#my tiny little heart that gets way too attached to pixels on a screen is dying.

[wyauwu]

this bitch hits DIFFERENT on a nuzlocke oh my arceus.

[bentforkent]

earth-shattering, red roses

penelope garcia x gender neutral!reader

a/n: here is my very hesitant, very obscure, and very late submission for @veraiconcos​ fic challenge. is there a market for penelope x reader fics? dunno, but there should be. penelope rights. 

tagging sweet @gaystevie​ 

content warnings: none - this is half fluff, half angst :) 

word count: 1842

in which you’re penelope’s online friend and she develops a crush on you. 

“and then i just,” penelope pauses to hold up a pair of campy earrings to the camera, “pick out some earrings, and i’m good to go!” after putting the jewelry on, she turns her face to model. her hair is pulled back into a bun, adorned with some fluffy hot pink hair accessory. 

“looks cute, pen,” you muse, watching her pose on your tiny phone screen. penelope looks at you with a wide smile. there’s a piece of your hair sticking up and out of place, and she desperately wants to reach out and smooth it out. her thumb twitches.

 “alright my sweet soulmate,” she starts with a smile. you know what’s coming.  “it’s time for me to head to work.” 

you pout at her pixelated face. “already?”

“unfortunately, dear,” she says, but despite feeling reluctant to hang up, her words come out as cheery as ever. 

“alright, penny. have fun at work,” you say, and as soon as she acknowledges your farewell and offers her own, the screen goes black with nothing but a tri-tone to signal the end of the call. 

 you and penelope met seven months ago on some new, groundbreaking virtual world game. penelope’s character was a fairy, with wings that glowed so much she had to have paid extra to have them. (she hadn’t. she just hacked into the fairly new and easy-to-bypass code and given her character the virtual wardrobe of her dreams.) she made a point to keep true to herself, even through her tiny computer alter-ego.

 the two of you often floated in the same circles as you played the game. you were funny, always typing something witty into the chat, and she quickly found herself very fond of you. she let her fingers hover over her keyboard before typing out her first message to you. after the whole “fisher king” fiasco, she respectfully refrained from contacting people on the internet, resigning herself to admiring from afar. but you were different. you had interacted with penelope already, exchanging compliments and working together to solve quests in the game. you knew her, and she knew you, but direct message felt like a new realm. it felt...intimate. 

when you replied to her first message, a simple “hi penelope!” with a butterfly emoji attached for good measure, penelope nearly flew out of her desk chair; she was so excited.  she quickly typed back to you, punctuating with approximately two million exclamation points and a link to her own personal social media. you smiled widely to yourself watching penelope’s chat appear on your computer screen. 

over the next months, you and penelope had become practically inseparable. well...virtually, at least. you lived much too far from penelope, and penelope much too far from you.  your distance spanned one timezone and a handful of states, but with how often you two talked, you always felt close. you learned her favorite color, her favorite movie, her favorite tv shows. she learned your guilty pleasure snack, your nighttime routine, and your favorite song to drive to. after 12am, you’d whisper into the phone receiver about your day, telling her about everything that bothered you or brought you joy. penelope revelled in these chats. listening to you was the best part of her day. this was your friendship, and it was good. 

 but recently things had been ever-so-slightly different. penelope lingers on a phone call even though she is exhausted, just to hear your voice. she proof-reads her text messages multiple times before sending them out--who does that? the red heart emoji is fast becoming her most used, taking the place of the pink one. the pink one is platonic, it’s always been platonic, and the red one is romantic. how is this happening? often, penelope lies in bed, imagining you’re laying against each other with your hands entangled. she reaches and rests her hand on the other side of the bed, where you would lie if you were there. sometimes, when she’s really tired, she believes she can feel you.

when thinking about this, penelope’s chest feels tight in the most exhilarating way. she’s confused, naturally. the last time she felt this way was when she thought she had real feelings for derek. (she’d buried whatever feeling that was way deep down in the depths of her brain.)

 could it be love if you had never touched? no. no, penelope is a romantic, but she’s also a realist. this can’t be love, not yet. but...a crush. the realization of the word seeps into her bloodstream, setting each cell in her body on fire. it’s a nice fire, a warm fire, a fire that flickers in pink flames. penelope spins around a few times in her work desk chair. 

gee, how lucky is she that she’s got her own little cave here? no one to interrupt her private moment of reckoning...although, now that she thinks of it, it’s not much of a “moment” from the outside. it’s not like her cheeks are stained red and there’s a sign on her forehead that reads “i have a crush!” any one of her coworkers could walk in right now and have no clue anything is any different. (penelope forgets that she’s terrible at hiding things and that she works with trained behavioral profilers.) she pauses a minute, staring at the door, half-expecting hotch to walk in and chew her out for not looking up white males in nebraska, or something. 

 penelope smoothly rolls her chair over to where her cell phone rests. she really shouldn’t be making a personal call at work, she thinks, but she also really shouldn’t have hacked into reid’s work computer and changed everything in english into tagalog last week. penelope can’t remember the last time she genuinely cared about the FBI’s rules. (in her defense, it took spencer like--half of a second to figure out what the unfamiliar language was, and a whole work day to understand it. she was teaching him!) 

 she picks up the phone, grinning as she swipes through recent text notifications of you updating penelope on your day. she finds the “call” button quickly, and waits as it begins to ring.

“penelope?” you question upon answering. “i’m at work, i can’t really talk right now.” you sound happy, despite the intrusion penelope knows she’s providing.

 “no, i know,” penelope replies, twirling a pen in her free hand. she taps her foot quickly. “which is why i’ll make this super quick.” she drags out the word ‘super’ like it tastes like candy.  “i have a crush on you. an earth-shattering, red roses, big crush on you.”

“oh,” you gasp, surprised. “oh! yeah!” you shake your head quickly, as if trying to wake yourself from a dream. all penelope can hear on the other line is the swooshing of air. “yeah, penny, me too. definitely me too. by that i mean, i have a crush on you too.” you’re stumbling, tripping over the words in your haste to get them out, but neither one of you seem to notice. all you can tell is the grin on your face is starting to hurt your cheeks, and all penelope can tell is that if she pulls her knees any closer to her chest she might squish herself. 

 “okay, cool,” penelope says through a smile. 

 you give a breathy laugh. “i really do have to go, though. i’ll definitely talk to you later, though. bye, penny,” you say, and hang up before giving penelope the chance to quip a witty goodbye. 

 you like her back, penelope thinks, the harps playing in her head making her feel like a juvenile pining after someone on the playground. her stomach flutters. the angelic voices in her head are singing, something that sounds like a warbled, choral version of “i wanna dance with somebody” by whitney houston. she closes her eyes, and relishes in it. 

after a second, the stark silence in penelope’s office startles her into reality. 

what is this?

what is she doing?

 oh, fuck, she thinks. tears well in her eyes. what is she doing? this is so unrealistic, penelope thinks, berating herself. you’re far away, only connected to her through a phone screen. it’s a great sentiment to have this sweet crush, yeah, but it’s not practical. not real. it’s not like penelope would ever be in a position to pack up and fly to you, and after hearing you gush about your job just the night prior, she knows you certainly feel the same.

 and then she feels like shit for even calling, for even telling you that she felt this way. it would cause nothing but problems. penelope pauses, in her brain. no, it wouldn’t even cause problems! being with you is so incredibly far-fetched that there isn’t even a “will they, won’t they” debate. any problem is solved with a simple “won’t they.” no, this wouldn’t cause problems, but it would cause heartache, and she should’ve known better. penelope thinks she’s feeling a bit of that heartache now. she sniffles, toying with a tiny plush pig she keeps perched on her desk. sometimes penelope just gets blinded by the butterflies. it’s her best trait and most fatal flaw.

 there’s a knock at her door. derek. 

 “hey babygirl,” he says, pushing open the door and leaning into the doorframe. “what are you doing for lunch?” 

 with her back turned to him, she rubs at her eyes delicately, trying very hard not to mess up her makeup. “uh, i brought my thermos. soup,” she says, clawing desperately at the bubbly personality she can feel slipping away from her for today. she’s just down in the dumps. 

 “hey, what’s wrong?” derek asks, instantly picking up on her sour mood. he steps into her office and closes the door behind him. 

 penelope turns to him, eyes rimmed in red, and gives him a half smile. derek, sweet derek, always so in tune with penelope, is looking at her intently, worry written in every crease of his face. penelope always feels lucky to have him, but especially in this moment. in a rush of emotion, she stands, flings her arms around his neck and pulls him in to a tight hug. 

 derek chuckles. “i love you too.” 

 penelope pulls away with a half-hearted chuckle, swatting the air as if to get rid of the negative emotions plaguing her office. “you come in here with your big muscles and your pretty face and somehow you’ve got me crying in your arms.” she laughs again, slightly more enthusiastic this time. 

 derek pulls her to his chest again, holding her there without words. penelope lets out a deep sigh, releasing every single emotion she just ran through. 

she could deal with those later. she could deal with her royal mess with you later. right now, it didn’t matter. what mattered now was her office, her lunch, and derek morgan.

“derek?” she asks, voice small. he turns to her, prompting her to speak again. “if i asked you to stay, would you?”

[picklesmin]

Outside A Galaxy Of My Own

(How many misadventures can one have on one planet? How many days trekked, relationships forged? How many hopeful smiles and bitter tears? How many lives lost and altered forever? (My very first fic here and Pikmin fic in general, inspired by the great @pikfic!)

-

Chapter 1: Dew, Spark, and Cinder

-

The familiar screech of horrific and yet entrancing beasts was the first thing Olimar heard as he entered the cool air of the early dawn. Even from the damp ground he stood on Olimar could see the monsters in the distance. He stretched and was actually quite certain he heard something crack. He was way too old for this.

“Another day in the grime, huh Louie? ...Louie? Louie!” Glancing over his shoulder, he was barely surprised to see his underling still there behind the glass window of the ship, crumbs on his face. “Get out here!”

Sighing as the younger Hocotation apathetically trudged out, Olimar turned the dials on the Onion and summoned pikmin from the ship’s hull. Their little comrades slid down the legs, eager to help as always.

“Morning, everyone. Sleep well?” Olimar gave the pikmin and Louie a friendly smile. “We’ve still yet to explore a certain part of the woods that I have on my map.” Pressing a button, a small pixelated map appeared on one of the many screens adorning his suit. “But luckily it’s at least close by.”

Louie bobbed his head dully, clearly oh so excited. “So I take purples and smash the creeping chrysanthemum while you harvest? Lost almost twenty yesterday.”

“Right…” Olimar’s optimism faded for a moment, a more somber one overtaking, as it did for the pikmin. The snagret had leaped out of nowhere, leaving only masacre behind and tortured screams. Just more sounds to add to Olimar’s nightmares and eternal guilt.

“That sounds good Louie.” He tried for a teasing smile. “I thought I was the Captain here.” It wasn’t quite returned, leaving the Hocotation sighing and wondering why he even bothered.

The trek wasn’t long, and the group passed the corpse of a bulborb that they ran out of time to displace before sunset. Or rather, one Olimar had to all but physically drag Louie away from cooking—and subsequently becoming a meal himself.

Hammering the hostile plant beast was easy enough, and routine even by this point. Still, Olimar found himself standing by cautiously, always waiting to see if he needed to step in. He was never sure if his concerns over his younger charge were that of being a Captain, or even of being a father.

Whistling his group away before the corpse flattened them, Olimar began to order his pikmin to the pellet posies. And...he immediately stopped.

Half their usual size and appearing frail and almost hunched over, the flowers were a baffling sight and even Louie blinked in surprise.

“Are they sick?”

Olimar felt his fear spike. Was that possible? There were so many uncharted dangers on this planet, so was there one that could poison entire gardens? Botanical threats were so many, and he already knew pikmin could become sickly and hostile. Was this only the start of a catastrophic wipe out?

Before his thoughts could terrify him further, his pikmin were already trying to destroy the flower. With just a kick the stem snapped like a stale green bean, and Olimar was too grimly fascinated to stop them.

The first clue that something was definitely different about the offspring was how each pellet only produced a single sprout, despite the colors corresponding with their onion. Olimar was nervous to make his way over, and all the more nervous to pick what appeared to be only half formed leaves.

Three baby, legitimately baby pikmin popped out.

“Captain Olimar, I sense something off about these pikmin. Some sort of deficiency is causing their suboptimal height.”

It was difficult to really focus individually on pikmin when you always had a large group, but sure enough the baby leaves really did seem to be that...babies.

“Not only that, but their leaves appear damaged or maybe even underdeveloped. Do you think the state of them has anything to do with the state their posies were found in?”

The Hocotation cast another look over his shoulder to the slightly withered looking stems. Or...what remained of them at least. They did appear so weak he was surprised they could manage to hold themselves upright.

