when he thought about it; the pain in your eyes and bitter line your pretty lips became. You were just about the only reason he had left to show up to class anymore, and now that was getting in the way of the one thing that actually had potential in his eyes. Way more potential than a stupid piece of paper that says, congratulations, you’re a real member of society and not a complete disappointment. 

You had asked him a question back when you’d first made the arrangement to help him, one that rattled around in his brain ever since. Why did he want to graduate? If his memory served him, he’d given a relatively bullshit answer: to prove all the assholes in this god-forsaken purgatory wrong. It still held a fair amount of truth, but when he glanced up at the surveillance mirror again and saw himself this time, the real answer was abundantly clear. But was proving a point worth the risk of losing you?  

The smell of cardboard and cellophane kissed his face as air puffed between each record falling forward. Each a different picture, some repeats of the same. Rock gods wielding wicked weapons, bathed in holy stage lights somewhere in New York or Los Angeles probably. Somewhere important. Sometimes at the Hideout he would close his eyes and imagine he was on one of those stages, but when he would open them as the last note rung out, it was always the same — just Bill and Drunk Sam, maybe a couple of bikers perched at the bar with their backs to him. Empty stools and sticky tables. A weak applause.

Eddie stepped back from the record bin with a heavy sigh and glanced at his watch. He’d killed about thirty minutes in this store, which meant he had at least twenty more before he could return home without triggering Wayne’s suspicious questions. The walls were starting to close in around him — posters like windows into a world far out of reach. Every million dollar strum reverberating through the speakers like a mocking reminder. With a half-hearted wave to Jerry stocking shelves, he left the store. Empty handed. 

The drive down Randolph was always dismal, especially in the bleak winter light. Storefronts with yellowing signs that hadn’t changed in twenty years selling mattresses and televisions. A gas station with a rusted awning, dusted with snow. Architecturally speaking, the church was about the most interesting building, but only because it was brick and made up of more than just four flimsy walls. Even that was being generous though. The most exciting thing to happen to Hawkins since the housing development over by Factory Lane thirty years ago was the shopping mall that opened this past summer. Thrilling. 

No matter where he drove within a fifty mile radius, it was all the same — a tomb where dreams went to die. 

Gripping the steering wheel, he watched the car in front of him make grooves in the dirty slush, hypnotized by the spray off the sides of the tires. It wasn’t until he saw the high school approaching in his peripherals that he even looked up. It always felt good to be on the other side, especially when he wasn’t supposed to be. He could almost see you in there; brushing the chalk off your hands, shifting between your tired feet as you glanced at the clock, gazing out the window with a longing he’d seen in his own reflection — caught sometimes at night in his drivers seat window as he cruised the highway, dreaming of where it could take him. 

As the squat fortress faded in his rearview mirror, he pictured you five years from now. Ten. Twenty. Wasting away in front of that chalkboard. Rattling on about stories written by dead people while your own collected dust inside a closet. While your talent withered like the dead, crumpled leaves under the snow; buried and forgotten. 

With a hard right onto Prospect, he set out on the final stretch towards home. Sometimes he liked to imagine what might happen if he just kept going, just drove into the sunset and only stopped for gas. He had a vague idea from the movies and the maps that swayed in the wake of Ms. O’Donnell’s lumbering footsteps. Sometimes in the height of his boredom he would lose himself in them, imagine he was at a diner in the desert on his way to a gig with an actual sound system. Because somewhere out there—beyond the flat horizon—there were mountains, and canyons, and cities where names couldn’t follow. 

______

“How does it end?” Eddie asked you on Friday between the fourth and fifth period bells. You glanced up from the stack of papers on your desk, cocking your head with narrowing eyes. “Your story,” he clarified.

“Oh.” Blinking, you sat back to ponder. “You know, I don’t think I ever fully decided. Cybelle is in a difficult position. The whole reason she set out on this adventure was to save her brother. I imagine she would want to fulfill her quest, but if she returned to Myrne, it may be difficult to leave again. Plus, she may receive some sort of punishment for leaving in the first place. I had written the laws to be quite strict, if I recall. And then if she chose not to return, her mother would lose two children. No matter what, she loses.” 

Eddie furrowed his brow, shifting between his boots with a pained sigh. “I would hardly call a life with Lazarus losing. She seems happy with him.”

“Right, well, of course that would be ideal, but…” you tsked, “it’s complicated, and honestly that’s partially why I abandoned it. I really wrote myself into a corner. Well, that and student teaching started to eat up my time. Then it was finals, and moving, and then after that I met…” you trailed off with a bitter shake of your head. “Anyway, I guess life got in the way. It has a way of doing that, I’ve noticed.” 

Eddie looked at you, really looked. You, in your cable knit sweater with pen on your hand and sandbags under your eyes, casting them down over your work with the same amount of hope he’d seen from players rolling threes with even fewer hit points to spare. He racked his brain for something he could offer—a dramatic death speech or a new character sheet—but you weren’t playing and he wasn’t prepared. Any words of comfort forming on the tip of his tongue were swallowed by the ringing bell, and he exited your classroom feeling the same as when he entered; unsatisfied. 

______

It was starting to close in around you — the colored lights and ornaments, the mall Santas and fake green swags draping from shop windows. It was the first Christmas you’d truly spent in Hawkins since you graduated college, outside of day trips for visits. Surprisingly little had changed, the main thing being the fact that there even was a mall for Santa to post up in. Duplication must have been one of his many powers because he was still at Sears too, at least he was on Saturday when you dragged yourself out of the oppressive quiet of your apartment and into the bustling chaos. 

You had no idea what to get your relatives for Christmas. You never really did, but this year it seemed insurmountable. This year you had no one to bounce ideas off of, and the constant mental chatter left little to no room for inspiration. As you scanned the shelves of cookware and appliquéd dish towels with snow men and reindeers, nothing really seemed to jump out at you.

What did jump out at you—or rather, jumped out at his sister—was a little boy across the aisle hiding in a circular rack of women’s bath robes. Pressing apart the terrycloth like curtains, he would retreat into his makeshift cave to the complete oblivion of his mother, who seemed more preoccupied with the price tags on a set of lingerie than with the whereabouts of her children.

A fantasy tugged at the corners of your mind, more sinfully indulgent than the one you had in class last week involving your desk and Eddie’s tongue. This time the set was the same as the scene before you, only the little boy had a mess of dark curls and Eddie was diving in after him. Not to scold him, but to play. You could almost see those fraying knee holes widening from contact with the carpet. Almost hear the giggles and the shushes and the click of his rings against the metal pole in the center of the rack for balance. You could almost turn around and see them popping out at you, feel the laughter ripple up through your very full belly and into the corners of your eyes as you feigned surprise to both of their delight. You could almost feel the glares from the other shoppers, the regular people eager to get on with their Saturday in peace, same as any other. It wouldn’t matter though, not in your little world.

The real mother in the real world did eventually turn around, grabbing the boy by the wrist and demanding he stay by the cart. Turning a dish towel over in your palms, you lowered your eyes to the machine-embroidered stitching of a corn cob pipe and a button nose as the fantasy disintegrated. You left the store shortly after, your cart just as empty as when you’d arrived. 

On Monday it was hard to look him in the eyes. It was easier to meet Diane’s. At least this week you could hold a conversation without crumbling like Ms. Click’s half-eaten fruitcake up for grabs in the teachers lounge. But the coffee was bitter on your tongue, like a lie you were telling yourself. 

In accordance with your wishes, there had been no rap of knuckles on your door frame after school, no screeching of chair legs dragged across the tile, only the dull thud of folders sliding into your bag, the surprising click of a magnet under the flap. 

On Wednesday you left behind footprints in the parking lot before it had even half cleared, only to be swallowed by the emptiness of your apartment. You filled the space with what you could manage — an early dinner, and an early bedtime. Sleep seemed to be the only thing that quelled the battering ram thoughts, the scales tipping back and forth so much it made you queasy. You would lie there and dream of swirling smoke and plush lips, of arthritic fingers punching numbers on an office phone as you sat and accepted your fate. You would toss and turn, back and forth until your sheets became a tangle, and when you faced the mirror Thursday morning you barely recognized the person staring back. 

When the final bell rang on Friday, the hallways cleared out like someone had yelled fire. A mass exodus of students and staff, flowing into the parking lot like a tidal wave outside your classroom window. You watched them as snow fell in clumps, as bright colored backpacks disappeared into the back of sedans, as cars peeled out like a parade into the street. 

Assessing the paper mountain range framing your desk, you made an educated guess at how you would be spending your two week break. In hindsight, it might have helped to make the due date for the senior creative writing project last Friday instead, but deep down you knew you would have hardly made a dent by now. 

When Ms. Click popped her head in to wish you a merry Christmas on her way down the hall, she seemed surprised to find your hand still moving across paper, not swaddled in mittens like hers. You brushed it off with something casual, the type of thing any regular person would say before the holidays. That it was too much to take home. That getting work finished now would leave more time with your family. You omitted the more personal details like how empty your apartment felt and the small, naked tree your mother brought over last weekend. This seemed to placate her, and with a cheery wave she left you in the silence of your classroom with only the ruffling of paper for company.

It was eery how quiet it was, but it afforded you a small hill of graded papers in the last hour, double what you would typically accomplish in front of the television. Thumbing through what remained of that stack, you counted each staple. Five, six, seven… you stopped when a certain name jumped out in MLA format. 

Eddie Munson American Literature — 4th Period 20 December 1985

No title. 

Papers fluttered to the desk as they fell from your hands, leaving only his. You held it gingerly between your fingers, as if it was alive. As if it could feel you, or rather, you could feel him through every type-written letter, through the thumb-sized grease stain in the top righthand corner. You could almost hear him too, shifting into a deep, dramatic narration.

Mount Myrne loomed on the horizon like a dark omen. Towering over the bustling docks of Torgaard, it disappeared beneath the ominous clouds with a formidable presence. Merchants scattered about, hauling their wares in heavy crates and barrels onto the many zeppelins. 

This was where Lazarus first met Cybelle. In his mind’s eye he could almost see her stumbling about in her clean silk boots and glimmering gold coat. But her appearance today told a different tale. Her boots were caked with mud, her coat was splattered with muck and tattered by claws, her mask hung crooked on her face. Those large eyes that once glimmered with hope and wonder now stared off into the distance with oppressive sadness at the looming mountain. 

This was where he was supposed to leave her. This was what they had agreed upon many moons ago. Cybelle just stood there, shifting back and forth between her tired feet as she dug her thumbs under the straps of her heavy knapsack that now held the rare and precious ghostfern. She finally had what she came for. Any moment now she would be moving those muddy boots toward the docks and use what little coin she had to barter a one-way trip back home.

