#was sitting in my drafts for a year and a half...

[platoapproved]

[salamispots]

more various sea angel friend stuff

[xiaowhore]

scribbled hearts.

premise. alhaitham learns to stop falling asleep in places that isn't his bed the hard way. (alternatively, in which the librarian doesn't follow the script to wake sleeping beauty.)

Kaveh finds Alhaitham furiously scrubbing his face in the bathroom.

At first, he's absolutely ecstatic. For all that Alhaitham refuses to practice skincare, he's never gotten a zit on his face. An earth-shattering revelation to Kaveh, who maintains a strict nightly skincare routine—he's never gone to sleep without a moisturizing facemask. It's not the most infuriating thing about his roommate, but it annoys him that a guy who only washes his face in the morning has clearer skin than he does.

Is this it? Is Alhaitham receiving retribution at last? Is he finally suffering the consequences of his carelessness?!

But when Kaveh cranes his neck to get a better look at Alhaitham's face, he doesn't see any of the sort.

“Dude...” Kaveh can't even laugh due to sheer incredulity, staring at Alhaitham with a pitying look. Alhaitham thinks it would be less irritating if he just laughed in his face. “Did a third-grader pick on you?”

Alhaitham grits his teeth, wiping the remnants of ink on his face. He's mostly gotten rid of the sparkly anime eyes you drew over his eyelids, but it still looks like a fading black eye. The blush lines on his cheeks are a work in progress, but they'll disappear with some effort.

“They have the maturity of one, at least.”

Alhaitham has met his fair share of librarians—there's the stern, no-nonsense kind he's gotten forehead flicks from every time he's caught dozing off on his thesis paper; the introverted bookish type who stutters as they nervously but firmly tell him off for hogging all the books a certain class needs for a report; the motherly sort who smuggles him coffee in his all-nighters when he looks like death itself...

And then there's you.

Cheekier than his brat of a roommate, you somehow manage to annoy him like nobody else can. He'd rather have you scold him for treating the library as a second bedroom than clip ribbons to his hair whenever you catch him sleeping. Hell, he'd take a skull-shattering forehead flick over doodles on his face any day. But even if he preaches his troubles to anyone willing to listen, they're never sympathetic.

Because for some reason, you're never like this to anyone else.

If anyone at campus were asked to describe you, they'll say you're a model student. Scholarly, courteous, standing tall with dignified grace; you're the perfect picture of a goody-two-shoes. Nothing like the childish brat who terrorizes his nap schedule on a daily basis.

People who have a vendetta against him is nothing new. What he doesn't understand, however, is what he did to be the object of your wrath.

“Maybe [Name] likes you. Kind of like how boys bully the girl they like,” is the ridiculous answer Kaveh gives him, dropping those words like they weigh nothing with a nonchalant shrug. Alhaitham would think it more likely for the reverse to be true; your insistence to dedicate your time into ruining his day is nothing short of admiration—surely a testament to just how much you hate him.

...Okay, so maybe Alhaitham could guess a few things for why. There's been a handful of times (read: it happens at least thrice a week) he kept you stationed at the library longer than you had to be because he fell asleep until closing hours, and he has a tendency to forget returning the materials he borrows for his thesis to the library...

So. Perhaps this was a consequence of his actions after all.

He argues that there are far more mature methods to resolve this issue, though.

Alhaitham stares at the crudely drawn portrait scrawled on his arm, deeply unimpressed. Although he's not one to boast about his looks, he's rather sure he isn't as much of an eyesore as you drew him to be, his nose an exaggerated point (a literal triangle) and his lips wide open as he drools, dangerously close to the rectangles he guesses are supposed to be books. Don't sleep on the reference books!! You'll get drool all over them >:(, reads the scribbled letters beside the portrait, an angry face scrawled haphazardly next to them.

(Still, by the corner of his eye, he spots a cup of his usual order of coffee, a neon pink sticky note pasted on the lid: Wake up and finish your report quickly, I have a show to catch at 8 :>

It would be easier to hate you if being bratty is all there is to your personality, really.)

You scribble all over your notes.

