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kaszuma · 4 months

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Certainly Yours | Hoshina Soshiro

Part 1 of "Certainly Yours"

pairing: Hoshina Soshiro × fem!reader

summary: you and soshiro had been friends for a while now. But sometimes he really tests those boundaries of his

warnings: none. Just light touches but nothing suggestive.

wc: 1,420

note: first time writing for Hoshina. Sorry if there are inconsistencies or mistakes.

Soshiro Hoshina had always been unreadable. Even in the most dire of circumstances, you were always one step behind at predicting the carefully planned steps he took whenever you had the chance of encountering him.

It was evident in the fact that his smile never seemed to reach the crinkles under his eyes. And that cat-like appearance of his, though slackened. Had always made you feel as if he had been observing things thoroughly from a distance. Watching with keen interest as if he knew more than he let others perceive him to know.

And today was no exception.

The constant proximity between each other had been…frustrating to say the least. Whether that would be brushing his shoulders against your own during official meetings. Or placing a steady hand on the small of your back as he moved across the very open spaces of the hallway. You couldn't help but sneak glances at the way his expression had not changed one bit. In fact, it looked rather bemused. As if ignorant to the little touches he'd stolen from you during work. Let alone the glances you two would share even when Captain Ashiro had been right in front of you. Discussing more important matters that surely the Vice Captain had not been listening to.

But to your surprise, he always did. And was usually the first to provide solutions whenever the captain would ask. Leaving you to be the one flustered as you had not been distracted by his knowing gaze.

Because of this, your mind was instantly on the lookout for his next scheme.

I mean who would blame you?

You couldn't help but think this was all another gimmick of his. Entertainment. Just like how he had taken interest in that new recruit they had gotten recently. His motivations are as sly as they are intriguing it seems. And the more you try to decipher his laid-back facade, the less information you get. Keeping his cards close to his chest, as usual.

The Vice Captain had always been like that. His earnesty was often hidden from prying eyes. Though very few were privy to it, there were only very few who were familiar to him. Even Okonogi; likely the one who stuck around with the two Captains, would just let out a sigh at his jubilant expressions.

It had only been a good few years since you had been deployed to work under the Defense Force. Tasked on maintaining the Combat Suits in the case that they needed upgrades, or maybe a few repairs. And since then, the Vice Captain of the Third Division's force had always hovered behind like a thorn on your side.

Close enough so that it's able to poke and scratch you, but far enough away that it doesn't overstay its welcome. Yet somehow you lingered for those touches to stay just a little longer.

His usual friendly quips and visits had been frequent. But they were always curt, his teasing would always leave you with heated cheeks before he would soon disappear as quickly as he came. Like a storm who came to pass by momentarily. He was sure to make a mess out of you.

But the tension had always been palpable between you and Soshiro. Especially now when he had just so happened to enter the premises of your Lab. Wearing that familiar Tight-fitting Combat Suit of his. Respiratory mask and all.

“Vice Captain.” you had smiled. “To what do I owe the pleasure of having you grace me with your presence.”

“Just a maintenance check.” He replied just as quickly. Making you raise a suspicious brow.

“Oh really?” You had moved away from the desk. Neatly brushing away the stack of blueprints that had been piling up. Likely a courtesy from Izumo Tech who were your previous employers. “What's wrong with the suit?”

Hoshina had not wasted a second to step much closer to you. And though normally you would feel a little giddy from his proximity, you wasted no effort to move closer yourself. Hand against the coarse texture of his Combat Suit that hugged the hard ridges of his body. Willingly searching around for any such deformities in the armor. As even the slightest malfunction can mean life or death for frontliners like him. But alas, no such cracks were found. Leaving you to stare at his unwavering eyes.

“I don't see anything wrong with it. Can you tell me anything specific that I can fix up?”

Soshiro had hummed for a moment. Taking his time as he pretended to be deep in thought.

“I guess there's none that I can think of.” Soshiro had let out a soft chuckle. And although the mask had covered half of his face, you could tell that grin of his was definitely there.

“What? Then why did you even come here?”

There was a beat of silence before he spoke again.

“Aren't I allowed to visit a friend?”

And you couldn't help but playfully roll your eyes. The clear faux reasoning of his was amusing at most. But it's definitely making you second guess yourself.

“Friend you say?” You had chuckled, leaning back on your chair whilst facing him. His form had towered over you who had been caged against the chair and his arms.

“First time I've heard of it.” You shrugged. More of a jest in your tone.

“Hey now, and here I thought we had something special.” He chuckled, displaying faux hurt.

And you couldn't help but be frustrated at the way he so meticulously words things.

Something special, huh?

If it were any girl, they'd probably start getting delusional from his words alone. But Soshiro was someone who had no trouble deceiving. Facades and all. And you knew better than to take his words at face value.

But if it were not a joke, then..

…

“Are we Friends?” You had asked again. Just to make sure that you had not been misunderstanding things.

And there was another moment of silence between both parties.

You didn't know exactly what came over you at the moment. It just blurted out, almost as if you had been so frustrated at the way he tiptoed around you. Any confrontation, any meaningful conversation would always be cut short as soon as it started.

And you wonder if you had made the mistake of mentioning the giant elephant in the room.

His expression is as unreadable as ever. And for a moment, you thought you had made a fool out of yourself. Maybe whatever hint he was playing at had all been in your head. As if you had convinced yourself somehow that his interest in you was something more. Something that could indeed grow special. But second-guessing is part of Soshiro's package. And you can't really trade one without the other.

And for a moment a sinking feeling had placed itself in the pit of your stomach. Like you had made a painfully unwise decision that would leave you embarrassed for the next seven years of your life.

But Hoshina had simply stared. It felt like only mere seconds before he leaned in. Hands gripping the arms of the chair you sat on. Effectively trapping you with his body. With no chance of escaping away from his answer.

And just as you are sandwiched between him and the back of the chair. His face had neared your ear. And you could hear the faint breaths from the mask he wore.

“I'm yours certainly. Whether you are mine is up to you.”

His voice had gone an octave lower. And it made you wonder if you were truly hearing him right.

Yeah, no. Friend was definitely not the right word for this. But the admission of it was harder to coax out of him than when you had internalized the thought. The only way to have him say it straight is if you yourself came in like a bull seeing red.

And you sigh at your own lack of subtlety. “Is that your way of asking me out?”

“Maybe.” The slight hesitation in his answer made you raise your brow at him. And you end up sighing, letting go of a breath you didn't know you were holding.

“Your delivery could use some work.”

“I know.” He spoke with an awkward smile. “Do I take that as a yes?”

You smiled. This time, intent on playing his game of cat and mouse. “Maybe.”

And god will you be the death of him.

#kaiju no. 8 #soshiro hoshina #hoshina soshiro x reader #soshiro hoshina x reader #kn8 #kn8 x reader #kaiju no 8 x reader #definitely self indulgent #might make a part 2 #friends to lovers #cheeky bastard #anime

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slowd1ving · 2 months

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STRESS, STRAIN: THE TALE OF YOUNG MODULUS AND A FORLORN PHYSICS STUDENT ゜゜・BLADE DRABBLE

Dealing with a stalker roommate? No problem, Kafka's got the perfect solution: staying with the unapproachable and cold Blade. Teetering the thin line between sleeping on the streets and facing his rumored wrath, it sure is hard keeping your balance when the engineering student is anything but civil. gender-neutral, physics major reader paired with college au + band au (will come into play in another part I swear) see here for some basic designs for them warnings: some violence? consumption of alcohol, arguments, blade being a dick, college au wc: 6.3k

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

✧ Perhaps it’s lucky that your acquaintance Kafka finds you at your most dire of moments, or perhaps it’s your Achilles-level misfortune finally catching up to you. Dorm changes aren’t particularly infrequent, sure—but dealing with a stalkerish, obsessive roommate is definitely story-material for when you’re downing shots. Literature major Kafka isn’t one to turn her magnanimous back on whom she considers a friend, even if said friend is currently wallowing their sorrows away by complaining about the lack of available dorms to make the switch and drowning in hard liquor. ✧ Saviour Kafka, who plays for notorious metal group Stellaron Hunters (she’s a suave electric violinist), finds this a perfect opportunity to help out the cute guitarist from the rival Trailblazers! Her deft fingers are already sending a message to her pinned contact and drummer: Bladie, finally found you a roommate. Respond. It should be okay to put two college students (in bands infamous for their tense rivalry on– and off–campus) together in the proverbial lab rat cage; after all, neither of you are aware of who the other is behind the elaborate masks. It’s not like there’s a deficit of music groups at the Astral Institute—so who will ever know? Don’t ask how she knows the face behind the pretty Venetian mask. She won’t ever tell. ✧ Honestly, she’s not sure how the bad blood started (she helped spread the rumours). All she cares about is doing you a solid!

“You think the streets will accept me for who I am?” Even with your head slumped over your forearms and the smell of cheap vodka clinging to your clothes, Kafka thinks you look naively charming in the dim amber lights of a bar pretending to be upscale. And by naive, she means very naive—for real, how can a physics major be so gullible as to not question their roommate’s deranged tendencies until it’s far too late? It’s hilarious.

She’d dissect how this mood is perfectly, pathetically fallacious to your situation; yet her mind is too honed in on the buzz of her phone as Blade finally replies to her text.

“Kafka,” you bawl into a stack of papers you’d salvaged from your ransacked dorm. “What if the asphalt doesn’t like me when I’m sleeping in the streets?”

21:48 > ok.

