#third-tier pens

[syncallio]

Back in the day the big names in the US were Parker, Sheaffer, and Waterman, but there were some great little makers too. Like this Venus lever-filler.

From what I can find, Venus brand pens and pencils were made by the American Pencil Company (later American Pen and Pencil) based out of Hoboken, NJ. They had a long history, but couldn't quite handle the postwar stationery scene and eventually got bought by Esterbrook.

The nib is very fine and dry, and a little flexy. I never know what to expect from Western fine nibs, but this one is a true fine point.

I love finding different celluloid patterns. There are so many! People went wild with plastic back in the day, and it's delightful.

[goldenstorm0]

Okay I am gonna talk about my first fountain pen, and my current grail pen that I'm always on the hunt but can never afford.

Both are the Parker 25

If you are new to vintage pens, you almost definitely heard of Parker, either the 51 or the duo fold. Both are excellent pens, I think. I have never used them before, but a lot of people love them. They are on my list of pens I want to get eventually, but they're kinda low. I'm looking for a different type of Parker.

When my grandparents were officially moved out of their house, my family started the long process of going through their stuff. We needed to sell the house so we could take care of them, and eventually pay for funerals. They were hoarders, and there was a lot to sort. A ton of bowling balls, a metric shit ton of yarn, even more trash. And hidden in all of this was a forgotten pen that I eventually found.

I think it was a gift from a bank that my grandma worked at for 20 years, and it was a shitty gift for that amount of work. The 25 was made to be a cheaper pen, made for young adults who may not of had enough money for one of the nicer models, but needed a reliable pen for work. I wouldn't be surprised if it was never used, but I had thrown away the box pretty much immediately and didn't care.

I've seen people describe this pen as robust or space-aged, but I always thought of it as more brutalist. Bare metal, black nib unit, steel nib. It's not a very inviting pen. The nib unit is hard to remove, or at least mine was, and you can't easily switch nibs. Not that you ever need to. It's a workhorse of a pen. Made to be used anywhere and everywhere. It was and still is Not my aesthetic. But I loved it.

It was my only fountain pen for years. I spent a lot of time first figuring out how to write with it, and then fiddling with it to make it write even better. I looked up tutorials on how to hold it, how to take care of it, figuring out how to fix a dry nib or a bent nib, how to take it apart, clean it, and put it back together. I found out the history behind the model, then the brand, and then I started looking into fountain pens in general. It started a new obsession, one that continues to this day.

And then I fucking broke it of course.

I had it in my pocket and it fell nib first. The nib itself was bent, but that was something I could fix. But unit itself snapped off from the threads that screwed the pen together. I couldn't fix that, and I'm pretty sure no one could fix that. I didn't bother looking though. I was 20, no job, living off of my parents and school grants while I went to community college. I couldn't afford to send it to anyone to fix it. If I couldn't do anything, then nothing would be done, because that cost money.

So I saved up and started looking around for a new part. Prices weren't great, something that's crazy annoying for what was originally intended to be a cheap ass pens. Eventually I found a set within my pittance of a budget, it even came with a roller ball (never touched). It was a complete pen, but I took it apart, pried the feed from nib unit, and put in the original still-bent nib in, and put it in the original scratched up body. They looked almost identical, but I wanted My Pen, not a new one.

It doesn't write the same. I don't think I have had a pen that wrote a beautifully as it original did, but that might be nostalgia talking. The nib is still bent. I got my first job soon after (yes I did spend grant money on a pen repair), and I started to buy more pens. Learned the basics of vintage pen repair, fixed up a few lever-fills, fucked up some vintage gold nibs when trying to practice grinding a tuning (never got really good at that). Instead of working on perfecting the one pen, I bought new ones that worked well enough.

But now I have a bit of a holy grail that I am looking for. Because, while the 25 is a cheap ass pen for broke college students, there is a particularly rare color. Same metal body, steel nib, but instead of black, it's bright orange. If the original black was outside my aesthetic, this is on the other side of the planet. I usually am not a fan of orange, and I super hate this specific shade. And I want it. Like, really really badly. I've seen several on sale, and currently don't see any on sale, and I am barred by my old nemesis, money.

And before I get that pen, I want to send my old 25 to a nibmeister. The nib is slightly bent and I don't think I can fix it, and it bothers me like nothing else. I need to do a bit of research first to make sure someone is willing to work on the nib, its pretty nonstandard.

credits:

moreengineering - They have a lot of info on the Parker 25 on their site, plus it's fun to just look around. Used for general information and this ridiculous photo

fuck you I want that how the FUCk

parkerpens - My go-to for everything Parker. You can fit so much info into this site. Used for general information

Pen Collect - They've got a really nice page for id-ing your parker 25. Mine is a mark II

Orange Parker 25 collage - YES I KNOW IT GOES TO A 404. There aren't a lot of good photos of the orange Parker. Its painfully rare

2nd orange Parker picture - Only other photo I could find that I liked. The has already sold and it just redirects you to lighters and pens. And if you try to search for it on their site, you just get wine. I am in... so much pain trying to find this goddamn pen. I hate it but I want it

[haztory]

october 17th ♡

– ceo!kuroo tetsurou x assistant!reader; timeskip au, slow burn, mutual pining

– summary: It’s October 17th. The day of which you can never get a semblance of peace. It’s the start of volleyball season.

part one

a/n: i saw the hq movie and remembered my roots. it's kuroo time. love that man. (w.c.: 6.4k)

It’s October 17th, your desk calendar tells you. 

Marked in a quick circle in bold red pen for emphasis. Not like you could forget it, what with the building buzz that seems to escalate with every hour and the excited greetings bubbling in the office. And certainly you couldn’t forget the date with your boss reminding you of it every single chance he could get.

It’s October 17th. The day of which you can never get a semblance of peace. It’s the start of volleyball season. There’s a tally sheet in your mind that holds eight marks— one for every time he’s mentioned the damn day— and it’s not even time for your second cup of coffee. 

The most wonderful time of the year, according to Kuroo. 

There’s a pep in his step as he juggles his briefcase and files between hands and skips towards his third meeting of the day. His phone is tucked between his ear and shoulder, swarmed in the air of chaos and yet, there’s a wide smile on his face. Toothy and eager, almost maniacal. An exhilarated man, the ringmaster of madness, preparing a show for thousands with only coffee and sheer enthusiasm running through his veins. 

The tiles beneath his feet practically turn golden as he passes by. 

He stops before your desk on his way out, phone dutifully tucked yet ignored as he meets your gaze with burning excitement. The chatter on the other end of the line is audible, and he really should be listening to it, but instead his focus is maintained on you. You raise a brow in question, fingers hovering over the keyboard to your computer and e-mail to the finance department woefully on hold as your boss stares at you. 

Tufts of his hair are pulled in various ways, the standard for a busy morning, and the sleeves of his white button down are rolled up to his elbows displaying the veins that no doubt pulse excitedly; But the most revealing part of him, the most captivating part in his day of havoc, are his eyes. 

Honey auburn that burns alight in sheer joy— the kind of happiness that he wants you to revel in, hopes to convey in the intensity of his gaze. Sticky honey brown that coats the inside of your stomach and fills you with warmth. A gleam that can make flowers bloom with just his simple gaze.  

Slowly, he points his finger towards your calendar that’s displayed clearly for the regular passerby. Fingertip presses the red circle on the paper, emphasizing the words scribbled inside of it detailing the events of the day. 

1st Day of Volleyball Season!

His smile splits his face into two. You add another tally to the sheet.  

Indulging him with a grin would be encouraging juvenile behavior, so it takes everything in you to bite back the tugging of your lips and instead roll your eyes. It doesn’t deter him. He all but clicks his heels together as he prances out the door, throwing his fist holding his briefcase in the air with a silent cheer, and answering whatever question was posed to him on the other end of his line.

It’s October 17th, Kuroo’s favorite day of the year. 

Yours, too. 

Although, you would never tell him that.

-

The starting game of MSBY vs. Tachibana Red Falcons is a match predicted to be vicious and brutal. Considering Japan’s top players had more than proved themselves to be powerhouses during the Nations League Tournament over the summer, the star power and media attention given to the players has given the entrance game to the season an anticipation that could not be tamed— not that anyone in the marketing department would want it to be. 

The players this year have been nothing short of top tier athleticism— a detail that so graciously fell into the JVA’s hands and became their capitalized advertisement. 

An unmatched season! A trial of power and speed! Japan’s best players go head-to-head in the best playoffs Japan has ever seen!

Kuroo practically played the lottery every morning with luck like this. 

The Ariake Arena fills up like a lightning flood, waves of bodies decorated with black and red filling seats with heightened excitement. It vibrates throughout the stadium, transcends beyond the high beams and open space. It fills and suffocates until all that can be seen, heard, and felt is pure, unadulterated energy. It’s a straight shot of adrenaline to the heart. It’s the taste of a sweet memory. 

The sound of excitement from guests and vendors steadily rises and Kuroo buzzes in place. His shoes tap incessantly on the wooden floor, fingers flutter with anticipation as he adjusts, then readjusts, the now wrinkled tie across his neck. His cheeks ache from the endless smile that pushes on them. 

Carefully moved chess pieces, endless phone calls, and retina-burning contracts with sponsors have finally gotten him here: To the sweet smell of cool conditioned air and freshly waxed floors, to the sounds of chants and joy, to the sight of his successfully pitched logo printed beneath Miya Atsumu’s smug face on the large banner tacked on the left side of the arena. The veneration on his face is one that finds itself familiar to veterans. Standing on the shining hardwood of the court, his hands finally find rest on his hips, his gaze stilling at the sight of his months-long work. 

Pride doesn’t really do much justice to the feelings inside of him— but damn if it isn’t a close enough guess. His hard work finally actualized, but it’s only just really beginning. This is where his fun begins, the shining light, the gentle reminder of how much he loves his job.

October 17th, the best day of the year.

“We need to see the players before warm-ups begin.” Kuroo says after a moment, not even needing to spare a glance backwards to see if you’ve heard him. Such is the consequence of having a good assistant, one that, even with all the eye rolls and dragging sighs, is always a step ahead of him.

“Coach Foster said that he could spare us ten minutes before he gives his locker room speech. Coach Sato said the same.” You tell your boss, stepping beside him as his eyes follow the movements of staff members dragging carts of volleyballs to their respective places. An approving look settles on his face, a delightful perusal.

There's a tablet held in your arms as you notate on a timetable, presumably a schedule with detailed notes that Kuroo has to be on in order for the evening to go well. Probably one you've put a lot of time and effort into. Knowing you, it’s probably color coded. A schedule that he would do well by both you and the company in abiding by.

He shoves his hand between the tablet and your fixed stare, wiggling his fingers obnoxiously in front of the work that holds your dutiful attention. "Stop paying attention to that and look around you. Smell the air! What is it you smell?"

The excitement held so passionately in his eyes bore into your unimpressed ones. "Stale popcorn and lemon cleaner, Kuroo-san."

"So negative, I think the long work days are finally getting to you."

"And whose fault is that?"

"Not mine. You love me too much to quit." He grins. He gestures his hand outward, panning it across the stadium to the sight of guests filling the seats. "It's the smell of anticipation! The promise of a worthwhile game! How can you not be excited?”

A ping resounds on your tablet that draws your gaze back down to the schedule. It’s a message from the volunteer coordinator. You write a note in the margin—volunteers in break room at 8:45, give thanks and gifts at 9.

"It’s hard to be excited when you keep yapping in my ear about what day it is." You mutter distractedly.

"You're telling me," Suddenly his fingers are poking into the skin of your cheeks, lifting the skin upward in a manufactured smile, "You look frightening." 

You swat his hands away, your own palms connecting with his in a vicious slap. "If we don't get started now you're going to be late in meeting the President of the JVA at his box seats." 

Kuroo waves his hand nonchalantly. "Ah, he'll wait for me. I am the reason we’ve got a turnout like this. It's the least he could do."

You roll your eyes, formality lost as you address your boss. "It's about the principle of it, Tetsu. He'll be upset."

"Have you forgotten what day it is? How can anyone be upset on this day?"

You stare at him in violent silence clearly exposing the extent of your disdain for him at this moment. It’s a futile endeavor. Your stare only fuels the fire of his need for provocation tenfold. His smile widens, teeth bearing a shit-eating grin. With little remorse, you tell him, "You're very annoying when you're happy."

His head tilts backward in a laugh, lean and tall figure elongating with the motion as he, genuinely, finds himself amused. “And you're even meaner than usual when I am. C’mon, let’s pay the Jackals a visit.” Accompanying the turn of his body, he taps the tip of your nose with his slender finger and begins a trek towards the main entrance leading to the corridors of the arena.

“No.” Your quick retort is the popping of a balloon. He deflates, hands thrown upward in exasperation as he turns around to face you once more. You swear he stomps his feet. 

"God, what now?"

“Favoritism.”

He balks with a furrow on his brow, “Pardon?”

“Favoritism. It’s obvious to everyone in this building who you’re rooting for, so we need to minimize those details before someone catches wind and decides to tell the press that the games are rigged.”

“Now, that is an outrageous idea. No respectable reporter would use my words against me.” Kuroo smiles, annoyingly, confidently. To which your stare only digs further into him, the infamous memory of last year’s season playing quite clearly across your face in which his sarcastic comment about players salaries made headlines and resulted in a week of endless phone calls to your office.

“JVA DIRECTOR STATES DIV. ONE PLAYERS WILL NOT RECEIVE SPONSORSHIP BONUSES AFTER ASTOUNDING SEASON AS ‘WE DON’T PAY FOR MEDIOCRITY AND THESE PLAYERS SUCK, OBVIOUSLY’.”

It’s the conveyance of death in your eyes alone that really gets him going. Truly, there’s no one more impressive than you. 

“I said, respectable.” Kuroo emphasizes, hardly batting an eye as you walk past him. 

“C’mon. Coach Sato is waiting with the Falcons.”

“The favoritism allegation is ridiculous. Ask around the office, no one is able to tell that you’re my least favorite of them all.” He follows you into the hallway without prompting like the well-trained dog you’ve made him to be, “That’s how good I am.”

You turn back to look at him, “Oh, sure. So the names Bokuto and Hinata don’t mean anything to you?”

Biting back a smirk, he says, “I have no idea who you’re referring to.”