That was the plan anyway..

Cybelle was frozen though. Fearfully, woefully, bitterly, she gazed upon her gold gleaming home in the sky with a sadness that was only dwarfed by Lazarus looking down at her. He looked at her beautiful face like it was the last time he was ever going to get the chance to. He memorized it in his mind as he shuffled his own dirty boots against the cobblestone. He didn’t have eyes for anything else. Not the zeppelins, nor the merchants, nor the mountain. Only her. After a moment that felt like an eon, Cybelle took a step forward.

“Wait.” said Lazarus. Cybelle turned around with surprise but also a hint of relief. “You don’t have to do this.”

Cybelle looked up at him with a mournful frown. “Of course I do, my brother will die if I stay here.”

Lazarus shook his head bitterly. “No, he will die if the ghostfern stays here.” he said.

Cybelle sighed as she looked out across the docks, “But how is it going to get there if I do not deliver it? No one is allowed within the city walls if they are not from Myrne.”

Lazarus furrowed his brow as he watched the merchants at work, hauling their wares aboard the large, formidable aircrafts. Suddenly he had an idea. “There are docks in Myrne, correct? And Myrnish merchants who take goods into the city?”

The gears were starting to turn in Cybelle’s head. “Yes, there are.”

“Well then, can we send the plant with like, a note or something? Some instructions and directions for the merchant to take where it needs to go?”

Cybelle thought for a moment. “I do know a few of the merchants by name. Arturo and I grew up together. He was my neighbor for a long time. He would know where it needs to go, and my mother would know what to do with it.” The brightness in Cybelle’s eyes dimmed suddenly as she had another thought. “But… I would never seen them again. My family.”

“Never say never, Cybelle.” Lazarus said. “Do you know that for a fact?”

Cybelle frowned heavily, “The laws in Myrne are very strict.”

“What if in the letter you told your family to meet you on the docks some other time? Perhaps in another moon or two once your brother has recovered?” Lazarus offered.

Cybelle sighed bitterly, “Only merchants are allowed on the docks. It is strictly prohibited. I was only able to come here because I snuck inside a crate. It was a miracle that they didn’t notice me.”

Lazarus kicked a stray pebble and huffed. There was a long pause before he spoke again. “I cannot tell you what to do, Cybelle. Only you can make that choice. But what I can do, really the only thing I can do, is tell you how I feel.” 

All of a sudden there was a knot in his stomach. Because if he was going to say anything he knew that this would be his last chance.. 

“All my life I’ve dreamed about that cottage by the sea with the garden, and the bed, and the omlet. When I saw that pendant you were wearing I knew that it would be my only shot at ever getting what I wanted. Magic tricks are….. not exactly lucrative. And actually, if I’m going to be totally honest here, I figure you should know the truth about me. The whole truth.” Lazarus sighed, swallowing the bile creeping up his throat at the mention of the truth. He was going to be honest though. Maybe for once in his whole life. “This is difficult for me to say, but I owe it to you if nothing else. I’m a thief, Cybelle.” 

Lazarus winced at his own words and Cybelle’s fallen expression, but he bravely continued..

“I confess that for a moment when I first saw you I thought about stealing that pendant, but once I heard your story and saw so much of my own I simply couldn’t. There is a goodness in you that I admire, how selfless and pure your cause is. Over the course of the last few moons I have had the privilege of spending with you, I have come to discover how beautiful the woman beneath the mask truly is. How kind, and curious, and patient you are. I have been all over this land. Traveled far and wide, through forests and over mountains. I have swam in lakes and oceans and gazed out over countless valleys. But never has the world looked quite so hopeful than when I saw it through your eyes. It made me believe that if you could see the beauty there, if you could see the goodness in me, then perhaps I can as well.”

It was startling — the tear that leapt over your lash line. Violently enough to hit the page, to blur the Os in goodness. 

“If you choose to stay I promise you that I will never steal another coin or pocket watch. It may leave me poor for the rest of my days but if they’re spent with you, then I would be the richest man of all. It is all that I can offer you. My honesty, and a promise that I will show you more beaches, more mountains, more of the world than you could ever imagine. And since I intend to keep my promise, here is my honesty: I love you. Regardless of what you decide.” 

With a trembling hand, you turned the page only to discover there was nothing on the back. Sitting back in your seat with a ragged sigh, you stared out into your empty classroom. Your nose stung, fluorescents flaring in your tear-blurred vision. Separating the pages with your thumb, you flipped back and read it again. The last paragraph. The last two sentences. Those three type-written words. Over and over, wedging in the cracks of your armor as your sniffles echoed off the tile. 

The sun was dipping below the treeline, flooding the near-empty parking lot with a wash of somber pink. The snowfall had ceased, settled into the footprints and tire tracks. Glancing up at the clock and back down at the papers, you tried to imagine lifting another, scanning over sentences and writing in the margins like you hadn’t been completely upended by the one that trembled in your grasp. You couldn’t. 

Tears dripped down your cheeks as you donned your coat, as you shuffled overstuffed folders into your satchel and slung its weight over your shoulder. You swiped at them with your scratchy wool sleeve, flicking off the lights and shutting the door.

The soft pink had cooled to twilight blue when your boots met the blanket of snow, leaving tracks in the clean, fresh powder. Your breath trailed behind you in heavy clouds. It was quiet here too, barely a scattering of cars in the parking lot. Not even the wind disturbed the limbs of the orderly saplings between the curb and sidewalk, dusted with a glittering powder. 

Your hands found your keys, and the key found the hole, and soon you were sliding into your frigid leather seat, tossing the weight of your satchel on the passenger’s side with a dejected thump. You sat there a moment with only your breath for company before flicking your wrist at the ignition. 

Nothing.

Stomping on the break, you lurched forward with conviction this time, as if you could convince it you were serious. All it awarded you was a weak, persistent click. It’s fine, you told yourself through gritted teeth as you lunged again, snapping your wrist with a startling anger, like the seal had been cracked on a two liter pop bottle that had rolled around in the trunk for a week and a half. Still, nothing but a pathetic click. A split second thought crossed your mind—that the ferocity of your stomp might actually damage the car—but the logic was quickly snuffed out by your rage. The hard plastic key bit into your numb fingers. Over and over — stomping, twisting, cursing. Cursing yourself most of all for being stupid enough to let this continue for months. You were paying for it now. 

The tears were already waiting, primed behind your eyeballs, hardly dried on your cheeks when you left out the back door. They spilled over again, cooling as they dripped past your lashes, down the slope of your nose. One more time, you begged. Just one more time and I’ll be good, I swear. But the white Chevy Nova sat unmoved, offering only a vacant whine where there should have been a roar. You tossed back in your seat and huffed, chest heaving, filling the cramped space with the furious steam of your breath. 

Snowflakes glittered in the floodlights, shining like flares through the blur of your tears. It might have been beautiful on any other evening — one where the engine was warm, and your mind was clear, and your heart didn’t sink like a pit in your chest. It was hard to notice anything outside your bitter sobs, most especially the shadow that appeared in the window beside you. The rap of rings on the glass had you jumping, whipping your head to face the set of eyes you’d been avoiding most of all. 

“Need some help?” Eddie offered, bracing his knees in a crouch, eyes brimming with concern. 

Your stomach twisted with relief, then embarrassment, then a million other things rolled into one, sick knot. Wiping the evidence from your cheeks with a futile swipe of your sleeve, you cranked down the window with your left hand. You must have looked like an absolute basket case, jerking your arm in tight circles as the barrier lowered with the urgency of a tortoise. When where was enough space for him, Eddie braced against the top of your door and ducked his head inside. 

“Hey.” The warm sigh of his greeting kissed your cheek, thawing the sting of the cold. 

“Hey,” you mimicked, sounding just about as stable as you felt when it came out. “W-what are you doing here so late?” 

“Hellfire,” he stated simply. “You know, I could ask you the same question.”

Despite how true it was, it still felt pathetic when the answer left your lips. “Just… trying not to take so much work home with me.” You said it as casually as you could muster, but your voice betrayed you. Your cheeks were still cooling from the remnants of your tears, framing the heat from your dripping nose. 

Eddie suddenly looked very serious, splintering your armor with his softness. “You ok?” 

You gestured dejectedly at nothing, offering a hollow laugh. “No.”

Eddie filled the cabin with his sigh, eyes narrowing like he wanted to lunge through the window. Instead he just thumbed at the rubber and tipped his head closer, creaking your chest plate with the weight of his gaze. “You know, I could hear you clear across the parking lot,” he joked softly. “The car—I mean. Mostly. You leave your lights on or something?”

You shook your head. “It’s been doing this for months, ever since it started getting cold. I should have taken it to get checked out, but it usually starts after a couple tries.” 

��Sounds like it might be the battery, or maybe the starter. I won’t know unless I try and jump it. I’ll swing around—if—if that’s ok.” 

The wind ushered a curl toward his lips, and you clenched your hand to subdue it. “Yeah, it’s ok,” you sighed. “Thank you.”

With a nod, Eddie ducked out of the window and pivoted swiftly on his heels. From your side view mirror, you watched him make tracks in the blue snow with his heavy boots, hands shoved in his pockets as he glanced left and right, the ghost of his breath trailing closely behind. The seat creaked as you sat back and blinked like the cursor on a computer monitor; processing. One glance in your rearview mirror told you how disheveled you looked. Even in the twilight there was no masking the puffiness around your eyes, the mascara bleeding toward your cheeks. You swiped at them again, this time with a napkin from your glove box.

With a yank of the frigid handle, Eddie slid across the plaid and pleather padding into the drivers seat of his van. He froze for a second, glancing in his rearview mirror toward your small white sedan. Butterflies tore through his stomach, churning like a tornado as he flicked the ignition. Out of all his ridiculous fantasies, he hadn’t entertained this one. Not exactly anyway. One where you were the damsel in distress. One where he got to be the hero. 

The parking lot was vacant enough to drive across the lines. Ploughing through the naked patches where cars had spent the afternoon, he rumbled up beside you. Your stomach did a summersault when he stepped out, plodding around to the front of your car with jumper cables slung under his arm. 

“Can you pop the hood for me?” he asked.

The summersault rippled south through your abdomen. Reaching down under the console, your fingers found the leaver and obeyed. You felt kind of useless, just sitting there while he propped the hood onto the stand, shielding him from vision. Before you could form another thought, your hand was moving on its own, finding the plastic leaver of your door and opening it to the cold evening air. 

