#i knew from the start that being in a managerial position with so little experience would not suit me at all

[paranorahjones]

realizing that it might actually be time to quit my job. it's a terrifying thought because a lot of people are depending on me but i actually don't think i can handle this constant stress for much longer.

[sunfish-studies]

Moonrise

✄・・・ Feathery Ink [Karasuno Manager Series]

➜ Pairing: Karasuno x Manager! Reader

➜ Warning: none

➜ Notes: This is a separate series from Crisp Leaves. Similar to Crisp Leaves, manager in this story will be portrayed as a girl. She will be tall. This is just my appreciation towards tall girls, you guys are amazing.

Previous:  ‹ Greed › | Next:  ‹ Illusionary Hero ›

↷ SUMMARY ↶

It’s finally summer vacation training camp!

After the fight, Hinata and Kageyama weren’t really talking to each other–Coach Ukai even separated them during practice, Hinata in team B while Kageyama in the other. When practice was over, Kageyama was working on his tosses with Yachi’s help while Hinata drive elsewhere with his bike to practice on his own.

“Ah, he’s with my grandpa.” You asked where on earth did Hinata go, and that’s your answer from Coach Ukai. Apparently, Hinata was training with the previous Coach Ukai at their home. That left you with managerial duties and some extras like buying supplies for the training camp.

The injury you received of course was noticeable by the team–it almost send both Tanaka and Nishinoya into rampage, but you quickly said it’s not a problem and it would heal in no time. While you could make up some excuse for Daichi, Sugawara, and Ennoshita, you couldn’t with Shimizu. With a stern look from, you finally spilled the beans and she promised not to tell anyone.

While Kageyama wasn’t talking to Hinata, he’s definitely talking to you more now–along with walking you home if you chose to stay at practice longer. With that, you learn more about him and how he’s undoubtedly a volley ball dork through and through.

The time you had to depart from school to Tokyo for the training camp at night, he offered to picked up from your house so you could walk together to school.

“C-can I sit next to you…?” the raven-haired boy asked. Of course, you agreed wholeheartedly since Yachi will be sitting next to Shimizu and sitting alone didn’t seem to be fun. At first, you talked about some mundane things and watched a few videos saved in your phone before falling asleep leaning to each other.

“KAGEYAMA!!”

“HOW DARE YOU STEAL A HEADSTART!”

And it incurred the wrath of both Tanaka and Nishinoya when they realized. Thankfully, Ennoshita was quick to shut them up by slapping them on the head and Daichi glared at them menacingly for causing a ruckus.

.

.

“Well, the grand guest finally arrived,” when you carried the big bag filled with your essentials outside the bus, it was immediately gone from your hands. Kuroo plucked it from your grip so he could carry it instead, sending you a small smile.

“Kuroo-san, it’s been a while.” Greeting the older boy, you stepped to the ground.

“It’s nice knowing you stick to your promise,”

“Well, it’s impossible for me to not join the training camp. And,” you looked up to the building upon the stairs. When it was in Nekoma High School before, this time training camp was held at different area–however, you didn’t complain because even during summer, the place was cool with many trees surrounding and breeze swept by. “Why are we in a different place? I thought it’s being held only in one place.”

Kuroo hummed. “It’s a tradition for training camp during summer vacation happened in Shinzen. This place is cool, so it’s great. Why? You wanted to be cooked under the sun instead?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Hinata! Did you grow any taller!? Oh! Otohaku-chan!! You’re looking pretty as always!!”

“Lev, shut up.” Kenma scolded.

.

.

“[NAME]-CHAN!! Make sure to cheer for me, alright!!”

“She won’t, Bokuto-san. And please don’t call her by her first name when she didn’t mention you could.”

Thank goodness, Akaashi had a say because you didn’t know how to reply that without wanting to upset Bokuto in the process. The first match was Karasuno against Fukurodani and it didn’t go well–your team splendidly didn’t sync because everyone went to try the new moves their practicing, resulting they had to take a new kind of penalty.

Along with Yachi, you watch as everyone sprinting uphill. And it didn’t happen only one time, every time they lost a match, they had to do one before walking down and downing their drinks. It went until the last practice–which they splendidly managed to lost.

“Hitoka-chan, could you look over Kageyama-kun and Hinata-kun in my place,” you whispered to your best friend, referring to the duo who’s clearly itching for practice but couldn’t exactly say it clearly as they still in bad terms with each other.

“Yeah! I was thinking about that too!” the two of you nodded in determination.

“Uhm, [Name]-san,” Yamaguchi called out to you, rubbing his nape sheepishly. “I want to practice serve, could you watch over?”

Smiling you nodded, “Sure Yamaguchi-kun! Let me get my notes first, okay?”

The taller boy blinked in confusion. “Eh? Notes? What for?”

“To look over your progress overall,” you kneeled down to put on your outdoor shoes. “I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

“O-oh, okay.” Yamaguchi could only reply that as he didn’t know how exactly–he knew he shouldn’t be flustered or feeling special, but he couldn’t help to feel warmth bloom in his chest. He knew you were an attentive person, and it’s nice to know that applied to everyone on the team even though you’re mostly stick with Kageyama, Hinata, or Yachi.

Jogging towards the sleeping quarters, you could’ve arrived faster to pick up your notebook if Bokuto’s call didn’t halt you from doing so.

“OOH!! [NAME]-CHAN!!” he called out from the third gym. You noticed that he wasn’t alone, Kuroo and Akaashi’s also there and surprisingly Tsukishima. From that, you concluded that Kuroo must have something to do with it–probably taunting the blonde into joining. “Could you throw us some balls!?”

“Eh?” you blinked. “But, I have to get some notes for practice-“

“Just a few, come on!” Bokuto didn’t even give you a chance to explain–instead, he dragged you by the wrist.

So here you were, arranging an apology speech for Yamaguchi while throwing some balls for Akaashi to set. That and giving Lev some glances to check if he’s still alive or not on the floor. The setter already apologized to you in Bokuto’s place, but you immediately dismissed it since you didn’t mind either.

“Geh!? Otohaku-chan!?” Lev must be exhausted seeing as he barely noticed you’re in the same area.

It amazed you on how Bokuto still managed to kill the spikes viciously after series of practice match all day–his stamina is top-notch, nothing less from one of the best players in the country. Watching Bokuto’s spikes meaning also watching Tsukishima tried to block them.

Not once did he managed to successfully shut one out, but with Kuroo’s finally joining the cross was killed almost in an instant. While Bokuto is a formidable opponent in attacking, then Kuroo would be terrifying in defense. No wonder Coach Ukai was making him a great example for a solid blocker.

Tsukishima is indeed smart and calm as he read the opponent’s movement, but,

“Your blocks are pretty weak.” You flinched as Bokuto blurted out what you had in mind regarding Tsukishima’s block–and it sure pissed the taller blonde off. “Your arms are so frail that I’m scared I’m gonna break them. You need to stop the ball like you mean it!”

“I’m still a growing boy!” Tsukishima replied, clearly trying to hide his annoyance. “I’ve just started gaining muscles and getting taller!”

“Talk like that, and the little shrimp is gonna hog all the glory.” Kuroo remarked. “You guys play the same position, right?”

Ouch, you couldn’t help but thought. That hits the sore spot.

“I don’t think it can be helped,” Tsukishima said with a smile after a few seconds of silence. “The difference in natural talent between me and Hinata is too great.”

Before Kuroo could argue, the players of Nekoma began piling into the gym and Tsukishima finally managed to excuse himself successfully this time.

“Looks like you stepped on a mine, Kuroo-san,” Akaashi commented.

“You pissed him off,” Bokuto dragged. “At long last, Kuroo-kun, the master of provocation, has failed.”

“Well, I wouldn’t have thought that.” The black-haired captain sighed.

“Thought what?” Bokuto questioned.

“Karasuno’s shrimp is definitely strange and a threat, but in terms of technique and experience he’s like a baby bird. Plus, he’s really short. I never would’ve thought guy with glasses, who’s far taller and much smarter, wouldn’t only think they’re not equal but actually think the shrimp is above his level.”

Sighing for the second time, he rubbed the back of his head before giving you an apologetic look. “Sorry, I pissed off your middle blocker.”

“I don’t think you pissed him off,” you couldn’t exactly say that it’s fine because it’s not your place to do so. “But you did hit a sore spot, Kuroo-san.”

“Otohaku-san, shouldn’t you get going? We’ve hold you long enough from you whatever you want to do.” Akaashi reminded.

“That’s right, then I’ll excuse myself.” You bowed down and walked towards the exit–you immediately retrieve your note before finally helping Yamaguchi with his serves after being held for some time.

.

.

The next day, you’re helping Eri, Kaori, and Yukie cutting watermelons given by the parents from Shinzen High School. Surely, on this hot summer, sweet and cool watermelons would make anyone’s mouth began watering. It was also a great short break for the boys as they enjoy the watermelon while sitting on the grassy hill beside the gym.

“Do you want extras, senpai?” and just like other managers, you distributed the watermelons while asking if the boys wanted seconds or not. This time, you’re offering a few that’s still on your tray to Tanaka, Daichi, and Asahi.

“Ooh, don’t mind if I do, [Name]-chan!” Tanaka reached out for another slice.

“Me too,” after him, Daichi also took a slice from your tray.

“I’m okay with mine for now,” Asahi politely rejected your offer. “How about you eat some too? It’s quite a hot day.”

“I’ll go it after everyone’s seconds are done,” you remarked, intending to circle around the separate crowds for the nth time but Tanaka quickly interrupted.

“Everybody has their share already! I’m sure they don’t mind.” Your upperclassman commented. “Besides, our beautiful manager deserves to have rest!”

“Somehow, it doesn’t correlate…” Asahi muttered, smiling nervously.

At the end, you ended up sitting down beside Asahi and munching on a slice of watermelon. Your upperclassman was right for one thing–enjoying the fruit in a hot summer day was a great way to cool down, you instantly felt refreshed.

“Sorry, by the way.” The four of you looked up to the call, seeing Kuroo approaching and out of blue apologizing. Surely, your upperclassmen were confused with this except you.

“About what?” Daichi questioned.

“I think I might have pissed off your glasses guy yesterday.”

“What?”

To make it clearer, the cat captain sat down with his back towards you and began explaining the situation occurred the other day–you admired how both parties didn’t once interrupt nor getting things heated up, they knew this wasn’t something big and could be resolved by just a simple apology.

“Wow… Tsukishima actually helped out with free practice even if you cornered him into it,” Daichi hummed in understanding.

“Your manager too, but that’s Bokuto’s idea,” you didn’t know why on earth Kuroo decided to brough it up but seeing your upperclassmen were nonchalant about it (except maybe Tanaka, though he was quickly being shut up by Daichi) it’s also not a big deal.

“So, what did you say?”

“I provoked him and said he was going to lose to your shrimp over there.”

“I’ve definitely noticed that Tsukishima seems to feel inferior to Hinata somehow.” Asahi remarked, probably remembering a few words Tsukishima said to him.

“I’m not sure if this is relevant, but my sister mentioned someone tall named Tsukishima also joined the volleyball team during the Little Giant times.” Tanaka mentioned, surely this is new to all of you because Tsukishima wasn’t the type of person who talks about himself much.

Daichi’s head perked up. “Tsukishima has an older brother?”

“Oh, I’m not sure.” Tanaka quickly replied. “They could’ve just had the same last name and not be related. Do you know anything about this, [Name]-chan?”

“I don’t, but if I know, I think it’s not my place to tell since Tsukishima-kun would undoubtedly be annoyed because of it,” you answered, which made Tanaka hummed in agreement.

“Hey, we’re about to start!” Sugawara called out.

You didn’t know about Tsukishima having a sibling or not, however,

“This is just a club. Why do you put so much into it? It’s because you put so much into it that you suffer later.”

You couldn’t help but think it’s somehow related to what he muttered the night before.

.

.

Yet again when the sky softly bathed in orange glow, Karasuno had to pay their losing with penalty–you along with Yachi and Shimizu also Takeda-sensei and Coach Ukai watched as the boys bolted uphill accompanied by yelling (well, this was mostly Hinata, Kageyama, Tanaka, and Nishinoya).

“Here,” you offered a water bottle for Kageyama. He couldn’t even reply a ‘thank you’ from how harshly he was panting and you could only sympathize with him–more than five matches in a day plus penalties were rough.

“Thanks,” the raven-haired boy finally rasped after downing probably a half of the water from the bottle. You also handed him a towel so he could wipe away the sweat dripping down from his temple.

“So, how’s training going?” you finally asked, which triggered a sighed from him.

“No progress.” The frustration was getting to him definitely–while you were only watching for some time since Yachi’s already there to help him, you understood that Kageyama failed more than he succeeded. He knew he was getting nowhere and time was short, if he’s not geared up it will be a problem.

“I can’t give you any helpful advice but I think you should practice under Coach Ukai’s watch,” you mentioned, and Kageyama listened carefully. “He probably has ways that could help you. You couldn’t do this on your own Kageyama-kun, you need guidance.”

Nodding firmly, he replied. “Yeah.”

“I can’t wait to see your toss,” you then added, giving him a smile. “It’s going to be amazing for sure. You did pinpoint toss to Hinata all this time.”

The boy fell silent for a while, and you almost regretted saying those words–did you somehow step on a landmine? Did you piss him off? Did you touch the nerve-

“I promise to get done and you’ll see it.” The negative thoughts were gone from your mind as you stare at those blue eyes filled with determination. You found yourself smiling at his promise.

“I will be waiting then.”

.

.

“Sensei, what do you think of Tsukishima?” Coach Ukai asked your advisor while the five of you were watching the match between Karasuno and Ubugawa.

“I think he’s taking this seriously,” Takeda-sensei answered, although rather confused from the question.

“How about you, Otohaku?” and you didn’t expect to be involve in the conversation also.

“Uhm… he’s doing his work, but lack of effort? I think he’s not giving his all.” you replied but somehow became an unsure question in the end.

“You’re right,” Coach Ukai remarked. “I feel like Tsukishima gets a passing grade but never tries for 100%. I’m not asking for him to become more passionate, but if he’s not going to give his all, I’m gonna have to change regulars. I need players who can win a match on the court. He’s the tallest and essential to the team. If Tsukishima could become a strong blocker, our defense level would go up a lot.”

“I see,” Takeda-sensei nodded in understanding.

Not long into the game after Tsukishima served, there’s a collision between Daichi and Nishinoya for the ball–at first, it was nerve-wracking because if one of them was hurt it could be bad. However, seeing that the two dismissed it as if it was nothing was relieving.

“Everyone’s so motivated.” Yachi commented.

“Everyone’s more motivated now than I’ve ever seen them before,” Shimizu frowned in worry. “But sometimes it’s almost scary. Collisions like the other day can definitely lead to major injuries.”

Another spike went through but received perfectly by Kageyama, the ball bounced to the air and Tanaka was the second one to get it, passing it immediately to Asahi.

“It’s a little short,” you muttered, noticing the ball was hovering near the net–exactly to where Hinata was. From how he’s staring at it, he’s most likely to steal it–but then he tensed up, snapped his head to the side to give Asahi a stare and stayed in his place in the end.

“Let him know the ball is yours.”

You stared as Asahi successfully killed the ball even with three blockers–grinning from how he stole a score and holding them team together so it wouldn’t become lawless. The attempt was enough for you to let your shoulders relaxed.

“Maybe I didn’t need to worry after all.” Shimizu sighed in relief.

Asahi turned to face you, giving you a smile and an outstretched fist–you immediately returned it with the exact same gesture.

[domesticnct]

can you do frat boy jaehyun turned ceo jaehyun please 🥺🥺🥺🥺

OMG THIS IS WHAT I HAVE ALWAYS IMAGINED FOR HIM HOW ARE YOU READING MY MIND?!?!?

In his first few years of college this man is an absolute F-boy.

He’s very well known for his *ahem* experiences with lots of girls on campus.

In college he is definitely that annoyingly attractive frat boy that everyone lowkey wants because his face is so beautiful, but they don’t actually want a relationship because well... he’s a hoe.

He probably drinks so much alcohol it’s a miracle his liver still functions.

He parties every single Friday and Saturday night but he has somehow never been hungover. He’s just built different.

Despite his partying and 90% of his personality being shaped around being one of the bois, he is actually very dedicated to his studies.

He’s also that frat boy that’s parents think he is an angel child because he has a job, his professors and bosses all love him, and he does really well in school.

He’s one of those daddy’s money kids, but he’s actually not pretentious or THAT irresponsible.

But because of his dad’s connections he gets internships at powerful companies and is able to network his way into a managerial position basically straight out of college.

He kind of stays a hoe for a few years while he’s working his way up in the company not wanting to commit to anyone and being “focused on his career”.

He drinks whiskey at bars every Friday night with his colleagues and catches the eye of every woman and even some men in the bar.

Eventually he would achieve his status of being a CEO and starts really considering settling down.

You would meet him by being introduced through a friend, but it turns out you already knew him from college (consider this a different au from the last college Jaehyun headcanons I wrote).

You are also a business professional though you worked your way up unlike someone who had connections...

So you two would be a power couple.

As a CEO, Jaehyun seems like the complete opposite of his college self.

He’s poised, composed, and QUITE intimidating. But when he’s not in strict business mode, he’s still a huge dork who likes to go out and have fun.

He’s super popular at his company as even though he’s a little scary, he knows all of his employees by name.

He’s one of those CEOs who actually makes an effort to be a leader and get along with the people in his company rather than is just there to make a ton of money.

He really cares about his employees and always makes an effort to greet them if he walks past them in the hall, talks to them about what they want to see in the office and what would make their job better and forwards this info to HR so they can start formulating policies to make people’s life better.

He would def become one of those CEOs who is on the cover of magazines and is super famous for just being a good boss, being charitable, and is never caught up in any sort of scandal because he’s literally perfect.

[songbirdsingingthings]

As The Years Went By (Daichi Sawamura x Reader

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THESE CHARACTERS, THEY BELONG TO HARUICHI FURUDATE You didn’t really understand why people hated the rain… you found it rather beautiful. Maybe it had something to do with age. No longer were you anxiously waiting to go and play outside with the kids of the neighborhood - now you were studying for your final exams, holding a job at the local bakery, and on top of that, being manager of the boys volleyball team. Being a 3rd year has been, to put it bluntly, kicking your ass. You never really meant to make your schedule this busy, all of the opportunities just kind of fell in your lap as the years went by. 

The first was as the Karasuno boys volleyball team manager. You had loved volleyball for most of your life, but never expressed the want or need to actually play the sport. You were far more interested in looking at the subtle movements between the players on the court and how in tune they all were with each other. That’s what led you to becoming friends with a brown-haired boy when you were about twelve years old. You saw him playing volleyball with some other boys in your grade at the middle school court. You had to stay behind at the middle school since you were in charge of planning out your year’s graduation party. After writing down where most of your grade was going for high school, you were exhausted. But, curious as ever, you poked your head out and watched the boys, bump, set, and spike the ball. The brown haired boy, however, caught your attention. The grin on his face was kind of mesmerizing and the way he moved with such intent and purpose to receive the ball was incredible to you. It was almost as if-

“Hey! Do you want to play?” The boy’s voice startled you, causing you to drop the big binder that you were holding. Embarrassed, you managed to hoist the heavy thing back into your arms. You shook your head, “U-uh, sorry! I was just watching, I don’t play. I can go now!” The brown haired boy couldn’t believe how fast you were talking, so he jogged right up to you and placed a hand on your shoulder. It was a little weird, considering that you were about two inches taller than him, but he was smiling nonetheless. 