—

In the aftermath of a worthwhile game and an impressive start to the season, the stadium quickly finds itself abandoned. Scores of people taking to the street to celebrate their win or drink their sorrows away, their raucous din and lived delight exiting with them, leaving only a barren arena—save for the remaining staff who dutifully tidy the empty aisles and clean the floors. Yet, even with their humble presence, it’s quiet. Only the light echoing of shoes and brooms on the floor, the rolling of carts, the sounds of vacuums filling the space and providing life. 

And standing on the second floor of the arena, leaning his body against the railing overlooking the court, Kuroo finally gets a second to just look.

There are very few times in which Kuroo is quiet. Or rather, there are very few times where he gets the chance to be. 

It’s hard to walk the line between professional and man, not that he does a good job at it on a regular day. It's an all-consuming persona and his job demands the full devotion of mind, body, and spirit despite the relative nonurgency that comes with being a Marketing Director. And while he’s never been known for his outstanding polish as a young professional— particularly within the confines of his office— Kuroo has never not been one to commit. What is demanded of him is what he gives, and more. 

These days he’s finding it almost impossible to switch the hat of boss for the one of man. The lines between the two become even more blurred with each passing day that he spends another sleepless night in the office, attends another soul sucking meeting that could have truly just been an email, brown noses at people with titles and credentials that he cannot bear to remember for the sake of money. 

Humanity slowly depletes when met with the four walls of an office that never changes shades.  Moments like this are brief allowances. The empty stadium is conducive to the quick slip into a memory, the removal of the permanent hat for the other one. 

The game played not even an hour ago is replaced with that of what he remembers.  The once erratic beat of his heart before the blown whistle, the feel of burning muscles in his calves, and the sting of the ball on his skin; He can almost taste the salt of the disappointment of a lost match, and the sweetness of the joy the game gave him. If he tries, Kuroo can recall the last time that he was on a court just like the one before him and remember just how wonderful it once was.

The sweet memory of it all. A sliver of happiness that he keeps stowed away in the back of his mind, meant only to be pulled out in times of emergency. When life gets too loud and work becomes exactly what it is—work. It’s the needed reprieve, the gentle vice. But much like everything else these days, it lasts for only a lingering moment before it fades into the nothingness of everything else. 

There isn’t one particular thought that he can train on. He couldn’t even tell anyone what exactly it is that he thinks about, for it all blends together into the great variation of everything. A hectic whirlwind of things that fall over one another as they fight to take his attention. 

The game schedule for tomorrow, the invoices he needs to have approved, the mountain of unread emails relating to a media sponsorship that needs to be finalized by the end of the month, the leadership training that he needs to attend next week. Seeing Bokuto and Hinata before the game was a slip of the hat into the relative calm of youth that he remembers so fondly, he should probably try and hang out with them more. His social life is already pitiful. There’s also the fact that he has to go grocery shopping since he just ran out of instant noodles, unless he wants to have takeout again—but he’s already racked up quite the bill this month in takeout alone and he hasn’t been able to go to the gym enough to counteract those great decisions. He needs to return his sister’s phone call, something he keeps prolonging, not because he doesn’t care to know the details about his nephew’s birthday party next Sunday but rather because that will inevitably lead to the discussion about their father’s well-being and truthfully, that’s not a can of worms he’s willing to open just yet. And also—

“Hey.”

Kuroo’s head snaps towards the intrusion, towards the voice that cuts through the storm of flying thoughts and stills them in their rampage. 

You stand behind him, your blazer thrown over your purse and the sleeves of your dress shirt rolled up to your elbows. Your hair is no longer the neat style you had at the beginning of the event, but instead the reflection of a long work day. Your own work hat stowed somewhere deep in your purse, in favor of someone he’s rather fond of. 

“Hey.” He returns, surprised but pleased. He had figured at the end of the game you would have made haste with the exiting crowd. Your duties done for the day, the schedule you made him stick to like glue finished and completed. Any other person would have run for the doors and be home by now. 

But, here you are. Standing with a content smile on your face and a softening in your eyes as you meet his gaze. (Truthfully, he should know better. You’ve never been one to just leave without telling him, whether directly or through email, for home or for a date. Hell, you all but yell your plans in his face just to reduce the risk of confusion. But he assumes, still, that you’re smarter than him. That you know when to call it quits on a work day and head home. 

He conveniently forgets that, above all, you’re good at your job. You never listen, too stubborn and insistent on doing your duties even when he tells you to go home early; to not worry about the final details on a draft or a missed message; tells you that he can handle it. That’s never been you, because aside from being fantastic at being his assistant, you’ve been committed to your craft no matter what it is. You care too much about your job and the things it affects. 

Because that’s who you are. It’s who you’ve always been. It’s what he knows to be true and violent about you, and it's what he’s been able to see blossom since working with you. So, of course you’re here. Waiting for him, because that’s what you do. Commit to being there for him, through and through. 

Because you’re his assistant, of course. 

Just his assistant. That’s all.)

He stands straighter, manners not entirely drilled out of his subconscious, even if he was distracted. A beat passes, he looking at you and you looking at him, before he, finally, extends a hand— inviting you to join him. You do, settling next to him on the rail, and gazing over the object of his fixation. 

It’s a content silence. The inhale of the aftermath, the exhale of the preparation. One you both know the extent of, have shared too many late nights for. There’s great relief in being able to revel in the fruits of one’s labor, but there’s something all the more satisfying in knowing someone else was basking in that reward too. In not being entirely alone, despite the job often making him feel.

This is your moment just as much as it is his, something he’s never been more convinced of. 

Much of the success belonging to him would be nothing if not for your firm foundation, the depth of your support for not only him, but the game. The wondrous, joyous game. 

 It’s only a moment or two of the stillness between you two before you gently disturb it. 

“Today went well.” You tell him. 

He gives an affirmative hum, a small smile befalling on his face. Folding his arms across his chest, he tilts his head from side to side in consideration. “You don’t think the banner was too big?”

“It’s no bigger than it usually is.” You shrug and he hums again. 

Another beat, then he says, “Did you notice the photo?”

“On the banner?” You ask. 

“Yeah.”

“I did.”

“Good.” He says, resolutely, looking over the arena once more as two staff members begin folding up the commentators chairs on the sidelines of the court, “You chose it.”

“I know.” You say. He smiles again, a happy and content one; and you would tease him about it— (about the fact that he’s smiling as though this were a great victory fought between the marketing department and the photography studio, one that he emerged victorious in fighting tooth and nail for your input instead of the reality of the situation. 

It was a cloudlink sent to his email on a Tuesday afternoon, filled with prints of various D1 players that he was asked to provide input on. A task that he, then, delegated to you by calling you into his office on your lunch break and having you play eenie-meenie-miny-moe with him. With a sandwich held firmly in your hand and Kuroo pecking at his snack bag of trail mix, you point to the smug face of Miya Atsumu.

“It’s because of the smile, right?” He had asked, his eyes squinting and head tilted to the side as though that would give him better understanding of the man’s face. “He’s a great player. He just has the look of a winner.”

“I don’t know. I just think he’s hot.” You tell him simply.

Kuroo chokes on a peanut. You laugh. He sends your choice over to the graphic design team.)

—but you let him have the small win. Four years of working together has taught you which of the battles to fight, and truthfully, there aren’t that many that you don’t give to him. Admitting sucha  thing, however, would be a violation of everything you hold dear to your job so you obviously omit that. 

Kuroo speaks once more, his voice soft as he continues to regard the court. “You did a good job today.”

There’s no tease in him, no wry smile or setup for a joke that you’re clearly walking into. For all intents and purposes, Kuroo Testurou stands before you as a man with more than his guard down. He stands honestly, made soft and tender by the trials of a hard work day and the victory of his labor. 

The kind of man you know him to be, that you hold such deep admiration for. 

“Thank you, Tetsu.” For fear of disrupting the quiet that surrounds the arena or fear of shattering the genuineness of the moment, you respond in kind. Equally gentle when you tell him earnestly, honestly, “So did you, but that’s not new.”

You feel it before you can even see or hear it. The turning of the tide, the impending slant of his smile; The red alert alarm that you have built into your head for Tetsurou’s moments of snarkiness blaring loudly. 

The taunt is on its way and you begin a rebuttal before he even opens his mouth. Kuroo’s face contorts into an exaggerated look of disbelief.

“We were having—”

“I cannot believe it—” 

“—a nice moment!”

“—Is that a compliment I hear?”

Rolling your eyes, you turn your head away from him. “If you’re going to act like that—”

“No, no! Can’t take it back. You said it already.” 

“Nope. I formally recant my statement—”

“Ooh, big word—”

“—I forswear what I said—”

“—Forswear?! How do you even know what that means?”

“—You did an adequate job. Actually, you did exactly what was expected of you. Nothing more.”

“C’mon, give me some credit. You weren’t expecting me to land that invite for that GQ party next month. And how did I do that? Remind me one more time?” Kuroo leans his head towards you, tapping his ear repeatedly. 

“By doing your job.” You insist and he throws his head to the side in hurt.

“By being the best at my job.”

“They invited you because you were badgering them in the box seats. What did you bribe them with?”

He levels a steady smirk at you, “Sounds like someone doesn’t want to go.”

You gasp, eyes narrowing, “You wouldn’t.”

“Admit it, then.” He grins.

“Admit what! That I kept you on schedule for the day so that you could actually do your job and get us the invites? Then I will admit that I did my job excellently.” You poke your finger into his chest repeatedly and he laughs.

He agrees with a small nod of his head, smiling widely, knowingly. “You did.” 

“I did.” You affirm. “And with enough time to factor in potty breaks. Plural.”

Kuroo laughs again, incredulously, “Potty. Who even says that anymore?”

“Me. Your lovely, amazing assistant that you are definitely taking to the GQ party.”

Kuroo’s gaze fixes on yours, held firmly as the grin lingering so resolutely on his face reaches up to his eyes. The conversation peters out into another gentle silence, ambers meeting yours in a steady embrace, and voicing what remains to be said. Held tightly by the reciprocity of your own gaze.

It happens, then. The quiet kindling that has become so familiar between he and you. The settling of a warmth between the space that has been occurring more frequently; Found only in times like this. When laughter dissipates and ease takes over. When it becomes glaringly obvious that you enjoy your boss’s company a little more than you probably should, and that he doesn’t necessarily mind you all that much. There isn’t much to say about it even though your tongue feels heavy in your mouth and fiction dictates that this is the moment where someone should say something.

But what is there to say at this moment to the man who signs your paychecks? Who eggs you on in ways that no one would even bother to do? What could you express other than profound admiration and deep annoyances over his character? What could you tell him that he doesn’t already know? 

(Maybe the truth that is buried deep within you. One that you haven’t admitted to yourself because honestly, you aren’t even sure you believe it yourself.

There’s bound to be affections shared between two people who work in such close proximity as you two. Regard, appreciation, fondness— but not that. No, it couldn’t be that. That would be ridiculous.

Because he’s your boss, of course. 

Just your boss. That’s all.) 

“You should go home,” Tetsurou is the first to break the stare. Fortunately, too, lest you become too absorbed in your thoughts and do something stupid like risking getting lost in the eyes of amber. He turns his attention to his hands on the railing, his thumb tapping repeatedly on the metal. “Get some rest. You deserve it, keeping me in line and all.”

He bumps his shoulder into yours. 

“Are you heading home soon?” You ask.

He shrugs, before looking to the court once more. “In a minute.  I’m going to stay for a little longer. Not ready to go home yet.”

You hum, “Then I’ll stay with you.”

There’s a beat of silence, one that, when you glance towards him you expect to see filled with amusement. Maybe a tease on his tongue once more about how hard you work, about how miserable you’ll be in the morning for staying up past your bedtime. Instead, you see only the calm stillness of his face, eyes fixed resolutely on the empty court before him. 

He leans forward onto the railing, bracing his elbows against its fixture, watching the scene below him as though it were the most interesting thing in the world. Four janitors taking a break from their waxing of the floor to play a quick, and sloppy, game of volleyball. Soft laughter echoes throughout the room, broken apart by low mutterings of commentary on their plays that sends the four older men into even further laughter. 

Then, “Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if I went pro.”

To learn of other people in the course of a years-long friendship is natural, rightfully expected— and while there is much of Kuroo that you do know and can recite off the top of your head, the willful admittance of intimate details, especially in quiet times like this, is always surprising. Especially when coupled with the contemplative silence that follows his words, the genuine wonder, the longing written on his face as the rose thoughts of a first love bloom in the cracks of a fallen smile. 

In the softening of his eyes and the deep sigh that he releases, you realize that there’s a Kuroo Tetsurou that you don’t know. 

Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, you reach out to find him. You ask, softly. “Why did you stop playing?”

His eyes remain trained on the court, as though the answer were laid upon the hardwood floors. “It was time. I loved the game but, I don’t know. Just didn’t make sense for me to keep it going. There were other things I needed to do, and playing professionally would have taken up too much time.” 

You can almost see it, then. A younger Tetsurou, even more chaotic and rowdy than you know him to be, with hopes and dreams that exist somewhere in the great web of could have been’s, cast to the side because of the “other things”. You don’t pry, not when he’s already being so forthcoming as it is, but you make a note. Store it away in the folder lodged deep in your mind dedicated to the man.

“Would you be happier if you did?” You ask, albeit hesitantly. Not entirely sure what you would do with the answer.

He rolls his broad shoulders gently, like a tide rolling in under itself, swayed under its own pressure and maybe that should mean something. “Well, it’s not like I’m unhappy. I’ve got a good life, good job, good people. I’ve got it all.” 

He spares a quick glance to you. So quick you wouldn’t have caught it had he not already been the centerpoint of your fixed stare, but truthfully, when is he not? When is he not the center of your gaze, your life, your world? Everything in your routine seems to start and end with Kuroo Tetsurou.

“But I can’t deny how much I miss the game.”

—you don’t mind all that much. Especially not when he’s like this. Open, sensitive, and wanting to talk. When he actually takes the time to chew his thoughts out and speak them into existence rather than continue his sordid and pointed teases.

You lean forward onto the railing. “Do you think you would have made it far?” 

He adjusts his figure next to yours. His crooked elbow touches yours, but he makes no move to remove it. “Well… I hate to brag, but…” 

You scoff. “You do.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Hard to say.” He shrugs his shoulders wryly. “In another life, I’m still playing.” 

