#spent like 40 minutes trying to color this

[jimmysea]

You can speak? Hey! You can speak? Can you speak again? I want to hear.I want to hear your voice.

Gemini Norawit as HEART & Fourth Nattawat as LI MING MOONLIGHT CHICKEN THE SERIES (2023) Aof Noppharnach Chaiwimol

[ghostofasecretary]

it's been a while since i've cried hard enough to have a headache but. sure got there today, babes!

[animatedglittergraphics-n-more]

RIP, AIM: Remembering how we used to talk on the internet

A eulogy for AOL Instant Messenger, and how it changed the way we talk about games and everything else By Luke Winkie published December 15, 2017

Do you remember all the souls you've lost to the internet? Those incidental friendships, forged in IRC clients, Newgrounds forums, 40-man Ragnaros wipes, scattered across the globe when the web was young? They came into your life and played Fall Out Boy over Ventrilo. They came into your life and disappeared forever. Do you remember when snapping a selfie required a frustrating tangle of mechanical coercion, but it was worth it to show them your face? When real-life names were rarefied information shared exclusively through digital blood pacts? AIM shut down today, and the only thing I can think about is how all of those people still exist somewhere, perhaps exploring the same pit in their stomach that I am.

AIM belongs to all of us. As a pioneering force of internet communication, anyone born in the early '90s or late '80s has spent some time on the platform. As a 26-year old, I'm crucially aware that my appreciation for the prodigal instant messenger is colored by a nostalgia that has nothing to do with the service itself. It was simply the medium of choice to grouse about homework, The Decemberists, girls I liked, and the rest of my random bullshit. 

But I do believe that there's a special union between AIM and people who grew up playing games, or at least came of age on the internet with people who played games. The early millennium revolutions in online multiplayer pitted us together and asked us to collaborate, so of course we carried those early internet accords to their logical extremes—talking all night in lonely chat boxes about what's cool, what sucks, and how easy it is to relate. In 2017, the web feels less like something I approach for those connections, and more like an overwhelming ennui that I'm constantly trying to outrun. Boston's Kyle Seeley nailed that feeling perfectly with 2015's Emily is Away, and this year's sequel Emily is Away Too—both of which transport you back to the spongy leather office chairs of your parents' computer room.

"AIM was primarily for one-on-one conversations between teenagers. That's how I used AIM, to have a very intimate conversation with another person. Now we have texting and Facebook messenger, but you can use those wherever you are," he says. "You can use those at a concert or while driving. But when you were using AIM, you were sitting down at a computer to talk to people. You had their undivided attention." 

Emily is Away tributes AIM in the only way anyone can—spinning a yarn of disentranced high-school drama that eventually mounts into something deeply sad. The way Seeley presents an old Windows XP desktop, with the hilariously temperamental tastes of your idiot friends revealing themselves in their bios and away messages (until one day they stop logging on entirely) is immediately resonant. We've all had our Emilys. "When you have a conversation on the phone, you spend 10 minutes making small talk," says Seeley. "On AIM you talk to someone for hours. Like eight hours, 10 hours straight. You get all the small talk out of the way in the first hour, and then you're talking about these big teenager questions. Who am I? Who do I want to be? I think AIM was really good at that."

It was always difficult for me to articulate the intimacy I felt with my internet friends to my parents. There were the obvious, mechanical mistranslations; I begged my mother for early exits from countless family dinners that consistently managed to interfere with my guild's crucial Molten Core attempts. But beyond that, there was a certain shame in feeling loved and valued by people I only knew by username. A latent fear that those who did not understand might consider that affection to be false, or even sinister. That's different now, as social media has flattened out our offline/online dichotomy, but if you were on AIM, you probably remember how once upon a time those bonds felt illegal.

Years ago Nina Freeman, level designer at Fullbright and one of the foremost thinkers on love and technology, launched a flat-out covert campaign to get close with one of those friends. She spent months locked in the holy matrimony of Final Fantasy XI and nightly AIM treatises with a boy named Glenn from New York City. Eventually they met, but not before Freeman satisfied her aunt, (who she was staying with) with a fabricated narrative—Glenn was no longer a dude from the internet, now he was just an old family friend who happened to move east. "I was still in high school," says Freeman. "We made up that whole story."

That secrecy is immediately familiar to me. AIM was surreptitious, clandestine. A service that belonged to teenagers, sequestered from leering ears and concerned authority figures. As Freeman notes, a screen name was one of the few commodities a young person could fully own. A domain, an aesthetic, a communication channel you could control. It was rare to feel fully untethered from your parents, so you guarded that sliver of liberty with your life.

"I wouldn't hand out [my username] lightly," explains Freeman. "I'd only really do it with people I felt close enough with. It seems sort intimate. It was a 'thing' to add someone on AIM. The expectation would be that if we're adding each other, we're going to chat regularly.… It had a weight to it."

Cecilia D'Anastasio, senior reporter at Kotaku (and a friend of mine) went a step further. As an 11-year-old, she was already griefing in the multiplayer Flash games she shared with her friends over AIM. I don't think anything sums up the juvenile euphoria of instant messaging quite like using that power to cheat in stakes-free freeware.

"One of the Flash games I discovered was basically Pictionary, but online and with a chat room. One player would etch out an image in a Microsoft Paint-like interface while the chat would dutifully guess at what it could possibly be. It was very wholesome," says D'Anastasio. "That's why my friend June and I were passionate about cheating. We'd join a game on the same team. Over AIM, we'd tell each other what we were assigned to draw, instructing whoever was guessing to wait a solid ten seconds before revealing the answer. It was a riot. We always won."

Over the past decade or so AIM has slowly been replaced with services that de-emphasize traditional internet patois. Gchat and Twitter are all full of real names and faces instead of coded handles and custom-colored text, and logging in to most platforms scarcely takes more than a click on a Facebook icon. For the most part, this is a good thing. Anonymity is one of the scourges of online culture—a de facto institution that continues to cause a lot of people pain. Personally though, I can't help but feel like we've lost something along the way. There was a certain sublimity in typing from behind the guise of a username. It gave way to a feeling that your AIM conversations existed in some sort of permissive, alternative reality, the ideal spot to work up the nerve for swollen 3 am confessions. In 2017 there is no such thing as "IRL" anymore; your internet presence is permanently married to your day-to-day existence. Everyone on earth spends their waking hours waging wars and making peace with strangers they will never meet. It is overwhelming and insoluble, and there are moments where I wish I could get outside again.

I'm not the only person that feels this way, and there are some people working to restore the parts of the mid-aughts internet that worked. When I interviewed Jason Citron, CEO of Discord, earlier this year, he affirmed a deep appreciation for AIM, and believed that perhaps the online infrastructure might soon swing back in that direction. "When you zoom out and think about the internet and how communication is trending, there's definitely a trend to more live experiences," he said. "The internet has done so much to connect people asynchronously, so I think there's something more macro happening that Discord is taking part in. It's like we're bringing it back to how it used to be."

He's right. One of the things that's made Discord successful is how separated it feels from the rest of the internet. When you join an ultra-specific channel—for niche Hearthstone formats or fan-favorite Persona characters—it's like you're uncovering a league of obsessives that are ready to welcome you with open arms. The true solidarity of dorkiness. It's funny, but by holding back on cosmopolitan design choices (like Facebook integration or a required photo-reel), Cintron stumbled into a scheme that evokes the furtive splendor that made AIM special. This is something Nina Freeman found when she started up a Discord channel to support her growing Twitch following. "It quickly became a community, and now I have a bunch of newer online friends. I'm already cracking up at myself as I'm wondering what they look like, or what they do in real life," says Freeman. "It definitely has a similar appeal." 

If Discord doesn't quite meet your personal instant messaging standards, Citron tells me that, if enough people in the community request it, he'd consider implementing the low-res AIM chimes into the service. You know, door creak, door slam, those disruptive MIDI twinkles. "To this day, that sound still triggers my desire to hop online," he says.  

Kyle Seeley is doing something similar. Yesterday he released a piece of DLC for Emily is Away Too that reskins Steam Chat to look exactly like AIM circa 2006. He spared no expense; you can change your text color, drop in vintage, blocky emoticons, and create your own custom profile so you can tell the world that Warped Tour will never die. "It's a farewell to AIM," he says. As one gaming's foremost nostalgia artists, it'd be wrong if he didn't say goodbye.

Now the AIM generation is old enough to both intellectualize their wistfulness, and use the lessons they learned from the service to create for the today's teenagers. To facilitate affection and respect on the internet, to show them what it looks like. We were the first to taste love on the web, at a time when those feelings had no context or guidance, and I hope that AIM helped create a baseline for young people and the midnight communion with those across the screen. The liberation that comes with knowing that the internet friendships you cherish are just as valid and wonderful as you think they are—these stories matter, because they help light that path. Lord knows I needed it, and I'm sure you did too.

Luke Winkie

Contributing Writer

Luke Winkie is a freelance journalist and contributor to many publications, including PC Gamer, The New York Times, Gawker, Slate, and Mel Magazine. In between bouts of writing about Hearthstone, World of Warcraft and Twitch culture here on PC Gamer, Luke also publishes the newsletter On Posting. As a self-described "chronic poster," Luke has "spent hours deep-scrolling through surreptitious Likes tabs to uncover the root of intra-publication beef and broken down quote-tweet animosity like it’s Super Bowl tape." When he graduated from journalism school, he had no idea how bad it was going to get.

[hugshughes]

Patience is a Virtue C. Loveland

Colston Loveland x fem!Minter!reader

synopsis - Colston gets the trophy, and finally gets the girl.

wc - 3.8k

contains - UNEDITED! this is based off of this request! READER IS COACH MINTER(michigan defensive coordinator)'S DAUGHTER!!!!!!! kissing, hugging, fluff, cursing, stress over the game. guys if u don't like my cute outfit i picked then #1 ur a hater and #2 it's not a big deal! think of something else🤞🤞🤞 cause my Adidas navy handballs with gold accents ARE STAYING. there IS a picture of the outfit im describing but im obvi not gonna stick it in the middle of the fic so if anyone wants that i guess request or message me lols?

an - GUYS PLEASE LET THIS POST LETS PRAY TOGETHER. THIS WAS CUTE. i've been getting the BEST requests lately. i'm on my Michigan FOOTBALL grind. ive spent a long while introducing the jesse minter daughter reader.... she might have to stick around. i want to write for Blake Corum but don't know what to do because literally all i have written for the past week is like "girlfriend or friend of player reader comes to watch their playoff game, reader and love interest kiss after love interest wins game" so... DONT GET ME WRONG I LOVEEEE WRITING THAT SHIT. but it feels so repetitive. BUT THIS? I LOVED THIS. daughter of the coach is so scandalous and i love it. minter is only 40 so like we're just saying he had his daughter (reader) pretty young, like 21. hope u enjoyyyyyyyy ;)!

-

You woke up with a start. Your body jolted as you brain registered a shout somewhere in the room. You sucked in a breath, opening your eyes, only to close them again. You squinted, trying to orient yourself. You were in a hotel room, your brothers were the ones shouting.

You groaned at the realization, then let out a shout when you felt three small bodies land on top of you.

"Holy shit, get off of me!"

They immediately scrambled, most likely going to tell your mom you cursed in their presence. You loved your 3 baby siblings, but they were pains in your ass sometimes.

You heard a faint "she said shit mommy!" in the conjoining hotel room, and rolled your eyes. You sat in bed, stretching, grabbing your phone before grabbing your bag and locking yourself in the bathroom before your mom could scold you so your siblings shut up about it.

Today was the college football playoff championship, and it was safe to say your family members above the age of 8 were stressed. It was 8:11, and you had to be out the door by 9:50. You showered, drying your hair after and then starting to pick your outfit. You brought a lot of different gear, you had not clue what you wanted to wear to the game. You had so much Michigan gear, and even more maize and navy colored clothing, courtesy to your father.

After almost 30 minutes, you decided on a cute denim skirt, a maize long sleeve, and your navy Adidaas Handballs. You perfected your hair and makeup, successfully erasing any signs that you'd only been awake for about an hour.

You came out of the bathroom all put together, your bag and pajamas in hand. Your siblings were sitting on your bed, watching something on the TV. Since you guys had 6 people in your family, you'd gotten two hotel rooms with the connecting door in the middle. You slept in one room with your little sister on the other bed, and your parents and brothers slept in the other room. You walked through the connecting door, checking the time. 9:17.

Your mom was getting ready in the bathroom when you walked into it. You sat on the closed lid toilet and started talking to her about the plans for today.

"You really gotta stop cursing in front of the littles!"

Your mother scolded you, a grin wide on her face. She was joking, of course. You and your parents had always been close, you'd been their baby for the longest. You'd been with them since they were two just married 20 year olds in college. Not that you remembered it, but you were there for all of your dad's junior and senior year games when he played at MSJ. You'd been there through all the coaching jobs. From Cincinnati, to Georgia State, to the Baltimore Ravens, you'd been there through all of it.

You sat with your mom until it was time to go. Your dad corralled everyone together, taking a photo before you all headed to the elevator. When an elevator came, it opened up and there was barely any room unless your parents held two of your siblings, so you told them to go ahead and that you would wait for the next one.

You only waited about a minute before the doors slid open again, revealing none other than Colston Loveland. His eyes lit up, a grin shining on his beautiful face. You'd always had a weird little thing with Colston. No words were ever said about it, but there had always been a vibe between you.

Being the daughter of the defensive coordinator definitely drove a lot of the guys, even ones you had classes and other school related things with, far far away. The boys knew how protective their coach was of his family, and didn't want any bad blood on the team. Something about you just attracted Colston so heavily. He knew he shouldn't even think about it, but he never could help himself.

"Hey coach."

You rolled your eyes at him playfully as you stepped into the elevator. He always called you coach, he had to remind you he was one of your dad's players. You would've loved to forget that for two seconds.

"Hi Cole."

He could've died. You'd called him Cole, instead of Colston. It was the smallest, most insignificant little thing, but it made him melt.

"Where's your family at?"

You tilted your head towards him, he wanted to talk, okay. You smiled at him, he loved it.

"The other elevator was too full, some of the guys were on the way down too."

He nodded, the smirk never leaving his face. You thought about kissing it off of him, then realized you had just thought of kissing his smirk off of him. Shit. You were in deep with this kid, and there was little to no chance anything would ever happen.

