#ill have t work on that as well. i wish i had that one expensive ass game that lrts u likee. fuck around with le solar system

[bapouro]

If you have the time and if it’d be fun at all, can you talk about how going to school for art is/was? Like what was bad about it but what did it make you realize about why you create? What was originally incomprehensible that became digestible after being surrounded by it? I’m just curious because I really only got into art after college age.

Hi

ive finally handed in my final project ever last friday and after somewhat recovering i can now answer u. (ill put an aside here that before i started uni, i saw a lot of the online umming and awing about art school and it being a scam etc that made me nervous going into it. i dont really think it has been for me but keep in mind im doing this in the uk. i think if i was in the usa or somewhere where it was that expensive i think youd get just about as many benefits going to somewhere like a community college instead. its worth a bit of money but not a lot of money.)

i realised while turning over your questions in my head last week how much doing my degree (illustration undergrad) during covid lockdown, illustrated (haha) the point art school had for me. and the point being that after trying to stick it out for the first few terms during lockdown, i deferred, i didnt really see the point i had already spent my entire life making art in my bedroom online for free, without somebody telling me what to do. practically what that degree offered me was physical facilities and resources, but really what i wanted it for was that vague miasma of drive and something bigger than myself to physically 'prove' myself to. i was and still am very interested in that gap between the online environment i learnt art within that felt a world away from my 'real life', and coming to meet with that 'real life' was kind of my goal. i needed both to meet on a very basic level for my quality of life. and id say i succeeded. twice now somebody i was originally mutuals with online turned out to be in my class. i live with one of them now. and i feel some pride now looking back on how much i felt like i had to separate my 'school' art and my 'personal' art during secondary school and now theyre practically one and the same. in fact one piece of advice ive kept with me from the uni tutors here is they consistently wish the students wouldnt 'hold back' so much on the kind of work they make: one of my friends, the one i now live with, was doing a tasteful furry pinup statue for a project and one of the tutors essentially asked them why the statue was being so sexually subtle with it, for example.

so what was bad about it! man... thinking about it the same reason i gave for why i came back after lockdown could also point out how flippant the reasoning was. its still a lot of time and effort let alone money to be putting into something that you dont Need an institution for. and art and academia, as much as you might try, arent going to be as neatly married as maybe STEM and academia. not that there isnt a place for it. we need it in there. but basically your work still has to get 'graded' on things so they can prove themselves as an institution so they can still get money to run. i ''apreciated'' the deadline part, for what it was, because i was(/am) a serial put-er off-er and i knew i needed something big to try and train me out of it. but the actual mark scheme and trying to work off of it is never not going to be nebulous. what the hell does it mean to 'demonstrate my awareness of the changing landscape of contemporary illustration' graded between 0 - 100 via a 3d animation. ive done pretty well. sometimes id get top marks. a couple times i wouldnt even pass and id have to do it again. the only pattern i could really see between what got those marks for me and what didnt was effort? so take with that what you will.

yea that being said, what it helped me realise why i create... i am thankful my particular course at my particular uni is so into their experimentation / medium diversity. because it proved to me again that experimenting is something i love to do. i could keep doing it forever maybe. but that also made me realise after trying to do that project after project that its only one part of the enjoyment. i couldnt sink my teeth in as much as i wanted. part of why im glad to leave is im glad to try and focus on just a few things now. take a project at my pace... reeeally get way too into it. hopefully.

what was originally incomprehensible that became digestible after being surrounded by it? mm.. i think getting to see a lot of the behind the scenes and the people actually doing illustration as a job kind of softened my glare on some art styles / ways of working i dislike. not that i Like them now but that kind of flat illustrator thing.. for some people it really is more of a job than anything else. i think thats fine. theres all kinds of other art to enjoy outside of their 9-5. i just hope they like it too. but of course it does set a precedent for what clients expect/what you feel like you should be making..? oh also i did actually end up really enjoying the couple of art essays we needed to write. reading cultural/art/etc pdf essays was something i already liked to do like reading baudrillard and ellen dissanayake and things but it was great to actually get to apply it in writing. and i think it certainly became more digestible to realise that these kinds of writers and this kind of writing wasnt some hard to penerate academia i couldnt be a part of really but turned out to be writing about things that already applied to life, whether i went to uni or not. really the whole experience... for me i felt like it was just something i needed to do. if anything just to get away from my family and make my own life. im glad i did it. but really art is art no matter where you find it. uni gave me a push to go further, i could sit around and say i couldve done it without uni but i think we overestimate ourselves. i think i couldve but i bet it wouldve taken longer and i may have experimented less, challenged myself less. who knows. just dont ever let something like that put you off art, it will always find you again eventually. im glad you got into it too.

[watermelonlovershigh]

You Get Sick in the Back of an Uber

AN: so this was a story i have had in my drafts for like three months and just never found motivation to finish it. i decided to finish this first out of my drafts because it was one of the ones that had the most already written for it. unlike some of my others that don't have much written yet. and this was supposed to be longer but i got lazy and ended the end with no dialogue and shorted the story. but i guess that's fine because the main part of this was the uber incident and not necessary the aftercare. (i just love to always include aftercare whether its with sex or getting sick. unless its a blurb) @harryhoney-bee suggested number 1. on my voting post so thank you for requesting i finish this one shot idea that was in my drafts.

This story contains: puke, drunken person, caring husband

{ husband!harry - dad!harry - Grammys 2021 Harry - 4 kids (any age you imagine) }

word count: 1765

When you drink too much at the Grammys, you end up having to get sick in the uber ride home and Harry cares for you.

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

Back Story-

After the Grammys, Harry and I decided to go to the little after party that was being held for the Grammy attendees. We knew we couldn't stay too long because we had to get back home to our kids. They were currently with our babysitter but she couldn't stay all night. She has to go home at some point. So we made sure to watch the time.

At the afterparty, drinks were flowing. I haven't drank in a while due to the fact I had been pregnant not too long ago. This was the first night I was allowed to drink and I decided to do just that. Harry was aware of me drinking and promised to watch and take care of me. Though we were at this afterparty for him, he wanted me to let loose and have some fun as well.

But what he wasn't expecting was for me to drink the amount I did. I didn't mean to go over board. It just kind of happened. People handing out drinks left and right and next thing I knew, I was drunk. Not tipsy, drunk. When Harry noticed how drunk I was, he decided it's best to go home.

And because Harry also had drank some alcohol, he wasn't in a state to drive either. By no means was he as drunk as me though. Maybe just tipsy but he didn't want to risk it. So he decided to call an uber for us.

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

Current-

We're sitting in the back of the uber on our way home. It's about an hour drive since the city is crowded with traffic due to the Grammys. Right about now is when I regret drinking any alcohol tonight. Because I haven't drank in over a year, my body isn't use to the poison running through my veins. So you could say I'm a lightweight now. My head is throbbing. My vision is blurry. My stomach is turning. Lets just say I regret all my decisions tonight that lead to me feeling this way.

"Harrrrry I don't feel good." I manage to slur out.

"You probably should have stuck to champagne instead of vodka my love." Harry responds, while stroking my hair out of my face in a gentle manner.

Another 10 minutes pass and I'm feeling very nauseous. I'm trying to focus on my breathing but it's not working.

"Harry my stomach hurts." I whisper with hooded eyes.

"Like you're gonna be sick?" Harry questions with panic.

I nod my head and hear Harry asking the driver if he can pull over.

"Can you pull over? My wife is feeling ill." Harry frantically questions the uber driver up front.

"I'm sorry sir but this freeway is packed and there is no way I can get to the side of the road right now." the driver says with a bit of an attitude.

Hearing that made me and Harry both start to panic.

"Well do you have any sick bags in here?" my husband asks.

"Sorry I don't." the driver retorts in a uncaring tone. What kind of uber driver doesn't carry sick bags for when drunks potentially need a ride but feel like they are going to be sick?

I just barley hear Harry let out a frustrated sigh and turn to me.

"Try and relax love. Take deep breaths for me, alright." Harry whispers while rubbing my back as I'm slumped over his body, too disoriented to even hold my head up.

About 3 minutes later, I feel vomit rise up my throat. There isn't much I can to do. The driver already said he couldn't pull over, nor does he have sick bags. I sit up from my slouched position and clasp a hand over my mouth. My legs are bouncing up and down. I'm trying desperately not to puke but I'm doing a poor job. Harry is sitting up with me, trying to comfort me but his words are all a blur at this point.

"If you have to be sick darling, let it out. I'll pay to get this uber cleaned, okay." Harry states in my ear. I know he'd rather not have me puke on the floor of the uber, right beside him, but he can tell I'm struggling and in discomfort.

Hearing those words was all the conformation I needed. I remove my hand from my mouth and let out a gush of alcoholic bile spew from my mouth and onto the backseat floor board. Harry gathers my hair in his hands so it's not in my face. My vomit splatters all over my legs and on the bottom of Harry's Gucci suit. I'd feel terrible about that if I wasn't so out of it, but my mind is a mushed up blur.

"Shhh, that's it. You're alright." Harry reassures me. The uber driver lets out a sigh of disgust, but this is truly his fault that I'm throwing up in his uber right now anyways.

Heave after heave, I let out more of the alcohol that was poisoning my system, right onto the floor. It's not a pretty sight. I'm having a cold sweat and my body is trembling. Though Harry has a weak stomach, when it comes to his wife (me) or his kids, he can always handle a bit of throw up. Or a lot like currently. It's like a fatherly/husband instinct that comes over him and he feels only adrenaline, not yuck.

Finally I feel my stomach relax and I sit up, breathing heavy with vomit dripping down my chin. Without thinking, I wipe it off with the back of my hand and smear it on my already ruined dress. "Feeling better?" Harry asks in a low tone.

"Mhmm." I hum, not really feeling like talking. My drunken brain has cleared up some from the majority of the alcohol being out of my system, but I still feel the after affects drinking brings. I just lean my head on Harry's shoulder for the rest of the ride home and allow the cool breeze to blow on my face. The uber driver did us all a favor by rolling the windows down so we didn't suffocate on the nasty smell of my sick.

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

After-

When we arrived home, Harry payed the uber driver, not giving much of a tip and told him that he'd have someone clean his car out in the morning. As well as a half assed apology for my incident beings it could have been prevented. Then carefully, Harry lifted me out the uber and carried me into our Los Angeles home. Good thing our kids were all asleep because they shouldn't have to see their mother like this. Covered in puke and half drunk.

Harry took me to our bathroom and quickly ran down stairs to pay our babysitter, hoping she didn't question my appearance when she saw my state as we came through the front door. She didn't thankfully and left soon after her check was handed to her. Harry came back up to where he left me and helped me clean up and get ready for bed.

He stripped us of our vomit covered clothes and helped me into the big walk-in shower we have in our master bathroom. Then after he delicately washed our bodies along with my hair, he helped us out and dried us off. We brushed our teeth, me with the help of my husband because I was still a bit dizzy. After we're clean of sick and smelt fresh, he helped me put some panties and a t-shirt over my nude body and boxers on himself; just incase our kids woke up and needed us for whatever reason.

Harry helped me into our large bed and tucked me in, bending down to kiss my forehead. Then he walked down to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water and a bucket incase I needed to be sick again at some point through-out the rest of the early morning. When he had all the items he intended to grab, Harry came back to our bedroom where I was already passed out with sleep.

So he just set the water on my night stand and the bucket on the floor, beside my side of the bed. Then Harry quietly exited our room and went to each of our child's bedrooms to make sure they were fine and still asleep like they should be, which they thankfully were.

When everything was done and taken care of, Harry turned the bedroom lights out and slipped in the covers with me. He helped my body scoot over and I cuddled into his warm body. I didn't realize it in my state of sleep but I knew when I awoke, I'll be thinking about how grateful I am to have a wonderful husband like Harry.

He takes such good care of me. He didn't get upset that I drank too much on his special night and accidently got wasted. He never once got upset that I basically got throw up on his expensive suit tonight in the uber. He didn't get annoyed that he had to shower both me and him past midnight, though he was exhausted. Harry loves taking care of me (and our kids) and wouldn't wish for any other life. Even when his life becomes chaotic and stressful. Harry loves his family dearly and his family love him just as much or more.

Masterlist (regular smut, fluff & sicfics)

My Favorite Harry Styles Fics MASTERLIST

Harry Styles Series - One Shots & Blurbs Masterlist

Harry Styles blurbs, concepts, & short stories Masterlist- (short writing with little to no dialog)

[jessikahathaway]

Ambrosia - Prologue

Park Jimin (Aphrodite) X Reader

Genre: GreekGod!AU, Genderbent Aphrodite!AU, Romance, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn and Smut (Future)

Warnings: Mentions of terminal illness, Jimin in a SUIT, Namjoon being a lil nosy, profanity (if I forgot anything please let me know!)

Words: 3.1k (YA GIRL PROCRASTINATED TOO LONG AND DIDN'T GET THE FULL CHAPTER DONE SO WE'RE DOING A PROLOGUE. K? K.)

Summary: Cast out of Olympus with the task to find his one true love, Aphrodite is certain his match will come to him. But as the years drag on, what happens when the God of Love, gives up?

Days in a flower shop in the middle of a decent sized town can pass by fast or slow. There can be days with what feels like hundreds of orders coming through the tiny store, and then there are the days where the employees just wind up looking at their phones the whole time and not one soul passes through the door.

But on special days, all it takes is one person to walk through those doors and everything changes.

This is a story of one of those days.

--

Tuesdays could seriously go fuck off for all you cared. This particular Tuesday was proving to be a test on every ounce of your patience and every single time you heard that door bell ring as the gates of hell opened, your shoulders sagged a little more. Something about their flowers wasn’t right. The blue wasn’t like the sky but like the sea and that’s an issue. The flowers look wilted. Always something.

But, like you did every day you turned to the customer and gave them a huge smile, ready to help them with whatever they needed. Even if it meant losing your sanity little by little.

The day passed this way, going on and the clock didn’t seem to be moving at your desired pace. So, you sat on the chair behind the desk at the front and gazed out the window.

It was a warmer spring day.

The trees were budding and life was returning after a long winter. You loved this time of the year. Everything becoming new again, alive and welcoming. But, it also means more work for you. It’s never been a problem, but this past year has been particularly hard.

Your younger sister passed away.

She’d been fighting a long illness, one with a poor prognosis. At a young age you and Sana were placed in the foster system, living with a decent enough upbringing. The foster parents were never mean or cruel, but they weren’t your parents. Whom you barely remembered now. So when you turned eighteen you asked if you could become her legal guardian. Your foster parents had agreed, wishing you and her the best of luck...

But luck had never been on you or your sister’s side.

Her illness started to rapidly progress, causing more and more doctor’s visits and more money being pulled from your measly savings. It wasn’t enough. You were having to take out loans and everything just to keep the lights on in your apartment.

Sana, however, kept her spirits high no matter the situation. She was the positive one. The bright one that everyone gravitated towards in school. She was your light. And now your life is duller. Your sister loved to go through the streets in her wheelchair, looking at the budding leaves and flowers that were growing on the trees.

“Look Y/N!” she’d squeak. “They’re so beautiful. I want to open a flower shop, and I’m going to sell the most beautiful flowers to people.”

As her birthday present you decided to open the flower shop.

It was her last one.

Looking out at the spring blooming in front of you it was hard to be happy, knowing how much your sweet Sana would’ve loved it. Life often wasn’t fair, but you hadn’t expected it to be so. You weren’t a bad person, but bad things had happened. But you were alive, and had a life to keep living.

As much as the flower shop was Sana’s dream, you couldn’t sell it when she died. It had become your safe haven. A little place to call your own. Even if it was Sana’s dream, you had made it real. Real enough for the both of you, and now you gotta keep it going. Even if the loan to open it made your wallet want to cry, it was enough. Plenty.

Because it was yours.

A single tear fell down your cheek as you thought of your beloved sister, and her cute cheeks and beautiful eyes that never held an ounce of fear or regret. A few petals fell from the blossoming tree outside in the wind and fell to the ground in a swirl of pastel hues that made you smile.

More tears moved down your cheeks and you wiped them away in frustration. She wouldn’t want you to be upset, she’d want you to be happy and to continue with your life. Keep going and make something of yourself.

Sana used to say that you were always Y/N the big sister and never just... Y/N. And you knew it was true. You were supposed to take care of her, but now that she’s gone... T-There was no one to care for but yourself.

You’d have to be enough.

Suddenly, the bell above your door ran proudly, making your teary eyes refocus on the person entering the store. Those tears were quickly replaced with a look of wonder.

A man walked through the door, head held high and his eyes scanned the area like he was inspecting it. Wiping your already sweaty palms on your apron you approached him with a gentle smile.

“Welcome to Sana’s flowers, how can I assist you?” you asked, coming towards him. The man took in your appearance and a calm expression steeled over his face.

“Hi, are you Sana?” he asked, referring to the name.

“No, Sana was my sister,” you said, swallowing hard. The man seemed to understand.

“I apologize, I didn’t mean to impose,” he said, bowing lightly.

“You’re fine, no worries. How can I help you?” you asked, looking at his apparel.

He was dressed in a fine suit, tailored to his every inch, must’ve been expensive as hell. You could probably open a whole new section of your shop with the money he was dripping in.

You weren’t known for having an upper class clientele, not that the occasional businessman came in and asked for a bouquet of your finest flowers. Sometimes two... Shaking your head you focused on the man in front of you as best as you could. But, his features were so striking it was hard to keep your eyes from wander...

“Park Jimin,” he introduced, holding his hand out politely.

“Y/N,” you said, extending your own hand and taking his in yours. Shaking gently he gave a smile that could rival the very stars in the sky. This man was more breathtaking the longer you looked, making your palms start to sweat even more.

“A pleasure, Y/N,” he said. “I’m having an event to celebrate my family's company. It’s the 125 year of it’s business and we are looking to source from the local populace instead of corporations to provide a more intimate setting for the investors and other members of the company,” Jimin said, rambling off a lot of information for your sleep deprived brain.

“I see, so you’re looking for floral arrangements?” You asked, heading towards your book of options. Jimin followed you over, leaning towards you so close you could smell his cologne. A spicy scent that wasn’t overpowering but more... alluring? Inviting?

Shaking your head you pulled up your options of centerpieces and the like, showing him what styles you had available and Jimin paid close attention to each set. Asking questions about what flowers would look good in what vases and if they did better in foam or water.

“For events I prefer the foam personally. Less likelihood of someone knocking a vase over and water getting everywhere. But the flowers are more mobile in the water, so it’s about what you’re looking for in regards to the feel,” you said.

Jimin seemed to weigh his options for a moment. “I like the traditional styles you showed me. The simple little flowers decorating around the larger arrangements, it looks classy and provides the color I’m looking for,” he said, nodding.

Making a note you grabbed a notepad to start writing all the information down.

“So when is your event? A month, two?” You said, throwing out a few different times.

“Two weeks,” he said. You froze, swallowing hard.

“Ah, I see,” you said, biting your lip.

“Is that a problem?” He asked, looking up at your pained expression.

“It’s just, the flowers might take a minute to get here. And I arrange everything by hand, so it takes me a little longer. How many tables were you going to have and the garlands for the stairways as well?” You asked.

“Well as for tables I have 150 dinner tables, 50 cocktail tables and 8 large banquet tables. There are two main stairwells that wrap around to the main area so there will be about 400ft worth of garland necessary,” he calculated slowly.

“Okay,” you said, rubbing your temples slowly.

“How many people do you have on your payroll?” He asked, looking around and noticing the empty space.

“Just me. My friend Namjoon likes to come and help sometimes but he’s a full time nurse so,” you shrugged.

“Would you be able to do this in two weeks with just by yourself?” He asked, raising a brow.

“I can always try,” you said, giving a gentle smile.

“How much would it cost?” He asked.

“Depends on the flowers you want, you already picked the style so one second,” you said, grabbing your calculator and running the numbers really quick. “I can do expedited shipping on the flowers to get them here faster but then you run the risk of stems getting broken and not having enough. But I can order more to compensate but then that’s more money,” you said.

Finally you had a total and you frowned.

“It would be around $2,156 if we did the expedited shipping and ordered more flowers to compensate for the potential broken ones,” you said, biting your lip. That was a lot of money to spend on flowers for a simple dinner event. You knew it, but with everything he wanted and the time frame it was the best you could do... You didn’t even charge him for the probability of Namjoon helping. Because then it would jump up to the 3,000 dollar mark and you weren’t going to push your luck.

After a few moments, Jimin pulled out his checkbook and started writing the check out. Your eyes bulged when he pushed the piece of paper towards you, his pen clicking with a sense of finality.

“What kind of flowers should we get?” He said, a smile on his face. You looked down and almost flung the check right back at him.

$5,500

This man had just dropped over five thousand dollars without blinking.

“Th-This is too much,” you said, trying to push it back towards him.

“You charged me for base flowers, and it’s super short notice. Take the extra as a tip,” he smiled.

“I-I can’t accept over two thousand dollars as a tip. If I get audited I’ll be screwed,” you said.

“No you won’t, it’ll be fine. Please, take it,” he encouraged, placing the check back in front of you.

You swallowed thickly, trying to keep yourself from panicking. You did have a large loan payment coming up, and this would lessen that blow significantly...

But wasn’t it wrong?

“Alright...” you trailed off, taking the check and stamping it before putting it in your deposit bag.

“What type of flowers do you recommend using?” He asked, looking at you with a gentle gleam in his bright eyes.

“Peonies and hydrangeas are a great combo with complementary color palettes. I always love doing grass pieces as a nice natural moment but, baby's breath is a classic and more traditional if that’s what you’re looking for,” you said.

“Can we do the soft blue hydrangeas and white peonies?” He asked, looking at the sample photos you had.

“Yes, the white peonies would bring a nice fullness and the hydrangeas can add the color,” you explained.

“Perfect, let’s do that then,” he said, nodding.

“Okay! I’ll get the order to go in and get the expedited shipping and we should get them by the end of the week. They’ll go into the fridge and that should help keep them fresh,” you said.

“Here.”

You turned around to see a small card placed on the table in front of you.

“What’s this?” You asked, lifting the small thing to your eyes.

“My number,” he said, grinning. “Message me when the flowers come in.”

“O-Okay, absolutely!”

Jimin smiled then, a bright dazzle expression that had your mouth drying in longing.

“I look forward to hearing from you, Y/N,” he said.

“I look forward to it as well, Mr. Park,” you said politely. Jimin tutted and shook his head.

“No, Jimin will do just fine. Have a great day Y/N,” he waved, turning on his heel and heading out the door.

You looked at the numbers and sighed.

God you were so fucked.

—

“So, let me get this straight,” Namjoon said over the phone. “Hot guy in a suit comes in and orders a fuck ton of flowers you know you can’t do yourself and you agree because he dropped an extra few grand in the check? Y/N! You can’t do that, I’ll only be able to help you arrange the bouquets the day of. So you’ll have to put them all together yourself! When will you sleep? Eat? Poop!?!” He yelped.

“Firstly, my bowel movements are none of your concern,” you stated. “And second of all, I can’t refuse that kind of money! The next loan payment is going to fuck me over if I don’t have this padding. Please Joonie, tell me you can help me at least the night before,” you pleaded.

“I really can't Y/N, I’m working night rotation. So, I could maybe stop by in the morning but then the flowers have to sit longer,” he reasoned.

“Yeah I know... Can you switch?” You said, a soft voice replacing your whining.

“I wish I could, but there’s hardly any staff that night as it is. And we’re all pulling hours we don’t like. I can’t ask them to do more. Poor Taehyung has already covered me this month and I would rather throw myself in front of a car than ask again,” he said.

“I’m sorry. I know you’re busy and I’m desperate, but... I’ll figure it out,” you said, rubbing your face in exhaustion.

“What kind of asshat doesn’t come in until last minute to order a huge ass amount of floral arrangements?” Namjoon asked.

“An asshat named Park Jimin apparently,” you said, twisting the stem of a flower in front of you.

“You-You mean the Park Jimin?” Namjoon stuttered.

“I don’t know how many of them there are, Namjoon. I just know what this one looked like,” you said.

“Doesn’t he have like, neon pink hair or something?” He asked.

“Um, no? It was blonde-ish when he was in here,” you said.

“Plump lips?”

“Yeah?”

“Eyes that command the panties of women to drop?” He asked.

“Sir, my panties stayed firmly in place so I don’t know what the fuck you’re on about,” you huffed.

“For now, Y/N, for now. Anyways,” he said dismissively. “If this is the Park Jimin we’re talking about you need to be very careful.”

“What? What are you talking about,” you whispered.

“He’s like a sex God or something. He’s got game better than Jordan, okay? But he never commits to anyone,” he said, seriously.

You rolled your eyes, even though the man couldn’t see you.

“My heart isn’t in danger here, Namjoon. We’ll be fine. I can handle an attractive businessman,” you said.

“Yeah, but can your cum thirsty twat handle it?”

“Sir, I’m gonna hang up,” you warned.

“As a nurse I demand to know the last time you got laid,” he said. “It’s for you health of course.”

“That should be a HIPPA violation,” you complained.

“Yeah, not a friendship violation though. Tell me when was the last time you were left boneless between the sheets my guy,” he said.

“I don’t see how this has to do with floral arrangements,” you sighed. “But since your bitch ass needs to know it was about a year ago.”

“Well, maybe it is time to get back in the ring,” he reasoned.

“Namjoon, there’s no need to get me a suitor. You’re not my dad trying to get another cow on the farm or something,” you joked.

“Do you think Park Jimin would give me a cow if I gave him you?” He asked, sounding too serious for your liking.

“I’m really gonna hang up now,” you said, pulling your phone away from your face.

“Just, be safe Y/N! Don’t work too hard, I love you!” You heard screamed from the receiver.

“Yeah love you too Joonbug,” you said, hanging up and looking at the clock. The numbers glared back at you like they were judging you for being up this late. But you simply shrugged and went and took a much needed shower.

That man had you sweating like a sinner in church.

As you bathed you tried to think of your next plan of attack, but the water was too warm and soon you found yourself relaxing into the stream happily. Once you were done you cracked open a can of beer and sat down in your living room ready to start the night right, when a message floated across your screen.

Joonbug: IS THIS THE CULPRIT?!? Jpg.1013

You stared at the screen with an unamused face, but picked up your device anyway. Namjoon had sent you the picture and you could tell the fucker picked the first one off of google images like the lame hoe he was, but you looked regardless.

And, surprisingly, it was him.

The cherubic cheeks and wide smile, bright eyes and an alluring body. You sighed and texted him back.

Y/N: Yea, that’s him.

Joonbug: OH REAAALLLLYYYY???

Y/N: I hate you so much.

Joonbug: You can’t resist. THIS.

Y/N: I’ve resisted your rat poison for years, I think I got it.

Joonbug: EXcUSE MEEEE??? I am at least some kind of like, sexy poison???

Y/N: I’m dying either way, why do I care if it’s sexy or not?

Joonbug: :((((((

You left the conversation at that, but your mind began to wander. How were you going to finish this order and not embarrass yourself in front of a multimillionaire?

Maybe you bit off more than you can chew...