It sounds sadder than he intends it to be, but it’s the truth. And you get it; have your own could-have’s stored deep in the recesses of your mind, your own forgotten dreams about who you wanted to be that haunt and plague in the twilight of hard nights where sleep is elusive and quarter-life crises spring forth in the darkness—but it’s not all bad.

“Well, in this other life, if you’re playing and I just so happened to know you,” You tell him, “I would be your biggest fan.”

He huffs at that. Looking at you with a tilt of his head and a handsome smile on his face. “Oh yeah? And if you didn’t?”

“I’d be Miya Atsumu’s biggest fan.” You say simply.

“You already are.”

“Yeah, but I know you have jealousy issues so I just don’t say anything about it.”

Tetsurou nods his head. Amused. “Well I’m glad to know you, then.”

It happens here, again. 

The quiet kindling, the lingering warmth. With hopes and dreams laid out before you, and the brief allowance into the depths of his intimate details he holds tightly under the weight of himself, do you find the familiarity of the man again. The one you know, the one who laughed so hard at your banana costume that milk came out of his nose. The one who canceled all of his meetings for the day when you broke your pinky finger in the office and who stayed with you in the hospital until a cast was put on. 

The one who smiles at you so gently, as if you are someone important. The one you can’t help but smile right back at. Kuroo Tetsurou, your boss, a friend.

Movement in the corner of your eye draws your attention to the court. The janitors that were once playing amongst each other slowly begin to stray from the court, picking up their brooms and exiting towards the sidelines. Looking at Tetsurou, you find that he’s still looking at you.

“They’re not closing the stadium for another hour. And it looks like the janitors have had their fun.” You say, “Wanna play a quick game?”

His brows raise to his hairline, “You know how to play?”

“We had to choose a sport to play for gym class back in high school and it was either tennis or volleyball. So I guess you can say I know a thing or two.”

“Ah, a professional.”

“Mhm. I’m here to give you a run for your money.”

Tetsurou pushes himself off the railing, standing to his full height as he accepts the offer. Towering over you at his 6’5 height, he begins rolling up the sleeves of his dress shirt, cuffing the white material until it reaches the crook of his elbow. A quick glance to the revealed skin is only a firm reminder of what you had pointedly forgotten. Long slender fingers attached to a thick and veiny forearm, sculpted through years of volleyball practice and continued exercise.

If he wanted to, he definitely could have made it professionally. You almost choke on your spit.

“Oh, I’m counting on it.” Tetsurou gives you a smile that rivals the smugness of Miya Atsumu in that stupid banner and you know for a fact that in that other life, you would’ve been Kuroo Tetsurou’s biggest fan whether you knew him or not— and not because he was a good player. 

—

“You need to lock your elbows.”

“They’re locked!”

“No they’re not. Look at this,” Tetsurou steps underneath the net, approaching you in long strides before tapping his fingers against the elbows of your interlocked hands. He watches with little impression as your arms swing easily with his force, “Noodles. How are you supposed to receive with this?”

“I’m trying but it’s not comfortable!”

“So you’d rather suck?”

“Kinky.” You say with a waggle of your brows and he rolls his eyes.

“Stop it. Here, you need to—” Without a second thought, he steps behind you, wrapping his arms around your torso and fixing your hands. wrapping your right hand over your left and running the length of his warm touch down your forearms. Innocuous and gentle, but stiffening as you breathe in the musky scent of his cologne and the faded scent of his aftershave, and feel the hard planes of his chest press against your back. 

“Straighten your elbows,” He mutters, voice heavy beside your ear.  “And keep them locked. Helps you to have a steady receive for any kind of ball. If your form is perfect then you can always pass the ball using this part, here.” His right index finger touches the surface of your forearm, running between the length of your elbow and wrist to accentuate his point. 

It isn’t a matter of fireworks when he touches you, the exploding kind that has butterflies and goosebumps erupting over the expanse of your skin. It isn’t as though your eyes have suddenly been peeled open and the realization has struck you hard across the face like every romance story that preaches about the magic of the first touch, the electricity of meeting hands across the table, the sudden realization of knowing.

No, this is entirely different. A comforting touch, not uncommon, but intimate and while it doesn’t have you reeling in revolutionary realization, nor does it have you fanning yourself from the flames of sudden desire, his touch does, eerily, have you sinking in further. There’s no fluttering and flustering with the confusion of flooding feelings, but rather, it has you looking at his hands with a slight furrow. 

Wondering, when his hands suddenly got so soft, yet so firm. Wondering, in what part of the intertwining of his life with yours did his touch suddenly not only become okay, but felt as though it belonged? 

Were this any other man, you would have a harassment claim sent to HR before he could even get near you. But it’s Tetsurou; And when his slender fingers wrap gently around your wrist, turning them upward slightly, you don’t go rigid in his embrace, but instead fall into it. Settle into his grasp, entrust yourself in his hands. 

Because how could you not?

“Like this?” You ask, quietly. No need to exert volume considering he’s right next to you. In search of approval in how you’ve adjusted your hands, you turn your head to the side to look at him, only to realize how close he is to you. Eyes able to see the steady pulse of the clench in his jaw as he focuses on your form, the sharp angle of his jaw, the closely shaven hairs of his stubble.

“Yeah, just like that. Good.” He answers, before removing his hands and bracing them against your shoulders, straightening your posture for the receives that you are no longer focused on getting.

If Kuroo Tetsurou turned his head to you, there would be nothing stopping his nose from bumping into yours. You must be silent, too caught up in the overwhelming nature of it all because he’s suddenly stiffening from his position over you. Then, at a speed you’ve never seen him move before, he’s rescinding his body entirely from you. And it should sting. The speed at which your boss acted as though you physically burned him, his body essentially repulsed from touching you. 

He’s putting great space between you two as he ducks back under the net to his side of the court, yelling over his shoulder, “T-that should fix it. Try, uh, try now. Try serving.”

“I thought I was receiving?” You ask his retreating figure and he stills, considering for a moment, before waving his hand in the air— obviously embarrassed and confused at the fact that he’s just jeopardized everything and made his assistant uncomfortable. 

“Whatever, just give it back to me.” He says, frustratedly.

And you allow yourself, just for a brief moment, to store another could-have in the sanctity of your fantasies. One where he isn’t your boss, and you aren’t his assistant, and you are able to admit to the true and honest parts of yourself—

“Nice return! See? Better already.”

—you rather liked the way he touched you.  

a/n: HEEEEELP i love him your honor. sorry for always ghosting. i wish i could say i wont, but i know i will. lol

[aroaceleovaldez]

I need to see more demigods who bite. Like jason totally feels the need to bite stuff, and leo half-jokingly suggests getting him a chew toy (like a dog). Nico absolutely bites to show affection, (maybe not willy nilly like jason but still) like just randomly biting people he's close with shoulders or hands because he just loves them so much (jason both bite to express affection and stim)

Anyways petition to normalize neurodivergent people who bite as a form of expressing affection or stimming.

oh absolutely. I actually have a tier list of "which of the Argo II crew & co are most likely to bite:"

Jason gnaws on people to show affection. He is extremely "Everything I love belongs in my mouth and everything I hate belongs between my teeth." He mostly stopped doing it for awhile cause of the whole "being trained to be the Perfect Praetor™" and having to mask a lot more, but he picked it up again a bit when he and Reyna became friends cause she didn't care and then more with the Argo II crew. He definitely hoards chewlery. He also definitely bit Krios real bad when they were fighting, if not outright killed him with his teeth.

Nico is a younger sibling. He has no qualms against biting in fights, any fight, but he does associate biting with fights. Jason tries to friendly-bite him one time and Nico just takes it as declaration of war and they end up tussling for like five minutes. After he gets used to Jason though he picks it up a bit too, mostly just chewing on people's hands. Also I 100% hc that when he was in Tartarus he just went full teeth-and-claws mode to survive. Honestly he bites more in regular combat and even training than Jason does, mostly just cause he's not above fighting dirty. If it works, it works. Also I hc he has sharp canines and is small so he might as well.

Frank's third but only on technicality cause shapeshifting. When he's human he's pretty much equal level to everybody else which is "only bites as a last resort."

Everybody else is pretty on-par with each other but Percy is probably just sliiightly more likely to bite not for any particular reason, he just considers it a valid fight tactic in a pinch (unlike Nico, who just considers it a general fight tactic). Also he got the oral stim adhd vibes. He has a lot of chewlery. They're all sea-themed, of course. Thalia is also pretty equal to Percy in terms of "biting as a valid fighting tactic."

Annabeth is also like. She's less likely to bite than Percy but more likely to than the rest of the crew. It's just a valid battle tactic under certain scenarios to her (and that includes training). She does consider it a low-blow though. She's also definitely got the oral stim adhd too. Lots of chewlery, rip her pencils and pens, etc etc. Her and Percy probably have a shared chewlery collection.

Piper is not the bitey type but she does have little to no formal combat training so yknow, wet cat technique. I do also totally believe she'd also have a chewing stim though. Like yknow how I draw her with the little braid sidebangs? Yeah she definitely chews on those and that's part of why she wears her hair like that. The other reason is that braiding it is one of her other stims.

[cammiluna]

For maybe half a year, I wanted an Android tablet with a pen after hating the idea for almost a decade because Android's tablet ecosystem is garbage and it lacked good art software for a while.

Currently, there's a 2024 Galaxy S6 Lite refresh that's exclusive to Amazon at around $250, and I jumped on that to try out the Android artist space again.

Since I already have a tablet PC and an ipad to do my main art projects, I didn't need a high end android tablet. Just something I can take on my regular commutes for notes and doodles which the other two devices are too bulky for.

I can tell you though, that this is pretty slow. Takes a while to load anything, charges maybe half as fast as modern phones or tablets in the $500 range, and while Clip Studio ran fine for drawing, I've had slight lag using the Concepts App. I suspect you can't make print-resolution comics with this thing, but it draws, and i do all my media consumption on other devices anyway.

Another thing to note is that the pen (which is included, yay) looks exactly the same as the S-pens that come with the normal Galaxy S models (at least my S7 from a few years ago), but it's not as weighted because there's no bluetooth hardware inside. I'm drawing with it fine, though I do switch pens sometimes.

If anyone is interested, I can write a long info post one of these days about all the S-Pen alternatives I know of and tried. At first, I was gonna save up extra money to get the new XP-Pen android tablet, but I like the flexibility of Wacom-powered EMR pens where i can choose between things like comfortable grip or something that magnetically attaches to the device or something. It's also easier to get cute cases and screen protectors for samsungs since they've been around forever!

There's three versions of the S6 lite. The new one has a slight spec bump and runs Android 14, so it should last a few years (both the XP Pen and Huion Androids are permanently stuck on Android 12). I believe the 2020 version is still supported, upgradeable to Android 13 and the third version is the 2022 version. All three are exactly the same in size and features- they just have different processors and android versions out of the box.

Conclusion:

I won't call this a beginner's tablet. If you're a beginner artist who hates apple and wants a standalone drawing tablet, but you also happen to have $500-700 standing around, splurge in getting a better tablet. If you don't like it for drawing, it can still be used for media consumption.

I don't regret this purchase because it does what I need it to in the most basic sense, but I would only recommend it if your needs for an android drawing tablet are the same as mine (super casual art and being able to try out android versions of drawing apps), or you are on a super tight budget. I believe the Galaxy S9 FE and the XP-Pen Magic Drawing Pad are good mid-tier models while the normal Galaxy S9/Plus/Ultra are the high tier.

This is probably the cheapest EMR Android tablet that comes with a pen and oh boy does the pen write so smooth!

I wish i can retire from using an ipad for art, but I need to learn how to use Clip Studio first since I've become overly-dependent on Procreate.

ah well!

[kimbapisnotsushi]

i started writing this back in the last week of december going on into january bc we had so many karasuno bdays back then so uhhh TECHNICALLY this is a late bday post honoring like four people LMAO but let's go!!

during kageyama's first birthday at karasuno he gets a mysterious series of texts from an unknown number that goes like > happy birthday > not that this means you're forgiven > just thought it was the right thing to do > i know it's your first since. well. you know > you don't have to text back or anything!!!! > fuck fuck fuck just pretend this never happened BYE

he brings up it up two years later when he, kindaichi, and kunimi are better friends and kindaichi buries his red face in his hands and screams and kageyama isn't sure why

kunimi pats him on the back and tells him not to worry about it

ennoshita has a playlist that is solely just like white noise and creaking sounds and generally just things that would make you shit your pants alone in the dark and when asked why he just goes "it's the only way i can feel anything inside"

tsukki will NEVER admit it but he ASPIRES to be the level of deadpan that ennoshita is

tanaka: "so . . . why do you like him again?" ennoshita, watching a video he recorded of futakuchi walking straight into a lamppost bc he was playing pokemon go: "he makes me laugh"

no joke i think ennoshita is a dateko celebrity bc everyone knows about the guy that futakuchi kenji pines over bc futakuchi kenji is just known in a million ways and maybe like 90% of them are Not Good

a third-year has futakuchi by the collar and they're like "all right PUNK get ready to have your lights punched out you'll be seeing stars when i'm done with you" and futakuchi just sighs longingly and goes "ennoshita has eyes like stars . . ."

daichi is that type of upperclassman who knows very single friend of his juniors' but not in like a cool older sibling way he does it in a cringefail modern parent kind of way

kogane used to be soooooo scared of him before finding out what a huge dork he is

actually kogane isn't scared of asahi bc he's so used to aone and asahi cries over it

(sorry for plugging in dateko so much i just genuinely think they have such a fun relationship with karasuno i ADORE it)

onagawa: "man idk how you do it" narita: "do what?" onagawa: "being the only normal person on your team"

yeah no narita is carrying the weight of the world as the only person with the brain cell on karasuno

sometimes it's ennoshita but he's been dead inside since first year so

suga tells the first years he knows martial arts but all he really did was go to one (1) judo club demonstration during his second year of middle school and somehow managed to flip the captain over by sheer luck and never tried again

for takeda's birthday everyone teams up to get him a really nice fountain pen, a classical poetry book, and a quality bottle of sake. for ukai's birthday tsukki leads a powerpoint presentation on why smoking is bad for you and that he really should stop, backed up with everyone else standing behind him with their arms crossed and nodding along

okay that and they also get him a really cute apron (embroidered with crows!!) for him to wear around the store and a bag of good coffee

kiyoko has all - and i mean ALL - the snacks from the local convenience store on a tier list and when the vbc asked how the fuck she managed to do that she just went "my track team was a lot weirder than you guys"

actually the reason why daichi asked kiyoko to be the manager wasn't because kiyoko was the only one with no club activities going on it was because she gave asahi a hair tie when nobody else would and asahi had been trying to befriend her since (and also return said hair tie) but was too nervous to make the first move

asahi: "noooooo daaaaaaaiiiichiiiiiiiiii i caaaaaaaan't i'm so awkward and embarrassing!!!!" daichi, with all the confidence of a fifteen-year-old constantly winging it: "it's okay, i've got this!"

yeah he's just as surprised as you are that it worked out

especially considering he pitched it to her like a used car salesman

kiyoko carries a lot of hair ties with her when she starts just for asahi and when he leaves the team she doesn't stop bc she tells suga, daichi, and the second-years, "he'll come back, just wait and see"

THEY WERE FRIENDS TOO!!!! THEY WERE FRIENDS TOO!! THEY WERE FRIE -

[minastras]

a match made in heaven jake sim's brain // heeseung

Your best friend Jake Sim has been trying to set you up with his floormate Heeseung for months. You finally agree to let him introduce you both at his fancy college’s party, but things don’t quite go as planned.

at a glance: gender-neutral reader, university au, fluff, zero plot

words: 6.8k

warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol, date-rape drugs (no one gets drugged)

——————————

You usually liked studying with your best friend Jake — he was good company and you helped each other out — but sometimes he was in a chatty mood and refused to shut the hell up. It made it hard to focus. Today was one of those days.

