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nicknellie · 3 years

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@millie-andrews-rose requested: Alex gets put with a bully on a paired project, so Willie goes with him when they work on it to help him stay calm. Willie and the boy bond over skateboarding and Alex gets jealous, causing an argument between them. The boy then apologises to Alex for being so awful. Alex and Willie make up and it ends with their first “I love you”s. (This was edited/simplified just to make it shorter.)

This is the longest oneshot I’ve ever written and I absolutely love it. I really hope I’ve done you proud, especially since this was such a great prompt! Thanks!

And It’s Not My Fault

Alex adored projects. He loved having something big to focus on, a goal to work towards, something to keep him preoccupied. Any big time-consuming task was a lot of fun for him whether it was a five-thousand-piece jigsaw puzzle or work for school worth a large part of his grade. There was, however, a single word that could be placed before the ‘project’ that would instantly transform it from Alex’s dream to his worst nightmare.

The word wasn’t ‘group’ as it would be for a lot of people. Alex liked group projects almost as much as he liked solo projects. Group projects were what he did with Julie, Luke, and Reggie almost every day, jamming in the studio and working towards having a complete set list in time for an upcoming gig. Group projects were what he occasionally did with Carrie and the girls of Dirty Candi when he would assist them with some choreography. Group projects were even tolerable with people Alex didn’t know well because he knew how they were supposed to work and usually he could convince everyone to do their fair share. So group projects were fine.

The word the ruined any chance of Alex having fun was ‘paired’.

Paired projects were the worst type of project. They always spelled trouble and Alex had never got a decent grade on one in his whole school career. It never felt like his fault, but when he thought about it he was the common denominator in every nightmare paired project scenario, so he had long ago decided that there must be something about paired projects that he was simply doing wrong.

Maybe it was that he wasn’t good one-on-one. Alex had always functioned better in groups (albeit small ones that couldn’t be overwhelming) and being face to face with just one person could be stressful. It was fine if it was a friend, and more than fine if it was his boyfriend, but when alone with a stranger Alex found himself running out of things to say and having nowhere to turn when the awkward silences set in. Or if he didn’t run out of things to say he would eventually say the wrong thing and that would start an entirely new alarm bell ringing in his mind as he panicked about accidentally being offensive. Overall, conversations without his emotional support band could be frustrating at best and somewhat dangerous at worst.

Perhaps it was true that Alex was the link in all these situations, but what he had always failed to consider was the fact that he had never been paired in a project with somebody who was actually willing to try and do well, which perhaps was a more prominent reason he’d never received a decent grade.

Alex had been having a good day. He was feeling bright for no reason in particular – needlessly optimistic days like this were his favourite, even though they usually were followed by needlessly pessimistic days as all those bad feelings caught up with him at once. Still, by now Alex had learnt to clutch that senseless joy while it was there and relish it before it was gone.

The joy was gone by noon.

“Alright, class,” Ms Osbourne said, clapping her hands to gain the class’s attention.

Alex hated his English classes. While he was good at English and rather enjoyed the subject itself, his class was rowdy and unruly and made it difficult to concentrate, while Ms Osbourne was a teacher so strict that if someone so much as thought about breaking a rule she would be able to sniff it out like a dog – but her bark was worse than her bite, and while she would shout an unnatural amount she rarely doled out punishments. The combination made for a lesson that was purely people shouting and no work being done.

The class quieted to a steady hum of chatter which was usually as silent as Ms Osbourne could get it. She smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes, and continued. “Seeing as the end of the semester is coming up, I’m going to be setting you a project that will be worth forty percent of your grade. Essentially, it’s your final exam on our study of Macbeth.”

Alex perked up a little. He had been assigned projects for a lot of classes, but English projects were always the most enjoyable – they involved a lot of writing, which most people hated, but Alex found therapeutic; the only downside was that the source material was usually dreadfully dull. Still, Alex suddenly found himself looking forward to it.

And then she had to go and ruin it.

“I will tell you your assigned partners at the end of the lesson.”

Alex felt himself deflate and heaved a sigh. It had been too good to be true. Now he was going to be stuck on some boring project with a random student from his awful English class because he had no friends in this lesson and it was going to be horrible. It was all he could do to not let his head fall onto the table and scream in furious defeat.

It was on his mind all lesson. Who he was going to be with, what specific things the project would be on, how he could get out of it. His mind was buzzing with questions, building up energy that released itself by making his leg bounce up and down. Several times he found himself tapping out a rhythm on the table like it was his drumkit, his bouncing leg acting as if it was pounding the bass drum, and he had to force himself to stop and actually pay attention to the lesson.

The end came painfully slowly. The school bell rang and most of the students were up out of their seats immediately, ready to leave.

“Hang on,” Ms Osbourne yelled. “Everyone sit back down! I need to tell you your partners for the upcoming project.”

Alex listened attentively as she reeled off a list of names. Most people let out an annoyed groan when they found out they weren’t with a friend, and there was the occasional excited, “Yay!”

Alex knew he wouldn’t be one of the ones celebrating.

“Alex Mercer,” Ms Osbourne said eventually, pushing her glasses further up her tiny nose. “Your partner is Harry Reynolds.”

“Oh god,” Alex murmured. He felt his stomach squirm just as somebody kicked the back of his chair so hard that he jolted forward and nearly whacked his face on the table. The person laughed a moment later, obnoxiously loud, begging for retaliation – Alex didn’t dare turn around to look at them.

He knew already that it was Harry Reynolds sat behind him who had kicked his chair. His project partner, and possibly the worst person in the class that it could have been. For reasons unknown to Alex, Harry had always had it out for him. In middle school he had pushed Alex down a flight of stairs and he had landed unceremoniously in a trash can – Harry had started calling him Bin Boy and the nickname had stuck for a year afterwards; Harry was the only one who used it anymore though. Since then, Harry had just been a general jerk towards him, and upon hearing that they were going to be partners, Alex’s whole body told him to run.

Run where? Alex thought. This wasn’t a problem he could run from. Besides, Harry could probably run faster.

“Looks like it’s you and me, Bin Boy,” came Harry’s voice from behind. “I’m sure we’ll have loads of fun.”

Ms Osbourne finally finished listing pairs and then announced, “These partners are non-negotiable. I will not indulge any requests to switch for any reason. Life isn’t fair, sometimes we have to work with people we don’t like. Get used to it. Now go on, you’re already late for your next class.”

Alex wasn’t usually one to ignore instructions, but as the rest of the class filed out into the hallway he remained behind. He didn’t know what he was planning to say to Ms Osbourne, but he desperately needed to find a way out of the project, or at least switch partners.

“Go on, Alex,” Ms Osbourne said, “you’re going to be late.”

He swallowed thickly and said, “Miss, I was just wondering about the proj–”

“You’re not swapping partners,” she returned sternly. “I’ve already said this. I won’t make any allowances.”

“But, Miss, I can’t work with him,” Alex protested. She raised her eyebrows and started walking around the room, putting sheets on each table for her next class. Alex followed her as she went. “He hates me! It’s going to be awful.”

“Well, maybe the two of you can use this as a way to bond and get to know each other better, hm?”

“Miss, please,” Alex said, his desperation finally rearing its ugly head in his voice. He could feel his legs shaking and his hands wringing themselves together and his head tingling in a way he couldn’t describe, and finally he broke. “He has it out for me and I don’t even know why! He’s been awful to me ever since we were kids, he tries to pick fights with me, he calls me names. Last year he chased me around the field with a baseball bat for a whole PE lesson! If I have to work with him I’ll just end up panicking – or dead, that’s also a possibility – and the project will go terribly and I’ll fail the class. Please can I just work by myself?”

Ms Osbourne’s expression softened as she look at Alex over her glasses. For a moment, Alex’s hopes were raised just that tiny bit – maybe he had got through to her, maybe she would see sense.

But then her face turned to stone again.

“No,” she spat. “What you can do is figure out with Harry when the two of you are going to work on this project and how you’re going to go about it. And you can get to your next class.” She turned away with a cold air of finality. Alex could have sworn he actually felt chills.

Without a word, Alex heaved his bag onto his shoulder and made his way out of the classroom, crushed and dejected. He stared down at his feet as he walked and tried not to think about what the next few weeks could have in store for him.

Lunch couldn’t have come sooner. After what felt like an eternity, Alex finally made his way down to the cafeteria to meet up with his friends. If there was any one thing that was guaranteed to cheer Alex up when he was in a bad mood, it was the good company of his band and his boyfriend.

The rest of the group was already sat at their usual table when Alex arrived in the cafeteria; just seeing them laughing and joking together put the tiniest hint of a smile of his face. He headed over to them, but was stopped in his tracks by somebody stood in front of him – it was Harry Reynolds.

The boy had his arms crossed over his massive chest and was leering down at Alex with an expression of disgust. Alex tried to look past him at his friends, to get their attention, to ask for help, but they hadn’t seen him. Instead, he forced himself to look up into Harry’s brutish face and try not to squirm.

“Partners, huh?” Harry grunted. “I’m failing English so you’ll need to get us a good grade.”

“That’s the plan,” Alex said, willing his voice not to shake. It wasn’t that he was too frightened or intimidated by Harry, it was just the fact that he really didn’t feel like getting chucked in a bin today. One wrong move and he could consider that a real possibility.

“Be at my place on Saturday at one. Bring all your notes – I don’t have any.”

“I can’t do Saturday,” Alex told him, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I have band practise.”

Harry took a step closer. Alex couldn’t move back – his feet were rooted to the spot. “You think I care about your dopey little band practise? You’ll be there. That’s that.”

Alex swallowed, nodded hurriedly, and finally forced himself to take a step back so that he wasn’t chest to chest with Harry. “I’ll be there,” he echoed, still nodding.

Harry snarled, condescendingly patted Alex on the head, and walked off. Alex took a moment to collect himself, to breathe, to remind himself that he was okay and he wasn’t hurt, that Harry hadn’t done anything. He steadied himself and kept walking towards his friends, trying to mask the worry on his face.

Of course, he failed miserably.

The moment Alex sat down in his usual space between Willie and Luke, Willie took his hand, watching him with concern. “Hey,” Willie said gently, “what’s up?”

Julie, Luke, and Reggie immediately stopped their conversation, turning to face Alex and Willie. Alex hated the way they were looking at him, like he’d break if they dropped him, but it wasn’t like he could ask them to stop caring – instead, he looked at each of them, trying and failing to give them a reassuring smile before he spoke.

“Nothing,” Alex said, “nothing, it’s just… just this project for English.”

Luke sighed dramatically. “Has your class got that stupid Shakespeare assignment too? I get it, bro, it’s totally pointless–”

“No,” Alex interrupted quietly. “No, that’s not it. Well, kind of. Yeah, we’ve got the Shakespeare assignment but that’s not… not the problem.”

“What is it?” Willie prompted gently when Alex didn’t continue.

Alex shrugged. “It’s stupid.”

Julie leaned over the table and grasped Alex’s other hand. “Alex, your feelings are not stupid.”

She smiled warmly. Funny things happened when Julie smiled – when she did it to Luke, it wasn’t uncommon for him to literally trip over himself; when she did it to Reggie, it made him smile in return for hours on end; and when she did it to Alex, it gave him such overwhelming confidence that for a moment or two he could truly do anything.

“It’s just that we were assigned partners and I got stuck with Harry Reynolds,” he admitted, clutching Willie and Julie’s hands tighter. “It’s nothing and I shouldn’t be worried but–”

“It’s not nothing,” Willie said. Alex couldn’t quite read his expression – it looked to be something between sympathy and outrage. “That guy is the worst. Did you talk to your teacher about it?”

Alex nodded gravely. “She wouldn’t let me switch.”

“How much did you tell her?” Willie asked.

“What I thought would have been enough,” he replied, shrugging like it was nothing. “But it wasn’t.”

“She should be fired for that,” Reggie interjected. Everyone turned to look at him. “I’m just saying – if by ‘enough’ you mean that you told her what a jerk he’s been to you then she should follow that up and treat it like an issue instead of making you work with him.”

What would have been wise words were ruined slightly by the fact that Reggie spoke them around a mouthful of pizza.

“Reggie’s right,” Julie said, “she’s definitely in the wrong here.”

“I know that,” Alex told them, because he did, that much was obvious. “But it’s a little late for that now. I’m stuck with him.”

Willie clutched his hand tighter, threaded their fingers together. Alex leaned to the side, rested his head on Willie’s shoulder. Julie let go of his hand and Willie immediately picked it up – he smiled a little at both of them.

“I know saying it’s all going to be okay won’t help,” Willie whispered to him, “but you’ve got to try and believe that it will. And if it isn’t, I am just one call away. If you need anything – I mean anything – you call me and I will be there. Okay?”

Alex’s tense muscles relaxed the tiniest bit. “Okay,” he muttered back. “That’s okay.”

Willie kissed the top of his head and a fraction of Alex’s anxiety lifted. Willie would be there when he needed him no matter what. That was something he could always count on.

Luke hadn’t been happy when Alex had called him early on Saturday morning to tell him he wouldn’t be coming to band practise that day. He had given Alex a half-hour-long earful about how they had a gig coming up in a few days’ time and they needed to be rehearsing like crazy. It hadn’t been pleasant for Alex in the slightest, but at least it had been a welcome distraction from the other thing on his mind, the reason he had had to cancel band practise in the first place.

It was the day he was supposed to go to Harry’s house to work on their project. Alex had hardly slept the night before – he had lay awake in bed for hours, tossing and turning, trying to empty his mind and relax, but sleep just wouldn’t come. At half past two he had crept downstairs and made a batch of brownies using a recipe of his grandmother’s. At the time he’d thought that maybe he could use them to placate Harry once he got to his house, but he’d accidentally ended up stress-eating the entire batch instead.

He felt sick, but couldn’t tell if it was the brownies or the anxiety. Probably an unhealthy mix of both, he decided.

But he had passed the first hurdle and he told himself to be proud of that – he had arrived outside Harry’s house. It was a small bungalow on a road that led nowhere and Alex was struck by how normal it looked. It didn’t look like the sort of place somebody like Harry Reynolds should have lived; Harry was larger than life, tall and brooding, moody and mean – this house looked as if its occupants sold flowers and rescued kittens in their spare time.

Despite the outward appearances of the house, Alex was almost certain that he was in the right place. The front window seemed to show Harry’s bedroom because through it Alex could see innumerable trophies, all for different sporting events; a large stack of magazines (Alex was sure he could already guess what each contained); and a small enclosure that looked to Alex unbearably similar to a tank that might house a snake or a spider or any other creature that Alex would have preferred stayed thousands of miles away from him where it belonged.

He could not make himself walk into the house.

He had been trying for almost fifteen minutes and had walked past the house almost thirty times. He had counted his steps and was somewhere near eight thousand. His mind was racing, shooting through a hundred anxieties before Alex had the chance to dwell on any of them – maybe that was for the best. But it didn’t help the fact that he could not force his legs to walk in the direction of the door.

The worries stopping him weren’t even big ones like ‘What if he tries to hurt me?’ which Alex stressed over every time he interacted with Harry. It was the little things and the impossible things pricking the back of his mind like needles: What if he doesn’t answer the door? What if nobody’s home? What if I’m at the wrong house? What if he’s changed his mind? What if I got the wrong day? What if I got the wrong time? What if he’s not actually my project partner? What if… What if… What if…

What if I call Willie?

Alex blessed his brain for having its first sensible thought that day. He fished his phone out his pocket and called Willie, who picked up after one ring.

“Hey,” Willie said, “what’s up, hotdog?”

“I, um… I’m at Harry’s house. I can’t go inside.”

“Why not?” Willie asked. “Is the door locked? Are they out?”

Alex shook his head although Willie couldn’t see him. “No. I don’t think so. It’s just… I… I can’t do it.”

“What do you mean you can’t do it?” Willie asked patiently.

“I can’t go inside,” Alex repeated. With his free hand, he tugged at the strap of his fanny pack, fiddling with the buckle where it lay over his chest. “I can’t go up to the door. I’ve been trying for, like, twenty minutes and every time I try my head starts buzzing and my legs go numb and I’m starting to feel really sick now because I ate an entire batch of brownies meant for at least ten people and I can’t do this–”

“Okay,” Willie interrupted. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Breathe, Alex. Remember the breathing exercises we went over? Breathe in for four and out for six. Come on, hotdog, you’ve got this.”

Alex did as he said, taking great shuddering breaths of bitter air and releasing them slowly. Willie kept talking him through it, slowly, softly, kindly, and after about ten minutes Alex felt refreshed. Not necessarily worry-free, but his mind had cleared a little bit.

“Okay,” Willie said. “That was great, well done. Can you give me this guy’s address?”

Alex gave it to him.

“Luckily for you, that’s just down the road from where I am right now,” Willie said, chipper. Alex could hear the smile in his voice and it almost made him smile himself. Almost. “I’ll be there in a minute. I’ll go inside with you, if that’s what you want?”

Alex breathed a haggard, relieved sigh. “Yes. Please. If you don’t mind. Thank you, Willie.”

Willie gave a small chuckle. “Any time, hotdog. You know I’d do anything for you. I’ll see you in a minute.”

And he hung up.

Alex waited, still doing his breathing exercises, but didn’t need to wait long. Hardly five minutes later, Willie rolled up (literally – he was on his skateboard) and gave him a bright smile. Alex didn’t hesitate before lurching forward and pulling him into a hug.

“Thank you, Willie,” he whispered. “I really appreciate it.”

Willie’s response was simply to hug him tighter.

Together, hands clasped tightly between them, Willie with his board tucked under his arm, they made their way up to the bungalow’s front door. Alex swallowed, steeled himself, and then firmly knocked on the door. When nobody answered it in the first five seconds, Alex told Willie, “This is a bad idea,” and tried to turn away to leave.

However, Willie just pulled him back and a moment later the door opened. On the threshold of the house was Harry, staring down at Alex and Willie. Something about him wasn’t quite as nightmarish as it was at school, yet at the same time Alex was much more afraid. He held Willie’s hand tighter.

Harry nodded in Willie’s direction. “Who’s this, Bin Boy? You brought your boyfriend?”

“Actually, yeah,” Willie said, speaking for Alex. He was glad – his throat felt thick and he didn’t think he could have summoned up any words if he tried. “I’m Willie. I’ve heard about you.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? What?”

“Just a few things,” Willie said nonchalantly. “Nothing important. Anyway, I was in the neighbourhood and Alex and I are set to hang out when he’s done here anyway so I thought I’d come along. Is that alright with you?”

“It’s fine,” Harry returned with a shrug. Then his eyes landed on something and his entire expression changed. Alex didn’t think he’d ever seen Harry look like this before. Could it have been what he thought it was: excitement? “Bro! You skate?”

Willie lifted his board half-heartedly. “This isn’t just for decoration.”

Harry grinned, clapping Willie on the shoulder so hard that his hand dropped from Alex’s. “Dude, that’s sick, I do too. Come on, get inside, man.”

Harry headed back into the house and Willie followed him. Alex took a moment to wonder what the hell that had been, then took a deep breath and hurried after them. When he caught up with Willie he grabbed his hand again. Willie just smiled bemusedly up at him.

Harry led them to his bedroom and beckoned them towards his desk.

“Come look at this,” Harry said. “I had a photo taken with Tony Hawk last year!”

Alex perched himself right on the edge of the bed awkwardly as Willie went over to inspect the framed photo.

“Are you sure that’s Tony Hawk?” Willie asked. “Doesn’t look like him.”

Harry shook his head. “You’ve got to imagine he’s holding a skateboard, then you’ll see it.”

Alex watched Willie squint at the photo for a moment or two longer, then he gasped and, to Alex’s horror, began to smile. “Oh, wait… yeah, kinda. That’s awesome, dude!”

“Yeah! Anyway, how long have you been skating for?”

As Willie answered, Alex zoned out of the conversation. Ordinarily, he loved listening to Willie talk about skating – he lit up whenever he explained a new trick he’d learnt, and seeing him flush with pride after he demonstrated it perfectly to Alex always made him feel giddy – but it just wasn’t the same listening to him chat with Harry Reynolds of all people. Alex didn’t even know who that Tony Hawk guy was and it didn’t seem like anyone was about to bother explaining it to him. He would never have admitted it, but listening to Willie talk to Harry was almost annoying.

He busied himself by looking around the room, getting a glimpse at what the real Harry Reynolds was like. At school, Harry was the classic, early-2000s movie jock, on every sports team the school had to offer, constantly bragging about his luck with girls, and picking on people smaller than him (which, because Harry was built like a tree trunk, was pretty much everyone). His room reflected it too; there were even more trophies than Alex had seen through the window, most for football or, unexpectedly, karate, and the walls were plastered in posters displaying buff men and weirdly specific motivational quotes. Only now did Alex notice the skateboards stuck on the wall and the stack of helmets by his bed, as well as several skating posters directly above them.

He turned back to Willie and Harry just in time to hear Willie laugh. Properly laugh, loud and genuine. Willie only laughed like that with his friends and it hearing it in Harry’s room stirred an uneasy feeling in the pit of Alex’s stomach.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, trying to smile.

Willie waved him off. “Don’t worry, hotdog, just a skating joke.”

Harry snickered, shaking his head. “Pretty freaking funny though.”

“Oh,” Alex said. He tried for a laugh but it was the least genuine noise he had ever made – judging by the look Harry sent him, it had been obvious how fake it was to him too. Alex cleared his throat awkwardly. “Shouldn’t we get on with our work? We’re already running behind schedule.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Shut it, Bin Boy, we’re having a conversation here. You start if you want, I’ll join you whenever.”

Alex sent a look to Willie, eyes wide and pleading. Willie frowned, looking conflicted, but then shrugged.

Willie and Alex didn’t fight often, but Alex wouldn’t have minded giving Willie a piece of his mind right then and there.

He didn’t though. He sighed, shuffled back on the bed so that he could have more room and lean on the mattress, and he started working on the project. It wasn’t too difficult, just an analysis on the themes of Macbeth, something they had gone over in class a hundred times; still, Alex would have appreciated some help, seeing as this was a paired project and he didn’t exactly want to do the whole thing alone.

But it was fine. He kept telling himself that it was completely and utterly fine. But every so often Willie or Harry would laugh or suddenly shout, and the abrupt noise would startle Alex. The third time that happened he accidentally jogged his highlighter so it zigzagged all over his painstakingly neat paragraph on King James I. He gripped his pen so hard that the plastic almost cracked, and set about writing the whole thing again on a new piece of paper.

Alex didn’t know how long he had been working for, but he did know that it had been a hell of a long time and Harry still hadn’t made any effort to help him. He had copied up all his notes on the supernatural, women, ambition, and the Great Chain of Being, all the while Harry had sat there with Willie, not doing anything.

The strange thing was, Alex found himself more angry at Willie than he was at Harry.

Eventually, he checked the time, his hand aching. It was almost five o’clock, which meant he had been working alone for about four hours solidly. He had done pretty much half of the project in that time and was nearing his breaking point – he thought that if he left now he could catch the tail end of band practise and take his frustration out on his drumkit.

Gathering his notes and all his work, Alex said, “I’m going to head out.”

Willie checked the clock on Harry’s desk and then set about clipping his helmet on. “Yeah, we should get going. This was fun, though, man. It was nice to talk to a fellow skater for once.”

“I hear you, dude,” Harry returned. They fist-bumped and Alex physically cringed. “Catch you later.”

Alex didn’t say goodbye, just saw himself out. He didn’t wait for Willie. He simply walked, trying to get out of the house and as far away as possible in as little time as he could. Alex could hear Willie shouting for him to wait up but he didn’t stop.

He felt Willie grab his hand and pull him to a halt, but pulled his hand from Willie’s grasp.

