#most of my coworkers DO judge them pretty harshly for it. and I get it. it’s frustrating to have to do your work /and/ someone else’s.

[fortes-fortuna-iogurtum]

area retail worker called in to tell her boss that she’s feeling terribly and probably won’t be able to come in to work today, 41 dead 113 injured

[zodiakuroo]

Love Thy Brother

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader

Content: 18+ dubcon/noncon, dabi’s canononical dick piercings  manhandling, rough sex, corruption, degradation, humiliation, manipulation, blackmail, spit, stepcest, loss of virginity, dacryphilia, mentioned breeding, blasphemy and sacrilege : 3

Word count: 4.1k

Notes: secured my spot in hell with this one for sure anyways touya-nii go brrrrr

part 2 here!

But he that hates his brother is in darkness, and walks in darkness, and knows not whither he goes, because that darkness hath blinded his eyes. – 1 John 2:11

Gaining 4 new siblings as a young adult is not something anyone expects, you think, but you’re grateful to have been accepted into Enji Todoroki’s family nonetheless.

Fuyumi was the big sister you always wanted, kind and nurturing, always happy to let you borrow her clothes and give you advice. You and Natsuo the closest in age.  He was warm and friendly and while he teased you a lot it was never mean spirited, just the kind that was typical between siblings. Shoto was quiet in nature and though it took him more time than the rest to warm up to you, eventually you two became friends as well.

And there was Touya…..

Well, Dabi as he prefers to be called.

When you first met him, you were terrified, the shock of seeing him made you hide behind your mother instinctively.  The Todoroki clan looked every bit the perfect suburban family except for Dabi. He had his hair dyed jet black, with seemingly more tattoos than clean skin. He had several cartilage piercings in his ears as well as three small studs in his nostril and a barbell through his eyebrow.  He scoffed at your scared reaction, sticking out his tongue to show you the silver ball on its surface and sending a wink your way.

Admittedly, felt guilty for judging Dabi based on his appearance, but you would soon come to find that sometimes it’s better to trust your judgement.

At first, Dabi ignored you, acted as if you didn’t exist. And the times when he was forced to acknowledge your presence in his family he acted as though you were nothing more than a nuisance. You thought that you might have offended him somehow but Fuyumi assured you that Dabi was just like that and that you shouldn’t take it personally. “He just needs to get to know you.” She said.

She was wrong though. Dabi couldn’t stand you.

Everything about you infuriates him. Prancing around in those frumpy sweaters and modest skirts like anyone would bother to lewd you anyways. Lest they attempt, you wear that gold cross necklace everywhere you like a big old “PROPERTY OF JESUS” tag. Your insistence to say a prayer every time the family dog so much as farts. The way his entire family seems to be enamored by your church girl act. Perhaps what he hates most is the way you look at him, poor delinquent Dabi, like you’re so much better than him. Sanctimonious bitch.

Then he noticed how you were with Natsuo. How you would pout and whine when he teased you and sometimes, to everyone’s shock and amusement, banter back and forth with him. Let’s be clear here, he didn’t care about you. He cared about attention. You were giving too much of your attention to his younger brother and that just wouldn’t do.

Pretty soon, Touya was in on the teasing. He started out by making fun of you for being so conservative. Low-hanging fruit. You’ve heard it all before so it didn’t wrench much of a reaction for you but that just made him more determined. Sometimes it got downright mean, earning him a scolding from Fuyumi. Not that he would listen anyways

Then it got physical. It started innocently enough, Dabi would tug on your hair, snatch food out of your hands, kick you underneath the dinner table. Albeit childish, it was incredibly annoying. You would shriek and yell for him to cut it out and after finally getting the desired reaction from you, he became hungry for more.

So he started taking more risks. When you were in the kitchen alone Dabi would brush his hand under your skirt making you squeal. That progressed to him flicking up your skirt to catch a glimpse of your panties which progressed to him spanking you so hard, you’d think of him every time you sat down for the rest of the day.

On the days when he was in a good mood (read: stoned out of his mind), he would pull you into his lap and hold you there, blowing smoke in your face that made you cough so that he could laugh. Sometimes he would let his hands wander, over your chest and between your thighs while you squirm in his hold. He’d say “Anyone ever touch you like this? I hope not, I’m sure it would piss off Jesus”

As if the touching wasn’t invasive enough, Dabi felt he was entitled to your room and personal artifacts. Often you’d come back from campus or church to find the contents of your underwear drawer spilled on the floor. You would notice a pair or two missing when you packed them back.

One time he vandalised your bible with drawings of penises on every single page.