It's a fact Alhaitham has known about you since long ago. Everything else about you is neat and orderly, but every page of your notebook has some sort of doodle on the corners. They range from meticulous side-profiles of whoever sits beside you that day to meaningless hearts and smiley faces akin to what a five-year-old child might make.

If you've chosen to be more artistic for the doodles you draw all over him, perhaps Alhaitham might not mind as much. It's unfortunate you much rather prefer drawing exaggerated tear streaks on his face.

“I'm quite certain this is a form of harassment,” Alhaitham grumbles, rubbing his face with makeup remover. As pointless as it is to express his woes to the cause of said woes, he finds himself seated before the reception desk to keep you company anyway. “I don't understand why you're still doing this.”

“It's a punishment for falling asleep and keeping me holed up in here to guard the library until it closes,” you drone, fixing the library cards. “And yet you still refuse to stop. Is it really so hard to go to the dormitory instead?”

Alhaitham shrugs. A sigh inevitably escapes your lips.

Eventually, you run out of stupid things to draw on his skin whenever you catch him sleeping.

You start to write your shopping list on his arm instead.

“Why on earth would you need three cartons of eggs?” Alhaitham leans against the desk you're stationed at, reading the bulletpoints on his skin.

Eventually, Alhaitham gets used to scrubbing off your vandalism too. It's his personal brand of skincare.

“They're on sale today,” you reply, signing the papers requesting new stocks of books. “And I was planning on baking, so it's better I have plenty of ingredients for trial and error.”

“Sounds heavy,” he hums, eyes scanning the rest of your list. “Want me to come with?”

At that, your pen stops moving. “...Why?”

“I need to buy cereal.”

(No he doesn't. Kaveh went on a grocery run yesterday.)

“Sure, I guess...?” It's an unexpected development, but you wouldn't turn away an extra pair of hands. “Should we get going, then?”

“Yeah.”

You raise an eyebrow. “...But you didn't borrow a book today yet. Aren't you getting anything first?”

Alhaitham looks around. “The book I wanted isn't here, so I suppose I still have to wait a few days for it.”

“What is it?” You click your pen, reaching for your notepad. (You already have one of those, Alhaitham seriously sees no point in you writing down your grocery list on his arm.) “I'll tell you when it gets returned.”

“...No, it's fine. Let's go, the eggs you wanted might be all gone if we take our time getting there.”

You jolt up in alarm, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “You're right, we should hurry!”

For all it's worth, you're pretty gullible.

“You're still keeping that up?”

Alhaitham looks up from his laptop, fingers halting in their movement. “What do you mean?”

Kaveh scrunches his nose, pointing at the scribbles on his palm. “Your weird mating ritual. Can't you two communicate like normal people?”

Alhaitham glances at the mess you've made of his arm, full of little messages and doodles you wrote back and forth to each other during Biology period. Alhaitham had been, perhaps for the first time, not feeling drowsy. Regardless, you've taken to treating his skin as paper (“Save the trees,” you told him once, ignoring the disbelieving expression on his face), and Alhaitham has already accepted that you won't stop doing it as long as you still find it amusing.

“We do talk. Normally.”

“And if you do, why are you still doing... that.”

Alhaitham doesn't have anything to say to that. He did think it was inconvenient to wash all the messages off, and there are far more practical modes of communication.

But for some reason, he can't find it himself to say that he outright dislikes it.

And maybe he traces the shapes you draw on his skin, in the private confines of his room where no one can see him. Maybe he admires the smooth strokes of your penmanship, the adorable curls of your letters, the bubbly font that always makes him chuckle because it's just so like you.

There are hearts sometimes, or even flowers when you feel like drawing something more detailed. The ugly sketches of him sleeping are somewhat annoying, but he still finds himself endeared. Though some things are appallingly inaccurate—you've done his nose a horrible injustice more than once—he notices the correct placement of beauty marks on his face, the sharp edges of his eyes, the meticulous dimple that faintly appears when he smiles.

A thrill runs through him when he thinks of you paying attention to him, more than you've ever given anyone else.