“What’s up with you?” Willie asked, seeming truly bewildered. “I thought that was alright back there, it was relaxed, not stressful. Are you still feeling anxious?”

Alex didn’t answer his question and instead he said with much more venom than he had intended, “What the hell was that?”

Willie looked taken aback. Alex almost felt bad. Almost.

“What was what?”

“In there!” Alex yelled, pointing in the direction of Harry’s house. “You talking to him like you’re best friends! That guy is a jerk, you know that, Willie, so why were you laughing and joking with him as if he’s the nicest guy in the world?”

Willie didn’t look impressed. “Sorry, I was under the impression you wanted me there. I was talking to him to distract from you. That’s what you wanted, right? You were nervous about going so you wanted my help to take the pressure off you. I was helping you, Alex, because that was what you asked me to do!”

“Not like that,” Alex protested. “You weren’t supposed to bond with him, leave me out completely so that I had to do all the work by myself and listen to you two talk about skateboards and… Toby Eagle, or whoever that guy was!”

“It was Tony Hawk. And it’s not my fault that Harry likes skateboarding,” Willie shot back. “It’s also not my fault that I enjoyed talking to someone who shares that interest for once. You listen and you pretend to know what I’m talking about, but it isn’t the same.”

“It didn’t have to be him!”

“Actually, given the circumstances, it did. And like I said – it got the attention off you, so I don’t see why you’re complaining.”

Alex felt his temper rising with each sentence. He never got this upset at Willie, this was a complete first. Sure, they had argued like any couple would, but he had never felt any real anger towards his boyfriend. It frightened him, and that fright stopped him from seeing any sense, taking a step back, calming himself down.

“I didn’t want you to do it like that,” he said, as if it was obvious. It was obvious to Alex – why wasn’t it obvious to Willie?

“I can’t read your mind, Alex,” Willie shouted, pointing at himself. “I don’t know what’s going on in your head!”

“You should know!”

“I don’t! It could be anything! I don’t think you realise that when it comes to you and your anxiety, I’m pretty much flying as blind as you are. Sure, I’ve done my research and I can handle it, but I never know what’s going to trigger you and set you off like earlier today. I may seem prepared, but I don’t know what you’re thinking and I don’t know what you’re going to worry about most. It is not my fault that sometimes I might not handle it in the best way. I’m trying my hardest, Alex.”

“You aren’t the one who has to go through the panic attacks and the constant worry, are you?” Alex seethed.

Willie shrugged. “No, I’m not. But I still worry about you all the time because I don’t know what’s going to set you off.”

“It’s not my fault I have anxiety,” Alex yelled.

“I never said it was! But it’s not my fault either – I dropped everything just to come and help you today and all you’re doing is throwing it right back in my face and arguing with me for helping you out! It’s not my fault that you can’t do these easy things and that you need me to hold your hand all the time!”

Alex froze. Willie did too. The words were out there, they’d been spoken without hesitation. They hung between the two of them like a toxic cloud, as both of them slowly realised the weight those words had held.

Willie broke the silence, reaching out his hand to Alex, trying to bridge that gap between them that had widened impossibly in the last ten seconds. “Alex, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean t–”

Alex stepped back, out of reach from Willie. Willie flinched and he withdrew his hand, instead crossing his arms and rubbing circles by his elbow with his thumb. It was a nervous tick Alex only ever saw when Willie was really stressed out. Normally he would have tried to soothe him, calm him down, but all he could hear were Willie’s words echoing back and forth through his mind.

It’s not my fault that you can’t do these easy things and that you need me to hold your hand all the time!

Alex schooled his features to careful neutrality, not betraying any emotion. It wasn’t hard, seeing as he wasn’t feeling much at that moment anyway, just a cold detachment.

“I heard you,” Alex said quietly. He couldn’t look Willie in the eye. “I heard exactly what you said. I know what you meant.”

“Then you’ve got to know that I wasn’t trying to–”

“I know what you meant,” he repeated. “I’m going back to band practise. I don’t think you should come and watch today.”

He shook his head and, turning on his heel, walked away. He didn’t hear Willie’s footsteps following him this time.

Band practise had helped calm Alex down with a mixture of wrestling his drumkit and talking things out with Julie, Luke, and Reggie. They had all seemed utterly shocked that Willie would say anything like that, but Alex wasn’t so surprised. After all, things like this were what he worried about – being left alone, being disliked by the people he cared for most, being a nuisance, being abandoned. Deep down in the pit of his worst anxieties, he had been worried that something like this could have happened.

He just had never thought it would have come from Willie.

While band helped him calm down, it didn’t help cheer him up. He regretted even bringing the argument up in the first place – if he had ignored his feelings (which Julie had bluntly explained to him were jealousy) then he could have avoided the whole argument. Instead of lying in his cold bed, unable to sleep that night, he could have been curled up with Willie on the couch in the studio, warm and cosy because Willie was like a human radiator.

He knew that neither of them had been fair on each other. He could see Willie’s side of the argument once he had calmed down. But he knew that what he had said was equally valid and he couldn’t get past the scorn in Willie’s voice when he’d said those damning words.

He didn’t hear from Willie all throughout Sunday and didn’t make any moves to contact him himself either. If he did, he had no clue where he would have even begun. Perhaps an apology – but where was he supposed to take the conversation from there?

So Sunday was silent.

Alex was slightly dreading school on Monday, but he wasn’t about to ruin his high grades by not showing up, especially this close to the end of the semester. Grudgingly, he headed to school and went straight to his first lesson, which just so happened to be the lesson from Hell: English.

He arrived there before the rest of the class, including Ms Osbourne, which meant he had time to dwell on his thoughts alone. He probably wasn’t going to fail this class – despite Saturday having been a nightmare, he had managed to get a lot of good work done on the project and it would be of a very high quality when he finally got it finished. But he still had more work to do and he knew that he really ought to do it with Harry. Absently, he pondered whether or not to bring Willie next time he needed to go to Harry’s house.

Talk of the devil, Alex thought as the classroom door swung open and none other than Harry himself sauntered in. He looked at Alex sat there alone, the only other person in the room, and grunted, coming to sit beside him.

Alex didn’t have the energy to be scared of Harry Reynolds today.

“I’ve been looking for you, Mercer,” Harry said conversationally.

“Oh, joy,” Alex deadpanned. Harry looked surprised, probably because Alex wasn’t cowering in fear, but he shrugged it off.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he continued. “I just wanted to say that your boyfriend, that Willie guy, he’s really cool. I mean, the way he was talking about skating the other day – I don’t know if you realise it, man, but he has a real shot at going pro.”

“I know,” Alex spat. “He’s my boyfriend, of course I know. Maybe I don’t skate but I still listen to him. And I know him better than you do.”

Harry held up a hand. “Woah, calm down, Bin B– uh. Alex. I’m just trying to say the guy is really cool and you’re really lucky to have him. And also… talking to him the other day, he said– well, you weren’t listening, were you?”

Alex shook his head.

“We did stop talking about skating at some point, you know,” Harry told him. “Willie was telling me how awesome you are and, you know, explaining why he likes you so much. And I guess it made me realise that I’ve kind of been a jerk to you for a long time – I mean, he literally told me so. He told me to stop being such a douchebag to you.”

Alex grunted. “He’s right. You should stop. It sucks.”

Harry nodded. “I wanted to apologise for it, I guess. I’m sorry for being so nasty to you. I think it’s just because I was young and dumb and I didn’t realise it was hurting you at first, then it just stuck. I kind of always thought it was friendly too – I didn’t think you minded. I thought it was banter.”

“It wasn’t,” Alex said, meeting his eyes. “It never was. I’m terrified of you, you’ve made my life a misery. Thanks for the apology, but it’s no excuse.”

“I know that,” he admitted. “But I just wanted to explain why. I’m going to try my best to be a better guy from now on. It won’t make up for everything I’ve done in the past, but can you give me a chance to get this right?”

Alex considered. Somehow, Harry seemed completely serious. His expression was slightly pleading and he looked a little awkward and uncomfortable to be asking this of Alex, but it seemed real.

So he nodded.

“Fine. Thank you.”

Harry clapped him on the back. “No worries, dude. And, uh… this might not be my place to ask, but are you okay? You look down.”

Alex shrugged. “I had an argument with Willie after we left your place the other day. I’ve not spoken to him since.”

“Was it my fault?” Harry asked.

“Kinda,” Alex told him, shrugging again. “I just… I didn’t like how friendly you two seemed. After everything you’ve done to me in the past, watching him get along with you like it was nothing made me a little mad.”

“Sorry, bro,” Harry said, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m not into him or anything, so you’ve got nothing to worry about there – plus, he’s crazy about you, so even if someone else did like him they’d be out of luck. I just wanted to talk with someone about skating for once, none of my friends are into it.”

“Willie said the same thing,” Alex admitted.

Harry nodded awkwardly. “I don’t have any say in your relationship, but honestly I’m kind of invested in it now and I think you guys should talk it out. I’d hate to think I played some part if you ended up breaking up over this.”

“I don’t want to break up with him,” Alex objected, horrified. The thought of breaking up with Willie, losing him forever, made him feel sick to the stomach.

The rest of the class began filing into the classroom. Harry stood up, shrugged, and then clapped Alex on the shoulder.

“Go talk to him, then.”

Alex, for the first time in his life, took the advice Harry had given him and decided to take that first, absolutely terrifying step towards fixing the break between himself and Willie. If he knew his boyfriend (and he did) then Willie would have gone to the skatepark straight after school, so that was where Alex headed too.

Sure enough, Alex found Willie at the skatepark, sat at the top of the highest ramp. Every now and then, someone on a board would do a trick nail-bitingly close to Willie’s face, but he didn’t flinch even once. He was staring off into the peachy sunset, seemingly lost in his thoughts. Alex climbed up there and sat himself down next to him.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked uneasily.

Willie startled and turned to Alex, caught unawares. “Alex! I thought you–”

Willie didn’t get to finish his sentence because Alex pulled him into a tight, bone-crushing, fierce hug, pouring every last ounce of love and regret into it. He felt Willie hug back with equal force and buried his face into Willie’s long hair. This, he knew, was how it was supposed to be – Alex and Willie, boyfriends who care far too much about each other, not Alex and Willie, boyfriends on the edge of a break-up.

Eventually, Alex withdrew himself and let Willie go mostly, still keeping a tight clutch on his upper arms.

“I am so sorry,” he said, breathless. “I’m sorry for everything I said and for starting the argument and for everything that happened that day.”

Willie shook his head. “Don’t. I’m sorry, I should have realised how talking to Harry like that would have made you feel. It was dumb of me, and I shouldn’t have said such hurtful things to you, and–”

“I get it,” Alex said breezily, “I’m a lot to deal with.”

Desperately, Willie said, “But that’s not what I meant! I can’t explain what I was trying to say, but I wouldn’t change anything about you or our relationship for the world. You mean the everything to me, Alex, and I never want to do something to jeopardise what we have ever again. I’d do anything to take back what I said to you that day.”

Alex pulled him back into the hug, needing to be close to him. “It wasn’t just you. It was both of us. And Harry. But we’ve all apologised now, even him, so we can put this whole thing behind us.”

Willie pulled back, surprised. “He apologised?”

“Yeah,” Alex said, nodding. “Because of you. He said you were going on about how amazing I am and he realised he’d been a jerk.”

Willie blushed the tiniest bit, and playfully punched Alex’s arm. “Well, you are amazing. You’re more than amazing. You’re a miracle and I’m lucky to have you.”

Smiling, Alex cupped Willie’s cheek and gently pulled him in for a kiss. It was soft, slow, and Alex felt like they were glowing, bright and warm and happy. They kissed until every unspoken word had been said, until the last of the orange sunset had ebbed away into night-time blue, until streetlights cast an amber glow across the skatepark, in which they were the only ones left. Alex felt like he was finally at peace, with himself and with Willie.

He pulled back and rested his forehead against Willie’s. “I’m lucky to have you too. I can’t even begin to understand what good luck brought you to me.”

Willie moved back slightly, shuffled further away until he was only holding Alex’s hands, until that was the only point where they touched. Alex missed his warmth.

“Sorry,” Willie giggled, smile bright. “I wanted to be able to look you in the eyes for this.”

“For what?” Alex asked.

Willie’s smile softened. “I love you, Alex. And I’m pretty sure I always will.”

Alex’s heart stopped. It was the first time he’d ever heard those words out loud. Sure, he had felt them in every little action from Willie in all the time they’d been together – he had felt his love in the way he cared for him when he was sick, in the way he bundled himself up in Alex’s hoodies, in the way he played with Alex’s hair, in the way he brought him back from the edge when he was anxious, in the way he devoted every part of himself to Alex.

He had loved Willie in return too, in the little ways – how he listened to Willie talk about skating and watched him practise, how he brushed and braided Willie’s hair to relax them both, how he danced with Willie whenever he wanted because he simply couldn’t say no, how he wrote songs that only Willie would ever hear, how he listened to Willie talk nonsense in his sleep on those nights they slept at the studio together.

But he too had never said the words out loud.

He pulled Willie in for another kiss, brief but burning, and then held his hands again. Willie was right – this was something Alex wanted to look in his eyes for.

“I love you, too, Willie. I’ll never stop.”

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batboyimagines · 4 years

Text

Neon Lights PART TWO [Tim Drake x Male Reader]

Reading part one is not necessary to understanding the plot!

You may be a thief for hire, but that doesn’t mean you’re a dummy. You know when something big is going on.

For the past month, a client has been running you, and your dear Red Robin, completely ragged. Nearly every night, they had some new demand for some high price piece of tech from some hotshot company with hotshot security. While they made their demands under different names each time, it was pretty easy to tell it was the same schmuck.

It was easy to tell because usually it’s weeks before someone pays you for stealing things, even then the gigs are really small and easy so they don’t pay much. Like, 100$ at least. That’s not enough for your 600$ rent.

This thief for hire thing isn’t actually your main job, you work at a coffee shop. It’s gross, it’s terrible, but it’s more steady then thievery for hire will ever be.

But this client, jeez louise. By the time they’re done with you, you’re gonna be stinking rich. Which is good, because you had to quit being a barista so you could do all of their dirty work without burning out. Literally. Your powers can run out of juice if you use them too much.

After a day of lazing around the house to conserve energy, your client has you out on a mission for this odd little gizmo that Wayne Tech has under its belt. They didn’t tell you what it is, they only provided a picture and the general area it’s in.

There’s an alleyway where the air vent has an opening. It’s not big enough for a regular human being or even a little kid. But it’s the perfect route for you. So when night falls, you slip into the alleyway and stand before your entrance.

You burst into a flurry of photons and neon. From there it’s easy to slip through the cracks in the vents and make your way all the way to the lab. You manifest in a deserted office, right next to the lab.

The office is minimalistic with almost zero personality besides the overflowing trash bin. You wrinkle your nose at it. Someone drinks way too many energy drinks. Ugh, it’s even the worse brand. You’d buy that over your dead body.

You glance at the name plaque on the glossy, neat desk. Tim Drake-Wayne, huh? You feel a thrill at being in the office of someone so important. Especially since they’re not here.

Hmm, how much time do you have? You check your watch. Plenty. So, it won’t throw off your schedule to leave a little surprise for Mister Drake-Wayne.

Delightedly, you take one of the paint markers you made specifically for this purpose and on the underbelly of the desk- wow you’ve never seen a desk with no gum stuck to it- write ‘Nightlight was here :-)’. With a grin, you recap your marker. It’s not a very big mark, it’s likely he’ll never notice. But just the childish glee of vandalism is enough for you.

After your little detour, you quietly creep out of the quiet office. There’s always an otherworldly feeling to being places after dark. The silent, empty halls with no conscious life to be found. You’ve never quite pinned what makes things feel so off, but you enjoy it.

Growing up, you think you never quite got the hang of being with people or having friends. It always felt so shallow when you talked to people, always following the general how are you, I’m good, how are you sort of conversations, never knowing how to delve deeper and hold on to someone. You can wing literally anything other than a conversation, people are just too hard. So, you just... gave up.

It’s sort of depressing, Red Robin is probably the one person who you talk to the most. He’s just so funny to mess with, he has the best reactions. If it weren’t for him, you probably wouldn’t have ever started the graffiti. The first time you did it, it was because he had chased you into a paint store and the spray cans were just there. A whole section of neon. So you grabbed one, left him a gift on the alleyway wall, and the rest was history.

You smile a bit at the memory, wow you’re feeling sappy tonight, aren’t you?

You wave off your maudlin inner monologue and focus on the task at hand. You’re finally in the lab and give it a once over. It’s huge. As all Wayne brand stuff usually is. Haha, that could make a great dirty joke.

No no, it’s serious time, you’re on a mission.

Waving off your funny thoughts, you make your way to the general area you suspect the gizmo might be. You pop your knuckles and get looking.

After about fifteen minutes of searching, you still haven’t found it and you’re already getting a little antsy. It’d be dumb of you to assume Red Robin isn’t onto you, he’s always onto you. So you know this is time sensitive. It’d be so much more convenient if people kept their valuables out in the open.

Just when you’re starting to get a little stressed, you see something out of the corner of your eye. A box you missed, under the desk. You pull it out and rummage through the contents. Then you beam.

Triumphantly, you hold up the gadget. Mission accomplished, baby!

You go to stand, but a paint marker slips from your jacket and clatters onto the ground. As you bend to pick it up, something whizzes over your head and buries itself in the wall.

A birdarang.

Shit.

You whip your head around to see Red Robin standing in the doorway. He strides towards you casually. Uh oh. Casual is never good with him.

“Heyyy Red,” you greet, standing slowly, hiding the gizmo behind your back, “how’s the family?”

“The family’s fine.” He says stopping a few yards away, not moving. Fine, he says. That’s so not a good sign.

“... nice seeing you here,” You say after a small pause, “Working late?”

“These are my normal business hours.”

“Right, right.” You both begin to circle one another and wooow, Red really is pissed at you.

It suddenly hits you as to why.

“... did you like the paint job?”

Red Robin whips out his bo staff and lunges. You dart to the door, forgo any stealth, and kick it open. Birdarangs fly by your head as you skid down the hallway.

“OKAY, I GUESS NOT!”

Oh man, oh man, Red chasing you has never felt so scary. Jeez louise, is Redbird that important to him?

Footsteps pound closely behind you and just as Red Robin tries to snag your collar, you burst into lights and slip back out the vents. Red, too distracted to realize how close he was to the wall, isn’t able to stop himself in time and he slams face first into the wall. He falls back, clutching his nose and cursing up a storm. You’d have giggled if you had a voice box in life form.

And so, like all your encounters before, you get away.

#X Reader #X Male Reader #Tim Drake x Reader #Tim Drake x Male Reader #Tim Drake #Batman

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treh-co · 4 years

Text

FAHC Headcanons

So I feel like a good amount of my hcs are a lot different than other people’s??? And I’ve done a LOT of thinking abt them so! Here’s kind of like a masterlist of my general hcs! I’m just gonna go through this person-by-person.

(This got Kinda Long, so it’s under a read more. Sorry mobile users,)

Geoff

Obviously, he’s the one who started The Fakes. Basically, he went into the military after high school, came back and was like “Damn. Hated that” and then some old friends are like “Hey wanna do crime” and he was like “Fuck it”. That ended up being the beginning of The Roosters, which would grow to become the most powerful crime syndicate in Los Santos.

However, when they started shifting more towards managing the organizations they controlled, Geoff felt like he was missing the hands-on action. With the others’ blessing, he branched out to create his own gang under the syndicate, which would be the Fakes.

Geoff was the acting boss, supervisor, and manager of the Fakes for many years, while still juggling responsibilities with the Roosters. After a while, he felt the stress of it all begin to weigh on him, so he decided to pass some of it off. He made Trevor the acting supervisor of the crew’s regular business, while he handed management of behind-the-scenes matters to Lindsay. He’s still technically the boss, though, and any Big decisions go through him.

Jack

Jack actually met Geoff when they were in the military together. While he was a journalist, she was a pilot, and while she’d always been a sort of straight-laced, innocent kid growing up, she discovered that she actually loved flying. More than that, she loved the excitement of a chase or a gunfight. When she got back, she found herself bored.

That was around when Geoff called her up with an offer- one that not only allowed her to get back in the cockpit, but promised twice the action way more money than she ever got in the military. Of course, she said yes.

Jack’s main role in the crew is transport and evac. She can fly or drive anything, from a city bus to speedboat to a cargobob. Unofficially, she’s a sort of second-in-command for Geoff. He usually discusses any business stuff with her before making decisions. She’s also probably the most capable medic in the main crew, though she’s not an expert, and will pass off the responsibility if they have access to someone more formally trained.

Gavin

I imagine Gavin comes from a criminal family. Nothing exciting; standard white-collar stuff, embezzlement and fraud. They were substantially wealthy from their exploits and sent him to private school and all that, but Gavin found it all horribly boring. By the time he reached high school, he was experimenting with every type of low-level crime he could think of; theft and vandalism, all that shit.

Eventually, his habit of making enemies got him in over his head, and eventually he found himself in serious hot water. Out of options, he forged some papers and got a flight out of Britain. He’d far from learnt his lesson, though. He didn’t plan on cleaning up his act, and he decided to hide in plain sight, in the most crime-infested city America had to offer- Los Santos.

That was where he met Geoff. He was working odd jobs around the city, still new to America (and, though he’d never admit it, pretty lost and scared- he’s only sixteen). He gets hired by some asshole to take out Geoff, and he isn’t familiar enough with the scene to know better, so he goes for it. When Geoff has the knife out of his hands and a gun pointed at his head in less than two seconds, he’s pretty sure he’s fucked- but Geoff doesn’t shoot. Because fuck, how the hell is he supposed to take out this scrawny, terrified kid? So he talks to him instead, and when he finds out that Gavin has no loyalties to the guy that hired him and has a much broader skill set than Geoff would have expected, he decides to take him in.

As for my take on The Golden Boy- I personally don’t see Gavin as a hacker, and tbh I personally Cannot picture him suave enough to be some smooth-talking informant. In my mind, he’s sort of the crew’s everyman. He does a little bit of everything- stealth, dealing, hacking, fighting- he isn’t really an expert at any of it, but if you need something done, he probably knows enough to help.

Michael

Michael was raised in New Jersey with his brothers. His life was fairly normal, to be honest. He got a gig as an electrician, and it sucked, but he was doing okay. And then his mom got sick, and things started falling apart. Long story short, he ended up turning to more unsavory ways to get the money she needed for her treatment. He found out that he was pretty good at making bombs, and even better at cracking skulls.

Michael only ever dipped into those practices to help his mom, but once you go in, it’s pretty hard to get out. He was running with a gang in New Jersey for a long time, until one day, their leader sold them out to the cops. He and some friends ran away to Los Santos, but still got caught, and suddenly he was locked up in a LS prison.

It was in prison that he met this guy named Gavin. After bonding through some good old fashioned prison fighting and saving each other’s asses, Gavin told him that he’s part of a powerful gang that was planning on breaking him out. He said that he needed help with the prep work they needed done on from the inside, and if Michael helped him, they’d break him out with Gavin. Against every instinct, Michael agreed, and they broke out together. After they got out, Geoff decided to offer Michael a job- partly because he was impressed with him, and partly because Gavin wouldn’t stop whining until he did.

Michael is great for a steady gun or a good fight on missions, but his expertise is in demolitions. He’s self-taught, but he’s one of the best in the business, and he has fun with what he does.

Lindsay

Lindsay has always thrived on chaos. This presented itself more innocently in her childhood, but once she reached her teen years, it quickly spiraled into something more dangerous. She was always looking for something more risky, more exciting. Speeding, then shoplifting, then vandalism; it was never enough.

