#even pointedly saying that she prefers the other Admin

[shinayashipper]

Like I've been told many kinds of swear words and all during my time working here but this is kind of the first time someone had said "your face looks unfriendly" like sorry to have been born with This Face, and maybe if you didn't demand so many things while refusing to pay for extra services I wouldn't be making This Face!!! Sorry for being "Too Serious" and "Too Formal" in chats that you deemed I'm "cocky" or whatever!!! Sorry for telling you that the products you wanted doesnt Exist!!

[ransprang]

Hii I was wondering if I could get a romantic ohshc matchup? I’m 5'2, my pronouns are she/her, my aesthetic is mostly just 90s grunge so my clothing choices can either look amazing or like a trash bag, fall is my favorite season, I absolutely love the rain, I don’t normally like sweets and I literally hate chocolate, I have an avocado squishmellow that I treat as my child and cannot sleep without, I’m very childish at times, and can be a total bitch without realizing it. I live off of blueberry redbull, water, and cigarettes.. food? Never heard of it.

(Ik I should eat, but like that’s a whole ass mental health problem I don’t wanna get into- )

my personality is sorta all over the place.. my friends like to call me a grumpy depressed introvert. lmaoaoa I have social anxiety so when talking to new people I tend to be very quiet and try to find ways out of a conversation.. but when I get to know someone better and finally open up.. I’m a complete idiotic mess with raging 🍃 vibes. Once I’m comfortable with you.

R-U-N.

I’m pretty sure that’s all I gotta say haha, also I’m so sorry I know this is a little too long for a matchup request :/

heylo, dont worry your request was a good length!! :)

we matched you with.....

TAMAKI SUOH

SFW

Tamaki doesn't particularly care about his SO's outfits (source: haruhi), being more concerned with his own beauty. But he loves it when you dress up, especially if its just for him. He would cry at the opportunity to dress you up.

His favorite season would probably be summer or spring but he finds autumn just as romantic! You both could go on cute walks together, watching the leaves fall. He would cup your face in his hands, look deeply into your eyes just to see the reflection of his own face in them and gush enthusiastically about his beauty.

Tama-chan prefers the sun but maybe that's why y'all strike a lovely balance. He can cheer you up on sunny days and you can cheer him up on rainy ones If all fails on rainy days you both can grow mushrooms in his closet and eat them if they turn out psychedelic.

Your avocado and kuma-chan (tamaki's bear) can get to know each other and you both can cuddle together with them. Whenever Tamaki feels neglected he steals the avocado squishmellow and makes it and kuma chan kiss and stare pointedly in your direction.

Both you and tamaki can relate on your childishness so y'alls fights would be like spending the day at a daycare, but eventually he'd feel bad and want to make up.

He would be super alarmed by your eating habits and would order 5 star meals just so you would eat. Looking at the price tags you'd probably feel too bad to waste them.

If you're feeling feisty you can blow cigarette smoke into his eyes and make him cry.

Tamaki's the type to get along with anyone, including introverts (source: also haruhi). He'd pester you into talking to him and escaping conversations with him would be very difficult. You would have no choice but to warm up to him eventually, even if you found him annoying at first. And once your raging idiot mess side comes out you guys have tons of fun screwing around.

yours feistily,

admin sar & san

[yandere-society]

Day 6 | Coffee

Synopsis: Taehyung has always been protective of you– and as his little sister’s best friend, it’s your job to annoy him. When Hanukkah rolls around and you’re confronted with intolerance, Taehyung steps in, becoming a little more than protective.

The 12 Days of Black Christmas Event Masterlist

Pairing: Taehyung x Female Reader

Admin: @psycho-slytherin​

Trigger warnings: Profanity, mentions of violence, anti-Semitism

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

“I have a tall vanilla latte for…” you narrow your eyes, only now reading the name written on the side of the cup: Voldemort. You sigh. “Taehyung. Tall vanilla latte for Taehyung.” He always does this.

Your best friend’s big brother approaches the counter with a smirk. “Are you sure that’s what it says on the cup?”

You hand him the drink. “Don’t you have better things to do than bother me at work?”

“I wish I did. Eunjin needed me to pick her up since someone–” he eyes you pointedly– “Is gonna be pulling a double today.”

“You’re being a bigger brat about it than Eunjin, and she’s the one that actually needs the lift. What kinda big brother are you?” You flap your hand at him. “Now shoo, I’ve got work to do.”

Taehyung smiles easily. “Yes, ma’am.”

Much, much later, you hang up your apron and sigh. It’s getting colder, and you’re not excited to learn the new holiday-themed drink recipes. If they’re not aesthetic enough, you know the customers will just throw a fit until you remake it. ‘Tis the season, after all.

You sigh. You’re tired of Christmas, tired of the decorations that are up from November to February, tired of consumerism, and tired of people assuming that you celebrate Christmas. 

You don’t. You’re Jewish. And while you’re happy that others enjoy the merry-jolly holiday cheer, you could do without the Christmas-ness of it all. It’s not like anyone’s ever said ‘happy Hanukkah’ to you.

“See ya around, y/n,” Namjoon, your manager, calls after you as you head out the door. “Merry Christmas.”

You smile dryly. “Yep, happy holidays.”

That Saturday, you’re at your best friend’s house, staring at– and yet not quite reading– your Economics notes.

“Man, like, how are you supposed to fix capitalism?” you groan eventually, flopping on Eunjin’s lap. 

“I dunno,” she laughs, laying down her notebook. “Throw billionaires at the Invisible Hand?”

“I can think of one place to throw them,” you retort, standing up and stretching. “I’m gonna make some coffee. Want anything?”

“A girlfriend.” “Besides that.”

“Some water?” You grin. “That I can do.” Humming to yourself, you make your way to Eunjin’s kitchen. You’ve been best friends since… well, forever. You’ve practically grown up in her house, and vice versa. Of course, the downside of being friends with Eunjin is…

“Boo.”

“Gah!” You yelp, a shudder running through your body when you feel Taehyung blow on the back of your neck. “You dickhead!”

Taehyung roars with laughter, not even flinching when you rear back and kick him in the shin. “Someone’s feeling feisty today.”

“You sure that someone is me?” you reply, fetching your favorite mug. “You’re the one going out of your way to bother us.”

Taehyung shrugs. “My winter break started early. It’s not like I’ve got finals to study for. So I’m bored. And when I’m bored…”

“You annoy us, I got it.” You stick your tongue out at him while spooning instant coffee into your mug. “Get yourself a girlfriend if you have so much time on your hands.”

Taehyung opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again. “Sounds hard. I’ll pass.”

“You– whatever. I give up.” Coffee in hand, you march back to the living room without another word.

Several hours pass. “Economics is the study of the allocation of scarce resources,” you mimic your professor’s dry tone. “And economies of scale… can fuck all the way off.”

“Hey, what’s the difference between economic justice and economic equity?” Eunjin asks, staring at her notebook in confusion.