The elevator reached the lobby, and Colston gestured for you to step out first. You exited the elevator, the boy hot on your tail. You were immediately greeted by a hallway packed full of Michigan players, coaches, families, and more.

You have Colston one last glance and smile before finding your mom, taking your baby brother out of her arms and into yours, playing with him. Colston's eyes followed you, he admired you as you smiled and laughed with your brother. You were perfect. He was gonna have to find a way to get around the fact that you were his coach's daughter.

You held your brother with one arm and your sisters hand with the other as you smiled at the cameras, walking through to the buses. Your family followed behind the rest of the coaches and families, the team trailing behind you.

The ride to NRG took longer than you assumed it would, almost an hour because of the traffic, and it didn't help that everyone could tell that the buses were transporting one of the CFP Championship teams in them.

Everyone went into the stadium together, through some backstage type area. You walked with the team until you had to go separate ways. You hugged your dad, squeezing him tight. You would see him again before the game, so you saved your 'Good luck, I love you Dad.' sentiment for then.

You'd always had a special connection with your dad, you were closer to him than almost anyone else. You were his baby, his first baby. Still, you were his baby in his eyes. Your dad would do anything for you, and he was quite protective. Though he was protective, all he wanted was for you to be happy, and if it meant dating one of his guys, he would have no problem with it.

Your family sat bored in the box of the stadium, looking down on the field as Washington practiced. There was over 6 more hours till the game started, and there was practically nothing to do.

You took a nap on the carpeted floor of the box with your siblings for a couple hours, your mother snapping photos that although you were embarrassed of, were undeniably cute. Once you guys had woken up, there was about 2 hours till game time. You voted with your family on whether you guys wanted to stay in the box, or sit way close to the field. You all wanted to be closer to the field, you wanted to see the action head on.

Your family departed the box, along with a few others to see the team one more time before the game. You got down onto the field in about 20 minutes, and stood with your dad for awhile. When you were being told it was time to go, you quickly hugged your dad.

"Good luck, I love you!"

He thanked you, saying the three words back as you guys waved at him, going to leave. Your eyes caught on a certain brunette as he ran off the field, his eyes finding you quickly. He smiled at you, ugh, that smile.

"Good luck, Cole!"

You smiled at him, right before you turned to go up the tunnel. More and more fans started to pour in as you got settled into your bleacher seats. You were three rows from the bottom with a perfect view of the field. You settled in as the national anthem ended and the game began.

As the game progressed, you were so happy to say that Michigan was winning, the entire time. You'd caught Colston's eyes multiple times during the game, letting it linger for a few seconds before giving him a stern look and gesturing towards the field. He'd mouth back, 'okay, coach.' and turn back around. Your mother caught the interaction once, her heart warming seeing her baby with a crush.

You stood up, your brother in your arms as you jumped up and down, shouting, Michigan had finally won! You cheered and danced around with your little siblings as you celebrated. You were all so insanely proud of your dad. Soon though, you were being escorted to the field, eager to see your father and congratulate him.

Blood was pumping and hearts were racing as you exited the tunnel, smiles burned onto your faces as you went to look for your dad. You held your sister's hand as you two ran around, trying to find him. Your mom shouted, and you turned to look at her. She pointed to your left, and there stood your dad, hugging one of his players. Your sister went back to your mom, to walk over to your dad with her as you all but sprinted over to your dad, weaving in between sweaty boys and families.

Your dad saw you incoming and held his arms out accepting your forceful hug. You both laughed, your dad squeezing you tightly. Your best friend had finally done it.

"Literally told you you would do it."

He laughed again, agreeing as he laid a kiss to your temple, pulling back with one arm to accept your other siblings into the hug, who'd finally made their way over. After a minute, you took your siblings from your dad so your mom could hug him, and kiss him, much to your brothers' disgust.

After talking with your dad for a little, you spotted a familiar 6'5 frame standing by himself as his teammates walked away from him. You sauntered over, shouting his name when you were in earshot. The brunette quickly turned around, the smile already gracing his face deepening.

"Well hi, coach."

"Congratulations, Cole. You know your catches were pretty legit."

You gave him a slightly impressed face, shrugging your shoulders. He laughed, rolling his eyes playfully.

"You can't win 'em all over, can you?"

You laughed in turn, stepping closer to him. Colston's heart was racing as he looked down into your eyes.

"But really, Cole, you were incredible, serious."

He nodded, accepting your praise with a grin, before he looked around, over-exaggerating a look of being in thought.

"You know, coach, I think I might just deserve a reward, for my quote incredible performance."

Your eyes widened, your heart starting off, faster and faster.

"Really? What might that entail, Cole?"

Shit, he was gonna have to kiss you if you kept calling him that. He was about to take the leap. He knew he had to at some point, and he was on an adrenaline rush, that just chanted at him to do it.

"Well I think it entails you accepting a date with me back in Michigan."

Your jaw dropped slightly, you were dumbfounded. Colston really wanted to go on a date with you?

"For real?"

Colston nodded, seemingly confident, though he was shaking in his boots on the inside.

"Well then, I think we can make that work."

Colston's heart erupted. He literally could not have been happier. He'd just won the Natty, and got his dream girl to agree to a date, holy fuck. You got nervous all of the sudden, leaning up to kiss his cheek, before turning to leave.

"Just text me, Cole!"

He nodded, his eyes following you as you went to go find your family again. His family came back over to him, they'd been gone for just a second but stopped and waited when they saw him talking to you. His family, especially his mom, knew quite a bit about you.

You found your family, immediately grabbing your moms hand to pull her a few steps away. You looked at her with the biggest eyes ever, still in shock over what had just happened.

"What's up, sweetheart? Why are you all, thousand yard stare-y?"

"Mom Colston just asked me out, and I said yes! And then I kissed his cheek! And then I left!"

Your mom laughed, her baby was finally growing up. You'd had a few boyfriends in all your days, but you'd never been proper crushing like you were right now.

"That's so good! I knew this was coming, we just had to wait for one of you to get the courage."

You blushed, hiding your face in your hands. Your smile suddenly dropped, a realization coming to you.

"Is dad gonna hate me?"

"Why would I hate you?"

Shit.

You ended up telling your dad later on in the night, when you were tired and sitting in the back of a restaurant the team was celebrating in. Your family didn't party for too long, having a 4, 7, and 8 year old didn't exactly allow you guys to stay out for too long. Even your parents 19 year old daughter got a bit cranky if she stayed out too late.

When you told your dad, he just laughed. He knew you and Colston had things for each other, he was waiting for the tight end to make a move.

-

You were stressing. Tonight was your date with Colston. You sat at your vanity, ranting to your roommate over it. You put on makeup and did your hair, wanting to look cute but not over the top.

Colston had told you to wear comfy clothes, so you were in one of your most common outfits. Leggings and a Michigan sweatshirt. You stared at yourself in the mirror, doubting yourself. You had known Colston for over a year, almost two, but you didn't really know him that well. You wanted him to like you so badly.

"Babe, you look fantastic. He's going to stare at you all night."

You sighed at your roommate's encouragement. But before you could respond, you got a text from Colston. He was outside your dorm building. Your roommate pushed you straight out the door, saying bye.

You went down the stairs quickly, making your way out of the complex. You saw Colston as you opened the door, slipping out. He looked up and smiled at you, his stupid beautiful smile.

"Hey, Gorgeous."

You felt the heat on your face even in the Ann Arbor cold. You smiled, shaking your head as you gave him a spin, showing off your extra casual outfit.

"Even in this ensemble?"

He nodded, his smile deepening. He pulled you into his side, hugging you. You were immediately enveloped in his warmth. You ducked your head down to hide the shock in your eyes. He smelled really good.

When you pulled away Colston led you to his car, opening the door for you before going around and getting in. You two buckled up before Colston pulled out of the parking spot, setting off into Ann Arbor. He gave you the aux, warming your heart. You both knew he probably didn't listen to the same music as you, but he wanted you to listen to whatever you liked.

Smaller Acts by Zach Bryan came on when you hit shuffle on your main playlist, making you smile. You resonated with the song, always having thought that smaller acts of love were more important than any grand gestures. You got to really look at Colston while he drove. He kept his eyes right on the road always, until you got to a red light, that's when you'd jerk your head back forward as he turned to look at you. He was really pretty, his jaw was so insanely defined, he had a strong neck, and the deepest brown eyes. You stared at the tattoo on his left forearm, he was hot, to put it simply.

You drove for around 40 minutes before the car slowed, pulling onto a gravel driveway. You looked out of your window, seeing a large screen and projector, and lots of cars. He had brought you to a drive in movie. You could've cried when you saw the sign reading the movie you would be seeing. Ocean's 11. The very first time you ever talked to Colston, he'd asked you your favorite movie. You said you couldn't pick one, then settled on Ocean's 11 because it was one you'd seen so many times you could quote any scene.

You couldn't believe he remembered. You'd never mentioned it since then. That was the kind of smaller, seemingly insignificant thing that meant the world to you. You jerked your head to the left, staring at Colston with wide eyes. He was dealing with the tickets for a few seconds before you pulled into a spot, then he finally looked to you.

"Cole, I cannot believe that you remembered."

Colston smiled, and on the inside he was celebrating that you loved it. What he hadn't expected though was you leaning over the console and hugging him. It was honestly the sweetest thing any guy had ever done for you, you were beyond grateful for this boy, and it was your first date.

"This is the sweetest thing a guy's ever done for me, I'm being serious."

Though you were mostly saying that about the fact that he'd remembered, the date itself was also amazing. Colston knew you enough to know that you'd have preferred this over any fancy restaurant, and that meant a lot.

"It's the least I could do, coach. You mean something to me, 'm gonna take care of you."

You just squirmed in your seat, getting more comfortable and smiling as you looked ahead of you. You wordlessly reached over and slipped your hand into his, pulling them into your lap.

Colston was so happy he could've gotten out of the car and started dancing. He acted as cool as he could on the outside. You two settled in as the movie began.

At some point, Colston had reached back into the backseat and grabbed a blanket that he tossed into your lap, and a bag of food and snacks.

You traced your free hand over Colston's tattoo, admiring the line work and shading. The movie ended, and Colston's hand stayed with you as you two began the drive back. You fell asleep on the drive, your head leaning against Colston's arm.

You woke up slowly about 5 minutes out from school. You kept your head on Colston's arm, but allowed yourself to carelessly stare at him in your tired state. At a stoplight, he turned to look at you, smiling deeply when his eyes met your sleepy ones.

"Hey, coach. Nap good?"

You smiled and nodded, yawning at him. He laughed lowly, turning his head back when the light went green. You parked outside your building, dampening your heart. The night had been perfect. You sleepily got out of Colston's car, after he told you to not dare opening your own door. He walked you up to the entrance with his hand on your back, rubbing his fingers back and forth lightly.

When you got to the door you stopped and turned around, wrapping your arms around his middle.

"Thank you so much Colston. This was like, the best date I think ever."

He smiled, hugging you tightly. Colston had the best time, obviously you were gorgeous, but getting to talk to you one-on-one without interruptions was his idea of a good time. His insides melted whenever you fell asleep, and before then, he could've swore he was in love while you traced over his tattoo.

You pulled away from him, looking at the boy through heavy eyes. He looked absolutely handsome in the dim lighting of a street lamp. You put your hands on his shoulders, leaning up and kissing him. You probably wouldn't have if your drowzy mind hadn't commanded you to. Obviously you wanted to, but you weren't sure if it was 100% mutual yet, but it was.

Colston's hands went to hold the back of your head, his hands in your hair. He kept the kiss shorter than you would've liked, knowing you were tired.

You looked up at him with stars in your eyes, a smiling fighting its way onto you face. Colston's hands shifted from your hair to your jaw, rubbing his thumb over your cheek.

"I'll see you tomorrow baby."

Your blown out eyes widened at the name, your heart clenching in your chest. Colston saw the reaction, his lips quirking up the slightest bit.

"I'll see you, Loveland."

You let go of him, turning towards the door. You paused for a second, quickly turning back around and kissing Colston again. Colston's hands grabbed at your hips, pulling you closer. Colston smiled brightly into the kiss, giggling to himself.

You pulled away from him, a grin falling to your face.

"You ever gonna let me leave, coach?"

"Thinkin' about it."

"You get inside, gorgeous. It's too cold for you to be out here."

You smiled, nodding at him, letting go of him for the last time.

"You gotta go too, off season just started. You gotta stay on your A-Game Loveland."

He laughed at you, shaking his head as he watched you walk into the dorm complex, turning the corner and out of his sight. You ran back up the stairs and to your room, squealing like a 13 year old as you described your date to your roommate.

Colston sat in his car, texting his mom that everything went well. When he put his phone away, he finally let himself think that you were the girl he'd want to be with forever. It was finally real. The boy just had to be patient.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Fever

Nathan Bateman x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info

Summary: “You’ve heard of a good night orgasm, right? Well, this is a get well one.” Nathan's sick and has a pretty strange idea for a cure.

A/N: Nathan brainrot so big atm guys. Nathan and Reader are already in a relationship.

Warnings: oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, banging when someone's ill, swearing, typos, overuse of italics, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 2870

________________________________

Nathan was surprisingly good when you were ill. Attentive, caring, considerate. 

You’d asked him about it once, his offhand reply being a mumbled: “If there’s a bug in a system, you fix it, you don’t just wait and hope it’ll sort itself out.”

When Nathan was sick however, it was a completely different story. 

He was absolutely god fucking awful to deal with. 

Grumpiness up to eleven. Snapping at everything and refusing to slow down or take a break. Working himself to the point of exhaustion and then further still. 

It was idiotic. But it was Nathan.

So when you walked into the living room to see him on the sofa, curled up and looking washed out it was a bit unexpected. 

He definitely wasn’t hung over, hung over Nathan was a sight to behold. Constantly trying new concoctions and cures that you were sure wouldn’t have been out of place in a history book about medieval torture.  

You paused, a little frown forming on your forehead. Uncertain at first if he was sleeping or not, and whether to disturb him. 

He seemingly made the decision for you. “Baby?” He flopped his hand onto the back of the sofa, vaguely in your direction, and groped around a little, his eyes still closed. 

He sounded weak, drawn in, and sorry for himself. Very unlike the Nathan you were used to. 