And, well. Alhaitham's certain he's been doing plenty of that for you.

“Don't you think you're being unfair?”

You pause in your typing, averting your eyes from the computer monitor to glance at Alhaitham. “Unfair in what, exactly?”

He mindlessly spins a pen with his fingers, staring at the blank canvas that was your arm compared to the sketchbook you've made out of his. “You're the only one who writes on me.”

“What, you want to write your shopping list on me for a change?” you arch up an eyebrow, unperturbed. “I thought you said it was impractical.”

“I never said I wanted to write my shopping list.”

“What else would you write, then?”

Alhaitham reaches for your arm. “Give me your hand.”

You blink, not quite unwilling yet confused all the same. You offer your hand and he uncaps his pen, scribbling on your palm. You've never been on the receiving end of this little game, so you're not sure what to expect from him.

“There.” Satisfied, he lets go and stands up. “I'm going home for the day. Good luck with the rest of your shift.”

“See you tomorrow, I guess...?” you wave at him in farewell, but he's quick to spring on his feet and dart out the door. “What's his deal...”

You turn over your hand, seeing a string of numbers written in neat font.

“Oh.”

Alhaitham feels silly for anticipating a text like some lovestruck teenage girl who exchanged numbers with her crush.

The blinking cursor on his blank essay document almost looks mocking, and as time passes by, the only word he's managed to type out is “The.” Even so, his attention is completely locked on his phone, devoid of any notifications.

If it weren't for Kaveh being nosy the other day, he wouldn't have gotten the idea of giving you his number. He did think something had to change, but he didn't know how to get there. But now that he's gotten this far, he can expect a little bit, right?

At last, his phone chimes its long awaited notification. Alhaitham is quick to ditch his laptop and shuts it closed, reaching for his phone where it sits on his desk. He swears he's never typed his password so fast before in his life.

Unfortunately, the text he's been anticipating for a good portion of the day is nothing but a disappointment.

Unknown number: eggs milk whipping cream flour

Unknown number: baking powder cocoa powder vanilla extract sugar

What was he expecting anyway?

He sighs and leans back on his chair, solemly pushing his laptop open. He doubts this message requires a response back.

Another notification lights his phone.

This time, Alhaitham doesn't even have the energy to unlock his screen. He squints at the notification preview.

Unknown number: wanna come over when I finish baking the souffles?

He doesn't quite drop his phone in shock, but it's a near thing.

You: I'll go carry the groceries too.

Unknown number: thanks! 💖

[raziiyah]

this has been marinating in my drafts for long enough

[raccoonstickses]

[productofaritual]

C!Ranboo "does not understand the concept of touch starvation" Beloved and c!Tubbo "is touch starved 24/7 but doesn't say anything about it" Underscore

[creamiceandsugar]

the "law being haunted by people from flevance" wasnt even a new idea i had i did it for the WIP i still have of the lyric comic i'm making (i'm being optimistic i know it's been literal years) and it's still one of my favorite panels :)

[wartornrequiem]

motionless in white appreciation post, pt. v ↳ most played live [x] feat. 2000s muchmusic countdown nostalgia

[molinaskies]

The thing that bugs me about the many conflicts of interest that happen between sonic and shadow is that no one in the fandom seems to consider that the fact sonic was wrong doesn't mean shadow was right

This is such a good point. Say it louder for the people in the back!

Sonic and Shadow fundamentally butt heads because of how they both view their responsibilities to protect the world.

The most pointed example of this for me is the inciting incident in Sonic Prime. I’ve already said a while back that I think Shadow is equally to blame for shattering the crystal because he was the one who prevented Sonic from doing what he had to do. I got some pushback saying that Sonic was the instigator of Shadow’s aggression, but I have a hard time believing that when Shadow literally greeted Sonic with a punch. Yes, Sonic still made a lot of mistakes that I acknowledged in my original post, but Shadow immediately set the tone for that encounter and it was NOT positive. My point in bringing this up again is to say that they both fucked up, but Shadow, the show itself, and much of the viewers blame exclusively Sonic because Shadow somehow stole the moral highground.

