#quick tip for first timers: you can read it in three way! start with a character's side of your choice

[idliketobeatree]

dead boy detectives contrapuntal poems — 1 — (2) (3) (4) (5)

[ejoym]

Continuing on the last ask about learning to start drawing OCs, do you have any tips on developing styles? I find it really difficult to “let go” of the need for things to be proportional or physically accurate, but I really want to start developing a more cartoon style.

Hi! In reference to this last post. I'm going to site a lot of stuff from a book called Understanding Comics: The Invisible Art by Scott McCloud. It's a great resource for anyone interested in cartooning, visual art, and comics as a unique storytelling art form.

Cartooning, whether it’s for comics or animation, is a very utilitarian art form. Cartooning skills and an artist's style are often forged in the hellfire of a deadline. For example, what my art style looks like when I've drawn an 80-panel comic in one week looks very different from a single illustration I’ve done in that same time frame.

Cartoonists simplify for the function of needing to draw everything by hand over and over and over again. But we also simplify for the emotional universality of the cartoon image! As stated by McCloud in the following three images.

Technically all 2D art is a form of caricature because we are reducing our 3D reality onto a 2D plane - which inherently abstracts form. Anytime someone sits down to draw (or write), they're engaging with a level of representation within pictorial space.

As an artist, we inevitably work in all modes at some point or another. But I think most artists will show a preference towards different corners of this diagram and that influences their style!

Ask yourself: where would you place the style you're seeking to achieve on this triangle? There's a more detailed version below with many cartoonists and styles for more examples.

I like this diagram especially because it shows the wide variety of cartoonist's styles. That's why this ask has been particularly tricky for me to answer. It's hard to give advice on becoming more cartoony without knowing what that specifically means for you, anon!

That said, I can still give some general good practice tips that hopefully anyone can utilize in their cartooning journey!

Figure drawing. Short poses (1-5 minutes). Figure drawing from life is ideal because life very rarely sits still. If you don't have any figure drawing studios in your area then go to libraries and coffee shops. You can also ask friends or family to sit for you. And finally there are figure drawing resources online that often include timers. Tip: Try drawing only with ink so you can’t erase. You won't have to do this forever but it's a great way to live with the "happy accidents" and then move on to the next drawing!

2. Gesture lines and S-curves. The gesture line captures the initial motion of the pose and will often follow the direction of the spine! S-curves are the alternating "S" shaped curves that represent the distribution of weight across the body. Exaggerating the S-curves is how cartoonists and animators often push the expressive form of the figure. When drawing the figure try to find the gesture line first and then build the weight of the pose on top of that!

3. Give yourself a deadline. Set a timer. Stick to it! Even if all you manage is a quick line gesture. Just move on to the next pose!

Finally, I really recommend reading Understanding Comics by Scott McCloud! It's a wonderful resource that anyone interested in the visual arts could benefit from reading. I first read it 17 years ago, back in my high school film class.

Phew! That's a long one. Hopefully, there's some useful info in there for you. But do feel free to ask any follow-up questions. And good luck on your cartooning journey! 🖤

(There's also another ask in my inbox about drawing cartoonish expressions. I'm working on a response but it may take a little bit. But don't worry, I'll have a detailed answer to that in the coming weeks!)

[gigi-journaling]

☀️Morning Pages☀️| Journaling

- “the bedrock tool of creative recovery”

🔗 Come join our journaling community here on tumblr! 🔗

‘Morning Pages’ is a simple technique by Julia Cameron covered in her book The Artist’s Way intended to clear the mind of any brain clutter that stunts your creativity and productivity. This technique is loved by many because it’s helped them work through creative blocks, sort and prioritize their ideas, and reduce their anxiety.

Method:

Morning Pages involves starting your day by filling three pages in long-hand writing with your stream of consciousness—don’t think about what to write, write about what you think. You write without interruptions or distractions. You don’t correct it share it, you don’t even have to read it once you’re done!

“Does it have to be three full pages?”

No, of course not! While Julia Cameron recommends three pages of A4-sized paper, there is no wrong or right way. Adjust this method to your needs, whether this means writing more or less, setting a timer instead of a page limit, doing evening pages unread of morning, or taking breaks between days.

Key Words: stream of consciousness, longhand writing, brain clutter

Bellow I elaborated with key terms, tips, tricks, helpful video and article links, and my personal experience.

Stream of consciousness means writing nonstop whatever pops into your mind without worrying about grammar, legibility, or comprehensiveness. It’s about recording flow of your thoughts onto paper as they happen spontaneously.

Longhand writing is simply the practice of hand writing on physical paper. This practice is recommended as it forces you to be mentally present in the writing process, slowing your thoughts so you may record record and reflect on them.

Brain clutter consists of all the “noise” you have in your mind. They can be your self doubts, your insecurities, your stress, ideas… Often, this noise creates a mental block that restricts your creativity and productivity.

Tips:

Pens over pencils, the permanence of ink will deter you from the urge to erase or back track

Use a comfortable, smooth flowing and quick drying pen to better your experience

Listen to music to aid your focus, non lyrical songs are recommended

Start small. You don’t need to start with three pages, work your way up to it, or,

instead of setting a page goal set a time goal.

It doesn’t have to be in the morning, choose a time of day that best suits you, like before bed.

Getting through obstacles:

“I don’t know what to write.” That’s your first sentence! Go from there. Look at morning page prompts before you begin if needed.

“I’m having trouble being consistent.” Dont be afraid to adjust your goal to more manageable levels. But also: Building a habit is hard, but try to pass the three day mark. You’ll find that it’s easier the longer you keep it up

“I’m ashamed of my writing.” This is a personal, private journal that is not meant to be shared. It’s not meant to be pretty. Heck, it’s not even meant to be read. It’s meant to empty all your brain clutter so you may continue onto your day with clarity.

“I tried it but I find it torturous.” That’s okay! You’re not doing it wrong, it’s just not a good technique for you. There are so many other journaling methods to explore. You’ll know when you find the right one because you’ll feel good after doing it.

My personal experience:

As a person who has always struggled with deep rooted anxieties, stress, and even anger, I find this method therapeutic. I started doing morning pages this March and here are my thoughts 23 days after.

Brain clutter has become the major source of my self limitations. These inner thoughts of mine that loop in my brain endlessly with worries and doubts have prevented me from doing even the most mundane of tasks.

Starting my day writing without concern of the outcome has left me feeling lighter. Like I can breathe. I take those inner voices, everything that’s bouncing around right when my day starts, put them on paper and shut my notebook. They don’t disappear, it’s not a cure all, but they’re quieter. I’m able to sort through them better and in turn organize myself so I can tackle the day.

It’s not only the negative, though. For me, the first page or two may start that way and then I run out of worries to write about—which actually make them seem so much more finite and manageable than first perceived. Then I have to pick my brain and force the last of my thoughts onto paper. They’re so much less profound and heavy, some silly even.

I write about what I’m exited about, interrupt myself as my brain goes into a tangent, circle back and talk about what I have planned for the day, talk about the dream I had the night before.

I’ve missed 3 days in total since I began, and at that point I had developed the habit enough that it would be on my mind nagging me as I tried to fall asleep. Sometimes I would write more than three A5 pages, sometimes I would write less, and that worked for me. It was more about venting until I could focus on what my thoughts were beneath the dark gunk.

I will continue doing morning pages, allowing myself to miss a day here and there, unless it keeps me from falling asleep in which case I’ll do them in the evening to wind down. I’m curious to see if doing these pages before bed will help me with my sleep.

Videos:

“I tried writing morning pages for 30 days” Leighann Creates

“is the Artist’s Way worth your time” Marianne’s Studio

“Morning Pages… tips and motivation” Jaclyn Baer

Articles:

“These 3 Pages Might be Your Key to a Clearer Mind, Better Ideas and Less Anxiety”Winfield

“What are morning pages?” Abrahamsen

Book: The Artist’s Way by Julia Cameron

[writing-with-olive]

ADHD task completing tip

okay so growing up i was usually told "do the hard thing first and then you get to do the fun thing." and generally that's reasonable.... if you've got decent executive function. but for those of us who don't, this is a thing i've been using to get through school/work/general human functioning. It's still using hard thing/fun thing, but it interweaves them WAY more

first step: find something that sparks some dopamine quickly. i usually use short-timer online chess or mobile games. if you pick scrolling social media or something that doesn't have a clear endpoint, make sure you have an easy way to set a timer. On apple phones, there's a timer setting that says "stop playing" instead of playing a sound. I love this because it'll take you to your lock screen so you can't accidentally dismiss the timer and keep going. Do NOT make this movement or taking care of bodily functions; eating/hydrating/going to the bathroom/moving around are things you can and should do when your body tells you. take care of ya self

second step: look at your task and break it up TINY. If you have to write a paper, don't break it up by paragraph. break it up into something like fifty words. Cleaning a room: ten items put away. Close reading: 1 page. Really you want something that if your executive functioning was playing nice you could do in 1-4 minutes. I recommend NOT saying "work for x minutes" however, since that's a really quick way to sit there watching the clock. You wanna tie progress to completion not time spent.

third step: estimate how many levels/games/etc of your dopamine source it takes to last 1-5 minutes. Ideally you will already have a sense of this. I'd advise not "testing it out right now" and procrastinating that way.

fourth step: get to work. every time you complete a tiny task, you can do one unit of the dopamine thing. If you get some momentum, you can stack rewards, so if your tiny task was 50 words for one mobile game level, 150 words straight would be three levels. If you are having a really hard time getting going, you can start with 1-3 units of your dopamine thing to kinda jumpstart the process, just decide how many you're doing first so you don't lose hours to it.

note that this ONLY WORKS if you don't ignore your timer/level cutoff. The idea is to get dopamine levels up and use that to power through the next tiny task.

[kodiackwrites]

B&B bulking cod men pt 2!

Konig, Soap & Ghost- pretty much filler but ending is important to plot

—-

The conversation with Konig was over as soon as it started as another door opened at out Soap came, Smiling as he picked up his tray, “Thank you las” he said as he walked right back into his room, As did Konig. Ghost however didn’t make a noise, just took the tray, and disappeared into his room.

Hours later the men would fill the common room, telling stories, the odd laugh and chuckle and funny arguments filled the building. Making you let out a small laugh as you mixed the pot that sat in the oven, watching the timer finish for the steaks in the oven.

You made quick work of organizing all three lunch plates, Half a steak, Half a salmon, some handmade mashed potatoes, with some greens on the side. You grabbed a large tray from under the sink and placed the plates onto each, With a tall glass of milk, and adding salt & pepper shakers onto the tray.

Soap was the first to notice your entrance to the common room, “whatcha got there lassie?” He asked, trying to see the tray, Making Ghost & Konig turn over as you placed the tray on the large table.

They all looked confused, turning to face you. “I figured I’d make you all lunch, I apologize if im over stepping, I just realized you hadn’t eaten yet and it’s getting a bit late for lunch.” You explained, gesturing to the clock that read 2:46.

“Thank you.” Ghost mumbled as he took his pick of the plates, shaking some salt and pepper over it. The rest of the men followed with thank you’s.

“You’re welcome.” You smiled as you returned to the kitchen, cleaning the pots and pans you used to cook, Hearing the sound of cutlery scrapping at tapping against plates as then men silently ate.

Konig came in first, holding the tray covered in empty dishes, you thanked him and reached for the top plate, “non sense, you made us a meal the least I could do is the dishes, if that’s okay?” He asked kindly. “Go right ahead, just please leave them in the drying rack when you’re done.”

—

It has been nearly a week since the men had joined you, meaning they’d only be here for another. But the pattern of making them big breakfasts and lunch didn’t end. Due to them spending more time in the house instead of their usual leaving at 8:30 Am and coming home at 6, you’d grown closer to them, more so to Soap then the other too, but Konig would volunteer to help you clean up, and Ghost would silently do his share.

“What made you want to run a b&b? Isn’t it a bit dangerous in this area?” Ghost spoke up one evening after finishing his dinner, His voice was rough but he still had a British accent, the question caught you off guard, at first it was just for the money but you just never looked back once things started too run well. “I suppose it was just a quick way to get money when I first opened up, the house was rundown and too large for just me so I worked on it and got my permit.” You explained, “I guess it just worked out, I mean you guys are here every few months and there’s really no need to tip as much as you do.” You explained, “It’s a nice place, it’s the least we could do.” Konig chimed in, and Soap made a noise of agreement. “I suppose, It’s never what I wanted to do but hey, whatever makes the money.” You explained. “Perhaps you should join the military, the food you makes fuckin’ amazing. We could always use another cook.” Soap said with a chuckle, “Johnny don’t even try that.” Ghost grumbled angry in response, “I’m just saying, we could always use some better food at base and I’m sure this would suffice.” The scott argued back, “Alright enough, we’re not recruiting an innocent individual to cook for us.” Konig cut them off.

You thought for a moment, “I wouldn’t mind,” the men looked at you like deer in headlights. “That’s not just something you can decide on spot mate.” Ghost spoke up, Giving you a few minutes to think, he wasn’t wrong at all. But what would you be leaving behind? A few friends you barely speak too, a dead beat town? “True, but there’s not much going for me here other than this place.” You explain, “But I understand it’s not as easy as just volunteering and off I go.” Konig returned his attention to his plate, “I mean, if your records clean they might take you, got any professional cooking experience?” Soap asked, “I was a line cook for a few years, took hospitality and foods courses in college.”

Soap shrugged, “worth a shot if you really wanted to commit to it, you’d get slot more money then you would running this place, no offense.” He spoke, “it’s not the money that matters Soap”. Ghost argued again. “Sir- Ghost? I assure you I understand the risks of being involved in the military even as such an unimportant role.” You defended.

—

So here you are, a week after the conversation, sat with Soap finalizing your recruitment application. “So all the files are together?” He asked, you anxiously nodded as you handled him over the folder filled with all of your information. “Great lassie, I’ll be seeing ye soon then, thank you for letting us stay again.” He said with a nod and out the door he went, Following after Ghost and Konig.

[writerforfun]

How to Develop a Daily Writing Habit: 10 Daily Writing Tips

Here’s a few ideas not only on how to make time to hit your writing goals, but how to build habits that will make you a better writer.

First, set up a writing space. It’s easier to stick to your daily writing habit when you want to spend time in the place where you write. You don’t have to have a beautiful view and an expensive desk. Privacy and intention are more important than the quality of your surroundings. Maybe it’s a desk, a table, or a comfortable chair at home, or the library. Some writers prefer to stand while they work. Do whatever you prefer and refine it as you go along. Keep your inspiration, books, and research materials close at hand. Tape favorite quotes to your computer or a nearby wall. Keeping your space clean can have a powerful effect on your determination. Work at this space at the same time every day for seven days in a row and pay attention to any changes you experience as you progress. You may find that habituating yourself with a ritual time and place makes it easier to get into the zone when you start writing each day, and, while you’re there, will make it easier to stay inspired and fresh.

Start each day by journaling. Many writers have turned to the routines to build self-confidence and harness creative potential. The Morning Pages exercise—in which you write three pages every morning, by hand—is particularly useful for developing a solid writing habit. No one has to read it, and it doesn’t have to be beautiful. By giving yourself something to write every day, you warm up those creative muscles and clear space for all the good stuff.

Set a word count goal. Maybe you decide to write 500 words a day. Or 50. 1000. When you’re actively working on something like a novel, don’t worry if your word count isn’t what it needs to be. You can be gentle with yourself about the amount you produce, but continue to be tough with yourself about the consistency of your practice. Just try to get the words on the page. Think of it like carving a sculpture from a block of marble—for a long time it just looks like a shapeless blob. Try carving the whole form first, and then go back to the finer details once you’ve got the overall shape.

Set aside writing time every single day, without exception. Holidays, weekends, vacations—they’re all fair game. Find time. Does it need to be a full eight hours every time? Definitely not. But if you can, stick to a consistent time of day and duration of time. If you need to, create a dedicated space without distractions like email, internet, or your phone. While you’re writing, don’t stop—not even to do quick research. Make notes in the text at the places where you need to go online to do research, and follow up on it later. Be firm with yourself (and others) about your routine: the world will try its hardest to tempt you away.

Don’t start with a blank page if you can help it. At the end of your work period, prepare for your work on the following day—consider it “setting the table for breakfast”—by writing a paragraph or a note to yourself about what to keep working on the next day. It’s a good way to remind yourself of where you left off and what ideas you may have for continuing a scene. You can include some writing prompts to jumpstart the next day’s writing.

Include brainstorming sessions in your writing process. Allow yourself to come up with bad ideas. Every once in a while, you may stumble on a good one.