“Peculiar,” Olimar mused with a stunned blink. “I’ve never seen such a thing...but then again, those pellet posies were incredibly small. I thought perhaps they were merely buried deep but...maybe the flowers really were stunted.”

Olimar bent down to the baby pikmin’s level and he tentatively reached towards one of their stems. With the utmost gentleness he ran a hand along the smooth leaf. It didn’t appear rough or stiff as a dry leaf would be and invoked a pleasant chitter from the pikmin. It didn’t seem to be in any pain.

But what did this mean for the pikmin then? Were they unable to ever mature? Did they not even have the same abilities their brethren did? He knew the only way to be sure of such a thing was to test that theory, but the leafs may not be able to survive the results!

“My hypothesis is that they will be generally slower than leaf pikmin as well. And leafs are already so slow! What will you use them for, Captain Olimar?”

“I…” The man blinked, at a loss. “I don’t know, actually.” It was already clear these babies wouldn’t be able to hold their own in battle. Would he, for the first time, have pet pikmin?

“Well...it’s clear that I won’t be able to have you three in combat,” he told the baby leafs. “Unless…” Perhaps he could test something.

Olimar turned back to the colony of normal sized pikmin. At the very least they didn’t appear to be viewing their new siblings with contempt. They seemed, thankfully, as accepting with the children as any.

Language barriers were always so difficult, leading to so many frustrating situations, and, unfortunately...many deaths in the field. Tapping his cheeks enough times and gesturing seemed to clue a yellow pikmin on what it was supposed to do. Although the creature certainly seemed hesitant.

“It’s alright,” Olimar assured the pikmin. “I’ll be fine, I just want to test something.”

After a moment the pikmin pressed its cheek against the other’s glove, and Olimar hissed as a powerful shock had him withdraw quickly. His pikmin shrugged apologetically.

Olimar shook his hand for a moment and then he bent down to the newly harvested yellow leaf. The tiny pikmin pressed its head against their leader’s hand as well, but Olimar was concerned when he barely felt the slightest spark. It was as weak as a static shock from a mere bedsheet.

“Hmm, quite concerning. It would appear these tiny pikmin indeed are far less stronger than the others!” the ship buzzed. “I’m unsure of what use they may be, Captain Olimar!” The machine didn’t want to say the little things were useless, but Olimar knew it was thinking it.

“I’ll...figure something out.” The Hocotation looked over to where the tiny critters were attempting to climb a berry stem. The poor little things could barely manage with their stubby legs.

Olimar looked over to Louie, who seemed to be watching the miniature pikmin as well.

“They’re small. Too small, aren’t they?”

Olimar cast Louie a wayward grin. “Oh they’ll find their place.” Hopefully not in a monster's belly.

-

That evening secure in his ship Olimar pulled back from an email with a fond laugh as he shook his head. His family had been quite excited by the thought of him having permanent pikmin...at least for the time being. And oh, trust his children to come up with the cutest names! The baby pikmin had crept curiously over, tilting their heads at the glowing monitor.

“Well, you three, what do you think about having your own names? Hm?” They continued looking inquisitively at him. “Dew, Spark, and Cinder.” Saying each individual name, he pointed to the corresponding pikmin. Spark of course being the yellow, Cinder the red, and Dew the blue.

Olimar gestured over to where he saw his young cohort heating up a bisque. “Dewy, and Louie!” he exclaimed, snickering at the rhyme the pikmin didn’t understand and that Louie seemed to roll his eyes at.

“You’re naming them now?” Louie asked, a brow raising. “You said that’s a bad idea. Can’t get attached.” Not that Louie had the inclination to adore the little aliens as his Captain did. He respected them and led them as Olimar did, but it was harder for the younger man to feel strong bonds so easily.

“Not all of them,” Olimar said, smile falling. He didn’t seem sure of it himself. “Just, er, these three. My children named them actually. I believe we have our first pygmy pikmin, Louie! They’re a lot more underdeveloped than the others and don’t seem like they might grow. Even their leaves are only half formed. I was thinking in time, they can help out through the ship. Or stay close to our campsite. I’ll find...something.”

He did want to find use for them, not just because it was routine for Olimar by this point, but he didn’t know what emotional depth pikmin had, let alone these three. He didn’t want them to think that he thought they were less capable. Which...was sort of true.

“Like I said, they’ll find their place.”

Louie watched the pygmies climb into his boss’s lap. “Like in your lap?” He sounded far more cautious about the situation. This planet was hostile and unforgiving and he knew at any second their new little friends could go from Olimar’s arms to a Bulbear’s stomach. And he also knew the...emotional repercussions that could have on Olimar.

The captain’s eyes were captured by the wide ones gazing up at his, and piercing into his heart. He knew what Louie was thinking, and he was thinking the same thing. Naming the pygmies...it was a very dangerous idea, but his children came up with the idea. And he couldn't just not do it.

“They’ll stay in the ship.”

Louie watched as Cinder clambered her way over to him and shook his leg as she tried to hug it. “Okay,” he shrugged.

-

The wide array of space at their window, Olimar peered into the black canvas littered with stars. It had been an interesting day, one he was eager to record if his exhaust allowed it. And also, if he could find time between dashing back and forth from trying to keep the pygmies from getting into mischief. It seemed that them being as different as they were made them far less inclined to listen to him. It felt like when Oliver and Lily were toddlers!

“Good night, Louie.” The captain yawned, and also pat the interior of the ship as a silent good night. He couldn’t resist a grin over at his charge resting in the other bunk. “Don’t let the bed pikmin bite.”

“Nnn….bite back,” was the only half asleep mumble he received as Louie buried deeper under his blankets.

Dew, Spark and Cinder were still at Olimar’s feet and he gestured to the cargo where the leaf children could sleep. They scurried passed him into his bunk.

“There’s barely enough room for me, you know!” he told the leaf babies as he discarded his suit in favor of some furry pajamas. He didn’t seem to have any objection to the idea however.

As Olimar tiredly lay on the bed he pushed himself up as the pygmies settled on him. They merely sat there, their cute little stems bobbing around as they looked at him with adoring eyes. Olimar felt his heart threatening to melt on him.

“You really need to stop with that before you make me adore you,” he told them, but he knew it was too late for that. “You probably can't even understand me...can you?” The three leafs tilted their heads and Olimar chuckled. “Probably not…It’s very late. You should go to sleep now,” he told the young pikmin. They curled into him like kittens and Olimar sighed. He couldn’t deny it was nice to hold someone after so many nights cold and alone.

-

(Hope I didn’t do too badly, still getting the world down despite my endless researching haha. We started on a cute note...but it probably won’t stay cute for long ;)

Although each chapter is a story on its own many will still have linking elements, such as Dew, Spark, and Cinder. Longer ones will also be specified in parts in the chapter title.

There will be no romance, most likely (besides Olimar’s wife), and everything will be more platonic, especially considering Louie and Olimar and Charlie and Alph, as those take on more parental dynamics here! We’ll range from super cute to super sad and everything in between. Forgive me if the formatting is off, this is my very first attempt!)

[danfanciesphil]

Phan Teacher AU (Part 3)

(Part One)

(Part Two)

It’s Friday evening, finally, and Dan is in his kitchen making pasta, reflecting on the ups and downs of his first week in his new job. He stirs the penne in the saucepan, staring down into the bubbles.

The pasta does not, unsurprisingly, provide him with any insightful comments. 

Being a TA is not as bad as he thought it would be, he eventually concludes, considering everything that’s happened to him at the school so far. The children don’t tease him like he feared they would; mostly they barely even register his existence. The faculty, whilst occasionally irritating or dull, are just normal people for the most part. It’s obvious that none of them are living their dreams, but aside from making them a little snarky, that doesn’t seem to matter to them. 

None of this applies to Phil, of course. 

Dan stops stirring pasta, the tips of his fingers tingling as a wave of admiration sweeps through his body. Phil Lester is an unexpected, but very welcome, perk of this job. 

Dan had never even considered the idea that he might develop a crush when he accepted this position. Teaching has never appealed to him, so he has never found teachers attractive in the past. But, as he mentioned to Phil on his first day, Phil is not like any other teacher that Dan has ever met. 

He switches the hob off, and finds a colander in one of the cupboards. It’s not his, obviously. Dan would never be organised enough to buy a household item as obscure as a colander, but his housemates won’t mind. Probably. 

He drains his pasta, and scoops it into a bowl, then mixes it with some pesto. He adds some chopped cherry tomatoes and a sprinkle of cheese, then takes the bowl through to his bedroom. 

He’s glad he has the house to himself tonight. His roommates are out on a date together, being an excruciatingly cute couple, as always. 

He blames the exhaustion of first week in a full time job when he climbs onto his bed to eat, opening up his laptop. Facebook is open where he left it this morning, and out of nowhere, Dan gets an idea. 

He pauses mid-chew, wondering if it would be crossing a line. 

Then, before he can think his way out of it, he clicks the search bar and types ‘Phil Lester’. 

A hundred Phil’s pop up at once. Dan scrolls through them, peering at the tiny display pictures, searching for dazzling blue eyes and a mop of jet black hair. 

He’s about to give up, but then he sees it. As soon as he notices Phil’s photo, he wonders how he could have missed it amongst the sea of other Phil Lester imposters. 

He clicks the image, heart speeding up a little. Phil’s profile fills the screen, and Dan’s eyes widen, skimming over the scant information like he’s trying to soak it all up at once. 

Phil Lester  [Image]

Intro:

💼 History Teacher at Rawtenstall Secondary School 🎓 Studied History and Philosophy at University of York 🎓 Studied French History at Université Paris-Sorbonne  🏠 Lives in Rossendale, Lancashire, United Kingdom 🏠 Lived in Paris, France 🏠 Lived in York, UK 🏠 Lived in Manchester, UK 📍 From Rossendale  ❤️ Single

His eyes are drawn to the ‘relationship status’ part of his bio before he can stop them. Embarrassingly, he smiles into his pasta, as though it changed anything at all. 

His photo is the most distracting part of the whole page. Dan stares at it as he chews, taking advantage of the opportunity to study Phil’s immaculate face. There’s something different about the photo-Phil, Dan thinks, trying to work it out. Belatedly, he realises that he’s never seen Phil dressed in anything other than a shirt.

The Phil in this picture is wearing a t-shirt in vibrant blue, covered in rows of white stars. There’s a red hemline around the neck and short sleeves too. It looks a bit like he’s low-key cosplaying as Captain America on his off-day, but somehow it suits him. 

The picture-Phil is staring into the camera with that familiar intensity Dan recognises from the times he meets Phil’s gaze in real life. He’s smiling slightly, but it’s nothing compared to the way his beaming fills the classroom. 

He clicks the photo, unable to resist seeing Phil’s face larger on his screen. He really is rather unnervingly attractive, Dan thinks, staring unashamedly at the pixels doing their best to replicate the swirling galaxies of Phil’s blue eyes. 

He shovels more pasta into his mouth, sighing to himself. Just then, his phone buzzes. Reluctantly, Dan drags his eyes away from the screen, fishing it out of his pocket. 

18:54 Unknown Number Hey Dan! This is Phil (Mr Lester)

Dan chokes on a tomato. 

He reaches over to put his bowl of pasta on the bedside table, coughing, and turns back to his phone. Phil’s face continues staring out of his screen, those all-knowing, laser-eyes burrowing into his skull. Dan flushes, feeling caught out, and slams the lid of his laptop closed. 

His phone buzzes again. 

18:55 Unknown Number (the dorky guy who makes you  wear capes and help children to  build precarious structures out  of tables and chairs)

Despite feeling as flustered by this unexpected text as a yanderé schoolgirl encountering her senpai, Dan snorts at the joke. 

Fingers trembling a little, Dan adds Phil’s name to his contacts, and spends around three minutes typing and retyping a response.

18:58 Dan Howell did i forget giving you my number in a cringey attempt at gaining friends in my new job or something 😅

18:58 Phil Lester 🌠 hah! no i actually got it from the  school office 😳 

Dan frowns in confusion. 

18:59 Dan Howell Is that even allowed?

19:00 Phil Lester 🌠 Not sure. But I’m very charming, so it wasn’t an issue 😉

19:01 Phil Lester 🌠 I told them I wanted to ask you something important, related to class

Dan’s heart immediately sinks. That makes sense, he supposes, reaching for his pasta again. Phil’s just messaging him to discuss something work-related. Nothing to get excited about, after all. 

He types out a quick response, then places his phone aside, filling the disappointment-void opening inside of him with mouthfuls of pasta. 

19:02 Dan Howell Oh cool. Do you need me to do something for Monday’s class?

19:03 Phil Lester 🌠 I just need to ask you somethng in preparation

19:03 Dan Howell Ask away Mr Lester

19:04 Phil Lester 🌠 Do you think the Year Nine’s will laugh at me if I wear this in class (Attached: 1 image)

Dan stares at the message, uncomprehending. He scrolls down, laughing in surprise as he sees the photo Phil has included. 