More nuanced, however, is the discussion around Sonic’s moral code as presented in the IDW comics (which are canon to the mainline series, btw, if anyone didn’t know. They are the same picture).

In issue 7, Sonic and Shadow argue over whether Eggman should live freely as Mr. Tinker. Shadow states that Eggman deserves to pay for all the pain he’s put Sonic through (among the other harm he’s caused). While Sonic agrees, he hinges on the fact that Eggman isn’t around anymore. Sonic doesn’t want to punish Mr. Tinker because he doesn’t want to be an arbiter of justice.

Yes, Sonic was “wrong,” but was Shadow really right in this case? Everyone in-universe gets upset with Sonic for not knowing something he reasonably had no way of knowing (literally who tf would have predicted Starline? lol) but what they’re really upset with is the fact that Sonic didn’t mitigate the risk.

I really feel like you can’t ascribe moral boundaries to these things. One isn’t good while the other is bad and vice versa. It’s all shades of gray.

[il-predestinato]

FAVOURITE F1 SHIPS: BROCEDES

“We’re not friends.” - Lewis Hamilton

“I don't regret anything.” - Nico Rosberg

[liamstea]

sherlock: *handing over an ice-cream he's just bought for william* here you go

billy: oh, can i get one?

sherlock: go buy it yourself, you're a grown up man

[acediathemelancholy]

I want to discuss the Divine Comedy references for Mikuni and Lily in more detail because both of them descending an endless spiraling staircase is clearly a reference to Dante’s work. I wrote another post here, about how Mikuni’s decapitation stunt was intended to associate him with Bertrand de Born, a resident of the Eighth Circle of Hell - the resting place of those whose sin is Fraud. 

Dante divided the Eighth Circle of Hell into ten different levels or Bolgia.

For Bertrand to Born and Mikuni, their sin is sowing scandal and discord in religion, politics, and families (the Ninth Bolgia). The punishment for that was disfiguring wounds from a demon with a sword. (There are at least two characters that could fit that description, maybe three if Tanaka decides to go there)

Now Lily’s sin is also Fraud, but his sin is likely from a different Bolgia than Mikuni. Dante had his protagonist be guided by demons through the Eighth Circle of Hell. The demon that guarded the Fifth Bolgia was called Farfarello ("butterfly"). And the Fifth Bolgia was for people whose sin was using their positions in life to gain wealth or other selfish advantages. Their punishment was being thrown in a river of tar. 

So, as for what that means for Lily: it could be that someone used their social position in a way that led to Lily’s death or could be referring to how Lily used his own position in the Alicein House to fulfill his own personal goals. Knowing Servamp, where the humans that became the servamps are also victims of their own sin, it’s probably both. 

[sunforgrace]

ooo.... lady casito

[4x01 Lazarus Rising entrance set to Chromatica II/911 by Lady Gaga]

[rrrromeo]

some trc doodles cause i’m on my bullshit

[crowns-of-violets-and-roses]

Translation State

Anne Leckie returns to the world of her Ancillary trilogy for a second independent novel in the setting. This one rotates between three protagonists. An heir to an old family shuffled off world on a diplomatic mission to find someone who meant missing three hundred years ago (explicitly a sinecure - there is no expectation she makes more than a token effort to find them). An adoptive child working an ordinary job who finds he may be the descendant of the disposed ruling dynasty to a deceased station. Lastly and most interestingly a young translator one of a species created to server as an intermediary between humans and the incomprehensibly alien

The beginning of the book is attention grabbing. Each of the protagonists are interesting in their own way. After that initial burst of promise it never felt like it reached it's potential.

Getting a perspective from a Translator was great. They were one of the most interesting parts of the Ancillary books but the best chapters about that were all early in the book and the facts that a point of view was a translator felt less and less relevant as the story continued despite it being crucial to the climax.

By the end of the book the diplomat Enae's perspective became increasingly superfluousness. The other two protagonists are deeply tied in to the climax and Enae is also there.

My biggest complaint about the POV's is that we didn't get to see Reet and Qven's viewpoint after they matched. It would have automatically made me like the book a lot more if we saw that and it was even half decently executed.