Don’t discount thinking and planning. Writing is not just sitting at your desk. It can be talking into a recorder, creating lists of bullet points, even writing snippets of scenes on scraps of paper. It’s also helpful to stay physically active. Move around frequently, and set a timer to remind yourself to get up from your desk. Movement can stimulate fresh ideas. Sometimes engaging in a mundane activity can do the same. Record audio notes and jot down quick thoughts in one place.

Gamify your creative writing ritual. Track unbroken streaks. Give yourself gold stars for every day you meet your goal, or download an app that holds you accountable.

Time your writing sessions. Decide on what you would like to write. This can be a scene, a chapter of your novel, or simply a page of freewriting that will help stimulate an idea. Set a timer for 25 minutes and write until the timer rings. Take a five-minute break and repeat these three steps, sticking carefully to the clock.

Group goals and deadlines. Projects like NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), in which you complete a 50,000-word first draft of a novel in the month of November, are a great motivator. Plenty of successful writers have gotten their start this way, and gone on to publish their NaNoWriMo projects as bestsellers. No matter how lousy the daily sessions feel, your fellow writers will push you to keep writing until the last minute on the very last day.

[woozisnoots]

light up kicks | lee chan

° pairing: chan x reader ° genre: fluff ° summary: an unexpected ‘visit’ at chan’s first day at work. ° word count: 1153 ° warning: none! ° a/n: thank you to @cha-lan​ and @interludeshadow​ for beta reading !! biggest hugs and kisses to you both <3 and hbd to the one and only lee chan B)

masterlist!

okay, it’s your first day. obviously, they don’t expect you to be perfect. but then again, you’re also just passing out shoes… so leave little room for error or else that would be so, very incredibly embarrassing. like, come on? what can possibly go wrong?

it was wrong for chan to think that friday night would be anything other than busy. as a first-timer handing out shoes (really his first time working at all), chan was not prepared to work one of the hardest shifts on his first day.

kim’s bowling stones is known all throughout town, and better yet - they’re notorious for their mind-blowing, great deals. on fridays, every kid and teen come from far and wide to experience one hour of bowling for unlimited tokens at their arcade.

and not only are every mother and uncle get lured in by such an offer, but also a certain someone chan isn’t expecting to see.

“can i have size six shoes, please?”

spoke too soon. not to jinx it, but- everything might go wrong.

chan mentally smacks the back of his head. duh, of course, you’re gonna be here! he isn’t as much of a bowling fanatic as his coworkers, but as cliche as it sounds - and yes, it makes many people laugh, chan landed this job because of you.

well, maybe not directly. you didn’t know chan at all. the times chan could go out with his friends on the weekend were always spent at the bowling alley out of convenience. none of his other friends knew how to drive, and chan avoided the freeway as much as possible for his “passengers’ safety.” the place was only about three blocks away from his house anyways.

yes, chan knows of you, but he doesn’t know enough about you to think you’d also be there. and the day after, and the day after that. no, each passing day doesn’t help him to get used to you within a few feet away when he was used to being a few meters from where you stood up in the ‘cool kid table’ as people would call it.

tonight is also no exception; it doesn’t make things easier. in this moment, chan could feel the beads of sweat forming on the corners of his hairline and the calluses on his hands from gripping under the counter too hard.

wait fuck, did i ever respond back?

“oh yeah!” chan’s voice suddenly changes, lowering his tone. he ruffles his bangs forward to cover his forehead, mostly in an attempt to distract you from how awkward his stature is, not at all to try and make himself look good now that you’re up close. “i’ll go get that from the back for you.”

now, this may not seem like a big deal  to anyone else, but to chan, it means everything. in every coming-of-age teenage movie, the not-so-popular nerd (whichever breed they may be) ends up with the astonishingly popular main lead—the one everyone knows and loves—so this is chan’s moment!

chan comes back, hands clammy and wet, hoping that none of the residue transferred to the actual shoes. “here ya go!”

okay, maybe the moment is a little more short-lived than chan expected, but this is a good start.

that is until he hears the light tone of your voice come back in hesitation, rather than the thank you he’d been expecting.

“uhh, chan?” this is the first time hearing his name fall from of your mouth, and now he’s embarrassed for two reasons, not knowing which one is worse.

however, the responsible side of his right hemisphere steps up first. “oh shoot, is that not the color you wanted?” chan says, clearly aware that he knows the ins and outs of the small shoe rack corner of the entire facility. “dammit, i should have known. i’ve seen you play a few rounds on the weekends before, and i- i don’t mean to sound at all creepy, but you actually prefer the light up purple shoes over the blue ones.” as soon as the words leave his mouth, chan already knows he’s said way too much. after only a few minutes, your first impression of chan probably resembles that of a creep. “sorry about that! let me just-”

“no, that’s not it all!” you’re quick to say, noticing the distressed, flustered look on his face. “the color is lovely. it’s  just that-” chan prepares for the worst, even though at this point, he already bears the weight of this unfortunate incident. “i think you gave me the kid’s sizes instead.”

yup, everything is definitely going wrong.

“i am so sorry! i’ll go ahead and change those out for you.”

stupid. stupid. stupid.

nothing more as embarrassing than when it happens in front of your crush. that’s not an actual saying, though it sure as hell should be. from the back of the storage room, chan grieves the deepest of sighs and slumps his head on the nearest cabinet.

“here you go, i got you the purple ones to make up for it,” chan shyly nudges the shoes towards you, keeping his head down so his bangs at least hide the tips of eyelashes. out of all the things that could have happened, today just isn’t chan’s day.

“thank you very much,” you say with a smile and a nod to the head. thank goodness you are alone at the booth—who knows what rumours would have started to circulate at school if anyone had seen this unfold.

chan watches as you carefully sort your things and proceed to grab the shoes from the booth. he holds in the heavy sigh at the back of his throat when he sees you turn your head back towards him.

“if giving me a smaller pair of shoes is your way of telling me that you think i’m cute,” chan almost laughs at the statement; not at you, of course. this isn’t exactly the stop-motion, picture-perfect confession episode of iCarly he longed it to be. “i think you’re also pretty handsome.”

chan barely manages to save his hand from slipping off the counter, placing his free hand at the edge to catch his balance after hearing your words. his surroundings are disoriented at this point, alongside his peripherals, which are now starting to blur. shaking his head, chan babbles incoherent sentences to no one in particular, realizing you were no longer there, leaving him to rethink and sort out his thoughts.

scratch that, maybe everything just turned out right?

the job slows down as the night progresses, but you remain there until late. even in the midst of massive crowds of needy children and demanding parents, chan notices the subtle, stolen glances from across the bowling aisle. and again from the skee ball machine. then one last time at the exit, along with a smirk and a wink.

yeah. yeah, i think it did.

[bungou-stray-dingus]

I love the one you write about Dazai having a new infant. Could you do the same with Fyodor(・∀・)

a/n : Fyodor is both a baby and an asshole and I love him wholeheartedly. He deserves to be happy too. Thank you for the request!

Fyodor Dostoevsky

You were the purest thing in existence according to Fyodor. He loved you, that much was clear even without him verbally saying so. You didn't have an ability, and you always took care of him  whenever he came home both physically, mentally and emotionally. He worked himself too hard, and it worried you deeply considering his anemia. You'd check in on him constantly to make sure that he was getting enough sleep, that he was eating and he was drinking enough water. Whenever he came home you made sure to give him enough love and affection to make up for the time he missed when he was away.

He was just waking up, always the early riser and he gently kissed your temple before scooting out of the bed, making sure not to wake you in the process. He loved the way your hair would curtain your face, your lips slightly parted as you slept peacefully. He always thought you looked beautiful, but there was something so mesmerizing to him about the way you looked when you slept, he couldn't explain it. You rolled over, your hand absentmindedly reaching out to his side of his bed, feeling around for him, a small pout forming on your face as your eyes slowly fluttered open. "Good morning, dearest." His voice was still coated with sleepiness, and mixed with his accent it was beyond sexy.

You rolled over and looked at the clock on the nightstand, it was only five in the morning, the sun hadn't even risen over the city yet. "You're leaving already?" He nodded to you as he began dressing himself, his fingers carefully buttoning his shirt as his eyes stayed focused on you. "Hmph... well, I'll make you some breakfast before you go." You moved to get out of bed and he shook his head, softly pushing you back down on the pillow, pressing his lips to your temple.

"Get back to sleep. I'll grab something before I go. I promise." He wrapped his pinky around yours, something that you had begun doing with him whenever you promised something. It showed that you were serious about it, you never break a pinky promise, and he took it just as serious as you did. You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips as he brushed your hair out of your face.

"When will you be back?" You asked, reaching up to brush your fingers against his face, his skin was always so cold, but you had long since gotten used to the temperature difference between the two of you. He shrugged after pressing one last kiss to your lips and then pushing himself up off the bed. "What do you mean..." You mimicked his shrug as you propped yourself up on the bed, your eyes following him around the room as he grabbed his cloak, ushanka, and boots.

He hesitated next to the door, you heard his sigh before he turned to look back at you. "I don't know, but I'll keep in touch, and I'll try to be back as soon as possible. Now go back to bed." He walked out of the room, shutting the door behind him. You grabbed one of his pillows and held it over your face as you fell back onto your own pillows and started crying. You hated when he left, you never knew if he would come back, and that terrified you.

One Month Later

Fyodor hadn't returned home yet, but he wasn't the only thing that hadn't come to you as you thought it would. You sat on the edge of your bed, a bed that seemed ridiculously large whenever he wasn't there with you, and you swiped through the calendar on your phone. "One week, two weeks, three weeks, four weeks... five weeks... six weeks... seven...?" You counted the weeks over and over again, just to make sure you weren't miscounting. "Shit." You groaned, getting up off the bed and grabbing your shoes out of the closet. He hated when you left the house without him, he always made sure the house was properly stocked before he left so you would be able to avoid leaving at all, unless it was necessary. This seemed pretty damn necessary though, and the store was only a block away.

You walked in and made your way to the aisle with the tests, grabbing four boxes, just to be sure. It didn't hurt to be 200% sure, you know, just in case the first test was a fluke or something. You weren't really sure what you would do if they came back positive, and you definitely weren't ready for Fyodor's reaction if they were positive either. He didn't seem like the type of man that would want a child, especially not right now considering the mission he was on. He was barely ever home, the kid would barely ever see his or her own father.

When you got back to the house you ran to the bathroom, sitting on the lid of the toilet and reading the directions of the tests. Sure, they were pretty simple, but you just wanted to be sure that you took them correctly so there weren't any false results. You were stressed, and you cursed Fyodor for not being there with you right now when you needed him the most. You would feel a lot better if he was there to comfort you in the moment, to make you feel like it wouldn't be as bad if those tests came back positive, but no, his work came first.

The tests sat on the back of the toilet, your phone was in your hand, the timer set for five minutes as you paced the length of your bedroom. You picked up on the habit of biting the tip of your thumb from Fyodor, and you were biting it so hard that it had started to bleed. "Dammit..." you sighed, walking into the bathroom to grab a band-aid for your freshly self inflicted wound. Your eyes were immediately drawn to the tests on the back of the toilet, and you immediately forgot about your bleeding thumb, your eyes scanning over all four tests that had a combined total of eight pink lines. "Oh... shit...." You mumbled, your heart was racing and your vision became cloudy as tears began to build on your lower lashes.

You had to call him, you had to let him know, but you didn't even know if it was safe for you to do so at the moment. He hadn't texted or called since last night, and you were sure that he was out somewhere, if you called him it could draw attention and he could get hurt. So you had to wait, you had to wait for him. You were left alone with your thoughts for God knows how long, and your anxiety would only build more and more until that moment comes.

By the time he called five hours later, it was nine o'clock at night and you were sitting on the couch curled up in one of his cloaks, angrily eating a tub of ice cream while crying about the movie on the television screen. You hadn't realized how quick the hormone charged emotions would kick in, but they were evident now. You had never cried at a movie before, and here you were ugly crying into your Rocky Road while still internally fuming at your fiance who was no where around when you needed him most.

You grabbed your phone and answered it quickly, holding it up to your ear. "'Bout time you called." You said snidely, but the sound of your sniffles was what got his attention.

"You're crying. Are you alright, my love? Is there something wrong?" He chided, hoping to pull an answer out of you, and you let out a dry, humorless chuckle.

"Is there something wrong? Well I sure as hell think there is! You're never around when I need you, and I'm stuck going through shit all by myself and there's tears in my ice cream and you're not fucking home!" You shouted at him through the phone, your voice cracking whenever you reached octaves that you were unaware you could go to.

"Hmmm, my love is upset. What can I do to possibly make her feel better?" His voice was soft and velvety through the phone and as much as it used to comfort you before, it was only upsetting you more now.

"You could come home so I can talk to you in person."

"You know I can't do-"

"Fyodor, I'm pregnant." You said, closing your eyes, bracing for his reaction. He was quiet, and you wished that you could see his face right now, but all you got was silence. It was deafening, and his silence was much more scary right now. You wanted him to say something, you needed to know that he was still there.

"Are you sure?" He asked after what seemed like an eternity of silence, and you sighed, letting your head fall back against the cushion of the couch. Of course he would ask that, he wasn't here to see the four tests that all showed positives, he wasn't here for anything.

"Yes. I'm sure." Your anger hit you again. This wasn't a conversation you should be having over the damn phone. This should be an exciting time for you and your fiance, but instead, due to his constant absence, you were scared, and you were alone. "But you know what, I'll handle it myself, just like I handle everything else. Hope your mission goes well. I'm going to bed." You hung up the phone and placed it on the coffee table. You shrugged out of Fyodor's cloak and turned off the television, grabbing the empty jug of ice cream off the table and tossing it into the trash as you made your way to your bedroom.

You shut the door and locked it behind you before undressing and changing into your pajamas, climbing into your bed and pulling the comforters up to your chin. You finally fell asleep as the tears formed puddles in the divots of the pillow.

The sound of pots and pans clanging in the kitchen startled you awake, the smell of pancakes, bacon, and eggs filled your nostrils, the sun was shining brightly into your room, you saw dust particles floating around in the large beam of light. You stretched as you got out of bed, sliding the slippers onto your feet and wrapping your robe tightly around your body before you left the room to inspect what was going on.

When you opened the door, the first thing you saw were the rose petals that created a trail down the hallway. You hummed to yourself as you followed the trail around the corner to the kitchen, and you could have sworn that your heart grew three sizes at the image. A bouquet of white roses, lavender, and purple hydrangeas. They stood in a beautiful crystal vase, and sitting in front of the vase was a large white teddy bear with two smaller teddy bears, pink and blue, on each side.

"What are you doing home so soon?" You asked as you leaned in and smelt one of the roses. He turned to face you, a small smile on his face as he took you in. Whenever he came home, it was like falling in love with you all over again. He could never get over how absolutely gorgeous you were. He placed the spatula on the counter as he made his way over to you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he pulled you close against his chest.

"I know I'm gone a lot, I apologize for my absence. I wasn't here when I should have been, but I'm here now."

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

Fyodor was never one to express his emotions well, but your pregnancy had changed him, and he began trying. He wanted to be there for everything, every moment of your pregnancy he wanted to experience it with you. Not only was it exciting for him, but he also found it fascinating. He still went out for his missions, but he was never gone quite as long as he used to be. The longest he was ever gone since your pregnancy became known was two weeks, and even then he called every hour, on the hour to check in on you.

When he was home, he was actually quite over bearing. You never complained though, it was nice having him around so much. Every step you took, he was right behind you. He didn't want you to lift a finger. He learned how to cook so you wouldn't have to, he even did the laundry, although you had to help him at first so he wouldn't destroy any of your clothes. He was very invested in your pregnancy, learning everything he needed to know so that he was prepared for everything and anything.

Your morning sickness came later in your pregnancy, and it was a scheduled occurrence, one that he knew very well. Whenever the time came he was already helping you off the couch to get you to the bathroom, holding your hair behind your back as he rubbed soothing circles into your back. He had a cup of water and mouthwash prepared on the counter for afterwards, and he'd help you back to the couch after you were done. He'd bring you a couple saltine crackers to fill your stomach and another glass of water and he'd sit next to you on the couch, holding his hand against your forehead, helping to cool you down after you worked up a sweat from your retching.

He came to every doctors appointment, although he had to wear a disguise due to being one of the most wanted terrorists in Yokohama, it made you happy that he was there. If one your appointments fell on a day that he was out for one of his missions, he would be found waiting outside the doctors office for you to show up. He wouldn't miss a doctors appointment for anything, he would be caught dead before that ever happened.

When he found out you were having twins he became extremely over protective of you and your stomach. He always had a hand on your growing abdomen, tracing your stretch marks with his icy fingers. Whenever you felt self conscious about them, he would place kisses across your stomach and remind you how beautiful it was that you were growing and glowing with two of his children.

Whenever he did have to leave for missions he brought the ultrasound pictures with him, he would look at the pictures and they were a constant reminder to him that the world needed to be ridden of its sin before they came. He needed to cleanse the world so his children could grow up in a society free of sin.