It’s a picture of him, close up, with his chin raised, exposing his neck. Around his shirt collar is a bowtie, white with black polka dots. 

19:06 Dan Howell Without a shadow of a doubt, yes, they will laugh at you. Sorry bud. 

19:07 Phil Lester 🌠 Perfect! Thanks. 

Dan waits expectantly, glancing at his phone every few seconds as he finishes up his pasta. After he’s scraped the bowl clean, he picks the phone up again, wondering vaguely if he’s hallucinating this entire conversation. 

19:13 Dan Howell Is that it???

19:14 Phil Lester 🌠 Your TA duties are complete. Pls feel free to go forth and enjoy your weekend, Mr Howell

Dan blinks at the text, very confused. He’s about to shove the phone in his pocket, when another text comes through.

19:15 Phil Lester 🌠 And enjoy a cool photo of ur new favourite teacher, now saved to your camera roll free of charge

19:16 Dan Howell How do u know I won’t delete it

19:17 Phil Lester 🌠 Uh, you’d better not. I don’t hand these selfies out to just anyone Daniel

A little thrill shimmers through Dan’s veins at the sight of Phil using his full name. 

19:18 Dan Howell dw I’ve got it as my wallpaper already. I might even print it out, frame it for my wall

19:20 Phil Lester 🌠 Beats stalking through my Facebook albums I bet 😉

Dan’s heart actually stops for a moment, he’s sure. No, he thinks, feeling cold sweat pearling on his brow. There’s no way Phil could know something like that, surely.

He decides to try laughing it off, still terrified. 

19:21 Dan Howell Pfft as if m8

19:22 Phil Lester 🌠 tbf if you had stalked me I’d be super miffed you didn’t friend request me

Dan’s muscles melt of tension, the relief flooding out of his pores. Phil had just been stabbing in the dark with a weirdly accurate aim. 

19:23 Dan Howell aw u wanna be my fb friend? Cute.

Dan opens his laptop again, clicking determinedly off Phil’s profile, feeling his cheeks heat like he’s being watched. He’s just about to click off of Facebook altogether, when he gets a notification. 

Phil Lester has sent you a friend request!

Dan blinks at the message, gawping. 

His phone buzzes. 

19:26 Phil Lester 🌠 yes please

*

Dan spends the weekend wishing for it to end, which is an entirely new experience for him. 

His housemates invite him out for drinks on Saturday night at their local pub. Dan doesn’t bother attempting to refuse; Teddy and Tyler are not the sort of people who can be successfully argued with. 

They fail to mention, however, that they have invited a bunch of other people to join them for drinks, including Stephanie, Dan’s ex-girlfriend. As a result, the evening turns into Dan downing more pints than he is able to handle in order to deal with the glares from the girl he dumped a few months ago. 

At the end of the night, Tyler and Teddy have Dan’s arms over their shoulders, and are merrily singing The Phantom of the Opera as they drag him home. They take off Dan’s shoes and trousers for him and lay him in bed, laughing away at Dan being a lightweight, and then promptly climb in either side of him. 

Dan groans, feeling nauseous and irritable. He loves his housemates in many ways, but they are really annoying. 

“Unngh, get out,” he says, half into his pillow. Instead of obeying, Tyler and Teddy wrap Dan in their arms, squeezing him tightly. 

“Aw, Dan’s a grump because he had to face Scary Stephanie,” Tyler teases. 

“She was more terrifying than usual tonight,” Teddy muses. “Have you spoken to her since... y’know?”

Dan doesn’t reply; he’s too focused on trying to pretend he is currently alone in this bed. He has his eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to block out all evidence to the contrary. 

“Since he callously ripped out poor Stephy’s heart?” Tyler supplies, giggling. “I’d say he’s prrrobably been avoiding her since then, right Danny?” 

In the hopes it might get him some peace and quiet, Dan nods. 

“I still don’t get it,” Teddy says with a shrug that jostles the bed. “She’s pretty, and she isn’t a complete bore. Why chuck her?”

“Ted, you know why,” Tyler says, his voice mocking. “Dan’s a big fat gay now.”

Dan groans in frustration, elbowing Tyler in the side. “‘M not!” 

“Okay, that is bi-erasure, Ty.” Teddy admonishes, though there’s a smile in his voice. 

“Bi, gay, whatever.” Tyler says. “The point is, Dan’s ready to embrace his twink side at long last.”

Dan sighs, rolling his eyes despite them being shut. “Hate you both.”

“Um, no...” Tyler corrects, sounding affronted. “You love us to bits. Especially ‘cause we’re gonna take you to the hottest gay clubs in town and find you a big, beefy bear to help you transition to the dark side.” 

Tyler tickles Dan in the side, making him shriek. Teddy joins in then, laughing uproariously at Dan’s reaction. 

“No, stop, I’ll throw up on you both!” Dan cries, feebly attempting to fight back. 

“Say you love us, Dan!” Tyler cries over Dan’s agonised laughter. “Say it!”

“I’ll say it if you fuck off!” 

“Deal!” Teddy shouts. 

Despite this, in the morning, as predicted, Dan wakes up with his two terrible excuses for housemates still snoring in his bed. 

*

As soon as Dan’s alarm sounds on Monday morning, Dan hops out of bed, eager for the day to begin. 

He showers and brushes his teeth in lightning time, then spends twenty minutes sorting out his hair and changing his outfit. He tries not to think about why he’s so obsessed with his appearance today. 

After his fifth change of shirt, Dan checks the time and realises he’s about to miss his bus. Swearing loudly, he bolts out of the door, just about managing to grab his bag and coat on the way. Tyler snorts with laughter at him as he goes, blowing a kiss, and Dan just legs it to the bus stop. 

He makes it, just, but only because the bus is a minute late. Luck must be on his side today, he thinks as he struggles to get his breath back on the jolting bus, sweaty and already exhausted, his stomach rumbling. 

Forty minutes later, he’s wading through the swarms of schoolkids up the front steps, heart beginning to pound as he thinks about what lies ahead. 

He doesn’t need to check his timetable to know which class he has first today.

He gets to Classroom Nine ten minutes early, unable to dissuade himself from seizing the opportunity to spend a little bit extra time talking to Phil. 

This plan backfires a little when he opens the classroom door to find it empty and dark. 

He debates what to do, dithering on the spot, and then decides to just come back in a little while. He turns to leave, and bumps straight into Phil’s chest, spilling the mugs of coffee he’s holding in either hand. 

“Ow!” Phil shrieks, and Dan plunges feet-first into the hole opening beneath him in the earth. 

“Shit, shit, sorry!” Dan cries, taking the mugs from Phil’s hands as he flaps his hands in distress. 

“Ah!” Phil hisses, shaking his sleeves as they drip with hot coffee. “No, it’s cool don’t worry- crap, that was hot.” 

“I’ll get some napkins or something- ” Dan says, at a loss for what else to do. 

Phil chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s fine, Dan, I’ll live.” He straightens up, smiling at Dan in reassurance. “So, I brought you a coffee!” 

Dan stares at him in dismay. “I am so sorry.” 

Phil laughs. “I know. It’s fine. I just hope there’s some left in the mug.” 

Dan turns his attention to the cups in his hands. “Yeah, there is. Um, thank you.”

“No problem.” Phil says with a smile, then takes one of the mugs from him. 

He steps carefully around Dan and through the open door of the classroom, sipping as he goes. 

Dan takes a moment to internally scream at himself for being such a prat, and then follows him inside. Phil flicks on the lights, then goes to put his coffee down on his desk. 

“So, you’re keen.” Phil says to Dan, grinning as he rolls up his coffee-soaked sleeves. 

Dan notices for the first time that Phil is wearing that stupid black and white spotty bow tie he’d sent Dan a photo of on Friday. 

Distracted by the sight of it, Dan takes a moment to process what Phil said. His eyes widen. “Um, sorry?”

“You’re here early.” Phil points out, one eyebrow raised. “Not often that you see TA’s getting to class before the first bell.”

“Oh!” Dan says, relieved. “Yeah, well... I just thought...” He scrambles for a reason that might not sound weird, coming up blank.

Phil chuckles. “It’s okay! I’m glad. Setting up for first period alone is always boring.”

“I’ll do my best to entertain you.” 

Phil giggles, then goes to one of the cupboards at the back of the room. He pulls out some unreasonably large rolls of craft paper, along with several bundles of bamboo sticks. 

Dan sets his mug down immediately, going to help him haul everything out. 

“Oh, thanks,” Phil says, surprised, as Dan takes some of the things from him. “Just put them on one of the tables.”

“What are we doing with these, then?” 

Phil laughs, glancing at him. “Wait and see.”

Dan rolls his eyes, smirking. “Such an enigma.”

“It’s all part of the experience.” Phil says. “I’ve got to be mysterious and keep the kids questioning everything. Their curiosity makes them more receptive, I find.”

Dan nods thoughtfully, considering this philosophy. “But I’m not a student.”

“True.” Phil allows. He places the rolls of craft paper down on a table, turning towards him. “Maybe I'm just trying to impress you.” 

Dan laughs awkwardly, not knowing what to say. He fiddles with the sticks of bamboo, swallowing. 

“How was your weekend?” He asks, deciding a subject change is probably for the best. 

“Good!” Phil says brightly. “It was my brother’s birthday. I baked him a hummingbird cake.” 

“A hummingbird cake?” 

Phil chuckles. “Yeah! It’s pineapple and banana flavour with cream cheese frosting. Also I made it into the shape of a hummingbird, because why not?”

“Right.” Dan says, at a loss for what to say. “Why not?” 

“Wanna see?” 

Dan smiles, nodding, and Phil walks over to him, digging his phone out of his pocket. Dan stares at the device in Phil’s hands as he scrolls through his photos. 

This is the object he’d used to message Dan on Friday. Dan’s number is now saved into it. He is, in some small way, more intimately connected to Phil through this rectangular slice of technology. 

“Sorry, I took lots of photos of my brother.” Phil says, laughing, swiping through several pictures of a grumpy looking man in a glittery party hat. “He hates having his picture taken. Oh, here it is.” 

Phil moves closer, his shoulder pressing into Dan’s. He’s deliciously warm compared to the chilly, early morning air in this room, and he smells strongly of the coffee Dan covered him in a few minutes ago. 

He tilts the phone for Dan to see. The cake is astonishing to behold. It’s been moulded into a 3D hummingbird, complete with a chocolate pocky stick for a beak, and covered entirely in a pastel rainbow of frosting. 

“Okay, wow,” Dan says, not bothering to hide how impressed he is. “I was expecting a half-hearted attempt to shape a flat cake into the Twitter symbol... but that’s incredible.”

Phil giggles, looking bashful. “Thanks! It was tasty too, which is a bonus.”

“What do I have to do to get you to bake for me?” 

Phil turns his head to face Dan, still just a little too close. “Hm, I can think of some things.”

Dan can feel it as Phil leans a little more into him, his shoulder pressing slightly harder. He holds his breath, feeling like a rabbit caught in the path of a devious fox. 

And then the bell rings, of course. 

Phil leans away again, still smiling, just as the first students begin to bowl through the door. Jonah happens to be one of them, and he lets out a low whistle as he walks through strolls into the room.

“Oi, sir, you givin’ Mr Howell your number?” 

Phil laughs, pocketing the phone in his hand and moving swiftly away. “Nice to see you too, Jonah. How was your weekend?”

Dan tries to hide his furious blush by going to retrieve his coffee from the desk where he left it. 

The rest of the students file in, and Phil welcomes them all in his usual chipper way. For the first fifteen minutes, Phil does a brief recap of the last lesson about the Algerian War, then introduces the topic they’ll be looking at today, following on from it. 

Today they’re going to start studying the failed revolution of May 1968 in France. 

To emulate the frustration of the liberals taking part in the revolution, they’re going to make pickets and signs with anti-capitalist slogans out of craft paper and bamboo. 

Phil gives them an entertaining rundown of all the issues the left-wing majority of French society had in 1968, and then he tells everyone to get into this mindset, and begin crafting. 

It’s a bit of a madhouse from that point on. The students, despite being in Year Nine, seem to love being let loose with the art supplies. They’re excessive with their use of paint and glitter, creating huge, garish signs with aggressive messages. 

A few of Dan’s favourites read: 

‘We stand, we march, we dab’

‘Marx’s favourite bitchez’

‘Communism ftw’

‘Destroy France’s capitalist infrastructure u cowards’

Phil is loving the enthusiasm so much that he even lets a few curse words slide, though he does insist that Jonah change his sign to ‘We are unTRUCKable’, for the sake of his reputation as a teacher. 

Once the signs are more or less completed, Phil claps his hands to get everyone’s attention. “Right! Ready to get out there and protest?” 

