#So I put my perfectionism aside for now and I hope you still enjoy it.

[maxwell-mtv]

Being With Them [Pierre x GN!farmer(?)reader]

[NOTE: There will be three of these, but first is Pierre. It's up in the air on if you're the farmer or not, I like to try and keep these vague so everyone can attach themselves to these. But I know if you keep it too vague it can feel like there was little effort put into it at all. So, in this series of headcanons I like to present various relationship scenarios.

I may do other scenarios from varying perspectives in the future. Bullet lists of headcanons seem like good filler while I scheme up my fanfictions which I hope I may continue to produce despite my rampant depression and perfectionism.

I hope anyone who reads this enjoys! I always take constructive criticism and accept requests.]

CW: I can't say there's anything really of concern with this. Maybe some mentions or hints at trauma and depression, regret, divorce grief, and some borderline possessive behavior mentions.

CONTENT BELOW THE CUT FOR CONVENIENCE!

How it started:

💵 He'd be past his prime to say the least when he'd get around to meeting you.

💵 His wife has divorced him and he was like any other sad divorced dad whose daughter moved away to hardly, if ever, be seen again.

💵 But when you'd stopped in his little store for essentials, he couldn't seem to get that first interaction off his mind.

💵 He'd stay up late thinking about it and replaying the way you smiled at him, made that little joke, and how vivid his emotions felt watching you walk out with his goods in your hands.

💵 He knew from that very first moment he wanted to feel that way again.

How the connection formed:

🍂 Initial feelings aside, he would find you frequenting his store. He would knowingly read too much into every chat you two had.

🍂 He'd start to blush without meaning to when fumbling over his words.

🍂 He'd crack the worst dad jokes imaginable and still somehow manage to make you laugh along to them.

🍂 And if he wasn't mistaken, you'd felt the same way judging by those rosy cheeks and bashful smile whenever he'd stare a little too long at you (admiring your beauty)

🍂 It was impossible to deny that he had at least one loyal customer in the whole town of traitors and that was you.

🍂 He'd be remissed to not take the opportunity to ask you on a date.

🍂 Only he never managed that as one night it seemed Yoba himself had played you right into his hands. 

How it went:

🍻 You had visited the local Saloon on a random Friday night when you were too tired to cook for yourself. 

🍻 You were nervous going out to eat alone but when you'd seen that familiar, warm smile on Pierre's face you immediately rushed over to say hello.

🍻 You asked if you could take a seat with him since he looked to be alone too and he eagerly insisted you do.

🍻 Sitting next to him, he put your first drink of the night on his tab, and subsequently without telling you out your entire bill on his.

🍻 You two would get caught up in conversation after conversation, hardly taking notice to the wood in the fireplace slowly smoldering to black char and the occupants of the Saloon disappear one by one back to their homes.

🍻 You were completely blind to the world around you two as for once in way too long you found a companionship in simply sitting and talking with one another.

🍻 It was nice, refreshing to hear about his struggles and what he did to relax now as a late life bachelor. And he enjoyed listening to everything you had to say too, hanging onto every word.

🍻 It was this night that established you two as an unspoken, but official, couple.

Their shows of affection:

🧡 Pierre is a little old fashion in his ways. Even if you can get him to admit it, the only emotions he feels he's allowed to show are happiness or anger. 

🧡 It's the curse of being a man of his age.

🧡 So at first he shows his affection by making cracks at the qualities he secretly adores about you.

🧡 From quirks to your interests, he'll tease you about it relentlessly. 

🧡 Although you know it's how he shows his love by wanting an excuse to rile you up or just get attention from you, it's okay if you don't like it. 

🧡 And although he acts butthurt at first, if you simply bring it up to him he will stop.

🧡 He's a little touchy, but not overly.

🧡 He'll insist in public when talking to the townies that he keeps an arm around you whether at your waist or over your shoulders.

🧡 His most common stance will be leaning toward you, arm around your shoulders, with a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

🧡 He can be protective, sometimes a little too defensive, but he means well. Everyone knows he might be a little traumatized from the divorce (even if he did do it to himself) He's scared of losing you because of how happy and fulfilled you make him feel in his life.

🧡 He won't stop you from hanging out with friends, no matter their gender, but he will get upset if you use it as an excuse to dip out on helping him around his store. (It never gets past some teasing, guilt tripping comments which he lays the sarcasm on so thick you'd be stupid to think he was that upset.)

🧡 He's honestly just happy to have found someone who loves him the way you do.

🧡 And overtime? He does break that little curse of his. He eventually breaks down and admits how grateful he is for you.

Their downfalls:

⚠️ As stated previously, he is a little possessive or protective but not so much it's damaging to the relationship.

⚠️ He's old enough to know when enough is enough.

⚠️ But that won't stop him from acting like the human equivalent of a guard dog when you two are together.

⚠️ He'll insist on knowing where you're going when you go out without him.

⚠️ He does act rather childish at times, between the teasing and pouting, those are his two greatest flaws.

⚠️ He is also a little scarred from his divorce.

⚠️ He knows it was mostly his fault but he still won't admit it.

⚠️ He will often be up late at night wondering when it all started to go wrong and when he should have tried to do better by his now ex wife.

⚠️ He needs therapy but won't seek it (he thinks it’s fine, he's not)

⚠️ Pierre tends to focus on his shop a little too much and tries to price gouge to this day but nothing a little lecturing won't fix.

⚠️ He will use your body heat in bed to warm his cold feet.

⚠️ Sometimes, rarely, to this day, will still try to impose old gender roles before you scold him and he relents over his own ignorance (he gets better overtime)

⚠️ *cough cough* Beta cuck *cough cough*

Their upsides:

✅ In short, he is loyal, albeit dense when it comes to showing affection in the ways you may enjoy at times

✅ Though he'd never dream of it before the divorce, he will close up shop on a day other than Wednesday just to spend time with you if he feels he's starting to neglect you

✅ He won't hesitate to fist fight anyone who insults you or your relationship in any fashion

✅ He will pick the most gorgeous of bouquets from the suppliers catalogs not to sell, but to give to you

✅ He enjoys cooking you meals, it's one of the sure-fire ways he knows how to show his love for you

✅ And he is admittedly a great cook

✅ He'll even experiment with brewing so he can cater to your palette if you do drink alcoholic beverages

✅ He is not afraid of PDA as long as it's not tongue kissing in front of the whole town

✅ He will often swoop down and steal a kiss from you while on walks through town

✅ That man will make sure you know what a catch you are

✅ You will never have to lift a finger when it comes to manual labor so long as he's around (he enjoys showing off what strength he still has as an ex-boxer) This has, as a note, resulted in him pulling several muscles, which he insists he's fine after doing so. He is not, get that man an epsom salt bath.

Domestic Life:

🏠 Piecing together everything stated previously, plus a little more...

🏠 Domestic life is pretty normal

🏠 Pierre works the days in his shops

🏠 He's trusted with most dinners

🏠 You tend to make/get him lunches and bring them downstairs to the shop for him

🏠 Whoever is up first makes coffee and breakfast (unless you or him care to make breakfast for you both) tends to be a free-for-all

🏠 He buys you gifts and flowers for special occasions and special occasions only (he's still a little stingy with those things)

🏠 There is always some dessert in the kitchen for you two to share

🏠 It helps to have something sweet other than you to look forward to at the end of another hard day in the shop

🏠 You help out in his shop when you have time

🏠 He rarely tries to sell things on special holidays and festivals without clearing it with you first, now seeing the value in quality time

🏠 At night, you two sit at the couch in the living room and watch TV together

🏠 It's a humble life, all around, but comfortable and cozy

🏠 He still has his moments

🏠 There are times you need to comfort or console him for his mistakes in his last marriage and even his failed role as a father

🏠 And slowly you are warming him up to the idea of therapy

🏠 But other than that, he makes for a surprisingly good husband now

[withlovelunette]

Matryoshka Doll & Wooden Soldiers writing update #1

I'm here to share some excerpts from the first chapter! You can find the WIP post for this story here if you want a more thorough introduction, but it’s essentially a retelling of Hoffmann’s The Nutcracker and the Mouse King with elements of steampunk and magical curses weaved throughout. This post is pretty short because I’m a bit picky with my own writing, but I hope you enjoy regardless!!

So the first chapter is mostly dedicated to establishing the situation/setting, Clara’s character and her relationship with her mother. For context, Clara’s been sent off to go live in the city with her godfather, Drosselmeyer, and this is the opening paragraph!

Clara Stahlbaum never defended her mother’s state of mind, lest she also be labeled a hysterical woman. She’d packed a single suitcase and taken the first train out of Marburg’s countryside, not to pursue womanhood nor stardom the way her mother had, but to “seek respite”, as her father put it. Very few traveled further north during the month of November. Winter’s reach had expanded with each year, powdering the land in white to claim every valley and pine forest as her own. Godfather Drosselmeyer would regularly report on the local rumors within the city in his letters–about the snowflakes acting as spies for a fairy queen further north, or that a vengeful curse had overtaken the land–and Clara read each and every one of them as thrilling stories before bed. Such rumors aside, the harsh winters didn’t frighten her, but spring had never felt as distant as it did now, as Clara steps onto the locomotive that will plunge her deeper into winter’s grasp.

Honestly, I’m always very unsure of how to start a story, and I’m still not completely sold on this first paragraph, but I think it functionally does what I want it to do, so I’ll probably rephrase and restructure it in a different draft.

This is just a random excerpt that I sort of liked:

Her mother had always said that to get all the strands of Clara’s hair slicked back and neatly assorted into a tight bun was an undertaking, as if her hair refused to comply with the disciplines of ballet, her hairline embellished with golden baby curls in defiance. In her mother’s absence, Clara had wondered if her hair would refuse to be slicked back into a bun ever again.

I will probably move this part to a different chapter at some point ^^;

Here’s an excerpt of Clara reminiscing on the train. It’s a continuation of the previous excerpt except I have no plans of moving this part (for now). 

The scene of her mother bowing on stage as the applause drowns out all other sound, even her own heartbeat, is fresh in Clara’s mind despite its age, onlookers tossing out fresh bouquets of camellia and sealed yellowed envelopes to proclaim their admiration for the prima ballerina. Such admirers had remarked how Clara was the spitting image of her mother. She believed that anytime she watched her mother’s performance, she’d been staring straight into her own future, and she held onto that promise with pride. But then her mother’s hair grayed, her eyes sunken in, and her skin clung to her bones in a way that could only be considered flattering on a young woman. The convictions that once made her attractive and lively made her difficult to work with, the perfectionism that once made her brilliant made her controlling, and Clara could no longer aspire to such a future.

Initially, I want to present Clara’s retirement from ballet as if it was something she did by choice to avoid her mother’s fate, because that’s exactly how she copes with her injury (which is the actual cause behind her early retirement). She’s mentally trying to reframe her retirement as something she did by choice, rather than something she did out of necessity, because she already has a bunch of reasons she could have chosen to retire early.

That’s all I really had to share from the first chapter since I’m still reconstructing it, but I hope it wasn’t too short/long of a read! I’d love to make a post about character creation or constructing character psychology or something along those lines one day, so maybe I’ll do that if it’s something people would be interested in? Or anything fairytale related, let me know!

Tag list: @sam-glade @strangerays @writing-is-a-martial-art @amywrites256​ @eurydicefades​ @serenanymph

Let me know if anyone would like to be removed/added to the tag list for writing updates and additional content for this wip!

[wakaoujisenhime]

Hi, may I request headcanons or drabble about gom when they find that their s/o is wearing their teiko’s jersey please? Sfw or nsfw is all okay

A/N: OOH I like that idea my dear anon! I tried to come up with as many different scenarios as I could, so I hope that I was succeesful... please enjoy! (*¯︶¯*)

Tags: GoM x reader ✅  fluff ✅  implied nsfw ✅

━━━━☆ ━━━━☆ ━━━━☆

Kuroko:

ok so, you were sleeping over at his house today and you wanted to put something of his on, so you looked through his closet, and amidst his many shirts you found something you immediately recognized as his former basketball team’s jersey

you were simply curious how it would look on you so while Kuroko was in the other room preparing something, you went over to the big mirror in the hallway and looked at how surprisingly fitting his jersey was

“(Y/N), I finished prepa-“

“Tetsu, perfect timing! Look what I found!” you said happily and twirled around a few times, showing off your new find

he remained silent at first and just looked at you with his typical poker face, then he slowly walked up to you and gave you a back hug, burying his face in the crack of your neck

“God (Y/N)...how can you be so cute...?“ he silently asked and peppered your neck with soft kisses

you couldn’t help but giggle at that ticklish sensation which provided a great diversion for your boyfriend, who let his hands slowly slide down your body’s most prominent traits while his blue eyes stayed glued to how smooth your reflection looked like

his reaction was pretty cryptic and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was even happy or simply annoyed, so you asked him if you’d done something bad

Kuroko remained silent at first and then out of nowhere took your hand and began walking back to his own room

“T-Tetsu? What’s wrong?”

“In situations such as these it’s better for me to just show you the results of your little dress up instead of using words, don’t you think?”

with flushed cheeks you simply squeezed his hand and followed him back into his room, knowing that you’ll be in there for quite a while...

Kise:

you two went on a small shopping trip together and before you knew it time had slipped past your hands and it was already dark outside

Kise, as the caring boyfriend he is, invited you to stay over at his apartment and you agreed

while you were sitting on his bed and checking your social media he sorted out his closet saying that if he continued buying so many clothes he’d have to buy a second and much bigger one

when he usually did this, he separated his garments into two piles: one was clothes he’d give away to charity organizations and the other one was for you and his friends to choose out of

just as he was about to throw another one of his shirts you noticed a very familiar-looking piece of fabric

He must be quite out of it to throw this away...

you secretly took his jersey out of the pile, got up from his bed, and sneaked out of his room (which wasn’t a challenge really, with him being overly concentrated on whether to give that blue jacket away or the black one)

you headed straight for his bathroom and changed into his Teiko jersey

it fitted you quite well, sure it was loose at some parts but that was to be expected

after looking at yourself in the mirror from any possible angle you decided to go back and surprise him with your getup

“Kise, I think I might’ve found the perfect one for me...what do you think?”

he glanced back at you and just as he was about to turn away he halted, mouth agape, his expression a mix of pleasant surprise and full of adoration

within a couple of seconds, his arms were wrapped around your body, lifting you by the hips and covering your entire face with kisses

“I didn’t know you loved your jersey this much.” you joked as you played with his yellow and soft strands of hair

“Who said I was this happy just because of the jersey, huh?”

he twirled the both of you a few times before lying you down on his bed and getting on top of you, both of his arms trapping you beneath him as he brought his face down to your exposed collarbone and began trailing it up with his soft lips

“Though I’d love to continue watching you have it on, it’d be quite a shame if we got it dirty with what’s about to come, right?”

Midorima:

living together with a strict man such as him proved to be quite the challenge at times, but you somehow managed

he was a very tidy and clean person (his behavior almost bordered in perfectionism) so having a multi-shelved closet where his clothes were sorted by color, their individual usage as well as his personal preference wasn’t surprising

you once wanted to take a shirt from him and after begging him for what felt like hours he finally gave in, but under the condition that he’d get to choose one for you

so to put it simply: you never properly saw how his closet looked like from the inside and now that he was taking a shower you couldn’t withstand the temptation to sneak into his room and finally take a peek

thanks to his pedantic ways you were quick to grasp the structure he’d used and there was one particular pile of clothes that caught your eye, namely one which consisted of nothing but his basketball uniforms, all of them neatly folded and judging by the smell they were freshly washed as well

you smiled to yourself as you remembered that your typical tsundere boyfriend also had some softer sides on him that brought such rare but heartwarming behaviors to light

with utmost carefulness you took the very first jersey from the pile and held it up, revealing the dark blue number 11

looking at it now you wondered if it’d still fit him and just before you stormed out of the room to ask him, you thought of a better idea: putting it on yourself

with that said and done you sneaked back out, sat on the couch in the living room, covered yourself with a blanket, and pretended to play something on your phone while you carefully watched your boyfriend from the corner of your eyes

the moment he entered your shared bedroom you decided to wait a couple minutes until he’d dressed up so that you could surprise him with a hug (but the main reason was that you were scared of how he’d react if you not only snuck up on him while he’s still drenched and naked but also had a jersey on that he’d spend so much time taking care of)

you softly knocked on the door and heard a muffled sound that most likely prompted you to come in, so you did

luckily his broad back was facing you as he was busy cleaning his glasses and you used that opportunity to wrap your arms around his tall figure

there was no reaction at first but after just a couple of seconds he silently asked you whether something was wrong

“I have a small surprise for you, so could you do me the favor and...look at me?” you whispered in a rather sheepish voice

Midorima didn’t answer, but you heard him placing his glasses down on the nightstand so you took that as a signal and loosened your grip around him

“(Y/N)...! That–“

your small surprise had shocked him quite a bit and even if he didn’t say anything clear about it, it was pretty obvious that underneath his big palm, which was covering his mouth, a small blush was forming

the two of you just stood there silently and after what felt like an eternity he just sighed and sat himself down on the bed, burying his face in his hands

Now that’s a reaction I didn’t expect...

you were disappointed and sad of course so you muttered a silent apology and made your way back to the door

“(Y/N)...who said that you could leave?”

with a surprised but confused expression on your face, you looked at his sitting figure

Midorima leaned himself back and gently pat a spot on his muscled thigh

“I want you to strip for me...but make sure to keep my jersey on and when you’re finished, get your cute ass over here.”

Aomine:

you woke up rather unpleasantly

your entire body was sore, some spots hurting more than others, and to top it all off you had fallen asleep naked, too tired from last night’s fun to even cover yourself with a shirt or something of that sort

while you were questioning yesterday’s events your boyfriend continued sleeping peacefully next to you and sometimes a silent snore escaped past his lips

watching someone who was either sulking or grinning like a madman on a daily basis sleep like a small child warmed your heart

you gently caressed his cheek, moved some of his hair strands away from his forehead, and let your fingertip gently glide across his most prominent facial features

if Aomine was awake he’d rarely let you do all of these blandishments, but luckily he slept as deep as a bear during hibernation

you could’ve continued forever, but your body was starting to get cold so you got up as carefully as you could and tiptoed over to your boyfriend's closet and began rummaging around for one of his shirts, which easily covered half of your body

while you searched every possible corner of his rather messy closet you stumbled upon something rather surprising

at the very back, you found his Teiko jersey which in comparison to the rest neatly folded and smelled of detergent

you couldn’t hold back a cheeky grin as you remembered how he’d told you he wasn’t the sentimental type of person and that there would be no reason for him to own any keepsakes from his junior high days and yet despite all that he’d taken such good care of it

just as you were about to put it back in, a brilliant idea crossed your mind

you put his jersey on and walked towards his sleeping figure, moved the blanket aside, and then got on top of him, carefully lying on top of his upper body

the sudden weight on his chest disrupted his peaceful sleep and in accordance with that a low groan resonated from him

“Mm babe....what’s wrong..?”

“Good morning Aomine my love...care to open your eyes for me, I got a small surprise prepared for you.”

he grunted as he wrapped his arms around your body, pressing you further towards him, and whispered: “Just give me five more minutes and I’ll look....promise”

you pouted but refused to give up nonetheless and continued with your caresses from earlier, though this time you also planted soft kisses along his collarbone and his neck

he enjoyed it at first and even hummed in satisfaction, but as your lips trailed down lower, his abdomen tensed up, and even if he wanted to keep his eyes closed his curiosity failed him rather quick

just as you were about to continue you felt his hands take a tight hold of your hips so you looked up to him and were met with a pair of wide deep ocean blue eyes

a mischievous grin spread across your lips as you showed him your little surprise

“Look what I found, mister I’m-not-a-sentimental-type-of-person.”

and he did look, Aomine was in fact so flabbergasted that his mouth stood agape for quite a while, but no sound whatsoever came from him

“Hey, what’s wrong? I thought you’d like a surprise of this caliber? Don’t all of your pinup girls have that boyfriend shirt segment?”

just as you were about to get off of him he suddenly took a hold of your shoulders and within a matter of seconds flipped the position the two of you were in

you now found yourself under him, exposed to his cheeky grin and a rather lewd gaze that caused him to lick his lips with relish while he let his hands run down your entire body

“You just know how to rail me up don’t you babe?” he cooed as he slowly pushed his knee between your legs, “sleep’s overrated when I have someone as perfect as you waking me up like this, right?”

Aomine kissed your lips and smiled down at you “Now...be a good girl and let me thank you properly”

Murasakibara:

wearing something out of this purple-haired giant’s closet was never an option for you, the main reason being the obvious body build difference between the two of you and the second was because of Murasakibara himself

every time you went over to his apartment and wanted to stay overnight he’d cling to you saying how warm and fluffy you were and continuously refused to let you go

the first few times you had tried to wiggle out of his grasp but unfortunately, he was the stronger out of the two of you so with no other choice left you remained enveloped in his arms until sleep caught up to you

as time went on you steadily gave up the fight and simply let him do what he wanted

and then one faithful night Lady Luck seemed to be on your side since Murasakibara fell asleep before you, the poor soul must’ve been quite tired that even his usual iron grip around you loosened quite a bit

at first, you couldn’t help but smile at his vulnerable yet cute expression but after just a short while your mind truly grasped the possibilities that had opened up to you

with a small smile, you carefully got up and walked over to his room

you silently closed the door behind you and couldn’t help but chuckle at the slightly ridiculous situation you found yourself in, regardless you continued with your task and opened his closet for the first time ever

it was surprisingly empty and clean (with some minor exceptions, but that was to be expected) so you found yourself questioning just why your boyfriend was trying to hide his small collection of clothes from you so desperately

at first, you simply looked through his differently sized shirts, and just then you saw a bright blue one and wondered why you had never seen him wear it

after pulling it out you finally realized just what you were holding

His Teiko jersey...?

you were quite surprised, to say the least since Murasakibara good to never talked about his junior high days let alone even mention them

he had a mirror right next to his closet so you stood in front of it and placed the jersey in front of yourself

it was quite large for your own measurements, but luckily his former build hadn’t been as muscular and tall as that of right now, so you seriously contemplated on putting it on

you removed the shirt you were wearing and replaced it with his jersey

the fabric reached the middle of your thighs and its v-neck was so low that you could see some of your cleavage

your cheeks reddened at the sight, your embarrassment prompting you to remove it as fast as possible, and just as you were about to do it a low and drowsy voice called out to you

“(Y/N)-chin...? What are you doing?”

as you turned around to the source of the voice, you looked directly into the purple eyes of your giant boyfriend who was towering in front of his bedroom’s doorframe

“A-Atsushi! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude, I just wanted to-“ you stuttered as you tried to remove his shirt, but before you could even lift it his big hand took a grasp of your own and held it

“Don’t.”

that was all he said before pulling you into his broad chest and embracing you

he began kissing your neck and even after you reluctantly asked him what was wrong and if he’d been mad all he did was remain silent

after a while you felt his big and slightly rough hands wander underneath the jersey, exploring your naked skin and touching it carefully, afraid that you’d break if he got a little rougher

it felt good and you felt safe in his arms, but you didn’t mind if he didn’t hold back entirely

when you told him these exact words he immediately picked you up and wrapped your legs around his hips

“Atsushi, w-wait!”

“Sorry (Y/N)-chin, but you look way too sweet right now and you know me...whenever I see something yummy I just need to have a taste.”

and with that, you were carried back to the couch for a long and pretty busy night...

Akashi:

the first time you mentioned Teiko he actually smiled and offered to show you some of his keepsakes himself

you agreed of course and just some moments afterward he brought a medium-sized box to you and began showcasing all objects he kept from his junior high days

Akashi really had his way with words, he knew that disclosing as little as he could about everything would make you more curious than you already were...and he was absolutely right

you asked him about the photos with his teammates, about some of his gold medals, about some of the books he’d kept, and so on

in the end, he pulled out his jersey, looking at it with a nostalgic expression, and as soon as he’d noticed your wide eyes and seemingly interested demeanor a smile spread across his lips as he handed the piece of fabric to you

while he told you some funny stories about it you couldn’t help but wonder whether it still fitted him or not

“Would you like me to put it on for you?” he asked you, which made you realize that you’d accidentally spoken out loud

“N-No it’s fine, I was just...thinking aloud that’s all!”

he giggled and gently caressed your blushing cheek, leaning closer to it so that he could plant a soft kiss on it, but unfortunately for you, the two of you were interrupted by one of his butlers who apparently needed something from his red-haired young master

neither you nor he could hide the obvious disappointment from your expressions, but with no choice left but to step out for a bit, your boyfriend left the room

you sat there at first but when you looked at the jersey that was halfway in the box you got curious about whether it could fit you, so after making sure that the coast was clear you changed your top and looked at your reflection on the glassy door of one of his shelves

surprisingly it fit you almost to a T and it was just now that you realized just how different the two of you were built

this new realization is what took you so long to notice that the man you were thinking about had returned and was looking at you

“And here I thought you wanted me to put it on...”

hearing his voice made you immediately freeze up, as you felt the heat rise to your face you slowly turned around and saw his gentle yet mischievous smile

“I-It’s not what it looks like, I just...I just wanted to–” you stammered while your fingers entangled themselves in the hem of his jersey

Akashi began to close the distance between the two of you and with each step he took your embarrassment grew and grew until it reached the point where you just wanted to sink in a hole somewhere

meanwhile, your boyfriend had reached you and let his hands gently glide along your torso with a never-ending smile

he directed his eyes to the reflection of your back, pulling you into his chest, and was now doing the same he did beforehand

his gentle touch relieved some tension from your shoulders and you couldn’t help but whisper his name, an action that made him tense up now

“(Y/N), I need you to remain quiet for a bit, or else I might lose that last bit of control I have” he hissed out as you felt his grip on you getting stronger

“I-It’s ok Sei, just let me remove your jersey and we can go to your roo–”

your chin was suddenly jerked upwards, red eyes peering directly into your own as he answered in a low voice: “Who said that we’ll do any of it? I’ve already locked the door and removing the jersey would ruin most of the fun, don’t you think?”