“I don’t know, let’s just be communist,” you reply. “Oh, I can’t pick you up from your internship tomorrow, I’m pulling another double shift.”

Eunjin ruffles your hair. “You work too hard. Yo, Tae! Can you pick me up tomorrow?”

“What, is little miss barista busy?” Taehyung calls from the living room. 

Yeah, you’re busy. Hanukkah starts soon, the twenty-fifth is next week, and the holiday rush seems to get more intense every year. Besides, your tuition isn’t getting any cheaper, and you could use every shift you can take. 

“It’s getting late, I’m gonna head home,” you yawn gathering your things. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, see ya.”

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

“I’ve got an oat milk macchiato for…” you sigh inwardly. On the cup is written the name Aphrodite, goddess of love. “Taehyung?”

And of course, Taehyung swoops in and plucks the drink from your hand. “Man, I thought I’d get you this time.”

“You’re early today,” you reply.

“Eh, yeah. I’ll kill time here while waiting for Eunjin.”

You’re tempted to reach across the counter and boop his nose, but then you’d have to go wash your hands and he’d be achieving his goal of keeping you from your job. “Suit yourself.”

A couple of hours pass. Taehyung continues nursing his macchiato while scrolling through his phone, and you try to ignore him as you make drink after drink. 

“Two Americanos and a raspberry iced tea for Julian?” you call, sliding the drinks across the counter. Business has slowed to a crawl, with the only customers besides Taehyung being three young men loudly discussing their weekend plans.

They approach, grabbing their drinks.

“Enjoy! Happy holidays,” you say brightly. It’s so slow your manager might cut you early. You begin wiping down the espresso machine when you sense someone staring at you. The guy from earlier– Julian– apparently didn’t follow his friends out the door. “Can I get you something else?” you ask automatically. 

“Don’t you mean merry Christmas?”

“Uh… what?”

“Christmas is next week. Don’t you mean merry Christmas?”

Is he high? “I thought I said happy holidays?” Maybe you imagined it and forgot to say it aloud.

“No, I heard that.” Julian takes another step forward, leaning over the counter. Namjoon is at the register, and you can tell he’s wondering if this guy is giving you trouble. “Happy holidays is what the liberals say to destroy Christmas instead of offending the other snowflakes.”

Your eyes widen. Is this seriously happening?

“So instead of this ‘happy holidays’ bullshit,” Julian says as his friends reenter, clearly looking for him, “you say merry Christmas, sir. Understand?”

Gross. He’s gross. You want him out of the store now. You glue on your best customer service smile and say the only thing you can think of– “Okay.”

Julian glares at you with what you can only call unwarranted hatred. “Say merry Christmas, or I’m never coming back.”

Good.

“Hey yo, Julian, let’s just go,” his friend tugs on his arm, glancing at you nervously.

You purse your lips. You have witnesses, and you know Namjoon will call the authorities at a moment’s notice if the guy turns violent. “Sorry, I don’t celebrate Christmas, so I prefer saying ‘happy holidays’ to include everyone.” 

“You don’t celebrate Christmas?” Julian spits. “What are you, a dirty Jew?”

You recoil at his words, too shocked to cry, to breath. This has never happened to you before. The way his tone paints you as less than human feels like a knife in your gut.

Julian notices your reaction. “You are, huh? How do you like gas chambers?”

“O-kay, line way crossed, buddy. How about you leave before-” Namjoon strolls towards towards Julian with purpose, but before he can reach the guy–

Taehyung clasps Julian’s shoulder tightly. “Hi.” he says smoothly, his voice laced with something dark. “That’s my friend you’re talking to. I think you’re going to want to take that back.”

“Julian, come on, man,” his friend urges, clearly worried that you’ll call the cops.

“Y/n, go to the back.” Namjoon says, not taking his eyes off Julian and Tae. “You’ve got a car, right? I’m letting you go early.”

“I-I-” Julian’s eyes, full of malice, follow you as you go to the back and hang up your apron. What else can you do? Namjoon is taking care of it, and Taehyung…

There was something in Taehyung’s voice that you’ve never heard before. Something dark, and protective, and… scary.

You decide to leave through the back after clocking out. You’re scared to pass Julian again. What if he comes back to the cafe to harass you?

You parked five minutes from the cafe, and with your head down and your hands jammed into your pockets, you speedwalk away. Just as you’re getting to the car, Eunjin calls you.

“Hey,” you say, voice cracking.

“Hey. I finished early today and Tae said you’d be able to give me a lift?”

“Ah, s-sure. What about Taehyung?”

“I dunno, man, he said something came up. See ya soon, okay?”

Something came up? But he was just in the cafe– whatever. You just want to leave. You spend the evening after work at Eunjin’s house, studying for your last final. Taehyung doesn’t arrive home until late, and you ambush him before the door’s even closed.

“What happened?” You ask.

“Nothing, nothing. Your manager called the cops and they needed witnesses,” Taehyung replies calmly.

“Oh.” Somehow you expected something less anticlimactic. “Well, I’m going to head home.”

“Be safe,” Eunjin calls from behind you.

“Yeah. Be safe.” Taehyung echoes. 

You swallow and step out into the night. They live so close by that you never bother to drive. 

What are you, a dirty Jew?

Your phone rings, startling you. “Hello?”

“Hey, y/n, it’s Namjoon. I just wanted to check in. You doing okay?”

“Y-yes,” you reply. “Did everything go alright with the police?”

“What police?”

Your brows furrow. “Ah– my friend said you called the police.”

“Oh, the tall guy? Nah, he just pulled that asshole outside. I didn’t see them after that. I was gonna call the police, but your friend said it wasn’t necessary.”

“Oh. What happened to… that guy?”

“Dunno. Are you okay coming into work tomorrow?” “Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay. And y/n?”

“Hm?”

“Happy Hanukkah.”

You crack a smile. “Happy Hanukkah.” By the time you hang up, you’re nearing home, and your car keys feel heavy in your pocket. You’ll just check, you decide. It’s a fifteen-minute drive to the cafe. You’ll just check. 

Fifteen minutes later, you’re standing in front of the darkened cafe. Taehyung took Julian outside, and then… what? Sent him on his way? But then why did he lie about the police?

“Ungh…” your ears pick up on a muffled groan coming from the alley behind the cafe. With dread settling in your stomach, you follow the noise into the alley.

If this were a horror movie, I’d be the first to die.

“Hello?” You whisper, switching on your phone flashlight.

“H-help…” Wait, is that coming from the dumpster? You hurriedly lift the lid, assaulted by the stench. Inside, curled up and covered in blood, is Julian.

“Oh my God, what happened to you?” You reach out, offering your hand.

“You– you! Don’t touch me!” He swats away your arm. “He’s gonna hurt me again! He told me not to get near you!”

“Who– you know what, okay, uh… let me call you an ambulance, alright?”

“He’s gonna find me,” Julian mumbles. “He’s gonna find me.”