[quidfree]

prompts,.,, fem tdbk and a date gone very wrong ? ❤️

ohhhh my god anon. pump this shit directly into my veins i love this whole premise let’s go. also all inspired by whatever the fuck horikoshi was doing in this 

just so everyone is on the same page here, it is not a fucking date.

it’s lunch. a singular lunch. people do that shit all the time. even katsuki does lunch, sometimes. she went to that semi-shitty diner place with kirishima that one time when the food hall was shut because some dumbass first year exploded into goo or whatever. and todoroki does lunch, too- her and deku were on some shitty lunch date like a week ago, as evidenced by deku’s even shittier selfie of them having a grand old time doing whatever the fuck they do alone.

fuck, not a shitty lunch date. a shitty lunch. whatever.

the point is lunch is a normal non-date thing people do, and the fact katsuki and todoroki are maybe not the usual suspects for it is just circumstantial. it’s not like they planned it ahead of time, or made some big thing about it. they literally arranged for it in public, so obviously todoroki didn’t think there was anything weird about it. and there isn’t! they’re both going to be in tokyo on the same day, and todoroki’s always happy for any excuse to spend less time with her old man, and katsuki sure as fuck wouldn’t turn down an opportunity to avoid her hag of a birth-giver for a few blissful hours, so when todoroki had very nonchalantly gone ‘oh, bakugou, we could do lunch then”, it wasn’t like she had any real reason to tell her to go fuck herself. like, yeah, maybe a year ago, on principle, she would have, but even katsuki can only take so much trauma-bonding before she resigns herself to the reality that she’s stuck with half ‘n half for life, one way or another, and she may as well suck it up and approach civility because said moron is determined to ignore her open malice until she plays along anyways. they’re... you know, whatever. friends. or something. jesus.

the point being that it’s not a date, and the fact that she’s getting increasingly annoyed at her limited wardrobe is just because she would have packed more shit if the crone hadn’t insisted that they ‘pack light’ so they could get cheaper train tickets for less luggage. it’s just annoying that she can’t wear anything that’s not screaming holiday.

it occurs to her as she sits and scowls at her suitcase that her mother has been watching her from the doorframe for some undetermined amount of time, which is criminal mainly because she’s a goddamn hero-to-be and getting snuck up on by anyone is a blight upon her good name. she tries to disguise the ego damage dealt by glowering murderously in her progenitor’s direction.

“what the fuck do you want?”

“you know,” the she-devil says, cocking a hip, “if you want to borrow something nicer...”

“i wouldn’t be caught dead in your shitty clothes!” katsuki snarls, which prompts the witch to immediately scowl back.

“watch your damn mouth!”

“watch your waistline! no way in hell are we the same size!”

“why you little-”

the interruption at least reminds her that she is obsessing over her clothes ahead of meeting todoroki for lunch, which is so humiliating it kickstarts her brain again long enough to grab some normal shit and get the hell out of there.

on the walk she checks her phone again. the previous day she’d had to bite the bullet and make the first move, todoroki’s infamously terrible communication skills making themselves known once more, and their ensuing conversation had been so mortifying she’d nearly cancelled all-together.

to: Half ‘n half

Yo asshole are we still meeting tomorrow or what

I’m busy as shit

from: Half ‘n half

Yes. TS

to: Half ‘n half

What the fuck is TS

from: Half ‘n half

I was signing off.

to: Half ‘n half

SIGNING OFF ON YOUR OWN TEXT

YOU THINK I DONT KNOW YOUR DAMN NAME

from: Half ‘n half

[Pin attached]

Does here at 12.30 work for you?

to: Half ‘n half

Yeah whatever

Don’t be late

And don’t think I’m forgetting the fucking signing off thing

from: Half ‘n half

Glad you can make time for mockery in your busy as shit schedule.

the venue looks like some rich person shit, which she semi-expected, but it means a lot of people give her weird looks as she makes her way inside, probably on account of the shorts and t-shirt she’s wearing if not her general vibe. some old woman actually drags her purse to her, which makes katsuki sorely tempted to bare her teeth and maybe hiss for effect, though she settles for scowling and shoving her hands in her pockets. it’s 12.27, because she wasn’t going to be late but being any earlier would have given off some dubious impression that she’s eager to see todoroki, except now she kind of wishes she’d just come for 12.30 because if there’s some reservation bullshit she gets the feeling she’s going to start fighting with the waiting staff, and then-

“bakugou,” todoroki calls, from inside, raising a hand with unnecessary formality. “you made it.”

“course i made it,” katsuki grunts, absolutely not relieved as she by-passes the suspicious looking waiter to join her outside. “think i can’t ride the damn underground by myself?”

todoroki is wearing jeans cuffed at the ankles and a white t-shirt on top of which she’s thrown on an open button-up with the sleeves rolled up, and she looks casual and normal and incidentally kind of like they dressed to match, but the important part is that she doesn’t look dressed up at all, so katsuki was totally right about the non-date situation, and also isn’t the only one totally underdressed for the shitty venue.

“you look nice,” todoroki says then, completely shattering katsuki’s brief moment of reprieve. “i’ve never seen so much color on you.”

katsuki almost chokes on her own tongue, but the worst part is that the asshole seems completely nonchalant about the weird as shit observation, focused on her stool as she takes a seat on the balcony. which- what the actual fuck? since when does todoroki issue compliments unprompted- of the non-professional variety, at that? and what the fuck does she expect katsuki to say now- return the compliment? say thanks? is this whole thing some kind of exercise in psychological torture?

well, fuck it. she can’t look like a little bitch just because todoroki said something inanely positive. two can play that game.

“yeah. you look half decent yourself. did you hire someone to dress you for the occasion?”

todoroki blinks up at her in surprise, which is totally a win and would make her more smug if she could stop feeling so weird and prickly all over. for a dangerous moment todoroki seems on the verge of blushing, but miraculously the world rights itself and the usual deadpan persists, one brow quirking up in completely feigned ineptitude.

“there was a compliment somewhere in there, so thank you, i think. i thought we were past this vendetta.”

“we’ll be past this vendetta the day you burn your piece of shit hero suit,” katsuki retorts, back on familiar ground, and relaxes long enough to squint down at the menu.

this turns out to be a mistake.

“the fuck? is this whole thing in french?”

“oh,” todoroki says, after a beat. “that makes sense. i thought my english had deteriorated.”

“are you- you didn’t know? you recommended the place!”

“it was the nearest place to our hotel,” todoroki defends, now having the decency of looking slightly put out. “coq can’t mean what i think it means, can it?”

“that’s chicken, asshole,” katsuki hisses, flinging the menu down. “great, now we’re going to have to flag down one of the shithead waiters and ask for a japanese menu. excuse me! hey! yeah, i’m talking to- what the hell, did he just blow me off? hey, jackass! you with the shitty mustache!”

“sorry about that,” todoroki interjects, when mustache asshole turns an offended stare their way. “do you have the japanese menu?”

“we only serve the food in its authentic form,” mustachioed asshole says, with frigid self-satisfaction. “might i suggest google translate?”

“might i suggest my foot up your ass, you shitty-”

“that’s fine,” todoroki says, in a flat tone that implies otherwise. “we’ll make do.”

the waiter sniffs pretentiously as katsuki thinks about all the ways she could beat his ass into next tuesday, running an aggravated hand through her hair when the wind rustles it into her face. she’d half expect todoroki to suggest they fuck off elsewhere, but when she looks back her way she finds an ill-boding gleam of determination in her eyes despite the impassive set to her face, and it’s a testament to how fucked in the head ua has made katsuki that she feels a sort of sick thrill of recognition at the sight. todoroki’s in stubborn bitch mode.

“i’ll have this,” todoroki says, sure enough, pointing to the most expensive item on the menu. “and also this. and one of those.”

the waiter’s eyes nearly pop out of his skull, and todoroki looks unfazed in katsuki’s direction, tapping pointedly at a sleek black and red credit card in her wallet. “bakugou?”

well, if endeavour’s paying....

“sure,” katsuki says, slowly, and then turns her meanest smile the waiter’s way. “i want the frog legs.”

mustache clears his throat, attempts condescension. “we don’t serve that here.”

“you’re a gastronomique restaurant,” katsuki says very loudly, as other clients turn to stare, “and you don’t have fucking frog legs? is this a joke? does this napkin say authentic french cuisine or am i hallucinating?”

“i can ask the chef,” the waiter demurs, casting a nervous glance at the muttering snobs nearby, and attempts an ingratiating smile. “anything else for you, mademoiselle?”

“what did you just call me?”

once the ordering debacle is over, todoroki slants katsuki what may well be an apologetic glance, vaguely contrite frown sitting pretty atop her usual dead-eyed stare.

“i probably should have read up on the place ahead of time.”

katsuki is well within her rights to chew her head off, she thinks, but food’s on the way and she got to yell at the asshole who gave her the once-over when she came in, so she’s feeling forgiving, even in the face of todoroki’s annoyingly doll-faced apology. the bitch really has to do the bare minimum and she looks like a fucking kpop idol.

“yeah, whatever. i always knew you were a shitty ops planner.”

todoroki, who is an asshole, looks relieved at her generous forgiveness for all of a second before she quirks a brow. “between the two of us, i only count one person who has actually spoken the words ‘shoot first, ask questions later’.”

“that was in a training simulation,” katsuki protests, outraged. “and you know damn well the actors were annoying as shit!”

“i did find them slightly too committed to the role,” todoroki concedes neutrally, which totally means she agrees with katsuki 100% and is being precious about it. katsuki scoffs.

“least the view’s decent.”

“the-“ todoroki starts, in weirdly confused tones, until she follows katsuki’s gaze outward and nods in understanding. “oh, the skyline. yes.”

what else katsuki could have meant she doesn’t fucking know: they’re sitting pretty in the middle of tokyo. the only thing the hellhole of a restaurant has going for it at this point is the cityscape.

todoroki stares out into the distance for a good long moment, and with the breeze her negligently loose hair whips this way and that, red and white blur where the two halves mingle. instinctively katsuki itches to braid it flat so it doesn’t tangle. if todoroki asked her she’d tell her to just cut her damn hair into a bob or something- it’s not like icyhot has any attachment to her princess hair, and she’s got the obnoxious bone structure to pull off any length. not that she’d mention this last part. or that she’s given it much thought. it’s just fucking obvious.

if todoroki could keep her mouth shut throughout the rest of the meal, it could be sort of nice. tokyo skyline, and companionable silence, and presumably edible food. worse ways to kill some time, and way less incriminating than anything that may be said otherwise.

“i think this is the part where we make small talk,” todoroki says instead, sadist that she definitely is, as katsuki grimaces feelingly her way.

“no, we don’t.”

“well, we don’t. but this is the part where we should.”

“i don’t even believe you can last a minute of small talk, icyhot.”

todoroki looks pensive, mismatched eyes thoughtful. “...how has your day been?”

“uneventful,” katsuki says, combative, and eyes her watch. todoroki does not give.

“this place seems nice.”

“you don’t even think that.”

“how have you been finding tokyo?”

“noisy.”

“the weather seems-”

“no.”

“you look nice.”

“you said that already, dumbass,” katsuki grunts, palms crackling with sweat, and does not at all read into the way todoroki makes a stupid little movement with her mouth that could ungenerously be interpreted as a pout.

“well, i meant it, so i’m saying it twice.”

“give it up, half ‘n half, just ask me about training.”

“...how is your training?”

“i did this thing yesterday,” katsuki starts, leaning back in her chair, and from then launches into a very technical and barely exaggerated retelling of the batshit insane stunt she pulled off with her quirk the day prior. todoroki’s focused attention is gratifying, in a totally platonic non-weird way- it’s just that her parents couldn’t very well follow why exactly said stunt was as insane as it is, but todoroki obviously can, and also there’s that thing with todoroki where pulling a reaction out of her ice queen act is admittedly more satisfying than most people. it has jack shit to do with the fact katsuki’s got a very minor complex about todoroki paying her her dues, and even if it did then that’s entirely fucking reasonable considering she still hasn’t forgiven her for the sports fest incident. 

it is a little weird having todoroki’s sole focus on her outside of hero shit, though. it’s not like they really hang out one on one outside of school or work. it’s kind of- unnerving. yeah. unnerving, to be making prolonged eye contact, todoroki’s expression intent but not intense the way she gets in fight scenarios, frowning lightly because she has resting bitch face but apparently genuinely interested. it’s kind of a relief that todoroki asks questions- moves them safely into a conversation, so katsuki’s not just sitting there talking and sort of dry-throated. fucking waiter, leaving them water-less.

it’s fine. they talk about training, and quirks, and then todoroki pushes her hair behind her ears and leans forward to demonstrate on a small scale this thing she’s trying to do where she melts her ice and refreezes it in rapid succession so it causes what is essentially ice rain, but there’s logistics and shit that need to be worked out for it to work the way she’s thinking it might, and katsuki knows her thermal shit so they start scrawling maths over the napkins, and then bicker over the finer points of first year chemistry, so when the food actually arrives to interrupt them todoroki’s startled blink is weirdly relatable, like she also forgot where they were.

the waiter’s there and gone before they’re really recovered from the brief misplacement, which katsuki registers only when she looks down at her empty glass.

“goddamnit- how hard is it to bring us water?”

“they only offer sparkling,” todoroki says, gravely, then outpaces katsuki’s disgust by placing her hand over her glass, ice rising before she switches hands and melts it down. “tell me if the temperature’s off.”

intensely mollified and trying not to look it, katsuki sips it. “’s fine.”

“okay,” todoroki says, faintly pleased, and tilts her head to look down at her food. “i have no idea what any of this is.”

“moron,” katsuki snorts, except it comes out way fonder than it has any rights to, and from beneath the convenient curtain of hair todoroki’s smiling a little, so she hastily stabs a frog leg and gets to eating before anyone gets any ideas.

the actual meal goes okay-ish. most of the stuff todoroki ordered is extremely pretentious french cuisine, and todoroki secretly has the culinary adventurousness of a five year old, so it befalls katsuki to impatiently attempt every dish and pronounce it edible before todoroki will deign to brave it. she’s still trying to bully an unyielding todoroki into attempting the weird bird soup thing when there’s commotion nearby. it takes the both of them approximately three seconds to spring into work-mode; katsuki’s on her feet poised for a fight before she’s even consciously thought about it, scanning her peripherals, and she doesn’t even need to look to feel todoroki unconsciously covering her back, cool sting of air signalling her quirk at the ready. 

the commotion turns out just to be some old dumbass choking, relaxing them both out of their stances as she falls back to let todoroki ahead. they’re both uber-qualified for first aid shit, but she’s self-aware enough to know even todoroki’s bland reassurances are usually preferred to her bedside manner. unfortunately, the whole entourage seems to be braindead, because they’re all crowding the old guy in a panic while he chokes, his wife in shrieking hysterics.

“oh, my god, he’s choking! he’s choking! sugar-plum, stay with me!”

“fuck me,” katsuki mutters, unethically thinking that she would personally prefer choking to being married to someone who calls her sugar-plum, but todoroki’s pushing ahead with implacable calm, so she trudges after her anyways.

“excuse me. excuse me. i need access to your husband.”

“who are you? don’t touch him! help! get this woman off my husband!” wailing hysteric yells, bosom heaving dramatically. katsuki is starting to suspect she poisoned him on purpose or some shit, because no way does anyone talk like that in real life.

“she’s a fucking qualified first aid provider, lady, shut up and let her through!”

thankfully, the woman seems on the verge of an outrage aneurysm, which drags her focus away from suffocating her choking husband to dramatically pointing at katsuki long enough for todoroki to duck past her and reach the guy as he turns purple.

“how dare you speak to me that way? who do you think you are?”

“ma,” chinless moron number one says, clearing his throat. “i think that’s one of those future pros from TV.”

“what?”

“you know, ma,” chinless moron number two adds, glancing nervously between them. “the one that explodes things. you know. from UA.”

katsuki takes great pleasure in watching recognition dawn in the old cow’s beady eyes, but in any event there’s a hacking noise and then the old man’s coughing out a bone into his plate as todoroki steps noiselessly back from the table.

“he’s fine now. enjoy your dinner.”

“god, that was gross,” katsuki says, as they ignore the woman’s sputtering and return to their seats. todoroki tilts her head. 

“not really. if he’d thrown up it would have been.”

“not the choking guy,” katsuki scoffs, casting a glance back his way. “his wife. talk about theatrics.”

“she seemed more afraid of us than her husband dying.”

“for good reason,” katsuki mutters darkly, spreading out in her chair. “i hate civilians.”

“i don’t think she recognised us,” todoroki counters, pensive, and absent-mindedly takes a bite of the weird soup before she screws her face up like a betrayed kid. “oh. you didn’t say it was sweet.”

the look on her face thoroughly distracts katsuki from asking what other reason the pearl-clutcher could possibly have to be so terrified at the mere sight of them; instead, she chokes back a laugh, stifling a grin. “what are you, five?”

“i don’t think i like this,” todoroki says, mournful, which makes katsuki grin harder. she can’t help it- todoroki looking stupid is her kryptonite. 

“then don’t pick a restaurant where you can’t read the menu, next time.”

todoroki’s midway to looking up, but for some reason her expression transforms instantaneously, which makes katsuki reflexively try to quash her amusement. todoroki always gets weird when she’s smiling. 

“next time?”

motherfuck. obviously she didn’t mean next time like next time, she meant next time like- hypothetically, in the future, when todoroki’s on a lunch date with someone else. a lunch non-date. she’s just about stopped sputtering furiously long enough to try and express this sentiment when it occurs to her that todoroki seems- pleased, one eye soft sky-blue when katsuki accidentally meets it, and that draws her up short long enough that she ends up just muttering lamely to herself. fucking todoroki. 

on the heels of this utter embarrassment, she downs the rest of her water, scowls in a neat 180 at everything in sight, and wonders for the first time in her life how the fuck extras get through dates. not that this is one.

it’s fine. they’re done eating, and no one’s died, and katsuki is no longer fifteen and thus mostly trusts her ego to lick its wounds and recover from the ordeal. even if they stick around for desert that’s only another half hour of this to endure. as long as todoroki doesn’t make any sudden moves they’ll be fine.

...the problem is, of course, that sudden moves are todoroki’s modus operandi. katsuki has not forgotten the bitch calling them friends on national television in the same breath that she was vociferously denying them being anything of the sort. in todoroki’s fucked up brain, they’re always ten steps ahead of whatever they actually are- considering katsuki’s come around to privately acknowledging she’d take a couple more stakes through the gut for the asshole, in todoroki’s world they're practically hitched.

platonically. platonically practically hitched. this is not a thing, goddamnit. no matter the weird looks aizawa’s been giving them, or utsushimi’s nefarious schemes, or the alarming cardiopulmonary condition katsuki’s been developing of late. she’s not some shitty yuri protagonist pining over the nearest female bishōnen in her vicinity.

admittedly if she was to pine over anyone it sure as fuck wouldn’t be some guy, but that’s besides the point, since pretty damn near every person on earth is just some guy by her standards, regardless of gender. the fact that todoroki is not one of said people is entirely irrelevant.

her internal irritation is so distracting that she misses the tremors nearby until entirely too late, by which point todoroki’s stupidly perfect brows raise an incremental fraction and she goes: ‘oh’.

when todoroki goes ‘oh’, some shit is about to go down. 

katsuki turns slowly with an impending sense of doom, and sure enough, the sight that greets her is so nightmarish she seriously reconsiders whether the entire day has been just that. 

“don’t freak out,” a giant building-sized deku booms, apologetically, as his hideous giant face stares at them. “it’s just a quirk thing.”

it’s probably a good thing katsuki has gone speechless with outrage, since it permits todoroki’s constantly composed ass to ask useful questions katsuki probably would have coated in a fair amount more threats and cursing.

“midoriya. i didn’t know you were in tokyo.”

“well, i wasn’t meant to be,” deku says/booms like a foghorn, as the restaurant clientele shrieks and stampedes behind them. his sheepish expression is even more punchable when magnified. “it’s a long story. it’s almost sorted out now, though. i just saw you guys from over at the NPA office and thought i’d come ask if you maybe wouldn’t mind lending a hand? i wouldn’t ask but there’s going to be a lot of cleanup and your quirks would be really helpful to-”

“we’ll do it as long as you shut the fuck up,” katsuki yells, to cut him off, massaging her temples. “the monologuing’s bad enough when you’re not about to burst my fucking eardrums, jackass.”

“oh, sorry! i’m trying to be very quiet but this body’s just hard to get used to- thank you so much for helping, i didn’t mean to come bother you on break...”

“it’s fine,” todoroki says, and then seems to realise that her monotone doesn’t reach midoriya’s giant-ass ears and clears her throat, raising her voice to a shout. “it’s fine. let me go deal with the bill and then we’ll go.”

“sorry?” midoriya whisper-shouts, craning his monstrous head closer to them, the sight of which will haunt katsuki for the rest of her life. “i can’t hear what you’re saying!”

“she said she’s going to go pay for our nice fucking lunch,” katsuki hollers, with no small sense of satisfaction, as deku winces and todoroki slinks off. “since you want to come crashing it like a dipshit.”

“sorry, kacchan!” deku begs off, flapping hand gestures creating enough wind to knock over a nearby umbrella stand. “i just thought it would be a lot of help if you came to oversee the fall-out- especially with the building damage-”

“we’re good,” todoroki announces, to katsuki, apparently having given up on matching her in decibels. she’s got that classic hero look on her face, already in work mode, but just when katsuki’s about to do the same and jump into action, the look wavers a little and she frowns vaguely awkwardly. “thanks for doing lunch.”

“huh?” katsuki stutters, thrown, and then scowls at nothing in particular, stalling. todoroki’s the one who paid, albeit indirectly- it’s typically weird of her to be all formal about it all of a sudden, leaving katsuki to attempt to wriggle them out of the awkwardness of the moment. “i didn’t do shit except show up and eat, weirdo.”

“it’s been abnormally hard to show up and eat in the circumstances,” todoroki replies, a little wryly, and more concerningly a little resigned sounding. which is just unnatural, because todoroki may have expanded her range of emotions considerably since first year but resignation is not on her usual roster, and there’s nothing to be resigned about unless she had some kind of vested interest in this whole fiasco playing out any better than it did.

which she didn’t, obviously. katsuki’s been through this. she chose the nearest possible venue and rocked up in jeans and a t-shirt, and- and why is the fact that todoroki never dresses so normally out of class only now occurring to her, again?

she’d said ‘i think this is the part where we do small talk’. the part of what?

“yeah, whatever,” katsuki says, automatically, as her brain plays catch-up, which is the excuse she will forever stick to for what leaves her mouth next. “should have known you’d be a lousy date.”

todoroki goes ‘what?’ at the same moment deku does, ten times louder and more bug-eyed, which reminds katsuki that 1) deku is still there, 2) deku is still as big as his martyr complex, and 3) deku is the fucking worst, and allowing him to trap her into friendship is somehow responsible for this, she’s sure of it. 

“can we go handle this fucking mess or what?” katsuki snaps, instead of screaming or breaking deku’s very large nose or maybe self-immolating in abject humiliation, hands erupting into explosions as she jumps onto the balcony railing. maybe if she throws herself headfirst into the debris she’ll concuss herself and turn amnesiac. 

“um,” deku is saying, when she turns a withering glare his way. “um, yes! yes! yeah! let’s go do that!”

so she jumps skywards, explosions blasting her high into the air, and very scrupulously does not look towards the sounds of slick ice forming just behind her until todoroki skates into her peripheral vision, hair waving flag-like behind her. ahead there’s a building with a crater clean through it where deku must have erupted from, though when she turns to comment she finds him a fair deal behind them, lumbering pace slowed further as he avoids stepping on anyone or anything along the streets. instead her eyes lock on todoroki’s where the latter is staring at her, face unreadable, and she bristles hard enough to disrupt trajectory, correcting course rapidly before she plummets into an office.

“what?”

“i’m a lousy date,” todoroki repeats, neutrally, over the wind. katsuki grits her teeth.

“and what about it?”

she’s bracing for a lot, but not the horrible, sickening eye-crinkle thing todoroki does, dark eye twinkling even as her expression stays carefully impassive. “you think you can do better, then?”

“hah?”

“next time,” todoroki intones, very precisely, and then dips ahead like a complete coward as katsuki goes a color never previously visible to the human eye, sifting through about fifteen emotions before she decides to stick to outrage.

“what the hell? you suck at asking people out, icyhot!”

“you don’t have to say yes.”

“what, you think i can’t do better than this mess? you’re on, asshole.”

“i look forward to it,” todoroki says, gravely, and then there’s a collapsed building to handle and shit to do and if anyone wants to ask why katsuki is so especially gleeful in blowing shit up they wisely keep their mouths shut. she just likes the job, all right.

(for the record, it’s still not a date until katsuki says it is.)

[rex101111]

For a glass of Cactus Wine

Summary: Migelo does both his duties at the fete, one to the Empire, and the other to his kids. 

Rating: T

Fandom: Final Fantasy XII

Well! Been a while since I wrote something substantial, but @sevi007 has been doing a live blog of this game, thus reminding me how much I love it, and so here’s a fic depicting the one missing scene in this game I really wanted to see, also to give Lizard dad the content he deserves. Enjoy!

Seeing Arcadian troops stomp in the halls of the Royal Palace made Migelo want to crawl right out of his hide. It’s been two years since those bastards in their tin plates stomped into his home and his city and still he could only barely keep his anger in check at how disrespectful the whole lot of them were.

Leaning on pillars built centuries past, wiping their feet on rugs that took months to weave, pointing and laughing like children at art that they would never understand the importance of. If he heard another one of these piss-drunk bureaucrats call one more thing in this palace “quaint” he’s going to use that same thing to break it over their heads.

Still, years of experience in burying his feelings and opinions about his costumers helped him plaster a smile on his snout. This was simply business, he was providing sundries and food for an event, like he’s done dozens and dozens of times over his long career.

“Watch that crate!” He yelled out to one of the servants, “it’s got wine in it, worth more than ten of your lifetimes! Handle it with a bit of care why don’t you?” The servant sheepishly apologized and asked for help from another servant as Migelo turned his gaze elsewhere, “dear girl, you’ll break your back like that!” He went to a maid and corrected her posture and how she held her tray of food, “there we go now, better?”

“Thanks Migelo.” The maid smiled gratefully, before her face turned sour, “these imperials get nasty when they’re drunk, they keep asking me to run back and forth for all sorts of nonsense.” She sighed harshly, “probably just want a peek up my skirt.”

“You let ol’ Migelo handle them, Meina.” He soothes, turning her to a different direction, “empty that tray and take a break for ten minutes, I’ll have someone else make sure they don’t notice you gone, yes?”

She went off with a smile and Migelo continued like that, his time cleaved cleanly between ordering servants this way and that soothing fraying nerves. This fete needed to go flawlessly, with the consul himself attending every hand on deck needed to give it their all and then some. If the pompous royal left this evening with a good opinion of his food, he might transfer said opinion to the rest of the city. If he did that, maybe his boys and girls could have more room to breathe.

He looked ruefully over the staff, some of the younger ones he’s known since they were children, helped them train for applying for work in the palace. Rabanastre was a small city, everyone knew everyone, and that only became stronger as the plague and the war ravaged the place. Seeing these kids, his kids, running around like cockatrices with their heads cut off for the sake of their invaders made a lick of fire burn in his gut, no matter how hard he tried to douse it.

Worse of all was that he knew he was delaying the inevitable, he had an invitation to answer soon, and the longer he ignored the worse things would get not only for himself, but everyone else living in Rabanastre.

He took a few long breathes, practiced his best servile smile in a nearby plate, pictured the smiling face of every single child under his care in his mind, and went off to sit at the right of the eldest living son of Emperor Gramis, Vayne Carudas Solidor.      

The consul was deep in debate with the others sitting at his table, something about tax rates and territory dispute that went right over Migelo’s head, but as soon as the old bangaa drew close enough, as if he could hear his footsteps over the rancor of the room, Vayne stopped talking and turned his head to meet his gaze.

“Ah, Sir Migelo, so nice of you to finally join me.” He motioned for one of the nearby soldiers to pull back the chair at his right side, “please, sit.”

With practice ease, and complaining stomach, Migelo bowed in apology, “I hope you would forgive me, Lord Consul, I had so many things to fix and move, my responsibilities nearly made me forget your most gracious offer.”