Kafka, being an expert at metaphorical and allegorical interpretation, translates Blade-speak easily: let’s discuss this tomorrow, please and thank you.

“Found you a roomie,” she murmurs delightedly, watching with her hawk-keen eyes as you sit up drunkenly.

“That was fast, even for you,” you wipe your eyes cautiously—still wracked with the occasional hiccup. “Who is it?”

“Blade. You know him?”

✧ That sobers you right up. Of course you know him. Nicknamed Blade for how cold and unfriendly he is, you’ve personally seen him in engineering lectures: making people shiver from just his gaze alone, and on one notable occasion, making his project partner cry after his infamously harsh criticism of her proposal. It’s common knowledge that he practises various martial arts, but the rumours that circle around him like vultures whisper of how he uses them on the streets. But whilst you doubt the reliability of the latter talk, it’s hard not to picture his hands dripping sanguine when his eyes glint the same shade. ✧ Honestly, how bad could it be? It’s not like you have any other options unless you want to wake up with your roommate standing over you while you sleep again. After her, you doubt he’ll be any more of a walking nightmare. ✧ Perfect!—Kafka is a bit too enthusiastic at your reluctant nodding, but you cast it from your mind as you pack your stuff with Caelus and Stelle standing behind you like a pair of twin guard dogs. One good thing about this is that you can finally take your guitar with you (rather than storing it safely at Dan Heng’s room) to the apartment—because of course he’s too good for the dorms. Though, after experiencing your batshit roommate, you really can’t blame him for avoiding this area. ✧ Maybe, just maybe, the rumours about him being insane too are false and you can finally have a peaceful night’s rest without fearing for your life.

Yeah right. You hate him. You genuinely hate the man over in the room next door. The passage of time on your phone indicates it’s only been a week since you showed up with five boxes of belongings and a nervous smile on your lips—but the agony you’re going through prolongs this mental period to eternity.

Sisyphus embodies futility for evermore; as do you when you’re knocking on his door for the nth time to beg him to quiet down on his drums. The timings are so meticulous and calculative that you’re sure you could work out a linear sequence to this situation if you tried.

Exhausted from the laboratory job you’re juggling on top of band practice and reading on Dirac notations? No problem—Blade’s busy expressing how you feel in terms of loud crashing and banging that you hate to admit is (very technically) skilled.

Recalling your first encounter—your nervous smile and his cold indifference as you moved into the room next to his—it’s not hard to imagine that he’d be inconsiderate of you. Those red eyes had slid right past you like oil on water: judging you to be not worth his time to even greet properly. In fact, it’s like he’s trying to chase you out so you leave him alone for good.

The deep mahogany door swings inward, and you’re left facing an unimpressed, scowling Blade. With the way he’s clutching those drumsticks, you’d think he was about to skewer you—but you’re a bit too preoccupied with how he’s only sporting a pair of loose navy trousers that cascade languidly from his hips.

“What do you want?” Laconic as ever, he gets straight to the point with his question—as if he can’t possibly fathom why you’ve come knocking. Just like this morning, just like last night, the night before, the night before yesterday’s—every damned night is a problem.

“For you to invest in soundproofing,” you scowl back, too tired to keep up the fragile facade of politeness. At least when you practise with the electric guitar, you can easily hook it up to a pair of headphones and protect the sanctity of silence elsewhere. Actually, you don’t think he even knows your guitar exists with how considerate you are of your asshole roommate.

“Why should I?” he crosses his arms, looking directly down at you. If you looked closely, the slight stretch of his lips resembled a smirk—but you’re definitely mistaken, since the man never so much as smiles. The cold expression accompanying his crude words sums up his thoughts: if you don’t like it, beg Kafka for whatever other solution she has.

His inky hair sways from where it’s tied back, and you resist the urge to yank it until he sees sense.

“For better quality of life,” you grit out.

Those eyes turn into sardonic crescents. “I’m good.”

And the door is shut.

✧ Fortunately, you’ve managed to fall asleep in the middle of the practise room before on countless occasions; tuning the heavy thumping comes easy after a while when you’re exhausted and practically dead on your feet. The problem is during the day—doing your assigned reading and writing up results from practical work comes much harder when you’re constantly accompanied by the rhythmic percussion of a madman who favours metal. It gets so rowdy that you seriously consider whether he’s part of the Stellaron Hunters and knows you’re a Trailblazer—it would make sense, after all, if he was just feeling extra spiteful. However, from the trembling students claiming to be his previous roommates, this is just common treatment: him basically telling them to beat it and never return. ✧ Two can play at that game. Upon complaining to Kafka of his (rage-inducing) musical tendencies, she suggests that you get back at him with your electric guitar. Don’t ask her how she knows, no she’s not trying to instigate and watch the chaos—Kafka attempts to reassure you. You don’t trust the shady writer one bit, but both Data Analysis major Dan Heng and Environmental Studies student March 7th give the plan the go ahead. If you’re not mistaken, you can hear a touch of personal grief in the normally composed Dan Heng’s voice—something so poignantly irritated you wonder what the story between them is. ✧ Contrary to his nonchalant attitude, it’s clear he’s annoyed by the loud chords that buzz through the apartment. As soon as he picks up his drumsticks, you plug the guitar to the amps and thoroughly mess with him. You know enough from Caelus’ repertoire to place each genre of music Blade starts to play (which is limited to metal). No problem—you play various styles that decidedly aren’t metal and are so discordant with his own tempo you can’t help but keep a grin on your lips. He’s much too stubborn to knock on your door, but the irritated twitch of his eyes in the kitchen belies just how aggravating this is. And when you know he’s scrawling down notes for his classes, that’s when you’re practising your metal riffs and playing around with the fretboard. If you’re feeling particularly nice, you’ll play along to some darkwave gothic music—something relatively more calm—but these occasions are few and far between.

Chromatic eyes pierce your back while you deftly chop vegetables for your dinner. Really, now’s the best time to do work: when you’re busy with cooking and not insistent on plaguing him with jarring melodies. For someone so logical when it comes to his meticulous classwork, he sure doesn’t seem it as he leans against the counter on the other side of the kitchen—sipping water and just staring at you while you Julienne an onion.

You shoot him a withering glance as you toss the slices into a bowl on the side, and he glares at you with a matched fervour. If it weren’t for the fact that you literally don’t have anywhere else to go—Caelus doesn’t even have a couch for you to sleep on—you’d have moved out a long time ago.

It’s a rustic space: sage green cabinets filled with charming, mismatched plates and cups; glossy white counters that house various herbs and the occasional plant; a lacquered table in the middle that has a vase holding a singular dried flower. An orange lily—still retaining a vibrancy that conceals just how long it’s been there. You wouldn’t have expected this style of decor from him, but at the same time, you doubt it’s his influence so much as Kafka’s.

“Do you have a problem?” you probe icily, turning back to where you’re slicing a carrot into thin matchsticks; if there was a god somewhere, you’d hope it could transfigure the man behind you into the root vegetable you’re enthusiastically chopping.

“No.” And when he speaks again, he’s right behind you. There’s a sink to your left, but he’s much too close as his breath ghosts over the nape of your neck. Affronted, you turn around; only to watch as his eyes widen minutely, glass of water slipping out of his grasp and spilling down your front.

“You dickhead.” Your hands angrily grab at his collar—unheeding or perhaps uncaring of his reputation for violence as you feel the cold seep into your skin. You’re seething; for someone with such good reflexes, this is a new level of low in attempting to chase you out. Or perhaps it’s revenge for finally getting under his skin. “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

It’s a little too late when you realise the position you’re in: skin showing through the translucent material, breathing shallow from your infuriation, face glaring right up at his.

“Sorry.” His voice rings out insincere—and there’s that damn faint smile still toying at his face as he looks directly at you with that heavy gaze. “My hand slipped.”

You shove him back, too disgusted to acknowledge him any further. Maybe if you turned back around, you’d see the tiniest pricks of red on his face as you tossed your soaked shirt into the washing machine—leaving you in a damp vest while you continued cooking for yourself. Maybe if you looked back at least once, you’d see the amusement in his eyes as you maul the bok choy on the cutting board.

Those are maybes.

There’s particular things you know for certain. One, you despise him and his existence. Two, he abhors you and your entire being—because why else would he be so insistent in making you leave out of your own volition?

✧ It’s the time of year that you hate: joint engineering classes so you can cover the materials aspect for your physics studies. Well, it’s not like you hated it from the very beginning—you’ve hated it ever since you realised that once again, you’d have to be in the incorrigible presence of Blade. While he did finally install some soundproofing in his room, he’s taken it upon himself to linger wherever you’re present. Typing up your notes on the deep maroon couch with a mug of lavender tea perched on the coffee table? He’s in the window seat, looking over a thick reference manual for tensile strengths. Going to meet bassist Dan Heng so the two of you can play around with various lines for your next song? He’s at the convenience store you briefly stop at, gazing at you before he glares at your friend. Practising a slow solo in the living room (it’s really got the best ambience)? He’s tapping out a beat that you can very faintly now hear—one that surprisingly goes with the electrifying chords. ✧ Point is, you’re ignoring him and his presence—while he’s inching ever closer. It comes to a head at the lecture hall; you decide to sit in the third row, since it’s both far from the back (where he usually frequents) and it doesn’t make you look like a beg. When you glance at his predestined seat, it’s empty—unsurprisingly as he’s there usually a minute before the professor—while the seat next to him is taken by a girl you’ve seen before. Despite his horrible personality and the (probably true) rumours surrounding him, there’s a few stragglers who genuinely want him. And you genuinely want those people to seek help because it’s clear something went wrong in their lives for them to be thirsting over a man who looks like he eats cigarettes for breakfast. ✧ He comes in late, as you expect, but you freeze as he places his bag down next to you. Aghast, you can’t help but stare; yet for once he’s not meeting your eyes, and it’s far too late to make a scene and move elsewhere—not when the professor’s just arrived and is keen to start the lecture for materials. He doesn’t talk much, but you’re so distracted by his presence pressing slightly into your sides that you forget that today the professor’s deciding on the pairs for your projects—mouth agape, you stare in shock as she assigns them based on who’s sitting nearby. To be generous, she says, yet there’s nothing generous about this arrangement as his mocking eyes meet yours. He knew, you seethe, storming out of the hall right as the class wraps up.