“Well, why don’t you sit down on the bench then? It’s a lot closer to the action!” He said. You blinked, speechless for a few seconds, and then returned a small smile.

“Okay, as long as I’m not bothering you guys.” You said. The brown haired boy shook his head.

“You’re anything but a bother! It’s like we're playing for an audience now. I’m Daichi Sawamura, by the way.” 

“Y/N L/N,” You said, smiling. 

From that day on, you and Daichi had begun a friendship that grew stronger through each experience you went through. First it was revealing to each other that you both had chosen to attend Karasuno High. The wide smiles on each of your faces were considered blinding to anyone who could see them, except to each other. Then, it was your decision to become manager of the boys volleyball when Daichi had made the team. The moment you walked into the gym as the boys started to warm up, you knew that you belonged there. The smiles from the boys in your year greeted you warmly. Asahi Azumane, Kōshi Sugawara, Daichi Sawamura, and you had formed quite the friend group ever since that day.

Next was your job at the local bakery. As a second year, you wanted to earn your own money. The times that weren’t taken up by your managerial position or your avid studying, you and your friends would go out to the mall or at restaurants, and you always felt bad asking your parents for money. They, of course, were happy to give you spending money, but due to your independent nature, you longed for a tiny taste of the real world. So, you interviewed at your favorite little place to study and grab a bite to eat. Thankfully, the people who ran the place already knew, and loved, you. They put you in an apron almost immediately and set you up at the cash register. The look on Daichi, Asahi, and Kōshi’s face as they walked inside to grab a cup of coffee after practice was incredible. The three of them reached over the counter to give you a tight hug in congratulations. After that, they became regulars at the little shop.

And finally, you were in the top 5 percentile of your grade. This was both a blessing and a curse to find this out. You were happy that the hard work you were putting in was paying off, but that only made you study more and more. It caused a somewhat withdrawal of you spending time with friends and really having fun. Your schedule consisted of going to school, volleyball practice, working a three hour shift at the bakery, and then studying until it was almost 2 in the morning. 

Currently you were nodding off during volleyball practice. The drumming of rain on the top of the gym was like a perfect little lullaby to you. You heard the yells coming from Daichi to the team, having them go through various workouts. Normally you would’ve been wide awake, maybe even ogling Daichi as you could normally see the strain of his muscles through his shirt when they were doing burpees. As the years went by, thoughts of Daichi were increasingly invading your mind, but you weren’t opposed to that. Daichi was special. He was caring and respectful of everyone, well mostly everyone, he met. His commitment to his team was admirable and he maintained good grades all at the same time. A special place in your heart was dedicated to this boy. 

Thankfully, the owners of the bakery had given you an entire week off from work due to them having renovations done. While you were free from that responsibility, the principal gave you a massive one recently - designing and managing the 3rd years end of year dance that was rapidly approaching. Not really having the ability to refuse, you “gladly” took on the operation. Your brain was now fried. You kept getting  budgets for the team and the school mixed up, all of the opinions of the students and faculty were revolving around in your head, and now you had to choose between streamers and balloons. So, you thought that if you closed your eyes for a second, you would be able to think clearly. Well, you fell asleep. Oops.

A shaking of your shoulders woke you up. As your eyes slowly opened, you saw gorgeous chocolate eyes staring into your own Y/E/C ones.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Daichi asks, concerned. Nodding, you raise yourself so that you’re sitting. The gym was mostly empty - practice must be over. Mentally face-palming for missing the entire practice, you were about to ask what had happened when Daichi spoke. “You didn’t miss anything. Just Hintata and Kageyama bickering over something stupid.” Earning a laugh out of you, Daichi gave you his hand to help you stand up. Gladly accepting, you stood, smoothed out your skirt, and grabbed your bag. Looking out of the double doors of the gym, you softly cursed. It was still raining and you had forgotten to grab an umbrella this morning. 

“Do you happen to have an extra umbrella?” You asked Daichi sheepishly. What a stupid question, you thought, nobody has two umbrellas with them!

“No, but I do have one. Care if I walk you home?” Daichi asks, giving you a classic smile. You give him an even bigger one. Not at all.

The walk home was lovely. Since you and Daichi don’t live that far away from each other, you didn’t feel guilty for having him walk you to your house. The two of you talked about the team, your job, and your new responsibilities with planning the dance.

“I just don’t get it Dai! I mean the logical color choices are black and orange because those are our school colors, but there’s this whole group of people who are campaigning for silver, white, and blue! Like where the hell did those colors come from?!” Daichi listened to you vent, nodding and laughing at the appropriate moments. Finally, the two of you reached your house. Just as you expected, none of the lights were on. Your parents were very busy people with jobs that required them to work pretty late hours. Seeing this, you sighed. “Thank you for walking me home Daichi, I really appreciate it.” You say, giving him a smile. 

“Hey, if it’s okay…” Daichi begins, blushing a little, “what if I stay with you until your parents get home? I don’t really like the thought of you here all alone.” Now it was your turn to blush. Of course, you have spent lots of time one on one with Daichi, but this felt oddly… intimate. Of course, you were perfectly fine with that. 

“Y-yeah! Come on in!” You say, opening the door and allowing Daichi to step into your house. You shut the door behind you as Daichi walks around, looking at the pictures hung up on the walls. You see him stop at one, which intrigues you. Making your way over to where Daichi was standing, you look at the photo. It was from your first year at Karasuno. You were, surprisingly the second tallest out of you, Daichi, Asahi, and Kōshi, but that fact no longer held up. Daichi was now a couple inches taller than you, but you didn’t really mind. Laughing a little, you nudge Daichi with your hip. “Shorty,” You say with a slightly teasing tone. Daichi looks back to you, emphasizing that he was, in fact, actually looking down at you.

“Oh yeah?” He chuckles, “We’ll see about that.” He grabs your phone from your pocket and raises his hand so that it was the highest he could possibly reach.

“Hey! That’s so not fair, your arms are so much longer than mine!” You shout, jumping up a little to try and snatch your phone back from him. That’s when your phone pinged with a notification. Oh shit. Oh shit, shit, shit. You remember texting your friend, Kiyoko,  about how Daichi offered to walk you home. She knew about your crush for the brown-haired captain, so the text she sent back would probably be about Daichi. This situation couldn’t be more awful.

“Oh look! It’s from Kiyoko, I wonder what she says!” Daichi says in a teasing manner. 

“W-wait! Hold up, give me it back!” You say, a lot more desperately now, chasing him around the downstairs floor. He managed to gain quite a lead against you and flopped onto the coach so that he could read the text.

“‘Why don’t you ask Daichi already Y/N, it’s not like he’s gonna say no’...” Daichi read aloud, confused about the nature of the text. As soon as he read that, your eyes went wide. “What are you gonna ask me about, Y/N/N?”  Trying to think of an answer quickly, Daichi knew that wheels were spinning in your head. Standing up slowly, he walked over to you, and put his hands on your shoulders. He was no longer the boy asking you if you wanted to play volleyball. He was a man trying to get an answer out of you. “Y/N, what were you going to ask me about?” He says, softly now.

“Dammit Kiyoko…” you mutter, looking at your feet. Daichi knew you well enough to tell when you were lying, so you were going to have to tell him the truth. Yes, you wanted you and him to go to that stupid dance you were planning together. You have been daydreaming about it for the past month. You in a pretty dress and him in a handsome suit, walking arm in arm into that banquet hall. He would ask you to dance with him to a slow song, leading you to the middle of the dance floor. His hands would be on your hips, yours wrapped around the back of his neck, maybe even playing with his hair a bit. At the end of the night, he would bring you to a quiet spot, maybe the practice gym, and confess his love to you. Alas, that was in your imagination. Now, you had to tell him, indirectly, that you like him. “Umm, Kiyoko was referring to uh,” you swallow and close your eyes, your head still tilted down towards your feet, “she was referring to me asking you to the dance.” Silence greeted the two of you for a bit, but was interrupted by Daichi wrapping his big, strong arms around you. He held you tightly and even laughed a little bit. A little shocked, you open your eyes. He pulls away from you, just a bit so that you and him can see each other.

“Well I guess you beat me to it, huh?” He says, giving you a grin. Your confused face makes him laugh even harder. “I was going to ask you tomorrow. I had the whole thing planned out with the team. We even got you a volleyball that says “Dance with me?” on it.” Daichi laughs out loud. Now, you joined him. “Since it’s kind of out in the open though, I guess I can do it right now.” Pulling the volleyball out of his bag, you recognize it immediately.

“Is this the ball from when you invited me to play?” You asked slyly, taking the ball out of his hands, looking at the ball. You found the “Dance with me?” written on the part just above where you’re supposed to pump it up.

“Yeah, how could I get rid of it? That was the first time I really spoke to a cute girl.” He said, winking at you. Your cheeks lit up. “So, Y/N, will you go to the dance with me? And then, go out with me after?” He asks. You give him the biggest smile he’s ever seen on you.

“Of course Daichi!” Feeling high on adrenaline, you move towards him and softly grab his face with your hands. He nods immediately which prompts you to close the small gap between the two of you. His lips were soft and his hold on you was tender. His hands wrapped around your waist, but slowly inched up so that your face was now in his hands. You two pulled apart for what seemed was way too soon, but you were pretty out of breath.

“So… what color tie should I get?”

[writingwithadinosaur]

“Under the Knife” - Part 10 (Finale)

“Under the Knife” - Part 10 (Finale)

My Masterlist - Here

Story Masterlist - Here

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Hannibal Lecter x Reader, Will Graham x Sister!Reader

Word Count: 3,800-ish

Key: Chunks of text in italics are (Y/N)’s thoughts. Y/N = Your Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color

Warnings: Cursing, talk of violence, talk of death

Summary: You are Will Graham’s sister who works with him at the FBI. When you get offered a job promotion, life starts to change. Some changes for the better; Some for the worst.

Author’s Note: Well, we are finally at the final chapter. This has been such an incredibly challenging story to work on, but I have learned so much from this process that will no doubt help shape my future stories.

Thank you to all of the readers who have liked, reblogged, commented, messaged, and reached out to me. This has been the best response I’ve gotten on a story and it has filled me with a level of appreciation that I wasn’t expecting. <3 

With the sappy stuff out of the way, please enjoy the final chapter of “Under the Knife.”

This is beta-read by @theeactress​, but please let me know if there is something that we missed or that we should look at again! 

<3

- DreaSaurusREX

Tag List: @fruitloopzzz @theeactress @melconnor2007 @ashenfallsof @geeksareunique @all-by-myself98 @sj-thefan​ @fuck-your-bad-vibes-dude​ @ntlmundy​ @a-person-unlabled​ @germansarechill​ @rentheanonymous​ @liadamerondjarin

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“Taking into account that Henry Urik was left-handed, I was able to throw my head back, causing him to falter, and then lean to my right in order to escape his grasp and not have my throat sliced open. This gave me enough time to get back to the table and get my hands on the gun.” 

“Unfortunately, the gun was empty. It’s common for killers to use unloaded or fake guns as intimidation techniques with their victims. My mistake gave Henry enough time to stabilize himself and grab hold of me again, resulting in a mild concussion and being knocked unconscious until a few hours later. Luckily Dr.Lecter was able to fight, thus saving me until Special Agent Crawford and his team could come.” You looked around and saw a few people taking notes while others just nodded their heads. Checking your watch, you saw that you had a few more minutes left to fill up. “And with that, I have time for one or two questions before we leave.”

The lights faded up a little bit, nothing too harsh for you. You quickly scanned over the larger than the normal crowd in your lecture hall. 

The fact that you, a survivor of the Virginia Scalpel, were giving a lecture on the case had attracted the minds of not only your normal trainees but the higher-ups as well. 

It was a slightly dizzying feeling to see the faces of management in your lecture hall, but that could also be the still healing minor concussion from a serial killer slamming you into a table a little less than a week ago. Either way, you took this time to sit on your desk and drink some water as you pointed to one of the trainees in the first row.

“I don’t want to bring up anything too triggering, ma’am, but I--”

“Kid, if I wasn’t okay enough to jump back into the shitstorm named Henry Urik, I wouldn’t have agreed to be here today.” A scattering of chuckles echoed through the hall. You were glad to hear that your lighthearted comment helped ease the tension in the room. “Please, continue. I’ll be okay, I promise.” The agent nodded and took a breath, whatever they were going to ask must have been weighing on their mind enough to scare them. You could tell that they were trying to hide it, but your ability to read people's subtleties was strong.

“Thank you, ma’am. I wanted to ask for your advice. What should we be aware of if we’re ever in a similar situation with an unstable or unpredictable suspect? What do we do?” 

You nodded and thought for a moment before you responded. You had a feeling that this type of question would come up now or through an email later on. Fiddling with your ring, you spoke.

“To be honest, you have to be able to assess everything at the moment. I may have seemed to have a handle on the situation externally, but internally? I was a quivering, frantic, and terrified mess. With Henry’s focus being solely on me, I knew I couldn’t just sit there. I knew that if I froze, it could have cost not only my life but also Hannibal’s.” You took a deep inhale through your nose before continuing. The thought of losing Hannibal hurt your heart. “My advice: really focus on the suspect. What are they saying? How are they saying it? What are they doing? Are there any mannerisms o-or phrases that hint at any sort of soft spot?” 

You held up a finger and turned to your computer, scrolling back through your presentation until you found the slide you were looking for. It was a diagram showing how all of the victims tied to Henry as well as Henry’s symptoms. You turned back towards your class.

“While I knew a majority of this information before my encounter with Dr.Urik, I only knew the facts at face value. When he and I talked about his experiences with all of these doctors, Henry let his anger and annoyance towards these men out. His voice changed from the seemingly calm and confident man that had just had a gun pointed at me, to a frustrated patient who just wanted answers that he believed in.”

“Now if we want to talk about more physical tells, that is the premise for another lecture entirely. You can tell a lot about a person without either of you having to utter a word.”

You looked at the trainee, they were watching you, truly listening to everything you had to say. From the almost unnoticeably tensed jaw to the stiff posture, this future agent was using all of their power not to tremble in fear at the thought of being in a scenario like this. You saw the fear in their eyes.

“As long as you breathe, remember your training, and let yourself fully assess the situation at hand, you’ll do the best you can do. Trust me, there were two very distinct moments that night where I thought and accepted the possibility that I was going to die. That’s a risk we all take with this job. But I focused on what I could do next and kept going. And that’s what you’ll learn throughout your time in training and in the field. You cannot stop, you have to keep going.”

You ended with a smile directly to the trainee to try to calm their nerves even a little bit. They visibly took a deep breath and nodded, giving you a quiet “thank you” before writing something in their notebook. Your saw movement out of the corner of your eye. Will and Hannibal were now standing off to the side, letting you know that you were almost done. Will was more rigid than usual. You assumed he heard the part about accepting death and he did not like that thought. 

Hannibal caught your eye as he tapped his watch. Nodding, you looked back to the class, prepared to dismiss them. That was until you saw a hand near the back. Before you could say or do anything, the man with the raised hand spoke. 

“How were you able to confirm the Scalpel’s motive? What stood out with him that made him suspect number 1?” You took a slightly larger breath as you realized it was one of the assistant directors speaking. Blinking a few times and gathering your thoughts you tried to sound as professional as you could. 

“Well, we originally were looking for an active doctor. Someone who could have access to the equipment and drugs needed for these killings. But then we realized that it could be a former doctor who was now a patient of these doctors.” You gestured to the slide projected behind you. “As for motive, we could only theorize until we talked to Henry himself. And while talking to him face-to-face last week revealed a lot, we cannot actually confirm anything when it comes to his psyche.”

“But you said it yourself, he was frustrated at the answers that these doctors had given him. So wouldn’t the Virginia Scalpel murders be crimes of passion, making his motive emotional overload?” The man spoke. You were thrown off just a bit, but found your way back to correct wording.

“They actually weren’t crimes of passion. Those are usually impulsive and emotionally driven. The Virginia Scalpel crime scenes, especially that of Dr.Pencalt and his wife, showed us that Henry was methodical and purposeful.” 

“Yes, there could have been an emotionally charged aspect to it. He was upset with these men. I theorized with Dr.Lecter and Special Agent Crawford that these killings could have been some sort of pain relief for his headaches. The act of slaying these men took all of his focus, alleviating the pounding in his head.” 

“At one point, he said that killing was a form of mercy and life could be considered torture. So he could very well have just wanted to spare them from this mortal coil. Or maybe Henry saw these murders as a way of honoring them. Maybe there was even a thrill-seeking aspect that he got a kick from.” You stood up from your spot on your desk, feeling yourself getting a bit weary after so much talking over the last hour or so, and tried to politely wrap this all up.

“Where I’m going with this is the fact that we can theorize all we want-- Hell, we can even settle on what we believe his motive was. But that’s all it’ll be: A belief. We will never truly know because Dr. Urik was found dead in the woods behind his former office building, stabbed a handful of times, and had enough of his own paralytic drug in his system to take down an ostrich.”

They were out of your sightline, but Hannibal and Will both smirked at how well you had handled the situation. It wasn’t often that managerial positions were proven wrong in front of a classroom full of people. However, both of their smiles slowly fell as the assistant director continued.

“I guess his death is a breath of fresh air, right? You can sleep at night knowing that the Virginia Scalpel is no longer out there. No more target on your back.” The assistant director tried to say that as a lighthearted joke. Something to lighten the mood. But you forced a pained smile and spoke your mind.

“Yes. I am thankful that I don’t have to worry about a scalpel cutting into my cheek again, or almost slicing my throat, or finding Dr. Lecter chopped into pieces in his bed or maybe even Henry breaking his pattern and going after the last bit of family that I have left. I guess sleeping should be easier, shouldn’t it?” 

You looked directly at the man as you spoke, the gravity of your situation and the insensitivity of his statements hitting him. You shifted your gaze to the trainees that were in the first few rows and continued, straightfaced. 

“But I am curious as to what he would have to say and how that perspective could have helped us catch others like him. I hope that you all can find that same curiosity as I do. If we can catch them and talk to them, we could learn what makes them tick and get information that could help us catch the next one before it's too late.” You let a beat of silence pass, letting your words sink into the minds of the young ones. “Thank you all for your time. For questions regarding the Virginia Scalpel case, please contact Special Agent Crawford and he will see if you are authorized to view the file notes. If you need to reach me for any reason other than the Virginia Scalpel case, you all have my email. Stay safe out there.” 

You turned away from the class and shut down your computer, trying to gather your things as the room applauded. You raised a hand as a way of saying “thank you but please stop” and they all filed out of the room. 

“I think that went well despite Assistant Director Ass-Hat’s commentary at the end there” Will made his way to you, grabbing your jacket from the chair behind you and holding it in his hands, gripping it tighter than normal as if doing so would solidify in his brain that you were here and safe.

“Thanks. For someone with a shaken brain, I think I did pretty good today.” You joked back at your brother. Looking over your shoulder, you saw the beginnings of his brain spiraling with worry. 

If he was being honest, Will still hasn’t fully gotten over the events of last week. It was his exact fear almost coming true. And while he was forever thankful that you were alive today, he was worried that this near-death experience wouldn’t be enough to stop you from continuing to work active cases. The fact that you wanted to give this presentation so soon after you were released from the hospital validated his worry more and more.

“I still think it’s too soon for you to be back here.” 