“Who is? What happened?”

Julian meets your eyes, and you feel as though you’re looking at a dead man. “You really don’t know, do you?”

[askayakashi]

Yakumo Koizumi

A/N: I need more writing for this fandom so I guess I’ll start with adding my own. Here’s a piece for everyone’s favorite professor. Please feel free to jump into my ask box with any requests!

-Admin Chey

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

As you strolled through the street, clutching the small package to your chest, you couldn’t help but smile as you imagined giving your friend the gift you had gotten him. After asking your father and you to sit for a painting-- a study in poses, he said-- Aoi had gifted you the art, refusing to take payment for it. You had racked your brain for a way to repay him, against his insistence that there was no need, and finally stumbled across a beautiful set of wooden paint brushes that you deemed worthy of the artist. While smiling smugly down at the package, knowing he would have to accept it, you didn’t notice that you weren’t paying attention to the road until you bumped into a stranger. 

The impact caused you to stumble, almost dropping the package in your arms, but before you could feel the crash of colliding with the ground, a strong hand grabbed you by the arm, just above your elbow, and stabilized you. You were mortified at your obvious lack of caution while walking and turned around sharply to face the person.

“Pardon me! I’m so sorry. I must pay closer attention as I walk; please forgive me!” you half-shouted in alarm, bowing deeply in apology and praying that the stranger was not too upset with you. 

“On the contrary,” the familiar voice started, “I can’t imagine a happier surprise than the circumstances that led to my running into you, my Sweet Doll.” 

You straightened up as your eyes met with the crimson eyes of your father’s close friend and observed his ever-gentle smile as he teased you, “Or should I say, with your running into me?” 

You were suddenly overcome with relief-- not only was the person that you had inconvenienced not upset, but it also turned out to be Professor Yakumo, whose presence had always been a comforting one since you were a little girl. At least, that was how it used to be. Recently, the way he always seemed genuinely happy to see you would trigger a nervous fluttering in your stomach. While you always held a gentle respect and admiration for the man, you had more recently begun to develop a sense of overwhelming delight in hearing him call you by his favorite nickname for you.

Ignoring the increased pace of your heartbeat, you gave him a smile in return and greeted him cheerfully.

 “Are you out performing a delivery for your father, my Doll? Nothing would make me happier than to have the opportunity to escort you in my carriage.” 

You smiled genuinely at his kindness. Regardless of your confusing feelings for the man, he truly was the kindest man that you had the pleasure of knowing. 

“Not today, Professor. I’m actually dropping off a present for my friend at the Raccord Milk Hall.” You didn't miss the way his smiled widened slightly. You overheard him mention to your father how glad he was that you had recently seemed to be surrounded by good friends, citing that he didn’t want you to miss out on making important memories in your youth. The fact that he cared so deeply about your happiness only helped to further your admiration of him. “You see, my friend recently painted a portrait of Father and I, and I wanted to repay his kindness.” You gestured to the package in your arms and he was pleased by your declaration.

“Then it is an even greater coincidence that we are on our way to the bookstore next door to the Milk Hall. Please allow me the honour of accompanying you there.”

He offered you his elbow and you took it as he walked you to the carriage. You tried to suppress the butterflies that seemed to flutter at the thought of riding with him. It was far from the first time that you would be riding alone with the man, having often been offered rides to and from school. However, that had been before you began to notice the change in your feelings for the esteemed professor. You graciously, if not shyly, accepted his hand as he helped you into the carriage before it registered in your head that he had said “we” and not “I” when he mentioned the bookstore as his destination. You balked as you entered the carriage, realizing that you were not the only guest that he was accompanying. 

Two beautiful young women sat on one side of the cabin together, arms linked, and looked up in curiosity upon your entrance. You took a seat across from them silently as your eyes studied the floor. You had no intention of being rude, but the surge of foreign emotions that bubbled up inside your chest confused you into a stupor. The idea of jealousy was not an unknown emotion, but the disappointment that you felt weighing on you surprised you to no end. 

For a moment, you had let yourself believe that you were the only girl upon whom the professor doted so lovingly, but felt a fool when you saw the beautiful girls across from you. Of course the handsome professor was not solely smitten with a girl who was practically still a child when he could have any woman he wanted. 

“Hello,” the unexpectedly kind voice broke you out of your internal debate as you met eyes with the beauty who spoke, “I am Miyami, and this is Hiyoko.” She gestured to the girl sitting in front of you who beamed at you with a mischievous look in her eye. Miyami smiled warmly and continued, “I haven’t seen you at the university before; are you coming with us to return some books?”

Before you could answer, the professor finished speaking with the driver and gracefully climbed into the carriage, taking the remaining seat beside you. 

“I wasn’t aware that anyone else would be joining us, professor. Won’t you introduce us to your friend?” The girl sitting across from you -Hiyoko- smiled teasingly in your direction as she asked her question. You willed yourself to smile in return, but you knew it must look forced. The situation was making you uncomfortable, if only because you didn’t have the privacy to decode the different thoughts swimming around in your head. 

You couldn't help but admire the beauty of the girls in front of you: one with a lively disposition of and the other radiating kindness. You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, suddenly feeling self-conscious of yourself.

“Ladies, allow me to introduce you to L/N F/N.” You felt your chest tighten minutely at the introduction. Something about hearing his voice say your name, rather than the nickname he always used with you, made you feel oddly distant from the man who was sitting mere inches away from you. However, this feeling was quickly swept away by a burning heat in your cheeks at the girls’ responses.

“Professor!” Hiyoko gasped excitedly, raising her hand to cover her smirk as she glanced between the two of you. Her friend continued, “I had thought you surely exaggerated her beauty when you spoke of her. But I can clearly see that is not the case.” Your cheeks burned impossibly warmer at the compliment and the insinuation that he had spoken of you often enough for the young women to know you by name alone.

“How fortunate of us to get to meet the girl with whom the professor is so smitten.” Hiyoko continued in a teasing tone, oblivious to your ever-growing blush. Glancing to the man at your side, you found him gently smiling down at you. 

“Excuse my students, Doll, it seems they have not yet learned the art of subtlety.” He chuckled pointedly as he glanced at the girl in front of you who seemed unperturbed. So these girls were his students. If you hadn’t been so dejected at the thought of him pursuing the girls in front of you, you might have noticed the western history book sitting in Miyami’s lap-- the very subject that he taught at the university.

“How lucky you are to have such a charming man as the professor pursuing your heart. I must say I almost prefer listening to him talk about you than about the western countries.”

“Hiyoko, I would wish that you don’t embarrass L/N with your exaggeration.” The professor cut the girl’s joking off with a laugh of his own. “She will think that I am incompentent a professor if she believes she is the only subject of which I discuss with my students.” Your heart lightened at the soft laughter that seemed to fill the cabin and willed your blush to cool as you spoke. 