“Think nothing of it good Sir,” Vayne waved off easily, “We should all wish to have your work ethic Migelo, so we could accomplish our own work half as well.” Vayne complimented him smoothly as Migelo finally sat, the others at the table nodding sycophantically, before beginning to pour the store owner a glass of red wine. “But, let me remind you that I asked of you to refer to me by my first name.”

Taking the glass with all the grace he could manage, Migelo bowed his head again with an outwardly warm smile, “ah, forgive this old lizard sir consul, I still feel ill at ease referring to one of your station so informally.” The other reason was the only people he called by name were his friends and his kids, and Vayne is not, would never be, either. “Perhaps I’ll manage that better,” he made a show of laughing from his belly, “with a bit of fine Arcadian wine in my system, eh?”

“Of course.” Vayne’s sharp eyes and sharper smile made Migelo feel as if he were strapped to a table, “please, indulge as you please, we have all night after all.”

Nodding, Migelo started to drain his glass, and had to fight his gag reflex with every gulp. Arcadian wine made you feel like someone was trying to prove something to you, too rich, too fruity, too damn much. Seeing the people around him gulp this stuff down was aggravating as it was confusing, you could stuff as many flowers into a bottle of Slaven piss as you wanted, it was still a drink of cold piss.

Decades of honing his poker face in the interest of more returning costumers made sure none of that disgust was visible on his face of course, to any casual observer Migelo savored every drop of the expensive Slaven piss, finishing his glass with a pleasured sigh. “Ahh, what an excellent, uh, flavor profile! So full of life and character!” He turned to the consul with a toothy grin, “How’s about you give me another to loosen my tongue?”

“You are a man of great taste, Sir Migelo.” Vayne complimented, smiling thinly as he filled the offered cup before filling his own. “I’ve heard Dalmascans do not have a high opinion of my home’s signature brew.”

“Bah.” Migelo scoffed easily, “children with no experience on their tongues Lord Consul, nothing to be offended by.” He internally grits his teeth, he heard some of the younger men voice some of their very loud opinions about Arcadian wine in a place where a couple of soldiers could hear them. It ended well for absolutely no one, and he was only glad to make sure his kids didn’t see or hear it. “We Dalmascans are very proud of our own drinks, I think you would see it would make sense to be a bit defensive.” He took another gulp, “pardon m’candor, of course.”

“Indeed.” Vayne nodded, finishing his own glass, “and you have a great many things to be proud of, I’ve heard a fair share of good things about Dalmascan cactus wine.” He looked at Migelo with a gaze that made his scales itch, “have you tried it before?”

He was almost insulted the man had to ask, “o’course I did lord consul!” He tried to be casual about it, but a bit of hometown pride seemed to seep in every other word, “Cactus Wine is easy to brew in large amounts, made from Cactoid fruit and the sands are absolutely littered with the little buggers, it’s what you order when you have something to celebrate or as a victory drink.” Migelo could go for an entire barrel of it right now. “It’s a…simple drink. Simple but hearty.”

Vayne nodded politely as the bangaa went on, before he took the bottle of his expensive wine and looked at it quietly, “…I suppose there hasn’t been much call for it, lately.”

Migelo nearly swallowed his tongue, for all his talk of taking in all of Dalmasca’s hatred onto himself, the consul seemed adept at choosing words to inspire said hatred. “Y-No, Lord Consul, not a lot to celebrate.” He quickly recovered, smiling again as he waved his glass about, “b-but fret not! Us Dalmascans find reason to celebrate no matter the weather! You’ll have your taste of cactus wine before long don’t you worry!”

“Why wait my friend?” Vayne said smoothly, Migelo barely exerting the restraint he needed to stop himself from cursing the consul out on considering himself something he is not, “I have found myself a few bottles for this grand occasion.”

Migelo was stopped short, he had double checked every scrap of food and drink meant for this fete, triple checking the alcohol in particular, and he was sure there wasn’t a drop of cactus wine in the whole palace, he figured the imperials wouldn’t want to touch the stuff. “Y-you did? F-from where lord consul?”

“From the palace cellars of course.” He replied, motioning with his hand to another maid, Kayta if Migelo remembers right, who held a very familiar clay jug in her hands. “If one kind of wine isn’t enough to call me friend, perhaps two would suffice.”

Migelo held Kayta’s conflicted gaze for a moment, before he turned to Vayne with a doubtful expression, “the cellars my lord? Those haven’t been disturbed since the war ended! Who knows what kind of vermin have found their way to the stores?”

“I had my men carefully inspect each bottle.” Vayne assured, which only made Migelo more ill thinking about what Imperial soldiers considered inspecting. “Please, do not be reticent, I find myself curious what a man of your expertise has to say about the difference between one wine and the other.”

Kayta poured Migelo a glass with a sorrowful expression, Migelo soothing the girl as best he could with a smile only she could see, and the bangaa took a long whiff of the drink, before slowly draining his glass.

Cactus wine was sweet, almost sweet enough you could give it to a child without them puffing their little face. Its taste was subtle, airy, doing nothing more than what a wine ought to do and made your face and belly warm. It was cheap drink, cheap enough that working folk could indulge in it without endangering their pay over-much.

It was Dalmasca to the last drop, warm and honest.

“So, sir Migelo?” Vayne inquired when the bangaa finished and had not said a word, “how is your home’s brew compared to mine?”

He was quiet for a few more moments before he turned to the consul, “I must admit to having a bias sir.” He put the glass back down on the table gently, reaching over to grab a grape nearby to soak some of the alcohol in his system, “I’ve been drinking cactus wine since I was a whelp, y’see, it’s a drink for the heart as much for the stomach nowadays.”

Vayne chuckled good naturedly, “well, now you have me curious.” He picked up his own glass and motioned for Kayta to fill it, the girl nearly tripping over herself to bow as she poured without spilling it on him. He took a careful sip…and stopped, an emotion Migelo could not name fliting across his face. “…it tastes…” The consul was quiet for a moment, the rest of the table perfectly silent to await his judgment, “…honest.”

Migelo released a breath he didn’t know he was holding, allowing himself the tiniest amount of pride as he looked at Vayne, “Dalmasca knows no other way, Lord Consul.”

“Pritas.” Vayne looked at one of the people sitting at the table, some peacock in a stuffy red shirt with a pencil moustache, “you should try it, I am certain people in Archades would flock to try this, exotic yet gentle on the tongue.”

Pritas hurriedly motioned for Kayta to pour him a glass, and no sooner than he had a drop of it he was nodding enthusiastically, “y-yes Lord Vayne! You are absolutely correct; everyone will want a bottle of this for any price!”

Migelo, despite his mood and the alcohol in his system, found himself smiling at the sound of it, feeling someone patting his shoulder. “Migelo, after the fete be sure to grant Pritas here the information for whoever you get your cactus wine from, they’ll find more business than ever.”

Migelo could picture the family of brewers in his head, nearly jumping for joy at the chance that fell into their laps, a contract to sell cactus wine halfway across Ivalice. He then imagined their faces when he told them to which half of Ivalice the wine would go. He imagines the shock, the outrage, the sorrow.

He imagines the table with one more chair then they needed, the extra gathering dust for two years now.

“Yes, Lord Consul.” He said as calmly as he could manage, looking into the face of a man whose night has gone exactly as he had planned, down to the last detail, painting a smiling on his snout. “Thank you for this opportunity, I’m sure they’ll see this as a chance to build their life back up to how it was…” He could feel his lips curling over his teeth. “…before the war, that is.”

Vayne’s face drew downwards slightly, an almost robotic motion, “yes, the war has devastated both sides long enough,” He squeezed the shoulder he was holding, in a move meant to be reassuring, “it is past time we helped each other back onto our feet.”

Vaan crying into his shoulder, cursing and yelling and screaming every curse he knew. Penelo holding him tightly as she sobbed. Fire in the sky, visible from his window.

His home, under siege and under iron boots.

Migelo bit his tongue, brought to mind every orphan he and Old Dalan have struggled to keep fed and working and warm, and managed an impossible smile, “yes…way past time…Lord Consul.”

Vayne shook his head with a fond smile, and poured Migelo another cup of Arcadian wine. Migelo drained it without tasting a drop.

(Not long after, barely an hour after, he sees his boy in chains and his girl crying for his freedom, and all the wine in his veins is cold and freezing.  

As they dragged his boy away, as his girl fell into the arms of Kayta as she sobbed, Vayne Carudas Solidor came to him, smiled, and clapped his shoulder.)  

[theravenclawlover]

Welcome to the Industry of Porn

Paring: Avengers X Female!Reader

Warnings: +18, heavy smut, drinking, slight angst in later chapters, fluff if you squint, and my English as usual.

Word Count: 2,357

Summary: AU where the Avengers are Pornstars. It’s pretty self explanatory. 

Chapter: 1

Chapter Tittle: Sticky Fingers

A/N: This first chapter was edited so much from its original draft. The smut is less cringe in my opinion, but it still holds the same idea. I think that's what's going to happen to most of my chapters for this book (if you’ve read the original version which can literally be found in my other sites sans now the first chapter, you would see how different it is now). I really would like to leave the old version up to see how my writing style has changed, but I don't want to create a whole new book for that. Because I'm editing the whole document, technically destroying the first draft. But oh well...I don't have any new ideas for this yet, so don't expect any new chapters from what I have posted. 

At the age of 21, you found yourself living in an apartment with your college roommate. You had dropped out of college around a month or so into the fall semester of your last year. It had taken you that long to call it quits, and it had been stupid, really, but you couldn’t take it anymore. Not only the prior year your grades had gone to the floor and you’d fallen into a dark corner in your life that had taken the help of some of your friends and your roommate from your first two years had been nice enough to rent you a room. She lived off campus as her parents had given her the money for the first two months for the rent, it was up to her to keep on paying it.

Your parents had no clue about your reckless decisions and for the time being you were planning on them not finding out. It was wishful thinking, but that’s what kept you going even if as the days passed by it seemed less likely to happen.

Living in L.A was not easy, especially when you had no job and only lived by the money your parents sent every other month to make sure you had enough. They knew you had no job, and they were okay with it because in their mind you were working your butt off. Journalism was supposed to be what you were majoring in, but college had put a dent on the beauty you had seen on it before classes started to make you ill. It was ridiculous to say the least, the amount of stuff you had to submit with barely any time to truly make it happen.

In this city everything was expensive, and it was easy to point out those who could really afford to live here by choice, and those who came here to study. You felt like a fish out of water as you were not a girl from a big city, in fact, you grew up in a beautiful small town in Montana. Everyone knew each other, even if you weren’t friends with that person, you knew who their cousin Mike was, or you knew if their uncle Bob had gone to prison because he had been drinking and causing mayhem around townhall.

Sure, you missed home, and there was nothing compared to the noise of the small town that even though loud it was familiar and welcomed. But like many of those who only knew that town, you wanted out as soon as graduation came around. You wanted a sense of dependency, but just like everyone else, you had failed to see the reality of making such big change. Even now, after three years in L.A., you didn’t regret it—only on those long nights that the silence got too loud for your harsh mind.

But as another dull day in your life after having dropped out came, you were sitting in front of your laptop doing nothing but stress over the hopeless job hunt. Most days were like that, staring into the bright screen as the jobs were too demanding of you or not your type of gig. As much as you told yourself to not be picky about the jobs, it was impossible for you to skip past the one in search of servers. You didn’t have personal experience, but your friends had enough to warn you off of the nightmare it was.

You swore under your breath as you groaned out your frustration; every job position you did end up digging further asked for either some previous experience or a college degree. Fucking hell.

As you rolled your eyes and set your forehead on the desk’s border, your stomach gave a growl that made you scrunch up your nose. You had forgotten to eat something after waking up, and now after hours of sitting in search of a miracle, your stomach protested in hunger. With a sigh that escaped your nostrils, you walked out of your small room and walked down the hall toward the kitchen. You stood there for a solid minute before deciding on what to eat. Grabbing some wheat bread, you set two slices on a clean plate and went to look for the almost empty container of Nutella and the almond butter. As you spread the almond butter on the bread, you noticed the silence the rest of the apartment had fallen. You were home alone. You had forgotten that Cassie—your roommate—had gone out with her photography class to work on a project for their senior capstone.

Glancing at the clock on the wall above the counter, you grinned to yourself as you saw that she wasn’t coming back for another hour and a half, thus giving you enough time alone to do what you have been prolonging for a couple of weeks now.

Inhaling your quick snack, you put the knife and plate in the dishwasher and washed your hands before heading back to your room.

Unplugging your now charged phone, you grabbed your headphones and threw yourself on top of your bed. Getting rid of your shorts, and t-shirt, you positioned yourself in the middle of your bed, slightly blushing at the whole situation. No matter how many times you’ve pleasured yourself, the blush on your cheeks never failed to appear. It had been weeks since you last had the mind to destress like this, and the fact that you haven’t dated in what feels like forever only added as to why you were becoming sexually frustrated.

Finally getting the headphones untangled, you plugged them in and soon you found yourself opening a tab on safari on the private search. You didn’t know what your mood wanted, so you decided to go to a general website and soon cringed at the amateur and more realistic videos they had on the trending page popped up. You scrolled for a minute before opting for just looking up your favorite channel, The Avengers.

You had found the site soon after your curiosity peeked at the age of 14. They had the hottest pornstars you've ever gotten off to, and what made it better was that, unlike most acted out scenes, they made it seem like an actual movie scene. Most of their videos were connected, others were just segments, and others were holiday specials. They had everything. You had probably seen most of their videos hundreds of times, and unbeknown to anyone, you had a subscription under your ex’s name. The fact that he had yet to cancel the subscription made you wonder if he knew and enjoyed the perks as you did. He probably had no clue you had used his card, he probably thought he’d done it.

Once you had logged into your account, you noticed that there were a couple of new videos added to their page. You read their tittles and not even two videos down you had clicked one at random to surprise yourself. When the video loaded, you silently squealed when two of your favorite characters/actors appeared on screen and started to talk. Black Widow and Captain Rogers were looking around what it seemed like an old run-down warehouse. The plot of the video was simple, they had received intelligence that some HYDRA (what they called their bad guys) soldiers had been spotted coming in and out of the place as of recently. As they talked, you marveled at their beauty, and at how hot they looked in those costumes of theirs. At times you wished you could be part of that, and the idea of getting wrecked by them only made you rub your legs together as your body started to heat up at the thought.

Not sooner had they reached nowhere with their search of clues, the scene had turned to Cap admiring Black Widow in her usual tight attire. And as one thing led to another, Cap had pulled her in and kissed her hard on the mouth with her only melting around his big arms. But your excitement grew as you noticed how the camera now showed a lurking Winter Soldier—another of your favorite characters. while the Soldier was behind them, looking from the shadows. Soon enough the redhead that was Black Widow freed Cap of his clothes as he pulled down her own. She kneeled when she had pulled down the suit he wore, and without warning she started to lick the man’s hard and thick length.

Your hand that was on your lower tummy now trailed touches on your body, and unconscious action from your part, as it only aided to the ever-growing need between your legs.

When she started to suck him off with the obscene act of deepthroating, your fingers played with your hardening nipples. You were now biting your lip as you only took in how she worked her way down to the base of his cock. He never failed to praise her, to voice his pleasure to her, and to the now you admired the aroused Winter Soldier.

After some minutes of the redhead gagging around him, and some minutes of you playing with your now hard nipples, Cap pulled her up, and as she stood she glanced at the man behind them. The Winter Soldier had been caught, and before he could escape, Cap invited the man over. With slight hesitation he walked over toward them, but soon no ounce of hesitation was found in his body as Cap pulled him in for a heated kiss.

You let out a small whimper as your fingers had now found themselves slowly rubbing your clit atop your underwear that now was covered by a damp spot. The man was rid of his armor as the redhead took it upon herself to leave him in the same level of nakedness as her. But not sooner had she kneeled and sucked on his hard member, had she been pulled up again and pressed flat against a table-looking surface. Both men gave a nod to the other, and Cap positioned himself behind the Black Widow while the Winter Soldier invited her to suck on him like she had wanted before.

And like that, the woman found herself being used by them as one of them fucked her from behind, smacking her ass every so often, making her almost as red as her hair while another man gripped said hair allowing him to use her throat as he pleased.

You were now panting as your fingers rubbed your hard and wet clit. The hand that held the phone started to slightly shake as the rubbing continued, but you almost dropped your phone when two of your thin fingers entered your needy hole.

By now the men had changed positions as the woman had already twitched and moaned out her first orgasm. And they keep like that until she squirmed and came on the other man’s cock. Neither of them giving in on their orgasm.

The Soldier pulled her up, and the Black Widow’s legs seemed to shake as she tried to keep herself upright as the men walked her over a little to the side as they now enclosed her with one of them pressed on her back while the other pressed her front. A messy three-way kiss ensued, and now your fingers seemed to not be enough as you felt yourself near your orgasm but always needed something more.

But not sooner had you added another finger to your soaked sex, you moaned at what came next.

The men had entered the woman, each filling one hole at a time. Cap was inside her used pussy while Winter Soldier slipped his cock inside her asshole. You and the redhead moaned at the same time; she felt the stretch and fill, but you saw it as the camera now provided a view from a better angle. With only seconds to assimilate her situation, she soon started to shamelessly moan and squeal at the feeling of being used like a toy between two men.

The rhythm they had set was merciless, and the clapping of skin, the squelching of her wet pussy only made you dizzy. You had removed your ruined underwear, and in seconds each foot went to a side of your bed to keep your legs open as the thrusting of your fingers brought you closer to your orgasm.

The groans, moans, whines, and dirty talk was making you now lose some of the grip on your phone, but you kept on going even as you twitched and forced your legs to keep themselves spread open as your thin fingers did their best to get you off.

And the people that were making you approach your orgasm seemed to be reaching theirs before you as both men came after the woman between them had gotten her third orgasm. They came with groans and whimpers, but soon pulled out of her, and just before you dropped your phone as you came with a loud whimper around your soaked fingers and hand, you saw how the cum from their deed dripped out of her as the camera greedily caught the filthy show.

It took you a couple of minutes to regain the feeling of you body back, and as you calmed yourself down and proceeded to clean yourself in the bathroom and put some clothes back on, you neglected to see you had clicked out of the video and managed to click on one of the many ads of the website.

When you grabbed your phone after feeling much lighter than before, you noticed the foreign page you had clicked on. And as you scanned it over, you noticed it was an ad claiming to be looking for new ‘talents’ for the industry of porn.

You read over the ad, made sure it was legitimate. And after you had your little fit of giggles as you told yourself that you couldn’t do porn, you looked at your forgotten job hunt that your laptop had been mocking you with earlier.

And just like that you found yourself closing all the other tabs and typing the most random of google searches you’ve ever made: requirements to work in the industry of porn.

I don’t remember if anyone wanted to be tagged for this, but let me know if want to be tagged for the updates!

Welcome to the industry taglist:

@ginger-haired-queen​

Permanent Taglist:

@musiclover812 

@cnco-ravenclaw-46​

@teapartydreams

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

Non-Sequential [Ch. 24]

Pairing: Pre-Serum Steve Rogers/Steve Rogers x Reader

One night, Steve Rogers met a beautiful dame named Y/N. He hadn’t intended on letting her get away. But fate had other ideas. Y/N appeared and disappeared in his life so hauntingly that Steve started to wonder if she was an angel meant to watch over him.

Word Count: 3,000

Chapter 23

1943 - Italy

Steve doodled as the rain poured down around him.

His pencil traced back and forth over the dancing monkey.

“Steve?” A voice said behind him.

He did a half glance over his shoulder and quickly did a double take when he found Y/N soaking wet with only an oversized military jacket around her shoulders.

He shot to his feet.

“Y/N!”

Steve rushed forward and pulled her into his arms. 

She was freezing. 

He immediately took off his coat and wrapped it on top of the other one that was the only thing keeping her from being completely naked.

“Are you OK? Are you hurt? How long have you been here? Were you looking for me long?” He rattled off question after question.

She smiled. “Take a breath, Steve. I’m fine.”

She pointed for him to sit back down and followed suit. 

He did as she said. Then he suddenly got bashful and embarrassed. He shifted his weight awkwardly as if he was trying to hide from her gaze.

Y/N caught on rather quickly. “How does it feel?”

Steve was speechless.

“This is your first time seeing me since your operation, isn’t it?” Y/N added, but she already knew the answer.

He just nodded, too uncomfortable to meet her gaze.

“I bet you can’t keep the girls off you,” Y/N teased.

Steve blushed. “Well, I don’t know about that – I mean, don’t be ridiculous.”

Y/N giggled.

His face dropped, “You were right. It did work.”

She gave him a warm grin. “Told you that you were the right man, didn’t I?”

Steve frowned. “Yeah, except now I’m just their show pony.”

“Now what would Agent Carter think of that?” Y/N teased.

It was such a strange game to play, pushing Steve toward Peggy when Y/N knew that she would be Steve’s second love because of her. 

Y/N respected Peggy, appreciated what she’d taught Steve about love – especially what she taught him about loving a strong, independent woman.

But there were still times when jealousy reared it’s ugly head. Y/N hated those times.

Steve’s eyes widened at the mentioning of Peggy.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten about her,” Y/N smirked.

“How are you?” Steve changed the subject. His eyes were serious and genuine. “Last time I saw you, you were upset with me – future me, that is.” He cleared his throat. “I don’t know what I’m saying. You could be visiting me from before that time. This all gets rather confusing, huh?”

Y/N chuckled at his adorable frustration and confusion, and gave him a shy smile. “No, you were right the first time. I’m visiting from further into the future.” She nodded, “Things are better. I forgave you. Don’t think there will ever be a time when I can’t.”

Steve exhaled, relieved that there wouldn’t be a time when Y/N would stop being his friend, stop talking to him, stop visiting him through time.

Y/N’s eyes glanced at Steve’s sketchbook.

“Feeling like a dancing monkey, Steve?” Her tone was playful, but the question was serious.

He quickly closed the book. He cleared his throat. “I’m traveling with dancing girls, trying to get people to buy war bonds.”

Y/N nodded, “Wars are expensive.”

“But I could be doing more,” he snapped back.

“Then do more, Steve.”

“I can’t – I’m not even officially in the army.”

Y/N laughed, “Since when have you ever followed the rules?”

He laughed too.

She carefully reached out and took his sketchbook.

Steve tensed as flipped through it. She wasn’t surprised to see a portrait or two of Peggy. There was also some of his mother. Y/N was wondering why Steve hadn’t taken to sketching any of the girls in the dancing troop he’d been traveling with.

“You ever do any sketches of…” Y/N was about to tease him and ask about drawing her. But her words died out when she flipped to two pages of portraits. 

Both were of her.

She was in some form of Steve’s clothes in both of them. A ill-fitting shirt falling off her shoulder in one, pants bunching at her ankles in another.

“You weren’t ever supposed to see those…” Steve mumbled, scratching the back of his neck and lowering his head so she couldn’t see his blush.

“I’m flattered,” Y/N admitted. She took in all the details. “You made me rather beautiful, though.”

Steve scoffed without meaning to. “I only drew you how you are.”

It was Y/N who was blushing now.

Yes, in the present, where she was together with Steve, he told Y/N all the time how beautiful he found her.

But for some reason, hearing it from innocent, sweet Steve Rogers was different. He held no feelings for her and, as far as he knew, he never had a chance with Y/N. But that didn’t stop him from letting her know that she was indeed a beautiful woman.

Y/N flipped back to a drawing of Peggy. “You should tell her how you feel.”

“She doesn’t – I’m not – don’t be ridiculous, Y/N.” Steve fumbled around with his words.

No matter how long he knew Y/N, her direct way of speaking still caught him off guard every so often. The only times Y/N did not speak her mind clearly was when she could not tell Steve hints and secrets of the future.

“She does. Don’t be an idiot, Steve.” Y/N looked around. “You’re in the middle of a war. You need to make sure you find something worth fighting for.”

“And what about you?” Steve asked gently.

“I’m not fighting a war. At least… not yet.” Her eyes glazed over at the thought.

“That’s not what I meant.” Then he shifted his weight, trying to decide if he should say what he wanted to. “I meant… is there someone back where you’re from – uh – telling you – telling you that you’re beautiful.”

Y/N smirked at Steve’s awkwardness. He’d lost so much of it after all of his hardships. He’d gained so much more confidence; he was more self-assured now.

“I do,” she admitted softly.

She was going to make another joke about him drawing her, but the words got caught in her throat when she flipped to the next page.

Bucky.

Bucky standing with his crisp and clean and brand new military uniform. Hat tilted a little sideways. And that famous Bucky Barnes smirk on his lips.

Y/N’s fingers traced over the lines without even realizing it.

“He’s missing,” she blurted out.

“What?”

Her eyes shot up to him. “You’re going to find out in a few minutes. This is the 107th – or what’s left of it, I guess.”

“Y/N, you never tell – what are you saying? Bucky – is he – is he dead?”

“No, he’s alive. A prisoner of war, but alive.”

“You’ve never told me something like that before,” Steve said slowly, clearly still trying to process the news.

“Sometimes I get sick of fighting time,” Y/N sighed.

“I have to go after him,” Steve’s shoulders straightened and he was handling a surge of determination.

Y/N smiled, “Yes, you do.”

Then fear filled his gaze, “I know you can’t - or you won’t – tell me…but is he – will he be OK?”

Y/N stared into his eyes for a moment. “Yes, he will be fine.”

‘For now…’ she added in her mind.

Steve was surprised she continued to tell him of the future.

Y/N looked over her shoulder as if she could see something. But when Steve followed her gaze, not even his super-soldier sight spotted anything.

“I have to run before she finds you,” Y/N told him. “When it comes to her, you’re a terrible liar. And I don’t want you to have to explain how a naked, American woman got onto this base, completely undetected.”

Steve shot to his feet. “You’re leaving already.”

“I’m sorry, Steve. But you’ve got to go save Bucky and then you gotta get the girl.”

Then she quickly kissed him on the cheek, instantly making him go red.

He made a step for her, not wanting her to leave already.

But she was already quickly turning back to him, accidentally bringing their faces far too close to be considered just friendly.  

“Try not to kiss Private Lorraine,” Y/N breathed, caught off guard by their closeness that could easily be seen as intimate.

Steve’s brow furrowed. But he couldn’t stop his gaze from flicking down to her lips quickly. “I-I don’t even know a Private Lorraine.”

“Well, you will. And you should stay away from her. You should stay away from all women like her, OK?”

He nodded, not wanting to disappoint her.

“It’ll make sense soon. I promise.”

Lo and behold, Peggy was the next woman in his life to surprise him and show up out of nowhere.

—————-

PRESENT - Wakanda

Y/N quickly walked down the halls of the royal palace. She could hear the two kings guards tailing her.

One of them cleared their throat, “Ms. Y/L/N, if it is Sergeant Barnes you are heading toward, he is actually in the training facility.”

Her brow furrowed. She was going to find Bucky, just like she always did when Steve was gone and she was lonely.

However, he was alone at his hut less and less it seemed.

Y/N would’ve been happy, proud that he was socializing himself with new people more and more frequently. But that didn’t seem to be his motivation.

She didn’t want to jump to any ridiculous conclusions, but she started to feel like Bucky didn’t want to be alone with her.

Even when he had asked for him to teach her self-defense, Bucky insisted that they also enlist some of the Dora Milaje. He said it would help since he only had one arm and he didn’t want her education to suffer because of it. But Y/N knew Bucky could take down Steve with a single arm if he so wished, therefore it felt like weak reasoning.

Y/N had been in Wakanda for a year now and she’d found a routine in her life.