The class look confused, a hush falling over them as they look at one another blankly. 

“Protest what, sir?” Jonah asks.

Phil tuts. “Haven’t you been paying attention? If we don’t protest, then nothing will change! Workers and students will forever be bottom of the ladder! We have to push the change! We must make Marx proud!” 

Dan stares at Phil like he’s gone insane, as do most of the students. 

“But...” A shy, timid girl Dan thinks is called Anita, pipes up. “This is all in the past, right? They already protested this in France in 1968.” 

Phil beams at her, winking. “True. But tell me, gang, has the fall of capitalism come to pass?”

The students shake their heads, looking unsure. 

“Exactly, Anita!” Phil cries. “So, did the effort these French liberals put in have any effect?”

“No,” Anita answers, her eyes round as she gazes at Phil. “They failed.”

“So we should continue what they started.” Phil says, picking up a nearby bamboo stick and raising it high. “Who’s with me? For the revolutionaries of ‘68!”

The class cheer suddenly, finally catching the glint in Phil’s eye. They grab their pickets, and follow Phil as he strides to the door of the classroom. Not knowing how else to respond, Dan hurries after them, a little panicked as the crowd of fourteen-year-olds pour out into the hall. 

If only his deadly strict advisor from teacher-training could see him now. The Health and Safety of most of Phil’s activities would absolutely not pass regulations. 

“What do we want?” Phil cries, oblivious to his own rule-breaking as he marches the gaggle of teenagers down the corridor. 

“Revolution!” Jonah shouts, laughing. 

“When do we want it?” 

“Uh, 1968?” Someone calls out, and Phil chuckles.

“Ideally, yeah, but forty-nine years later works too.” 

Marvelling at the boldness of this man, as usual, Dan jogs to the front of the pack of students, marching along beside Phil. 

The rest of the class begin a chant of their own, their signs waving above them in the air as they walk determinedly through the school. 

Several classroom doors open, and students and teachers alike poke their heads out into the corridor, laughing and pointing as they pass by. 

“You’re nuts,” Dan says to Phil, feeling breathless with the adrenaline of this mad activity. “Won’t the other teachers hate you for this? You’re probably disrupting a few classes.”

Phil laughs, shrugging. “Maybe.”

He grins at Dan as he veers unexpectedly to a nearby door leading to the playground. He holds it open for the students as they march through; several of them high five he and Dan as they go. 

Dan smirks at Phil. “I think you might be some other people’s favourite teacher too.” 

*

Dan tries not to be too gloomy as he helps gather up all the students’ pickets at the end of class. There are now just under three and a half days separating him from his next chance to assist Phil in the classroom. 

Sure, he might be able to snag some of Phil’s attention during lunch and break times between now and Thursday, but it’s not the same as having a full hour with him. 

“Guys, before you leave!” Phil shouts as the students pack away their things. “I thought that, as we’re studying the ‘68 revolution, it’d be cool for you to see a French film from around that time! Cinema is really important in French history, as a lot of the prominent left-wing figures were filmmakers, and they produced some really cool stuff about this period.” 

Dan looks up in interest, wondering where Phil is going with this. 

“So basically, as there isn’t enough time to show a whole film during class, I thought it’d be fun to have a little film night this week!” Phil tells everyone, beaming. The class squeal in excitement. “I thought Wednesday evening would work. I’ll bring a film in, and if you’re free that evening, stay behind after school and we can all watch it together!” 

The class all begin chattering at once, the excitement evident in their voices, even if it’s difficult to distinguish exactly what they’re saying. 

“Sounds like you’re all keen!” Phil laughs. “So if you can make it, I’ll start the film at about four on Wednesday.” 

“Have you invited Mr Howell, sir?” Jonah calls out, turning to wink at Dan. 

Dan glares at him, trying to suppress his own urge to blush. 

Phil chuckles, turning to Dan. “Is Mr Howell interested in coming along?”

Dan reaches up to rub the back of his neck, feeling awkward. At least twenty-six pairs of eyes glue themselves to him, eagerly awaiting his response. 

“Um... sure.” Dan says at last, shrugging like it isn’t the most exciting thing he’s been invited to in months. “I’ll try and make it.” 

The class laugh, and Jonah chucks a ball of leftover craft paper at him. “Oh, got something better to do, sir?” 

Dan chuckles, rolling his eyes. “Fine, fine. I’ll be there.”

“Awesome.” Phil says; Dan catches his eye, and has to keep himself from grinning. 

*

“Hey, we’re going to the pub tomorrow.” Tyler tells Dan on Tuesday, falling face first onto Dan’s bed. 

“I’m never going to the pub with you and Teddy again after last time.” Dan tells him, kicking Tyler with his foot in a vague attempt to push him off the bed. 

He’s been scrolling through Tumblr for an hour or so now, but just because he’s been holed up in his room since he got in from work, does not mean that Tyler gets to just wander in and annoy him. 

“Aw, come on, that’s mean.” Tyler says, pouting at Dan. “Stephanie won’t even be there this time, I swear.” 

Dan swallows, shaking his head as he turns back to his screen. “Nope, sorry.”

“Dan, you know we’re not gonna let you mope about the house while we go out.” Tyler says, raising an eyebrow at him. 

“Well, you don’t need to worry.” Dan says, feeling awkward. “I won’t be here.”

Tyler is quiet for a moment, then perks up, catlike, catching the scent of some gossip. “Oh?”

Dan just presses his lips together, saying nothing. He reblogs a photo of a cute panda, trying to stay calm. 

“Teddy!” Tyler yells, making Dan jump. “Dan’s keeping secrets!”

Dan looks up at him with scorn. “Tyler, don’t be-”

Teddy bursts into the room, wearing an apron with a naked man’s torso on the front, a spatula in one hand. 

“Secrets?” Teddy asks, wide eyes darting between Tyler and Dan. “What secrets?”

“Dan has secret plans tomorrow night.” Tyler informs him, grinning. 

“Plans?” Teddy repeats, acting shocked. “But Ty, Dan doesn’t have any friends apart from us!”

“Wrong.” Dan says gruffly. “You two are not my friends, I hate you both.”

“Is it a date?” Tyler asks, sucking in a gasp. 

Teddy leaps onto the bed beside Tyler, squealing. “Oh my God, is it a date, Dan?!” 

Dan rolls his eyes. “For Christ’s sake, no. It’s not a date.” 

He could never, in a million years, be that lucky. 

Just then, his phone pings. Ignoring the probing eyes of his two housemates, Dan plucks the thing out of his pocket to look. 

18:34 Phil Lester 🌠 excited for some french cinema tomorrow night? je suis trés  joyeux que tu viennes! :)

Dan’s heart flutters, registering who the text is from, and then his phone is being plucked out of his hand. 

“No!” Dan cries, lunging for Tyler. “Wait, don’t-”

“Okay, who is Phil?” Tyler asks, holding the phone out of Dan’s reach; Teddy grabs hold of Dan by the waist, restraining him. 

“Ooh, Phil!” Teddy repeats, giggling. “I knew you were looking for a man.”

“I honestly loathe you both.” Dan grits out, struggling uselessly against Teddy’s grip. 

“French cinema?” Tyler asks, tilting his head to one side. “Is that code for something?” 

“Give me back the phone, Tyler.” Dan says, going limp in Teddy’s arms, defeated. 

“We’re just taking an interest in your personal life, Dan,” Teddy says soothingly, patting Dan on the head. 

“Phil’s just... he’s a guy I work with.” Dan says, feeling the redness spread over his cheeks and neck, betraying him. 

“Hmm,” Tyler says, throwing Dan’s phone aside at last. “A guy who is ‘very happy you’re coming’ tomorrow.” Dan blushes harder, not having worked out what the French bit had meant just yet. “Is ‘Phil’... how do you say, un beefcake?”

“Is he a teacher?” Teddy asks excitedly, releasing Dan in order to cover his own mouth with both hands. 

“He’s a teacher, yes.” Dan confirms, snatching up his phone and pocketing it. 

“God, that’s hot.” Tyler sighs, looking wistful. “And he speaks French. Think of the roleplay opportunities.”

“Aw, we can try some schoolteacher roleplay, babe,” Teddy assures Tyler, patting him on the shoulder. 

“Fine, but I get to wear the cute schoolgirl outfit.” 

Teddy rolls his eyes. “Fine.”

“I’m pretty sure I can smell burning,” Dan says, sniffing the air in distaste. 

“Shit!” Teddy exclaims, grabbing his spatula and jumping off the bed. 

As he bolts out of the door, the fire alarm begins to shriek, making Tyler scream with laughter. 

“Everything’s fine!” Teddy calls from the kitchen. 

Despite the irritation sitting under his skin, eventually Dan finds himself joining in the laughter too. 

*

Dan is half an hour early to the film screening. 

He would have come straight from his last class, which ended at 3pm, but he decided to make a quick trip to the grocery store round the corner from school. 

He returns with two enormous bags, shuffling through Phil’s classroom door with some difficulty. Phil looks at the bags in surprise, coming over to help Dan haul them in. 

“What’s this?” Phil asks, clearly intrigued. As he takes one of the bags from Dan’s hand, he looks him in the eye. “Hi, by the way. Haven’t seen you all day!” 

Dan chuckles, setting his own carrier bag on Phil’s desk. “Hi. I brought popcorn!” 

“Oh, God,” Phil moans unexpectedly. “As if you could get any more amazing.”

Dan chuckles awkwardly, a warm glow spreading through his gut. “Uh, you like popcorn?”

“It’s literally my favourite food of all time,” Phil tells him seriously. “How did you know?” 

“Damn, I need to be more subtle with my stalking.” Dan says, making Phil laugh so much that he drops one of the bags. “Anyway, it’s not all for you.” 

“In that case, the kids better hurry up before I inhale it all.”

Dan laughs, watching fondly as Phil flits around the classroom, closing blinds and straightening chairs. The projector is on, currently throwing an image of Phil’s desktop background onto the smartboard. Behind his jumble of icons, there’s a picture of what seems to be a large, photoshopped capybara taking up an entire paddling pool. 

Dan decides not to question it. 

“So what film have you picked for us all?”

Phil beams at him. “It’s called Les Quatre-Cents Coups. Have you heard of it?”

Dan shakes his head, the corner of his mouth twitching in an almost smile. It’s obvious to see how passionate Phil is about this subject; he talks animatedly, looking eager and focused.

It’s adorable.

“Wow!” Phil exclaims. “I’m kind of jealous. I wish I could go back to a time before I’d seen it.”

“What’s it about?” Dan asks, mostly in an effort to keep Phil talking.

“Oh... well, it’s about a little boy mainly. An underprivileged boy living in Paris. But it’s about much more than that really. It’s about the oppressive structures of French economy in the fifties, classism, the bourgeoise... and it’s about growing up, y’know? How even if we all experience it differently, there’s a certain relatability about puberty too.” Phil pauses, reddening a little. He chuckles. “I mean, that’s what I take from it, anyway. I studied the history of French Cinema for a while, so I’m a bit of a geek about it. But you can form your own opinions, obviously.”

“Me?” Dan says, laughing. “I dunno. I don’t know the first thing about film. Apart from that I like going to the cinema.”

“Well that’s a good place to start.” Phil tells him happily. “There’s all sorts of theories about spectatorhood, and why audiences enjoy the activity of going to the cinema, watching films as a collective experience...”

Phil trails off again, shaking his head.

“Okay, you have to stop me if I start rambling, Dan. I get carried away.”

“I think it’s cute.” Dan says before he thinks about it.

Phil’s eyebrow lifts in surprise, but he seems to take the comment in his stride. Dan, on the other hand, blushes furiously, cursing himself for being so transparent.

“I think you’re just too nice to tell me to shut up,” Phil jokes, but he lets his eyes linger on Dan’s, warm and fond.

Luckily, before Dan can shove his foot any further into his mouth, a couple of girls from the class wander in, looking trepidatious.

“Hi, uh... can we come in yet, sir?”

“Of course, Joanna!” Phil says, jumping down from his position on the desk. “Hi Bethany! Would you guys mind helping me and Mr Howell to set up?”

They jump to the tasks Phil gives them happily, chattering to him about the petty dramas of their day, complaining about their homework and the fallouts they’re having with friends.

Dan watches with amusement, marvelling - as always - at the ease with which Phil converses with his students, giving each one his undivided attention while they’re speaking, never replying in a condescending tone.

He’s such a rare gem of a teacher, Dan thinks. Phil sends Joanna to the staffroom to collect bowls, and they put one on each table, filled with popcorn.

Soon enough, the other kids begin to arrive, all wearing the thrilled grins Dan remembers from when he used to stay behind after school. There’s something about being in the building outside of the mandatory hours that just seems a bit naughty. It doesn’t matter that they’re here for what is essentially an extended history lesson - the students are excited to be involved in this extra-curricular activity.