“I do not mind much if you should speak of me to your students.” You said, trying to hold back the happiness threatening to burst out of your chest at the thought of him truly only having eyes for you. “But perhaps it is only fair if you also speak of your students to me, so that I may be on an even footing upon meeting them.” You looked into his eyes as you spoke the second half, giving him a smile to let him know you were only half-teasing.

 “L/N is quite right, Professor. That seems only fair that you also speak of Hiyoko and I to L/N.”

“Indeed,” Hiyoko agreed with a laugh. “I am wounded that you do not speak of us. Though, I cannot blame you much, I suppose, since lovers have much more interesting things to talk about.”

The girl’s words and exaggerated wink stopped your heart for a split second as you registered what she had said. The blush that had previously begun to reside returned in full force, painting your entire face a shade of red as you stuttered, “L-l-l-lovers? No, the professor and I- we’re not- er-”

Your eyes searched for his in a panic as you wondered what he had possibly been telling his students. However, ever the gentleman, the professor kindly dismissed the notion.

“Ladies, please do not offend Y/N with your assumptions.” He glanced down at you, without a hint of embarrassment in his eyes, and his gentle smile calmed your racing heart. “While it is no secret that I adore her whole-heartedly, she is still young, and has much life ahead of her to live yet before I would ask her to properly consider my feelings.” He spoke to the girls, but his eyes were locked on yours and you felt giddy at the promise in his words. He would wait for you, but he was determined to be yours, should you so choose.

You smiled shyly in return and found yourself becoming lost in his eyes, the eyes that you had spent a lifetime looking into. Eyes that congratulated you on your achievements, encouraged you in your ventures, and assured you in your convictions as you grew. The man who waited patiently and whose declarations of devotion, while oft bringing a blush to your cheeks, never made you uncomfortable. As he stared back into your eyes, the loose strand  once again slipped from the cherry blossom pin holding up your hair and he reached up and grasped the strand between two fingers, gently brushing it back behind your ear. 

It was not until you heard two synchronized sighs that you remembered you were not alone in the carriage and looked up to find the girls smiling longingly at the scene in front of them. You cast your gaze down to the package in your lap, fiddling with the strings with which it is secured, as the embarrassment swelled within you at having such an intimate moment be seen by near-strangers. 

However, Miyami seemed to notice your discomfort and skillfully changed the topic of the conversation. 

“So you never did answer my question,” She nodded to the package in my lap. “Are you also headed to the bookstore?”  

“Ah, no. I’m actually delivering a gift to a friend next door.” Glancing down at the lap in front of you, you saw the book Hiyoko was holding to be a book that you had once borrowed from Ginnoji. You excitedly asked her about it and were happy as she shared her thoughts on it. You enjoyed the conversation, but could feel Yakumo’s eyes on your the whole time, wearing a smile as he watched you excitedly converse with the girl.

Before you knew it, you had arrived at your destination and the professor helped the girls out of the carriage, offering his hand to them as they stepped out. However, when you had exited the carriage, he kept the grip on your hand and brought it to his lips. You blushed as he placed a soft kiss on your knuckles and glanced up at you from beneath his eyelashes. 

“I apologize for my students. Believe me, I had no intention of making you uncomfortable and, while I am not reserved about my feelings for you, it is not fair to expect you to be comfortable with others discussing it as well. I will ask that they refrain from doing so in the future.” His eyes held an ounce of sadness, and any embarrassment from the ride quickly evaporated as you rushed to reassure him. 

“Please, don’t apologize.” You blurted, glancing away in embarrassment before steeling yourself and looking into his eyes as you continued. “I may not know much about love, but I do know that you have always been kind to me. I have never be embarrassed by your transparency and your students are very kind. I was simply surprised to find,” you suddenly trained your eyes on the ground, no longer able to face him as you continued with your admission, “That it was not simply out of kindness for your friend’s daughter that you’ve always doted on me, but out of a genuine affection.” 

You felt shame tint your cheeks as you admitted that you had always thought his words to be a jest, but his light chuckle grabbed your attention and you trained your eyes on his smiling ones. 

“Your candor is one of the many qualities of yours that I find myself ever moved by.” He seemed overjoyed by your admission of finally accepting his feelings to be genuine, his eyes shining with a brightness you had never seen. Suddenly, something over your shoulder caught his eye and his expression became amused.

“Now, I’m sure you must be eager to deliver that gift to your friend.” He abruptly changed the subject, releasing your hand. You let it fall to your side, tensing your fingers at the strange emptiness that came with the loss of his touch. “It was, as always, a blessing to find myself in your company today.” He bowed his head softly but found your eyes again. “However, I do have one parting request if you would be so kind as to indulge me?”

You felt your eyebrows raise in question and you tilted your head quizzically as he continued.

“When you are with me, you needn’t call me Professor.” The corners of his eyes crinkled with the strength of his smile.  “There is nothing I want more than to be able to hear my given name on your lips. ” 

Your heart began to beat erratically and the butterflies in your stomach returned in full force as you stuttered out a reply. 

“Yes, Prof-er I mean--” You glanced away as you finally stuttered out his name in a whisper. “K-ko-Koizumi.” 

You swore you heard a quiet gasp, but when you met his eyes again, his sweet smile had returned.

“Enjoy your evening, my Sweet Doll. I look forward to the next time I can be graced with your presence.” 

With a final dip of his head, he turned into Ginnojo’s store. You saw the book-lender himself speaking quietly with Miyami, a blush gracing both of their faces as you turned toward Raccord’s front door only to find Oji-san out front with his pipe. 

“You sure do have him wrapped around your finger,” He teased as you walked by him, feeling even the tips of your ears burning with a blush. Just as you glanced up to ask him about Aoi’s whereabouts, the boy in question descended the stairs and glanced up at you. 

You hoped against hope that presenting the gift to the boy in front of you would distract him from your current abashed state, but even without using his powers, he couldn’t ignore the color that dusted your cheeks.

“Why the hell is your face so red? Do you have a fever?” Ever the mother hen, Aoi huffed in exasperation as he grabbed a glass from behind the bar and filled it with water. “Why would you come all this way if you’re not feeling well?” He sat it down in front of you and placed the back of his hand to your head before putting his hand on his hip. “What’s going on?”

You ignored the soft snicker behind you of Oji-san trying to hold in his laughter and focused on the task at hand, holding his gift out to him, vowing to let yourself think about the events of the day once you’re home in bed where no one can see your blush.

[365daysoftododeku]

30th June 2019

Author: CrzA

Admin’s Note: This is the third part to the Bunny Izuku series by @crzangel! Check out Part 1 and Part 2 here!

________________________________________________________________

Never Met Anybunny Like You (Part 3)

“You’re not really going there, are you, Izukkun?” Ochako’s voice is dripping with concern, her long and fluffy brown ears twitching slightly over the sides of her pink face.

“I-I said I would, didn’t I?” Izuku continues to pace the small clearing, tugging at one of his own ears as he gnaws on his lower lip until he tastes blood on his tongue. “Todoroki-kun just wants a friend to talk to, I think.”