“If you had your way, I would never step foot near this building again, Will.” You joke over your shoulder as you slide your laptop into your bag. “But I also think that that is just your way of trying to get me to be a 24/7 dog sitter.” Will huffed out a breath that sounded like a dry chuckle.

“I’m not saying that, but if you ask Winston or the others, I’m sure they would be all for that idea.” 

You finally turn fully to Will and lightly smack his arm. His face fades from a small smile to an unmasked face of worry as he looks down at the jacket in his hands that he is still fiddling with.

“I know this isn’t going to change your decision on whether or not you stay with Jack’s team, but I really don’t like that idea.” 

“You said the same thing the first time we had this conversation.”

“Yes, but that was before you got seriously injured while working a case.”

“I wasn’t seriously injured.” Will was going to interject, but you kept talking. “But I understand. What we do is dangerous. But I’m going to say the same thing I said last time: I have the chance to save lives, and that is a good enough reason for me to stay.” 

Before either of you could continue, Hannibal finally made his way over. His hand landed comfortably on your lower back for a long moment to alert you of his presence. 

You and Hannibal had talked about your mutual feelings for one another and agreed to start exploring a romantic relationship. That being said, you haven't told Will yet. Luckily, the gesture from Hannibal was easily passed as friendly to your unknowing brother.

“The assistant director wanted me to pass along his apology, (Y/N). He didn’t mean to insult you with his statements.” You waved your hand dismissively.

“I know he didn’t mean to. But it was a nice excuse to hand a ‘powerful male’ his ass in front of a whole room. I’m sure his ego will bounce back in no time.” You let a devilish smirk grace your features, earning a smile from Hannibal and a chuckle from Will. 

Hannibal looked to Will and saw how he was holding your jacket. Hannibal just offered his hand.

“I can take that, Will. You should go. You don’t want to be late for your own lecture. I will make sure your sister is safe.” 

The hospital discharged you, but you were still healing. The cut on your cheek was almost healed, but you kept a bandage on it to be safe. A scar would surely form, permanently reminding you of your first case. Most people would associate it with the fear of impending doom by the hands of a serial killer. But you were actually okay with it. You saw it as a reminder of what you were able to survive.

The most inconvenient thing was that you weren’t allowed to drive yourself. Between the healing concussion and the medications you were on, driving was not the safest thing. So Hannibal and Will took it upon themselves to compare schedules and be your drivers. 

When Hannibal had afternoon patients or had to work late on something, you would stay with Will. On days where Will was needed at work, you would stay with Hannibal. Sometimes you would stay in their homes, and sometimes they would crash on your couch. Well, Will would crash on your couch. Hannibal would share the bed with you, protecting you from anything that would try to get you physically or mentally. 

Even when you decided to stay at Hannibal’s home, you felt safe. The dining room was a bit haunting. But you knew that no matter what, if something felt off or if you were in any sort of danger, Hannibal would step up and help the best he could. 

Your boys (and the dogs) made sure you were safe no matter where you were.

 If there was anyone Will trusted to watch over you, it was Hannibal. He was the reason you weren’t the Scalpel’s ninth victim.

Will just nodded and struggled to hand over the jacket. Your heart ached because you knew how easily concerned he got when it came to you. But you could also see that he was trying to let go of some of that worry, letting himself see that Hannibal was a safe man to have in your life. You closed the gap between you and Will and wrapped your arms around him, feeling how tense and distraught he was. 

“I will text you as soon as I get home, alright?” Will nodded his head as he squeezed you just a bit tighter. You squeezed back, knowing he needed the reassurance. He pulled away and you patted his shoulder. “Don’t give your kids too much shit today.” 

You both snorted, knowing there was some truth behind the joke. Will said goodbye to Hannibal and left the room, leaving you and Hannibal alone. 

As much as you wanted to hurry up and get out of here, you had to lean against the desk as you zipped up your bag, really feeling your lack of energy now.

“Are you alright?” Nodding, you took a sip from your water bottle before speaking.

“Yes? Did a lot of talking and thinking today. I think I’m starting to get tired.” You let a chuckle-esque exhale come through your nostrils. “Gotta build my energy back up.”

Hannibal stood in front of you, gently placed your jacket down on the desk, and took one on your hands in his. To any normal person, it just looked like he was holding your hand to comfort you. But you knew him. He was gathering data: Pulse, temperature, if your hands were clammy, and whatever else he could find out. But he was also holding your hand to comfort you a little.

After determining your vitals to be manageable, he lifts his hand to brush a few strands of hair from your face, letting his thumb stroke your cheek for a moment.

“I think it's time to go home and rest, don’t you?” Hannibal proposed. You nodded and grabbed your jacket from next to you.

“My place or yours?”

“Your choice, my love.” You couldn’t help but smile at the new and special sobriquet that Hannibal had started using more frequently. Hannibal kissed the back of your hand before helping you stand up, putting your hand on his arm to guide you out.

“I think my place tonight. And maybe we can stop at the store on the way and you can finally show me how to cook something worthy of the esteemed food artist, Hannibal Lecter?” Hannibal smirked at your dramatics.

“Do you think you’ll have the energy for that?” 

“No. But I’d still like to try.” You leaned towards Hannibal and felt a pleading smile make its way across your face, knowing Hannibal was already going to agree to your idea. He still pretended to think it over before nodding. 

“That sounds like a lovely evening.” You felt yourself wiggle just a bit out of happiness, Hannibal smiled at the cuteness of the motion.

Hannibal reached out and touched the doorknob, but before he could open the door, you were distracted by your phone buzzing in your pocket. When you looked at the caller ID, your feet stopped moving and your heart dropped. You couldn’t tell if it was out of fear or excitement. Maybe a weird mix of both.

Hannibal turned to you, watching your face carefully as you answered.

“(Y/N) speaking.” 

“How you feelin’, (Y/N)?” You hadn’t heard Jack’s happy voice in a while. You weren’t sure if this one was real or fake. So you proceeded with caution.

“I’ve been better, but I’m also doing a lot better compared to a few days ago.” 

“Good. Good...” Crawford trailed off, his mind obviously on something else. 

There was an awkward silence. You knew Jack was trying to figure out how to phrase something without stressing you out after the last couple of weeks. You knew what that something was and you appreciated the effort to try and not overwhelm you, but you didn’t like this small talk part. So you took a deep breath before kick-starting the conversation that you knew Jack was trying to ease into.

“I get the feeling that this isn’t a social call, is it, Jack?”

“No. It is not, (Y/N). We have another odd case that we could use your help with.” 

You felt your thumb subconsciously go to wiggle your ring. You knew this conversation was going to happen eventually, but even knowing that didn’t lessen the anxiety you felt. Hannibal stepped closer and took your hand in his, lightly running his thumb across your knuckles. You knew he was trying to ease your mind with the small gesture. You mouthed “Thank you” to him and smiled. 

Jack continued before you could say anything. “You don’t have to give me an answer right now. But the sooner the better.”

“How about I get back to you tomorrow afternoon?” You stated more than asked. Jack agreed to that and hung up. Hannibal could see that you weren’t stressed but you also weren’t excited. 

“I take it Agent Crawford wants to borrow your mind again?” You nod your head, going back and forth in your mind about whether or not to take him up on his offer again or let yourself rest for a bit longer. “What’s stopping you from saying yes?”

“Not much to be honest.” You look at Hannibal and see him watching you, ready to react to anything you say or do. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.” 

“Could you be my partner, Hannibal?” You ask and almost fear his response. You didn’t want to be a burden. But very quickly you are met with that lovely rare smile of his. 

“It would be an honor to be your partner, in life and on a case.” You smile as you lean towards him and he meets you halfway, pecking your lips softly, his hand smoothing its way to your back. The two of you pull away and he ushers you out of the room. “After all, someone has to protect that beautiful and reckless mind of yours.” 

You shot Hannibal a look as the two of you walked to his car, ready for one more relaxing night before jumping right back into the chaos.

[swan--writes]

Bath Time

(I was listening to the live version of Cherry Wine by Hozier while writing this.)

Alrighty y’all, here’s part two! This one is a bit shorter than part one, but I kind of don’t mind it. Part one can be found here.

Warnings: references to sex, non-sexual nudity, kissing

You didn’t always hate your job, but when you did, you goddamn despised it. There was the day your computer glitched out and you lost a full day of work. The day your coworker had passed an angry customer off to you, and you had to sit at your desk through lunch to talk him down. Of course, you would never forget the day your current boss had first taken over her managerial office. Sheer and utter chaos. She had learned quickly, but dear Christ had that first day been rough.

Today took the cake. Your office had a managers’ meeting. Normally you liked your boss, and you knew some of the other managers. Having every manager in the district in the same building had been excessive though, and you needed to find a way to relax. Your legs were burning and your shoulders were tense – you had been running around all day, carrying redundant messages to ungrateful people and trying your best to prevent fires from starting and putting out the ones that did.

When you got home, Beetlejuice was still gone. He had left on Wednesday night for some Netherworld business that you had already forgotten the details of. Frankly, you weren’t sure you wanted to know. The demon had said he would be back on Friday evening, and so far he had never been late. For all his many…many faults, Beetlejuice was always punctual. Unfortunately, some of those faults made it difficult to relax and de-stress.

If you told Beetlejuice that you needed both of those things, you knew what he would suggest, and that if you took him up on it you wouldn’t leave your bedroom all weekend. Tempting as that idea was, you did have some errands and at least one project to take care of that weekend. Besides, you had sweat through your shirt and your sweater by the time you got home. You knew you needed a shower, but the thought of standing for that long was overwhelming. What you really wanted was a bath.

Without waiting for Beetlejuice, you walked into your bathroom. Your old roommate thought you were being overindulgent when you bought your bathtub, but the house was in your name so to hell with it. It was a large tub, with a black exterior and a shiny white interior. You undressed, wrapped yourself in a towel, and dug through your designated Bath Drawer. There were scented epsom salts, dried flowers, some half-empty bottles of bath soap, and a few tightly bound scrolls from your pre-demon boyfriend days. (God, he was your boyfriend. Would you ever get over that?) (Doubtful.) Come to think of it, maybe he should join you.

Ever since you had introduced Beetlejuice to showers, the demon had been obsessed. This was probably a good thing, considering how easily he got dirty. Beetlejuice couldn’t really feel pain and he still enjoyed body horror and bio-exorcisms and dramatically impaling himself on the gate surrounding your house for your entertainment. He would regularly emerge from the woods near your home covered in God knows what, and you had a sneaking suspicion that at least part of the reason he did it was so he would have an excuse to take a shower. It didn’t hurt that he usually needed your help getting all that mud and dead-guy blood and whatever else off of him. Maybe he would enjoy a bath.

After a few moments of carefully considering the contents of your Bath Drawer, you picked out an orange vanilla scented soap and starting filling the bathtub with water as hot as you could stand. You would be in this bath for a long, long time. While it was filling, you lit a few candles and turned out the lights. The bathroom was still bright enough that you could navigate it easily. Already, you could feel some of the tension leaving you.

So when Beetlejuice knocked on the bathroom door, you jumped.

“Honey, I’m home.” The door remained closed, but his voice was definitely in the room with you. Despite the jump scare, you couldn’t be annoyed. It was very him. You liked things that were very him. “Whatcha up to in there, sweet cheeks?”

“Beetlejuice, have you ever taken a bath?”

You heard him falter. “What?”

Not answering, you got up from your kneeling position beside the tub and opened the bathroom door. He had been leaning on the other side of the door, and when you opened it, he didn’t move. Now leaning on air, Beetlejuice frowned at you curiously. Thankfully, he wasn’t too dirty. No need to hose him down outside before letting him into your citrusy bathwater.

“Come on.” You took his strong, steady hand and gently pulled him into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He wasn’t about to refuse you when you were right in front of him wearing nothing but a towel, and he came with you easily. “I’ve had a long day, I thought this might be a good way to relax. And since you love showers so much…”

By now there was a small mountain of bubbles floating on the water. You shut off the faucet and stuck your arm into the bath to swirl the foam around more evenly. When you turned back to look at Beetlejuice, he was staring wide-eyed at the tub.

“Is that soap foam?” You nodded, knowing he couldn’t smell it too well but glad that he still seemed able to appreciate it. His eyes lit up. There was a closeness between the two of you. His pale skin shone in the dim light, and the candles softened his demonic features. In the low light, his hair looked soft and his skin looked warm. With the wonder on his face, Beetlejuice almost looked human. You smiled absently. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

“You’ve never scared someone in a bath before?”

“Usually I’m scaring them out of a bath.” You took his hand and kissed it, then unwrapped your towel. There was a rack beside your bathtub and, ignoring Beetlejuice’s stare, you hung the towel from the rack and stepped into the tub. You sighed at the heat of the water and lowered yourself into it gently, but you didn’t lean against the edge. When you looked up at your demon boyfriend again, he was fidgeting, apparently speechless. Though the wonder was still firmly in place in his expression, he also seemed nervous. “Uh…” Beetlejuice pointed to the water, then to himself. “…can I come in too?”

Did he think you were going to say no?

Your brow creased in sympathy, but you fought to keep your expression open. If you shut down, even a little, he might feel rejected. You thought about giving him a speech about how you always accepted him, or about how he should feel totally welcome in your home. You could tell him how much you cared for him and how you loved spending time with him. How you wanted to give him all the human experiences you could. How you could always make a space for him. All of those things were true.

But all of those things, you realized, could wait. This didn’t have to be a teaching moment when you could just show him that you cared. For now, a nod and a small smile were enough. The joy that spread across his face was worth it.

Beetlejuice shrugged out of his jacket immediately. You watched him take off his tie and unbutton his shirt. He didn’t give you a show – didn’t even offer. It was endearing in more ways than one. Beetlejuice removed his striped button-down and his undershirt. The candlelight rolled around the lovely slope of his pale shoulders. It struck you, not for the first time, that despite being dead, this demon was so much more than a lump of cold flesh. Though you felt it when you cuddled him, and you felt it during sex, there was something about the lighting and the warmth of the bathroom that belied his intensity. Beetlejuice’s movements were so smooth and his skin seemed to glow and the reality of him surrounded your heart like so much comforting water and soft light and warmth.

When Beetlejuice slipped into the bath behind you, you shifted into his arms without hesitation. He leaned against the back of the tub and you rested your back against his beautifully soft stomach, your shoulders falling against his accommodating chest. He wrapped one cozy arm around you and kissed your ear. His other hand dove into the foam, stretching and squeezing experimentally. He made piles of bubbles and flicked them. You smiled and tilted your head, craning your neck so you could kiss his chin, nosing at his scruff once you had. Beetlejuice moved his head down just a bit so you could reach his lips. Once you were satisfied that you had kissed him enough for now, you turned back to face forward and fully relaxed into him. You really had missed him while he was gone.

It was still for a minute. Then, you felt Beetlejuice’s free hand tugging at the elastic in your hair. He didn’t ask and you didn’t say anything. You simply leaned your head forward just enough for him to pull the elastic free. You felt his fingers chasing it away before returning to your scalp. His other arm held you secure, not stroking or exploring. He just held you. The last of the tension left your body with the tangles he was combing out of your hair.

Buy Me a Coffee?

[unicyclehippo]

If you continued that modern bodyguard au into something I would be eternally grateful🙌🏼 If so wish I mean

‘do i have to do this?’

‘do you have to promote your new CD by going to a three minute interview? yes, contractually.’ joel nudges her foot with his. ‘it’ll be fine.’

ellie hums quietly, clutches at her guitar case.

‘what are you worried about?’

the question comes from dina hayes, bodyguard of a week and three days. there hasn’t been too much of an opportunity to use her so she’s come along today more as a learning opportunity than anything. she is to shadow joel and accompany ellie in the studio where joel might not be able to, when he’s off doing managerial work, or if the make-up team bans him from the room again. the question comes as a surprise—not because dina hayes hasn’t been conversational or pleasant to be around, but because ellie’s previous bodyguards hadn’t been and she’s still adjusting to the change.

‘i’m not great with talking,’ ellie tells her, and returns her attention to the window and the slow crawl of the city outside of it.

‘why not?’

ellie shrugs. ‘i’m not here to talk about me, i just want people to hear the music.’

‘because the music is important.’

ellie nods.

‘what if you’re important to someone out there? you’re gay, right?’ the question draws a sharp glance from joel, but ellie just nods again. ‘what if hearing you talk about yourself is really important for a kid who is confused or worried, or just really happy to see that you’ve,’ out of the corner of her eye, ellie can see dina hayes waves a hand in a way that includes ellie and the car and the driver and the guitar and the everything that comes with being a semi-famous artist. ‘made it.’

ellie doesn’t look away from the window. they pass a bank of taxis, orange and black, and the sounds of the city are loud even in the car. the beeping of the walk signal, the chatter of a thousand commuters walking into the skyscrapers that shoot up on all sides. ellie pretends she’s back home among the silverbark gums and that these are just massive, massive tree trunks, but the game doesn’t work so well today. because of the nerves, she thinks.

‘thanks for the suggestion,’ joel says finally into what registers to ellie now as an uncomfortable silence.

ellie blinks, looks over at the other woman who is staring out the opposite window. ‘it was a good point,’ she agrees, and when dina hayes looks over, it is with an expression ellie knows well. confusion, mostly, and a whole slew of complicated stuff ellie can’t divine. ‘thank you.’

dina hayes nods. it’s a little disappointing, because ellie likes to hear her voice, but it’s fine.

there’s a small crowd gathered outside the studio that has to be shuffled away so the car can dip down into the private car park. tires squeal on painted concrete as they follow the parking attendant to their place.

stepping out of the car, even a floor down and many tonnes of concrete between them, ellie can hear the faint screams.

‘ell! ell! ell!’

ellie hoists her guitar case into her arms, flicks her fingers over the catches so they click and stick and click and stick and click and-

‘i hope they have signs,’ joel says mildly, following the attendant to the elevator. ‘i like the meme ones.’

ellie grins.‘you’re too meme literate for an old man. it’s weird.’

‘i’m not old.’

‘ancient.’

‘this grey is all thanks to you, y’know,’ he grumbles. he watches surreptitiously as dina hayes sweeps the parking lot and the elevator and leads them in before taking her protective stance next to ellie. he gives ellie a short nod; he likes her, but ellie already knew that.

‘middle-aged.’

‘distinguished,’ dina hayes chimes in, and joel’s brows shoot up and he breaks into a grin.

‘ha! distinguished, yeah! i like that.’

//

the studio lights are hot and too-bright in her eyes and the couch is way too soft. ellie scoots to the edge of it and gets a glare from one of the studio hands but no one wants to interrupt the anchors introduction of her to correct her position so she pretends that’s the same as permission and stays where she is.

‘—so please welcome to our studio with me, eleanor knight, or as the world knows you now—ELL.’

the sharp-edged sound of clapping pulls her attention from the side of the set where joel is standing, arms crossed, frowning. he’s a solid stable source of what is real and important in those fake-ass room and ellie pulls in a deep breathe, focusing on him. seeming to sense it, joel’s black eyes slide from the anchor over to her and he gives her a short nod.

‘hello, christine gunnarsen.’ ellie says.

‘good morning! and just chris is fine,’ the woman says with a wide smile of perfect white teeth.

ellie wonders if she’d had braces, and how long for, and whether they’d hurt, and how it is that teeth whitening actually works because there’s no way her teeth are white like that just from toothpaste.