“D’ya like my artwork princess?” he said when you confronted him. In a fit of rage, threw the book at his head. You missed (unfortunately) making him like laugh. “Surely there’s something condemning violence in that book of yours.”

You tried locking him out of your room but all that did was make him angrier. He threated to break your door clean off its hinges if you did it again.

Which brings you to your current predicament.

It had been a long day. You woke up late landing you in trouble with your manager. Your coworker fell ill and you had to cover a double shift, with no shortage of asshole customers on this particular day it seems. On top of all that, you just got stood up for date. You come home to a quiet house and you’re so grateful for this small blessing on a day like this. After a long, scalding hot shower, you lie on your bed wrapped in a fluffy, white towel, contemplating your next move.

You were home alone and with a family this big that hardly ever happens. You do what any person would do after having the day you had.

You smile to yourself, undoing the knot on your towel and falling back onto your pillows, hands already caressing your breasts.

You’re a Christian not a robot. Of course you masturbate. Sure you feel ashamed. You can hear your mother’s voice chide about how sinful it is but that all melts away when your little fingers slide between your wet folds. Shame can wait.

Being the menace in your life that he is, the eldest Todoroki chose that exact moment to barge into your room unannounced.

You scramble for your covers trying your best to preserve some modesty but it’s too late, you’ve been caught. You shriek in terror.

“Oh my god!” Dabi practically cackles.

“Dabi! It’s not what it looks like I swear.”

“Oh really?” He stalks over to your bed with the predatory grin on his face. “Because to me it looks like my innocent, holier than though baby sister is a nasty, little, closet pervert.” He’s now straddling you over your covers, you want to fight him off but that would mean letting go over your duvet and you know once you do that, it’s over. Dabi has the upper hand though. Soon he’s got both of your wrists in one of his hands, pinned above your head. His other hand, almost immediately, is pulling the down the covers, revealing your naked torso to him. “Huh.’ He muses as he palms one of your breasts. “Seems like it’s exactly what it looks like.”

“Dabi! Get off me!” You squirm under him but he’s too heavy so it’s no use.

“Nice tits Sis.” Dabi ignores your protests. “I don’t get why you keep them hidden.”

“I’m not your sister you creep!” you say with as much venom as you can muster.

“Aw princess,” he pouts and moves his hand up to cup your jaw, squeezing your cheeks harshly “it hurts your Nii-san’s feelings when you talk to him like that. I wonder what our parents would think. Should I tell them how filthy their sweet, little daughter really is?”

He revels in the fear in your eyes. You shake your head frantically. “No Dabi please! Please don’t tell them.” You whimper, words garbled.

“Don’t tell them what little sister? What were you doing?” He smirks. His hand goes back to your breast, this time to tweak your nipple.

The sadistic freak. Was he really going to make you say it? He answers your silent question with a sharp smack to your breast.

“I-I was masturbating.” You mumble, squeezing your eyes shut, cheeks burning from embarrassment.

“No, you weren’t”  he says as a matter of fact before pinching your already stiff nipple making your eyes shoot open and you yelp in pain. “You were playing with your little virgin cunt. Now say it.”

There is no way you could say those words. Has he not humiliated you enough? You try once again to break free but he’s got an iron grip on your wrists and he’s sitting on top of your thighs. There’s no way you’re getting out of this.

He pinches you again but harder this time, twisting your nipple and keeping it there.

“I was ah­ I was playing with my v-v-irgin c- Dabi! Cunt! There I said it! Let go!”

He snickers at your pain but let’s go of you entirely, shifting his weight off of you. You’re grateful for the reprieve, immediately pulling up the covers to cover up your body again. You will yourself not to cry until Dabi has left the room or else you’ll never hear the end of it. But he’s not finished with you yet.

“Show me.” He sits down on your desk chair facing you, his legs spread wide.

“What?” Surely you misheard him.

“Show your Nii-san how you play with that ‘little virgin cunt’” He smiles using air quotations.

“Dabi, this is wrong-“ you whimper

“Touya-nii.” You furrow your brows in confusion and he says again. “Call me Touya-nii. I’m not leaving this room until I see what I want.”

Say what you want about Dabi but he’s a man of his word. You know he means what he says. The last thing you want is for anyone in your family to come home and find you naked in your room with your step-brother. It’s just better to do what he asks demands.

You slowly peel the covers off you, exposing your naked body to your step brother. He’s eyeing you intently, palming the growing bulge under his jeans. His sister was hiding such a hot little body, right under his roof and he had no idea. You can’t bear to look at him. You clamp your thighs shut to hide your pussy from him, a weak attempt to save what’s left of your dignity. You wriggle your hand in between your legs and you try to move it as best you can without showing him more of you.