She no longer felt like a foreigner, but a proper member of Wakandan society – despite the fact that she lived in a royal palace.

Steve would need to leave to meet up with the team every so often, but he always tried his best not to return as quickly as possible.

Y/N still had nightmares of her kidnapping, her torture, her near death experience that she could only blame Hydra for. She was sick of hating her time traveling affliction.

When Steve asked her if she was having them when he was away, Y/N always lied. What good would it do either of them for him to worry and feel guilty about being away?

The nightmares were one of the main reasons she finally asked Bucky to teach her self-defense.

Y/N would’ve asked Steve, but she didn’t want to make him stay in captain mode any longer than he already did. He also was almost too patient with her. She needed to be pushed.

When Y/N walked into the gym, Bucky was doing one-armed pushups.

He had no shirt on and there was just a pair of black shorts and sneakers – which Shuri most definitely designed – covering his body.

Wakandan hip-hop was playing on the speakers, which was why Y/N didn’t recognize it. Shuri had taken it upon herself to help Y/N teach Bucky anything and everything pop culture.

The kings guards left Y/N to it. Whenever she was with Bucky, they didn’t see the need to linger. He would protect her.

Bucky heard their arrival and his head snapped up.

He quickly jumped to his feet when he spotted Y/N and gave a small nod of acknowledgement to her guards.

Y/N tried not to stare at Bucky’s ridiculously muscular and sweaty chest. She did. But it was damn near impossible.

His and Steve’s bodies were ridiculous. God-like is what most women would confess.

Furthermore, Y/N got to see how Steve put his to use… in ways no one else knew about.

“You wanna keep rubbing it in my face that you can do hundreds of pushups with one arm while I can’t even do 5 with both of mine?” Y/N greeted him.

Bucky chuckled, and Y/N swore she made him blush. Or maybe that was just from working out.

“You just gotta work at it, kid. I’ve got the advantage of a super-soldier serum.”

There it was again. That nickname. When he said it, Y/N realized he hadn’t used it in quite some time.

But Y/N pushed the thought out of her head and rolled her eyes teasingly.

“Yeah, I’m sure you wouldn’t be able to still do all of those without it.”

As soon as her feet stepped onto the padded flooring Bucky was waiting on, he kicked Y/N’s legs out from underneath her.

He did it so smoothly and quickly that Y/N could’ve blinked and missed it. The only proof being that she was now laying on her back, staring up at the ceiling. Her head was aching from hitting the ground hard. 

“Bucky! What the actual fuck!” She screamed.

He tried not to look too pleased with himself. “Last lesson, I told you that you needed to learn to always be prepared. Most attacks are going to be a surprise. If you don’t train your body to always be ready, all the other stuff is pointless.”

Y/N glared at him. “Way to build trust...” But then she quickly rolled back to her feet.

Without really thinking her plan through, Y/N lunged for him. She meant it to distract him from her actual intentions, which were to knee him right in the balls. 

Payback is payback.

But Bucky easily deflected all efforts. And he absolutely knew what she was trying to do.

“Ya trying to play dirty?” He asked with a smile.

“Just trying to get even,” Y/N snapped.

She knew she wasn’t going to get any damn hit in. She was a civilian jousting with the Winter Soldier. She didn’t stand a chance.

But Y/N did know is that Bucky wouldn’t ever hurt her. In fact, he would put himself in harms way to make sure that didn’t happen.

So, Y/N decided to use that to her advantage.

If she wanted to take him down, she had to go down with him.

Y/N lunged for him at a weird angle, hoping her own weight combined with gravity would be enough to drag him down with her.

Bucky’s eyes widened slightly as he realized Y/N’s body was about to hit the ground hard and quick, and at an angle that would easily dislocate her shoulder. 

He shifted his weight so his back hit the ground and he took all of the blow, Y/N having his body as a cushion to land on.

“You OK?” He asked hurriedly. Even though there was no way she could’ve harmed herself.

Y/N nodded and smiled mischievously. “Had to figure out a way to bring you down…”

Then Bucky snapped back to reality.

He was laying on his back with Y/N laying on top of him. Her chest pressed against his. Her hands were spread across his bare chest, able to feel his skin. Her warmth was enveloping him. When did his grip on her go so low on her hips? He could feel her heartbeat, and then he felt it quicken when a silence settled between them and they realized how unsuitably close they were.

But swore he didn’t mean. He tried with all of his might not to take a glimpse at her lips. But his eyes were no longer in his control.

Now he was panicked.

He quickly ushered her off of him, almost being rough about it.

Y/N misread his panic as irritation with her.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out. “Did I hurt you?”

Of course she didn’t hurt him.

“I’m fine,” Bucky mumbled without looking at her.

Y/N was finally able to acknowledge that something was off between the two of them, and it had been for awhile. She wasn’t sure if she could put her finger on when it started, but it felt like it had been since she showed up at his doorstep after seeing him bleeding out in the snow. She’d killed a Hydra agent that day trying to protect him.

“You don’t call me ‘kid’ anymore,” she accused him.

Bucky’s brow creased as he finally looked up at her. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean, you did earlier. But that was the first time in months.” Then she gestured at the giant and empty training facility. “This is the first time we’ve actually been alone in months too. What’s going on, Bucky? Are you mad at me? Did I do something wrong?”

“No,” he muttered swiftly.

“Then what is it? Because something is – it’s off. We’re off.”

But Bucky just stared into her gaze.

He couldn’t tell her. He couldn’t explain what he was going through.

He couldn’t tell her that he was trying to keep his distance, trying to prove to his best friend that he wasn’t trying to steal his girl. But he couldn’t stay away from her either. He couldn’t leave her be when both of them were so alone here.

Bucky couldn’t tell her he was in love with her.

What would be the point?

The two kings guards returned. “Ms. Y/L/N?”

“Yeah,” she muttered without breaking her stare down with Bucky.

“Captain Rogers just landed. We thought you may wish to know.”

Y/N finally blinked and turned to them, “Thank you.” Then she turned and promptly left without saying another word to Bucky.

As soon as he was alone, Bucky rubbed his face and paced. “What the hell are you thinking, Bucky?” He whispered to himself.

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

Chapter 25

It only took me 2+ months, guys!  Please, please, please let me know how you feel and what you think. ❤️

[t-o-m-hollands]

Locksley Hall - Part II

Summery: Tom doesn’t know quite how it happens, but one moment he’s working as the gardener at Locksley hall, and the next he’s run of to marry the lords daughter, a girl he hates. Set in England, 1920.

Word count: 5500 (sorry...)

Pairing: Tom x OC

A/N: Again, this is heavily inspired by the first part in Atonement – Ian McEwan, but the plot is different.  

Music wise: For Madeleine’s parts I listened to Old Money – Lana del Rey and for Tom’s part I listened to NFWMB and Work Song - Hozier.

R E A D   P A R T    O N E   H E R E

Gideon’s cottage - 1920.

Tom is awakened by yet another expensive automobile driving up the road and past his cottage. His brain works slowly, still half asleep, one foot in a dreamland where he’s chasing someone in a labyrinth made out of peonies. Slowly he wakes his body by moving his toes, and then his fingers too, before stretching his arms over his head, letting out a tired groan. His body feels warm and his limbs lethargic and slow, as they do after a particularly long nap. For a long while he lays there, eyes half-closed, staring at the dust aimlessly drifting in the sunlight.  

Another car passes by outside.  

Downstairs he can hear Mr. Higgins doing the washing up. If he concentrates, he can hear the guests from the ball chatting and laughing up at the manor. If he concentrates further still, he can hear the blood pumping through his system, steady and slow.  

The whole world feels slow. Like the air in the room stands still, despite the wide-open window. It is mid-July, and the heat feels oppressively persistent, there is no escaping it. Only now, as the clock is nearing eight in the evening, does the world seem to cool. All morning he’d worked in the garden, preparing the grounds for the ball under the watchful eyes of old Dowager Locksley. When she was finally satisfied that there wasn’t a dead leaf, not a single weed, nor an unwatered rose in sight she’d sent him off, ready to attack the kitchen staff instead. He’d walked down to Locksley bay. There he’d rid himself of his sweaty, earth-stained rags and he’d swam until his body felt cool again before returning to the cottage for a long and well-deserved nap.  

He stretches again and groans. He desperately wants a smoke, but his pack of cigarettes along with his lighter is all across the room, thrown on the cluttered desk along with countless of books and an old typewriter that the library had given away. The letter M was irreversibly lost and therefor it had been deemed useless. He’d taken it with great gratitude, glad to have something he’d normally wouldn’t be able to afford. It had amused him, typing long passages without using any word containing the 13th letter of the alphabet. In a strange way it thrilled him, that some words in the dictionary simply became forbidden for him. Suddenly out of reach.Words like magic, monarch, melancholy, magnetic, maddening, maiden,  

Madeleine.  

Finally he gets up, walks across the room and sits down by his desk. He lights a cigarette. Staring out the window he watches as yet another car makes it up the driveway to join the ball.  

The sky outside is lilac, and the first evening breeze makes its way through the grass like a wave in the ocean and he prays it’ll make its way through the window to cool his head. He inhales deeply, but the sinking feeling he’s had in his stomach all day stays where it is.  

And half of his mind is still in his dream. 

Had he been better at drawing he’d drawn her hands, soft and small compared to his calloused ones. Maybe if he’d draw them, he’d be able to get the picture of them out of his mind. Those hands, gracefully holding a cigarette as her eyes, dark and deep and framed with long lashes, observed him with great disapproval as they’d discussed poetry. She always looked disapproving when she was observing him. She’d worn a evening gown in the finest silk, and his ratty jacket over her shoulders, her normally perfectly pinned hair falling down in cascades over her shoulders. It had felt strangely intimate, seeing her like that, so undone and wearing his jacket

Swearing, he puts out the cigarette. He’d been distracted, not noticing how it’d burnt down to the butt, burning his fingers. He doesn’t light a new one, but leans back in his chair, runs his hand through his hair and tries to calm his breathing.  

It hadn’t always been this way.  

Once upon a time, they’d been friends, hard as it was to believe now. They’d defied gravity when they’d climbed the great oak three behind the cottage. He’d taught her how to swim in Locksley bay, held her up in the water and told her to fill her lungs with air in order to float. She’d taught him how to read. His teacher in the village school had called him slow, so she’d sneaked out books from the library, and with patience of a saint she’d taught him how to recognise each symbol until he could make sense of the words.  

She’d been his first kiss.  

It had only been a small peck on his lips, lasting not more than a second, but it counted. He counted it. 

She’d find him in the greenhouse, crying over the trashing he’d gotten from Mr. Higgins for attacking Francis Locksley. Silently she’d sat down beside him, her long dark hair in a braid and dressed in her Sunday best, having just been to church. She’d taken his bruised knuckles in her hands and she’d kissed them, before kissing each tear streaked cheek, and then ever so briefly, she’d pressed her lips against his. He had felt like a knight, being awarded by the queen for his brave service. He hadn’t known what to make of it, but she’d held his hand in hers and he’d leaned his head against her shoulder and for the longest time they’d stayed that way until he’d forgotten all about stinging bruises and tears.

He lights another cigarette and another car drives up the driveway.  

The sky is now a dark blue, the last evening light turning the leaves in the trees golden. Earlier that day Mr. Higgins had put out lights all along the drive way to the manor house and they now lit up the summer evening. 

Against the evening sky he sees a bird shoot up, rising to the sky.

Once when they’d been children they’d found an injured songbird in the woods. He’d watched as Madeleine with the gentlest of fingers picked the bird up. He’d watched as she held the wounded creature in her hands, as she observed its broken wing. She’d looked at him then, her dark eyes sad, and she’d told him they’d have to help it heal.  

So they’d gone to Gideon’s cottage and he’d sneaked her in, while Mr. Higgins worked in the garden. She’d placed the songbird on his bed. While she was kneeling in front of it, as if in prayer, he’d taken out bandages. He’d watched as she’d gently wrapped it around the bird’s wing. She’d looked at him, and told him to sing. She’d said that it would make the bird feel safer, that it was what she used to do to baby Beatrix when she was crying.  So, he’d sung a song to the poor harmed thing, while Madeleine patted its head.  

For seven days the nursed it, making sure the wing healed as it should. It had been their secret. She’d snuck out of classes with her governess and he’d faked being ill until Mr. Higgins let him be home from school and they’d sat in his room, and he’d sing for them. They kept the bird in a box, on the lid of which he’d put air holes in, and she’d placed her cardigan in the bottom of it, making sure it was soft to sleep on. They’d feed t worms Tom had dug up in the garden and Tom would sing to it every night.

In the end the songbird had healed, and they’d released it in the woods again and watched as it flew away, awkwardly at first, nearly toppling towards the ground before it found its strength again, slowly rising until it was only a speck of black in the distance. He’d held her hand, biting down hard on his bottom lip to keep himself from weeping, while she had cried openly, pressing his hand in hers. They’d hid in the labyrinth until late that evening, far away from nanny and Mr. Higgins. He’d sung her songs until she’d stopped weeping.  

Tom stands up, puts out his cigarette and stretches out one last time. Then he walks out, leaving his memories in the smoke-filled room, heading towards the pub. 

*

The Wild Boar, the village pub

“You ever think about headin’ out of here?” he asks his friend.  

They’re in the village pub, The Wild Boar, throwing back beers. A Victorian pub with murky green wallpaper, beer-stained velvet booths and worn mahogany wooden floors. The atmosphere is always good and someone is always singing. Harrison, who most days works in the bar but is enjoying a rare day off, calls it his home.  

“What, go somewhere else to drink, you mean?”

“No, no, I mean like leave Milchwood, go to London or something, head somewhere else you know”.

Harrison gives him a puzzled look and Tom can tell he doesn’t feel the same. They’re both comfortably leaned back on each side of the booth. Around them the other patrons are talking loudly, discussing this and that, enjoying their Saturday night and the unusually warm summer weather.  

“No” Harrison answers in the end “no, I mean, it’s home, yeah?” He drowns the last drops of his pint, waving to the bar for another before looking back at Tom, “you feel like leaving?”

“Dunno, maybe, sometimes” he says. “’is just, some days I want nothing more than to head out to Milchwood station and take literally any train away from here.” He takes a long gulp of his own pint.

“Well, why don’t you?”

It takes some time for Tom to answer. He keeps his eyes on the dirty window in front of him. Far away he can just make out the silhouette of Locksley Hall. They are all up there now, the lords and the ladies, having a ball.

“’s just hard to leave you know.” He takes another gulp of beer as the bartender places another pint in front of Harrison. “Spent most of my time in France wishing I was back here and now” he waves his hand in front of him, as if this would explain the strange sinking feeling he’d been walking around with lately. “Now it feels like it all stands still, like I’m just walking around, waiting for something to happen.”  

Harrison gives him a worried look “but what’s keeping you here then?”  

“Dunno, it’s just, it’s hard to leave”.

He doesn’t have ties to this place the way Harrison does. He has no other family part from Mr. Higgins. Mrs. Higgins had taken him in when he’d been nothing more than a baby, but she’d passed away before his fifth birthday. He hardly remembered her. Mr. Higgins had kept him on, and despite his stern ways he’d been kind to the boy, and taught him all he knew of gardening and thus ensuring that Tom would have a future secured. But Tom knows that Mr. Higgins wouldn’t mind if he took off, that maybe he’d even expect it.  

“Yes, we saw ‘em, didn’t we Billy!” Owain Murphy’s loud voice booms from the booth beside theirs.  

“Yeah” Billy concurs, nodding his head and staring down into his glass.  

“Yeah, we saw ‘em, all ‘em gently folks up at Locksley Hall”.

“Yeah” Billy nods again.

“They say the ‘eir is being married off!” Owain bellows.

Billy is too busy drinking now to agree.

“She looked a vision, didn’t she Billy?”

Something twists uncomfortably in Tom’s stomach. He drowns his beer and nods to his friend. It’s time to leave. The night air is cool and he takes deep breaths of it as he steps outside. They walk and chat for a while, before hitting a fork in the road, saying their goodbyes and promising to meet up for another pint the next day they then part ways, Harrison walking to the house he shares with his parents and little sister, and Tom steers his feet to Gideon’s Cottage and Locksley Hall.  

He can see the lights from the building, hear the piano music even from outside. Across the lawn people are taking some fresh air, surely they’ve been dancing for hours. They’re all dressed in their finest clothes, heavily bejeweled. Tom closes in on Gideon’s cottage, and he can’t wait to throw himself on the bed and sleep for a few hours. Tomorrow is Sunday, the day for resting, and he’s free as a bird.  

A flash of white moves in the corner of his eye and he looks over.  

By the enormous rhododendron bush stands Lady Madeleine Locksley, wearing a silky white gown that somehow plays tricks with his brain; for when he first lays his eyes on her, it looks to him as if she’s wearing nothing more than moonlight, the diamonds from her tiara glistening in the night.

For a moment it feels as if he’s actually gotten the breath knocked out of him. Owain Murphy had been right, she did look a vision.  

A man joins her, his hands clasped behind his back. He’s tall and blond and even from this distance he can tell she’s bored with the conversation, but she politely goes along with it.  

Tom walks into the cottage, closing the door behind him.

*

The cliffs of Locksley bay

The Atlantic Ocean spread out in front of her, wide and far and impossibly blue. She’s standing on the cliffs beside Locksley bay. If she were to turn her head to her left, she would see the docks with the boats lined up one after the other, each more impressive than the last. It is summer, and high season for travellers. Would she instead turn her head to her right she would see the bay, and the people playing in the water, lying in the beach and soaking up sun. Enjoying themselves and cooling themselves off in the unusually warm weather.  

But she keeps her eyes far ahead.  

Out on the water she can see sailing boats slowly drifting over the landscape. It’s not a good day for sailing, not even up here on the cliffs can you feel anything more than a gentle breeze. The heavens are almost violently blue, not a cloud as far as the eye can see. In the sky seagulls fly, screeching as they go and she inhales deep breaths of the ocean air. She feels so far removed from them all, the people on the boats and the ones on the beach. 

Her lungs feels tighter, there’s a scream in them that needs to get out.

She takes a step closer to the edge.  

A pair of arms grabs hold of her and pulls her in against something hard. “What are you doing?!” A familiar voice inquires angrily in her ear.

He pulls them both a few steps back, away from the edge, before turning her around to face him. Anger clear on his face. His chest, still close to hers, is heaving.  

“What are you doing?” She asks, not quite managing to match his level of animosity. His hands are still holding a firm grip around her arms. She pulls herself free and takes a step back, trying to create some distance between them, though she swears she still feels the heat radiating of his body, his scent, which she’d briefly inhaled, surrounding her.

“Were you going to jump?” he asks in a serious tone, his warm brown eyes intensely searching her face for something.  

“No” she says, voice firm, and he relaxes somewhat, though he still looks angry. That frown, seemingly permanent on his face whenever she’s around. “But it wouldn’t have killed me if I had, people jump from here all the time”

“Sure, but not young heiresses”.  He sounds almost sarcastic and she can feel her blood nearly boiling. Her diamond heart beats faster in her chest.

“Have you?”

He observers her for a heartbeat, like he’s searching for something in her face. The long days spent working in the garden has given him a nice tan. His brown hair looks windswept and he’s not wearing his usual uniform of muddy trousers, suspenders and a dirty white shirt. Instead his clothes look washed and clean; he’s wearing his Sunday best, linen suit trousers, clean white shirt and suspenders that don’t look quite as worn. His arms, well developed from all the hard work, fills out his shirt in a way that makes something inside her flutter, and she hastily looks away.  

“Yes” he answers in the end. “Yeah, me and Harrison jumped it last year”.  

“Yet you’re so against me doing it?”

He’s silent for a few seconds, and she can tell he’s weighing each word carefully. “I just, I didn’t take you for a thrill-chaser, is all. It surprised me”.

Now he’s avoiding looking at her.  

“So, how was the ball?” he asks eventually, having to fill the stale, strange silence.

“Long” she answers and sighs. “Awfully long, and dreary”.  

“Poor girl” he teases, but she wonders if there isn’t real malice underneath. “And how is your betrothed?”  

She narrows her eyes at him. “James is not my betrothed” she says, trying to keep her voice calm. He’s got his hands in his pockets, an arrogant look on his face and she wants to scream at him.

“Huh” he says, “I heard you were being married off”.  

“Well, I’m not. Not yet”

“So, what’s he’s like, this not betrothed man of yours”

He sounds so nonchalant, and it’s making her skin itch with irritation. “He’s nice, actually”.

He scoffs, “nice?”

“Yes! He’s very nice, unlike certain people! And he gave me a book of Wordsworth poetry”

Tom snorts “you hate Wordsworth, you always have”  

“How do you know?” She asks, annoyance clear in her tone.  

“You told me” he answers, and he sound so certain of himself.  

“Yes, when we were children, I might have changed my mind since!”  

“You haven’t though”.

“Funny isn’t? All the things you remember?” She tries to sound superior, but she’s not sure she accomplishes anything. He’s still standing there, hands in pockets and a devil-may-care smug smile on his face.  

“You find him dull”.

“How do you know if I find James dull or not! You’ve never even met him! Maybe I find it fascinating to talk about dog breeding and horses!” you scream at him. 

But he just smiles wider. “I was talking about Wordsworth. You find Wordsworth dull. But clearly I hit a nerve”.  

She’s so angry she’s speechless. From the village they hear the church bells ring.  

“We should go” he says and nods to the path back.  

“No”

“Lady Madeleine, -”

“Stop calling me that!”

“Well, it is your title”.

“Oh, like you give a toss about people’s titles! I’m Madeleine and we used to be friends, or don’t you remember that part?”

“Alright Madeleine” he says slowly, like he’s talking to a particularly petulant child, “we better head home now, they’ll want you back for dinner”.

“I don’t want to” she says stubbornly. “You head back. I’m staying here to watch the sunset”.

“They’ll just sent me out to look for you if you´re not there for dinner, let’s go”.

She takes a deep breath and a step backwards, towards the edge. “You know, I’m so tired of everyone telling me what to do all the time, were to be and what to think, and how to feel”. She takes another step backwards and the smugness on his face is soon replaced with worry.  

“I’m so tired of people telling me that I can’t do things when they have no issue doing it themselves”. She takes yet another step back and as he reaches out for her, realising what she’s about to do. She turns around and runs toward the edge.  

“No Maddie, don’t!”  

But she’s already taken the leap.

*

Locksley Hall

The next morning she wakes early, though it feels as though she’s hardly slept at all. Memories plays behind her closed eyelids from the day before. The cliffs, Tom’s arms grabbing hold of her, the argument, the jump, the fall, the splash, the sinking, the searching for the surface. And then, a hand grabbing hold of her, pulling her towards the light.  

He’d jumped in after her, had thrown himself of the cliff in his Sunday best without any hesitation.  

He’d always been the better swimmer, he was the one who had taught her after all, and luckily it hadn’t taken him long to find her beneath the surface.  

They’d swam ashore, dragged themselves up in their heavy, wet clothes watched by the bathers who looked at them, some agog and some in chock. (“Is that not lady Madeleine?”)

He’d been furious, practically steaming with anger. It hadn’t mattered how many times she’d tried to talk to him, tried to apologise, he’d only ignored her and kept steering his feet forward to Locksley Hall. Only when she tried to thank him for having saved her did he respond.

“Don’t” he had uttered, his resentment almost palpable.

They had been walking through a path in the woods, sun shining through the canopy, painting the whole world a bright green colour, and she stumbled after him, keeping her eyes on his wet white shirt, his suspenders holding of his soaked beige trousers.  

She too had grown angry then. Had tried to argue with him. Tried telling him that he was overreacting, that no one had forced him to jump in as well, that it would have been better if he hadn’t, that they both knew he wished he hadn’t and suddenly -

She’d been pressed up against a tree, his face just centimetres from hers, both their chest heaving with conflicting emotions, his arms on either side of her face, in the most beautiful trap.

Madeleine untangles herself from her many sheets and blankets and walks to the window to pull apart the curtains and let in the morning light. The grounds outside are empty, no one is yet awake. It must be very early indeed, for even Gideon’s cottage seem peacefully quiet.

She opens the leaded window and drags in deep breaths of fresh air, but her lungs still feel too tight. She fishes up a package of cigarettes from one of the pockets of her silk robe and with trembling hands she lights one. Everything is set now. She is to marry Sir James Hatfield, and settle down at Hatfield house in all its ugly Tudor glory. It didn’t matter if she smoked in the house anymore, she wouldn’t stay here much longer.  

With picture perfect certainty she imagines married life with Sr Hatfield. Endless conversation of the breeding of horses, hunting and dogs. Her life spent doing things the way they have always been done at Hatfield house, keeping up with the traditions of a family she has no interest in. And then, several blonde little children would come along. All boys, all taking after their father in looks and manners.  

Her life would surround around them. She would be Lady Madeline Locksley no more, but instead, Lady Hatfield. She would have to leave Locksley hall, leave Benie,  

leave Tom.

The thought startles her, and she gets up from the window ledge, starts walking aimlessly round the cluttered room.  

Using her empty tea cup from which she’d drank her evening tea the night before as an ashtray she puts out her cigarette, and with hands trembling more than ever she lights another, before throwing herself back on the bed.  

Tom.  

Who surely hated her now. The achingly long moments when he’d trapped her against the tree plays again in her head. She’d seen so many emotions on his face, his chest heaving from all of it. First there had been anger, then confusion and then, unless she wasn’t entirely mistaken; because god knows her experience was non-existing in the area,  

- lust.  

But he’d torn himself free, and marched off, without looking back. And she’d stood leaned against the three, feeling like a planet spinning out of its axis, struggling to remember how to breath again.

When she walked into the great hall she’d been met with her mother, Benie and granny. Upon seeing her, they’d all gone completely silent, the only sound to be heard the water dripping off of her, landing on the newly swapped floors.  

“Oh Madeleine!” her mother had eventually burst out “what’s happened?”

She had told them she’d been at the cliffs, and that Tom had come along, but then her granny had interrupted her. “Are you telling me” she’d asked in her superior voice “that you were ‘hanging about’ the cliffs with the junior gardener?” The disapproval in her voice was evident.  

“No” Madeleine had answered, trying to keep her voice steady and calm. “I’m saying that I was there, and he was there, he annoyed me, and then I jumped off the cliff”.

Dead silence again.  

“You, you did what?”

“I jumped off a cliff. And then he saved me. And now, I really must change, so would you please excuse me”. The wave of emotion that washed over her had surprised her, but suddenly she’d been holding back tears.

““Madeleine, I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, but you need to go and get changed, right now. Sir Hatfield is invited for dinner, and you will behave yourself and you will conduct yourself accordingly” her mother had told her in her sternest voice. So, Madeleine had nodded and walked up the stairs, choking back on tears, her wet clothes leaving a trace of water in her wake.  

And she’d changed and Alice had done up her hair and she’d joined the others for dinner. And she’d sat beside James at dinner and listened to him lecturing her on various dog breeds and she’d smiled appropriately. Then, after dinner, he’d taken her aside. Professed in a dry tone his admiration for her and asked for her hand in marriage. He’d told her that he’d already settled things with her father. She had smiled and complied and tried to press down the feeling of nausea in her stomach, tried to ignore to scream growing ever larger in her lungs.  

She stands up again, puts out her cigarette, takes one of the many dresses scattering the floor and slides it on. Then she’s out the door. With silent steps, as to not wake anyone, she makes her way down the corridor, and then down the grand staircase and the foyer and out the door. The pressure in her lungs grow tenser and tenser and her feet move faster and faster, until her naked feet are sprinting over the grounds, the dewy grass cold under her soles. When she finally reaches the greenhouse, she’s sobbing.