“I cannot possibly stress enough how much I don’t want to go,” you deadpanned after his third attempt to invite you to his party, trying to sound firm but coming across more like a petulant child than anything else.

“It’ll be fun, I promise,” Jake said, holding out his pinky finger to you over the table. You stared at his hand in distrust, but he was undeterred. He added, “and Heeseung will be there.”

“Who?”

“The guy I’m setting you up with? Keep up,” he chided, snapping his fingers. 

You put down your pen and held up one finger in protest. “I heard you. I meant I never actually agreed to that. You just suggested it.”

Heeseung was one of Jake’s friends who lived on the same floor as him. You’d never met him before — you didn’t run in the same circles — but Jake had been talking your ear off about him for the last two months. About him being “your dream man”, which made you mime throwing up every time Jake said it.

He grinned smugly at you. “And then you lost our bet,” he said, confident, knowing he had this argument in the bag. It wasn’t even a good one either. You two had bet on, of all things, the goddamn weather.

You sighed, much more dramatically than necessary, and locked your pinky with his. “Fine. I’ll go.” Curse you and your stupid code of honour that didn’t let you go back on your word.

——————————

Every step you took towards Jake’s college imbued you with more and more regret. Why did you always give in to him?

Jake was the last person you’d expected to become friends with. On the surface, he seemed like your stereotypical residential college, or resco, kid: smart, sociable, and rich. Before you met him, you’d never met a resco kid you liked. Maybe you were too judgemental, but you felt justified in your dislike of them. They were all bratty, entitled, stuck up, and painfully unaware of their privileges. Except him.

When you first met him, you were having a breakdown on the curb outside the diner where you worked. Your boss was cutting back your hours and you were a tenth of a GPA point away from losing your scholarship. You were starting to think you should just drop out. He was walking by with a few of his resco friends, and, out of the whole group, he was the only one who stopped to ask if you were alright. And he gave you his number.

You texted him when you got home that night, as he’d made you promise to do, thanking him for listening to your tragic tale of woe and apologising for the trouble. You didn’t really expect anything to come out of it. But by the next day, he’d secured you a second job picking up shifts at the campus bookstore. So, you thought as you arrived at his resco, that’s why you always gave into him.

The building was massive and ornate, with a perfectly landscaped front garden complete with a three-tiered marble fountain and a private tennis court. No matter how many times you visited it, it always stunned you. You steeled yourself and walked through the front door.

Instantly, you started searching for Jake. He’d promised he’d only make you stay long enough to meet Heeseung, and, if you really hated him (or the party), he’d bring you to McDonald’s.

“Y/N!” Jake emerged from the throng of partygoers and ran over to you with a can of beer in his hand. You felt your shoulders relax at the mere sight of him. He was beaming as he pulled you into a quick hug. “You came.”

“Of course I did. I promised,” you said. Before you could say anything else, the amorphous blob of partiers began pulling him back in. At least three different girls were trying to get his attention. You held your tongue and bit back a laugh.

“I’ll just be a minute,” he said apologetically, looking pointedly at one of the girls.

You took the hint. “It’s fine. You don’t have to babysit me,” you said, desperately wanting him to babysit you. He quickly disappeared, absorbed back into the crowd. You made your way to the kitchen, which seemed to be the least populated room on the ground floor. It was empty aside from one guy making himself a drink and two drunk girls whispering to each other at the kitchen island.

“Hey,” the guy said. It took you a while to realise he was talking to you. “I’m Hyeongjin. Can I get you a drink?”

You smiled. “Oh, I’m alright. But thank you.” Behind him, another guy had walked into the kitchen and opened the fridge.

“Are you sure? You look like you could use a drink.” He was clearly ignoring you because he’d already started pouring you something, although he seemed sober enough.

“No thanks. I don’t drink,” you said politely.

Hyeongjin took a step towards you and handed you a cup. “I made it just for you, so you have to take it,” he insisted, winking. This was why you didn’t like resco kids.

“I really would rather not,” you repeated, taking an equal step away. Your back hit the kitchen cabinet.

He forced the cup into your hand. “At least try it.”

The fridge door abruptly slammed shut. “Jin, they said no,” the fridge guy said firmly, subtly positioning himself between you and Hyeongjin. He took the cup from you and set it down on the counter. “Don’t drink that. He put something in it,” he told you, evidently having been observing this entire exchange. You weren’t going to anyway, but you nodded all the same.

“Fuck you, man. No, I didn’t,” Hyeongjin retorted, immediately turning combative.

“You did. I saw you.” Fridge guy reached forward, too quick to be blocked, and snatched a small blister pack of pale green pills out of Hyeongjin’s jacket pocket. One was missing. He held it up and set his jaw. “Are you done yet? Or are you going to keep denying it?”

Hyeongjin’s gaze flickered from you to fridge guy and then back to you. He looked like he was itching for a fight, but he soon left without another word. You exhaled.

Fridge guy turned back to you, all the anger in his eyes evaporating in an instant. You’d seen him in the foyer earlier with Jake. He was cute. Strikingly so, actually, enough to make you nervous. “Are you alright?”

“I’m good. Thank you for your help,” you said. He dismissed your thanks with a wide smile and a flick of his wrist. He’d looked scary earlier, cold and intimidating, but his smile was instantly disarming. “Sorry to bother you, but do you happen to know Jake Sim? He dragged me here tonight, and I don’t really know anyone else here.”

He laughed. “I think he might be in the games room. I’ll help you find him.” Fridge guy led the way, all the while checking on you constantly to make sure you were still following him. “So, why did Jake drag you to this party?” he asked, making conversation, opening the door to the games room. Alas, it was empty. There was an expensive video game system and massive TV, driving rig, billiards table, and walls lined with shelves and shelves of games.

“He’s been trying to set me up with his friend for ages,” you replied. You kind of wanted to just stay here, hide, and wait out the rest of the party by yourself, but fridge guy had already closed the door and you were too shy to say anything.

“Oh? Who’s the friend?”

“Some guy called Heeseung,” you said with a shrug.

Fridge guy smiled sheepishly and folded his arms, leaning back against the wall of the narrow corridor outside the games room. He was standing close enough to you that you were acutely aware of his presence. “Oh, in that case, hi. I’m Heeseung. You must be Y/N.”

You were going to murder Jake Sim. How had he managed to pester you incessantly about this guy for months and not once mention Heeseung was the best-looking man you’d ever see? Better question: why did he only show you the ugliest possible pictures of someone he was trying to set you up with?

“I guess Jake fancies himself quite the matchmaker,” Heeseung mused, laughing to break the tension, and you quickly realised you hadn’t said a word in well over twenty seconds. You buried your head in your hands, feeling the heat in your face. You got flustered so easily; it was one of your least favourite things about yourself. “Did he make you promise to stay until you met me?” he said mercifully, saving you the stress of having to continue the conversation.

You took a small breath to try and compose yourself. “Yeah. I’m guessing he told you the same thing?” you asked. He nodded. You started to think you wouldn’t ever get around to murdering Jake because you were going to die of humiliation first.

Before your embarrassment could spiral, however, Heeseung cleared his throat to get you to look up at him. He stuck his hands in the pockets of his black jeans, which gave him a nice masculine posture. He was so tall.

“Well, since we’ve both fulfilled our promises to Jake,” he started hesitantly, suddenly sounding a little unsure of himself, “do you want to go for a drive?”

——————————

Heeseung led you out to the driveway through the back exit and to his car. He didn’t open the passenger door for you, which you liked. You sat with your hands folded neatly in your lap as he checked his mirrors, rolled down the windows, and turned on the engine. There was something weirdly intimate about being in another person’s space — their house, their car, even the zone of the library they studied in the most — and watching the way they moved around in it. The familiarity, the assuredness, the practised routine motions. Or maybe that was just you. It was past midnight by now and slightly too cold to have the windows down.

“Which college do you stay in?” he asked, pulling out of the driveway. 

“Oh, I’m not resco,” you corrected, “I live on fifth near the west lawn.”

He apologised swiftly, turning out of the cul-de-sac and onto the main road. “Jake told me you’re a scholar, so I guess I assumed.” He had stacks of silver rings on his fingers, and you couldn’t stop staring at them as his hands moved on the steering wheel.

It was a cold night, and the air was sharp and crisp. Both of you fell silent for a while, him focusing on driving and you watching the empty streets whiz past, leaning out of the window slightly to feel the wind on your face. Like a dog. You retreated and put your seatbelt back on. He smiled at you, amused. You looked at him questioningly.

“Nothing,” he said, shaking his head and turning back to the road, “you’re cute.”

You were sure you were blushing — you could feel your cheeks burning — but you prayed it was too dark for him to notice. “Thanks for getting me away from the party,” you finally said after a while, “and for earlier.”

“It’s really fine. You looked like you needed some fresh air, anyway,” he said, dismissing your gratitude for a second time. Neither of you mentioned Hyeongjin. “Should we just drive around, or do you want to get a bite to eat? I’m not sure what’s still open.”

“There’s a diner two streets over that only closes at two,” you suggested. You knew that because you used to work there; that was where you and Jake met. Three weeks after your boss cut your hours he’d let you go completely, and how it was even still up and running you didn’t know. You hadn’t been back since.

“The one Jake found you crying outside of?” Heeseung asked, seemingly without thinking. “Sorry,” he added hastily. “Jake has never told me anything ever.”

“The one and only,” you smiled in your own self-deprecating way, pointing in the direction of the diner. “I see my reputation precedes me.”

You were really starting to regret not bringing a coat or jacket with you. He noticed this immediately. “Are you cold? Hold on.” As soon as he put the car in park, he shrugged off his black jacket and handed it to you. You put it on with a thank you while he switched off the engine. It was soft and warm and smelt like soy wax and sandalwood.

The diner was completely empty aside from the single employee on the clock. You didn’t recognise him; he must have joined after you were sacked. Aside from him, though, everything was exactly how you remembered it to be. Outside, it had started to rain.

Heeseung let you order for him since you were the expert (his words), but he didn’t let you pay. You made yourselves comfortable in a corner booth while you waited. The tabletop was slightly sticky, the window overlooked an extremely picturesque back alley dumpster, and the fifties-themed decor was more cheap costume party than retro. Yes, the diner hadn’t changed at all.

“Nice view,” he said sarcastically, looking out the window. What had begun as a drizzle had swiftly evolved into a downpour. He fiddled with his wallet as he spoke, his hands and rings distracting you more than you would like to admit.

“Yeah, in hindsight this probably wasn’t the best place to bring you to,” you acquiesced. Strangely enough, though, the longer you looked out the same window, the more the view started to become pleasing to the eye. The rain-slicked cobblestones and brick walls glistened and shone as they reflected the amber light of the streetlamps overhead, lending even the dingy alley an almost other-worldly feel.

“It’s actually perfect,” he said, watching you instead of the view now. Perhaps he was thinking the same thing. His eyes were warm and brown and doe-like, the kind of eyes that made you feel like he liked you a bit better than anyone else when he looked at you.

The employee arrived with your order right then: two plates of apple crumble with vanilla ice cream. His name tag read Dylan, but you knew the diner only had six nametags and rotated between them. Whoever clocked in the earliest had first-dibs on their identity that day; you usually ended up being Alex. 

“Please tell me Jake’s told you things about me that don’t make me sound pathetic,” you joked, rolling (or struggling to roll) up the too-long sleeves of Heeseung’s jacket.

He set down his fork and gestured to your hands. You held them out and he rolled the sleeves up for you, making you blush again. You must’ve looked surprised because he immediately apologised and let go of your wrists, as if he hadn’t realised what he was doing. He smiled sheepishly and started apologising.

“It- it’s fine,” you stuttered, bottom lip between your teeth. His fingers had felt cold against your skin. He apologised again and began fiddling with the silver chain of his one long dangly earring while you pretended to inspect the salt shaker (you didn’t want to look at him, he made you nervous). Even in the dimly-lit, mildly dingy diner, the rings on his hands caught the light.

He watched you stare at the salt for a polite length of time, amused by your shyness, before asking, “What are you thinking about?”

You coughed and dropped the salt shaker. “About what I was like when I used to work here. My freshman year, really,” you replied. “It’s a weird feeling, growing up.”

“I get that. It must have been difficult,” he said thoughtfully. You shrugged, not really knowing what to say. “I had a hard enough time adjusting to resco. I can’t imagine what you and Jake went through, having to move countries on top of that.”

You were just about to reply when his phone rang. “Speak of the devil,” he remarked.