[collectivefandomstuff]

Hey mom! I’m stressed at 1am, any advice? I’m having trouble in school via studying sometimes it feels like we’re going from 0 to 100. And I need better study habits, do you have any advice? Bc sometimes it feels like I’m so afraid of failure that if I do study to my full potential (sounds weird) I feel like I loose the excuse of saying oh I got a bad score bc I goofed off. Like if I actually do all my effort to study and do bad, then is there something wrong with me??

(A/N: this answer is so long I almost feel ashamed to post it. I’m very sorry everyone. Anyway, if you’re looking for the concrete tips they’re at the end :) )

Hey :)

This doesn’t sound weird at all because I’m the exact same way. This way of thinking is actually more common than you’d think, and is often a part of the cognitive profile of perfectionism (btw, perfectionism isn’t that apt a name but I digress. Also, this way of thinking doesn’t mean you’re a perfectionist.). Anyway, I know a bunch of people who’ve experienced this, and the common factor isn’t fear of failure, but rather what it is you think you’re failing at. For example, I once told my therapist that I was super stressed over a bunch of stuff and I also had a paper I had to get done, and he asked me what would happen if I didn’t turn it in on time and I was like “academically? nothing. mentally? I wouldn’t be me anymore.” And that’s the stitch.

The people I know who struggle with this are often (though not exclusively) girls, and often people who’re pretty smart. They spent their childhood being told over and over that they were gifted, intelligent, and good at school. And back then, that was easy to live up to. They danced through the first few years of school without any issue, and enjoyed it a lot. They did their homework, understood stuff, and were usually “good kids”.

Now, we’re always growing and re-shaping our sense of self, but the foundations are lain when we’re children. So, when people around you keep identifying you as a smart/good student, then we start identifying ourselves like that too. Especially if it is being reinforced by your actual achievements. And then, suddenly, getting good grades isn’t about doing well or working hard, it’s about identity. It’s about who you are at your core. Thus, the stakes become infinitely higher. If you fail at a math test that you really studied for, then that means that you don’t have what it takes, and that means you are no longer yourself- the intelligent kid who’s good at school. A test might not be that anxiety-inducing, but losing your whole sense of self is. So, in that case procastination makes a lot of sense, because as long as you don’t fail while doing your best then you never put your identity on the line.

(This also applies if failing at school has become synonymous with being a failure, i.e. if you’ve been taught that doing well academically is the only way to be a successful/useful person in society, or if academic success has merged with the idea of a happy future so it feels like failing autmatically leads to an unhappy life. Essentially, mental structures that lead to a misconception of the stakes involved in a single exam/paper/task.)

That said, I do have some more practical things to say here. First off, sometimes we’re in a situation where we can’t do our best and that’s okay. I’ve failed exams, tests, papers, you name it and I still have my degree in the end. It’s never the end all of things.

Now, my own biggest freak out like this came when I started uni. My first paper I went completely insane and procrastinated like crazy, and I failed. And then the though crept in “what if I can’t do this? What if this is it. I can’t handle higher education, even if I try my hardest?” The anxiety was... big bad and mad.

I should say for this next part that my therapist once told me that I have a strangely aggressive approach to handling anxiety. Moving on. I sat down and said to myself “what is worse, to try my hardest and fail or half-ass it and never be able to live the life I want?” Since the answer was pretty obvious, I got to it. I had about 5 weeks until the next exam, and I sat down and planned every single hour until then. I studied for that damn test like I’ve never studied before, and whenever I felt anxious I would tell it to FUCK OFF and focus on the task I had planned. I didn’t allow myself to think beyond that first planning session, I just did what was next on the agenda. What am I supposed to do right now? read these 10 pages? Ok.

I’ve had two exams during my studies where I failed (the second due to the situation I was in) and ended up in this spiral. And here’s the funny thing: I have a small number of courses in uni where I got a higher grade. They include 1) courses that I found extremly interesting and 2) those two courses.

Okay! I know this is already so fucking long but I want to give you some actual tips too. Number one is obviously to plan. Take a whole day, sit down and plan the next month. Consider all your assignments, when they’re due, what you need to do to study, how long that’ll take and when that is done most efficiently. Plan everything in your calendar. Give yourself enough time for each task that you can do it even if you’re not super super focused. Do not study outside these hours. When you’re done for the day you’re done for the day. This way, there’s a clear, reachable end to each study session and you don’t feel as compelled to postpone tasks. When you sit down to study, don’t worry about the other stuff you have to do, or other subjects that you haven’t done yet. They’re all in the plan, all you have to do is what is in front of you. As long as you keep doing that you’ll make it. (If the plan goes to shit for some reason, take a day to plan a make a new one. It happens).

Some things to consider:

Different subjects are best studied in different ways. I used to set aside 15-30 minutes every day in high school for Italian, where I’d sit down and read the chapter we were working on out loud. I didn’t even focus that hard, I just did it every day- the chapter and the glossary. I STILL remember some sentences from that book. Math is best done in longer stretches, but not too long. 1-2 hours preferably. Think about how YOU work. Do you best read a textbook in one go or in increments? Do you learn better in a coffee-shop or your room? Silence? Music? This can also change depending on your subject. Plan accordingly.

For reading, time your reading speed for the book. Read a page at normal speed and clock it, then multiply that by the pages you need to read to see how much time you’ll have to plan for. Round up to give yourself room for spacing out.

Plan for breaks. Think about your normal need for it, but the uni standard is 15 minutes for every 45, making an even hour. Find a break activity that’s has a specific end, for example making some more tea/coffee and snacks and doing some stretches, or maybe playing one race in mario kart. Avoid things that you can get stuck doing beyond the alotted break time.

Buffers. For every five hours or so, plan one hour of buffer time. This is time that you can use if something takes longer than expected. If you do everything as planned, this is surprise free time! :D If you have a long study session, plan 30 minute buffers every two or three hours to be used for extra breaks and to keep panic at bay. Buffers will save your life.

Make a chart with different tasks and have little boxes that you get to fill in with fun colours when you’re done. If you have to read 100 pages, do a bar with ten boxes, that way you can see your progress visually.

Plan for days/evenings that are free. Plan what you’re going to do those days, like “movie night with X”, “play videogames and eat cupcakes”, “take a long bath and read a good book”. That way, you use your free time well and can use those days and evenings as incentive.

Prioritize your work. If you have too much to do, make a list of what’s most to least important and focus on doing the important stuff first. This includes studying tasks. What’s more important, reading that text for the third time or really understanding integrals?

Drink lots of water and eat sugar. It’s brain food. I usually bake before an intense week. That way when I feel myself going down I can go get a cupcake instead of taking time to make something to eat, or worse- try to soldier through which never works.

I hope this helped a little at least :) Good Luck! I believe in you! 💙💜

[fandom-necromancer]

A fresh start alternate part 2

This was prompted by a lovely anon! Enjoy!

Fandom: Detroit become human | Ship: Reed900 (Warnings: referenced childhood trauma, mentioned self-harm, self-harm-scars) [Part 1]   [alternate ending to part 1]   [continuation Fowler&Connor]

Gavin wouldn’t have believed it if someone would have told him how much relief talking about his problems had brought him. It felt good not being alone with it anymore and his work relationship with Nines had bettered itself too. The bot wasn’t too bad. For the first time it felt like someone really wanted to work with him. His humour was clunky, and his perfectionism could be really annoying, but all in all they slowly grew together making the perfect team. It hadn’t taken long for Gavin to hope for more. He was careful not to think too much into it, but they gradually spent more time around each other. Nines knew him better than anyone else and Gavin in turn had opened up to him. Still it took him several weeks to invite the android over to his place. From there it seemed to go faster as Nines would sometimes crash on his couch (and bed) for the whole weekends sometimes. They didn’t exactly live together yet, but they spent more time together than separated by now. And it felt nice. Not being alone. Living together with someone who appreciated him and who he adored. All his resentments against the machines had been quickly thrown out to make more room for new memories.

It helped that Nines never judged him for what he did. When a long day called for the blade, he let him do it. The only thing the android insisted on was that he was allowed to sit next to him, talk with him about it and take care of him afterwards. After some time, Gavin even noticed that that was enough already sometimes. The sneaky bastard tried to condition him into talking with him rather than cutting himself, but like hell he would ever try to stop him. Nines just wanted to help, and he was successful with his tactics. He had even managed to make Gavin feel comfortable enough around him at home to wear short sleeves or fold them back his lower arm, the scars on full display. Nines had seen them anyways already, so what would it hurt?

Gavin also rather liked the attention Nines gave them, caressing the imperfections of his skin and tracing along the lines. Just like he did now on their cosy afternoon lying on the couch. Gavin had his back against the android’s chest, the gentle vibrating hum and the warmth of the thick blanket making him feel sleepy already. Nines fingers were slowly dancing along his forearms, his steady breath in his hair. Gavin could only sigh, seeping into each and every touch. ‘What?’, the android asked amused. ‘Nothing’, Gavin hummed. No talking please. That would only ruin the moment. Nines huffed out a laugh, the expansion of his chest like a disturbance. ‘You are far too cute like this.’ ‘M not cute’, he mumbled and tensed his shoulders a little. Nines laid his head on his shoulder to whisper in his ear: ‘Then you should see yourself right now. You are adorable.’

‘Stop it’, Gavin said louder, trying to sound determined but ended up laughing through it. His hand only half-heartedly pushed Nines’ head away. ‘Never’, Nines commented, kissing his cheek. ‘Alright, well, now you woke me up again…’, the human complained. ‘I’m sorry.’ ‘Nah, it’s okay. Let’s talk about something.’ ‘How about your brother?’, Nines suggested. ‘What? Nines, I said “let’s talk about something”, not “let’s ruin the whole evening”!’ ‘Why? I thought you said you never had a problem with him, only with your parents.’

Gavin sighed. ‘Yeah, that’s right.’ ‘Then why not meet up with him sometime?’ ‘Other question: Why meet up with him?’ ‘It could help you come to terms with your past, Gavin.’ ‘What is this? Therapy?’, the man complained. ‘In a way’, Nines shrugged. ‘And so far everything worked out fine.’ ‘I know, smartass. But I can still whine about it, can’t I?’ ‘Of course. That means you consider it?’ Gavin deflated. ‘Fine, we’ll do it.’

-

‘Phck, I don’t even know what we should talk about’, Gavin cursed and held his head in growing frustration. It was a bad idea, he knew it, but there was no going back now. They had already cleaned, set the table, and cooked and Elijah was on his way. The waiting killed him. ‘You will find something’, Nines tried to soothe him, massaging his shoulders. ‘It will be awkward as hell’, Gavin groaned. ‘In the beginning, maybe. It will work out.’ ‘You really think so?’ ‘I know it.’

Gavin really wished he had Nines’ confidence as the doorbell rang and he stood up to open it. He stared into the face of a man he had not seen in a very long time. CEO of Cyberlife, reclusive hermit and CEO of Cyberlife again. Gifted child. A man so much better than him and reason for all his problems. And still his brother who wasn’t at all to blame for any of it. ‘Hello, Gavin’, Elijah greeted him as the silence stretched for too long and held out his hand. Gavin took it. He looked sleek and Gavin doubted a normal human could afford the clothes he wore, but at least he had tried to look casual and he appreciated that. ‘Hey, Elijah. Has been a while I guess.’ ‘Too long’, the man nodded and stepped inside the house as Gavin stepped aside. ‘Nines’, the RK900 introduced himself next. ‘A pleasure to meet you.’ ‘Oh. Of course.’

Elijah lifted a brow and looked back at Gavin. ‘Hey, I never hid the fact I’m gay, okay? You just never asked’, the man got defensive. ‘Oh, no I didn’t mean that’, Elijah was quick to say as he hung up his jacket. ‘Just thought you hated androids.’ ‘I did’, Gavin nodded as he led them towards the table. ‘Things change. He’s my partner at work and…’ He looked up at the android and Nines smiled. ‘I think it is only a question of time until “good friends” fails to describe our relationship’, he politely helped out. ‘That’s… Good for you’, Elijah smiled, sitting down taken a bit off-guard by the suddenly very personal topic. ‘He helps me a lot with my… well, I got a lot of mental stuff and general… problems, I guess.’

He was about to stand up ad help Nines, but the android gestured him to stay seated and leave it to him. ‘He was also the one to suggest us meeting up.’ ‘It’s a good idea’, Elijah agreed. ‘I… Damn, we are brothers. But we lost contact when? We were both still in school, I think… It’s been too long, and I’ve been too much of a chicken shit to call you.’ ‘Hey, same’, Gavin shrugged and threw Nines a grateful look as he came with two plates for them. ‘Part of it was also that I just wanted to leave everything behind me. Start anew.’ ‘What do you think why I put everything into my androids?’, Elijah laughed. ‘Felt the same way.’ ‘Really?’ ‘Did you think I didn’t notice what was going on? Just because you are praised to the moon and back doesn’t mean you don’t see what he was doing to you. I didn’t want to have anything to do with the asshole that drove you out of our home.’

Gavin began eating and used the time to think. ‘Shit, I never thought of you noticing it.’ ‘Sure I did. Thought you’d hate me for it. Leaving you alone with them. Being the reason you had... well a shitty childhood.’ ‘Nah, I don’t hate you’, Gavin mumbled. ‘Thank god.’ Elijah sighed and immediately was embarrassed of his relief. ‘Sorry. I thought you called me to scream at me. The entire drive I was mulling over ways to apologise to you.’ Gavin grinned. ‘Shit, should’ve done that then.’ Elijah smiled too and both continued eating in comfortable silence. Gavin didn’t look up, but he would swear Nines was particularly proud of himself in that moment.

‘Okay, who of you two cooked? This is amazing’, Elijah complimented. ‘Oh, we always cook together. But Nines really is the expert, I just follow orders.’ ‘What, my little brother obeying orders?’ ‘Shut up idiot’, Gavin chuckled. ‘You want another serving?’ ‘Oh, I’d love to!’ This time Gavin was faster than Nines and walked over to take Eli’s plate. Only when he had the rim in his hand the light hit his arm and Gavin near visibly flinched. Elijah of course immediately had his hand on his wrist to get a better look. ‘Gavin. What is this?’

The man let go of the plate and jerked his arm out of his hand. ‘Hey, I said I got mental stuff, okay? None of your business.’ ‘You… are these scars from cutting yourself?’ Gavin didn’t answer. ‘Gavin, that is serious, you should be seeing a therapist. This-‘ ‘I already did!’, the Detective interrupted. ‘I did and it did nothing. But I’m getting better, Nines helps me and I don’t have the need for it quite as often!’ ‘Gavin I… I can pay it for you. The best therapist in Detroit, I can-‘ ‘I don’t need your help!’, Gavin shouted, silencing the man. ‘I don’t need it and I don’t want it. And if you say another word, you can leave.’ Nines was ready to intercept their argument, but Elijah already bowed his head. ‘Sorry. I… I’m just worried. Doesn’t it hurt?’ ‘That’s kinda the goal’, Gavin spoke, calmed down again. ‘And don’t worry. I’m far from being suicidal, it’s just a way to… well, cope. When days are really bad. But lately I tend towards talking to Nines over cutting myself. He helps me with it. I’m in good hands.’

Elijah stood up, taking Gavin’s plate from him and setting it aside before hugging him. ‘God, Gavin, if it was that bad… If I had known…’ ‘I kept it a secret, you couldn’t have known.’ ‘But I should have!’ ‘It’s fine. As I said, it was really bad when I still lived with our parents. It’s gotten better after that and now that I’m not alone anymore it gets better from day to day. Don’t think I can ever stop the urge, but I give in less.’ Eli’s grip on him tightened. ‘Shit, Gav, how can I help? We are still brothers. We haven’t talked in a while, but I still love you and care for you.’ ‘That’s already enough to help, Eli’, Gavin smiled into the man’s shoulder. ‘We could try to be real brothers again, meet more often?’

Elijah let him go again and nodded. ‘That sounds perfect. My door is always open for you.’ ‘Thank you.’ Gavin took the two plates again and resisted the urge to pull his sleeves down again to hide the scars. He was at home and save and Eli had seen them now anyways. It would be fine. He would be fine.

‘Now do you want that second plate or no?’

[lloftvlly]

D̶̦̦̞̮̞̱́̕ę̷͕̑t̶̫̃͋̇̓̚o̵̞̔͆̒x̵͎͋́ 『 — Ray of hope』

FIC MASTERPOST 

Previous chapters: [Prologue] [Pt.2] [Pt.3] [Pt.4]

Saeran Choi x MC // MysMe  //   [ pt. 5/? ]

Ray...

..he really was back. 

Why did it feel like this? Somewhat foreign, a little awkward...reminiscent of the feeling one would get if they ran into an old friend after having ghosted them and ignored their phone calls for months. Why did you feel that hint of guilt as you seemed to avoid looking into Ray’s eyes, contemplating your words...  

❝You’re out of bed... how are you feeling?❞ were the words you eventually came up with to end the silence between you two. 

❝𝐵𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊’𝓇𝑒 𝒷𝒶𝒸𝓀.❞, he sounded gleeful despite his eyes still glistening from the tears he had shed upon seeing you. ❝𝒴𝑜𝓊’𝓇𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝑔𝑜𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃, 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊?❞ now there was fear again in his words. 

You shook your head ❝I will stay right here, no worries.❞ 

Your words made him smile brightly. Then you both leaned down at the same time to pick up the flowers you had dropped earlier, almost bumping your heads against each other. ❝𝐼 𝑔𝑜𝓉 𝒾𝓉... 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝒻𝑒𝓁𝓁 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝑒 𝒶𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝓁𝓁.❞ he said gently and you just nodded and watched him collect the flowers from the wooden floor. He then looked at them and you were surprised to see a small frown tugging at his lips. ❝𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝒾𝒹𝓃’𝓉 𝑔𝑒𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓂 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓂𝑒, 𝒹𝒾𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊? 𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒽𝒾𝓂...❞ he handed the flowers to you a little reluctantly.

Him? Saeran? He wasn’t wrong, but... 

❝I didn’t think you’d be waiting for me when I came back, so... ❞ your voice got smaller with every word. Really now? Should you feel guilty? Sometimes you wished there were tips someone could give to you for dating someone with multiple personalities. You didn't quite know how to juggle his different alters when it came to the setting of romance. 

❝𝐼’𝓂 𝓈𝑜𝓇𝓇𝓎 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓌𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓊𝓅 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉...❞ he mumbled regretfully. The immediate wary feeling returned, which you had always felt when you would talk to Ray. That feeling of being scared to say anything that could hurt him. His heart was so fragile, like a piece of paper-thin glass. It could crack at every poorly chosen word. Already back then in Magenta, you had always thought about your words carefully because you never wanted to hurt Ray. Something about him made you want to protect him and his sad face was like a sharp stab into your heart every time you caused it.

You shook your head.  ❝It’s okay, Ray. I’m happy to see you.❞

❝𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒??❞ he seemed sincerely surprised. 

❝Of course... It’s been a while.❞ You frankly couldn't even remember when the last time was you truly talked to each other like that. Was it back then in Magenta? When he returned after the dark side of Saeran had pressured you for a kiss and he had broken out to tell you to leave this place without him? You felt like the phone call after that was the last time you heard his voice instead of Saeran’s. ❝Saeran told me you were here, but I was never sure if I truly understood... he also said you were saying prayers in the corner of his heart that you could be happy...❞

❝𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓈...𝐼 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊. 𝐵𝓊𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝒻𝑒𝓁𝓉 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝑜𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝓌𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒾𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒... 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒾𝓈 𝒹𝒾𝒻𝒻𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓃𝓉.❞ He took both your hands to cup them between his own. ❝𝒩𝑜𝓌 𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝓁𝓈𝑜 𝓉𝑜𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝓎𝑜𝓊... 𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝑒𝓍𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓂𝓎𝓈𝑒𝓁𝒻 𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓊𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝒾𝓂 𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓋𝑒𝓎 𝓂𝓎 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈... 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓈𝑜 𝓂𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝒹𝑜 𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒷𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈.❞ he sounded excited like a child on Christmas day. 

❝I understand... but Ray, your body is still weak, so I’m afraid there aren’t too many things we can do...❞

He frowned. ❝𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝑒𝓍𝒸𝒾𝓉𝑒𝒹...❞

❝That’s not it. I’m sure there are things we can do that don’t require a lot of energy,❞ you quickly said and he smiled again.

❝𝐿𝒾𝓀𝑒... 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓉 𝒻𝓁𝑜𝓌𝑒𝓇𝓈! 𝐻𝑜𝓁𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝒶 𝓃𝒶𝓅 𝓉𝑜𝑔𝑒𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇!❞ you couldn’t help but chuckle at his pure heart. This was the Ray you remembered. 

You nodded. ❝Mhm.❞

...

Later— The sun was all ready to set, dipping the room into a tint of warm colours as you returned into the bedroom after you prepared a cup of hot tea for Ray and yourself. You didn’t know how long his visit would last, but you wanted him to have a good time despite not being able to go out and do much. After your initial talk, neither of you said that much. Really, Ray was actually content just sitting next to you and stare at you while holding your hand. It frankly was a little awkward. His love for you sometimes turned into what seemed close to worshiping. It was hard to get Ray to see you as equals. He would always look at you from below no matter how much you tried to raise him up. 

You noticed the room was especially tidy as you returned. Ray must have started cleaning up while you cooked the water for the tea. There was always an air of “perfectionism” around him. Not a single fold in his clothes, his hair combed tidily with every single strand laying exactly where he wanted it to be and even his posture was more stiff and upright than Saeran’s. You were surprised to see the magazines on the bedside table lined up corner to corner perfectly and the books on the shelf were suddenly sorted by size and colour, which you noticed because you caught him just pushing a book into the shelf where he had made space for it. 

❝Tidying? I’m sorry if it was a little messy.❞ Ray seemed to startle a bit at your voice and turned around to you. 

❝𝐼𝓉’𝓈 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝑒, 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝓇𝓎𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓂𝓎𝓈𝑒𝓁𝒻 𝓊𝓈𝑒𝒻𝓊𝓁.❞

You chuckled ❝Old habits die hard, huh?❞ You eventually handed him one of the mugs and he took it with both hands. ❝Let’s sit down and have a talk, hm?❞

He agreed so you sat down next to each other on the bed. Even though you suggested a talk, you didn’t really know what to say. So, for the time being, you both just carefully sipped your hot tea.  Thankfully Ray opened his mouth after a few minutes of silence  ❝𝐼𝓈 𝒾𝓉... 𝒹𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝒾𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒷𝑒 𝑜𝓀𝒶𝓎 𝒾𝒻 𝐼 𝓁𝒶𝓎 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝑜𝓃 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝒶𝓅?❞ 

You didn’t expect this at all, but you smiled and nodded  ❝Sure, let’s get cozy!❞   

He beamed after that and put his mug down on the nightstand to lay down in bed, immediately getting comfortable and resting his head on your lap. Surprisingly he was quite bold, when it came to something he really wanted to do. At first you didn’t quite know how to react exactly and what to do with your hands but then you put your mug aside as well and started combing his hair with your fingers, causing Ray to hum gleefully.  ❝𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒾𝓈 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝒽𝑜𝓌 𝐼 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝒹𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂𝑒𝒹... 𝓃𝑜, 𝒾𝓉'𝓈 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇.❞

You were happy you could get Ray to enjoy himself after all. ❝Mhm, it feels nice not having to worry about anything for a few minutes, and just cuddle... doesn’t it? It feels like forever since— ...❞ You stopped, because you realized, maybe until now you never truly had a moment of calm like this, with neither Ray nor Saeran. You ran from Magenta, after that you and Saeran had to deal with the whole media stress and then Saeran’s withdrawal. 

❝𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝒶 𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝓌𝑒 𝓁𝑒𝒻𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝒸𝑒...❞ Ray whispered, as though he read what’s your mind.