Wait.

You’re wet?

You’re wet.

Well screw dignity I guess.

“Oh none of that.” Touya scoffs. “Spread your legs.”

You obey him and he rewards you with a low whistle. “What a cute little pussy.” He murmurs so low you’re not even sure he’s talking to you. You flinch, wanting to close your legs on instinct but a firm “Don’t” from Dabi stops you in your tracks. “Show me how my little sister likes to play.”

His words make your pussy throb but you’re still reeling, both physically and mentally at, the shock from your current position so when your fingers try to rub circles on your clit, they’re shaky and sloppy.

“That’s pathetic. Is this how you do it? No wonder you’re so uptight, you probably never cum huh? Put your fingers inside, I wanna see you stretch your little hole.”

“Dabi I-“

“I won’t ask you to address me properly again. Next time, you’re getting your ass beat.”

“T-Touya-nii. I’ve never… put them inside.” You mumble.

“Never?” He can’t hide the amusement in his voice.

You simply shake your head, unable to meet his gaze.

Fucking jackpot. He thinks.  This is why he loves virgins.

“Oh no. Does the poor baby want her Nii-san to show her how it’s done?” voice dripping with condescension.

You’re horribly ashamed. Disgusted by the whole situation. And yet you find yourself nodding.

Dabi crawls on to your bed, discarding his shirt in the process. Next thing he has you flipped over, ass in the air, lying across his lap.

He spanks you, hard. Like he always does, loud smack echoing through the room. You cry out like you always do but it’s different this time. It’s different because this time you’re naked, on top of him. It’s different because you can feel his hard-on poking into your stomach. It’s different because everything about the situation is making you clench.

He grips the sore, reddened flesh and pulls apart your cheeks to look right at your fluttering hole. His thumb finds your clit and he starts to rub slow circles into it. “I meant what said you know. This is the prettiest fucking cunt I’ve ever seen.” You let out a whine as you feel his warm, wet spit land right on your opening, before Touya slides a long, slender middle finger into your tight pussy. He uses his other hand to hit you again. “You’re a good girl right? What do good girl’s say when they get compliments?”

Your head is spinning from his ministrations, so much so that a verbal response escapes you. You’re too busy bucking your hips against his hand. Dabi snaps you out of your trance with another spank, even harder, so your feel the sting spread across your glute. “Hnnghh… thank you Touya-nii.” He rewards you with his ring finger finding its way inside you as well. “Shit.” You say through gritted teeth. You clench around him trying to adjust to the foreign sensation.

Whack. This time on the other cheek, both burning red by now, you’re sure. “Where’d you learn to talk like that, naughty girl?” The way he’s moving his fingers inside you feels like he’s looking for something, you have no idea what. It’s not unpleasant but uncomfortable. You turn your head back to look at his face. It’s the same face he makes when he’s rolling a joint or playing video games with his friends. He’s concentrating. “Fuck, relax for me princess.” You’re trying. You’re really trying. You take a deep breath, trying to think about anything other than the way you’re being stretched.

Then it hits you. An overwhelming ecstasy, spreading from your groin, all the way down to your toes. You figure out that’s what he’s been looking for.

You find yourself grinding down onto his bulge in an attempt to escape the onslaught of his fingers, but it’s no use, not with the way his thumb is circling your throbbing clit.

“Can’t even take two fingers in this tiny pussy huh? How are you gonna take my cock?” Dabi gives you a third finger and the stretch is officially unbearable.

You can’t do anything but pant in his lap while he holds you down, making sure that you keep still. Suddenly, you realise the gravity of the circumstances you find yourself in. Your step brother is going to fuck you and there’s nothing you can do about it.

“God, please slow down!” You cry out. He keeps hitting that spot over and over. It’s too much. You look back at him with tears in your eyes, pleading for reprieve. The satisfied smile on his face lets you know that he couldn’t care less. You feel an orgasm building, stronger than any that you’ve given yourself.

“No God here, doll. Just the Almighty Dabi. And guess what? He wants you to come for him.”

Even before he finishes his sentence, you’re already convulsing on top of him. For a moment you forget how debauched the situation is. Being debased by a man who you not only despise but are related to. All feelings of shame are replaced by pure, hot bliss that sets your nerves on fire. Dabi does not relent. Not until the please you feel is eclipsed by the pain of oversensitivity and you’re writhing in futile attempt to escape.

Dabi pulls his fingers out of you and wraps his other hand around your neck, dragging you up to face him. He holds his fingers, covered in your cream, right in front of your face. “Messy slut. Clean them.”