During one of your doctors appointments at six months the doctor told you that you had high blood pressure and needed to be on bed rest for the safety of the babies and yourself. Fyodor enforced that rule, and he stopped going on missions completely. He had his "rats" do his work for him, and they would report to him at the end of the day. He refused to leave your side. When you had to use the bathroom, he would help you onto the toilet and then stand in the doorway with his back turned until you were done, and then he'd help you up. It was embarrassing at first, but you ended up getting used to it, and you knew that he was only doing it because he worried so much. He helped you bathe, sitting on the edge of the bathtub to wash your hair and your body, always murmuring to himself how beautiful you looked. He would only leave the room to cook your meals, and then he would bring those meals to you in bed and feed them to you.

Since you couldn't do shopping at the store, he would lay with you in bed, his laptop on his lap as he scrolled through websites, ordering everything that your eyes lingered on for longer than two seconds. Your front door was filled constantly with packages because according to him, money wasn't a problem if he was spending it on you and the babies. Their bassinets were both a pristine white and they were set up in the corner of your bedroom. He said nurseries were useless until they were about a year and half, that they needed to be with their parents until then because there's a lot of complications that could occur with a child that young while they were sleeping and it would be safer for them to be as close as possible if anything were to happen. You did not argue, there was no point in arguing with that logic.

When he found out that the children were a girl and a boy he was overjoyed. He got both a son and a daughter in one try, it was truly a blessing to him. He started making a list of potential baby names and you both stayed up late at night looking through the names until you both agreed on two.

Elizaveta for your daughter and Iosif for your son. Picking their names made it more real for him, it was more concrete now. He would often lay his head against your stomach, cooing in Russian to the children. They would usually kick when he did this, and whenever they did he would quickly look up to you and ask if you were okay, and then lay his head back down and talk again in his mother tongue, probably scolding them for kicking you.

You had no doubts about him as a father, he truly loved his children. Before you had gotten pregnant he had rarely ever said the L- word, but now, every night, he would press a kiss to your lips, and then lean down to kiss your stomach twice, once at the top, and the last kiss at the bottom. He would whisper that he loved them both and then tell them not to move too much so you could sleep. Then he would move back up and place one more kiss to your cheek before whispering that he loved you.

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

The snow coated the ground, building up against the windowsills. It was a blizzard, and it was beautiful. Fyodor had helped you move into the living room, lighting the fireplace and handing you a cup of hot chocolate as you both watched the snow fall. His legs were stretched along the couch as he leaned against the arm, you were laying against his chest between his legs. His finger traced hearts over your stomach and you both sipped on you drinks enjoying the view. "It's beautiful, I wish the children were here to see it." Fyodor murmured before taking another sip.

Just then you felt a sharp pain in your stomach, you shot up straight and he quickly grabbed your cup out of your hand and placed it on the coffee table. His brow furrowed and his forehead creased with worry lines. "They... they might be... fuck..." You squeezed your eyes shut and gripped onto the couch cushion as you tried to breathe your way through the pain. You felt the wetness build between your legs and you turned to look back at Fyodor. He nodded and helped guide you up off the couch.

He grabbed your coat and helped you put it on and button it up, then he draped a large wool blanket over your shoulders as he led you to the door, grabbing his keys on the way over. "Fyo, there's a blizzard, you can't drive in this."

"My dearest darling, I'm Russian." Was his only explanation, and you rolled your eyes. His arm was wrapped tightly around your waist as he helped you walk down the front stairs. The snow was deep and the wind was strong, it felt like it was lashing against your face. You shivered as it hit you, and he held you closer, helping you walk through the snow to the car.

It must have just been a coincidence that he had just traded in his small sedan for a larger SUV with four wheel drive only the week before. Surely if he still had the smaller car you would have been delivering these babies at home. Your luggage was already packed and stored in the back of the truck, the carseats were hooked up in the second row as well. He was more prepared for this than you were.

He slipped off his cloak and placed it over your lap and as soon as he started up the car he blasted the heat. The contractions came steadily and you felt the pressure building, you were panting heavily as you held onto the handle above the door. He drove slowly through the snow, trying to get there as quick and as safely as he could. "You're doing great, dear. Keep breathing." He said softly, his hand on your thigh squeezing it gently to try to calm you down.

"How much longer... Fuck! Please go faster." You pleaded with him as the next round of contractions came on. You clenched your teeth and you whimpered as the tears threatened to fall. You had never been in so much pain, it felt like every single bone in your body was being broken, it was torture.

You were checked into the hospital and wheeled to your room. Fyodor watched as the doctors worked over you, checking how dilated you were, hooking you up to heart monitors and other machines that you didn't quite understand. You got hooked up to an IV that would help ease the pain of the contractions, but nothing seemed to help as much as you hoped it would.

Fyodor stood by your bed and held your hand as you labored through every contraction. You had been clenching your teeth so hard that they actually hurt, your head was throbbing and you felt nauseous. The doctors had come in and told you and Fyodor that you would need to have a C-Section which was something that you didn't really want, but opted to do just so you knew both of the babies would come out safely. You had done enough research to figure out that even if one was delivered naturally, the other would most likely come out through a C-Section anyway.  

He was quickly suited up, and if you weren't in so much pain you would have giggled at how he looked in the blue scrubs, they definitely did not accent his beautiful dark purple eyes. The doctors began wheeling you down the hall and he walked quickly next to you, refusing to let go of your hand for one second.

You had been given sedatives through the IV and you were numb, it felt strange because you could still feel a dull pull whenever you had a contraction. There was a blue curtain blocking the view of your stomach, so you found comfort in looking up at Fyodor, staring into his eyes as he looked down at you. You could tell that he was smiling, even behind the mask, as the corner of his eyes would crease slightly.

He would occasionally glance around the curtain and hum as his interest was peaked, watching as the doctors carefully sliced through the skin and muscles of your abdomen. You could still feel it slightly, the sensation of the tugging and pulling, but it never actually hurt. His hands were on your shoulders, and although you couldn't actually feel the circles he was rubbing into your skin with his thumbs, there was comfort in knowing that he was touching you, that he was there with you.

The birth itself took not much longer than thirty minutes, and by that time you felt like you were going to pass out, so you weren't sure how much longer it took for the doctors to stitch you back up, and none of that really mattered anyway. When you forced your eyes open, the only thing you were looking for was your babies.

Elizaveta Fyodova Dostoevsky, born January 15 at 5:28PM, 5lbs 8ounces.

Iosif Fyodovich Dostoevsky, born January 15 at 5:30PM, 5lbs 2ounces.

They both had jet black hair which contrasted against their skin perfectly. They were tiny, but they were healthy, and they were beautiful. It was love at first sight as soon as you laid your eyes on them. Seeing Fyodor hold both of your children in his arms though, that hit different. You never thought you could love the man more than you did in that moment, but there was something about seeing him in that arm chair, smiling down at both of his children, the look in his eyes spoke volumes. He absolutely adored his children, that much was obvious.

When you were finally discharged from the hospital, he took extra care of you, making sure that you didn't push yourself too hard. He was worried about your incision, and he knew that you would have trouble walking for the next couple weeks. He made sure that you took your medication at the right time every single day, he continued to help you shower even though you told him that you didn't need help anymore, he insisted.

He took stayed home with you, refusing to go on missions until you were fully healed, and if any of the "rats" complained about his lack of focus on the mission he would write their names down to "handle them" later.

Fyodor was strict about scheduling their feeding times and nap times so they wouldn't affect when they went to bed. He was honestly such a devoted father to Iosif and Elizaveta, it was almost shocking to you. You hadn't known before the children came that he could sing, but you learned one night that he had the most beautiful singing voice you had ever heard. He would stand over their bassinets and gently brush his thumb across their heads as he lulled them back to sleep, singing in a hushed tone a gentle Russian lullaby.

He ended up teaching you Russian, you had asked him after you heard him crooning to them while he fed them their bottles. The children seemed to find the language relaxing, and they would often fall asleep listening to their father talk. He wanted his children to know their heritage, to know where there father came from.

Fyodor wasn't one to spoil his children either. When he finally went back to "work" about two months after their birth, he would stay away for only three days, maybe five tops. Whenever he would return, he would bring back something small, something that reminded him of you, Iosif, and Elizaveta. The items didn't cost much, sometimes they cost nothing at all. One time he returned with a small rock, a leaf, and a bird feather. The rock was shiny and a dark grey color with purple streaks going through it, it had reminded him of the beauty of Elizaveta's eyes. The leaf was small, but it was a bright green, it reminded him of Iosif, who was the smallest at birth, but was intelligent and bright already at only two months old, already attempting to hold his own bottles. The feather was pure white, and it reminded him of you. You were still, and always will be the purest thing in his life, the most amazing and beautiful woman he had ever met. You made him feel like the luckiest man on earth, he was so happy, so over joyed with you and the small family that he had, it felt like he was flying.

If someone had asked you in the beginning of your relationship if you thought Fyodor Dostoevsky would ever want to have children, you would have scoffed and said no. Fyodor was a man who, at the time, didn't seem like he would ever be capable of being a father. That hadn't bothered you, because you loved him enough to want to be with him no matter what. Now, here the two of you laid, both of your children between you on the bed, and you couldn't imagine him not being a father to your children. He was the most amazing father you could have ever wanted your children to have.

He pressed quick kisses to the tops of the children's heads before smiling up at you, brushing his fingers along your cheek. "YA lyublyu tebya, moya dorogaya."

a/n : Thank you for reading! I got really really really into it, and I love my baby Fyodor so fricking much. He deserves so much love. Also daddy!Fyodor is a whole ass mood, love me a big Rat Daddy. Okay but seriously, I love him so much. He's just *chefs kith* Also, what he says at the end is "I love you, my dear" because Russian is hot and him speaking Russian would just *kaboom*

[thecuriouspianist]

Tips for practice consistency

Next time you sit down to practice, set a timer for 5 minutes and start a small project, such as..

Learning a blues scale (I'm a classical player learning jazz and it's intimidating as a whole, but 5 min of practicing a blues scale is fun)

Practicing a difficult passage

Sight reading new rep for school, work etc

Write a few phrases of your own music if you're an aspiring composer

Improvise on three chords and see if you can make up a little tune

When the timer goes off you have to STOP! No matter how much fun you're having or progress you're making! Then:

Write down somewhere (day planner, notebook) what you did and what the next step is, such as: "Chopin Cm etude: played LH all the way throughwith metronome at quarter note = 52"

Move on to another piece or project with another 5 minute timer.

For big projects, I allow 10 or 15 minutes.

The next day, sit down with your instrument and pick up the *same* first project. Doodle around with it for another 5 minute session with the timer. Same rule! STOP immediately when the timer goes off (ok sometimes I cheat and finish a phrase just to hear the cadence resolve) and make another quick journal note.

For professionals or those with huge amounts of rep to cover, here's how to stack up 5-min bursts for a larger project:

Have an AM practice session of 45-75 min (divided into a 5 min warmup and a few 10-15 min blocks; you can cover 2-5 separate projects)

Take a 10-25 min nap or meditation. NO LONGER. This is to allow your brain to move the info into longer-term storage and freshen your mind for the afternoon.

After lunch, have a 30-45 min session (3-5 projects.) I usually *don't* repeat any material from my AM session; I treat this as another "first" session after sleeping.

After dinner, run through everything you practiced already that day, but in a more "big-picture" way. (I don't set timers for this session.) Run all the way through repq if you only worked on sections earlier. If I'm tired mentally, I improvise for fun or play my favorite rep..or, if I'm on a deadline, whatever is coming up soonest. If I still have some mental energy I do a bit more detail work in addition to run throughs.

After a few days of practicing in 5/10/15 min bursts, not finishing the project will feel like a cliffhanger. You'll have continuity and purpose in your work. Imagine you're a sculptor and each day you carve out a bit more progress; each day's work is small on its own but before long you have a finished piece of artwork.

And why the 5-15 min limitation? We humans have short attention span. My favorite teacher once told me the first 15 min of any practice session are the most productive. So use that to your advantage!

What do you guys think? Anybody else out there use timers and journaling to stay on track? I want to hear your ideas ..xoR

[ image : steinway model o via the pianoshopbathuk ]

[idliketobeatree]

dead boy detectives contrapuntal poems — 3 — (1) (2) (4) (5)

[firstofficerwiggles]

Only for You

Pairing: Mandalorian x female reader

Rating: G

Warnings: None

Summary: You like to sing and it ends up bringing you closer to the Mandalorian. Events take place sometime between Seasons 1 and 2. It’s pretty much fluff with a teeny bit of story.

Word Count: ~4600

Author’s Note: Inspired by the Adele version of Make You Feel My Love, I use several of the lyrics in the story but I did make one small change to make it fit the SW universe. Also in my SW universe, all Earth music is readily available by some magical means, don’t overthink it.

P.S. To everyone I tagged, I did a presumptive tag here since you were on my list for Dress Code and I thought maybe you’d enjoy reading this too? I’m sorry if you aren’t interested and just let me know if you don’t want to be tagged for any future works.

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The soft sounds of you singing to the child drift through the Razor Crest up to the cockpit making Din smile under his helmet. Ever since you came aboard to be the caregiver for his little foundling, life has been filled with music and boisterous sounds. It’s a nice change from the lonely silences that previously filled his days. He never really listened to music when he was alone, it just wasn’t something he was used to, but now he knows he would miss it if you weren’t singing all the time.

“Heeey, hey baby, I wanna know-ow-ow, if you’ll be my guy.” You sing to the child causing him to giggle and coo at you. You swear he is even bopping his head along to the rhythm of the song. You’re preparing the evening meal, dancing around the Crest’s hull and singing to your little green charge as you do. Thank goodness Mando doesn’t mind how much you sing and generally create a ruckus in the ship. From outward appearances, your primary worry should have been Mando’s dangerous lifestyle and the bounty on the child, but honestly, when you first started this job, your primary concern was about being way too noisy for the taciturn bounty hunter. You feel like you can’t help it though because you were raised in a loud household with three brothers where everyone was always talking, laughing, shouting, and generally being rowdy. Later, you were away at school living with hundreds of other students constantly surrounded by racket, the perfect environment for your noisy nature. Not to mention, you’ve always loved to sing and were known for being that one (slightly annoying) friend that was always humming a tune or breaking out in song like you were in a musical.

You were fortunate to be sent to a school with a great arts program and you relished your music classes. You had dreamed of someday being able to have a career in music, but as the war grew closer to your corner of the galaxy, those aspirations quickly faded. By the time you left school, you were lucky to find the odd teaching job as a tutor and the closest you’d come to having any sort of musical profession was singing and playing the piano at the local cantina a few times a week for tips. It had been fun for a while, but it wasn’t how you had envisioned your life. Playing the same requested songs night after night while increasingly drunk men hit on you loses its charm real fast. When your older brother, another bounty hunter, had told you about Mando needing some help with childcare, you had jumped at the opportunity for something new. So far it was proving to be the most rewarding job you’d ever had. Not only was the child unbelievably adorable, you’d also had the opportunity to travel to many new places and gain experiences that would have been impossible back on your home world. And while caring for the special alien baby was your main task, you found yourself helping out his father as much as you could too whether it was simply cleaning up around the Crest or making sure that Mando ate something on a given day. You had seen that he frequently put everyone above himself, going for long stretches of time without seeing to his own personal needs. He seemed to appreciate everything that you did for him, always quick to thank you even for the smallest of tasks.

You checked the timer on the food and saw that there were just a few more minutes until it would be ready. To keep the baby from getting fussy, you pick him up and spin him around a bit singing to him again, “So won’t you, please, be my, be my, be my little baby, my one and only baby...” It’s silly but you love singing songs to him with the word “baby” in them even if they aren’t traditionally songs for children. You are mid twirl with the child when you realize the Mandalorian has come down from the cockpit and is watching your little performance. You feel your cheeks heat up, a bit embarrassed that he has caught you being such a dork, but then he puts you at ease when he chuckles, “You two look like you’re having fun.”

“Yes, time for dinner and a little dancing,” you reply with a smile, twirling the child one more time causing him to erupt in happy giggles.

“Good, I’m starved,” Mando wanders over to the food, “Smells delicious. You’re too good to us.”

You put the baby back down and turn back to the little stove to dish out the stew you’ve made. You try not to think about the fact that you made this particular dish because Mando seems to like it so much. You couldn’t be certain but it looked like he licked the bowl clean the last time you made it. Mando moves to take his bowl up to the cockpit so he can remove his helmet and eat in privacy, but then turns to you to say, “I’ll let you know when it’s ok to come up for lullaby time.”