“I lost Y/N,” Jake’s panicked voice cut cleanly through the background noises of the party around him over Heeseung’s speakers.

Heeseung looked up at you and smiled, conspiratorial, holding a finger to his lips. You nodded in agreement. “Well, hello to you too,” he said. 

Jake didn’t even acknowledge the provocation. He was a good friend. “Where are you? You gotta help me look for them.”

“I barely know what they look like because you show me the shittiest pictures of them. How am I supposed to help you?” Heeseung countered. So it wasn’t just you, then. 

“Hee, I’m serious,” Jake pressed. The worry in his voice immediately made you feel bad about messing with him.

“I’m safe, Jakey. We’re at the diner,” you interjected.

The fact that you and Heeseung were together, and together at a secondary location, didn’t seem to register for Jake. His concern for you was sweet. “I’ve been calling and texting you non-stop for twenty minutes! Why didn’t you answer?” he chastised.

“My phone is broken as you will recall, seeing as you were the one who broke it,” you retorted. He’d dropped your phone over a balcony and straight onto hard concrete two days ago when he was playing with it. It had fallen four storeys and practically disintegrated on impact. Heeseung suppressed a laugh by shoving his last bite of apple crumble into his mouth.

“I forgot,” Jake whined, relenting. But he quickly became serious again. “I couldn’t find you. I was really worried.”

“I’m sorry for worrying you. I’m safe, I promise,” you assured him. “And thank you for checking up on me! I love you.”

Jake sighed, but he seemed to have calmed down. “Love you too. Love you, Hee.”

“Love you more, Jake,” Heeseung echoed, and then hung up. He turned back to you, giggling. “I don’t think it even occurred to him that you’re with me right now.”

You laughed. “Me neither.” Not-Dylan came to clear your empty plates, an obvious hint to tell you to get the hell out so he could start closing up. It was about one in the morning, an hour before closing. 

Heeseung glanced at his watch. “I’m surprisingly not tired at all,” he said vaguely, playing with his earring again, like he wasn’t ready for the night to end but didn’t know how to ask you not to leave.

You followed him out of the diner, feeling shy. “I don’t want to go home yet either,” you admitted.

——————————

“I know a place we can go,” Heeseung said as you both climbed back into his car and he started the engine. He didn’t roll down the windows this time and turned the heat up high (it had gotten much colder). You felt a little guilty for taking his jacket, but he’d refused to take it back when you had offered.

“By all means, lead the way.”

The place was a grassy hill behind one of the other rescos. He pulled up at the base of it and hopped out, taking the blankets and plastic tarp he kept in the backseat with him.

It was a three minute climb up to the top of the hill overlooking your entire university town. Although the streets below were gleaming with light, filled with pinpricks of white and yellow that beamed through the windows and curtains of houses and shopfronts, the sound didn’t carry. From atop the hill, you couldn’t hear any loud music from the multiple parties that were surely raging on, any talking from the groups of drunk students wandering from club to club, or any cars weaving their way down roads and alleys. Barring the occasional whistle of the cold breeze and the quiet rustling of autumn leaves the breeze brought, it was quiet.

“Here it is,” he announced, with a sweeping gesture and a slightly nervous giggle, “the best view in town.” You didn’t have much to compare it to, but you were inclined to believe him.

“I didn’t even know this place existed,” you told him, helping him spread the tarp out on the wet grass. It was more than big enough for the both of you. “Do you come here often?”

“Sometimes, when I need to be alone,” he answered, passing you one of the two blankets in his arms. You both wrapped up to shield yourselves from the biting winds, much fiercer up on the hill than they had been at street level, strong enough to make your eyes water.

The thing about Jake having tried to set you up with Heeseung for so long was that you already knew all the basic details about him: his age, his major, his hobbies, his hometown, and even whether or not he had siblings. How were you supposed to make casual conversation with a stranger with whom you were already so well acquainted?

“It’s a nice night.” Not like that, that’s for sure. You laughed despite yourself, admitting to him, “I don’t know what to talk about.”

Heeseung rested his chin on his left hand. “I was just about to say the same thing. Jake might have shot himself in the foot a little there.”

His shoulder was almost touching yours, albeit separated by two thick flannel blankets. He smelled faintly like soy and sandalwood, just like his jacket. His eyes sparkled, tearing slightly from the wind, large and captivating as he looked at you. He was so close.

“I’m sorry I said the thing earlier about you crying outside of the diner,” he said after a few seconds. “I didn’t mean to.”

You shook your head and glanced away, because you could feel yourself starting to get nervous again. “No, don’t be. It was funny.”

“Do you know how worried Jake was about you that day?” he asked, playing idly with his rings.

You and Jake rarely talked about how you met after the first few weeks or so of you knowing each other, mainly because he knew you felt like you owed him for his help and he didn’t like you bringing that up. “He stayed up for two hours calling people to get you that job. I think you reminded him of himself when he first moved here.”

When you didn’t say anything in response, he pulled at his earring, stared up at the night sky, and sighed. “I shouldn’t have told you that.”

“It’s fine,” you said, evidently much worse at controlling your expressions than you thought you were. Or perhaps he was just good at reading people.

There was a long silence. “You don’t have to feel bad that Jake helped you. He did it of his own accord,” he pointed out sagely.

This was a familiar conversation for you; you had it with yourself all the time. “Did Jake tell you to say that?” you asked.

He was still watching you; you could see him doing so out of the corner of your eye. His gaze was intense, and you were squirming under it. “No, I just thought you needed to hear it,” he said.

“Oh. That’s really sweet. Thank you.”

Both of you fell silent again. Then, he lay down and pulled his blanket up to his chin, like he was in bed.

“What are you doing?” you asked, bemused.

He looked up at you with a boyish grin. “Stargazing. Come join me.”

So you lay down on the tarp right beside him, surprised that there were even any visible stars upon which to gaze. The moon was full and bright, and the night sky was clear enough to see at least a few dozen stars. 

“I had fun today,” he said after a few seconds, staring up at the sky, “much more than I usually do at parties.”

“I did too.” You turned to look at him, but he caught you staring and you immediately looked away, changing the subject. “But I thought you liked partying.”

“Not really. Not everyone in resco is a party animal, you know,” he said in mock-offence.

You laughed, counting the stars. “I saw you with Jake in the foyer, though! You looked like you fit right in.”

“That means I’m a good actor,” he joked, before becoming serious, turning onto his side. You did too, coming face-to-face with him. He glanced down at your lips, not pointedly, but obviously and for long enough that you noticed it. “No, I just tend to go along with it. It makes things easier.”

“I get that,” you nodded, looking away momentarily so you could think. He was staring right into your eyes, and, with his face just inches away from yours and eyes that mesmerising, it was a little too much for you to handle. You wondered if he was as flustered by the eye contact as you were. “So what do you actually like to do?” you asked.

He turned your question over in his head, propping himself up on his elbow. “Music, mostly. I spend a lot of time in the studio. Jake told me you do too.”

You hesitated for a bit before suggesting, while trying and probably failing to sound casual, “Maybe we can hang out together in the studio someday.”

“Yeah, let’s. It’ll be fun,” he smiled, leaning in ever so slightly. He wanted to do something, to make a move on you, maybe, but he didn’t get the chance because it abruptly started raining again. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he mumbled under his breath, while the rain pissed down around you. For all of his flaws, Zeus did have great comedic timing. 

Part of you wanted to kiss him right then and there, and it seemed like he wanted you to too, because neither of you moved or made any attempts to shield yourselves from the weather for at least a few seconds. Then, you sneezed. He laughed, and so did you.

“Yeah, let’s go,” you said breathlessly, stumbling to your feet. You and him draped your blankets over your shoulders in a desperate attempt to stave off the cold. He picked up the tarp, gestured for you to come closer, and wrapped the tarp loosely around you both. You were both already absolutely drenched, so it wasn’t doing much to keep you dry, but at least it shielded you from more rain.

“Is this alright?” he asked, his arms around your shoulders, chest pressed against your back. Something about the way he looked down at you made you feel warm even as you shivered, chilled to the bone by both the downpour and the howling night winds. You nodded.

It was only mildly challenging to make it down the hill, now slick and muddy with rain, bundled up together in the tarp. Neither of you could stop giggling at the absurdity of your situation even after you’d made it back to his car. He couldn’t unlock the doors fast enough.

Rainwater dripped from your hair and formed puddles under your feet as you sat there for a minute or two, the heater on full blast. Your teeth were chattering.

“Is your car ruined now?” you asked, warming your hands on the nearest vent.

“It’s fine. I’m junking it soon anyway,” he said, wiping his hands on his t-shirt so he wouldn’t get the leather of his steering wheel wet before putting his car in drive. He was shivering. “I’ll take you back to resco. The party should’ve wound down already.”

You leant forward to tilt one of the vents towards him. You hadn’t even noticed he’d pointed both of them at you earlier. “Jake’s going to have a lot of questions,” you remarked.

He unlocked and passed you his phone, keeping his other hand on the wheel. “You can call him and let him know we’ll be home soon,” he said. Jake was saved as ‘the jingling fool’ in his contacts — you called the right person only because you knew Jake’s number by heart — which made you smile. He picked up on the third ring.

“Hee, buddy, where are you? Are you coming home?”

“Hey Jakey,” you greeted, putting him on speaker.

His confusion was palpable. “Y/N? Huh? What? Where are you?” Heeseung threw his head back and laughed gleefully, leaning over the centre console to say hi.

“We’re on the way back,” you said, laughing too, not bothering to explain yourself. “Is the party over yet?”

Jake was still processing. “Uh- wait- well, there aren’t many people left, so we’ll chase them out in a bit. I’m about to head upstairs myself. Are you with Heeseung? Like, Heeseung Heeseung?”

“Yes, they are. Keep up, man,” Heeseung teased, shaking his head in mock disapproval even though Jake couldn’t see him.

“We got caught in the rain,” you added, nonchalant.

“What- okay,” Jake sighed, lost. “I’ll get some towels and clothes ready for you.”

——————————

Heeseung and Jake lived on the highest floor of the resco in a private apartment rather than regular dorm rooms which they shared with two other students, Jay and Sunghoon. You’d met them once or twice, but Jake usually came over to your place to hang out, not the other way around. Jake lent you a change of clothes and let you use his bathroom for a hot shower.

By the time you returned to the living room, Heeseung was already sitting on the sofa with Jake, the pair deeply engrossed in what appeared to be a serious conversation. When they heard you close Jake’s bedroom door behind you, they looked up in perfect unison and pulled apart immediately, as if they’d both been caught doing something wrong.

“Hi,” Heeseung greeted, seeming slightly and uncharacteristically awkward. His hair was wet and messy and adorably stuck to his forehead. He was now in a black t-shirt and baggy sweatpants. “How’re you feeling?”

“I’m okay. The shower helped,” you answered, “you?” You weren’t sure why both of you had suddenly become so stiff and uneasy, and you also didn’t notice Jake giggling into his hand as he watched the two of you.

“Yeah, I’m all good too,” Heeseung smiled, again weirdly stilted. You gave him a thumbs-up, mentally kicking yourself for that even before you'd raised your hand. A thumbs-up? In this economy? Whatever they’d been talking about earlier, he turned to Jake and unsubtly changed the subject. “So, how was the party?”

“Yeah, Jakey, how was the party? You looked pretty popular with the ladies,” you teased, grinning. Of course that didn’t surprise you — Jake was handsome and sweet and had charisma coming out of his ears. 

“Ew. Don’t say ‘ladies’. It sounds sexist,” Jake said, deflecting. You laughed but continued waiting for an answer, not willing to let him off the hook so easily. So did Heeseung, who wiggled his eyebrows at him in anticipation. Jake capitulated, throwing his hands up in the air. “Fine, whatever! Nothing came of it. The girl I was talking to ditched me when her ex-boyfriend showed up.”

Heeseung winced. “Sorry, dude.”

“It’s her loss,” you said.

Jake waved away your concerns, putting his arm around your shoulder and messing up your hair. “Yeah, well, I got to spend tonight babysitting my idiot friends instead, so it all worked out in the end.”

The conversation lulled for a bit, but it was a comfortable silence. Heeseung broke it when he nudged your shoulder with his to get your attention. “Do you want to get dinner with me next week?” he asked.

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you said, and then turned to Jake expectantly.

Jake snorted at your obliviousness. “I think Hee was just inviting you.”

“Oh. Right.” You felt your cheeks heat up. Heeseung took a sip of his drink and nodded in confirmation, not once breaking eye contact with you.

“I’m really good at this. Should I start a matchmaking service?” Jake asked, smug. He was going to tease you mercilessly about this later.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, cupid,” Heeseung said, before turning back to you. “Are you tired? You look exhausted.” You weren’t sure how long he’d been watching you try to keep your eyes open, but it made you shy all the same.

“A little,” you conceded. “You must be too. It’s been a long day.”

“I’ll walk you home,” Jake offered, standing up. You looked at him quizzically. His gaze shifted slowly from you to Heeseung and then back to you before he realised. He coughed, awkward. “On second thought, I am really tired. Hee, maybe you can walk them home.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Heeseung agreed, pretending not to have noticed to save him the embarrassment. “I’ll go grab my keys.”

While Heeseung dipped back into his bedroom, Jake turned to you. “I told you,” he said with a shit-eating grin on his face, pulling you to your feet. “I told you you’d like him.”

“I didn't even say anything,” you said, feeling defensive and very perceived.

“You’re giving him gargantuan heart eyes,” he countered, punching you lightly in the shoulder. “Although to be fair, they are mutual.”

“Gargantuan,” you echoed mockingly, rolling your eyes, but you didn’t even try to refute either of his observations.

He punched your shoulder again. “Shut up. I’ve been working on my stupid paper for a week. Every time I close my eyes I see a thesaurus.”

“Ready to go?” Heeseung asked you, returning from his room, spinning his keys around one finger. He had a forest green sweatshirt in his hand.

Jake grabbed you by the shoulders before you could answer, stopping you from turning around. “He really likes you too, Y/N. Don’t get in your head,” he whispered to you, suddenly solemn. You knew he was being serious, for once. You thanked him before you left.

——————————

“You live on fifth, right?”

“Yeah, it’s ten minutes away that way,” you said, pointing down the road. Your shoes were still wet, and you didn’t have any socks on (the ones you had been wearing were in a holey plastic bag on your arm with the rest of your clothes that was currently dripping on the pavement as you walked). It was a highly unpleasant sensation. “Thanks for walking me home.”