That being said, it shouldn’t have been that big of a surprise when some friends easily talked her into her first burglary. From then on, it was an easy slide into the more serious world of crime. She was a gun for hire by twenty, had long left her well-meaning parents behind, travelling with no real goal and making both allies and enemies everywhere she went.

When she cropped up in Los Santos, trailing gunfire and spray-paint cat tags where she went, Geoff knew she was meant to be one of them. He hired her for some odd jobs at first, just to make sure; but just a few looks at her style proved his theory. He offered her permanent position and she took it on a whim.

True to her role, Lindsay is the crew’s wildcard. Sort of like Gavin, except her skills are more specifically in the “fuck shit up” range.

Jeremy

Born and raised in Boston, Jeremy had a not-so-great home life and started hanging with the wrong crowds from a young age. He grew up through fistfights and car wrecks, and by the time he was grown, he didn’t really know anything else. He was actually pretty close with his gang back home. They were the ones who taught him the importance of loyalty; how important it is to have people you can trust. Nothing good lasts forever, though. When another gang- much bigger, much stronger- started picking them off, their leader made the tough choice to disband. Despite communal reluctance, she got them all set up to go underground in different parts of the country. Jeremy was sent to Los Santos.

While there, Jeremy saved a boy he saw being jumped in an alley. The boy turned out to be a hacker and information dealer named Matt. Jeremy was homeless at the time, and Matt offered to let him stay at his place as thanks. Somehow, this quickly turned into them being roommates and friends, and then partners, when they decided it would be a good idea for Jeremy to tag along on Matt’s deals for protection.

While helping Matt, Jeremy made a name for himself in underground fighting rings, known by his half-joke moniker “Rimmy Tim”. One night, a non-regular sat in to watch the fight, and afterwards approached him with an offer. The stranger was one Geoff Ramsey, and the offer was for a job with the Fakes. Jeremy happened to know who the Fakes were- and be a big fan of their work. He was nervous, but he accepted the offer, and it only took a few weeks for them to essentially pull him in.

Jeremy is, in simple terms, the crew’s muscle. He drives, he shoots, and most importantly, he can fight. If anything needs doing that involves those three things, he’s good for it.

Matt

Matt grew up in a small, boring town with a small, boring family. He filled his boredom with the digital world. Eventually, he started diving deeper; learning how to code, and then how to program, and then how to hack. By the time he was seventeen, Matt was going by the alias of “Axial” on dark-web forums, dealing information and breaking into everything from private systems to locked-down, international servers.

After turning eighteen, Matt decided he was sick of his home town and used the money he’d gained from his illegal business to disappear and move somewhere more exciting- Los Santos. After a few months of living there, he met a boy named Jeremy, who saved him from a deal gone wrong. He liked Jeremy, and it seemed like Jeremy liked him; despite the suspicions they both probably should have had in their lines of work, they became fast friends and roommates, deciding to work together.

When Jeremy got hired by the Fakes, Matt was disappointed, but resigned to the fact that he would be back on his own. Until he was pulled away from his work one night to a knock at the door, and found the Vagabond there, ready to take him to the penthouse. Apparently, the crew had been in need of a hacker for a while; and a certain new member had put in quite the good word for him.

Matt is, obviously, the crew’s hacker. He doesn’t really go on the field too much; he’ll tag along if there’s a proximity requirement on his part, or if a bunch of people are unavailable and they really need a backup driver or something, but for the most part he operates from the penthouse. He’s usually on comms during the heists to give directions or help with security or recon in real-time.

Trevor [TW: Sex work mention]

Trevor grew up in a trailer park in Blaine County, raised by a single mom. She loved him, but was involved with all the wrong people. When an altercation with an ex-boyfriend ended up deadly, fourteen-year-old Trevor up and ran as fast as he could, and ended up in the streets of Los Santos. He got by with begging and soup kitchens at first, but he started picking up tricks, on his own or from others he watched. Pickpocketing, manipulation, shoplifting; whatever he could use to get a bit of an advantage, he took.

It was just a while after he turned eighteen that a man he met outside a bar proposed he enter a different “path” of business. Trevor was reluctant, but he was also desperate, and the man made a lot of promises. He ended up spending two years as a prostitute, until one night he’d had enough. He killed the man who’d been selling him and ran once again.

Once again faced with life on the streets, he returned to what he knew he was good at- lying and stealing. He came up with the alias of Reached, and became a thief and informant by commission, fairly well-known. He became close associates- maybe even friends, if such a thing existed in Los Santos- with another duo, Rimmy Tim and Axial. One day, they gave him a call- saying their new employers needed someone with his skills on a job. To make a long story short, when the Fakes met Trevor, he was pretty much already a part of the team.

Trevor is a thief by trade. Stealth, deception, and stealing is what he does best. He’s a master lock picker and an expert at slight of hand, and is far too good at putting on an innocent face.

Alfredo

Alfredo was raised by a big, loving family; but people are a product of their environment. A combination of wrong place, wrong time, and peer pressure had him messing around with local gangs far before he should have even seen a gun. But Alfredo always had a knack for precision, and he had the aim of a trained vet, and he was probably a little too busy being cocky to understand the risks he was taking.

Eventually, those risks caught up with him. He was in a lot of hot water and he knew his family was in danger. He couldn’t let them get hurt on his account, so he ran to protect them. He considered turning a new leaf when he got to Los Santos, but quickly realized that if that was the plan, he’d picked the wrong place to do it. It wasn’t long before he was dragged back into work as a gun for hire.

He was good- really good, and when some hot shot rolls into the city with a sniper and skills like that, it shakes things up, and word gets around. Word even gets to some of the most powerful men in the city- including Geoff Ramsey, who decides that if this kid is really as good as he’s heard, there’s no way he’s letting him get snatched up by anybody else first. His invite to Alfredo is more short-notice than it was with the others, but he and the crew click in about two seconds flat, so it really doesn’t take a lot of convincing.

Obviously, Alfredo is their sniper. He’s a hell of a shot with any gun, and can do fine with up-close combat when he needs to, but he’s at his best when he’s giving cover from a rooftop.

Fiona

Fiona comes from one of France’s most infamous criminal organizations. Her parents run the group, and she was raised, essentially, as the heir to the business. She’s been trained since she was a child to be the best at any skill she might need. An array of languages, hand to hand combat in five forms, dozens of weapons, from blades to melee to guns- most of all, she studied deception.

There was a small problem, though. Fiona appreciated everything her family did for her- but there was also no way in hell she was just going to drag on the family business. She wanted to make a name for herself, and she wanted more than the stuffy, starch-white world they were giving her. So she ran away to America. She spent a few years travelling, testing out different paths. At one point, she ended up in long-term employment with a gang. Except she ended up hating said gang, and she wanted out.

Luck happened to be on her side. One day, she was told that they’d kidnapped two people who happened to be members of a powerful crew called the Fakes. Fiona knew the second she laid eyes on the two- a strangely similar looking pair named Trevor and Alfredo- that they were her ticket out. She made a deal with them, that she’d let them escape if they took her with them and kept her safe, and the three of them had a wild adventure that lasted about a week, and ended in the three of them strolling into the penthouse, ragged and exhausted but looking like they’d just had the time of their lives, with Trevor and Alfredo proudly declaring that Fiona was now their newest member.

Fiona is a master of disguise. She’s good at a lot of things, but putting on an act is what really sets her apart. Give her a wig and a makeup kit and she can turn herself into a new person in five minutes flat- complete with an accent and everything. She’s the go-to when the crew need undercover jobs done.

#fahc #fake ah crew #fake achievement hunter crew #fahc geoff #fahc jack #fahc ryan #fahc gavin #fahc michael #fahc lindsay #fahc jeremy #fahc matt #fahc trevor #fahc alfredo #fahc fiona #headcanons #ghost archives

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notthatiwilleverwriteit · 4 years

Note

Hello, I have just read your very interesting posts about the tianshan relationship from HT's perspective. What are your thoughts on Mo's perspective on their future relationship?

Good evening, dear plumb19-san!

Before we get to your question, let me apologize for my late reply. Your ask has been on my mind this whole time, but I had to get a few things out of the way first so I don’t have to stress about them while writing this. Thank you for your patience!

I have talked about my visions for the future Tianshan a few times by now: X X X. The last one of them especially concentrated on their future and was from HT’s perspective.

“What are your thoughts on Mo's perspective on their future relationship?”

Before I get to that, allow me to paint a picture of what I think Mo Guan Shan’s future itself will be like. And what a better way to start than with what MGS himself has to say about the matter (ch. 305):

Very recently I answered another ask that touched upon MGS and his attitude towards school. I think ch. 305 explained why he doesn’t feel like there’s anything to be gained from trying to be a good student. His future won’t be secured by or based on getting good grades. The jobs he will work don’t require diplomas or degrees, only a will (or a need) to work hard. But it’s not like he doesn’t have dreams in life. They’re just on hold until he has what it takes to make them a reality. He wants a motorbike and more abstract things like financial independence but knows there’s a long way to go before he will achieve them. In the meantime, making enough money to stay alive is his priority.

Later in the Christmas special, we see where he ended up (ch. 224):

I imagine he works at some kind of restaurant, like a ramen shop or somewhere that serves cheap beer and the menu consists mostly of fried foods. He’s perhaps one of the cooks or the only cook of a small place. The pay isn’t bad, but the days are long and he often has to work on holidays as well because that’s when people like to go drinking and eat out. But that’s fine. He doesn’t really care as long as he gets paid.

I also imagine his feisty personality has calmed down a bit as he’s gotten older and more mature. The days of being a delinquent are behind him, and he doesn’t get in those kinds of troubles anymore. But he has picked up habits that harden him, like smoking, having more piercings, and wearing “aggressive” clothes. Also, the places he works at are the kinds that don’t mind his appearance. For the most part, he keeps his head down and concentrates on just earning as much money as possible.

He’s also achieved some of the things he’s always wanted. He has a scooter and steady work that give him a new kind of freedom and independence. They might not be much in other’s eyes, but he’s very proud of them. I imagine he lives by himself in a small but cheap apartment but not far from his mother. He often visits her and helps her with bills and such. She feeds him on Sundays and tells him not to overwork himself and that he should stop smoking.

Now, finally to your question about MGS’s point of view regarding his future relationship with He Tian. I think the first time we got to see what he thinks was in ch. 273:

It might not have been much but I think it was the first time MGS accepted (and trusted) that having HT around wasn’t just for the time being. Not only was HT on his side in life but he also seemed to be committed to MGS. HT’s presence both annoyed and bothered MGS on a daily basis but on some level he had also been afraid to count on him sticking around. In his experience, the world doesn’t work like that and you shouldn’t trust people, especially the ones who appear to do favors for you and ask for nothing in return. But HT had made it clear time and time again that he saw the good in MGS, respected his will to fight for himself but was still ready to stand up for him, so perhaps he could be trusted. Perhaps MGS might even be upset and worried if HT suddenly stopped sticking to his side.

And a mere handful of chapters later, we got perhaps the biggest development in their relationship, not to mention proposed by MGS himself (ch. 283):

I’ve talked about the importance of MGS asking for the studs before because, at the moment, it’s my most favorite Tianshan moment. He didn’t ask for them on a whim and they weren't’ a trivial thing for him. He willingly tied himself tighter to HT and given the history of how he had gotten his ears pierced it was also a sign of trust.

Not only were the studs a huge development leap, they are also perhaps the most obvious hint at how MGS feels about their relationship in the future. And a rather clever way at that; they tell us MGS’s feelings without him having to say (or admit) anything out loud. It’s been shown to us that HT isn’t a part of MGS’s everyday life as they’re older but as he predicted in the aquarium, he hasn’t forgotten HT. Dare I say, HT might even be in his thoughts when he’s taking those lonely cigarette breaks (ch. 224):

Another, albeit more subtle, thing I’ve picked up in the chapters showing their future is that MGS seems more comfortable with having HT around. He even went as far as inviting HT to stay in touch (ch. 271):

But of course, it was quickly followed by dismissing it. MGS doesn’t have time to lazy around with HT but you know...If HT wants to hang around and is presistent enough about it, he just might not be flatly refused. But no promises, of course.

That poorly hid invitation I see having to do with HT being away a lot. It’s unclear to us how rarely they see each other but there seems to be an element of uncertainty in their relationship. HT shows up out of the blue and probably disappears again without giving much of a notice. MGS isn’t exactly open about his softer side, but we know he’s surprisingly caring. I bet he often wonders how HT is doing when he doesn’t hear from him for a while. I suspect he doesn’t know what HT is up to in detail but knows enough to be even worried a bit. He probably gives a silent sigh of relief when HT suddenly is in front of him again.

In the future-related chapters, they also seem to be closer on a physical level (ch. 276 and 224/271):

Of course, MGS is still embarrassed, awkward, and every bit of a tsundere about it but his defense against HT putting the moves on him isn’t as impenetrable (pun half intended) as when they were in middle school. I would be very hesitant to say they’ve gone as far as having sex, but HT is clearly heading in a certain, more physical direction in their relationship and MGS doesn’t seem to have major problems with it. Otherwise, I see physical closeness increasing in their relationship as a result of HT craving for it whenever he comes to visit MGS. It’s not sexual but comforting and reassuring.

Besides the chapters, there have been two other pieces of art that hint their relationship will be more physical in the future - one of the extras in OX’s artbook and my favorite official illustration (rotated horizontally to save space):

That last picture especially makes my Tianshan heart swell and beat faster. Not only are they kissing but MGS seems to be fully on board, holding the back of HT’s head and all. Both releases also featured the black studs.

Based on all of that, I have a few future-Tianshan headcanons from MGS’s point of view:

Before going home he always smokes a cigarette in the same spot. But it’s just because he likes to relax for a bit before heading home. Not because he’s waiting in case HT shows up that night.

He bought an extra pillow and a blanket. But just in case his mother stays the night sometimes. And a good household needs to have something for the guests, shut up.

He also totally doesn’t keep a stock of a few extra cans of beer in his fridge.

He always leaves the dim light above the front door on for nights.

He has HT’s number saved as “HT bastard” in his phone. After each of HT’s visits, though, it’s been sneakily switched to something else. Usually, there’s also a heart emoji to go with it. MGS doesn’t always immediately change the name.

For every 10 messages from HT, he replies to maybe one or two of them. There’s always a “good morning, little Mo~” message when he wakes up and a “sleep well, little Mo~” when he goes to bed. One time he didn’t receive them for a couple of days, and MGS came the closest to calling HT than ever before.

He never accepts money from HT directly but lets him pay for food and drinks for the time he’s staying at MGS’s. It’s not like MGS runs a damn hotel.

However, HT always manages to leave a stack of money behind when he leaves. MGS has all of it stashed in a big envelope and hidden in the closet, not a single bill has been used.

Somehow HT always finds out about MGS’s day-offs and shows up to swoop him off to somewhere. On mother’s day, he always invites Mrs. Mo with them, too, and pampers her from head to toe.

As much as MGS doesn’t want to admit it, he worries. More than he ever thought he would.

He bought his first first-aid kit and makes sure to keep it stocked after one time HT showed up battered and bruised.

He smokes the same brand as HT.

One time he almost turned down a gig when they asked him to take off his piercings. Almost.

HT still has nightmares sometimes, and it still freaks MGS out.

MGS’s biggest secret is that he thinks HT looks good in a white shirt and black tie. And that he sometimes dreams of him in that outfit. Or HT using the tie for...other purposes. Shut up, he’s just a healthy guy.

Some weird part of him kind of likes it when HT pushes him down. Or when HT turns around in his sleep and squeezes MGS from behind.

He doesn’t always wash the sheets right away after HT leaves.

I think that should be all I have to say about MGS’s perspective. For some reason, his point of view was harder than HT’s. A lot of it has to do with HT being persistent and gaining MGS’s trust and MGS not being as defensive anymore. He has more feelings than he’s ready to admit even to himself.

I hope I still answered to your satisfaction! Thank you for your question, and again, sorry for not getting to it sooner.

#tianshan #mo guan shan #he tian #19 days #answered ask

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liliah39 · 5 years

Note

Hi darling! I saw you want to write some little fics about the boys, so, could you write a fic with Roger in which he finds the reader talking to other guy and gets jealous? * Jealousy plays in the background *

My Other Half (Roger Taylor X Reader One Shot)

Full Ask/Plot: Hi darling! I saw you want to write some little fics about the boys, so, could you write a fic with Roger in which he finds the reader talking to other guy and gets jealous? * Jealousy plays in the background * I was thinking about Rog and the reader being steady for a while, so he is thinking of proposing to her, but one day he sees her (at a diner or a shop, maybe?) talking to this other guy and gets more than jealous, he feels really bad about it? I guess this is going to turn out a little angsty 😅

Word Count: 7.2 K (its even lengthier than the last!)

Warnings: None really, mentions of sex. Swearing. Some angst. Thats it!

January of 1977, interview with the boys in Chicago while on tour:

“So Roger,” The interviewer asked. “We understand your girlfriend Y/N has been in the news a lot lately. What’s your life and relationship with her like?”

“Well she’s not my girlfriend,” Roger nervously laughed.

“She’s not?”

“Well if I may interject,” Freddie said. “She basically is his girlfriend, they’re just an odd bunch who says “oh we’re not dating, she’s not my girlfriend, we’re just in a relationship.”

“Fred,” Roger blushed, scratching the back of his neck.

“I must say he’s quite in love with her. They’re really the perfect couple.” John said.

“Yeah we love Y/N,” Brian started. “The two of them are pretty much inseparable. They’re a package deal, you can’t have Roger without her. I’m not quite sure why they don’t ever say they’re dating. Maybe it’s because they’ve been friends for so long? They’re great though.”

The interviewer laughed. “So, Roger. What is Y/N like?”

He smiled when he thought of you. “She’s the definition of the word rock star other than the whole being in a band thing. Plays guitar sometimes though.” It was visible to anyone watching him that his head was in the clouds. “We’ve been best friends since college, and then our relationship kind of just blossomed from there. You know; people always say opposites attract but-” Freddie cut him off.

“Oh not with them, Darling! I swear they’re the same person sometimes.”

Roger laughed at his friends comment. “Yeah, that’s what I was getting at. I mean we just always have fun together. Of course we have our quiet moments too, but we just really get each other; rarely fight. Always have a good time.”

“She’s the most wanted model in England right now, let alone the whole world. How does that make you feel?”

Roger smirked. “Well she ‘ain’t a model yet, mate.”

“Yeah, but I mean you two did that photo shoot together, and then all of a sudden everyone knew her name. Why hasn’t she taken any of those modeling deals?”

“Oh I don’t know, but she has an interview back home in a couple days. I don’t want to speak for her or anything, you know. I’ll let her say.”

“Then what made you do that photo shoot?”

Roger laughed. “Well I think any guy can understand where I’m coming from there, mate. If you’re a rock star and you’ve gotta do a solo photo shoot for your new song, (which I didn’t want to do, may I add) and you’ve got a hot significant other, you have her do the shoot with you. Plain and simple.” Everyone laughed at his blatantly honest statement, and the interviewer continued asking the rest of the band questions.

After the interview, the guys were in their shared dressing room, Roger fixing his hair at the mirror and Freddie and Brian gushing over pictures of John’s baby who just learned to walk.

“Guys,” Roger started with a clear of his throat.

They all turned up to look at him; it was obvious he was stressed about something. “Well you all know, uh. Y/N left to go back home the other day, and tonight is our second to last show in the states, and in like five days we go home, and do one more show in London to end our this tour, you know?” He was clearly sweating, scratching the back of his neck as he talked around what he was trying to get at.

Deaky nodded confused, Freddie said “Yup?”

“We know our schedule, Rog. What’re you trying to say?” Brian encouraged.

“If it makes you feel any better, I miss Veronica too, even though you saw Y/N two days ago and I haven’t seen my wife or children for four months, but yeah, I get it.” Deaky added.

“No, no. I um, uh-” Roger could barely form words. He covered his smile with his mouth as he looked down blushing. Unable to get out what he was trying to say, he unzipped the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a small black box. “I’m gonna do it.” He laughed, opening it to reveal a huge pear shaped engagement ring. “I’m gonna ask her to marry me!” He smiled, his friends congratulating him with a huge hug.

“Wow, you really went all in for that ring, didn’t you, Rog?” Brian asked.

“Yeah, bought it on Rodeo Drive when we were in California at Cartier. You know how she is, the bigger the better. Had to impress my girl.” he gushed.

“Well I’m so happy for you, Rog. She’ll definitely say yes. I see the way she looks at you.” John added.

“Of course she will!” Freddie exclaimed. “Though I must say; I expected Brian to be the next to get married. Honestly thought you’d be the last. You just have that free attitude. I mean, you’re only 27, Darling.”

“I know, I know. I thought the same thing. But I’m just so happy. I never want to lose her. I know we’re young. We’re both free spirits, but together we ground each other. It’s just one of those things that works, you know?”

“When you know you know.”