Ah yes, lullaby time, as if you would ever forget. It is the highlight of your day, and you would love to imagine that the same is true for Mando even though he’s never given any indication of the kind. When you first started this job, you had tried to give the Mandalorian as much space as possible not wanting to pester him in any way. As much as you could, you had stayed out of the cockpit treating it as his own private domain. So the first few times you put the child to bed, you stayed down in the hull as you sang him a few songs to help ease the little womp rat into sleep. But, after a few evenings alone like that, Mando had managed to be downstairs, tinkering away at little odd jobs while you put the baby to bed. At first you didn’t really think he was paying much attention to your singing, but by about the fourth night you realized he had been cleaning the same blaster over and over, and you began to suspect that he was listening to you as intently as the child. A few days later, he suggested that you come up to the cockpit for the child’s nighttime routine, saying “Maybe looking out at the stars will help him feel sleepy.” You had agreed, but, you had to admit, that it was more because you were curious about spending more time with your employer than finding a way to help the little one fall asleep faster. Mando had been the one to coin the term “lullaby time” as a way to let you know that his helmet was back on and he was ready for company. Your heart almost melted the first time he said it, and now you lived to hear him call down to say “Ok, you two, it’s lullaby time.”

In the cockpit, Din is gulping down his dinner. He knows he should probably slow down, savor his food a bit more, but truthfully he’s eager to spend more time with you and the child. He’s thought about staying down below with you both when he eats, but tipping the helmet up each time he wants to take a bite of food or a sip of a drink is a pain and he can’t risk the chance that one of you will see too much of his face. Din would never admit it out loud, but lullaby time is his favorite part of the day. It’s the one time he gets to spend time with you and the child just relaxing and enjoying your presence. Plus the fact that he gets to listen to your beautiful voice is a special bonus. At first Din would just watch you hold the child and sing to him, but now he’s a more active participant, often taking the child into his arms, rocking him gently as you sing to the both of them. He’s even started to ask you more about the songs you sing and where you learned them. It’s been a nice way to start conversations with you, to know more about you, something else he is eager to do.

When Mando calls down to you, you beam down at the baby and tell him happily that it’s time to get ready for bed. Scooping him up, you climb the ladder to the cockpit and you can see Mando already holding out his arms for the little one. You adore how affection this hardened warrior can be with his adopted son. You settle in the co-pilot’s chair as you start to sing some of your favorite songs. They’re all love songs, not really lullabies, but they are soft and dreamy and create the right mood for the evening. You’ve sung about four songs when you notice the child’s eyes are closed and you can tell he’s almost asleep. You’re about ready to collect him from Mando so you can put him into his pram for the night, when Mando asks, “What’s that song you sing about feel my love?”

“Make You Feel My Love?” you ask, “Is that the one you mean?”

“Yeah,” he replies, “you didn’t sing it tonight.”

It’s not exactly a request, but you understand what he’s hinting at. He’s asked you the name before, so you suspect he remembers the song fairly well. Even though the child is practically asleep now, you sing it for Mando, feeling touched that he must enjoy this particular song to want to ask about it.

             When the rain is blowing in your face

             And the whole world is on your case

             I could offer you a warm embrace

             To make you feel my love

             When the evening shadows and the stars appear

             And there is no one there to dry your tears

             I could hold you for a million years

             To make you feel my love

Din listens to the beautiful words and the haunting melody as your voice sings to him about all the ways you would show him that you care. He watches your lovely face as you sing and he imagines that you really mean what you are singing, that you’re singing it just to him, that you really would do all of that for him. When you get to the line I could make you happy, make your dreams come true he feels his heart lurch at the truth in those words, knowing how much you already make him happy every day and acknowledging that if you were ever truly with him, it would be like a dream come true for him. As the song ends, he sighs, both contented at hearing it but also saddened to come back to reality. Din won’t let himself believe that a woman like you could ever really love him so unconditionally. His life is too turbulent, full of violence and hardship, and what woman would want to saddle herself with that?

Even though you’re not privy to Mando’s true feelings, you somehow feel that you could tell how much he enjoyed hearing that song and so after that evening, you are sure to sing it as the last song every night. Usually the child is already fast asleep when you sing it, so each time it becomes clearer to you that you really are singing it just for Mando. As the days and week progress, lullaby time has come to be followed by conversation time since you have taken to returning to the cockpit after putting the child to sleep in his pram. At first you mostly spoke about your own life, answering Mando’s questions about where you learned to sing, what else you learned at school, and what life was like with your three crazy brothers. Yet, little by little he has begun to tell you about his own past, sharing stories about his training in the Mandalorian fighting corps and his earlier years as a bounty hunter.

The more you find out about Mando, the more you’ve come to develop real feelings for him. So when you sing that there’s nothing that you wouldn’t do for him, that you want him to feel your love, you know you really mean it. If only you could bring yourself to tell him in your own words, and not only in the song. Nonetheless, if you’re honest with yourself, you have no indication that Mando shares your feelings even slightly. While he does seem to enjoy spending time with you, and clearly he likes Make You Feel My Love, truthfully he could be thinking about anyone when you sing it or it could be that he just likes the music and the company, it’s not like there’s someone else here. Sure he’s always polite and kind towards you, but he’s like that with lots of people, as long as they’re not a threat. You’ve seen how quickly he can make friends, despite being an intimidating wall of metal, his quiet charm and respectfulness draws people to him in an unassuming manner. Perhaps you’re simply another friendly admirer swept up by his intriguing aura. So you do your best to keep these feeling to yourself, maintaining as neutral an expression as you can when you sing to him and doing your utmost not to embarrass yourself by sharing too much and potentially ruining the friendly companionship you’ve managed to cultivate.

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

“I don’t think this will take too long, and you two can probably get something to eat while we’re here.” You and the child have accompanied Mando to a cantina on an icy planet where he has a meeting with a potential client. It was too cold to stay on the Razor Crest with its meager heating system, and thankfully this place is warm and doesn’t seem too seedy. The bar top looks well-polished and there’s even a piano in here, hinting at a nicer atmosphere than most of the hole-in-the wall joints you’ve been to with Mando. The only unsettling thing is how everyone in the cantina is staring at your odd little group, the silver warrior, the alien baby in his floating pram, and you, the woman looking about with curious eyes. You have never quite gotten used to the way that Mando can silence an entire room just by entering it, but he seems unperturbed by the stares. He spots his client, an older looking gentleman, and moves toward that direction, but a group of patrons have decided to intervene first.

“What’s your business here, Mandalorian?” A tall, florid-faced man demands. He seems to be the unofficial leader of the group, as the rest of them are looking to him as the voice of authority.

“It’s not with you.” Mando is never one to mince words.

“We don’t need you coming in here and causing trouble, I’ve seen how you Mandos get.” A much shorter man, with clearly a death wish, sticks his finger towards Mando’s chest plate almost poking him.

“Not here for trouble.” Mando’s voice sounds gruffer than usual and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Well you Mandos never drink in public, so what are you doing in a cantina?” The short man sneers at him and ugh, the way he makes Mandos sound like a dirty word irritates you to no end.

Not one to be baited into confrontation, Mando says nothing in reply, but merely tilts his helmet at the man, and you can feel the annoyance in his gesture.

“This a decent place for decent people, so why don’t you just turn around and get out of here?” The tall man suggests with a malicious tone to his voice. This place might look at little nicer, but the patrons sure are nasty. You look around and see more men standing up, and the tension in the room is palpable. You know Mando could really use the work, but the last thing he needs is to get into a fight just trying to land the job.

You have no idea what possesses you, but before you know it you’re saying “But if we leave now, you won’t get to hear me sing!” And you stride confidently over to the piano, plop yourself down on the bench, and begin playing out a jaunty song, a popular tune from your cantina back home. Despite the fact that everyone is now staring at you like you have lost your mind, you press ahead and start singing as if this was always the point of being there.  You smile brightly at the room as if you are having the time of your life performing for them. Magically, your ridiculous ploy works and the men back off, a bit startled at first by the abrupt change in energy in the room, but as they beginning listening to you sing their animosity seems to drain away. Several other patrons are nodding their heads along with the music and light conversation picks up again. Mando gives you a small nod before finally making his way over to the client. You let the music flow and continue on to another song, keeping everyone’s attention on you. By the third song you feel more relaxed and grateful that you’re able to help Mando out in this way. A waiter comes over from the bar with a drink for you as you end a song, “That was smooth, what you did,” he gives you a little wink.

“Hope your boss doesn’t mind,” you say with a smile.

“The drink’s from him, he said he didn’t realize I hired a singer for tonight, but he’s real pleased with you.” He gestures to the man tending bar.

“That’s good,” is all you can think to say in response.

“Do you know She’s Always a Woman?” he asks. You nod smoothly and start the song and you glance over at the bartender again and see that he’s smiling widely, must be a favorite of his.

After that, a tip jar finds its way over to the piano and patrons come up to add to it and make their own requests, even the tall man comes over to give you a few credits and ask for a song. His cronies are now back to their drinks and none of them even seem to register that Mando is still here. The more you sing, the more you get into the fun of performing for a crowd again, making them forget their troubles and letting them take some time to enjoy themselves. When you glimpse towards Mando and his client, they also seem to appreciate the music. The client has a happy smile on his face and while you obviously can’t see Mando’s expression, his relaxed posture indicates an improvement from earlier. He doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave for once either.

Looking at the pleased faces and jovial manner about the cantina now, Din is impressed with how you managed to transform this place from hostile to welcoming in a matter of minutes. The client appreciated your help too as he was worried about hiring a bounty hunter in the first place, never having had a need for such services before. Fortunately, the client’s explanation of the job was fairly straightforward and it looks to be an easy bounty. Din is careful to repeat back all of the pertinent details to the client and the man seems satisfied in his abilities to find the quarry, which is good because his usual laser-like focus has abandoned him and he can’t stop himself from glancing repeatedly over to the piano and you. Normally, Din wouldn’t hang around and socialize with the client, but the opportunity to see you perform like this is too good to pass up. He knew you were talented after hearing you sing for him and the baby for so many evenings, but seeing you shine like this is a luxury. Din watches keenly as different emotions play across your gorgeous face as you shift from happy, upbeat songs to the more expressive and dramatic love songs. You are always beautiful to Din, but seeing you like this is special, like you’re glowing from within and it makes you all the more precious to him. He’s not crazy about the fact that you’ve clearly captivated at least half of the men in the room with your beauty and talent, but he knows you’re leaving here with him and it makes him feel rather smug. As Din listens to you sing a love song about how you think about the man you love night and day, he indulges in a fantasy where the song is about the two of you, especially when you sing about spending your life making love to him. It’s easy to imagine especially when you keep looking over at him with such an outright flirtatious expression during the song.  

Under the guise of performing, you let yourself look at Mando with all of the desire and love you’ve been keeping under wraps for so long now. You’re careful to let your eyes roam around the room, flirting with the other patrons too, but every time you turn back towards Mando you let your gaze soften a bit more. As the evening wears on, you let yourself sing all of your favorite love songs, telling Mando how you feel with each one, promising that you’ll love him forever, that you’ll never let him go, and how he’s the only one for you. You know you’re just pretending that he understands why you’re singing each one, that they’re all for him. The only song you can’t bring yourself to sing is Make You Feel My Love. It seems too personal, too private to perform in front of all these strangers.

The crowd at the cantina starts to thin out and you know you’ve been here much longer than Mando originally planned. You decide it’s time to bring this interlude to an end and thank your audience for their attention, playing one last song to say good night. When the music ends, you stand and take a small bow to the round of applause. You collect your tips and an additional unexpected payment from the bartender, along with several requests to come back again soon. Mando is back at your side and he places a hand at the small of your back guiding you out the door and into the snowy night. You expect him to pull away once you are out of the crowd, but he stays close to you.

“Thank you for that impromptu performance.” He deep voice rumbles in your ear as you head back to the Razor Crest, “It was a welcome distraction from those idiots and I appreciated not having to get into a bar brawl.”

“Anything to lend you a helping hand,” you reply warmly.

He nods, and then says, “You’re really very talented. You could do well for yourself, singing full time in a nice cantina or a casino somewhere.”

“Tonight was fun enough, but I’ve had my time singing in a cantina, it gets old faster than you think,” you tell him, “besides why would I give up the best job in the galaxy?”

“The best job in the galaxy?” Mando scoffs a little at that.

“Sure it is! I get to travel around all over seeing all kinds of planets and people, take care of the most adorable magic baby ever, and spend time with his amazing father.” Oops, did you just say that last part out loud?  

Mando is quiet for a beat, but then he says, “You’re the amazing one.”

You’re too shocked to say anything more than a mumbled, “Thanks” and hurry towards the Crest.

Once aboard you check on the baby, but he’s already asleep, so all you do is tuck his blanket around him a little more and then climb up to the cockpit where Mando is readying the controls for take-off. Even though you’re still a bit embarrassed by your unplanned compliment earlier, his response has made you curious. You sit quietly as you leave the planet’s atmosphere and the ship makes the jump to hyperspace, the whole time racking your brain for the right words so that maybe you can finally give Mando a clue about your feelings. You’re about to give up, when he says, “You didn’t sing Make You Feel My Love tonight.”

“Ah, no, no I didn’t.” Maker, you want to tell him why, but the words are frozen in your throat.

“That’s my favorite song.” Mando finally admits to you.

“I thought it might be,” you say, “that’s why I sing it every night.”

“But not tonight?”

You take a deep breath. He’s giving you the perfect opportunity and you gather all your courage as you tell him, “It felt too personal to share such an intimate song with all of those people. When- when I sing that song, your song, it’s only for you.”

“My song?” You swear his voice gets deeper when he tries to clarify what you mean.

“Yes, that’s how I think of it now.” You look at his visor where you think his eyes must be, trying to silently confess to him what that song means to you.

“My song.” Mando repeats, before asking, “Do you know why it’s my favorite?”

“No, I- I really don’t. I just knew you liked it when you asked me about it a couple times.”

He’s quiet again for a moment and you wonder if he’s going to elaborate when he finally says, “It’s my favorite song because I imagine that you really mean what you’re singing, that you’re singing it to me for real.”

“I am singing it to you for real,” you finally confess, “I mean every word each time I sing it for you.”

“You are? And you do?” Mando seems genuinely surprised, “How- How is that possible?”

You smile at him and because you feel like you might as well go for it, you stand up coming closer to him and then you reach down and take his hands in yours, “It’s possible because you’re such a wonderful man, you treat me with respect, you’re kind, you let me be my annoying, loud self as much as I want--”

“I don’t think you’re annoying,” he interjects.

“And see, that, right there, you always make me feel good, you just make me glad to be around you, it’s one of the many reasons why I fell in love with you, why I am in love with you.” The words come tumbling out of your mouth and your chest feels tight, but then he squeezes your hands.

“I’m in love with you too, have been for a while,” he says softly. Then he tugs you closer to him until you’re sitting in his lap with his arms around you. He holds you close to his chest, and you can’t imagine how this could be any better, until you hear his rich baritone voice sing the last lines of the song to you,

             I could make you happy, make your dreams come true

             Nothing that I wouldn’t do

             Go to the ends of the universe for you

             To make you feel my love

             To make you feel my love

------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged for any future fics!

Tag list: @sleepwithacommunist @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @rueblogsthings @mackycat11 @tv-zepeda @remmyswritings @mudhornchronicles @boomtownboy @mandosboobiez @hoodjarin @haley7242

[svt-junhwan]

christmas cookies |

in which | junhwan makes christmas cookies

characters | junhwan miller, veronica miller, wen junhui, xu minghao, boo seungkwan

word count | 1.2k

circa | christmas 2020

“How long do I do this for?” Junhwan asks.

“About five minutes,” his mom responds.

“Oof.”

Junhwan’s mom laughs, “It would be about two if you had an electric mixer but...”

“We must press onward,” Junhwan says seriously, continuing to aggressively whisk the sugar and softened sticks of butter together.

Wanting to do something more than buying presents for his members, Junhwan set out to make Christmas cookies for them the night before Christmas Day. He’s using the recipe his late grandmother made rather than any store-bought mix. It isn’t his first time making cookies from scratch, but it is his first time doing it on his own. Although, technically, he isn’t alone as his mother is on FaceTime with him helping him along.

Eventually, the first two ingredients are well-combined.

“Alright, next it says to add the eggs and vanilla and almond extracts,” Junhwan reads from the file his mom had sent him.

“Yep,” his mother agrees.

After the remaining wet ingredients are incorporated, Junhwan mixes in the flour and baking soda with a few helpful tips along the way that have been passed down through generations of Miller women.

“And... chill for an hour,” Junhwan reads once he has flattened the dough into the right thickness on two separate cookie sheets.

“Or freeze for thirty minutes,” his mom adds helpfully.

“Okay.”

Junhwan slides the two cookies sheets into the freezer carefully. He washes his hands then picks up his phone, heading back to his room to wait.

“Thanks, mom.”