❝Not as hard as you had it...❞

❝𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝑔𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓊𝓅 𝑜𝓃 𝓂𝑒... 𝑜𝓇 𝒽𝒾𝓂.❞

❝Him? You mean Saeran?❞ He turned onto his side to avoid your gaze after your words. ❝Ray, I noticed you don’t want to say his name. You don’t have any hard feelings, do you?❞

❝𝐼𝓉’𝓈 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉... 𝐻𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓅𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉’𝓈 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝒶𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝑒...❞

❝But?❞

❝𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹𝓃’𝓉 𝒹𝑜 𝒾𝓉... 𝓈𝑜 𝐼 𝓀𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝓌𝑜𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝒻 𝒾𝓉’𝓈 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝐼’𝓂 𝓉𝑜𝑜 𝓌𝑒𝒶𝓀.. .𝐼𝒻 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓈𝓉𝓇𝑜𝓃𝑔𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓂𝒶𝓎𝒷𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓅𝓎 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜𝑜.❞

❝Ray...❞

❝𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝑜𝓃’𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝒶𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔, 𝐼 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹... 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓂𝑒𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓂𝑒𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝑒𝓍𝒾𝓈𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝒸𝑒. 𝐻𝑒... 𝒽𝑒’𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁 𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓁. 𝐼’𝓂 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒽𝒾𝓂 𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝑔𝑒𝓉 𝓇𝒾𝒹 𝑜𝒻.❞

❝That’s not true, Ray. You’re just as precious.❞

He looked up at you again, his eyes looking sad. ❝𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝓀𝑒𝓅𝓉 𝓈𝒶𝓎𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉... 𝒷𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝒶𝓁𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓎. 𝐼𝓉 𝓂𝒶𝒹𝑒 𝓂𝑒 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝒶𝓎𝒷𝑒 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓊𝓈𝑒𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈. 𝐵𝓊𝓉 𝓌𝒽𝓎 𝒹𝑜 𝐼 𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝐼’𝓂 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓈𝓊𝓅𝓅𝑜𝓈𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒?❞

❝Because you never realized your own worth. I wish I could make you see it.❞ You reached down to take his hand. His fingers immediately curled around yours. 

❝𝒴𝑜𝓊’𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝑜𝑜 𝓃𝒾𝒸𝑒... 𝓉𝑜𝑜 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓂 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃. 𝒴𝑜𝓊’𝓇𝑒 𝓈𝒽𝒾𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜𝑜 𝒷𝓇𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓂𝑒...,❞ he started and you wanted to say something but he stopped you ❝𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝑀𝒶𝑔𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒶 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝑜𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝓈𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓂𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝓅𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔... 𝐸𝓋𝑒𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝒾𝓉 𝓂𝑒𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓁𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝑒, 𝒾𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓌𝓇𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝒶𝓃𝒾𝓅𝓊𝓁𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓎𝒾𝓃𝑔... 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑔.❞

❝Maybe I didn’t make a smart choice, but I don’t regret it. I would have never met you if it wasn’t for my lack of judgement... maybe I ran into a dangerous place but in the end, we both made it out of there. So there is no resentment.❞

❝𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝑜 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒽𝑜𝓁𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓎... 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝒶𝒻𝓇𝒶𝒾𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒽𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓃.❞ he said and you titled your head curiously.

❝What do you mean?❞

❝𝐼 𝒹𝒾𝒹𝓃’𝓉 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓇𝒶𝓃𝒹𝑜𝓂𝓁𝓎 𝒾𝓃𝓋𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝓅𝓅... 𝒷𝒶𝒸𝓀 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝐼 𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝒶𝓈 𝒾𝒻 𝒾𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒷𝓎 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝒾𝓇𝓈𝓉 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝑜 𝑒𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓉𝓇𝑜𝑜𝓂, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓈𝓃’𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝒶𝓉 𝒶𝓁𝓁...❞

❝I figured as much...❞

❝𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝒾𝒹?❞ he blinked surprised and sat up. 

❝Of course...from the way you always talked to me, I was able to tell that you carefully picked me out among the crowd of people you could have invited. I just never truly knew why me.❞

❝𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝓌𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝒶𝒹𝑒 𝓂𝑒 𝒸𝒽𝑜𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊?❞

❝Hm... I’m a little curious... yes.❞

❝𝒯𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁 𝓎𝑜𝓊...❞ he nodded for himself and you turned to face him.  ❝𝐼𝒻 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝑔𝒾𝓃𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔 ... ❞

...

And so he did. And with the herbal scent of the tea in your nose and the sensation of his hand firmly holding yours you listened to his story. 

....

[ Ray’s POV ] 

— 6 months before her first arrival in Magenta

❝There is a reason I choose you for this mission, Ray. Do you know why?❞ the Savior had called me into her room this morning. She didn’t do this a lot. But whenever she would request me here it was either to discuss something important or to have me brush her hair. There was no in between. 

❝𝐼𝓈 𝒾𝓉 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝐼’𝓋𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓈𝓁𝒶𝒸𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝒻𝒻?❞ I couldn’t help but to be disappointed in myself for not showing the results my Savior expected. I could only get the data for less than half of the guests from the RFA guestlist before the security tightened and was impossible to get through. The redhead’s work was still a level above mine, no matter how hard I studied hacking to become better than him. So our new plan was to get into the RFA messenger somehow and work from within. For that, we needed a neutral link between the Mint Eye and the RFA. A person we could use as said link. And it looked like my Savior was about to send me and find that person. 

❝You’re right, I am disappointed. But that’s not it. The reason why I want you to find someone for this mission is because of your sensitive heart.❞

❝𝑀𝓎... 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉?❞

❝It’s weak, albeit useful in this case.❞

❝𝒜𝓈 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓈 𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒷𝑒 𝓊𝓈𝑒𝒻𝓊𝓁... ❞

❝That’s what we will find out. I hope you won’t disappoint me again.❞ The Savior's eyes darkened. I didn’t want to disappoint her ever again. She was my Savior. The most important person to me. 

❝𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒹𝑜 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓅𝑜𝓌𝑒𝓇, 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑜𝓌 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒹𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉, 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝒶𝓋𝒾𝑜𝓇.❞ 

That day, Savior entrusted me with a new mission that wouldn’t be about simply hacking. She said it would be our biggest mission yet, so I felt specially proud she chose me.

It wasn’t the first time she would send me out for recruitment to find new lost souls on the streets, we could offer salvation to. But this time, it was different. She didn’t want me to find just any new potential believer, she wanted me to find a partner for our future mission... and not just any partner.

One who would be able to be bent into doing whatever we needed them to do, someone who would help out the Mint Eye while at the same time work from within the RFA. Someone trustful enough to have the RFA receive them with open arms, yet someone who was ready to believe in the Mint Eye before the RFA. It had to be the perfect candidate. Naive enough to fall for our setup, yet smart enough to collect information as we needed it. Someone with a heart big enough to volunteer without many questions asked, but who wouldn’t needlessly fall for the RFA’s attempts to win them over and switch sides if it came to this. Someone bright and willing to sacrifice everything for our cause, yet someone with the potential to form enough darkness in their heart that would make them seek for salvation when everything was said and done. 

Was there a person like this? Would I be able to find someone so specific? 

The next weeks I spent a lot of time out on the streets when I wasn’t working on cracking the RFA messenger security algorithm. I visited the usual spots: the park, the fountain in the center of the shopping streets, office buildings, churches, small coffee shops... I had my eyes peeled and watched people going about their day. Watching them like a hawk searching for prey. But no one caught my eye. I’ve seen candidates that could make some fine believers in the future, but no one for our mission.

Until that day. 

I took a break from my mission to get some ice cream from the vendor in the city center. The Savior wouldn't know if I only took a small break, right? It was hot, and being dressed in all black wasn’t helping. But this was my usual getup for going on these missions. All black, face mask, the hood of my jacket pulled over my head to stay incognito. Only like that, I could allow people to see me whenever I was away from Magenta. I couldn’t risk being recognized by any of my father’s spies after all, so I continued to live my life as anonymously as possible when I was away from the only safe place I knew. 

I was just skimming the board with the many flavours on the ice cream menu when a voice next to mine caught my attention.  ❝Strawberry... or green tea...? Hmmm, I can’t decide... Or maybe chocolate chip...❞ 

Why did this voice make me turn my head? Granted, not only did it speak of one of my favourite things, which were ice cream flavours, but it also flustered me because of how it sounded..  calm but melodic; it sounded sweet and soft like ice cream would if it had a sound. So gentle it made my heart skip a beat. 

The voice belonged to a girl. She was wearing a white blouse that loosely hugged the soft curves of her body and a sky-blue skirt that fell right above her knees. Her long brown hair was so soft it was dancing in the air from the smallest breeze that carried her scent into my direction. She smelled of blooming flowers, reminding me of my garden I loved to take care of at Magenta. Her eyes were glistening with so much life, it was as if she had never seen darkness. The polar opposite of mine. She was absolutely beautiful in ever every way my senses were able to inject about her.

I was never interested in girls as such... I could appreciate a beautiful lady, but physical attraction usually didn’t go beyond the same feeling one would get from looking at a piece of art or the sunset. Romantic attraction was beyond the kind of emotions I was capable of feeling. And maybe it wasn’t even then, that the feelings I felt were of romantic nature. Admiration, maybe... But so far the only person I ever admired was my Savior and I felt guilty towards her to feel admiration for someone else at this moment.  

While my mind worked at max speed to progress all these complicated emotions, the female tapped her chin thoughtfully while studying the board with the ice cream menu written on. 

❝Miss, did you pick, yet?❞ the ice cream vendor seemed to become impatient. How dare him not allowing a gorgeous lady to take her time for such an important decision! I only thought that part instead of blurting it out. 

❝Hmmm, I can’t pick...❞ the girl suddenly turned to face me ❝What are you having, mister? Maybe I will just be spontaneous and have the same.❞ Her words caused me to freeze in my spot, that’s how caught off guard I was. Why was she talking to me? She wasn’t fazed by my, what I thought was an intimidating getup, either. I was a stranger but she sounded like this was natural for her. Maybe she was just that kind of person. Extrovert...so the opposite of me... again. 

❝𝐼 𝓊𝒽...,❞ my voice was muffled against the mask covering half my face. Not being able to properly talk from nervousness I ended up just pointing at the menu where it said “strawberry.” I wanted to tell her that she should enjoy a strawberry ice cream because she should only allow things as sweet as herself to be touched by her lips. Strawberries were the princesses of fruits in my mind, and she had an aura so royal that she should never feel like less than a princess as well.  But I wasn’t brave enough to say any of that, so pointing was all I could do. 

❝Strawberry, huh? Okay, then strawberry it is!❞ the girl decided and the vendor seemed relieved that she finally made her choice.  ❝Two times!❞ she added then, holding two fingers up. After the seller had scooped strawberry ice cream into two cones he handed it to the girl, who paid for the ice cream and then held one of the cones out to me.  ❝My treat. As a thank you, for helping me pick.❞ She smiled and sounded so casual yet warm again. How did she do that? She made me feel like I was someone special by just talking to me, by giving me the time of the day to acknowledge me. I suddenly existed.

She was shining so bright I was nearly melting under her gaze like ice cream in the direct sun. What was this feeling? I had never experienced it before. My hand was slightly shaking when I reached out to take the ice cream she held out to me. I hoped she wouldn’t notice. As my fingers brushed hers, my cheeks were getting warm. So soft... her skin on my fingertips was so soft and warm. 

Say something, idiot! But I couldn’t. All the words I wanted to say to her were stuck in my throat. And I cursed myself when I could only watch as the girl finally bowed her head with another warm smile and then just turned around.

Don’t leave... don’t leave... please... stay just a little longer... My mind kept repeating. I knew it then. The warm feeling I felt in her presence, it would be gone as soon as she was. It would never return if I let her go. Please stay... 

But she didn’t. She left, and I was nothing but a random encounter to her.

No. That couldn’t be it. I felt it, deep in my heart. She was the one I was looking for! Her and no one else! I could feel the cold ice cream melting onto my fingers as I came to that realization. And before I knew it, my legs walked by themselves to follow her. 

I followed her, always with enough distance for her not to notice.. but close enough to have her in my field of vision. Wherever she would go, I would go. 

I was able to walk with her to different locations in the city, through the park, making stops in small boutiques and a coffee shop. She had iced coffee and I had iced tea just four tables away. I’ve seen her on her phone gleefully having a conversation, and I watched her listening to the music by the performance-duo on the bridge before she was dropping some money into their guitar case. Granted, I didn’t think highly of financial donations like this, but it was fine. She probably thought she was helping because she was an angel like that.  Even though she wasn’t perfect, I would be able to show her what real salvation looked like if we got closer. I could teach her. 

When the evening arrived, the girl took a photo of herself with the setting sun in the background. And that photo must have tied up her leisurely day...   

It was after that, that I followed her down a quiet street and she eventually left into what looked to be her apartment building. I noted down the street address so I would know where to return to and hopefully see her again and eventually also ordered a driver to take me back to Magenta. 

I already missed her so much it hurt, as soon as she was out of sight. But I would see her again once my Savior approved to bring her to Magenta; that’s what I kept telling myself to ease my burning heart. Soon... she will be with me in paradise.

... 

❝𝐼 𝒻𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝑒𝓇, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒻𝑒𝒸𝓉 𝑜𝓃𝑒!❞ I was so proud of being able to give this news to my Savior after days of not bringing her any results. 

❝Her? I didn’t expect you to find a girl for the mission.❞, she seemed uncertain about my choice. I had to convince her, I had to. 

❝𝐼 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝒾𝓉! 𝒮𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒹𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝒻𝑒𝒸𝓉 𝒿𝑜𝒷!  𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒹 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒹𝒶𝓎, 𝓈𝒽𝑒’𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝓃𝑒!❞

❝Watched her all day? Ray, you sound agitated. I don’t want her to be someone who could distract you from our goal.❞ 

❝𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝒶𝒾𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝑒𝓃𝓈𝒾𝓉𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉, 𝓈𝒶𝓋𝒾𝑜𝓇. 𝒮𝑜 𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑜𝓌 𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉, 𝒷𝑒𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝒶𝓈 𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓈 𝒾𝓉 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝑒!❞ 

❝Very well...❞ 

My eyes widened. She accepted?  ❝𝒮𝑜 𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒷𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒?❞ 

❝But first, as you know,... we have preparations. We need to ensure access to the RFA messenger before you can bring her here.❞ 

❝𝐼 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹! 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓀 𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒹!❞ my voice cracked out of excitement. Bring her here. Alone the thought of this happening made my heart beat so fast, I was scared it would break through my rip cage.

❝I can’t allow you to get sidetracked. So focus on our goal and don’t forget what our mission is.❞ 

❝𝐼 𝓌𝑜𝓃’𝓉, 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝒶𝓋𝒾𝑜𝓇.❞ 

❝Then. I expect results soon. For eternal paradise❞ 

I stood up straight   ❝𝓕𝓸𝓻 𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓃𝒶𝓁 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓭𝓲𝓼𝓮.❞

— tbc

[jays-study]

I DON’T EVEN LIKE HONEY THAT MUCH

a kacchako one shot

Summary: Uraraka has been a writer for four years now and is writing for a lifestyle magazine 'Tamami'. Every month the magazine publishes her romantic stories in the magazine and the readers absolutely love her work. Uraraka enjoys writing for 'Tamami' but sometimes it can be very stressful to have to write something decent every time, so to relieve some tension and stress she decides just write something really bad for a change. The subject of those awful stories happens to be about Bakugou Katsuki, her editor who she has a massive crush on.

Writers note: It has sure been a while since I last posted on AO3. Like I've said many times before I'm incredibly busy with college. On top of that, I'm a participant in two zines; the Kacchako Across the Universe Zine and the Kacchako Holiday Zine. And! I've also been working on a kacchako social media AU on Twitter as well. But I'm glad I found the time amidst all those things to write this. I thought of this during a shitty shift at work when "These Words" by Natasha Bedingfield came on the radio.

Word count: 6.549

AO3 link: (x)

Being able to word yourself properly is something Uraraka would never get good at. She had accepted that. In the four years that she had been writing she had written on different platforms, written different genres had switched her writing style countless amounts of times even after saying "I can definitely say that this is what makes me" so confidently. She had worked with different publishers, had a couple of projects that completely flopped and opportunities she wished she hadn't taken out of desperation.

The experience she gained in those four years of chasing a career that seemed beyond stupid to chase by many, it didn't make her good at wording herself properly.

But the experience she gained in those four years did make it a little bit easier.

Uraraka could word herself better than most.

Would she call herself a good writer? Not necessarily.

But she was good enough to get herself in a position where she was writing for a bestselling lifestyle magazine called ‘Tamami'. Women one and a half times or sometimes twice her age would buy the monthly issues and enjoy the overly romantic pieces she would write. If she would tell any of her high school friends that she would be able to pay the bills by writing old romance novel-like short stories for a magazine they would've been seriously worried about her sanity.

But yet here she was. Her sanity still intact, comfortable living with her cat in a studio apartment in the center of town.

Though this was not exactly what she aimed to do when she decided to be a writer, she sure had a good time doing what she did. Sitting cross-legged at her desk, in front of her laptop, with her hair in a bun that lasted for an embarrassing amount of days. Casually she was listening to soundtracks of popular romantic comedies and occasionally asked her cat for his opinion.

Yes, Uraraka could word herself better than most.

It was only natural that after two years of writing for ‘Tamami' she had a good indication of what her audience craved to read. It's the big dump of e-mails from her readers that made coming up with the next story as easy as pouring a cup of tea. Some e-mails gave a detailed review of her stories, a couple gave constructive feedback and a whole bunch of messages was blatantly sexually tinted. Uraraka had actually read full on sexual stories of her readers before. But even that helped her continue to deliver quality pieces every month.

However, that didn't mean that Uraraka could never get frustrated with her writing. She was determined that knowing exactly what she wanted to write could actually make things more difficult than it should be. Sometimes things she wrote weren't vivid enough. Uraraka wanted to smell the fields the couple she wrote about was standing in, she wanted to feel the heartbeat of the character sync with hers, she wanted to be able to get shivers as if a character had indeed whispered in her ear. Uraraka wanted to feel all of that from reading her piece.

And that, believe it or not, was hard to achieve every now and then.

Some sessions would leave her pouting at her screen for hours on end as she rewrote the same paragraph for countless amount of times. Uraraka would even let her cat walk over her keyboard, hoping that the pet would magically come up with something better than her.

When Uraraka would lose patience with herself she would count to twenty-five, close her document and would then open a blank one.

"…I opened my eyes and I saw the empty space beside me. Instead of rolling over, putting the blanket back over my head and setting myself on wasting the day away, I smiled. I smiled because I knew exactly that I couldn't afford to fall back asleep. The smell of waffles filled the bedroom and the sound of clashing dishes in the sink gave me the indication that they were ready.

Just as I sat up he came walking in the room. Abs glistening from the baking spray that managed to land on him whilst baking. A lazy half-smile of pride on his face and a tray full of golden brown waffles drenched in honey.

For a second it was hard to tell what the real meal was. I would've happily devoured either of them, to be frank. He sat down on the side of the bed and was quick to pick up the fork before I could even reach for it and dig in. The man wanted me to appreciate what he had been working so hard on the whole morning. With a soft smile, I told him that they came out great. As soon as I gave the sign of approval he filled up the fork and stuffed pieces of freshly baked waffle into my mouth. Honey started dripping down the side of my mouth and down onto my exposed breasts and white sheets. He started to take notice of the mess he was creating and stopped feeding me, put the tray with the half-devoured breakfast aside and touched the sticky corner of my mouth with his thumb as he cupped my face. I wanted to shy away from him but again he demanded my full attention. Turned my face back to him and leaned forwards. Between giggles in he would kiss me, our lips practically sticking together as he did. Eventually, his lips started to drift from mine to the rest of the flesh I was showing above the covers.

I knew exactly what this was leading to.

Sex, obviously.

We were both half naked, there was honey involved, which is apparently a sexy food.

Which someone still has to explain to me; how in the world can food actually be sexy?

Honestly, I wasn't the biggest fan of sex. I haven't even done it a lot of times but I have imagined multiple steamy scenarios in my head. When I had sex I was constantly doubting myself which led to a train of thought that ended nowhere. I would think about the taxes I still had to file or that I had to return those jeans that I recently bought in a sorry attempt to change my style.

But I could not not give this man all my attention even if I tried. I could describe how he was looking right now but no amount of fancy adjectives would do him justice. This man was looking like he was he carved out of marble. Smooth and toned just right. And that combined with the way he knew exactly how to move and said the right things at the right moment.

The man was like an actor in a porno where they hired writers that actually cared about the plot.

He was the type of guy that would tell you his favorite color and have a debate with you about issues in today's society whilst putting you to bed.

"You know what pisses me off; the debate about plastic straws. Until I see a turtle choke on plastic I will not stop using the damn things." He would say whilst kissing your neck.

He also seemed like the type of guy that would coax you through the whole act. And not the usual "you're doing so well sweetheart" that seemed to be a standard line for men. But kind of like a soccer coach. Maybe a bit stern, but you know he's doing it out of love.

Yeah.

Having sex with him was probably like speed dating your soccer coach that also happened to do high-quality porn.

Which is honestly the best you could wish for."  

When it all gets a bit too much it was nice to just write whatever you wanted, how awfully you wanted. So awful that Uraraka could look back at the work in progress for the magazine and think "it actually could be much worse".

So writing pieces like these did not only help Uraraka with the obstacles her perfectionism created but it was to get those particular thoughts out of her system. The man Uraraka wrote about and had so for so times, was, in fact, Bakugou Katsuki, her editor. An amazing and underrated editor who she happened to stumble upon in a coffee shop. They were sitting next to each other, working on their respective stories but Bakugou couldn't help but peek at her screen every now and then. Uraraka, who eventually got fed up with her since his silent judgment stopped her from writing asked him what he was thinking. And it was as if he was waiting for it because he sure didn't hold back. Uraraka was more impressed than offended in the end and continued to work with him for the rest of the afternoon.

Bakugou had been editing for Uraraka for a year now.

And over that year she had developed a huge crush on.

When Uraraka realized that she felt that way about her editor she instantly decided to never confess. It would bring too many problems that she really didn't fancy facing. Not only their friendship but their work relationship would be in ruins, to the point of no return.

"What do you think of plastic straws Waddles?" Uraraka pulled the Bengal cat off her desk and onto her lap. He cradled underneath against her neck and purred as she carefully stroked the cats tail.

"Interesting views," she laughed.

Uraraka kissed the top of the cats head and put him down on the floor.

Now that was out of her system she could try to make something of her draft. She was actually cutting it close to the deadline and knew Bakugou had recently got other work he needed to attend to. Uraraka was happy people had finally started to recognize Bakugou's talent and were now getting eager for him to edit their work. Though he said that her pieces are still his priority because that simply "came first", she didn't want to be too much of a bother.

And it had already proven to be difficult.

Quickly she saved the short story and opened back the monthly piece for ‘Tamami'. Uraraka put her earphones back in her ear and continued writing. She started to get pulled into the story again which made the words flow out of her easier. She managed to come up with a few twists that she wouldn't even have considered at first but now thought they could work. As Uraraka's fingers kept dancing over the keyboard, the soft smile she was wearing on her face got larger. The scenes she wanted to write out were clear as day to her and everything her characters felt, she felt too. Her chest felt heavy, like every emotion she described.

Uraraka kept on typing and typing and eventually thought of a proper way to end her story. It almost felt a little sad that there had to be an end. She had so much more in store for the two lovebirds in her story. But guidelines were guidelines so the story had to continue in her head instead.

The writer straightened her back and rubbed her eyes after writing the closing sentence. She had now only noticed that her ears had become immune to the sound of the song she had put on repeat for almost two hours on end. Between rereading her story she tried to find a song that fit her mood properly. Between interludes, she could hear strange noises in the distance. She chose to ignore them until she heard something clashing to the floor. She threw the earphones out of her ears and turned around in her chair. Uraraka then checked the time in the bottom right of her laptop screen and she instantly knew.

"Waddles! Waddles what the heck have you done?" She shouted toward the kitchen.

All she got back from him was a single ‘meow' which she sensed had an annoyed undertone.

See Uraraka's cat could be quite impatient. He knew exactly around what time he got fed every day and if there wasn't any food in the bowl at that time a day, he would get fed up. Fed up to the point that the pet would decide to make food for itself. He would go into the kitchen and make a ruckus trying to open cabinets and knock pots over in his quest to look for anything to eat.

"Can't believe it's half past eight already," Uraraka sighed as she pushed herself away from her desk to then immediately grab it and pull herself back towards the screen of her laptop. "It's half past eight!" she yelled as she had processed what she said.

"I should've e-mailed this to Bakugou by now, I-"

Another thing fell to the kitchen floor and Uraraka's neck snapped back to the doorway. She saw kibble spilling all out of a big bag coating the majority of the kitchen floor.

"Crap!"

Quickly Uraraka opened her Gmail and formed an e-mail. As fast as her hands could possibly move around she typed out a small message to Bakugou, apologizing for the tardiness and thanking him again for his time and effort. Hoovering above the chair she put the document in attachments and sent it.

Uraraka then strode into the kitchen to attend to her impatient pet. Swooped him off the floor as he was heavily enjoying the mess he created.