Eddie gave a shy look from behind his curtain of curls before stepping back with a nod. “Well, good news, there’s no monsters,” he joked. 

A smile cracked across your face, so genuine it almost felt foreign. You tucked your hands into your pockets, stepping closer to assess the engine like you knew what you were looking at. Your aura prickled with proximity, like his heat could thaw you even from where you stood. Eddie’s glance was soft and quick before procuring a small flashlight from his inner coat pocket. He held it in his teeth, flipping up the red and black plastic covers on the battery terminals. 

“I have hands too, you know,” you said with a smirk.

With a playful side-eye, he clamped the appropriate cables onto the terminals. Removing the silver torch from his mouth, he made room for his retort. “Mmhm, best keep ‘em warm. It’s uh, kinda chilly out.”

You shook your head as a laugh escaped your nostrils in a plume. Sauntering over to his van like a dark knight, Eddie leaned in the door to pop his own hood. Your boots made tentative tracks in the snow, drawn like a magnet as he hoisted the metal. From the light pinched in his teeth you could see the expanse of the massive engine, the shadow of his furrowed brow as he unscrewed plastic knobs. What you saw more than anything though—like a filter laid over the scene—were three type-written letters. The hands that typed them fumbled with the cables, squeezed around the thick, jaw-like clamps. When they bit right where he wanted, they released; tendons flexing, knuckles pinking from the freezing air. Reflexively, he wiped them on the chest of his black hoodie peeking out from his open coat. 

It might have just been the cold, but even in the twilight—in the absence of the flashlight he was tucking into his pocket—you could have sworn his cheeks flushed when he caught you staring. “Alright, um, go ahead and start your car. I’ll do the same.”

Following the tether that joined the two vehicles, you did as he told you. Nothing came of it though, just more incessant clicking. Exasperated, you tossed back in your seat before slumping out of the car once more. 

“Shit, it must be the starter. Probably cracked, that’s my guess anyway by the sound of it,” Eddie explained as he stepped around to face your engine again. Clicking his flashlight, he peered into the compartment. “See, if you follow the positive terminal line all the way down, that’s where the starter will be. Only problem is it’s tricky to get to without a lift.” 

You followed his grease-stained finger down the dirt-dusted tangle of tubes, drawing nearer under the subtle guise of interest in your engine. You stopped just inches from his solid leather frame, close enough to brush him with your elbow. “You seem to know your way around a car.”

He huffed, shaking his head as he muttered. “Wish I didn’t.” But before you could comment, he was shutting the hood. “I’m sorry, but I think we’re gonna have to call a tow truck.” 

Your defeated sigh rose toward the clouds as you glanced at the squat school building. The lights were off. Judy’s car was absent from the lot, as were all but a handful, including the two of yours. Glancing at your watch under the floodlights, the big hand tipped past the golden dot where a five should be.

Eddie stepped closer, filling the gap with a heavy exhale before meeting your eyes. “You know I could, um—” he scratched the back of his neck, words evaporating quicker than his breath. What could he do? What could he really do about any of this? For most of his life he’d been a leaf on the wind, scuttling across the pavement toward the gutter, struggling to steer himself away. But you were stranded, and if there was anything he was good for, it was a ride. “I could—I could take you back to your place. If you’re ok with that, I mean. We could—fuck—I mean you could call from there a-and I could—”

There were chinks in your armor, cracking with each bumbling word. You looked at him, really looked. Eddie Munson, with grease-stained hands and eyes that pierced like arrows in their pleading. Straight through to the softest part of you, the place between your ribs that cries I want. And oh, how desperately you wanted. Wanted to soothe his worried lips in yours again, to feel his pounding chest again, to be thawed by his heat again. But you just stood there, frozen.

Shoving his hands into the pockets of his open coat, he shifted on the balls of his feet as he searched for more words in the snow. “Look, I know you said you wanted space, a-and it probably seems like—shit.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, releasing with a sharp sigh. “I just want to help you. Will you just let me help you? Please?”

Your chest plate clattered to the concrete, gauntlets falling in a heap beside your greaves. There was no white flag to wave. No sword to relinquish, or shield to discard. Your surrender was nothing but a soft “okay,” barely heard above the howling wind. 

______

A/N: After over a year and 100k words, the smut chapter is finally upon us! Thank you for coming with me on this very long journey and sticking it out. I have no idea how long this next one is going to take me to write, but I can promise you that when it’s finished you will experience every moment in exquisite, delicious, poetic detail. 

You might have noticed that I’ve pulled a few small details like character names and places from Flight of Icarus, but I will not be retconning any of Eddie’s backstory. 

Also random, tumblr decided to make that one paragraph bold once I changed it to chat font with no ability to unbold it, but that wasn't intended. It kind of worked though so I'm not mad.

Taglist: @mermaidsandcats29 @toxicjayhoo @ooo-protean-ooo @jadequeen88 @wroteclassicaly @kissmyacdc @raccoonboywrites @storiesbyrhi @trashmouth-richie @keeponquinning @munson-blurbs @blueywrites @alottanothing @bebe07011 @idkidknemore @alizztor @godcreatoreli @ethereal27cereal @munsonsgirl71 @mrsjellymunson @emxxblog @siriusmuggle @sidthedollface2 @dollalicia @lma1986 @catherinnn @eddiemunson4life420 @readsalot73 @big-ope-vibes @barbiedragon @ladylilylost @3rriberri @princess-eddie @nightless @eddieswifu @thew0rldsastage @chaoticgood-munson @hanahkatexo @eddiemunsonsbedroom @beep-beep-sherlock @averagemisfit03 @vintagehellfire @haylaansmi @sllooney @lunaladybug734 @callingmrsbarnes @ajkamins

[gamerwoo]

HI OP HI ROCKET. I just finished catching up on your age restricted hyunjin fic and I am in tears bc of how good it is 😭😭😭💗💗 I literally spent all afternoon binge reading it I genuinely could not put my phone down. I am soooo immersed and soooo invested in this fic I genuinely love it so much. EVERYTHING about it makes me so insane—mc’s friend group of old roommates are so fucking funny (your sense of humor is actually immaculate omg), all the fluff of the early chapters, the absolutely stressful amount of angst and conflict in the later chapters, and just the complexity of both hyunjin and yn’s characters 💗💗 I genuinely am having a blast reading this fic and I could never tell you how much I love it, thank u sooo much for this masterpiece 😭😭 <333

I’m not sure if this is weird, but I have a huge habit of gushing and typing out all my thoughts about fics I read into my notes app while I’m reading lmaoo. I do it so I can document my reactions in real time, and normally when I rb I put all of it into the tags—but this time I was so immersed in your series that I ended up not rbing much bc I was just so desperate to read the next chapter 😭

I tell you this bc was wondering if you’d like to read my commentary dump anyway in the form of a google doc !!! I genuinely just write everything that comes to my mind (and most of it is me being angry at hyunjin and also just fully gushing over your writinggg <3) and I was thinking I could share it w you on a google doc so you’d be able to view it anonymously :) sorry if it’s weird to offer something like that but I genuinely just can’t tell you enough about how much I love this series, and I think you’d find my raw reactions to your series funny lmaooo 💗💗 please lmk if you’d want to see it and I’ll send you another ask with a doc link !!

I hope you don’t mind this entire essay in your inbox idek if it makes any sense I’m so sorryyyy :,) if you managed to make it this far could you please also add me to the taglist for age restricted?? I’m so excited for the next chapters aaahh 💗💗💗 love you op ty for your incredible writing!!

aaaaaaa thank you so much for all the kind words!!! im so glad you like the series so much 🥹🥹

of course i’d love the commentary dump!! i always love going through reblogs and replies just to see what people have to say. it always makes me so happy seeing nice comments and what people’s thoughts are so yeah absolutely send away!!!! 💛💛

[violexides]

fic recs (part 1?)

hi!!! so @n3tn0b0dy sent me an ask about fic recs, and i am stupid so it took me a few mins to like. compose myself and figure out what this is. i am definitely absolutely going to miss a few fics here, which is why it is a part one. i will probably keep this short-ish??? maybe go into more detailed ones later :eyes: 

(i am realizing i am going to write essays for these and for that i am very sorry)

something close to domestic, maybe by @mystxmomo (hi!)

definitely one of my favorite danganronpa fics, currently and (probably) forever. it’s a mature rated kamukoma fic, following an AU in which, instead of the remnants being captured and taken to jabberwock, despair sort of... fizzles out on its own, leaving the remnants of despair-- and the rest of the world-- to sort of heal with it. it’s in a series with another fic, that is in the same universe but following a different narrative with different central characters, and though it only has one chapter rn i highly rec that too. 

i like this fic for many reasons and to avoid prattling on, i will bullet point it.

- easy to follow. there are not overly complex structures-- not that that is inherently a bad thing, i also tend to love that style-- which makes it easy to digest.

- strong emotional impact. this fic has made me cry very, very often.

- really good characterization. mystxmomo is very good with characterization overall, especially with kamukura and servant, and that really shows with this fic.

- a compelling plot that still retains a slice-of-life format. i don’t really know how else to elaborate here.

- an idiosyncratic look into their dynamic. this fic explores kamukoma in the process of them healing, which is pretty distinctively different to a lot of kamukoma fics. obviously, this is not to shade those other fics, but, yeah. i really like it. 

okay sorry for rambling very much there, i really highly recommend it, it is a ongoing multichapter (i should have said that earlier i apologize) and the writer is also very cool. 

--

postscript by zombiekittiez

this is actually a series. it currently has three fics-- one that is fully completed (defy you stars), one that is a completed oneshot (supersonic man outta you), and an ongoing multichapter with pretty frequent updates (prince of a thousand). this follows a post-SDR2 storyline, with a lot of ships and dynamics within it, but heaviest emphasis on komahina. 

more bullet points! yay 

- the characterization is god-fucking-tier. this author is very, very good at characterizing these characters and i will not shut up about it ever actually. they feel real, and distinct, and flawed, and alive, and i love everything about it.

- good exploration of dynamics! i think the latter two fics especially shows this off really well. the friendships and relationships built are all pretty different from each other, but all feel like a pretty natural progression, sticking true to the characters, and feels very... real. which i like a whole hell of a lot.

- there are so many literature references and i am happy about it. there are also sparknotes-ish things at the ending notes of each chapter, which translates the quote, explains the significance within its own text, and applies it to the fanfiction. they are used in ways that make sense, too-- they don’t feel forced.

- the plot and plot building is SO fucking good. prince of a thousand has so many cliffhangers and i am very happy but also dying.

anyway, i really rec this series! be mindful of the tags and the ratings on some of the fics, but they are really, really good reads. 