This had always been her secret place. Not even Tom had known about how she’d used to come here when things became too much, when things would build and build inside of her until she had to let it out. Like it was a living, moving thing in her chest, begging her to set it free. Knowing that the old greenhouse was the only soundproof place in all of Locksley Hall it became her safe place to let it out, she’d always steer her feet here. When she’d been to boarding school, and then in Canada, she’d been forced to try letting the scream free under water, no other place felt safe enough, but it hadn’t felt the same.  

She slams the door shut behind her and then she lets it out. Nearly bending over from the force of it she shrieks, for as long and as loud as she can. Her eyes pressed shut and trembling hands in fists. When she finally stops it still seems to echo in her ears, and she feels exhausted. She’s breathing as if she’s just run for miles and miles. Slowly she stands up straight again, unclasping her fists. Opening her shut eyes.

Tom.  

Standing in front of her, looking shocked and horrified, hands and shirt muddy. He must have been in here for some early work before the heat gets too intense. 

They stand there, for a long time, just staring at one another, her screams still echoing in her mind. And then, like she’s a wild animal, he slowly walks towards her. Taking her hand in his, an arm around her waist, he gently guides them towards the pond, on the side of which he helps her sit down. Bending down in front of her, so that he’s on his knees, he looks up at her, a strand of brown hair falling down, framing his face.

It’s so tender, the way he looks at her. So unbearably tender. His earth-stained hands clasped around hers, placed in her lap, calloused and warm.  

“What happened?” He asks, voice soft and low.

She doesn’t know when it started, too distracted by his gentleness perhaps, but she realises then that she’s crying, two tears falling from her cheek and landing on their hands.   

“I’m just being silly” she responds, but her voice sounds hoarse and dead even to her own ears.

“I doubt it, what’s wrong?”  

“I, I” she begins, her lungs feeling tight again “I have to marry.”

His kind eyes blink up at her, and for a moment she swears he holds on tighter to her hands.  

“But you don’t want to.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement. “Why do you have to?” His thumbs stroke her trembling hands and it feel and it is the gentlest thing that’s ever happened to her.  

“There’s no male hair. So, if papa dies before I marry, we’ll lose everything”. Her voice is hoarse from screaming and she wonders if he finds her pathetic, but in his eyes she only finds sympathy, and maybe a fair share of pain.

“But you don’t have to marry Hatfield?”

She shakes her head, and more tears fall. “No, but he’s the best option. I can’t afford to wait”.  

Silence for a while as he observes you.

Then,  

“What if I’ll marry you?” his voice is steady, but his eyes are fixed their clasped hands.  

“What?”

“I’ll marry you” he states and looks up at her again. She stares at him in disbelief, for surely, he can’t mean it. He continues. “I know it’s not a good option, but the estate will be safe, and you won’t have to marry Hatfield, you won’t have to leave Locksley Hall.”

When she just keeps staring at him in silent disbelief his cheeks turn pink. “I know I haven’t got anything to offer; you know I don’t. But -”

“Alright”. Her answers comes without her thinking about it and it seems to catch him off guard. “But, are you sure?” she asks, worried that he doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into.  

“Yes, Madeleine, I’m sure” he smiles, his hands continuing to gently stroke her hands.  

“But, but” she starts, feeling almost dizzy. “But why would you want to marry me?”

“What?”

“Why would you help me? It would change your life forever.” She keeps her voice serious, knows that it’s of utmost importance that he understands the importance of this.  

He seems struck silent and for a long while his brown eyes stare up at her in disbelief. “Well I, I mean I would, I” he starts, letting go of her hands and standing up, placing them his pockets instead. It is like he’s trying to look as nonchalant as he usually does.  

Turning slightly away from her, eyes fixed on the koi fish in the pond he then continues. “Well, I’d get to live in Locksley Hall, wouldn’t I? I’d be the lord of the manor. No more hard toil in the garden”.  

“So, mostly self-interest then?” She says, not knowing whether she feels more relieved or disappointed. More than anything she feels light headed.  

“Yeah” he agrees, eyes still fixed on the pond. “It’s self-interest".  

Silence spread between them. This is new territory that neither one knows how to tread.  

In the end she stands up and he turns to look at her again, something like worry in his expression. “We, well we’ll have to discuss this. If it’s to happen it needs to happen soon.”

“It is to happen” he says, firmly, but then his cheeks turn pink again. “As long as you want it to”.  

“Well then” she says, a small but genuine smile on her face. “It can’t happen here; Gretna Green is our only option. We have to come up with some excuse so we can leave for Scotland for a few days”.  

He nods, but he too looks more relaxed now. “I’ll think of something”.  

“So much to be fixed” she says, mostly to herself. “Wedding dress for example, though the wedding will be so small only something simple will do.”

“Could you” he begins, and he avoids her eyes again. “You could wear that dress you had on at the ball” he asks awkwardly, fidgeting slightly where he stands.  

“Oh, yes of course” she says, just as awkward. “If that’s what you want”. She smiles at him, and he smiles back. Its embarrassed, but it’s tender too.  

“Meet me at the fountain tonight?” he asks, and that strange fluttering sensation she’d felt when he’d pressed her against the tree makes another appearance. “To discuss how we’ll do this?”

She nods “yes, I’ll see you then. I better get back now, or Alice will notice I’ve left when she brings in breakfast.”  

She turns to leave, but changing her mind mid stride she turns back to him. When she reaches him she stands on the tips of her naked, now muddy, feet. She presses a soft kiss to his cheek. “Thank you” she whispers.  

***

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[everlarkbirthdaygifts]

Happy Birthday, blackgem01!

Today, we wish @blackgem01 a very Happy Birthday! We hope you’ve got a wonderful day planned, and you get exactly the presents you wished for! To kick your party off in style, the lovely @mega-aulover has written a story just for you!

PROMPT:  Katniss and Peeta had a baby at a young age. Katniss decided to go off to college while Peeta stayed behind to take care of the baby and now she is coming back. (if you want to make it angsty can there be a happy ending

For: Blackgem01

A/N: Happy Birthday I hope you have a wonderful day. Thank you to @norbertsmom for betaing

Rated: T

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“You sure she's coming back?” Rye asked.

Peeta changed his 18 month old daughter, Melody. She laughed when he tickled her, and her bright blue eyes stared up at him with glee. 

Peeta proudly winked at his baby. She’d learned to walk early. She was a good climber, too. Something he learned early on when he found her in front of the upstairs apartment.  She wasn’t talking yet, but he knew she was like her mother.

“Come on Peeta,” Rye said sitting on the bed next to Mel. 

Mel extended her leg so that Peeta could put her pants on. She smiled at him and when he leaned down, she patted his face with her little hand. 

“Rye,” Peeta warned. He didn’t want to discuss Katniss in front of the baby. 

“You’re delusional.”

“Katniss wouldn’t forget us.”  Peeta kept his voice light. His daughter was perceptive and she cried when people sounded upset or mad. 

“She was sure in a hurry to leave.” 

Peeta stopped to look at his brother in disbelief, wishing Rye would drop the matter altogether. 

“You can’t go to the train tomorrow station expecting you guys to be alright,” Rye insisted. “She’s been gone for a year doing who knows what in the Capitol.” 

“All done Mel, why don’t you go see grandpa.” Peeta put their daughter on the floor. He turned to his brother. “Rye stay out of it, this is my life with Katniss.”

“She left you and Mel to go to the Capitol and study, you guys barely talk on the phone...I think she sucks for leaving you behind with Mel.”

All these months he’d been silent about the arrangement he and Katniss made. His family and even hers wanted him to move on, find someone else. Mrs. Everdeen was upset Katniss left him with the baby. Primrose didn’t understand why she left and was angry at her. Katniss wrote to Prim and June, their mother but often the letters left untouched. 

Peeta knew the truth and that’s what really mattered. 

The opportunity for her to study something was too good for them to let go. People in district twelve didn’t get scholarships, they got a one way ticket to work in the mines or if they were lucky to work in their family business. “Rye, I told her to go.”

“I don’t believe it. I think she manipulated you.”

“Have you met Katniss,” Peeta said. 

“Well okay maybe she didn’t; she’s not exactly the most talkative person.  But why would you let her go? You’ve been in love with her since you were both five.”

Peeta heard Mel’s laughter. “How many times has district twelve won the reaping? For that matter who was the last person who won the reaping?”

Rye glanced away, knowing Peeta was right.  

The annual reaping was a scholarship that was founded when the districts won the war nearly 77 years ago.  Every year, one student was chosen from the graduating class of all the districts to study for a year in the Capitol. Katniss was chosen, but she was conflicted because they had a six month old baby. 

Peeta may have been in love with Katniss since he was five, but he didn’t get up the nerve to talk to her until they were sixteen. . Their friendship grew deeper, despite the things her former best friend Gale Hawthorne said about them, and by the time they were seniors they were in a serious relationship. They were both shocked when Katniss got pregnant. Peeta encouraged her to continue studying, bringing her assignments and tests when she was too sick to go to school. 

It wasn’t easy.  His mother wanted him to deny the child Katniss carried, while his father quietly told him he wasn’t ready for fatherhood. His father wasn’t entirely wrong; Peeta wasn’t ready to be a dad. It was a hard nine months for both of them.  It wasn’t until Mel was born did his mother come around and his parents supported them both. 

When Katniss won the reaping everyone expected her to decline it, because of the baby.  Peeta didn’t want her to lose her shot at something big. Every person who won had opportunities afforded to them. It’s why his brother was taking forever to answer.  

After a few moments Rye eventually said, “Mayor Abernathy.”

“And before that it was a wild girl named Lucy who ended up being a great entertainer in the Capitol.  I told Katniss to go, I told her to do it for our daughter.” Peeta sat on his bed, and sighed. “She didn't want to leave, but I told her she needed to because I didn’t want her to have regrets.”

“That’s all great and said, but you forget about one tiny detail, your daughter. Katniss has missed a lot of the big markers in Mel’s life.  And if by some miracle you guys have this magical reconnection and are able to pick up where you left off, just remember Mel will see Katniss as a virtual stranger.” 

Peeta watched Rye stand up and leave. His brother’s words stayed with him for the rest of the day. He hadn’t really given a thought about what it would be like to have Katniss home again. He loved her, but Rye was right. Katniss didn’t really know her daughter.  It was part of the sacrifice she made by leaving.

Katniss couldn’t come home; it was in the stipulations of the scholarship. She had to live at school and maintain a certain grade point average. She didn’t have much money and was dependent on the grant.  Calling the bakery was expensive, something she only did on major celebrations like Mel’s birthday. She did write, Katniss wrote two and three letters a week. 

Peeta wrote back filling her in on as much as he could. He even drew pictures of Mel. But still Katniss didn’t know the face Mel made when she was sleepy. Or the way she cried when she passed by a cat, thinking it was Buttercup. This next phase of their life was going to be hard. Peeta worried about Mel’s reaction to Katniss. Mel was only six months old the last time she’d been with Katniss. 

Mel hadn’t taken the loss of mommy well. She’d cried for Katniss and Peeta had seen the same tears mirrored on Katniss’ face when she left. Peeta hoped for the best but he was preparing for the worst.  

The next morning he stood with both of their families at the train station. 

Rye was making funny faces at Mel and her peal of laughter broke the tension. His mother held Mel. She’d purchased a new outfit for Mel today, a pretty dove gray dress with pink polka dots with matching grey shoes and pink pom pom hair fasteners.  His mother was smitten with her dark haired grandchild.  Mel covered her ears as the train horn sounded. She turned to him holding out her little arms toward him.  Peeta picked her up and Mel put her face in the crook of his neck. 

The train pulled in and Peeta braced himself. 

...

“You did good by her,” June Everdeen said. 

Peeta glanced at Katniss' mother, and smiled. “Thank you.”

“I hope the sacrifice was worth it,” June said as the passengers began to disembark. 

Peeta recalled Rye’s words. He held his little girl closer. He hoped he did a good enough job of talking about mommy and showing Mel images of Katniss. 

“There she is,” Prim squeaked.

Peeta didn’t see her. Katniss wasn’t tall and was easily lost in the crowd. He followed Prim who was tall and thin.

Peeta saw her, she wasn’t wearing fancy Capitol clothing, she was, however, wearing a lovely dark orange dress with small white flowers. Katniss never used to wear dresses. Her hair was in it’s customary braid. She looked unsure as if searching the crowd. When she spotted Prim her face broke out in the most beautiful smile. Peeta always thought Katniss looked stunning when she smiled. 

“Prim,” she called out running to her sister. 

“Katniss,” Prim cried as they hugged one another. 

Peeta watched both sisters talk. His heart beat quickly.  Mel whimpered. Immediately Peeta’s attention went to Mel. 

“What's wrong button,” he cooed quietly, shifting her so that he could look into her face. “Are you tired?’

Mel stuck her thumb in her mouth. 

“Okay, we’re just getting mommy, okay.” 

“She’s beautiful,” Katniss said in awe.

Peeta looked up to see Katniss staring at him, her eyes filled with tears. She reached her arms toward Mel.

Mel swatted her arms away, and screamed, “NO!”

It was Mel’s first word. Katniss looked crestfallen. Peeta sighed. This wasn’t going to go easy at all. 

Peeta looked at himself in the mirror. Today had turned into a disaster. All day long Mel scowled at Katniss. Whenever Katniss came close to Peeta, Mel pointed her finger at Katniss, garbled words Peeta had never heard his daughter say, followed by, no.  Mel refused to leave his side and Katniss looked crestfallen, then Rye made a comment that started a fight.  He closed his eyes. Everyone ganged up on Katniss about her decision to leave. 

Her mother said leaving Mel was inexcusable. Katniss fired back telling her letting her children nearly starve to death was just as bad. When Katniss' father died of an accident at work, June went into a downward spin where she became nearly catatonic. The responsibility of the house, her sister and her mother fell on Katniss shoulders. Peeta recalled hearing the adults talk about how brave Katniss was to care for her ill mother.  Now her mother turned on Katniss. 

Peeta tried to defend Katniss but his voice was silenced. Mel began crying and Katniss left the house to cool down. Their baby was finally sleeping and everyone was gone. 

“Hey,” Katniss said quietly.

He looked up from the mirror to see her reflection.  “Hi.”

Her eyes were red rimmed, her face was flushed. 

Peeta turned around. He opened his arms, and she flew into them. 

“I hoped,” Katniss cried.

He held her, letting her cry. Katniss wasn’t one for emotional outbursts. When she calmed down she said, “Mel doesn’t love me, my own sister said I shouldn’t have left, your parents…” She took a deep breath and said. “We talked about this, but I didn’t think it was going to be so hard….”

“I don’t know what to do to help you. They wouldn’t even listen to me.” 

“I had great news for everyone. A job was created for me, given my talents with herbs, fauna, and trees, as District Twelve’s forest conservationist. One of my professors, Dr. Wiress arranged for Prim to study in District Three’s Medical and Technology program. I worked in the cafeteria in school and I gave them one of the breads you sent with me. My boss wanted to talk to your dad.”  

“You’re always looking out for us.”

“You have done such a great job with Mel. She’s so beautiful and she hates me.” Katniss stepped away, she placed her hands on his shoulders. Her hands drifting down over his chest. 

Peeta shuddered at her touch. One year of waiting and longing.  “No she doesn't hate you. She doesn’t know you and to Mel you’re trying to take away her daddy. It’s going to take time to convince everyone. Now let’s get to bed and see if we can make this family of ours work.”

Katniss sighed.

They slept rather awkwardly that first night as they had to get used to sleeping together again. In the morning Mel wanted nothing to do with Katniss. 

Two weeks passed by and slowly people’s attitude about Katniss changed. His father was over the moon with the contact she gave him. He’d struck a contract with Paylor Katniss’ supervisor to supply bread to the university. Primrose was delighted at the opportunity to study in District Three.

Only their daughter and his brother were the last holdouts. 

Mel kept up saying no to Katniss and exhibited her jealousy regularly. Anytime Katniss came close to Peeta she would cry no and stomp her little foot and push Katniss away. Their daughter didn’t want to share him. 

It was bedtime, Katniss wanted to get Mel ready by giving her a bath. 

“No, dada.”  Mel stood with a scowl on her face. It was like looking into a mirror. 

“You’re going to take a bath with mommy,” Katniss said kneeling  before their daughter. She held out the small rubber duck she brought from the Capitol for Mel.

“No,” Mel swatted at the rubber duck.

“Mel,” Peeta interjected. “Not Nice.” In a firm voice he repeated, “Not nice.” 

His daughter's eyes grew wide. Peeta seldom used that tone of voice with her. Her bottom lip trembled. 

“Go to the bathroom,” he ordered, but in a softer tone.

Mel stomped off to the bathroom.

Katniss gave him a pouty look of her own before following their daughter to the bathroom. Later on, Katniss was in the bedroom folding clothing rapidly. Peeta could sense the storm coming. 

He finished cleaning up the kitchen, wanting to give Katniss enough time with Mel. Her eyes narrowed right before she said, “I could have handled the situation.”

Peeta didn’t say anything. He only took the fitted sheet she was fidgeting with and folded it neatly.

“Ugh!” Katniss huffed, her eyes fiery. 

“I had it under control, you didn’t have to intervene.” 

Peeta sighed and bit his tongue. 

“She needs to learn that I am not going anywhere.” Katniss sat on the bed and looked around. “I shouldn’t have left, Peeta. I should stayed, here with her…” 

Peeta sat next to her. “No you did the right thing,” Peata said. He didn’t want for Katniss to feel bad for the decision to go study. “Prim’s going to spend her next last two years of school in District Three studying with Dr. Wiress, one of Panem’s foremost scientific minds. And my dad’s benefiting from it too. He’s going to be able to send his bread to the capitol for the holidays. And he’s going to have the opportunity to go to the Capitol with my mom to tour the school cafeteria, and my mom’s going to get a real honeymoon.” 

Katniss' face began to lose its worry. 

“And you’re going to be doing something you love, conservation of the woods. It wouldn’t have happened if you hadn't made that sacrifice.” 

“I…” Katniss began, but trailed off.

“Come here.” Peeta sat back against the headboard inviting her to sit next to him. Katniss didn’t sit, she snuggled up against his side. Her head rested up against his chest.  Peeta sighed from the contentment of the simple gesture. Peeta missed her, missed listening to the sound of her voice. 

“I sometimes don’t see the bigger picture.”

“You just don’t know the effect you have on people, Katniss.” He placed a soft kiss on her cheek. “My mom distrusted the people from the Seam, now some of her very best friends are from the Seam. She even helped Hazelle open up her own laundry business in town.” 

“It’s true,” Katniss conceded. 

“All we have to do is teach our daughter not to hit you or anyone.”

“I was shocked.” Katniss looked up. “She just swatted at Mr. Quack.” 

“Yeah, unfortunately she gets that from my mother. Did I ever tell you my mom came to blows with Dross, the milkman?”

“Whatever for?” She picked up his hand before kissing his ring finger. In District Twelve wedding rings were expensive, so couples used twine or around their ring finger when they had their Toasting. It was a tradition and even those with enough money for rings still used twine. 

“Yeah, she insisted he wasn’t filling our milk bottles to the top.”  Peeta cleared his throat as Katniss kissed his shoulder, then his chin, next his cheek. They hadn’t slept together since she’s been back. Peeta was letting Katniss make the first move. 

“It sounds like something your mom would do,” she stared deep into his eyes as she sat astride him.  She leaned forward to kiss him.

“You sure?” 

“Peeta it’s been twelve months, fourteen days, and who knows how many hours since I’ve last had you touch me….” 

Peeta was astonished she had kept count. However every thought went out of his mind and other more pressing matters took precedence.

Time had a way of marching by quickly.  Katniss patiently dealt with their daughters' tantrums, and at night she would lie in his arms wanting for Mel to accept her. He was in the bakery when he overheard  Rye snicker. “My brother is a doormat and he doesn’t realize what a little slut you are. What did you have to do to get us that contract?”

“I would never cheat on your brother.” 

“Didn’t you?” Rye sneered. “Kids know when people are fake or liars. You only have to look at Mel to know she sees right through you.”

Peeta walked through the door and saw Katniss scowl, but Peeta could see the slight trembling in her lips , and the way that her face drained of color that meant she was near tears. 

“That’s enough Rye,” Peeta said, standing up to his brother. The last time he’d seen Katniss shrink back was when her father died. 

 In school Peeta had seen how the once vibrant girl diminished not only in personality but in size. She and her sister were so skinny they wore extra clothing to keep warm.  

Peeta had taken it upon himself to give the girl he loved extra food at lunch time.  He would sit next to her and say he was full, offering her an apple, or half a sandwich. One time he had left her family a basket of bread. His mother was furious that he took it without permission, but it was worth it seeing Prim’s face of joy upon discovering the bread. Peeta swore Katniss saw him hiding in the dim morning light. 

Shortly after that she began hunting and going around trading the meat she caught. Meat was expensive in the district and Katniss’ fresh game was welcome. It was this trading that afforded Peeta the ability to walk up to her in highschool and offer the bond of friendship.  It’s how they got to this moment. 

“I’m going to go hunting,” Katniss whispered. 

Peeta let her go before rounding on his brother. “Don’t you ever say anything like that to her. She worked in the kitchens while in the Capitol. Her supervisor Paylor, tasted the bread she brought with her. She gave dad Paylor’s number.”

Rye angrily turned his face away. 

“No, you’re going to listen to me, Rye. Katniss and I wrote to one another at least three times a week. She worked and studied hard. You know how shy she is around people. For her to make acquaintances in the Capitol was hard for her. She spent most of her nights studying, and when she wasn’t studying she was working. She asked about our daughter in every letter. Does that sound like a girl who is out for herself? She came back with ways to help both of our families.”

“What about Mel?”

“Mel thinks Katniss is going to take her daddy away. Yesterday she told Katniss, dada mine.  Mel has to learn how to share.” Peeta ran his hands through his hair.

“Mel’s stubborn.”

“Just like her mother. She’s also jealous just like Katniss.”

“Mitsy,” Rye and Peeta blurted at the same time and both of them laughed remembering the girl Katniss threatened to shoot in the eye while she was pregnant. 

“Just yesterday Mitsy came in to purchase bread and Katniss gave her a look that would freeze the lake in the woods.”

“There’s a lake in the woods?” 

Peeta grinned at the memories of them frolicing in the lake. The skinny dipping episode made Mel, “Oh there’s a lake in the woods.”  

   “Huh,” Rye said.

“Just give Katniss a break. She’s trying real hard to fit in again.”

“Alright fine,” Rye said. 

Peeta rubbed his face as Rye walked away. He needed to get all of his ducks in a row, now if he could only wrangle his toddler. 

Two weeks later he dragged himself upstairs. His father and mother left for the Capitol for two weeks. Rye was also gone on a singles train tour around the districts. Peeta was left to run the bakery by himself. He was tired and cranky like Mel when she refused to take her nap.

Tonight he kept the bakery open an  hour extra for a particular bride and her groom. Josi Raisin made him jump through hoops tonight. She was getting married to Jensen the newest Mine Manager and she was picky about the flavor of her cake.  She tried their vanilla, their lemon, the apple spice, lavender, poppy seed, pecan, raspberry, carrot, vanilla almond, and their most expensive, the german chocolate cake, only to choose a plain sponge cake.

The peal of Mel’s laughter stopped him dead in his tracks. 

“Again mama,” Mel shouted excitedly. 

Peeta quickly went up the stairs, he found Mel sprawled on the floor with Katniss giving their daughter raspberry kisses on her tummy. Mel laughter’s filled his ears and Katniss' brilliant smile gave his stomach butterflies. 

“Look, it’s dada.”

“Dada,” Mel said running to him. She patted his tummy then said, “Mama, mama…” followed by a gurgle of words. 

Katniss walked up to him and smiled, hugging them both. “It seems that a little patience, a lullaby and belly raspberries is what it takes to win her over.” 

“Well, I can’t comment on the belly raspberries, but  your voice is what made me fall in love with you.” 

Katniss smiled as Mel rested her head on her shoulder.

Mel then said, “My mama.”

Katniss grinned then said, “Yes baby girl I’m your mama.”

Mel then turned to Peeta and said, “My papa.”

“Yes button I’m your papa.”

Mel then patted them both on the cheek and gave them kisses. 

Peeta’s heart burst, filled with happiness.  He  hugged his girls and sighed, this was the dream. 

The end

[sp00kworm]

The Deep Dark (Gang Orca x Gender Neutral Reader)

A/N: I love and would die for Gang Orca in his save the whales shirt thank you. Also cross-posted on AO3!

----

Kuugo sighed at the wall of the glass tank, watching the fish, they eyed his intimidating form each time they got close before scattering off back around to the reef. They seemed to forget he was there each time and quickly shoaled back around before escaping again in a flicker of silver. He was too wrapped up in his own head. He’d been invited to this aquarium to do an introduction piece for the patrons, yet all he got was wide eyed looks and terrified children bawling as he took to the stage, dressed in his suit jacket with a ‘save the whales’ t-shirt underneath. He thought the shirt was cute. The stylist even assured him it made him look much softer! Evidently the children did not agree. They agreed even less so when he creaked the wood of the stage and smiled, sharp teeth exposed and cape flapping as he opened his clawed hands in a pose.

 “Mama! He’s going to eat me!” One boy cried into his mother’s legs, hiding his head behind her thigh as Gang Orca rumbled about the growing whale populations in the oceans.

“Papa!” A girl sobbed into her dad’s shoulder, and even the father himself didn’t look far from running himself as Kuugo gestured a clawed, black hand to the ribbon. He was quick to bow and snip the ribbon open before sighing in a cascade of clicks and growls, moving inside the building and out of sight of the crying children.

“Mama I don’t want to go inside with the monster!” Another boy screeched. Gang Orca simply sighed inside the door, wetting his hands and rubbing the palms over the curve of his head, rehydrating the thick skin with a grumble, ducking inside the back rooms to get rid of his work costume.

 If he couldn’t make the kids happy, then at least he could enjoy the cool temperatures and the sights of the aquarium. Maybe he should abandon hope of ever being the sight of a hero instead of a monster? Kuugo grumbled as he looked at his charity shirt, dressed down in expensive jeans and some expensive trainers. He didn’t exactly look like the rest of the people packed in here for a day out with their children or partners, but he didn’t mind getting a few looks. Red eyes stared back at him as he fastened his watch and reached back to push at his strong dorsal fin. The killer whale male reached for his bottle of water and rubbed his wet, clawed hand over his head, grumbling softly before pushing two bottles into his back pockets. If it got a little warm, he would no doubt need them while in the crowds.

 Now he was stood staring at the shoals inside the deepest tank. Little reef sharks swam past, eyes rolling and eyelids fluttering at him as he glared with red eyes into the tank. He looked just as intimidating without the cape and white suit, and Kuugo reached to pluck at the tight t-shirt over his chest. There was no doubting his profession really. Well, maybe his scary persona would mean children thought he was a villain, but his physique gave him away in all honesty. Still, as he looked around, he realised the quivering hero fans were simply too scared to come and talk to him. Good, he thought, as he gazed at the deeper little stone reefs, the tropical fish swarming around something that had appeared within one of the coral pieces. He didn’t much feel like talking after his humiliation on stage. Kids were a poor audience for him it seemed. Maybe a room full of adults would have fared better against his intimidating disposition? He could only wonder as he gazed at a baby shark. It was small, not very old, and captured the attention of the children a little further down the corridor.

“Ah, excuse me, sir? Can I squeeze in next to you? They said the baby shark was coming past.” A soft voice broke him from his grumpy ramblings in his own head.