“You’re welcome,” she says. “But isn’t it a bit late to be baking there?”

Junhwan glances at the time in the top corner of his phone. 10:13.

“Not terribly.”

“Isn’t it 9- no, 10:13?”

“I’m trying to be a good friend, mother.”

His mom laughs, “You don’t need to make cookies to prove that, Adam.”

“Well, here we are.”

“Yes. Here we are.”

Junhwan flops onto his bed with a sigh. Between practices and awards shows and yearend shows and practices for awards shows and yearend shows, this is the only free time he’s gotten in the past few days. This is the primary reason Junhwan has been completely uninterrupted in the kitchen when normally his members would be in and out; they’re all asleep or very tired.

“You’re sleeping enough?” Junhwan’s mother asks.

“Yeah... maybe not consecutively but when I can.”

His mom hums unhappily.

“Hey, it’s not entirely my fault; we’ve been extra busy during awards shows season.”

“You work hard enough, Adam,” his mother tells him, “You have to look after yourself, too.”

“I am,” Junhwan insists.

His mother looks at him through the phone as if trying to detect any falsities behind his words. Whether it’s the lack of any or the distance between them, she finds none.

“Alright,” she relents. “But I can speak Korean pretty well now. I can go to more than just Joshua or Vernon for checkups now.”

“Mom, I’m an adult.”

“But you will always be my son. It’s my job to worry about you.”

Junhwan gets the warm feeling he always gets when his mom reminds him of her love for him, as though regardless of what anyone else thinks, he will always have at least one person in his corner. He smiles.

“Merry Christmas, mom.”

“Merry Christmas, Adam. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“I’ll talk to you soon, okay?”

“Okay. Love you.”

“Love you more.”

Junhwan waits in the kitchen diligently as his cookies bake. He’s a little too nervous for a bad outcome to let himself become distracted by his phone as he waits; he was warned it won’t take long for them to burn as they’re so thin. His timer goes off and he quickly opens the oven to check on the cookies.

He takes them out quickly and starts removing them from the cookie sheets to cool. There are around forty cookies on two trays waiting to be iced. He opts to remain in the kitchen as they cool, ignoring the way tiredness pulls at the back of his mind. He sits in a kitchen chair and opens his current book.

A few chapters later, he gets up and checks the residual heat in his cookies. He’s only just begun icing them when the first figure slips into the kitchen.

“What’re you making?”

Junhwan looks up and finds Jun entering the kitchen, obviously having just woken up. A quick glance at the clock tells him it’s ten past eleven.

“Sorry, did I wake you?” Junhwan asks, continuing to ice.

“No,” Jun lies.

As Jun reaches for one of the few already iced cookies, Minghao appears and tugs him back.

“Let the kid finish before you destroy his hard work.”

“Sorry, dad.”

“I am younger than you.”

“Then act like it.”

“Maybe you should act more mature.”

“Nah, I’m good.”

Junhwan chuckles at the two Chinese boys’ bickering.

A fourth boy enters the kitchen, Seungkwan.

“Speaking of immature,” Minghao says.

Seungkwan freezes in place, “I breathed.”

The boys laugh quietly, doing their best to remain quiet for the still sleeping members in the dorm. Junhwan feels guilty, knowing he woke the other three up despite their attempts at denying it. They stay in the kitchen with him, talking softly amongst themselves as he finishes frosting his cookies. He’s not a very talented baker, even less so when is comes to decorating, so he does a simple pattern of three lines crossed in the center of each cookie. Soon, he finishes.

“Okay,” he says quietly, gaining the others’ attention. “Try one.”

Jun reaches for one first, biting off one of the snowflake’s arms. He chews a few times then stops, silent and face purposely blank. Junhwan watches his reaction and his face falls.

“Are they bad?”

Jun doesn’t respond.

Minghao quickly wraps an arm around Junhwan’s waist, taking his comfort on as his responsibility.

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Minghao says.

Seungkwan picks up a cookie as well, taking a bite similar to Jun’s. Seungkwan barely gets through his second chew before stopping, jaw opening in his mouth as though his tongue is trying to get away from the taste.

Junhwan immediately feels horrible, “I-I’m sorry! I just thought I’d do something nice but I didn’t think they’d be that bad. I’m sorry-“

Junhwan is cut off as Jun and Seungkwan fall into laughter, still doing their best to remain quiet which only makes them laugh harder. Junhwan blinks at them in confusion for a moment before it clicks. He groans and sinks to the floor in embarrassment; he’s so gullible.

“You two are so mean!” Minghao halfheartedly scolds them, fighting back laughter of his own.

“God, you looked so- so- I don’t know!” Jun laughs.

“Like a puppy who got told no,” Seungkwan suggests.

“Yes!”

Another wave of laughter comes and this time, Minghao joins them. Junhwan lies down completely on the kitchen floor.

“One day, I’m going to die are you’re going to have to live with the fact that you bullied me since I was thirteen,” he tells them.

“I can live with that,” Seungkwan says with minor consideration.

“Same,” Jun agrees, popping the rest of his cookie in his mouth.

[tsukkisbean]

24 cakes pt.1 | oneshot

pairing: tsukishima kei x fem!reader

genre: fluff, mildly suggestive

warnings: none!

a/n: so this kind of turned into a oneshot but oh well. i also tried to make it so that you could technically read the two parts separately if you prefer fluff/smut over the other but idk how well that worked out. anyways, pt 2 has been scheduled to come out in 2 hours. n e ways TSUKISHIMA BEST BOY!! also this is a reupload bc my original post disappeared. if you already saw this NO U DIDN’T

the smell of smoke engulfs your apartment and you quickly run to slide open your balcony door. turning on your heels you make your way back to the kitchen. clambering atop the counter you try to wave the air clear with your palms. when the piercing sound of the smoke alarm finally cuts out, you plop down, letting your legs dangle over the edge of the counter.

your eyes land on the stovetop where your burnt creation sits. you let out a frustrated cry. you’ve made this recipe more times than you can count on your fingers because somehow they’ve all ended up in disaster. first, there was the time you underbeat the whipped cream, and ended up with a sticky mess. then there was the time you accidentally knocked the batter onto the floor. not to mention the time you dropped the cake right as you pulled it out of the oven.

this time you had gotten so wrapped up in your phone call with tsukishima you didn’t realize that your oven timer was going off. by the time you had come to your senses, it was too late.

you rub your temples in annoyance. despite starting weeks in advance to make sure you had the recipe down, it was now the day of your boyfriend’s birthday and you had yet to successfully finish the recipe even once.

taking a quick glance at the clock, you push yourself off the counter to throw away your burnt masterpiece and begin pulling out ingredients once more. tsukishima was supposed to be over in a few hours, so if you wanted to have enough time you had to start now.

you’re about to combine the dry ingredients together when there’s a brisk knock on the door. dusting your hands on your apron, you make your way to the front entrance. you swing your door open, and slam it shut just as fast. 

the knocking starts up again, this time more persistent and more aggressive. your fingers fumble with the door chain, sliding it into place before cracking the door open ever so slightly. you’re about to peek out into the hallway, but before you can get a good view, your visitor tries to force the door open further causing you to jump back in surprise.

“y/n? what the hell are you doing?” the person on the other side says, irritation evident in their voice. when you don’t respond they speak again, this time with a much softer tone, “y/n please let me in. are you okay?”

“mhm” is the only thing you manage to squeeze out though it sounds more like a squeak. gently pressing the door closed again, you remove the chain to let your visitor in. when your boyfriend comes into full view, you flash him a bashful smile, “sorry, kei. i was just caught off guard, i thought we agreed that you’d come over at 9pm.”

the tall male scoffs, raising his hand to give your forehead a flick, before perching forward to press an apologetic kiss against the red mark, “nii-chan got held up at work so he won’t be here until tomorrow.”

you try to pull off your best scowl, only to have him to snort at you, “so? are you going to let me in or are you going to keep making faces at me?” he cranes his neck to look past you, his height giving him a clear advantage.

reluctantly, you step aside and he lets himself in, removing his shoes and changing into his slippers in the process. as the two of you step into the kitchen, you avoid eye contact, already able to picture the smug expression on his face.

his arms slip around your waist, face nuzzling into the crook of your neck. despite the sweet actions, the nuance in his voice says otherwise, “aw y/n were you trying to bake me a birthday cake? you really shouldn’t have.”

you pull away from him, sticking out your tongue in response, “fine in that case i’m going to make this strawberry shortcake for myself.” you tap your chin pretending to deep in thought for a moment, “or maybe i’ll ask yamaguchi if he wants some.”

you expect a snarky remark but he says nothing, instead he strides over to one of the drawers to pull out an apron. you watch as he hooks the bib around his neck, and fastens the string around his waist.

he picks up the recipe by the corner, letting it dangle in the air. he shoots you a questioning look but you shrug your shoulders and snatch the paper out of his hands. “so i’ve already tried to bake this recipe a couple of times, it’s bound to have a couple of stains here and there.”

“how many times is a couple, really? three? ten? fifty?”

you mutter something under your breath, fingers fiddling with each other. tsukishima leans in closer, cupping his ear with his hand, “sorry, can you say that again?”

you roll your eyes, this time your voice at a normal volume, “twenty-three.”

this time tsukishima laughs with his whole chest, using his pointer finger to gently push your head, “twenty-three? i’m surprised you haven’t burned the entire place down.”

placing your hands on your hips, you challenge him, “what? you think you can do better?”

he shifts in his spot so that your eyes are level with his, “oh i know i can do better.”

with that, he snatches the recipe back from you, doing a careful readthrough of each step. you watch as he scoops a cup of flour, neatly levelling it with a metal spatula. just as he’s about to pour the flour into the bowl, you lunge forward, bumping your hip against his side. a white cloud rises into the air, coating the both of you in flour.

tsukishima grabs you by the wrists, clicking his tongue in annoyance “tsk, do you really hate losing that much?”

you feign innocence, flashing him your sweetest smile, “sorry, i lost my balance.”

unable to think of a comeback he releases you, turning his attention back to the task at hand. as works through each step, you shadow him, interjecting a few comments every so often.

wrapping your arms around his waist, you rest your face against the side of his body, “are you sure that’s soft peaks it’s looking a little runny still”

he tilts the bowl towards you, lifting the mixer up so you can see how the egg whites droop over slightly, “yes i’m sure.”

you take your chance again when he moves onto the next step, “be careful not to add the sugar too fast or-”

but to your dismay he’s already one step ahead of you,“then the stiff peaks won’t form, i know.”

in a last resort to try and distract him, you throw in one last punch, “are you really sure you want to fold your meringue in now? it’s looking a little soft still.” obviously fed up with your antics, tsukishima grabs the metal bowl, flipping it above your head.

instinctively, you duck your head down and cover your head with your hands. cracking an eye open, you’re met with his usual smirk. and so, you shuffle over to the other side of the counter situating yourself on one of the bar stools.

you watch silently as he works through the final steps with ease. once the cake is placed in the oven he turns his attention back to you.

his long frame leans over the kitchen counter and kisses the tip of your nose, “sorry, but it looks like this is just one more thing that i’m better than you at. although 24 cakes does seem appropriate for today’s occasion, huh?”

you huff, crossing your arms against your chest, “technically you’re not finished until the cake its cooked, iced, and decorated.” turning your head slightly you side eye him, “besides you may be better than me at some things. but you’re definitely not everything.”

a sly smile appears on tsukishima’s face, “oh yeah? i can think of plenty of things that i can beat you at right now.”

your palms hit the counter as your body shoots out of its seat, “oh yeah? let’s go then. right here, right now.”

(a/n: if you want to read the smutty ending of this then please check out my blog at 3:00pm pst (in 2 hrs)! i’ve scheduled the next post for then. otherwise read on hehe.)

your entire body quivers under your boyfriend. never have you wanted to scream at him so bad before. but you bite your tongue and hold yourself back for the time being. there was no way you were going to lose to him, not when you had so confidently declared that you were going to beat him.

“left hand yellow, y/n.”

you let out a triumphant yell as your hand is already planted on a yellow spot. but the feeling is short lived when you realize that you now have to maneuver yourself to reach the spinner. it’s obvious your boyfriend is thinking the same thing from the way he shoots you a smile.

but you refuse to lose, not when you’ve held out for this long. before your hand reaches the spinner, a blaring noise fills the room.

the two of you look at each other, and this time it’s you who shoots him a knowing smile. he glowers at you as he twists his body to stand up. once he stands up fully erect, your arms and legs give out, your body crumpling onto the floor.

as you lay there, a delicious scent fills your nostrils. automatically, you rise to your feet, skittering over to join your boyfriend by the oven. he takes notice of your presence, and defensively holds his arms out, “don’t you dare come anywhere near my cake. you might ruin it.”

your mouth hangs open, reaching out to give his chest a playful shove, “hey i’m good at baking. i just had a few…mishaps.” your voice trails off momentarily, “plus i just beat you at twister, so technically we’re tied for today!”

tsukishima clicks his tongue, obviously irritated at the fact that he most likely would have won if it weren’t for the timer going off.

“let’s play another round, loser has to wash all the dishes.” he extends his hand out to you.

grabbing his hand, you give it a firm shake, “you’re on! prepare to lose, kei.”

your grip loosens but before you can completely pull your hand away, you’re tugged against tsukishima’s body. in one swift motion his lips capture yours in a chaste kiss. after a moment, he pulls away slightly, letting your lips brush against each other as he speaks, “whatever you say, love. but just remember today is my birthday.”

a/n: hello!! i’m putting my final author’s note here just because i didn’t wanna spoil the ending hehe. anyways i hope you guys liked the ending now i’m thinking about doing twister hc with haikyuu sooooooo look out for that :)

[messrprcngs]

AN ABUNDANCE OF PINING.

SUMMARY : bucky accidentally comes across fanfiction you wrote about him on tumblr. instead of being freaked out, he’s actually quite flattered, and asks to see more of your writing. he finds that there’s a common theme with almost everything you’ve written about him, but he’s too dense to realize why that is. PAIRING : bucky barnes x reader ( implied female, kind of ? ) WARNINGS : lots of pining, as that is a given. not really angst. FLUFF ! WORD COUNT : 5.2k. this now holds the title of ‘longest fic sophie’s written’ A/N : my first bucky barnes fic !! i hope you guys like it ! inifinity war and endgame ? never saw them, didn’t happen. the avengers are all happily alive and living in the complex together (but steve is retired so sam is still the new cap) and that’s final.

"bucky, can you grab my phone from my room?” you called out from the kitchen. “i need to check my texts again to make sure i didn’t ruin this first batch of muffins!”

"sure thing, doll!” he called back from the living room. you shivered at the nickname, which you scolded yourself for immediately after. he used it all the time; you should have been used to it by now. you weren’t.

you paused your stirring, listening for the squeak of leather that indicated that bucky had pushed himself up off the couch to go retrieve your phone for you. you heard it, followed by the so-faint-it-was-barely-audible padding of his feet on the hardwood, and went back to whipping up more batter for the next batch.

you were pretty certain that you hadn’t, in fact, completely ruined your first batch of muffins. you were a better baker than that! but the new recipe you’d just gotten for killer chocolate chip muffins came straight from your aunt, a downright marvelous baker, and you didn’t want to mess anything up; they had to be perfect.

which was precisely why your first batch, which you’d popped into the oven almost twenty minutes ago, consisted of only six muffins.

you hadn’t wanted to risk wasting all your ingredients only to find out that you’d forgotten one of the tips your aunt had given you and subsequently made your muffins taste subpar in comparison to hers.

you hummed to yourself as you stirred in more chocolate chips and waited for bucky to come back. your humming stretched on for what felt like forever, and yet still no bucky.

looking up at the timer above the stove, you found that it’d already been three minutes since you’d sent bucky to get your phone, which was strange. he knew where your room was because you lived on the same floor, which was only two floors above where you were now; it wasn’t like it was hard to get there and back. besides, he had super long legs and didn’t run out of breath quickly. what the hell was taking him so long?

you took the rubber spatula you were using to smooth the batter out and set it on top of the bowl before peaking your head out into the living room from the kitchen. what you found surprised you: bucky, standing in the middle of the room, scrolling through your phone and staring down at whatever he was doing intently.

it wasn’t the simple act of him going through your phone that surprised - and confused - you. you were best friends (a title he’d been quick to assure you had more than enough room for both you and steve), after all; he knew your passcode by heart, and you his, though you generally didn’t fiddle with his phone, seeing as he still wasn’t very familiar with modern day technology and wouldn’t know how to undo anything you changed. no, you were surprised because he hadn’t come into the kitchen to make sure you checked what you needed to before stealing your phone away from you. he always made sure you checked your phone before stealing it away from you. something about this didn’t add up. 