“I hate him.” Your molars grind bone-against-bone as you harshly press angry chords into the fretboard. “I hate him so so so so much.”

“Who are you talking about?” March 7th—in charge of the synthesiser—glances first at the bassist to your side, then back at you. Her eyes are wide in sympathy, yet it’s useless in the face of your despair.

“Blade.” Poetically, the word is accompanied by the deep twang of Smoke on the Water as your fingers move mindlessly on your precious baby. What, your roommate?—she queries. No, a pet fish—Caelus responds, but you tune them both out.

“He knew the professor would assign groups like that,” you groan. “That’s why he sat next to me.”

“He’s definitely trying to get you to leave his apartment out of your own will,” Dan Heng’s smooth cadence is somewhat soothing—and his conjecture is one you’ve come to yourself—but the accompanying baseline he’s playing to the song makes his theory sound comical. “But he won’t screw up his own project like that.”

You sigh, and the melody falls apart as you bring it to a grinding halt.

“Believe me, I know just how much he values his projects.” Your head throbs upon thinking about that poor girl sobbing, and the bassist coughs to stifle a laugh.

“What did he say that one time? ‘Your vapid idea would be better used on death row than as a functioning building’,” Stelle—the vocalist and also the only Psychology major you know who doesn’t unnervingly stare at you—imitates the deep reverberations of his voice, and you’re astonished at how it’s recalled verbatim (down to the exact adjective).

“I’m surprised it got round that far,” you suppress a smile—after all, it’ll be your head on the chopping block next. “You should’ve gone into theatre like Caelus did.”

What a waste of talent, you shake your head mock-ruefully, which quickly turns to true woe as you realise just the predicament you’re in.

✧ It’s not a complicated assignment. Well, it shouldn’t be: designing a sound structure based on the whims of the architectural class (whom you loathe); except that Blade is notorious for being a severe critic for civil engineering partnerships—like seriously, out of all hills to die on and it’s civil engineering. You begrudgingly create a new contact for him in your phone; a digital space just for him, which almost makes you throw up at the thought.

(+2 unread messages) <Dickhead> (new contact) 10:11 > library. 10:11 > east block, 20 minutes.

You stare incredulously at the chat, which is neither phrased as a question nor a request but an encrypted demand. The fuck? Infuriated, you take the break between your reps now rather than later, swilling down water while you irritably type out a reply.

No can do. < 10:15 I’m busy. < 10:16

The reply comes less than a minute later; three dots animating themselves into existence while you wipe the sweat off your face with a towel. This prick. Well, it’s not so much a reply as an acknowledgement of your words—because he doesn’t reply, but rather your phone starts buzzing and you fumble while looking at the expletive lit up brightly on the screen.

You’re sorely, sorely tempted to press the red receiver on the device.

“What do you want?” you scowl, and you hope it translates through your voice that you’re revolted by his mere radio presence.

“Where are you?” He ignores your question; voice vibrating low through your headphones, and you can’t help but shiver, just a little. Even through the thick towel, you can still feel crescents being formed in your palm from your nails—you sincerely wish you were throttling him instead.

“None of your business.”

There’s a budding migraine blossoming to life in your temple as you finally hang up. You think that’s the end of it—after all, it was literally yesterday that the groups were assigned.

But when you shoulder the gym door open—skin still damp and warm from your shower, clean clothes sticking ever so slightly to laved skin—there’s a sleek car parked outside, and you frown when Blade opens the driver’s door.

“I’m going to report you for stalking,” you grit out, pressing your body to the cool glass of the building. “How the fuck did you know where I was?”

“Kafka,” he replies simply, and of course, that crazy woman was the one who viewed your private story and sent it to him. “I’m picking you up.”

“No you’re not.” Seriously, he thinks you’re that easy to convince—

“I’ll shut the fuck up with the drums for these two weeks.”

It’s almost miraculous how quickly you slide into the passenger seat.

✧ You’ve never been in such close proximity to him before (if you don’t count that day in the kitchen). At least, voluntarily. When you close your eyes and lean back against the headrest, you can smell the faint, woody scent of his cologne. It’s different from the putrid tide of Axe the average engineering student drowns themself in—rather, it’s got the deep undertone of oud and something sweeter. You don’t expect it; maybe if he smelled like first impressions, he’d stink of blood and a dumpster fire. ✧ Don’t fall asleep—he remarks, and you can feel his eyes on you briefly. Eyes on the road, prick—you retort, but your own lids are still tightly shut. Therefore, you don’t see how his gaze traces the remaining water droplets from your shower: how his hands linger on his gear stick so he can feel the emanating warmth from your damp thigh. ✧ He freezes. Gross. He doesn’t like anyone, and only tolerates the rest of the Stellaron Hunters since they’ve seen him at his lowest and yet still find ways to bug him. And you. He wasn’t expecting you to last as long as you have. He certainly wasn’t expecting you to irritate him in your own way, and actually manage to aggravate him enough to force him into soundproofing his room. Actually, he still doesn’t know why you did that. He doesn’t know why his heart picked up slightly at the sight of you in that soaked shirt. And in the end, he still doesn’t entirely know why he chose to sit next to you for that lecture instead. It’s to annoy you, he decides. No point in deliberating too much about it. ✧ It’s surprising that the two of you don’t immediately argue over the project; some eco-facility for sports that surprisingly was chosen unanimously by the pair of you. Eyes flitting to each other and back, it was a miracle you both had the same idea somehow. And it’s surprising when despite your lack of experience in civil engineering like this (you usually opt for mechanical on projects like these), you carefully consider the missing parts in his outlines—security cameras, sound systems, and tiny edits to the structure to really amplify the architecture. ✧ He doesn’t mind your presence. That’s what shocks him. As you doze off with your head pressed into the crooks of your elbows, he doesn’t reprimand you like he would with anyone else. Instead, he places the material reference guide down and stops considering cement foundations. Before he gets the chance to poke your forehead, your phone buzzes against the table—lighting up with a name he didn’t think he’d see. ✧ Dan Heng. He knows you’re friends with the guy, but there’s a burning sensation as his eyes watch the pop-up turn into another message, then another. What does he want? In real time, there’s a particular irritation that blossoms with each new notification.

<Dan Heng> 20:19 > Are you still up? 20:19 > My roommate’s going to move in with his girlfriend, so you’ll be able to…

The message is cut off, but Blade isn’t stupid. He knows exactly what the implication suggests, and there’s a certain coolness in his eyes as he stares the message down. Isn’t this what he wanted? Yes, this is precisely the ending he hoped for: you moving out and him getting his space back to himself.

But the issue stems from Dan Heng. He can’t have that. He can’t have you moving in with that man of all people. Anyone else would be fine, he insists to himself.

Dan Heng. Dan Heng. Dan Heng.

There’s a certain hypothesis he’d like to test. With your guard down like this, he snaps a photo of you with the drool leaking onto your sleeve—sending it directly to you. Just like clockwork, your phone lights up once more with a message. It’s not ‘Blade’ that’s texting you.

<Dickhead> 20:20 > [photo.jpeg attached]

He grits his teeth, clutching his textbook until his fingers ache from the strain. No, he won’t give that bastard the satisfaction of taking his roommate like this.

He’ll play nice. When you find someone who works this efficiently with you, while managing to hold their ground under his intimidating gaze, it’s hard not to want them to not scurry away.

Eat shit, Dan Heng.

✧ Somehow, mercifully, you manage to complete the project with that weirdo. It’s strange—he’s surprisingly more cordial than ever. And with his inky hair pulled into a loose bun, glasses perched on his straight nose—it’s hard to imagine he’d ever made that poor girl cry in front of everyone like that, but you’d witnessed it yourself. So with a sigh, you remind yourself that he’s just as much of an asshole as the rumours say. But, staring at him so relaxed like this, these two different Blades are hard to ever merge.

“Something on my face?” He’s still writing with his glasses sliding down his nose. He sounds irritated, as per usual, but the tiny smirk painting his face lets you know that no he’s not irritated, he’s just being an arse just as always.

“Yeah, pen,” you mutter, looking away as he finally glances up at you. When you glance back at the desk where your laptop precariously shows the still-unfinished presentation slides, he’s gazing up at you with an indecipherable look in his eyes.

It almost puts to rest the image of a dickhead.

“There’s no pen, though,” he purrs, voice low while he rests the manual back on the table. “I’ve been reading all morning.”

Nevermind—he’s as much of an asshole as he regularly is.

“Who knows,” you comment offhandedly, slowly sliding a blue biro your way as soon as he looks back down. There—you attempt to inch forward to draw on his face, but he catches your wrist from across the table between you.