Before you can respond the fingers press against your lips. You have no choice but to take them inside your mouth. He grips the back of your head while you lave your tongue over his fingers, sucking off your release. He’s keeps a tension on your strands that makes your scalp sting. It’s a silent warning to keep your eyes on him. You’ve caught on by now that he wants this to be as humiliating as possible for you. As if coming on your step-brother’s fingers weren’t humiliating enough. He shoves his fingers deeper, making you gag around them drool seeping from the corner of your mouth.

“Good girl.” He growls as he wipes his saliva covered fingers dry on your face. Again, you fight back the tears of embarrassment. You won’t give him the satisfaction.

Dabi prompts you with cruel tug on your hair. “Gah! Th-thank you Touya-nii.” You whimper.

“Hmm.” His hands move to your hips and he rolls his hips to grind his hard cock into your core. “You want Nii-san to fuck you now?”

Your bottom lip quivers. Is he giving you an out? You pray to God that Dabi is giving you a way out of this. You doubt God cares about what you want right now but still, you hope he can grant you this one mercy, you’ll make it up to him somehow. You shake your head no. You probably look so pitiful right now, naked on top of Touya while he bucks up against you, your own spit streaked across your face, barely stopping the tears in your eyes from spilling.

“Liar.” He sneers. “You want your big brother to split that virgin hole right open.”

You’re stupid for thinking he would give you a way out. You realise that now. No point in trying not to cry. Nothing is gonna stop him from getting what he wants anyway. You can’t hold back the choked sobs anymore

“Such pretty tears, baby.” Dabi coos at you. “Don’t worry. Nii-san is gonna give you exactly what you want.”

He picks you up off of him and positions you exactly how he wants, on all fours, swollen cunt exposed for him. He kneels behind you and you hear the sounds of him undoing his jeans. You turn your head back, curiosity getting the better of you. Your eyes find Dabi just in time to see him free himself from his boxers, which join his jeans bunched at is knees. The sight makes your eyes go wide. It’s your first time seeing one in real life. Were they supposed to be that big? And… pierced?

He quirks a brow at you, smug look plastered on his face. He strokes himself in front of you, spreading his pre-cum along his shaft. He’s tilts it upwards to make sure you get a good look at the vertical barbell that goes through his tip and three horizontal, parallel bars along the underside. “You look scared. Don’t worry princess, Big brother Dabi’s gonna make it fit.” You feel his tip press against your opening and brace yourself.

You’ve heard stories from your friends. You know the first time hurts but God nothing could have prepared you for this .Touya makes good on his word, sliding his entirely until your pressed right against his pelvis. The scream you let out is ear shattering but you can’t help it, the stretch is excruciating. The way his piercings catch on your walls only, intensifies the burn. You crawl toward your headboard instinctively, it’s too much. Way too much.

He’s not having any of it. Dabi pulls you up to him with a hand wrapped around your throat until your back meets his front. “Shh shh shh. Don’t run baby. You’re gonna take all of it.” He groans right against your ear. Without giving you time to adjust, he begins to thrust into you at a relentless pace. You have no choice but to let him use you.

“Who’s fucking you huh? Who’s making you feel good?”

“My nii-san. Touya-nii is fucking me so good.”

“Yeah fuck. Love this holy pussy” He delivers a harsh smack directly on to your clit, making you quiver in his hold. He laughs at your reaction. “Gonna say a prayer for me babe? I wanna hear it.”

“Huh?” You’re barely lucid, there’s no way you heard him correctly.

“Well you’re a little sinner slut now. You should probably ask for forgiveness. Pray.”

You’re sure you’re beyond salvation now but you submit nonetheless. “Have mercy on me, O God, according to Your unfailing love; according to Your great compassion.” You gasp as he tightens his hand around your throat. “Against You, have I sinned and done what is evil in Your sight. Oh fuck Touya-nii!”

“Bad girl.” Dabi gives you another strike right on your aching clit. “Don’t think God is gonna be very happy with you.” Dabi is though. Dabi’s very happy with you. Your tight, gummy pussy sucks him back in every time he pulls back. It just makes him fuck you harder, he wants to make you scream louder for him.

“Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me. Ngggghh Shit. Do not cast me from Your presence or take Your Holy Spirit from me.” You’re sobbing outright, gasping to get air into your constricted throat.

“You gonna cum? My bad girl gonna come for her big brother?” Dabi grunts into your ear.

“Yeah close Touya-nii.”

“Hmm me too.”

“NOT INSIDE TOUYA-NII” You begin to thrash in his arms.

“S’matter princess? Don’t wanna have your big brother’s babies? That’s hurtful.” He snickers. He releases your throat in favour of pressing you into the mattress, large hand resting between your shoulder blades. “Better cum before I do then.”