“You think? Izukkun, he is the Prince. The King’s son. The son of the King that wants to conquer every land imaginable, possibly destroy our own to do so!” Ochako huffs and Izuku flinches, avoiding her gaze entirely.

“I know that, but he seemed nice and… lonely…”

“With a castle full of servants, how can he be lonely?”

“Things for him aren’t like they are for us, Ocha.” Izuku mutters shyly, feeling his cheeks warm slightly as he thinks back to Todoroki’s words. “It’s not like here, where our King is kind and lives among his people, and everyone helps each other and knows each other. Servants are just that. He spent his free time with flowers and animals! And not the talking kind either! Ocha, he’s so alone he wants me to keep him company! Me!”

“You’re wonderful to be around.” Ochako frowns, not really catching his meaning.

“I had been practically stalking him, for Bunn’s sake!”

At that, she purses her lips. “Doesn’t that just make it more suspicious? You sure he isn’t trying to have you captured and used as a bargaining chip for the King to get what he wants?”

“He could’ve done that rather than let me go the last time.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Ochako lets out a heavy sigh, her floppy ears swinging when she shakes her head in exasperation. Once again, Izuku flinches at the gesture, knowing very well that her concerns are more than valid despite what he had witnessed of Todoroki’s actions. At least Kacchan isn’t here for this conversation. If he were, it wouldn’t be a conversation to begin with, and Izuku is fairly certain he would be somewhere trying to figure out how to reverse whatever spell his childhood friend put on him that time to get him to shut up. Maybe.

Izuku sinks down to the floor to hide his face behind his knees as he hugs them to his chest, his ears drooping to stick to the back of his head. A miserable noise crawls out of him and tears well up in his eyes for what feels like the millionth time that afternoon alone, and let’s not talk about the entire week that has passed since he last saw Todoroki. How many hours has the Prince spent looking toward the woods, waiting for Izuku to show up and being disappointed each and every time? Or worse, had he not even cared enough to spare them a second glance? Perhaps it was all just talk to get him confused, trick him into trusting him and letting go of secrets that aren’t really his to share.

Todoroki wouldn’t do that, would he? Izuku sniffles. He doesn’t really know him that well—doesn’t know him at all, really. Trusting someone with such a reputation so readily would be stupid. But then again, watching him had been stupid as well, and it didn’t stop him from doing it. And wasn’t that how he became almost certain that Todoroki isn’t like his father?

Scratching at her head, Ochako bends down to poke at the top of Izuku’s, drawing his gaze back to her face. Her features are still twisted in worry and suspicion, but there is a hint of sympathy in them as well. Izuku’s treacherous heart skips a beat, filled with ill-advised hope.

“What if you take someone with you? Just to be safe… Like Tenya-kun… Or maybe even Katsuki-kun.”

And just like that, his heart drops right to his stomach. “Are you crazy? Kacchan would tear up the place, or tear up Todoroki-kun himself! And you know how Tenya-kun can get, he would scare him off with his… everything. He only asked me, he didn’t say I could bring anyone else.”

“Then at least ask Katsuki-kun to give you a charm or a locator spell…”

Izuku pouts. “That’s not such a terrible idea, but it’s still going to be a pain in the fluff…”

She shrugs in return. “Serves you right for sticking your whiskers where they don’t belong.”

“For the last time, I stumbled on the gardens by accident!”

“And I still don’t believe you.” Ochako smiles sweetly and he wrinkles his nose at her, puffing his cheeks petulantly.

Well, it’s not like he has any proof; he was alone, after all. Though, he supposes that even if that is true, he did go back of his own accord, and that is pretty damning in and of itself. Izuku hunches his shoulders, rubbing at a corner of his eye before picking himself up off the floor. Ochako raises an eyebrow at him, her mouth curving in a sly grin that Izuku pointedly ignores as he walks in the general direction of Kacchan’s hut.

The moment Izuku is within range of the wizard’s house, he jumps at the sound of an explosion, his eyes widening when he watches a cloud of black smoke rise from the chimney that almost looks like a skull if he squints hard enough. He has half a mind to just turn on his heels and walk away when a red-headed black cat jumps out of the window with an undignified shriek. Izuku will never get used to the tuft of fiery fur between the cat’s fluffy ears when the rest of him is as dark as night itself. Kacchan keeps saying he looks ridiculous and, for once, Izuku doesn’t disagree, but no one can convince Eijirou to stop dying his hair.

“It’s a tribute to my favourite wizard of all time!” He had said, earning himself a smack of many to the back of the head as Kacchan complained that he should be his favourite wizard.

There aren’t any rules that say a familiar has to be enchanted by their charge though. And Eijirou certainly tells Kacchan that same thing, which isn’t to say he is any less loyal.

“Ah,” The cat opens his mouth, suddenly turning to his human form with a puff of black and flashing Izuku a toothy grin. “Katsuki, it’s Izuku!”

“Hah?! What’s that tall-eared idiot doing here?!”

Kacchan pokes his head outside the window, his face covered in soot as he glares in their general direction. Izuku has to bite back a snort the moment he sees those ridiculous chicken-wing decorations on the side of his hat. That’s what got him turned into an actual bunny the last time and he would prefer to avoid a repeat of that particular situation, if possible. A vein pops on Kacchan’s forehead after one glance at his strained smile.

“You here to make fun of my awesome hat again? This time, I’ll make it that some royal has to actually f—”

“HAH! Katsuki! That’s enough there!” Eijirou quickly interrupts, his cheeks flushing pink as he rushes to cover his charge’s mouth.

Kacchan doesn’t hesitate to bite his hand before barking at Eijirou to stop touching him without permission. Izuku’s eye twitches slightly. Who is the animal familiar again?

“What’chu want, nerd?!” Kacchan grunts once he is done scolding Eijirou, perching himself on the window as he scowls at nothing in particular.

“I was wondering if I could have a protection charm or a tracker?”

“What am I? Your damn mother? Why would I give you any of that shit?”

“Because deep down you care about your friends and don’t want them to get hurt?” Eijirou offers and the vein on Kacchan’s forehead pops even further as he smacks his familiar upside the head for the umpteenth time.

“Shut your mouth, nobody asked ya!” Kacchan grumbles under his breath before narrowing his eyes at Izuku, who is now playing with one of his ears nervously. “And why do you want one of those?”

Izuku kicks at the dirt, staring up at the sky as he casually shrugs his shoulders. “N-no particular reason, just in case something happens.” He mutters quietly.

“I ain’t buying what you’re selling there, Deku.”

Letting go of his ear and letting it point back up with the other, Izuku shifts from one foot to another as they both slowly droop down the longer he mumbles.

“Well, you see, I kind of met with Todoroki-kun again after you turned me into a bunny and he turned me back. And he sort of caught me, so to speak, but he didn’t hurt me, in fact he was really nice and asked me to come back. He looked like he just wanted some company, you know? And I didn’t have the heart to tell him no.