You freeze. Shit, you screwed up. With how relaxed he is, it’s getting easier and easier to forget the rumours of his bruised knuckles that follow him like a shroud. His eyes glance coolly at you, then at the incriminating weapon within your fingers.

“What are you doing?” Maybe he’s the questions first, beat up later kind.

“Getting revenge.” Shameless, you think, but definitely not as shameless as getting told to effectively shut up with the drums yet having the audacity to keep going louder.

His lips part, and your eyes nearly stray to the pink colour of them. Then, he smiles—something so cynical and disturbing you can’t help but shiver and twist your arm out of his hold, all so you can watch him askance.

“I can see why people find you scary,” you shudder, tapping your biro on a square notepad.

“And you don’t?” An innocuous question, but one that almost sounds accusatory.

“Nah,” you make a disgusted noise, like you’re trying to suppress vomit. “You’re just a prick.”

In the end, that same prick ends up rolling his sleeves upon your request so you can litter blue ink upon his forearms. With how pale he is, it resembles delicate ceramics painted with cerulean landscapes. And while you do include etched illustrations and swirling designs, you make sure to include several phalluses dotted around—just so he lives up to his contact name.

“Wow,” he remarks sardonically. “Maybe you should quit physics and join the liberal arts programme.”

You ignore him, taking a few shots of your handiwork and sending them to Kafka, captioned I feel like this truly reflects his personality and making sure all the tiny dicks are in full focus.

“Maybe I should,” you shrug. “Then I wouldn’t have to deal with you, at least.”

“Likewise,” he responds, but it’s not as satisfying to think about you quitting as he thought it would be.

It’s stupid. He finds that he doesn’t want the ink to wash from his arms, not so soon.

When you log into your account to touch-up the presentation, you spot the comment he left back in the library on the presentation slides—timestamped to the exact twenty past five.

17:20 > Maybe if you stopped staring at me, we’d be done sooner.

It’s the longest sentence he’s ever typed out to you—but that’s exactly what makes it so galling.

go fuck yourself < 22:31

22:31 > ooh you want me so bad aha

You pause, staring incredulously at the text, then to where the bathroom’s situated. The water’s definitely running.

… < 22:32 damn this idiot’s really getting scammed and hacked < 22:33 crazy < 22:33 [feynman’s twin] sent laughing emoji < 22:33

22:33 > on the daily lmao 22:34 > same two old man passwords for everything

Types like one too < 22:34

22:35 > right?? 22:36 > we should be friends btw 22:36 > [Blade.] sent contact silver-W

Dang he really put a period after than name too < 22:37

22:37 > top ten edgelords 22:37 > [Blade.] sent laughing emoji

[feynman’s twin] sent laughing emoji < 22:37

It’s not until the morning when he’s looking over the (surprisingly well-done) slides that he finally notices the string of (highly unprofessional) messages that he definitely did not write.

His head throbs and his eye twitches as he reads through them—burning holes through the wall separating him and you. He hopes you receive the subliminal nightmares he’s so graciously sending you.

It’s a fiercely deliberated decision. With a heavy heart, he finally presses [backspace] on the typo next to his nickname.

He only hopes you won’t notice.

(Silver Wolf notices—immediately screenshotting the new handle [Blade] and sending it to you.)

✧ Good things come in threes. Getting through this project, not getting beat up by that nerd, and getting through the presentation smoothly. By that, you mean you do most of the speaking while Blade clicks through the slides. However, contrary to all expectations, his voice comes low and rich—neither stumbling through the knowledge nor forgetting the important parts. It’s so shocking you can’t help but stare at him; something he definitely notices, judging by the self-important smirk he sends you. ✧ Perhaps a little too good. The pair of you leave the lecture hall separately—after all, it’s not like you want to be in his presence any longer, and he doesn’t particularly want to be in yours either. But you do want the sweet energy drink that’s been chilling in the shared fridge for the past few days: as tantalising as the very nectar of the gods. ✧ It’s when you enter an alleyway shortcut that you witness her—your old roommate. Vaguely, you recall she used to have a crush on Blade (a match made in heaven if there ever was one); perhaps that’s why she’s inching towards you with a pipe that is tetanus’ wet dream—so grimy you think you’ll immediately die if you’re struck by it. ✧ All this over him?—you think with disgust as you try back out of the alleyway, only to collide with the towering body of her boyfriend: some guy unfortunate enough to be entrapped by her pretty face and definitely not her personality. She doesn’t want you, and he (aforementioned: Blade) doesn’t want her either. It’s rather tragic, but woefully you can’t spare any pity for them: not when you’re about to get beat and for what? A successful presentation with Blade? ✧ They’re amateurish enough that you manage to evade them for a minute, but the alleyway’s too narrow to slip past them, and you’ve never been in a fight like this. ✧ You’re cornered when he appears: some twisted knight he is.

“You’re late,” you heave, bruises on your knuckles and that man’s face.

“You…” Blade trails off as he sees the blood spatters on your clothes, and his expression twists into one he’s glad you can’t see—not when his broad shoulders face you in an impenetrable wall. The two idiots—Tweedledee and Tweedledum, judging by how disturbingly gullible they are—stiffen immediately upon his timely arrival.

He’ll handle it like he always does.

But it’s certainly strange. Why does he feel so much angrier than he does normally?

✧ It’s late afternoon: dusk barely kissing the rooftops of the city, stars just about peeking from the violet firmament. You didn’t ask questions when he made enough space for you to slip out the alleyway: heart lodged in your throat as you quietly sat down at the local café with blossoming pain in your ribs and fists. Stupid, you were stupid to think that crazed girl would ever leave you alone. ✧ Maybe it’s counterintuitive to feel safe when he steps into the small building. He smells faintly of blood: a terrible, metallic odour spilling onto his clothes and flesh. But beneath that, there’s a lingering scent of that woody oud—you can’t help but sink into it. ✧ They won’t bother you ever again—he murmurs as the door jingles behind both of you. You didn’t kill them, did you?—you mutter back, half-sarcastically. No, but it probably hurt quite a bit for them—he shrugs. “Let’s go home.” ✧ Home. He says that, but there’s still that offer from Dan Heng to move in with him—one you’ll probably accept. Blade may have saved you, but he’s still a dickhead who has made numerous attempts to kick you out.

“Ow, fuck,” you hiss as he dabs antiseptic on the various cuts on your hand. It’s well into the evening now, and you’re currently sitting on the bathroom counter with your injuries on full display.

So infuriating. You glare at the man standing in between your legs—unscathed completely. Worst of all, there’s a smug smile on his lips; whatever worry he might have had over you has completely dissipated.

“You couldn’t let them hit you once?”

“Bitter much?” he returns easily, swabbing another cotton ball with alcohol and pressing it against the large cut on the side of your forearm. It stings, but you grit your teeth and bear it—much too annoyed with him to show any more pain.

In this position, the resentment you feel towards him turns faint; a veil seems to obscure the burning sensation.

“You talk too much,” you seethe. “What happened to the prick who kept his mouth shut and ignored me?”

Tendrils of his jet-hued hair brush your cheek as he inches forward. “If you like, we can go right back to that—playing at my whim included.”

He hasn’t felt like this in years—back when he was still a boy named Yingxing and unmarred by the burdens life would eventually place on his shoulders.

“Let me do it myself,” you argue back.

“Nah.” Silver Wolf will pay for calling him an old man. “You won’t do it properly.”

Another brief kiss from the alcohol against your bloody knuckles, and this time you can’t hide the slight wince on your face. It takes quite a lot of self-restraint to not dent the tweezers—he should’ve done so much worse to the two who tried this, besides beating the shit out of them and getting Kafka to land them behind bars.

“That rod probably had tetanus on it,” he shrugs, rummaging around in his disused first-aid kit for plasters and bandages.

“Yeah, I thought that too,” you shudder. It's this moment of casual, same line thinking that strikes you as being far too strange. He's so close you can feel each puff of air when he exhales: practically scalding the bare skin stretched over collarbones. Too close—and if he keeps talking like this, as if he’s no longer disgusted by your presence, you won’t be able to deal with it.

“What’d you do to her?” he questions, but it’s not the ‘no wonder she attacked you’ tone—rather than that, it’s like he’s trying to prompt you into distraction.

“This is actually your fault,” you scowl, irritably casting your mind back to when she used to talk your ear off about the man standing here.

“How so?” Nonplussed, he starts rolling the bandage across your arm—evidently, he’s experienced with this sort of thing.

Stalker roommate. Stalker roommate has crush on engineering maniac. Stalker roommate sees that your new roommate and engineering maniac are one and the same—you summarise, too tired to give the specifics. He sees the way your lids flutter closed from exhaustion; for once, he’ll use Kafka to get more of the information you omitted.

“Honestly, you two freaks would be perfect for each other,” you murmur absentmindedly. At that, he pulls the bandage tighter against your skin and you draw in a pained inhale.

“You should try stand-up.” His voice is thick with revulsion, and it’s quiet for a few brief moments as he gets started on patching up the scrapes left on your back. You’re sitting on a stool now: unable to see his face but awfully mindful of how his hands brush over the skin layered over your scapula.

“You still haven’t thanked me.”

“Thank you, my aggravating saviour,” you say, much too insincerely. “But that reminds me that I’ve got good news for you. That should suffice as a symbol of my gratitude.”

What is it?

“One of my friends has a room free, so I’ll probably be able to move out soon.”