“Of course. Here, it’s cold,” Heeseung said, offering you the green sweatshirt in his hand. You realised only then that he’d brought it along with him for you.

“You should wear it. I have this,” you said, holding up the strings of Jake’s hoodie. It was fleece-lined and surprisingly warm. He looked slightly dejected, although he tried to shake it off. “But thank you!” you added in haste.

When he was done putting on his sweatshirt, he began, “Can I ask you something?”

Before he could ask his question, you stopped him and gestured for him to lean down so you could fix his hair, not really thinking straight. It only took a few seconds, but by the time you were finished, he was blushing furiously. He turned away from you to fan his face.

“I’m sorry, I-” You’d practically jumped his bones. Your face was burning too.

“No, it’s fine!” he said, rushing to reassure you. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

You looked away, wondering if you’d be strong enough to pry off the nearby manhole cover by yourself so you could jump down into the sewer like the rat you were. As the two of you walked, him on the outside of the pavement next to the road, you snuck a glance at him. He had his hands pressed to his reddening cheeks, the sleeves of his green sweatshirt half-covering his fingers, and a huge, shy smile on his face. He was adorable. And he’d caught you staring.

“So what did you want to ask me?” you asked, looking away and playing with your hoodie strings and feigning innocence.

“Uh- well, it might be a weird question,” he prefaced, rubbing the back of his neck. You gestured for him to continue. He cleared his throat. “Is there anything going on between you and Jake?”

It wasn’t that weird of a question. Weird for him to ask, maybe, given the circumstances, but it was a question you were rather accustomed to getting. “Everyone always asks us that,” you said, amused.

“I mean, you are wearing his clothes right now,” he pointed out.

“Touché,” you conceded, before you realised you still hadn’t given him an actual answer. “We’re just friends. I’m always with him because he’s the only friend I have here.” It was true; since you’d moved here a year and a half ago, you’d collected your fair share of acquaintances but never managed to make any real friends apart from Jake. You were always too busy studying or working, and you were well aware that you weren’t exactly the easiest person to get to know.

You’d reached your apartment building. He stopped walking. “But you don’t have feelings for him?” he asked, hopeful.

“No, never,” you replied, placing your hand on your heart in a faux-serious display of honesty. He beamed. 

“Perfect.” He placed one hand on your waist and the other on your shoulder, closed his eyes, and leant in. You froze. When he felt your muscles tense up under his hands, he easily pivoted and kissed you on the cheek instead. “You okay?” he whispered, watching your expression closely, still smiling.

You looked away. “Yeah, I’m good, I- sorry.” God, you were such an idiot.

Now he was concerned. He smoothly tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his touch feather-light on your skin. “Too much too fast?” he said.

“Maybe a little,” you admitted, and although the feeling of his hands on you was nice, you stepped away from him. He was going to think you were blowing him off, when in reality you were just- well, whatever you were.

If he was upset, he didn’t show it. He held out his hands to you, open, palms up, non-threatening. You placed your own on top of his, lacing your fingers together. He had taken off his rings. “Can I kiss your forehead?” he asked. You nodded. He took a small step towards you, running his thumbs over your knuckles, and gently pressed his mouth to your forehead right under your hairline before letting you go.

There was a strange feeling in your chest, like you were buzzing with light, and it was intoxicating. He was intoxicating. “Wait,” you blurted out. He glanced back at you. You reached for the crew neck of his sweatshirt, stood on your toes, and pulled him closer to you, bringing your lips to his. His mouth was as cold as his hands, but so were yours. 

After you pulled away he cupped your face in his hands and kissed you again, deeper this time, before leaning down and resting his forehead against yours.

“Hello,” he said playfully.

You giggled. “Hi.”

“Jake would be proud of you for making the first move,” he mused, his hands still on your face. He wanted to move them down to your waist and hold you closer to him, but he decided not to push you too far.

You wrinkled your nose. “I don’t want to think about Jake right now.”

Heeseung smirked. His breath fanned your face as he spoke. You had one hand on his shoulder and the other on his chest, with his lean, broad-shouldered frame curled in around yours. “Yeah? What do you want to think about?”

You paused, biting your tongue, but you ultimately chose to say it anyway. “Whether you want to come and see me at work tomorrow,” you said, already wincing at the corniness of your words.

“That was so smooth,” he teased, making you blush even harder. “I’ll come. Are you still working at Think Tea?”

“How- oh, Jake told you. Yeah, I am,” you told him. “I’ll be on the clock the whole day tomorrow.”

He took your hand that was resting on his chest and brought it up to his mouth, pressing a small kiss to your knuckles. “I’ll be there,” he promised, smiling, still gently holding onto your wrist. He really did have a beautiful smile. The way his round eyes crinkled and narrowed, the way his cheeks rose, everything.

“Thanks for walking me home,” you said again.

“Of course. Good night.”

“Good night, Heeseung.”

You headed up the porch steps to the front door of your apartment building and turned around one last time. He was still standing on the pavement, hands in his pockets, watching you. You waved, he waved back, and you let yourself in.

——————————

thanks for reading <3

-minastras

[gloryhrs]

━━ ⟡ 𝓢𝐎𝐅𝐓𝐈𝐄, grimmjow j.

male reader. ʚɞ highschool au.

Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez has officially gone soft! He was one of the toughest guys in school, the biggest delinquent who never took shit from anyone. He used to put himself in trouble for his constant smoking, vandalizing, or his massive use of profanity. This was the same guy who talked back to the teachers over and over again and refused to do his work unless someone paid him. Overall, he was a lost cause, nobody was able to help him even if they tried. But now he was a new person. Nobody knew what happened to him or what bit him in his sleep, but these past few weeks, the hotheaded male behavior has made a 360. His loud and aggressive behavior was now turned into quiet and somewhat peaceful.

“Since when did you start doing your work?”Nnoitra peaked his head over Grimmjow’s shoulder as his eyes scanned the book nonstop. Grimmjow squeezed the pen in his hand and decided to withhold a sarcastic remark. “I’m not trying to be a dropout, plus I’m bored.” He scoffed before turning his attention back to the book in front of him. A snicker came from Nnoitra’s lips at the answer, The high and mighty Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez was doing his work? This had to be some type of sick joke! “Never thought I’ll see the day. You out of cigarettes?”He teased as Grimmjow rolled his eyes.

I don’t have time for ignorance today. He sighed in annoyance. This was the third time someone tried to clown him for doing his work aka acting out of character, the first being Nelliel and the second being Ulquiorra.

After hearing the ringing of the bell Grimmjow stood up instantly and made his way out of the classroom without saying any goodbyes. Nelliel tilted her head at the way Grimmjow packed his things so quickly and left the class early, he would usually loiter around just to piss the teacher off. “He’s been acting weird lately. Hey Ulqui! Is something going on at home?" She spoke out loud which caused the remaining students in the class to snicker. Ulquiorra frowned at the ridiculous nickname and shrugged his shoulders, “He lives by himself. Maybe he decided to stop acting like a gremlin and finally do something useful with his life.” He grimaced from the memory of his obnoxious neighbor and the amount of trouble he caused. “Not to mention, he’s barely home now. I haven’t seen him at his house in three days.” He added while surfing the pages of the book he was reading.

“Eh?! So where does he go after school? Is there someone in his life now?” She tried to remember the last time she saw Grimmjow with someone outside of his friend group. Her mind started to wander off until a lightbulb appeared on the top of her head. “Y/n! The guy who helps me study on Fridays! I seen them walking around yesterday.” She smiled as Nnoitra raised his eyebrow at the familiar name. “You talkin' about that damn nerd? Why’s Grimmjow hanging out with him?” He placed the soda can down, Nnoitra didn’t know you well but he sure for hell knew you were that glasses guy that always sat in the back of the class. “I don’t know! But that’s what I’m going to find out.” She rubbed her hands together, you and Grimmjow were complete opposites! How could even put up with … that?

“It’s best if you sit this one out.” Tier joined the conversation, she doesn’t interact with Grimmjow that much but Lord knows he surely knows how to drag a situation out. “Yeah, this change is doing all of us a favor.” Ulquiorra flipped to the next page of the book. Nelliel slumped her shoulders in defeat, “Fine, but only this time!”

Grimmjow checked his watch in irritation as he repeatedly tapped his foot on the glossy floors. He despised the manner in which your teacher kept you to clean up because you were a responsible and helpful student. “That damn teacher needs to clean up his own class next time.” He mumbled to himself to notice you walking towards him. “Grim, have you been waiting for me?” Your sweet voice brought him out of his mind, you saw how his dull blue eyes light up when he saw you. “Of course cutie, I'd be stupid if I didn't.” His hands made their way around your waist to pull you closer until your chest was touching his. He gave your lips a quick peck that turned into a full kiss, he could not get enough of your warm and soft lips melt away against his coldness. His fangs nipped on your lower lip which made you melt in his arms.

“I could never get tried of doing that.” He kissed your lips once more and took your bag out of your hands. Once you caught your breath, you intertwined your hand with his and leaned onto his arm. “Are you hungry?” He singled out the ramen stand down the road. “Mhmm.” He looked while you were played with the diamond necklace around your neck, He’s so goddamn cute. Grimmjow cheeks heated up from your adorable characteristics. He wanted to hold your face between his hands and squish your cheeks together. He couldn’t believe you were making him soft!

After holding the door open for you your eyes scanned the warm ramen place, the scent of delicious food brought a smile on your lips. “Where do you want to sit?” Grimmjow looked around the restaurant while you pointed the place at the corner. Once you sat down, the waiter handed you the menus and left, “What are you getting, Grim?” You asked your boyfriend who scratched his head using the menu. “I don't know yet, what are you eating?” He put the menu, to be honest, he couldn't read a fucking thing off the menu.

“Shoyu ramen, do you want spicy miso ramen?” You switched the menu in his direction, since he had a soft spot for spicy dishes. “Yes, would you like a piece of cake?” He added on which brightened your smile straight away. You love cake! You nodded very quickly while Grimmjow laughed. “Alright, now we just wait until the waiter comes back.” He reached above the table to entangled his hand with yours.

Never in a thousand years did Grimmjow expect himself to be in the position he was in. The black Spider-Man headband pushed his blue hair back as you continued to run the jade roller on his face to straighten out the uneven hello kitty face mask. His eyes softened at your concentrated face, the matching headband pushing your locs back made you even cuter. “How long does it take to work?” Grimmjow rested his hands on your waist, often giving it a tight squeeze when you kissed his lips. “About five or ten minutes.” You removed yourself from his lap and signaled him to follow you.

While walking behind you a mischievous grin made its way on Grimmjow’s face. “Grim—wah!” You yelped when the tall male picked you up and threw you over his shoulder, you let out another yelp when he moved his hands to your thighs and almost dropped you in the process. “Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez! Put me down!” You held back your laughter when he began to jump up and down, with your body bouncing with him which almost made your glasses fall off. “Are you sure?!” He stopped at the couch as you nodded your head rapidly. “Yes! Why is it so high up here?!” You held onto his tank top in fear of falling and landing the wrong way.

“Ok, fine!” He playfully scoffed and flipped your body off his shoulder as you laid on the soft cushions with a grin on your face. “That was fun! But dangerous..” You fixed your uneven glasses with Grimmjow lifting your legs up to take a seat down on the couch. “What movie or show do you want to watch?” He picked up the remote and scanned through the dozens of movies on the streaming app. “Let’s watch The Amazing World Of Gumball.” You smiled as he quickly went to the search bar to look for your favorite show. Grimmjow yawned loudly as his hands made their way to your feet that rested on his lap. The sound of your laughter made feel so giddy inside that he lost all thought process.

“Cutie?” “Hm?” He looked over to see your face inches away from his, “You’ve made me so soft, I love spending time with you.” He kissed your nose then lips. “I love spending time with you as well. I’m glad you were able to turn yourself around for me.” You grinned which showed your braces. “Your braces are so cute, nerd.” Grimmjow chuckled and wrapped his arm around you while giving your lips one last kiss.

© gloryhrs, 042923. // notes and reblogs are appreciated! (≧∇≦) /

[dollypopup]

unpopular polin opinions (again)

-Colin honest to God didn't do anything even REMOTELY as bad as this fandom insists he did? framing him as the big bad in a friends to lovers story is deeply unsatisfying and pits him and Pen against each other when the whole POINT is that they're a team.

-Polin is meant to be ride or die. it's meant to be people who see one another for who they are beyond the front. it is NOT meant to be two people who hold grudges against one another with a scorecard of who hurt the other more huffing about how the other is frustrating. their whole dynamic is 'i like you' 'i like you, too'

-BOTH OF THEM have hurt the other without apology. NEITHER of them are actually in love with the other (yet). Both of them are closed off and secretive and neither of them should actually have to beg and cry and scream for forgiveness. they're supposed to be friends

-jealous Colin as we're pushing for it is a shit tier trope. Colin swooping in w/ feelings for Pen only after other people have expressed interest in her would always make her wonder if he wanted her for her or if he wanted her because someone else did first and that's not the dynamic at all. Colin falls for her organically, albeit slowly. He falls for her when she opens up, when she shows him who she is, and only after he shows her that he's a safe place to do so. Likewise, SHE falls for HIM for real when she sees who HE is, too. When she sees that he's imperfect and that his charming artifice is a mask he wears. They're both scared that who they truly are on the inside is unlovable or unworthy of serious consideration, and when they crack open and the other sees, they fall for who they actually are. It's a love made stronger because it's born out of trust and understanding, not out of an ultimatum of 'I could lose her!'

-Penelope ghosting Colin with no explanation after S2 would be her being a really bad friend and deeply hurtful

-Penelope would hate being the unofficial diamond everyone is seemingly rooting for and it makes 0 sense for her to suddenly have a bunch of suitors. it's just lazy storytelling.