Dan hasn’t asked them, but he’d bet a lot of that excitement comes from having Phil here, providing his ever-shining rays of brilliant, sunny exuberance.

The kids take their seats, restless at first, but settling in once Phil dims the lights and presses play. Dan finds a seat on one of the empty tables at the back, and is all prepared to expand his cultural knowledge with some French Cinema. Then, once he’s sure the film is running, Phil walks to the back of the class and slides into the seat right beside him.

Immediately, Dan releases any hope he was holding onto of immersing himself in the film.

“Ready?” Phil asks in a low, quiet voice that pierces straight through Dan’s gut. 

He’s leaning in close, eyes sparkling as the light of the opening credits reflect in them.

All Dan can do is nod silently, and try not to let the squeak out of his throat.

Phil’s one of those people who doesn’t shut up during a film. Dan hates those sorts of people usually, but he can’t seem to find Phil’s inability to keep his comments to himself anything but ridiculously cute.

His musings vary from the way in which the cinematography emphasises certain aspects of the narrative, to the strange dress sense Parisians had in the days of the 'nouvelle vague’, as he calls it.

He talks so much that he is shushed by the students more than once, but he just giggles and apologises in a stage whisper, to which the students roll their eyes.

“See that?” Phil says at one point, basically pressing himself against Dan’s side in order to point at the screen. “The photo of the man Antoine is putting on his shrine? That’s Balzac. He’s one of the founders of realism in literature.”

Dan smiles. “How meta.”

The responding look Phil gives to Dan is something so warm and proud that Dan wants to melt it down and spread it on a thick slab of toast.

“Exactly.”

Their hands meet in the popcorn. It’s like something out a cringey teen TV show. Phil just laughs and winks at him, but Dan about faints from how fast the blood rushes to his cheeks.

Phil seems to have no issues about personal space, and allows their legs to rest comfortably against each other beneath the table. He’ll grab Dan’s shoulder during his favourite scenes, eyes shining, breath held as he watches the screen.

Honestly, by the time the final shot (apparently an incredibly famous moment in film history) appears, Dan is not totally sure whether he’d be able to say what the film had been about. He’d spent quite a lot of it staring at Phil, and the rest of it thinking about how it felt - elating, blissful, drug-like - to sit beside him in the darkness, in a room where everyone else was steadfastly facing the other way.

Phil turns to him as the image fades to black, a knowing glint in his eye.

“Did you like it?”

Dan stammers out something that isn’t really words, and nods emphatically to make up for it. Phil grins at him, tongue slightly visible through his rows of teeth, and then he stands up, much to Dan’s dismay.

“So that was Les Quatre-Cents Coups!” Phil says to the class, climbing up to sit on the desk at which he and Dan had been sat. Dan cranes his neck upwards, leaning back in his chair to watch as Phil crosses his legs underneath him on the table. “Could someone get the lights, please? Thanks Bethany.”

The lights flash on, garish and bright, and the class groan, rubbing their eyes.

“What did we all think of it, then?” Phil asks, beaming.

“Awesome!” Someone shouts.

“I thought I hated black and white films, but that was cool.” 

“I loved it! Paris is so beautiful.” 

“That kid was well sick at acting, sir.” 

Phil nods encouragingly as students call out their opinions. 

Jonah snorts loudly. “I couldn’t concentrate on half of it. Kept gettin’ distracted by Mr Lester and Mr Howell flirting in the back!”

Phil laughs, shooting Jonah a disapproving look. His smile stays in place though. 

“I’m sure Mr Howell has far better options, Jonah.” Phil teases, and Dan just tries to pretend he’s somewhere else. 

He might kill Jonah at some point, he considers. 

Then, someone sticks up their hand. Phil points at the kid, smiling. 

“Yes, Matt?”

“What’s the title mean in English, sir?”

“Well, the English version of the film is called The Four-Hundred Blows.” Phil answers. “Which is actually an inaccurate translation, as it doesn’t mean anything. The original title comes from a phrase that people use a lot in France - ‘faire les quatre cents coups’ - which kind of means ‘to raise hell’. It suits Antoine, don’t you think?”

“Suits me, sir!” Jonah calls out, making everyone chuckle. “I’mma start sayin’ that. What was it again? Fair lezzer cooper?”

Phil laughs, hands holding his ankles as he leans backwards. It’s such a sweet action, so innocent and playful, that Dan can’t help smiling.

“Faire les quatre cents coups,” Phil corrects gently, enunciating each word. “I think it suits you as well, Jonah.”

Joanna is sat at the table in front of theirs, her chin in one hand as she gazes up at Phil, marvelling.

“Do you speak French, sir?” Joanna asks, obviously smitten. Dan can relate.

Phil beams at her. “Yeah, I do! I spent a year studying in Paris.”

Dan’s eyebrows lift in surprise. He’d suspected that Phil knew a few phrases, but the fact he speaks fluent French is a surprise. Why is that such an attractive quality?

He imagines Phil speaking to him in that low, quiet voice he reserves for when he wants to tell Dan something the class or another teacher shouldn’t overhear, but in French. A warm trickle runs teasingly up his thighs, like light, tracing fingers. A full body tremor comes over him. 

Phil throws a glance towards him, presumably having seen that peculiar reaction. Dan doesn’t miss the way his mouth twitches in a smile.

“That’s so dreamy,” Joanna sighs, retrieving Phil’s attention. She sits bolt upright, blushing. “I mean! It’s a dreamy language.” The rest of the class chuckle, and she reddens further. “I wish I could speak it is all!”

“Well, you’re in luck!” Phil announces suddenly. “Because as you may or may not be aware, our Year Nine History trip is coming up in two weeks time!”

The class immediately descend into loud, excited chatter; students grab at each other, squealing.

“Hey, come on, guys! Calm down, we’re here after hours, remember?” Phil calls out, but he’s grinning, evidently pleased by their enthusiasm. The class simmer down gradually, their buzz of excitement still palpable in the air. “So, yeah! We’re off to Paris for a weekend! If you can make it, it’s only fifteen pounds per student, and if you can’t stretch that, come and have a word with me, I’m sure we can work something out.”

Dan’s eyes soften as he listens to this last part. This man really is one of a kind.

Again, the class begin talking animatedly about the trip, discussing outfit choices, places they want to visit, room sharing, and other trivialities.

“Are we going up the Eiffel Tower, sir?” Someone asks.

“I’m scared of heights!”

“Where are we staying?”

“Are we sharing rooms?”

“Are we going by coach, or ferry?”

“Ooh, maybe we’re flying!”

“Can I bring my dog?”

“Hey!” Phil interrupts, hands held up in surrender. He’s laughing at them all. “All questions will be answered in class on Monday. I’ll also be sending out permission slips tonight via email, so get your folks or guardians to print them off and sign them, then bring them to me when they’re ready.”

“Sir, I just have one more question!” Jonah cries out, sticking up his hand and waving it. “Just one, sir, please?”

Phil sighs, clearly debating it. Eventually though, he rolls his eyes and nods, smiling. “Go on then. Just one.”

Jonah grins, eyes flicking to meet Dan’s. “Is Mr Howell coming with us?”

Phil lets out a low chuckle, his vivid blue eyes sliding to Dan’s, questioning. 

“I don’t know,” Phil says in a voice that surely isn’t appropriate for the situation at hand. Dan swallows, feeling singled out by the gaze. “Is he?”

(Part Four!)

[caliboyjaeffrey]

Cherry Bomb (Taeyong x Reader)

Rating: M

(A/N) OOPS! I DID IT AGAIN!!!! I GAVE YOU A SMUT, I WROTE ANOTHER ONE...OH BABY, BABY! Anyway, here’s some yummy retro Taeyong smutty goodness. A little short and sweet, but definitely gets its point across if you know what mean :^)))))))))) Enjoy!

It felt weird walking into an arcade, having not visited one since when you were younger. The welcoming sounds of heavily synthesized music, trigger clicks, and the smacking of big plastic buttons brought back a wave of nostalgia and made you smile as you peered over the shoulders of people playing. There were no kids in sight though, just people around your age who laughed and joked, drank, reminiscing in their childhood. You'd been coerced into going to a twenty one and older event at the local vintage arcade that had just opened down the street from your apartment. People were going bananas of the shiny restored arcade machines, vintage interior, and nostalgic music.

The sounds of city traffic were drowned out as you ventured in deeper, looking around for your pink haired boyfriend who had begged you to come along with him in the first place. He was an absolute nut for old arcade games, happily spending all the spare change he could find on Tetris and Pac-man. You thought it was cute, the way his eyes would get so serious when he played, the way he could hardly remember to breath because he was so focused. He brought you along because he really wanted to show you 'the artistic side of classic video games,' and you couldn't really say no after bursting out laughing and accidentally hurting his feelings. You wanted to make it up to him. Turning down another row of games, you found him standing at a machine that exchanged bills for coins, inserting a ten dollar note as soon as you snuck up on him. He jumped when you grabbed his sides, fingers ticklish, "Boo!" He gasped and whirled around, eyes landing on your mischievous gaze while his petal soft lips set into a pout, "_______...! You know I hate it when you do that-" You cut off his scolding, standing endearingly on tiptoe to give him a quick kiss, squishing his cheeks between your palms, "You always look so cute though." He rolled his eyes, but smiled softly regardless, looking down at your adorable outfit, which payed homage to the golden age of arcades, "You look cuter." He laced his hands around the small of your back as his quarters fell from the machine, the metal banging just a buzz as he returned your kiss. It was too quick and chaste, making you chase his lips as he turned around with a chuckle, collecting his coins, "That wasn't very nice of you." "What do you mean, sweetheart?," he grinned, taking your hand and leading you down a row of games. "My kisses aren't 'very nice'? Maybe I should just-" "Stop," you whined, tugging on his pin bedazzled jean jacket, unable to help yourself but grin at his teasing as well. It made you feel better knowing he wasn't upset at you anymore, you'd been worried the moment you saw him he would be in a bad mood. "Woah," he exclaimed, stopping short as he pivoted on his heel to inspect a machine. "I've never seen one of these in such good condition. I thought they were all trash at this point." You tilted your head at the arcade game, decorated in bright pinks and yellows with pixilated designs of exploding cherries. You read the title as Taeyong tested the joy sticks and buttons, "Cherry Bomb." It was really tucked away in the corner of the arcade, surprisingly not a soul in sight as it was hidden by other much flashier and tall machines. "Do you wanna play?," he asked over his shoulder, looking excited with wide eyes. "It's a two player game." "Sure," you answered, sidling up close to him, the machine not allowing much elbow room between two players. "How do you play?" "If I remember right, you basically drop 'cherry bombs' on the characters underneath," he explained, scanning the directions printed onto the machine where the controls were. "The person with the most points after five minutes wins." "Seems easy enough," you mused, smiling to yourself as you watched your puppy-like boyfriend from the corner of your eye. "Ready?," he asked, fifty cents jingling in the palm of his hand as he looked at you competitively, hand poised over the coin slot. "Yep," you nodded, amused by his usual seriousness when it came to games. Taeyong hated to lose, especially at something he really liked or was good at. With lightning fast hands, Taeyong inserted the coins and jumped back to the controls, leaning in with intense focus as the game counted down to the start. Just like that, the  arcade game started, catchy 8-bit music beeping happily as you dropped bomb after bomb on the tiny walking pixel people. You got good at it rather quickly, getting the hang of it and actually enjoying the simple game as you gained point after point. But as much as you thought you were doing good, Taeyong was better, racking up points easily as he bumped his hip playfully with yours. "Hey," you chided, grinning from ear to ear as you bumped him back. "Don't try and distract me." "That wasn't meant to distract you," he smirked, dark eyes never leaving the screen. "If I really wanted to distract you I would do something like this." You squeaked with surprise as you saw Taeyong's hand leave one of the buttons and slip up the back of your skirt, squeezing your ass over your panties. He laughed when he heard you, your face heating up as he continued to feel you up, snapping the band of your panties playfully as he stopped paying attention to the game. You glanced up at his score in disbelief, seeing how far ahead he was from you as you continued to play furiously, "Asshole." "Excuse me?," he asked, smirking like a cat as he leaned down and nuzzled into your neck. "Is that any way to speak to your boyfriend who is being so nice?" "Feeling me up in a public place wouldn't be on the top of my 'Why my Boyfriend is Nice' list," you retorted, eyebrows furrowing as you tried not to get distracted by his wandering hands and lips attached to your neck. "You're so mean to me," he pouted fakely, moving behind you so that his hips pressed you into the arcade machine from behind. If someone walked by, it would look like he was simply back hugging you, "You're breaking my heart, _________." "Taeyong," you whined, feeling his semi-hard cock press into your lower back as his other hand wandered to the front, pulling your skirt up. "Not here." "Why not?," he asked, hand not stopping as it slipped past the waistband of your panties. You gasped when he slid a finger into your folds, dipping in to feel how soaked you were. Smirking, he bent down with his lips close to your ear, voice low, "When you're this wet for me I don't think I can help myself." You let out a a weak moan at his words, pressing your back into his chest as he stroked your folds languidly, "Ah, wait." You released the controls and gripped the edge of the arcade machine when his finger found your clit, rubbing you in lazy circles as your thighs quivered. "Why'd you stop?," he asked, finger pulling away from your sensitive bundle of nerves. "Keep playing." As soon as your hands made contact with the joystick and the buttons, Taeyong continued to touch you, mouth whispering the worst of the worst as you tried to finish the game. The minutes were now seconds as the game counted down fifty seconds, but with the way Taeyong was rubbing your clit hard made your eyes roll to the back of your head. A surprise orgasm was sneaking up on your as your head lolled back against his shoulder, the knot in your stomach tightening as your hips rutted into his fingers when he slipped two in. "You're so good," he groaned, a hand teasing up your body to squeeze your breast. "Don't come until the game is done." "B-but, I'm about to-," you cried out softly, words incoherent as the pleasure of Taeyong's fingers left you a mewling mess. Words could no longer form from your tongue as you made weak sounds of pleasure, eyes practically crossing from the feeling of Taeyong finger fucking you. "Fifteen seconds," he murmured, biting down on your shoulder hard enough to make you cry out rather loudly, thankfully the music drowned you out. "When I finish counting down from ten, then you can come. Understand?" You could barely nod as his voice dropped an octave, "Ten." "Nine." "Eight." "Seven." "Taeyong, please! I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come-" "Six" "Five." "Four." "Three." "Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop, please...!" "Two." "One," he groaned, feeling your walls tighten around his fingers, your entire body stiffening as your orgasm ripped through your body. You couldn't even call out his name as a strangled moan left your throat, fingers squeezing the joystick of the arcade game so tightly your knuckles turned white. "Look at you," he moaned, cheek resting on you shoulder so he could watch your eyebrows knit together and tears pool in your eyes as the pleasure overtook your body. "Such a good girl." After what felt like ages, you felt your pulsating nerves relax and your walls unclench as Taeyong slipped his fingers out, bringing them to your mouth, "Would you look at that, you beat me." You saw the game chime your victory in a little 8-bit tune as your score was flashed up on the screen in bright pink colors, a new high score. You sucked on his fingers dutifully, swirling your tongue around them and savoring your taste as he smirked, "I think I want a rematch. If I can beat your high score, you gotta do something for me." Popping his fingers from your mouth, you dropped to the floor, eyes still hazy with lust as you tugged on his belt, "Why wait for round two when I can just give you your prize now?" As you worked on his belt, Taeyong wove his fingers through your hair, licking his lips as he murmured, "If you insist." You could still feel your release trickling down your inner thighs as you popped open the button and fly of his jeans, smirking, "Absolutely. Now," you ordered, pulling his throbbing cock from his jeans and lumping it experimentally in your hand. "Get to playing."