“It’s like when Eijirou-kun gives you the begging eyes, even you can’t resist, right? So, I told him I’d meet him again, but that was six nights ago and I still haven’t dared set foot in those gardens again, because you and I both know who his father is and what he stands for and a small part of me is still worried about that, you know? Like, what if his father shows up? Or what if I somehow have it all wrong? It seems impossible though, I haven’t seen him do anything even remotely bad in the time I watched him—and yes, I know how that sounds but I’m past the point of making excuses.

“Point is, he actually did pretty sweet things. I can’t really see an evil person tending to flowers so lovingly, or talking to bees, for the love of Bunn Might, bees. They communicate through scent, and dance, everyone knows that, why would he talk to them. Not to mention, most humans seem to be scared of them and want them to die. I mean, even you shout at bees to die, but you kind of shout that at everyone, so I don’t know if it counts…” Izuku trails off when he starts to feel Kacchan’s annoyed glare burning holes into him.

His ears shoot back up in alarm as he snaps his head towards his childhood friend, blinking.

“What I mean to say is—”

“You’re going back to that red bastard’s the castle grounds.” Kacchan deadpans with a roll of his eyes. “Fine, I’ll give you both of them, but don’t expect me to rescue you if you get kidnapped.” He warns as he disappears into the hut.

“Th-that’s fine…” Izuku risks a few steps closer when Eijirou gives him an encouraging smile. “Thank you, Kacchan.”

“Thank me when it blows up whoever tries to lay a hand on you!” Kacchan answers from inside, the manic smirk evident in his tone.

By the time Kacchan actually finishes the charm and tracker, the sun is already starting to set and Izuku frowns. Another day passed that Izuku didn’t go back to the gardens like he said he would. At this point, Todoroki may even be angry with him, and if he wasn’t planning to capture him, then now…

Izuku shakes his head to rid himself of those thoughts, not wanting to believe those rumours of his ruthlessness. Todoroki is kind, he knows it. He felt no malice from him, and he is usually a pretty good judge of character. Just look at Kacchan, he is still as foul-mouthed and aggressive as when they were younger, but he has matured enough to even help him when he needs it.

Tomorrow… tomorrow he will go back, with this extra protection just in case. But he won’t need it, Izuku is sure of it.

And need it, he doesn’t. Because Izuku sits perched on a branch, hidden in a canopy waiting for Todoroki’s arrival, and he never shows. Izuku doesn’t go back home that night, or the following one, barely leaving to find any food or closing his eyes to sleep.

When Todoroki finally returns, after two full days of waiting in the trees, Izuku nearly falls off his branch when he sees his face. Without even thinking, Izuku jumps down to the ground, running right into the gardens and catching Todoroki just before he collapses on the floor. Trying not to stare too hard at the bruises and cuts marring his face, Izuku guides the Prince to the nearest bench, gently helping him onto the seat.

“W-what happened to you?”

Todoroki runs a trembling hand through his hair before coughing into the other, his features scrunching in pain one second, then settling into a neutral mask the next. A shake of his head is all the answer Izuku gets to that question.

“You actually came back.” Stunned, Izuku nods weakly, and in spite of his injuries, a small smile twitches at a corner of Todoroki’s lips. “I wish you would have come a few days sooner. I could have warned you to stay away for a while.”

Izuku’s brows furrow in concern and he takes a nervous glance towards the garden’s entrances as his ears stick to his hair. “Is someone—”

“No, that’s not—I just didn’t want you to see me like this. I honestly didn’t expect you to return at all, but I was hoping you would, which doesn’t really make sense with what I just said, does it? Momo wanted me to stay in my room but… I wanted to see.”

“Did something happen? Was the castle attacked?” Izuku asks, but knows that can’t be it the moment the words are out of his mouth. The way Todoroki spoke, it almost sounded like he knew this was coming. “Did you fight in some battle?”

Todoroki purses his lips. “Not yet.” Not yet? Izuku’s eyes widen slightly. Then why is he like this? “It doesn’t matter, okay?” Izuku wants to protest, but looking into Todoroki’s shimmering gaze, he holds his tongue. “Could you do me a favour, actually?”

“Sure, what is it?”

“Tend to the garden for me? I couldn’t do it the past couple of days and I think I still can’t… I will tell you what needs to be done and we can talk while you work… Please?”

For a few heartbeats, Izuku simply stares, but eventually he offers Todoroki a nod and stands. Even if his ears are still firmly pushing onto the back of his head, Izuku listens intently to the instructions before doing it all to the best of his ability and talking about his favourite flowers as he does. Todoroki answers him when appropriate, his expression softening and his posture relaxing as he listens to Izuku’s voice. If not for the sorry state of his face, Izuku might have said he looks peaceful, with his eyes closed and the sunlight warming his pale skin as he leans back on his hands.

Even though his thoughts are screaming at him, Izuku doesn’t ask anything else about how Todoroki got those injuries, forcing himself to talk about the most mundane of things for as long as he can. Before he knows it, he is done with the small tasks and Todoroki gets back on his feet with a satisfied sigh, of all things.

“Thank you. I needed this.”

Izuku bites on his bottom lip but nods his head anyway, hesitating in front of the Prince, his stomach twisted into knots.

“I won’t be back tomorrow, I think.” Todoroki tells him, and Izuku doesn’t know what to say. “But I hope to see you again soon. Sooner than this time.”

“Will you be okay?” Izuku finds himself asking, and Todoroki smiles for barely a second.

“I’ve been through worse, trust me.” That isn’t very reassuring. “And I’ve made it through that, so… I’ll be okay.”

Without thinking, Izuku reaches into his pocket and pulls out the little vial Kacchan had given him and takes one of Todoroki’s hands, placing it in it and looking deep into his mismatched eyes.

“Keep it on you. It will protect you.”

A pause stretches between them before Todoroki closes his fist around the vial and nods with a soft word of gratitude. As satisfied with this outcome as he can really be, Izuku takes a reluctant step backwards, then finally hops his way home.