--

absent mind by galaxyaqua

okay. this is a v3 oneshot rec, exploring pregame rantaro, as well as his relationship with tsumugi shirogane. it’s rated “teen and up audiences”, and. holy shit, okay.

- the writing style of this is GORGEOUS. i don’t know what it is about the writing style, but it feels so much like rantaro is talking, which is so fucking cool, and i love that so fucking much??? i can’t even explain it, but it is seriously super neat. 

- the EMOTIONS. this fic is so fucking emotional, honestly? it shows you this realistic, flawed, you could consider broken, character, shows them finding some hope, and shows the loss that comes with that. it’s so fucking incredible, and the lines have stuck with me even now, and it’s been a bit since i’ve last read. i think about the last couple lines especially a lot.

- these impactful one liners. holy shit. every line means something in this fic, and it’s so fucking cool and incredible, and i just??? holy shit??? i really love this fic???

i will say that this fic is sort of depressing in places, but i highly, and i mean highly, recommend. it is not a super difficult read, and it’s super, super fucking good. so i really recommend it. 

--

this sickness will save us by starrylitme // i believe this is @magioftheseas i am super sorry if it isn’t

okay. super, super fucking big content warning. this fic is a yikes, and the tags can sum it up a LOT better, but yeah. just keep that in mind. 

that being said, this is a really gorgeously written oneshot centered around soulmate au kamukoma, exploring the sort of... unhealthy aspects of their relationship. and i. Wow. okay.

- these fucking one liners. holy SHIT. i remember some of these scenes and lines so very well, and it does live in my head rent free. 

- the tone of this. the tone, and the mood created, is so fucking... i don’t even know how to describe it. terrifying? eerie? super fucking intriguing? it shows this shitty situation in an appropriately terrifying light, and it inflects so much emotion and connotation into the scenes, and holy shit. like, if i wanted to do a case study of incredible tonal work and diction and all, i would absolutely grab this fic.

- the characterization. while kamukura and komaeda are placed in a very interesting predicament, they still manage to stay pretty damn close to being in character, which i personally think is super remarkable. it almost enhances the circumstances too, ngl. 

- their dynamic. their dynamic in this fic is NOT healthy, and that is shown in full “glory”, in a very messy and dysfunctional and terrifying way, and i absolutely love it. it has a kind of realism to it, almost a cautionary tale but not quite, a sort of “this isn’t very good but it still feels grounded in realism”. and wow. Wow. it’s so fucking good.

mind the tags, but definitely rec this one. 

-- 

some scattered accounts i will gush about and if they have a tumblr account i will do my best to tag it. 

@kidcarma, same name on ao3. 

- okay, cam is just super fucking talented with characterization, and i adore all of their fics so fucking much? the way they characterize komaeda, kamukura, and hinata resonate super hard, and i just. really love their stuff. they are also absolutely wonderful so please support them do it why aren’t you doing it just kidding haha unle

@celestial-nova, celestial_nova on ao3

- nova is my best friend and i fucking love her, also her writing is fucking art. does a lot of naegiri and some stuff out of this fandom, but i seriously recommend her stuff. she’s really fucking talented and absolutely incredible and i adore her so very much. 

sinnohremaker on ao3

- their stuff is MAJORLY cathartic to me and they are also super sweet, love them a lot.

shutupnerd on ao3

- SHE IS REALLY TALENTED, I LOVE HER WORKS!! they are also super cool and i just appreciate her a lot fksdc,mxv, her fic “an account of events” is really good

@whatsupscythia, hinataisnothim on ao3

- i fucking love her writing, does some really good hinata prose, highly recommend it

----

i am ABSOLUTELY forgetting people, i am ABSOLUTELY forgetting fics, and i am ABSOLUTELY going to bash my head into a wall when i realize i have forgotten people, but uhm here is an impromptu list. i hope this was good? idk how to do fic recs. uhm yes support all these people they are dope

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

I Need to Talk About “Problematic Faves” within TWDG [3/?]

Character design, being drawn towards characters we find visually attractive, and how big of a role in plays in our feelings towards them.

“He's a murderer but like.... a cute murderer, y’know?”

This goes hand in hand with the whole first impressions thing we’re talking about, but rather than talking about the character’s traits, dialogue, history, and overall character, we’re talking about physical appearance.

This is something I want to touch on even though I already know the answer to it. It’s just a food for thought sort of idea that I wanted to explore given how much we talk about our favorite characters appearances while discussing them with one another.

Let’s face it: We’re all a little shallow at some point in our lives.

“Don’t judge a book by it’s cover” is bullshit. I pick up that book in the first place because it’s pretty and has sprayed edges. The only reason I put it back it is because I can’t find an actual summary of the book because publishers think we want to read a bunch of “Best book of da year!” by Who The Fuck Cares written all over the place rather than an actual summary...

....What was my point?

Oh, right, character design.

When we’re first introduced to a character, we immediately make a judgement of them based off their looks.That’s not to say that our opinions remain the same based on our first impressions after only looking at them, but it’s something we do initially. 

Game developers, artists, writers, and directors will usually strive to make their characters as visually appealing to us as possible because that’s what makes us go “ohhh they pretty *picks thing up.*” 

There are issues that develop from this, such as unrealistic expectations of what true beauty is and how it actually affects the audience. After taking in so much of this content, I started to wonder if it had any affect on why we have “Problematic Faves” and if there IS something linked within the way we view them as physically attractive. 

While I believe that appearance is an important factor in character development and is what draws us to them, it’s also a bit more complicated than that.

One of the many things I adore about the final season is it’s character design for all the students at Ericson. All of the Ericson kiddos have their own unique looks and manners of which they hold themselves.

Sure we’ve got Louis and Violet, who we all gush about all the time on how beautiful they are. How many times have we talked about Louis’ freckles or Violet’s eyes or just how gosh darn pretty we think they are while incorporating it into writing our fanfics or headcanons or creating out artworks of them?

But what’s great is that they aren’t all “conveniently attractive” or someone a shallow Hollywood director would look at one time and say “there’s our star!”

Willy is a fan favorite among many in our community. What I love about his design is his teeth. He’s a kid growing up in the apocalypse without proper dental care. His teeth are crooked, there are gaps between them, and he’s even missing some. If that same Hollywood director were to look at him, they’d either slap some extreme braces on him or cast him as a tree troll. 

But not everyone has those perfectly straight pearly whites. Some of us have crooked teeth, or we’ve had painful braces to try and straighten them, or we’ve lost or broken a tooth at some point. You know how refreshing it is to see a character as likable as Willy show up with that smile of his while still being considered a fan favorite? 

Speaking of refreshing, what about Ruby? Everyone loves Ruby. She’s not tall and thin, she’s short and thicker. 

I remember seeing nasty posts questioning why someone like Aasim would have any interest in her because of the way she’s built, and that that pisses me off. 

It’s so damn great to see someone like Ruby portrayed the way she is in this game. As someone who IS more on the shorter and heavier side, it’s hard to find a character like this who doesn’t suddenly become slim therefore “prettier” over the course of the story or who isn’t a terrible or whose weight and build is all their character is. The last movie I watched that featured a plus size main character was that god awful Sierra Burgess movie on Netflix and that character made me want to punch things. 

All I can say is thank god for Ruby.

Speaking of which, how about Omar? He’s short and stocky, too, but y’know what? We made this dude a GOD. What does that tell you?

These are examples using more minor characters that fall into that non-”Problematic Fave” tier, but what about our characters that do?

I used to have a strong theory that some characters got more love and attention JUST because they’re more attractive to the audience, even if their character is boring, holds little to no plot relevance, or is an “evil” being beyond forgiveness.  

It’s a theory that I believe still holds some truth, though I think that truth lies more with the younger fans, or those who aren’t quite as mature. 

As someone who has worked around elementary school children, as well as 13-14 year olds, I think I can safely make the assumption that they tend to take things at face value a good chunk of the time.

Pretty person = Good!

Not pretty person = Bad!

That sort of deal. 

So, the question I pose is:

Does a character’s level of attractiveness have an effect on our willingness to forgive some of their more problematic behaviors?

I’m sure most of you read that and said “Uh, is this a trick question? No?”

When you think about the kinds of stories that we’re always told about the beautiful princesses who are pure and good and the ugly stepmothers who are evil and bad, it’s not hard to see why the younger ones would see things as more black and white rather than a shade of gray. 

If the pretty princess poisons her “evil” stepmother during their morning tea, how easily do we forgive her just because we’re told that she’s a pure, pretty princess? We know poisoning someone is bad, but... if the stepmother was ugly and evil, then the princess must have had a reason for doing this, right? So... it’s okay... right?

Is the princess justified in her actions, even if the stepmother wasn’t doing anything more than drinking her morning tea?

I look at that and say, “No,” whereas a much younger person might say, “Yeah. The stepmother was evil.” 

Young children are fascinating to talk to, by the way. They’re sponges who absorb knowledge like you wouldn’t believe but somehow they still take everything at that face value and believe whatever the “good” person says in a story until you help them see the bigger picture. That’s why they tend to be more susceptible to falling for twists. 

But once you explain to them the more complicated elements of the princess and the stepmother, they’re intelligent enough to grasp that the princess is wrong. 

I believe once we grow older and open ourselves up to more complex stories full of gray characters, learning about them through experience, we start to see that beauty isn’t just in the eye in the beholder, but also that it doesn’t mean shit at the end of the day. 

You can have the most beautiful person in the world be your main character, but if that beautiful person drowns a bag full of kittens, suddenly they aren’t so attractive, now are they?

One of a kid’s favorite example of a good-looking antagonist is Hans from Frozen. 

While I think the whole “he was actually evil the whole time haha we fooled you” thing in that movie is garbage, I give it credit for being the first exposure of this concept to young kids, sending them down a path of looking at different characters they see in a new light. 

We like characters who are attractive because, well, they’re attractive. But we’re  also mature enough to know that their attractiveness isn’t solely based on their appearance. It’s merely the seed that only grows with development, personality, and an arc. It only makes up a small portion of why we like a character in the first place. We know that just because someone is good-looking, it doesn’t justify their actions. 

But for those who are still growing out of those black and while fairy tales and just starting to expand their views of different characters while learning that looks can be deceiving, are they more likely to forgive a character or not fully understand that they’re in the wrong just because they’re visually pleasing? 

Another example outside of TWDG that I can give you is Nathan Prescott from the game Life is Strange. I’ve mentioned this game several times before, and even wrote a whole segment on it in my Louis and Violet essay from a while back. 