The worst part is, he knows exactly who this friend is. His hands freeze on the band-aid he’s smoothing on your skin; too absorbed in his murderous thoughts to notice how you stiffen at the prolonged gesture. He’s not jealous; these are merely stirrings of friendship—this ugly, amorphous thing writhing in his gut and condemning him to senseless anger.

“That’s not good news,” he breathes, and it’s a little too quiet as he finishes wrapping the final bandage around your bruised ribs.

For the first time ever, Kafka receives a text from Blade that doesn’t consist of just one word.

<Bladie> 20:33 > I need advice.

Oh, this is interesting.

What are friends for?—she coos, making sure to show Silver Wolf the glaring achievement in Blade’s range of text vocabulary.

He’s clearly been on the rear end of bad news; while for her, on the contrary, this just means her scheme is moving along very nicely.

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sage-nebula · 3 months

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It blows my mind that in 2024 there are still people who want to be like "it is 100% all Vi's fault that Jinx is the way she is" or "Jinx is 100% just an ax-crazy hell monster that Vi needs to be saved from" when the entire point of the show is that, yes, both sisters are flawed human beings who have made mistakes, but the true failure lies not with them, but with the overall system that was destined to fail them at every step.

This is most obvious with Powder, who shows signs of her psychosis within the first opening beats of the show, the little scribble hallucinations popping up between her fingers. Powder's mental illness is genetic. Trauma exacerbated her symptoms, but the illness was always there. And there are absolutely no resources in Zaun to give her the care she needed to healthily manage that illness. And the solution isn't "make her a Piltie instead," because Powder wasn't the only Zaunite with mental illness. The problem was that Zaun was in that state of poverty, police brutality, and systemic oppression at all. Powder was failed by by the social structure that killed her parents, that parentified her sister, that ensured she went hungry, was constantly at risk of police brutality, and had no means of accessing adequate mental health care. All of THAT is what led to Jinx.

Oh, and speaking of parentifying her sister — this system failed Vi, too. Not only does Vi also have hallucinations, but Vi never got to be a child from the moment her parents died. She had to be BOTH sister AND surrogate mother to Powder. No, Vander never told her to, but he also does spell it out. Powder, Claggor, and Mylo follow her every word as the oldest. She was their leader. And for Powder especially, she was all they had left of their biological family. Vi stepped into the role willingly, but at an age so young she had no idea what it was she was sacrificing. What she HAD to sacrifice, after her parents were killed, after she and Powder were, yes, rescued by Vander, but Vander could only do so much and had two other kids besides. Vi was only 15 when Powder accidentally killed Vander, Mylo, and Claggor; despite having to sacrifice her childhood, she was still a traumatized adolescent. She should have been allowed to act like it. But the systemic oppression and structure of the Piltover - Zaun setup didn't allow for that. It certainly didn't do her any favors when an enforcer's idea of saving her life was to leave her to rot in a cell indefinitely. The system failed Vi, too. Just like it failed Powder.

Arcane is a tragedy. It's a tragedy in all aspects, but it is primarily a tragedy about two sisters. And the fact that some people want to wholly blame one sister is just beyond me. They've both made mistakes. But they also both had the decks stacked entirely against them from the beginning. That's what makes it a tragedy. It didn't have to be this way. And yet, there's no other way it could have ended.

#arcane #powder #jinx #vi #undercity sisters #also yes i made a jokey post ranting at Vi for being a dumb-dumb abt not understanding that Jinx = Powder all grown up #but that's not anywhere near the level of people who think she's Evil for lashing out at Powder at the end of Act 1 S1 #when she was 15 and her adoptive dad & brothers were just killed & then REALIZED she needed to cool off #& went to do just that and then TRIED to save Powder from Silco . . . smdh #Vi's reaction was completely understandable. so was Powder's. THAT'S WHAT MAKES IT TRAGIC. JEEZ.#anyway

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reasonsforhope · 6 months

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"At HarperCollins, a lot of attention and thought is given to deciding exactly what combinations of margin measurements, font, and layout feel most appropriate for the genre, and writing style.

But in a case of do-your-part environmentalism, designers at the publishing house have now standardized a series of subtle and imperceptible alterations to normal font style, layouts, and ink that have so far removed the need for 245 million book pages, totaling 5,618 trees.

Telling the story in Fast Company, representatives from HarperCollins, one of the four largest publishing houses in the world, explained that the idea first arose in Zondervan Bibles, HarperCollins’ Christian publishing division. Being that the Bible is 2,500 pages or sometimes more, saving ink and pages was not just an environmental consideration, but one of production costs.

A new typeface called NIV Comfort Print allowed Zondervan to shave 350 pages off of every Bible, which by 2017 had amounted to 100 million pages, and which, as Fast Company points out, would be four times higher than the Empire State Building if stacked.

The production and design teams then wondered how much they could save if they applied the same concepts to other genres like romance and fiction. Aside from the invention of the eBook, publishing hasn’t changed much in the last 100 years, and the challenge was a totally novel one for the teams—to alter all their preconceived ideas and try and find a font and typeface that resulted in fewer pages without being harder to read.

They eventually standardized 14 different combinations their tests determined were the most environmentally friendly, and which delivered an unchanged reading experience.

But the challenge didn’t stop there. Printed books, one might not know, are printed in large sheets which are then folded into sections of sixteen pages, meaning that Leah Carlson-Stanisic, associate director of design at HarperCollins, has to calculate the savings of space, words, and ultimately pages with the help of her team to fall in multiples of sixteen.

Nevertheless, they have been successful with it so far, and in the recent print run of one popular book, 1 million pages (or a number near 1 million that coincides with the 16 times tables) were saved.

“We want to make sure our big titles, by prominent authors, are using these eco-fonts,” Carlson-Stanisic said. “It adds up a little bit at a time, saving more and more trees.”"

-via Good News Network, April 4, 2024

Note: Great! Waiting to see this on the rest of their books and at the other big publishers!

Actually, though, it's worth noting that this may not come quickly to the other large publishers, because Harper Collins almost certainly owns that font - meaning that other publishers would have to pay HarperCollins in order to use it, on an ongoing basis.

More on publishing shit and more realistic solutions here below the cut!

What I'm hoping for and think is more likely is that this will inspire the development of open source eco-friendly fonts, which would be free for anyone to use. That would make it far more likely other publishers would adopt eco-friendly fonts.

I'm also hoping it would inspire other publishers to create similar eco-friendly fonts of their own.

Ideally, there would be a whole new landscape of (hopefully mostly open source) eco-friendly fonts. And/or to see calculations of the eco-friendliness of popular existing fonts, compared to each other.

If we could have a publicly accessible list of calculations for different fonts, including fonts designed to maximize eco-friendliness, I really do think that it would affect which fonts publishers choose to use. Here's why:

Most people in publishing are on the left (notoriously, actually) and really do care about the environment

People in publishing are plenty aware of these issues re: paper and trees, I promise

Shorter books means smaller production costs - and possibly smaller shipping costs as well, over time! So it would save them money too.

Eco-friendly fonts could also be combined with other measures for greater effect, such as bamboo paper (already in use for a lot of projects where page color/quality is more flexible) and thinner paper (aka paper with a lower weight) that uses less trees.

Don't expect books to all move to just one or two different fonts, though. Publishers and typesetters and font designers will innovate to create more options instead, though it will take longer. This is because different books really do use different fonts for various different reasons - one new font to rule them all isn't really a solution here.

"Every book is in the same font" may sound like a "whatever" deal to a lot of people, but as someone who works in publishing - trust me, it would actually make your reading experience worse, even if you could never quite put your finger on why.

#publishing #books #book publishing #bookblr #harper collins #fonts #font design #eco friendly #sustainability #conservation #trees #deforestation #good news #hope

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poguesofthebau · 1 year

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microscope

summary: steve wants nothing more than to ask you out. however, constantly being under the eyes of nancy, robin, dustin, and the rest of the kids makes it nearly impossible for him. read part two here :)

word count: 6.8k pairing: steve harrington x fem!henderson!reader

"you know, i've been hearing a lot of boo-hooing from you. you, steve harrington, who has the perfect solution to all your problems right in front of your face."

steve scoffed, rolling his eyes at his friend as he tossed a stack of returned films into a bin behind the counter. he internally grimaced as he thought about the fact that he'd be emptying that same bin back onto the shelves tomorrow morning, likely whilst having that same conversation with robin, both more or less against his will. "don't start with this again, robin."

"i'm not the one who started it! you did, with your gushy, lovey-dovey, pining, bedroom eyes every time you look at y/n!" her hands flailed around her as she spoke, dramatizing her words in that way only robin could. "seriously, i don't know how she hasn't caught on yet. because, of course that's not the only way you make your feelings totally obvious. every time you see her-- whenever your lives aren't in immediate danger, i mean-- she's the only person in the room you actually outwardly enjoy speaking to. you randomly bring her up in every other conversation. you call her sweetheart without even thinking about it. and don't think i don't realize that half the time you're at dustin's house it's for her. not to mention you haven't gone on a date in months, and not because you can't get one! it's like--" robin scoffed, a mixture of realization, amusement, and astonishment-- "it's like you've found the girl you've been looking for, but you're too chicken to actually ask her out!"

"first of all, the sweetheart thing? yeah-- that was one, maybe two times. second of all, there are only so many girls in hawkins. how do you know there's not a deficit of girls nearby that i haven't already dated?" robin tried to interject, knowing that his second reason was total bullshit, but steve raised his voice as he continued, preventing her from speaking. "anddd third of all! the rest of that can all be justified by the fact that y/n is my friend!"