 You had no idea that a pro-hero was in attendance of this new aquarium opening day until Gang Orca had climbed on the stage. He was just as intimidating as the polls said, but you watched him shuffle a speech on the stand and shift from foot to foot in his charity t-shirt, grumbling excitedly about the projects underway to protect the ocean life around Japan. He seemed a lot less threatening then, in his whale shirt with a love heart, and an embarrassed blush on his face as the kids cried. It was heart breaking, but he seemed to get it together quickly and professionally. The ribbon was cut and he disappeared before you could ask him about anything, but you figured it was probably to hide from the multitude of crying children in the audience and their unnerved parents. It was a little but rude, but people would be people after all.

 The pro-hero jumped at the brush of your hand against his back, red eyes blinking before he tilted his head to peer down at you. He wasn’t hugely tall, not in the way All Might was, but standing at six foot six inches, he had plenty of height over most normal humans, quirks or no quirks, “Of course.” He replied, stepping back and to the side to let you slip in front of him as the baby shark came past, mouth open, baby fangs glinting as it watched the people press up against the glass. It was an inquisitive little monster. Gang Orca watched with a quirk in his snout, smiling with teeth that made the children walking past clutch their mothers’ hands.

“Oh, he’s so cute!” You pressed a hand to the glass, turning your head to watch the shark whizz around the next viewing window with a bright smile, “Thank you for letting me see, sir.”

Kuugo nodded his head, “Its not a problem…And the sir isn’t necessary.” He reached for his tie, only to remember it wasn’t there, and instead searched for something to do with his claws.

“I…” You took a breath and turned, notebook in hand, “I really liked your speech about the ocean projects going on, even if the kids didn’t.”

 The killer whale felt his face go hot underneath his thick skin, the blood colouring his cheeks with a blush you didn’t think was possible, “Thank you. I only wish the kids had liked it too.” He huffed, blow hole snorting air as he tucked his clawed hands into his pockets.

“I’m serious. It was really good!” You smiled at the intimidating male and pointed into the tank, “Would you like someone to walk around with, Sir?”

Kuugo eyed you with his piercing gaze, bright red eyes ringed in black, “I told you, Sir isn’t necessary...Kuugo is fine or Sakamata.” He grumbled before turning on his heels, mouth open in a small smile, “Come then, there is a display of the realistic size of the blue whale. It is impressive.”

“I had no idea! It must be a pretty big place. I might end up being here all day after all!” You laughed and the hero nodded his head, ducking past some more children as quickly as he could.

“Yes. Come then, I will show you the exhibits the charity donated towards.” Kuugo lead you through a set of double doors before ducking through himself, dorsal fin catching on the top as he moved through.

 The blue whale replica was huge. It was suspended from the ceiling, hanging immovable, great eyes peering at the tanks on the walls. You gazed upwards in awe of the model before Kuugo laughed, taking you over to a tank full of coral. Seahorses bobbed in the water calmly, wiggling between plants and kelp with careful precision.

“These were taken from a few places among the kelps near to Australia. Fishermen often scoop them out for kids aquariums. Hateful practice.” Gang Orca pushed a claw to the tank and the sea horses bobbed closer before swimming back to their food.

“I had no idea they did things like that.” You observed as he pointed to the name plates.

“They were all in a bucket on a little boat. The charity took them and rehomed them here. Many were injured with pieces of wire stuck around them.” He smiled at them, glad the little seahorses were back to full health and eating. They had been extremely ill the last time the charity workers had shown him around their working labs and rehabilitation centre. Kuugo was comforted by their recovery, as small as it may seem.

 “What about those?” You took his clawed hand in your own, unfazed, tugging the pro-hero along to the next large tank. It was full of thriving corals and little feeding fish. The balance was there to feed the fish and help the coral grow better by keeping them pest free.

“Much the same. A little fishing boat was caught stealing the fish and corals. They are here to live out their days in safety.” He answered coolly as you turned the flash off your phone to take a picture of the little feeding fish.

“This is all so amazing, Kuugo!” You cheered next to him, “What about the next thing? Eels?” The tank was dark until you peered at the bottom. There in the rocks were eels of all sizes, writhing out of their holes in the rocks and crockery in the bottom of their tank. They sat with their mouths open, staring back at you as you watched them wiggle.

Gang Orca huffed a laugh behind you at your shuddering, rubbing at his head, water shining on his great hands as he shook his head side to side.

 “Eels, yes. Other than them being rather boring, they live a long time, and enjoy doing that…gawking thing.” He leaned over, peering into the tank with a snort of his blowhole, clawed fingers pressed to the glass, “I don’t know a lot about them. Those deep-sea ones are practically immortal?” He huffed to himself, clicking at the back of his teeth as he gazed upwards at the blue whale model, “I will have to find out more information about those for next time.” He nodded to himself seriously.

You snickered at the pro-hero, “Don’t worry! I can just read the information placue.”

Kuugo blushed as he leaned over to squint at the information, “Ah, yes, I forgot about those.” He confessed quietly before leaning over your shoulder to read the information about the writhing eels as well, “Though I appear to have been far off the mark, hm?” He scratched at his dorsal fin before leaning back, giving you room to look into the tank again.

“Not too far off I’m sure, Kuugo. We all can’t know everything!”

He chuckled again and smiled with sharp teeth in his snout, “Right you are…Ah. How rude. I forgot to ask your name?”

You laughed at him, introducing yourself properly before listening to the killer whale softly say your name to himself.

“Come on then, Kuugo! You still have the whole aquarium to show me!” You cheering made him smile again, hands tucked in his pockets before you looped your arm through his own.

 At some point during the walk around, the children stopped running from his intimidating aura, instead rushing to ask him questions about his fins and the clicks he could produce.

“Children, please. I am trying to tell this kind-“

“IS THAT YOUR DATE MISTER WHALE?!” A little girl asked before gasping and rushing away to her mother.

“No that is not….”

“Mister Orca is on a date! We better go!”

“ORCA-SAN HAS A DATE?!”

They were quick to rush from his legs, little hands finding their parents’ again before they began chattering about how kind the pro-hero was. He grumbled and leaned down to let the girl off his shoulders. She too giggled, gazing between the both of you before rushing back to her father.

 “This is not a date.” He grunted, looking back at you with narrowed, red eyes.

“I know, Kuugo. But kids will be kids.” You linked your arms again and the pro-hero simply looked down before moving on, ushering you towards the exit with a huff and a wheeze.

“Excuse me for a moment.” He paused to uncap his water, dripping some into his hand before rubbing it over the thick skin of his head, slicking it with moisture before sighing through his mouth, blow hole closed tight.

“You know… Maybe the next one could be a date?” You teased as you scribbled your number on a piece of scrap paper. Kuugo felt his mouth drop open as you reached the exit, his clawed fingers taking the paper shakily.

“You would like to go out with me?” He was bewildered, “Even looking like…”

“Looking like a very handsome man?” You teased before taking his hand, “I would like to get to know you better and go out again yes!”

Kuugo’s sharp teeth snapped closed, “Then I will contact you…My schedule is busy but I will make time for this, I promise.”

“I expect nothing less from a pro-hero.” You teased, leaning up to kiss the man’s cheek, “Thank you for today. I would have been lost without my guide.”

“You are welcome.” He bowed his head, embarrassed as he watched you flounce away.

 “MAMA THE WHALE IS GOING TO EAT ME!!”

 He cringed and made a dash for his car and chauffeur. It seemed your lack of presence had turned the kids against him once again.

[wedreamedlove]

Official CN Character Profiles

Brought over from Reddit. This contains massive spoilers about the characters up to Chapter 18 (and a bit more).

Papergames released four official character books and a separate bonus one that goes on about the other organizations and minor characters. On the sites that are selling them, some of them have attached more previews of the contents, aka. the profiles of the men.

Chinese players did god's work and transcribed the profiles, so I've translated them.

Interestingly, it looks like the English server names really are their official English names now. No comment on Kiro's name but that's because "L" is tricky in Asian languages.

[NAME] 李泽言 (Li Zeyan) / Victor [AGE] 28 years old [HEIGHT] 183 cm [BIRTHDATE] January 13 [HOROSCOPE] Capricorn [BLOOD TYPE] A [OCCUPATION] CEO of Huarui (LFG in English) [EVOL] Time Manipulation [VOICE ACTOR] 吴磊 (Wu Lei)

Li Zeyan is the president of the Huarui Group. His personality is decisive and overbearing and his aura can fill a room. In university, he set out to start his own business and within a short 8 years he created a legend in the financial world --- the Huarui business group. Although Li Zeyan is young, he possesses an outstanding business acumen and an ability to carry things out. He is a "capitalist" who is strict and serious towards people and things. However, this sort of man also has a secret identity which reveals a hidden side of his character, which is being the manager and chef of the restaurant Souvenir.

[ABOUT HIM] Only ever talking about rules and regulations, not discussing emotions, and having a crushing decisiveness is Li Zeyan's calling card. He is not a kind philanthropist and he won't waste time or money on meaningless things; his company's interests will always be the focus of his considerations. He is like a lion, born with an emperor's aura, and keeping a foothold at the peak of the world with majesty and dominance.

Li Zeyan has a cold and indifferent outward appearance, but underneath is a soft heart. He is kind and it's his habit to help out a weak person or animal in passing. However, he knows the principle of survival of the fittest better than anyone and so he doesn't choose to help at all times. From the start, he has never been a savior and just tries his best to help the "weak" become "strong".

Li Zeyan's hidden identity is the manager and chef of the restaurant, Souvenir. This is a special restaurant and its business policies are very much in Li Zeyan's style; the food is delicious, but he only serves the people he wishes to serve, and almost no one knows that the odd manager of the restaurant Souvenir and the CEO of Huarui are actually the same person.

[ABOUT THE MEANING OF HIS NAME] At the time of his birth, his mother felt he was the most precious treasure bestowed by the heavens and wished for her own child to be blessed(1). Meanwhile, his father had high expectations for this child and hoped for him to be someone temperate in word and actions(2). In the end, they joined these two beautiful wishes and hopes into one name --- Zeyan.

(1) The word 恩泽 (en ze) is hard to translate but it's basically favor bestowed from a higher being to a lower being (ruler to their officials, nature to humans, etc).

(2) The phrase is 谨言慎行 (jin yan shenxing), which is to be cautious in words and deeds. I chose to translate it as temperate, but it's like being deliberate and knowing right and wrong in your words and actions.

[ABOUT HIS FAMILY] Li Zeyan was born into a happy family. His father was calm and dignified, his mother was lively and romantic, and this let Li Zeyan have a blessed childhood. His mother was a university professor and once went to study abroad in France. When Li Zeyan was 14 years old, she passed away due to an illness and Li Zeyan, who misses her dearly, will sometimes call to talk to his mother up in heaven; he also inherited a romantic and art-loving side from her.

[ABOUT HIS HOBBIES]

Top1: Work. He is worthy of being first place with respect to this. When he is in a bad mood, he will also use work to dispel his negative mood.

Top2: Cooking. He is an expert in French cuisine, and one of the dishes he prefers is beef stewed in red wine. Marseille seafood soup, and Burgundy grilled snails.

Top3: Art. In his leisure time, he will go to art exhibitions or listen to classical music.

[ABOUT HIS SECRETS] When he was a child, his father adopted a panda in his name at the Lian Yu (Loveland) Zoo; its name was Yan Yan.

When he is anxious, he will choose to look at the nightscape of the city from a high location.

His regular routine is to sleep at 10PM and get up at 4AM to jog. Surprisingly, he's very popular with cats.

His house is decorated with a very expensive piano, but he's not that good at playing it.

[OTHERS' EVALUATION OF HIM]

"Evaluation? Can I rate my boss? If I have to say something -- he has a first-class business acumen, is incomparably wise, and is a bold leader. I often feel like the disparity between me and him is as wide as the Amazon River! (Can I get a bonus at the end of the year?)" --- Wei Qian (Goldman in English)

"The manager is a very interesting person. Regardless of how other people see him, the young man I am familiar with is someone who hums songs while peeling shrimp, who will stare entranced at the dessert on the verge of being done in the oven, and, when there is no business in the restaurant, he will open a bottle of red wine and eat and talk with me like an ordinary person." --- Mr. Cai (Mr. Mills in English)

"I say, our Li Zeyan is good everywhere, but the only one bad thing is that he's already 28 years old this year, but he still thinks about work all the time. How can this be?" --- Li Zeyan's Aunt

[NAME] 许墨 (Xu Mo) / Lucien [AGE] 26 [HEIGHT] 180 cm [BIRTHDATE] November 15 [HOROSCOPE] Scorpio [BLOOD TYPE] AB [OCCUPATION] Neurologist / Guest Professor at the Lian Yu University (Loveland University) [EVOL] Copy [VOICE ACTOR] 夏磊 (Xia Lei)

Xu Mo is a well-educated, talented, and quiet young professor. Outwardly, he is the leading scientist in the field of neurology and extremely persistent with scientific studies, but in fact he hides unknown secrets. Although he is gentle towards people, he makes people feel that there is a sense of distance, and it is difficult to really enter his inner world.

[ABOUT HIM] In the eyes of the public, Xu Mo is a young and remarkable neurologist and a guest professor at Lian Yu University. He is serious and persistent towards his scientific research, which is how he's obtained extraordinary achievements. At 26 years old, he has already obtained achievements that most people wouldn't get in a lifetime. There is no other word better to describe him than "genius".

The progress of science is often accompanied by many failed experiments, and towards those failed experiments Xu Mo will feel regret. But at the same time he believes that it is a kind of honor to contribute to a better future for humankind. Under his elegant and gentle face, there hides an inexplicable dark side which is the most deadliest poison.

Xu Mo grew up in a happy family of intellectuals. He was called a genius from birth, but on his 7th birthday his whole family met with a car accident and only he survived. Members of Black Swan saved the dying Xu Mo and ever since then Xu Mo is a member of Black Swan. After coming back from studying abroad, he returned anew to the organization with the code name Ares, and participated in the secret genetic modification project.

[ABOUT THE MEANING OF HIS NAME] Too much time has passed and Xu Mo has almost already forgotten his original name. The "Mo(1)" in his name was once his mother's favorite word. This word represents pen and ink, a literary family, and the black and white world in his eyes.

(1) The word is 墨 (mo) which means ink.

[ABOUT HIS FAMILY] Xu Mo was born from a scholarly family. His parents were highly talented and leading researchers, but their personalities were easygoing and, although their work kept them very busy, they did not neglect caring for Xu Mo. Before the car accident they were a very happy and ordinary family.

[ABOUT HIS HOBBIES]

Top1: People Watching. He has a curiosity towards new things and occasionally, for the sake of observing humans, he will do some amazing things that do not suit his usual image, such as watching animations.

Top2: Films. He likes to study European classics and some old movies, and he often goes to see movies late at night.

Top3: Drawing. He once used to like drawing, but he's not very good at it. He can only draw very realistic sketches and has no creativity.

[ABOUT HIS SECRETS] His world is black and white and only by your side can he see colors.

He has a memory that doesn't forget anything he's looked over, is good at logic and observation, and is a "God" in the Werewolf game(2).

(2) I believe in English it's more commonly known as the Mafia game.

His sense of taste isn't too sensitive, but it's not completely absent either.

In his circle of friends, there is only one person who he replies to. Sometimes he drives a black SUV but he much prefers walking home from the lab.

[OTHERS' EVALUATION OF HIM]

"Little Xu, ah, he's an especially outstanding young man. It's rare to encounter or even meet a scientist who researches with such intensity, not to mention he's so easy to get along with. There's a lot of young ladies who like him in the institute, but it seems like he has no thoughts towards this at all." --- The Dean (of the University)

"Xu Mo? We've only seen one side, but he looks a lot like the small boy I knew when I was young, but Xu Mo's attitude is much more modest. If that boy is still alive, I hope he's living like someone as likable as Xu Mo." --- Fan Zihang

"We're similar and he's the only one worthy of being my opponent, although he's becoming more and more disappointing. If we were to cooperate, we would definitely be able to control this world!" --- Hades

[NAME] 白起 (Bai Qi) / Gavin [AGE] 24 [HEIGHT] 181 cm [BIRTHDATE] July 29 [HOROSCOPE] Leo [BLOOD TYPE] B [OCCUPATION] Evol Agent [EVOL] Wind Control [VOICE ACTOR] 张杰 (Zhang Jie)

Bai Qi is an Evol agent, who recently took the initiative to be transferred to the Lian Yu (Loveland) police bureau. Acting as a special officer, he conceals his true purposes and actions. Although his personality is rebellious, stubborn, and intractable but he has his own principles of doing things. This sort of personality constantly gives others a dangerous feeling, so that it is hard for people who have just met him to see him as an Evol agent.

[ABOUT HIM] Bai Qi is a brave and decisive man, and also filled with an utterly fearless and adventurous spirit. Rather than using words, he is more inclined to using actions to express his heart. He is like a wolf, seeming to be alone, dangerous, and he walks through the world doing things his own way. But when he sets his mind on someone or something, he becomes extremely steadfast and loyal, and that will never be easily shaken.

Bai Qi has many informant friends that belong in the gray zone, and he often breaks what's known as the rules of convention. He uses methods that don't look so "just" to achieve his goals. Because of this, there's many people who can't understand him and feel that his actions are inappropriate. Towards all these misunderstandings, Bai Qi doesn't bother to explain and doesn't care. Even if no one understands, he will use his own ways to protect his convictions.

Before he came to the police bureau, Bai Qi had been in the special forces for four years. There, he was tempered to become strong and sharp, and he became a person who could control everything in any dangerous situation. His joining of the special forces symbolizes the difference of his justice compared to his father. He will not give up on someone for any reason. If a sacrifice is necessary, then he will choose to face it alone.

[ABOUT THE MEANING OF HIS NAME] Before the child was born, the Bai family's study was lit up all night long. No one knows what hopes that strict man there once had for his first child. He named his child "Bai Qi" in the hopes that he would be like the Warring States general, Bai Qi, brave and bold and triumphing in every battle.

[ABOUT HIS FAMILY] There were expectations given with Bai Qi's birth, and his father was extremely strict on him. When he was young, and after he was identified as being an ordinary person with no Evol, he was thought of to be a "pointless waste" and was met with extreme indifference. But at that time, he had a gentle mother. His mother loved him dearly but died when he was 15 years old because of a large fire. Bai Qi also has a younger brother and their relationship was very good when they were young, but after their mother died the relationship between the brothers became poor.

[ABOUT HIS HOBBIES]

Top1: Going for a spin on "Lil' Black". He enjoys the speed and passion of freedom at the edge of the city at night.

Top2: Astronomy. He likes the stars, and once did some research on them. He also really enjoys soaring through the night sky, the feeling of looking up at the stars, and Jupiter.

Top3: Boxing. Bai Qi's secret place is a boxing gym. He's great at all sports, but he likes boxing the most.

[ABOUT HIS SECRETS] He loves to eat beef noodles, spicy things, and normally he eats takeaway or instant noodles; he's not particularly obsessed with delicious food.

He used to like playing single-player fighting games, but recently he hasn't played much.

He doesn't like to wear suits, and even if he has to wear one then he can't properly tie a necktie.

He likes science fiction and magazines with pictures like the National Geographic.

Either he doesn't sleep at night, or he sleeps very early.

[OTHERS' EVALUATION OF HIM]

"Our boss? Then of course he's someone who can move heaven and earth, omnipotent, a one man army, triumphant in every battle... Sorry, I've omitted 500 words of objective compliments for my bro, Bai Qi, but basically he's the person I admire the most!" --- Hanye (Minor)

"He's a trustworthy comrade and the only person in the special forces who I can completely entrust my back with. It's not because he once saved me in the past, but because he's just this sort of trustworthy man." --- Guzheng (Eli)

"Bai Qi is excellent and one day he will be the "sharp blade" of the special forces. The only pity is that he is too attached to the justice in his own heart, and he's blinded his own eyes. But at the same time I am looking forward to what road his convictions will take him to." --- Commander Lianji (Leto? I believe in English)

[NAME] 周棋洛 (Zhou Qiluo) / Kilo / Kiro [AGE] 22 [HEIGHT] 176 cm [BIRTHDATE] April 9 [HOROSCOPE] Aries [BLOOD TYPE] O [OCCUPATION] Superstar [EVOL] Absolute Charm / Absolute Control [VOICE ACTOR] 边江 (Bian Jiang)

Zhou Qiluo is an idol who shines like the sun. He was born a child star and it cost him a lot(1) to become a superstar. But he never thought about giving up and he is very strict on the demands for himself and is a perfectionist. Although outwardly he looks like a big kid, the maturity in his heart is not small. In addition to his occupation as a star and performer, he also has multiple identities and a secret goal.

(1) This is a bit vague, but I'm pretty sure it doesn't mean money. I think it means that it took a lot of effort and things had to be sacrificed for him to become a superstar.

[ABOUT HIM] A cheerful sunlight, extraordinary charm, and an open sincerity. These are the labels for the idol, Zhou Qiluo. An idol's work is very busy, but he never once complains; he just tries to show his best side to the audience. This young superstar understands clearly the ways of the world and the dark side of reality, but he always walks on the path towards the light.

Zhou Qiluo likes an ordinary and everyday life, so he often dresses up in a disguise and goes to the marketplace or takes a walk. At the same time, he also really likes shadow technology(2). He has a natural gift for computer-related things. As a hacker, his skills are above anyone else. He made the name of his master, KEY, which he took on, rise again in the community(3) of hackers, and he became another person who guards the light in the dark.

(2) The word here is 黑科技 (hei keji) which literally means "black technology" but it's a word from comics that means magical and amazing technology which breaks the laws of the world or what cannot be explained with current human knowledge.

(3) The word here is 江湖 (jianghu) which is the term used for a community of martial artists (those who read Chinese novels would be familiar with this), but it can also be used as a term for a community of outlaws, aka. hackers.

Zhou Qiluo also has a mysterious third identity, which is that of Helios in Black Swan. When he acts as Helios, he is silent and decisive. If it weren't for having the same appearance, it would be hard for someone to think that they were the same person. If Zhou Qiluo could be said to be the sun, then Helios is the moon hidden in the night. But regardless of whether he is in the light or the darkness, he is himself.

[ABOUT THE MEANING OF HIS NAME] Once he was called 1562, later he was called 3684, then even later he was called Zhou Qiluo; in his life, any decision is to be made without regrets(4) or turning back. When KEY gave him this name, it was with the hopes that once he made a decision he would keep moving with an indomitable will without being lost and confused.

(4) The phrase is 落棋无悔 (luo qi wu hui). It means to not regret a play (chess move) you make.

[ABOUT HIS FAMILY] He was an orphan who was taken in and raised by Shuang Ye Orphanage. Like the other orphans, he was an experiment of Black Swan.

Apple Box is a Golden Retriever that Zhou Qiluo picked up from an apple box. Apple Box is being looked after in his manager's home.

Cello is a cat that Zhou Qiluo found in a cello box. Cello is being raised in the studio.

[ABOUT HIS HOBBIES]

Top1: Music. Music is an indispensable part to his life; guitar, cello, drums... in the world of music he can do anything.

Top2: Food. He likes to eat doughnuts, drink Coca Cola, and eat hotpot. He believes his one love and good food can never disappoint.

Top3: Superhero Movies. He likes to watch all kinds of blockbusters, but especially superhero movies. His favorite is the one without superpowers, Batman.

[ABOUT HIS SECRETS] Compared to single player games, he prefers social games. He likes the feeling of playing with other people.

His guitar pick was gifted to him by his master, KEY.

His secret base is a quiet lake near his home. There are carp in the lake.

He likes to eat doughnuts because of a promise in his childhood.

[OTHERS' EVALUATION OF HIM]

"Our family's Qiluo is naturally peerless and I've never met an artist as naturally gifted as him! As long as this momentum keeps going, he will definitely be able to trend until I retire. The precondition is that he doesn't sneak off to eat!" --- Shen Yuan (Savin in English)

"Kilo is a very gentle child. It's possible many people only see his sunny, bright side, but he has his own weaknesses and sorrows. I hope that one day my child can obtain real happiness." --- Eva Seidel

"When I first saw him, he was only 4 years old, thin and small, and looking like he wouldn't live past a day. But there was a light in his eyes and so I took him away. I didn't see wrong, that the child at that time who yearned for the light would gradually become a sun that could illuminate other people." --- KEY

[imhisknife]

FANCY DATE (pt. 1/?) JAVIER x READER

AN RDR2 ONESHOT 

-   FANCY DATE (pt. 1/?) (Javier x Fem Reader)

WC: 2,800

SUMMARY: 

You and Javier have a fancy date planned, but unlike him, you haven’t always been the best dresser. He takes you to the Saint Denis tailor to “help” you out. (BASICALLY... SHOPPING WITH YOUR BF JAVIER)

CONTENT:

- fLUFF!!! - but ummm... a bit more hOT AND STEAMY THAN MY OTHER STORIES WILL BE 

NOTE:  some parts of this is lowkey inspired by the AO3 story HorseFeathers... (sorry, but I loved that shit, js)

　··　　　°　　　　　　.　•　　　　.　　　.　　　　　 　　　　.　°　　✸*　.　　　✶　　　　　　　　　°　°° 　　　        "What's wrong with what I'm wearing, huh?" You rested a hand at your hip, while your other hand held a silver pail. You were in the middle of chores when Javier pulled you aside to discuss his weekend plans with you. You were touched that he thought of it all, but you were suspicious about needing ‘fancier attire’.

        "Oh, nothing, nothing—but um..." He tilted his head, talking carefully as if he didn't want to offend. You had a grey shirt on with the sleeves rolled at your forearms. It had a simple design embroidered into it — but that was all it was — simple. You wore a long, silk skirt along with it. It had been a pretty thing... once. It was red, hemmed up to your knees to show a bit of your black leather boots beneath; but now it was faded by the sun, worn by the work, and in some areas there were small tears and rips. 

        "I can get these stitched in no time," You say, following his eyes and feeling a little embarrassed. "There's really no need to—,"

        Before you could object, he was scooping at your waist and pulling you close to him. You dropped your pail and it rolled away on the floor. You were about to complain, when Javier suddenly held your face so you couldn’t look away. His touch was gentle though, just like his tone. "Although you'd look beautiful wearing old rags, mi amor, what man would I be, to not spoil you? Hmm? And you can't say no to me this time,"

        Lost in his brown eyes, you knew you really couldn't say no. Besides, you remembered all the different occasions he had offered to buy you things. To take you places. To dote upon you. You were just so difficult. 

        "Well, Javi...” You still tried to protest, “I do have other dresses, you know—?”

        He spoke over you, as if he didn't hear. "Hmm, you would be so stunning with a new ensemble. So stunning with pearls at your neck. Matching earrings... a shawl over your shoulders. I could you get in a white dress too someday—,"

        "Alright, alright," You say, flushing a deep red. "Let's just get it over with...”

        Javier smiled wide. "Vamanos, mi hermosa,”

*        *        *

        When you and Javier get to Saint Denis, your heart ached for him. You noticed all the staring, heard all the racial slurs being whispered as you and him passed. You glare back at them, grinding your teeth in your mouth. You want to do more, however. You want to turn back and throw up a-not-so subtle gesture but it's almost like Javier could read your mind, sense your distress, because he grabbed your hand and squeezed it tight. You felt comforted, and paid a lot less attention to it everyone else. Though it might've worked for a little while... you had just about reached your limit when you two walked into the tailor.

        "Are you lost, sir?" A voice said, colored with disgust.

        You hardly looked at the guy who said it, before you spoke up, loud and curt. "No," You answered, before Javier could. You pulled him close to you. "We're not,"

        The man was old with a bald spot at the top of his head. He looked shocked by your words. He studied the both of you, still doubtful. "Well... a lot of what we have in stock here is quite expensive, are you sure that—?"