‘ok,’ ellie agrees. nods.

if there is one good thing about news hosts, it’s that they’re usually very good at smoothing over awkwardness. christine “just chris” gunnarsen is a perfect example of this. she sits on the couch opposite ellie and turns so that if ellie managed to ignore the massive cameras and the lights and the dozens of people walking outside of the set, it would feel like just the two of them talking.

‘so, ellie—can i call you ellie?’

‘yes.’

‘ellie, you’re here today because as of yesterday morning, you have released your second album—hopeland. now, this is following your debut album a little over a year ago, the last of us, which was received very well by critics and by the public as well. you had two number one hits from the album—winter, and quarantine zone. that’s a lot of success early on, how are you feeling about this new album?’

ellie drums her fingers on the body of her guitar, cocks her head to the side. ‘joel, my dad manager, says i should tell you that i feel very positive because it’s good music and my fans will enjoy it.’ joel, still exactly where he was, shakes his head, grinning.

chris is smiling too. ‘and what about you?’

‘i had a little more fun with these pieces,’ ellie tells her, and she feels her cheeks turn a little hot and shyness shivers up her back. she tucks a strand of hair back behind her ear and shifts the guitar closer. ‘i tried out some new techniques and so the sound is a bit different in places. maybe the fans will still like it, maybe it’ll draw a new crowd. i’m—excited to find out.’

‘a little nervous too?’ chris asks, and crinkles her nose like this is a joke just between the two of them. ellie knows it isn’t, but she doesn’t mind. she knows the woman is being kind.

‘yeah. very. music is, it’s really important to me. it’s, it’s probably the foremost way i communicate with people. i’m autistic so music is, it’s always been a way of talking to people and understanding them and helping them understand me and i think the first album did that well and this one will show a little more.’

chris looks surprised by the comparative flood of information but rolls with it, nodding. ‘like what? what can we expect from it? this is the CD,’ she says, and picks up the slim box from the table. ‘but it’s available on spotify and iTunes and anywhere else to listen to music, is that right?’

ellie nods. ‘i think my favourite one—i mean, it’s hard to pick,’ she says, and laughs quietly. ‘i wrote all of them, with a little help from some of my friends—‘

‘your co-writer on the CD is listed as howie garzia?’

‘yeah, howie is brilliant,’ ellie agrees and smiles genuinely, properly genuinely, for the first time since she was sat on this couch. she can’t help but pluck out a quick line on the guitar as she says, ‘they’re probably the most musically intelligent person i know. howie has years of classical training in, like, voice and a billion instruments and i was really lucky that they were partnered with me. we had a really great time making this album together and i got to meet my best friend.’

‘i’ve heard so many similar stories of either artists making great friends with other artists or great enemies. what is it about the process of making an album, or this album, that brings people together like that?’

‘it’s a lot of work,’ ellie says with a shrug. ‘more than people might thing. more than i thought when - when i started a few years ago. but when you’re, you’re - when you’re putting your thoughts and feelings and heart down on paper and playing it for someone else to hear it can be a really vulnerable experience, especially that first time or first hundred times, so it’s gonna be with the right person. howie listened and made it better and pushed me to challenge myself to, to not bring it back in? to keep it out there where people can hear it all. they make my music better and me braver so,’ ellie shrugs, cheeks fully warm now, and she ducks her head as her fingers nervously play over the guitar.

‘well, that sounds like a beautiful segue into asking you to please play something for us off your album. we have a stage over there,’

‘what a coincidence,’ ellie says, unthinkingly, teasingly, and is rewarded with a bright laugh from the host and a few others scattered in the crowd. she lets herself be led to the stage and sets about making sure the microphone is at the right height, though this is all stuff they did before ellie went onto the show. she clears her throat, searches the room for joel—there, square and solid—and, without really knowing why, she searches for dina too and finds the other woman staring back at her—bright eyed and proud.

‘i think i stated to say before but i got sidetracked,’ ellie says with a grin, more confident behind her guitar, the microphone, the persona of ELL. ‘this is one of my favourite songs i wrote. it’s called fun and games, and it’s a love song, i guess, to first loves.’

[justhereforthefanfiction]

Subtle Induction: Matteo x Adele drabble/one-shot

Whatttt!!! Okay, I did say I didn’t have time to commit to a fanfic, but this scene popped into my head and I thought, heck. Fine. I can smash out a drabble. 

Famous last words, eh?

This was inspired by one of my Titanic prompts - Christmas (Modern/Urban) AU, but leans closer to a Workplace AU. Not chrismas-sy though :(

Subtle Induction | Titanic AU | Matteo x Adal

Click. Click. Click.

She stared at the spreadsheet despondently, figures swimming in front of her eyes.

NG-Organise? More like NG-bullshit. 

She sighed heavily.

48 hours. That was all it took for her world to come crushing down. 

Adal moved to London upon accepting a job offer that seemed too good to be true. A passionate activist of women's rights, Adal was currently putting herself through a political science degree by working tables at the local pub. One night, she overheard one of her patrons waxing lyrical about the emerging tech giant that was going to change the world. Immediately, she was enamoured. She looked up their careers directory and applied for a place on their PR team. 

To her surprise, what she thought would be a shot in the dark became a dream come true when she received an email invitation for an interview. Mr. Vasari had taken her interview, shown her around the workplace, and offered her a position. His deep baritone, steady gaze and fierce intellect made her feel safe and listened to, and she believed if this was any indication of the level of leadership she had to look forward to, the job would be a slice of heaven.

Little did she know she made a deal with the devil.

She huffed, rubbing the bridge of her nose tiredly. The hairs of her neck began to stand. Her eyes flicked over the barrier to the cubicle in the corner. 

He was looking at her again. 

Rolling her shoulders back, she met his inquisitive gaze heads on. He did not look away. Instead, he quirked one thick eyebrow up, an insufferable smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Matteo Vasari was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. But little did he know, she was no lamb. 

Adal scoffed. He had set her on this path. Convinced her that this was the exact progressive workplace she wanted to be in. That this was the job of a lifetime. Convinced her to move to London, quit her job, uproot herself and her sister to seize the opportunity to make a difference.

Within 2 days of starting, the facade of the dream came crashing down. 

James Eisler, the British division’s CEO had invited her and Matteo to discuss her role and responsibilities. She left that meeting white-knuckled, with her breath caught in her chest. It was evident that she was a token hire, a woman and person of colour that would raise the profile of their company to several key stakeholders they wanted to impress. And what better way than putting her in-charge of publicity. A public face for a public role. 

Immediately she saw what she didn’t see right there before. A predominantly anglo workplace. No women in managerial or senior positions. A white saviour mindset permeating throughout their work in various sectors. None of their practices took into account local expertise in the countries they assisted. It was shocking. A complete contrast to their current image. 

No wonder why they splash the big bucks on PR, Adal rolled her eyes.

Click. Click. Click.

She couldn’t just cut loose. Her apartment and Hileni’s new school placement was tied up with NGOrganise. They had offered it as part of their reloaction service, and Adal took them up. Now everything was at stake. 

Worse still, she was tasked to win over Zetta Serda, beloved Oscar-winning actress and UN Goodwill Ambassador for the past 5 years. To convince her to be part of their charade in spreading awareness and goodwill across the globe.

Scowling at her screen, she hears the rolling of a chair in the distance. Sharp footsteps pad towards her. Adal kept her eyes glued to the screen, her hand twitching in anticipation. Not long, the telltale strong, spicy scent of his pomade invaded her senses. A small cough. She reluctantly lifts her eyes. Matteo throws her a short, wry smile and nods towards her screen.

“Having trouble?”, he tucks his hands under his arms, his forearms exposed by crisp rolled-up sleeves. His wristwatch glistens under the fluorescent lighting. 11.45am. Gods, the day had barely begun.

“Trouble e-stalking a celebrity, tracking down her movements and formulating a false impression of our work for the campaign? Now why would you think that?”

He smirks, finding her candor refreshing.

“You look like you’ve been kicked by a horse”.

She gasps. His smirk deepens. 

“Well, I happen to have a lot on my mind.”

Matteo’s smirk fades and he nods, deep in thought.

“And how is your sister settling?”

Adal’s back stiffens. Matteo sees how it’s taken and immediately shakes his head, hands raised, cool demeanour gone.

“I meant, with school and everything. I understand it was a big move for her too.”

A beat passes, Adal’s face an inscrutable mask. 

“Great. We’re grateful to NGOrganise for putting her at St Rose’s Girls. Not an easy school to get into, from what we hear.”

The unspoken implication of the statement hangs heavily between them. It is known that girls that look like Hileni do not go to prestigious, high crust institutions like St Rose's.

Matteo nods. He hesitates over what he says next.

“Adal...we take care of our own here at NGO. You needn’t worry. You have every reason to believe that we have your best interests at heart. James is a man of his word.”

“And you?”

Adal sees his eyes flash for a split second, and then flicker with something heavy. She thinks calling it remorse would have been too generous.

His voice drops.

“I’m not your enemy. Look around you. People like us, we got to do whatever it takes to keep those doors open.”

Matteo falters. He takes a deep breath, but thinking better of it, stops himself. He steps towards the back of her chair. Alarmed, Adal’s breathing jumps. 

He bends over her shoulder, an arm at the back of her seat, his face and hers side-by-side, inches away from each other.

She tries to avoid it but she can’t. From the corner of her eye, she can see every line, every hair on his face. 

Belatedly, she registers that he is reviewing her work, his eyes fixed on her screen.

She thinks she can’t possibly hide her reaction to him, but hopes against hope that he hasn’t noticed his affect on her. His face is a passive mask, but the glint in his eye betrays him.

After a tortuous 15 seconds, he points to the screen and turns towards her, his breath shallowly wafting across her face. Their lips are inches apart.

“Add a column here for resources. As long as it is a prospecting expense, you may use it however you like”.

He straightens up to leave. Adal feels her face warm up. As he walks away, she releases her breath and hangs her head in annoyance and confusion. Or rather, annoyance at her confusion. Wasn’t he Enemy #1 a moment ago?

Before she could complete the thought, Matteo turns around, his eyes flicking to her screen.

“By the way, good job.”

She hesitantly smiles.

“I want it in my inbox before lunch time”.

She scowls as she watches him walk towards his desk, grab his laptop and head towards James Eisler’s office. 

Don’t look a gift horse in it’s mouth, is that what he is trying to tell me?

She shakes her head, her hand going for her mouse. 

Click. Click. Click.

Her eyes look for him across the room. 

No matter what he says, he had full knowledge I was a token hire. He encouraged me. Deceit is deceit.

Matteo strides into the boardroom, laptop in hand. Their eyes connect.

No matter how pretty his words are.

Determined, Adal looks at her screen and gathers her thoughts. She wasn’t going to be a pawn in someone else’s game. So what if she was a diversity hire? She knew her worth, and no amount of commiserating over shared experiences was going to stop her from being who she was. She was more than her race and gender. She needed to walk away from this unscathed, on her own terms, her own way. And she would.

Whatever it took.

---

Author's note: 

Hellooo Life 2.0 cameo! Doesn't Matteo come across a little like Jaime, in the sense they are both aware of the POC ceiling at their respective workplaces?

Also, leaning towards Mena Massoud as a face claim for Matteo. He is a little prettier, and his face is rounder, but look:

Kinda? Maybe?

Still trying to find the perfect face claim for Adele, but no luck. I do think Naomi Scott would do a kickarse job as her, if she was cast. 

There, the plot bunny is out of my head (for now).

[prorevenge]

Owner screws me over, screws up(s) his business.

To start, I won’t be saying the name of the shipping company franchise I worked for, suffice to say the title is very telling. This is a rather long story, so buckle in. You can skip the backstory and look for the revenge near the bottom. TL:DR at the end.

The Backstory

About five or six years ago I was relatively new to the workforce, having worked one minimum wage job at Mickey D’s. I had been there almost two years, but had little experience elsewhere. Well this one lady always came through early every morning to order a large Diet Coke, and would take a few minutes to talk to me. I mentioned to her that I was displeased with my bosses and the working conditions, and she invited me to come apply for a job at Not FedEx because they were always running low on employees! That should have been my first red flag.

The second red flag went completely over my head, because at this point I was 17 with no previous job experience. When I walked in for an interview, the boss (who I will call Jeph, because it sounds close enough to his name to allow him to remain anonymous) told me it would take five minutes. I wasn’t asked about my relevant experience, my goals within the company, or even told what position I was applying for. I assumed all interviews were different and went along with it, and started the next week with training. Everything went well for the first month. I basically just packed boxes, took down customer information, and sorted mail into the mailboxes we managed. The real trouble started after I was given my one month performance review.

I was deemed to be a valuable asset to Jeph’s franchise, and rightfully so. At 17 I was able to lift more and work better than the 20 and 30 something employees, and due to the work ethic my parents drilled into me I was never slacking off while at work. I was then informed that I would be swapping between Jeph’s two franchises, roughly 30 miles apart. (For context, the franchise I APPLIED TO WORK AT was roughly a mile from my house, so I could walk if I couldn’t get a ride.) Every other day I had to drive out to the location and somehow justify this with my slightly above minimum wage job. ($7.50 for those not in Texas.)

Overall my boss was a massive douche. His physical appearance could best be described as “troll like” with a shirt almost bursting, the top always undone to showcase his aging chest hair, and a face not unlike that of A&F owner Mike Jeffries. He openly cheated on his wife, bragging to coworkers about it constantly. He charged people one dollar for any amount of extra tape they needed on their package, despite the fact that we got roughly two rolls for that price in bulk. He had a special price calculator installed on the computers that charged people roughly 10% more than the package would be elsewhere. He would push employees (who he insisted didn’t work in customer service but sales) to never offer anything less than three day shipping even though we offered standard 7+ days and even cheaper options. I watched him actively lie to customers, claiming it was the price they had to pay blah blah blah, and almost yell at them to go to another store if they didn’t like it. But I digress.

Now here was the first dickish thing that my boss did to me specifically. Until this point, I was only working around 20 hours. After I graduated to working at both stores, Jeph had me sign a brand new W-2 for his second store, which was under a different company. (He owned both, naming one Blue (name for a .44 caliber bullet) and Blue (proper name for visible light)). Again, I had very little idea that this wrong because I had never had to deal with this before. He proceed to add another 20 or so hours to my schedule, bringing me up to 40 hours or more. But since I worked for two separate companies I never earned a dime of overtime or benefits of any kind.

At this point, I started accruing more and more duties, as my boss and coworkers started to trust me more and more. Buy my fourth month of employment (out of a total of eight) I was performing managerial duties such as: opening the store, counting the registers, closing the store, ordering product such as boxes and tape, and preparing shipments for transport. The work alone justified a raise, not to mention the hours I was being asked to work. However when I floated this idea by my boss, he very rudely insisted that since he had a manager for each store already, I was just doing my job and couldn’t earn a cent more.

Then came the second dickish move. We had a large company contract some drop off stuff with us, a telecom company we will say rhymes with Hey Tea and Tea. Customers would bring in their old cable boxes, wires, remotes and the like, and we would scan them and ship them back to Hey Tea and Tea, the company THAT LEGALLY OWNED ALL OF THIS HARDWARE. The customers would not pay us a nickel, but the telecom company would pay almost double what it actually cost to ship the package. There is no way Jeph could look that gift horse in the mouth and decide he was still owed the stable and all the horse’s tack as well, right? Surprise, surprise, Jeph had to take it one step further. ANY and ALL parts/cables/WiFi adapters/USB drives the customer returned to us that didn’t have a scan tag on them, Jeph would pull aside and either strip for copper or sell on eBay. And he would force us, the employees to package his eBay sales or copper wiring into boxes and ship them for him. He even popped batteries out of remotes and recycled them somewhere to get a tax credit. None of his employees ever saw a penny of this money (not that I would have accepted it). We estimated he raked in roughly three to four thousand a month just from stealing alone. For those of you bad at math, that is the price of TWO brand new 2018 Honda Civics.

The Revenge

The third (and fourth) final dick moves are what solidified my hatred for this boss, and my desire to strike back. They both came in the same week, roughly the same time, and both viscerally repulsive. My favorite coworker had recently gotten pregnant, and although the father got the hell out of dodge when he found out, she was doing very well for herself. She and I frequently closed together, and she promised she would bring the baby to sit in the back for the dull hours we had to kill from 6-10. We also had an annual store review from corporate that week, so our boss called a late night meeting after we closed one day. Our boss started out by saying that he was proud of our pregnant coworker for working so hard even with her “disability.” (Yes, even his sense of humor was slimy.) Then, in front of all fifteen employees, HE FIRED HER. He told her that because the Christmas season was coming up, and she would only slow down the store being pregnant and all, he had to let her go.

After she left, hatred seething in her eyes, he turned back to the fourteen of us who were left stunned, and continued on like nothing had happened. He proceeded to tell each of us our jobs for this weekend, leaving mine for last. My job, because I used to drive a decently sized mini van, was to ferry the corporate required supplies, cash for the safe, and OUR ONE WORKING FIRE EXTINGUISHER between the two stores while he kept corporate distracted between visits.

At this point I had taken enough shit from this guy, and I formulated my plan. I started by calling the Hey Tea and Tea fraud department, and telling them everything I knew. I took pictures and emailed them directly to the rep I was talking to, who seemed a little too excited about fraud being committed. I then scheduled a visit from a Hey Tea and Tea rep at the same time corporate was supposed to show up. My next step was to call Not FedEx and explain exactly what I just told y’all, with a few extra things thrown in that I couldn’t share for privacy reasons. They promised to send a rep as well, to the same store, at the same time.

The final step was put into action that Saturday. I dutifully loaded up my van with the supplies, cash (upwards of $4000 if I remember correctly), and fire extinguisher, and headed out. Except I did the exact OPPOSITE of what Jeph wanted. I took the crap to the first store he owned, which was the second one to receive a visit. After he texted the team saying they were moving on, I packed up all the shit and drove it to the other store they just left. Now I am unsure exactly what happened at the other store, but from some coworkers I pieced together that the Not FedEx rep showed up right after I left, but didn’t stay long, and the Hey Tea and Tea rep showed up just before Jeph had arrived and had time to hide his ill gotten gains in his office. The one coworker who was close enough to the office during the corporate meeting said there was lots of angry words being thrown and threats being made towards Jeph and his position as a franchisee. He also lost his franchises the ability to ship for Hey Tea and Tea, at least for a period of time.

Regardless, the very next day I was off because I was (and as cliché as this sounds I swear to God it’s true) helping my grandfather who just got out of the hospital. I receive a call from Jeph, saying I needed to come in right away, and work a double shift as well as close the store. I told him I couldn’t do that, and I was taking a personal day. He fired me right then and there, citing my usage of the work computer to run a photoshop business during work hours. (I’m assuming he was referring to the graphic design work I did FOR HIM, FOR FREE, which he asked me to learn how to do.)

The sad epilogue to this whole story is that he is currently still in business, and still running the same scams he was before. He WAS however fined for not having proper supplies in his stores, as well as forced to use corporate’s package rates rather than his own. So in some small way my revenge worked. He currently has a two star review on Yelp for both of his his businesses, and I hope to have a party outside his store one day when it goes belly up.

TL:DR: Boss is a total douche bag to me and customers, steals from a contract company, fires a pregnant woman for “slowing down the store” then gets his ass reamed by corporate and loses the major contract.

(source) (story by Chewbacca_Q_Wookie)

[clubpassim]

Women in Folk - Kristina Latino

Hi there!