You moved to him quickly, taking his hand and squeezing before leaning down and placing your cool hand on his feverish forehead. 

He let out a little sigh of contentment. 

“You’re sick.” You muttered, kissing his temple. 

“No.” He grumbled. There he was, there was your Nathan. He kept his eyes closed.

“Uh huh.”

“Uh uh.” He tugged on your hand lightly, moving it closer to his chest. “Not sick.” 

“What’s wrong then?” 

“Bateria, or viruses. Invading my bloodstream.” 

“So… sickness then?” 

He cracked open his eyes to give you a look. “Come lay down with me?” 

The puppy dog expression nearly got you, Nathan was very good at sweetness when he wanted something. 

“So you can get me sick?” You chuckled. 

“Yes.” He pouted. 

“Are you admitting you’re unwell?” 

“Just lay down with me.” He grumbled, his usual sarcasm didn’t quite have the same bite when he looked as if he might nod off at any moment. 

“Okay.” You pretended that it was a huge effort on your part, moving to sit. But Nathan shifted quickly, a little too quickly, as small multi-colored spots danced in front of his eyes. And urged you into laying down flat on your back, your head against the armrest, before snuggling up to you. 

He laid his head on your chest and breathed out deeply, closing his eyes once more. 

You put your arm around him, just nudging him a little closer and he let out a little murmur of comfort. 

He nodded off almost immediately, breathing softly against you. 

With the sudden technical skill of a surgeon, you managed to fish your phone out of your pocket without disturbing him and spent the better part of 40 minutes browsing mindlessly. 

Nathan shifted, groaning a little as he moved. He stayed quiet for a few seconds and you thought he had fallen back asleep before he sighed again and looked up at you. Blinking his eyes heavily. 

“What time is it?” 

“Nearly 12:30.” 

“Ugh.” He rolled his eyes and buried his face back into your chest. “I feel like shit.” His breath was hot. 

“You look like shit too.”

“Thanks.”

You rubbed his back and smiled. “Can I get you anything?” 

“No.” His voice was still muffled from where he was pressed against you. “A new body maybe.” 

You leant a little closer and whispered conspiratorially. “That can be arranged.” 

Nathan sniggered into you and stretched, flopping his left leg over both of yours. 

The press of his hard cock against you made you pause. 

You said nothing for a moment, just waiting until he slowly started to grind against your leg. A subtle action, seemingly trying to be sneaky about it. 

“Nathan.”

“Hmm?” He said, keeping his head tucked into your chest. 

You put your phone down. “What are you doing?” You said in a sing-song voice. 

“... Nothing.” 

You pressed your leg against his crotch and he moaned loudly, his fingers digging into your skin. 

“Sure, sounds like nothing.” You tease.

He groaned and looked up at you, a small pout on his lips. “It’s not my fault.”

“Isn’t it?” 

He grumbled quietly, shifting again in a pretense moving so that he could prop himself up on his elbow. But really using it as an excuse to grind up against you again. 

“No,” he sulked, his cheeks a little flush. “It’s not. Can’t help it.” 

“Can’t you?” You teased, unable to stop smiling. 

“No, not when you’re all close and, ugh,” he groaned, burying his head between your breasts and pushing them up against his face, “these are right here.”

You laughed loudly. “Am I that distracting?” 

He nodded. “Very.” 

You chuckled again. “Sorry.”

“I was dreaming about you.”

“Yeah?” 

“Hmm.” 

“Good dream?” 

He moaned softly and shifted again, settling fully on top of you and weakly rubbing his dick against your thighs. “Yeah.” 

You grinned. “I’m not fucking you while you’re sick Nathan.” 

He let out a low groan of frustration. “I’m not sick.” 

“Yes you are.” 

“Finnneee, I’m sick, but fucking you would cure me, I’m sure of it.” 

You can’t stop giggling at the weak lamenting tone he’d quickly adopted. 

He grinned, chuckling before he quickly schooled his face back into a pout and puppy dog eyes. “Pretty please?” 

You laughed harder.

“Don’t you love me?” He batted his eyes at you. 

The fit of giggles wouldn’t stop. 

“Come on,” he sat up a little, leaning closer so that his face was near yours. “You’ve heard of a good night orgasm, right? Well, this is a get well one.” 

“A get well orgasm?” 

“Yeah, you know? Releases endorphins, makes your white blood cells work faster, kills bacteria…” He gave you a lopsided grin. “I’m convincing you, aren’t I?”

“I’m glad you’re not a biologist.” 

He purposefully poked out his bottom lip. “Please? I’m sick.”

“Nathan.” You grinned, enjoying his little display far more than you would ever let on. 

“You’re meant to take care of me.” 

“And, why is that?” You lean closer to his face, nearly brushing your lips against his and moving back slightly when he tried to close the gap. 

He groaned a little, wiggling his hips between your legs and you let him. “Because you’re kind, because you love me.” 

“I don’t know about that.” You teased. 

“Because you love me.” He repeated, giving you a little glare. “Because it’ll help, and…” he sighed, purposely dropping his shoulders and failing his arms a little.

This was too good. Far too good. Something about his slightly forlorn brattiness was just so endearing. “And?” 

“And I’m really fucking horny okay? Like so horny, like just let me rub against you and I’ll cum in my pants and take some medicine and go to sleep, I promise.” 

You bite your lips together and smile. “You’d actually take some medicine?” 

He nodded. Nathan not shutting down the idea of taking pills was a feat on its own. 

“Alright.” 

His whole face lit up. “Alright?” 

You laugh and nod. “Yeah, but you gotta behave, take the tablets, and rest, yeah? Work on getting better.” 

He nodded quickly. Seemingly finding new energy as he sat up a little. 

“Okay,” you began to move your legs, intending to get up from the settee and drop to your knees. 

“No, no, no,” Nathan hooked his hand behind your knee, urging you back to your previous position. “Please, stay here, hmm? I want to…” He pulled at your waistband softly. 

You took pity on him. “Do you want these off?” 

“I want it all off.” 

You sighed exasperatedly, an over the top sound for his benefit only. But you smiled as you did so. Quickly, you began to pull off your clothing. “You sure you’ll be okay, I don’t want you passing out or dying on me.” 

Nathan sniggered. “I’ll be fine.” 

He helped you out of your top and pulled your trousers off your feet before dumping your clothes in a pile on the floor. 

He let out a satisfied groan and kissed your breasts, nuzzling into your skin happily. 

You laughed as his beard tickled your skin. 

“Gonna make you feel so good,” he mumbled, breaking away from the embrace only to pull off his hoodie. 

“The point of this is to make you feel good.” 

He tutted and rolled his eyes, “yeah, yeah.” 

“Don’t ‘yeah, yeah’ me, Bateman, I’ll-”

With a surprising speed, he leant up and kissed you hungrily, slipping his tongue into your mouth and grinding his still clothed erection against your core. 

He broke the kiss, grinning wildly when you moaned. 

You scowled. “Trying to give me your germs?” 

“Oh, you’ve already been exposed to them, baby.” 

“That doesn’t mean I want to be exposed to them anymore,” you playfully swatted at his arm. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he grinned before gently taking your nipple into his mouth, sucking on it softly before lapping at it with board flat licks. 

You squirmed under him, your thighs clenching around his waist instinctively. Your breathing hitched and you tried to get a hold of yourself. “What’s with all this ‘yeah, yeah’ attitude?”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, scooting further down your body. “You’ll have to fuck it out of me I guess.” He gave you a perfectly innocent smile before diving between your legs. 

You didn’t know whose moan was louder, yours or Nathan's, the second his lips and tongue touched your core. 

He laps broad strokes through your folds, ending with a swirl of his tongue around your clit before repeating the whole process over again. He groans with each lick, unable and unwilling to stop himself from grinding against the settee as he sucked your clit into his mouth. Humming happily when you buck and arch up against him. 

He looked up at you, watching your face as you moan with his large doe eyes blown wide with lust. 

Teasingly, he dips his tongue into your heat, growling from deep within his chest as new wetness flows out of you. He slides up again, achingly slowly to your sensitive bundle of nerves. 

Slowly he circles it twice with the very tip of his tongue, drawing out the sensation as you gasp and moan under him, before attacking you with long, wide licks fully against your clit. Repeating the motion again and again and again until you can’t even begin to think of anything else. 

“Nathan,” you moan, your thighs shaking, your breath catching in your throat as you beg him to go faster, harder, anything. “Please.”

He ignores you, seemingly content to continue his onslaught at the exact same pace and firm pressure. But his eyes twinkle as you plead. 

You try to buck up against him quicker, moving your hips so you can reach that sweet peak that’s so tantalisingly close. 

Nathan predicts your movement, knowing all your moves, and leans up slightly with every thrust, only allowing the same constant press and glide of his tongue against you. 

“Nathan, Nathan, please,” you implore him as your release creeps closer, sparking up your spine and down your legs. 

He keeps his pace, watching you with glee as he slowly pushes you over the edge. 

You cry out loudly, your thighs clamping around his head as he continues to lap at you. Pleasure washes over you as your cum soaks into his beard. He allows himself a split second of a pause to savour it, moan quietly at the taste, before his eyes are back open and he’s continuing those long, long licks. 

As you start to come down your legs relax and Nathan pushes them lightly back down, still not taking a break in his actions. 

“Nathan,” you whine, tingles of oversensitivity running over your clit. 

He keeps his eyes on your face, hungry and wild. “Uh uh,” he mumbles against you, still licking. 

You squirm, trying to get away from his tongue even as pleasure starts to build up again. You know that if you really wanted him to stop all you had to do was say the word and he would. 

This time your orgasm builds faster, hardly waiting until your first has finished. 

You rock against his mouth, moving with him as he sneaks his hand under your ass and starts to urge you to chase his tongue. 

He presses into you harder, pushing at you with his hand until you’re nearly curled up on yourself. And he doesn’t stop, doesn’t give you pause as he pushes you closer and closer, relentless in his need to get you to cum on his tongue one more time. 

Your moan reaches an even higher pitch as you grasp at the cushions and sofa, trying to gain any traction to thrust up against him harder. 

Nathan takes his cue, quickly latching onto your clit and sucking, flicking the tip of his tongue lightly over the very tip and you scream. 

Pleasure burns along your nerves, whiting out your vision as you buck against him uncontrollably, cumming so hard you see stars. 

He moans, continuously sucking and following your movements, allowing you to rut against his face however you want as you cum. 

The next thing you know he’s kneeling between your open legs, his beard satuatured with your wetness. 

He suddenly doesn’t look ill at all, and you begin you wonder if you’ve been had. 

For a second he watches your chest rapidly rise and fall as your breathing slows before he is taking himself in hand and notching the head of his fat cock at your entrance. 

His eyes flick up to your face for a second, silently asking. 

You nod, too exhausted to do much more, and then he’s pushing in. 

You gasp, the stretch of him is always a little surprising at first, especially when you’re spread this wide. 

Nathan bites his lip, easing in slowly and gazing down at you like you’re a banquet set out just for him. 

He slides in deeper, inching himself in and running his hand up the back of your left thigh, pressing firmly and helping to angle you so your leg is flush against his stomach and chest. 

You let out a little whine as he bucks, finally sheathing himself completely. 

Nathan gasps, his eyes rolling back as your walls squeeze him, and holds on tightly to the leg pressed to his chest. 

He doesn’t start to thrust harshly like you expect, doesn’t piston in and out of you, instead, he starts to grind slowly, barely pulling out and keeping you pressed tightly against him. 

His fingers dig into your leg, his other hand going down to softly circle your throbbing clit as he rocks and buries his face into your calf. 

You can tell he’s close, the way his stomach muscles tense, how his eyes are screwed shut. You move a little, leaning up slightly so you can meet his deep grinds. For a second, you open your mouth to speak, intending to tell him that it’s okay, that he should just let go and cum like you know he’s desperate to. 

But he moves his leg forward, changing the angle he’s kneeling at and you sob in pleasure as his head hits perfectly deep. 

You fall back a little with the intensity, unable to control yourself as he moves and does it again. 

His eyes are open ever so slightly now, watching you with his bottom lip between his teeth and whimpering as you fall apart under him. 

“There?” He whispers and you nod, sobbing as he repeatedly grindes into you, pushing firmly against the same spot over, and over, and over. 

You’re unable to form words, unable to think as he just keeps rocking, pushing you further and further into the sofa, splitting you open so completely and shattering your sanity. 

You don’t know how much more of this you can take, pleasure running like a live wire along every nerve so that it’s almost painful, almost too much to bear. 

Nathan lets out a deep groan, slipping ever so slightly forward so that he has to put his hand next to your head, almost caging you in. His eyebrows pinched together in ecstasy. “Baby…” 

And that’s it. That’s what throws you over the edge. 

You grab hold of his shoulders as you cum, hard. Surprised at the suddenness and intensity. The force of it robs you of words, of breath as you shake and tense, your toes curling as you clench down on his cock and milk him for everything he’s got. 

Nathan cums a second later, watching you fall apart and moaning out your name as he feels you pulse around him. He keeps himself fully in you, cumming as deeply as he can before pressing his forehead to yours and breathing deeply. 

“I feel better.” He whispers, worn out and exhausted, before he kisses you. 

____________________________________ 

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @mystinky-butt @cocodiem @oscarisaacsspit @mbakubabe @whatthefishh @romanarose @pimosworld @saturn-rings-writes @boredzillenial

If you'd like to be taken off the tag list please let me know here

[blustormrush]

Name: Matthias Lewis Holt

Aliases: Scout, Matt, Matthew, Little Rat, Mattie

Team: BLU

Age: 25 "Physically 40 something, but was stuck in respawn for 12 years"

Gender: Last time he checked, Male

Birthplace: Unknown, but has a strong Northern American accent

Height: 5"7

Weight: 140

Build: Matt is quite thin and lean, having the body of a runner

Sexuality: Unknown

Hair Color: Black

Eye Color: Blue

Personality: Matt is what many would call a dedicated individual with slight insecurities relating to self-worth. Being the eldest of 5, there was a lot expected of him, so he's quite harsh against his own mistakes. On a personal level, he's rather friendly and a bit mischievous. Matt doesn't care for authority, but can easily be manipulated into following an order if his reputation is put on the line. Useless is something he NEVER wants to be. Under stress, he can become quite efficient, switching to this mindset of accomplishing the mission first and foremost. Matt is anything but cocky. In fact, he remains mostly silent about his abilities and accomplishments, preferring to let his actions speak for themselves. However, he will call something out when it is absolutely stupid. As a lover, he tends to fall into a tsundere type of character. He's not super touchy or clingy, and won't say when he wants physical affection, but one hug and he's immediately touch starved. When angry, he sort of just goes quiet and isolates himself. He's easy to cry.