It's not a book with surprising twists. It telegraphs everything. The first idea you have about what will happen will nearly always be what actually happens. It does this all well in advance of events happening. You can see plot points long before they actually eventuate. I don't need shocking twists but events happening exactly how you would have expected a hundred pages ago gets tiresome.

There's references to the setting's history but they feel like isolated events with no real connection to each other rather than a detailed fleshed out history.

The depiction of polities and how those with influence in them act was simplistic. Leckie only seems to view them at a very high level and an individual level and is blind to anything in between. A lot of the political beliefs of background characters are more like caricatures rather than what someone would genuinely belief. In other cases the beliefs are plausible but the manner in which the characters frame them or justify themselves rings false.

The arcs of the main characters are didactic and the book is equally opinionated about events that are only focused on in passing. We can never just be shown or told about something; we must be told what to think of it. Leckie's views aren't objectionable but the messages imparted aren't complex or novel. It often seems as if Leckie simply doesn't trust the reader to draw their own conclusions rather than her having something she feels is important to say.

All this combines to make the world feel wooden and hollow. A mere facade constructed by Leckie to attempt to wow the reader rather than a fully realized world.

I am being somewhat harsh here. This isn't a bad book. It's certainly better than the average SF novel but I see Leckie in general and this book in particular in the context of award nominations and accolades and it doesn't meet that standard.

Simplistic is the word I keep coming back to for it. The world, the non-POV characters and the messages it intends to impart all lack any real complexity. It was a reasonably enjoyable read albeit frustrating at times but ultimately not anywhere near as good as the accolades suggested.

[alilbatflies]

I wrote a short continuation of this amazing prompt by @thepenultimateword, which goes as follows:

“What are you doing?”

Alex jolted violently, nose still buried in the watermelon musk of Ben’s hoodie as they whirled around.

“Uhhh…”

Ben stared dryly between their open locker and Alex’s wide eyes.

Alex held the hoodie out in front of themself, face suddenly twisting in confusion. “Wait, a minute, this isn’t mine. Did I get the wrong locker?”

The scrutinized the numbers a few seconds before clapping their hand dramatically to their forehead. “Will you look at that, I’m in the wrong row! Sorry, Ben, I’ll see you later.”

Alex went to march away but was promptly caught by the collar of their shirt and yanked a couple stumbling steps backward. “You still have my jacket.”

“Oh.” Their cheeks burned with a mixture of embarrassment and displeasure. “So I do.”

They reluctantly let the soft fabric fall back into Ben’s long, scar-nicked fingers and bustled away before their coworker could ask something stupid like: “Why were you sniffing my clothes?”

They should have walked faster.

...

for sake of clarity and my sanity (seeing the word henchman so many times while editing nearly melted my brain), I named those two:

Henchman A = Alex, Henchman B = Ben

... ... ...

Avoiding someone who works for the same person as them was... Manageable. 

Alex would know, for they managed to avoid Ben for all of two weeks despite their shared tasks, appointments and whatnot. 

Were they caught sniffing Ben's clothes again? Not yet. At some point Alex assumed Ben knew and just rolled with it. Which was odd, since Ben never rolled with anything, spare the orders from their boss. 

And yes, they could just say your scent helps my powers calm so uh... thanks but wouldn't that just be the creepier? Openly admitting it wasn't Ben they were fixated on, but their smell? How fucked up was that.

Besides. A rational, well-mannered, unimpressed Ben. Getting their quirks and unexplained tendencies. Not happening.

Alex prepared for all alternatives, avoiding serious conversation and hiding behind excuses to leave the moment work was done. See that spider on the ceiling? Gotta go. Bye. It wasn't their best but it worked despite all the confusion that it caused.

What Alex did not factor with was outside of work. 

Much like seeing a teacher at a grocery store was odd, seeing Ben leaning against their apartment door hit them like a mirage. Not quite there. Not quite right. A miracle kind of pleasant surprises, except somehow out of place and chilling in its suspiciousness.