"friend schmend. the two of you are going to end up together, i can feel it. mark my words, harrington!"

"i'll mark them if you stop repeating them," steve grumbled, returning to the task at hand as robin hummed in satisfaction.

"so there's really nothing going on? like... nothing, nothing?"

steve's day was becoming a miserable cycle. first it was robin. now it was nancy. he was beginning to consider going home and hiding from his remaining obligations for the day, but lucas was starting five in the basketball game that night, so he really had no choice. so there he was in the hawkins high gym, grimacing as his ex grilled him about the girl he was in love with. moreover, steve had thought he was secretly in love. apparently he hadn't been doing too great a job of keeping things under wraps. so not only was he going to have to spend another night with all of his friends pretending he wasn't in love with you, but he also had to listen to them as they threw it in his face that he was.

so, yes, steve was miserable.

"nothing is going on, nancy," steve stated flatly, eyes scanning the area near the entrance. he knew that if you showed up, she would quit it (nancy was one of the few of the bunch who at least halted her interrogations when you were around to potentially overhear). robin was a section over in the gym bleachers, clad in her band uniform and gripping her instrument, too focused on vickie's presence beside her to notice steve and nancy sitting so close-by. although he was currently missing the constant subject changes throughout conversations with robin, he was glad she was too distracted to join nancy in harassing him. mike was standing on the sidelines with lucas while he stretched, the boys laughing at something a grinning lucas had said. the rest of you had yet to arrive. in other words, there was nothing stopping nancy from taking her turn to question him about his nonexistent relationship with you. he was trapped.

he was also saving the seat to his right for you, fully prepared to face the repercussions of that choice if someone realized it too soon. regardless, he was praying you showed up before anyone else so he could avoid having to literally fight over the empty foot of space on the bench. regardless of where you ended up sitting, steve just wanted you there. he wanted to be near you, and to hear you laugh at dustin's silly basketball jokes, and to watch your expression shift from suspenseful to proud any time lucas shot and scored. he knew you'd turn to him and grin for no reason at some point, like you always did. he would be stunned by how effortlessly beautiful you were, but he'd just blush and grin back without a second thought. you'd make him happy in the ways that mattered. he could never be miserable with you there.

"okay, well... do you want something to be going on?"

steve turned to nancy at that, brows ruffling as he eyed her. "what do you mean? nance, have you been talking to robin? because, seriously, she's nuts. like, out of her mind--"

"no, no, no," nancy interrupted. her hair swirled around her head as she shook it, further emphasizing her answer. "i haven't been talking to robin. i've just noticed the two of you spending more time together than usual, and... you would make sense together. i mean, she makes you happy, and you make her happy. it's pretty easy to see that much."

steve paused at that, eyes flickering to the door one more time before carefully selecting his next words. his tone was less harsh this time, having a better understanding now of what nancy had been trying to do. she was encouraging him. "we're just friends, nance. you're right about her making me happy, but we're just friends."

nancy started to respond, offering him some hopeful nonsense about giving it a little bit of time, but steve was no longer paying her any attention. his eyes had finally found what they'd been searching for, and the sound of his heart thudding in his chest suddenly drowned out nancy's voice. you were there, and you looked perfect. your outfit was nothing special, really-- he'd seen you wear the same thing plenty of times before-- but steve still felt a wave of awe wash over him when he caught sight of you, a smile creeping onto his face. you hadn't noticed him yet, your eyes beginning to search the crowd before suddenly turning to look at max, who'd walked into the gym with you. you laughed at something she said, presumably a snide comment about the jocks or the antsy crowd or whatever else max was unimpressed by upon arrival, and steve's breath hitched in his throat at the amused expression on your face. a second later, though, you found him in the crowd. your eyebrows raised when the two of you made eye contact, and your hand reflexively shot up to wave at the shaggy-haired boy. he returned the gesture, abruptly snapping out of his y/n-induced trance. when he glanced back at nancy, she had a smug, knowing look on her face, clearly entertained, but said nothing.

"hey there," you said, dropping into the empty spot that steve had been so ready to fight someone over. mike had parted ways with lucas and joined you and max on your walk to the bleachers, and they seated themselves in front of you as you greeted steve and nancy.

"hey, y/n. how's it going?" his tone was calm and balanced as he spoke to you, concentrating hard on remaining as nonchalant toward you as he would the others. he had to play it cool; nancy was watching.

you let out a puff of air, chuckling a little at the question. "as good as it could go, i guess. dustin's feeling particularly unruly today, so it's been an interesting afternoon. but little brother can't dish out anything i can't handle, so let there be basketball!"

he smiled at that, a laugh passing his lips as he fell into conversation with you. this was what he'd needed all day. just a simple, uninterrupted five minutes talking to you. "where is the little demon? no way he's missing this game when he told me i had to be here."

"bathroom. he was too busy torturing me with science facts to pee before we left the house to pick max up, and then he was too 'immobilized by the need to urinate' that he couldn't get out of the car and use max's bathroom. i don't think i've ever seen him move as fast as he did getting out of the car after i parked outside-- dusty boy had to go."

"maybe that's his karma," steve suggested, prompting laughter from both of you. "huge ego, tiny bladder."

a few minutes later, dustin was emerging from the hallways. he suspiciously squinted at steve as he walked in, having recently noticed that his best friend had been paying his big sister a lot of attention in the last few weeks. he had tried his hardest to remain calm about the situation, but he was already panicking. what was he supposed to do if steve dated you, somehow fucked it up, and you ended up hating him? how would dustin's relationship with steve fare if he broke your heart?

at the same time, though, he wanted you both to be happy-- or to at least get the chance to be happy. in fact, he would love for you to be happy with each other. two of the people he loved the most in the world ending up together seemed poetic in ways that dustin couldn't find the wording for. the best analogy he could come up with was a comparison to peanut butter and jelly, but he knew that was too cliche to voice. so he didn't mention anything, not you and steve or peanut butter and jelly, and just sat back and watched. some days he watched optimistically. maybe after today they'll realize they're perfect for each other. other days, he watched like a hawk, a childish urge to kick steve in the groin for looking at his sister like that festering inside him. i'm going to knock him out. i'm going to give him two black eyes-- that'll teach him a lesson. but he never did anything. just watched and waited.

in the last few weeks, watching without commenting had gotten more difficult than dustin ever expected. one advantage to being your brother and steve's best friend was that he noticed things some of the others might not. he saw steve taking extra long strides to make it to the door first, opening it for you as you continued rambling about some meaningless topic, any time the two of you were walking through a threshold together. he saw your eyes roll the slightest bit when steve mentioned a girl he'd gone on a date with a few months back. he saw steve waiting in his car to make sure you got inside alright after he dropped you off-- something he never did for dustin. he saw you smoothing down your hair before getting out of the car to sit besides steve at the basketball game. he saw how the two of you saw each other.

so instead of continuing to give steve dirty looks as he approached, dustin sucked in a breath of air, forced himself to change perspectives, and made some adjustments to his facial expression.

when he finished glaring at steve, his eyes locked with nancy, who returned eye contact and gave him a sympathetic smile. she understood being protective of your sibling, and she knew what the fear of losing steve felt like. but she also had a strong feeling that things would turn out going well for all three of you; at this point, your quickly-blooming relationship with steve had been a long time coming. of course, she couldn't communicate all of that knowledge through two seconds of eye contact, but dustin at least saw that she understood.

"hellooo, people!" dustin grinned at you, steve, and nancy as he seated himself between mike, whom he amicably bumped shoulders with, and max, whom he wiggled his eyebrows at. each of you acknowledged his arrival just before a whistle blew. lucas and four of his teammates made their way onto the court, and dustin felt a wave of relief upon having something else to focus on. "let's watch some basketball!"

"you did amazing, lucas!"

"oh, yeah! super graceful out there, just like i taught you. way to make me proud, kid."

you snorted, lightly whacking steve for somehow finding a way to make lucas's success about himself. "very humble, harrington."

nancy, mike, dustin and max followed close behind you and steve, congratulating lucas on the team’s win as they stepped up beside you. the game had ended 20 minutes ago, with hawkins securing the win. lucas had been granted some time to hit the showers and say his goodbyes to his teammates before meeting back up with the rest of you by the gymnasium doors. the school was far from empty, a plethora of people still lingering around the gym and in the parking lot, and the bustling seemed to comfort you all.

“okay, who's getting a ride home from me?” the kids began chattering over one another in response, and the only way you deciphered their chorus of answers was by mentally noting whether they'd pointed at you or steve. you'd chauffeured dustin and max on your way, and nancy, mike, and lucas had carpooled with steve, but lucas was now planning on riding home with you (assuredly to spend more time with max). in the bustle of the conversation, you heard mike say he'd left his bike at lucas's house the day before, meaning he'd be joining whoever lucas left with so he could get his usual mode of transportation back. this left steve riding with nancy, and you dropping off mike, lucas and max on your way home with dustin.

steve was still hyper-focused on behaving normally, resisting the urge to look at you with what robin had described as his "gushy, lovey-dovey, pining, bedroom eyes" too frequently. at this point in the night, he was regressing to the sullen mood that he'd begun that day with. he knew that he'd have to part ways with you within a few minutes, and that was enough to ruin his night. because of that, he didn't really care who he had to drive home, or that nancy would be his only passenger, or how your mood change entirely when you realized that nancy would be his only passenger.

you knew you should've held it together better. unbeknownst to steve, the kids had been on your back, too. dustin would quiz you about your day whenever you spent ample time away from him, prying until you coughed up every detail of any time you'd spent alone with steve. there had been one evening a few weeks earlier when max and lucas were on their way to use the pool at steve's house, and they'd seen your car pulling out of steve's driveway as they turned onto his street. dustin wasn't with you. the next day, max showed up at your doorstep to accuse you of being in a secret relationship with your friend. you thought you’d convinced her otherwise at first, but three weeks later she told you she was still waiting for the day you two “finally came clean.” nancy told you she’d overheard mike telling el over the phone that you and steve “still haven’t gotten together,” which then led to a very awkward conversation between you and nancy about how she wouldn't mind if you wanted to get with steve despite their history.

you knew what it felt like to be scrutinized in the exact same ways steve was, and you were just as antsy as him when they were around to observe.

you should’ve held it together better. but you slipped.