Backstory: Unlike normal Scouts, he was taken with his father to go on spying business. Matt was often used as the distraction and the stand in. He was taught how to swoon targets, speak in different accents, and squeeze into tight spaces. All of his siblings used to give him letters about how lucky he was to work with dad, but he didn't share that sentiment. When working with his dad, he was seen as more of an employee than a son. Matt was required to be willing to risk his life for the mission, no matter what. There were a few occasions that he almost did. Eventually, they came to work for Mannco. They offered his father high pay and job benefits that he just couldn't turn down. Matt ended up becoming the team's Scout, but it wasn't anything like they imagined.

The team they were put in had a powerful hierarchy, one he was not in favor of. Matt was constantly breaking the rules and breaking the mold, trying to encourage others to overturn this power imbalance. Od course, nobody was willing to endure the punishments he did. The team's Engineer was over him, replacing a body part with mechanical engineering anytime he stepped out of line. He had both legs, an arm, an eye, and part of his spine. It was painful until all the nerve endings set in. Now, it's just different. He puts synthetic skin over them to convince himself they're organic. One day, his father disappeared, and Matt spent most hours of his day looking for information on why. His searches eventually proved fruitful. The Scout uncovered a door marked "Classified". Using a gun, he broke off the lock and searched through the files. The minute he touched the file cabinet, an alarm went off. Matt tried to escape, but he was shot down by a teammate, his respawn being switched off. Unfortunately, it was too late to activate, stopping Matt one second before respawning, leaving him stuck in stasis.

One day, the respawn miraculously pushed him through, leaving a VERY paranoid and disturbed Scout.

Likes: Hot Drinks, Jackets, Comics, Pranks, Storms, Being Up In High Places, Food, Having A Morning Run, Getting Up Early, A Job Well Done, Sweets

Dislikes: Sleeping, Being In Rooms Without Windows (Claustrophohic), Going Through Respawn, Authority, Losing, Being Made Fun Of

Extra: His robotic eye glows when it is analyzing. It is capable of seeing through walls, scanning and viewing items in 3D, detecting heat and heart rates, identifying individuals, planning travel routes before taking them, crosshairs for firing, and how far he is from the objective. It can also turn off the lights.

Has high level skills in acrobatics, parkour, and agility.

[thetorturerwrites]

Grey Ch 1: Slippery When Wet

A/N: Well, here I am again but with something new. For background, this story takes place in modern times. I lived through the 80s, and I just can't bring myself to write about them. I also feel strongly that you can move the entire ST cast and story forward 40 years, and everything still works. There is always a group of misfits.

We'll be skirting the line between reader insert and OC, but I figure if we as readers can imagine ourselves as cheerleaders or secret agents, you can come with me on this particular journey.

Lastly, I don't have any fancy content warnings since this story is in its infancy, but I will update them as I go. I also don't like to disclose my plans. So, you'll just have to be as surprised as I am when updates occur. ;)

I hope you enjoy.

For @fracturedarkness

***

The first time you saw Eddie Munson, you sat outside your trailer doing your very best to dissociate from your past.

Fall had not yet turned into winter, but here in Indiana, the predominantly flat landscape made the strong chill in the air bite at your cheeks and sting your eyes. It was unfamiliar terrain, a stark difference from what you’d left, but you told yourself you’d drive until you ran out of gas. But when you did, it still didn’t feel far enough. You hastily refueled and kept on driving, ending up in Hawkins, Indiana. It felt like another world, light years away from the one you’d fled. 

And so there you sat, in a rickety, green, folding lawn chair outside a half-orange, single-wide, drafty trailer bundled up in a hoodie, thick boots, and the only pair of blue jeans you still owned. The drab, brown grass and near winter-dormant trees matched your mood - somber. You reminded yourself to be grateful for this freedom, this fresh air, this small, rusted out circle containing the fire you’d built to keep warm. A month ago, this patchy driveway, disturbingly freezing trailer, and miles and miles of silence were an impossibility.

You moved in through a sheet of rain and spent the next far-too-long using that rain as an excuse to hide inside and not step foot out into the world. When the rain stopped, you exited your tin can to a new type of sunlight. The air was purer here, stripped of noise and smog. With the ground finally dried out, you could start the long overdue task of a fire in the pit you were pretty sure you’d stolen from someone else’s yard. You told yourself it was for a higher purpose because tonight’s primary goal was to burn up every shred of anything that could identify you to anybody who might come looking. 

You’d set your world on fire to be out here, might as well set the past on fire to match.

God, never let them come looking, you silently prayed.

You didn’t hear the van pull up, not even registering the muted metal thumping inside it, even when its driver threw the door open and spilled Judas Priest out into the night. Your focus was on the latest picture you’d tossed into the flames, watching as the smiling faces on the shiny surface blackened, blistered, and curled into themselves. Gone to nothing, like it all was. Rifling through the box for the next memory, you barely registered the crunch of boots crossing the road.

It wasn’t until a voice, masculine and smooth, broke your reverie that you even blinked. But once you did, it took a flurry of lashes, eyelids rapid-fire opening and shutting, to clear your vision before you could actually see the person standing across from you.

“Hey there?” He waved his hand in your direct line of sight until you looked at his face. “Hi. You good? Been trying to get your attention for a few minutes now.”

Canting your head slightly to the left, you studied him, all long limbs and curly hair. He was attractive in a sweet sort of way with a clear fondness for the color black. Scuffed up black boots, black jeans with worn out knees, a black and white shirt that looked to say something about hell, and an oversized black leather coat decorated with a jean vest layer. He looked as though he walked straight out of the 1980s, but in a way that was strangely charming. Charming was nothing you had room for in your life these days, regardless of how pretty he was.

Shaking your head gently, you looked down into the pale blue box, still half full, lifted out a spindly pine cone, and threw it into the fire with more force than you intended. You watched it bounce before settling into a smoldering pile of dried roses and yellow paper.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Not really in the mood for chitchat, you furrowed your brow and refocused on your task, hoping he would leave. A long, uncomfortable moment passed, though, in which he didn’t seem to get the hint. With a huff, you forced your voice into a semblance of civility. “Need something, Mister…?”

You let the word linger, assuming he was at least socially adept enough to understand the cue. When you looked up at him again, there was an amiable smile on his face, and you almost regretted the annoyance you felt a second ago.

“Eddie.” He sat - no, plopped himself pointedly right there - down on the grass across from your makeshift fire pit, happy as a pig in mud. “Name’s Eddie. Mister Munson is my uncle.” He pointed over his shoulder to the trailer directly across from yours.

"You live with your uncle?" You asked carelessly only to be slammed with immediate embarrassment. Being rude was never your intention.

He smirked.

"Yeah. It works. I work days, him nights. Saves money. Keeps the place from feeling so lonely."

If your judgment put him off, he didn't show it. 

“So, whatcha up to? Missus…?”

You chuffed a slight laugh. You couldn’t help it when he mimicked you exactly, complete with a higher tone that made you appreciate the deep, richness of his natural voice. You contemplated telling him your name, but you’d promised yourself nobody would ever know where you’d gone or what became of you. Telling him your name felt like breaking that promise too soon.

“You can call me…” 

Your eyes darted around, surveying what was close by to find anything that would work. Catching on the sleeve of your hoodie, you nodded to yourself. That’s the answer.  

“… Grey.” To match my mood, you thought. To match everything about my damn life. “And I’m…” 

You trailed off again, eyes drawn back to the crackling flames eating up your history. Memory pinched your lips, and you shook your head, numbed now by all the spent emotions, as well as the frigid air. 

“Just enjoying the fire.”

Eddie hummed, nodding along as though he heard all your private thoughts and could feel their weight. He said nothing for a long time, and right when you thought he’d get up to leave, which made you feel a funny way, he broke the silence again.

“You just moved here, yeah?” Rummaging in his coat pocket, he pulled out a pack of Marlboro reds and a silver Zippo. “D’you mind?” 

He waved the pack at you, seeking your permission to smoke his own cigarette in your company. Against your better sense, you found it endearing.

“Yeah. Few weeks. No, don’t mind.” 

Two weeks and three days, exactly, but he didn’t need to know you kept track of how many days it had been since you’d begun this crazy endeavor. There were a lot of things you didn’t want Eddie, or anybody, to know. All of it stuffed way down inside and locked up tight. The only tangible evidence of your previous life sat heavy on your knees, a weight you desperately wanted to be rid of.

From inside the box, you drew another stack of papers - bills, letters, probably some legal stuff - and tossed them onto the burning heap. Bit by bit, the person you used to be became more and more of a myth. Glancing at your unexpected companion, you watched as he lit and drew a deep inhale from the cigarette. You thought he would surely twist or turn his head so he could read the words stamped on the topmost bill, your government name all across the front of it, but to his credit, Eddie simply stretched out his arm and offered you a drag.

“Want?”

“No thanks,” you shook your head, unable to stop the wrinkling of your nose, “I don’t like the smell.” You blinked a few times as your brain caught up to what you said. “Which seems stupid right now considering we are sitting at a fire that I built myself.”

He laughed - just once, a delighted bark in the now darkness. It shocked you how much the laugh transformed his face. The apples of his cheeks grew more pronounced, and his lips pursed attractively. He shook his head and flicked the cigarette into the fire to burn up alongside your history.

“Not stupid,” he smiled at you, warm and genuine. “Been meaning to quit anyhow. This what you do for fun?”

You couldn’t stop the stirrings of a smile.

“Oh yeah,” you nodded exaggeratedly, “every chance I get. You?”

He was practically giddy at your sudden participation but played it off coy, boyish almost. His fawn-brown eyes twinkled.

“Mmm I’m gonna hold on to that little nugget of intel.” He rubbed his hand across his face, but you couldn’t tell if it was to hide his delighted grin or to keep himself under control. “M’tryna be cool here.”

He winked at you, all cheeky-like, and you couldn’t breathe for a second.

“And this way, we’ll have something to talk about next time.”

You could hear the offer in his voice, the openness and welcoming. It shot two arrows directly into the center of your heart - one warm, trying to crack you open a fraction more and one icy cold, warning you that this was too risky, too reckless.

Pay attention! 

Your anxiety screamed, straining at the seams of your insides until your head pounded and your ears rang.

“Ok. Sure…..cool…..” 

Your voice trailed off because you noticed the details of him now. Details you’d missed before since you’d been directly in the center of your personal pity party.

The world went upside down. 

Beat-up, old van. Long hair. Hell-something t-shirt. You belatedly registered the silver rings adorning several fingers and the guitar pick strung around his neck. Your eyes flicked from him to his van, trying to remember what had been playing when he rolled out of it this evening.

Judas Priest. Eddie was a metal head, which meant he was undoubtedly in a band, which further meant he was unquestionably a drinker or a drug user. Fuck, maybe even another goddamn drug dealer. A heavy sigh escaped, accompanied by the sag of your shoulders.

You didn’t need another version of that guy. You’d barely escaped the last one.

“Y’ok there?”

The way he looked at you was unnerving. No, the way he watched you was unnerving. He obviously recognized the moment you went from calm to anxious, and it bothered you he’d seen it. 

Without really doing much, he invited you in, making some kind of space for you to feel seen and safe. But the quickness with which he made you feel at peace left you troubled. You’d lived with those uneasy feelings for far too long - the kind that had your stomach in knots and your jaw clenched as you waited for the next catastrophe. That anxiety was your constant companion, and you couldn't fathom letting it go.

Better the devil you know than the ones you don't. 

You drummed agitated fingers against the corners of the box before abruptly deciding to upturn the entire thing into the fire. Standing too fast, you ignored the dizzy feeling in your head and stomped on the box with your boot to make sure it would all catch.

“Well, uh, it was nice to meet you, Eddie.” You kicked at the fire again, moving the debris around and sending bursts of smoke and ash into the air. “See you around sometime.”

It was dangerous to leave the fire unattended; you knew. But sticking around for Eddie to see too much or ask the right question you didn’t think you’d be able to not answer was even more dangerous. He was easy. Easy to be around. Easy to like. Easy to talk to. And that was simply unacceptable.

So, you did the thing you’d been doing for months.

You ran.

You slammed the door shut behind you with enough force to shake the trailer walls and turned off all the lights before sinking down onto the threadbare carpet floor in the very center of the practically empty room. Dropping your head into your hands, you waited, hoping he’d understand this cue, too, and leave you alone.

Eddie

“You can call me Grey.”

It certainly wasn’t your name, but somehow, it suited you, at least in Eddie’s estimation. You were beautiful, but you were also hemorrhaging color, joy, and want for life. It showed on your face - pretty features that lay flat with no spark to animate them.

He noticed you immediately when you moved into the trailer park. You spoke to no one, you hardly left your place, and you moved in with only an Army green duffel bag and a pillow, as far as he could tell. He never saw you unload anything else from your car, a ragged, sky blue Pinto that looked oddly right parked not so far away from his van. They would be best friends, of course.

Gradually, over the course of about a week, you stepped outside more often, and he relished the opportunities to study you. He guessed you to be roughly his height, maybe an inch or two shorter. Curvaceous, he decided even though you dressed in long pants and sleeves no matter the time of day. He couldn’t quite tell about your hair color, though. It seemed to change from morning to night, which he chalked up to the sunlight that was always in his damn face when he tried to watch you in the mornings.

At first, he felt a little creepy, but it was unavoidable. You were the most fascinating person to have ever set off his Misfit Radar. Collecting renegades and weirdos turned out to be a lifelong commitment for Eddie, though it was less intentional these days than it had been in high school. And you? 

You had ‘outsider’ written all over you. He simply couldn’t help himself from seeking that connection.

So, here he was, trying - and failing - to make conversation when it was obvious all you wanted was to burn things that used to hold meaning. He was hard-wired to keep going, however, and he wanted you to crack out of that shell just enough to make the awkwardness worth it. He might know the right things to say to the oddballs and freaks, but inside, he always felt clumsy and nervous when talking to someone he found attractive.