On the way back to the hotel room Roger couldn’t stop smiling, his years with you replaying in his head, going all the way back to the day you two met.

~~~~

It was an intro to dentistry class, only the second day of freshman year, and all the seats were filled in the lecture hall except for the one next to Roger. He knew everyone had been there the day before, so tried to figure out who was missing. Suddenly, you burst into class clad in your rock star aesthetic, popping your bubblegum ever so confidently, as you said, “Sorry I’m late,” to the professor.

“You know, Miss...” He started.

“Y/L/N”

“Miss Y/L/N, if you were here maybe you’d know that chewing gum isn’t good for your teeth.”

“Well Professor,” you started, noticing the teacup on his desk as you walked to the only open seat near the back. “Neither is tea; it stains them. Yet we all drink it anyways.” You smirked, plopping in the only free seat next to the wide eyed blonde boy. You relaxed back in your chair and put your feet up on the chair in front of you, red heels popping out of your black leather pants which you paired with a black leather jacket, some layered necklaces and a Led Zeppelin shirt.

Roger was absolutely smitten. He loved your attitude. Finally, he thought, someone to rival him. Someone equal to his level of strong headed-ness. Then he noticed what you were wearing. He almost wore the same bloody thing. He had on his black leather trousers, red converse, a Led Zeppelin shirt (thank god it wasn’t the same one you had on), his gold layered necklaces and black leather jacket. You were missing the sunglasses though. Was he looking at an alternate version of himself?

“Hello, Love. I’m Roger.” He smirked.

“Hi,” you smirked back, noticing how attractive he was. “I’m Y/N”

“Not gonna compliment my outfit?”

“Huh?” You asked, confused.

“Look at your outfit, Love. Now look at mine. See any coincidence?”

“Oh!” You laughed. “God, what’re the odds.”

It was silent for a couple minutes until you let out a groan of exhaustion. “I don’t want to be here, my parents are making me go to school to be a bloody dentist. I just want to go home and get ready for tonight.”

“Same thing is going through my mind, Love. I’ve got a gig tonight.”

“Oh really? I love music. What do you play?”

“Drums and sing a bit too.” He proudly smiled.

“That’s great. Wish I played something.”

“I can teach you,” he encouraged.

“I think I’d like that very much.” You smiled. “Where are playing later?”

“Imperial hall. You-“

You cut him off. “Really? You must be joking. You’re in Smile?”

“Yeah?”

“That’s why I was saying I wanted to go get ready for tonight! I’m going to your gig!”

“What are the odds?” He mimicked, making you giggle. “Hey, I’ll make sure you get a front row seat. Really, I mean it. I know how crazy those can get.”

“Thanks.” You smiled as he put a strand of hair behind your ear.

After class he called, “Hey, Y/N! I can't help but want to get to know you better. Do you want to go grab a coffee or something?”

“I’d love to, but I’ve gotta say I’m more of a whiskey girl than I am coffee.”

God, she’s perfect. He thought.

“Then the bar down the street it is.” Roger smiled.

Your relationship didn’t turn romantic after that for a couple years, you and Roger were just the inseparable friends who spent at least two hours together every day, and everyone thought were twins because of how similar you were. You always flirted and held hands, but kept it platonic until about a year after Queen had formed.

You and Roger were living together as friends, and one night after a Queen gig got wasted playing truth or dare with Freddie and the rest of the band. You had on a tight, revealing red dress. Knowing you could never pass up the riskiest of questions, Freddie said,

“Alright. We’ve been playing classic truth or dare for a while now. It’s time to spice it up. Who here is brave enough to do a truth and a dare that are connected at the same time?”

“Me! I’ll do it!” You burst up, making the four of them laugh.

“Alright, Darling. I was hoping you’d chose to participate.” Freddie was trying to get you and Roger together. “Of the four of us, choose who you like the most and want to be in a relationship with the most, straddle them and make out with them for a full minute, and then tell us the truth of why you chose them.”

“Deal.” You rose from your chair, gaze shifting between the four of them. You knew you’d choose Roger; had been in love with him for a while, but things had been going so well between the two of you for so long as friends you considered choosing Freddie just to make everyone laugh and not mess up anything between you and Roger.

But you couldn’t do it.

You turned to your left, locking eyes with your roommate as you straddled him, smirk on his face as your arms went around his neck, his hands reaching to your hair as your lips connected. The kiss was drunkenly passionate, the other three cheering the two of you on and counting to sixty as Roger’s hands roamed your back, your hands now tangled in his hair. You opened your mouth, his tongue immediately slipping in.

“58!”

“59!”

“60!” They cheered as the two of you breathlessly broke away.

“You chose me?” Roger questioned, astonished.

“ ‘Course I chose you.” You smiled, turning around on his lap to face the other three, his arms still tightly wrapped around your stomach.

“So,” Freddie smiled. “Why our Roggie boy?”

“God this is so embarrassing.” You blushed.

“Get on with it!” Deaky slurred.

“Firstly, you’re just as good if not a better kisser than I imagined,” you confessed, everyone laughing. “But I’ve been in love with you since the day I met you, Rog. I’ve just never been able to tell you. So scared I’ll mess everything up. I mean, you’re my best friend, and my roommate. I could really screw up my whole life if you didn’t feel the same way. Do you know how hard it is to confess you’re in love with your best friend and have been for the last four years?”

“Yeah, I actually do.” Roger laughed, making you flick your head at him in shock. “Wait,” he said in realization, the alcohol impairing his thinking. “You’re in love with me too?”

You nodded, smiling.

“So we could’ve been together all this time, but we were too scared to mess anything up?” He said in disbelief. “God I’m such an idiot!”

“But you know now,” you teased. “And besides, relationships are better with an established friendship.”

He sat there silenced for a couple moments, trying to process what had just happened. You and the other three couldn’t stop laughing at his thought process that was visually represented on his face.

First he was shocked, then happy, excited, confused, angry, annoyed, shocked again, and then it just kept going in that order until he had a look of realization, standing up as he grabbed your hand. “We, um, we gotta go home. Kay bye!” He said, rushing out with you in tow, leaving you and the boys laughing like crazy.

That night was a passionate night as soon as you had stepped through the door. The two of you had sex at least three times, maybe even more. After that day, you never really slept in your bedroom anymore. You gradually moved your things in with Roger, turning it into a spare room as your relationship blossomed. You never really had publicly described your relationship status, which was fine. To any outsider you were dating, and that’s fine because you essentially were, but really, the two of you were madly in love, and really that’s all that mattered.

~~~~

Back in England, you just finished getting dressed, ready to walk onto the set of Good Morning Britain in a half hour. You were nervous; knew criticism was bound to come from your outfit, but it also gave you an adrenaline rush. You always liked some excitement. Your hair and makeup were styled impeccably, and you wore a pair of tightly fitted black jeans which were slightly frayed at the bottom and stopped at your ankles to show off your new sparkly heels. You paired the whole ensemble with a leather jacket; one that you found in Roger’s closet back at home, and that was it. No shirt, no necklace. Nothing. Just an open leather jacket to drive the modeling agencies crazy with your cleavage - but tastefully. Of course it was taped down with double sided tape, but one wrong move and you’d flash everyone.

To calm your nerves, you decided to call Roger’s hotel room even though it was two in the morning back in the states.

“Hello?” He tiredly said, half awake. His groggy voice put an immediate smile to your face. Roger was always so adorable when he had just woken up. Took him a bit to come to his senses sometimes. He always said the funniest things.

“Hi, Baby.” You cooed.

“Y/N?” He asked, clearly still kind of confused.

“Yeah it’s me, Rog.” You giggled.

“Do I need to come pick you up now?” He slurred.

“What?”

“What?” He tiredly echoed, making you laugh.

“Roger wake up, it's me, Y/N.”

“Oh, oh. Sorry, sorry. I’m here now.”

You laughed. “What was that all about?”

“What was what about?” He said completely awake now.

“You saying you had to come pick me up?”

“Oh, yeah. Think I had a dream where you were at a bar or something and didn’t want to leave and I had to go back and get you. Gimme a break, Love. It’s two in the morning here, you know.” He teased.

“I know,” you smiled. “I just wanted to hear your voice. Miss you.”

“Well I miss you too, my Love. It isn’t just a saying. The bed really is much colder without you.”

His comment made you laugh. “You think that’s bad, try our bed back at home. It’s bloody awful.”

“You know,” he yawned, “you’re usually pretty good about calling at a decent time for us both. Why are you calling so early?”

“Nerves. I’ve got my interview in a half hour.”

“You’re the most headstrong person I know beside myself. You’ll be fine.”

“I know, but I never really do interviews. Just say a word or two when someone shoves a camera in your face. Never had one where I’m the Roger.”

“The Roger?” He laughed.

“You know, the famous person.”

“Ohh, righttt.” He smiled at your adorable comment. “Just keep your head together, be the personable girl you always are. Be the Y/N I know and you’ll be fine.”

“What about the questions?”

“Just answer the ones you want to, but answer them truthfully. You’re usually blatantly honest, so if you don’t like a question just tell ‘em. Or you can just dodge it. Both work equally as well. Being honest will show people your personality the best.”

You nodded even though he couldn’t see you. “And what if they ask about my modeling career?”

“Like I said, be honest. Tell ‘em you’re not a model. Tell ‘em about us, how the photo shoot came about. All that.”

“And if they ask if I have a manager?”

“You don’t.”

“But-”

“Y/N,” he cut you off, “you don’t even work or have a job. I pay all the bills, which I’m completely fine with and don’t want to stop doing. I love providing for you. But like I said, don’t lie to say what they want to hear or they’ll just prove you wrong.”

“Can I say you’re my manager?”

“Sure,” he chuckled, “Roger Taylor the best friend, manager, and uh,” he was unsure what you considered him in your eyes.

“Boyfriend?”

“You consider me your boyfriend?” He asked, shocked.

“Yeah,” You laughed, “you basically are anyways.”

“Alright, I like the sound of that. Roger Taylor the boyfriend. So what’s your outfit look like? Sure you’re all dolled up per usual.”

“Oh, um,” for some reason you were nervous to tell him. Your outfit was something that's usually a bedroom thing between the two of you. You didn’t need his added comments to your nervousness right now. “Black. All black.”

“Ooh,” he cooed. “You know how much I love you in black. Take a picture for me.” He imagined your in a tight, straight fitting, lace, black dress.

“Of course.” Although it’ll probably end up on the news in America later if I get the shock factor I’m looking for, you thought. “I’ve got those new sparkly heels on you got for me too.”

“I’m sure you look gorgeous.” He yawned. “Alright, Love, I had a show tonight and I have another and some traveling tomorrow. I’m exhausted and really need some rest. You’re gonna do great.” He smiled.

“Thanks.” You smiled back. Though neither of you could see, you could hear the smile in each other’s voices.

“Goodnight, Baby.”

“Goodnight Rog, sweet dreams, Love.”

Just as you hung up you heard, “Miss Y/L/N! Five minutes!”

~~~~~~

The woman sitting across from you shook your hand as you sat down, eyes slightly widening from the shock factor of your outfit.

“So good to have you here with us this morning, Y/N.” She smiled.

“So good to be here,” you smiled. “I’ve always wanted to be on the morning show ever since I was a little girl.”

“So the last couple weeks have been crazy for you, haven’t they?”

“Oh yeah, total change in my life.” You laughed. “I mean, I was kind of used to the cameras from Roger, but it was never like it is now. I mean they’re everywhere. Everyone has a question, I’m on covers of magazines. It really makes you want to look your best all the time when people are constantly taking photos of you and publishing them.”

“And the calls?”

“Oh yeah, that too,” you continued, kicking yourself in the head for not adding that in. “Course that has been crazy too. The phone’s literally off the hook. I just got back from tour with Queen in America a couple days ago to come here today, so I mean of course I was getting some while I was there, but I assume it was harder for the agencies to locate me then. Now that I’m back home it’s just non stop modeling agency after modeling agency ringing me up, one offering me more money than the last, all trying to get me to sign a deal.”

“And you haven’t accepted one yet,” the interviewer, said perplexed. “Do you realize you’re being called the most beautiful girl in England? Some sources even say most beautiful girl in the world. Why haven’t you taken this opportunity?”

“Oh I don’t really know,” you laughed. “The game of continuously turning them down is kind of fun to me, I must admit. But really, I’m happy with the way everything is. I mean being a model is every little girl's dream, but I’ve never been looking to make a career out of it. I don’t need it. Roger and I are happy just the way everything is. We don’t need anymore money. If the right one comes along, then sure, maybe I’m interested. But really it just was never part of my plan.”

“Can you explain how this craze to get you to sign a modeling contract came about?”

“Sure,” you laughed. “Sorry, it still sounds so funny to me. Well, Roger has a solo album coming out soon, and he had to do some promotional pictures.”

“For those who don’t know, could you say who Roger is to you?”

“Of course,” you smiled. “well I’m in a relationship with Roger Taylor, the drummer of Queen. We’ve been together for a while now, and have been best friends even longer. Can’t imagine my life without him.” You gushed, earning an “awe” from the studio audience. “Anyways, he’s coming out with his first solo album soon and had to do some promotional photos, which he hates doing, so he asked if I’d go along with it, so I did, and then it just kind of expanded from there. We went all out.”

“I’d say you did,” the interviewer smiled, holding up some photos of you and Roger in the photo shoot, (I imagine Kylie Jenner and Travis Scott’s GQ photoshoot) earning hoots and hollers from the audience. “What made you choose the outfit you’re wearing today?”

“Well that’s a rude question.” You retorted.

“I-I’m sorry.” The interviewer stumbled. “I like your outfit, I was just wondering how you chose it.”

“Oh, well, wanted to show a little more. I mean you are all referring to me as a model after all; might as well dress like it. And besides this is Roger’s jacket.” You said, tugging lightly on the collar.

And then you felt it. The release of the tightness on the skin of your breasts, the double sided tape breaking loose from your breasts from the change in pressure from your slight pulls.

And then it happened. The right side of the jacked flew open a little bit.

And you noticed.

The interviewer noticed; you saw it on her face.

The crowd noticed; you heard it from the gasp.

And the camera caught it.

The camera caught you flashing all of Britain on live television.

Hey, you thought in a state of panic, at least it was the good side.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Knock, knock, knock.

Roger groggily awoke from his sleep checking the clock.

3:30 AM.

Only an hour and a half after you had called him.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Roger, darling. You’ve got to turn on the news. It’s Freddie, Brian, and John.” He said giddily. He was excited about something.

Roger stumbled out of bed, unlocking the door and flopping back onto his pillow as Freddie grabbed the remote, hurriedly putting on the news.

“Look, Rog!” Freddie encouraged.

And then he heard it.

“Roger Taylor’s girlfriend Y/N Y/L/N flashes all of Britain, and now the world on her interview with Good Morning Britain.”

Roger shot straight up, watching it again and again. It was being blown out of proportion, yet at the same time was extremely noticeable. It made him turned on while also making him extremely jealous.

The whole world just got to see something that was only supposed to be his.

~~~~

You cried to Roger on the phone after his concert that night. How embarrassed you felt. How sorry you were.

He did his best to calm you down, almost blowing up at one point, but he kept his emotions in control. Decided he couldn’t start a fight with you if he was going to propose soon.

It was just the idea that the whole world saw something that he considered his, saw a part of you nude made him upset.

It made him jealous.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two Weeks Later:

Roger had been home for a week, and you were feeling on top of the world. It was nice to not have to worry about traveling for a little bit, about where he was and if he made it there safely. It was nice to feel like a normal couple that lived together for a little bit.

The media had been ruthless. You took it hard at first, all the media calling you a slut, a whore. Saying Roger had been dating a prostitute and that the two of you tried to cover it up. You stayed in bed for a couple of days. Didn’t want to leave the house, turn on the TV, or look at the newspaper without Roger. You didn’t answer the phone to anyone. Only called Roger once a day. When he came home he found you in bed looking like a complete mess. Dark eyes, only wearing one of his sweatshirts. Glasses of water around the room, an empty bag of chips on the end table. The lights were dimmed and there was a box of tissues on your chest. He didn’t say anything when he saw you, and he didn't have to. He just held you in his arms as you cried.

It was all over soon enough though. As Freddie assured you, any media is good media. It brought attention to your name. Soon enough, your were out of your funk and getting free things from big designers in the mail. It all ended up alright.

Roger told you he had to run out and do a couple errands, and to be ready for dinner at six. He said he had some surprises coming throughout the day, so to be prepared. Little did you know he was planning on proposing that night. You awoke to his absence, still in your lingerie from the night before to a new, versace, fluffy bathrobe with a note on the hanger hanging from the bedpost across from you. It read:

“Love you more, xoxo, Roger.”

You smiled as you put it on, hearing the doorbell ring and starting the trek through your mansion to the front door.

“Oh my god, he didn’t.” You said to yourself as you stepped out of the master bedroom. There were photos covering the floor everywhere. Photos of the two of you. You picked one up. It was of a day you and Roger went on a hike back in college. It brought a smile to your face as you stuffed it in the pocket of your robe. You walked a little further, looking over the banister into the living room and foyer and down the stairs. At your feet was a photo you took of him when you went skiing last winter. Everywhere was covered with photos of the two of you. There were repeats, but it didn’t matter. Of course there’d be some repeats, he had a lot of floor space to cover. The pictures on the stairs made you smile the most, or instead just picture, singular. The stairs were covered in Roger’s favorite picture of you, a photo of you upside down, playing Tenement Funster on the guitar, which he had taught you because he thought it was the easiest to play. He took copies of that picture everywhere. Kept one in his pocket, one in his wallet, one taped on the side of his drum. One stuck in the mirror in your bedroom, one framed in the living room downstairs, one framed in his music room. It was everywhere. He said he never wanted to forget it. There was a poster board taped to the wall to the side of the stairs with “The love of my life, Y/N” and an arrow down written on it in sharpie, which made you giggle. Little by little, you picked up your favorite pictures, some of which you didn’t know existed, and put them in the pocket of your robe.

You made your way to the front door, unlocking it to find a huge bouquet of roses. There were easily six dozen roses, maybe even more. God, he was extravagant. But it made you smile. The card on top read, “Love you most, xoxo, Roger”.

Man, he really knew how to make a girl swoon. Around one, someone came with a dress bag. “Miss Y/L/N?” They asked as you opened the door.

“Yes?”

“I’m with Versace. Mr. Taylor designed this dress for you.”

“Oh!” You said, clearly shocked. “Thank you,” You smiled, taking the bag and tipping the man. You hurried upstairs, careful to not trip on all the photos, and hung the dress in your walk in closet, eagerly unzipping the bag.

It took your breath away.

There was a strapless, scoop necked satin, floor length, white dress. It had a high slit on the left side with a black stripe. It was gorgeous. It came with a matching black handbag and strappy black heels. You felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

“Wear this to dinner tonight, there will be people coming to do your hair, makeup and nails at four, I’m coming home around 5:30. Love you to the moon and back, xoxo, Roger.” Read a note that fell out of the shoe box. You went downstairs to eat lunch, gathering some more photos of you and Roger as you walked past them.

By four you were in your dress, literally feeling dressed to the nines, the stylists setting up camp in a spare room upstairs so Roger wouldn’t see you until you got ready. You heard him come home at 5:30, just like he said. He sounded so excited as he talked to you through the door, telling him you were almost done as he retired to the master bedroom to get on his tux, praying that everything went well tonight.

The stylists left around 5:50 leaving you with long, wavy curls, a beautiful, glammed up makeup look, and a white and black French manicure. Roger was waiting for you downstairs, pacing back and forth from his nerves.

“You ready down there?” You called.

“ ‘Course! Been dying to see you all day.” He smiled.”

“Okay then,” you said, opening the door to walk down to him, his head flicking up as you appeared at the top of the stairs.

“Wow.” He said, breath taken away from him.

You lowly made your way down, careful not to slip on any photos as he picked you up off the last step, spinning you around as he kissed your cheek.

“You look gorgeous. Just like I imagined this dress would look.” He gushed.

“So you really did design it?”

“Yup.”

“Wow.” You didn’t know what to say. “Not that I want you to stop, but why all the gifts today?” You smiled, caressing his cheek.

“You’ll find out later.” He smiled, pressing a kiss to your temple as he grabbed your hand, leading you out the front door to his car. “Hey, has anyone ever told you that you should be a model?” He joked.

“Oh shut up.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He brought you to the Cordón Bleu, the most expensive restaurant in London. As he pulled up, he said, “You go inside, Love. I’m going to park the car. I’ll be in in a minute.” The two of your separated with a quick kiss as you strutted inside, cameras flashing in your face.

When you walked in, the receptionist at the front desk called your name, shocking you. “Y/N?”

“Oh my god, Mark?!” You ran over to him, embracing him in a hug. You and Mark hooked up a couple times in college when you and Roger were still just friends.

“Hi! You look amazing!”

“Oh, thank you! So do you! How’s life?”

“It’s alright,” he laughed. “You seem to have made out much better than I did.”

“Well, Roger made out well. I just happened to be his girlfriend.” You laughed.

“Yeah. Believe me, I know about that.” He laughed. Just then Roger walked in. “But everything they’ve been saying is true. You’re really the most beautiful girl in England.”

Roger heard what he said. Saw who it was. Mark. His blood boiled in his veins, fist wrapping tightly around the ring box.

“Thank you,” you blushed, as Roger’s arm snaked its way around your waist.

“Oh, Darling look! It’s Mark!” You smiled.

“Hey.” Roger stated, monotone, as he stuck out his hand to shake Mark’s.

“Hey, mate! Great to see you again. You music with Queen is some of my favorites. Always gush about how I went to college with you two! Anyways, Y/N. I saw your interview the other day, for your first interview you did great. I was very interested.” He smiled. He didn’t mean it maliciously at all, however Roger took it the wrong way.

“Thank yo-” You started, but Roger cut you off.

“Hey, Mark, was it? I’d really prefer it if you didn’t talk about my girlfriend’s tits in front of me. Or actually, how about you just don't talk about them at all?” He snapped, catching you and Mark off guard.

“I-I wasn’t.” Mark stuttered.

“What has gotten into you?!” You whispered in Roger’s ear as he grabbed your hand protectively as he approached the host table which Mark stood behind.

“If you don’t mind, mate, I’d like to be seated now.” Roger coldly insisted.

“Of course, you had the private room upstairs rented out, right?”

Roger nodded.

“Alright then, this way.” Mark said, clearly uncomfortable.

“Actually,” Roger interjected, “would you mind if she brought us to our seats? I don’t need someone from my past ruining this day for me.” He said, coldly snapping at Mark.

Mark looked at him, confused to say the least. Your expression matched his, astonished that Roger could be so rude.

“Excuse me, Ann. Mr. Taylor would like you to bring him and Ms. Y/L/N to their room.” he said.

“Sure, right this way.” She smiled, leading the two of you to the stairs.

Roger’s grip on your hand was tight. You followed the hostess first as he trailed behind you, leaving one last dig as he said, “Oh, and Mark. Make sure you’re not our waiter.”

You gasped back at him in disbelief.

The room was gorgeous, there were roses everywhere, a table lit by candlelight waiting for the two of you in the center. Roger pulled out your seat for you, sitting across from you as he looked down in concentration.

Avoiding looking at you.

He tapped his fingers on the menu to keep himself occupied, his nostrils flaring in anger. The silence in the room was deafening; you could literally cut the tension with a knife.

“Roger,” you tentatively started, “Darling, I think you might be confused. That was Mark, remember? Remember how we used to all hang out in college?”

“I remember hearing you scream his name on the other side of the wall as he fucked you to sleep each night for a couple months.” He snapped back, eyes locking with yours.

“Okay, what is your problem? We never fight like this, we tell each other everything!” You exclaimed.

“You want to know my problem, Y/N? Tonight was supposed to be perfect, but that asshole just went and ruined it. Showed me we’re not actually exclusive.”

“What’re you talking about? Roger we’ve been exclusive for the last three years!”

“I knew I should have properly asked you out so you knew we were in a relationship. Then other guys wouldn’t think you’d just fuck them behind my back.”

“Roger! How dare you? I’d never cheat on you! We’ve lived together for eight years. I thought you knew me better than that.”

“Obviously not; I saw the way he was flirting with you.” He whined.

“So what if he was flirting with me? I wasn’t flirting with him! That’s what’s important! And I wouldn’t flirt with him, or anyone else for that matter, Roger, because I’m in love with you. Besides, if I’m going to be a model, you’ve got to get used to people hitting on me, and be confident that I love you and only you. What more do I need to say?” You said, throwing your hands up in exasperation.

“Really?”

“Yes!” You sighed. It was silent for a moment as the waitress came in to pour your champagne and take your orders, then silent for a little while longer. He broke the silence.”

“I’m sorry, Love.” He finally muttered.

You looked up at him, awaiting more of an apology as two salads were placed in front of the two of you.

“I don’t know what came over me,” he continued, “I had such a perfect idea of today in my mind with the photos, and the flowers, and the dress, and dinner, and then, well you know, but then I saw him. Saw the way he looked at you, remembered how he made you feel all those years ago, and I just couldn’t handle it. I’d never been more jealous in my life. I don’t ever want to live without you.”

“Rog,” you smiled, reaching across to grab his hand. “I don’t ever want to live without you either. You don’t have to worry, Baby. I’m not going anywhere.” You finally had brought a smile to his face. “So what if there was a little hiccup in your perfect day? There’s been so much good, it doesn’t even matter.” You smiled.

“Yeah,” he agreed, leaning across to peck your lips, deciding to wait until the end of the meal to pop the question.