-most of the Polin dynamics this fandom has actively rooted for in S3 is just Kanthony or Saphne 2.0. That's very much NOT the point of Polin's romance. and I do not understand why people want the exact same season playing out the THIRD TIME IN A ROW

-Pen's actual character would despise how some of y'all write about Colin. like. . .she's supposed to love him? he's supposed to love her? If someone called him an idiot or undeserving or uninteresting or that he should beg and grovel she would fight

-Polin's characterizations as individual characters as well as a couple have been so completely twisted and deformed in this fandom for the sake of drama and painfully cishet toxic tropes that it makes me legitimately sad. Polin is a great ship. So much of it is beautiful and healing. Two people who care for one another deeply, if with a good deal of confusion, discovering who they are individually and then realizing they're happiest with each other is lovely. Colin being an atypical male love interest in the sense that his primary draw is kindness and compassion and primary struggles being lost and jealous of his LI for her success is INTERESTING. There are a million and one brooding rakes out there breaking hearts and beating their chests howling 'she's mine!' in the middle of a room full of other men gawking. Ship Pen with one of them if you want that dynamic, but that's not Colin and I don't WANT it to be Colin. Colin is great without that

-Penelope is not an innocent lil bab who did everything she did out of good intentions. she is more complex and relatable as someone who fucks up. It is COMPELLING that she did deeply hurtful things not out of saintly altruism but out of jealousy or scorn or desperation mixed with a genuine desire to do well by those she cares for. It is a better story to acknowledge she isn't even remotely perfect and that in wanting to help, she just tangled things up even worse than before. Penelope has plenty of faults alongside her goodness: she's closed off, distrusting, traumatized, jealous. All whilst being funny, sharp, cunning, loving. She wants to be loved and to love those around her and doesn't know how. She hurts the people she cares about and she hurts herself in the process. THAT'S REAL. The idea that Penelope is a perfect bab who should be fawned over and all her ills can be excused away is flat and infantalizing. I understand: there have been a lot of criticisms of Penelope from people who genuinely dislike her character. But the pendulum has swung to the other side to the point where people who DO like her and DO ship Polin point out unsavory parts of her character, it's met with the same rabid defense as if we were haters. Guess what? I like Penelope MORE because she's made those fuck ups. I like discussing how she's hurt others because who of us haven't? Penelope is overlooked and unpopular and awkward and unsure and I LIKE HER FOR IT. I'm exhausted of the glittering, perfect Penelope who everyone else has to apologize to because she's the 'victim'. That makes her so much more unlikable

-speaking of unlikable, most of y'all who say you ship Polin straight up do not like Colin as a character. And it's obvious. Turning him into a character he isn't, wanting him on hands and knees begging for a second chance, considering him only as an extension of Penelope when he has so much richness as a character in his own right. Assuming the worst in his actions and striking out all the good about him in favor of a narrative that deforms Polin into a ship where he is always wrong and she is always right. And it turns a lot of people off to the ship. People who ship Polin already get turned off by how much this fandom hates Colin, let alone peeps just getting into it or outside of it. There are people who despise Polin that discuss Colin more favorably than we do in our own ship and it makes no sense because he is a genuinely fantastic character. He refuses to abide by toxic masculinity, he's gentle and sweet and caring, he's silly and unsure and self-sacrificing, he's putting on an act and he's self-critical and he's got such a big heart. He's the kindest person in Pen's life. He supports her unyieldingly. He's never done anything to purposefully hurt her and he cherishes her as a friend. Why do we so rarely talk about him favorably?

-Polin is NOT Colin vs. Penelope. That dynamic can create some interesting conflict, sure, but it needs to move beyond that because at the core? At the core, it's Polin vs. The Problem. and it's so much more fulfilling that way

[bignaz8]

The amazing story of Tovrea Castle in Phoenix Arizona and the shattered dreams of the man who built it.

In 1903 Frederick and Lizzie Warner homesteaded 160 acres of land and built their home on a beautiful hilltop in the desert southeast of Phoenix along VanBuren Avenue and 52nd street. Along with their son they eventually held title to 320 acres and in 1928 Lizzie sold 277 acres of that homestead to Alessio Carraro.

Alessio Carraro, an Italian immigrant and San Francisco businessman came to Phoenix with his family in 1927. Carraro had hoped to develop a prestigious hotel and resort when he purchased 277 acres of prime desert land from the Warner family east of Phoenix in 1928. He saw great potential in the property, which offered beautiful mountain views and fronted the main route from Phoenix to what was once the popular Papago Saguaro National Monument.

Carraro's plan for the land was to build a grand hotel and use it as the center piece of a first-class residential development that would be called "Carraro Heights." The hotel, he dreamed, would provide him a steady flow of potential home buyers.

The hotel, which took the shape of a three-tier castle, was built without any specific plans. Carraro made it up as he went along. Two granite knolls were leveled with dynamite and a third was blasted open to form the bed for the basement. Much of the granite was crushed and made into concrete blocks for the foundation. The building was framed with wood and covered with stucco sheathing.

Inside, Carraro went for many recycled materials. The maple flooring throughout the hotel came from a house in Phoenix that was being torn down. The kitchen cabinets were made from mahogany and oak salvaged from the Phoenix National Bank, which was being remodeled. And, a vault from the bank was turned into a basement wine cellar.

Outside, Carraro had developed a spacious desert garden, filled with more than 300 different varieties of desert plants.

The hotel was just about finished as the 1930 Christmas season approached. Carraro celebrated by installing 1,000 red, green, yellow and blue lights on the split-rail fence that surrounded the property and topping the arched gateway with a 10-foot electric tree. The display won The Arizona Republic Newspaper’s holiday decorations contest and the newspaper called the entry a "brilliantly lighted castle in the desert." It was the first time the building was publicly referred to as a castle, a label that would last to this day.

Alessio Carraro's dream of a resort hotel and a subdivision of fine homes was shattered a few months later. For some time, Carraro had tried unsuccessfully to buy the 40 acres adjacent to his land that would serve as an important buffer between his property and a stockyard and the meat packing plant of Edward Tovrea. Edward Tovrea and his wife Della secretly wanted to buy Carraro’s castle and use it for their home. When the acreage finally was sold, it went not to Carraro, but to the owner of the nearby packing company, Edward Tovrea.

Tovrea promptly put up sheep and goats pens on the 40 acres right next to Carraro’s castle. That was the end for Carraro’s dream. He realized that no one would want to stay in a hotel, buy land and build a nice home next to a flock of sheep. All attempts to negotiate with Edward Tovrea and his wife Della were futile. In June of 1931, Carraro accepted an offer from a real estate agent for his castle, the hotel and much of the property. Unknown to him, the buyer was none other than Della Tovrea.

The Tovrea’s quickly turned the castle hotel into their home and moved in before the end of the year. The following year however, Edward Tovrea suddenly died. Della later married William Stuart, the publisher of the Prescott Courier, and they lived in the home until his death in 1960.

Della stayed on living in the castle alone. She always had a terrible fear of someone breaking in and locking her in the big safe that Carraro had gotten from the Phoenix National Bank. Della had workmen remove the doors from that safe so she could never be locked inside.

One dark and cold winter night in 1969 two men did break into the castle and surprised Della in her kitchen. Della struggled and was beaten and one of the men fired a shot at her which thankfully missed. The bullet hole can still be seen today in the kitchen. Della in a panic ran outside in the frigid cold and rainy night to ring the caretakers bell. Then she hid for hours outside in the elements. Della caught pneumonia that night and died a few weeks later on January 19th, 1969.

Relatives of Edward Tovrea moved into the castle following Della’s death and lived there for many years.

Today, the interior of the castle is virtually as Carraro constructed it. It appears to have been marred only by areas of deterioration from water damage, vandalism and, in some cases, the removal of small items such as door handles. The exterior, too, is generally intact, but suffered from years of neglect. Most of the window sashes have been replaced with single pane reflective glass and two additional layers of stucco surfacing have been applied to the original walls.

In 1994 the city of Phoenix drew up development plans for the castle to include a fully restored first floor that would illustrate how each room would have been used as a hotel and how it actually was used as a home. Historical artifacts were obtained as they were located. And, today there are tours and exhibits of the castle for visitors.

For nearly 90 years now, the grand Tovrea Castle has stood out among Phoenix historical and architectural wonders. Thousands have admired it from afar, awed by the imposing picture it forms atop a small desert hill in the heart of an urban setting. Few were ever beyond its fenced surroundings and permitted inside its granite walls. Today, visitors can enjoy the castle in all its splendor.

The city of Phoenix, which acquired the landmark and some of its adjacent property in 1993, came up with an exciting plan to open the three-tiered castle and the sprawling Carraro Cactus Gardens that surround it to the public.

Work to restore two of the historic garden sections at the Tovrea Castle were completed in August 2000. The city restoration has transformed one of the sections back to the Carraro era with its dense cactus plantings and varied species. The other garden area has been restored back to the Tovrea area featuring a reflecting pool, patio and formal garden.

The garden restoration work was completed in 2000. Exterior restoration of the Castle itself was completed in 2001. The ambitious plans, developed by the city's Historic Preservation Office and Parks, Recreation and Library Department, included three key elements -- the purchase of as much of the 43-acre compound as possible, the restoration of the castle and the redevelopment of the gardens.

Alessio Carraro, an Italian immigrant saw great potential for development and tourism in 1928 when he visited the area east of Phoenix in search of a business venture. His dream was shattered by a flock of sheep and the Tovrea- Stuart family left all of us a historic landmark for everyone to enjoy today.

[syncallio]

Here's a little diamond in the rough:

Normally I wouldn't buy a pen of this age that didn't have a 14k nib (a reliable sign of quality) but I got this one and it's really nice. It's the color of homemade caramel, with a nice wide cap-band and a surprisingly clear ink window. The plated steel nib has a neat pattern engraved in it. And after a bit of smoothing it writes well.

The Majestic Pen Company was based in New York City, and made some lovely celluloid pens.

[goldenstorm0]

ok controversial(ish) vintage fountain pen: I like Wearever pens

If you don't know, Wearever was a fountain pen brand who made a ton of cheap third tier pens.

But they made a ton of pens that highly vary in quality. The most common and shittiest pen they had was the Pioneer. Plastic pieces of shit, they made millions and sold them for basically pennies. They're practically considered disposable, even though they are either lever fill or cartridge fill. You will find them everywhere, warped and distorted and cracked. They are the go to when you are learning how to restore fountain pens because it doesn't matter if you break it. You can find another one and try again.

Right now I have a Pennant in gray, but it looks grey-green to me. It's practically mint, just a couple scratches from storage and very light use. Only problem is that it's been gutted, no sac or pressure bar, but hopefully that should be fixed soon. What it can do is show off the feed

It's see-through! That's neat! I like it! I am a simple person who like simple things like unique feeds! They are called c-flow feeds, because you can see the flow. That's kinda silly but it's cute and I like it

There is still is dried ink stuck in it, I usually only use water when I clean pens but I might have to get some specialized cleaner. And I know its a gimmick to up sales, it doesn't really do anything, but dammit I think it's neat

What I really want to get one day is one of their early pens, a De Luxe or a Zenith

source for top 2 pics , source for bottom pic

There sadly isn't too much info about the early days of the brand, or at least compared to more popular brands. I'd love to find out more but I have no idea how to go about researching that. But I do want to get one with a gold nib, and tbh it isn't too hard, I just... want that gold nib and reinforcement. I use to have one while not realizing what it was, and now its gone. So I'm back to hunting for a new one. And honestly I'm not hunting too hard, but if I run across another, I'm snatching that shit up.

[no-sabo]

Alexander's Top 10 Games of 2023

#10: Street Fighter 6

Street Fighter 6 is landing on my list de panzazo because I didn't play enough of Baldur's Gate to include it. Act 1 gang, rise up!

It's tough trying to find the same hype that I had playing Street Fighter IV on the Xbox 360. I don't think I ever put as much hours trying to get good at a fighting game since and I don't think I ever will. This isn't to say that I don't think 6 is as good. My main thing is that I don't think I'll ever be in that kind of place in my life, or have the same friends with the same free time. Getting older is so wack. Street Fighter 6 is cool as hell, though.

#9: Venba

I think for immigrants Venba's themes are well worn ground. Food is perhaps the most powerful anchor to one's culture. Venba is beautiful, touching, and deeply relatable to me as a first born child of immigrant parents.

Make sure you eat something before jumping into this one. I'm pretty sure I ordered Indian food the day after.

#8: A Space for the Unbound

I don't think there's a game on my list with such a stark difference with the level of enjoyment I had between the narrative and the actual play. At times A Space for the Unbound can be extremely tedious.

A lot of the play involves solving puzzles, usually with a pen and paper at hand. That stuff can be nice, however the brief but constant loading in between areas really strained my patience. There's also empty calories in the form of fetch quests that trip up the pacing.

In the end, once credits rolled, those complaints melted away. It's a gripping fantasy story about community, bullying, domestic abuse, anxiety, and depression wrapped in gorgeous, detailed pixel art. And there's an achievement for petting all the cats.

#7: Hi-Fi Rush

Hi-Fi Rush feels like the remake to a long lost Sega game that they developed for the Xbox during their messy Dreamcast console exit. It's tough for me to describe why it's on here. I think I just genuinely miss this tier of game existing. Like, this game had fucking music from Zwan in it. Zwan.

I don't know, man. It's a vibe. It's really well animated, the characters are bright and goofy, and the rhythm infused third person action combat smacks.

I think this was the first game I completed on my Steam Deck in 2023. Actually, I think it's the first game I beaten front to back on it period?

#6: Super Mario Bros. Wonder

I know it's in to trash the New Super Mario Bros. games but I genuinely never had any strong positive feelings for that first DS game and it only lead to further my resentment for that series. They just made so damn many of them.

Mario Wonder, with its Wile E. the Coyote ass animations is so damn refreshing. I think this is probably the best implementation of the self governed difficulty levels, too. A kid can breeze through a lot of these levels, but being a completionist can get brutal in a satisfying kind of way. It's just so nice to be excited for a 2D Mario game again.

#5: Mediterranea Inferno

Part visual novel, part art-house movie, Mediterranea Inferno takes you on vacation with three Italian twinks trying to move past their Covid-19 lock-down trauma. It's funny at times, but quickly veers into some deeply uncomfortable situations. Also, it can get spooky.

It's an important game, but please heed the content warnings.

#4: Eternights

There's something alluring to me about the Persona Social Link system and any time a game decides to mess with that kind of thing I'm game to give it a shot. Eternights' main sell was "dating action game", so, there it is.