[kate-writes-fluff]

If you're still doing dialogue prompts? 160? For whatever you want?

160.  [text] Who says no to sex and donuts?!

When I saw this, I thought of Jean, so @tiggeryumyumm I decided to work in your Valentine’s day themed jeanmarco in the same prompt.

Sorry for the wait!  I’ve been fighting some real writer’s block.

Jean: Who says no to sex and donuts?!

Eren: just bc i work at a bakery doesn’t mean u can take advantage of it

Jean: I just thought it would sweeten the deal ;)

Eren: obviously it didn’t work

Jean: T-T

Eren: considering how thin the walls are in our apartment, i’m grateful for ur lackluster flirting skills

Jean: …. Rude

Jean locks his phone and sighs as lets himself into their apartment.  It’s only 5 a.m., about a half hour after the Wings of Freedom closes for the night and therefore way too early in the morning to deal with Eren’s teasing.  Jean drags his feet as he makes his way to his cluttered bedroom, exhausted from both his most recent rejection and a long night of wiping down tables at the bar.  He simply throws his uniform–which chronically reeks of alcohol–into a corner of the room as he strips, not even bothering to throw on pajamas before he flops into bed and promptly falls asleep.

Hours later he’s ripped away from a pleasant dream about a handsome stranger with plump kissable lips and warm, welcoming arms by an annoying buzzing noise uncomfortably close to his ear.  Jean groans as he fumbles, finally finding his phone underneath his pillow with the display lit up with a new message.  Part of him wants to ignore it, but he knows that if Eren pities him enough he might offer to bring him food–but only if he replies before he changes his mind.

Turns out, the text is from Eren, but it’s a picture of a flyer with no words attached.  He can’t help but groan as he taps the image to enlarge it and squint at the tiny, pixelated words his brain isn’t awake enough to comprehend yet.

“Valentine’s Meet Up,” it says in a curly romantic font.  “Hang out with other singles and donate your time to brighten someone’s day.  Make friends and meet someone new.”

Before Jean can think of a coherent response, though “what the fuck” would probably be a decent enough answer, Eren texts him again.

Eren:  i signed u up

Jean: whyyyyy?

Eren: bc ur single +whiney + u have a day off on 2/14

         also ur a romantic loser so i know ur gonna be extra whiney on V day

Jean: ….

Eren:  u kno im right. Accept it

Jean:  i only read this text b/c i thought you were offering me food

Eren:  if i bring u a donut will u stop complaining

Jean: its a start

Eren: i hate u

Jean puts his phone on his dresser and sighs happily as he relaxes back into his pillow, looking forward to the treat his roommate will inevitably bring him.

Jean makes good on his promise and doesn’t complain about the singles anonymous meeting Eren has signed him up for.  Though he makes sure to give his roommate the stink eye when he finds out that he has holiday plans of his own.

“If you’re hanging out with Mikasa and Armin, then why couldn’t you just let me tag along?”  Jean whines, turning to give his roommate the most pitiful expression he can muster from beside him on their lumpy clearance-sale couch.

Eren doesn’t bother to look up from his phone as he promptly answers, “Because you would spend the whole day complaining and flirting with my sister.”

“Not true!  I might flirt with Armin too,” Jean flutters his eyelashes as Eren groans, turning away from him to finish texting his sister about their plans.

“Yeah, like I want to make my sister and my best friend uncomfortable all day.”

“But you’ll let your sister crash your date with your crush.”

“It’s not a date!”  Eren exclaims despite his bright pink cheeks.

“But Armin is your crush?”  Jean laughs as he reaches out to playfully ruffle his roommate’s hair, an attempt that costs him an elbow in the side.

“I hate you,” Eren groans.

“Then get your own Netflix,” Jean suggests, switching windows on his computer away from the website in question to check his email.  He makes a point to delete his junk mail as slowly as possible, just to rile up his roommate even more.  After about ten excruciatingly long minutes he’s about to give in and start the episode of Stranger Things when a new email pops up in his inbox.

“It’s for that Valentine’s thing,” Jean remarks, catching Eren’s attention.  He crowds over Jean’s shoulder to watch as he opens the message.

Dear Mr. Kirstein,

Thank you for expressing interest in helping to set up and organize the Valentines Meet Up event.  Would you mind meeting me at the bakery to discuss planning details?

Thanks,

Marco Bodt

There’s a moment of silence as they stare blankly at the polite message before Jean pointedly glares over his shoulder.  “Eren!  I thought you signed me up for the event, not the planning committee!!”

“Whoops,” Eren shrugs and leans back into his own spot on the couch, giving his roommate the space he needs to properly fume.

“You did this on purpose, didn’t you?” Jean accuses, narrowing his eyes into an even harsher glare.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  Eren turns his attention back to his phone, pointedly avoiding further eye-contact as he resumes texting.  Jean puffs his cheeks angrily, unsure whether the avoidance is a sign of guilt or exactly how little Eren cares about the situation.

“… That’s it, we’re watching Hart of Dixie.”

“No!” Eren exclaims, dropping his phone in his lap as he finally returns eye contact.

“If you signed me up to be a romantic sap for the full week until Valentine’s day, well then I’m going to start now.”

Eren groans but shifts in his seat to see the screen better.  “It’s not even romantic, they’re just idiots for the sake of drama.”

Though Jean agrees with him there, he can’t help but roll his eyes at the remark.  “You can complain when you have an actual love-life, Mr. I’m-in-love-with-my-bff-but-I’m-too-scared-to-say-anything.”

“Says the chronic single,” Eren bites back, digging his elbow into a ticklish spot in Jean’s side, making the other man squirm.  “I hope you meet someone at the stupid event so you’re too busy being stupid and in love to bother me anymore.”

“You and me both.  Watching you guys flirt is more excruciating than watching Zoe and Wade go back and forth.”

Eren grumbles profanities under his breath for several minutes before he angrily remarks, “Are you going to start the show or not?”

Jean sighs as his alarm goes off at 11 a.m. the next day.  Working nights means that on a normal day, he tends to sleep through the afternoon.  But thanks to Eren, he has plans to meet the event guy at the bakery that cut his much-needed sleep short.

The night before had been a long, tiring day and even as he wakes up he still feels tired and listless, barely able to keep his eyes open.  Maybe if he was more awake, he would have put the effort into dressing for a first impression.  But the fact is, he’s simply too tired to care.  So he slips into a pair of sweatpants and a flannel shirt, not even bothering to comb his hair before he shoves his shoes onto his feet and stumbles out the door.

Eren’s wiping down the counter when he arrives at the Braus’ bakery.  As Jean slumps against the customer side of the counter, Eren shoots him a distasteful look.  “Really, not even an effort?”  

Jean finds enough effort to roll his eyes.  “Give me the sugar I need to get through this.”

Eren grunts an affirmative as he reaches into the display case to pull out a raspberry filled donut.  As Jean pulls out his wallet to begrudgingly pay–though this is all his roommate’s fault, he knows better than asking him to pay too often–Eren nods toward one of the front tables.  “Marco’s here already.”

As Jean turns to find the person he’s meeting, he suddenly wishes he had bothered to look in a mirror before he left the apartment.  Dressed in a spotless lilac button-down and steam-pressed gray slacks, the man looks as put together as Jean isn’t.  But by this point, Jean is just too tired to even think about running back to his apartment to scrounge up an outfit that looks half decent.  Though he does quickly finger-comb his hair before he slides into the chair opposite the man.

“Hi!  Are you Jean?”  The man smiles brightly at his approach, making Jean regret his clothing choices all over again.  Because that dimpled smile single-handedly makes his heart clench and his hands start to sweat.  Though the freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose certainly make the expression far more endearing than anything larger than a baby animal should ever be.  In contrast, Jean can almost feel the bags under his eyes and wonders what the stranger thinks about the hot mess he regrettably is.

“Yeah.” Jean does his best to smile politely, though it falls short.  His cheeks feel stiff and his flirting muscles are not quite awake enough to throw out his usual charms.  “Are we waiting for anyone else?”  He takes a moment to look around the shop and though there are few people getting breakfast to go, there aren’t many people milling around.

“No… you’re the only volunteer.”  Marco threads his fingers around his coffee cup and looks crestfallen for a moment before he smiles again.  “Let’s start brainstorming, shall we?” he suggests as he pulls out a small spiral notebook and a pen.

“Um, sure.  What do you have in mind?”

Marco eagerly flips the page in his notebook, revealing rows upon rows of neat handwriting and messy doodles and diagrams.  “I’m so glad you asked.”

The following week is the busiest Jean’s had in years.  Whenever he turns around, he’s making bright colored paper chains or folding squares of paper and cutting out paper shapes, filling his and Eren’s apartment with boxes upon boxes of decorations.  Whenever Jean gets ready for work, he can hear Eren stumbling and cursing over the new boxes that appear while he’s out of the apartment.  It would be funnier if Jean didn’t trip over the damn things himself, too.

The highlight of all the paper toil is that Marco is loathe to make him work alone.  During the week, they meet up at the bakery at noon, where Marco spends his lunch break away from the library decorating the place with him.  (Jean makes a mental note to pay the local library a visit someday soon.)

Even after spending so much time together, Jean doesn’t find himself tiring of Marco.  In fact, with each day he looks forward to every time he leaves to return to work, Jean finds himself actually looking forward to the next day even more.  Marco is just as charming as he was the first day they met, cheerful, creative, and fun.  

Unwilling to repeat the embarrassment of their first meeting, Jean’s careful to pick the best outfits in his closet for their afternoon meetings.  He can’t help but blush the day Marco compliments a shirt ornamented with an iron-on transfer of one of his own art prints.