        Having dealt with these kinds of things all his life, Javier might have known how to keep his cool. But you didn't. You pulled a revolver from your satchel and held it in front of the man's face.

        "Just close the shop and give us fifteen minutes,"

        When you did it, Javier sighed. He couldn't help but grin a little though, seeing you so stoic and resolute. A part of you wished you were like him in more ways that one... sure, at the end of the day you may come out dressed significantly better but there was no changing your ill-temper and boldness. He knew it himself.

        "Knowing us, mi amor," He chuckled lightly, "I'd say we need a little longer than that," He didn't try to stop you as he passed, instead he was already scanning the place.

        You agreed with a shrug and looked at the cashier. The man had his arms thrown up in the air and was staring at you with wide eyes. You smiled fleetingly. "Just keep quiet until we're done, please?" You looked to his side and saw a door. It must have been a closet. 

        While gesturing with your gun, you told him to get in there. The man nodded more than once, gulping as he obeyed you, twisting open the door and vanishing inside.

        "Alright..." You say, stuffing your gun away. “What’s this expensive stock?”

        Your eyes glossed over the mannequins. Ridiculous hats stood on display and you flicked your fingers at a long feather sewed onto one of them. You rarely ever went shopping much — and never in a fancy place like this. Seeing the options, though, a part of you felt like you weren't missing out too much. 

         “Javier,” You groaned in annoyance. “I don't know about this...” 

        "Ah, be quiet,” He said over his shoulder. “This’ll be fine,”

        You went on for a few minutes struggling to find something you liked. It didn’t take long for Javier, though. 

        He had something in his hand and he was waving you over to him. “C’mere and try this for me,”

        “Me?” 

        “No, the tailor... yes, you!”

        You walk over and look at what he was holding with a grimace. When you made no move to take it, he cocked his head.

        “Do you need me to put it on for you, or—?”

        Half-annoyed by his teasing, you snatched the dress and set it beside you as you began to undress.

        You had to crane your neck to the floor every time you undid the ties of your corset. But once it was off and your blouse dropped loosely at your shoulders, you felt yourself being pulled away. Without warning, your back was against the wall and Javier had his arms at your sides, keeping you there.

        “Or...” He said, smiling at the sight of you trapped by him. 

         “Do you need me to undress you...?” His voice trailed. And so did his hands. He went from kissing your open mouth, to grazing your bare shoulders.

       “Javier,” You said, stiffening behind his touch. Although you didn’t want him to stop, you couldn’t bring yourself to match his building aggression. “I pulled a gun on the tailor to be in here... I think we should be quick, don’t you?”

        He laughed against your neck. “Oh, I can be quick—,”

        “That’s not what I meant—,”

        “No?” Your blouse fell lower and he started kissing your collarbone. 

        ”Javier!” You hissed.

        ”Ay, I’m just toying with you,” He withdrew, turning on his heels. He was chuckling to himself while you rolled your eyes, flushing with heat. You held the dress close to your chest as you watched him look through the store, whistling.

        He threw two more dresses your way and you sighed, taking them into you arms as you went to head into the changing room. 

        "Why don't you just change in here?" You heard him say. 

        "It would be too much excitement for you, it seems,"

         He made a tsk sound but let you go. 

        You went to the other room. You had no trouble... until you slipped inside the new dress and found that you couldn't tie up the laces at your back on your own. With pursed lips you shuffled out to get his help. He smirked devilishly when you did. And boy, did he take his time with it. He was humming, his fingers brushing the bare skin of you back. It sent tingles down your spine, but you tried not to show it. You knew what he was doing. Knew he was stalling. After a few seconds you folded your arms across your chest impatiently. 

        "Having trouble?" You huff, your voice thick was sass. Just as you said it, he took the strings and gave them a tug - one so sudden and forceful it made you yelp.

         "Fun—actually," He corrected, tying a knot and speaking close to your ear.  "Now turn around,"

        You did as he said with a deep scowl. When you turned, Javier had a hand at his chin and his eyes moved over you lazily. 

        "Mi amor,” He drawled after some time of silence. “You’re so sexy when you're angry—,”

        "Oh, save it. Is it good enough or what?"

        "Sure, it’s beautiful... but all I want to do is take the dress right off you again—,"

        Before he could touch you, you stormed back into the changing room to see for yourself. In there, you realized the dress looked a lot better than it did when handed to you. Javier had an eye for this kind of stuff, and you couldn’t deny it. But the longer you looked, you found that you didn't feel comfortable in it. It seemed to much. Too cluttered. It just wasn't you.

        You told him that — and he was more than happy to help you out of the dress and keep looking. Every now and then, though, you’d feel him from behind you, pulling you back against his own body. Sure, he was a lot more helpful you could’ve hoped — but he also had a habit of getting carried away, too. You had to cut him some slack though. It wasn’t every day you two could be alone. You yourself wanted something more than the simple pecks you would give each other at camp, but still you knew that someone had to have an ounce of restraint. You had to remember... your goal was to tease him just like he was teasing you... and this date tomorrow? You wanted it to be special. You couldn’t spoil all the fun now.

        The next time he made a move on you, he had taken you in by the waist and slumped into a chair, bringing you down with him. He had you in his lap, your legs hanging over the arm rest. He kissed you long enough to leave you breathless and when you felt his hands moving over you, you heart was racing wildly. Before he could get too far, however, you stopped them.

        “Javi,” You whispered into him, drawing back.

        “What is it? Am I hurting you?”

         Far from it. But you didn’t tell him that. Instead, you sighed, turning away from a kiss — knowing fully well how that drove him crazy — and tapped your fingers lightly against his chest.

         “Javi, if we were to... you know...”

         “Yes...?” He asked, the slight impatience in his voice making you crack a smile.

         “Well... I...”

         “Yes, Y/N...?"

         “Well, I wouldn’t want to in place where an older man is an earshot away,” You slipped off his lap and stood in front of him, shaking your head like you were talking to a child. "Can you control yourself, please?"

        Javier lolled back into the seat, looking upset, but huffing in agreement. "Fine,"

        Though he finally stopped trying to grab at you, it didn’t lessen that lusty look he had in his eyes whenever you put something new on and went to show him.

         You tried on a few more dresses, skirts and blouses, some you picked, some he picked — but you still felt yourself getting more and more annoyed.

        “You can’t just say you like them all,” You chided Javier, yanking at the skirt of your dress so it laid straight against your legs as you stood before him.

        He looked confused. “But I do,”

        “Oh, please, that last dress had pink ruffles—,” You grimaced incredulously, but he cut you off. 

         “On anyone else I’d say no. But you — you can pull it off," Javier gave a shake of his head. "Y’know... I don't think you're aware of your own beauty, mi amor. You’re always trying to hide it, but there's just too much. And dressing modestly like you usually do... it isn’t gonna stop people from looking... it never stopped me,"

         You start to argue, but stammer and shut your mouth. You found it hard to believe him when he said things like that. You never thought of yourself as beautiful, let alone all that attractive. You knew, however, that if Javier caught you doubting his compliments or being critical of yourself and your looks, he’d go on an even longer rant of flattery and praise, with sadistic threats in between. Then he'd end it off with saying he ‘was only trying to make you love yourself just as much as he loved you’. Your heart fluttered and not wanting him to have to go off again — you sighed.

         “Alright, fine... but eventually you’ll have to make up your mind up and help me pick just one. I—I don’t want to go back to camp with 10 pounds of clothes.”

         “Fair enough,” He said. “But you be honest with yourself, alright? You’re saying no to these dresses because it’s not what you’re used to. But if you know you like it, then hermosa... it’s all yours,”

         A few more minutes passed until you had finally pulled into something that made you stop and stare at your reflection. It might’ve been the one... but a part of you was still unsure. 

         When you came out, Javier was sitting down at the table, rocking back in the chair. Once he turned to you, he stopped rocking and let the chair fall hard against the floor. 

         “That’s it. That’s the one,” He said, pointing at you. 

         “Oh, c’mon," You started to blush. "You’re just saying that because you want to get out of here...”

         He snorted. “You’re kidding, right? You’re over here strutting around half-naked and you think I want this to be over with?” He stood up and dragged you over to the mirror again. 

        "Look. You know it, too. I see it in your eyes. You like this one... admit it,” He was beside you, brushing his fingers through your hair as you looked at yourself again. You started to smile with him.

        “Aha! Eres una preciosa mujer, lo sabes también,”

        You tried to force the smile down as he planted kisses all over it. “But vanity is a sin, Mr. Escuella—!” (You knew bringing that up always drove him crazy too).

        “Oh, shut up. Killing's a sin too, but it’s just part of our lives, ain’t it?”

         He gave you another kiss. Then you went out picking the smaller things, shoes and accessories, to complete your new ensemble. When you were done — you found that Javier was still browsing as well. 

        “Wait—why are you looking for more clothes?”

        He almost looked offended. “We have to match,” He said to you, before continued. Soon Javier had found a black suit, with a tie and vest that went beautifully with the colors of your own outfit

        And finally; the two of you were done. A part of you was against the idea of bothering to wake up the tailor at the front of the store, but the better of you had you doing it anyways. You knocked on the door with your revolver and let the man out. You had found him in the fetal position and you almost felt bad. 

        “Sorry,” You tell him, "but we’re ready to pay now,”

        The man looked baffled, walking back to the register as you smiled sweetly.

        Javier pulled a wad of cash out of his vest pocket and slapped it onto the counter. You weren’t sure of how much it was, but you did know it was enough to get the owner drooling and Javier grinning as smug as a peacock. 

        He hit the guy's shoulder. Although it was nothing more than a teasing hit, the man looked like he had jumped out of his skin. Javier smirked even bigger. “Why don't you keep the change?"

        You kept your gun on the man as he collected the money. "Oh, and... this never happened, understood? You never saw us,"

        The man only nodded.

        Then Javier hooked you by the arm and hauled you out of there. His smile grew bigger as you both hit the streets. 

        “Look at that... they’re already staring,” He whispered close to your ear.

        “I know. Thanks a lot — it’s all ‘cause of your skin color,” You said sarcastically.

        He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and snatched up your hand. Your fingers interwove with his and he planted a kiss on them.

        “Te amo, mi amor, even though you are difficult,” 

        “I know I am,” You smirked. “Por eso te amo, Javier..."

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⁀➷｡˚⸙͎۪۫⋆ ༄ 

  AN: if my Spanish is wRONG, I AM SO SORRY & please correct me.  but anyways, thanks for reading! Please let me know if I should write about the date ;)

​​​​​​​ ⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⁀➷｡˚⸙͎۪۫⋆ ༄

ig / wattpad: @imhisknife 

[aquietwritingcorner]

Comfortember 2020 Day 4: Anxiety Word Count: 1105 Author: Katie/Ally (aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl)   Rating: T Characters:  Sheska, Alex Armstrong Warnings: NA Summary: Sheska’s always had trouble with anxiety, but she’s tried to hide it. Things don’t always stay hidden, though. Notes:  I love Sheska and her quirkiness, and I love gentle giant Alex Armstrong.

  Anxiety

  There had always been a reason that Sheska liked going back in the stacks. It wasn’t just because of all of the interesting files and books that she could find back in them—although that certainly was a boon—but it was also because it was easy to hide back there. She could get disappear in them, and it was hard for anyone to find her, or for anyone to hear her, which gave her time when she needed it.

She was currently pretty far back in the stacks, squatting on the ground with her arms wrapped around her knees. The files she was supposed to be putting away were on the floor next to her, still stacked neatly. She, however, was taking gasping breaths and doing her best to try to regulate them, although she wasn’t having too much luck. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to concentrate. She had always had problems with anxiety, ever since she was young. She had ways to deal with it, but sometimes a panic attack just took her by surprise, and she had to ride it out.

It was because of this, that she didn’t hear the footsteps approaching until he was practically on top of her and addressing her.

“Private Sheska?”

Major Armstrong’s voice rumbled out, and her eyes flew open. Her panic rose, and she started trying to scramble up, although all she really succeeded in was somehow tripping and ending up on her hands and knees. She tried to gather up the files, at least, and not spill them. “S-s-sir!” she said, trying not to sound as breathless as she felt. “I-I-I um, I-I j-just—”

She was trying to find her words, but all she was managing to do was stutter through breaths that were becoming harder to take. She let out a distressed little noise and stopped in her frantic scrambling as it got worse. She could feel the major drop to a knee beside her and felt his hand gently rest on her back.

“It’s alright, Sheska,” he said. “Just breathe with me. In, and out. In, and out. Yes, that’s a girl. Just breathe with me.”

Somehow, even though he was her boss and she should have been even more anxious, something about his gentle words and kind tone helped to calm her down. She did has he asked, and, although it took some time, eventually her breaths evened out and she didn’t feel the crushing anxiety she had a moment ago. She was sitting on the ground, her files clutched to her, Major Armstrong kneeling next to her. She turned her face to look up at him, nervous.

“Are you feeling better, Sheska?” he asked, his gaze focused on her.

She met his eyes, afraid of the judgement she’d find there. But to her surprise, there was none. Only a gentle concern and understanding. “Y-yes, sir,” she said. “I… I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean—”

He shook his head. “Please, don’t apologize. You have nothing to apologize for.”

She but her lip and looked back down. “Thank you, sir,” she said.

They were both quiet for a moment, neither one of them moving. She knew that she should say something, that she should be offering up an explanation or something for what happened. She needed to do or say something so that he didn’t think ill of her, or report it, or—

“Do you have these often, Sheska?” he asked her, his voice soft.

Too late. Her breath hitched and she tried not to panic again. “Um… sort of,” she said. “I, um, I’ve always had trouble with anxiety. S-Sometimes it spills over like this.”

“And what do you do about it?” he asked her.

“I um… I try to just… just ride it out,” she said. “There’s not a lot I can do.” She bit her lip. “Oh, please, Major, don’t report me! I promise I won’t let it interfere in my work! I need this job! I need to make sure that I can keep paying for my mother’s hospital bills! I—”

“Sheska, Sheska, calm down,” he said, interrupting her. “I’m not going to report you.”

“You—you’re not?” she said, more than a little surprised.

He shook his head. “No. I don’t see a need to. You’re not the first person to suffer from such things, and it’s never been a problem before.”

“…Oh.” She had never considered that before.

“Have you ever seen anyone for this?” he asked her.

“Um… once, as a kid. Mom thought that maybe it would help. But all he did was give me a really expensive pill that made me really tired and made it hard to think. Mom didn’t like it, but it was too expensive to see anyone else, so she took me off of it and we never went back.” It wasn’t as if they had a lot of money when she was a child, and she hadn’t liked the way that medicine made her feel anyway.

“I see,” he said. He seemed to pause, thinking. “If you wish, I can set you up an appointment with someone who is much more reputable then that. He won’t make you take any medicine you don’t want to take and is good at working with therapy instead.”

“Oh, um,” that sounded expensive, and she wasn’t sure that she could afford that either. “I… I appreciate it, Major, but, well, I’m not sure I can afford—”

“Nonsense,” he said with confidence. “There are ways around that.” He looked at her very intently. “I want the best for my subordinates. I will make sure that you are taken care of. That includes your mental well-being.”

She blinked at him, surprised at his words, but she was positive that he was sincere. She looked back down at the files in her arms, not sure how to react to this. “Um…well… okay, I guess. Th-thank you, sir.”

“Splendid!” he said, seeming to perk up at that. “Do you feel well enough to continue on with your work?”

She nodded. “Yes, I feel better now, sir.”

“Then let us leave,” he said, standing up “and we’ll get some tea. It’s good for the body and the mind.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, and let him help her up.

Maybe… maybe the major could help her. Maybe there was something to be done about this. Or maybe there wasn’t. She was grateful, nonetheless. As he escorted her out, his hand still gentle on her back, she reflected on how lucky she was that she had a boss that cared this much about her.

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Tuesday 24 April 1832: SH:7/ML/E/15/0058

8 10

12

- finis morn[in]g F[ahrenheit] 58° on my dress[in]g tab[le] at 8 10/.. - ver[y] lit[tle] poky r[oo]m b[u]t slept pret[ty] well and feel the bet[ter] for it - br[eak]f[a]st at 9 3/4 - wr[ote] a lit[tle] no[te] to L[ad]y S- [Stuart] for Miss H- [Hobart] to gi[ve] on h[e]r arriv[a]l to say I w[oul]d dine w[i]th h[e]r tomor[row] - w[e]nt out at 10 55/.. (alone - too early for Miss H- [Hobart] to venture out in the so m[u]ch cold[e]r sharp[e]r air th[a]n that of Hast[in]gs) - walk[e]d all r[ou]nd the place - to Calvary park - none admitt[e]d b[u]t by a tick[e]t fr[om] the propriet[o]r who nev[e]r refuses it to respectab[le] visit[an]ts - nice place to walk in - sev[era]l neat look[in]g h[ou]ses there - on[l]y 2 of th[e]m to let - then walk[e]d r[ou]nd and g[o]t int[o] the park n[ea]r the houses - w[e]nt int[o] the ch[ur]ch - ver[y] new and neat plain goth[i]c - serv[i]ce at the ti[me] - w[e]nt in for a min[ute] or 2 - w[e]nt int[o] Sharp’s gr[ea]t Tunbridge ware shop n[ea]r Mount Ephraim (on the Lond[on] r[oa]d) the gr[ea]t court end high airy situat[io]n chosen by all who can get there - In the h[ei]ght of the seas[o]n (July Aug[u]st and Sept[embe]r) apart[men]ts are at a guin[ea] a bed per week (i.e. lits de maître) serv[an]ts beds includ[e]d - b[u]t at oth[e]r ti[me]s and ev[e]n May and June a 12 guin[ea] apart[men]t to be h[a]d for 3 or 4 guin[ea]s - gr[ea]t deal of good comp[an]y co[me] for the east[e]r holidays - a fortn[i]ght or 3 weeks that the houses of parliam[en]t do n[o]t sit - bought a playing card case for Miss H- [Hobart] who dad [did] give me a purse got yesterday at Hastings and a little Tunbridge ruler got last night on our arrival -  she said it was the first thing I had given her since the Denouement (that is the offer and acceptance) - It rain[e]d a lit[tle] - walk[e]d b[a]ck al[on]g the fine op[e]n com[mo]n that seems a contin[uan]ce of M[oun]t Ephraim, and intersect[e]d in all direct[io]ns w[i]th walks br[ou]ght me d[o]wn in front of our hot[e]l - then exam[ine]d the Sussex hot[e]l a new, clean, large handso[me] look[in]g h[ou]se - then met Miss H- [Hobart] in the Pantiles now call[e]d parade and took 2 or 3 turns togeth[e]r there and I tast[e]d the spring a ver[y] weak chalybeate at the near end of the parade - s[ai]d I w[a]s qui[te] charm[e]d w[i]th the pl[a]ce and jok[e]d ab[ou]t return[in]g or liv[in]g there or near - It is really one of the prett[ie]st nicest wat[erin]g places I ev[e]r saw - I sh[oul]d ha[ve] no object[io]n to being there w[i]th L[ad]y G- [Gordon] if go[in]g to Fr[an]ce just now is n[o]t qui[te] practicab[le] on acc[oun]t of cholera - our bill at the Roy[a]l Kentish hot[e]l n[o]t sm[all] consid[erin]g our hav[in]g no wine, and our mod[era]te din[ner] and sm[all] r[oo]ms = 40/2. for our 2 selves and my 2 servants - c[oul]d n[o]t surely ha[ve] been dear[e]r at the Sussex, c[oul]d we ha[ve] been tak[e]n in there - Off at 1 40/.. - pret[ty] dri[ve] (5 m[ile]s) to Tunbridge - beaut[iful] dri[ve] fr[om] T- [Tunbridge] to Sevenoaks (pron[nounce]d Senoks [Se..?] ŏks) and ver[y] pret[ty] to the top of Madame’s court hill ab[ou]t 1/2 way bet[ween] 7 oaks and Bromely and fr[om] all along w[hi]ch a fine look d[o]wn (left) on the rich wood[e]d valley bel[ow] - n[o]t so pret[ty] b[u]t still pret[ty] fr[om] this long hill to Bromley a nice lit[tle] vil[lage] or town en[ou]gh - th[e]n beg[a]n to shew of nearness to Lond[on] by crowds of peop[le] and carr[ia]ges - Miss H- [Hobart] s[ai]d it w[a]s Greenwich fair w[hi]ch w[oul]d ma[ke] so[me] diff[eren]ce - at Whitehall at 6 1/2 - L[ad]y S- [Stuart] w[oul]d ha[ve] me go in for a min[ute] or 2, and th[e]refo[re] I d[i]d oth[er]wise it h[a]d been plann[e]d bet[ween] Miss H- [Hobart] and me n[o]t to do so - 10 min[ute]s th[e]re and alight[e]d at 29 Albermale st[ree]t at 6 50/.. - ord[ere]d tea immed[iatel]y, b[u]t h[a]d to wait for it an h[ou]r - amus[e]d mys[elf] w[i]th read[in]g the 2 last Globes - L[ad]y S- [Stuart] look[in]g ver[y] well, and all kind[ne]ss, h[a]d told me how b[a]d the chol[er]a w[a]s in Paris - I sh[oul]d be mad to go th[e]re now - she has ten times more heart than Miss H- [Hobart] and was all kindness wanted me after all to stay dinner offered me her carriage tomorrow  thought she might have or sorry she had not taken me into Whitehall somehow I could scarce keep up at all Miss H- [Hobart] followed me out saying she hoped I should not go and take on so ‘com[e] give me one good kiss?’ I did and so we parted we had not had much conversation in the carriage  but what we had was well enough tho’ the least thing would have made her crossish but I avoided all this  talking of congratulations ssaid she had not had mine except that I had said I was glad  she said ‘oh I know you are both glad and sorry’  she had laughed and said  shall we turn and go back to Hastings  yes ssaid I directly if you will then I joked and said I ought not to have said that but something different  she said she should not have liked it if I had   true thought I she loves the attention and attachment of others  however little she herself may return either  but after all the work I have somehow made at parting and I could not help it yet still she thinks me desolate about her than I am my remembrance of her will soon pass over to what is comfortable  I could not have lived happily with her and the being without will soon cease to pother  I have really been very comfortable all this evening - I ha[ve] a ver[y] nice

SH:7/ML/E/15/0059

handso[me] apart[men]t and am ver[y] comf[orta]ble I fear it will be expensive but I must do as well as I can  I only wish to see Lady Gordon and know my fate with her   till then I must be in doubt wr[ote] all the ab[ov]e of today and h[a]d just done it at 10 10/.. - how forlorn and solitary I might feel but thank God I do not   if I had but a little money I should do  I only fear getting rather beyond myself  Mrs. Hawkins is ill - a chill she g[o]t the oth[e]r day - I hope n[o]t any deg[ree] of chol[er]a w[hi]ch is b[a]d en[ou]gh here - L[or]d Durham’s moth[e]r is just dead of it - well! if I h[a]d made my will to my mind, I feel as if I c[oul]d say in calm[ne]ss, God’s will be done! I ha[ve] liv[e]d long en[ou]gh to be content[e]d to be call[e]d hence whenev[e]r it may be the good pleas[u]re of that provid[en]ce w[hi]ch ordereth all th[in]gs wisely - I h[a]d made up my  mind to go out early in the morn[in]g, and do all my jobs - th[e]re is so[me]th[in]g brok[e]n ab[ou]t the rumble of the carr[ia]ge that I can[no]t ha[ve] it tomor[row] I h[a]d best  perh[aps] sit at ho[me] and be busy ab[ou]t my will - How quiet and tranquil I feel! If I live, may it be for good! If I die soon, how m[u]ch mis[er]y I n[o]t escape! a lit[tle] r[ai]n at Tunbridge wells and a lit[tle] en route at 1st and for so[me]ti[me] aft[er]w[ar]ds - qui[te] fair latter[l]y, b[u]t thickish and foggy ov[e]r Lond[on] and too thick for  good view all the way - F[ahrenheit] 61° now at 10 20/.. in my salon - ca[me] to my r[oo]m at 11 1/2 -

[omoi-no-hoka]

Rural Life and Mental Health in Japan as a Gaijin

Heads up: This is a very long, personal post about mental health and the stresses of living in rural Japan as a foreigner. If it’s not what you’re looking for in this blog, please feel free not to read it. If you can’t tell by the gif above, this isn’t going to be a very positive post because I’m not in a very positive mood.

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It’s been just shy of five and a half years since I moved to Hokkaido, the northernmost island/prefecture in Japan. In many ways, it’s similar to the American Midwest, which is the region I’m originally from. It’s big on agriculture, it’s got lots of nature and rural areas, winters are long and nasty, and the people have a warmth that make up for the cold snow and ice outside. Heck, even a lot of the flora and fauna are the same.

I think of my current city as my “Japanese hometown” because it was where I stayed during my first trip to Japan and it’s where my hostparents from that time are. I love it here like I love my country bumpkin village of 2,800 back in the states.

But after a little over two years of living and working in this city, I think I need out. I am...tired of it in many ways.

特別扱い Tokubetsu Atsukai, “Special Treatment”

Prior to living in this city, I lived in Sapporo, which has a population of 2 million. There, no one batted an eye at a foreigner walking the streets. A lot of them were surprised that i could use Japanese, but a good few people were used to gaijin that could use nihongo and read kanji.

But in my current city, I have experienced all of the following things, some of which on a daily basis.

DISCLAIMER: I have also had a LOT of very positive experiences with the people of this city. Most of my experiences have been positive or neutral, but a good 40% have been as described below.

Everywhere I go, I am openly stared at. Gawked at, at times. (I am your standard-looking, standard-dressed, slightly overweight white girl. No visible tattoos, piercings, vibrant hair color, or otherwise attention-grabbing aspects about me other than the fact that i am clearly not Japanese.)

I am often spoken to like I am mentally disabled, or if I am with a Japanese person, they will refuse to speak to me and instead speak to my Japanese companion.

I have entered restaurants on my own and had waitstaff make a big “X” with their arms and say “No English” immediately upon seeing my non-Japanese face.

I have had waiting taxi drivers drive off instead of allow a troublesome foreigner into their car.

I have sat down alone at a bar and had the Japanese people beside me openly gossip about me with the assumption that I could not understand them.

When searching for apartments when I moved to this city, I was denied 75% of my picks because they have a “no gaijin” rule. Despite the fact that I can speak and read, that I have a good job and valid visa, and that I have already lived here 3 years without a single late rent payment or complaint against me.

I have built up casual relationships with employees at grocery stores, etc. I frequent, and they have asked me for my contact info because, in their own words, “I’ve always wanted a gaijin for a friend!” In Japan, every girl wants a token gaijin friend instead of a token gay friend.

I have gone on dates with Japanese men who clearly just wanted a white girl to hang on their arm like a piece of swag and insist on taking me to a pasta place because “You must prefer western food to Japanese food” or insisting that I dye my hair blonder to look more foreign.

I am just...so very tired of this 特別扱い (special treatment).

I don’t want to call it 差別 (prejudice) because, the majority of the time, Japanese people think they are doing me a kindness by speaking slowly and simply, or by telling me as soon as possible that they cannot help me in English, etc. While a couple of the above experiences are straight up racism (I’m looking at you, asshole taxi drivers and landlords), most of them are a misguided form of “omotenashi,” a.k.a. Japanese hospitality.

So I try very hard not to let it get to me, because I know that they don’t wish ill upon me. But I’ve worked so goddamn hard to learn this language and speak it well, and it is so frustrating for the people around me to assume that I can’t do what has been my freaking life goal. Or having people assume I can’t understand slightly difficult words and dumb down their language (Even colleagues I’ve worked with for two years now!). In the middle of a conversation they’ll say things like, “It’s hard to deal with that level of animosity--oh wait, omoi-no-hoka-san, sorry, ‘animosity’ means ‘dislike.’”