Katie here, ready and excited to bring you our first interview-e for the ‘Women in Folk’ Blog.

I’d like to introduce you to Kristina Latino. Kristina is an artist manager, primarily working with Americana/Folk artists. Kristina founded a company a few years back called Cornerscape, which started as a live-music events company that slowly morphed into the artist management company it is today. Her first job out of college was actually with Club Passim, working as a sound engineer in the club downstairs at night, and in the office as operations manager during the day. She credits her time at Passim as the thing that started her down the path of getting to know the Americana/Folk scene. During the interview, Kristina told me that while she worked at Passim, artists started coming to her for advice with little projects and crowdfunding ideas, and over time helped her transition to focus on artist management.

When I asked what her favorite part about working the job was, she enthusiastically listed off several things, which should stand as a testament to her passion and excitement for what she does;

“I love getting to see the way an album forms over time. Working with my artists and hearing them say, ‘I wrote this new song over the weekend, would you like to hear it’? And then they play it for me on their guitar, and then there’s a demo, and then months later it becomes a piece of their full-length album that they’re recording in the studio. Seeing the way a song morphs and transitions over time and the way album stories are built is really my favorite part.” We then circled back to her time at Passim, where she had some insightful things to say about her gained experiences, as well as a juicy secret kept in the dark all these years…

“I’m actually not sure if Matt Smith (booking manager for Passim) knows this yet, but I think it’s probably safe for me to admit this now...But I guessed that at my interview they would ask me if I had been to the club before, so I made sure to go to a show at the club the night before my interview. I had been to the space before but I hadn’t been to a show, and I just needed to be able to say yes in the interview, and not lie about it.”

You heard it here, folks.

She then went on to talk about how her work experience at Passim has continued to inform the work she does today; “The experience helps me every day; not just being a part of the Passim community, but when I’m with artists at shows elsewhere, having the training that I have as a former sound engineer to be able to listen really well to the mix that my artists are getting during their soundchecks and just being a good representative for them. Making sure they’re putting their best foot forward in shows is easier for me with that training and that background. It’s something I’m very practically grateful for.”

The next part of the interview was dedicated to her role as a woman in a male-dominated profession.

[full interview under the cut]

Club Passim: Talk a little bit about your experiences as a female in a male-dominated profession/field.

Kristina Latino: My experience has primarily been one filled with support from other women managers. That has been the predominant experience that I’ve had so far. I am continually amazed by the openness and the support that I get when I meet other women managers, many of whom have been doing it much longer than me, and that so many of them will give me their cell number and say, ‘If you need to talk through some strategy or if you have questions you can call me, you can email me’. It makes me feel like I have a community to turn to as I grow, and that has been really invaluable.

On the flip side, there are definitely experiences I’ve had that have been frustrating. It’s frustrating when some people, often men, just don’t take you seriously. With those people, I sometimes have to be a lot more forceful with my personality, or persistent in proving to them that I am worth their mental space and their time. Where gender comes into play, I have been inspired by the incredible women managers that I get to see and work with, and I hope I get to work with more and more of them as time goes on.

CP: Do you notice a difference in how you’re treated by artists, venues, audiences, and industry professionals before you’ve set expectations about the quality of your work?

KL: Sure. I try to be kind and respectful to everyone, and I think, you know, maybe because I’m a woman, that often that can be mistaken as being a pushover, or not firm enough. I think sometimes people think that because I try to be very nice that I am not able to be as much of a champion for my artists as they expect, but that’s fine. I know I can go after things that my artists need really well. I think people sometimes expect me to be more soft-spoken or less opinionated or think that because I’m nice that I’ll be a pushover and that’s not the case. I can stand up for myself just fine, especially with the motivation of wanting to do right by my artists. It’s easy for me to stand up for those artists and for the people I care about.

CP: What do you do in a situation when you feel disrespected by the artists/co-workers you’re surrounded by?

KL: The way that I react to disrespect has really evolved over time. When people treated me with real disrespect when I was younger, I was much more likely to write them off. Now when I encounter disrespect in the industry, I am more likely to politely address it. It all depends on the situation though.

And frankly, there’s always a calculation of whether or not it’s worth it to say something.

I wish that everyone was more introspective with how they interact with other people in all cases, especially when it comes to gender expectations. People have to want to work with you and people have to respect you.

CP: Follow up question. Have you found that this disrespect has come from more men or women?

KL: Men, definitely. But that question makes me a little uncomfortable, as I have found the community to be, on the whole, very welcoming, very respectful, very positive, so honestly, that has been the overarching theme for me; very positive.

However, I’ve also experienced some pretty classic examples of sexism. For example, I attended a meeting earlier this year where I was the only woman at the table and it was assumed by the person I was meeting that I was there to take notes. So that was, you know, very frustrating.

Or there was another meeting this year where the men at the table, who all knew each other well, set up a dynamic in which it was really difficult to work my way into the conversation. Those two instances were very frustrating, and you never know how much of it comes from gender, or age, or just someone thinking,  ‘well if I don’t know you already then you can’t be worth my time’. You never know what the exact balance of factors is, but I’m sure there’s always some element of gender.  You have to figure out a way to correct for it though, so with that situation, I went home and thought about how I could help those people and hopefully establish a positive working relationship.

So instead of pointing out to him that he was rude and talked over me for an hour, I tried to make it worth his while to register me as someone worth his respect.

And here is perhaps my favorite question to ask these women.

CP: In your opinion, how can men be more aware or informed about women in the music industry?

KL: I think that making spaces for new voices is really important. I try to think about this with myself as well. In the grand scheme of things, I am a pretty new manager. However, I am also the co-chair of Women in Music Boston, which is a non-profit organization that works to amplify the efforts of women across the music industry, and I am always reminding myself that while I am trying to learn from women mentors in artist management who are much farther along, I can also open doors to women who are years behind me in coming up in the music industry.

I think that this is a really important mentality regardless of gender, but I do think that men often do talk over people a lot, talk over women a lot. In the music industry, people are always clamoring for their voices to be heard, like, LITERALLY, so I think men should be more aware of how much space they’re taking up at the metaphorical microphone, and pass it to more women. Making sure your events are being hosted in a space that feels safe to women, making sure women know that they can report inappropriate behavior if it is your space.

Sidebar: A kudos shout out I want to give goes to a band in town called Future Teens. I went to one of their shows, and they had a text-line that you could text if someone in the space has made you feel unsafe in some way. One of the singers in the band named Daniel announced that at the show and it was awesome. That kind of ally-ship is super concrete.  

But anyway, it’s just important to think about how you can open doors to younger women managers. The people you mentor don’t always have to look exactly like you, you know? Seeking out new perspectives, new backgrounds, new lived experiences will make all of our work better. I just think more men should think about the way that they make their spaces feel welcoming - physical spaces and intellectual spaces.

CP: What message do you want to display as a woman in the managerial field?

KL: The music industry, like many industries, is built on relationships, and I think the message that I want to send, as myself, but also as a woman in the music industry, is that we should all be treating each other with respect, and treating each other well, and building relationships from a place of mutual respect and level footing, as much as possible.

There are so many power imbalances in the music industry, and I want people to feel like they can come to me and that I will treat them with respect regardless of our history or experiences. The frustrations that women experience in the music industry come from a lack of respect. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve seen women-fronted bands, getting sound-checked on stage saying, ‘I need more of this in my monitor’, or ‘This is sounding weird’, and the engineer doesn’t take them seriously because he doesn’t think they know their instrument. That just seems absolutely crazy to me.

So at the end of the day, I think that lack of respect is the frustrating part, and if we all focus more on creating an environment of mutual respect, especially for women who need to fight harder to get it, that would make things a lot better.

CP: What words of wisdom/encouragement do you have for aspiring women in this field?

KL: I love that question. That you can totally do it and that people will welcome you into this field! It is less scary than you think it’ll be. There’s a wonderful network of support out there, to find your crowd and celebrate them and to keep your head down and do the work, and don’t worry too much about what other people think.

Thank you, Kristina, for your thoughtful answers and honest conversation! The blog’s purpose isn’t just to bring these gender-issues to light but to also provide ways for men to be advocates and supporters of their women-peers and co-workers. I challenge everyone to be more self-aware and observant of your workplace. You might be surprised by what you find.

For now, thank you for reading, and stay tuned for the next installment of the ‘Women in Folk’ blog!

-Katie

[eddievee]

Gay and Sober

I’m intimidated by the thought of writing about this. There are multiple reasons as to why I perhaps shouldn’t express these thoughts. However, I have a problem. I have a problem and I feel as though trying to articulate it will help me cope. It is my hope that friends and family members will read this and understand my struggle. Maybe they or someone on the internet could also find solace in my story.

Basically, I have a drinking problem. Call me an alcoholic. Call me an addict. Any term under the umbrella of substance abuse likely applies. I write this at twenty four. Looking back over the past liquored up eight years of my life, the most traumatic experiences and biggest setbacks I’ve endured have had to do with alcohol. I pinned a guy in my dorm to the ground at eighteen and nearly got expelled from university. I went psychotic at twenty-one, experiencing auditory hallucinations and paranoid delusions. My psychiatrist deduced that it all transpired because I went off of my psychoactives cold turkey and started to self-medicate with wine. That turn of events forced me to withdraw from school for almost a year. In that time, I left random objects on my university president’s doorstep and nearly got arrested for trespassing. I also showed up drunk to the undergraduate library after withdrawal from classes and had to be escorted out by police. My relationship with alcohol is distinctly self-destructive and volatile. In March, I got hit by a motorist after a night out of drinking. I had recently quit a managerial position after over two years working there, lined up a prospective job with greater pay, and a couple of my coworkers bought me Jack Daniel’s as a farewell present. I wrote a goodbye letter that evidently still has a place of honor in the store. It was a bittersweet goodbye, but I was leaving a staff that I knew was going to miss me. From my end, that feeling was mutual. I also had a solid positive reference in my back pocket from my time there. I was ecstatic. To leave a job I really didn’t like was fabulous. To feel as though I was moving on in my career was even better. It was time to celebrate, of course! So, I imbibed. I guzzled hard liquor by myself and went to my usual haunt. I drank more there and tried to ride home on my bicycle. That’s when it all happened. The injury was severe. I sustained contusions on both sides of my frontal lobe and cracked a few bones in my skull. Emergency services were called and I was rushed to the hospital. There, it was determined that I was at a .27 blood alcohol content. Had I consumed a couple more drinks that night, I would have been legally dead. At the hospital, I was put into a medically induced coma and given a room in intensive care. The coma lasted roughly a month and I received inpatient physical, occupational, and speech therapy for another month before discharge. Multiple doctors, nurses, and therapists told me that based on the severity of the injury, I was expected to be discharged by November. I remember visiting the intensive care unit after being moved to the rehab unit. Multiple doctors and nurses who managed my case expressed verbal and physical disbelief that I was standing and walking. Several entered the unit for their shift, saw me, and would throw their hands in the air and turn around before greeting me. I don’t know the totality of their experiences in medicine, but I imagine several of their cases don’t end up walking and talking a month after coming out of a coma. They were unquestionably shocked to see me so relatively well.

Basically, I almost died. Mortality was clarified for me in March. The physical toll alone was nothing short of traumatic. In spite, I’m happy that my recovery has gone so unexpectedly well. I’ve gained 25 pounds of muscle back, I was discharged from outpatient therapies after two weeks, and I’m now looking at the possibility of returning to work. However, I’m not totally well right now. Despite all of the strides I’ve made over the past three months, I know I have an immense amount of work to do to get healthy again. However, I’m ill at this point for reasons unrelated to the somatic impact of my auto accident. The psychological consequences of my injury came later and asymmetrically. With the physiological component consuming most of my time, energy, and focus initially, I simply didn’t know how what happened was going to impact my mental health. With BPD on my diagnostic record, I’ve been depressed, anxious, and occasionally psychotic for much of my adult life. I’ve been in and out of psychiatry and psychotherapy since I was 18 years old. I’ve been hospitalized for psychological reasons twice. Having a degree in psychology and women’s studies, I know the annals and the phenomenology of mental suffering. Through both talk therapy sessions and undergraduate study, I am familiar with coping mechanisms and understand quite a bit about mental illness as a whole. With that said, the knowledge doesn’t necessarily lead to better mental health outcomes for my own struggles. I shouldn’t be drinking at all. In certain traumatic brain injury cases, to consume alcohol is to possibly have a seizure. I also developed blood clots in the hospital and was put on a powerful blood thinner. I’m off that prescription now, but it could have had complications with hard liquor. None of that kept me away from the bottle. I experienced a radical shift. Prior to the injury, I was working overtime hours every week and dating someone I was passionately in love with. He had a key to my apartment after one week of love drunk stupor. Suddenly, I was unemployed and single, my boyfriend breaking up with me in a hospital bed. It was jarring. That particular adjustment was perhaps as traumatic as the injury itself. I had free time and loneliness and ample opportunity for self loathing. Libations were perfect to indulge that stress and sorrow. Got a problem? Pour some plastic jug vodka on it. Let’s Popov off. I mentioned that I had a history of making serious, lasting, and self destructive decisions by drinking prior to March, but I was always able to control myself. I could stop. Now, I can’t. I can consume an entire fifth of eighty to one hundred proof liquor in one evening. If there’s some leftover when I wake up hungover, I drink it that morning. I can’t handle my liquor anymore. I’ve permanently damaged some friendships by sending weird and alarming text messages when I’m blackout drunk. Normally comprised of suicidal ideation, they’re pathetic pleas of “kill me.” Alongside the profound lack of self control, that depth of depression is what’s particularly alarming to me. I don’t want to get sober, but if I keep going like this, I’m going to die. It’ll be at my hand or with a broken bottle. Maybe both. At the least, my liver will fail or I’ll withdraw into delirium tremens or develop Korsakoff’s amnesia. Something. I’ll say again: I don’t want to get sober. However, little of that has to do with alcohol’s effects on my brain and body. Those certainly are factors, but it’s not the bulk of the story. I don’t need a drink to get through the day. It’s fun to be drunk! I like to party. I like relaxing inhibitions, but I don’t need a drink to function. The social and celebratory elements of drinking make it harder to leave behind. I’ve quit abusing other substances in the past because I was almost always using by myself. I like people more than I like drugs. Alcohol is different because that line between people and drugs is blurrier. There’s a distinctly social component to drinking that bears salience to my life. I’m gay. Bars and clubs, the spaces relegated to LGBT people by dominant culture, are centered around the sales and consumption of alcohol. That’s a fact. I’m also a drag queen, who are hired in part to facilitate that commerce. Alcohol was in the room when I first started to meet other gay guys at sixteen. Its omnipresence throughout my gay young adult experiences make it that much more difficult to go without. Booze is sometimes like an old friend; it has been my chaperone for years.

To leave alcohol behind would make me profoundly anxious, thinking that I would be leaving my friends behind too. My community matters to me. If there’s anything that the experience of surviving traumatic brain injury has solidified in my mind, it’s that I matter to my community as well. I’ve made friends in these spaces for years now. The gay bar has been a critical component to my sense of self and I’m terrified to lose that. A friend of mine might read this portion and roll his eyes. He once told me something like “People you party with are not your friends. They’re people you party with.” That may be true, but it’s connection. There’s a multitude of research literature on how social connections lead to better life expectancies and health outcomes. Unhappily married people tend to live longer than content single people for a reason. I don’t know how to mesh sobriety with my network of relationships in the nightlife scene. These people have welcomed me and held me, laughed with me and wept with me. I’ve devoted so much time and energy to drag performances to express my love and gratitude for my community. I don’t want to be without the people I’ve met in part through drinking. I wouldn’t be here without them. At the same time, many people in my nightlife existence know that I have a problem. I went out the other weekend for a going away party. After leaving the club, I went to my friend’s place and had a 2:00 AM conversation with another friend who didn’t accompany us out to the club. He’s mentally ill, but high functioning, and deeply empathetic. We relate. I asked him about our friends’ perception of my alcoholism. He expressed that even before my accident in March, people would notice how drunk I’d get on a regular basis. He said that some people get that drunk “every six months or so.” With me, it was “like every other week.” He went on to comment on my overall melancholy and bleak outlook on life. He said, “Sometimes, when I see you, it’s like you woke up and happiness wasn’t even a possibility.” Being a depressant, alcohol feeds into my psychological dependency for crisis and sorrow. RuPaul asserted that Katya, Brian McCook, had an addiction to anxiety in season seven of RuPaul’s Drag Race. I feel that. I’m realizing just how intensely accustomed I am to feeling depressed. In drag, I’ve rejoiced in sorrow on stage for years. On multiple occasions, I’ve walked into the bar in full drag makeup and the first thing I hear is “what’s wrong?” It’s not even that the glass is half empty. For me, the glass was never there. To be sad is almost comforting in its combination of introspection and self pity. It’s especially affirming when you feel as though you have a right to that lowness. As Bright Eyes once said, “Sorrow is pleasure when you want it instead.” That pleasure has grown old. I want to do more than just survive in spite of crisis. I’ll say this: I don’t know if I’m going to get sober from alcohol. In my recent brief attempts at sobriety, I’ve recognized just how much temperance culture permeates United States media. You’d be challenged to walk down the main street of any major city and not see at least one advertisement for liquor. The push and pull relationship of Puritanical abstinence from indulgence and the American civic duty of reckless consumption is powerful. That relationship is also undeniably profitable. With that said, my pro and con list of continuing to drink is getting grimmer. What I need to do becomes more obvious after each fifth of bottom shelf whiskey, with each morning I wake up hungover, and within each inebriated, suicidal cry for help. To those of you who have been on the receiving end of my substance abuse, I’m sorry. My brother recently found me in my apartment, eyes rolled in the back of my head from drinking to excess. I’ve fallen down stairs at the local gay bar, making an absolute fool of myself. I’ve said alarming, dreadful things in person and online that I regret terribly. In total, I’ve damaged relationships that I’m never going to repair. The problem is when I’m alone. If I’m at the bar and not drinking around you, don’t think it’s completely because of what I’ve expressed here. More than anything, just know that I have a drinking problem. It exists unarguably within and outside the context of my near death experience. I wrote that I was unsure of how to simultaneously be sober and be present at the spaces where I’ve made loving relationships. This is my attempt. Know that I want to be around, but I simply can’t do it like I used to. I need to get sober from alcohol. At the very least, I should. It’s going to be a tall order, but less lethargy and fewer depressive episodes sound fabulous. Thank you.

[emptymanuscript]

REALity TV

Semi-random thought. Or really two non-random thoughts colliding randomly.

I once ruined a television show, Undercover Boss, for a friend of mine. They were talking about how much they loved it and after us talking they said they couldn’t ever watch it again.

I had not set out to ruin the show, though I was talking about why I wasn’t interested. I wasn’t interested because the show seemed like a pretty basic psychological trick to me. As most reality shows seem to me. 

You take boss X whose speciality at this point in their life is financials and policy decisions. Even if they worked their way up from scratch, at this point that is their comfort zone. They are embedded in it all day every day.

Now you take X and you put them in situation Y which is entirely alien to their everyday experience. No financials. No policy decisions. Just high stress low level gruntwork. Mostly physical. Again, there are plenty of bosses who worked their way up but that isn’t their experience anymore, not for years. And there are also plenty of bosses who have never held anything but managerial positions. Of course it is going to be an intensely miserable and bewildering experience. It is throwing X as far as possible outside of their comfort zone. 