"It really doesn't hurt you to wait a little bit you know?" She picked the crumbs out his fur and couldn't help but laugh at the cat. "You feel no shame, do you? You just ate food off the floor like a barbarian."

Waddles didn't feel a single ounce of shame as he tried to escape from Uraraka's grip and fall back into his food. After a bit of struggling Uraraka put the cat down in the living room. Before Waddles could make his way back into the kitchen she grabbed a broom and started to sweep together all the kibble. With her leg, she gently pushed Waddles away who tried to get to the food.

"Don't worry, I'll whip something up for you that's not coated with dirt from the floor."

Uraraka slightly cringed as she threw away the cat food which was honestly not the most economical thing on the grocery list, thanks to the king's taste buds. As she prepared a proper dinner for Waddles she thought about what Bakugou could be thinking as he read her story. She wondered how he felt when he read her work. She hoped he felt everything she felt when writing it. Or to some degree at least. Uraraka thought it would be a whole achievement if she managed to get the lightest blush on his face.

Uraraka felt her face grow hot at the thought.

She continued to put the prepped ingredients together for the homemade cat food whilst touching her face every few minutes or so. After putting the meal in the cat bowl Uraraka warmed up pasta she postmated yesterday for herself. With a bottle of vitamin water under her arm, she brought the two meals to the dining table. She sat down and next to the leg of her chair she put down Waddle's bowl.

"See, isn't that much better, mister? Wasn't that worth the wait?" She asked as she spread out her own food, scratching Waddle's side with her food as she did. The cat softly purred against her touch and she giggled.

She went to talk to her cat about everything she wanted to get done before she went to sleep, about everything she wanted to do in the morning and all the other things that came to mind.

As Uraraka tried to gather the remaining sauce from her pasta onto her fork she heard the familiar ping of an incoming e-mail. She leaned in to check the now lit up screen and saw that it was an e-mail from Bakugou. Confused she pressed the home button on her phone and checked the time.

"That's…Fast," Uraraka said to Waddles. "Even for him, that's…"

She cleared the dining table and brought the dishes to the kitchen, still facing the laptop screen that was slowly dimming. Uraraka came back to find Waddles already at her desk, facing his snout upwards. With a confused frown still stuck on her face she sat down and lit up the dimming screen again.

Uraraka opened the e-mail and to her surprise, there was only a short message. She ruffled her bangs and squinted.

"Dadada…"Are you sure this is the work you want to hand in for this month?"" She read.

She read the sentence a couple of times and every time she found it harder to believe what she had read. Uraraka fell back against her chair in disbelief.

He had to be kidding.

What she handed in was one of the best works she had written. By a mile. She was so sure of it but Bakugou did not seem to believe so. Uraraka read the sentence out loud. Immediately a sense of frustration came to her.

What a kind of question…

There's no further elaboration as to why he had asked her that either. The nerve! Of course she was sure!

"Of course I'm sure," she typed out, frustration causing her fingers to twitch.

Without any sign off she replied to Bakugou's e-mail and then immediately logged off.

Uraraka wondered if she should ask him for a reason behind the kind of crude e-mail. But she wondered how she would be able to take whatever he had to say about her piece. She valued his opinion a lot and if he really did dislike the piece, as she had come to think because of his lack of elaboration, then she had no idea what that would do her writer's spirit. Uraraka had so many ideas for future stories and felt like she could write them all the next day if physically possible. That could be gone in a second.

She was used to Bakugou's brutal editing but rarely ever did he doubt the actual story. Said the bare minimum about it but in the few words he used, you could tell he enjoyed the small world for two Uraraka managed to create every month.

If Uraraka would've asked for Bakugou's honest opinion, she wouldn't have been able to change it anyway, even if she could. Bakugou was sending her piece straight to the publisher, instead of sending it back to her. There had been trouble there lately when it came to time management and deadlines Bakugou had informed her. Had then asked her to allow him to send her piece straight to the publicist for however long they were in trouble.

A week and a half later ‘Tamami' published their September edition. Days, after it came out Uraraka, went to look at the final product.

Uraraka walked to the nearest tobacco shop with a with a tight chest. She now had no clue how her story was going to be received by her readers. When thinking about the worst possible reactions Uraraka frowned and sank deeper into her coat. Before entering the bookstore she looked through the shop window. Right in front of her was this month's edition. Never before had they displayed the magazine. And never before did they advertise it by hanging up a poster on the window, saying that it was being sold here and mentioning specifically that it mentioned her work.

She looked into the shop and saw that in the magazine corner ‘Tamami' was being restocked. There were even several people grabbing it straight from the box and walking to the counter. Uraraka walked into the shop and met the shopworker that was in charge of restocking the magazines. She gently tapped on his shoulder and perked out the collar of her coat.

"Excuse me but, what's going on?"

The worker turned around and smiled brightly when he saw her face. He took her by the shoulder and squeezed tight. "Ochako, darling, there you are! Our little star of the neighborhood, you've really done it now!"

The people at the counter turned their heads towards them. Uraraka leaned out of their line of sight behind a shelf.

"What have I done exactly?" Uraraka awkwardly chuckled.

"You dear, have been responsible for almost half my revenue this week. People have been coming in here just to get a copy of the magazine, Ochako, they are in love with your work!" The shopworker went on to say.

Uraraka's eyes widened. "They are?"

"We are!" The two women at the counter were now approaching Uraraka waving their newly bought copies in their hand.

"Sorry to eavesdrop," a woman with a short bob and gleamy eyes said to her. "But we couldn't help but overhear the conversation."

"But are you really Uraraka Ochako? Are you really thé Uraraka Ochako?" The other woman, with a pink-dyed pixie cut and very shaky hands added.

Before Uraraka could ever get a word out, the shopworker proudly confirmed that she was in fact ‘thé Uraraka Ochako'. She could only nod at the two women. The two shared a look before exploding into chattering. It was hard to make any sense of what the two were saying but it was obvious that they were beyond excited. Uraraka had never really dealt with those kinds of conversations before. She usually would get reactions like this online, where she could take the time to process the kind words and find a proper way to reply to them, after a little bit of squealing of course. But now the only thing she could bring herself to say was;

"Thank you so much."

Luckily the women could laugh at her flustered response.

"This might sound silly but can I have your autograph?" The woman with the bob asked.

"Oh me too, me too!"

They started flipping through their magazines and Uraraka looked back at the shop worker. He just proudly smiled back at her and handed her a pen from the pocket on his shirt. Hesitantly, she turned to the open magazines and felt butterflies as she finally saw the printed version.

"You know Toshiko said at work? That she honestly wasn't able to look at honey the same way ever again.

Uraraka perked up.

"I know that she means. God, I can't wait to read that part again at my own pace now that I've finally got a hands on a copy of my own."

The writer slowly shook her head. "Honey? I didn't mention…"

Her eyes started scanning the pages of the magazine and her eyes started falling on certain words that caused her chest to become even tighter than before she walked into the store.

"C-can I…Can I hold that for a second?" She pointed at one of the copies.

The woman with the pixie cut handed her copy and Uraraka immediately buried her face between the pages.

"A lazy half-smile of pride on his face…"

"Honey now dripping down the side of my mouth…''

Uraraka closed the magazine. "Alright, this is…That's…"

Her eyes started closing and before she could grab onto something she fell on her knees and slide face first across the store's carpet.

The first thing Uraraka felt when she came to was the slight carpet burn on her face. With her eyes, half closed she slowly put her hand on her left cheek. As she stroked her face, she tried to get back on her feet. The slightest movement of her leg sent people yelling and grabbing her arms.

She fully opened her eyes and saw a handful of worried faces looming over her.

"What in the world…" Uraraka mumbled. She looked around herself and saw the magazine laying on the ground.

"…That's wonderful," she sighed as she could already feel herself getting lightheaded again. Uraraka held onto a shelf and tried to keep herself on her feet. Immediately people came to her assistance to help her up and looked at her with worried eyes as she kept staring at the magazine.

"…I…I need to go," Uraraka stammered. Before anyone could hold her back she walked out of the tobacco shop.

Alright, this was happening.

This was really happening.

Her incredibly sexually tinted fantasy story about her editor had been published in ‘Tamami'. People have read her incredibly sexually tinted fantasy story about her editor. People seemed to love her incredibly sexually tinted fantasy story about her editor.

On her phone, she searched for other bookstores in town and pinned her route to the closest one. Took the subway and ended up in an unfamiliar part of town. After a bit of stumbling around she reached the bookstore and saw the same thing as in her neighborhood's tobacco shop; they were restocking the magazine. Uraraka rushed to the clerk and stuck her head under her nose.

"Sorry, how fast have these been selling out?" The writer asked.

"Too fast if you ask me! This is the third time I had to restock them this week. I haven't even been able to get my own copy yet, and I work here!" The clerk grumbled as she kept putting the magazines on the shelf.

"Do you have the exact number of sales? I'm Uraraka Ochako, one of the writers of the magazine and I would just like to-"

The girl jerked her head back. "Wait, you're Uraraka Ochako?!"  

Again, heads turned at the sound of her name but now costumers came flying to the source straight away. All with their copies of ‘Tamami' tightly clutched to their chest, asking for confirmation if she was, in fact, the writer everyone was currently talking about. Uraraka could barely make herself understandable above the noise but she managed to confirm that it was her.

"It's not your usual style but I absolutely loved it nonetheless!"

"Can you please write more stories like this? Or just a whole book perhaps?"

"This was so genuine! I could relate to the main character so well!"

The writer got showered with compliments and though as embarrassing as this whole thing was, it did her good to hear that something she didn't even consider anything decent was being received so well. Uraraka thanked the readers and signed a few copies here and there. After that, she left the bookstore and traveled to a few others where things kept repeating themselves.

The magazine would be selling better than ever before, people would come up to her and gush about this month's story and she would sign a few copies here and there.

Uraraka spent the whole day walking around town from bookstore to bookstore in complete awe, feeling better and better about circumstances.

Her readers have actually managed to make the best out of a bad situation.

When she got back to her apartment she was eager to jump behind her laptop to finally check the e-mails from readers she had been stacking up in the past days. On her way from the front door to her desk, she got stopped by Waddles, walking right in front of her feet. Not being able to maneuver past him, she groaned and picked him up.

"This is one of the few times I stayed out the house for so long, you should at least be a little proud of me, right?" Uraraka moaned.

Owner and pet kept glaring at each other until Uraraka was the first one to lose composure. She tickled the cat under his chin and watched his face turn softer.

"But you just need the constant attention, don't you?" She softly spoke.

Uraraka carried Waddles in her arms to her desk and put him next to her laptop. She put away her coat and put her hair down before sitting down and letting Waddles use her lap as a pillow. She opened her mailbox and saw it had been completely bombarded with e-mails. This was the first time that she had to click the next button in her mailbox.

There were a lot of positive reactions. An occasional reader being sad that she veered away from her usual style but most people were excited about it. ‘Excited' could be taken in multiple ways. Uraraka had never received so many horny e-mails before. And it was somewhat to be expected but twenty-three emails that were not, no, definitely not safe for work? That was definitely a record broken.

Most of the horny e-mails were a good laugh nonetheless, she had woken up Waddles a few times because of them.

Slowly the writer cleared her mailbox and reached the most recent ones. When she saw a particular e-mail address, she felt her heart skip a beat. Uraraka would be lying if she said she hadn't forgotten about them for a second. A reader who had been reading her work ever since her work just started to get published in ‘Tamami'. Their e-mails were always almost like essays, very detailed reviews of the story and how much they enjoyed it. They were as honest as they could be with her and had honestly made her reflect on her writing almost as much as Bakugou did.

It was always exciting to see what they had to say.

""…I have to say I was surprised when I read this month's story. I-"…Waddles please, you have enough other toys to plays with," Uraraka scolded the cat.

But the cat remained intrigued by the light coming from her phone screen. She turned the screen around and continued reading the e-mail. Uraraka got closer to the screen as she kept reading it and felt herself smiling brightly at all the kind words.

"…I've noticed that you never write in first person. I have read the story a couple of times now and I've got the feeling that you were heavily inspired by someone close to you. Heavily inspired is a term I use lightly here."

Out of anyone they would have been the first one to clock, wouldn't they?

Uraraka rarely responded to fan mail but she felt a little caught by the anonymous critic. Curious to what made them exactly come to the conclusion she opened a new message to reply.

"What gave it away?"

Uraraka sent the message and bit the tip of her thumb. In the corner of her eye, she noticed light emanating from her phone screen again. She looked around, saw that Waddles had found another way to entertain himself and then grabbed her phone.

"Text messages from…Bakugou?"

Katsuki Bakugou, 16:24 PM: Are you around?

Katsuki Bakugou, 18:15 PM: Never mind.

Uraraka scratched her head.

Ochako Uraraka, 18:18 PM: Why? What's up?"

Only moments later a call from Bakugou came in. Uraraka jumped and threw her phone in the air. Just about managed to catch it and save herself from pressing decline.

"H-Hello?"

"Uraraka…Did I not call at the right time?" Bakugou asked.

Uraraka covered the mic of her phone with her hand and took a deep breath. It was always something else to speak with Bakugou on the phone but now considering this had been their first conversation since her story got published especially.

Once she got her breathing steady she put the phone back to her ear. "No, it's fine, it's fine. Why did you call?"

"It's about the celebratory dinner? Don't tell me you forgot to check your private e-mail account again."

"What? No! Of course not!" Uraraka sputtered as she opened her private e-mail account and saw the e-mail from the magazine's headquarters, about how they were hosting yet another celebratory dinner. This time for Uraraka.

It was an incredibly sweet gesture but, that sort of thing just wasn't for her. She hadn't been to a single dinner where she didn't feel stupidly out of place. They always ate at places that were way too fancy for their own good. Where everything was in French but somehow French fries didn't exist on the menu. Where you would have a napkin on your nap and no one would bother to explain what it was exactly for. Places where she could easily embarrass herself and often did.

It wasn't exactly Bakugou's cup of tea either. They had gradually gravitated from sitting across from each other to next to each other and started to complain about everything they could possibly complain about during every dinner. Have even started dreading the dinners before they were invited.

"I can't even pronounce the name of this restaurant…" Uraraka mumbled.

She continued to scan through the e-mail until her eyes fell on the time.

"I have to be there in an hour, are you kidding me?! I'm not even remotely ready!"

"So you did forget," Bakugou scoffed.

Uraraka could hear the cheekiness in his voice but was too busy panicking to even think of sassing him. She stood up and walked to her bedroom.

"I really have to go, there's a lot of stuff I need to do. Oh man, I haven't even thought of how I'm going to get there. That place is probably on the other side of town as well."

"I can come and pick you up," Bakugou offered.

Through the sound of clashing clothing hangers, Uraraka could hear Bakugou typing in the background. The guy had most likely been editing all day and was even looking less forward to the whole happening than usual. She didn't exactly want to be that much more of a nuisance by making him play taxi.

"Thank you but you don't have to, really," Uraraka said as she smelled a dress she found at the bottom of her closet.

"Oh shut it. You don't want to be late to your own fucking dinner right? I'll be at your apartment in thirty, be ready."

Before Uraraka could put up any resistance Bakugou had hung up on her. Distraught she looked at her phone and sighed. She didn't have any time to call him back and argue with him. She still had to shower, make herself somewhat presentable and mentally prepare herself for all the questions she had to answer about the story whilst Bakugou was sitting next to her.

Uraraka decided that the dress she sniffed was good enough. It didn't smell too bad and she believed none of her coworkers had seen her in it before. In record time she jumped in and out of the shower and messed around with make-up as much as her skillset allowed her.

With wobbly knees, Uraraka slowly walked in her heels to her mirror. She turned around and then nodded at herself, coming to the conclusion that was as good as it was going to get. Waddles had cared to join her in front of the mirror, but only to come and beg for a meal.

She tried to strut into towards the kitchen but stopped in front of her desk.

Would the anonymous critic have replied?

She moved the mouse, the screen lit up and they had indeed replied.

"You can't make up those emotions and thoughts. Not even the best of writers can."

Uraraka swallowed before opening another e-mail to reply.

"I can't deny that no. The story was something very personal yes, that most likely shouldn't have seen the light of day. So far, you're the only one that's on to me. It's actually rather embarrassing so can you please do me a favor and keep this a secret between us? Can you promise?"

Send.

That was the right thing to do, right? Fighting the accusations could have brought up discourse. And right when her career was thriving, that was the last thing she wanted. Things could easily spin out of control and that could make her the laughing stock of ‘Tamami' in no time.

It was in her best interest to keep this long-time fan a friend.

As she made dinner for Waddles she kept listening for the sound of a notification, but it didn't come. After she put down the cat's bowl full of homemade cat food in the kitchen, she shuffled to her laptop to double check.

There was really no reply from them.

"Oh God, I'm scre-,'"  A loud buzzer cut Uraraka off.

Immediately Uraraka jolted and rushed to the door.

That had to be Bakugou.

She tucked her hair behind her ears and straightened her stance before opening the door.

"You didn't have to come u-"

"I promise."

Uraraka blinked at the guy standing in the hallway. In response, she laughed and shook her head.

"You what?"

Bakugou pushed past her into her apartment and went to lean against the wall opposite her.

"I said I promise. I can promise to keep it a secret between us," he elaborated.

A moment of silence past between them, which was eventually broken by hysterical laughter from Uraraka.

This was something she couldn't comprehend. This was some sort of joke her brain just couldn't process. As she kept laughing she pointed back at her laptop.

"So you're telling me that…that you're…" Uraraka hiccupped.

She couldn't even finish her sentence without bursting into laughter again. Fell against the wall opposite Bakugou as she grabbed her stomach that was starting to ache.

Through her tears, she saw Bakugou cocking his brow. Gradually the writer collected herself and stopped laughing. She took a good look at Bakugou and then her face went blank.

"Wait, are you serious?

Bakugou gestured at his face. "I'm not exactly laughing my ass off am I?"

"Oh…Now if you could excuse me…"

Uraraka felt herself getting weak at the knees and prepared herself for another fall. As her eyes closed an arm went around her waist and a tug at her wrist. The sudden touch caused her eyes to shoot back open.

"Fucking hell, you're something else," Bakugou groaned.

He put her right back up, kept his arm around her waist. Uraraka's eyes darted from his arm to his face which was suddenly incredibly close to hers.

"You know I don't even like honey that much," he complained.

"Really?" Uraraka said genuinely baffled, she figured anyone would like honey on their waffles after all.

"But would do you like then?" She asked.

"Take a guess," he made his voice low, eyes flicking from her eyes to her mouth.

As he leaned in Uraraka held her breath.

"Oh God, this is happening," she murmured.

Bakugou opened his eyes and glared at her.

"Sorry."

Uraraka closed her eyes and through her lashes, she saw Bakugou smile before putting his lips on hers. Their mouths started to part and her breath hitched.

She had written about Bakugou kissing her countless amount of times. But none of that compared to the way he was kissing her there and then. She didn't expect it to live up to her fantasy, no, to be even better than her fantasy.

Uraraka's arms curled around his neck and she smiled against his lips. Steadily she slowed down the pace of the kiss and pulled away from his touch.

"But seriously, what do you like?"

"Syrup over honey, any fucking day."

[monkey-network]

‘Change Your Mind’ was a fun, messy anime hoot ‘n holler, I reckon. Is it my favorite episode of the season? Nah, that’s a different episode that I don’t wanna spoil. Is it the best episode of the arc? Nah, that’s still Escapism. But nevertheless, there is quite a lot to unpack that I wanted to express and if I did a play by play of this 44 minute special, we’d be here for several hours and nobody got time for that. And if I continuously jabber on about this in spaced out posts, I’d feel more like a SU Critical blog than I typically am and that’s pretty depressing. So, I’ve packed all my stray thoughts into one package to get it out the way. Spoilers ahead.

Small headscratch, but I question why it’s notably four episodes on the wikis but it’s essentially one episode and should count as one episode. Can’t really see one part without understanding everything else so I’m a bit confused. Then again, I’m not that encyclopedic on media production so it’s no big deal.

I liked Blue Diamond in the first part and this arc as a whole. In spite of who she generally is, Blue was a consistently good character in that her regret and more motherly nature never felt out of place compared what we’ve seen of her initially because her devastation over Pink’s “death” never felt superficial and the times when she got serious were eyebrow raising to me. And her turnaround in this felt reasonable compared to the others for she thought more of Pink/Steven beforehand and looked like she was more aware of how times have truly changed, even when the allusion to abusive families fall flat.... you know, if we were thinking realistic. Eh, Blue best Diamond, if that means anything.

I question why Yellow had what appears to be forced fusions or genuine crystal amalgamates if Diamonds were against fusion. I understand the ones on Earth, but why was she keeping them, probably for some time now, if she has no use of them? Again, maybe they’re born crystal amalgamates. It’s unclear.

I would say deep down I felt cheated that Lapis and Peridot are apparently cool now even when Lapis took everything in the divorce and did the reentering parallel to an Irish goodbye. But I guess dropping the barn counted as an act of apology, and maybe we’ll see them interact more in the future, so plbbt. At least they got to be badass and anime together while looking the part too.

In the back of mind, I forgot that Bismuth was in the episode sometimes. Beyond giving Connie her sword and raking up that star punch, I can’t say she added much to the story.

Speaking of which, wish the Diamond’s Pearls got to partake in kickassery of the sort. Homeworld was surprisingly empty in hindsight.

Loved Rainbow Quartz the 2nd. He’s beautiful and I would gladly get strong for him.

Only one thing bothered me about Sunstone, aside from the sunction cup summon. and it’s with their small arms. I thought those big arms were more for her shapeshifting since Garnet’s known to shapeshift her limbs to be enormous, but they’re always big so... what  value do Sunny’s little arms serve? Least with say, Smokey Quartz or Malachite, their multiple limbs added to their ability but Sunny’s two beefy arms carry most of the way. It’s like adding two dormant legs to the side of a grasshopper. And seriously, what was the point of the suction cups.

Though I love Monty Python reference they added in. That got a huge laugh outta me.

Obsidian was a spectacle, being the first genuinely naked human gem of the series, and the design reminded me a lot of Asura’s Wrath. Though one small detail I wish they had was where Obsidian’s fingers dug into the mech, leaving large dents on the ship, which would’ve hit home the struggle of getting to White as opposed to somehow being able to grip onto the mech’s more or less smooth surface.

Overall I’d say the part between the Diamonds reconciling and finally reaching White was hit or miss if we’re talking writing. Like sacrificing logical flow more for providing the fan service isn’t nothing new, but time could’ve been utilized more for more to go on.

I couldn’t take White as a serious threat anymore, she was just too cheeky and Ebersole sounded like she was really enjoying herself with voiced. I just hope somebody dubbed Glados over her sometime.

Couldn’t take the moment where Steven got his gem ripped out either cuz as hardcore as that was, adding a sound effect sort of killed the tension for me and I laughed my ass off. I’m sorry.

But as much as I loved the scene that was well animated by veteran 2D animator James Baxter, I especially loved the scene where after Pink Steven forms, he turns to White and says, “You should’ve gone for the head.” Snapped his fingers and destroys Homeworld to finally end everyone’s suffering. Like holy shit, that was the best scene in the entire series, hands down.

Plus I like the idea that Pink’s gem... actually fused with Greg’s sperm. *wheezes* I’m the worst

As much I like the idea of White Diamond, having been told off by a child, reforming her viewpoint, being a less coerce being and making the family whole again, the fact that she’s still a mass murdering, mass torturing, mass colonizing, authoritarian Orwellian style villain rubs me the wrong way with how much of a 180 things turned out to be. It’s like if the Beaudelaire siblings immediately forgave and thought Count Olaf was a great person all along after he did that one good thing and then died. But I guess if Steven held White under a small lens of contempt, then it wouldn’t be Steven Universe. What also makes this feel hallow is that.... when you think about it, all this amounted to was the Diamonds doing Steven a solid. They don’t really quit being dictators, they never really claim that Homeworld should change its way, or think White should step down as leader thanks to her perfectionism affecting HW harshly. They’re just nice rulers now... like Kuzco except not as cool. This plot honestly could’ve fallen apart if White Diamond was more reasonable while still maintaining her villainous perfectionism. She was kinda stupid in a way but eh, whatever. Like yeah, she’s shiny... but she’s not

Then again, imagine White Diamond’s current position.

Imagine the sense of losing your entire worldview, ideology, and sense of self to a being the size of your big toe. Imagine everything you’ve built up, potentially taking centuries or millenniums to uphold to sheer excellence, all crumble before you in a instant. How would it feel? To lose your purpose and have nothing to show for yourself beyond your now shrill existence and status regardless of your stature, because you feel that if you were to try again, history could repeat itself but 10x worse. That small being that conquered you, could do it again if tempted and what would you do? What else would you do if you have some semblance that it won’t work out perfectly as before? What else would you do if you’re now capable of fearing something with which you don’t and potentially will never understand? You honestly don’t have anything now, you’re nothing now. So what could work out for you besides smile, wave off your loss with integrity, and feel comfortable knowing that you live another day while understanding now that any day could potentially be your last, given what you know.