“bucky?” you asked, and his head snapped up so quickly it gave you the impression that you’d startled him. “whatchya doin’? i need my phone to check the recipe.”

he rolled his eyes. “please, doll, i’m sure you got the recipe right. when have you not gotten a recipe right?”

you chose not to bring up the time you’d made oatmeal cookies for the team. no one needed to relive that experience.

“my phone, buck,” you whined instead, walking out into the living room.

“well, you see,” he started, and you raised an eyebrow, unsure where this was going. it was never good when bucky barnes started off a sentence with ‘well, you see’. “i actually found something pretty interesting on your phone when i opened it, y/n.”

“oh?” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, even as your lungs fell into your stomach and your heart jumped up into your throat. you hoped he wasn’t talking about what you thought he was talking about. you tried to think back to what app you’d been using before coming down to bake, if you’d closed it, if you’d clicked out of it at all or not. you didn’t remember closing it or clicking out of it, but you sure did remember what app you’d been on: tumblr.

bucky hummed in affirmation. “yep. you were open to some wonderful writing, doll.”

you gulped. oh god, he found it. “really?”

bucky tried to suppress a smile as he said, “mhm. really wonderful writing. about me.” you wanted to die. he knew. god, this was a mess. “and i know i don’t really know anythin’ about the internet, but i know enough to’ve figured out that the account it was on is yours, huh, doll?”

you knew that you weren’t really bright red right now, but you definitely felt bright red. your face was burning, and your fingers were throbbing with the force of the heat rolling down your neck and into your arms. this was a mess. bucky had found the fanfiction you’d written about him. he probably figured out that you were in love with him just from reading it, too, and was bringing it up with you now to tell you that he was both utterly creeped out and didn’t love you the way he’d discovered you desperately wanted him to.

“i, i, uh - erm -” you stammered, blinking up at him rapidly to keep the tears that were pricking at the backs of your eyes at bay. “i . . . i’m really sorry, bucky.”

you lowered your head and cast your eyes downward, feeling like a child who had just been severely scolded - except this was worse, because bucky, your best friend and the man you were in love with, had just found the one thing you never wanted him to find.

“why’re you sorry, doll? the writing’s good!” you snapped your head up immediately at that, wincing from the force of the movement.

“it’s what?” you asked, incredulous.

“it’s good, doll,” he repeated. he seemed sincere. “though i don’t remember secretly pining over anyone named ‘whyenn’.”

despite the horrifying situation you were in, you couldn’t help but laugh at how he pronounced ‘y/n’. bucky let a grin slowly take over his face at the sound of your laughter.

“that’s because it’s fanfiction, buck. nothing i wrote about in whatever piece of mine you read actually happened,” you told him. you knew he knew what fanfiction was because of the time he’d caught you crying over a deamus fic and you’d had to explain what it was to him. you’d never told him anything about reader insert fanfiction, though - for a very good reason. that reason being, of course, because it was the kind of fanfiction you wrote.

“i figured,” he said. “but i had no idea that anyone would want to write fanfiction about me. or that you were such a great writer, y/n.”

the panic that was tearing at the inside of your chest subsided a bit, both because of his compliment and because he was taking this whole thing very well considering he clearly knew how you felt about him now and clearly didn’t feel the same way.

“a lot of people want to write fanfiction about you, bucky,” you told him. “you’re kind of a big thing on sites that are popular for fanfiction. so’s the rest of the team.” why were you telling him this? oh, that’s right: because you just never knew when to shut up.

both of bucky’s eyebrow’s raised at that. “oh really?” he was still grinning. “do you write stuff about the rest of the team, too?”

you looked away. “sometimes, yeah. but you can’t tell them!” you conveniently failed to mention that it was generally only when your readers sent in requests for something with another member of the team that you wrote for them.

“i mostly write stuff about you, though,” you added, before you could stop yourself. god, how you wanted the floor to tear open and swallow you whole right then.

“yeah?” the amusement was plain in bucky’s voice. “i won’t tell them, but am i your favorite member of the team, doll?”

you moved your eyes back to his before saying earnestly, “you are, bucky. really. it’s easiest to write things about you. because you’re my best friend,” you added quickly. maybe if you said it enough, you could distract him from the fact he’d discovered that you saw him as much, much more than just a best friend.

“easier to write about me?” he echoed, cocking his head to right like an adorable puppy.

“well, yeah,” you said, avoiding his eyes again. “i know you. i know how you talk and how you react to things and how sweet and caring and lovable you are. i know how much time it took for you to get to where you are now, to be in a place where you’re not constantly sad and . . . and terrified. i know everything about you, buck. it’s easy to translate that into writing.”

your eyes met again as you finished, and for a terribly drawn out moment, it appeared as if you’d rendered him speechless.

“wow, doll,” he breathed finally, his eyes soft. “i don’t know what to say other than i love you.”

now it was your turn to be left speechless. “i, you - what? do you really?” you tried not to get your hopes up, but it was hard when bucky was standing in front of you, looking so at ease and so, so breathtakingly beautiful.

for a second you thought you’d seen bucky’s eyes widen ever so slightly, but you blinked and they were normally sized once again, and bucky’s brow had furrowed. “well yeah,” he said. “you’re my best friend - of course i love you.”

you swallowed all that hope and let it sink miserably down to the pit of your stomach. of course. of course that was what he meant. you knew that you’d just said the same thing, but how could he say that he loved you when he clearly knew how you felt. unless . . .

no. you couldn’t entertain the thought that maybe he hadn’t realized just how much you loved him. it was glaringly obvious in everything you wrote about him. bucky was smart; there was no way he hadn’t figured it out.

you opened your mouth as if to speak, though you had no idea what to say. luckily, though, bucky cut in before it could become obvious to him that you weren’t, in fact, going to say anything. “do you mind if i read some more?”

“you - if you . . . what?”

“read more, doll,” he said again, smiling. “your writing’s good! i want to read more of it.”

“you want to read more . . . of my fanfiction . . . about you?” you asked, disbelieving. he laughed at the look on your face.

“yes, doll. that’s exactly what i want.”

you shifted your weight from one leg to the other uneasily. did you really want to let him read more of your writing? you knew if you said no, he’d respect your decision and leave it alone. but where was the harm, really? he’d already read one piece of yours, a one shot, probably. bucky was always sweet and kind, and thankfully hadn’t mentioned the painfully obvious: that you were very, incredibly, wholeheartedly in love with him. what else did you have to lose?

“sure, buck,” you said hesitantly. you couldn’t believe you were agreeing to this. “you can read more of what i wrote.”

bucky gave a cheerful shout, and you couldn’t help but smile; his happiness was contagious, even in the most minute of ways.

“BUT,” you added, matching his volume momentarily before taking it back down. “i need my phone back to check on this recipe first.”

bucky rolled his eyes, but handed you your phone anyway. “fine,” he said, a mock pout gracing his lips.

you unlocked your phone and quickly clicked out of tumblr before you could rethink your decision. you opened your texts as you turned around and made your way back to the kitchen, bucky following close behind. you scrolled through the conversation with your aunt to find the tips she’d given you, and mentally checked off the ones you’d done as you went down the list.

when you were finished, all the tips had been mentally checked off, and you smiled, pleased with yourself. you turned to face bucky, who was already looking at you expectantly, and handed him back your phone.

though he looked like he wanted to run off right then and there with the device, he stayed a moment to ask, “so? did you do everything right?”

you nodded, the little proud smile still on your face. he grinned at you. “see, what’d i tell you, doll?” he said. “now if you’ll excuse me, i’ll be in the living room, reading.” he turned on his heel and walked briskly out of the kitchen.

you sighed and let yourself lean against the counter. hopefully this wouldn’t blow up in your face.

twenty minutes later and your first batch of muffins were cooling on top of the stove as you popped two more full sheets into the oven.

when you were finished, you wiped your hands on a dish towel and inhaled a deep, deep breath, before letting the air out in a heavy sigh. your next batch of muffins wouldn’t be done for another 40 minutes, and there was no need to make more batter, because you already had plenty ready for the third batch (because lord knows the team wouldn’t be satisfied with just twenty-four chocolate chip muffins).

your only other option was to go out into the living room and face bucky.

setting the dish towel down and steeling yourself, you walked out into the living room, where you found bucky sitting on one of the couches, fully engrossed in whatever he was reading on your phone (or rather, which of your fanfictions he was reading on your phone, you reminded yourself).

as you drew closer, you were able to make out fading tear tracks on bucky’s cheeks, and you nearly choked on your own spit. had he found the rest of your writing so horrible that he’d cried over it?

bucky tore his eyes away from the screen like it was the hardest thing he had ever had to do and looked up at you, his wide eyes full of a peculiar mix of heartbreak and wonder, with a dash of something you couldn’t quite place.

“how could you kill her, y/n?” was the first thing he said to you, his voice very close to a whimper. he looked absolutely devastated.

while you knew he had to be talking about something you’d written, you couldn’t help but say, “what?” in response.

“you killed her,” bucky said, as if that cleared everything up. “you killed her when i’d just gotten her back and, and - and i promised to marry her, y/n! marry her! and you still killed her! how could you do this to me, y/n?”

you blinked. “bucky,” you said, very slowly, “are you talking about 'good grief’?”

“‘am i talking about ‘good grief’’,” bucky mimicked. “of course i’m talking about ‘good grief’! what else would i be talking about?”

‘good grief’ was a series you were in the middle of working on, with a central plot point - and the series title - coming from bastille’s song of the same name. it was an au in which bucky hadn’t been taken by hydra, and it was one of your best-written pieces in your own opinion. it appeared that bucky thought so, too, if he was getting this worked up about the reader insert’s apparent death.

“so i take it you like it, then?”

bucky straightened up. “like it?” he asked. “no, i don’t like it. i absolutely hate it!”

hearing that immediately made you feel sick. god, how stupid to were you to think that bucky would actually like what you’d written, whether he thought whatever he’d read first had been good or not. before you could say anything, bucky continued.

“my heart is broken! utterly and entirely shattered, doll. how could you do this to me? your writing is so, so, so . . .” he appeared as if he were struggling to find the right words. “gut-wrenchingly beautiful and my heart is real fuckin’ hurt, doll.”

you were startled by his outburst. “i - what? you think my writing’s beautiful?”

bucky rolled his eyes, suddenly exasperated. “yes, doll, i think your writing’s beautiful. it’s wonderful. how many times do i have to tell you that?”

“as many times as you’d like,” you said before you could stop yourself. you were rewarded by the quirking down of the corners of bucky’s lips that indicated he was trying to suppress a smile.

“then i’ll tell you all the time, y/n/n.”

“how . . . how much did you read?” you asked fiddling with your fingers as an excuse to not make eye contact.

“everything,” he said immediately, and you looked up, shocked. you hadn’t expected him to want to read your writing that much.

“er, everything about me,” he clarified. somehow, that was infinitely worse.

“oh,” was all you said as you went back to avoiding eye contact.

“actually, i had a question about your writing, doll.”

you looked up at that. “oh?” you gulped, preparing for the worst.

“yeah,” bucky said. “why is everything you write about me full of longing?”

you were stunned. “i - what?”

“well it’s just,” bucky continued, “that while i was reading, i noticed that the topic of pining is really prevalent in what you write about me. even when it’s not central to the plot, like in those - what are they called? ‘one shots’? yeah - one shots, you always mention pining and longing.”

you didn’t know what to say. you knew bucky, and you knew when he was genuinely asking a question he didn’t know the answer to (he wasn’t a very good actor). which was why you knew that his question was sincere, that he really had no idea why you included near-excessive pining in everything you wrote about him. had no idea that you included it because you were pining after him just as hopelessly as your reader inserts were.

and that meant . . . that meant that he really didn’t know that you were in love with him. he hadn’t been avoiding bringing it up to spare you the embarrassment; he hadn’t realized in the first place!

a huge wave of relief built up inside you, washing away the panic that was still tucked into your chest, but with it came an equally sized wave of disappointment. part of you, you supposed, had hoped that bucky would take you in his arms after reading the rest of your fanfiction and kiss you senseless before telling you that he’d always loved you just the same way you loved him. that he’d always been in love with you.

but of course, that was just a fantasy, too much like fanfiction to ever have a hope of becoming a reality.

you didn’t know what to say, but there bucky was, blinking up at you oh so innocently from his seat on the couch as he patiently waited for an answer, and so you said the only thing you could say: the truth.

“there’s so much . . . pining and longing because . . . i have a lot of experience with pining.”

well, as much of the truth as you could bear to reveal to him, anyway.

“but um, unlike . . . in my writing, the person i’m pining after doesn’t love me back.”

maybe it was a trick of the light, but you could have sworn something dark and hurting passed over bucky’s eyes when you said that, but a second later the look was gone. instead, bucky was cocking his head to the side as his brow furrowed. “what do you mean, doll?”

you sighed. “i mean,” you started as you sat down next to him on the couch, “exactly what i said. i love someone, but they don’t love me back.” you paused and thought for a moment before continuing. ���well, i shouldn’t say that. i know he loves me. but just . . . not the way i want him to.”

when you’d sat down, your eyes had focused themselves on the edge of the accent rug that lay in front of the couch, and as you lifted them to meet bucky’s after your pseudo-confession, you found his whole body turned towards you.

bucky was still sporting that confused look on his face when he said, “how could anyone not love you like that?” so soft and breathless, as if he hadn’t meant to say it out loud at all. his eyes searched your face as if he were looking for an answer to his question and all you could do was stare at him, silent and frozen.

god, if he kept this stuff up, you were going to explode from all the yearning that was building up inside of you.

bucky’s gaze connected with yours again, and it was as if something in your eyes had snapped him out of whatever haze he’d been in, because a millisecond later he was looking away and clearing his throat.

“so that’s why -” he said, as if whatever had just happened hadn’t happened, “- you write in so much pining when you’re writing about me?”

god, he was so clueless. and as much as you wanted to tell him that the person you were in love with was him, that it would always be him because he was strong and brave and kind and so, so breathtakingly beautiful, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. you didn’t think you could stand to be in the same room with him ever again if you told him and he smiled that pretty smile at you, all soft and sweet and pitiful, right before letting you down gently and saying that he’d always want you as his best friend no matter what happened. which really fucking sucked, because you didn’t know what you’d do without bucky.

“yeah,” you said. “like i said, it’s just . . . so much easier to write things when they’re about you. easier to . . . transfer my feelings to someone else when that someone else is . . . you.” you winced at the lie, but if bucky noticed, he didn’t mention it.

in fact, he was quiet for what felt like a long, long time before looking up at you and saying, “well, doll, whoever this guy is, he’s an idiot for not loving you. for not being in love with you.”

you gave him a soft smile that was tinged with melancholy. “thanks, buck.”

he nodded. “who is he?”

“what?” you hadn’t expected that. you probably should have, though, given how much bucky cared about your life and your feelings, but the extent to which he cared still surprised you sometimes; you didn’t really think you deserved it.

“who is he?” bucky repeated, eyes alight with curiosity and that other emotion you still couldn’t name. “i want to know who the guy is that’s got my best friend all hopelessly in love.”

“i . . . don’t know, buck . . .”

“you don’t want to tell me?”

“it’s not that i . . . don’t want to tell you, i just . . .” you were lost, searching for anything to say that would get bucky to lay off. “i don’t like thinking about it, is all.”

for some reason, that seemed to anger bucky. “oh, so you can think about it when you use it for writing inspiration all you want, but when your best friend wants to know, you suddenly can’t bring yourself to think about it? is that it?” he asked, eyes suddenly cold.

“no, that’s not it,” you tried to assure him, though you knew that that was exactly what you were implying. “bucky, it’s alright. it’s just a friend. you don’t know him.”

this just angered him all the more.

“i know all your friends, though, y/n. are you telling me you’re hiding this fella away from me, doll?” he asked with furrowed eyebrows and that cold, hard stare. “too afraid he won’t like me? or too afraid he won’t like you when he finds out just how well you really know me?”

you were shocked by bucky’s questions. where had this come from?

“what? absolutely not. i’m not ashamed of you, bucky.”

“oh, aren’t you?” he snapped.

you stared at him from where you were on the edge of the couch, incredulous. how could he think that you were ashamed of him?

“no, i’m NOT, bucky. and besides, it’s none of your business! you don’t have to know all of my friends!”

“as your best friend, it is my business! but haha, right, i can’t really be your best friend if you’re ashamed of me!”

“bucky barnes, i AM NOT ASHAMED OF YOU! how could i ever be ashamed of you? i love you!” you were barely containing yourself then, and had to force your voice down after it’d gotten far louder than you’d wanted it to.

bucky, though, it seemed, either didn’t have the same control that you did or simply didn’t care, because the next thing you knew he was shouting, “then TELL ME WHO HE IS!”

“LEAVE IT ALONE, BUCKY,” you yelled back, propelling yourself off the couch so you could match his volume.

a second later and bucky was on his own feet, too, right in front of you. “NO! I WANT TO KNOW!”