There’s an extra shove to make it uncomfortable. Y is X’s company. X is supposed to be the ultimate expert on Y. Of course, with a large scale company, no one can really be the expert like that. But under high stress, the mind retreats to blaming. So X isn’t going to say the situation is designed to unbalance me. They’re going to say I should know everything about Y so this situation must be unfair and terrible. Which it probably is but X isn’t getting there by logical reasoning. They’re getting there by the phsychological disequilibrium they are undergoing. 

So now there is X, shocked at how horrible it is, sure this is all terribly unfair, upset at themself for what is going on. And participating in this experience is unwitting coworker Z. Z is more experienced, trying to help another worker because they know it is difficult, and they know they are on camera for some stupid reason or other. So Z shows X the ropes and is maybe even a little nicer than they would otherwise be. X, reeling and desperate, is going to like Z. Z is a comarade. Z is help when none seems to be present. Z is the solution to the psychological problem set up by the circumstances. Z has pulled it off, so X can too if X identifies with Z. 

So when it is all over, of course X is going to do something extra for Z. X wants to pull their weight and give back and contribute. Z totally deserves it for being able to cope with all that and being so nice to X. At which point X can greatfully retreat back to their gilded cage of management, humbled and enlightened by their experience, and vowing to make Y a better company with what they learned.

But it really is an X, Y, Z. I’m not talking about Elon Gates or Bill Musk. The situation of the show is designed to get a type of response. So when Elon Gates goes on the show, their specific actions might be unpredictable, but in general it is going to conform to the experience that the show is setting up. It is going to be elitist boss is shocked and awed, sets order to their world, punishing the guilty and rewarding the heroic, and returns to be a better elitist boss. It works because that’s how humans work. You don’t have to force anyone to do it, you just have to set up more or less the right situation.

My friend was more than a little pissed when I told them this. Because once I had said it, they saw it. All the episodes are the different but the same. And if you think about it, you’d feel pretty much the same way, too. So it stopped feeling like an honest reaction and instead became staged fiction. Even though none of the “actors” knew they were being staged and directed, they were. But it was the honest reality of it that had enchanted my friend. Now it wasn’t honest or real. Ruined.

I feel a little badly about that. As I said, I didn’t mean to ruin it. If that’s the kind of story you like, I think you should enjoy it. There’s nothing wrong with it. I just don’t happen to enjoy it.

But there is something else that has been niggling at the back of my mind ever since. And I think I got a piece of it today. My friend thought it was real. REALity TV. And in some sense, it was. They were real people. There wasn’t a script. No one knew how any single episode would turn out, especially not the people in the episode. But I was talking about the other half of the equation that makes Reality TV work. That people do have a general understanding of how people work. There are higher ups, who probably aren’t anywhere on the crew or anywhere near filming, who do understand that if you set up a fuzzy sort of situation A (X goes to Y and meets Z) you’ll get a fuzzy sort of set responses B (X has a strong, usually positive, reaction to Z and vows to make Y better in part by “fixing” Z’s relationship with Y). 

My friend wanted the reassurance that X is just a good person if you show them the right thing. I ruined it because I said it was staged. But the staging also works because that is human psychology. If you create A, B will happen. That’s what people are like. But the A was too much to seem honest. 

The thing is, that’s how most fiction works. That’s why we talk about versimilitude and believability of action. We know there are ways people act and we know there are ways they won’t and we know there are particular events and actions that can alter those trajectories. If you hit it right, even if it is blatantly labeled FICTION it feels real. TRUE. When it isn’t labeled fiction, when you label it REALity TV, or have no explanation or definition at all on a YouTube video, then we react pretty deeply as if it is 100% true, unscripted, etc. We forget that there is a planned A acted out to get a planned B result. 

But what happens if A is maybe a little dangerous? What happens when the content creators get B wrong? My friend thought it was TRUE true. And my friend is pretty damn smart and very well educated. Putting all the responsibility on the audience does not seem fair or safe. And safe is the keyword for the thought that is running around inside my head. 

The post that started this thought, which I decided not to threadjack, was about couples making YouTube videos about tying up the girlfriend while the boyfriend smashes their makeup. Essentially ridiculous. But what about people who think it is true? What about people who think it is TRUE true? Does that then make the videos dangerous to some degree? 

I did watch about as much of one of the video’s as I could stand and what really leapt out at me was the girlfriend clutching the boyfriend’s shirt and telling him that his blindfolding her was giving her anxiety. A bit later on she just flat out says deadpan, I’m not comoftable with this. Looking over on the side bar, this is clearly what the channel is, or at least plenty of it is this. They “prank” each other back and forth. So for the subscribed audience, they are probably aware that it is scripted and that they’re going to be just fine and probably are just fine even during the filming. But for anyone who isn’t paying that kind of attention, for anyone who thinks this is like real like reality tv, where the only false element is the camera, this is showing off a pretty nastily unhealthy relationship dynamic. Which is presented as ok by the end of the video because he makes up for it by giving her a whole new set. Is it scripted? Probably. Does that make it ok?

The honest answer is that I don’t know but I suspect not. Because this is the thought that has been in my head since ruining undercover boss. My friend thought it was real. It doesn’t really matter whether it was real or not. They thought it was. And I think the same issue is at hand with these videos. People will think they are real. It doesn’t really matter if they’re right or wrong, they will act as if it is true. 

The video I looked at, the top one in the post if you followed the link above, when I watched it had 3,974,052 views. 112K likes. 7.2K dislikes. Just playing the odds, you know some of those viewers took it literally. Some of those who disliked it and thought it was literal truth probably felt deeply uncomfortable with the interaction. Much more worisome to me is the people in the 112K who now think their own “prank” is a perfectly acceptable idea. When they don’t know about all the prep and talk behind the scenes. Assuming there was any.

And that’s my real worry about Reality TV, that people will take the reality of it as their own reality. That goes double for YouTube when there’s so little filter and so little to distinguish what is true and what is false. I worry about people believing it and believing that this kind of behavior is normal and natural

And I will shut up now.

[craigrcannon]

Employee #1: Yahoo

Employee #1 is a series of interviews focused on sharing the often untold stories of early employees at tech companies.

Tim was the first employee at Yahoo, its Chief Product Officer for eight years, and is now a partner at YC, so we thought it would be fitting to kick things off with him.

Discussed: Meeting the Founders, Writing Yahoo’s Business Plan, Leaving Harvard Business School Early, Creating the Banner Ad, Yahoo’s First Ad Sales, Being an Early Employee After a Management Change, and Founder vs. Early Employee Differences.

Craig : What did you do before Yahoo?

Tim : Before Yahoo, I learned that I preferred working at small companies. I really didn’t think of it as entrepreneurship at that point. My first work experience out of school was at Motorola – a big company. And at the time, in the early ’90s, Motorola was held up as a model of a well-run company. Every business magazine at the time portrayed Motorola up as the ideal.

I went there with a positive attitude. The work was interesting. It was rewarding and intellectually challenging. But after a few months, I remember looking at my boss and my boss’ boss, and my boss’ boss’ boss, and saying to myself, “You know what? I don’t want any of their jobs.” I saw how they spent their time and didn’t find it interesting or very rewarding. They spent their time managing meetings and office politics.

This wasn’t my vision of what work was. To me, work was doing and making things and being able to see the fruits of that labor. At the end of the day or at least after a short period of time, I need to point to something and say to myself ‘that’s what I’ve been building.’

My experience in this big company was very different from that idea. If I rose up the managerial ranks in this big company, I could easy see myself going home and asking myself, “What did I do today?” and not having a very satisfying answer.

Craig : You couldn’t point at stuff.

Tim : That’s right. It‘s not that these managers weren’t doing things, but everything was so time inefficient. In big companies, time scales are longer. And the bullshit factor of office politics is high. For me, maintaining passion for your work when the feedback mechanism is that slow is difficult.

Once I internalized that big companies weren’t my cup of tea, I decided to go to business school in order to make a change.

Craig : But you ended up leaving Harvard Business School for Yahoo, right?

Tim : That’s right. I left in the middle of my second year. The whole point of going to business school was to figure out what I wanted to do and get exposed to a lot. The case study method was great for that.

I soon concluded that small companies were where I would thrive. I also thought that it would be great to work with friends. What could be more rewarding that working hard and doing something important with friends? And so here I was in business school thinking this when my friend Jerry Yang calls and says, “Hey, I want you to come out and join me and my co-founder start a company.”

Craig : That was the opportunity.

Tim : Exactly.

Craig : Just to rewind for a second, how did you guys meet?

Tim : Undergrad. Jerry and I were both double E’s [electrical engineers]. We spent 4 years studying together.

Craig : Cool. So Jerry calls and you’re thinking, “Oh, this might be it.” Did you know that Yahoo would be a thing, or did you just feel like this is a good first step?

Tim : The latter. I didn’t know it would be a big thing. Jerry came to visit me at the beginning of my second year at HBS. At the time he was a PhD student in EE at Stanford. He knew I was looking for a new job, and I told him, “I want something small.”

He called me a couple of months later and said, “Hey, a buddy of mine, my research partner and I started this thing. You should check it out,” and he showed me the world wide web for the first time. There was almost nothing online at that point, but I clearly remember a website company called Satchel.com, which published live sports scores.

I’m a sports junkie. So before I found this website, I used to sit and watch ESPN just for the score ticker that runs across the bottom of the screen. At the time, it only came on twice an hour. I was pathetic. I literally would just sit there and wait 30 minutes for the damn ticker to get the live score for Detroit Piston games. There was no other way.

Craig : Hahaha.

Tim : So Jerry showed me this site and I asked, “You mean I can just hit refresh and I get the live score instantly?” Okay, I got it.

Craig : That’s how you got the internet?

Tim : That’s how I got the internet.

Craig : That’s the best example I’ve ever heard.

Tim : After that, I was hooked. Jerry and his cofounder, David, had built a directory of the world wide web, which was finite at that point. Given where the internet is today, it’s hard to imagine. It was largely just double Es and technical folks posting their dissertations and sharing their papers. Only gradually did they make sites about their hobbies and quirky things, because they realized, “Hey, it doesn’t have to be just dissertations.” So Jerry and Dave started collecting these things and organizing them for everyone.

And so when Jerry called me at school, he said, “Hey, I have no idea if this is going to be big, but I know you’re looking for a job. So how about if you join David and me? Come out to Silicon Valley and get a regular 9 to 5 at a place like at SGI [Silicon Graphics], and then you can moonlight with us. And we’ll see where it goes.” I’m like, “Sounds good.”

Craig : And so where does this fall? Is this the summer before your second year?

Tim : No, this is November of my second year. And I’m thinking, “Sounds good. I’ll ramp up my job search in Silicon Valley, at SGI or Intel or wherever.”

Craig : Yeah, there are plenty of places like that.

Tim : Yes, plenty of places. But that’s also the time when internet usage started to take off.

A couple weeks later Jerry calls me and says, “Hey, we’re going to go raise some money. We need a business plan. Can you help us write a business plan?”

So I flew out to Stanford for Christmas break. I spent two weeks with them, wrote the business plan, then went back to school. They took the business plan, which they probably really didn’t need, it was mostly just a formality at that point, and they raised money from Sequoia Capital.

But in those two weeks I learned a ton from them about the opportunity and put it into a business plan format.

Again, that was about the same time that internet usage started to take off. So a couple weeks after I returned to school, Jerry called and said, “Ah, you know what? This thing is taking off. It might not be a moonlighting job by the time you graduate. It might be a full-time gig.” I’m like, “Fine by me.”

Craig : That just saved me time.

Tim : Exactly, I wouldn’t have to look for another job.

So a few weeks later Jerry calls and says, “Sequoia is going to give us money and we’re going to go for it.” I’m thinking,

“That’s awesome. I’m in. I will see you in June right after graduation.”

Two weeks later, Mike Moritz, a partner at Sequoia, calls me, “Tim, we have a problem.” “I’ll be out after my graduation on June 8th. What’s the problem?”

“We don’t need you in June.”

“Huh? Jerry said I’m in. What’s changed?”

“Well, this ship is sailing. You either need to get on now or don’t bother coming.”

“What’s that mean?”

“We need you in February, not June. Your position will be filled by June.”

So I’m like, “I’m in.”

Craig : Wow. So you just ditched business school?

Tim : It was a little more involved than that. It included a very uncomfortable phone call with my parents, who paid for business school. Luckily, I did end up graduating.

Craig : Nice. So what was your day-to-day when you moved out?

Tim : It was whatever needed to be done. I was an EE, but the other three were all more technical than me. They hired me as the business person so I had to do all the operations and business stuff – including figuring out if there was even an ad market. No one had ever sold advertising on the Internet.

Craig : So advertising was the clear strategy from the very beginning for you. That was in the business plan.

Tim : That was in the business plan. I shouldn’t say that nobody had sold ads online before though. Other people had sold advertising on the Internet, but not at scale and not as their primary business.

I think it was Wired Magazine that was the first one to sell an ad online. So there were the beginnings of something, but Wired was an offline magazine company. It wasn’t their primary business. There wasn’t much else being sold online.

So we came up with the traditional banner ad size that still exists today and tried to figure out how to sell it. At the time, the only people that used the Internet were traditionalists. And what I mean by that is the internet was used exclusively for the non-commercial sharing of information at the time. The idea of commercializing the internet wasn’t accepted by the very people using the internet. Of course, the number of people and the demographics of those people were rapidly changing.

Craig : So your job was to shift how that community was thinking or bring other people online or both?

Tim : Both.

Craig : And so you are cold calling people to sell ads? What were you doing?

Tim : Jerry and I tried to figure out the business side of things and we quickly realized that we were not the best people to sell ads. So we hired an outside agency in L.A. and convinced them to try to sell ads on the internet.

We decided we’ll sell every page on our site, except the home page, to five advertisers for a million bucks a pop. That made us $5,000,000, but they were the same 5 ads on the site for an entire month. Our users hated it.

Craig : What was the traffic at that point?

Tim : I can’t remember the exact number, but it was a double digit percentage of the traffic on the web. It was a big number.

Once we got advertising going, I was thinking, “Oh my god, we’re in the ad business. I’m an engineer, not an ad sales guy. As much as I’d love to pull an ad sales guy out of me, I’m not that guy.”

Jerry realized he wasn’t an ad sales guy either so we hired a CEO, a guy by the name of Tim Koogle. He came on in August of 1995 and helped us build an ad-supported media company. But that was a full seven months after I got there. Traffic on the site was growing at an amazing rate, but we were really struggling to build an organization that could keep up with the growth.

We knew we were on to something potentially really, really big and we knew we didn’t have enough experience to execute it alone.

Craig : So what interests me is throughout this phase it sounds like because you’re buddies with the founders and you’re sort of treated as this co-founder-type guy. How did that dynamic work?

Tim : Jerry and David were the founders and when a big decision needed to be made, like who to raise money from, they would lock themselves in a room and come back with a decision. That said, the day-to-day operational decisions were all made by consensus at the time. There were four of us, and in that sense, I certainly felt like a co-founder.

Craig : After you closed those first ad sales were you all still freaking out over if this would be viable to not?

Tim : It was probably a full year of discomforting uncertainty. Even after we brought Tim Koogle in, it wasn’t a sure thing. The Internet was a sure thing but Yahoo wasn’t a sure thing. It probably took until the end of ’95 to guarantee that.

Craig : Interesting. Did how you feel about the company change as you scaled?

Tim : Nope. I was all in the whole time.

Craig : How long did you stick around?

Tim : I was there until 2003.

Craig : How was it to ride that wave, especially when the bottom fell out in 2000?

Tim : When things are going well and you’re in a growth industry, you don’t have to deal with many difficult issues. It’s the old cliche, winning solves everything.

Craig : For sure.

Tim : It’s really true. It solves everything… or maybe better said, it masks all your mistakes. A lot of the mistakes you make get masked because you receive almost no negative feedback.

But then the bottom fell out and the board let Tim Koogle go. The upper ranks of management emptied out pretty quick, except for me and the CTO who stuck around. We got a new CEO and set of peers in upper management. Let me just say, I learned a whole lot more about business on the way down than I did on the way up.

Craig : When you think back on your time at Yahoo, how do you feel about it?

Tim : Well, I definitely made some of my closest friends there. I compare them to childhood friends. I can pick up the phone and call any of 50 people and talk to them as if no time had passed. It’s a pretty cool feeling.

Craig : That’s really neat.

Tim : It was formative in so many different ways. Granted it was early in my career, but then again most of the entrepreneurs at YC are early in their careers, too. It’s this intense experience where for the first time in your life where you’re defining your own test and seeing if you measure up. You find out a lot about yourself in that environment.

Craig : I imagine it really builds confidence.

Tim : It does.

It was certainly career defining. The financial success was nice, but it was way more than that. The entire process helps define who you are, what you’re good at, what you want to do, and what you think is important.

Craig : When it does work out for someone in your shoes, I feel like it really helps solidify your belief in how you understand people and markets.

I’ve been wondering if through these interviews we’ll find a strong correlation between early employees and people who are good investors. The way I see it, someone like you, you’re like, “Ok, good people, good product, and I can add value. I’m in.” Founders might be much more singularly focused. You know what I mean?

Tim : I do.

I guess Imagine K12 is the exception because that was my idea with Geoff, but Yahoo wasn’t my idea and QuestBridge wasn’t my idea. It was me recognizing a good idea and then being able to contribute to it, and I did that twice in a row. Even with Imagine K12, you could say, “Well, PG is really the one that kind of defined how to help companies… I just applied it in a different realm.”

Craig : Yeah, exactly.

Tim : But I guess you could say that about almost any idea.

I’ve never felt like an idea had to be mine in order for me to be passionate about it or want to contribute. I hope that helps me be a better advisor and investor.

Craig : I think whatever that quality is, that is the exact differentiator between the person who needs to start something and the person who’s comfortable accepting risk but will work on someone else’s idea.

Tim : You think so?

Craig : I think it can be easier to do your own thing, even if it’s a bad idea, because it feels cooler.

Tim : I think there’s social cache to starting your own company now. Back in the 90s, it wasn’t like that. There was no social backdrop to it. You didn’t go to bars and talk about it.

On one hand, I guess it could be seen as a lack of confidence to not do your own thing. But on the other hand, it could be seen as not letting your ego get in the way of recognizing a good idea. I can see both sides and honestly, I don’t know where the truth lies.

For me, my sweet spot is when I can say, “That’s a great idea. It’s just getting started. Count me in.”

[arazialotis]

Pinch of Nutmeg - Part 4

Pairing: Jensen × Reader

Word Count: 2900

Summary: The reader is a young and upcoming chef who takes up an opportunity in Vancouver where she by chance befriends Jensen.  After several years apart and seeing each other at a convention. Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Obviously I intend no hate or ill wishes to him or his family. This is purely just for writing and wasting my time.

Again, this is purely for a hobby and my enjoyment. Maybe some of you will enjoy it too. I am by no means a writer so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or grammatical/spelling errors.

Special thanks and shout out to @misguidedconqueress for reviewing, editing, suggestions, and as always putting up with me.

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Scott was anxious to get back to Vancouver. He had been on a tour of the restaurants in the States and had been busy with a few TV promotions. He arrived early to check on the kitchen and dining room. It was rumored that this site may soon be privileged with a visit by a Michelin star inspector. Although, he didn't want to overthink it, everything had to be in exactly the right place. He was expecting to start this morning by working on a seasonal menu in order to give the restaurant that extra notch it needed.