You feel me? It’s like that.

And I’ll say that while the Diamonds suddenly having a change of heart can seem off putting, the fact that Steven went through all that shit with his real family just to do so is reasonably sound. Can’t say a redemption arc in the making ain’t all bad if the protagonist didn’t put in work as well. And if Naruto can forgive Sasuke after they beated each other’s ass, I feel that this ain’t too different.

“Change Your Mind“ was a good song, better than the new Crystal Gem extension. A nice cap on the sprite cranberry of an episode.

So it seems like this episode marks the end of Steven Universe. Now it’s time for Steven Universe 2. Because if this wasn’t anime enough... we’re gonna be time skipping, babey. Reasonable enough, this episode messy here and there but I have one counterargument to this, given that this show is five fucking years old.....

I’d be a bitter asshole if I said I didn’t genuinely enjoy this, both initially and on the rewatch. It is an all around entertaining finale and I’m glad it embraced the weeb trashiness in itself like I always knew it would. Funny thing about all this is that we’re going into hiatus and I’m willing to bet that excluding the movie, we’re gonna have the same amount of premieres as last year. But I believe the hiatus won’t matter as much since they certainly gave people quite the show and I can’t help but applaud along.

Now if ya excuse me, I’m off to marathon Kirby Right Back at Ya, an anime I believe is better than SU all things considered. Have a wonderful day.

[everlarkbirthdaygifts]

Happy Birthday alliswell21!

Firstly, we want to apologize to @alliswell21 for the delay of her gift. We hope you had a lovely birthday on the 21st of October! To ad further cheer to your day, the wonderful @wildlyglittering has written a special Everlark fic just for you! We hope you enjoy it :)

Title: Into the Woods

Gift for: alliswell21

 Rating: M

 Trigger warnings: swearing, sexual situations

 Author’s note: I’m so sorry for the delay. I am an incredibly slow writer. Please slap my wrists for this one.

“Is that a Pumpkin Spice Latte,” murmured the voice, honeyed and low, in my ear, “or are you drinking the blood of your enemies?”

               “Ugh,” I made a sound of disgust and shrugged away from him, making sure my shoulder collided with his jaw as I moved. Great, I thought. Golden-douche is here. One hour without him was all I wanted today, just one solid hour. 

               He moved around the table to sit opposite me, completely uninvited, not that he cared, and began removing his coat. When I knew he couldn’t see I took a glance down his body and noticed that water had splashed his trousers and the coat that was now hanging on the back of his chair held a thick, woollen scent. He’d obviously been caught in the rain. I felt a sliver of mean spirited joy but hid my smile behind my mug as a I took a sip.

               “Not looking so dry, Peeta,” I said. “Did your face collide directly with a rain cloud?”

               As he sat he shook out his hair, water droplets bouncing onto the table, he grinned at me, unbothered by my comment. His arrogance probably meant he thought he still looked good. I took another quick glance, this time at his face and noted that, unfairly, he didn’t look too bad. His golden-douche hair had been turned a darker shade by the rain and his usual loose waves had begun to curl more around his ears.

               A drip on one of those newly darkened strands dripped onto the side of his face and travelled down to his jaw before he reached up to wipe it away. My brain told my eyes to stop looking.

               “Yes,” was all he said, “I suppose it’s a little wet out there.”

               My eyebrows went up. It was one of the rainiest afternoons that our District had on record and he had ventured outside in it. Peeta gave a nonchalant shrug and looked over at me and I noted how his eyes glanced down, very briefly, to my mouth as I took another sip.

               “So, Katniss, what are we doing?” This time his eyes met mine, his obnoxiously blue ones shining and I fought the urge to roll my own. On second thoughts, there were no prizes for restraint.

               “We, are doing nothing. I, am having a coffee and reading my emails. You, are interrupting me.”

               “Is that the one from Haymitch?” Before I had the chance to reply, Peeta had reached over and grabbed the paper placed in front of me. When he first found out that I liked to print out my emails and colour code the relevant text he had mocked me for days. Now though it seemed like they were useful.

               I protested at the intrusion, “Hey! I was reading that!”

               “Sorry,” he replied but didn’t seem anything of the sort. He was reading his way through the print-out and about a third of the way down he began to chew on his lip, worrying the flesh with his white teeth. That was... interesting. Peeta never showed anything other than relaxed cockiness. He must have gotten to that paragraph. The one that I’d highlighted in red which meant ‘panic.’

“Yeah,” he said. “It was shit the first time I read it and it’s still shit now.” He sighed and sat back, running a hand through his hair. Some more errant drops of water slid down his neck, trailing down the pale skin.

I snatched back the paper, the words swimming out at me, black on white. The key ones burned into my eyeballs, ‘two dumbasses,’ ‘professionalism,’ ‘working relationship,’ and worst of all, ‘off the project.’

Though I had anxiety digging a hole in stomach I wasn’t expecting Peeta to be worried so his concern came as a surprise. We’d both been sat in the downtown office when the email came through. I’d known that Haymitch was irritated and it was all down to the fairy woods set. Or more to the point, the disagreement we’d had on the set.

I knew there would be a rebuke but the email stated, in no uncertain terms, that if Peeta and I couldn’t find a way to work together then we’d both be off the project.

When I read it all I wanted to do was run, so I printed off the email, grabbed my bag and announced that I was heading to Sae’s Café. One look at Peeta’s face behind his desk gave nothing away. His calm stuck in my throat and I stormed off, the clouds matching my mood, but I made sure to grab his umbrella beside his desk before I left.

I took in Peeta’s face again and now saw the furrowing of his forehead and the way his lips drew down. I found myself saying, “I didn’t think you’d care about being off the project.”

His face smoothed itself back into a careful neutrality. “I happen,” he stated, “to love this project.” I snorted and his eyebrows shot up. “Why is that so funny exactly?”

“Well you say you love it yet you were planning on butchering it with your designs.” A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Why couldn’t you just let me lead on the woods? Everyone knows that’s my area! You were deliberately sabotaging my idea and...”

“Sabotaging!” he interrupted. “Like hell I was!” He leant forward, his jaw clenching and unclenching. “You are the best outdoor set designer, I’ll give you that, and you have an excellent eye for realism but dammit Katniss you are so goddamn stubborn! You won’t admit when you’re out of your depth and you were with this set. Frankly, you fail at anything imaginative!”

I tried to ignore the sting that came with his words. “It’s a wood.”

“It. Is. A. Fucking. Fairy. Wood.”

Here we were again. Glaring at each other and re-hashing the argument that got us into this situation in the first place. My fingers itched and I curled them into my palms. I fought the urge to stand up, grab my bag and storm off. Again.

The disdain had been simmering along at a level that we had managed to ignore but the recent argument had boiled everything over. I knew there was no return to before, if we didn’t try and resolve this we both had something to lose. It seemed that Peeta reached the same conclusion at the same time, and I watched as he rubbed a hand over his face.      

It was as though he had wiped away his frustration and I saw his face lose its hardness. “Listen,” he looked tired. “I suggest that we try and put these issues aside and find a way to work together. Hell, we’ll get Haymitch to mediate if needed.”

I pulled a face at that but thought of the email again, ‘off the project,’ floating around in the pool of my memory. I swallowed any bitter response down and nodded. That seemed to buoy Peeta and he continued talking, “We’ll apologise to Haymitch, profusely, bash out the project and then we can hate-fuck it out to celebrate. Agreed?”

“Excuse me?” My voice came out like a hiss even though a weird little thrill travelled through me. “What the actual fuck?”

The goddam shine was back in his eyes. Whatever apprehension he’d experiences had evaporated like water and he was clearly getting one last goad in. Well fine, I would bite.

“No,” I ground out. “We’ll work on this project, which by the way is based on my original design, and then you can go hate-fuck yourself and cry about it afterwards. Agreed?”

He flashed me a grin. “Well, that just doesn’t sound as fun.”

 ****

 By the time I arrived the set was a hustle of activity. I waved a hello at Rue, possibly the sweetest set runner I had ever met, and then made my way over to where I could see Haymitch and Peeta standing. It didn’t particularly look like a conversation I wanted to join with Haymitch gesticulating at something above their heads whilst Peeta frowned, hands resting on his hips.

               It looked like Peeta had been running his hands through his hair, strands of blonde waves were sticking up all over the place. But then, that’s probably exactly what he had been doing. In the three weeks since Haymitch sent his email, and after the individual chew out’s we’d received, we’d made a point to cooperate and if that meant working closer together then so be it.

               The constant contact meant I was beginning to pick up on a few of Peeta’s ‘tells.’ He was one of the calmest people I had ever met but there was an undercurrent of frustration that occasionally ran through him. This frustration, which I’d once thought was solely because of me, was based on greater things, including his never-ending sense of perfectionism. In a way I was disappointed, I didn’t know why but the idea of it being me that was getting under his skin was slightly enticing.

               Haymitch saw me approach. “About time, sweetheart,” he grumbled. “Where the hell have you been?”

               I shot him a look that hopefully conveyed exactly what I thought about that nickname. “I was dealing with Glimmer.” The ridiculously named, blonde and beautiful art director who I had to have yet another meeting with.

               “There was a meeting with cotton-for-brains and you were the one that went?” Haymitch looked incredulous. “Why the hell didn’t the boy go?”

               Out of the corner of my eye I saw Peeta frown harder, clearly just as enthused about his nickname as I was mine. Despite us getting on better I couldn’t help but squeeze a small dig in. “Because, the boy didn’t want to go.”

               Peeta stepped forward towards me. “Hey, I’d appreciate the demeaning nicknames be kept to an absolute zero, sweetheart.” He held no humour in his voice and when he met my eyes head on there was no jest there either.

               Fine. I would play. I opened my mouth to retort but Haymitch jumped in first, throwing his hands up to the ceiling. “Jesus Christ, are we fucking back to this?” He looked between us. “Do not start this again because I swear to god if you do, I will smack your heads together faster than you can say ‘over fucking budget.’”

               “You,” he pointed at Peeta, “sort out the damn trees, do it cheap, and do it now. And you,” he turned to me, jabbing a nail bitten finger my way, “do not piss Glimmer off, she’s already gunning for us for some goddamned reason and having you turn up to make good is not exactly what I would call a plan.” With a final piercing look at us both he said, “Don’t fuck this up.” I watched his back as he went.

                “Well, that was rude.”

               I turned to face Peeta. The little muscle was going in his jaw and his eyes flashed with irritation but, as quickly as it appeared, it was gone and then he was sighing and running a hand over his face. I felt a pang of sympathy for him. This project was bigger than we both originally thought and he was taking the lead on a difficult set. His blue eyes were puffy and his broad shoulders seemed to sag. The urge that I would have once had to comment on his stressed appearance was no longer there. Instead, I found myself asking, “Are you ok?”

               Peeta looked at me, eyebrows raised and I felt a blush rise to my cheeks. Why did he look so surprised? Was it unusual to ask how someone was feeling? Was it that unusual for it to be me that sked how someone was feeling. For a moment I thought he would make an acrid remark and prepared myself, feeling somehow sad that he would. But he just glanced at me, thoughtful eyes swept over my face, lingered on my pink cheeks without comment before falling to look at my lips. He quickly glanced away.

               “Yeah, I’ll be fine. Haymitch is just being... Haymitch.” He let out a little laugh. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

               “He’s a pill when he’s like this. I think I preferred it when he was drinking.”

               I saw Peeta’s eyebrows stretch up to his hairline even more. “You did not just say that.”

               “Didn’t I?” I said, feigning innocence.

               A slow, wicked grin crept onto his face. “Katniss Everdeen, such unexpected sass.” He winked at me, “I think I like it.”

               The blush that was on my cheeks burned again and the flush bloomed down my neck. You are, I thought to myself, a grown woman. Get a grip. It wouldn’t do blushing like a virgin schoolgirl and it wouldn’t do to start flirting with Peeta.

               “Yeah well,” I replied with an eye roll, “try not to.” I waved my hand towards the set, ignoring the fact that he was still looking at me and smiling. “Don’t you have to go fix some trees?”

               “I thought you were the forest expert?”

               “It’s a fairy wood, aren’t you the expert at things that aren’t real? Don’t be such a golden-douche.” It slipped out before I meant it to but my tone held no bite. I looked over at him from the corner of my eye only to see his shoulders shaking in laughter.

               “Golden-douche?”

               “Yeah,” I shrugged. “On account of your hair and your general douchebaggery.”

               “Oh... I see.” His wicked grin grew lazy and spread wider on his stupid, handsome face. “You refer to my hair as ‘golden’ huh? What do you refer to my eyes? Azure? Cerulean? How about... Sapphire?”

“And there is that general douchebaggery I was referring to.”

“Ah, Katniss,” he replied. “That hate-fuck is beginning to look more like begrudge-fuck.”

I flipped him the bird. “Go begrudge-fuck yourself,” and then I walked off, the sound of his laughter ringing like a bell in my ears.

****

 If there was anything I hated, it was being wrong.

               Months ago, I’d been sat in Haymitch’s office, pouring over the designs for the set we all hated. The fairy woods. It needed to be grandiose, it needed to be ethereal and it needed to be done on budget.

               “Katniss,” Haymitch had said to me. “There is no one here that can compare with you when it comes to nature designs, but...” and he seemed hesitant for the first time I had known him.

               “But, what?”

               “They’re dull.”

               “Dull? What the hell does that mean?!”

               He’d told me that I had a great eye for realism but fantasy elements and outside the box thinking weren’t my strengths and so they were bringing in someone from one of the other teams to work with me. That was where it had all started, Katniss Everdeen and her wounded pride.

               Receiving criticism was not my strength. Nor was giving praise. It had bothered me that we needed Peeta’s more imaginative eye but what bothered me more was that he deserved praise I had to yet to give. Not that he would have cared about what I thought, I’m sure.

               The set was nearly completed and I still hadn’t said anything. Every time we were on set I was awed at what we’d managed to achieve. The trees somehow stretched into an endless colour changing sky, the lichen on the trees glowed a deep, molten silver and gold seemed to pour out from beneath the tree bark.

               I wondered if my face took on the enthusiasm and delight of a child when I looked at it all, because that’s what I felt inside. Still, when I thought Peeta was looking I attempted chilled neutrality. It seemed that I had to do that a lot lately, attempt chilled neutrality, as I swore he was looking at me an awful lot more. Problem is, I only knew this because I was doing an awful lot of looking back.

               We’d found a strange balance along the way and as long as nothing threw off the equilibrium we would be fine. Absolutely fine. Which is why I surprised myself by doing just that.

                               The laughter I could hear across the set wasn’t Peeta’s usual booming one but was light, giggly and sounded flirty. There, deep within the woods, past a few of the silvery trees, stood Peeta and Glimmer side by side. A thought came to my mind to turn around and leave them alone, it is never a good idea to go into the woods, it only leads to disaster. But I shook the thought out, these weren’t real woods and it was only Peeta.

               I affected a look of disinterest as I approached them. “Hey,” I said.

               They both stopped talking and watched as I stepped over fake roots. Glimmer’s face slipped from pleased to pissed while the smile lines around Peeta’s eyes deepened.

               I held out the takeout cup to him, “I got you a coffee.” I made sure he could see where Sae had written ‘golden-douche’ on it. He took it with a grin and a wink and for a moment by stomach pitched downwards. “Sorry Glimmer,” I said to her, not at all sorry. “I didn’t know you were here.”

               Glimmer’s pretty pink mouth turned upwards into a saccharine, and completely fake, smile. “Not at all,” she waved a hand at me. “I was just coming to see how my favourite set designer was doing with my favourite set.”

She turned, smiling at Peeta and gave his bare arm a squeeze. I caught how her fingers trailed lightly on his skin and clutched my own coffee a bit tighter. “Katniss, I was just telling Peeta how amazing his design is and what a talent he is. Don’t you think?”

I gave a grumble behind my hot beverage barrier that sounded like an agreement.

“Well, I just added some bits to Katniss’ original design,” I heard Peeta say. “I added the fantastical elements, but if it wasn’t for her base we wouldn’t have had much of a set to work on.” His comment surprised me and I looked over to see him watching me. I offered up a small, appreciative smile and he surprised me further by offering a small - but warm - one back.

“But it’s the fantastical elements that really make it come alive,” Glimmer continued. “If we wanted normal woods we wouldn’t have needed to bring you in.” She waved a hand around the set again. “This is so much more effort than normal, boring woods, don’t you think?”

I seethed behind my coffee, steam either coming from the hot liquid or my ears. My usual conversations with her were like this, barbed comments aiming for the jugular but hidden underneath a sugary sweet tone. This was the first time that she had tried to embarrass me in front of someone, and it was Peeta no less. For some reason that made it worse.

“Glim,” I heard Peeta say, his voice low but not honeyed. “I think you should be more respectful of Katniss’ work.” I looked up and saw the smile melt off her face.

“It takes an incredible amount of effort and an observant eye to replicate reality and get it spot on. I mean, have you seen the tree bark?” Peeta gestured out to the tree next to where he was standing. “Do you know the amount of time it takes to get the texture correct? Or the colours? It’s not just brown you’re looking at, it’s the right shade of brown, and the green and silver and red.”

Glimmer’s mouth drew itself into a straight line. “Sorry Peeta, I didn’t realise that you felt that strongly about.... trees,” she looked over at me. “I have to go. I was only passing to say congratulations on a job well done. To you both.”

We watched her retreat and I let out a sigh. “You didn’t need to say all that you know. I’m a big girl. I can cope with her petty little knock-backs.”

Peeta shrugged and didn’t look at me. “Well, it was bothering me. You did just as good a job so she didn’t need to be like that.”

We stood there on the set, in the middle of the woods, in silence. Guilt started to gnaw away at me. If he could be complimentary about my work why couldn’t I just swallow my pride and say ‘well done Peeta, it looks beautiful.’ This was the moment if there ever was one. But I couldn’t. My mouth stayed shut until I decided to go ahead and ruin the balance we had earned.

“I know she didn’t but you didn’t need to defend me. I know my work is good and I don’t need you to tell her it is, it should speak for itself.”

Peeta’s mouth pursed and he spoke slowly, as though I was a child. “It does... speak for itself but I just wanted to point out the obvious to her. I think she is a little... biased and it doesn’t hurt to have someone on side.”

“I don’t need you on side.”

His eyes slid over to me and narrowed, the shining blue darkening. “What exactly,” his voice dangerously low, “is your problem here?”

I didn’t know. I didn’t know if it was because I had busted my ass on this project before Peeta turned up and he was now being hailed as some wonder boy, I didn’t know if it was because no one apart from Peeta had praised my actual contribution to the design and I was pathetically jealous and insecure. I didn’t know if it was because Peeta had called Glimmer ‘Glim’ and that she had trailed her fingers all over his skin. I didn’t know if it was because he seemed comfortable in letting her.

“She rode me hard for weeks,” was all I said. “All she did was bust me for the overspend, the design quality, how long it was taking to get the damn thing done and here she is singing your praises like I had nothing to do with anything.” I shook my head and went for the throat. “She rode me hard but honestly from the way she was panting at you I could wonder if you had been doing the same to her.”

It was a nasty comment, not meant to mean anything apart from cause hurt. I expected Peeta to protest in angry indignation and fight back. Except... he didn’t. I looked up sharply at his silence and felt a tremble of something in my stomach.

His eyes remained dark and angry and were boring into my face but his cheeks had gone a faint pink, the tips of his ears too. I watched his throat as he swallowed, the Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Oh,” I said. It came out soft. “Right.”

“Katniss...”

“No, I’m sorry I said anything.” I looked at the ground, at the fake grass, covered in fake leaves. “It’s not my business who you have relationships with.”

“We’re not in a relationship.”

“Or who you’re fucking.” I cringed as I said it.

“We’re not fucking.” He sighed, “Katniss...”

The ethereal beauty of the set now just seemed fake. All those pretty silvers and golds were just grey and yellow. The coffee tasted like mud and whatever I had with Peeta was...nothing. That was where I had gone wrong. For some reason I’d thought the growing joviality between us, the looks, the smiles, had meant more than it did. That was my fault, not his.

“I’ve got to go,” I told him. “I’m sure Haymitch wanted to have a progress update.”

Without waiting for a response from him, I walked off.

The project was almost completed, ‘we can hate-fuck it out to celebrate,’ Peeta had once said about when it was all over. At the time I’d been both angry and thrilled. Not that I wanted to hate-fuck it out at all, but if I was being honest with myself there was obviously something there that appealed to me.

I chucked my half-full coffee into the trash as I exited the studio and rolled my eyes at myself, feeling stupid. If there was anything, I said to myself, it would have been a pity-fuck. A sad, Katniss can’t get the job right, pity-fuck. I went straight home.

 ***

  It was late and I was cursing myself. Haymitch had called telling me there were problems with the meadow set and that ‘I get my ass down there first thing tomorrow morning and sort it out.’ My charming boss with his charming way with words.

               I’d rolled my eyes, confirmed I would, hung up on him and tried to enjoy the rest of my evening doing nothing at home. It was half an hour later that a sinking feeling hit my stomach. Shit, I thought. My binder wasn’t here. Racking my brains, I realised I’d left it at the last place I’d been, in the studio at the woods set.

I groaned. The meadow set was in a completely different studio halfway across the district. Trying to get from one place to the other in the morning would be impossible with the traffic. Haymitch would kill me if I wasn’t there on time but without that binder he would kill me anyway because I couldn’t fix anything without knowing what I was supposed to be fixing.

               I had one option and that was to collect the binder now. I shoved on some leggings and pulled an old sweater over my camisole thanking my stars I had the code to the building. If I was quick I could make it back in time to watch my programme before it started which was the sole highlight of my evening.

               When I arrived the night security guard recognised me and waved me in. “Busy night tonight,” he told me. “Only two of you but still, that’s busy for this time of night.”

               I frowned wondering who else was at the studio at this time of night and got my answer as soon as I pulled into a parking space. Two spaces down sat Peeta’s car. Great. I debated not going in but knew that was ridiculous. What was the point of driving all the way here to turn back empty handed? If I was lucky I could get in and out without him seeing me and if he did, well I was an adult. I was sure I could be civil.

               I wandered in, feeling nervous. I didn’t want to bump into him but then, some part of me did. We’d had that awful conversation on set three weeks ago and since then we’d gone back to playing the avoidance game. Well, I had. Peeta seemed to keep trying to talk to me but I always had a good excuse to get away.

               The studio wasn’t lit up fully but enough so that someone could make their way around the set and I wondered why Peeta was here. On the table to the side I could see my binder, all I needed to do was pick it up and leave. No one, aside from the security guard, would know I had been here. And then, for some inexplicable reason, I cleared my throat. Loudly.

               “Hello?” I heard Peeta’s voice from the set and his loud footsteps as they walked towards me. “Who’s... Katniss?”

               I turned to face him, noting his confused expression. “What are you doing here?”

               “I forgot my binder.” I picked it up and waggled it. “I need it for tomorrow, problem with the meadow set, so....”

               “Right,” he nodded. We stood opposite each other in silence.

               “What are you doing here? It’s a bit late.”

               Peeta sighed. “I honestly hate this set. I got a call from Haymitch telling me that some water damage had happened to some of the trees. God knows how, and now I’m just trying to get it sorted.”

               “This late?”

               He shrugged. “I had nothing better to do.”

               It was on the tip of my tongue to say, ‘what, not ‘Glim?’ but that was cold and unfair and completely borne from a place of my own jealously.

               “Do you want help?” My brain cursed at me.

               He seemed surprised but not unhappy and he let out a breath. “If you don’t mind?”

               “Sure.”

               We walked to the damage and I saw that some bark had begun to peel. I laughed and touched it, “It’s not at all funny but it looks just like real bark, except it’s sodden.”

               Peeta sighed again. “My wood got wet.”

               I gasped and looked over to him, “Peeta!”

               “Sorry, sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Completely inappropriate,” but there was a small twinkle in his eyes that told me he wasn’t that sorry.

               “We could get some heaters to dry it out,” I said, turning back to the tree and choosing to ignore him, “but if we don’t know where the leak is coming from then it wouldn’t...”

               “Katniss.” He said my name with determination but I could detect a slight tremor. “I’m sorry.”

               I paused. I didn’t understand why he was apologising to me, I wasn’t too sure what he had done wrong, not really. I turned back to him. His eyes implored me to hear him out, his palms outstretched in a calming manner. “Why are you sorry?” I asked.

               “Because I think somewhere along the way I’ve screwed something up.”

               I looked down at the ground. “No, you haven’t. I just...,” I paused, not too sure how to continue. “It’s none of my business about you and Glimmer, really it isn’t.”

               “I’m not seeing her,” he said. “And I’m not sleeping with her. I have slept with her, months ago. A couple of times. There’s nothing I can do about that, it’s happened. I just don’t want you thinking that’s why I ended up on this job, that I slept my way into it. I was already on the job when Glimmer and I hooked up.”