And you were fucking gorgeous. 

Once or twice, you responded beyond the bare minimum, more than out of politeness, and he saw that spark in you - the brief flash of feeling beneath all the fear, and he was right. It made the nervousness worthwhile. And when you smiled? Shot through the heart, and you were to blame. He couldn’t help but want to make you smile again. He had a feeling you didn’t do it enough. He also got the impression that whatever it was you ran from, you’d never be far enough away. But maybe he could help make you feel safe here, safe enough to start over.

For reasons he didn’t quite understand, he wanted that very much. 

Long after he’d spooked you, he stayed. He understood running, but he also knew you had to make the choice to stop and be in the hard moments. It was Dustin who taught him how to push through the fear, and Eddie knew that sometimes, a person needed to see the behavior modeled before they felt comfortable enough to try it. It had certainly been true for him. 

Making himself that model - even not knowing whether you could see him - he kept his eyes on the fire that was so important to you, ensuring every piece, including the box itself, burned away, all while listening for the faintest sounds of stirring inside. He wanted you to know he was still here, but he didn’t want to push you because that truly would be creepy. None came. If you knew he lingered, you didn’t give him any sign.

Quietly, trying hard to not disturb you, he tended your fire, made sure there was nothing recognizable left, and put out the flames. He mixed the ashes with the dirt and folded your lawn chair against the trailer so it wouldn’t blow away in case the wind kicked up. 

And then, he went home for the night - albeit reluctantly.

Foregoing food or a shower or a smoke, he dropped into his messy bed, shook the hair from his face, and stared at the ceiling for a long time. He normally smelled like cigarettes, sometimes weed, but tonight, he smelled of campfire smoke and the nighttime air. It made him think of you, and he imagined fifty different ways he would try to talk to you tomorrow. Maybe you’d be outside tomorrow morning, seeing that he worked your fire for you, and he’d wave as he drove off to work. Maybe you’d be sitting out there when he came home, and he could keep you company again. Bring you a beer or something.

Or maybe, he’d be brave and walk right over there to knock on your door.

He made so many plans that he drifted off to sleep without settling on a specific one…

[mrs-dr-reid]

My Personal Steve Rogers Headcanons

Part 1/?

The first time he went to a grocery store post-Capsicle, he very nearly had a public meltdown when he saw what 70 years of inflation did to the prices

He always makes “Back in my day…” statements unironically mainly to annoy Tony, and once Bucky comes back he joins in and Tony very nearly has an aneurysm because “Oh dear god, there’s two of them”

He loves taking you on walks in Brooklyn and showing you all the places he frequented growing up, and is sometimes pleasantly surprised when a place from his childhood barely changed at all since the 40s

He volunteers at the VA as an art therapy instructor when he has spare time, because he found that drawing and painting really helped him relax when his PTSD decided to aggressively announce its presence

He is very happy when record players and vinyls start coming back into fashion, and he’s especially happy because Bucky’s sister Rebecca put all of their stuff in a storage unit when they went MIA, and among their old stuff was his 1940s record player and the milk carton he kept all of his records in, which meant he didn’t have to go out and rebuy his entire collection

He loves going to Central Park in the fall and looking at all the leaves change color, and you even buy him a Polaroid camera so he can take pictures

To help him get caught up on modern pop culture, you pick a new show or movie to watch with him every couple of weeks, and most of them are early 2000s comedy-dramas and chick flicks (he liked Mean Girls a lot more than you thought he would, and now he unironically yells “SHE DOESN’T EVEN GO HERE” whenever there's an alien invasion)

He’s obsessed with Broadway. Back in the 40s, he only really knew about “Anything Goes”, “Oklahoma!”, and “Kiss Me, Kate”, but now that he’s in the present, he makes it his goal to see at least one new musical every couple of months, either on stage if it can be afforded, or the pro-shot or movie adaptation. His newly-discovered favorites are Newsies and Hamilton, but he is also a big fan of Wicked

He likes learning about potentially useless information that he doesn’t really need to know for the hell of it. No, he doesn’t need to know who invented aerosol cans, but he wants to, and who’s gonna stop him from learning about it?

He was genuinely befuddled the first time he rode in a modern car, and not even a fancy one like Tony's Audi R8 Spyder. Nat took him for a drive in a 2009 Nissan Altima once and he spent the first ten minutes messing with the seat mover buttons

A gentleman above all else. He opens doors for you, pulls out your chair when you go out to eat, gives you his hand to help you out of cars or down stairs, and will give you his arm whenever you're walking anywhere together, because Sarah raised him right, aiight?

When he learned about Dapper Day at Disneyland, he immediately dropped everything and borderline extorted Tony into arranging a trip to California for the team so they could go. You two go as Duchess and O'Malley from The Aristocats, and you almost die because of how good he looks in his outfit

For a while he thinks voice-to-text and voice notes work like telegrams did, so for a while you receive voice notes of him yelling "HI Y/N STOP ARE WE STILL ON FOR DINNER TONIGHT STOP I LOVE YOU STOP" until Tony finally sits him down and explains how it works, so then you start receiving normal texts and voice notes

He loves stargazing, but since he lives in modern New York he barely gets to see the stars anymore because of all the light pollution, so a few times a month you drive him a couple hours away from the city, and you just lay down in the grass somewhere and watch the stars together

He is very fond of board games. So much so that he insists on a weekly Board Game Night with the team. Monopoly was kicked out of the rotation because of a Code Green after Bruce caught Tony trying to steal money from the bank eight times in a row, and then he still won, but the most popular games are Clue and Sorry

He doesn't understand the obsession with true crime. He does however very much enjoy procedural dramas like Grey's Anatomy, 9-1-1, Brooklyn Nine-Nine, and Criminal Minds. He thinks they're interesting

He absolutely hates being cold. One time the heat went out in your apartment, and you came home to find him on your couch wrapped up in every single blanket you owned while grumpily watching Legally Blonde

He’s borderline addicted to flannels and Henley shirts. Like, you open his closet and he has one in every color of the rainbow. I mean, the man looks good in a flannel or a Henley so you’re not mad about it, but it’s becoming a teeny bit excessive

[hegrowth]

coming out here to talk about something really quick. if someone disregards a part of your rules, it's most likely not personal. this includes DNIs !

I had a panic this past week where I was going through my mutuals rules looking at DNIs because I had followed someone whose name was familiar, and I didn't know if it was because it was in a DNI or someone had mentioned them or I followed them before or something else. I didn't find their name, but I just realized... I follow over a 100 blogs. I spent 30-40 minutes trying to figure out if this person was in any DNIs. that's kind of crazy, right ? and kinda... unreasonable ?

similarly, if you have a DNI that says you don't interact with characters / fcs from a certain thing... I most likely don't know what that thing is. I don't know what my fcs are in, swear to god. if I really like an fc I may watch something they're in, but otherwise I have no idea and I don't remember what shows / movies I get icons from.

in general, my memory is shit. in general, I'm not busy but I get distracted really easily. and, in general, I'm pretty sure most if not all of the rpc is in the same boat. that being said... guys, I have a color coded list I refer to regarding my mutuals, just so I can keep track of folks. why ? because I'm forgetful. and I've been embarrassed to talk about it because I was like... this is kinda weird. but it's also like, now, I realize it's super extra ?? so like, do I need to start doing that with folks and their DNIs and rules so I make sure I don't break them ? that's crazy, right ?

I'm just saying. please don't take it personally if I break a rule or disregard a DNI. it was not intentional, it was not done with the express intent of making you uncomfortable. I'm doing my best, everyone is. please let me know. but also recognize that some information just naturally isn't going to be retained in an environment where we are interacting with dozens of blogs a day.

on one hand, I want to be like, yeah we should definitely keep track of our mutuals and their rules, that's the decent thing to do. on the other, it's like, I'm living my life and then come here and have 50+ blogs on my dash and it just doesn't seem feasible to do that for everyone I follow ? idk, what are your thoughts ?

[nancypullen]

Hello, October!

Oh, how I've missed this beautiful month. October is the best month of the year and you can't change my mind. What other month spends thirty days painting the world with jewel tones and then ends it all with a big costume party? I love my birthday month, but I do consider it just one long October Eve. And speaking of costume parties, I know a little girl who is very excited about dressing up for Halloween. Let's start at the beginning. Our precious grandgirl started kindergarten in September. She loves it. A couple of weeks into school the kids were tasked with bringing a "Me Bag" for Show and Tell. They were supposed to bring a few things at home that are special to them and basically tell the class about the things they like. A short time later there was a sort of open house at the school and this is what Tyler sent us.

Just a few short days later, she was out shopping with her parents and the very same girl who had been saying that she wanted to go trick-or-treating as Jasmine spotted this and declared that she had found her Halloween costume. I wish I could show her face because she is quite pleased with herself in the photo. Looks like she wore it right out of the store.

Is that a precious little witch or what? I wonder if her classmates went home and told their parents that there's a witch in their class. Much like her Grancy she may end up on prayer lists far and wide. Too funny.

While we're on the subject of magic, guess who colored her hair? I thought about it for a long time. I'd grown out the white for a year and though I didn't hate it, I also didn't love it. I suppose I just wasn't ready. I placed an order to Sally's (the closest one is about 40 minutes away) and chose a color I'd safely used over and over. Good ol' 9NN. I'm telling you, when I mixed the color and developer I felt like a junkie cooking up fix. I couldn't wait. The color is not what I remembered. Yikes. Maybe it seems darker because I spent so long with white hair. But I'm fine with it.

I hope that neck wrinkle is caused by the seatbelt and not old age. Pretty sure it's age. Oh well. I was actually on my way to a dinner with women! You guys, I'm trying so hard to break into this town and find friends. It really shouldn't be this hard. I swear I don't stink and I'm really very nice. I have even applied for a job. It's with the library, the same library that kept turning me away as a volunteer. I'm more than qualified, do you think I'll even get a call? I'll be surprised if I do, but I'll keep hope alive and try to keep positive thoughts. If it doesn't happen, life will still be dandy. Besides, I know a little witch who might be able to cast a spell for me. Alright, enough of this prattle. My bag is waiting by the door and I'm heading to bed early to try to sleep before our early morning wakeup. I can never sleep the night before a trip. I suppose I could nibble a gummie. I have to leave those behind because Ireland has very strict rules about any sort of cannabis product and I really don't care to be nabbed at customs and thrown in prison. I've seen enough episodes of Locked Up Abroad to know that I'm too nice for prison. Looks like I'll be popping ibuprofen for a couple weeks. A little discomfort in exchange for castles and the Cliffs of Moher That's a good trade. Oh, the word comfort reminds me. One of the many gift cards I received on my 60th was an Amazon card. One of the purchases I made with it was this outfit to wear on the flight.

I will admit, that for just $29 I did not have high hopes - but it's fabulous!! So comfy, so soft and light. It's wonderful! Four pieces, the jogger pants, a short sleeved tee, a tank, and a cardigan, all in a lightweight jersey-type fabric. I love it so much that I'll definitely buy it in another color (my set is basic black). It runs true to size, so just order your regular size and it should fit just fine. Here's a link:

I'm really leaving this time. Going to grab a book and hopefully read myself to sleep. Tomorrow will be a long day. Because of an airline schedule change we have an extremely long layover in Toronto, like most of the day. Maybe that will work in my favor and I'll conk out on the flight to Dublin. I rarely sleep on planes and that makes me bleary-eyed on arrival. This might be just the thing to make me tired enough to get some shut-eye on the way over. Fingers crossed. Next post will be from Ireland. Our Air BnB supposedly has excellent wi-fi, probably better than many of the hotels we've stayed in on past trips. That's good news. Brace yourself for too many photos. Stay safe, stay well. XOXO, Nancy

[1-sasha-stuff-1]

Into Another World - Mha x Reader

Chapter 7: First Impressions

A/n - Here's another chapter for you all!

| | | | Key:

h/s = hair style

h/c = hair color

f/s = favorite snack

t/n = teacher's name

e/c = eye color

| | | | | |

4 Days later - April 5th 

Time: 7:00 am

| | | | | |  

Putting my hair in a h/s, I check myself over in the full-length mirror in my room. I’m wearing the middle school uniform that they’ve provided me with, the black skirt, blazer, white shirt underneath, and a nice tie. Honestly, I don’t look too bad. 

“Y/n! It’s almost time to go!”

“Coming mom!”

Grabbing my backpack on the way out of my room, I close my door and head downstairs where the fresh scent of pancakes fully awakens me. Upon reaching the main floor, I go into the kitchen and sit down, putting my backpack down beside my seat as I dig into the pancakes and drink my glass of milk.

After the dinner at the Midoriya’s and heading home, the next few days were spent organizing and putting things in its place here at home. My parents would mostly move in all the big stuff and head off to work while I would be in charge of just placing it where mom told me where it would look best. We pretty much finished placing everything yesterday, so it was nice to finally have a ‘complete’ house now.

The last few days were also pretty fun, Izuku and I would text or call over the phone for a few hours and we hung out for a while as well. Of course, I never forgot about Shinsou, we talked over the phone as well and I eventually told him about Izuku and he seemed chill about it because I was finally “spreading my wings' ', he isn't wrong about that though. Joking or not, I was actually practicing more in the aspect of trying to fly with my hornet wings, but I guess I’m not used to them yet, mostly, I end up in bushes when trying them out.

“It’s 7: 30, we should get going before you're late on your first day Y/n.” my mother said as she started to put her shoes on at the door, grabbing her car keys, she adds. 

“I’ll wait for you in the car.”

Getting up, I put my dirty dishes into the dishwasher and wash my hands. I then go and grab my bag and start to put on my shoes. Hearing a honk from a car outside, I grab my phone and headphones and shove them in my bag as I rush out the door and enter my mom’s car.

“What took you so long? I have a meeting in a few minutes, and I can’t be late y/n, you know this.”

“I know, sorry mom. I’ll be faster next time.”

The car ride was silent the whole way to the school, neither of us saying anything. 

As we got to the front of the building, Emica unlocked the door, and I opened the door and hopped out of the passenger seat. 

“Love you mom!”

“Love you too, now, neither your father nor I will be here to pick you up at the end of the day, we’ll most likely be in Tokyo. I placed some money in your back account if you want to take the train or for food, okay?”