“WHY CAN’T YOU JUST LEAVE IT ALONE, JAMES?”

“BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!” he roared.

as quickly as it had come, your anger vanished. and suddenly, as if it had been the only thing keeping you up, your whole body sagged. all of the anger that had been overflowing inside of you had left you thoroughly exhausted, and your outrage at bucky’s own outrage was quickly replaced by a growing sense of disbelief. he’d told you he loved you before, of course - he’d said it near the beginning of your conversation! - but there was something in his voice, something in the way he said it, that made you think he meant it differently this time. that he meant it the way you did.

“wha - what?”

“i love you. i’m in love with you.”

there were tears stinging the backs of your eyes as you said, in a voice barely above a whisper, “don’t play with me, bucky.” you were looking up at him, eyes wide and equal parts hopeful and horrified.

“i’m not playing with you,” came bucky’s reply, his own voice soft. “i would never play with you like that, doll.”

you searched his eyes, which were glossed over with unshed tears the same way you knew yours were, and found only sincerity in his intense stare. sincerity, and that something else you’d seen before, which you were recognizing now as . . . adoration. still, you couldn’t believe what you were hearing.

“but, bucky, i’m . . .”

“in love with someone else? i know. i figured as much when i read everything you wrote.” he looked away and stepped back.

“you what?” it seemed that all you’d been asking today was ‘what?’

“knew you were in love with someone else when i was reading all that stuff you wrote about me. there’s no way you would’ve been writing all that yearning crap with me originally in mind, doll. i know that. and yet, i . . . i couldn’t stop thinking about that whyenn character being you.”

you stared at him. and stared, and stared, and stared. you felt the tears dripping down your face, but didn’t move to wipe them away. instead, you continued to stare, until finally bucky looked up at you, looking as devastated as you’d ever seen him.

“you’re so dense, bucky. oblivious. a moron. an absolute imbecile,” you whispered.

for a moment, anger flashed across bucky’s face as his eyebrows furrowed, before being replaced by an even deeper hurt. “god, doll, i know you don’t feel that way about me, but you don’t have to -”

“i lied,” you said quickly, cutting him off. “i lied. it’s not someone you don’t know. i’m not in love with someone you don’t know, buck.”

bucky blinked. “listen, doll, i really don’t want to hear about how you’re actually in love with steve or sam and just wrote stuff about me in case they -”

“jesus, bucky, i’m talking about you!” you cried. “i’m in love with you!”

bucky’s mouth dropped open, and all he could do is stare at you. “i - you - what?”

“i’m in love with you, and i have been for so, so long. else c’mon, buck. why else would i write all that ‘yearning crap' about you?”

bucky, still gaping like a fish, said, “i don’t . . . i mean, it never occurred to me that you could . . . actually think of me like that . . .”

“and i thought you knew! i thought you’d figured it out the second i realized what you were reading! it was so obvious!”

bucky huffed. “clearly not obvious enough.”

a huffed laugh spilled past your lips. “you’re so oblivious.”

bucky gave you a small, sweet smile as he took a step closer to you. “so you’ve said, doll.”

you stood there, silently staring into each others eyes until: “can i kiss you, doll?” bucky’s voice was cautious and impossibly soft, and positively it made you melt.

“of course,” you whispered, and as soon as the words had left your lips he was there, his lips on yours as his hands came up to cradle your face gently. your eyes slid closed, and you moved your hands up to get a grip his shirt and pull him closer. you could hardly think straight because of how good finally getting to kiss bucky felt, but one thought kept running through your head as if on loop: his lips felt absolutely perfect on yours. like he was made for you.

the two of you broke away for air, and as your eyes fluttered open and met his, something else was clear in your jumbled brain: bucky barnes had effectively ruined you for anyone else.

the spell that you were under was broken, though, when bucky wrapped his arms around your waist and said, “all those feelings you wrote into your fanfiction were about me. that sure is a lot of pining and longing for one person, doll.”

“oh, shut up!”

[fuckyeahkogkag]

I definitely want to be more involved in the kog×kag community. I have no art skills and I have ideas for FanFiction. How do I get them onto paper?! How do I start this? I completely understand why it takes authors so long to update now. 😅 Also, I read a ton of kogxkag FF. How do I make it seem like I'm not taking someone elses plot? Reunion fics are so similar. HELP!

Hello!! I’m so sorry to have taken so long to reply, I didn’t see the notification for this ask. 😅

How do I get them onto paper?! How do I start this?

I (Mod Nikki) am a fanfic writer, so I might have some answers for you -- though I don’t know how helpful they’ll be. The best ways to get your ideas onto paper is to start writing them. I know this sounds super simple and super unhelpful, but let me share some different ways you can go about this.

You can jot down the idea as if you’re giving it to someone else. This would be a quick synopsis, exactly what the idea is in your head. From there after it’s on paper, you can flesh out the idea -- think about what happened before to lead up to the idea you’re focused on, consider what the world is around them (canon divergent in the past, canon divergent in the present, modern au?). Then, consider how this idea would affect the two of them. How would their friends react, how would it change their current life. Eventually, you might find the perfect starting point for a story (or one-shot, or mini-series, or whatever you feel like writing).

Another way to get the words out is to do a writing sprint. This is where I’ll set a timer for 20 minutes and all I can do in those 20 minutes is write. Write out everything and anything, it doesn’t matter if it’s terrible. Sometimes when I’m starting a new fic or idea, my first couple sprints is literally exploring the setting -- What is Kagome or Kouga seeing? What are they feeling? What does their surroundings look like? By the end of the 20 minutes, I’ll usually have enough momentum to have written something that really caught my interest and from there, I follow it to figure out the stoy.

One last big tip I have -- writing down your ideas doesn’t always have to be prose!! I have typed out full AUs and plots in just a simple outline and shared it that way on tumblr. It really helps to start churning ideas and the more ideas you churn out and share, the more new ones you think of. Creativity breeds creativity and the more you share, the more you’ll discover.

How do I make it seem like I'm not taking someone elses plot?

There is a BIG difference between writing a similar trope and copying someone else’s idea. First, I want to say that every trope has already been written. There is no such thing as a completely new, unexplored story line. Someone somewhere has written something similar.

Now, why write anyway? Because you are you. You have a different perspective, you have your own voice, you have your own interests and quirks and descriptions and characterizations. I can pick out seventy reunion fics between Kouga and Kagome and you know what? I will absolutely read another fifty more! Just because someone did a “Kouga and Kagome meet 500 years in the future” doesn’t mean someone wrote your “Kouga and Kagome meet 500 years in the future”. And there are readers out there that want your take!!

I have a fic that I’m currently writing that another author has copied the same tropes and we’re matching chapter for chapter. (I post a chapter, they post a chapter, so on and so forth.) Completely the same tropes -- and they’re two completely different stories! You have something unique to offer. It doesn’t matter how many reunion fics there are, yours will always hold something that none of the other fics have because it’s written by you.

There’s a comic that goes out where someone bakes an elaborate three-tiered cake. Another baker comes along with a beautiful one-tiered cake and says “Oh no, someone already made one.” Then a person with a fork comes along and you know what they say? “Awesome!! Two cakes!”

No one is ever going to complain about having options for cakes.

[fiction-in-my-blood]

Switching Sides: Part 10 (HLITF)

if anyone possibly wants to get on a tag list I’d be happy to make one

👉 @theshove 👈

If you wanna catch up, Part 9 is right here! Happy reading :)

Premise: Growing up in a life of crime in a Japanese mafia, Atsuko Motomori has seen enough injustice to last her a lifetime. To try and give back to the universe her family has taken so much from, she dreams of being a detective from a young age. Her twin, sharing her disgust for her father and many uncles, just wants an ordinary life away from the crime, paing and suffering. Instead, she wants to be in the spotlight with the soft notes she makes with her cello. In their escape of 2015, on their coming of age birthday, they must split ways, never to be together ever again. If one was found, they didn’t want the other dragged down with them. Atsuko, having changed her name and appearance as best she can without a scalpel, sets off to start her life of car chases and arrests.

Four years in a seemingly dead-end police station in the middle of nowhere, being passed over time after time for promotion, Atsuko finally gets a shot at her dream, having been sent to an academy for the best candidates in the country by her boss who had always kept an eye out for her. After discovering her boss may have made her bite off more than she could chew, Atsuko must become the slave of a dominating instructor!? Who so just happens to be the captain of the most famous police unit in Japan? Not to mention a total knockout! Will Atsuko finally achieve her dream? Or will her new instructor put her through the wringer?

Warnings: Language, Reference to sexual activity, Forceful nature.

~~~~~~

Several weeks had passed since I'd retaken my birth name. By then, I had dyed my hair a greyish white. Flashy, I know, but I needed something completely different from the black it was before so that I could be less recognisable. I managed to get a job at a bar as an indoor bouncer. It basically means I acted as a club-goer, surveying the floor for anything illegal going on, and escorted people out when I did catch something. The club was owned by a friend of Kanto's and he pretty much got me the job. I also worked mornings at a rock-climbing centre as an instructor of sorts. Having never really done it before, I mainly just watched over climbers and could go up to talk first-timers down if they got too scared. 

The collective jobs helped me keep up with my share of the rent, even though Juna didn't want me to pay it. Although, I would have been mortified if I stayed at my sister's apartment for free when she was starting to invest in her baby furniture. 

Because I worked most nights and most mornings, I mainly slept for a few hours in the afternoon. It was definitely a culture shock from the strict regiment the academy had us on that made us get up early in the morning and worked us into the night. Luckily, I had been able to keep up my own daily exercise.

Today was the day I decided to try and get the evidence of my father's crimes to someone in the Public Safety Division. My runs took me to the station where I tried to gather someone's daily lunchtime routine. It seemed, being the youngest, Shinonome was sent out to get coffee for the team. Which, honestly, surprised me. ‘I never expected him to serve anyone, but I guess if you're technically the rookie...’

"Juna! I'm leaving now!" I shouted from the entrance, slipping on my trainers. Soon, I heard my twin waddling toward me and I looked up. 

"Why do you always leave me alone in the afternoon?" Her eyes were full of tears due to the severe mood swings she'd been getting lately. She had gotten... pretty big over the last few weeks, which did make me nervous. If she had twins, I wasn’t sure if I would be able to keep living there. 

"I won't be gone long, you don't have to worry." I stepped forward with a calm smile, hugging her as my irritation skyrocketed. It felt like all she had been doing lately was cry. Kanto was at his orchestra practice in the afternoons, so I would be leaving her in her lonesome. 

"I'm handing in the evidence today. Wish me luck!" I pulled back, holding her shoulders and rubbing them to try and put her at ease. She pouted but said the words to bid me luck and I left, running in the direction of the Police Station. 

With my baseball cap on, too cloudy to be wearing sunglasses inconspicuously, I jogged along with the thick envelope rattling in my jacket pocket. It was good that I didn't have any fingerprints, it made sliding something into a detective's pocket much easier, seeing as I didn't need to worry about being identified by prints. 

Taking this time to recollect on the past month I'd been living my new life with my sister and her boyfriend, a small sigh escaped my mouth; and it wasn’t because of the panting caused by my exercise. Luckily, they didn't make me feel like a third wheel- I felt like one of the family- but my life was so boring compared to what it once was. At least the first time I started my life over, I had the excitement of living a normal life for the first time. 

However, like the novelty had worn off, I found my current life... dull. I spent my nights watching couples drunkenly make out, catching shady drug deals in the club bathroom, and stopping creeps from taking girls home without their consent. Sure, it was the same petty crimes I had been dealing with before the academy, but since I was invited to play with the big guys, I grew a taste for debunking major organisations and corrupt politicians. It felt like I was really making a difference in the world when I worked with Kaga. 

That was another thing I couldn't stop thinking about. I missed the constant complaining of my intelligence and how easy I was able to bounce back from his insults. I felt like we left things sour after I had ruined their case and essentially let Takada run free for a little longer than he should have. Because I had caused so much trouble for him in the end, I wondered if he had actually felt anything when he found out I didn't come out of that hotel. Did he care that I was dead? Was he sad? Regretful? I knew that when I believed he had died, I was heartbroken. But, maybe that was the respect I felt towards such a competent detective, and not for any underlying emotions I felt to the man I had grown to somewhat understand?

Turning the corner to the busy city street, I peered up at the massive building across the road. It was cloudy: autumn turning to winter, some stores even had Christmas decorations, and a slightly chilled breeze blew through the air. Lots of people wore masks to shield their faces from the city air and the cold that tried to nip at their nose. 

Taking a quick deep breath to calm my racing heart, I continued to cross the street, waiting near the Station's entrance for the youngest detective to ever make it into the Public Safety Division. 

Minutes passed and I worried today might be one of the days Shinonome was at the academy or out on a mission. I looked down at my watch as the seconds ticked by, hoping he would emerge soon. 

When I looked up again, I froze at what I saw. Materialising from the doors of the Police Department was Captain Hyogo Kaga. 

Quickly, I diverted my gaze, worried he would be able to sense my surprise. Hopefully, the rim of my cap would block my most noticeable features. 

‘Snap out of it, Katsumi. You don't need to be worrying about that now.’ I sighed to myself, shaking my nerves out of my head and stepping forward to intercept the detective as he walked in my direction. 

"'Cuse me," I muttered as I bumped into him, slipping the thick beige letter out of my pocket and into his suit one. I kept my gaze down and quickly moved on, not wanting to give him a chance to shout at me. 

Escaping around the corner of the building, I took in a deep breath that I didn't realise I was holding in. ‘I did it. It's all in their hands now.’

Trying to calm my racing heart, I allowed myself to take a peek around the corner to see if he had noticed what I had delivered to him. In the middle of the pathway, Detective Kaga looked at the object in his hand, having taken it out of his inner pocket. I cringed slightly; I had hoped to have a little more time to get away before he realised. 

‘At least he has it. Hopefully, he'll take it seriously.’ Biting the tip of my thumb, I continued down the alleyway between the station and the next building, disappearing before Kaga could think to follow me. 

~~~~~~

That night, I'm sitting at the bar of the club I worked at, a glass of water in my hand as I let my gaze fall around the room. 

"Tonight seems pretty quiet. You haven't moved from that seat since you got here." The bartender, who I had grown to befriend, laughed from across the counter. 

"Noburu, don't say that word! Do you know how unlucky that is?" I instantly freaked out, standing up on the foot rest of the minimalist stool to get my urgent point across. 

"What word..? Quiet?" He leaned in to whisper it to me and I hastily covered his mouth. 

"You'll jinx me!" I frowned, not wanting to have to get up much tonight. It being the middle of the week, the room was pretty calm, but I wasn't going to ignore superstition. 

"You're so cute when you pout, Katsumi." Once I had uncovered the man's mouth, he pressed a finger into my cheek and I scowled at him. Even though my white hair was in pigtails, something Juna had been obsessing over at the time, I didn't appreciate that compliment. 

"I'm a grown woman!" I narrowed my eyes at him before turning back to the room behind me.

~~~~~~

Later on in the evening, the door to the club opened again and I glanced at the new entrants... 

‘This can't be happening.’ My mouth opened agape when I saw three of the special instructor's enter the club in suits like they had just come from the office. 

"I told you you would jinx me," I muttered under my breath, blaming my friend for the detectives being here. Luckily, he was at the other end of the bar taking orders from a group of bachelorette party girls. 

‘Okay, hopefully, they won't recognise me as the name I came up with? What was it again?’ I quizzed my memory, trying to think back to a month ago. 

Trying to calm my racing heart by taking a long, deep breath, my gaze fell to the other end of the bar. I noticed a man, standing suspiciously close to one of the party-goers. His back was to me, but I could see his hand reach for one of the women's drinks and drop something into it when he thought no one was looking. I sighed, hopping off my stool and walking up to him before he could move away from the scene. 

"Please come with me, sir." I smiled so he wouldn't panic, but didn't ease the grip I had on his arm that was thicker than I could wrap around. 

"Sorry, I'm not looking for a hookup tonight." He smirked down at me and I felt myself gag slightly. 

"I need you to come with me, sir." I moved my other hand to the drink left on the counter and placed it on Noburu's side so someone didn't drink it while I was trying to deal with this creep. 

"I said no." He frowned, trying to yank his arm out of my grip. 

Quickly, I grabbed the back of his neck and slammed his face into the counter while holding his arm behind his back, taking him by surprise while the thudding noise drew minimal attention.

"I just watched you try and drug that girl. So, if you want me to call the cops, I dare you to fight back." I whispered into his ear. Luckily, the music was too distracting and loud for our customers to realise. It was only Noburu looking at us from the corner of his eye. I watched the predator's face turn worried and he shook his head. 

"Great, come with me then." I smiled, pulling him up by the neck, and guiding him towards the door. 

"Noburu, can you get that girl another drink? I'll pay." Not wanting to ruin their night, I called out to my friend as we walked through the door. My boss paid me to be as discreet as possible. I would get paid extra if I caught a crime before we needed to call the police.