When I was a young lass, I picked up this game and really liked it. I wasn’t as into it as I am TWDG, but I liked it enough to play every episode as it came out and then check the tag to see what everyone thought. 

While browsing this tag, I noticed that a lot of the fan base seemed young. Makes sense, it IS a game starring teens set in an academy setting and I was young, too. 

But with that, one thing that always bothered me was how a number of young people talked about Nathan. 

Nathan who, if you haven’t played the game, is one of the antagonists. They would gush about this kid, seeming to make up excuses for the appalling things he did and it felt very tied to his looks. 

I’m sorry to any Life is Strange fans who might’ve been one of these young fans... but that really is the impression I got at the time.

Maybe I just didn’t get the hype about this dude who drugged girls so he could pose and take pictures of them because of his weirdly under-explained relationship with the surprise villain of the story, but he doesn’t seem like the type of guy to get all “Poor, precious, beautiful baby boi didn’t deserve this !” about. 

Then again, if writing this has taught me anything, I might have missed something by not being involved with that fandom, but what I gathered was that he didn’t become the redeemable character they all thought he would be and they didn’t like that, so it becomes harder to try and justify the things he did because he didn’t end up being good in the end even though they all thought he would be. I guess. 

But, gathering that a lot of them were so young and going off the content I predominately saw... I don’t know. It didn’t ever feel right. I had suspicions that lead to this theory. That’s what I’m saying. 

This can apply to other fandoms, too, where a group of people will take a character/person they find attractive and gush about how pretty they are rather than anything else that makes them interesting. Not everyone, of course, but I get the feeling you all know what I mean and have come across something like it before. I’m just trying to explain it. 

Or maybe it is just me and you have no idea what I’m talking about. 

Either way. 

Returning back to our “Problematic Faves,” lets ask this question about them in particular. 

How much of David’s attractiveness plays into my love of him? 

I mean, he’s not a bad looking dude. In fact, I dare say that the Garcia brothers are both very attractive guys. I give ‘em both a 10/10. 

But does that actually aid in my actual feelings towards him at all? 

What about the others we’ve talked about so far?

I don’t see many people talking about how pretty they think Kenny is... though his mustache IS majestic and that’s something we all agree on.

And Lilly’s okay. I guess. 

Nate could be a good-looking dude if he’d just put his crazy eyes away.

I believe our best bet it in getting a more clear answer to this question would to be take a quick look back at Minerva.

Remember how I said Minerva was so hyped up based on a two second appearance in the ep3 trailer? Granted, we did have more than JUST her appearance to form this hype around.... but admit it, a huge part of the hype was how good she looked.

She looked awesome.

Hell, just seeing her had me excited to see what she would do in ep3, even though I had the feeling she wouldn’t be an ally.

I used to have a hard time wrapping my head around why so many people love her as much as they do, and I previously thought it was based a lot on her appearance.

Is it ignorant and shallow of me to think y’all loved her based solely on her looks?

Probably. Yes. Yes, it was.

Now that I’ve looked into this further, I see that there’s more to the love and interest surrounding her, but..... it’s kind of what my first thought was? In the beginning? 

Either way, it’s still an interesting idea to consider when thinking about a character you love.

With that said, what if we apply this question to a character who is less of a “Problematic Fave” and more of my “God Tier Fave.”

You all know that Louis is my favorite character across ALL the games. My love for him is vibrant, but one of the many things I love about him IS his character design. He’s a visually appealing guy, and his personality, different traits, dialogue, flaws, and character arc only build onto the attractiveness of his character.

If Louis didn’t look like this, would I still love him?

Assuming that everything else about him is the same, then yeah. 

What if the developers went with the concept art of him that looked like a odd Harry Styles knockoff? Would I still love him?

Again, I want to say that I would, assuming that everything else about him be the same. But going with that certain concept art does take away an important aspect of his character and his relationship to Clementine.

Many of you have told me how much you appreciate the fact that Clementine and Louis represent a sweet, healthy black couple. That’s important to all of us. If we went with the first concept art, then that’s something we’d lose. Would we still ship clouis? Probably, but again, that important element and representation is lost and that would affect our overall opinion of it, even if just a bit.

But, what if Louis looked exactly as he does now, but were to do something awful? Would I still love him?

Well, my first instinct is to say, “Yes.”

In ep3, Louis tells us that he purposely broke up his parents marriage because his father wouldn’t let him take singing lessons. He broke into his father’s credit cards and made it look like he had a mistress, then made sure his mother knew about it. He did this over the course of a year. Then, when the divorce was finalized, he threw his father’s words back in his face: “You get to be happy or you get to be rich. You can’t be both.”

Knowing this, I still love Louis.

What he did was awful, but the reason I don’t hate him or even like him any less is because of how he acted while telling us. You can feel the guilt and remorse in his voice, the shame that he was once a person who thought that was okay to do.

He did that a long time ago, he learned from this terrible mistake he made, went as far as to punish himself by taking on a irresponsible, piano-playing jokester persona who anyone rarely ever took seriously. Louis changed for the better and he’s still a likable, relatable, lovably character despite this.

But in order to dig a little deeper into this idea of attractiveness and just how far we’ll go to try and justify a character based solely on their looks, I then thought:

 “Okay, then consider this: What if Louis and Minerva switched places with him doing all those things she did that made me dislike her? Would I still love him?”

And things got a little complicated.

Because my immediate first thought was “Yes.”

That shocked the hell out of me.

Why the fuck would I be okay with LOUIS acting the way Minerva did, but not MINERVA herself? That makes no sense.

Louis betraying us on the boat by knocking Clementine out and locking her in the cell isn’t suddenly okay because it’s LOUIS.

Louis showing up on the bridge to try and murder Tenn isn’t suddenly okay because it’s him and not MINERVA.

The reality is this: If Louis and Minerva traded places, I wouldn’t love Louis. I don’t care how attractive his character design is, I would feel the same way about him that I feel about Minerva. I love Louis for who he is within the context of the canon game, but if Louis traded places with Minerva, he wouldn’t be that Louis that I love.

The problem with asking myself this is I know Louis’ character and I want to think the best of him. I’m attached to him. I don’t want to imagine him doing anything that horrible because I know that would be an breaking of his character. His appearance has nothing to do with it. 

But my first instinct was to side with him. 

That’s when it all came together.

A character’s appearance is important in the first impression, but our perception of that character’s attractiveness is only elevated or lowered based on the important things: personality, backstory, relationships, flaws, fears, regrets, change, and complete character arc. 

So how does this apply to my love for David?

Well, it eliminates any possibility that I only like David just because he’s pretty.

Perhaps I’m not so shallow after all.

Yeah, that’s the conclusion of this segment: something I already knew. But, I felt it was a concept that could spark some thought about what attractiveness really means while debunking any idiots who may grasp at straws with the insult of, “You only like [blank] and excuse their toxicity because you think they’re hot!”

... except the Life is Strange community might come after me for implying a nicer version of that towards one of the antagonists... but hopefully you understand the point I was attempting to make in bringing that up as an example.

I like David’s design, but him being an attractive dude isn’t why I like him. If anything, his looks being appealing to my eye is at the end of my long, complicated list of why I like him.

Conclusion:

Looks matter initially, and our perception of a character’s attractiveness is either elevated or lowered based on the more important qualities of their character, problematic or otherwise.

[continued in 4/?]

[friendofhayley]

ship history meme

Embrace your past and get to know your friends’ fandom origins!

Rules: Post gifs of your fandoms / ships starting with your most current hyperfixation and work backwards. (Bonus points if you share any stories about how or when you got into that ship! But not necessary!!) Then tag anyone whose fandom history you’d like to learn about!

Tagged by the most gorgeous, smartest, sweetest, and kindest person in my life @sightetsound​ <3 Sorry y’all, I have a lot of hyperfixations and I’m on NyQuil!

1. Katsuki Bakugo and Eijiro Kirishima, My Hero Academia - I literally can’t watch Season 4 until it’s finished because my heart will Explode if I’m left on a cliffhanger involving these too!!! (Unbreakable T.T <3) I don’t usually like animes but I fell in love with his trash bastard and his soft rock boyfriend by the villain’s attack in S1. It all started when I got a TikTok because a Very Hot Bakugo cosplayer was on there. (Literally, their rendition of Bakugo is just, umph. They have appeared in my dream.). As she got more popular he started cosplaying more of Class 1-A of MHA, and I kept wondering?? What the fuck is this anime about?? Why is there an alien girl?? I soon gave in and watched the show to gain context to this thirst trap. I have so many feels for these boys, even though I don’t post on them much here, and T.T

2. Alec Lightwood and Magnus Bane, Shadowhunters - I literally almost wrote my thesis because of this ship. I got into Shadowhunters because I was depressed in a foreign, racist country where I couldn’t go outside alone because old white men would corner me on the street, and everyone was talking about how Mike from Glee was kissing a guy at a wedding? Instead of partying during my study abroad trip, I gobbled down Malec content. And like who wouldn’t?? Harry Shum Jr. was playing a bisexual warlock?? And he had lines and a main character role??? An interracial couple where the characters are both POC?? Sign me up! But then I quickly fell in love with awkward gayby Alec and immediately knew how it felt to be in his shoes. (Disclaimer: I still haven’t finished the show because I don’t want their story to end, but just seeing their wedding scene????? Tears!!!!!!!!!! Both wedding scenes! I-) I just love how soft they look at each as they realize how lucky they are to be able to fall in love against the odds. T.T They deserve the world and all the warlock and shadowhunter babies and T.T This is just going to devolve into me crying so-

3. Stiles Stilinski and Derek Hale, Teen Wolf - I got into Teen Wolf to escape the hellfire that had become the Glee fandom around S3-S4. (Tbh it might have been Dereklei’s constant Sterek content on my dash that led me to give in.) Stiles was bi (through subtext) and definitely turned on by an older werewolf. What more could a depressed Gleek ask for? And listen - now looking back, Sterek is definitely gay Twilight - if Bella was snarkier, had a mental illness, and also a personality. Sterek was the ship to get me back into writing fanfiction and where I could read paranormal characters working through PTSD, ADHD, and other mental illnesses while fighting monsters and having unrealistic sex! I also love those future fics where Beacon Hills isn’t a Hellmouth anymore, and everyone’s alive and just living as one big found family. Truly, Derek deserves the world and I love him so much, and Stiles definitely agrees.