               His statement did funny things to my stomach but it just added onto the guilt that I was already feeling. It wasn’t his fault I was a pathetic mess.

               “Peeta, shut up.”

               “Excuse me?” He laughed a little disbelievingly. “I’m apologising and you’re telling me to shut up?”

               “Yes, exactly!”

               “This is going well...”

               I shook my head. “I mean... you don’t need to apologise. I should be apologising to you.” I took a deep breath. “I don’t think you slept your way into this job, I mean, look at your design,” I gestured around us, “it’s quite obvious that you’re here because of your talent. I was jealous.”

               “Of my talent?”

               “No.” I took another deep breath. “Of Glimmer, actually.”

               It took a moment and then his face changed, confusion blended into understanding and then a soft, warm smile appeared on his face. “Oh, I see.”

               “This whole conversation is embarrassing me. I know I said I was going to help but I think I might just take my binder and go home.”

               “You know,” his voice was low and honeyed and wonderful as he stepped towards me, “I had a lot of inspiration to draw on when designing this place. An artist takes inspiration from everything.”

               I snorted, “Right, like what?”

               “Well, the gold from the trees is inspired by my hair,” he shook his head as he came closer, the blonde waves bouncing. “Obviously.”

               “Obviously, I see we’re back to being golden-douche.”

               “But hearing you talk about the woods you knew as a child really helped draw out my creative side.” He stood in front of me now and he reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. It lingered for a while as his eyes bore into mine before a fingertip trailed down my neck and onto my collar bone.

“And the silver in the trees? Well, that’s pretty special too.” His fingertip ran a pathway across my skin, tracing the bone and I shivered.

“That tickles,” I said. “But go on.”

He smiled and leant in, his broad shoulders stretched out in front of me, his blue eyes dark and delicious. The pupils were fat and black, squeezing out the colour. Peeta’s mouth was inches away from mine and all I needed to do was stand on my tiptoes and then our lips would meet.

“That particular shade was inspired by the eyes of someone who spent most of their days glaring at me.”

“I didn’t glare!”

“Who says I’m talking about you?” But he was grinning and his hands were now cupping my face, tilting it upwards to meet his. My hands dropped the binder I had been holding and I brought them up to grasp at his shirt. His chest was warm and hard beneath my palms and I clenched the material in my fingers. It was slow, how we were moving, and I just wanted to grab him and wrench him downwards.

“Peeta,” I whispered.

“Uhuh?”

“This isn’t going to be a pity kiss, is it?”

His nose was tracing a path on my temple. A slow kiss was pressed against my cheekbone. “Nope.”

“Are you sure?”

His nose skimmed across the bridge of mine to my other cheek where another kiss was planted. “Yes.”

I could hear his breathing deepen, as though being so close to me was exciting him. His body burned beneath my hands and I just wanted to slide my palms under his shirt and let them explore his skin. The thumbs that rested on either side of my face gently rubbed back and forth and it was almost ridiculous. Two adults standing in the middle of a fake fairy wood, almost kissing, but not quite. My stomach had changed its mission and swooped low in anticipation. The guilt and the jealously had long dissipated and all I wanted to do was press his hard body against mine and indulge in... something.

“Peeta?”

“Uhuh?” There was a smile on his face and I could feel it pressed against my ear.

“Didn’t you promise me a hate-fuck?”

He pulled back and I saw the shock on his face. My hands trailed down his shirt to his hips and I looped my fingers in his belt, pulling his body close to mine. My pelvis pressed against his and I slipped my hands to his backside to pull him even closer. I was being more forward than I ever had in my life. I didn’t know where this side of me had come from but I wasn’t too worried about stopping.

“I’m not going to hate-fuck you, Katniss.”

My heart dropped. It was probably for the best, we had no established relationship, we didn’t know what we were and besides, we weren’t anywhere remotely suitable. Just as I was about to pull away, Peeta’s hands left my face and skimmed down my neck, past my shoulders and down to my lower back. “That’s not to say I won’t fuck you,” he murmured.

My eyes widened as his hands slid down to my ass and pushed me in tighter to his groin. I gasped as I felt his hardness press against my pelvis and then he was bridging the gap and leaning forward to catch my lips with his own.

His were soft but insistent and they slanted over mine, pulling and sucking my lower lip between his, nibbling gently with his teeth. I groaned and shifted, tugging his hips further towards me and undulating mine against his. We pressed together and released and pressed together again, more urgent this time. His breathing grew harsher.

I pulled my mouth away, but not far. “We shouldn’t do this here.”

“Yeah, you’re right. We probably shouldn’t.” But then he was capturing my mouth again, his tongue sliding against mine, our hips flexing and pushing. I could feel his erection straining against the fly of his jeans which pressed against the thin material of my leggings. He was so hot, so hard and my heart thundered in my chest. Our hips sped up, crashing against each other and I relinquished the hold I had to do what I wanted, slide my hands under his shirt to press against his flesh.

Peeta’s hands reminded on my ass and I let him drive me into him over and over as I felt the heat of his skin on my palms. I smoothed them over his stomach and towards his back and he made a low, male sound that made my stomach swoop. His tongue left my mouth and he bent his head lower, trailing across my throat as I tipped it back, trying to breath more air into my lungs.

He smelt of Peeta and it was intoxicating. Forget air, all I wanted to do was breath him into my lungs. I whined and sunk my nails into his bare sides, hearing him grunt against the dip in my throat. “Peeta,” I said again. “We’re on set.”

He pulled back, eyes so dark they were almost black and his lips were deliciously swollen. “Do you want to stop?” he asked, but his tone made it sound as though it was the most painful question ever. Which it was.

“No, but we can’t take our time.” I glanced around quickly, worried that the security guard would come check on us at any moment.

Peeta licked his lips, my saliva clinging to them and he nodded. “Ok, so hard and fast it is.”

I made a noise, something close to a whimper and he lifted me from the ground, my legs wrapping around his waist. Our lips met again, whilst our hips met with hard and fast presses. There was no time for tenderness, not now. Peeta walked us backwards and lowered me towards the base of a fake tree.

I looked up and laughed, “At least it’s romantic in a way.”

Peeta grinned down at me. “You get to have sex in the woods.

“Oh, I’ve had sex in the woods. The real woods.”

Peeta moaned, “Don’t give me this information Everdeen. I can’t handle it right now.”

I stripped off my sweater, leaving me down to my thin camisole. “That’s no good, there’s lots I’m going to need you to handle.”

He grinned and surged forward, his hands on my waist sliding upwards as he did. The air met my bare stomach but he didn’t stop there and continued to slide the silky material up towards my bare breasts. His head bent low and captured a hardened nipple in his mouth, his tongue sliding over it whilst he rolled the other between his fingers.

I sunk my fingers into his hair, marvelling at the softness of the strands all the while marvelling at how his mouth was shooting bolts of electricity down to my core. I ground up against him and he pushed back into me, but it wasn’t enough.

Tugging at his shirt loosened it enough for his skin to be exposed and the bare flesh of our stomachs pressed together, a thin sheen of sweat accumulating.

“Peeta,” I gasped out, digging my fingers into his back once again. If my nail hurt him, he didn’t let on.

               He released a wet nipple with a pop, “What do you need?” he panted. “Tell me.”

               “You said hard and fast.” I flopped back to the ground as he sat up and I grasped at his body like mine was starving.

               A growl emerged from his throat and then he was grabbing at his belt, his fingers making quick work of the buckles and dragging his jeans and underwear down just enough to release his erection. With haste I yanked at my own clothing, pulling down my leggings and own underwear in one swift motion, managing to pull it free of one leg completely while it dangled off the other.

               My chest heaved and I watched his face as he looked towards where my spread legs met. What a sight I must have been. Camisole pushed up to bear my breasts and my centre spread out for him to see. As he looked at me I looked at him. Thick, muscular thighs and a toned stomach. Dark blonde hair trailed down from his belly button to his groin and there, something else thick and hard jutted out.

“Fuck, Katniss!” I heard him say, but the words were faint to my dizzy mind. His fingers trailed down to my core and dipped between my folds. I groaned and arched my back at his touch. A thick finger slid into my body, the slick wetness welcoming him. It was soon joined by another and I could feel my body stretch to accommodate. Peeta moved them, pumping slowly in and out and I tried to grab his cock but it was too far out of reach. A thumb was pressed against my clit and I could feel little stars shoot behind my eyes.

Whilst one hand moved between my legs another went back to my breast and continued to pluck the nipple. I could feel the pressure beginning to build in my stomach, my neck and back arched as far as they could go, my legs stretching wider and wider. I deaf to everything aside from the noises I was making and the harshness of my breaths. In the distance of my hearing I could make out Peeta’s noises of encouragement, his appreciation of how wet, how warm I was.

The pressure reached eruption and I yelled out Peeta’s name, my legs and arms squirming underneath him, my body clenching around his fingers as more wetness flooded out of me. As the quakes dimmed and my body twitched I felt Peeta remove his fingers and bend over me.

“Katniss,” he murmured and I could feel him press his hardness against my bare centre. I nodded greedily and in one movement he pushed himself inside me. A guttural noise came from us both as we joined and I clenched his shoulders and he begun to move.

We agreed on hard and fast and so that’s what Peeta gave. His hips pounded into mine and I tried to meet him thrust for thrust but could barely match his pace. I could feel him, his girth stretching me further then his fingers and he moved quickly and easily within me. The smell of our sweat and mixed arousal flooded my nose and I could feel my sweat mingle with his wherever our bare skin could touch.

Peeta’s hands gripped my knees and he suddenly sat up, his thighs, still glad in rough denim, splaying mine further as he continued to piston into my body. His face and neck had gone a deep red from exertion. “Katniss,” he grunted. “I’m close.”

I arched my back again and grabbed at my own breasts and Peeta’s eyes couldn’t seem to settle on one place, switching between my face, breasts and the place where our bodies were joining. With one last thrust, I heard him swear and then he was coming and holding himself over me, trying not to collapse.

“Shit.” He withdrew and flopped to the ground next to me and we just lay there, half undressed and completely dishevelled. I turned to look at him as our breathing evened out, our chests still rising and falling quickly.

My hand reached out and touched his hair which was now darkening from sweat. I let out a little giggle at seeing the strands curl more towards his ears.

               He looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “Something funny?”

               “Not really, just when you joked about hate-fucking me all those weeks ago your hair looked a little like this then too.”

“As I recall someone stole my umbrella.”

               “As I recall someone ventured out in the rain without one.”

               “You were upset. I couldn’t let you sit in Sae’s alone.”

               We lay there facing each other, underneath a fake tree in a fake wood, surrounded by silver and gold. Large, black studio lights were positioned above the tree tops.

               “I still need to grab my binder and head down to the meadow tomorrow. Ugh.” I sat up, reluctant to leave but knowing we couldn’t stay like this.

               “Hmm.” Peeta sat up too and we both begun re-dressing. “The meadow you say? We should probably add that to the list.”

               “There’s a list?” I asked him.

               He shrugged, “Well there is now. Ok, so hate-fuck isn’t going to make it...”

               “Isn’t it?”

               Peeta gave me a look, one that said ‘you know it isn’t.’ “...but it doesn’t mean that we can’t add others on.”

               “Oh,” I said, “what else is on the list?”

               Peeta stood and helped me up. At least sex in fake woods meant that twigs didn’t end up in our hair. “Well we can cross off fake woods but we need to add in real woods.”

Ah, I thought, best prepare for the twigs. “What else?” I asked him, feeling a tingle at where all this was going.

He smiled at me. There was a lovely pink flush on his face, his hair was in complete disarray and his belt hadn’t been successfully looped back correctly.

“When Katniss Everdeen realises how mad about her I am - sex,” he replied and he bent down to kiss me.

[aceprosecuties]

Okay, so I am still hesitant about writing/posting this, but I find that it is important based on my breakdown the other day and my desire for something like that to not happen so suddenly again. Basically I am going to go through some of my viewpoints on fandom and this website and all that.

If you would like to unfollow or block me after reading this, then that is your choice (if you read it at all…it’s quite long). I ask that you do not debate me or argue with me on anything I’m about to say, simply because I am exhausted and am not in the mood to do it.  (Also I tend to not trust most ‘debates’ on this website because they quickly devolve into nastiness.)

My philosophy on fandom is very “Old Fandom,” if I had to describe it using a short phrase.  In other words, I am very much against policing or censoring fictional content, because in the end, it is fictional.  While “fiction affects reality” is a popular gotcha phrase here, it usually does not affect reality in the way that people claim it does.  It is not really a “monkey see, monkey do” situation. If that was the case, people who play violent video games, for example, would almost always be violent people. That argument was brought up when I was a child and a lot of people considered it ludicrous.  

That’s not my saying that fiction can’t affect reality or doesn’t; usually it involves affecting our emotions more than anything.  While things like Hollywood movies and series can have a larger impact, fandom is…small.  It seems large, but it really isn’t in the grand scheme of things.  The impact one person’s fanfiction can have on the world at large, whether for good or for bad, is limited at best.  

Essentially what I am saying is that things are grey. Middle grounds exist that many on this website refuse to acknowledge; living in such a black-and-white world is, in my opinion, very dangerous.  It makes it so that people – who are convinced they are morally pure and therefore superior – are able to justify doing things like suicide baiting and harassment.  If you’re convinced that your crusade is completely morally just, then anyone standing in its way is a dirty sinner and must be punished.  

The need to be morally pure might stem from self-hatred.  It is a form of perfectionism, honestly.  Perhaps people are convinced that they’ll be more of a “perfect” person if they only consume things that have been deemed righteous by a mob of random internet users on this or other websites.  I don’t know. I’m not a psychologist, so perhaps I am guessing.

People are shades of grey.  (Most people, anyway.  I would never argue that there is no such thing as evil in this world, but most people we will interact with on a daily basis are grey.)  We try overall to be better, but we as human beings are not perfect and never will be perfect.  We might say the wrong thing or get angry with someone for something that was inconsequential or might even have a belief that is grounded in incorrect facts or upsets others.  The point of humanity is to grow, however.  Maybe you will learn from your mistakes; maybe that opinion you held that was upsetting to others transforms into something else because of things you learned over time.

We all have people we like and dislike.  We all have personalities and opinions we are drawn to and stay away from.  But the declaration of someone as evil based on what essentially amounts to very little is…troublesome.  (Note: ‘Very little’ does not include political views like nazism or the like. Those are not ‘very little,’ as they affect the real political world and therefore affect policy.  That is not what I am referring to right now.)

What a person likes in fiction is oftentimes unattached to their real moral code, and declaring someone as evil or scum based on the themes they like is a highly dangerous way of thinking.  It doesn’t allow people to explore the darkness in their own minds through writing or drawing.  It doesn’t give them outlets that might be needed to help them escape their own world, which can be dark and depressing, really.

Personally, I am a fan of very dark themes in fiction (when people ask me what my favorite anime is, for example, I immediately say Hellsing Ultimate).  Psychological torture, gore, dub-con/non-con, emotional manipulation and mental abuse, self-harm through physical acts or thoughts, etc.  These things, while terrible in reality (and some of which I have suffered in reality) are just things I like to explore in fiction because I find them interesting or fascinating.  Whenever I think about writing self-insert/reader fics (I have never done it, but I have thought about it), they are never…nice.  They are rough and fucked up because that’s what I enjoy.  I know that these types of themes are triggering to many people, which is why putting warnings on your work is important, and I believe wholeheartedly in doing that as a responsibility to your fellow fandom members.  

The whole black-and-white mentality can also cause weird slippery slopes which end up with people claiming things as “problematic” and therefore “evil” that actually are not a huge problem.  (I hate using this argument because most of the time I find that it isn’t entirely true, but in this case I’ve seen it happening more and more.)  

I’ve seen people called pedophiles for shipping an 18 year old with a 16 year old (Otabek and Yuri P.), which is essentially the equivalent of a senior and a sophomore in high school dating.  Not only does this cheapen the term pedophilia – making it oftentimes hard to recognize when someone is an actual child molester versus when someone just ships something “problematic” – but it also is just so far removed from what happens in real life, where teenagers date. 

I’ve seen people called Nazis because they ship two villains and enjoy their dynamic and their individual characters (Kylo Ren and General Hux).  Ignoring the fact that Nazism is not even a thing in the SW fictional universe, it also is saying that if you like these types of characters for whatever reason, then you are a bad person.

It is difficult for me to process that, since I always liked villains and anti-heroes the best.  Saying that enjoying villains and their dynamics is basically condoning their actions in real life is infantilizing, in a way.  It is basically assuming that I cannot differentiate between what is real and what is not.

Was I so evil and trash when I was around 10 or so? When I gravitated towards characters like Vegeta and Sephiroth?  Yami Bakura and Darth Vader?  If I’m terrible for liking them now, was I terrible for liking them back then, too? Would people call me an abuse apologist at 12 because I shipped Yami Bakura with Ryou?  

I already have problems with perfectionism and self-hatred.  The idea of standing across from a young me and telling her that she is a disgusting human being and a piece of trash because of the characters she identified with and liked or the characters she wanted to see kiss…it upsets me.  Because I internalize it and wonder if it is true. Because if that is the case then I was born a broken person.  

I’ve always had issues with depression.  It just took until adulthood to recognize it. When I was young people asked me why I was angry a lot.  I never really could answer them…I just was.  My perfectionism (which started in elementary school brought on by extreme competitiveness) got so bad that in high school I cried and told myself I was a stupid piece of shit because I got an 88 on an AP Calculus test.  If I did not get all As all the time I was not a worthy person.  Hell, I was in the top 1% of my graduating class, and I was still somewhat upset because I was not valedictorian or salutatorian.  (This was all internalized; other people were allowed to fail or mess up, but I was not allowed to.)  I can’t even say that my parents or my family life brought this on.  It didn’t.  My parents were always very supportive.  They would sit me down and ask if I did my best, and if I say yes, that is all that mattered.  As long as I tried, it was okay to fall down.

My brain never really accepted that lesson.

It is frustrating.  I have no reason really to be depressed and anxious (I guess aside from graduate school right now) and think of myself as terrible, but that is just my brain and it has been like that for a long time.  

So now to have people screaming at me that I actually am that terrible person because of the fiction I choose to consume?  It is…demoralizing.

 …This has ended up way longer than I originally intended it to.

(Thanks to those who actually read the whole thing. Sorry if I rambled or anything like that.)

I sort of said this, but I do have a writscrib beta access key, so I will be setting up shop over there as well.  I am wondering about leaving this place altogether if that takes off (and I’m hoping it will), but I’ll keep you guys updated on that front.

My semi-hiatus might turn into more of an actual hiatus, but we’ll see.  I say that a lot, and then it doesn’t seem to happen.    

[regrettablewritings]

Stripulation (Rafael Barba x Reader)

AN: This … wasn’t how I thought this blog would lose its Barba virginity. But life is funny that way. Anyway, I doubt Barba’s secret in “Know It All” will be anything like this but this was still my take on it. And God am I awful for it.

@ohbelieveyoume I sincerely hope you enjoy because my perfectionism is screaming right now *dies*

Everyone made at least one bad decision in their lifetime. This was something that Rafael Barba, as an attorney, knew as an absolute guarantee. Granted, the poor choices he usually dealt with on a regular basis were either truly heinous acts or ones that just made his job harder, all committed by other people against his warnings or better judgement. Neither of which impressed the attorney in the slightest: He prided himself on being a self-made man who stuck to his guns in the face of chaos, always keeping a leveled head to the point of blatant cockiness.

If not for the fact that you had been dating him (and could therefore assure that, yes, Carisi, hand on the Bible, Rafi is human), you would have perhaps fallen to the oft assumed notion that Rafael was relatively without a dramatically erroneous decision to his slate. This was not to say that he was perfect by any means: Putting cold and calculated logic a step or two ahead of emotion, calling off dates to work on cases, and being so stubborn as to not want to lose even a personal argument were not traits of his that you favored.

But considering that he always made sure to right those wrongs, made you feel like a member of Manhattan royalty when he could, he was practically an errorless outlier compared to a majority of men living in New York.

And what does one do when they have been happily dating a comparatively errorless human being for nine months? Take them to meet your family. At least, that was what your parents had been trying to convince you to do for the longest while. They wanted to meet this “handsome, dazzling, well-dressed stranger” who swept their daughter off of her feet. You swore they wanted to meet this “creepy, lustful pervert who reached a gnarled old hand into their daughter’s safe, precious cradle.”

Unfortunately for you, Rafael sided with your parents: Family was important and if you intended on continuing to date, he’d have to meet them eventually. The longer he kept from meeting them and vice-versa, the more sour things could become; better to get that and their questions out of the way. And, in both parties’ opinions, spending the weekend at their place for a little gettogether was a good start. You begrudgingly accepted the offer, forcing yourself to become prepared for the longest, most agonizingly awkward three-day weekend of your life to commence. All the while, Rafael persisted that no such preparations would be needed.

“You know I can be quite persuasive,” he insisted for the fourth time during the car ride to your parents’ home. You didn’t need to look up from your phone to know that he was sporting that damnable smirk of his. You envied his confidence: Rafael was more excited about this little gettogether than you were. Granted, he was used to being observed under the eyes of far greater gatherings. What were your parents compared to entire courtrooms and press mobs?

A lot, you insisted, and would continue to insist until your kin was within earshot.

“You’re persuading my parents that it’s okay that I’m dating someone whom they could’ve gone to college two or three years ahead of,” you scoffed.

“Ah, but did they go to Harvard? That’s usually something most folks would kill for their daughter to get.” Self-assured, quick response. Typical Rafi.

“Yeah, well, there’s a huge chance that they’ll just wind up killing you rather than anyone else.”

“Unless your family does the whole Get Out thing but for Cubans, I have good reason to doubt your claims. You’re being paranoid; I can handle my own well enough to meet approval –”

“Rafi, my mother can practically smell flaws and I swear my father can make one look into your eyes and find an entire list of things you didn’t even know about yourself!”

“And here I thought people only looked into my eyes because they were pretty,” Rafael jokingly offered. He was tempted to coo some more, taking the rare opportunity to be the more optimistic one between you two, but quickly opted out of it once he looked your way for a split second. The bemused look on your face held subtle hints that screamed, “I will make you swerve into the trees if you don’t take my word for it, Barba.” Rafael liked winning arguments, but he didn’t like winning enough to tempt that kind of outcome.

“Cariño,” he finally sighed, prompting a small huff from your end. You knew this was his attempt at buttering you up; an attempt that, unfortunately, worked quite well when he used that little pet name. “You have nothing to worry about. I promise. Worst case scenario –”

“Worst case scenario is they hate you, pluck at me, and constantly hint/outright state that we shouldn’t be together – and that’s just from the age difference alone!”

“Worst case scenario,” he tried again, tone becoming firm, “is that they don’t like me. And that’s that. I can’t do anything about my age, neither can you. But what I can do is win over a crowd; that’s literally my job. In fact, I’m well over prepared to do that, all things considered. I have nothing to hide, and anything and everything they may have gripes about? They’re out there on the table. And I’ll be sure to address every one they bring up; honesty is key in investigative situations. ¿Me entiendes?”

The delivery of that last sentence was done in the same tone he used when he wanted to assure that you were safe in his arms. That same tone he used whenever you had nightmares or felt incompetent or unable to keep a man of his age and caliber satisfied. You wanted to say it was unfair of him to use that tone on you in such a situation, where he felt he had the upper hand while you were down in the dumps. And yet, you couldn’t: Because you knew he meant it.

You told him you understood. But that didn’t stop the worries from knocking your heartbeat around.

You wanted to strangle him. Or smother him with kisses. Maybe both. Either way, it’d take that pleased “I told you so” look off of your boyfriend’s face as he continued to put his neatly folded casualwear into your bedroom dresser. You sat on your high school bed, cross-legged and attempting to glare through the confusion over what all had transpired in the last hour and a half. It was ridiculous to feel even the slightest bit upset that he had seemingly won over your parents – after all, that just meant they wouldn’t openly judge you for your decision to date a man nearly twenty years your senior. Hell, they actually might even love him! But, at the same time, it was inexplicably frustrating to see things go a little too smoothly:

You arrived and greeted Mom and Dad with a hug before stepping to the side to introduce Rafael Barba, “the ADA from New York who could solve just about any case.”

“Within reason,” he pointed out, offering a handshake that your father commented on as being fine and firm. Your parents didn’t notice your expression fall into bemusement for a split second: Since when the hell did Rafael Iachimo Barba express modesty about his job!? Maybe he was already Get Out’d before he got here.

If he had been, whomever had replaced Rafi was doing a splendid job thereon after: he placed a gentlemanly kiss on your mother’s hand, offered your father one of the highest quality bottles of scotch from his collection, and presented your mother with a box of her favorite pastries from the only bakery she would ever go to when in the city to visit you. He sat poised in the seat he’d been offered. Whenever you came home with a significant other in the past, this seat would serve as the Hot Seat. But to Rafael, it was just a regular old armchair, room temperature. He answered any and every question directed at him as if he’d practiced for it the way he made his witnesses practice their moments on the stand.