“And besides, the sex with you has always been much better.” You winked.

~~~~

Your meal was great, honestly the best food you’d ever had. Roger’s mood improved drastically as the night went on, the two of you joking and laughing per usual. At the end of your romantic dinner you were sharing a huge piece of six layer chocolate cake, Roger putting Fred Astaire’s version of The Way You Look Tonight on the record player in the corner of the room. Roger kept taking photos of you with his Polaroid camera, made you laugh by saying you could add them to the floor when you got home. You could tell he was nervous about something, kept stuttering on about every word he said, sweat dripping from his forehead.

“Okay,” he whispered, blowing out a huff of air and catching your attention. “So I’m sure you’ve realized this isn’t your normal date, right? I mean I think I’ve managed to go a little more “all out” than I usually do, right?”

“Yes, Roger.” You laughed. “Look around us. Look at my dress, my makeup, my nails. You’ve certainly set the standard for the best date ever.”

“Good, good.” He looked down, nodding to arrange his thoughts. “Okay,” he said, getting up and grabbing your hands as he pulled you up, walking to the window to overlook the city skyline. “Y/N. I’ve been in love with you since the moment I saw you, that first day back at uni. You’re the only girl I’ve ever been nervous to ask out and, hey, I guess I never did.” He said, making the two of you laugh.

“What’re you doing?” You said, choked up as you knew what was coming next.

“But I never had to ask you out, Love. That’s what makes things so great between us. We just work. But I don’t want it to be like that for the next big milestone in our relationship, that’s why I’m doing what I am now, because I want everything to be perfect. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever laid eyes on inside and out, and I can’t imagine spending any day not waking up next to you and I don’t want to. You’re my other half, Love, you complete me better than anyone else ever has and I’m never going to let anything change that. I’m so happy at where we are now and I’m ready to start a life with you start a family with you, Y/N. I know we’re young but that doesn’t change the way I feel for you. So, Darling,” he started, getting down on one knee as you gasped. “Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N, please baby, please do me the honor of making me the happiest man in the world, by being my wife. Y/N,” he said, taking a box out of his pocket and opening it in front of you. “Will you marry me?”

“Oh my god.” You gasped, tears openly flowing down both of your faces. He looked nervous, unsure of what your face meant. “Yes, yes, a million times yes!” You screamed, as he scooped you up in his arms, spinning you around as your lips connected passionately.

“Oh my god,” you continued, smile never leaving your face. You were shaking from shock and excitement. “It all makes sense now,” you laughed. “Why you got so jealous. It doesn’t matter. I love you so much.” You smiled, connecting your lips to his.

“You gonna put it on? Spent a lot of money on it, it’s the least you could do.” He joked.

“Of course.” You smiled. “Wait, my hands are too shaky I don’t wanna drop it, can you?” You asked, making him laugh as he took the ring out of the box.

“Sure, Love. You’re too cute.” He chuckled. “And look, there’s our initials on the inside of the ring.”

That just made you cry of joy even more as he slipped the ring on your finger, the two of you a crying, smiling, laughing, kissing mess.

Roger paid the bill and the two of you walked out laughing together, hand in hand. He scooped you in his arms bridal style as you stepped out of the building, cameras immediately in your face, photographers screaming,

“Y/N!”

“Roger!”

“Mr. Taylor, what’s the occasion!”

He set you down as you walked to Vogue, the biggest editorial that was there.

“You wanna know what’s going on?” You asked, silencing the crowd and chorus of questions along with it.

“We’re getting married!” You said, shooting your hand out as countless cameras were snapped, the photographers taking your “engagement photos” all of which actually came out well. You were mailed the prints a week or so later.

“Thank you!” They shouted after the two of you.

“Thank you, Miss. Y/L/N!”

“Hey!” You turned around, looking at Roger as he read your mind, knowing what you were about to say so he just said it for you.

“You can start calling her Mrs. Taylor.” The two of you smiled, Roger scooping you up to bring home his fiancée.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I’m also so proud of this one! As always, send an ask of a plot and I’ll write you a oneshot, and let me know what you think of this one!

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tyrustrash · 4 years

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Huge Updates

Hey, all! As you know, the world is in a certain state right now causing us to change our daily lives. One change for me is that I now have more time and motivation to write. Also, I published a book on Amazon!! It is a collection of short stories, some of which you have seen but with some changes (For obvious reasons) The link is this: Orientation https://www.amazon.com/dp/B085RRGQ2N/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_api_i_919HEbGVEBPPR Also, I am in the process of writing three more books!!!! Which is what I wanted to share with you. The chapters below will be the first two chapters of my young adult novel. The story is about two guys from seemingly different paths meet each other and bond over their shared pain. Theo is a member of a band that is trying to get signed to an agency, while Lucky is his college's best soccer player trying to get his team to nationals. They begin a secret relationship as they uncover more about themselves and their dark pasts. Some more info about the book: the couple is white-latino/asain, contains some sexual content, eating disorders, self-harm, and more. The other novels in development are as followed: 1. A story following a group of guys on a reality competition show competing to be members of a new boy band. 2. A group of teenagers gaining special powers and forming a team to save their town, and the world, from danger. (Has potential to be a series) 3. The other book I mentioned is another collection of never before seen short stories. I hope y'all enjoy the preview of my first novel! Chapter 1: Lo Mejor Comienza The crowd cheered their lungs out as they hyped up their favorite band, Going After You. The sold-out stadium held 40,000 of their fans holding every bit of merchandise the group had. There were a few fortunate fans that struggled their way onto the stage to get ahold of a member, but security managed to drag them away. However, one fan was able to grab the edge of Lucas' shirt and pull off a piece as she was being dragged off. Lucas didn't mind it though, he took it as a sign that he was their favorite, which he had that thought for all the fans. The members of the band looked out into the crowd and smiled as they continued their set. Lucas made sure to make his perfectly white teeth reflect the stage lights into the audience as he gave his perfect smile while he sang. His posture gave off high-end clothing store mannequin vibes: same old them as the rest, but somehow seen as better since where it came from. Gabe banged the drums while giving his rounds of pterodactyl screeching in between beats. The sweat coming from his head flew across the stage because of his hair flinging around caused by his head banging. Blake played his guitar with his swift fingers as he harmonized with Lucas. He had this chill aura around him that seemed to say that he was going with the flow. Lastly, Theo focused his attention on his keyboard. Unlike his bandmates, Theo chose to maintain his attention on his instrument. Not because he didn't appreciate his fans, all the hours spent writing letters and sending autographs said otherwise. He found it hard to multitask since he would get caught up in one thing and ignore the other. At one point in the concert he attempted to nod and smile to the fans, but he got off-key and played the wrong notes. Other than that one mishap, that night had gone well. The band stayed after for three hours to do the meet and greet with the fans. Although their entire bodies were hurting like hell, the pain was worth it if it meant making their fans happy. Everything was running smoothly. Fans stood in a straight line, which was harder than it seemed given they would let their excitement control them and try to form a tsunami, then they would get a picture with the group. So on and so on. This whole cycle repeated itself, concert and after show activities, for three weeks, with another six to go, they never wanted it to end. It was what they always dreamt about. All the hard work, all the nights without sleep, all the tears shed due to the stress-induced anxiety. All of it was finally worth it. However, sometimes it seemed liked hell on Earth. The pain and scars on their hands from their instruments. The times where they lost their voice from singing for up to eight hours a day. The visits to the hospital for when fans get too wild and would manage to make contact with a member. It was challenging in the beginning to form a balance, but it eventually happened. They wanted stardom to continue. They wanted to win a Grammy, star in their own movie, and go down as one of the greatest bands in musical history. Aside from those generic goals, each member had their own goal. Lucas wanted to be a model in New York Fashion Week. Gabe wanted to be the new owner of Playboy magazine. Blake wanted to start a non-profit organization. Theo wanted the loud banging would end. The loud banging. Theo rapidly blinked his eyes and looked around, suddenly snapping out of his daydream. He felt the cold water of the shower over his body. He wiped some of the water off of his face, also while taking a deep breath. He was at a loss of words, mainly because there was nothing for him to say at this point. "Two and a half hours." Lucas softly yelled, but in a nice way, from the other side of the door. "Hurry up. Some of us need our beauty shower." Although his time in the shower always took at least two hours, which all the others knew at that point, it felt like ten minutes. He always tried to shorten his time, but he never got around to fixing it. He never got around to fixing himself. "That's not a real thing." Theo heard Blake make the comment. "Oh shut up" Lucas said as his voice faded off, presumably going off to get his bathing kit from his room. Theo looked down and realized that there were still bits of thrown up food on the floor of the shower. It was rare that he would go off into his imagination after his habit. His shower routine typically consisted of beginning contemplating life, then spend most of his time dreaming, and end with him panic purging while rushing to get done. But lately he has been under a lot of stress. He finished up cleaning and turned the shower off. He placed an extra towel on the floor, per the request of Lucas, so that water didn't get all over the floor. As he dried himself off, he wiped off some steam that was on the mirror. The way he looked at his reflection, it was like seeing someone he didn't know. It was like there was something missing, something wrong. He looked around the room and his eyes fixated on random objects. Blake's razor that he always left out. A pair of Gabe's underwear, something that the boy always forgot to take to his room once he finished showering. Judging by the pair it seemed like it had been there for two days. His eyes locked on the can of air freshener sitting on top of the toilet. He felt short of breath seeing the tiny droplet of blood on the bottom of the can. He picked it up and turned it. Feeling the aluminum on his hands made his breathing stagger, it made his lip quiver. He inhaled sharply as his hands gripped the can tighter. Bringing the can closer to his body, a tear rolled down his cheek. Before he could do anything else, Lucas shouting stopped him, for now. "I need to get in now if I plan on getting enough sleep tonight." "I'm almost done." Theo said monotonal. He wished he meant it, but it's only the beginning. Gripping the can, causing his hands to fade into red, he turned his attention to the door. What was on the other side could have helped him, but it was no use. He was of no use. Not wanting to do anything else, he came back to his normal state of mind and brushed his hair with the brush that he has had since he was eight. He checked his phone for any notifications, but there was nothing. He frowned thinking he ruined everything. He put on his night hoodie and shorts then exited into the hall. Upon entering the hallway, he took note of Lucas and Blake arguing over some skincare routine. Lucas swore he needed to spend at least an hour on his routine for it to work, however, Blake counterattacked that he shouldn't be rushing Theo since he would spend as much time in the bathroom. Lucas grabbed his suitcase-sized bag of products and carried it into the bathroom. Theo grew worried that he was the one who had caused their argument, then wished he had used the can. Blake sighed as he plopped down on the couch. He turned on the TV and Pitch Perfect was playing. He turned up the volume but made sure it wasn't loud enough to wake up Gabe who was already asleep. They had their TV set to just music-themed programs, thanks to Gabe's technological skill. Last night they watched the first season of Glee. They wanted to watch every known music-related thing so they could take inspiration and help with their band. Their band. Although they had only been active for a year, they managed to gain a steady following and regular gigs at some small clubs that would allow a group of high schoolers to perform. Going After You was named after them chasing their dream to be the next big thing, which didn't make sense to some people but it was the group's style. However, they have yet to make any real progress in the real world. Maybe it had to do with them constantly changing their music style, but whatever it was, they needed to buckle down. Theo walked to the kitchen and poured himself a big glass of milk, with a bendy straw to go through the lid. He contemplated for a bit before he made the cup, but he needed something to ease his stomach. He made his way over to the couch and sat next to Blake. "Just like my showers, you should be used to Lucas' skin routine." Theo said as he brought his legs up to sit crisscrossed. Blake chuckled as he took a bite of the sandwich he had made earlier. "I know, but it still gets annoying. Mainly because he thinks it'll actually work. He's been doing that shit for a year now and it hasn't done a damn thing." Theo laughed a little, nearly causing him to snort out milk. "Come on, you're supposed to be the nice one of us." "Can't be the nice one when Lucas has been keeping me awake for the past two hours because he needed someone to complain to about not being able to get into the bathroom." "Sorry." Theo said with a soft voice. "Don't worry about it, I had some fun messing with him. It's so fun freaking him out." Theo gave out a soft laugh before Blake straightened himself a little. His face became a mixture of concern and stern, making Theo tense up and scoot away from him. "So, you know you're supposed to be last in the bathroom order." Theo looked down at his cup. He tried not frowning, but kept his feelings to himself, like always. "It was just that I had dinner before you guys." "What does that have to do with anything?" Before Theo could answer, Gabe walked in from his room, in only his underwear. He scratched his lower back as he made his way to the kitchen. He opened the fridge and drank some milk straight from the jug. Blake let out a heavy groan, but Gabe didn't care. After that, Gabe grabbed a beer and went to sit in the recliner. Gabe was the one that didn't care about how he looked, he always had high confidence in himself that he didn't care what others thought about him. One time he went to school in a skintight spandex suit that outlined some of his more prominent features, resulting in him having to be sent home to change. Another time he went streaking across the neighborhood. He even managed to outrun the cops that were called. As he sipped his beer, Gabe adjusted his crotch which caused Blake to make a face of disgust. "Bro, I'm trying to eat." "Don't act like you've never adjusted yourself." Gabe replied while keeping his focus on the TV. He took another sip. "We're all guys, we've all done it." "But at least I have the decency to not do that while someone's eating." As the two discussed crotch touching and other typical guy things that Theo never understood or cared enough to learn more about, Theo stared blankly ahead, focusing on nothing. The world around him started fading and his surroundings transitioned into a new setting as he went back into his dreamworld for the eighth time that day. This time he imagined them all performing at his future wedding. He was marrying the person people expected him to marry, but he was sharing the moment with his closest friends, nothing could ruin it. Well, one thing. The person he imagined he was marrying. It was the wrong person. Wrong for him, but right for his parents. As he played his keyboard, he used his peripheral vision and he saw his parents sitting in the front while cheering his name. Their cheers grew louder and louder. Every time they said his name, he found it harder to concentrate. The loudness became unbearable to the point it snapped him back to reality, where he found where he heard his name being shouted. Theo sat between his two friends as they were both looking at him. Gabe patted Theo's shoulder as he leaned closer. "So, which is it?" "Which is what?" Theo asked as he became confused. He looked at the hand on his shoulder and started to build up panic. Blake let out a sigh as he tossed his paper plate in the trash can next to the couch. "The theme for our gig tomorrow night. I wanted to go for more modern and pop-ish since it would fit the crowd, but Gabe wants full out punk and rock and roll." "I thought y'all were talking about crotches." Theo remarked as he stirred the straw in his cup, seemingly easing himself. He scrunched his face thinking about his friends talk about touching themselves. "We were." Said Gabe. He finished his beer and tossed it towards the trash can, but missed. Blake picked it up and threw it away. "But it turned into trying to finalize what we're doing tomorrow." "I don't care. Just decide. It's just a soccer game that we're performing at. I mean, who even does that? And a college game too." Gabe chuckled as he patted Theo's back. "It's a paid gig, and it's exposure. "You say that every time." Blake told him. "Well, it is. And it would be one of the biggest crowds we've performed at. Anyone could be watching, like an agent, or scouts for a reality show." "You also say that every time." "Man, what's your deal? You don't seem like you care." "I care. It's just that if we keep changing our style for each performance, then it'll be harder to get signed to a label." "It's called having range. It shows we can do any genre." Gabe turned back to Theo. "So, what style? "Pop, I guess. We've done that the most and it seems to be a crowd pleaser every time." Theo said after thinking for a second. Like Gabe, he was just as eager to get signed. But like Blake, he had the mindset of sticking to one style until they get signed. Another moment in their band career that seemed to be one of the most challenging things. Before Theo could get up and go to his room, he noticed the marks on Gabe. There were kiss marks made from pink lipstick covering the area above Gabe's boxers. He pointed at them, resulting in the other two to look. "What's that?" Gabe laughed. "Come on, man. I know you haven't been with a girl, but I'm sure you know what this is and where it came from." "Is she here now?" Blake asked as he stood up. His face getting redder than a teacher's mark on a test when they give someone an "F". "I mean, obviously. I came out of my room when we finished. Fucking my girlfriend really makes me thirsty." "Bro, you know what the lease says. No overnight guests." "What they don't know won't hurt them." "Hold up, how long has she been here? When did you bring her?" "About four hours ago. We've been at it that long, a new record. Had to miss dinner, but don't worry, I ate alright." Theo shook his head. "Wait, she's been here for a while? Usually you two make as much noise as possible." "Wanted to try it out to see if we could, now we know we can do it even while y'all are asleep. But it was hard getting it one while having to hear y'all argue over some damn skincare routine, but perhaps the arguing helped cover it up a little." "No no no." Blake interjected, completely ignoring the second part. "She is not allowed overnight." "Come on. It's not that serious. She has stayed over countless times before and no one noticed." "What! Do you know how much trouble we'll be in if we're caught? We could be evicted!" "Calm thyself. We haven't been caught yet, and we won't. As long as you don't snitch. Besides, don't act like you've never broken that rule." Blake fell silent for a quick second. He blinked rapidly before speaking with a slightly higher-pitched voice. "I don't know what you're talking about." "Melissa. I know she has stayed over before after one of your escapades." "That was different." "How?" "It was accidental. We went to sleep immediately afterwards and forgot." "Yeah right." "Theo, you have anything to say right now?" Blake asked as a way of changing the subject, but no response. He and Gabe looked back and saw Theo standing at the side of the couch staring blankly at the wall. "THEO!" Theo blinked rapidly and gazed his attention to the two of them. "What now?" "Nothing." Blake sighed. "Just go to bed now. You really need the sleep." Before anyone could do anything else, the bathroom door opened and Lucas stepped out. His face was covered with one of his face masks. "Can y'all stop arguing, please. The yelling isn't good for my skin." "The hell." Gabe said. "How is us yelling upsetting your skin?" "I'll have you know that people yelling makes me stress, and stress can cause breakouts. I can't have any of that, especially at tomorrow's gig. In fact, I can't have that ever. I have to stay looking flawless." Before Lucas could continue with his routine, he turned to Blake. "Before you freak out again and we have a repeat of tonight, I've also broken that rule. Better get your rage out now and soon. Can't have too much more yelling." Blake couldn't say anything to him since he quickly slammed the door. With a final huff for the night he went to his room. Gabe smirked. "It's adorable when he loses." "Maybe." Theo said. He went to the kitchen and rinsed out his cup. While he was there, he began doing everyone's dishes, not because they had a rotation, but because he wanted to. "Sometimes it's hard dealing with an argument over the smallest things." "But sometimes it's fun. Right?" Theo smiled a little. "Yeah. Can be." "That's the spirit!" Gabe grabbed two more beers from the fridge and before he headed to his room, he went beside Theo. He placed a hand on his shoulder, causing Theo to become worried. "Hey, you'll find a girl someday, just keep looking. And I'll make sure to not tell Blake if you bring her over and you want her to stay over." "Thanks." The faintness of Theo's voice was barely audible. He didn't even look at Gabe, only keeping his head down. Gabe went into his room, leaving Theo alone. He looked around and took in his surroundings. Just a plain and small apartment the group found a few months ago. They saved up from all their gigs for nearly a year to be able to afford it. It wasn't anything to brag about, but it was better than what he had before. His family, his neighbors, everything about his old life, it was too much. He wanted to leave it all, and he did. Or so he thought. After pushing back any memories from his past he wanted to forget, and also finishing washing the dishes, he made his way to his room. Along the way he heard moaning coming from Gabe's room. Before he could enter his own room, Lucas stepped out of the bathroom, bare naked except for some scrub covering most of his body. Theo attempted not to look, but failed since Lucas always made a presence when he entered a room. "Ayo, Theo." He said, his hand on his hip, hip sticking out. "Don't worry about what Gabe said. You know how he is." Theo could barely form a sentence. "How do you know what he said?" "Dude, the apartment is smaller than Gabe's brain. You can hear everything." They laughed. Theo turned the handle of his door. "Nice to see you taking time out of your routine to console me." Lucas shrugged. "No biggie. Besides, I had to let my body scrub settle." "I can see." He thought for a second. "Well, I don't want to see. I've always questioned what you did in there for so long, maybe I didn't have to know." "Well, know you do. Now, what do you do in the shower that takes two hours?" Theo's eyes slightly widened. He felt short of breath but pulled together a response. "You'll never know." He said in a quick and sassy tone. Lucas nodded at Theo before he went back inside the bathroom. Theo opened his bedroom door and went in. He slammed the door and leaned back on it. He exhaled heavily. After standing for a minute, he made his way to his bed. It helped clear his mind by looking around his room and seeing all his favorites things. His room was decorated with posters of his favorite musicians, including various Kpop groups, mainly Got7, Kard, Twice, CLC, Day6, and Girls' Generation, and posters of American artists like Ariana Grande and boy band In Real Life. He had lots of stuffed animals scattered around the room. There was a box of snacks beside his bed that held snacks that he saved up for weeks. He sat on his bed the main dating app on his phone. He opened the chat he had started with someone he has been talking to for the past few weeks. Still no new response. He plugged his phone onto its charger and placed it on the windowsill next to him. He pulled out and opened his laptop and pulled up his search engine. He began researching the college they would be performing at. Although it was in their town, he somehow knew nothing about it other than that it valued sports over academics, like most American schools. He mainly focused on the soccer team. He found articles talking about how the team has had a mixed season so far and was unsure if they'll qualify for nationals. Searching further, he found profiles for each member. He spent the next hour reading about what each person was like personality wise and about their skill level. All of them seemed impressive on paper, but somehow weren't on the field at times. They had never qualified for Nationals, which made them the only team at their university not to do so. Statistics show that this season was their best, which wasn't saying much since it was like a toss of a coin if they won a game or not. During his time reading, one player in particular caught his attention. Lucky Moon. Not just because of his name, but his other attributes, he stood out. He made the most goals this season, given that he was the striker. Off the field, he helped volunteer by tutoring other students and being an assistant coach for a little league team. He seemed like the model student, the perfect person. Theo smiled reading more about him. Delving deeper, Theo learned that the college actually did halftime shows for all the sporting events. One time they had an aerial acrobatics group perform at a volleyball match. Although it seemed weird for a college to go all out for a sporting event, it could pay off for their band in the end. Hopefully. Shutting down for the night, he put up his computer and covered himself with his favorite blanket, the one he had since he was a child. He laid his head down on his green monkey pillow as he thought about tomorrow. How it could be the best day of the group's career. All the possibilities that could come from it. The best began tomorrow. Chapter 2: Stop the Rain The mixture of rain and sweat covered Lucky's face as he ran across the field. He didn't bother wiping it off, it made him stronger, it built up endurance. The grass was harder to run across because he hasn't been cleaning his shoes properly and almost had moments where he almost slipped. There was only one set of lights on, somewhat keeping him warm. He kept on running, while also kicking the ball, for what seemed like forever. He had just reached the halfway