Ben nodded at them in greeting, unimpressed eyes focused with unfair intent. They meant business when they looked like that.

Alex was so screwed. 

“Good evening.” 

Alex's head reeled at the greeting. Deep and quiet, yet perfectly clear. Politely blank, just there. 

Manners, Alex. Your fucking manners.

“Evening,” was all they managed, searching for their keys. They had to find out what Ben was doing there. “Thought you lived downtown?”

“Thought we had things to discuss the boss doesn't need to be involved in.”

Alex's blood ran cold. They swallowed. It helped nothing. 

Ben tilted their head to a side. “Don't we?”

“I guess.” Alex was pretty sure their voice did something weird. They gestured inside once they managed to open the door. After you, except they didn't say it, because they would stutter for sure.

Ben slipped inside, waiting for them to pass by only to follow close behind. Maybe they didn’t know which flat Alex lived in exactly. Maybe they did but didn’t want to be obvious about it. Maybe they wanted to make sure Alex wouldn’t bolt.

Alex let them slip into their flat without comments. Their mind chanted a really not helpful chain of I’m dead, I’m dead, I’m dead.

“So.” Ben looked around curtly. They leaned against the door.

Alex considered inviting them further in. They also considered Ben’s stance and decided maybe Ben would take it as an attempt to avoid the conversation, and so they fiddle with the straps of their bag and waited.

The realisation that Ben was effectively blocking the way out really did nothing to calm them down.

“You’re avoiding me.” Ben tilted their head again, focused look studying every shift in Alex’s expression, no doubt reading them like an open book. “Is it because of the locker accident?”

Accident. Not on purpose. Alex nodded their head perhaps a little too vehemently.

Ben didn’t look like they were quite buying that. “What were you doing there?”

“Uhhh…”

One would think two weeks was a reasonably long time to think of an excuse. One would be wrong.

Alex did not have an excuse ready. There were really not that many plausible, normal-looking excuses for being addicted to someone’s scent.

Ben looked like they wanted to talk again. It startled Alex’s brain back into function. They didn’t think they could handle anything that came out of Ben’s mouth next.

“I have the same hoodie at home,” Alex blurted, “it just… smelled different.” Lies. “Different but good.” Oh gods, shut up.

Ben was staring into their eyes and somewhere behind, presumably scanning their soul and weighting how well they could hide their body from everyone and their absence from their employer.

“It uhhh… caught me off guard.”

“What about all the other times, then?”

Alex felt their soul leave their body. They know about the other times. They needed to sit down. They didn’t think they were getting such chance.

Ben let them suffer in silence. They reached into their bag, searching for something.

Alex closed their eyes, hoping that whatever it was, it would at least kill them quickly. I won’t have to clean the mess if I’m dead. It was a small reassurance.

“Here.”

Alex blinked. Their vision was not blurry and it was not tears. They blinked a few times and finally managed to focus on what Ben was holding out to them.

“Shampoo…” they managed weakly. It was two bottles… Watermelon scented shampoo and shower gel. They were smelling those clothes. Right.

“You could have just asked, you know?”

Alex laughed. It wasn’t an entirely comfortable laugh. Better than bursting into tears, they supposed.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m…” Alex realised, belatedly, that it was a really nice gesture. A solution. Ben was always good at finding solutions, but that didn’t mean they had to go out of their way and get Alex things instead of beating them up and threatening them to stop. It was a gift. Ben was being nice to them. “I’m alright.”

They were so not alright, although admittedly for a different reason than a few seconds ago.

“I’m not mad,” Ben said. “So, stop avoiding me.”

Alex nodded.

Ben looked like they wanted to add something, but then shook their head. They pushed away from the door and turned to leave, hand on the doorknob already when Alex found their voice.

“Surely you could uhhh... Stay back for dinner?” 

Ben's lips quirked into the tiniest of smiles. “I have a bus to catch.”

“…maybe you don’t.” You could stay here. With me.

Ben tilted their head in confusion. “And how else would I get home, silly?”

Stay, I’ll lend you a sleeping bag. Stay, there’s a spare blanket here somewhere.