4. Louis Tomlinson and Harry Styles, One Direction - If it’s a surprise that I’m a dark larrie, please read my bio. HL made me believe that love is real and exists and can last for years. I got into One Direction in 2011 through a Lilo fanfic, but as soon as I watched the Video Diaries,,,we knew. Louis has saved my life in ways I can’t describe and the songs that they’ve written for each other through their tough times are so inspiring to listen and dance to. Seeing how they’ve been dragged apart by management, Sony Entertainment, and the whole music industry as a whole even though they exist in glass closets is very disheartening to see. But their resilience that they show through their art (Only the Brave, Sweet Creature, If I Could Fly, and like so many others) is always there. If you want to fall in this rabbit hole, look at freddieismyqueen on YT and come inside lol. Larry is real.

5. Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson, Glee - the ship that got me on Tumblr! I didn’t start watching Glee until the summer before S2 came out. My whole choir was into it and I didn’t want to be “mainstream”, but Kurt was the first openly gay teen character that I saw on TV. When I heard a character played by Darren Criss, a musical theater YT legend from AVPM, I had to watch it. I ended up binging the first season with those Netflix DVDs during summer break (yeah remember when Netflix wasn’t streaming? lol). I watched every episode of that god-forsaken show the night of (or night after illegally, hidden from my parents) for that ship, and then me and my best friend would rant about it for the whole week: rinse and repeat. The episode they got together made me scream and I definitely put those Glee Rewind songs in my iPhone. (Fun fact: I used to cry at night because I wished someone like Kurt could love me like that because I heavily related to Blaine and his whole situation). I naturally stopped watching Glee the moment they broke them up and I’m still mad at their hasty attempt to marry them out of nowhere with no well-written getting together / make-up arc other than Jigsaw?? and a barn wedding?? As if Hummel would. What a trash fire. But dang, Glee fanfics have some of the dirtiest, kinkiest, forbidden fics out there. If you were ever on Glee_Kink_Meme on LJ, you know.

6. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter - the ship that started it all, the big kahuna, the ultimate enemies to lovers for 90s kids. Drarry got me into the fandom world in middle school, where I basically lived on FFN and LJ while pretending to do my homework. I used to get ready every day by watching the same playlist of “The best Harry Potter videos on Youtube!” (curated by Ariel333Lindt, who was the only queer person I knew but lived in Eastern Europe, where I could see two gay people kiss and fall in love in the safety of my room through badly photoshopped videos. Please check out that playlist). I just love how each fic is a microcosm where they have to construct how magical systems work, the backstories of pureblood families, creatures, or just wizarding culture for the end goal of having Drarry fuck and fall in love! I love redemption arcs that take 200k to achieve, I love dark!Harry takes, and every single different damn take on Narcissa, Pansy, and Millicent - because deep down that’s the writer trying to come to turns on whether or not Draco should be redeemed to get together with Harry. (I mean we all know they’re obsessed with each other, book 6 anyone?) I feel like Drarry fics have the best worldbuilding and characterizations of these characters, and I just love those moments when Draco and Harry take a moment to take a breath together and realize how far they’ve come. No one else can understand how it felt to be the pariah or the chosen one, they both interacted with Voldemort the most, and they have the most history together. They should have gotten together! But I mean the author’s dead, am I right?

So that was a lot! Those are all the ships that impacted me that I still participate with. They have shaped me for better or worse, and have made me learn more about who I am and what I want (or don’t want) in a relationship. This was the most fun essay I’ve ever written on NyQuil!

I’m tagging @homosociallyyours​ because I really want to know your fandom story! Also @stozierbrak​ because I love you and must hear you gush about your boys. I’m also tagging @iamaqualady​ because you’re literally the most intriguing person I know and I’m glad we’re friends even though we haven’t interacted that much? ish? 

[shushmal]

Things change slowly, over the years. It’s easy to miss if you’re not looking closely. The slight brush of shoulders, an encouraging pat on the back, an easy conversation. Nothing can be fixed overnight, but the same could be said that nothing can stay the same. All progress is gradual, but it builds and builds until suddenly you can see it, bright and obvious as if it’s been there all along.

—

It’s snowing when Katsuki reaches out, his hands snagging on the sleeve of Izuku’s coat and jerking him away from the busy street. “Watch where you’re going, idiot!” he snarls, scowling fiercely.

Izuku frowns at him, brows furrowing. “Thanks, Kacchan,” he says anyways, but Katsuki’s already crossing the street ahead of them. He rolls his eyes, sighing exasperatedly before falling back into conversation with Ochako, letting his irritation melt away. Ochako replies easily with a smile, but her eyes stray towards Katsuki’s back with a thoughtful expression.

—

Growling, Katsuki snatches the book out of Izuku’s hands. Momo, from down the library table, shushes him and earns herself a very rude hand gesture in return. But instead of going back to his table, Katsuki plops down beside Izuku, ignoring the green-eyed glare to flip quickly through the textbook. He writes something down on his paper and hisses lowly, “I need to look again at this later when you’re done.”

He slams the book down on the table in front of Izuku before heading back to his own homework. Momo shushes him again, but Izuku says nothing, opening the text to find his lost place.

Hours later, when Izuku gathers his things, he places the book gently at Katsuki’s elbow. “Please return it for me,” he whispers, unobtrusive in the quiet library.

“Thanks,” Katsuki says flatly, and Izuku leaves.

Momo raises her brow, and continues with her essay.

—

Izuku taps on Katsuki’s shoulder during class one spring day, and Hanta braces for the explosion. Beside him, Izuku looks like he is too, despite the determined gleam in his eye. It surprises them both when Katsuki just turns around with a sneer, eyeing Izuku with disdain.

“Kacchan, do you understand problem five?” Izuku asks, his voice just barely wobbling.

Katsuki’s nose wrinkles, but he turns fully around in his seat. “What the fuck don’t you get about it?”

Together, they both bow over the worksheet, bickering heatedly as they work. Hanta gapes at them in shock, until Ectoplasm calls him back to attention. Still, he casts an incredulous glance to the side as Katsuki’s worksheet and calculator now join Izuku’s on his desk, both of them working furiously through each equation.

—

Eijirou winces when Izuku lands a particularly hard kick to his side, but he’s ready for it, his quirk fully hardening and bracing the area just before impact. Beside him, Shouto, his partner in the tag team exercise, grunts as he barely dodges a blast from Katsuki, but Eijirou doesn’t have the time to move. He goes flying, leaving the ring entirely to land in a heap at the edge of the gym.

“Too bad, dude,” Denki says, helping him up. They turn to the fierce battle that was supposed to be a team exercise going on in the middle of the room. “How long do you think Todoroki’s going to last against those monsters?”

As he says it, Shouto takes a heavy combined hit from both of his opponents that forces him back, stumbling out of the designated ring. Eijirou can hear Katsuki’s victory roar from across the gym.

Denki clucks his tongue. “Looks like those two are still undefeated,” he says, but Eijirou’s watching the way Izuku excitedly runs up to Katsuki with both hands raised. He pauses, grinning in front of his teammate, until Katsuki finally lifts his arms and smacks a quick, reluctant high five to Izuku’s palms. Izuku cheers, unbothered when Katsuki immediately stalks away.

—

Things change slowly. It’s easy to miss. The gentle brush of hands when walking side by side, an almost-too-causal arm over the shoulder, thighs pressed tightly together in a crowded booth.

—

Fumikage lets himself into the dorms quietly, escaping the humid spring night with a sigh of relief. It’s late and he’s expecting the common rooms to be relatively empty, having just left the library. So his footsteps falter when he spies Izuku and Katsuki seated at a table, books and papers spread around them haphazardly. Izuku’s cheek is pressed into his textbook, drooling in his sleep. Katsuki, sat right next to him, is furiously writing, his hand a blur across the page.

As Fumikage watches, transfixed, Katsuki finishes and smacks his notebook against Izuku’s sleeping face. “Read that, and then we’re done,” he snarls, though his voice is subdued.

Izuku snorts awake, wiping at his face. He says nothing, and just gets to work, red pen in hand. It’s then that Katsuki notices Fumikage at the door.

“What are you looking at, bird face?” he sneers.

Fumikage rolls his eyes, his momentary surprise fading away. “Are you working on Present Mic’s essay?” he asks instead.

“None of your business,” Katsuki says at the same time Izuku looks up with a bright smile and says, “Yes! Kacchan’s helping me with the grammar. Want to join us?”

“That would be helpful,” Fumikage says, eyes sliding over to Katsuki’s murderous face. “If it isn’t a bother. I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“It’s no problem! Come sit!” Izuku says, so Fumikage pulls a chair out across from them, ignoring the laser-like glare that Katsuki’s pinned him with. He gets the feeling that he is indeed intruding on something he shouldn’t be. But Katsuki’s very good with English, and Izuku is very diligent with editing, so he won’t pass up the opportunity.

—

“Oooh, what are you watching?”

Katsuki looks up with curled lip, but Izuku matches Mina’s enthusiasm with his own. “Ashido-san! It’s the new All Might movie! Do you want to watch? Kacchan and I haven’t seen it yet! It’s been so busy, I haven’t had the chance!” he gushes, bouncing on the common room couch. “Kacchan gifted it to me for my birthday, so we’re making a night of it!”

Mina tilts her head to the side. “Didn’t Bakugou go see—” she starts, but Katsuki smacks her with a couch cushion. “Hey!”

“Shut it, pinky!” Katsuki snaps, eyes wide and wild. “Do you want to watch the movie or not?!”

She takes a moment to take in the slightly panicked, desperate look on Katsuki’s face before she smiles, bright and toothy. “Sure!” she chirps, and tries not to laugh when Katsuki scoots over to Izuku’s side so she can take his vacated spot.

Mina likes the All Might movies just as much as the next person, but the most entertainment the whole night is Katsuki trying to discreetly drape his arm over the couch behind Izuku without Izuku noticing. He never quite manages it, because every time he moves, Izuku turns the full brunt of his happy grin on Katsuki, freezing him in place. Giggling, Mina steals the popcorn bowl while Katsuki’s distracted.

—

Katsuki and Izuku are huddled together on the edge of the field, but they're not being quiet in the least. Denki can hear them across the baseball diamond, snipping at each other about something to do with All Might and quirks, and Katsuki keeps hissing ‘waste of our goddamn time.’

“Really, that’s enough! Let’s get started,” Tenya calls to them both, hand slicing through the air. “Bakugou-kun, it’s been decided that, as the top two students in the class, you and Yaoyorozu-kun will be team captains.”

Sneering, Katsuki sighs and steps up beside Momo with reluctance, Izuku grinning triumphantly behind him, whisper-yelling, “It’ll be fun!” at Katsuki’s back.