point. Every so often he would tighten his fists, which kept him awake. It was two in the morning. He had hardly gotten sleep the night before, and the night before that, and basically every night for the past week. Soccer cleared his mind, made all the stress go away. Not only was this time in the early mornings useful for extra practice, it was his time to think and relax. His schedule was filled with classes and practice that he doesn't get a break. Whenever he was in his dorm, his roommate made too much noise with his gaming stuff and the occasional party. Lucky started getting up early to get some alone time on the field before he went back to his dorm to get a little more rest before his seven o'clock class. It wasn't the healthiest schedule experts might say, but it worked, it helped him stay stable, physically and emotionally. Something that he always needed work on. He shook his head thinking about his wounds, he needed to focus. Focus on his future, his grades, his happiness, but most importantly the ball he was kicking. He finally reached near the goal to shoot. With a hard kick, the ball leaped off the ground and swerved to the back of the net, nearly tearing it. He slightly nodded and gathered the ball. He made his way to the nearest bench, which held a towel and his water bottle. He sat down and wiped his face with the towel, which was about useless since the rain had gotten it damp. What it did was absorb what it could, but his face had streaks of liquid. In the end, he didn't know why he did anything with the towel other than it was muscle memory, the rain would just get his face wetter. He took several chugs from his bottle, the water moisturizing his dry throat. Picking up his bag, he placed the bottle in the side pouch and the ball in the back. While he was standing to leave, he saw a figure walking towards him. Upon closer examination, it was Coach Jupiter. She carried an umbrella and was dressed in her coaching attire. Coach Jupiter held out the umbrella to Lucky, but he remained in his spot next to the bench. She slightly nodded and got as close to him without making him feel uncomfortable. "What're you doing out here at this time of day?" Lucky shrugged his shoulders. When he opened his mouth his words came out bold, yet calm. "Extra practice." "It's not good to practice out in the rain." She came closer to him to try getting him under the umbrella, but he stepped back. "It helps build stamina." He said with even more boldness, but with a kind inflection. He didn't know if it was true, he thought it sounded like she would believe him. "Also helps with feet work." "Need someone to practice with?" "I was just leaving." "Too bad. I thought since you were here at this hour you were committed to the team." "I am!" Lucky shouted. Upon realizing that he raised his voice, he lowered his head in shame. "Sorry." "No need to apologize. Besides, how did you even get on the field?" Lucky kept his head down, feeling ashamed at what he did. "I picked the lock on the gate. But I always make sure to lock it back up when I leave." "Always?" She said while raising an eyebrow. Lucky realized what he said and step back a little while scratching his leg with his foot. "You've done this before? When? How long?" "Every day for the past two weeks." His voice was weaker than before. He sat down on the bench, resting his head in his hands. He began sobbing, his words becoming semi-inaudible. "I'm so sorry. Please don't kick me off the team." Coach Jupiter sat down next to him and held the umbrella over both of them. "Hey, calm down, it's alright. You're not off the team." "Really? Isn't what I did against some kind of rules?" Coach shrugged. "Yeah, most definitely, but I'm not going to report you or do anything." "Thank you." He said with a sigh of relief. However, he raised an eyebrow. "How did you know I was here?" "I got a notice from a bystander saying the lights were on. I came to see what was up." Lucky nodded a little. "I didn't mean any harm." "I know, but," She started saying, causing Lucky to look up and gulp. "If you wanted more time to practice, why didn't you contact me and set up an extra schedule? I would've worked with you. That's what I'm here for." Lucky stayed silent for a minute. Coach looked at him with her wide eyes, trying to figure him out based on his body language. He was hunched over, feet shaking, his right hand was brushing through his hair, and he still had a few tears coming out. "It's okay." She said. "Take your time." Lucky took a deep breath. Thoughts ran through his head and he didn't know what to say. He could tell the truth, which was more than likely a bad idea. Or he could say what she more than likely wanted to hear. Whatever he said, he made sure to make it seem better what was the truth. "I just wanted to practice some more. I know nationals means a lot to the team, and to you since it'll be your first one as a coach, and I felt like since the others look up to me, I needed to be better so we can win some more and qualify. I didn't ask for your help because I wanted to improve on my own. To show that I have the discipline and dedication." All Coach could do was nod and pat Lucky's shoulder, which seemed to calm him down. "Lucky, you are an amazing player, perhaps the best one on the team." "And I want to be better." He interjected. "I want us to go to nationals. I want to see that trophy in our case." Coach Jupiter let out a soothing sigh. "And we will, one day. Maybe this year, or maybe next year, but we will win it. But we won't if we're not in our best condition. Next time you want extra practice, talk to me and we can work out a healthier and somewhat better schedule. How does that sound?" Lucky looked her in her eyes. He couldn't form any kind of facial expression. But Coach made a face though. She seemed like she cared. He was happy to have someone in his life that seemed like they cared about him, someone who wanted to spend time with him, but he shook his head. "Thanks, but I'll see about it." He told her as he stood and put on his bag. "Let's see how we do at this next game." Coach stood up. She gave him another pat on the shoulder before she walked off, leaving him standing in the rain. Lucky looked up at the sky. A few drops of rain hit his eyes, causing him to blink rapidly. As he started walking to his dorm, he wiped some rain away, kicked some grass, and sighed heavily. He managed to get to the door and lock it back up, making it seem no one was ever there. As he walked away, the single set of lights that was on started flickering, then went dark. Lucky entered his dorm building and pushed the button for the elevator. He rested his hand on his hip as he waited. The elevator always took forever, even though there were only five floors. He didn't mind waiting, especially after practicing. It gave him a little time to cool off. The elevator dinged. The doors opened and there was only one person getting out. "Sup, Lucky!" The guy said as he went into a bro hug. Lucky accepted the hug. Although he wasn't too close to him, they did have some sort of friendship through Lucky's tutoring sessions. The guy left and Lucky took his spot in the elevator. He pushed the button for the fifth floor and watched the door close. The elevator always felt like it was going slower than a snail. He thought since they were paying a ridiculous amount for housing, the service would be good quality. The long time, the interior falling about, and the constant smell of sewage, and all that was just for the elevator. The rooms were worse. Upon coming onto his floor, he looked around at all the decorations. Each floor had a different theme, and his theme was the ocean. Cut-outs of different ocean animals covered the wall, along with streamers of different shades of blue. A pinboard hanging on the wall next to the elevator held mini questionnaires filled out by the residents of the floor. One of the questions was if they were a sea creature, which would they be. Lucky answered dolphin, because they are sleek, fast, and that people often make assumptions about them and have no reason to worry. He reached his assigned room at the end of the hall. He looked at his name tag, which was a dolphin, which he thought was a coincidence. He tapped the head of the dolphin before entering, a ritual he had since he started college. Touching his name tag before he entered his room. The first thing he saw was one of his roommates, Matt, asleep on the couch. Lucky grabbed a blanket form the rack in the corner and covered him up. Matt let out a weird groaning noise and turned but stayed asleep. When Lucky went to open his bedroom door, it was locked. "I'm busy!" His main roommate, Spada, yelled from the room. "Come back in a few minutes!" Before walking off, Lucky could hear the noise of a bed squeaking. Grunting, he went to the little kitchen area. Every time he really needed to get some rest, Spada pulled some shit like that. Every time he was gone for longer than thirty minutes Spada had her over. But he never had the strength to say anything. Opening the fridge, his face remained emotionless at the sight of a basically empty fridge. At that point, he was just over his roommates not keeping up with the one simple task of grocery shopping. The only thing edible he could see was some milk, a few slices of leftover pizza, and a half empty ketchup bottle. He grabbed a slice of pizza and poured him a glass of milk. As he chewed, he pulled out his phone and opened a dating app and went to the message section. There was only one person who had a conversation. Lucky smiled for the first time that day. He thought he might've met someone but didn't know if it would work out. He didn't know what to respond with. He hadn't replied for at least five hours. The right words had yet to come, even though the other person's message was really simple. It asked what he was like when he was younger. They had been getting to know each other better, but he has been picky about what he shared, especially life before college. He didn't want to change the subject since it seemed rude, but he also didn't want to make them mad by lying. He began typing a sentence but stopped when he heard his bedroom door open. Spada's girlfriend lurked out of the dorm, waving to him as she exited. Spada came out next, only in his boxer briefs. He went to the fridge and sipped some of the milk straight from the jug. "Can you please use a glass?" Lucky said as he took another bite of the pizza. Spada placed the milk back in the fridge. He maneuvered his way around the tiny kitchen space and leaned up against the counter next to Lucky. "You already have some." "Besides the point. Others might want some later and they more than likely don't want your germs. Besides, I know where your mouth has been." Before Spada could respond, he finally got a sniff of Lucky and nearly gagged. "Dude, you stink." Lucky sniffed his own armpit and shrugged. He has grown accustomed to his stench that he built up an immunity to it. It took him really trying to sniff to catch it. "Yeah, I do. It's called sweating. It's what comes when one is physically active." "I'm physically active." "Sex and parties don't count." "Hey, don't diss those. I be sweating pretty hard while doing so." Spada crossed his arms. "You need to shower. I don't want to be smelling that the rest of the night." Lucky turned to him and scolded him. "I was going to when I got here, but you were busy." Spada stood straight up in a defensive manner. "You know the rule we set up at the beginning of the year. If one of us has company over, we shall give them privacy." "But I didn't think it would include the middle of the night." "There weren't any time restrictions when we made the deal." "Whatever." Lucky sighed as he made his way to the bedroom. Before he took off to the shower, he looked back at Spada, who was shaking his head. "You know," Spada started saying. "I wouldn't mind waiting out here for whatever amount of time you needed. That's if you ever bring a girl over." With that, Lucky slammed the door. There were times he despised Spada. Times where just his presence caused annoyance. He had the typically rich daddy's boy vibe, but lacked the rich daddy. Whined whenever he didn't get his way, bitch until he does, just plain punchable. On the other hand, there were times Spada was kind of tolerable. The times where they got drunk together were nice and good bonding moments, but those were rare sense Lucky didn't want to risk showing up to class or practice with a hangover. Spada once invited him to a threeway with his girlfriend on the terms that they wouldn't do anything with each other, but he declined out of respect. One time they to the arcade and made a mountain with all the tickets they had earned, then destroying it by jumping into it and rolling around. Putting all those thoughts behind him, Lucky went straight to the bathroom and locked the door. He stood in front of the mirror and stood straight into his eyes. He began that state of being where everything around him became too real and where he started contemplating life. What life was, what he was doing there, and what will happen if he dies. Or in his case what would've happened if he had died. Or what things would be like if he was never born. Shaking his head rapidly, he got out of those thoughts. He turned on the shower and waited for it to get hot. In the meantime, he took off his clothes and placed them neatly in the corner. Remaining in only his black briefs, he went back to staring at himself in the mirror. This time he stared at his body. At the wounds he had. The cuts across his six-pack. The bruises on his sides. The everlasting burn wound on the upper part of his arm. As he ran his fingers over it all, he tried staying strong. He kept reassuring himself that it'll all be over soon. He wanted to continue looking, but the mirror fogging up stopped him. He took off his underwear and stepped into the shower. The hot water hit him sharply, giving him the best feeling he has had for the day. He simply stood in the middle of the shower and let the water go all over him. It took him a good minute or two to begin. He poured some of his Axe body wash on his hands and started rubbing his body. He took it easy around his wounds since they were sensitive. He used the green apple shampoo his sister got him, only because he was out of his regular kind. He let his hand slip down his body until he reached his v-line. He tapped his fingers across it, enjoying the tingling sensation that slowed throughout his body. He let out a soft moan as he reached lower. He grasped his crotch and let out a louder moan. His head flung back and his eyes closed. Just the feeling could've made him finish since it had been forever since he had felt some sort of pleasure. He started moving his hand, the shampoo helped made a smooth rhythm. He used his other hand to rub his chest. His hands became synchronized in motion resulting in a higher amount of pleasure. All the feelings going through his body sped up his hands and he couldn't stop. It felt like electricity going through his veins, lighting was about to be next. Just as he was about to release, there was a loud bang on the door. It startled him so much that his hand sharply gripped over himself and he released over the front of the shower. His knees felt like jelly and he had to hold onto the rail so he wouldn't fall to the ground. "Hurry up, bro!" Spada said. Lucky took a moment to catch his breath. "I can't fall asleep with the shower running." Lucky groaned as he cleaned up, again, and turned the shower off. He stepped out, dried off, and wrapped the towel around his waist. He wiped off some of the steam on the mirror and brushed his hair. In the corner, he saw some of his residue on the corner of the tub. He took the edge of the towel and wiped it up so that Spada wouldn't complain. Finally finished, he grabbed his dirty clothes and walked into the bedroom and over to his dresser. He took off his towel and tossed it and the clothes into the basket. He opened the top drawer and pulled out a pair of light blue briefs. After he put them on, Spada turned on his bed and faced the ceiling. "Sorry about earlier." Lucky went to his bed and got under the covers. He took note of Spada's weird change in attitude, which wasn't uncommon. He adjusted himself and his pillows before responding. "About what?" "About saying if you ever bring a girl over." Spada let out a sigh. "I didn't mean to come off snarky." "It's fine." No it wasn't, but it wasn't the time. "Don't worry about it." "My thing is," He started, resulting in a soft groan from Lucky. "You're so attractive, no homo, you can get any girl you want. You're the star soccer player, a people helper, and you're Asian, girls love ethnic guys now." "Don't say that!" Lucky slightly yelled. He hated it when people brought up his race, not because he was ashamed, but because he thought it was never needed to be brought up. "I thought you were tired? Why don't you get some sleep, maybe it'll help your brain." "Hey, don't get upset at me for stating facts." "Well I don't want to hear your so-called facts." "Well, what do you want to hear?" "You sleeping." Spada chuckled. "Man, I can help you." "I don't need your help." Lucky turned to face the wall. "What's your type? Blonde, brunette, redhead? Maybe another ethnic person." Lucky became furious. He grabbed a bottle of water from under his bed and threw it at Spada. "Stop saying that! As I said before, I don't want or need your help. Stay out of my personal life and leave me the fuck alone!" Without saying anything, Spada made a face of confusion with a mix of anger. He tried throwing the bottle back, but it failed to reach halfway across the room. He huffed and turned to face the wall. Lucky wept silent tears. He pulled out his phone and went back to the message conversation. He scrolled through the entire thread, wanting to relive one of the happy parts his life had. From where they talked about school, hobbies, and dreams for the future. Although he had a gist of what he wanted for his dream, all he could think about was making a new dream reality. After a long time of thinking, he finally decided what to say. Let's talk, in person, after my soccer game. I know a place we could go and be alone. With a simple click of a button, his life changed. Whether it was for good or bad, that was debatable. What wasn't was his feelings. Feelings for soccer, feelings for freedom, and feelings for the one person that could truly care about him. A ding. Lucky looked back at his phone and formed a small smile at the message notification. He smiled more when he read it. I'll be there.

#gay #lgbt #bisexual #debut novel #books #gay books #fanfiction

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ibelieveinahappilyeverafter · 5 years

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we were made of stardust (so i wished on you) - BNHA Drabble

This was supposed to be just a short little drabble based off this post I made a week or two ago. A 3-page thousand word story quickly turned into a monster of 7.5k words because I don’t know the meaning of ‘leave them wanting more,’ I guess.

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Summary:

"If you're looking for Midnight-sensei, she already left." Shinsou Hitoshi spoke softly, couldn't keep eye contact, and looked like he was a few seconds away from collapsing into an exhausted pile caused by copious amounts of stress.

"No. You're Shinsou Hitoshi." Shouta didn't bother to phrase it as a question, but he was curious when the kid tensed as if expecting a fight or a scolding. "Do you know who I am?"

Shinsou glanced around as if expecting a trick, the kid finally meeting his eyes for a quick moment, "You're Eraserhead." Huh. Kid knew his heroes, then. "And you're here to tell me what I'm in trouble for."

"Who says you're in trouble?" Shouta had seen Shinsou's school file and it certainly hadn't been light, but considering his quirk and background, he wouldn't be surprised if more than half of those 'fights' had been started by others and then blamed on him.

"Because you're a teacher for the hero course, sir, and the only reason for a teacher from Class 1-A to be talking to me is if I'm in trouble." What a depressing and sarcastically polite kid.

"Do you still want to be a hero?"

we were made of stardust (so i wished on you)

Aizawa Shouta had known what he was going to do from the moment he saw Shinsou Hitoshi’s fight in the Sports Festival. The fight had drawn up a moment of clarity that drifted among the rest of the day’s memories, hazy and indistinct through his pain and medication that had dragged down his recovering body. That moment, though, was punctuated with bright sunlight, loud cheers, and the screams of a child who had been scorned by the world too many times over.

“You people… born with your awesome quirks… Getting to follow all your dreams!”

“A pretty familiar sight, don’t you think?” Hizashi had flicked off the microphones while the other teachers prepared the arena for the next fight after Midoriya’s victory. “A kid from General Studies fighting to be seen and recognized by those in the Hero course.”

“Mm.” A child with a ‘villain’s quirk’ who had been shunted off to General Studies due to his abysmal score in the entrance exam. It was a like a mirror image that Shouta was looking down at. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Ah, such fond memories of how we met!” Hizashi spun around in his chair, dramatic and bursting with energy as always. “The crowd was cheering, the sun was high in the sky, the air was crisp and cool, and I’ll never forget the beautiful creature that stood above me after such a difficult fight.”

During his speech, Hizashi had rolled his chair over to Shouta and had slid an arm around his waist, carefully avoiding any area that ached as he pressed a kiss to Shouta’s shoulder, expression soft and fond. Shouta didn’t feel all that bad about ruining it, “Hizashi. I used a roundhouse kick on you, broke your nose and glasses, and had you out of the ring within the minute the fight started.”

“Totally worth it!” Hizashi quieted down, resting his chin on Shouta’s shoulder as he looked back down at the field. “Still… That kid has a bit of promise, don’t you think?”

“He’s not without hope,” Shouta finally agreed. The kid was obviously lacking physically and didn’t know what to do once his quirk failed, but his determination had been enough to rival Midoriya’s.

“It doesn’t hurt that it’s a mirror image.” As always, Hizashi seemed to have the ability to read Shouta’s thoughts before he could voice them. “A General Studies student fighting to be heard and seen… Sounds familiar, don’t you think?”

“Mm.” Shouta glanced to Hizashi, still curled around him. “No.” His husband’s laughter filled the room and made him smile behind his bandages, Shouta quietly tucking away Shinsou’s paper to take home later. If this kid was serious about wanting to be a hero, then he wasn’t going to stop after this defeat.

That moment at the Sports Festival had been a defining moment as much as when Shouta had met the kid face-to-face outside the General Studies classroom a few weeks later, bandages and casts finally gone.

“If you’re looking for Midnight-sensei, she already left.” Shinsou Hitoshi spoke softly, couldn’t keep eye contact, and looked like he was a few seconds away from collapsing into an exhausted pile caused by copious amounts of stress. Shouta suddenly understood all Nemuri’s comments about having a homeroom student who looked just like him.

“No. You’re Shinsou Hitoshi.” Shouta didn’t bother to phrase it as a question, but he was curious when the kid tensed as if expecting a fight or a scolding. “Do you know who I am?”

Shinsou glanced around as if expecting a trick, the kid finally meeting his eyes for a quick moment, “You’re Eraserhead.” Huh. Kid knew his heroes, then. “And you’re here to tell me what I’m in trouble for.”

“Who says you’re in trouble?” Shouta had seen Shinsou’s school file and it certainly hadn’t been light, but considering his quirk and background, he wouldn’t be surprised if more than half of those ‘fights’ had been started by others and then blamed on him.

“Because you’re a teacher for the hero course, sir, and the only reason for a teacher from Class 1-A to be talking to me is if I’m in trouble.” What a depressing and sarcastically polite kid. Shouta hated that Hizashi had been so right.

“Do you still want to be a hero?” Just like that, Shinsou had gone completely still and silent, posture tense and straight as he stared at the ground. After a minute with no answer, Shouta sighed and readjusted his binding cloth. “It’s not that hard of a question, kid. Do you want-”

“Yes.” The response was barely louder than a whisper, but it was as hard as steel. “More than anything.” Hm… It was close to what Shouta wanted, but it wasn’t quite there, yet.

“And do you think you can be one?” This was the question that had Shinsou slowly raising his gaze, staring at him with too many emotions to even begin to name. Shouta saw hope, though. Hope and fear. “I asked you a question.”

“No one would ever let me be a hero,” Shinsou finally said, fear and bitterness winning out in his expression. “I have a villain’s quirk.” Ah, so Shouta was right about that. People could be so cruel.

“That’s not what I asked,” Shouta finally said, keeping a relaxed stance to try and set the kid at ease. “Do you think you can be a hero?” Because there was no point in going any further if he had given up.

“I…” Shinsou had a villain’s quirk and tired eyes. He met Shouta’s gaze, though, and stood up straight, voice clear and steady. “I’m not going to stop trying to get into the hero course.” Oh? “Some of them deserve their spots there, but others don’t. They’re spoiled, and selfish, and were born with the right quirk. There’s enough heroes out there who were born with the right quirk.”

“And what are you going to do about it? You’re just a kid in General Studies, aren’t you?” It was cruel, but he needed to see how far this kid would go.

“So were you.” For a moment, Shouta was completely caught off guard. “You transferred to the Hero course after your first year’s Sports Festival. You might as well be quirkless when you’re fighting most villains, but… You’re still a hero.”

“And you think you can do the same? I’m the only one who’s managed a transfer at this school in the last twenty years.”

“Then soon it’ll be two.” Shinsou didn’t waver even with as nervous as he looked. “I want to help people.”

“There’s more ways to help someone than just being a hero,” Shouta said, remembering the same things he had been told again and again. Every time, though, he had given the same answer back.

“I want to prove that I can do it because everyone said I can’t.” This kid… “It’s selfish, but I want to prove that you can be a hero even with a villain’s quirk. If I don’t get in the course this year, then there’s next year’s Sports Festival and then there’s the one after that. If that doesn’t work, then I’ll find another way. If you’re here to tell me to save myself the trouble, then you can save yourself the breath. I’m not giving up.”

Pushing himself off the opposite wall of the classroom, Shouta yawned as he turned and started walking away, throwing out a lazy wave as he called back, “Meet me at the Gamma Field at four after your classes tomorrow.”

Shinsou Hitoshi was going to end up being better than every student in his class.

Their first training session together had been more to test Shinsou’s dedication to training than to test his skills. Shouta wanted to see how the kid would react when placed under pressure and so he had shown up in his hero outfit and told the kid to run and not stop until he either escaped the fake city or collapsed in a fit of exhaustion.

As it turned out, Shinsou Hitoshi was going to end up being another problem child of his and, for the record, Shouta had not been serious when he told the kid to run until he collapsed. He approved of the kid’s dedication, but he made sure to lecture him on the importance of knowing his limits once he woke up.

Their following training sessions went much better, Shouta mused. So far, Shinsou seemed to keep up with everything Shouta threw at him. Each grueling physical task Shouta assigned was met with Shinsou pushing himself even further. Shouta had thought the kid had been trying to impress him, but instead Shinsou had admitted that he needed to push himself farther than he could because he was starting from before even getting close to the starting line.

Shouta had scolded him and then changed their entire future training sessions to push Shinsou even more than before. Recovery Girl wasn’t happy with him, but Shouta saw the kid smile when he thought no one was looking.