He was walking through the dining room when something across the street caught his attention. An old competitor's restaurant was being gutted out. “What is that?!” He yelled at his staff. “Why was I not informed?!” He demanded.

He became more furious when no one answered him. He ran his fingers through his wavy red hair. There was so much work he had to catch up on if he would even be considered for a star but a new competitor could jeopardize the entire process. He threw down his apron and headed out across the street to get a better look.

Although he had seen workers going in and out with materials, the windows themselves were lined with butcher's paper so the public could not view inside. On one of the parchments was scrawled ‘The Spotted Zebra - Microbrewery and Eatery - Coming Soon.’ He scoffed at the name. On top of a new menu and a barely functional staff this was the last thing he needed.

He pulled at the door which was unlocked and walked in. Wood floor was being laid down, and a bar spanning the east wall with cabinets made from French doors. The workers seemed occupied and he walked through unnoticed. He continued to make his way to the back discovering part of an open kitchen and another portion hidden in the back. Although most was up and running, some appliances were being replaced and updated.

“No shit,” He said when he saw you working with another chef, writing down a recipe. You turned around and smiled. “Was it always your plan to stab me in the back?”  He joked, relieved it was you.

“Scott!” You yelled ecstatic. “Took you long enough to find out, are you losing your edge?” You teased back.

“I should have had you sign a contract about becoming competition.” He said joyfully with a little bit of seriousness.

“Oh no, no, no. We are going to help each other.” He raised an eyebrow waiting to hear your scheme. “You see once customers realize your entrees that could fit on a spoon won't fill them up, they'll waltz on over here for some real food and wash away the guilt of spending too much money at your place with a beer.”

“That seems more parasitic than mutual.” Scott commented.

“But it's not! Because those who start out here will have lowered their inhibitions and I'll send ‘em your way to empty their wallets.” You played.

“When I said you'd come back to work for me, this is not what I had in mind.” He confessed.

“You gotta let me take flight, Chef… speaking of flights, come here.” you said leading him into the building where you had also purchased the first floor for the brewery.

You led him through the maze of fermentors and kettles. “I think I want to turn this wall to glass so customers can see the process.” You described.

You led him to a testing station. “We have a sour and a saison ready to go.” You said pouring them out into a couple small glasses.

“No bias in that decision, presumably?” He asked knowing they had always been your favorites.

“Of course not.” You smirked before sipping on the sour.

Scott's brow furrowed as he caught a glimpse of Jensen walking down the sidewalk and into the other part of the building. “What's he doing here?” He asked with a sense of urgency and protectiveness in his voice.

You had avoided telling Scott that you and Jay were together, afraid of how he would react. “We flew the yeast in from Belgium, it gives a unique flavor throughout all the brews. Can you pick out what we used to flavor the sour?” You tried to divert the conversation.

“He has done nothing but break your heart time and time again.” Scott lectured.

“Just be nice okay?” You pleaded quietly seeing Jensen walk into the brewery. You poured a tasting glass for Jay too.

“Coste.” “Ackles.” They both greeted each other coldly as they shook hands in what you could only assume was a contest for dominance.

Jensen came to you and planted a kiss on your lips without saying a word. Out of respect for Scott, you tried to sneak out of it by handed Jay a beer. “Here.” You took another big sip of yours.

Scott set his untouched beer down. “I have a busy week coming up, I'll try to catch up with you later.”  

“Scott, “ You called after him, but he didn't turn around. You sighed in frustration.

“What was he doing here?” Jensen asked you.

You rolled your eyes at the antics of both these men, so similar. “We discussed this when we picked the location, he is nothing but a mentor and a friend.” You reminded Jensen, leaving out the ‘best’ that should have gone in front of friend.

“I don't know if he thinks the same of you.” Jensen argued, full of jealousy.

“He only has my best interest in mind. If you stopped acting like a jerk around him, maybe he would loosen up.” You suggested.

“You think I'm being a jerk?” He asked slightly offended.

“To him… yeah.” You confessed, to which Jay tensed further. “Listen, this is not some love triangle. You and only you have my heart. But Scott is family, I don't want to have to give that up.”

You glanced back out the window as the first few snowflakes of a new winter storm started to fall. “Can I show you the progress or are you still going to have a sour attitude?’

“Hey, sour beer, sour me.” Jensen finally started to lighten up.

“Then try the saison.” You directed switching his cups.

“Huh.. nutty…” He commented after taking a sip. “So we are on schedule?” He asked following you back into the kitchen.

“Yes, construction should be finished by the end of the week. I’m just putting the final touches down on the menu along with rotating weekly specials. As for the beer the rest of the batches should be finished in another two weeks.” You explained to him.

Not only were you and Jensen dating now, you were also business partners. Jensen technically owned the restaurant as you could never afford such a location. He hired you on as the head chef, and for now you filled the managerial role until a fitting applicant came along. Yes, in the back of your mind you knew this could extremely complicate already complicated things such as your boyfriend paying your salary, your future if the relationship went south, and disagreements about business strategies. You were probably just overthinking it at this point.

“And the beers are the ones we sampled earlier this month?” Jensen questioned for clarification snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Yes, just in much bigger batches. Here try this.” You handed him a slice of cheesecake with orange blossoms and coriander. “It should pair well with the nuttiness of the saison.”

“God.” He said, mouth practically still full and already shoveling in another bite. “My trainer is going notice if I keep coming around here. I’ll never hear the end of it.” He said, taking another bite.

You couldn’t help but feel some pride. “Guess that means I’m doing my job.”

“Okay, what else do you got?” Jay asked.

“Hmm… tonight… I think I finalized the recipe for what I am going to call a curry.” You handed him a spoon. “It’s vegan to make our restaurant more VC friendly. Black eyed peas, potatoes, coconut milk, various spices.” You watched his reaction.

“It’s got a kick to it.” He said, immediately picking up on the berbere.

“Too much?” You asked.

“Perfect for the winter menu, warms you to the bones.” He responded.

“Okay, let’s see.. Oh of course, veggie samosas with a cucumber sauce.” You gave him a small bite. “Which will go perfectly with the lamb. And I don’t have any right now, but we will have risotto and poutine which will be daily selections based on what needs to be used up in the kitchen.”

Jensen kissed you on the cheek. “Everything is perfect.”

“Other than food, I do have a few interviews lined up for a managerial position tonight if you want to sit in on them?” You offered.

“I trust you, you know this better than me.” He assured.

“I also need to finalize my recipes with my sous, I’ll see you at home?” You asked, unsure if he would be at the apartment or if he had an early morning on set - making the trailer a much more convenient option.

“Always back to business with you. I’ll be at home, please make it home before 3:00 am tonight.” He urged.

“I’ll try.” You smiled and kissed him. “But no promises.”

“If it becomes consistent, I may just end up sleeping here.” He threatened lightheartedly.

“I’ll get a cot for my office.” You playfully challenged back.

When Jensen finally left, you couldn’t help but sigh in relief, feeling at peace again. Yes, you loved both of them to death, in different ways, and enjoyed your time with them individually. But balancing both relationships was exhausting - especially when they collided. You gulped down the rest of Jensen’s beer that he had left on the counter hoping it would help distract your mind from them.

The next two weeks flew by in a blur. You did secure a manager with extensive experience, which had thankfully relieved a load of off you. Opening day you were the first to arrive to the restaurant. The 12-plus hour days had been taking a toll, but you knew opening weeks could make or break the entire business. You and the staff had prepared most everything last night, but you wanted to inspect every last detail.

As you were folding more napkins, a task that always need to be done, your phone buzzed.

“Hello?” You answered.

“Hey gorgeous,” Jensen greeted you. “Did you sleep in like I suggested?”

“Mmhmm.” You lied.

“You are already at the restaurant, aren’t you?” Jensen called you out.

“Yup.” You answered briefly, still focused on folding napkins.

He sighed a little before suggesting, “Would you want me to tweet something about opening day?”

You put down the napkins, thinking about it for a moment. “Only if less than 5 people show up.”

“I’ll wait for your word then. I am positive it will go great.” He encouraged. “I’ll bring Jare and Misha down tonight too, after we finished for the day. “

“Don’t expect any special treatment though.” You laughed.

“I know better than to expect that from you.” He joked. “But seriously, good luck tonight. I love you.”

“Love you too.” You ended before hanging up and immediately diving back into work.

Staff started trickling in throughout the day to help clean, polish, review the menu and pairings, dice, simmer, and anything else that was needed. A few minutes before the time was here, you and the staff had a celebratory moment tearing off the butcher’s paper from the windows. There were a few people waiting outside in line - not a remarkable number by any means - but still a small victory.

“Okay, I just want to be a sap before we open those doors.” You started with the staff gathered around. “We’ve all worked really hard to get where we are right now. Over the weeks, I’ve selected each one of you by hand and have gotten to know you as family. I am fully confident in the success of this restaurant because I am fully confident in the abilities of everyone of you. Tonight will be business as usual, we’ve had our practice runs and worked out the kinks. Mistakes may happen but that is how we learn. Nothing will be different in tonight's service than from the training we’ve had together. However, if we make it through alive, let’s break open the bottles with a little celebration after we close shop for the first time.” You toasted your staff before signaling to the manager to open the door.

The first few hours were busy but you had open tables. It wasn’t until after five that the lobby started filling up at which point you encouraged your wait staff to pursue a faster turnover rate. By 7 o’clock, there was a line out the door. You made the decision to offer those waiting in the cold, coffee or a sample of soup. Throughout the night you jumped between the open front and hidden back of the kitchen, making sure recipes were being properly executed, helping out if someone was behind, and plating. You were in the middle of carving a rack of lamb when Jensen caught your attention from across the dining area. He had been intently watching you the entire time. Jared and Misha were with him chatting over drinks and entrees.

‘Is it good?’ You silently mouthed to him with a thumbs up.  

He signed okay with his hand mouthing back. ‘Perfect’.

Part of you knew he was just saying that to ease your mind but it really did help make you feel better. You quickly went back to work as orders kept piling in. And there was no rest until you closed the kitchen even though the bar would be open for a few more hours as groups finished up their drinks and appetizers. It gave you and your staff time to clean up and get prepped again for tomorrow.

Finally, when the last guest left and the restaurant was scrubbed clean, you celebrated with your staff, having ordered in a few boxes of champagne. You had invited Scott to join you for the after party but lost hope when he didn’t show up an hour after the lights at his restaurant went out.

Eventually your staff trickled out and only you remained. You went through the pantry, the fridge, and the freezer counting up inventory to put a list together of what supplies you’d have to pick up from the market tomorrow. You also wanted to get a head start tracking orders to gauge the popularity of dishes. You were working on a spreadsheet when Jensen came into your office around 3 am. You were hardly shocked, so many people had been in and out the last couple of weeks it felt normal.

“Hey, am I ever going to see you again?” He softly joked.

You shut your laptop and looked up at him with tired eyes. “When we are old and retired, I suppose.” You joked back with a weary smile.

“You know, we could find someone else to take your role, freeing up time, giving you more managerial responsibilities.” Jensen suggested.

You thought about it for a minute but didn’t agree. “Jay, this is my one shot to see if I have what it takes to be up there with the big players.”  You could tell he was still unconvinced. “Just give it a few more weeks. The crowds will settle down, staff will learn the flow and take up more tasks.”

“But where does it end? You make it here, so you have to try out New York, and then host a show on Food Network.” He hypothetically made up.

“I would never ask you to give up your ambitions for me.” You defended with a furrowed brow.

“You’re right. I know.” Jensen admitted. “It’s just I’m tired, and it’s late and I miss you.”

He walked around the desk and started rubbing your shoulders. He eyed the nape of your neck and bent down to softly kiss it sending shivers down your spine.

“Jensen?” You asked, embarrassed. He responded by rubbing his hands up your neck and down over your collarbone. He kissed you again, behind your ear. “Seriously, I’m sweaty and sticky, and probably covered in food.” You giggled.

“Then it’s a good thing I like your cooking.” He flirted slowly starting to unbutton your chef's jacket.

His continued advances and deep voice made him impossible to resist. You calmly set the laptop into the drawer. “Only if I can clear the desk in one swipe.” You stated giving him an ultimatum.

“It’s your office…” He reminded you waiting for your answer.

 A sly smile crossed your face as you used both arms to clear the desk of folders and paperwork hardly caring of the mess you would be required to clean up. You laughed as you jumped around to face him. He closed the gap between you causing you to slide onto the empty desk. His waist locked you against the hardwood as he continued to kiss your neck and finished unbuttoning the jacket. You laid down on the desk exhausted but equally excited for what was to come. Jensen followed you down, deeply kissing your lips. 

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Forever Tags: @nanie5 @sea040561 @crushing83 @mogaruke @deanwinchesterforpromqueen @ginamsmith

Pinch of Nutmeg Tags: @doctorholmes221bbakerstreet @procratsinator

Jensen X Redaer Tags: @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish​ @jensen-gal​ @be-amaziing @mizzzpink @akshi8278 @beatlesobsessionlove @tiffanycaruso​

[stormwriters-blog]

Supervisor

Able had just graduated high school. He was in need of a job. The thrift store near his house was always busy, since it first opened. His father had never understood why. Able’s friend, Joe, who had been working there for a few months,  had expressed to him that everyone there was like family. Everyone always had each other’s backs. Able was interested, and wanted to be a part of the experience. 

On the first day he was hired, Able was introduced to everyone. The people who mattered the most to him were the managers/supervisors. There were 6 people in managerial positions. Three for each department of the store, alongside the other three supervisors. Out of the six, only one of them was male. Able was looking forward to working with women, since he had been raised by them his entire life. The three he was going to work with the most were the supervisors. Tia was one of them. Tia was always on top of everyone, telling them what to do in a sometimes calm manner. A little short tempered, but most of the time she had a reason to be. Alyssa was the second supervisor. She was the nicest out of the three. Very rarely would she seem upset with anyone. She spoke less than Tia, but for the most part, most of what came out of her mouth was positive. And then there was Mary. Mary was far more quiet than the other two. She was more of an observer. When she did speak, it was work related, and nothing more. Unlike the other two supervisors, Mary didn’t like small talk. If anything, she would always find ways to avoid it. She would also carry around a notebook with her at all times. Although Able would always speak to the other two managers, he would always have his eyes on Mary. She was fairly pretty, but that wasn’t why. Able had concerns. He wondered about what went on in Mary’s head. 

Angel was one of Able’s coworkers. She was responsible for training Able for his first week of work. Teaching him the basics and also how the store ran. Able asked,  “Hey so what’s the deal with Mary?”. Angel replied, “Mary? She’s always like that. Not a lot of us like her”. Able asked, “What has she done?” Angel replied, “She just stands there and stares. It’s kinda creepy” Able asked,  “Well has anyone ever tried to talk to her?”.  Angel replied, “We’ve all tried, but none of us have had any luck. Able questioned, “What about the notebook  that she carries around with her all the time? I don’t see the other two managers with one”. Angel replied, “Oh that? That’s for Mary’s eyes only. If she ever catches you with it, your dead”. Able wanted to be the one to get Mary to open up. Able always wanted to know everything about everyone. 

Able’s first day as a cashier was the fourth of July. The store was hectic, but already he knew he would go head first into the challenge. His prior job was much less organized, so the lines he dealt with at his new job were no new experience. During the sale, there were the usual rude customers. One instance really stood out to Able. A new girl that was hired around the same time as Able was trying to calm one of her customers, and the customer ended up calling her a dumb whore in front of everyone. Tia and Alyssa were shocked and had kicked him out. Mary was nowhere to be seen. “She’s probably on her break” Able thought. All throughout the day, Able had wondered how Mary would have handled the situation. The event caught everyone off guard, and everyone did their best to make the new girl feel better. Angel and Able had gone upstairs for their breaks and saw the new girl up there. Angel comforted the new girl by saying,  “We don’t get customers like that often”. The new girl responded, “ He came up to me and asked for a refund. I told him we only do exchanges, but he lost his cool and then that happened”. Angel said, “Just ignore it. Most of the time they’re just having a bad day”. Able was still curious as to where Mary was. He asked one of the managers. Able questioned, “Hey Mark. Where’s Mary?”. Mark replied, “She said she went out to get more food for us. She is taking a little long though”. Mary didn’t come back til’ around seven o’ clock. The store closes at ten. By then, everyone was a little irritated with no food. 

Able was growing very suspicious of Mary. “Where had she gone that day” Able asked himself. A few months had passed, and Halloween was just around the corner. Usually around Halloween time, a portion of the store was converted and decorated into a costume shop. To be a halloween consultant meant having the opportunity to sell costumes to customers. Being Able’s first year, he was eager to prove that he was worthy to become one. Able eventually got the position and was tasked with a lot to do. One day, Mary had asked Able if he could start bringing down some of the decorations needed to set up shop. Able brought down a few boxes and began decorating. “These decorations seem pretty real” said Angel. “I know! These fake limbs are definitely gonna sell fast” exclaimed Abel. A few weeks pass, and customers started coming back with complaints about some of the products. The fake blood was starting to smell. Some of the limbs in the halloween shop reaked. Everyone just assumed that it was due to the fact that all of those decorations were in a dirty room for a whole year up until they’re brought down. One day the police came to our store in suspicion of  a missing customer. They had questioned only the managers, since a good majority of us were looked down upon as young kids instead of young adults. They were asking about the customer who had been rude to the new girl.  As the days progress, the investigation continued, and Mary is eventually taken away for the murder of the missing (now dead) man. As police were looking for evidence, they came across our halloween shop and had noticed that all of  the “decorations” we had put up were real. Everything from the blood to the limbs. Worst part is, we sold some of them to customers. They found her notebook and all it contained were her demented thoughts on how she would love to torture certain customers. 

As Mary is eventually taken away, a sinister smile glides across her face. It was the first time anyone had ever seen her happy.

[leofemt]

life isn't always a fairytale, is it

Mizuki, the enigma, and his accidental conquests.

kasamizu, mizukimi, indoumizu, all one-sided/up for interpretation.

on ao3.

NOTE: hi i'm writer's block and welcome to jackass

act i: kasahara

"Mizuki Hisahito."

Nakazawa blinks.

"Sorry," he says, "are you here to apply for a managerial position?"

Mizuki stands staunchly, somehow seeming unshakeable despite his small frame- well, small compared to the other first year Inohara, the new goalie trainee, and other students who come to Nakazawa's workroom about Seiseki's soccer team.

"No." He says, something in his tone of voice making Nakazawa turn his chair completely to face the boy. "I'm here to ask about tryouts."

Nakazawa considers him.

"Have you played soccer before?" He asks- by his stance and how much of Mizuki's frame he can see, probably not, but you can never be sure.

Mizuki shakes his head.

"Never." He says, face unnervingly unreadable for a high school boy.

"So you would be starting in high school." Nakazawa sighs, leaning forward and propping his elbows on his knees. "Listen, Mizuki-kun-"

"Nakazawa-sensei." Mizuki says. "I'm going to work as hard as it takes."

Nakazawa stares.

"Plenty of kids say that, Mizuki-kun..." He trails off. "Not to doubt your dedication, but-"

Mizuki's expression doesn't change. That look in his eyes makes Nakazawa furrow his brows slightly, makes him sit up straight.

"Alright." He sighs. "Tryouts are in a week, on the pitch after school... I'll be expecting you there, Mizuki-kun."