“Okay, thanks mom.”

Right after closing the door, the car went speeding off away from the young teen. She turned around and whispered to herself as she started to walk towards the front door of the building.

“Well, back to hell it is then….”

| | | | | |

Time - 7:40 am

| | | | | |  

“-and this is where we usually eat lunch! O-or anywhere really.”

Izuku and I were standing at the entrance of the lunchroom which is also called the common room during the mornings before classes start (they start at 8). We’ve spent the last few minutes with him showing me around the school and where all my classes will be, and he also has the same classes as me so that’s a plus. 

“S-so yea! Those are all your classes, and we can walk together if y-you want! Idon’twantyoutofeelpressuredintothinkingyouhavetowalkwithmeeverydayand-”

“H-hey, Izuku! It’s totally fine, we can walk to class together. Hey, do you want to walk with me after school as well? My parents are going to be at a meeting, and they won’t be able to pick me up.”

“U-uh? Oh! Yea, we can walk together!”

“Okay cool, hey, how about after school you can ask your mom we can hang out and go to the mall or something? We can go and-”

Before finishing my sentence, something just shoves me out of the way and I stumble and trip on my own feet, resulting in falling onto the ground.

“At least I wore leggings, thank go..”

“Oi, move out the way you damn extra! Can’t you see I’m walking here?!”

“Well, who do you think you are huh?” Looking up, I see the one and only Bakugo. Why am I not surprised? Obviously, we’d be in the same school. He seemed to finally recognize who I was based on the pissed off expression on his face.

“You…...”

Midoriya, not wanting his new friend (and his only one at the moment) to get hurt, tried to speak up but as usual, he was shut down.

“Y-y/n, I don’t think-”

“Shut it you damn nerd! And you!”, pointing at the h/c girl,

“You're the damn extra that took my food! Don’t think that you beat me!”

The girl, as per usual, didn’t keep quiet as she talked back at the loud-mouth boy.

“Me? Beat you? No, I didn’t beat you, I practically demolished you in that store. Anything for that bag of f/s I guess.”, while looking proud of herself, the boy in front of her was practically fuming with rage and embarrassment as his ‘friends’ were ‘oohing’.

“Na man, you let a girl beat you?”

“Damn, Bakugo my man, what happened?”

“Shut up! She didn’t beat me damn it!” the blond boy yelled out as the girl stood up. Shortly after standing up, the bell rang indicating the first bell to head to your homeroom.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you around! Let's head to homeroom Izuku, we won’t want to be late now, would we?” grabbing hold of Izuku’s forearm, the two of you book it before Bakugo could lose his cool. 

As the two of you speed-walk at first and then walk normally, knowing that Bakugo was long behind, you pay no attention to the two of you, you don’t realize the look on Izuku’s face as you're still holding onto his forearm. 

To say that the boy was embarrassed was an understatement, he was about to explode at this point, his mind was spiraling through a rabbit hole of emotions and thoughts. 

“She’s holding onto my arm, she’s holding onto my arm, she’sholdingontomyarm-”

“Hey Izuku, you cool?”

His mind stopped as he got pulled away from his thoughts and faced the girl who gave him a questioning look on her face. 

“Why, am I-?”

“Y-yea, I’m okay, haha. Just worried that Kachan might have gotten too aggressive with you though...”

“Well, Kachan can go to hell for all I care.”

“Y-y/n! Don’t say that! What if he heard you! A-and Kachan is just a nickname I gave him, you know, since we were friends when we were younger.” the boy exclaimed as he looked in all directions to see if the hot-head was anywhere nearby.

Like the actress you are, you put on a dumbfounded expression and look at Izuku. Even though you know who ‘Kachan’ is, he doesn't know that and would probably seem weirded out if you already knew his name.

“Well, if Kachan is his nickname, what’s his real name?”

“Oh, his name is Bakugo Katsuki.”

Both of you finally enter a classroom full of students already in their seats as the teacher looks over at the two of you in the doorway. 

“Midoriya! You're already late on the first day, do you want to get detention already? Get in your seat.”

The said boy nods and quickly sits himself at one of the desks on the far side of the classroom as some of the students look at him with disgust and others whisper as he passes by. The teacher, otherwise known as Mr. t/n looks over at you and smiles.

“Ah! You must be the new student! Come up to the front and introduce yourself!”

Shuffling and moving yourself to face the front of the class, you stare at them as they stare back and all of a sudden, your anxiety spikes up.

“Why are they looking at me like that? Is my hair weird? Wait, I’m wearing the wrong uniform?! Oh, no I’m not, the other girls are wearing the same one as me…”

Blinking out of your thoughts, you take a small deep breath to calm yourself down and speak with the non-existent confidence you had.

“Hi, my name is L/n Y/n, um, yea that’s my name.”

T/n smiled and looked at the rest of the class. 

“Alright thank you L/n! Now does anyone have any questions?”

One of the students from the front row raised her hand and was called upon.

“Why do you sound weird? When you like speaking and all.”

“Great, new achievement unlocked; being afraid to speak because of the accent.”

Smiling, I respond, “Well, I kind of was exposed to English speakers more when at a young age so I have that so called ‘weird’ American accent.”

Well, it wasn't entirely a lie, I did end up watching more SpongeBob in English than in Japanese when I was younger. 

A few more students asked some other questions and now about 5 minutes have passed, and I want to sit down already. The teacher must have seemed to notice because he stood up and put his hands together.

“Alright students, just one more question and we’ll have to get started with homeroom! Um, yes you!”

The student that was picked was one of Bakugo’s friends on the way back.

“Yea, so like, what’s your quirk?”

“My quirk? Well, my quirk is called Hornet. It’s pretty much what a regular hornet has, I have wings that I can store in my back and pull them out if I need to, I can also make stingers come out of my knuckles.”

To demonstrate, I hold up my right hand up to them and close my hand into a fist, causing jet black spikes to appear from where my knuckles were, after a few seconds, I unclench my fist and they disappear. I chose to hold onto the information on being able to create some poison within each stinger, I chose not to, the reason, I wasn't really sure why yet. 

“I can also shrink myself and grow in height, but I’m still trying to get the hang of it.” 

The class begins to talk amongst themselves while some of the students praise my quirk and tell me how ‘cool’ I am while others, not liking the idea that I was so called ‘better’ then them.

“Wow! That must be an awesome quirk to have!”

“Totally would love to have that power!”

“Huh, imagine being an insect...”

“I know right? Like, I could never!”

T/n then cleared his throat, and the class went silent after a few seconds.

“Alright! Let's get started with homeroom alright. Oh! Y/n, where should I place you? Uhhhhh, there! Right next to Bakugo. Bakugo, could you raise your hand?”

With an irritated expression, he raises his hand, and you see that there’s in fact, an empty seat to his left.

Forcing to move your legs, you walk towards the seat as you pass Izuku who gives you an apologetic smile. Arriving at the desk, you sit in it and cross your arms over your chest. You're about to say something until you hear the teacher say some words that killed you from the inside out.

“Now, these seats will be your assigned seats for the rest of the year!”

 Glancing over at Bakugo who was now to the right of you, looked back at you with a smirk.

“I’m goanna make your life a living hell.”

Putting on a fake smile, you say back sarcastically. 

“Well, isn't this going to be bloody lovely?”

| | | | | | | | Time - 3:00 

| | | | | | |  

The last bell had just rung, and everyone was leaving the building as you stood in the now empty classroom, waiting for Midoriya to gather his things so you both could leave. 

“So did you mom say yes?”

“Yea she did, I just have to be home before it gets too dark.”

“Oh okay, I’ll text my mom that I’ll be home later as well.”

Pulling out your phone, you text your mom that you’ll be hanging out with Midoriya for a while, after having sent the message she read it and well, just left you to read.

“Ain't no way she left me on read.”

Deciding to deal with it later, you put the phone back into your skirt pocket (thank God they have pockets) and grab your bag from the floor as Midoriya already has his on his back. 

The two friends make their way down the hall and out of the building, lucky enough, didn’t cross paths with a certain blond boy with anger issues.

“Okay Y/n, where are we going?”

“We can go to the mall if you want, or anywhere you want to go, I don’t mind.”

“O-Okay, we can head over to the mall.”

| | | | | |  

Time skip - at the mall (because the author is lazy -_-)

| | | | | |

Looking around, the green haired boy and the h/c girl see multiple stores and people all around them. The girl looked at the boy with her e/c and begins to question him.

“So, do you want to go to a specific store or just walk around and let it roll from there?”

“We can just walk around if you want, or do you have a specific store you want to go to?” Midoriya asked as they just stood at the entrance of the mall, waiting for the girl to respond.

“Well, I think I might get some weights from that one workout store, do you mind?”

“N-no of course not! Anywhere is fine y/n!”

“As long as we’re together.”

The girl nods and they both begin to walk into the mall.

| | | | | |  

Time skip - 30 minutes later

| | | | | |  

After buying some weights from the workout store, they both just began to just talk and walk through different stores that caught their interest, one of the stores being an all-superhero themed store where there’s a bunch of merch of different types of heroes from not only Japan but other countries as well. 

We entered the store and Midoriya’s inner fanboy came out as he started to look at everything and anything about heroes as if he was a child in a candy store.

“I can’t believe they have this much stuff! Oh look! It’s an Edgeshot figure, oh and a documentary on Mirko!”

He held the book and action figure in his hands as he started to talk about the different heroes and all. Setting down the book and figure in their places on the shelf, Midoriya practically drags Y/n throughout the entire store until they enter an entire aisle dedicated to All Might themed stuff. 

We spent the next 30 minutes in that store as Midoriya kept looking at one specific product, an All Might themed hoodie next to other hero hoodies. Finally, we left the store after a while and headed towards the food court near it. 

As I sat down back at our table, waiting for our order of food, I looked towards Izuku in front of me and I got a bright idea. Standing right back up, he looks at me from his phone.

“Y/n, where are you going?”

“Don’t worry Izuku, I’ll be right back in a flash!", running off and leaving the confused green-haired boy at the table, I head towards the Hero-themed store and go towards that one aisle were the All Might hoodie was.

I snatched the hoodie right off the rack, checking to make sure it’s about his size, I made my way back to the front of the store to pay for it until another hoodie from a hero I liked was my all-time favorite hero next to All Might. Ginning, I also snatched the hoodie off its rack, finding it was just my size and finally began to make my way back to the cashier to pay the hoodies off. 

“Thank you young lady and have a good day!”

“Thank you! Have a good day too!”

Leaving the store and making your way back to where Midoriya was probably waiting, you look down at the shopping bags with a smile, hoping that he would like the gift you got him. 

Turning the corner and walking into the food court, you look around to find Izuku grabbing the food and sit back down at the table looking around until he catches your eyes, and you smile and walk over towards him.

“Hey Y/n, where were you?”

Sitting down and giving him one of the shopping bags and smiling as he takes it in his hands with a confused face.

“I got something for you!”

“Y-y/n, you shouldn’t have gotten me anything-”

“Nonsense Izuku, just open it, you’ll love it for sure! Well, hopefully you will…”

The boy gulps and smiles at you with his face turning slightly red as he grips onto the shopping bag. 

“I’ll like anything you g-get me y-y/n.”

“Aww, thanks Izuku! Know, open it!" smiling, you see him go through the bag and his small smile turns into a bigger one when he pulls out the All Might themed hoodie from the bag with stars in his eyes. 

“Oh my god it’s the All Might hoodie I saw at that one store!”

He starts to go on (again) about All Might until he abruptly stops and looks at me. Confusion swept onto my face as I looked back at him.

“Izuku, are you okay? If you don’t like it, I can return it for a different one or-”

“N-no it’s not that y/n, it’s just, you didn’t have to get it for me you know…wait, let me pay you back!”

“No, you're not going to pay me back Izuku, it was a gift.”

“But-”

“Hey, I said keep it, okay? It was my own choice to get it for you so keep it.”, smiling, your smile practically blinded him as he stared at the girl for a few seconds and smiled back, in his mind, he mentally noted how he could repay you back for your kindness one day. 

“I’ll repay you back y/n, one day I will.”

“Thanks Y/n,”

| | | | | |

Time - 6:45 pm

| | | | | | |  

Walking next to each other, Izuku and Y/n walk down the streets, and the leaves on the trees move with a gentle breeze. As the two walked, the sun had already begun to set despite it being around 7 in the evening, the sky was filled with hues of orange, purple, and pink. The sun was like an orb set on fire and as you both walked past the beach filled with trash, that would soon be one without, so as long Izuku stays on this path of becoming a hero and nothing interferes, including yourself.

“We should really do this again Izuku.”

“Y-yea! We should do this again.”

The boy doesn't know it yet but, the feelings he’s been feeling for the girl ever since he saw her e/c eyes, it wasn't admiration now at this point, but something more. But alas, he was still young and new to the feelings, so he pushed them away for the time being. But sooner or later, he’ll come to realize these feelings for the girl.

| | | | | |  

Arriving at his apartment complex a few minutes ago, you both now stand in front of his apartment door as you were the one to walk him home. 

“Well, I guess I’ll leave you then, need your beauty sleep for school tomorrow, right?”

“Yea, you do to Y/n…”, Midoriya said as he opened his apartment door and stepped inside. About to close the door, he looks at the girl who is now walking away from him, without thinking, he speaks his mind.

“Thank you, Y/n.,”

The girl stopped in her tracks and turned around and looked back at him, confusion on her face this time. 

“Thank you? Oh! For the hoodie, right? I told you Izuku, it’s totally-”

“N-no, not for the hoodie…”

“Uh? For what then?”

Midoriya shuffled in place and looked down at his feet, then he looked back up, eyes bright, he stared back at those beautiful e/c eyes full of life.

“Thank you for being with me, for being my friend Y/n. That’s why I’m thanking you.”

Y/n stares right back at him, she then smiles back at him, possibly brighter than the sunset right now.

“It’s no problem Izuku, I’m glad you're my friend as well.”

They stayed like that for a while, staring at each other until Midoriya shook out of his thoughts and focused on you once more. 

“T-Text me when you get home, I want to make sure you got home safe.”

“Sure will Izuku, I’ll see you at school tomorrow!”

“Right, bye Y/n!”