“I’ll be acting as referee, since Aizawa-sensei has declined,” Tenya continues, motioning to where their teacher is laying his sleeping bag in the dugout, napping. “As second years, we should be perfectly capable of—”

“Yeah, yeah, we’re not children, keep going!” Katsuki snaps. “Let’s get this stupid game over with already.”

Tenya coughs, but breezes over the interruption. “If the team captains would please choose your teams. Yaoyorozu-kun, as top student, please go first.”

Katsuki scowls at that, but says nothing as Momo calls out, “Todoroki.”

He rolls his eyes at that, unsurprised. “Deku.” Both Eijirou and Izuku gape at him, the rest of the class gasping in shock.

Momo doesn’t bat a lash. “Kirishima.”

“Uraraka.”

“Kyouka-chan.”

“Tentacle dude.”

“Tokoyami.”

“Drooly.”

And on it goes. Eijirou sends Denki a sad face as he joins the growing ranks of Katsuki’s team, Katsuki visibly peeved that Momo snatched up his second choice.

“Thanks for the pick, dude!" he calls, and turns to Izuku. "Kacchan goes for the heavy hitters, huh, Midoriya?” Denki says teasingly, eyes sliding towards Izuku to wiggle his eyebrows at him. But, instead of Izuku’s usually pleasant, sunny smile, he’s met with a glare. A very intense, very deadly glare. “I-I mean, Bakugou! Bakugou, his name is Bakugou!” he shrieks.

“WHAT?!” Katsuki roars, turning from where he had been hotly debating with Momo about first pitch. Both Izuku and Denki jump. “Stop calling my damn name, idiots!”

“Sorry, Kacchan!” Izuku says, trotting off to join him on the mound with Momo and Shouto. Denki watches him go, willing his heartbeat to calm. Izuku glances back with an apologetic smile, but Denki flinches regardless.

—

Katsuki takes one look at them and heads their way with fiery purpose. Shouto notices as soon as he stepped into the classroom, and decides to take a protective stance on the other side of Izuku’s desk. Izuku, oblivious, still chatters on, as if doom isn’t about to rain down on Shouto’s day. At this point, well into their second year of high school, Shouto’s used to it.

But before Katsuki can open his mouth, Izuku follows Shouto’s eyes and lights up like a firework. “Good morning, Kacchan!”

This stops Katsuki in his tracks, giving Shouto the perfect opportunity to escape.

“Good morning, Bakugou,” he says politely, already sliding away. “I’ll be right back, Midoriya, I need to speak with Yaomomo.”

“Sure!” Izuku says, flashing him a smile and turning his attention fully on Katsuki, as if Shouto hadn’t been there in the first place. Shouto sighs, cursing whatever fate or teacher that had moved him behind Izuku’s seat and Katsuki across the room this year.

—

A guiding hand on the small of the back, a hesitant curl of fingers around another’s, a brief touch of lips. Things change slowly, after all.

—

It’s a shock to the entire school when Izuku and Katsuki start dating, except for class 3A. A sigh of relief runs through the room when Izuku and Katsuki walk into class, shoulder to shoulder, their fingers tangled together. They look at everything but each other, Izuku's face red.

Ochako and Mina coo over it, and Eijirou runs over to smack Katsuki on the back in congratulations. Most of the class thinks this means their final year will be peaceful.

Shouto’s not so optimistic.

He’s only kind of right.

For a while, Izuku and Katsuki don’t move unless it’s together, often with Katsuki’s arm slung possessively over Izuku’s shoulder, or Izuku clutching to Katsuki’s hand. They don’t argue. They don’t debate. They don’t even want to spar against each other. Everyone can physically feel the building tension. Two weeks into the school year marks their first fight, and they destroy the practice field. Shouto had liked that practice field, thank you very much. The entire class thinks this marks an untimely end, over before it started. But the two surprise everyone again, when they make up quietly after class, leaving the school building holding hands again.

After that, they devolve back into something like what they had been before, except their bickering involves Katsuki pinching Izuku’s cheeks or Izuku tugging on Katsuki’s hair. And Katsuki smiles now. The rest of the class finds it unsettling. Class 3B avoids him like the plague.

Their second big fight happens over midterms, and no one’s surprised. They don’t break anything this time, and reconcile just the same as before. The same thing happens another two times January rolls back around.

And then, inexplicably, with no foundation-rocking shouting or ground-shattering explosions, Izuku and Katsuki break up.

—

A week passes, and Izuku stares after Katsuki’s back. It feels a little too much like middle school, when Katsuki wouldn’t so much as look at him. Something heavy, a leaden weight, sits in Izuku’s stomach, his eyes stinging and his throat burning. He stares after Katsuki’s back, but can’t raise his head past that.

—

A week passes, and Katsuki is living on stolen glances when Izuku’s not looking, drinking in the curly hair and the freckles and green, green watery eyes. His hands twitch. Katsuki can’t sit still, the urge to move, to do something crawling under his skin. But what can he do, when Izuku won’t just listen?

—

“I’m sorry,” Izuku croaks when Katsuki opens his door. He stares down, eyes trained on the white of Katsuki’s socks. “I’m really sorry, Kacchan. I love you.” Katsuki grabs him then, pulling him in and hugging him tightly. And Izuku goes, wrapping his arms around Katsuki’s middle and tries not to cry. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he babbles. “I’m sorry.”

Katsuki shushes him, rubbing a soothing hand down Izuku’s back, huffing when Izuku starts hiccuping. Down the hall, Kirishima’s door opens, probably alerted by Izuku’s choked off sobs. Katsuki tugs him into his room, shutting the door behind them.

“I’m sorry,” Izuku says again, weakly. He wipes at his eyes.

“It’s okay,” Katsuki whispers, pressing his lips to Izuku’s forehead. “I’m sorry, too. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.” So, let me stay by your side, he doesn’t say. Don’t push me away again. So, let me protect you this time.

Izuku nods, sniffling and hiding his face in Katsuki’s neck, holding him tightly. “I love you,” he says again. His voice is raw, breaking the words in two.

“I love you, too,” Katsuki murmurs into Izuku’s hair.

—

It’s graduation and Eijirou’s crying, hanging off of Katsuki’s shoulder as if he’ll never see him again. Izuku, on Katsuki’s other side, pats him gently on the back, snickering at Katsuki’s grouchy expression. Their entire graduating class is scattered across the large ballroom, ceremony over and reception in full swing. They’re meant to be spending this time networking, but Izuku’s already gotten his fill of scouting for the day, wanting to stick close to Katsuki.

Similarly, Katsuki’s been ducking away from a particularly insistent pro-hero wanting his skills at her agency. It’s not a bad fit, Izuku thinks. But it’ll take Katsuki on the other side of the city from him, and Izuku isn’t keen on separating. He keeps this to himself, but it sits in the back of his mind regardless.

Mina passes by, unsuspecting, and Katsuki shoves Eijirou onto her and makes his escape, pulling Izuku along. They slide past Aizawa’s raised brow, and into the hallways, leaving the reception behind them.

“Finally,” Katsuki sighs, stepping into their deserted classroom, his shoulders slumping. “I’m so tired of that shit.”

Izuku hums noncommittally, eyes roving slowly across the room, committing it to memory. It might be the last time he sets foot through that door. He won’t be coming to class here anymore, he won’t get to see all of his friends everyday. They won’t eat lunch in the cafeteria together, they won’t spend their free time playing games in the common room of the dorm. The courtyard where he first met Ochako, the training grounds where he first began to master his quirk, this classroom where he and Katsuki had their first kiss;  he won’t be able to revisit these places whenever he wants.

But at the same time, everything, everything stretches before him. An endless list of possibilities, and Katsuki, who pulls him close, and hugs Izuku back, and presses sloppy kisses to his face, and pulls at Izuku’s cheeks when he complains, and loves Izuku, and who wants to stay by his side, is right there, where he’s always been.

Katsuki snags his hand, stealing his attention away.

“Hey,” he says, gently. “You okay?”

Smiling, Izuku nods, sinking into Katsuki’s arms. “Yeah, I’m good.”

—

Until suddenly, it’s as if things have always been this way, as if nothing has changed at all.

[hapgen]

Taking Care of Business

Author’s Note: Okay, so Rin’s birthday is this week. Even though I have a few essays due next week, I decided that writing something for Rin’s bday was more important than that! Especially since this will be short and sweet, you know? This is my first time writing Rin and Sousuke… I hope you all enjoy!

Word count: 2427

Summary: It’s Rin’s first day working the local entertainment store, and he notices that the suit store across from them has much better business. Of course, there is nothing better for him to do than to check out what they have, right? There has to be something there that has the customers flocking in. Little does he know, there’s more to the suit shop than just suits.

Pairing(s): SouRin, minor MakoHaru.

AU: Suit Shop/Nerd Store.

Tagging: @bakapandy (This isn’t birthday themed… but in my defense, it’s focused on SouRin and on an AU that inspired me!)

Rin tugged at the loose cotton shirt idly, waiting at the cash register for the manager to start training him. The shirt was itchy and a size too big, but considering that everyone at Iwatobi’s local nerd headquarters quit after they all graduated high school and even bothered to leave behind one of the uniforms… he supposed he was lucky. He could be wearing that adult small instead, but the blond boy (Hazuki was his name. Probably.) took that one as soon as he heard that he got the job. All that was left was an adult large, and while it wasn’t too terrible, he still wished that he had gotten the adult medium.

Rin had originally applied for the manager position, to make money for college when he moved back to Australia, but he ended up with the assistant manager position instead. Apparently, the new manager had worked in the same store before, but quit and reapplied-

“Oh, Rin! Hey!” Rin blinked in surprise, before smiling at Makoto.

“Hey, Mako. What are you doing here?” 

Makoto shrugged sheepishly, “I’m the manager. Sorry, I didn’t know that you applied for it too until after I turned my application in. No hard feelings?”

Rin shook his head and stood up straight. “None at all, man! I don’t mind. I’ve never worked here before anyway, so I’m glad that you’re training me.”

Makoto smiled, then stepped closer to the register. “Ready to get started? There’s a few little things that I have to tell you about before we get started, but other than that, this will be really easy! Promise.”

Rin thinks that this will be no problem, after all, Makoto is training to be coach, which is practically a teacher. Learning how to run the register, do inventory, clean, learn who is who and what is what… none of that will be hard!

“Okay, first, the vacuum and other cleaning supplies are in the back where the microwave and big closet is. We clean the store two times a day, but the managers don’t usually do that. I do it anyway, since the other employees are usually busy helping the customers. Do you know where that stuff is?”

Rin nodded, “Yeah, I saw it when I picked up my uniform. Is it all in that trunk in the corner?”