“okay, great. you and me, nance. all ready? let’s hit the road.” he dropped his hands onto her shoulders, beginning to steer her toward the exit when he was halted by your reaction.

what did you do in response to steve’s urgency to leave with nancy? you scoffed.

for a split second, you thought maybe, maybe, no one heard it.

unfortunately for you, everyone heard it. (admittedly, it was sort of loud. arguably more of a guffaw than a scoff.) steve froze, his hands falling from nancy's frame as he twisted back around to quizzically look at the source of the noise. the others followed suit, all peering at you before exchanging their own encoded glances with each other.

so... maybe 'slip' was an understatement. maybe you completely threw yourself under the bus, let the cat out of the bag, spilled the beans, all of it. totally exposed yourself. if they had an inkling before, they had proof now.

after a moment of tense silence passed over the group, steve looked at you, surprised and unnerved by the noise you'd made. he opened his mouth to ask if you were okay, but you were already moving on, turning to speak to dustin. “let’s go, little man. round up our passengers for me.” and you spun on your heel and walked out of the high school.

as you walked out, dustin immediately turned to steve, his finger extended until it was a mere inch away from steve’s face. “you,” he said threateningly. “you idiot! you absolute goddamn imbecile! son of a bitch!”

as dustin threw halfhearted insults at the older boy, the kids behind him groaned in mortification. “steveeeee,” max complained. “you’re better than this!”

lucas snickered, looking at max as he gestured to steve. “what makes you think he’s better than this? look at him! he has no clue what he’s done!”

“oh, he knows what he’s done,” dustin grumbled. “he’s done something to upset my sister. and for that, i might have to kill him.”

steve was just beginning to defend himself when robin came bounding down the halls, a duffel bag slung over her arm and an unknowing grin on her face. “hey! i’m so glad i caught you before you left! what are the odds you could give your old friend, coworker, fellow monster-slaying warrior robin a ride home?”

she tried to further explain the circumstances that led to her losing her original ride, but she was cut off by the kids' roars. they spoke over one another, and all at once robin heard, “oh, thank god!” “perfect timing!” “you’re a little late.” “jesus christ!”

her expression shifted to confusion, finally sensing that she was out of the loop on something. she looked to steve and nancy, opening her mouth to question the strong reaction from the younger crowd when steve cut her off. “yeah, i can give you a ride. c’mon, we were just leaving.” he looked pointedly at the kids as he made the latter claim, swaying them to keep their mouths shut for the remaining three minutes that they’d be together.

it was a fifteen minute ride from the school to max's house. the redhead was sitting in the passenger seat of your car, subtly glancing over at you every few moments as the three boys bickered in the back seat. she hadn't said anything since you started driving, but the backseat occupants had been whispering essentially the entire time. you had turned on the car radio when the awkward silence and coughing became too much to bear (which, to be precise, was within two minutes of the ride), and they'd immediately began to quietly theorize behind you.

during the last five minutes of the ride, the whispering intensified noticeably. you still couldn't make out their exact words, but all three of them had raised their volumes enough that you could decipher which voice was which. you'd had just about enough of their poor attempts to hide the fact that they were talking about you, and you were just about to give them a piece of your mind. before you reached your tipping point, however, max cleared her throat and spoke to you in her own low voice. "robin ended up going with steve and nancy, by the way," she muttered, mentally noting the muscles in your jaw slightly relax when you processed what she said. you threw her a grateful look, letting out a barely-noticeable sigh of relief. max paused, gauging your mood before adding something else. "you know he likes you, right?"

your eyes moved to the rear view mirror, peering at the boys' reflections to confirm that they were still preoccupied with their own conversation before responding quietly. "i know."

steve knew from the moment he opened his eyes the next day that it was going to be another day from hell. he groaned aloud when his alarm clock woke him up, his nose scrunching as he slammed an open palm on top of the machine to silence it. when his bedroom reverted to a state of heavy silence, steve tossed the same hand over his face, mentally recapping the events of the previous day as he prepared to get out of bed. "and you didn't go after her," he grumbled to himself, tossing the comforter off his body and shifting into a sitting position on the side of the bed. "god damn moron didn't go after her."

yesterday he'd had to listen to the girls-- his peers, people his own age-- question his relationship with you without any concrete evidence. today, he was going to have to fight for his life against dustin for ruining your night, disappointing you, not finally confessing his feelings for you instead of trying to run off with nancy, and whatever else dustin felt like drudging up in the midst of the singular discrepancy. worst of all, steve felt like he deserved it. he felt like shit for making you feel anything other than adored and appreciated, and he had already spent plenty of time beating himself up over it when he got home the night before.

no matter how he felt, he couldn't shake the anxiety he felt over you being upset with him. granted, he wasn't even sure that you still were upset with him-- maybe this only seemed like a big deal in the moment, and he was actually already forgiven-- but the uncertainty was enough to make his stomach flip a few times whenever he considered the possibility.

he knew he had to talk to you as soon as he could. he had a shift at the video store that morning, which was why his obnoxious alarm had sounded so much earlier than he would've preferred, but the next thing on his agenda for the day would be to find you and apologize-- grovel, if necessary, until he was sure you weren't harboring any hard feelings toward him. he'd probably have to hear a lot of commentary from everyone else before he got to talk to you, but he doubted anyone could be much harder on him than he was already being with himself. so he threw on his work uniform, blocking out a memory of the time you told him he looked "magnificent" in that green vest, and hopped in the car. just a few hours and he could talk to you.

it took the kids longer to show up than steve expected. half of him thought dustin might be standing at the front desk with his arms folded across his chest when steve walked through the door. but no, they didn't get there until three hours into his shift. he'd already restocked the shelves, rung out a handful of customers, and taken his thirty-minute lunch break by the time he heard the bustle of the 4 freshmen entering. the first coherent thing he heard was lucas's whisper, asking, "do you see him anywhere?" he popped his head above the shelf he'd been reorganizing in an attempt to pass the time, throwing the group a hesitant smile as they spotted him in the far corner of the store. when he joined them in the open area beside the register, steve opened his mouth to greet them only to be immediately cut off by dustin.

"have you talked to her?" he drilled, a stern tone behind his voice to match the demanding look in his eye.

"no," steve replied hesitantly, not sure of whether or not the boy was planning on allowing him to elaborate further. his eyes darted around the small crowd before him, taking in max's curious gaze and the amused expressions lucas and mike wore before flickering back to dustin. the curly-haired boy was glaring at him expectantly, and steve rushed to fill the silence before dustin could yell at him again. "i was planning on going over to see her after my shift."

dustin squinted at steve, inspecting his face for any sign that he might've been lying. he found no evidence of falsehood, nodding slowly as he mentally lined up his next set of questions. as dustin was thinking, max piped up. "do you feel remorse? i mean, do you fully grasp the depth of what you did?"

"hey, i'm asking the questions here," dustin said pointedly to max. he blinked a few times, then turned back to steve. "well, answer her!"

steve stuttered a bit as he responded, surprised by the question despite how prepared for this confrontation he'd thought he was. "uh, i-- what-- well, yeah, i feel remorse, but it's not like i did it on purpose. it was-- i didn't mean to make her upset."

"you were drooling over nancy! literally rushing to get out of there when the only thing motivating you was the idea of being alone in a car with your ex-girlfriend! literally!"

"okay, when you put it like that, it sounds really bad," steve admitted dubiously, wincing at the reminder that you probably thought he had feelings for nancy again. "but that wasn't actually what was going on!"

dustin didn't seem to care what steve had to say to defend himself, simply moving on to address his second issue. "and not just that, but you've also been stringing her along for months now, acting all flirty and romantic and obsessed with her, basically going on dates all the time, and then denying that anything is going on between you two!"

"that is not true," steve contested.

"dude, that's kinda true," lucas interjected.

at the exact same time, mike added, "yeah, you definitely do all that stuff."

"we don't go on dates! we hang out! y/n would tell you the same thing-- because we're friends, and nobody is stringing anybody along."

"that doesn't explain why she got so upset at you wanting to spend time alone with nancy, though," max remarked. steve groaned at this, growing tired of talking in circles yet again about his relationship with you. max's eyebrows raised at the older boy, eyes slightly widening in a combination of false innocence and genuine interest. "i'm just saying."