“See ya Izuku!”

| | | | | | | |

Closing the door behind him, he takes a deep breath, face red as he takes his shoes off and places them on the shoe mat next to the door. He looks at the shopping bag and smiles as he takes the bag and goes into the living room, taking out the hoodie from his shopping bag, he looks at it and continues to smile. 

“Where did you get that Izuku?” 

Jumping slightly, he turns around to find his mom looking over his shoulder and at the hoodie. He clutches the hoodie close to him and stutters.

“Y-Y/n got it for me when we were out at the mall…. she also got one too….”

He started to hear sniffling and turned back at his mom, seeing that her eyes were filled with tears.

“M-mom? Are you okay?”

She ripped the ‘tears’ away from her face as she closed her eyes.

“My baby boy is already growing up!”

After that was said, he looks at the poor boy and smiles brightly like she wasn't just crying earlier.

“So, when were you going to tell me you have a girlfriend already?”

“M-mom!”

| | | | | | | |

Walking home, you threw away the shopping bag as you slipped on the Eraserhead themed hoodie over your head and onto your body. It wasn't that you didn’t like All Might, but you liked both All Might and Eraserhead, but you already have an All Might themed hoodie back in your closet but not an Eraserhead one. 

“All left to get is a Mirko Action figure, Hawks Hoodie and plushie, and an Edgeshot action figure…”

Thinking to yourself and not paying attention to your surroundings, you didn’t notice the fight going on a few alleyways in front of you until you were in front of the alleyway.

Finally, being pulled away from your thoughts, you hear a loud groan from the alleyway.

“Well, curiosity never killed the cat, right?” you whisper to yourself as you enter the alleyway, curiosity getting the best of you. 

As you walk into the dark alleyway, you don’t see anything. Deciding to turn back around you do, but soon you hear a loud groan of pain coming from inside a large trash bin. 

Stopping in your tracks, you think of your options. To investigate or to not investigate, you chose the latter and walked up to the large trash bin that was closed.

Taking a deep breath, you lift up the lid, but it is a bit too heavy, so you summon your hornet wings to let you float as you open the lid. 

Once the lid was open, you sigh, mentally noting to upgrade your workout routine. Before you can go deeper into your own head, a deep, husky voice pulls you out from your thoughts.

“Well, well.... who's this angel I see? A gift from the gods to me?”

| | | | | |

[ericvilas]

Arguments about AI need to be actually separated. It's many different things, and I'm gonna try to separate them out as best I can. I came up with 5 different arguments, and responses to them:

Copyright: you have no right to use my art in any way

Consent to use data you put out there in ways you didn't intend

The "humanness" and "emotion" of art

Automation makes people lose their jobs

"People giving an AI instructions aren't actual artists"

#1 is. Not really an argument unless you wanna side with Disney. Nobody wants to side with Disney. Just don't. Derivative work is fair use.

#2 makes a bit more sense, but here's an example to see why it kinda falls apart: If I wanted to make a scientific paper to analyze what color pallettes are more or less commonly used, should I not be allowed to search through all of DeviantArt and go "this is the distribution of how common each color is, and what colors tend to be correlated with what other colors, and how often each pallette is used"? I feel like that's not something you should be able to object to. You might say "okay, but pallettes are basically averages, you lose a ton of data" and... sure, but if you can make one study about color pallettes you can make a different study about, say. Subject matter. Or style. Or a histogram of the RGB values of the top-left-most pixel. It's not like the program actually extracts that much data from the different pieces of art, anyway. The vast, vast majority is redundant information. (Also there's the argument of "why could I use your art to make similar art inspired by it but not to help program a bot to do it?")

#3 I just feel like it's just the same story over again: sure maybe a machine doesn't have feelings when it produces art, but there's so many things in the world that people were like "oh only a human can produce it" when actually kinda turned out to not be the case? Why is art any different? Are there no artists who just draw shit they're told to draw just cause it's their job? Do they not count as artists? Why is it any different from any other job getting automated? (Also, it's not like people will stop enjoying art-made-with-love, it will simply become a niche much like hand-knit clothes or other artisanship.)

#4 is very true. It's a real problem, but not one that's gonna be solved by stopping automation. Automation is good, and the workers should be compensated for the machines that take their jobs. However, I feel like these are two separate statements. In my opinion, which is not shared by most people I know, automation is good even if it does take people's jobs away. This is a highly controversial statement and I definitely do not speak for anyone but myself. But I do believe that automation of all jobs is important and good. I also think that we should allow people to not have to work for a living. These are two separate, complementary statements and ideally we would have both but personally, I don't care which one we get first.

#5 makes sense. I definitely agree that I shouldn't be credited with "creating" art that the AI created with my prompts, and would even go so far as to agree with the position of "AI art should be distinctly labelled as such". However, I don't know to what extent this is enforceable. (There is nuance to be had wrt the usage of AI to assist in art creation but I think that's not really under discussion, nonetheless I do think that AI-assisted art should still be labelled as such)

....whoops I accidentally spent over 40 minutes on this lol. I just. Feel very strongly about this and I wanna put it out there.

[afemail]

Reactions to Stray Kids

My grandson loves Minecraft and kept trying to show me videos of other people playing the game. I was truly baffled as to why someone would consider that entertaining. I kept trying to explain to my grandson (he's 7 btw) that I didn't know the game and, therefore, it was not interesting to watch someone else play it. I wasn't learning anything; I wasn't entertained by anything; I wasn't interested. As you can imagine, he didn't understand me either. But I still love him loads!

And now I've found reactors to Stray Kids. I have to admit that it's exciting to watch other people discovering them. I couldn't figure out why it kept pulling me back in. Now I've realized It's sort of like reliving my own discovery. Feeling that excitement again is almost like a drug. Endorphins?

I am a classically trained pianist and a singer -- mostly ballads, American standards, and pop hits covering ... SHIT! ... over 40 years now! I was also a church organist for 15 years. All of that is to say I've experienced A LOT of music.

When I first started watching SKZ music videos, I was mostly watching title tracks. Each video was such a ride and I would have to pause them to catch my breath! There are outfits and accessories. There's group dynamics and interactions. There's backgrounds and scenery. There are colors and choreographies. And, of course, there are handsome, young men in the middle of it all. It's a lot! More often than not, I just watched with my jaw on the floor. I haven't often experienced music this way.

I was 13 years old when MTV premiered, and my family didn't have cable. We were still making cassette mixtapes from the radio and buying 45s of our favorite tunes. There was nothing more frustrating than the DJ who talked over the song you were recording! I saw some music videos when visiting friends' houses but, for the most part, I did not see many. They were usually just footage of the band/singer performing, and not much else. Sometimes, the artists were "acting out" the song, but they were pretty cheesy.

A little over 2 years later in December 1983, Michael Jackson's "Thriller" video premiered. It was such a big deal! He was a massive star and the video was being hyped as a mini-movie. Watch parties were organized and events were planned. My friends and I went to the nearest roller skating rink 5 miles away to watch on their big screens. That is the 1st time I can recall seeing a music video on such a grand scale. It was 15 minutes of great music, (cheesy) acting, and a dance that is still done to this day around Halloween.

and that is JUST ABOUT EVERY SKZ VIDEO !!!

Of course, there is a language difference, and reading subtitles while trying to take in the visuals was often overwhelming. I spent a lot of time watching videos multiple times as well as rewinding and pausing. I also spent a lot of time researching things they'd referenced.

I found myself watching the whole video once through while reading the subtitles. Then I would watch it again to SEE it. Then I would watch it again and try to sync the two. Then I would watch it many more times because I kept finding different approaches to understanding the video. Like, what's up with Hyunjin and apples???

And now that I'm reasonably caught up on MVs (I occasionally still discover one I haven't seen) I have discovered the reactors. There are so many! I didn't realize it was "a thing." People are trying to make a living out of other people watching them watch still other people do what they do. It's actually kind of mind-boggling if you really think about it.

There seem to be an awful lot of people just discovering Stray Kids. I don't know what's driving it, but there have been so many new reactors just in the last couple of weeks. I think I've read that sometimes there are "fake" reactors, but that wouldn't explain all of them. Why so many new ones? Are they just jumping on the bandwagon? Is "the word" getting out there?

I've tried to find reactors who have a history of reactions as well as a reasonable number of subscribers. That tells me that they're doing something right. I have my favorites of course -- Teddy Grey, Handsome Sausages, Amari Leon, and Sebastine. They each analyze rather than just react. The people who just really watch "with" you and say, "Ooh, that was fire!" don't interest me.

But I truly enjoy watching people "discover" Stray Kids. Their hype is invigorating. I will binge a reactor's entire journey into SKZ if they are excited about it. I'm subscribed to so many channels now. Prior to this journey, I was subscribed to about 10. Now It's close to 100.

They just remind me of MY 1st time ;)

[tripleaxelrose]

12N

He is 22. She is 25. He hesitates before waking her, his hand hovering above her pale shoulder in the half-light of dawn, the darkness in the skylight above them giving way to steel gray. She lays curled on her side, her back to him, the ridges of her spine vulnerable and perfect as pearls. She seems so small to him in this moment, her Olympic-honed body carrying nothing extra, razor-sharp and light enough to fly. He wonders how they will change in the coming weeks and months, when the brutality of their training schedules wanes – maybe for now, maybe forever. How his own body will feel without the punishing daily run-throughs, the endless drilling of jumps that strain his hips and pulverize his ankles. He wonders if either of them will make it past 40 without knee replacements. He can feel the panic rising, thinking of himself – of both of them – at 40. 

As if she can hear the whirring of his thoughts, she shifts, turns over, her sleepy eyes adjusting. She edges closer to him and the renewed contact with her body feels like a shock, a sudden return of warmth rushing through him. He runs a hand over her hip.

“We have to go,” he says. 

“I know,” she says with a sad half-smile, planting a kiss at the corner of his mouth. 

“Testing…”

“Is at seven, I know…” she murmurs, slowly trailing a line of kisses up his jaw to his earlobe. “I actually read the schedule, you know.” 

“First time for everything,” he says, his breathing not working quite correctly. 

“How much time do we have?”

“About an hour,” he says, finally capturing her lips with his own. 

He laughs against her skin when she abruptly breaks the kiss and presses him onto his back. With a toss of the covers, she throws her leg over his hip. He presses his fingers into her thighs and she leans over from above him, kisses him again.

“Well,” she breathes, planting a hand on the mattress on either side of his head, “We’d better not waste any time.”

*

The sun is almost up when they peel themselves out of the tangled sheets. Despite what they’ve just been doing, what they spent most of last night doing, he’s not entirely sure where to look. When she spies him stealing glances at her from the opposite side of the bed, she snatches her sweater off the floor and flings it at him. (She looks too, and looks again, he notices. The blood rushes to his face.) 

In the car back to the village, she dozes on his shoulder, the sunlight splashing across her cheeks and catching on her eyelashes. He dreads the moment when they will have to step out of the car, walk back across the perimeter into the village. He’s not even worried about being caught, though the precautions he’s taken make it unlikely that they will. He considers what comes after, about the flight home, the strange next steps of their lives. He’s scheduled to be back on campus by the end of summer. And her… he does not quite know what’s next for her. He doesn’t think she knows either. 

They make it back with enough time to part ways with a quick squeeze of their hands, slide back into their dorm rooms, and meet again at the testing station – both of them uniformed and back in their team colors, her hair brushed into its neat ponytail, his jacket zipped all the way up. They have ten minutes to spare, even. (They quietly congratulate each other on this with all the seriousness they can muster, waiting in the testing line, trying not to giggle.) He finds it almost impossible not to touch her. 

Finally, he pulls out his phone and types a message before he can stop himself. She’s standing two feet in front of him and he can hear her phone buzz in the pocket of her warm-up jacket. He cannot see her face when she reads it.

You are the most perfect thing I have ever seen.

He tries to watch over her shoulder as she answers, but she keeps her phone close, the screen out of his view. 

His own phone buzzes to life. 

And you are beautifully imperfect, and that’s what I love best about you.

He nearly drops his phone. Remembers almost nothing about the test, the hard jab in his left nostril, the emotionless delivery of a negative result. They have barely set foot outside the door, into the cold morning air, when he realizes that he’s done worrying about protocol. He grabs her wrist and she stops. Tells her to meet him outside of the dorm, their usual spot, in fifteen minutes. She nods. He gets there in ten. 

He waits with his mask off, breathing hard, pacing in the shadow of the building, heart pounding. He tries to rehearse what he wants to say, but knows he doesn’t have time, that he’s too nervous to remember anyway. When she darts from around the corner and faces him, carefully pulling off her own mask, he doesn’t have any patience left. He doesn’t say hello.

“Did you just tell me you love me in a text message?”

“OK, I love you.” 

She is matter-of-fact, absolutely not ribbing him or joking, her eyes serious. Later, he will swear that she picks her chin up a little when she says it, an extra vote of resolve. The wind goes out of his lungs. He leans back against the building.

“We are bad at talking about…”

“Basically everything,” she smiles, maybe a little bit of ribbing creeping in. 

“Basically everything,” he repeats, touching her hand. “And if I was less bad at talking about things, I would have told you I loved you ten years ago.” 

“Ten years ago you were in the seventh grade,” she says, laughing, and then, seeing his face, suddenly stops.

He’s quiet, looks at his feet. 

“Oh my god,” she says.

Her arms go around him and her hold is fierce, her cheek buried in the crook of his neck. “I’m sorry I made you wait so long,” she whispers without letting go.

It takes them both a long time to let go. In those moments, it all becomes very straightforward for him. Her in his arms. The future crystal clear. He does not take any time to consider it, or even to consider what her answer will be, and this, somewhere inside him, he knows is a strange kind of progress. And he is so tired. So tired of not saying what he needs to say. So tired of working so hard, of restraint and discipline and eliminating distractions. He is so exhausted at giving all of himself so completely to the idea of a gold medal that it has left nothing else for him. So when she steps back, smiling, he just says it.

“Move to Connecticut with me.” 

She tips her head to the side, as though she has not quite heard or understood him. And he knows right away, before the word is even out of her mouth. He feels as though someone has pushed him off a cliff.

“No,” she says, with a sad shake of her head.

“Why not? It would be so easy. It would be…”

“A mess,” she says with a chuckle, touching the side of his face. She takes a breath, looks him in the eyes. She is still smiling. “You need to finish college. And I think I’m going to keep skating.” 