They mean it in a helpful way, but it just comes across as very condescending and I end up thinking, Oh, so they think my Japanese proficiency is so low i can’t understand that word. Which sends me into doubt over whether my language skills are actually that deficient, or whether I am speaking in a way that makes myself look at bad at Japanese.

The Effects of 特別扱い (Special Treatment)

It’s been gradual, but over the past two years, I have found myself withdrawing from the outside world. I got bad at replying to friend’s messages. I started making excuses to avoid meeting up and hanging out. I would buy all the groceries i needed to last me through the weekend on Friday after work and not emerge until Monday morning to go back to work. Even though I really love the outdoors and used to spend entire days just riding my bike along the river trails here.

...But in the past few months I’ve become unable to answer even close friends’ phone calls and messages. And I’ve even had a hard time phoning my parents, which is crazy because ever since I left home for uni I’ve called my mom on a daily basis. When I think about stepping outside of my apartment, no matter the reason or destination, I am gripped by a dread so strong I nearly throw up. I have gone a couple weekends without food because it would require me leaving my apartment to buy some, or paying for very expensive delivery which also means interacting with whoever is bringing me that food.

I’ve had a stressful summer and fall at work, and that undoubtedly has contributed to my current anxiety overload. But things have settled down at work for the past month now, and not only have I been given an award that only 2% of employees get globally, recently I have been in talks to take on what is very nearly a dream position for me within the company that is a BIG step up career-wise. I have great bosses who recognize my efforts, who listen to what I have to say, and do what they can to help when I tell them I’m in over my head.

But I have had several days where I have woken up, gotten ready for work, and just frozen at my apartment door, too sick at the thought of going outside. And yet, I can’t stand the thought of calling in sick because I feel chronic, self-imposed guilt when I take a day off, no matter the reason. So I call in to work and tell them I have a stomachache and will be in once it’s gone, (which isn’t an absolute lie), and then drag myself into work within a couple hours.

And once I enter the office, do the obligatory bow and apology for being late and causing inconveniences, the dread and anxiety vanish and I am fine until it is time for me to go outside to return home.

This makes me think that work is not a main stressor right now. It doesn’t matter if I’m going to the convenience store or the grocery store or work or anywhere. I think the constant being stared at everywhere I go has gradually accumulated to become a nasty form of social anxiety. I used to have panic attacks in middle school and high school due to home life, but since removing myself from that environment they’ve gone away. I’ve always been a socially-reserved person who shies away from the spotlight, and despite telling myself a thousand times, “Let them look at you--you’re just being you and they’re being them and that’s OKAY,” I just can’t brush it off. I have very, very seriously considered dyeing my hair from its natural brown to black in an effort to blend in, if only slightly. Which is laughable, but that’s just how much it bothers me to stand out.

But the event that really sounded the alarm for me was when my best friend of 10 years, a Japanese girl whom I met by chance my freshman year of uni, who was my roommate for 4 years of uni, who let me sleep on her living room floor here in Japan for 3 months until my work visa came through, who has been with me through thick and thin, sent me a message asking when she could drop off a souvenir for me and

I couldn’t bring myself to reply to her text.

That was when I very clearly knew that I was too deep in this funk to get myself out on my own, and I had to figure out how to get help.

Frankly, despite having struggled with panic attacks and anxiety in the past, I have never sought professional help. Until now, I never felt that my symptoms were so bad that they warranted medication. But the fact that i can’t contact my mother or my best friend, that I would rather not eat anything for two days instead of go outside, means that snorting essential oils and rubbing rose quartz against my temples or whatever isn’t going to be enough.

Mental Health Views in Japan

It’s not exactly a secret that the approach to mental health in Japan is “sweep it under the rug.” You do not talk about it. You may go to a doctor and receive medication, but you do not get counseling, because that involves talking about it. You do not tell your friends. You do not tell your family. You DEFINITELY do not tell your coworkers.

I saw my boss, T, fall into a very similar spiral to my own this summer. Stomach aches in the morning, coming in late, making excuses to get out of outings outside of work, not replying to messages, not sleeping well. And then one day he just vanished. Didn’t show up one Monday.

T wouldn’t respond to our messages so we had to contact his mother to get a hold of him. And once she had confirmed that she had spoken to him and scolded him for being “selfish” by skipping work, my coworkers were satisfied because, in their words, “Now that we know he’s still alive, we don’t have to worry.”

Honestly, that was one of the most fucked up reactions to any situation I have ever seen. I was shocked, because these coworkers truly cared for him, but their mutual reaction to this was to just...let him languish.

T announced to a select number of supervisors/colleagues that he had been diagnosed with general anxiety disorder and would be stepping down from his position. He said that he had been diagnosed years ago, but had not disclosed it because he knew that he would never be promoted if anyone knew.

And that’s one of the big reasons that no one wants to talk about their mental illness here. In Japan, having a mental illness is a shameful thing. It shows that you’re weak, that you can’t keep up with everyone else, that you are flawed in a way that will adversely affect those around you at one point or another.

But my company really is a great company and the people in charge are progressive. T has a lot of great skills and experience, and they didn’t want to let him go. So they told him that they would find someone to fill his current role, but once he had rested and gotten better, they wanted him to come back and do a position that he used to do, one that he really shined in and enjoyed. And that is where he’s at now, and he’s doing much better for it.

So, having seen all of this unfold mere months ago, I grappled with how much I should tell my employers. The talk of this new and big position in Tokyo was underway, yet I knew that I wouldn’t be able to handle it unless I got better.

So I bit the bullet, and on the night that I couldn’t respond to my best friend’s text, I sent my boss a message, explaining my symptoms, how long they’d been going on, what I thought the causes were, and that I wanted to take the morning off to see a doctor about it sometime that week.

And I was really shocked by his reply.

This boss is the guy that filled T’s position, and i didn’t know him that well yet. As it turns out, he used to be a counselor before he joined this company. He told me that I could go to the doctor whenever I wanted, but that he also wanted to talk in person about this the next day.

The next day he called me into the conference room with one other manager, a guy I really trust and like. When T vanished, shit really hit the fan at the office and it was basically this manager and me keeping us afloat for the first couple weeks, so we’ve got a lot of camaraderie going. They asked me to talk more about what was going on, why I was feeling all this anxiety, etc.

And it was during this conversation that I saw the division between the traditional Japanese views of mental health and modern views of mental health.

When I explained to them both why I wanted to see a doctor and try medication, their reactions were mixed. My boss, the former counselor, said that if I thought it was best, trying out medication for a few weeks was a good idea.

The manager looked doubtful and said, “But do you really think that going to a doctor and getting pills from him will fix everything? If you’re diagnosed, what will your colleagues think? I thought you wanted that promotion.”

In that moment i felt intense fear and regret, as well as hurt. T had said that he had withheld his diagnosis for this very reason. A part of me had wanted to think it was paranoia on his part, but now I realized that he had been right to keep it a secret. This manager, whom I knew very well and trusted deeply, clearly was of the opinion that a diagnosis/medication = evidence of weakness.

So I ended up lying and telling them, “I’ll go to the doctor just to get some sleeping pills.” (I’ve been waking up every hour on the hour for a couple months now.) Sleeping pills aren’t frowned upon in Japan and the manager was pleased with this decision.

And after that manager left, I told my boss the truth, that i would be getting anti-anxiety meds as well because I really thought it was necessary, and that I would appreciate him not disclosing it unless he was required to, which he agreed to.

Seeing a Psychiatrist in Japan

So now i had to find a psychiatrist and make an appointment. A Google search provided me horrors. Below is an excerpt of a Google review of a certain mental health clinic in my city, and the record of the exchange between the doctor and reviewer (patient). I’m not going to translate it all because it’s long, but these are some highlights of the doctor’s words directly to the patient.

“You can’t sleep? I can’t sleep either. What, do you want some pills for it?”

“You can’t expect me to believe what a patient says.”

(After he made the patient cry) “You are being so difficult. Could you stop crying?”

He gives her medication, has silent nurses send her out to the waiting room where she continues to cry, and the doctor comes to the waiting room and says, “Could you hurry up and pay and leave?”

Having read this, I was filled with absolute fear. Maybe I was better off trying to fix this on my own after all.

But I kept searching, and I also learned that my city hall has a 心の相談窓口 (Kokoro no Soudan Madoguchi), “Mind Consultation.” You can call them to learn information about what sorts of mental health facilities/options are available in your area. A very kind lady there informed me that it takes about 2-3 months to get in to any psychiatrist in this city, most of them do not take new patients, and that counseling is almost non-existent. Unless I was a harm to myself or others, I would have to wait. However, there was one general hospital in the city that had one psychiatrist staffed. This hospital has no reservation system whatsoever (very common in Japan) and takes a set number of patients in the morning and evening. I could try my luck to get in and see her.

So that was what i did, and I was able to see her on the first morning I went! I think the Kokoro no Soudan Madoguchi lady made it sound harder to get into so I wouldn’t feel let down if it didn’t work out the first time I went.

Having read the horror story above, I had a lot of trepidation stepping into the exam room with her and two nurse secretaries. I had expected it to be a very clinical, dry exchange of symptoms and a sufficient prescription with a token お大事に。

And, more than anything, I had feared that she would say something like, “Maybe you should just go home to your own country where you wouldn’t stand out.”

But she asked me a wide range of questions, with none of them focusing on the fact that I was a gaijin: what my symptoms were, how long they’d been going on, what I had going on in my life, what work was like, past history of anxiety, etc., and she and the nurses all truly listened to what i had to say. It was clear that she cared about the underlying causes and me as a person.

She told me that it sounded like I was experiencing a buildup of stress and anxiety and that she wanted me to try a low dose of anti-anxiety meds and sleeping pills for a week and then come back for another discussion.

That was 3 weeks ago. I’ve since been in the process of working with her to find the right combination of medication. Fun fact: they prescribe you Rohypnol (roofies) for sleeping meds in Japan if they deem your insomnia is serious enough. So. That is interesting.

Where I Am Now

I am keeping my boss informed of my condition and he is still very supportive. He seems to have informed his bosses of my tribulations to some extent, because they have gone out of their way to check in on me and see how I’m doing, which is very kind of them. Of course, they also know that i went above and beyond the call of duty for several months in a row until recently, and they could simply be asking because of that. Either way, I am touched that they would think of me, as I am a lowly translator for a lesser project and they are quite a ways up on the corporate ladder.

I am still in talks about taking on a very exciting position in Tokyo HQ, despite one of those bosses likely being aware of my situation to some extent. I used to dread the thought of Tokyo because I am a country girl who needs to see green, but recently I’ve come to the tough decision that I need to leave my beloved Japanese hometown, just like i left my American one. I love them, but I do not belong in them. I have visited the Tokyo HQ quite a few times, and there are a ton of foreigners in the area so I don’t stand out at all. I think that as long as I can live reasonably close enough to a park, I can satisfy my needs for nature while lessening my social anxiety.

I am having good days and bad days where it is still hard for me to leave the house. But I am having more good days than bad now. And today I was finally able to send a text message back to my best friend. Which really doesn’t seem like a lot, but it is a lot to me. My friend is supportive and understanding, which means the world to me.

I’m getting back to being me. 💗

p.s.: The gif at the top of this is from the anime Mushishi, which I think illustrates various mental illnesses and their effects in a very metaphoric way.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

TOP 25 BOOKMARKS of 2019

See also: Top 20 Bookmarks of 2018

Hey guys! 

Since this is the last Fic Rec Sunday of the year, I’m going to give y’all the list of my favourite fics that I’ve read this year! I think this is a great way to end off the year, by letting y’all know what I thoroughly enjoyed reading while on my seemingly-never-ending quest to rec you guys the stuff y’all should read! <3 

And of course, I am reducing it to a small list or I will NEVER finish reccing fics because everything I’ve read this year have been fantastic, but these are the ones I’ve found myself going back to a couple times already :)

Hope y’all enjoy! 

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JOHNLOCK BOOKMARKS

The Burning of the Leaves by blueink3 (M, 15,915 w., 3 Ch. || Post S4, Angst, Reichenbach, Parentlock, Past Jolto, Idiot John, Sherlock’s a Mess, Puppies, Fluff, Possessive / Jealous Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, Matchmaker Sholto, Melancholic Feelings, Emotional Sherlock, Domesticity, Love Confessions in the Rain, Kissing in the Rain, Pet Names, Panic Attack) – After the events of series 4, Major Sholto invites John and Sherlock to lunch one day. It nearly proves to be too much for their tenuous relationship as the past haunts the present, putting the future that Sherlock so desperately wants at risk.

The Palmyra Atoll by elwinglyre (E, 16,609 w., 3 Ch. || TSo3 Divergence / Episode Fix-It, Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapped John Watson, John Whump, Evil Mary, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Toplock, Limited 3rd John POV) – As John's preparing for the wedding, Sherlock is preparing to have his heart broken, and Mary is prepared to do the unthinkable. Intervention required. Enter Sherlock. Set before Sign of Three with a far different outcome. John is drugged, kidnapped, and left on an island, but not just any old island.

Wonderful, Etcetera. by VictoryCandescence (T, 16,955 w., 3 Ch. || Wonderful Life AU || Alternate Timelines, Brotherhood, Homophobia, Suicidal Ideations, Mentions of Drug Use, Friendship, Different TRF, Sherlock’s Past, Victor Trevor is Past Boyfriend, Depression, Hallucination?, Love Confessions, Christmas, First Kiss) – Sherlock thinks everyone would be better off if he had never existed, including and especially himself. When he finds himself in a world in which his wish has been granted, he begins to think perhaps even he could be wrong – but it takes an unlikely chaperone to make him not only observe, but understand.

The Kepler Problem by kinklock (E, 24,270 w., 1 Ch. || Sci-Fi AU, Alien Sherlock, Space Repairman John, Alien Biology, Horny John) – Working in uncharted space exploration was not as exciting as John had hoped, especially when it turned out to be mostly bot maintenance on uninhabited planets. However, the mystery of the repeated, unexplained malfunctions on planet BAK 2212 might turn out to be exactly the kind of adventure he'd been craving.

A Home for Us by sussexbound (M, 30,581 w., 12 Ch. || Scars, Bedsharing, Grief, Doctor John, Hurt/Comfort, Post-TRF, Implied/Referenced Torture, Sherlock POV, Pining Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation, Heavy Emotions, Clingy Sherlock, Hallucinations, Disassociation, Emotional Turmoil) – He has been on the road for two years, and he is exhausted. He’s almost accepted that he will never see London (John) again—almost. But then there are nights like tonight, where he is weak, and all he can think of is the warmth of the flat they once shared, the crackle of the fire in the hearth, the teasing smile playing at the corner of John’s lips, the boxes of half-eaten Chinese takeaway balanced precariously in their laps. He aches at the memory of it, at the realisation that it is something he may never experience again.

Chaperones by MissDavis (T, 34,114 w., 7 Ch. || 11 Years Post-S4, Fake Relationship, Parentlock, Disney World, Bed / Room Sharing, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, First Kiss, Obsessive Sherlock, Insecure John) – Right. Of course. Everyone assumed they were a couple and no one would question it. John put his elbows up on the table so he could rest his head in his hands. "You want to pretend to be a couple so we can chaperone a trip to Disney World with Rosie's class and you won't have to share a room with a stranger?" "Exactly." Sherlock beamed at him. "Don't worry about the cost. The Birmingham case last month paid more than enough to cover expenses for all three of us."

Only To Be With You by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (M, 40,768 w., 4 Ch. || Black Mirror / Future AU || Character Death, Future Technology, Sickness/Cancer/Illness, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, First Person POV John, Pining John, Heart-Wrenching Angst) – I tell myself that next time I’ll come near this same place again. Wait around for the mysterious stranger in his coat to dash past me, hot on the heels of a new criminal in black. I think this all the way back to my Exit, planning where I’ll wait and what I’ll say when I see him. Scheming on how to get his name. It’s only once I reach the Exit Point door that I realize two hours and forty-five minutes have passed, and I realize that this won’t be the last time I Visit. It won’t be the last time at all.

A Hundred Crimson Sols by elldotsee (E, 55,536 w., 16 Ch. || Astronauts AU || Mars Exploration / Space Travel, Slow Burn, Shy Sherlock, Scientist Sherlock / Biomed Engineer John, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, UST, Angst with Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Suicidal Ideation, Zero-G Sex) – Will Holmes is a chemical researcher recognized widely for his contributions to the new Mars exploration program. Thanks to his ground-breaking developments, the IMMC (International Mars Mission Corporation) is one step closer to Martian colonization. Will and his team of scientists are headed out on the first of three manned missions before the first group of settlers arrive. Three days before launch, one of the crew has to be replaced. Will panics because...new people. The replacement is of course one John Watson, biomedical engineer and space hottie who was pretty sure he had retired from actual space exploration and was now content to work in the nice, quiet research lab. Can the crew survive this TOTALLY ROUTINE trip? Will they be able to endure each other for the looooooong trip in close quarters? Gonna be a wild ride... prepare for blast off. Part 1 of SpaceBois go to Space

White Knight by DiscordantWords (M, 69,840 w., 13 Ch. || S4 Compliant/Post S4, Marriage For a Case, Jealous John, Pining John, Janine / Sherlock Fake Relationship, Serial Killers, Case Fic, Undercover as a Couple, Weddings, John is a Mess, Misunderstandings, Wedding Planning, Jealousy, Drunkenness, Love Confessions, Angst with Happy Ending) – Green. The word green was used to convey a great many things. Illness. Envy. Inexperience. Standing there amidst Janine's chattering bridesmaids, watching Sherlock furrow his brow and study fabric swatches, watching him smile and simper and flirt, John thought it a remarkably apt colour choice. Because he felt quite sick to his stomach, he feared the source of said sickness might very well be jealousy, and he had absolutely no idea at all what to do about it. Or: Sherlock needs to fake a relationship for a case. He doesn't ask John.

Being John Watson-ish by elwinglyre (E, 69,902 w., 17 Ch. || Bodysnatcher AU || Author John, Cranky Sherlock, Angst, Sexual Tension, First Kiss / Time, Falling in Love, BAMF John, Past Soldier John, Feelings, Inside Someone’s Brain, Shy Sherlock, Sherlock Loves John, POV Sherlock, Switchlock, Slow Burn, Internal Dialogue, Mental Turmoil) – When consulting detective Sherlock Holmes steps on one toe too many at a crime scene, he's consigned to a desk job in an archaic office on the seventh-and-a-half floor of the New Scotland Yard. It’s in this bleak office that Sherlock discovers a portal into the mind of renowned author John Watson. Grander than his mind palace, this new wonderland affords Sherlock new vistas of experimentation. To learn more about the mystery behind the portal, Sherlock seeks out and befriends Watson. But then it all goes wrong when others find the secret portal door—including the man whose brain he visits.

Just To Hold You Close by sussexbound (E, 70,841 w., 18 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting, Sherlock POV, ASD Sherlock, PTSD John, Demisexual Sherlock, Bisexual John, Cuddling/Snuggling, Platonic Cuddling, Enthusiastic Consent, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, First Kiss/Time, Sexual Tension, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Cuddle Negotiations, For a Case Until It Isn’t, Hair Petting, Sexual Negotiation, Anxiety, Trust Issues, Slow Burn, Panic Attacks, Frottage, Hand/Blow Jobs, Referenced Self Harm / Abuse / Suicidal Ideation, First Kiss/Time, Anal, Autistic Sherlock) – When a woman is murdered and the last person to see her alive is recently invalided army vet turned reluctant (and prickly) professional cuddler, John Watson, Sherlock Holmes is pulled into a world of intimacy and intrigue he never could have imagined. John is a conundrum and mystery: frank yet reserved, tender yet angry, open yet afraid. Sherlock is instantly drawn into his orbit, and begins to feel and desire things he never has before.

The Vapor Variant by 88thParallel (CanadaHolm) (M, 72,684 w., 18 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-THoB, John Whump, Protective Sherlock, Guilty Sherlock, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD John, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Suspense, Virus, Sickfic, Big Brother Mycroft) – They stood face to face in the middle of a clearing. The dim light of the moon barely allowed Sherlock to see the glassy terror in John’s eyes and the sweat that glistened off his forehead. His nose was bleeding again, blood dripping in a slow stream from his right nostril. They were both gasping for air, John’s eyes locked on Sherlock’s. There was no recognition there, just wild animal fear. Time stood still for an eternal few seconds, and Sherlock took a shaky breath. “John—”Spell broken, John spun and bolted back into the woods. Still heaving for air, Sherlock took off after him

A Further Sea by i_ship_an_armada & ShinySherlock (E, 125,492 w., 23 Ch. || Historical Pirates AU || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Doctor John / Pirate Captain Sherlock, Sailing, UST / RST, Masturbation, Action / Adventure, Mild Angst & Peril, Romance, Shaving, Molly/Janine, Bottomlock, Hand / Blow Jobs, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, Mild Violence, Happy Ending) – Here be a tale of adventure for both body and soul, but beware if ye be not of stout heart, for this be piratelock, ya savvy? Luckless ship's surgeon John Watson takes a chance, and finds himself eye to eye with The Ghost, the scourge of the seven seas and a definite thorn in the side of the blaggard, James Moriarty. But when John finds there's more to this most cunning pirate than be meetin' the eye, he has to choose... is it a pirate's life for him?

The Adventure of the Silver Scars by tangledblue (NR [M], 142,458 w., 41 Ch. || S3 Fix-It, Post-HLV/ Post-TAB / Canon Compliant, Case Fic, No Baby, Angst, Humour, UST, Slow Burn, Angry John, Reconciliation, Not Nice Mary / Leaving Mary, Dependent Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Caretaker John, Fist Fights, It’s An Experiment, Virgin Sherlock, Dancing, Drugging, John Whump, Pet Names, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Scars) – It’s been thirteen months since Mary shot Sherlock and John finds he’s still pissed off about it. Sherlock had thought everything was settled: John and Mary, domestic bliss. But when John turns up at Baker Street with suitcases, the world’s only consulting detective might not be prepared for the consequences. A new case. Some old scores to settle. Certain danger. Concertos, waltzes, and whisky.

Proving A Point by elldotsee & J_Baillier (E, 186,270 w., 28 Ch. || Me Before You Fusion || Medical Realism, Insecure John, Depression, Romance, Angst, POV John, Sherlock Whump, Serious Illness, Doctor John, Injury Recovery, Assisted Suicide, Sherlock’s Violin, Awkward Sexual Situations, Alcoholism, Drugs, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Body Image, Friends to Lovers, Hurt / Comfort, Pain, Big Brother Mycroft, Intimacy, Anxiety, PTSD, Family Issues, Psychological Trauma, John Whump, Case Fics, Loneliness, Pain) – Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court.

GOOD OMENS

you can dance in a hurricane, but only if you're standing in the eye by be_brave13 (G, 1,456 w., 1 Ch. || Non-Linear Narrative, Light Angst, 6000 Years of Pining / Slow Burn, POV Crowley, 5 and Ones, Idiots in Love, Song Fic) – 5 times Crowley knew he loved Aziraphale and the 1 time he knew Aziraphale loved him back (romantically).

Where Heaven Begins by sussexbound (M, 2,515 w., 1 Ch. || Pining Crowley, Soft Idiots, Emotional Love Making, Hurt/Comfort, Crowley Has Healing Powers, Kissing, Bed Sharing, Crowley POV) – Aziraphale bleeds. Is bleeding. He’s wearing human skin, after all.

In the (Second) Beginning by cherryfeather (M, 2,661 w., 1 Ch. || Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Confessions, Soft Crowley, POV Aziraphale, Post-Canon, First Kiss, Wings) – Aziraphale realizes that Crowley's been saying something rather loudly for a week.

The Picnic; or, the Drawbacks of Loving an Angel by sorrowfulcheese (G, 3,776 w., 1 Ch. || Post-Apocalypse/Canon, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Misunderstandings, Moving On, Picnicking, Idiots in Love, Crowley POV, Cranky Crowley, Mutual Pining, Light Angst with Happy Ending) – Aziraphale lures Crowley out for a picnic. It doesn't go remarkably well.

The slowest moving object in the universe by chamyl (G, 4,996 w., 1 Ch. || God POV, Mutual Pining, Idiots in Love, Beach Day, Games, Light Humour, Tenderness, Embarassed Crowley, Soft Idiots, First Kiss, Love Confessions) – Crowley and Aziraphale have had feelings for each other for a very long time. It takes a date at the lake and a round of 36 Questions That Lead To Love to give them the final push.

a garden all their own by leaveanote (T, 5,436 w., 1 Ch. || Post Canon, POV Crowley, Emotional Turmoil, Aziraphale Takes Care of Crowley, Crying, Nightmares, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Heart Wrenching Pining, Pining Crowley, Wings, Tired Crowley, Romance, Healing, Massage, Light Angst with Happy Ending) – The aftermath. An exhaustion deeper than body. A secret too heavy to carry when when grief burned so close. Crowley has to tell him. "What am I to you?" A saving thing, an agony, a binary star, tenderness, an unhealed wound, a home, a home, a garden. Come to me, we'll heal together.

i want to hold your hand (goddammit) by PersephonesReign (E, 7,695 w., 5 Ch. || Crowley POV, Pining Crowley, Emotional Turmoil, Slow Burn, Soft Crowley, Angst and Fluff, Love Confessions, Nervous / Anxious Crowley, First Kiss/Time, URT, Wing Kink, Anal, Top Aziraphale / Bottom Crowley, Hand Holding) – Crowley just wants to hold Aziraphale's hand. What's so difficult about that?

A Brief History of Touch by chamyl (E, 11,849 w., 1 Ch. || Moments in Time, First Kiss/Time, Heavy Mutual Pining, Romance, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Masturbation, Almost Kiss, Touch-Starved Crowley, Angst With Happy Ending, Love Confessions, Blow Jobs, Emotional Love Making, Friends to Lovers, Body Worship, Promise of Forever With a Ring) – Six thousand years of pining, stolen glances, almost-touches, plummeting towards the inevitable end.

The Nice and Accurate Love Story of A. J. Crowley and A. Z. Fell by SealandRocks (E, 16,353 w., 1 Ch. || Pining Crowley, Implied Mutual Pining, Emotional Love Making, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, POV Crowley, Jealous Crowley, Crowley’s Plants, Kissing as Healing, Moments in Time, The Arrangement, Love Confessions, Bottom Crowley, Gentle Aziraphale, Slow Burn, Falling in Love, Crowley is Bad at Feelings, First Kiss/Time, Anal Sex / Fingering, Wings / Wing Kink, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink, Kissing in the Rain, Symbolism, Historical References) – Crowley and Aziraphale have been dancing around each other since the beginning. From Eden to London, it eventually becomes very hard to avoid the only other immortal around. And after so many centuries, having a physically body becomes a bit uncomfortable. Crowley is left to wonder what it is about Aziraphale that helps ease the ache in his soul. It would only take him 6000 years to figure out that it was rooted in something deeper all along. Part 1 of Love Stories for the Oblivious

Any Way You Want It by LieutenantLiv (M, 27,585 w., 5 Ch. || Holidays, Slow Burn, Fluff, First Time, Eventual Smut, Swimming, Dreams of Dancing, Kissing in the Rain, Self-Esteem Issues, Misunderstandings, Crying Love Confessions, Soft Crowley, Clingy Crowley, Virgin Aziraphale, Romance) – Saving the world is exhausting work. With Heaven and Hell off their backs, it seems as good a time as any for Crowley and Aziraphale to take a proper break. Neither one of them predicts the direction their holiday takes.Who'd have thought that sharing a cottage in Scotland would be quite so romantic?