"Thank you." Mizuki says formally, bowing a full bow, which makes Nakazawa frown in something like befuddlement, before taking his leave.

~~~~~~

"Minaki," Nakazawa leans over his desk at lunch, "you teach Year 1's Class C, right?"

The other teacher looks up.

"Yes, why?" She looks at him.

Nakazawa scratches his head.

"There's a kid..." He starts, "Mizuki Hisahito."

Minaki blinks.

"Mizuki..." She trails off. "Ah, Mizuki-kun... His grandfather passed away shortly before this year."

Nakazawa frowns.

"Really..." He mumbles.

~~~~~~

Mizuki does show up at tryouts.

"Mizuki Hisahito!" He announces when Nakazawa calls for lineup. "No prior experience."

There's snickering. No one shows up to Seiseki High's soccer team tryouts without experience- there are kids in the ranks who come to Seiseki soley for the soccer team, to have a shot at making the big leagues.

The kid next to him opens his mouth.

"Kasahara Junpei!" He almost shouts from nervousness. "I-I played forward for my junior high."

The captain makes a noise and marks it down- from his place next to him, Nakazawa can see the barely-legible scribbles on the spreadsheet of the names of first-years.

"Alright!" The captain says. "If that's everyone, your first task of tryouts is to run!"

There's murmuring.

"'Scuse me," one first-year calls out bravely, "Captain, are we gonna get to do more than run?"

"Of course," the captain replies, crossing his arms, fixing the students with a glare befitting of a third-year with sharp, dark eyes, "but running is the fundamental of soccer! If you can't run, you can't play soccer!"

~~~~~~

Mizuki makes it through 20 paces of the field before he collapses in abject exhaustion.

"Mizuki-kun," someone says, "right?"

Mizuki looks up.

There's a hand outstretched.

The boy leaning over him smiles- albeit a slightly nervous smile, but it's a friendly respite from the glares and suspicious looks from the rest of the trainees.

"I'm Kasahara Junpei." He says. "The look on your face is a little scary, Mizuki-kun..."

Mizuki blinks, clearing the frustration from his brow. He accepts Kasahara's hand and pulls himself up.

"Mizuki Hisahito." He says formally, before pausing. "Ah- you already knew that."

Kasahara can't help but laugh a little. Mizuki stares at him.

"Sorry..." Kasahara chuckles. His hand is still gripping Mizuki's, and he gives it a shake before letting go. "Nice to meet you."

"Same here." Mizuki replies.

"Kasahara! Mizuki!" The coach bellows from the sidelines. "Get running!"

They do.

~~~~~~

"Mizuki-kun?"

Mizuki looks up.

"Kasahara-kun." He says, moderately surprised.

Kasahara smiles sheepishly and scratches the back of his head.

"Do you mind if I eat with you?" He asks, gesturing to the empty seat on the other side of Mizuki. Blinking in slight surprise, Mizuki shakes his head.

"How are you feeling after tryouts yesterday?" Kasahara sits and unwraps his lunch- something packed from home, it looks like- and glances up at him. "Since you haven't played sports before..."

Mizuki frowns.

"I'm going to play." He says staunchly. Kasahara's eyes widen and he waves his hands.

"Ah, I'm sure you will!" He exclaims before settling again, smiling that sheepish smile. "Mizuki-kun... you have that kind of personality, you know."

Mizuki cocks his head.

"Personality?" He says.

Kasahara nods, picking up a piece of egg with his chopsticks.

"Personality." He repeats. "I haven't known you for long, Mizuki-kun, but I feel like you can do anything that you try..."

Mizuki shakes his head.

"Kasahara." He says- Kasahara pauses for a minute at the dropped honorific, but doesn't say anything. "What does the voice inside of you say?"

Kasahara blinks.

"Voice?" He asks. "Inside of me?"

Mizuki nods sagely and takes a bite of his bun.

"The voice." He confirms.

Kasahara shakes his head.

"A voice inside me, huh..." He wonders, chopsticks pausing. "To get into a good university?"

Mizuki purses his lips.

"The voice inside of me..." He says. That feeling starts to spark within him again, the burning in his gut. "It tells me to break something."

Kasahara stares at him.

"Break... something?" He exclaims. "Physically? Mizuki-"

Mizuki shakes his head again.

"Not physically." He continues. "It tells me to work harder... to try more, to run faster, to kick harder..."

He trails off again. Kasahara looks at him for another moment, then bursts out laughing.

Mizuki watches him, befuddled.

"What?" He asks.

Kasahara's chuckles die down, and he wraps a supporting arm around his stomach before looking Mizuki in the eye again.

"That's your personality, Mizuki." He smiles, and it's somehow self-depricating, makes Mizuki want to pull Kasahara along with him. "You're the type of person to never give up, I guess. An idealist."

Mizuki blinks.

"An idealist?"

~~~~~~

Mizuki starts running laps around the outer fence later that day.

~~~~~~

Two weeks later.

"Mizuki!" A voice calls from the school gates.

Mizuki, panting from running, feet sore and legs aching, lets himself slow down. It's someone in a bright yellow raincoat, an umbrella over their head, holding something in their arms. It's raining, and the water has fully soaked into his hair and his clothes, chilling him.

"Kasahara." He calls back, drawing to a stop, walking towards his friend. "It's Saturday- what are you doing here?"

Kasahara laughs out loud. He's smiled much more often in the two weeks they've been training together.

"Like you can talk." He replies, holding out one of the cans in his hands as Mizuki draws near, rain squelching in his sneakers. His socks are soaked to the bone. The rain pitters and patters insistently along every exposed surface, and the air smells like wet concrete.

"I'm training." Mizuki says bluntly, but takes the can- hot tea- nonetheless. "Training is good-"

Kasahara shakes his head.

"Not too much of it," he sighs, "especially if you haven't been training before... try and take other peoples' concern into account, geez."

"Sorry." Mizuki combs a hand through his short, wet hair, making it spike up from his scalp. They move to the protection of a large tree by the gates. The only noise is the rain falling on the environment around them.

"Kasahara," Mizuki breaks the near-silence, "do you think we'll make it to Nationals?"

~~~~~~

Second year.

"I'm never going to become a regular."

Mizuki turns around.

Kasahara is the only other one in the dark, empty locker room. He slams his hand against the metal door- it rattles with the force of the blow- and hunches over further, as though experiencing some gut-wrenching pain.

"Kasahara-" Mizuki starts, taking a step towards the other boy.

"I'm never going to become a regular." Kasahara gasps, a repetition, and he almost falls to his knees- Mizuki rushes forward to try and support him, but he's not fast enough. Kasahara crumples to the floor, kneeling and hunched, and all Mizuki can do is crouch beside him and place a wary hand on his best friend's shoulder.

"Kasahara..." He says, watching how the other boy's shoulders begin to shake, and feels something inhuman rise in him, because his instinct right now is silent- he doesn't know what to do. "Kasahara, I-"

"It's alright." Kasahara pants, back heaving, and Mizuki sees something bright catch the light streaming from the half-open door on its way falling from Kasahara's downturned face to splatter invisibly on the dark floor. "I can see the facts, Mizuki."

Mizuki stills.

He's right, after all. Kasahara isn't a remarkable player, especially for a forward- not compared to the current captain, and to the talented monster first year Ooshiba, who had scored three goals over his upperclassman with more experience and technique in today's practice match alone, and to Mizuki himself, an established regular as of this year and the one whose name is being drafted for next year's captain.

Kasahara won't ever become a regular.

Words seem to refuse to come from Mizuki's mouth.

When Kasahara turns, still hiding his face, and his forehead comes into contact wtih Mizuki's lowered shoulder, it seems natural for Mizuki to tighten his grip on his shoulder, to keep him there- Kasahara finally breaks, that tempered, hesitant demeanor falling away, and sobs painfully into Mizuki's shirt.

He wants to play.

He wants to become a regular.

He wants to play.

He wants, wants, wants- wants attention on him, wants to be in the spotlight, just for a moment- wants all this practice to mean something, to himself and to his teammates and to Seiseki as a whole...

Mizuki can't do anything but smooth his hand over the back of Kasahara's neck and listen, both of them sitting in the dark, their voices and their touch the only things connecting them.

~~~~~~

The beginning of third year.

"Mizuki." Kasahara puts a hand on his arm after practice one day. "Can I talk to you for a minute?"

He pulls Mizuki out of the locker room, to the side of the building.

"Kasahara." Mizuki says, watching his face. "What's wrong? We have plenty of good first-years this year..."

Kasahara looks him in the eyes.

"I'm leaving." He says. "Mizuki, I'm leaving Seiseki."

Mizuki feels his heart stop.

"Leaving." He repeats instead of saying the thousands of things he wants to say. "Kasahara, you-"

Kasahara smiles. This doesn't seem an appropriate time for smiling, Mizuki thinks, because he's just been told his best friend of two years is leaving, but Kasahara always smiles at the wrong times- when he's self-deprecating, when he's unhappy, when he's upset, and it makes Mizuki want to communicate his feelings, except he can't. No words are enough to communicate how he feels for Kasahara.

"It's my grandmother." Kasahara confesses, that unbearably sad smile still on his face. "She's not getting better- actually, she's gotten worse-"

Mizuki swallows.

"Kasahara." He croaks, and this has never happened- it's never felt like he has things that he wants to say so bad, things that want so terribly to be free that they claw at his throat in an attempt to find their form as the perfect words and sprout from his mouth, but there's something holding them back- it's Kasahara, of course it's Kasahara, who says things that other people understand.

Kasahara looks away.

"When?" Mizuki manages to get out.

"Two months." Kasahara says, shoulders hunched. "Right after the game with Saku."

Two months.

Two months.

Two months.

It sounds like a death sentence.

~~~~~~

He can't tell Kasahara to stay.

He can't stop feeling like he wants Kasahara to stay.

Pointless.

~~~~~~

"Mizuki." Nakazawa calls out to him from his workdesk. "Come here for a second- I have the list of starters for the game with Saku."

He does.

Kasahara's not on it.

~~~~~~

They're going to win, he says.

He's going to win for Kasahara, he thinks.

~~~~~~

They don't win.

act ii: kimishita

"Mizuki!" The captain calls. "Come here for a second."

Mizuki complies, leaving his conversation with Kasahara behind. Kimishita tracks him out of the corner of his eye.

"Oi." Ooshiba comes up behind him, shoves him out of the way. "Move."

Kimishita ignores him in favor of keeping his attention on the conversation between Mizuki and the captain- Ooshiba stares at him for a minute before scoffing and turning away. Kimishita doesn't hear.

"That guy..." He mutters. Mizuki- the second year- an enigma for sure, enough so that Kimishita is incredible intrigued and wary at the same time. "How can someone so dumb be the team's ace already?"

"Talking to yourself already, Kimishita the Idiot?" Ooshiba sneers at him again, only to be rebuffed when Kimishita doesn't reply, just shoves the rest of his non-practice stuff into the locker and turns around to prop his cleat up on a bench, pulling on the laces.

"Mizuki..." He can hear snippets of their conversation. "Forwards... starting..."

Kimishita finds himself unfocused.

~~~~~~

"Oi." Someone- someone unfriendly-sounding- says from behind. "Mizuki-senpai."

Mizuki turns around.

It's Kimishita- the new first-year midfielder, bone-chillingly precise and terrifyingly intelligent, but takes himself too seriously- and Mizuki faces him completely.

"Kimishita?" He replies. "What is it?"

"Am I the starting midfielder for the next match?" He asks bluntly, pointedly, and Mizuki cocks his head.

"Starting?" He repeats. "I don't know."

Kimishita growls.

"I saw you talking to the captain earlier." He mutters. "Senpai."

Mizuki shrugs.

"Captain doesn't tell me anything." He says, turning back to the field. "I don't need to know anything."

Kimishita crosses his arms.

"Don't need to know anything?" He scoffs. "Senpai."

Mizuki shakes his head.

~~~~~~

Recieving Kimishita's passes really is like magic, Mizuki thinks as the ball rolls right between his feet for the umpteenth time, just in time for him to shoot, score, hear the stands roar in front of him- the thrill of a point is quickly encompassed by the hunger for more, as it always is, and he shouts before turning back to the goal. Another, another, another.

~~~~~~

Later that year.

"I'm sorry we lost." Mizuki approaches Kimishita on the abandoned soccer pitch. They're not going to nationals this year, it would seem, and Mizuki knows that the captain is in his dorm in a state in which he does not want to be seen.

Kimishita shakes his head.

"We're going next year." He says firmly, and even though it's been less than a year, the mature tone of his voice makes Mizuki only more determined to see the team through. The feeling of failure floods him again, of Kimishita sending him a perfect pass, as always, and being blocked at the last second, at hearing the silence of his teammates as the cheers from the other team's side of the stands roar around them- it's his fault, isn't it, that someone has prevailed over them. Mizuki feels his resolve.

"Yeah." He replies, affirmative. "We're going next year."

~~~~~~

Next year.

"You're not satisfied with Kimishita's passes, are you."

Mizuki doesn't move- it's Taira, after all, and any movement can be a dead giveaway, but he cocks his head.

"Not really." He says.

~~~~~~

"I heard you!" Kimishita shouts. "I heard you say you weren't satisfied with my passes!"

The whole team stares. Kimishita's voice has taken on an edge of desperation.

"Tell me what you want!" He almost begs. A feeling starts to creep in Mizuki's gut. "Am I not accurate enough? Tell me what's wrong with my passes-"

"I have no idea." Mizuki interrupts.

Kimishita stares at him.

"Is it that strange to never be satisfied?" He continues, remembering what he had told Kasahara in their first year. "I have this voice in my head... that tells me I can do more, run faster, shoot harder-"

Kimishita exhales in disbelief.

~~~~~~

Mizuki finds Kimishita after practice a few days later.

"Kimishita." He begins awkwardly. Seiseki's front gates are abandoned except for both of them- he knows Kimishita is almost always one of the last to leave practice.

Kimishita glances sideways.

"Captain." He says. "What is it?"

"I-" Mizuki pauses. "Did I hurt your feelings?"

Kimishita looks at him, properly this time.

"Eh?" He exclaims, a flush rising to his cheeks. "How did you get that idea?"

Mizuki frowns.

"When I said to Taira that I was not satisfied with your passes." He replies, confused. "You-"

Kimishita's face burns red- why, Mizuki's not really sure, because it had been a simple misunderstanding, hadn't it?

"Nevermind that!" He insists. "Drop it, you idiot."

Mizuki starts to say something, but thinks better of it.

"Alright." He replies instead.

act iii: indou

Mizuki meets Indou Kaoru in his first year.

"Mizuki." Kasahara whispers- they're at the annual district-wide training camp, after their second match. "We have to go, another team is going to need this locker room-"

"My shirt is stuck." Mizuki says, deadpan, tugging helplessly at where his jersey is caught in the edge of a locker. "Kasahara-"

Kasahara sighs and pinches at the edge of where it's caught, but it's too late- while they're fussing over it, the locker room door bursts open.

"I'm telling you, Shuuji." An annoyed voice. "Mango-strawberry is the best flavor combination!"

"You're such an idiot, Kaoru." A petulant voice. "Strawberry tastes terrible."

"Well, I knew you had bad taste." A sniff. "Someone who actually likes grape-flavor..."

The two round the corner into the main locker room and lock eyes with Kasahara and Mizuki, who are crouched over a locker in which the hem of Mizuki's jersey is very, very stuck.

"Uh." Kasahara breaks the awkward silence. "Sorry, we were about to leave-"

The taller one- his shirt is electric pink and his hair is the wildest Mizuki has ever seen, and something about the boy puts him on edge instantly- waves a hand.

"The team won't be in for a few more minutes." He says dismissively, and bowl-cut-boy next to him nods.

"Ah." Kasahara replies awkwardly. "Okay... Mizuki, let's-"

The taller one takes a step forwards.

"Mi-zu-ki?" He enunciates, suddenly seeming much more interested, and there's a serious glint in his eyes that's simultaneously unnerving and fascinating. "Mizuki Hisahito, Seiseki first year?"

Mizuki frowns.

"Do I know you?" He asks shortly.

Fuzz-head shakes his head and chuckles.

"Not yet." He says, drawing even closer, until it's to the point where Kasahara feels uncomfortable. Mizuki doesn't back away from his stare.

Tall boy extends a hand.

"Indou Kaoru." He says, a grin creeping up his face. "Saku High first year."

Mizuki takes the hand and shakes shortly, dropping it as soon as possible.

"Seiseki's freak, huh." Indou tilts his head, considering, eyes never leaving Mizuki's face, a disturbing change from when he and his baby-faced friend had come into the locker room, arguing over the merits of different flavorings.

"Sorry?" Kasahara interrupts for the first time, a frown creasing his brow. "What did you-"

"That's not the right word..." Indou glances down, as though considering something, before looking back up. "Monster. I've heard rumors about you, the first-year monster."

"We'll be out of your way." Mizuki replies, glancing back down to where his shirt is still caught in the metal- one final pull by Kasahara dislodges it, and he brushes down his jersey with the same hands that he's just shaken Indou's with.

"I feel like we're going to be interesting, Mizuki." Mizuki's eyes narrow at the dropped honorific, but he doesn't say a word, and lets Kasahara pull him out of the locker room by the wrist.

~~~~~~

Later that year, Mizuki learns that the boy is Indou Kaoru, midfielder prodigy of Saku High, and that he and Narukami Shuuji are a midfielder-forward duo of superhuman proportions. Rumors circulate about them- those two are going far, those two are childhood friends, those two are only first years and they can do this much already- it stokes the fire in Mizuki's gut, and he runs twice as many laps as usual.

~~~~~~

Second year.

He's improved.

His first thought upon seeing Indou again.

He barely remembers their first encounter, and Seiseki hasn't had a match with Saku since then, but he has the sense that the other boy and his partner have undergone extreme, ferocious improvement. It makes him both wary and excited, and pushes him to train just a little harder- not exactly a rival, but someone he watches out of the corner of his eye.

"Oi!" A voice. "Mizuki!"

Mizuki turns around.

A familiarly hot pink shirt.

"Mizuki!" Indou jogs up to him, a grin on his face. Mizuki keeps his mouth tight, his eyes staunch. "Don't tell me you forgot about me already!"

"Indou." He says by way of greeting.

Indou smiles at him.

"We're finally facing each other, huh." His teeth glint, and Mizuki is reminded vaguely of a wolf. "I've been waiting for this, you know. Seiseki's monster."

Mizuki frowns.

"Were you the one who started that?" He asks, referring to that absurd nickname- the monster of Seiseki.

Indou shakes his head. His ridiculous hair falls with the movement.

"That sprung up on its own." He shrugs. "I just happen to have a good eye for potential."

Mizuki narrows his eyes.

"Alright." He says. "If you'll excuse me."

It's not a question. Mizuki turns away, heading towards his teammates on the other side of the pitch, and ignore's Indou's voice calling out after him.

~~~~~~

End of third year.

"Mizuki."

It's Indou. Mizuki knows without looking up, but he does anyways.

"Indou." He replies.

Indou frowns at him.

"We've been rivals all these years," he says, "and you can't even call me by my first name? Hisahito."

"I would rather not." Mizuki turns away. "If there's nothing more-"

Indou grabs him by the arm.

Mizuki pauses.

"I'll-" Indou pauses, a crack finally showing in that unnervingly cheerful demeanor, an uncertain twitch flickering across his face. "I'll see you on the pro pitch."

Mizuki shrugs his hand off.

"Perhaps." He replies, and strides away, not looking back.