He forgets for an instant, almost, that she will not be coming East with him. It is a wild choice. One that makes no sense – almost. Until he realizes that it makes perfect sense. 

“I am the strongest I have ever been,” she says, tears welling in her eyes. “I’m not going to make the podium at worlds, but right now, there’s room for me. I want to see what else I can do. And then in a year, we’ll see.”

He takes her hand in both of his, kisses the expanse of skin on the back of it. “So if I ask you to move to Connecticut with me a year from now, will you say yes?”

“Let’s see how I do at Nationals,” she grins, tossing a cheeky jerk of her shoulder in his direction. “And you know I’ll need coaching help. Seems like the long-distance thing worked out for you.”

Their laughter gives way to a kiss. And then a few more. They make a plan, this time for the closing ceremony. The first of many. They decide to march together. 

*

He holds her hand when no one is looking. Buried in the folds of their bulky uniform coats. They take hundreds of photos. The team takes hundreds more. The press takes hundreds more than that. And the two of them are everywhere, arms around each other, smiling, the medal gleaming around his neck. And the chatter will start – they’re friends. They’re definitely more than friends. They’re just friends, the pendulum of conversation swinging back and forth. It is more or less what they expect, but when people who know them ask, there will be something in their smiles, a spark that wasn’t there just a few months before.

The air in the stadium is cold, prickling in their lungs, the night sky cloudless and dark, the city lights blocking out the stars. 

He tries to remember what this felt like last time and realizes, all of a sudden and with a lurch in his stomach, that he left ahead of the closing ceremonies at his first Olympics. That he was so distraught, nearly broken, that all he could do was pack his bag and go home, boarding his flight like a zombie, landing in California with nothing but his skates and his resolve. So this is a first for both of them. 

There are endless high fives from strangers in other delegations. So much shouting from the team. When the officials speak in a long presentation, he translates the Mandarin for her in a low voice. And when he pauses for too long, she dissolves into fits of laughter. 

“You have no idea what he’s saying,” she hisses under her breath.

“I do too! Just let me think about it for a second.”

Waves of fireworks explode above their heads, so many that they become obscured behind clouds of smoke, their edges flashing bright with color. He watches as she cranes her neck back, gasps, applauds. And he feels it run through him, a sense of sureness, that the ground is firmly under his feet. In this moment, anyway. He puts a hand on her back and she looks up at him and smiles.

[sicksucculentz]

Moon boys head cannons WARNING: NSFW themes

Marc:

Very abusive to himself. He runs on very little sleep all time and eats very little.

He cannot ever sit still. He's always got to be moving around or fidgeting with something. If he doesn't get to run at lest once every other day he will start to go stir crazy.

The only one in the system that sleep walks. Thats right, man can't even fucking sit still in his sleep. He doesn't cause too much of a problem. He just mostly wanders around like a zombie

Adreline junky. He starts to feel bored and cooped up when he doesn't get his adrenaline up. He get's cranky sometimes.

He doesn't so much hide the fact they have DID but he isn’t as eger to try and explain it as Steven is. He doesn't really say anything about unless someone outright asks.

He doesn't actually dislike Steven's vegan diet, claims it doesn't taste bad and keeps them slim. He actually eats a lot of vegan dishes himself and rarely eats any meat. Their body now has trouble digesting meat sadly so going hard with the red meats or heavy meats causes issues. Fish and chicken is often what he will eat.

He only fronts to spend time with Layla or be a bad ass. He doesn't like to be domestic so he just lets Steven have that. Steven has the body far far far more often than Marc or Jake does.

He once slipped and fell in the shower. He fell just right and tweaked his back. He was stuck in the shower butt as naked for like 40 minutes while Layla came to help them. She spent another 5 minutes laughing at him before he actually helped him. He got her back by farting on her head that night.

He's pretty serious most of the time but he has a few moments when he gets a little goofy. It kind of has to be dragged out of him though. He never had much of a happy childhood so he compensates as an adult. He plays with kinetic sand, puzzles, coloring books, color by number, phone games, he even watches cartoons. He prefers to do these things in private and only Steven knows about it.

Steven:

He's scared of Layla but he thinks she just the perfect woman. She makes him weak in the knees

Steven has a bit of a hard time falling asleep before 12am

He talks in his sleep. Nothing he ever says makes any sense. Layla writes down what he says and the two of them laugh about it once he's woken up. He once woke her up because he yelled "GET IT OUT OF THE TOILET AND RUN" at the top of his lungs at 5am. The accent just makes it 100% more funny and she reads Steven back what he said in a mocking accent.

He spaces off a lot, just staring off into nothing. Sometimes it takes a little bit to get his attention.

Cuddly. Very very cuddly. He loves to burry his face into Layla's chest, curl up on his side, and just lay there with her petting his head

He can REALLY make that accent THICK. He can make it so he's completely not understandable

Layla keeps making him say stupid shit so she can laugh at his accent.

He gets....scary when it comes to sexy time. He has legit snarled a couple of times and they've had to stop so he can calm the hell down. Layla is always the one that initiates their seasons. Steven is shockingly ALWAYS up of these and extremely excited about it. He's very sweet but he is also still a grown man that enjoys time in the bedroom with women.

There's been a couple of times when Layla....didn't know if it was even Steven on top of her anymore.

He likes gently pulling on Layla's curls to watch them bounce.

He considers Marc to be his older brother.

He doesn't hide fact they have DID. Matter of fact he started researching it and studying it in his free time just as he did with the Egypt and French stuff. He’ll open tell someone what's going on with him if they so much as give him a funny look. He doesn't want them to think he’s crazy.

He eats so much fucking food. Seriously he eats so much, it's incredible. He's always hungry and even sometimes eats when he's bored.

Because of his disgusting sleeping habits it’s not out of the normal for Steven to become jumpy and paranoid. The less sleep he gets the more twitchy he becomes. He’s not aloud to have coffee anymore.

His eyes go manic crazy when he starts getting into a disscusion about something that excites him, It’s almost scary. A couple of Layla’s friends has seen ‘the eyes’ and theyve felt a little bit scared. Even when he starts looking like this he’s completely safe to be around. He’ll just talk your ear off and not take the hint when you need a break.

Touch deprived. He loves physical affection even if Layla is straight sitting on his chest for the hell of it he’s happy with that. He’s really weird like that. Yes Layla has sat on him. Mostly when he’s taking up all the room some where she’ll just have a seat right on him, he don’t care.

Jake:

Hes the baby! the youngest!. He was formed quite some time after Steven, this is why Marc and Steven don't detect him.

He likes to lay low, to not be addressed or spotted. He will even go as far as to mimic Marc and Marc only, he can't get Steven's accent right.

Layla kind of knows something is up but she's not so sure. She's nearly caught him a couple times.

He actually loves Steven and Marc very much in a brotherly way. He leaves them treats and such. Beer in the fridge, cupcake on the counter, fruit and sugar set aside for Steven, pizza for Marc. He writes them remainders a lot. Marc and Steven always assume it's the other being sweet.

He sleeps all the time. Always napping, sleeping in, cuddled up in the covers. Layla has tried to get him out of bed a few times without knowing there's even a 3rd. He batted at her like a cat then farted when she tried to roll him out of bed. Of course she assumed it was Marc being an ass but she couldn't help but laugh.

He's got a really weird sense of humor. He just does weird shit to do weird shit. When he kicked that wheel chair, yea he just wanted to do that and let his intrusive thoughts win. He once drew Marc as a lighter and Layla as a bat, no reason what so ever. He hides little drawings of weird shit around where they live.

He’s a lot like Marc in the worst way. He too needs to feel excitement and a rush but in his case people always end up getting hurt. It’s easy to think he’s evil what with all the lives he’s taken but all he’s really doing is jumping in when Marc needs a hand and just goes a little too hard with it.

He’s accidentally scary. He’a super playful, silly, and smart but often he just looks like a serial killer.

Genral system functions:

It's pretty rare but they do sometimes have issues with rapid switching. It can be brought to a halt by pinching the very backs of their ears ((please don't actually do this with real systems, you will piss them off. I'm making this shit up))

All three of them love scalp scratches. Who doesn't, really

They can't hurt each other from inside the head but they can yell loud enough to the point it hurts to hear.

All of there dreams are separate, they never see each other in their dreams.

They get upset stomachs a lot so they do have a heating pad that always makes their tummy feel better.

Yes Layla is shared between Marc and Steven. Jake has no interactions with Layla. Mostly because he doesn't want to slip up and blow his cover.

Layla is the sexually aggressive one in the relationship. Moving from normal relationship to a polyamorous relationship was no issue. Oh boy does Layla like to have fun. She innates all the sexual encounters and the boys are honestly ok with going with the flow. each boy is VERY particular in the ways they engage. Layla can throw Steven around and be rough with him but Marc is different. Layla needs to be seriously gentle with Marc or else he will ether switch or have a flash back.

Marc and Steven sleep on their back while Jake tends to sleep on his tummy. Marc wants the blanket up to hips, no higher no lower. Steven wants it up over his shoulders and tucked around his neck.

They found this out by accident but certain high pitched frequencies can cause a sudden switch. The frequency causes their brain to sort of freak out and short circuit a little, causing a switch.

Of course Layla can ask for Marc or ask for Steven, it’s just like a normal social situation where you go “hey go get your brother for me would you? I need to talk to him”.

Marc started talking to his father again. He forgave his father of course but he didn’t shy away from the discussion of the residual trauma. He introduced his father to Steven. His father really didn’t have a hard time understanding because Steven explained in depth. Steven is a stranger to him and he’s going to be a stranger to him for a while. It’s not that he hates Steven or doesn't believe the diagnosis he’s just never delt with something like this and isn’t sure weather to call Steven his son or not.

The boys actually did end up checking themselves in for regular therapy and counseling. They still live in Steven’s current flat they just head out for appointments a lot.

Layla now wears two wedding rings! she considers herself to be married to Steven as well. She loves both of them a lot. Marc has no issue whatsoever with this, he's learned to share.

[dannywintr]

Full Name: Daniel Atticus Winter Nicknames: Danny Face Claim: Nick Robinson Pronouns and Gender: Cis man, he/him Birthday: February 17, 1995 Birth place: Fairford, Washington How long have they been in town?: Born in Fairford, left for New York at 19, came back about six months ago Sexuality: Heterosexual Housing: Downtown Occupation: Tattoo artist at Ink City/aspiring musician Family: Parents he's no-contact with and a younger sister, Clara (21) Personality: Small-town artsy soft boy musician obsessed with the idea of love, high-functioning stoner, chronic romanticizer, pretentious philosophizer who almost manages to be humble about it.

basic stats.

full name: daniel atticus winter nickname(s): danny birthday: february 17, 1995 age: 27 gender id: cis man pronouns: he/him sexuality: heterosexual nationality: american ethnicity: white religion: atheist birthplace: fairford, washington current neighborhood: downtown occupation: tattoo artist at ink spot/aspiring musician education: high school

physical.

hair color: brown eye color: dark hazel height: 6' tattoos: a few large pieces tba piercings: none scars: tba

nuclear family.

mother: jeanna winter, 55, sales associate at a small plant shop father: craig winter, 57, insurance adjuster sibling(s): clara (sister, 21)

personality.

outlook: optimistic pos traits: outgoing, confident, chronically chill and even-tempered, creative, artistic, empathetic, independent neg traits: judgmental, not a risk-taker, quietly holds grudges, wayyyy too comfortable cutting people out of his life, avoidant likes: drawing up tats, chatting w strangers, beer, lord of the rings, gaming, obsessed w bioshock, 90s cartoons, smoking weed, being in a relationship, animals, old black and white movies, Kurt Vonnegut dislikes: people who feel disingenuous, cheaters, top 40 music, when white people ask him to do tribal tats, reality tv, the kardashians, his parents, people who don’t like animals, politics, politicians, cops

biography.

tw for: narcissistic parenting, cancer, alcohol abuse

Danny Winter was born to two batshit crazy narcissists in Fairford, Washington, in the middle of a February snowstorm. Craig (his dad) was a moody and manipulative alcoholic who did things like snoop in his childrens' rooms, or start cooking food and then drunkenly wander off to do something else, leaving eight-year-old Danny to have to start remembering to check the stove every once in a while lest the house burn down. Jeanna (his mom) was okay except when she went into unpredictable blackout fits of rage that Danny had to learn to endure straight-faced because the wrong mouth twitch was liable to trigger another meltdown. Clara, his younger sister, was born when he was already six years old, while their dad was in the middle of a two-year-long stint of being sober (but still moody, and more controlling than ever).

Unlike Clara, who was always very submissive towards their parents, Danny spent most of his teen years fighting with them. Sometimes it was smaller things, like not giving into his mom's insane demands that he only wear the clothes she buys him, or his dad snapping at him that he does like steak when he'd make it for dinner; sometimes it was bigger things: his mom trying to take away the phone he started paying for himself in high school, or his dad locking the doors to the house if he came home one minute past curfew, which led to many nights sleeping at his aunt's house, or his friends' houses, or in his car when he finally got one, and a couple times at the park down the street from the house, when it was nice out.

A naturally gregarious person, the other side of Danny's life was always good enough to nearly make up for his atrocious home life. He made friends easily, and he was good at pulling girls. He had two long-term relationships in high school, both of which were pretty healthy and normcore but one of which ended really badly and was the reason he peaced out of Fairford to LA so fast after high school.

Besides his friends and romantic relationships and smoking inhuman amounts of weed, Danny used music and art to cope when he was at home, and he carried that with him to California. He spent most of his first year there in a shitty little apartment, working at a botanic garden cleaning the ponds and trying to jumpstart his music career. When he had shit luck with that, he decided to try and monetize his physical art instead and started a tattoo apprenticeship, which he ended up loving.

He was in LA working as a tattoo artist until about six months ago, when his sister called to tell him that his aunt's breast cancer -- which she had been battling on and off for a very long time, and who had been like a proxy parents to them when they were teens -- had come back, and that things weren't looking good. Danny dropped everything to go spend time with her before she passed, and in doing so realized how much he missed Fairford. Not his parents, but his sister, his old friends, his old stomping grounds. Finding out there was an opening for a tattoo artist at Ink Spot sealed the deal for him; LA was expensive and he'd long gotten sick of the culture there, and with the heartbreak of losing his aunt, he felt it was time to go home.