Makoto tilted his head in confusion. “There’s a trunk in the corner?”

“…I thought there was…”

They both sat in silence for a moment. Rin came into the store last week to pick up his uniform, but Makoto was here earlier today and did not see it. What was it?

“Oh!” Makoto said, startling Rin. “I forgot! The new store across from us kept some of their stock here for a few days. Their stock room was being renovated to add a bathroom at the last minute.”

Rin looked out the large windows to look at the store. It looked very sleek, with fancy columns and doors with gold accents. He could barely see through the other store’s windows, but it looked like they were selling…

“Suits? Why is there a suit shop across from us?” He asked in confusion. “There’s like, five other shops in the area that would be better suited-”

Makoto snorted.

“Pun not intended!” Rin muttered. “I mean, you know, why here?”

“I’m not sure. All I know is that they needed a place as soon as possible, so they bought the vacant building.” Makoto shrugged. 

They both watched the other building, noticing the well-dressed people walking in and out of the shop. There was a constant flow of people, which made Rin and Makoto look around their empty store in silence.

“Okay, yeah, why do they have so much business? Aren’t suits expensive?” Rin said in irritation. Their store was one of the more popular places in the area, so why was an expensive suit shop doing better than theirs? Rin had to get to the bottom of this.

Rin smirked deviously, and idea beginning to form in his head.

Makoto looked at him with reproach. “Rin…”

“You said they have a bathroom, right?”

“…yes. Why?” Makoto asked hesitantly. He did not know if he really wanted to know the answer or not.

Rin chuckled and stepped around Makoto and the register. “I think I need to use the restroom for a few minutes. I’ll be back!”

“Rin, please don’t cause any trouble. I’ve met a few of the employees there, and they’re really nice.”

“Makoto, I just want to see what all the fuss is about! I’ve never seen a suit that’s lower than $200. There’s no way they should have such good business. Especially since we’re having a sale!” Rin yelled, pointing at the 50% off sign near the entrance.

Makoto sighed, “Okay. But really, don’t do anything bad, ok? Just ask one of the employees for Yamazaki or Nanase. They’ll know who you are and will take you to the bathroom.”

Rin nodded and walked out the store. Honestly, he could not believe that Makoto actually thought he needed to use the bathroom. He thought he made that idea obvious. But it’s whatever. 

Once he reached the store, he looked at the sign at the top. “Suits? That’s the name? Kinda lame.” He muttered, before pushing open the tinted doors. 

There were a lot of people. A lot. Rin suddenly felt extremely underdressed, after all, he was wearing a red shirt with their store’s stupid logo on it (a weird looking bird) and a wrinkled pair of khakis. He was wearing his nice sneakers, though, so he didn’t look like a total mess.

Hurriedly, Rin combed his fingers through his tangled hair and brushed off his shirt. He needed to look semi-presentable in front of these snooty employees. After taking a deep breath, Rin began to walk around the store, looking around for anyone that looked like an employee. Would they be wearing suits? Or maybe just a shirt and a tie? He didn’t know. Makoto should have specified.

He felt like a fish out of water in this building, and every other minute he was in there, he swore that he was being brainwashed. He could hear women gushing about what suit their loved ones should wear, along with whether or not teal was a fall color. Personally, he thought that teal worked in any season.

Suddenly, Rin felt himself run into something hard and smooth. In his mind, he was praying to any god out there that he ran into a mannequin. Please… please be a mannequin.

Slowly, he stepped back a bit and looked up into the face of a disgruntled man in a suit. Well, fuck. This was bad.

Rin coughed and smiled sheepishly, “Hey, uh, sorry about that. I’m just looking for, um, Yamazaki or Nanase. My coworker told me to ask about the bathroom…?”

The man looked at him with an exasperated expression, before holding out his hand. “I’m Yamazaki. Sousuke Yamazaki. I work here.”

Rin carefully shook Yamazaki’s- No, Sousuke’s- hand. It was warm. He felt his face and neck getting warm, so he quickly pulled his hand back.

“Cool. So, where’s the bathroom in this place?” Rin asked. He knew that at this point, his mind had completely overstayed its welcome in this fancy place. He actually needed to use the bathroom now, so getting out of here as soon as possible was of the upmost importance.

Sousuke nodded and turned around, “Follow me.”

Dutifully, Rin began to follow Sousuke through the store. He began to notice more things than before, such as the employees apparently wore shirts and tie, but Sousuke rolled the sleeves of his shirt up. His arms were pretty ripped, which is high praise coming from Rin. Second, the slacks that the employees wore were either a size too small or purposefully made to be snug, because he didn’t think that slacks were supposed to hug the body like that. It looked good, though. It’s not like Rin was complaining or anything. 

Sousuke suddenly stopped in his tracks, almost causing Rin to ram into his back. He turned around and raised an eyebrow at Rin.

“I forgot to ask. What store do you work at?”

Rin pointed in the general direction of his workplace with his thumb, “The nerdy place across the street. We’re having a 50% off sale on everything, except for candy and posters. Tell your customers so we can get some business today, yeah? It’s so busy in here.”

Sousuke studied Rin’s expression (For a moment too long, Rin felt a bit hot under the collar. Those teal eyes were too much.), then sighed. “We’re having a clearance sale. We have a new shipment in, and we’re trying to get rid of last season’s inventory so we can put in the new stock.”

Rin nodded in understanding. After overhearing all of those conversations earlier, it seemed like he understood everything about fashion. It was enlightening. 

“So. The bathroom.”

Rin looked at him carefully. “Yeah? What about it?”

Sousuke glanced around the store. “I don’t know where it is.”

“What.” Rin looked at him in disbelief. “You’re joking.”

He wasn’t joking. Sousuke, embarrassed, spoke into a headpiece that Rin had neglected to notice.

“Nanase… can you come over to where I am?” He asked quietly. A moment passed, before he continued, “No. We’re near the socks.”

Another moment. “Yes, we. I’m guiding someone to the bathrooms. I…” He sighed, “I got lost.”

Sousuke straightened up and nodded to himself. “Okay. Thanks.”

When Sousuke looked back up from the ground, he was met with angry red eyes. Rin was smoldering. “When were you going to tell me that you didn’t know where the bathroom was? You just let me follow you around willy-nilly!”

Sousuke snorted, “Willy-nilly?”

Rin huffed, “You know what I mean! And now another guy is going to come here and guide both of us! How long have you been working here?”

Sousuke thought for a second. “Two weeks.” 

“And you have no idea where the fucking bathroom is?” Rin asked. He groaned, this was horrible. Just when he actually had to go to the bathroom, and the guy he was checking out actually didn’t know where the bathroom was? Honesty?

“Sousuke.” A bored voice called out. Rin and Sousuke turned to look at the person wandering towards them, both of them looking downcast. The blue-eyed man looked at Rin.

“Do you work with Makoto?”

Rin looked taken aback, before nodded slowly. “Uh, yeah. Why?”

The guy, who Rin supposed was Nanase, broke out of his apathetic façade and smiled a little bit. “Just wondering.”

Sousuke sighed, “He has a crush on him.”

Nanase glared at Sousuke, “Shut up. You led this guy around the store for no reason. You just wanted to hang out with him.”

That wiped the teasing smile off Sousuke’s face and brought a blush to Rin’s.

Hastily, Rin wiped the palm of hand on his pants and held it out to Nanase. He needed to change where this conversation was going. “Nice to meet you too, I’m Rin Matsouka.”

“I’m Haruka Nanase. Call me Haru.” He said, quickly shaking Rin’s hand. He sharply turned around and began walking off.

Sousuke huffed, still weary after Haru’s last statement, “Oi, Nanase, the bathroom?”

Haru swiveled and held out his arm. “Where do you think I’m going?”

Rin and Sousuke both felt annoyed, but followed Haru anyway. Rin really had to deal with his business, and Sousuke needed to learn where the bathroom was. For future reference.

They walked pass the same place Rin had originally been standing, before he bumped into his tour guide. He almost froze in place when he realized that he literally walked by the bathroom when he first walked into the store. Rin slowly looked up at Sousuke, who was beginning to turn red with shame.

“It was right here. The entire time.” Rin said quietly, staring at the door with awe.

Haru nodded, before bending down behind the counter. He moved a few things around and stood up, holding on to a blue container. As he began to walk away, Sousuke coughed.

“Where are you going, Nanase?”

Haru held up his container. “Lunch break. I need a microwave.”

Rin watched as Haru left the suit store and walked directly into the store that he worked at. He was impressed with Haru’s bluntness, but still? Did that guy have a one-track mind?

“Yeah, he does.” Sousuke said, making Rin jump. Was he speaking aloud?

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Nanase is persistent. Doesn’t like to talk about things like that, though.” Sousuke shrugged, and small, handsome grin on his face.

Rin shook his head and combed his fingers through his hair. This was the weirdest thing that has ever happened to him. One moment he was being taught how to co-manage a store, next he was standing next to one of the densest guys he has ever met near a bathroom. Sousuke gave Makoto a run for his money. But… the way Sousuke was acting was endearing, oddly enough. Rin didn’t find himself totally hating it. In fact, it made Sousuke slightly more attractive.

He nodded. Yeah, he would shoot his shot. Why not?

“Hey, Sousuke.” Rin said, calling attention to himself.

Sousuke had been leaning against the counter, and unbeknownst to Rin, had been checking him out for the past two minutes. When Rin had called him, he felt his face heat up.

“Yeah?” He muttered, feeling a little guilty. He couldn’t help but watch one of the most handsome men he has ever seen, you know?

Rin smiled and leaned forward, showing off his pearly whites. “Do you like coffee?”

Sousuke blinked in surprise. “I guess I do.“

Rin hummed and scooted a little closer to Sousuke, making the latter feel on edge. What was with this sudden change of behavior? Coffee? Getting in his personal space? Was… Rin flirting with him?

Today was the luckiest day of his life.

“Would you maybe want to get some later today? When do you get out of work?” Rin asked, a small blush on his cheeks.

“Y-yeah, sure. I get out at 3.” Sousuke replied. Wow. Just, wow.

“Great! I get done then, too. I’ll come by then and we can walk to the coffee shop down the street. Sound good?” Rin said, beginning to walk backwards.

Sousuke nodded, slipping into a dreamy state of mind. He was just asked out! To get coffee! By someone he thinks he could get along with!

Rin winked, “Great! See you then!” And as quick as a flash, Rin was in the bathroom. In his excitement, Rin had completely forgotten about why he was originally in the store. 

Sousuke could see Rin coming back to the store pretty often.