~~~~~~

After throwing the man on the dirty street and warning him to never come back to this club, I reentered the room. 

"Another creep?" Noburu leaned over the counter to talk in a low tone. I nodded, retaking my seat and ordering another water. Although, it wasn’t like I had to pay for it.

"I don't see how it can be so easy to buy that stuff?" My bartending friend frowned, pouring my drink and placing it on a napkin. 

"Depends. Some stuff is prescription medicine. I think the ingredients for others can be easily bought and then made into drugs?" I thought back to when I found my father's organisation and all the illegal substances they were able to mass distribute. 

Suddenly, a man stood beside me at the bar, ordering drinks for three people. My eyes widened when I heard the voice, recognising it anywhere. We sat in silence while the bartender fixed his drinks. 

"That was a pretty smooth takedown. Looks like you've done it a few times." Suddenly, Lieutenant Ayumu Shinonome started conversing with me, leaning on the counter as he looked right in my eyes. I gulped my water, praying he hadn't noticed me and continued looking at the array of bottles on the back wall. 

"It's my job, so I get pretty good at it." Sounding a little more sarcastic than seemed polite, I questioned why I was being so rude. I would never have spoken to any of the instructors like this in the academy. 

‘Well... I guess I'm not in the academy anymore.’ I could feel myself becoming more depressed as I thought back to my old life, looking down at the contents of my glass. 

"What do you do for a living?" Not sensing my negative emotions, the detective kept talking. Well, he probably did, but didn’t care.

"I'm a bouncer. Like a bar cop, am I right?" I laughed self-depressingly as I took another sip of my non-alcoholic drink. I didn't drink much, I didn't like it and I didn't have time for it, but even this felt depressing, drinking water when everyone else was getting off their heads drunk. "Nothing to your cases, though, I'm sure."

"How do you..?" 

"There's a type." I suddenly cut him off bluntly, embarrassed I had started a conversation when I was meant to be under the radar. 

‘You're not meant to know who he is, Katsu. Don't get comfortable just because you know this place.’ Clutching the glass with both hands now, I ended the conversation with a dismissive sigh, not wanting him to have an excuse to keep talking to me when Noburu finished making his drinks. 

Which seemed to be taking much longer than he usually did. I looked down the length of the counter to find the bachelorette party had called him away again. As I peered, Ayumu being in that direction, I tried to look down at his body as inconspicuously as possible. I wanted to know if he was wearing a badge. Which he wasn't.

‘Are they on a case? This is a nice neighbourhood, there isn't a lot of major crime here. Unless they've set up a meeting?’ My brows furrowed as I thought of a reason for them to be here. The club itself wasn't anywhere near the station or the academy, I made sure of it when I took the job. 

"Sorry about that, man..." Noburu came running back, but led off when he realised the intensity between us. I‘m sure it was either because I dismissed him as a woman or he distrusted me. When Shinonome asked for the drinks again, the silence was almost suffocating. I was pulled out of my thoughts when he finally left and turned back to the room to do a quick sweep of anyone suspicious. 

"Hey, Noburu. How long has that guy been here for?" Standing on the foot stand of my stool again, I leant over the counter to keep our conversation private. Following where I had gestured with my head, Noburu found the suspicious man I had been watching for most of the night. He had been here since opening, circling the floor like he was looking for a target. He seemed a little on-edge to me, but I wanted to make sure before I acted on anything. Truthfully, I just wanted to get away from talking about the confrontation he had just walked into. I knew he would ask, that's how Noburu was. Pried because he cared.

"Anyone wearing a hat indoors is suspicious." The bartender laughed as he started shining some glasses. "Make a move on him. If he's here for anything else, he'll turn you down." Resting on his crossed arms in front of me, he got very close to my face as we talked. I was a little stunned by the sudden close proximity. 

Working at a bar, Noburu was good at flirting with our female customers to keep them drinking. He was good looking and funny. It made for an easy friendship to bloom. But, having his face so close to mine, I blushed and quickly leaned back. 

"I-I'll go do that then," Noburu smirked at my fluster, resting his chin on his hand as I moved towards the dance floor.

Working somewhat undercover, I was wearing a rather short, tight dress, as asked by my boss as a form of uniform. At first, it was embarrassing to wear something that cupped my body so much, but now I was somewhat comfortable with it. I'm just glad I had a good physique. 

Also, since working here, I had to get good at sweet-talking people. Mostly drunks that were more than happy to follow anyone, but I had my fair share of flirty conversations to try and get people out of the club. Fortunately, I was a fast learner.

Approaching the man with the hat, I smiled. 

"Hey, you wanna dance with me?" I put my hand on his chest and grabbed his hand with my other, trying to get him to feel like he couldn't say no. 

"I-I'm meeting someone." I peered up at his young face, previously hidden by the brim of his cap, and noticed a slight blush on his cheeks. 

"Aw, come on! I've been watching you all evening and you haven't talked to anyone! It doesn't have to be a long dance?" I pulled on his hand to bring him to the dance floor. Maybe he was just waiting for a girl, which would explain his hesitance. But... Something was off about him, and it wasn't just the hat. 

Luckily, he followed me and we started moving our bodies close together. 

"So, are you gonna tell me your name?" I shout near his ear due to the volume of the music. He bit his lip but told me anyway. 

"Are you the one I'm meant to meet?" Suddenly, he put his hands on my hips, whispering in my ear. As his gaze wasn't on me, I let my eyes slightly widen.

‘Is this the guy they're meeting?’

"Did a psychic tell you to meet a girl here tonight?" I laughed back, playing dumb to see if he freaked out. He ripped his hands from my body, face flushed as he stared at me. 

"I don't mind the pickup line, but you don't have to be so embarrassed." Knowing he was going to scurry off out of embarrassment or fear of not meeting the person he was here to see, I tried to lighten the atmosphere. Panicking, he quickly excused himself and I watched him leave the club completely. Frowning my brows, I returned to the bar, reporting to Noburu what I had just seen.

~~~~~~

At the end of the night, which was the morning, I'm helping Noburu clean up the bar.

"Hey, are you doing alright? You seemed kind of on edge when that guy ordered. The one that stood next to you?" Noburu called from the other side of the room as I wiped down a table. I froze for a moment, not realising I had been that obviously affronted, and thought about how to respond. 

"Y-Yeah, I'm fine! It's just not usually the guys that come up to me." I laughed off my unease by making a self-deprecating joke and returned to the bar, where my handbag laid. 

"I can't imagine that's true. Look at you." He smirked down at my body and I tried my hardest to hide my blush. 

"Oh, would you look at the time! I've gotta get going." I grabbed my bag as he approached me, getting nervous about the teasing that I knew was to come. He would usually offer a flirty comment as we cleaned up together, it was probably the only way he could talk to women. I should have been used to it by that point, but I still got flustered. 

As he followed me out of the building, I waved my goodbye. 

"Hold on!" He called back after locking the doors. I turned around to find him scrambling to get the keys in his pocket and I laughed at how eager he was. "How about we meet up outside of work sometime? I can buy you breakfast?" His request threw me off a little, I wasn't used to making friends this quickly, or being asked out to eat with a dude.

"I-I have a job I have to get to in the morning. I'm always free for lunch though!" At the chance of having someone to hang out with other than third-wheeling my sister, I smiled brightly. He chuckled at my reaction. 

"Great. Can I pick you up today?" He put his hand on the back of his neck as he asked. He almost seemed... nervous? 

"S-Sure. I would like that." I also grew shy as our conversation grew to a close. 

Suddenly, he moved towards me and planted a kiss on my cheek. 

"You should probably get going." He raised a teasing eyebrow at my childish, extremely bashful reaction and I jumped to attention. 

"R-Right! I'll see you later! I'll text you the address!" Having gotten his number in the first few days I started working at the club, I ran in the opposite direction of the club and towards the rock climbing establishment I worked at in the mornings. I was so excited, I didn't notice the car full of men parked across the road from us. 

~~~~~~

My shift was short, thanks to my lightened heart and the busy work of teaching people how to put on their harnesses. I didn't have to actually climb much, thankfully, because I wasn't so fond of getting sweaty before my... meeting?

As I changed out of my gym wear, a female coworker announced that my sister was at the front desk. 

‘Oh, she did not come for lunch!’ I cried to myself, annoyed I would probably have to pass on my date for a pregnant woman. I changed quickly so that I could encourage her to leave before Noburu got here and was shocked by what I heard before I turned the corner to the reception. 

"How dare you talk of her that way?" My sister shrieked at the top of her lungs, rage making her voice sound rougher than usual.

"It's not my fault she made a moronic mistake," Kaga responded spitefully. Juna was screaming at my ex-instructor. 

"She saved your life and that's how you treat her? You should be ashamed to call yourself a detective!" I wouldn't have been surprised if Juna started attacking the man. Soon I heard Soma trying to calm her down, but it didn't help much. 

"Oh, Katsumi! These men are here to see you." The receptionist who had witnessed the whole affair spotted me hiding behind the wall and hurriedly encouraged me over and I sneered when she made me apparent. The memory of biting Shinonome's head off floated through my mind and I prayed he didn't tell the two detectives that hadn't been in the club last night.

I sighed and walked around to see my sister standing in front of two of my old instructors. Soma's eyes went wide as his gaze passed between me and my sister. I bit my lip, wondering why they were standing in front of me in that moment, hoping they didn't approach Juna like they had met. Because, technically, they had. Well, they've met the woman that held her legal name, Mikara Harada- which wasn't Kento's last name so I didn't know why he insisted on acting like we were married. I wasn't even sure if she knew their faces or names. 

"Can I help you, gentleman?" Trying to act unaware, I approached them, letting my gaze drop to see if they had their badges on. This time, the Public Safety Detectives did. 

"We'd like to take you in for questioning," Kaga explained sharply and Juna was about to retort. ‘What are they thinking?’

"Mikara, go take a seat. You don't want to mess up the baby." I pat her shoulder and showed her a smile even though I was freaking out on the inside, ensuring she heard me use her fake name so she understood the situation. I gestured to the seating area and spotted an open newspaper with the story of the hotel bombing inside. From what I could assume, she was probably talking to the receptionist when the detectives arrived. Kaga probably mentioned how stupid I was to go in after him and Juna blew a fuze. 

Reluctantly, Juna went to sit down. 

"Please, come with us." Soma smiled, placing a hand on my back to guide me out of the building. 

"Why can't we do it here?" I panicked, not wanting to be brought in for questioning by PSD Detectives. There was no way they could track me from the security cameras at the station. Had I thwarted their investigation last night and now they were trying to get back at me? 

"Would you rather get arrested for impeding an investigation?" Kaga pulled out his handcuffs and my eyes grew wide. 

"No! No, thank you. I'll come with you." Allowing myself to be guided to their car, I threw my sister a look to say I would be fine- her face screwed up in worry and confusion. 

~~~~~~

After being placed into the back of their car and escorted to the questioning booths in the station, my hands were beyond clammy. My gaze darted around the silent room, having been left alone, probably just to intimidate me. They had taken my bag to search through it, which had my clothes from last night and my gym clothes. It didn't take me long to get impatient. 

Suddenly, the door burst open and I saw Kaga come in. I sat up, trying to look eager to answer any questions they had. I didn't want to seem suspicious. 

"Katsumi Hoshino." He sat across from me and I nodded, too afraid to stumble over my words. They had either seen the passport in my bag or had called my employer. Because I didn't have a driver's licence, my passport was the only way I could be identified. I brought it with me everywhere in case something happened to me. The last time I was stuck in an interrogation room with the Captain flashed through my mind and I tried not to blush. 

"I want to apologise for my friend. She can get a little too righteous sometimes." I flashed a smile, but he didn't seem impressed at all. It would be way too strange that we were triplets with the same face. I just hoped her makeup made it seem like there was some sort of differentiation in our features. Hopefully Kaga would buy that we were friends.

We sat in silence for a little longer. 

"Can I get some water?" Feeling my throat dry up, I tried to get him out of the room. He was making me so nervous with the way he was evaluating me with his gaze, I thought I was back in the academy. 

At my question, the captain got up and walked around the table. Before I could react, he pushed the back of my chair against the wall so the two front legs were in the air. I yelp in surprise as he closed the distance between us. I gulped, not wanting to say anything more in case it was incriminating. 

"You have something of mine." His finger hooked the neck of my shirt, but his gaze was too piercing to look away from. I showed him a confused expression to show I had no idea what he was talking about. 

"You work at that club. You met that man. And he gave you something that belongs to me." His voice was low so that only I could hear it. I forced myself not to sigh in relief when I discovered I wasn’t here for alternative reasons. 

"I-I thought you looked familiar." I smiled despite myself and he frowned. "U-Um, well, the guy left before I could find out why he was there. I thought he was suspicious, but he bolted the second I approached him." I explained in a whisper, worrying about the distance between us and my suspended chair. If he relaxed his grip in any way, I would go flying into his face. 

Suddenly, his other hand reached around my body and crawled up under my top to the clasp of my bra. 

"H-Hang on! What're you doing?" I panicked, my face flushing red as he fiddled with my clothes. When he had satisfied whatever need he had, he pulled his hand out again. There, he held a USB drive. My brows frowned in confusion and my hand darts to where he had pulled it out of. Had it really been there all this time?

"How much of a moron do you have to be to not notice this?" Kaga chuckled at the minuscule device in between his fingertips. It was one of those high-tech ones that are about the size of a fingernail. Honestly, it wasn’t a surprise to me that I didn't realise it at first because I had been so busy.

"I-Is that all you need from me?" I stuttered out, now with all of my chair's legs back on the ground. 

"What are you talking about? You assisted in stealing millions of dollars worth of online currency." Kaga turned to me, his face stern. My expression dropped and my face turned pale. 

"What? I had no idea what that was, or who that guy was! There's no way I can get arrested for being in the wrong place at the wrong time!" I roared at him, truly afraid he would arrest me for something like this. Who knows what'll be uncovered if I got put in jail? Juna would be alone. The amount of my father's guys that could get to me? I'd be dead in days.

The next thing I know, he's laughing. My enraged expression fell as to one of understanding. He was teasing me. I huffed, crossing my arms as I was embarrassed I had been duped. 

"We'll have to take your fingerprints to log the evidence. Then you can leave." His expression froze over again and I jumped up at the opportunity to leave. 

"Lead the way!" I cheered out, maybe too loud, and he scowled. I quickly apologised for being too excitable and followed him up to the Public Safety offices.

~~~~~~

Inside, I let my eyes wander around the room. It was exactly how I remembered it. Files placed carelessly on some desks and stacked neatly on others. Every man in there wore stern expressions, faces withered by stress and or smoking. Soon enough, I spotted a pile of paper on the desk not far from me. 

‘The pictures!’ I gasped as I spotted the gruesome images of murders and tortures I had taken during my youth spread all over each desk, replicas made for reference. I watched as some of the detectives analyse the faces within them, possibly trying to identify who they were from the refined images. 

"Miss, please put your fingers on here." Soma approached me with a pad of ink and a file with my birth name on it. 

"I... Um, I can't do that." I smiled anxiously as I rubbed the back of my neck. Soma furrowed his brows, asking me why. I could tell even he was a little annoyed with me. 

"I don't have fingerprints. They, er... I had a cooking incident a few years ago." I quickly thought up a lie, not wanting to disclose the true reason, for obvious reasons. Soma looked down at my hands, contemplating what to do. 

"We still need a record." Ayumu appeared out of nowhere beside me and I jumped, clamping my mouth shut so I didn't yell out at him as I sometimes had in the past. 

Surprisingly, the two seemed astonished when my fingerprints came up as big black dots. There were no clear lines or lighter edges. Just ten black splodges on the page. Ayumu asked me again how I had no fingerprints. 

"I was a kid. I... dropped my toy in a bat of hot oil and burned my hands." I shrugged while explaining some part of the truth. I was a child when it happened. I did dip my hands in boiling oil. Just not voluntarily.

Soon after, I was allowed to leave without many other questions. Before I was kicked out, I stole another glance at the evidence on the tables. My shoddy excuse for a reverse pickpocket had been successful and they had what they needed to arrest the men in my father's gang, whether he was still alive or not. A small smile crossed my face as I thought that. 

~~~~~~

As I emerged from the spinning doors, I spotted Juna and Kanto standing by a taxi. Running over, I quickly asked what they thought they were doing here. 

"We came to free you! With the way that guy spoke about you, I thought you'd never get out!" Juna frowned as she hugged me, her largening belly pushing into mine. 

"Luckily it was an entirely different matter. But, we should go. Who knows what their security cams can do." I looked up at the ball of black on the station walls, worried about what being here without a disguise could mean for my safety.