The gist here is there's an apocalypse and your player character gets his arm cut off and replaced with a magical one that can transform into, I think, anything? It's a sword for 98% of the game that you use to kill monsters. It's in third person and for the most part it's an OK action game. You get a skill tree and all that and your buds help you fight, though I think the combat truly shines in the back quarter of the game.

The game's whole thing is that you've got a time limit for when a dungeon has to be completed and you can either choose to progress through it or spend time with your friends, who are mostly female.

Now, to my surprise there is a male character that joins your crew late in game who can serve as a love interest and I was curious to see how that would play out given the homophobia present in the games with which it was inspired by.

The same sex story is, I feel, the most interesting route. It flips the corny harem trope on its head and you get what I believe is the most touching and fulfilling end given that character's relationship to the plot. It's respectful in a way the rest of the game wouldn't suggest it.

At some point in the story your characters are falling from up high and to save everyone the player character turns his arm into a bra parachute because in a quick panic he remembers seeing them on one of the girls in your group. It's childish as hell to be sure, but there's a lot of heart here and I can't wait to see what this one man studio does next.

And I'd like to request for more RPGs to be sub-20 hours like this one. It does wonders for pacing.

#3: Jusant

I kinda' just melted into Jusant. This game is gorgeous and the danger free climbing was so meditative during some really dark and ongoing political unrest. It feels selfish to even say this but it felt good to get home and get lost in something that provided very little consequence.

Fuck Joe Biden and free Palestine.

#2: Bomb Rush Cyberfunk

Sega can keep Jet Set Radio. Team Reptile understood the assignment.

Look, there's a lot you can do to modernize Jet Set and I'm sure Sega's got their top engineers on it but fuck all that. This shit with its simplified graphics runs at 90 FPS on my Steam Deck. It's got all the vibes down and it manages to improve on the mobility and graffiti systems.

Like Hi-Fi Rush I just miss this tier of game but, like, x10 for this specific series. It improves on the concepts of the games that inspired it. I was eating here.

#1: The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom

I don't think I have the capacity to express what Breathe of the Wild meant to me when I first played that game back in 2017. It's gotta' be my favorite game of all time. At least, it was? Still is? It's a toss up. Both Tears of the Kingdom and Breath of the Wild have surprisingly different philosophies and it sort of depends on how I'm feeling. All this to say that Tears of the Kingdom is a genuine master piece.

I'm sitting here trying to think of where to even begin. Is it the physics driven world that doesn't seem to break no matter what nonsense you throw at it? Do I talk about the fact that this is the most touching Zelda story to date? How about how the Colgera boss fight theme smacks? Why does this game look so good off like 2011 hardware?

Tears of the Kingdom embodies play. It begs you to be curious and creative. A sanbox with a capital S. My favorite game of 2023 and favorite game period?

Best Games of 2022 in 2023

2023 was stacked, but I had to make room for some stuff that I missed the previous year. If I do this list again the 2023 in 2024 section is gonna' be a damn mess.

Melatonin

I played Melatonin in December of 2023 and it came out December of 2022. i'm so sad it took me a whole year to check it out.

It's got cozy little Rhythm Heaven-like micro games that take place within an insomniac's melatonin infused dreams. It's dripping in pastels and good vibes.

Each level, or "night", has 4 or 5 stages that you navigate kind of like a Mario overworld. You'll walk to, say, the "Work" stage where it runs you through a brief tutorial. There you get a feel for the song and the beats you need to match with button presses. Once you get through that it begins your real run. Rinse, wash, repeat.

I like it a lot. The visuals are super pleasant and it's really satisfying when you nail those perfectly timed button presses to the beat of the music. I only just started it but felt compelled to throw it on here.

He Fucked the Girl Out of Me

This one's tough to talk about. I feel like I don't need to be taking up oxygen in this conversation.

He Fucked the Girl Out of Me is a short Game Boy game about sex work and trauma. This game isn't enjoyable, but it is profound and important.

Again, please heed the content warnings.

I Was a Teenage Exocolonist

If this game had come out in 2023 it would be my number 2.

You begin life on a colony as a 10 year old. You, your parents, and the other colonists escape an Earth on the brink of collapse and crash land on a barely habitable planet. From there you live your life through to adulthood, making choices along the way that affect you, your friends, and the overall colony.

There's a card system that carries a lot of your decision making as a sort of stand in for something like a skill check or a random dice roll. You obtain cards through specific actions and relationships. It's not the greatest mechanic but it's serviceable and feeds well into the gameplay loop.

The game ends when your character turns 20 where your story concludes in one of many different outcomes, but that's not where it stops. The game has a time loop mechanic. You're meant to roll back in on a NG+ and see a lot of the different ways the game could end where you're meant to "fix" mistakes you made in your first playthrough. It works really well and is a core part of the experience.

I binged this game for a whole weekend. I could not put my Steam Deck down. I Was a Teenage Exocolonist is Young Adult fiction at its peak and in a year full of platitudes, "one of my all time favorites" feels like it has very little meaning, but man this one of my all time favorites.

[arecomicsevengood]

Jack Cole's Plastic Man

I recently discovered that some volumes of the Plastic Man Archives, those fifty dollar hardcovers issued by DC, can be had for fairly affordable prices these days. I had always heard that Jack Cole was one of the few Golden Age cartoonists whose work held up - Some would advocate for Will Eisner's work on The Spirit, but Cole's work, being more explicitly comedic seemed like it might come closer to E.C. Segar or other strip cartoonists whose work I know to be enjoyable. I'd read a little bit of Plastic Man before - his origin story, as reprinted in Jules Feiffer's The Great Comic Book Heroes, is not that impressive, but is ingrained in my memory due to poring over that book at my grandparents' house as a kid. I also know that I read the Art Spiegelman and Chip Kidd Jack Cole And Plastic Man: Forms Stretched To Their Limits book but that was much later in life and so I don't remember the stories reprinted nearly as much as I recall the Chip Kidd of it all: The scans from newsprint, the ephemera. There are only a few complete stories in that book.

I do wish there was a single volume best-of, in an affordable softcover, rather than a series of eight hardcovers, committed to completism. There are also now four softcovers, put out by PS Artbooks, that reprint four issues of the Plastic Man series at a time - I believe there is some overlap with the archives in the first two of these volumes, but that with the third they get to reprinting material DC didn't get around to. I also believe that PS follows the "scanning from old issues" method preferred by Spiegelman to the "restored and made crisper" approach seen in the DC Archives books. I don't know, of course, if my personal taste in what I think is the strongest material would align with that of the editors of a hypothetical best-of. I'm sure there are great discrepancies between my taste, those of an editor at DC Comics, and Art Spiegelman's when it comes to contemporary work, but I would also like to think that, when evaluating work from the 1940s, our collective tastes would approximate those of the theoretical modern reader. I believe we'd all agree that The Granite Lady, from Volume Five, with its reoccurring gags of men being suicidal due to a beautiful but indifferent woman, or the same volume's Thinking Machine, with its prefiguring of AI played for laughs, constitutes top-shelf material. Volume 3 is a little more consistently high-quality than volume 5, but not by much.

But beyond selecting the stories that hold up as comedy, that are able to maintain a certain velocity, there is the cartooning itself to observe the oddity of. There is a peculiar way these panels move from panel to panel, which is abnormally solid: Often it seems like the figures are made of clay, and they and the camera are being moved around a stop-motion diorama. There's a way of foreshortening the bodies and backgrounds that gives the comics a sense that the spaces have been realized by the artist with perfect precision before he laid his pen to paper. This is most in evidence with Woozy Winks, Plastic Man's sidekick, a big fat guy wearing polka dots and a straw boater hat, but there is always a sense of solidity, of moving the reader through the space of the page by identifiable props. A big part of this is the gag of Plastic Man himself, how he disguises himself as an object then reveals himself later.

Cole shows Plastic Man stretching within the panels themselves, which are set out in a standard three-tier page. He doesn't go for wacky byzantine dynamic layouts that have Plastic Man moving throughout the page. There is something inherently deadpan or understated, which is both a big part of why these comics work and something that people trying to adapt Plastic Man to a more traditional superhero comics framework miss. Plastic Man is now owned by DC Comics, and when he shows up as a character, he is played as zany, while the sense of humor in Cole's comics is situational and occasionally dark. In a non-Golden Age context, it makes sense to play the character for what he can do visually, but playing the cartooning broader leads to different calculations as to how the timing would work.

There are other factors in play as to why later incarnations may not work as well. Over time, the idea of a humorous superhero veers into superhero parody, which then gives way to head-up-its-own-ass self-referentiality. This is a trap even very funny people can fall into. Jack Cole is simply telling stories, that require very little from the reader in terms of background knowledge they need going in, and he elaborates on his basic premise, time and time again, becoming reliably entertaining. I don't think I need many more of these collections beyond the two that I have, but two volumes of classic comics is generally my limit: That's all I have of Carl Barks, Floyd Gottfredson, E.C. Segar, and Cliff Sterrett. Cole easily ranks among those guys, a great entertainer for a broad audience.

[cassynite]

OCs as Obscure References

Tagged by @dmagedgoods thank you for thinking of me! I believe I've already done a similar meme for both Vonzi and Sparrow, so this time I did Ophenia 😌

ANIMAL: Vulture

COLORS: Deep red and blank

MONTH: September

SONGS: Poet (Bastille), Two Scenes (San Fermin), Willow Tree March (The Paper Kites)

NUMBER: 57

PLANTS: Creeping phlox, poppies

SMELLS: Leather, paper, ink, copper

GEMSTONE: Ruby

TIME OF DAY: Dusk

SEASON: Midwinter

PLACES: Right at the edge of a lively social gathering--close enough to still partake but far enough away you're not truly part of the group

FOOD: Cherries

DRINKS: Sangria

ELEMENT: Air

ASTROLOGICAL SIGN: Scorpio/The Stargazer

SEASONINGS: Thyme

SKY: A star choked night

WEATHER: Cold enough you want to be inside if you are outside, but otherwise very still, no wind, little cloud cover

MAGICAL POWER: Mind reading, bringing art to life

WEAPONS: The pen!

SOCIAL MEDIA: Twitter, Facebook, Reddit (she's on all those drama reddit threads)

MAKEUP PRODUCT: kohl and red lipstick

CANDY: Chocolate covered cherries

METHOD OF LONG DISTANCE TRAVEL: Wagon

ART STYLE: Impressionism

FEAR: None (feeling something again)

MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE: ...is it. Cheating to say vampire?

PIECE OF STATIONARY: Notebook

THREE EMOJIS: 👀✍🏻🌚

CELESTIAL BODY: Dwarf star

--

I believe I am third tier tagging at this point so I didn't see anyone who wasn't tagged in the previous chains. If you weren't tagged and you want to be though, this is YOUR tag! I want to see more of these, tell them I tagged you.

[taradiddled]

You guys have been so patient with me. Here's a peek at Ada and Lucifer doing Hell business together.

-----

Plenty of nobles had tried to remind Lucifer of Lilith's previous acts as Queen of Hell, in which she'd leaned more favorably upon the nobles and their enterprises, so long as those enterprises also benefited the royal family in some way. Adam had been disgusted when she'd read one noble blatantly remind Lucifer that Lilith had always "given generously" to their businesses, as those businesses were some of Hell's top suppliers of agricultural means (it seemed every hot-shot noble was making that claim recently).

Unfortunately for the noble, Lucifer had Adam to analyze the noble's annual profit reports that had been attached with the letter, and she'd called bullshit after just the first line. "The fucker seriously wants you to believe that their piddly ballplants make that much money?"

Lucifer had sighed at Adam's uproar (he'd learnt to let Adam storm and thunder, before sweeping in with his input).

"They're eggplants, Adam."

Adam had snorted, shaking her head. "That's not what I originally named them, but fine. Go off." She'd then shaken the profit report above Lucifer's desk, scowling. "But this cunt has grossly exaggerated their profits. Those ballsack plants are a third-tier crop at best. Tomatoes? Carrots? Those I'd believe." She'd then slapped down the report, and brought out her infamous red pen. "You want to see where he's pulling numbers straight out of his ass?"

She'd then given the report the proper dressing-down needed. When Adam had finished circling numbers and correcting percentages, the report had looked laughable.

If the noble had actually managed his business properly, Adam could have seen some appeal in continuing to flatter the pompous asshole, but he wasn't even good at covering his ass. He also seemed to have a gambling problem, as well as a porn addiction. Adam had a heavy suspicion that the asshole also had ties with one of the Overlords, as the noble had mentioned, in their letter that one of their business partners wouldn't be pleased if Lucifer didn't provide the required assistance.

Adam right-off told Lucifer seize the noble's assets immediately, and put a halt to the flow of money between the royal family and the noble's ventures. However, Adam had corrected herself a moment later, telling Lucifer to seize the noble's assets on the hush, while allowing the noble to keep his current properties. It would be done with the expectation that the noble continue to manage their businesses, but now with more active oversight from the royal family.

"Doesn't matter if Lilith was the sole one funding this bastard. He was still getting money from a member of the royal family." Adam had stars in her eyes when she'd detailed what Lucifer should include next in the letter. "He's been getting more money than he's been giving back, right?" Lucifer and Adam had checked Lilith's old ledgers to be sure of that. "Then he's accrued a debt, and judging by how much Lilith was giving that bastard, it's safe to say that he won't be able to pay it all off for a hundred years or more, if he's even that fucking lucky."

"Those are all good points, but he's still a prominent part of Hell's agriculture production," Lucifer had reminded Adam. "We can't just sack him. There's no one available to immediately replace him that won't slip right back into the same nasty habits."

"Then don't sack him," Adam had advised. "Just use him like a puppet. Tell him that he may keep his estate, and his properties, but only out of the sheer generosity of the King of Hell. He may continue to manage his businesses, and spend his money, but only on an allowance given to him after you collect his business's profits."

"Fucking brilliant," Lucifer had uttered, grinning evilly. "It's underhanded, it's effective..."

"It gets the job done," Adam had concluded, giving Lucifer a saucy little wink. That conversation had taken place before Adam and Lucifer had come together. But Lucifer had still looked at Adam with what Adam had assumed then to be twinkles in Lucifer's red eyes. Proof of how far Lucifer had fallen for the First Man and her Seraph-blessed expertise for handling complete and total self-absorbed, pompous assholes.