________________________________________________________________

Would you like your work to be featured in the 365 Days of TodoDeku Project? Apply here! (≧∇≦)/

[devilsknotrp]

Congratulations, Honey! You are accepted for the role of Mandy Silverman. This is another sample application for potential applicants to have a look at. You’ll notice that this is quite a long application, but that’s just how I write. You can do whatever you like with yours! If you have any questions about this application or any characters with a connection to Mandy, don’t hesitate to let me know.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name: Honey Age: Twenty five Pronouns: She/her Timezone: GMT+11 Activity estimation: I essentially work full time and have several obligations, but this group is so tightly organised and planned that I’m confident in participating regularly on the dashboard and as an admin! My admin duties will always take precedence but I will be able to reply to threads several times a week. Triggers: (REDACTED)

IN CHARACTER: BASICS

Full name: Amanda “Mandy” Silverman Age (DD/MM/YYY): Thirty (02/03/1966) - Pisces (Sun), Virgo (Rising), Cancer (Moon) Gender: Cisgender female Pronouns: She/her Sexuality: Homosexual homoromantic Occupation: Adult Education Coordinator Connection to Victim: Mandy did not know the Goode family. She knew of them in the way all newcomers to Devil’s Knot are known: through rumor and glimpses in the Piggly Wiggly parking lot. Mandy had little to do with Linda; she’d seen David and Beth at school, when she’d gone in to meet Mary after work; but she’d never met Brian at all. Alibi: Mandy was at home that Saturday working on a craft project. She ran out of glue at around three, then walked into town to go to the craft store, where she spent a few dollars too many on a crocheting kit. She decided to pick up some coffee and doughnuts then walked back home, where she stayed for the rest of the day.  Faceclaim: Elizabeth Olsen

WRITING SAMPLE

 This is a self para written for the Mandy in 1984.

The Datsun.

It was such a shit little car. Really, it was. Sandy’s miscellaneous paraphernalia littered the dashboard. Her dad’s manuals and work shit stuffed beneath the front seats. Pete had stamped grubby hands all over the back windows - people asked them all the time if they had a dog. “No,” Mandy replied grimly, hoisting Pete up on one hip. “Just a kid.” The motor turned over more often than she could count, which would put her father, ever the optimist, into an agitated but vaguely amused mood. Him, hunched over the wheel, grinding the key, revving the engine, If I… could just... Then, Sandy, cranky and likely hungover, snapping from the passenger side: I told you we needed it serviced! They had about a thousand tapes in the center console, most of them in the wrong cases, with a mix that spanned from Bob Dylan to Pete’s ABC children’s songs. Them, zooming along a damp highway, rain splattering the glass, her dad cheerfully singing, The wheels on the bus go ‘round and ‘round! as Pete laughed in delight. Mandy tries to forget that she’d eventually lose her temper and shout, Can we turn this stupid shit off? as her mother mumbled, Amen, behind enormous sunglasses and a gas station Slurpee.

The Datsun, which was rotting away at the police station right this second. Mandy hasn’t asked when they’ll get it back. It’s evidence, that’s it. She has her bike or her skates and Sandy doesn’t leave the house unless she has a ride (Aisha pulling up front and blasting the horn; Sandy, clattering around gathering her things, muttering, Where’s my goddamn…). Their family car is nothing more than a shell, a marker in the Pete and Phillip Silverman’s trail to murder. Kind of like a pit stop. Wrappers marked with imaginary blood stains littering the cab floor. That clean-sour smell of nervous sweat. Her Dad was always a sweater, mopping his brow and fanning himself, Jeez, it’s hot today. Mandy kind of loved that about him. How when she was looking for him in a crowd, she just had to search for the slightly damp white button-down, the back of his nearly-balding head. His hair was soft, like down, and Pete’s was too. Two twin sandy blonde heads sitting in front of the television, Pete curled into his father’s side, Phillip slowly stroking back those baby-shampoo-soft curls.

So, yeah. The Datsun. Scene of family road trips and midnight grocery store emergencies. A wreck that managed to limp from point A to B, with her dad faithfully in the front, eager to drive her to friends’ houses or cheer practice or a competition two towns over. She still thinks about winding the windows down as far as they could go when they were on the highway. Her dad would look over, catch her eye, and grin in a way that made her think of him as a teenager, a young man, that cheerful abandon of youth that was infectious as a whisper, goose-bumps prickling her arms.

“Shall we see how fast this baby can go?” He’d yell, and Mandy would laugh and laugh: “Go, Dad, go!”

ANYTHING ELSE?

Here is my Pinterest board for Mandy (featuring ‘84 and ‘96 boards, because I’m that kind of person), and her account can be found here.

HEADCANONS

Mandy works at the Community Centre as an Adult Education Coordinator. Which is just a fancy way of saying she organises craft classes for senior citizens. Seriously. Mandy picked up the job mainly to get Sandy off her back. After commuting to Lansing to attend community college, her decision to drop out and live and work in Devil’s Knot was met, unsurprisingly, with a pointedly raised eyebrow and a loud slurp from a glass of wine. And Mandy knew, she just damn knew, that if she stuck around her childhood home any longer, she and Sandy would end up killing each other. The job isn’t taxing: she works a few days a week, has a desk up on the mayor’s floor in the Community Centre, and spends way too much time putting flyers together for their new pasta making courses or adult literacy classes. The administration is what really bothers her, because the students are lovely. Little old ladies she’s known for years; grandfathers who remember her father back in the day. Best of all, they like her. Mandy wouldn’t consider herself a charismatic person, but she is a patient one. She’ll listen to a grandmother’s story a thousand times, nodding in the right places, exclaiming, asking questions. She’s gentle. Around other people it can be a slightly different story. She’s not clipped, exactly, nor is she rude. But she is shy, and Mandy is naturally suspicious. When people stop her to talk, she hesitates. It would be too much to link that back to ‘84, although there’s little doubt that that October and the months that followed succeeded in severing her trust in adult figures for life. No, Mandy prefers to keep to herself, to the people she knows. It’s safer that way; controllable.

Mandy loves movies -- always has. Bobby, Mandy, and Perry always went on about music, talking rapturously about guitar solos and funky beats, all while Mandy pretended to grimace and trade teasing looks with Jenny and Mike. But movies. Mandy’s favourite genre is horror. Surprising, maybe, but she can’t get enough. Sci-fi is her second favourite. Her ritual is to go down to the Videoport on a Friday afternoon and stock up for the weekend. She trails down the aisles, fingers skating over the titles, looking for some weird German expressionist thing or a summer blockbuster she can zone out to. Mandy would hardly consider herself a connoisseur, but she has an encyclopedic knowledge for actors and actresses, and can name their filmography from memory just by looking at them. It’s like, one of her only talents.

Mandy enjoys cooking. She mainly enjoys cooking for Mary, who will always, without fail, praise her skills until Mandy’s rolling her eyes and begging her to stop. Even if it’s crap (which it is a lot of the time; God knows Sandy never taught her to cook; this was all the result of afternoon cable and Reader’s Digest), Mary will come up and hug her from behind, kissing the side of her neck, suffusing Mandy in warmth and her spicy perfume. That was so good. You’re so good to me. Doing things for people is Mandy’s way of showing she loves them. It doesn’t matter what it is -- laundry, vacuuming, cooking -- she’ll find herself doing things automatically. It’s a little funny that she’s turned into a housewife ever since moving out with Mary, but it’s also really damn nice. Mandy looks after their small apartment so tenderly. Watering the plants on the windowsill, buying kitsch ornaments from the thrift store, airing out their cramped bedroom in the spring sunlight. Much of Mandy’s life revolves around domestic duties. She picks up the mail, pays bills, goes grocery shopping. Mary comes too, of course, but doing things together in public can get difficult when all Mandy wants to do is kiss her deeply in the fruit and vegetable section. Mary’s full-time job is also demanding, and Mandy only works a few days a week (despite what you may believe, there are not that many adult education classes to organise; the biggest scandal was when they introduced a salsa class and everyone collectively lost their minds). Maybe, in some way, it’s Mandy’s way of holding up her end of their relationship. And maybe, in a deeper, smaller way, it’s also an excuse. If she’s busy, how can she possibly go back to college? Who’ll make apple crumble and fold the socks? Huh? The pixies? If this makes Mandy sound territorial, it’s because she is. She clings to these chores because it’s far easier than thinking about the alternative, which is to get off her ass and actually make something of her life. She’s thirty years old. Nearly thirty one. And she’s got absolutely nothing to show for it. That hurts more than anything. Maybe that hurts most of all.