Jean has always been one to preen over compliments, but the sheer sincerity in Marco’s voice and smile as he gives them is enough to fluster him every time.  Halfway through the week, Jean realizes that his attraction for Marco is slowly growing more than skin-deep.  That day, Marco laughs cheerfully at even the shittiest of his puns–a quip about Eren being the real breadwinner in their roommate relationship because bussing tables doesn’t exactly set the bar high–and Jean softens.

By the weekend, Jean finally finds the guts to invite Marco over, so they can watch movies while they create card supplies.  Marco brings takeout and they eat together on his lumpy couch.  When Jean watches tv with Eren, they have no qualms about personal space, throwing arms and legs into the lap of the other at a whim because they’ve learned not to care about boundaries after years of living together.  Here, with Marco, Jean is fully aware of just how small the sofa is and just the barest brushing of skin against skin is enough to make him jittery.  

Marco doesn’t seem to mind his nervousness, too busy laughing at the antics of the characters of The Grand Budapest Hotel and flashing smiles Jean’s way when a particularly funny line is spoken.  Jean confides that he’s an aspiring artist working at the bar only to make money in the meantime, so Marco makes an effort to point out the parts he finds visually inspiring.  He enjoys the pastel color palettes–strikingly similar to the colors of his dress shirts– and cheerfully taps Jean’s knee to point out the most brightly colorful scenes.  (He likes the pinks of the Mendl’s boxes the most.)

At nine o’ clock, Marco needs to leave and Jean has to get dressed for another night working the bar.  As Jean locks the door behind them, Marco hesitates for a moment, twisting his fingers together.  “I’ve heard that In the Mood for Love is a really visually interesting movie too.  And I’ve been dying to see it,” he remarks off-handedly, looking down the hall at the flickering lights instead of at Jean.

“Sounds cool,” he says, words that seem like the understatement of the century.  

For the first time ever, he smiles through his whole shift at work.

“Do you guys have to come flirt at my workplace every day?”  Eren asks on February 13th.  “It’s sorta gross.”

Jean’s ears warm but he scoffs at the question, “We are not flirting.  He just happens to actually appreciate my jokes.  Unlike some people.”  

Eren snorts.  “The only way he’d find you funny is if he has a crush.”  He leans against the oven door casually, enjoying watching Jean squirm with embarrassment for once.

Jean huffs in retaliation, “Less talking, more baking.  If we’re doing to decorate cookies tomorrow, we need cookies.”

Finally it’s the night of Valentine’s day and Jean’s nervous.  All their hard work is on display, hung up around the bakery, decorating it with reds and pinks from head to toe.  Trays of fresh cookies are ready to decorate and paper pieces are prepared for cards.

The cheerfully colored donation boxes are set up in the front of the room, listing the names of local hospitals and orphanages that are accepting cards.  The slogan “Give a card, give a smile,” hangs on a banner directly behind the boxes.

Sugary sweet pop music starts playing as Marco returns from the sound system, setting up a themed playlist from his phone.  Jean tries not to stare at the pink tie the man has on–the same color as the Mendl’s boxes in the movie they had seen together.

“It’s almost time,” Marco smiles, threading his fingers together restlessly.  “People should start arriving anytime now.”  The air between them seems charged with anxious restlessness.  Suddenly, in their last moments alone together it hits Jean that once the day is over, once they clean up the bakery, they’ll lose their excuses to see each other.

It doesn’t really matter that over the course of the week, Jean has learned that Marco’s favorite color is teal and that Persuasion is his favorite Jane Austen novel.  That Marco didn’t tease him when Jean confided that his favorite childhood movie was The Princess Bride.  It doesn’t matter that Jean showed Marco his art portfolio and the other man enthusiastically admired it, saying that if he ever finished writing his book he’d love to commission him to design the cover.

Once the event is done, they no longer have a reason to spend so much time together.

The shop bell rings and people start arriving, forcing the two men to separate and socialize, doing their best to keep the mingling running as smoothly as possible.  (Honestly, Jean hates this sort of thing, but after all the work they had done, he can’t weasel his way out of chaperoning a bunch of adults for a night.)

Regardless of how busy Jean finds himself throughout the night, his eyes always wander to the other side of the room where Marco is cheerfully chatting with other cute single people.  

He’s busy staring instead of paying attention to the card making tables when a young woman with wavy auburn hair whistles at him.  “Yo loverboy.  This is the wrong place to stand around being lovesick,” she chides, carelessly wiping cookie crumbs off her fingers.  “Sit down, make a card.  You’ll fit in with all the unhappy singles that way.”  She grabs a sheet of cardstock out of the pile and quickly scribbles something on it before handing it over.

It messily reads “Ur hot freckleface” above a hand-drawn heart that looks remarkably like a butt.

“See, it’s half done now.”

Jean sighs but sits down to work on fix the card she started.  He grabs a pink paper heart that’s just barely large enough to cover her unromantic words.  As he glues it down, he can’t help but notice that it’s the same shade as Marco’s tie and that thought convinces him to hazard a glance over at him.  The tall man is busy chatting and working on decorating his own cookies, even as he oversees others.

It wouldn’t hurt to make my own, I guess, he muses, searching through the box of children’s markers to find a color he likes.  It’s been years since he’s made anyone a hand-made valentine.  The only friend that might appreciate one would be Armin–the most sentimental out of the group–, though Eren would definitely change the wifi passwords for that sort of “personal offence.”

After an hour, Jean and Marco switch stations; Jean overseeing the decorations of the last batch of cookies while Marco helps with the cards.  Jean slides his own card into the back pocket of his jeans, unwilling to let his newfound friend even guess toward his intentions yet.

Finally, two hours after it started, people begin to leave, many of them in small groups as they chat and exchange phone numbers.  Even the woman who “helped” Jean with his card is cheekily hanging off the arm of a stern-faced young man.  She whispers something in his ear and his cheeks flare red before she turns back to wink at Jean as they leave the building.

The floor is covered in cookie crumbs, sprinkles, and paper scraps that will be a pain to clean-up, but even so Marco still smiles.  “Looks like a success.  People walked in alone, but they’re leaving with friends.”

Jean’s card feels like a weight in his pocket and he has to concede that yeah, it really seems like a success.  

They take their time cleaning, taking away all the little sugary clues that they’d been there, that they’d prepared for a whole week over it.  Jean’s smile falls as he returns to his earlier train in thought:  that their reason for spending time together is quickly falling away as they sweep up the mess.

“Cheer up, Jean.  The night’s still young,” Marco laughs, taking a moment to turn up the speakers.  Cascada’s “Everytime We Touch” blares, bringing back memories of youtube videos Jean forgot watching.

“Where’d you find this?  What year do you think it is?  2007?”  

The music becomes a palpable presence in the room, especially as Marco begins singing along, dancing with his broom as he sweeps.  Jean cracks a smile as he laughs, leaning into the table he was in the midst of cleaning for support.  He’s laughing so hard that he doesn’t notice Marco’s approach until he leans the broom against his table.

“Mind dancing with me?  That broom is just too stiff and wooden.”  Marco holds his palm upwards, like a prince asking for a dance in the ball of a fairytale, not in an empty bakery that looks like it was ransacked by preschoolers on a sugar-high.

“I can’t dance.”  Jean waves his hands in refusal, but Marco’s grin only widens.

“Neither can I.”

Finally, Jean gives in and reaches out to hold onto Marco’s shoulders as the other man leads him around the room.  They trip and stumble on chairs they hadn’t put away yet, but they only laugh in the face of their own clumsiness, each mistake bringing their bodies even closer together.

The song ends and something slower and mellower replaces it.  Jean can feel his pulse pounding but it’s hard to be embarrassed about it when he can feel the beat of Marco’s own heart from where their chests are touching.  

“I’m not looking for somebody with some superhuman gifts.  Some superhero, some fairytale bliss.

Just something I can turn to, somebody I can kiss.”

Marco smiles breathlessly, his lips barely inches from Jean’s, and suddenly it feels a little too close and intimate, so Jean takes a step back to pull the card out of his pocket.  It’s more than a little crumpled around the edges from their romp around the shop, but Jean finds himself passing it over anyway.  It just seems… fitting.

The card is brightly colored and framed with paper hearts, but on the front it simply reads “Thanks” in Jean’s best penmanship.  Marco’s face falls a little as he looks at it, so Jean hurries to explain himself as he opens it.  “I wanted to thank you for setting this all up, because it really turned out to be a lot of fun.  And mostly because I got to meet you.  And I hope you don’t mind if I ask, but I’d really like to keep hanging out, even though Valentine’s day is over….”

Marco cuts him off with a gentle hand on his own.  “I’d really like that…  But you know, Valentine’s day isn’t over quite yet….  And there’s no one I’d rather spend it with than you.”

Jean’s cheeks burn brightly as Marco retrieves a small plastic bag from where it’s lying forgotten on the counter:  a cookie decorated with a heart and Jean spelled in pretty cursive.

They have a whole lot of cleanup left to do, but Jean really can’t bring himself to mind.  Even if he had to stay there all night, picking up each and every crumb individually with his bare fingers, he’d willingly do it if Marco would keep looking at him the way he is now, like he’s been the highlight of the night.

But the night’s still young, of course.  And if they want to watch In the Mood for Love and kiss on Jean’s couch, then they need to finish cleaning.

[goarticletec-blog]

We remember the Sega Dreamcast, 20 years on

New Post has been published on https://www.articletec.com/we-remember-the-sega-dreamcast-20-years-on/

We remember the Sega Dreamcast, 20 years on

The Dreamcast itself was pretty compact, but that controller! What a chunker.

Andrew Hoyle/CNET

The Sega Dreamcast launched in Japan 20 years ago on Nov. 27, 1998. The system enjoyed a brief but memorable time in the limelight with some truly fantastic games and a few features that would inspire future consoles — it was the first console with built-in internet. 

But ultimately a lack of third-party support, a somewhat underpowered architecture and the fact that the rival PlayStation 2 could play DVDs as well as games would mean a premature demise. None of that will stop us from remembering it fondly — or wishing for a Dreamcast Classic.

Morgan Little

I was in fifth grade, visiting a DisneyQuest while doing the whole Disney World thing, seeing the last gasps of 1990s interactive arcades, and there it was. That Sonic Adventure demo with the whale chase — amazing to watch and awful to play.

I wouldn’t spend any quality time with the Dreamcast until at least a year later, but seeing that showcase was astounding for the time. At that point I still just had a Genesis, so even a brief glimpse of Sonic looking halfway-decent in 3D was a revelation. And no, Sonic 3D Blast doesn’t count.

Though I never bought one myself, a good friend did, and it became the go-to console for sleepovers and wasted Saturdays. The mix of Marvel vs. Capcom 2, Power Stone, Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater 2 and that terrible Chao Garden feature from Sonic Adventure 2 was more than enough to keep us playing that Dreamcast until long after it had died and everyone else moved on. Plus, its giant controllers were still better than the awful DualShock 2 on the PlayStation 2. That’s just a fact.

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Scott Stein

I had every Sega system that was ever made. Yes, even the 32X. I was a Sega kid — the Master System with Superscope 3D glasses was my gift after getting appendicitis. While the Genesis was my favorite, the Dreamcast is a place of special memories. I was living in LA, working as a script reader and story editor, and playing amazing NFL 2K games to connect with my dormant feelings about the New York Jets. That NFL 2K game stunned me… it was the first TV-real sports game I’d ever seen. Crazy Taxi was my LA commuting therapy. I loved the weirdness of Chu Chu Rocket. And even more, I was obsessed with Seaman.

My first E3 I ever attended had the Dreamcast, and I saw the Leonard Nimoy-voiced fish-man in all its Lynchian horror. Seaman was so ahead of its time: It had a microphone I could speak to Seaman with. It was like if Alexa were a depressed cannibal fish. In my dusty little Sherman Oaks apartment, Seaman was my mystic surrealist aquarium. Along with the Museum of Jurassic Technology in Culver City, it was part of my cabinet of curiosities that made me dream of how strange art could be. Space Channel 5, the insanely real-feeling Shenmue, and yes, I owned Typing of the Dead. It was a great system of gaming oddities.

The Dreamcast was small and beautifully designed, had arcade-perfect games, and was my first real online gaming system. May it rest in peace in my mom’s basement.

Rez Infinite is a modernized version of the Dreamcast classic. Other than the graphics, not much else was changed. 

GameSpot

Dan Ackerman

The Dreamcast was the first console launch I ever covered as a novice “games journalist” at the long-forgotten (but pioneering!) games-and-culture website UGO.com. My colleagues and I all shelled out for launch day bundles, and Soul Calibur was everyone’s instant favorite.

We all ended up playing a lot of conference room Soul Calibur with UGO’s most famous employee, former child star Gary Coleman. Gary was a total fiend for Soul Calibur, and regularly held court in our Park Avenue office, taking on all challengers and dispensing endless foul-mouthed trash talk. He was actually pretty good, and probably had an 8 out of 10 win ratio.