After that, it didn’t take long to start breaking Shinsou out of his multiple bad habits. Getting him to talk was easy when compared with getting him to ask questions, but even that changed when they started training Shinsou’s quirk. Shouta could understand why people would be upset about falling under Shinsou’s brainwashing, but it could be relaxing to not have to think about anything for a while.

That didn’t mean the kid wasn’t a little shit, though, considering a five-minute exercise turned into him waking up from a nap inside his sleeping bag.

“It’s been two hours,” Shinsou was quick to answer the unasked question, the teen sitting somewhat close by as he worked on a batch of homework. “Mic-sensei came by and I explained why you were asleep.”

“What was Mic’s reaction?” Shouta blinked his eyes rapidly for a few moments, trying to get rid of the groggy feeling that came from such a deep sleep. It was helpful, in the long run, but Shinsou was supposed to be training, not letting Shouta catch up on missed sleep.

“He laughed for almost five minutes and then told me to pass on the message that he’s making dinner tonight.” They were both little shits, Shouta decided. “Do you two live together?”

“We do.” Shouta pushed himself up to at least be sitting, not quite willing to leave the warmth of his sleeping bag, yet. “Why?”

“You two just don’t seem the type to get along,” Shinsou shrugged, looking back down to his homework. “He’s loud and flashy and always in the spotlight and you’re… not.”

“You haven’t heard of opposites attracting?” The look Shinsou gave him almost had Shouta laughing. “He makes up for what I lack.”

“Humor?” It was nice that Shinsou was warming up around him, but Shouta also had the urge to tie Shinsou up in his sleeping bag for a few hours just to not deal with him. “How long have you two known each other?”

“Fifteen years.” The surprised look Shinsou gave him was amusing, Shouta had to admit. “We met in my first year of U. A. and he decided that we were going to be friends. I haven’t been able to get rid of him, yet.”

“Aren’t you thirty?” Shinsou frowned, looking even more confused when Shouta gave him a nod. “So… you’ve known him for half your life.”

“I suppose I have.” It wasn’t a bad thing to think about. “We get along. We’ve had our fights, of course, but we always worked it out.”

“I guess that explains why you’re married to him.” Shouta didn’t jump, but it was a close thing. Shinsou must have seen some of his confusion, though, because he gestured to his own neck. “You wear a wedding ring around your neck. You’re not the type to wear jewelry just because it looks nice.”

“You’re more observant than everyone in my class, then,” Shota snorted. It was honestly a surprise that he hadn’t been asked about his love life by his nosy brats. He gave it another few weeks before they broke. “I don’t suppose I need to ask you to keep it quiet?”

“Depends. Can I get a few extra credit points on my last English test?” Shinsou had a cheeky grin, Shota not bothering to give him an answer.

“Is homework the only thing you’ve done since I’ve been asleep?”

“Mostly,” Shinsou shrugged, drawing up his knees, “I also went through my workouts while you were asleep.”

“How many times?” The incriminating silence was answer enough. “I thought we had a talk about you pushing yourself.”

“Mic-sensei already lectured me,” Shinsou muttered, gesturing towards his lapful of notebooks and textbooks. “He said I wasn’t allowed to do any work that didn’t involve sitting down and not pushing myself.” Shouta really loved that man.

Standing up with a stretch, Shouta looked down to Shinsou and gave him a nudge with his foot, Shinsou raising an eyebrow up at him. “How long have you been doing your homework?”

“Close to an hour.” Leave it to Shinsou to sound frustrated over the fact he was forced to not do high intensity workouts. “Why?”

“Get up. Weapons training.” It took less than five seconds for the kid to be up and by his side. It was almost cute. Mostly, though, it was just nice to have a kid that listened to him.

“None of the practice weapons work with me,” Shinsou said, looking disgruntled that he had to admit to it.

“You just haven’t found the right one, yet,” Shouta waved off, looking over to what they had to work with. While weapons training didn’t officially start until second year, Shinsou wasn’t in his class, so Shouta could train him how he wished. Weapon training was good for increasing his strength and stamina, anyways. “What was wrong with the staff? You fought well with it.”

“It just… didn’t feel right.” Shinsou frowned, looking down at his hands. “Once I lost my grip on it, there was no way to get it back in time for me to continue fighting with it. It was the same for all the other weapons, and my aim isn’t good enough for the long-distance ones.”

Thinking to himself for a moment, Shouta paused as he stared down at where he was readjusting his binding cloth. Slowly looking back to Shinsou, Shouta took in the frustrated expression before giving a slow grin, “Hey, kid.”

Shinsou looked up at him at once, frowning and narrowing his eyes, “Why are you smiling like that?”

“How do you feel about an unconventional weapon?”

“Hey, babe?” Grunting to shown that he had heard, Shouta didn’t even flinch as he felt Hizashi’s hand settle on the small of his back. “Is there a reason you’re on all fours and digging through our closet, right now?”

“I’m looking for something.” A promising looking box quickly vanished as he was pulled out of the closet, Shouta throwing a glare up at a grinning Hizashi. It was hard to keep glaring when Hizashi’s smiles were the very embodiment of sunshine.

“Mind telling your wonderful, loving, and caring husband that keeps this place organized what you were looking for?” Hizashi was sitting on the floor and it was only a few moments before Shouta was pulled into his lap, arms locking around his waist tightly.

“No.” Shouta looked away, trying to keep a blank face as he felt silly little kisses pressed against his neck and cheek. “That’s not going to work.”

“Aw, but baby.” No. Hizashi’s silly little English pet names would not work. Not this time. “C’mon, Shou-chan. Tell me?”

“I’m looking for my binding cloth – the old one I had back in our third year.” Shouta could withstand many kinds of torture, but he was only so strong in the face of Hizashi’s soft voice and childhood nicknames.

“Your binding cloth?” Hizashi’s arms tightened at once, Shouta shivering as felt fingers slip under his shirt and start pressing against his skin, searching for bruises. “What happened to your current one? Did you get hurt out on patrol? Shouta-”

“Calm down, I didn’t get hurt.” Shouta sighed, slumping in Hizashi’s hold and taking a moment to enjoy the warm contact. “I’m starting to train Shinsou in using the binding cloth and it seems more logical to teach him on my old one while I demonstrate with my current one.”

Shouta knew what Hizashi’s silence would lead to before he even heard the first snicker, “Remember when you tried to convince us that you weren’t soft and that you didn’t secretly love all of your kids?”

“They’re my students, not my kids. Shinsou shows promise and that’s all it is.” Shouta squirmed when Hizashi held him a little closer, still laughing. “Are you going to help or not?”

“It’s in the hallway cupboard under the extra linens.” Oh. That explained why he couldn’t find it in their closet. “What would you do without me?”

“Well, my life would be a lot quieter.” Turning around to cut off the offended huff with a soft, lingering kiss, Shouta leaned his head against Hizashi’s shoulder when they parted. “I didn’t say that was a good thing, ‘Zashi.”

“So sweet, and yet so prickly,” Hizashi mumbled, smile clear in his voice and against his skin. “How’s the kid been doing, lately?”

“Pushing himself past his limits and almost risking serious injury because he doesn’t know how to listen.” It was eternally frustrating.

“Wow. Sounds like some good karma.” It took a lot of effort to not shove Hizashi to the floor and smother him. “Are we sure he’s not some secret love child of yours?”

“Not unless you grew a uterus and managed to have a kid without me knowing before we even started dating.” There was an offended noise that was almost a screech, Shouta leaning his head back to glare at Hizashi. “He’s just as much yours.”

“What? In what way is he just as much mine?” Huh. Hizashi was honestly clueless. This was probably how everyone else felt when it came to Shinsou being ‘his child.’

Holding out his hand, Shouta began to tick off items with his fingers, “Voice quirk, general attitude when in a fight, his ability to think of strategies on the fly, and he has your smile.”

“What? What do you mean he has my smile?” Hizashi leaned back, looking down at him with a baffled expression. “The kid can smile?”

“Ha ha,” Shouta drawled, closing his eyes and settling down. “Right before he uses his quirk, he has that same smile you have before you use your own quirk. The one that makes you look like a member of the yakuza.”

As Hizashi smothered laughter against Shouta’s shoulder, he decided not to mention that Shinsou also had Hizashi’s small, quiet smile that was usually hidden or directed towards the ground. He’d let Hizashi find out that one on his own.

“He’s still more like you than he is me- Ooh! You should try taking him to that cat café that we’re always going to! I bet he’d love that. He seems like the type of kid to like cats.”

“I know you’re just saying that because you think I’m somehow obsessed with cats.” From behind them, there was an incriminating and warbling screech of a meow. “I’ll take him next time.”

“You’re such a softie for your kids,” Hizashi teased, the words whispered against his skin. Shouta gave a pleasant shudder, relaxing even more into Hizashi’s hold.

“They’re not my kids.” Well, at least, not all of them were, he supposed.

“Sensei, shouldn’t we be training?” Shinsou had been remarkably complacent in following Shouta off campus, but he supposed he should have known the kid would start getting antsy eventually.

“We’re working on special training, today.” Shouta hid a smile when Shinsou perked up, following him with a lot less complaining. It wasn’t until they stepped inside the café that Shouta frequented with Hizashi that Shinsou was looking a lot less accepting.

“I don’t think this counts as training, Sensei.” Flashing his membership card to the hostess who barely bothered to look with how often he was here, Shouta dragged Shinsou over to a table in the back, pushing him down into a seat. “Why are we at a café?”

“Whether you choose to go public or underground, a pro hero is expected to be approachable and able to handle civilians in tough situations and, above all else, be able to reassure them that help has either arrived or is on the way.”

“That still doesn’t explain why we’re at a café.” Wonderfully on time, one of the cats who knew Shouta well gave a loud meow from behind Shinsou. The teen startled and looked around with wide eyes before staring up at Shouta and speaking with a hushed voice, “Is this a cat café?”

“Your training today is to try and be approached by as many cats as possible. If you manage to get at least four, I’ll pay for your lunch.” Considering there would be at least six on him within the hour, Shouta figured it was a safe way to pay for the kid’s lunch without arguing with him or embarrassing him.

Settling down and pulling out a stack of papers he still needed to grade, Shouta tried to be discreet as he kept an eye on things. It wasn’t even ten minutes before Shinsou had a lap full of three cats who were all near vibrating with glee as he tried to pet every one of them at the same time.

Shouta carefully took a picture and sent it to Hizashi before he spoke, “I take it you like cats.” It was stupid to be proud at how Shinsou didn’t flinch, only looking up and giving a nod that was almost shy. “Good choice.”

“Dogs are too loud and sometimes too friendly,” Shinsou explained, beaming when another cat came over and started climbing up onto his shoulders to sniff at his hair. “Cats are quiet, though, and they come to you on their own terms. I always admired that.”

“You’ve never been to a cat café before, though?” Ah, there was the embarrassed shame Shouta had been expecting for the day.

“I… guess I never had the time to really go to one.” Shit, it was getting harder to not feel guilty when the kid became withdrawn from a question like that. Ugh… he’d have to get personal to get out of this mess.

“That’s fine.” Shouta looked back down to his work, forcing his tone into nonchalance as he stared at Class 1-A’s essays. “I didn’t go to my first cat café until I was in my last semester of third year.”

“Really? You love cats, though.” When Shouta glanced up, Shinsou shrugged as if it was obvious. "You showed a membership card when we came in, you one time stopped training so we could get a cat out of a tree, and your phone has a little cat charm on it which I’m guessing Mic-sensei got for you.”

“They’re cats,” Shouta finally shrugged, stupidly pleased and proud again that Shinsou had noticed all of that. This kid was going to be top of his class when he got in – unlike Mineta who had a shoddy paper that was going to fail in about two minutes. “And I got Hizashi back by buying him a cockatoo keychain.”

“A… Isn’t that the bird with the yellow feathers sticking up on its head? The really loud ones?” When Shouta merely stared instead of answering, Shinsou gave a startled laugh. “I guess it fits. But, you- You were really that old when you first came to a place like this?”

“I could never afford it.” Becoming personal with a student was one of the worst things Shouta could ever think to do, but Shinsou didn’t look so ashamed, anymore. “I grew up in a rough prefecture and an even rougher home. The only reason I got into U. A. to begin with was due to my grades qualifying for a scholarship like in your case. Hizashi and a few other friends brought me here for some sort of celebration.”

“Oh.” Shinsou looked back down to the cats in his lap, Shouta looking down to his own work and easily hiding his smile in his binding cloth.

When his phone buzzed with Hizashi’s response to his earlier picture, Shouta thought he had sent the same picture back to him on accident. A closer look, though, shouted that the teenager in the picture had longer hair that was black, and an outdated U. A. uniform instead of the current one.

‘are we still sure he’s not your kid??’ The old picture of Shouta when he went to a cat café for the first time was near the same picture that he had taken of Shinsou, right down to the look of awe and delight. ‘because if he is I want legal rights so I can take him shopping and spoil him.’

‘hows your uterus’ Shouta sent, rolling his eyes when he received a slew of laughing faces instead of a proper answer.

Dropping his phone, Shouta glanced up at Shinsou, who didn’t seem to realize he was looking. For a few moments, Shinsou looked like a kid instead of the miniature adult he tried so hard to be. He looked happy.

Shouta ordered cat treats and an extra dessert.

“Come on, herolet, up you get!” Hizashi was full of boundless energy as always when they were outside their apartment, standing over an exhausted and collapsed Shinsou.

“I can’t get up when you’ve killed me,” Shinsou muttered, not even trying to push himself up. Hizashi must have heard the lack of pain as much as Shouta, because all he did was nudge Shinsou’s side with his foot. “I’m dead.”

“Heroes aren’t allowed to die. They get back up and keep going even when they should learn to rely on others and actually stay home and rest instead of going to school with two broken arms.” Meeting Hizashi’s glare head on, Shouta took a long sip of his jelly packet.

“Sounds like a jerk,” Shinsou chimed in, slowly pushing himself up and not quite managing to hide a wince. Shouta wasn’t too surprised by that, considering Hizashi was more brutal in combat training than Shouta even was. “Why am I training in hand-to-hand when I should be training with the binding cloth?”

“Because you need to know how to fight if you ever lose it or it gets stolen.” Hizashi dropped to sit in front of Shinsou, beaming at the look he was given. “You can ask Shouta, if you want. When we first started out as heroes-”

“Stop telling him dumb things.” Shouta threw his grading pen at Hizashi, amused when Hizashi didn’t even bother dodging. “Hand-to-hand is good for building muscle and keeping you in shape. You’ll also be expected to fight without a weapon for most the exercises in the hero course until late second year and third year.”

“That’s so stupid,” Shinsou groaned, collapsing backwards again and sprawling out on the gym floor. “Why is Mic-sensei teaching me hand-to-hand and not you?”

“Oi, oi, I told you that you can call me Yamada, you know.”

“Of course, Mic-sensei.” It was a fight to not laugh at Hizashi’s disgruntled expression. “Why the hand-to-hand, though?”

“When people find out you need your voice to use your quirk, they’re going to go for your throat,” Hizashi said gently, catching Shinsou’s gaze when the teen looked up at him. “The binding cloth is good, but you need more than one way to protect yourself until you master the cloth.”

“So, basically, I have to worry about getting choked to death every time I go out and fight,” Shinsou groaned, looking even more despondent than before.

“That’s exactly why we’re training, herolet!”

“That’s not a word, you know, even in English.”

“Hey, hey, who’s the English teacher, here! I think I know more English than you!”

“You are a reason why Americans hate us.” At the accented, but correct English, Shouta couldn’t stop himself from bursting into laughter, quickly trying to smother it at Hizashi’s screech.

“You little brat-!” Just like that, the two were rolling around on the ground like a pair of screaming and arguing children, Shouta not bothering to try and stop them as he went back to his grading. It was nice to see the two bonding, anyways.

The next time Shouta looked up, he realized he must have dozed off – partly because the angle of the sun shining through the windows was different, but mostly because Hizashi was looking through a stack of papers while Shinsou was curled up and sleeping on his other side.

“I thought you two were trying to kill each other,” Shouta yawned, absently ruffling Shinsou’s hair and snorting when the kid curled into the touch.

“We decided to call a truce after you fell asleep,” Hizashi grinned, voice soft and quiet as he moved to sit against the wall and press against Shouta’s side. “Your kid is kind of adorable, you know. He was fighting off sleep for almost half an hour before he finally collapsed.”

“That proves he’s not my kid. I wouldn’t have bothered fighting it.” Shouta frowned as his fingers caught on a few tangles in the kid’s hair, Shouta shifting a bit to try and work them out. “Besides, he’s more your kid considering his hair is full of gel.”

“Really?” Hizashi startled, leaning closer to look over to where Shouta was working. Considering Hizashi’s own hair, Shouta was a pro at working out tangles and gel, at this point. “I thought his hair naturally did that.”

“You thought his hair naturally stuck up like he had been electrocuted?” Shouta paused to look back at Hizashi, who gave him an equally dry look and tugged on a lock of Shouta’s own hair. “Hush.”

“I’m going to buy him some decent hair gel, if that’s the case, then. He’s probably using that cheap, generic stuff that’s bad for his hair. Ooh! We can bond over hair!” Poor Shinsou. Shouta almost felt sorry for him. “He’s a good kid, Shou.”

“I know.” That file of his said he was a trouble maker, but Shinsou Hitoshi was a hard-working student who was willing to overwork himself to get the right result. As usual these days, Shouta felt a disgustingly large amount of pride. “How’d was he for the rest of the lesson?”

“Focus on speed and takedowns with him.” Just as he had figured, then. “He’s still growing, but his body type is going to be a bit more like mine. He’s going to be quick, but he won’t have as much brute strength as you or others. You’ll need to keep that in mind when he’s using the cloth so that he can learn to use the other’s weight against them.”

“He’s going to be taller than both of us, though,” Shouta snorted, finally getting the last tangle out. Shinsou’s hair was now soft and draped around his head in little waves, all the gel firmly worked out as he slept. Shouta’s lips twitched as he stared down at him. “I suppose he looks like me a little.”

“He looks like your clone,” Hizashi snorted, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter when Shinsou shuffled closer to curl up more against Shouta and the sleeping bag. “We should probably be waking him up soon, though. It’s getting late.”

“We can let him sleep a bit longer and I can just carry him towards the train station,” Shouta shrugged, finally standing up. Busy with putting his papers away and rolling up his sleeping bag, it took Shouta a moment to realize Hizashi was quietly watching him. “What?”

“Still want to tell me he’s not your kid? And I don’t mean by birth, Shouta.” Dammit. Hizashi knew him too well and Shouta hated that some days. “I’ve read his file, you know.”

“It certainly stands out,” Shouta agreed, handing Shinsou’s backpack and his own bag over to Hizashi, Shouta watching as the papers Hizashi had been looking through went inside Shinsou’s bag. Shinsou must have asked for help on his homework. The stupid pride feeling was back. “I think it’s thicker than all the files of my homeroom students.”

“Foster care, huh?” Ah, Hizashi would latch onto that part. Shouta knew Hizashi had been adopted by his mothers at a young age, but he had been old enough to remember his own time in the system. “No wonder the kid acts like he does.”

“Like he’s older than he is?” A bit of quick and clever maneuvering had Shinsou on his back, the teen squirming around with a quiet noise. “It’s just me, Shinsou.” It took effort not to laugh as Shinsou immediately slumped against him and buried his face against the back of Shouta’s shoulder, arms coming around to hold on more tightly.

“You know…” Shouta didn’t like that tone of voice. “We do have a spare bedroom at home.” Ignoring the way his heart sped up, Shouta scoffed as he began walking, Hizashi quickly following him. “You’re already close to him, too, and we both have our foster licenses! Does he live in a home or a facility, right now?”

“He lives in a home a few towns over, but it’s… not the best, from what I’ve managed to learn.” Shouta slowed down, feeling himself start to break when Shinsou sleepily curled closer. “He lives in a home with six or seven other kids and the ‘parents’ seem to be par for the course for the system.”

“We live closer to U. A., you know,” Hizashi said after a long, silent moment. “We’re also two pro heroes and teachers. We have plenty of room, a good income, and we work five jobs between us. We also have reason to suspect that Shinsou would be happier in a different home.”

“How long have you been thinking of this, then?” Shouta drawled, hating the way he felt hope at Hizashi’s points. It didn’t take a genius to realize Shinsou was unhappy with where he lived. It was likely he was being abused in some way, but Shouta had yet been able to tell if it was physical or emotional.

“Since the moment I saw him at that Sports Festival.” Shouta stopped at the school gates, the campus empty and deserted with the late hour of the day. Golden sunlight was quickly disappearing, and it wouldn’t be long until night fully set in. The moment, though, was a peaceful one. It also felt like an important one. “He looks like you.”

“So you and everyone else keep saying.” Shouta turned his head to see that Hizashi had a hand in Shinsou’s hair, gently ruffling it. “What do you mean when you say that he looks like me?”

“It’s not the physical appearance – at least, not all of it.” Hizashi seemed to debate his words, finally giving a soft, quiet sigh. “It’s the look in his eyes.” Shouta glanced to him, Hizashi smiling weakly. “A kid that young shouldn’t look so tired, Shouta.”

“No… He shouldn’t.” Shouta chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, watching as Shinsou grumbled and whined and hid his face at the stray sunlight that passed over them. “After the staff meeting.”

“What?” Hizashi blinked, Shouta not quite able to meet his gaze as he began walking again, Shinsou calm and asleep against him.

“Ask me again after the staff meeting.”

“Are you sure he’s fit for heroics?” Sekijiro asked, looking skeptic from across the table. It took Hizashi’s hand in his to keep Shouta from making a rude gesture at him. “I mean, he didn’t get very far into the tournament at the Sports Festival.”

“He lasted longer than some of your students, I noticed.” There was a snickering from at least three other teachers, Shouta rolling his eyes. They were as immature as their students, some days. “I’ve had him for multiple training sessions now and he’s already shown rapid improvement. He needs time to build up his strength and speed, but he knows what he’s doing.”

“He couldn’t be transferred until after summer break, and by that time the other kids would be pretty far ahead,” Nemuri pointed out, not even flinching at Shouta’s glare. “They can’t all be childhood geniuses like you, Shouta.”

“His grades are better than half of my homeroom,” Shouta said, annoyed when most of them looked disbelieving. “In Hero Ethics he’s been getting an A since the class began – and that was before I took an interest in his education. Mic. What’s he getting in English?”

“The same,” Hizashi laughed, looking delighted. He always was fond of the ones who did well in their language classes. Hizashi hadn’t made it a secret that he had been thinking about teaching Shinsou sign language, as well. “Yo, his English teacher has been raving about him. He’s quick to pick up on languages and his level is already at a second year.”

“Good grades don’t mean a good strategist or a good fighter. His quirk is Brainwashing, isn’t it?” Ectoplasm didn’t have much in the way of an expression, but Shouta could hear the skepticism in his voice. “It’s not a combat-based quirk. Don’t you think he’s at a disadvantage?”

“My quirk isn’t ‘combat-based’ and yet I seem to remember that I’ve had more successful raids than you have, Ectoplasm.” Shouta could feel the man’s irritation. It was almost as good as Hizashi’s smothered laugh.

“His quirk is a part of it, though.” Ah, it looked like Nemuri would have to be disowned as a friend, today. “Aren’t you worried people will judge him based on his quirk? Plus, the kid looks half dead and he sleeps in about every class he can get away with it. He doesn’t exactly scream friendly.”

“Good.” Shouta slumped in his chair, showing off his own ‘friendly’ demeanor. “The world needs more underground heroes, as well as heroes who will actually focus on villain acquisition instead of being concerned with some popularity poll.”

“Eraser, have you even looked at his records?” Sekijiro waved a copy of Shinsou’s file around, Shouta simply staring at him. “He’s been on the brink of expulsion in all his other schools for constant fights! Aren’t you complaining about having enough problem children in your class?”

“Have you seen the way he talks to others?” Shouta asked, smirking when the man finally shook his head. “I’d be willing to stake my entire career on the kid being blamed for fights that others started.”

“How many of you have Shinsou for your classes?” Hizashi asked, Shouta raising his eyebrows as he raised his hand along with a few others. “How many times have you heard him ask a question? Even just to go and use the bathroom or to get an extra copy of an assignment.”

There was silence in the room, Shouta remembering back to his first conversation with the kid. He hadn’t asked a question once during the whole exchange. It had taken four training sessions before he started to break the kid of the habit and it was a constant process to keep him out of the habit.

“Shinsou’s quirk is activated when he gets a response, and the easiest way to do that is to ask a question. He never does. He’s trained himself out of asking questions or speaking in a way that would activate his quirk. Does that seem like a villain in the making to you?”

“I’m not saying he’s a villain, I’m saying that he’s not fit for the hero course! There’s plenty of other students in General Studies who want a spot just as badly who actually scored in the entrance exam.”

“Shinsou wants it more.” That was one thing that Shouta had never doubted and that Shinsou had proven time and time again. The kid wanted this more than anything else and more than anyone else.