Mandy is a lesbian. She knew. Even when she was a teenager, she sort of knew. She and Mike started dating when they were thirteen and just... kept going. Certain things seemed inevitable: prom, college, maybe even marriage. It was so simple to imagine her life with Mike, whose family, the Hawkers, were best friends with her parents; they’d all been born months apart; they were raised together. Most of Mandy’s childhood memories involve Mike and Mary, Jenny. They tumbled around together like puppies, climbing trees and having sleepovers. Then they started to grow up, and Mandy and Mike got together, and the atmosphere shifted a little. Mandy liked Mike. She did. Maybe she loved him, in a way. But it was so, so platonic, and the way she felt when she looked at Mary was anything but. Mary used to scare her; still does, sometimes. She was a force of nature and Mandy was the eye of the storm. Looking back, the signs were obvious, but then again, they always are.

Mandy used to dress the way people expected her to dress. T-shirts and jeans, bleached white sneakers and cheer uniforms. Not feminine enough to please Jenny, who’d wrinkle her nose and fondly say, “Mandy, are you kidding? You cannot wear that,” and not masculine enough for her dad, who’d hand her wrenches as he worked on the Cadillac on weekends, shooting sidelong glances at her squad jumper, mumbling, “You’ll get grease all over you, honey.” Scrunchies and high ponytails. Pale pink jackets and a signet ring Mike gave her when they were fourteen. Just enough to be acceptable; to be palatable. To blend in, fade away, be nothing at all. These days it’s the opposite: Mandy dresses like an amorphous blob. In fact, she’d rather people hazard a guess at what she really looks like underneath her oversized flannel shirts and huge boots. The more clothing she has on, the more protected she feels. Layers upon layers. Band shirts worn soft with too many washes; jeans more grey than black. She still has her pink jacket from high school (Mary hung it up in their wardrobe and shrugged when Mandy found it, saying, “You always looked cute, and I’m a sucker. So sue me.”) Mandy pulls her hair up and away from her face; she doesn’t wear make-up. Still has the signet ring, though. She’s a sentimental doofus, she knows.

Mandy loves arts and crafts. Pottery, weaving, knitting; painting, sketching, cooking. These are things that bring her peace, that quieten her inner world. Growing up, she wasn’t creative in the slightest. Mandy was decidedly pedestrian: the most creative thing she ever did was design banners for the cheer squad or doodle in the margins of her school notebooks. But after Pete was returned, she needed something, anything, to stifle the panic static in her brain. Countless nights were spent sitting on the couch in front of the television, Pete curled into her side, her doing finger knitting or making a collage, eyes darting between her project and the cartoon onscreen. Over the years she’s gotten better -- last winter she managed to knit Mary a hideous scarf -- but her hobbies were never pursued in the same vein as her other achievements. Mandy still remembers practicing for cheer for hours in the cold, or studying in her room until midnight, eyes dry and head aching, quietly panicking about a test the next day. Everything she did, she did obsessively. These days, Mandy just wants to be still. Their apartment is stuffed with half finished craft projects: stacks of coloured paper, jars of beads, wool in miscellaneous piles, flowers drying on the windowsill. Sometimes Mary will come home to find her sitting cross-legged at the kitchen table, a pot of sauce bubbling on the stove, Stevie Nicks in the background, Mandy carefully cutting out prints for her art journal. She started journaling when she was a teenager, mainly to help with her father’s murder and the stress of the subsequent trial, but it’s a habit that has followed her happily into adulthood. Mandy would be lost without her projects, her art. It’s a channel for everything she feels; it clarifies her. And it’s never undertaken with any attempt at perfection. Mandy’s learning, slowly, to let go of unattainable ideas. Life is messy. She’s trying to accept that about the world, herself.

Mandy failed community college. Well, it felt like she failed. In reality, she dropped out. There were only so many classes about psych and childhood trauma that she could take (and ironic, right? That she studied psych? Mandy remembers the day she flicked through the brochure to pick her classes, ticking boxes on the vague notion she’d specialise in children, maybe, in kids who’d been taken or abandoned, and help them find their childhood again). The people were too much. Tons of people like her -- great in high school, but not good enough for a decent college out of state -- and older people too, people who reminded her of her dad (not that he’d gone to college; he used to joke that that was all above his pay grade, No, no, I’m happy where I am! Although Mandy knew how avidly he poured over science magazines, and how impressed he was with Apple and that computer stuff. Maybe in another world he would have done something else, been someone great. Maybe it runs in the family). Mandy felt boring in turning down invitations to parties or even drinks down the campus bar. She’d cite anything -- Pete’s homework, the long drive home, dinner waiting -- and soon that got old. She felt old. Like she’d skipped the fun part of her twenties and jumped right into middle age. It didn’t help that everything after ‘84 melted her brain into goop. The minute Mandy received her final marks from school, she shoved the paperwork back into the envelope and hid it with her dad’s old things. The word failure pounded in her head. How did it happen? How could she have gone from mathletes and cheer to barely scraping by? To holding on by a thread? And why? Why did it all affect her so much; why was she such a damn baby about everything? Pete was back safe. That should have been enough, right? But his return didn’t come with everything. Somewhere between Pete disappearing and that Christmas, Mandy cut herself loose. Swapped SAT prep for making spaghetti for her returned little brother. Watching reruns on TV until it was way too late, tucking him into bed. Some nights she didn’t want to leave him, so she put out a sleeping bag on the floor by his bed between him and the door. Just in case. Mandy always wanted to go to Oberlin for one reason: it was far away from Devil’s Knot (and, okay, she liked the name). Ambition was a thing she wore because it fit, not because she liked it. Watching her dad’s face light up when she showed him her grades was reason enough to try hard; and studying with Bobby made her feel light, if only for a little while, them laughing and whispering about D&D campaigns, teasing each other like siblings. Being smart felt good, even if it didn’t come wholly naturally, and Mandy worked damn hard to keep it up. Giving it away should have been freeing. Instead, Mandy knows she disappointed everyone. She’s just another person who raced to the state line only to stop dead, toes at the edge, and feel fear prick the back of her neck.