“Right.” Alex nodded, backing off. “Right.”

Ben left through the door, and Alex absolutely did not think about the fact that the way they said silly sounded all too much like silly little thing, and how they would probably fall and never get up if Ben called them their silly little thing. Nuh-uh.

Alex kept thinking about the tiny smile. And the gift. They used it. It did smell like what they were used to. They missed the smell of something indisputably Ben underneath it, that little bit of their presence that stayed behind.

Alex kept thinking about little gestures and everything Ben made. They saw Ben once during a particularly bad magic moment and they did something so unavoidably Ben (like that weird shrug of shoulders) and Alex immediately calmed down and oh. 

Shit no. It might be more than just their smell after all.

Not to mention Ben was the villain’s best attack dog. Killing machine. Quite like the rest of them, except, well, much more dangerous. Alex kind of hoped Ben assumed their avoidance was based on some kind of fear of them after fucking up and ending in the wrong locker by accident instead of… whatever it was. However much they were not afraid of Ben. Maybe that was the issue from the beginning. If they were afraid like everyone else, they wouldn’t have bonded so well.

But then Ben went out of their way to fix it. As if that wasn’t the most gesture thing to happen to Alex in forever.

It was the smallest of gestures. It was the most thoughtful of gestures. Attempting to solve the situation instead of pushing in. 

Strangely, ironically, it was making Alex's craving worse.

Alex refused to think of all those utterly menacing and dangerously enchanting moments of Ben that they’d witnessed over their shared time together at work. Or outside of it. They thought of them anyway. They were so utterly, profoundly doomed. It wasn’t even funny.

They managed to stay in the clear for all of eight days after that, before they found themselves picking the lock of Ben's locker again. Breaking in. Like a creep. 

“Maybe they should just kill me instead of being so fucking endearing.”

Except they couldn’t find the hoodie this time. They ruffled through the bag and patted the notebooks and pens scattered over the upper shelf in the locker. Nothing. Just work stuff.

Alex had exactly two seconds to stare into nowhere and notice the steps stopping next to them.

“What are you doing?”

Alex flinched and slammed the locker closed, facing Ben on instinct. Their mouth opened and closed with no words to form—their brain was refusing to cooperate properly.

Ben was wearing their hoodie. Their hair was wet and they were holding both their bloodied uniform and towel, meaning they probably had been sent home to rest after killing someone.

Wish for death and dead you shall be. Except Ben’s expression was not murderous in particular.

Alex found themselves gravitating towards them. Before they came to themselves, they already stood close enough to Ben to touch. By the time they tried to jerk away, Ben was already holding their upper arm, keeping them steady.

“So,” Ben whispered into the silence between them, “what’s the matter?”

Alex wanted to say something. They really did. Instead, their magic tugged them forward and they buried their face in their shoulder.

Ben went still.

Alex inhaled their scent, calming and there. Their magic settled. They melted.

“Is it my hoodie?” Ben’s voice flowed quietly, almost from afar.

“…just you.”

“Sorry?”

Alex realized what slipped. They wanted to pull away. They wanted to stay close forever. They needed to leave. They needed to cling to Ben.

Their dilemma was solved by those strong fingers curling into the back of their shirt, pulling them closer.

“You might want to elaborate on that,” Ben whispered.

“I’m…” Alex was content with keeping their face hidden.

Ben was drawing circles on their back now. Oh dear. Not even their grandma could help them anymore.

“I might have a little problem, and… it’s you,” they mumbled into Ben’s shoulder eventually. “Except it’s not the appropriate sort of problem at all.”

“Well, lucky you then.”

Lucky you. And of course Alex was lucky, were they not? If it was the villain or one of their higher-ups, there would be far worse consequences, wouldn’t they?

“We might have a similar kind of problem.”

Alex felt their magic settle. Their brain stopped. Their breathing probably stopped, too.

Their heart did the exact opposite, galloping forth.

They tried to look up then, but their head was held in place and pressed back into the shoulder.

“Invite me over, hm?” Ben petted their head. “I won’t catch the evening bus.”

And Alex did.