“He’s physically behind every other student!”

“He’ll catch up.”

“He’s a risk for the Hero course.”

“If the other students can’t handle a little risk, then they’re in the wrong school and class, don’t you think?”

“But-”

Letting go of Hizashi’s hand, Shouta stood up fast enough to topple his chair as he slammed his hands on the desk, staring down Sekijiro and trying not to let his temper get away from him too badly as he felt the burn in his eyes that came from his quirk, “Listen here, Blood King. My kid is better than any student of yours and he is going to be one of the best heroes in this entire school. I don’t care if I have to fight every single one of you in here on this, but I’m not going to quit until Shinsou Hitoshi is in the Hero course!”

A sharp silence fell over the meeting room, Shouta not able to find it within himself to be anything but righteously furious before there was the soft sound of a teacup being set down on fine china.

“Well, then. I think it’s about time to take a vote. All those in favor of transferring Shinsou Hitoshi from General Studies into Class 1-A after the summer break, please raise your hand.”

Every hand in the room was raised into the air.

“I could be wrong, but I think telling you that training is cancelled today means that training was cancelled for today.”

“You didn’t say I couldn’t train on my own, though.” Shinsou was doing a good job in keeping his voice calm and even considering he was tangled up in his own binding cloth and looking embarrassed enough to put a flustered Midoriya to shame. “I thought you weren’t coming to the gym, today.”

“I had a feeling I would find you here.” Shouta walked in properly, letting Hizashi be the one to suppress a laugh as he went over to help Shinsou out of his new prison. “How many reps did you get through?”

“Three and then this happened,” Shinsou muttered, Shouta pleased to see the teen hadn’t tensed up or flinched when Hizashi got to his side and started untangling him. “Am I really going to learn this?”

“It took me six years to master the binding cloth and I was inventing it as much as I was learning it. You have a teacher who knows what they’re doing.”

“Your teacher has also tangled himself up too many times to count,” Hizashi added, Shouta glancing around for something to throw at Hizashi. “It was a fifty-fifty chance whether he’d tie up his opponent or himself during sparring matches.”

“Oi! Stop telling him dumb things!” Shouta walked over and sat down beside them, Shinsou raising a curious eyebrow. “I’m not allowed to sit?”

“You’d usually be lecturing me a lot more about training on my own,” Shinsou said, slumping in relief when Hizashi got him fully untangled with a little noise of victory. “Did Recovery Girl tell you I was dying?”

“Does Recovery Girl need to tell me you’re dying?” Shouta shot back, watching the kid think about it before finally shaking his head. “No, this isn’t about you dying.”

“Wait- Is he dying?” Hizashi looked mildly panicked, gaze shooting between them. “Shinsou, you’d tell us if you were dying, wouldn’t you?”

“Of course.” The lie was crystal clear in his voice. “Aren’t you guys supposed to be at a staff meeting?”

“It finished,” Shouta shrugged, gesturing at Shinsou’s cloth. Shinsou started winding it up at once, Shouta pleased when the kid managed to get it wrapped back around his neck with only a few movements. “It’s usually frowned upon for you to still be on campus once classes and clubs are over, you know.”

“Usually,” Shinsou pointed out, hiding a smile in his cloth. Beside them, Hizashi looked like he was shaking with the urge to not laugh at the action that even Shouta could admit was exactly like his own. “How’d you know I would be here?”

“Because if it were me, I’d be here trying to train, too,” Shouta admitted, shoving Hizashi to the floor when he did laugh, this time. “How hungry are you?”

“Depends on where we’re going,” Shinsou replied after a moment, Hizashi not bothering to sit himself back up.

“Cat café, probably.”

“I’m starving, then.”

“Good.” Shouta stood up before helping Shinsou up, Hizashi complaining about his old age as he got up himself. “You’ll get to see the oddity that is those cats loving Hizashi more than the both of us combined.”

“Really?” Shinsou blinked, looking to Hizashi for a long moment before nodding. “I can believe that.” Oh, really? “He’s pretty good at befriending cats, from what I’ve seen.”

Hizashi burst into laughter as Shinsou hid another grin, Shouta staring at them both. Somehow, before he had even realized it, Shinsou had become as big a part of his life as Hizashi. Really, he supposed it was all leading to this from the very beginning.

“Shinsou.” The kid looked up at him at once, still looking happy and amused and so unlike how he had looked when Shouta had first seen him fighting for what he wanted more than anything else. “How do you feel about having a different foster home?”

#erasermic #shinsou hitoshi #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #shinson #bnha #boku no hero academia #present mic #bnha drabbles #my writing

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tech-specialist98 · 3 years

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Poco X3 Pro review: More power to you

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📷📷 Poco X3Poco hasn’t been around for long and yet very quickly this Xiaomi spinoff brand has built a reputation for itself launching multiple products with “world’s first or India’s first” technologies. Starting off with the illustrious Poco F1, it went on to launch the Poco X2 (first phone under 20k with 120Hz refresh rate display) and Poco X3 (first phone with Qualcomm Snapdragon 732G system-on-chip). The freshly minted Poco X3 Pro, likewise, is the first phone with Qualcomm Snapdragon 860 SoC. More than the chip itself, it is the price of the phone that is grabbing headlines. It starts at just Rs 18,999 (6GB/128GB).Then again, if you know a thing or two about Poco, this is business as usual.Unlike the Poco F1 or Poco X2 or even the Poco X3, the Poco X3 Pro isn’t technically a new product so to say. As the name suggests, it’s a turbo-charged Poco X3. If the Poco X3 was a race car, the Poco X3 Pro with its more powerful hardware should be a rocket ship. That’s expected. But that’s not all that you probably expect from a phone launching in 2021, even if its costs so low. You also expect a little bit of polish and a little bit of promise of futureproofing to go along.High performance, delivered Like the phone itself, the chip inside it is also not completely brand new. The Snapdragon 860 is a Snapdragon 855 from 2019 with a slightly overclocked CPU. Think of it as a refurbished Snapdragon 855 Plus. Considering how fast Qualcomm keeps refreshing its portfolio these days, some might take that refurbished badge with a pinch of salt. Some might call it dated. But when you put a chip like that inside a budget phone like the Poco X3 Pro, all your preconceived notions are instantly blown away. Suddenly, things start to make a lot of sense.Make no mistake, this is the most powerful phone under 20k in the Indian market today. Period. As if it wasn’t already enough, the Poco X3 Pro also comes with UFS 3.1 storage, another first for any phone in this price range.The Poco X3 Pro story essentially revolves around this hardware combo. It is perhaps the only Poco phone worthy of being called a “spiritual” successor to the Poco F1, perfectly aligning with its “everything you need, nothing you don’t” formula which is probably why the brand is going all out on marketing it that way. For good reason. Next to the Poco X3, the Poco X3 Pro is a whole new beast. Like I said, it’s a rocket ship.And it performs like one, for the most part. There are two parts to this story.This is the only phone under 20k that can play a graphically intensive game like Genshin Impact (at medium setting) or Call of Duty: Mobile (all maxed out) effortlessly, which is to say that your experience would be very, very satisfying. The Adreno 640 GPU holds up well. Though it throttles from time to time, this phone latches on and gives you a steady 60fps in many supporting games. Something like this was not possible before. It opens new opportunities, the Poco X3 Pro, for those looking to get some sort of headstart into the world of competitive gaming without breaking their bank. But it is not perfect. The Snapdragon 860, like the Snapdragon 870, and even the Snapdragon 888, is prone to heating, sometimes alarmingly when stressed. There is a cooling system inside the phone — called Liquid Cool Plus — but it seems lifted as is from the Poco X3, a phone that came with a far less powerful chip in comparison. Whatever it is, it can’t hold the beast for long as the Poco X3 Pro gets warm quickly, and near toasty during extended gaming sessions. At this point, it can become uncomfortable to hold.Basic day-to-day tasks are handled well by the phone though. As an everybody phone, this is as slick as it can get at such a low price. Poco gives you an option for up to 8 gigs of LPDDR4X RAM. Storage is capped at 128GB, but the phone supports expansion by up to 1TB. This is via a hybrid slot.Beyond gaming Rest of the Poco X3 Pro is familiar territory. Be it design, display, or battery. Even the cameras. That is not to say there are no changes, but those changes have got more to

do with subtle refinements than anything else. Some choices work, some not so much but you can tell Poco has tried to add a bit of polish to the whole package. The Poco X3 was rough around the edges.This starts with the design itself. The dual tone look is being carried over, which is to say that the Poco X3 Pro — like its predecessor — is also unapologetically bold and flashy. There is a new bronze colourway if you’re into that sort of thing. The pill-shaped massive camera module stays put too. So does the recessed side-mounted fingerprint reader which is, expectedly, fast and responsive. The only change here is the slightly tweaked Poco branding that’s more “3D” than before, but still difficult to unsee — and in my case, difficult to get along with.One of the big concerns with the Poco X3 was its heft. It was big and bulky. A part of this was because of its huge 6,000mAh battery. Poco has tried to address those concerns by reducing capacity — the Poco X3 Pro has a smaller 5,160mAh battery — but the results are nothing to write home about. The Poco X3 Pro is still an all-plastic phone that’s almost 215 gram in weight and nearly 9.5mm in thickness. Not to mention, that watered-down battery means the Poco X3 Pro can’t last as long as the Poco X3 (battery life on average is good though). It’s one of those rare instances where Poco has backed itself into a corner.It’s barely touched that screen though aside from bumping up the protection which is Corning Gorilla Glass 6 now. The Poco X3 Pro has the same 6.67-inch IPS LCD display with 1080p resolution and dynamic 120Hz refresh rate (240Hz touch sampling) as the Poco X3. It works in the same way also which means it is good but not best in class. The panel does not get very bright, colours appear muted and viewing angles could be better. The phone can’t play HDR10 content off streaming services like Netflix despite support. Ghosting or random stutters are common across some UI elements from time to time or when you are browsing through a page that involves diverse elements like text, images/GIFs, or videos. Next to a phone like the Redmi Note 10 Pro Max, or Note 10 Pro, the Poco X3 Pro looks seriously underpowered in this regardThese Redmi phones also give the Poco X3 Pro’s cameras a run for their money. The Poco X3, even though it was a performance-oriented slash gaming phone, had a competitive camera setup. For some curious reason, its “Pro” version takes several steps back. It has a 48MP main (this was 64MP in the X3), 8MP ultra-wide-angle (13MP in X3) and two 2MP cameras, one for depth and another for macros. Output is just about serviceable.You can take good-enough shots with the primary camera (Sony IMX582 sensor) when lots of light is available, but the level of detail and dynamic range could be better. Colours are mostly true to source, which is nice. The ultra-wide camera lacks colour parity with the main camera, but it does a decent job offering a wider perspective when lighting is ideal. Details are still amiss in these photos, but it is what it is. Portraits shot with the Poco X3 Pro come out nice with good subject separation and creamy background blur. The macro shooter is a hit or miss affair. Low light photos (even with night mode which is also available on the ultra-wide) are disappointing, in part due to the aggressive noise reduction algorithm. Video recording tops out at 4K@30fps. The 20MP front camera is same as the one on the Poco X3. It takes decent selfies when lighting is good with occasional smoothening even when beautification is manually set to off.Software has always been Poco’s dark horse and while that’s largely true about the Poco X3 Pro as well, MIUI for Poco is clearly showing signs of ageing, already. It does not show any pesky ads like its other Redmi siblings which is well articulated and appreciated, but Poco needs to do more than that to justify its existence as an independent brand now. MIUI for Poco needs to be more than just MIUI with a Poco launcher to differentiate itself. With Xiaomi borrowing many of its features including the

hallowed app drawer and Google feed on the minus one screen, MIUI for Poco doesn’t really stand out anymore. If anything, it has become buggier by the day. The amount of bloat or unwanted apps has gone up. But the biggest problem is the lack of clarity on future updates. My review unit is running MIUI 12.0.5 (with the April security patch) when an even cheaper Redmi phone like the Redmi Note 10S has been updated to MIUI 12.5.4.An ode to a classic I write this review as I install Battlegrounds Mobile India Beta on this phone, and I can’t help but think how far Poco has come. How the Poco F1 turned the industry literally upside down. That phone was far from perfect. It had a wonky design and terrible cameras. The thing couldn’t even stream Netflix in high definition initially. And yet, here we are, three years later, still asking Poco to launch a successor. Not a lot of phones have commanded so much respect and adulation from fans and critics alike. It was truly one of its kind, the Poco F1, and I think it’s befitting it stays that way. Some things are just not meant to be replacedBut you can always have a product or two that could take you back in time. Something like the Poco X3 Pro. It is the only phone that has been able to recreate some of that lost Poco F1 magic for me.There are phones with better design, more colourful display, significantly better cameras, and longer battery life under 20k, but none of them can play Battlegrounds Mobile India Beta the way it is meant to be played like the Poco X3 Pro. If that is what you are looking for, the Poco X3 Pro comes highly recommended.But here’s the thing, nostalgia and power will take Poco only so far. Considering how a lot of people are still holding on to their Poco F1s, it would have been nice had Poco offered a 5G option (it’s possible since the Snapdragon 860 is compatible with an external X50 5G modem) even if it came at a cost.Pros: Most powerful phone under 20k, 120Hz display, Loud dual speakers, IP53 rating, Good battery lifeCons: Big and bulky, Cameras could be better, Slow Android update rollout

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kierongillen · 7 years

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Writer Notes: The Wicked + the Divine #31

Spoilers, obv.

Well, yes.

Jamie/Matt's cover

Woden's never looked more dapper, I think. I look at this, and suddenly wish I could go back in time to show it to the artists circa my X-men run, when I was trying to explain my Jack Kirby meets Jane Austen ideas for Sinister were all about. This! Like this! Tweaked slightly from the image from solicits to reposition the circuitry to the left of Woden to look less like a butt plug.

Sophie Campbell's cover

We've been trying to arrange something with Sophie since Commercial Suicide, so we're very happy to finally get her to a page. I've loved her since I first saw her work, in the early 00s Oni graph novel with Antony Johnston, Spooked. She was instantly fascinating, and seeing her work develop over all the years has been a thrill. This is one of the best Cassandra covers for me – just really stark and striking.

Page 1

Yes, we all want the leggings.

Really basic layout here – the steady angle three tired panels, which I love. It's Uber's signature panel structure, and just tries to put you in the place. In WicDiv's case, we seem to use it a long in the Underground, which seems to be about inertia.

Also think the whole space is meaning – this is a one page scene, with three panels. We get very little of Persephone in this issue, and this magnifies each of these beats. This is all important. It has to be, as otherwise why are we lingering on it?

That final panel though, right? The stillness Jamie is working with here is fantastic.

Okay – let's talk a little structural here. As several people have noted, this an issue which may recal issue 11, which cut between two threads (Baph/Inanna and Laura/Ananke) at the crucial, most interesting moment. Here, Imperial Phase has burned down to three threads – or three and a half threads, if you include Baphomet/Morrigan who aren't in the issue. Cutting between three threads feels too slow, with you spending too much time away from a scene to maintain interest. As such, this issue essentially treats two threads as one thread – the Persephone/Sakmet segues into the Baal/Minerva/Amaterasu thread across the issue, and we cut between it and the Norns/Woden/Dionysus at every key beat.

There is one main exception to this, but it's early on, and it's notable the pace is kept relatively low before that. It's only after that we go to the full on hard-cuts.

In other words – the page just lingers, because we're not starting to dance properly yet. The tempo needs to be kept low, as to go in too hard would break the Cass/Dio scene in a few pages time.

Er... there's a bunch of theory there. So much of what I try to write is to establish motivations and stakes, and then when they're in place, bring it all crashing down. We are very rollercoaster.

Page 2

Every time I flick through this issue, I and hit this point I find myself turning to Belle and Sebastian's I Don't Love Anyone. It's one of the bits I can hear the music in WicDiv, just that lying in bed, and the hard cut to black to the credits with B&S over.

Page 3-4

Man, I get sadder and sadder every time I see Dio with his coffee cup.

As I think I said last time, I saved the last bit of exposition about the gig for this issue because if I said it last time, I'd have to repeat it this time anyway. In short: the first page is “What is this gig actually ABOUT anyway?”

Every time I see the Norns and Woden on the same page, I just feel sorry for Clayton. That is a lot of work.

With Woden's customary green, the hologram map has a certain Emerald City vibe, I think?

The end of page 4 is A+ acting from Jamie. Comedy lives in the mid-shot, etc. I believe Jamie added a panel here of extra Woden waving and Cass' expression, which shows that I've made him get stockholm syndrome with modified-eight-panel structures.

(Joking aside, it just adds to the work. Having a little thinking time before Cass' eye wide realisation sells the moment.)

Page 5-6

These two pages would be the place where I could have cut if I was bouncing between the threads... but for all the reasons I talk about on Page 1, I don't. That's not what's happening. Yet.

8 panel grid here, which speaks to the sort of material that this scene is – very small and human, the eight panel being my go-to for autobiographical work.

(Plus, we have a lot of fish to fry here. I have to get this stuff into the space)

The “NOT YOU AS WELL!” makes me smile.

Woden's last line was originally something like “Don't worry. I am incapable of love.” which is a very Woden thing to say, but in the context of the following discussion made me suspect it may be taken as Woden saying he's aromantic. Clearly, this would be unwanted, so I wrote around it.

The Crap. Crap. Crappity. Shitfuck. Panel is Cassandra continuing to be out of context panel champion.

The Dio/Cass conversation seems to have gone down well, which does make me happy. We're writing around some delicate stuff here, on the nature of friendship. I wanted Cass and Dio to explicitly talk about this, but I also knew that Dio would never tell Cass... so it leads to Cass finding out another way. The problem then is that Cass also wouldn't want to embarrass Dio. So we end up in a conversation like this, of all too transparent hypotheticals.

I love these two.

Page 7-8

Okay, this is just a Jamie masterclass, and the sort of scene I'd only write for someone I knew could pull this shit off. As Persephone – our de facto lead – isn't in this issue much, I wanted to keep the focus on her, so we keep the frame on her and let us really see her go through the response. Right here, Baal's response doesn't matter. What's going on here with Persephone?

I'm fond of the empty-cigarettes box thrown away as a timer on how long she's procrastinated before making the call. I believe that came up in conversation rather than being in a script, in terms of doing the whole cigarette packet. I think it was just throwing away a cigarette in the first draft, which is far too short a time. We want Persephone there, a long time, just considering this.

I suspect some people would have cut page 7, but I'm much more interested in seeing someone wrestle with inertia. This hasn't been easy for Persephone.

Anyway – Page 8. Look at those faces. 2 to 3 to 4 is a story in and of itself. The cringe of 3 turning to a counter-attack.

And the start of the hard-cuts. Hit a moment of tension, pose a question, and then move the frame away.

Page 9-10-11

To something else, ideally as interesting. Page 9 is clearly something to kill Jamie. We move to Dionysus empty silhouette crowds ASAP, but the amount of inking and work in these first few panels is a considerable expenditure from our “budget.” But it's unavoidable.

9.3 – yes, that does look a lot like Lloyd.

The last panels of 9 took some conversation to make it clear what I meant was getting across. Jamie noted how Dio did it back in issue 8 was one and one contact, but I was looking for the visual. Trying to sell the idea of the effect just SPREADING across the crowd by contact, like ripples in water was the thing. No-one's gone “Wait – that isn't how Dio works” so I presume it sold it.

Love the framing in the last 3 – the use of space around Dio in panel 4 is particularly good. Matt's colouring in the last panel too.

Page 10 – first of two splash pages. For an issue that's packed, we still found a place to let this stuff breathe. In this case, selling the crowd, and the weird magic of the cerebellum above them was key. Also a page turn, onto the big image.

Page 11 is a rush of last key details – panel 2's showing how it's closed off is particularly key. This is all intensely private. Obviously panel 3 is Matt really going for it – that's just a wonderfully fun on burst f everything.

And then Woden fucks everything up. The cut is telling – where to do this is taste. You could do it after he shoots. I thought it was more interesting to cut after he pulls the gun. The “What is he doing?” is more interesting to me than the answer.

Page 12-13

Back to the other thread. This involved a quick trip to the British Museum to get some reference shots for Jamie and me, with the lovely Al Ewing in company. The roof is accurate, though a nightmare to draw. The “opening of the triangle” is artistic licence. Don't try it, kids.

All the shots here are also clearly “expensive” in terms of the time they take.

The Amy/Baal conversation has some fun elements – I wanted to do a scene where the Norns shouted at them, but it just didn't fit in the structure. That we know Cass well enough to know how it would have gone just by referring to it probably shows how much we understand the cast at this point.

Jamie's shadowed shot of Baal was a last minute choice, and works terribly well.

Page 14-15-16

Back to the other thread.

Woden talks about something to take out people's powers in terms of hunting Sakhmet, foreshadowing this. The WARPED panel was in response to the pencils, where the idea of having the left of the panel normal and the right warped – as in, effectively working as two panels, showing when Woden's effect kicks in was telling.

Change of colour as Woden takes control, from the old skool rave of Dio to the cold techno of Woden.

And, yes, this does appear to be a Radio Ga Ga riff.

Jamie took the last panel at a more neutral angle originally, but decided to rework it to be closer on Dionysus, to really stress his importance here. That Woden controls the crowd is clear in panel 2 – there's no need to reiterate in the third.

Page 17-18

Statues of Sekhmet, as last seen in issue 17.

After we started working on the Red Performance of Amaterasu, Clayton suggested that we did a lettering style change as well. Clearly the right idea. We originally tried it with pure red balloons, but they merged with the coloured art on page 18, so we added the outline.

Yes, callback to issue 1 and issue 21.

Panel 4 on 19 originally had two balloons, but C felt it was over too quick and suggested adding a third balloon to extend the moment. Works beautifully, and a good example of how you can use lettering to control panel “Length.”

Abstractly you could have cut away at the page 19, but the other thread has already reached its cliffhanger and this is not a high drama moment.

Page 19-20-21-22

Page 19 is the page which required the most on the page editorial work in the issue. Amaterasu dooms herself in a delicate way, and as it's her last moment, her mistakes – all her mistakes – need to be clear. To be fair to Amaterasu, she – like most of the cast – doesn't know much about Sakhmet's background. She doesn't exactly know what a field of landmines she's dancing across.

But still - less throwing Amaterasu under a bus, and more put her at the bottom of a mountain covered in buses and starting a bus-avalanche. You can easily imagine Amaterasu starring at the oncoming wall of public transport and going "I LOVE BUSES!"

People ask me about how much the story has changed in development. It's not exactly that simple. Some beats I know as the big structural architecture of the story – Luci in issue 5, Laura in issue 11, Ananke in issue 22 and so on. Other character's stories, while are planned in their shape, are left to be weaved into the story as they're most appropriate. Amaterasu would be one of those characters – my original suspicion would be she'd die at the end of Imperial Phase Part I, but I realised that there wasn't enough space to really delineate her misstep, so pushed it a little later. Equally, the idea that this should occur at the British Museum only came to me after issue 17, seeing how Sakhmet and Amaterasu's arcs complimented one another – and specifically how Amaterasu related to the museum.

Originally the scene was only 3 pages, but Jamie wanted to page 20 as two pages. You can see why. As well as giving more space to hit the moments, it puts the splash page of a page turn.

There's a lot to unpack in the last few pages and the last page particularly – the mix horror and the beauty of it is pointed. Me walking through it is kind of missing the point of visual information – it's resolves in complicated ways that rub up against each other.

In terms of technical elements, I'd draw your attention to how casual Jamie choses to pick things – and the pop art of Matt's choices. Extreme realism on the first panel of 20, before we go to the more impressionistic colours in the second panel. The brightness of Amy's powers, and so on and so forth. Really strong work.

Goodbye, Amaterasu.

Page 23

The line came to me late, and I was surprised that – until then - I wasn't conscious of the multiple uses of stealing throughout the issue thematically, in both story threads.

And the first new skull in a long time. I was wondering if Sergio would have forgot how to do it.

The Norns and Dionysus blurred to show their present state. We've not exactly done much of this since the first arc, but we thought it'd be useful to bring back.

This one seems to have gone down well. Back next month with 32, where things continue to escalate.

Thanks for reading.

#WicDiv #Writer Notes

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