“So! What possessed you to date a gal like (Y/N)?” “Her bewitching personality, so to speak. Though, if I had to be specific, it might have something to do with the analytical piece she wrote on Company for fun.”

“Why should we trust that this is a healthy relationship, if you don’t mind me asking?” “I can assure you that I treat (Y/N) with utmost respect and admiration. She’s a wonderful woman and I’m quite lucky that she agreed to have me. However, if that isn’t assurance enough, I would suggest that you take (Y/N)’s own word for it; she can make her own decisions and if she determines that this relationship isn’t sustainable, then I would respect that.”

“Is this that Harvard education showing right now?” “Well, no … But this relationship is just as much of (Y/N)’s as it is mine, and I want to do anything I can to gain some sort of approval. Family is important, and, seeing as I hope and pray that (Y/N) and I will be in it for the long run, I want to put my best foot forward. Hence the gift of Johnnie Walker Blue scotch.” “… Johnnie Walker, you say?”

It was almost maddening how much of his lawyer identity you were seeing in his boyfriend identity; not the accusatory, back-them-into-a-corner part of him, but the part that always knew exactly what to say to play the part and sway hearts. Only this time, for once, emotion was taking the lead instead of logic. And somewhere along the line, you swore you just plain went mad: Soon, your dad was laughing and clapping him on the back and your mother was whispering jokes to you, saying that he was only as old as he was because he spent all his time waiting for you to finally date him.

The age thing, of course, was still slated to be a source of comedy amongst the two but aside from that, it appeared that Rafael had, indeed, passed exactly as he professed he would be able to. What the hell!?

“You sure seem ecstatic about how things went.” His sarcastic comment snapped you out of your reverie of trying to pinpoint where things went weird. You continued to weakly glare at him, suspicious as to what sort of witchcraft he must have used on your family. But, to his amusement, you could only muster a continence of bewilderment.

“What are you, Rafael Barba?” you murmured.

In turn, Rafael stopped his unpacking to give you that infamous smirk of his. “Your boyfriend, ADA of New York City, and, if things keep going smoothly, eventually your parents’ son-in-law.” You chose to ignore the bold statement, waddling to the edge of your bed on your knees, stopping just before him to take his face into your hands … and smoosh his cheeks.

“What hex hath thou cast upon my family, aging warlock?”

“You know I try hard for you,” Rafael responded, his typical bemusement seeping through.

“Indeed,” you agreed. And for the first time in probably the entire day, you returned a smile to him. “Thank you, Rafi,” you cooed, pressing a tender kiss on his lips. The appreciation was shared on both parts, as signified by Rafael wrapping his arms about your waist in an effort to pull you close.

The exchange of gratitude would have progressed, if not for your mother’s almost sixth sense ability to sense hormonal merriment in that moment.

“(Y/N)! Could you please help me set the table?” You normally loved your mother’s voice; but right now, it was shrill and a nuisance compared to the warm sanctity of the kiss. Better to soothe her request as soon as possible than to continue to hear it until you would then hear her coming to your room and then fussing about seeing Rafael on top of you in a lip-lock.

You groaned with displeasure upon separation. “Lemme go and help her.” As you scooted off the bed and made your way through the threshold, you made sure to give him one last loving glance. “Really, though: Thank you for pulling through, Rafael. It means a lot to me.”

“Don’t thank me for pulling through,” Rafael chortled. “There was nothing to worry about in the first place. Now go help your mother so you can come back to me.” A wink for emphasis. Needless to say, everyone was in a pretty good mood that evening, making you all the more giddy as you left him to his own devices.

Between unpacking and glancing around your childhood room for anything he could taunt you with, Rafael was in a good place for once: He’d gotten time off from work for the first time in ages, your parents thought he was a delight, and all he needed to do now was focus on relaxing with you –

Speak of the Devil, he mused, hearing a set of footsteps stop at the door.

“That was fast,” he said, turning to look upon you. “You think there’s enough time to wash u –” He stopped. “You” weren’t you. Instead, the “you” he thought was there was a woman. An older woman. A woman about his age, wearing red lipstick, chunky gold earrings, and a v-neck red top that dipped down just enough to serve as a window to her ample cleavage.

She was also unmistakably staring at Rafael’s ass. The man quickly swiveled, front facing her, eyes expressing alertness. The sudden movement only made the woman’s eyes pick up to his face, only to ooze back down on his body, stopping on his crotch just long enough to make him want to cross his legs.

Instead, he turned to lawyer-mode: Not the one he’d used earlier to sway, but the one that expressed that he wasn’t going to take any kind of shit if he could help it.

“Can I help you?” he asked, voice hard and an eyebrow arched. The woman’s vision remained focused on his torso, biting the inside of her cheek as if in thought. Rafael rolled his eyes. “Ma’am,” he continued, enhancing the sternness in his tone. It was only then that the lady’s eyes found his face again. It was an irritably slow process, however, given that the journey included pitstops on his chest and mouth.

“You look familiar,” was all she offered. This only made the man blink rapidly with confusion. Did he know her? Rafael took to observing her with more intent than initially. Did he defend her at some point? It was possible … After all, it was unrealistic for him to recall every single person he had defended in his entire career. But surely you would have mentioned to him if he had defended someone you knew, right? Speaking of which, who was she?

“Well,” Rafael offered a small smile as a gesture to coax the answers he wanted. “Not to brag, but I have been on TV and in some papers for some of my cases. Perhaps that’s where you’ve –”

“No, no,” she interrupted, shaking her head. As she narrowed her eyes, Rafael could feel his smile shrink into a pursed position. And the urge to back up to put further distance between the two. “I swear I’ve seen you somewhere … Particularly, that ass.”

Rafael felt his head jerk back in surprise. “I beg your pardon!?”

The woman, however, remained unfazed, instead directing a finger at the attorney as if to pin him down with a single gesture.

“You … Didn’t you used to work at Nevada’s Cuban Boom Room?” And, as if her finger were a gun, a metaphorical bullet seemed to shoot right into Rafael’s gut. How else could he explain the sudden loss of breath, the feel of his organs clenching and falling, and his life flashing before his eyes? Specifically, the part of his life where he was attending Harvard, an expensive school even with all of the scholarships he was able to obtain?

In the eternity within which Rafael found himself wide-eyed and gaping like a fish, trying to grab the right responses, the lady was able to act fast. Nodding her head with increasing rapidness, she continued, “Yeah … Yeah, I’m positive of it! I think you were a, a … a lawyer-type deal or something. You gave my friend a … what did you call it? ‘Subpenis’ instead of subpoena?”

The words tumbled out of Rafael’s mouth, “I’m aFRAIDthatidontknowwhatyouretalkingabout!” But the woman didn’t seem to take it, continuing in her reverie down the memory hellscape.

“What was the name again? The ADA: Arousingly Delicious Attorney? Or were you Penis Wright, Ass Attorney?”

Where the hell were these names coming from!?

“I’m serious, you’ve got the wrong gu –”

“Wait!” she exclaimed, taking a step forward. Finally, Rafael took a step backward. “You’re Counselor Cutiepie, Attorney at Love!”

Oh, god. Rafael was no believer in magic or hexes or the like. He had Catholicism pounded into his bones, leaving no room to idealize witchcraft. Coupled with the fact that he was a rational man, he spared little time to humor the idea of spells or the like. And yet, with the delivery of that last sentence, it was as if this woman had casted a five-worded spell. One that revived memories he thought he had locked away and thrown into the depths of his subconscious. Only, apparently the depths weren’t deep enough: Her manicured fingers were able to reach in just far enough to retrieve the box, open it, and reintroduce the Pandora’s Box of problems and embarrassment that were Rafael’s college years.

“I – no, I’m afraid that that’s – You have me mistaken – ” Rafael Barba was not one to stumble over his words. He did not go to an Ivy League school to learn how to debate and win just so he could trip and fall on every sentence! Especially in an exchange with a woman whom he wasn’t even interacting with in court! But it’s rather difficult to think and pose a proper argument when your head is being filled with the echoes of the past: The sound of obnoxious electric drumbeats set to electric guitar recordings, the screams and excitable “whoo-hoos” of tipsy, hormonal women trying to get over an ex or preparing to get married the next freaking day.

Needless to say, it was not the usual environment he had been educated to speak in, let alone the mindset he was taught to be in. The lady, on the other hand, appeared to be fine. More than fine, in fact, judging by her smirk, the hand she’d placed on her chest (the other one holding the other elbow), and the way her leering eyes appeared to be raking up and down his body in mad fervor.

“I must say,” she said, her voice changing from accusatory to an attempt at seductive. She adjusted the arm under her breasts more, making sure that they popped further into acknowledgement. “You’ve gone from little lavishing lawyer to quite the law-abiding citizen, Counselor Cutiepie.” She chuckled as she watched the object of her desire tense up at the name. She glanced downward at his suitcase, still open and still in the process of being unpacked. “Still have a thing for suspenders, I see,” she commented.

“Crap” would have been too simple of a word to describe what sprinted through Rafael’s mind at that moment. But whatever word it was, it began to run laps as the woman began to saunter over to him, slowly and emphasizing every movement her hips made along the way. She only stopped when she left barely a foot between them.

“Oh my,” she breathed, “you have such lovely eyes. I never would’ve been able to tell they were green of all things in that old VIP room; all the lights were dim and red! But I wonder … Do those hips still snap like they used to?”

Oh, hell no! Petrified by the past or not, Rafael wasn’t going to stand for the very thing he worked against.

As if the feeling of anger warmed him up just enough, he began with a harsh, formed, “Ma’am, I would greatly appreciate it if –”

It was never spoken exactly what Rafael would have appreciated, as just as he would have affirmed his discomfort, you came bounding in like the godsend Rafael always knew you were.

“Dinner’s ready, Rafi, go wash up if you haven – oh!” You paused as you came upon the scene. At some point when Rafael had directed his attention to the sound of your voice, the object of his growing abhorrence had put some distance between them. Yet another mental request of Rafael’s that had been fulfilled. The third, however, still remained untouched.

That is, until you exclaimed, “Aunt Sophie? When did you get here?” Ah. That explained at least who the lady was. But it did little to settle the nerves tingling in Rafael’s stomach. He wasn’t even able to let his guard down as he watched the two of you share a hug.

“So I see you’ve met Rafael Barba,” he heard you say. But all he could focus on was the subtle leeriness dyeing your Aunt Sophie’s eyes.

“Rafael, you say? I’m afraid we didn’t have time to learn each other’s names; in fact, you came in just as I was complimenting him on his gracious assortment of suspenders. I was wondering where he acquired such tastes …” She poised her lips in a manner Rafael usually saw in women when they wanted to seem cute and far younger than what they had any nerve to act like.

Before he could feel any obligation to answer, you chuckled, “Well, Rafi’s always been a tasteful dresser, Aunty. In fact, that’s one of the things I love about him.”

Your aunt’s brows rose and her lips, still pursed, froze as an awkward smile upon hearing the pet name you favored. “ ‘Rafi’? Is it my understanding that this is the infamous, elusive boyfriend of yours you’ve tried to keep from the family then?”

“Yes,” Rafael responded, a little too eagerly. If he made it clear that he was yours, then surely Sophie would practice some decency and lay off. You remained oblivious to the underlying hostility, happily looping your arm with your beloved’s and topping it with a content nod of agreement.

“You’re gonna love him, he’s really sweet!” you insisted with newfound assurance.

It went under your radar but right into Rafael’s when Aunt Sophie nodded slowly and agreed she already did.

You weren’t sure which was stranger: That Rafi, with his notorious appetite, seemed to only be pecking at his plate, or that Rafi, with his even more notorious mouth and previously established favor with your parents, was not saying much of anything. Well, nothing that wasn’t a sufficient yet short response to any questions or conversations posed by your parents. You eventually decided that him not gorging himself was the weird part.

Rafael, on the other hand, was aware of a different kind of weirdness: Your Aunt Sophie, sitting across from him, was taking way too many opportunities to stare at him and nudged his foot with her own way too often. But rather than stress himself, he decided to at least try and act as though everything was fine. Convince himself that she was only stretching her legs and her feet just happened to come into contact with his as a result. That wasn’t farfetched, right? Decidedly not, as his decided method managed to work just enough to assure he got enough forkfuls of food.

It was when her foot stretched a little too northwards, however, that the illusion broke. The bang of his knee against the underside of the table, coupled with the subsequent clatter of the plates, glasses, and silverware (as well as the barely cut-short expletive) rang loudly in the previously serene dining room. It caught everyone off guard, sans Aunt Sophie, whose feigning of shock was just convincing enough for no attention to be given to her at all.

“Are you alright, Rafael?” your mother worried, placing a worried, maternal hand on his shoulder.

Rather than outright say, “Your sister attempted to press her foot into my crotch,” he opted out, rasping an insistence that he was okay, “just tired from the drive up.” It was grounds enough for everyone to happily excuse him to retire for the evening. (Aunt Sophie might have been the most accepting of his retreat, placing purposeful concentration on Rafael’s bottom until he passed a point where her observation would be too obvious.) You excused yourself almost immediately, insisting that you, too, were tired, scurrying after your lover after wishing everyone a good night and thanking your mother for the meal.

He didn’t insist too hard that you return to dinner with your family (he was too tired to deal with so much), nor did he try hard to object to you closing your bedroom door. What he was against, however, was the subsequent line of questioning.

“So …” you began, settling yourself back on your bed, “you wanna tell me what just happened down there?” You were spared a green-eyed, reproachful glance from your pacing boyfriend.

He shook his head, not looking at you. He awkwardly scratched at the back of his neck when clearly nothing there was genuinely itching. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“May I remind you, Mr. Barba, that you are under oath.” You became the target of a rather quizzical look.

“Oath? What oath? The Law of (Y/N)?”

“Somewhat: The oath you took when you decided you wanted to date me: That you would be upfront and honest. Now come on, spit it out!”

“(Y/N), seriously, there’s nothing to say.”

“Objection! Withholding evidence,” you teased.

“(Y/N),” he began to warn.

“Oh, come on, Rafi,” you whined, flopping onto your back. “It’s painfully obvious that something is wrong. So either you come clean, or … Or something!”

“Ooohhh, ‘something.’ Very threatening,” you heard him snark. You needn’t lift your head to know that he was poising his hands up to accompany his trademark sarcasm.

You huffed like an annoyed child, sitting back up. “Rafael,” you said. Your tone was serious again. But it also appeared to hold a tone he hardly ever heard you use: a genuine plea for understanding. It was hardly ever heard because there were hardly ever any instances where Rafael didn’t make an effort to understand you or sympathize. At this point, against his own best efforts, he was hooked. Sighing through his nose, he held back an eye roll and head lull, placing his green eyes on you instead.

“Rafael,” you repeated. “You’re not being fair. Okay? You keep saying there’s nothing to worry about with you but when there clearly is, you lie about it. You say things are good to spare the relationship from damage but then keep hidden things that could actually effect us. You won’t let me help!”

“It’s not something that could doom us,” he muttered, casting his eyes downward.

“Then prove it to me: Tell me what’s going on. What’s up with you!?” you demanded.

“It’s not – I can’t just –” Rafael exhaled with heavy exasperation, flopping his arms to his sides for emphasis. But you pressed on.

“It isn’t what, Rafael?” you petition, narrowing your eyes.

“It’s …” His hand returned to the back of his neck to rub it. You noticed his eyes searching your room for refuge. “It’s not … what you’d think of me.”

“Lying and keeping me out of the loop aren’t what I think of you, Rafael,” you answered back. “You say this age gap thing isn’t an issue but you keep treating me like a child. If I’m really a grown-ass woman whom you respect, then you’d better tell me what’s going on now.”

The threat of what might happen otherwise was too much for Rafael to bear, causing him to instinctively raise his hands up in defense. “Okay, okay, Cariño, just please calm down.” He lamented as he watched your fiery form attempt to relax. With your shoulders untensed, his hands returned back to his sides with a defeated flop. He turned his head toward the heavens as if asking for a way out. Alas, no such luck. Seeing no way out, Rafael returned his gaze upon your brow-furrowed form, your arms crossed in wait.

“Okay,” he exhaled defeatedly, “uh …” He pressed a hand to his forehead. How was he to do this? You waited patiently.

“Take your time, but not too much,” you insisted. What you got was a Rafael putting up a hand as if to suggest that he was currently trying to figure out the best string of words to present to you.

“So, your aunt. Sophie. Well … What we were talking about earlier wasn’t … about my suspenders. I mean, at one point, they did come up, but …” At this point, Rafael knew he was stalling. He didn’t mean to, but he also didn’t want to rush this or even necessarily tell you his secret. At least, not now during his first visit with your family. The mistake of his pacing came in to light, however, when he saw panic begin to reside in your features.

“Wait …” you whispered. “You two didn’t once …” Rafael watched in horror as you gestured your fingers in a suggestive manner.

“No! Nonono! Dios no lo quiera, my God!” That was worth an exhausted hand-rake through the hair. “I mean, it wasn’t that, it was something …?” Was it like that? Or was it worse? Maybe it was better? But then, there were at least two things in common between what you thought and what had actually happened –

“Then what was it!?” you squeaked, unable to decode exactly what your boyfriend was insinuating.

Rafael hated to see you distressed. Especially if he was the cause of it and therefore the only one able to fix it. No more pussyfooting, no matter how much he wanted to.

“You see, Cariño … In my …college days …” This was off to a bad start. And the painstaking way that he was delivering it was of no help. One more sigh to express how overwhelmed he was. “Hice un poco de baile por dinero.” Spanish, Rafael’s go-to when he wanted to say something around you and get away with it. He should’ve known better.

Your previously anxious state crumbled into confusion and reproachfulness. In spite of dating Rafael for as long as you have, nine months was still only so much in terms of learning Spanish. Especially enough to comprehend the rapid manner with which he spoke it. However, you did catch two words that you understood.

“Okay, so I heard ‘little’ and ‘dance.’ You did a little dance in college? What, was it like a mating dance at Harvard?”

The groan of frustration signified him breaking further.

“No, Cariño. What I’m saying is … that I … didsomedancingincollegeformoney.”

“Oh,” was your immediate response. Rafael waiting for you to completely process the jumble of what he’d said. It didn’t hit at first, but … then he saw you mentally put the pieces together.

“… Dancing?” you inquired.

“Yes,” he mumbled.

“For money?” you pressed.

“Yes,” he responded, annoyance beginning to become more apparent.

“… Like, street-performer or –”

“For God’s sake, (Y/N), I stripped!” He didn’t say it loud enough for your family to be able to hear through the floor, but it was nevertheless startling to hear his voice jump from a mutter to an exclamation. But then the situation became startling for a whole other reason.

“Wait a minute,” a grin began to spread clumsily across your features. “Did you – You actually – You stripped!?”

“Would you please just – I don’t like to delve into it.” The affirmation present in his voice should have been enough, in Rafael’s opinion. But he knew better: Once you were intrigued by something, you could only become more curious about it.

“This is … This is incredible! I mean, not to make light of it but, like,” you ran a hand through your hair, your mind running a mile a minute. “You, a serious, big-time ADA, who eats at fancypants restaurants and orders high-end bourbon in two-grand suits … You used to shake it for the green!”

“Could you please keep it down? This is a very serious matter, (Y/N), and one that might put my job and social standing in jeopardy!” Rafael scolded, hands on hips with sincerity. To his frustration, the best of your ability could only have you accomplish biting down on your lip to stifle a giggle. Normally, Rafael quite enjoyed your laughter. But right now, nothing was normal: Your aunt recognized him from his stripping days, you aunt now wanted to relive those stripping days, and then he had to confess to you about said stripping days. Needless to say, the mood wasn’t light enough for your laughter to blow it all away.

“I-I’m sorry, I just –” A high-pitched wheeze slinked out of your throat as you attempted to breathe in enough air to smother the laugh that was threatening to explode right out of you. Rafael stood, forcing patience, as you tried to compose yourself.

“So what you’re saying is, you stripped,” you asked, your smile wobbly.

“Yes,” was the curt confirmation. He watched you inhale deeply to the point of suffocation. The giggle that almost was remained thwarted. For now.

“And my Aunt Sophie ties into this because …?” you pushed, wanting the juicy details.

Rafael rolled his eyes with exasperation, “Because she recognized me from those days, come on, (Y/N), you’re smarter than this.”

“Fair enough, but I just wanted confirmation.” You flashed a mischievous smile. Rafael didn’t return the expression. You pressed your fingertips together in thought. “Still … For her to remember something from so long ago … You must’ve really been something, right?” You watched as Rafael’s eye lids slide downward in sync with his lips forming a thin line. “No, I mean it! This is interesting to me, Rafi, I know it sounds like I’m making fun but it’s just … Wow. You, Mr. Keeps-His-Movies-In-Alphabetical-Order, used to strip. It’s surreal.”

He crossed his arms, “It paid some of the debt.”

“I have no doubts about that,” you insisted. Your smile gave way to a more thoughtful expression. “Really, when you think about it, plenty of students turn to that line of work. Though, usually you hear about it happening to females … It’s a little bizarre to hear about a guy doing it.”

“Because it’s not … classy work. For anyone, at least, not by society’s standards,” was his gripe.

“I know … But … You did it anyway.”

“I needed the money –”

“I know! That’s what makes it so …” You stopped yourself short, clicking your tongue in thought. Should you say this? You were gonna say it: “I honestly am kinda proud of you for it, actually.” A look of befuddlement the likes of which you hadn’t quite seen on Rafael’s face evolved. His career had forced him to hear some striking things, usually ones of disturbance. But this? This was just …

“What?” he said quickly. You giggled at the way his brows folded.

“You heard me: I’m. Proud. Of you.” You topped it off with a smile reserved for such an emotion. But it didn’t confirm much of anything to the man standing in front of you. Your eyes rolled; looks like you were going to have to spell it out for the Harvard graduate. “Rafi: You wanted something and you went for it. And you made a lot of risks to get it. And you rose up from it into this big, successful, wonderful man that I have the pleasure of dating. You wanted to become a lawyer, so you got into a fucking Ivy League school.

“You didn’t necessarily have all the means to pay for it, even with financial aid, but you didn’t back down. You took on a job that not everyone would be willing to make; just to make sure that the dream could keep going. And you knew it was going to be risky as hell. But you did it anyway!” You inwardly gushed as you noticed the tips of his ears turn rosy. Even the cockiest man you ever had the delight and irritation of meeting couldn’t defend himself against your flattery. “And look at you now: You’re an ADA – and a damn good one at that. You wear fancy suits, you go to all these cool events and plays, you get to help people (though some might say you piss them off in the process). You have great companions, you worked your way up with the support of a mami who loves you . . . Plus …” You placed your hands under your chin as if to create half a frame. “… You have me: A woman who loves you and is impressed by you!

“So don’t be ashamed, Rafi. At least, not around me. It’s okay to not want anyone to know about this, but you can trust me when I say that it’s alright. There’s no judgment here. ¿Me entiendes?” Your use of Spanish earned you the smile you’d been hoping to see all evening. It was warm and glorious, made even better by the fact that the cheeks supporting it were pinkening with blush.

“… You do realize, though, that if your Aunt Sophie mentions anything about this to your parents, the dynamic may change, right?” he pointed out.

Your smile froze but, not to be deterred, said, “I’ll have a talk with her before we turn in. If I set the ground rules, I’m sure she’ll refrain from letting the cat out of the bag. Or, in this case,” you smirked, “the dick out of the thong.”

“Oh, for God’s sa – Fine. Whatever, I’m not humoring this. And while you’re at it, do you mind telling her to please stop intruding on my personal space?”

“Will fucking do; if anyone’s getting any private dances nowadays, it’s gonna be me.”

“(Y/N)!”

Epilogue:

You closed your bedroom door for the final time that night. Your talk with Aunt Sophie had gone down a lot better than you’d expected. You could only hope that the rest of the three-day weekend would go smoothly without another incident. You and Rafael didn’t get as much time to relax together as you wanted to, so it was ideal for you to just enjoy your time away from the city with the man you loved, leaving behind any and everything that would haunt either of you. Speaking of which . . .

You couldn’t help but smirk as you watched the man of the hour towel-dry his hair. When you’d gone to talk with your aunt about your requests, he’d taken the initiative to shower and change into his college sweats. It was both unusual and endearing to see your man so dressed down. In fact, it was also somewhat tempting.

Rafael quirked an eyebrow when you all but jumped into your bed before assuming a position on your side, one leg laid out will the other folded to create a sexy image. Well, as sexy as one could be in their own old college t-shirt and sleeping shorts. But it was the impish smile that played on your lips that cued Rafael in on what you were probably insinuating.

“Mi alma,” he warned, an equally taunting smile present on his own lips, “we’re not doing that. We’re at your parents’ place, we’d be lucky if we even get more than one kiss in.” He was almost tempted to go back on that word by just a bit when he saw you give him an extra special pout. Almost.