Other early Dreamcast highlights for me included Power Stone, Shenmue, a Resident Evil knockoff called Blue Stinger (I bet I’m the only one giving that a shoutout), and bizarre fish simulator Seaman. When my now-wife used the Dreamcast microphone attachment to tell Seaman she was going to eat him, he replied, “Or maybe I’m going to eat you.” If that’s not next-gen, I don’t know what is.

I’ve come back to the Dreamcast a few times since its 2001 discontinuation, talking about it on my old talking head video game web series Play Value (circa 2006), and taking a deeper dive for the Dreamcast’s 10th anniversary, which I wrote about here.

Would I buy a new “Dreamcast Classic” micro console? Definitely. Would I plug it in more than once or twice? Probably not.

Tim Stevens

My Dreamcast memories are a little different than most. Like Scott I was a Sega kid and, like Scott, I too owned (and still own) every Sega system. But my memories of the Dreamcast weren’t so much about gaming as they were about coding. Lots and lots and lots of coding.

I was in college studying computer science and writing when the Dreamcast dropped, and my dream was to combine those passions and get a gig in the videogame industry after graduation. It was time to pick a senior thesis, and so I blindly emailed some folks at Sega to see if there was any way I could get permission to write a simple game for their hot new console.

Amazingly, I got a response. As it turns out I would not be allowed to develop anything for the Dreamcast — the development hardware alone cost thousands of dollars and I was lucky if I could afford pizza on Friday night — but I was given access to the Visual Memory Unit developer kit. The VMU, you may remember, was the tiny, Game Boy-looking thing that slotted into the controller. It had a tiny, gray and black LCD, a four-way D-pad and a couple of buttons.

Andrew Hoyle/CNET

Games for the VMU were written in assembler, an arcane language I’d never been exposed to in my studies. If that weren’t daunting enough, the only documentation for the VMU kit was in Japanese, another language I didn’t speak. Despite all that I figured it out over the following few months, then toiled and toiled and toiled to write what would be the first — and to my knowledge only — multiplayer VMU game. You could, you see, connect two of the mini handhelds together at the top thanks to a cunning, reversible connector. So, I wrote a Pong-like game played vertically, with the ball traveling from one screen to the next, back and forth.

Developing that game, plus another simple, Simon-like game, consumed my senior year at school. The resulting code, when printed out for my final thesis presentation, filled a binder as big as a phone book. Along the way I learned enough about the game development industry to realize it wasn’t for me, but that project, just me and my text editor toiling for months, is still the programming project I look back upon most fondly.

The recently remastered version of Shenmue. 

GameSpot

Jeff Bakalar

I was 17 when the Dreamcast launched and was working for a dotcom start-up run by three 21-year-olds. I remember the day it went on sale, one of the partners ordered it for same-day delivery from a service called UrbanFetch.

It arrived and we didn’t do any work for the rest of the day. It was just nonstop Ready 2 Rumble. I recall being instantly impressed with how crisp the visuals were. It was a level of fidelity I hadn’t ever seen before.

Everything seemed so fast, so advanced, so futuristic. The Dreamcast arrived in between the other console cycles, so it felt like we were getting a very early glimpse into what the rest of the competition would soon be offering.

I didn’t wind up owning my own Dreamcast until college, but I eventually fell in love with Sonic Adventure, problems and all. I played most of the Tomb Raider and Resident Evil games on the Dreamcast too.

The Dreamcast will always have a place in my heart for its ridiculous memory card adapters, its mostly awful controller and the insane speed at which its disc reader would spin and adjust, like some kind of dot-matrix printer that went off the rails.

Andrew Hoyle/CNET

Jason Parker

I never actually owned a Dreamcast, but for a period in my life, I could not get enough of one game: Fighting Vipers 2. It was while I was in college and one of my friends had a Dreamcast, so when we were not out at night or studying, we’d spend hours fighting match after match.

The funny thing is, it wasn’t called Fighting Vipers 2 as far as I knew back then. My friend had a bootlegged copy on a disc and everything written on the sleeve was in Japanese, as was all the on-screen text in the game. I even had to rely on him to start up games because I couldn’t navigate the menus. At the time, he explained the game wasn’t available in the States, but it didn’t officially come to Dreamcast until 2001 and never in the US.

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But once he started a match, it was button-mashing heaven. I remember being blown away at the crisp 3D graphics and cool-looking fighters at that time. But the best mechanic of all, and probably the biggest reason I loved the game, was that you could kick your opponent through the wall of the arena at the end of the match.

Maybe that sounds silly, but fighting games between friends can get tense. When you can send your buddy through the wall at the end of a long fight it’s an exclamation point like no other. We’d get dramatic about it too, yelling “Boooooooom!” as we’d blast the other guy about 50 yards outside of the cage.

So, no, I didn’t own a Dreamcast, because I was a poor college student, but I still have fond memories of stomping out my good friend in Fighting Vipers 2. “You’re going through the wall!”

Jet Set Radio on the PC, running at 2,560×1,440 pixels with largely the same assets as the original, still looks great. 

Screenshot by Eric Franklin/CNET

Sean Keane

The Dreamcast was the most incredible console I never owned. Games like Resident Evil: Code Veronica, Sonic Adventure and the mighty Shenmue, and features like online gaming and the VMU made me want one badly, but I just couldn’t afford it as a 12-year-old.

Code Veronica looked incredible at the time of its release — replacing static prerendered environments with fully 3D ones and bringing in some sweet sweeping shots to showcase them. The blur effect as resurrected (and newly superpowered) villain Albert Wesker darted around made my jaw drop (this was shortly after The Matrix had blown my mind at the cinema).

It got an expanded rerelease — Code Veronica X — on the PS2 in 2001, but the original version hasn’t come out on any other systems. So my Resident Evil completionist urges aren’t quite satisfied… but it’s fine. I’m fine.

Sonic Adventure seemed like an incredible expansion of Sega’s mascot into 3D, even if it’s agony to play today. That whale chase looked amazing at the time and it seemed the obvious step forward for Sonic after Mario’s glorious transition into 3D.

Shenmue was the big one though — a glorious life simulator with a rich open world that was unprecedented. Seeing Ryo Hazuki wandering around Yokosuka, Japan, as he tries to unravel the mystery of his father’s murder was fascinating, and something I only got to experience fully through the recent remaster.

Andrew Hoyle/CNET

Eric Franklin

I bought the original Japanese Dreamcast from NCSX back in November 1998 and got two games: Pen Pen Trilcelon and Virtua Fighter 3tb. While Pen Pen was and still is terrible, VF3 was anything but!

Why did I pay a premium to have this system imported? I was a Sega fanboy and the Dreamcast was where I could continue playing Sega games beyond the defunct Sega Saturn.

But as much as I loved playing the Dreamcast, looking back now, it’s clear to me what it really represented for me: A last chance at console success for Sega. I got a Sega Master System in 1987 and from then through the end of the Dreamcast’s life I was not only invested in playing Sega games, but also hugely invested — emotionally, to be sure — in Sega’s success as a console developer.

It’s probably strange for people to understand that, but here’s the way I saw it: The more successful Sega’s consoles were, the more great Sega games the company would make. I not only wanted to play those games, but to also have other people discover how great they were. To see in them what I saw in them: Games with great graphics and simple gameplay that belied a depth you had to uncover.

You could play Crazy Taxi like a normal person, sure. But if you didn’t use the Crazy Dash and the Crazy Stop, which allowed you to go from 0 to 60 in less than a second and instantly stop, then you weren’t playing it right.

That want and need for the Dreamcast to be successful was real. Even at the time I knew that if the Dreamcast didn’t sell a certain number of systems, Sega would likely leave the hardware business, which the company eventually did.

And the anticipation of each new big release was addicting for me. It was less about how much I would like Shenmue and more about whether it would push enough mainstream audience buttons to make people buy a Dreamcast over a PS2. It’s silly to think about now, but that was me.

I guess I just needed something to distract me from my real life at the time. For a few solid years, it was the Dreamcast.

Gifts for the gamer who has everything: Please that hard-to-shop-for PC gamer in your life.

CNET’s Holiday Gift Guide: The best tech gifts for 2018.

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New evidence supports a controversial technique that involves controlling a screen with your mind

A new study suggests that a controversial technique backed by education secretary Betsy DeVos could be helpful for people with moderate depression.

The technique, called neurofeedback, involves teaching people to control their own brain waves, and backers like DeVos have peddled it as a panacea for everything from increased happiness to improved athletic performance.

Neurofeedback is not a silver bullet for all that ails us, however, as my recent deep dive into the technique revealed. But a lengthy and growing body of research does suggest it could be helpful for treating certain conditions including ADHD and depression.

My Matilda moment

I was sitting on a leather chair watching two polar bears have sex on a tv screen when it happened for the first time: I made the image in front of me shrink — with my mind.

No, I don't have superpowers. In that moment, I was able to control the screen through a process of neurofeedback. The set-up usually involves a basic EEG machine, which is hooked up to a video screen or set of speakers that respond to your brain's electrical activity (yep, your brain is electric). That real-time feedback can, in theory, teach you how to control your brain waves.

During my visit to a neurofeedback facility run by a company called BrainTrainUK, psychologist Zuzana Radacovska explained the process by pretending she'd caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror and noticed she was slouching.

"Imagine yourself standing like this and you don't realize it because you're just tired. Then suddenly you see yourself in the mirror, oops, you know, and you straighten up. This is similar. But in a good way, it's happening in the deeper structures of the brain, so it doesn't require so much conscious effort."

As the company's founder, Stuart Black, put it: "We're giving the brain little hints and rewards in terms of which way we'd like it to go."

As part of my demo, tiny sensors were attached to my scalp, and I watched a 30-minute clip from David Attenborough's "Frozen Planet" series. As Attenborough described the lonely polar bears' encounter, I let out a cackle. Immediately, the picture on the screen in front of me shrank and faded into a sea of grayish pixels.

"Oops," I said.

The promise of brain training for people ‘at wits end'

For all of our technological prowess, we know remarkably little about the brain and what ails it. For depression, a deadly condition and the leading cause of disability worldwide, doctors prescribe medications that are not fully understood. The same goes for attention deficit hyperactive disorder (ADHD), which currently affects roughly 6.5 million American children.

It's no surprise, then, that this murky and often guesswork-driven terrain has left room for new approaches like neurofeedback to emerge.

This month, a small clinical trial of adults with moderate depression found that neurofeedback could be remarkably helpful for some. People in the study who received the treatment saw significantly lower depression scores a week after their treatment. Researchers also saw significantly increased activity in the participants' amygdalas, a region of the brain thought to play a powerful role in depression.

Over the past decade, there has also been an outpouring of research on neurofeedback in people with ADHD. Those studies remain undecided as to whether the method works, but a handful of people I've interviewed have said the treatment helped them focus and transformed their lives.

"The people who come are already at their wits end and struggling because nothing's working," says Michelle McIntyre, a former employee of neurofeedback company called Neurocore.

Why neurofeedback would have a prominent effect on certain regions of the brain is still unclear. But some researchers believe it has something to do with channeling a type of brain wave known as alpha.

Our electric brains

German psychiatry professor Hans Berger invented the world's first electroencephalogram (EEG), a technology that measures the electrical activity of the brain, in the 1920s. 

Today, thanks to scientists' use of EEGs to diagnose and monitor a number of brain conditions, we know that most of our brain's electrical activity falls within a range of roughly 1 to 20 Hertz (Hz). Neuroscientists divide this activity into four ranges, or bands that correspond to a different levels of alertness — at the lowest, called delta, you're asleep; at the highest, called beta, you're focused and attentive. In the middle are alpha and theta.

In a 1966 presentation at Stanford University, psychologist Joe Kamiya claimed he'd discovered how to use positive reinforcement to "train" people to raise or lower the frequency of their brain waves so as to stay in the alpha range.

Some researchers disputed Kamiya's findings, but the presentation unleashed an avalanche of research into neurofeedback. That work continues today, and advocates say there are reasons to be hopeful about the technology's potential applications.

One of those advocates is Betsy DeVos, who maintains a $5 to $25 million stake in Neurocore. Since DeVos' confirmation as secretary of education, the company has been under scrutiny, and the New York Times noted in January that Neurocore had not published any of its results in peer-reviewed medical literature.

But in March, the company published a study in the journal of the International Society for Neurofeedback and Research. Its findings suggested that combined neurofeedback and heart rate variability training could help improve some symptoms of anxiety and depression. But since Neurocore funded that study, more research is clearly needed.

The new study is the first of what will hopefully be many investigations into neurofeedback's potential to treat mental illnesses like depression. The findings could transform how we look at and treat mental illness — but it's still too early to say you should seek it out if you are suffering. Instead, consult your physician or psychiatrist.

SEE ALSO: Why psychedelics like magic mushrooms kill the ego and fundamentally transform the brain

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