"exactly! if nothing's going on with you, why is she so worried about you and nancy? and--"

"okay, fine!" suddenly steve was interrupting dustin, and all eyes were now expectantly trained on his noticeably fed-up expression. "you're right! i have feelings for your sister, and i'm pretty sure she has feelings for me too, but i haven't been able to ask her out properly yet because i have a bunch of people watching my every move and asking me questions about her and us at all times! so maybe if you would all stop breathing down my neck, then i would be able to figure out a way to ask her out without seeming like a total creep!”

silence fell over the group, all of them stunned that steve had finally confessed the truth. the kids hadn't thought steve would give his big secret up that easily, and even steve himself had intended to keep his emotions under wraps for a while longer. he at least wanted to tell you about how he felt before he told dustin. but, clearly, that was no longer an option.

just as it began to set in steve's mind that he'd just confessed his true feelings to dustin, max, lucas, and mike, the front door swung open and another person stepped foot in the store.

it was you.

"uh, hi everyone," you chuckled nervously when you walked in. you held a vhs tape in your left hand, the other holding the strap of your bag to secure it on your shoulder. the tension in the air was immediately apparent to you; it wasn't often that these kids were stunned into silence, so you recognized the expressions well. no one flinched to respond when you walked in, but they seemed caught when they saw you. steve, on the other hand, was visibly clenching his jaw and avoiding eye contact with the others. he was unmistakably distraught, and the tight-lipped smile he threw you as you entered did nothing to convince you otherwise.

you took a few steps toward them, just about to blatantly ask what you'd walked into when max spoke up. "hi y/n," she stepped in front of the others as she spoke, meeting you halfway between their position and yours. a second after she greeted you, her mouth moved again, releasing no sound. you made out what she mouthed clear as day: steve is mad. her eyes held a sort of amazed-but-apprehensive look, and it clicked in your mind what must've happened. dustin. max assumed you'd caught on then, subtly sending you another hint. "returning a movie?"

"yeah," you said, feigning a smile as your eyes flickered behind the girl. dustin had now snapped out of his stunned silence, obviously observing closely as you made your next move. mike and lucas seemed to be on alert, both glancing between you, dustin, and steve to see how the situation would unfold. "steve, you wanna help me out over here?" you nodded toward the counter in the center of the room, walking backwards in the direction as you gestured.

"uh, yeah," steve said, clearing his throat when he realized how low his tone was. "sure, i gotcha."

the two of you made your way to the register, steve's back to the kids as he stood across the counter from you. your eyes shifted to your little brother as you placed the vhs tape on the counter, watching as he took a step forward only to be physically stopped by max. words were exchanged between the two, and dustin gave the back of steve's head one final intense glare before moving to the opposite side of the store and fixating his eyes on a random shelf of films. thank you, max, you thought gratefully.

when you looked back at steve, he seemed to be lost in thought, already in the process of marking your latest rental as returned. you gave yourself a few seconds to just look at him. you could tell he hadn't brushed his hair when he woke up that morning because the hair on the left side of his head was flattened out in comparison to the rest. the first button on his vest was secured to the second buttonhole, something you would've laughed at on most other days. his eyes were the same brown as always, but the distracted expression behind them made you slightly uneasy. soon enough, your few seconds to admire the older boy had expired, and it was time for you to force him into a conversation. "so," you started, earning a glance and raise of the brow from him. "how's the shift going? running the show solo?"

he chuckled, shaking his head at your small talk. "yup, it's all me this morning. and, of course, i was running a smooth operation until the fiends showed up."

you shot him a pitiful smile. "i'm sorry about them. i told dustin to leave it alone, but he's--"

"obsessed with protecting you?" you nodded, and steve chuckled again. "yeah, i know. he always has been, and he always will be. i don't blame him. it's just-- agh, it's a lot sometimes, i guess." you could feel him thawing out as you fell into conversation, gradually easing back up after facing the turmoil that was your little brother. steve's mind seemed to shift then, almost as if he'd had a lightbulb moment within. "hey, you know, i'm sorry about last night, by the way. i didn't mean for it to seem like i was trying to get away from you, or get alone with nancy, or anything like that, because none of that is the case."

"you don't have to apologize, steve. i'm sure you've already had a hard enough time explaining yourself to dustin; you don't need to explain anything to me on top of that."

"no, no, i do, though," he insisted. as you talked, the vhs you'd entered with was resting beneath steve's palm, having long-since been forgotten. he turned his body to fully face you as he spoke this time, and you took a split second of that transitional time to mentally note the way his hand engulfed the tape. you almost lost all focus in that moment, already starting to thinking about steve's hands, warm and big and firm, instead of his relationship with nancy or your brother's pestering or anything else. but when he spoke again, the tone of his voice had changed, and all of your attention was drawn back to the conversation. "it's been months of everyone else demanding an explanation for you and me spending so much time together, and the least i could do is actually give you an explanation."

"trust me, i get it. they give me a lot of shit too, for pretty much anything that involves you."

"anything and everything. like, if dustin sees me wave at you when i pick him up from your house, it's all i hear about for twenty minutes. any time max hears that you and i spend any time together she has to clarify whether or not it was a date. even nancy and robin do it. i mean, when we left the gym last night the two of them went back and forth the entire ride on what i could do to get you to forgive me. i honestly don't remember the last time i went a whole 24 hours without someone asking about you, or mentioning us, or calling me out on something. it’s just so frustrating. i mean, i spend months striking out with every dud of a girl i talk to, and then i waste a few more months with a bunch of chicks who i know aren't worth my time, and then i finally realized that there's this perfect girl right in front of me, and i can’t work up the courage to do anything about it because of the pressure from our friends and her little brother? kind of pathetic, if you ask me."

"the perfect girl, you say?" you smirked at him, his face flushing a little when you locked eyes.

"i-- yeah, the perfect girl." he smiled a little as he looked at you, feeling his own mood shift from anxious and overwhelmed to hopeful and optimistic.

"i don't know about perfect. maybe she's kinda cute, but perfect? seems like a bit of a stretch."

"no, i mean, i get that it's hard to believe and everything, but she's a total catch. she's drop-dead gorgeous, obviously, but she's also smart, and determined, and so caring. like, i don't think there's anything this girl wouldn't do to protect the people she loves. seriously, i've never met a girl like her before, and i'm pretty positive i never will again. she's pretty much one of a kind. yeah, she's perfect."

the nonchalant tone of his voice as he spoke confirmed to you that steve had calmed down after his interaction with dustin. more than that, you were shocked by the things he'd said. as you'd said to max the night before, you knew steve liked you. it wasn't like he did some superb job of hiding it from you or anyone else; everyone knew that steve harrington didn't waste his time hanging out with one girl for months if he wasn't actually interested in her. in all honesty, though, you hadn't thought it was as much of a true emotional attraction as a combination of loneliness and sexual tension. his never having made a move before was what you'd considered confirmation of that theory; he didn't actually care enough to risk his friendship with dustin, so he just left it alone. regardless of all the logic you'd used to justify your relationship with steve, here he was confessing that he had all sorts of feelings about you.

without noticing, you'd gone completely silent during your moment of realization. steve was looking at you with anticipation and a little fear, smiling nervously as he said, "sorry, was that too much?"

you laughed, shaking your head. "no, that wasn't too much. it's just kind of insane, you know? i mean, if you told me sophomore year that king steve would be calling me 'the perfect girl' one day, i would've laughed in your face. but here we are."

"here we are," steve repeated with a smile. "for the record, though, king steve is dead and gone. god, i hated that guy." he rolled his eyes as he spoke then, cringing at the memory of who he used to be.

"yeah, i can't really disagree with that. king steve was a dick. but i'm glad you're the steve that took over for him."

"well, this steve would really love it if you'd give him a chance. i might do dumb shit sometimes, but it's just because i get so in my head about what people think. but when it comes to you, i'm sick of worrying about what everyone else will say. i just--" he leaned forward, both elbows resting on the counter between you, and locked eyes with you as he spoke again. "will you go out with me?"

you could've sworn someone was holding a lighter to each of your cheeks in that moment. whether it was because of how hard you were blushing or how hard you were smiling, you weren't sure, but you could feel the heat spread across your face as you answered. you leaned forward as you spoke, too, placing your hands on top of his where they rested on the counter. "i would love nothing more, steve."

"jesus christ," steve breathed, letting his head hang low as he exhaled a chuckle and hid his face from you. when he lifted his head again, his face was just as pink as yours. "i didn't know if i would ever get the opportunity to ask you uninterrupted. even then, i didn't know if you'd even say yes!"

you squeezed his hands in yours, laughing at his confession. "obviously i said yes. what girl could say no to that hair?" you reached up and tugged gently on the hair atop his head, laughing when his nose scrunched in response.

steve grabbed the hand that had been in his hair as you dropped it back down, feeling another wave of relief and adoration wash over him. "i would come around the counter and kiss you, but your little brother is definitely still watching us."

you snorted at that, nodding. "you're totally right. and, unfortunately, the only way to get him to leave here is to take him with me when i go. so, instead of kissing me now, you can wait until later tonight when you pick me up to go out."

steve laughed, letting your hands slip out of his as you pulled away and started walking toward your brother and his friends. "i'll pick you up at 7?" he called after you.

"i'll be ready by 6:30," you shot back with a smile. then you moved a few feet across the store to find dustin, lucas, mike, and max huddled behind a shelf of vhs tapes, obviously struggling to eavesdrop on your conversation with steve. you fought back a laugh at the sight of them, cramped and clueless, before announcing, "anyone who wants to know what's going on with me and steve, leave the store now and you'll get your answers."

steve had never seen those four fools move so quick, and before he knew it, they were outside. he shot you one last lovesick grin as you waved goodbye to him with a smile. "see you at 6:30."

maybe today wasn't such a day from hell, after all.

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