“Pero Papi,” you whined, “I was really hoping you’d show me some of your moves.” Right on cue, Rafael heard it: The Clash’s cover of “I Fought the Law.” It was coming from your phone, so the sound wasn’t top or even middle notch, but it was hanging in the room just loud enough to disturb only you and him. Mostly him. Goddammit.

“Really, (Y/N)?” Rafael exasperated. His naughty smile might have evaporated, but your stayed. In fact, it only grew from then on.

You teasingly waved your phone as you pulled it from its hiding place beneath your breast. “‘California Sex Lawyer’ would’ve been too obvious. Now dance for me, Rafi; I wanna see the moves that made Aunt Sophie wild for you even years after the fact!”

Rafael groaned, “This song isn’t even about lawyers!”

“It’s a bunch of women watching a Papi Chulo shake it down; do you really think anyone’s thinking about the song content?” you waggled your brows in a suggestive manner. Rafael had to physically fight to avoid laughing and further encouraging you. You sat up and turned to the nightstand. “Look – I’ll even pay you!” You retrieved a fist full of pocket change from the little ceramic catch bowl you kept on the end table. When you turned back to your “private dancer”, you were only greeted with an small sneer, raised brows, and eyes that could only express a lack of amusement.

“Quarters and pennies? Princesa, I will have you know that during my time at the Cuban Boom Room, I was worth at least $20 a minute,” he boasted.

You hummed with faux-consideration. “’S’at so, Mr. Barba?”

“Yep; Counselor Cutiepie was quite the spectacle of the joint. He laid down quite a few laws, amongst other things …” You could see the beginnings of a taunting grin working into his handsome features. Just a bit more provoking …

“Well, Counselor Cutiepie, I’m afraid I require evidence before I can reach a verdict,” you said, voice becoming sultry as you licked your lips. “How about you put your money where that infamous mouth of yours is and try to win your case?”

Well, Rafael did love winning …

[wakaoujisenhime]

Hi! Can I ask scenario about Rakuzan manager? Rakuzan (and Akashi) female fans attacked her, but Rakuzan team protect her.

A/N: I’m writing this while imagining Rakuzan’s fans to be those typical hardcore ones you sometimes see on SNS, and oh boy... (☉_☉) Also, I hope you don’t mind that I changed the concept of attacking the manager a little bit and made it go into the direction of bullying. 👀  Now, I know that Mayuzumi isn’t really visible in the image below, but this was the only one I found that fit the description of them looking intimidating, so sorry for that (っ◞‸◟c) hope you enjoy it nonetheless! ♡  

Tags: Rakuzan x reader ✅  SFW ✅  friendship/camaraderie ✅  slight fluff ✅

━━━━☆ ━━━━☆ ━━━━☆

A capable manager - Rakuzan x reader

Being Rakuzan’s manager wasn’t an easy task. Not only were you burdened with the team’s immense success and reputation, but also with five problematic personalities who also happened to be the club’s representatives.

It took you quite some time and effort to get to know them, and have them trust you enough with their personal training regimen, let alone their private affairs and problems. However, you still managed to overcome all these difficulties and became quite close with the five young basketball players. The more you interacted with them, the more you realized just how helpful and pleasant their company actually was, especially Akashi’s.

He was quite notorious for his perfectionism and for the way he treated his teammates. In the beginning, you were also treated as one of his minions. Still, after you spoke up about how he might lose the entire team if he continued behaving like that, Akashi luckily listened to you and decided to pick a new approach. You expected him to change himself, but instead, he went ahead and recruited people who were actually able to keep up with his antics. It frustrated you a little to see just how incorrigible he was, but the fact that the captain was sticking to his ideals impressed you quite a bit.

The team respected you very much. You had joined them the moment you enrolled in Rakuzan high and always made sure to give it your all, no matter what. Naturally, you made the members and their wellbeing your first priority, so whenever someone decided to disrupt the harmony of the team, you were always the one to protect and upkeep it. This was one amongst many other reasons the club members adored and looked up to you. It was really fortunate that you had earned such a status, it made many tasks less difficult to fulfill since you knew these boys on a personal level, but not every problem was that easily overcome.

Rakuzan’s fans were one example.

They would always cheer while the entire squad entered the gym and went to the benches to discuss the plan for the game, but you couldn’t help and overhear some comments that were addressed to you.

Is that their manager?

Yeah supposedly...

What the hell, she doesn’t even look like she knows what this sport is about!

Totally! Just look at her!

You’d try and ignore them as good as you could, but the fact that your back was literally facing the stands didn’t help out at all.

“(Y/N)-chan, is everything alright?“

Reo always had a knack of noticing when something was bothering you, and he’d always make sure to ask you about it so that he could figure out a way to help you out somehow. You appreciated the gesture, of course, but what you wanted to avoid the most right now was distracting them from the upcoming match, so you brushed it off, put on your typical fake smile, and nodded firmly.

“Yes, no problems here!”

Luckily he knew that one of the things you hated most was when people pestered you about something you didn’t want to talk about, there were times when you welcomed it, but now wasn’t one of them. Pushing your slightly hurt feelings aside, you gave the five players a quick rundown on their enemies’ playstyle and preferred modus operandi.

While they were out there scoring one point after the other, your concentration was disturbed multiple times by the permanent gossiping of the fans, who had now moved on to questioning your strategic abilities, claiming that some of the boys weren’t in their top form today and who was to blame for this? You, of course. In an attempt to block their constant chatter out, you closed your eyes for a moment. The coach, who noticed your short moment of frustration, asked you the same question as your black-haired friend, and the moment you opened your mouth to answer with the exact same words as before, something light hit your shoulderblade, startling the both of you in the process.

“Oops, sorry, my friend pushed me, I didn’t mean to throw that at you!“

Another forced smile and a slight shake of your head were your answer to the obviously fake-sounding ‘apology’ you’d just received. With a disappointed and slightly annoyed face, Shirogane picked the paper ball up from the ground and looked at it with disgust.

“(Y/N)...maybe we shoul-“

“It’s ok coach, I’m fine so please don’t mind this.“, you said as you bit your lower lip in frustration, “Let us continue observing the match...and please don’t mention this to the others...them not playing at their full concentration because of something as trivial as this, is the last thing I want right now.“

His dark eyes rested on you for a short while, but he soon averted them and continued watching the young men play. So did you, but what just happened still lingered in your mind.

It was quite frustrating to see that some people let their jealousy distort them to such an extent that they would start harassing you just because of your position, gender, or whatever other reason they might have. All they saw was the way you entered the gym alongside the boys, talked to them, gave them drinks and towels, and that’s when they start to think that this is all you do. You were quite disheartened that people with such limited views on things were supposed to represent your clubs’ fanbase, but that’s just how things were.

While you were lost in your thoughts, your teammates were out on the field completely dominating the game (as always), but some of them had noticed what went down a short while ago, and they didn’t like that at all.

The halftime whistle is what brought you back to reality. Typically, it was you who provided the players with drinks and towels, but this time the coach had assigned this minor task to one of the underclassmen. He thought that he might help you out with it, but he only made all of it worse.

Oh my god, do you see that?

She calls herself the manager, but can’t even do her tasks right.

Pathetic, ‘ain it?

Just as you were about to sit up and speak your mind, someone placed a towel on top of your head and patted it. You didn’t feel the need to look up, since such a massive palm could’ve only belonged to one particular player. Instead, you just looked at the ones that had surrounded you. 

“Alright then, what’s your next brilliant plan manager?“ asked Kotaro with his typically loud voice. 

The others joined him and began talking about different and pretty much trivial stuff they usually avoided, making it plainly evident that their main objective was to distract you from the spiteful comments of the spectators.

You had to admit that the kind words they occasionally mixed in were indeed making you feel better, and after a while, you had succeeded in forgetting about it for the time being...you had a team to manage after all.

After a short while, the referee announced that the game would resume shortly and warned both teams to wrap the talk up. With an encouraging smile, you motivated each of them to keep up the marvelous play, have fun but also be cautious of possible tricks from the opponents. When Akashi’s turn came up, you simply smiled at him, unsure whether to try your luck with motivating this seemingly invincible player or not, but before that happened, he spoke up first.

“(Y/N) I know what happened.” 

His statement threw you off quite a bit, but there was no time for you to question its meaning since the time to get back on the field drew near.

“I know it’s frustrating and painful to hear something like that, but you shouldn’t mind such useless comments from commoners like them. You should ask yourself on which basis they are actually making all of these assumptions about you. Do they know how much effort you’re actually putting into our team? Have they seen just how late you always stay behind just to make sure that everyone leaves? Are they aware of the amount of knowledge you needed to obtain before you could even give us tips on how to play? The answer is always no, so make sure to keep that in mind.”

“Sei-chan, it’s time.“, whispered Reo as he gently caressed your back, flashed you a quick smile, and entered the court. Said man barely nodded and placed his own slender hand reassuringly on your left shoulder.

“You’re doing a perfect job as manager (Y/N)...thank you.“

And with that, he left you standing there, blushing lightly at his sudden and unexpected compliment. Hearing something so reassuring as that coming from such a capable person like Akashi puts you instantly at ease.

H-He’s right...what am I even doing at a time like this? Doubting myself while my team’s out, there is really not suitable for my title. 

Alright (Y/N)! Get yourself together and watch them play, that’s the least you could do at the moment.

While you were hyping yourself up, you failed to notice a peculiar group amongst the other spectators that were looking at you with malicious intent...

——

After the game finished, you congratulated your five boys for the expected victory and promised to wait for them at the main entrance, so that you could invite them to a small celebratory meal.

You checked your phone for any possible missed calls or messages when suddenly someone slapped it away from your hand.

“What the hell w-“

“Shut up, you damn witch!“

As you looked at the group of girls standing in front of you, you frowned, wondering just who they actually were and what kind of problem they had with you that they needed to throw insults at you as well as damage one of your most valuable possessions. Upon closer look, you noticed that they wore some kind of fanmade shirts which had Akashi’s face plastered all over them.

So these are his fangirls..?

One of them stepped up to you and grabbed your jersey’s collar, almost scratching your neck with her absurdly long fake nails.

“We are very busy women, so make sure to listen up, missy?”

You scoffed and tried to pull her hand away from you as quickly as you could, and when you finally succeeded, you proceeded to pick your phone up from the ground.

“Hey, are you even listening?“ asked another one whose entire face resembled that of a clown, that’s how much makeup she had randomly put on. 

You stifled your laugh before answering: “No, I’m not really listening to you, since you appear to have quite enough time to come out and trash-talk me, despite being so busy, as you claim.“

The smug grin that adorned your face wasn’t well-received by them, and just as they opened their mouth again, a familiar calm voice called out your name, stopping them in their tracks.

A tall, grey-haired young man approached the group and stood there with his hands in his jacket’s pocket, his eyes entirely focused on you alone, completely disregarding the others.

“So, that’s where you were (Y/N)!”

“We’ve been looking for you manager!“

Two arms wrapped around your shoulder from each side, and as you looked up to see who the owners were, you couldn’t help but smile. 

Kotaro and Nebuya...

“W-What is Sir Akashi’s team doing here?“

“I-I don’t know..“

“Weren’t t-they supposed to be at the aftermatch meeting?“

As if on cue, Reo joined Mayuzumi and flicked his hair back dramatically.

“Oh, sweetie...it seems like you not only have no clue on how to properly put your makeup on, but also have no idea of what we’re doing.”

She was about to retort something, but a certain man’s voice stopped her.

“The manager is an essential part of these meetings.“

You turned your head and saw your team’s captain picking your phone up from the ground. Both arms that rested on your shoulders released you so that Akashi could take the item, the captain was about to hand to you, back. He gave you a warm smile that instantly darkened, the moment he looked at the women who had now been surrounded by his entire basketball team. His eyes looked at each and every single one of them, and he quickly caught up that they were his fans.

Well...isn’t that convenient.

With a firm nod of his head, he signalized the other four to leave; you, on the other hand, stayed behind. If there was something you knew about this young man, then the fact that he’d always speak to you if he needed something.

“S-Sir Akashi! It’s such an honor to personally meet you!“

“We’ve been your fans for so long an-“

“Silence.“ he hissed. That cold demeanor was something his ‘fans’ had no idea existed, but you as the manager had known about it since day one. He took another look at all of them and sighed.

“Listen up. I don’t care if you are my fans or not, I couldn’t care less that you’re cheering me on or if you’re working multiple jobs so that you can afford tickets for all of my games. I have no need for such useless gestures...what I need is results: clear, flawless, and indisputable results. People like you cannot give me that, but this woman right here..“ he took a short break to point at you “..she can, and she does. If you have any problem with the fact that she has earned this position by hard work, pure dedication, and conviction, then that means that you also have a problem with Rakuzan’s success so far. How else do you think are we able to be that victorious? Don’t tell me you thought that it all depended on talent?“

All of them just cluelessly looked at each other, trying to figure the answer out, but before they could even begin thinking about it, Akashi just continued with his speech.

“There is indeed a part of basketball where you just have to rely on talent alone, but it’s mostly strategy and the team’s combined power. And how do you think are we able to achieve that without a capable manager like her?“

They were left completely speechless, and without even waiting for their answer, the young man just gently took you by the wrist and began walking away. You couldn’t deny the fact that your situation was very much the same as theirs, you were confused yet impressed by the way he had stood up for you, he even went as far as to insult his own fans. The happiness you felt at that moment was a little inappropriate, but considering the hassling you went through today, it was a good payback.

And like that, the two of you joined the other four and began walking toward the restaurant, where you promised to celebrate their victory at today’s match.

[miraculart]

Letter Collection

—-

So I think I read some fan fiction or something that made me write these? Idk. I didn’t read over them either so I’ll tag for triggers just in case

—-

Dear Sir, Ma'm, or otherwise (I don't judge)

Hello there. Who ever you are. I hope you don't just toss this letter aside, I have some things to say. And quite honestly, I don't think I could say them outright to just any person.

Did you ever feel like you serve a greater purpose, like, there's something out there waiting for you to change the world? I felt that way once. When I was still caught up in my naivety. What are we really supposed to do. Is there truly a reason that we take milling around in this universe? We're cockroaches. We infest wherever we step foot. We kill each other over stupid things like oil and ore. We create alliances, bonds, friendships. But for what. Our entire life purpose is like that of a cockroach. We come into this world, full of curiosity, ready to make a difference. We grow up, altered by society, molded into perfect robots. We breed, making sure that the cycle continues. We care for the young. And we die. We spend all this time in the present caught up in money and warfare, when we should enjoy the little deeds of everyday life.

The saying "money can't buy happiness" loses it's meaning every day now. The inhabitants of this planet are so caught up in hoarding little pieces of paper and little round pieces of metal. Those are supposed to have value? Why is it that we trade paper for material items? "I have more paper than you do so I'm rich." Why on earth do we do this?

How about for dates, we're in high school right? We don't have the jobs, or the quantity of paper to pay for the expectation of a simple outing. Since when is a smile and a simple "I love you" less meaningful in a relationship than a dozen roses and chocolates? Since when is a movie with sound loud enough to destroy eardrums more romantic than a picnic on a beautiful day watching the sunset?

What about nature? Every day thousands upon thousands of trees are cut down to make paper and clear land for food. But at what cost? Eventually we are going to run out of resources. We will have tapped every resource from our earth. Here's the real problem, there are so many places out there that have okayish environments to survive, if we evolve. But should we? Think about how many animals have gone extinct because of our greed for their pretty pelts. Think about the land destroyed from farm cattle eating everything and then slaughtered. Today even WATER. The most abundant source on the planet we are sucking dry. Why should we, the human race deserve to live, when there are hundreds of other species that have learned to live in harmony with mother nature? I blame thumbs, just saying, without them, we couldn't do anything.

Well thanks for listening to my rant. It actually felt really good to do that. I may do it again.

A Piece of Advice- Don't focus on the material matters. Enjoy the little things in life, like a smile, or a hug from a family member. Don't think about paying off a car debt more than focusing n the most important thing we can. Family. Friends. What is living when we have our noses shoved in our wallets? Lift up your chin. Tuck your wallet away. Smile. And smell the roses for a while.

—-

Dear Sir, Ma'm or Otherwise (I don't judge),

Hello again. Thanks if you came back to read again. Maybe you agreed with me. Or maybe you laughed and wanted a good chuckle again. I don't care. It was nice just to put the words out.

Today's topic: Stress

Why do we burden ourselves with stressful matters? Why do we work our brains and bodies into exhaustion?

I suppose somewhere along the line something happened in me. Maybe it happened in you too. But, that change triggered something that told me, "It's time to get my ass in gear." (Sorry if you are religious or just against cursing.) That change led to perfectionism and a need to over achieve. Which led to signing up for the hardest classes, with the hardest teachers, to try in vain to achieve top marks whilst juggling other activities such as clubs or sports. (sorry if my grammar is bad. I never was very good in English or social studies) All of those "requirements", I guess you could say, lead to an overbearing sense of stress.

Now, I realize there are many times of stress, emotional stress, mental stress, physical stress, academic stress, work stress, social stress, the list just goes on and on.

Whatever stress you're dealing with, you can get through it. it's going to seem hard. Maybe even impossible to overcome whatever is causing the stress, but you need to push through, persevere. Some days will be worse than others. Trust me, I know. You'll want to cut, smoke, shoot, whatever it is that you do to take the edge away. But you need to fight the urge to do that. If you cut, or want to cut, try using a pen, draw instead. That's what I do. If you smoke, (totally quoting TFIOS here but,) put the cigarette in your mouth, but don't light it. Whatever you do, find a way to turn it into something beautiful. Something you can showcase. Pour your pain into an art. Write stories, compose music, paint amazing paintings. All of the best work in history came from a struggle. They struggled, and they overcame their problem. If they can do it, so can you. So can I.

So a little shorter this time, Adeau

A Piece of Advice:

No matter who you are, where you go, or what you've done in the past. Somebody cares. somebody cares about you enough that they would jump in front of the car to push you out of the way. Remember that you are loved. Remember that you matter. Don't lose sight of what tethers you to your humanity. Remember who you are. (Favorite disney movie quote anyone?)

—-

[isaulitzsch-blog]

31 Things to Do Before 31

I know many bucket lists roam the internet, and many say the same things or are overly ambitious. Unrealistic, some might say. Mine below will likely suffer the same criticism, but nevertheless I am determined to accomplish at least 2/3 of this list – with which I would be very pleased (I believe it is called ‘managing expectations’).  

I started this list some time before my 30th birthday – probably around August or September time – but now that I am 30 years and 3 weeks old (how is that for timing), I felt it was high time to put an end to this indecisiveness, and just do it. Because in the end, I needed to realise, this is not an exhaustive list by any means, but merely a motivator and inspiration to be aware of time being precious, and experiences and achievements valuable. And I had to remind myself that I have done and achieved some great things in life already (reading through some of those bucket lists helped with that), but that I also pushed a lot aside that really should be the centre of attention for various reasons. So to help me commit to it, I am sharing it on the good old internet. Feel free to hold me accountable, cheer me on, or simply live your life as before. :-)

1.

Visit 30 Countries (and among that one unvisited continent) – for me that is 9 more countries, or at the very least 7 (depending on if I choose to count England, Wales and Scotland as separate countries). The Inca Trail would be awesome, or Vietnam and Thailand. So much choice, so much to see.  

2. 

Baltics Cycle Tour – great way to make progress on No.1 and it is a beautiful scenic trip across Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia that allows an active element to this. Hopefully even with some friends. Because road trips are so 2008 ^^

3.

Three Peaks Challenge – while I am still debating on whether to do it in 24 hours (not sure hiking up Skafell Pyke during night hours will provide the same satisfaction without its views as reward), I think even doing the three peaks in three days would be an exciting achievement.

4.

A Murder Mystery – while I hear it is fun to host them yourself at home, I want to experience professionals at work, without even knowing it technically.  

Solo Performances – I love singing (watch out you may hear that again down the line) and I have not performed nearly as much solo as I would like to, simply for reasons of confidence and opportunity! Singing in front of an audience is so nerve-wracking, but powerful and uplifting. It creates a wonderful connection, and I have always been better at expressing myself through song. Perhaps purely because I enjoy it so much. This is why I want to make more of an effort again to find platforms to do exactly that.  

Complete 7 Paintings – VERY ambitious, because I get super frustrated over my perfectionism. If it does not look the way I envisage or hope, it remains unfinished. Or worse, not even started. So those 7 canvases that have been sitting under my easel for...well, forever...need life in them.  

Read 30 Books – while I have some classics I would like to read, I am always open to suggestions. Avoid the fat ones though.

Breaking Some Bad Habits (at least try harder) – Nail biting. Must. Stop. Indecisiveness. Must Stop. Annoyance over little things. Must. Stop.

Parachute or Skydive – for the Adrenaline Kick. I really want to go water rafting as well. And at some point one does perhaps get too old for some of these things, or at least priorities certainly change.  

30-minute Flying Lesson – I am quite a nervous flyer, at least during take off and turbulence. And, come on, how cool is having the opportunity to see the world from a cockpit.  

Dance Class with Ben – we will have our first dance sooner or later (I hope), so we may as well get practicing – and dancing is fun and social ;-)

Make our Own Geocaching Series – Ben and I enjoy geocaching together as a way of exploring the outdoors, and we always try to get at least one in a foreign country we travel to; but we often enough have said we would like to hide our own little series, that it is just befitting for it to make this list.  

Sober in October x2 – It is a small price to pay for a good cause, which is why I am happy to put this on the list twice, so to speak. And it helps with No.19 certainly.  

Job Satisfaction – It is easy to fall into the ‘9 to 5’ trap, where we get up, mindlessly go to work, and maybe, if we have enough energy to do something in the evening, we might, before going to sleep - repeat. I want to embrace my job more consciously and reflect on what is important to me, on how I make more of a difference in the work place.  

Send Christmas parcels with Samaritan’s Purse – This is one I wanted to do last year, but got hung up in other things too much and missed the deadline. Poor excuses!  

Musical Theatre Class – I have always enjoyed singing, acting, dancing – performing! Singing in a choir – or two rather – is not quite as challenging for me, and I would like to see if I would be any use in musical theatre. Don’t worry, I don’t expect to have a breakthrough career on the West End...  

Theatre and/or Film Audition - does this really need explaining? ;-)

Dans le Noir – because who does not enjoy the idea of being able to indulge in fabulous food however you wish without anyone judging :-D

Take Care of My Body – a consciously healthier diet (yes, less sugar – it will kill me); a regular exercise routine for stamina and core (I think I will no longer get around Pilates); better sleep (I cannot recall the last time I slept through, felt rested or was not sore in the morning); ... .  

Volunteer 30 Hours – Not just around Christmas.  

Send 30 Cards/Letters – not postcards! Or birthday cards! Or occasion cards!

Know My Camera Better – at least the basics that allow me to switch off the Auto mode when I need, and take more focused pictures (without getting frustrated).

Sort my Photos and Make Holiday Photo Albums – although this is a bit more of a ‘To Do’, I am keen to cherish past experiences more and appreciate what opportunities I have had, and continue to have. Nowadays it is far too easy to take a gazillion pictures but to never truly look at them and reflect.  

Family Tree/Ancestry Test – maybe I’ll get behind the mystery of my red hair :-D

Finish my Website to Go Live – this has been sitting and brewing for ages. With so many platforms out there nowadays, it is nice to collate achievements and interests in one central place and really value the sheer amount of them while doing so. Not to mention that I have wanted to make a professional portfolio for ages, too.

Keep a Blog – which I once started  in July 2012 with one entry and never continued. For my benefit really, but hopefully someone may find them an interesting read at least.  

Run a 5k and a 10k (and beat Ben) – if I manage No.19, this should be super easy – and all for good causes! The Colour Run looks super fun, too.

Start a Vinyl Collection (and finally get a vinyl player) – Ben laughed when I told him I wanted to add this to my list. “You’ve been saying that for years”, he said. Perfect!

Better Energy, Better Relaxing – those may seem contradictory, but they make sense to me. While I often feel lazy and uninspired, I am also the kind of person who wants to do things - exciting, fun things - all the time.  I want experiences. Equally, I am incapable of fully relaxing, of fully winding down. I enjoy a hot bath, with just water or a nice glass of wine, candle light, ‘Dresdner Essenz’ bathing salts and a good facial mask - but also usually choose to either read, watch a TV show or film, or listen to music. Because if I choose to do nothing, my mind wanders, overthinks. I would like to learn to channel my energy at the right time, while learning to switch off – and leave things run their course without worrying.  

Learn a New Skill – Ben suggested I should learn an instrument (by that he really means guitar!). While I have played keyboard when I was younger and would love to learn an instrument again properly (I do rock the air guitar look), I am also quite keen to learn something completely new – something I have never tried or do in some other capacity already. Ideas anyone?  

Archery – I have tried it once at a