The ridges of his piercings rub up against that same sweet spot, over and over again. You’re dizzy from the lack of air and absolutely drunk with pleasure on his cock. Pretty much the only thing tethering you to this existence is the unforgiving grip he has on your ass, digging his nails into your flesh. He reaches his hand around to rub your sore, puffy clit. It pushes you over the edge a second time. You feel every muscle contract and relax as the waves of your orgasm wash over you, making you cry out in bliss.

As soon as you come down from your high, Dabi has you flipped on to your back and is straddling your torso. “Keep praying.” He mutters. He furrows his brows, huffing as he jerks off on top of you, eyes focused intently on your gold necklace.

“Restore to me the joy of Your salvation and grant me a willing spirit to sustain me. Then will I teach transgressors Your ways, and sinners will turn back to You. Amen”

“Yeah, fuck that’s it take it baby.” Dabi sprays his come over your chest, aiming his load right on your cross, a symbol of your devotion to Christ, defiled. He looks absolutely euphoric watching the ropes of his hot cum slowly run down onto your nipples and down the valley of your breasts

“Don’t you fucking move.” He pants, catching his breath. He picks up his phone and you hear his camera click. He looks at the picture and smiles. You look absolutely fucked out. Hair disheveled, face red and bloated from crying and completely covered in his load. Yeah a real good, Christian girl. He thinks.

“Dabi! No!” You lunge forward, trying to grab his phone from his hand. Almost effortlessly, Touya shoves you back onto the bed.

“Relax. No one’s gonna see it. Not unless you snitch to mommy and daddy.”

“You promise?” You grab the tissues from your nightstand and wipe yourself clean. The smell lingers though, along with the grimy feeling, seemingly embedded in your skin. You look up at him, sniffling, tears still rolling down your cheeks. If he were better person, he’d take pity on you for being so fucking stupid.

“Promise, little sis.” He shoots you a wink as he tucks himself back into his jeans.

Before he’s left your room he’s already sent the picture to his friend, Shigaraki.

[islam-reflections]

We carefully pick out what we wear to the gym to make sure we look good in the eyes of the other gym goers. We beat ourselves up after meetings running through everything we said (or didn’t say), worried that coworkers will think we aren’t smart or talented enough. We post only the best picture out of the twenty-seven selfies we took and add a flattering filter to get the most likes to prove to ourselves that we are pretty and likable. 

We live in other people’s heads. 

And all it does is make us judge ourselves more harshly. It makes us uncomfortable in our own bodies. It makes us feel apologetic for being ourselves. It makes us live according to our perception of other people’s standards. It makes us feel inauthentic. Anxious. Judgmental. Not good enough. Not likable enough. Not smart enough. Not pretty enough. 

The truth is, other people’s opinions of us are none of our business. Their opinions have nothing to do with us and everything to do with them, their past, their judgments, their expectations, their likes, and their dislikes.

I could stand in front of twenty strangers and speak on any topic. Some of them will hate what I’m wearing, some will love it. Some will think I’m a fool, and others will love what I have to say. Some will forget me as soon as they leave, others will remember me for years. Some will hate me because I remind them of their annoying sister-in-law. Others will feel compassionate toward me because I remind them of their daughter. Some will completely understand what I have to say, and others will misinterpret my words. Each of them will get the exact same me. I will do my best and be the best I can be in that moment. But their opinions of me will vary. And that has nothing to do with me and everything to do with them. No matter what I do some people will never like me. No matter what I do some people will always like me. Either way, it has nothing to do with me. And it’s none of my business. 

Sandy Woznicki

[etherrealoblivion]

Chapter Sixteen: The Seventh Book

Table of Contents

Fic summary: Owning a bookstore in downtown D.C. came with its fair share of downsides. You never thought that being the target of a serial killer would be one of them. Luckily, a nice FBI agent by the name of Spencer Reid is assigned to watch over you. What's the worst that could happen?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Words: 2,803

TRIGGER WARNING: GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE!!!!! BEWARE!!!!

A/N: thank you everyone for reading this fic i love you all. one chapter left to go. i am so sorry for what follows.

MASTERLIST

~

Your eyelids were so heavy it was almost impossible to open them. The chair you were in was cold and hard against your back, the discomfort prompting you to wake up a little faster.

Then your surroundings forced the memory of what had happened into your mind.

It was a dark metal room with a single lightbulb dangling from the ceiling. Across the room on the wall were several closed metal hatches. Although you couldn’t make out much more. After all, your eyes were still partially closed and the dim light of the room made it even harder to see.

A small gasp next to you alerted the presence of someone else in the room.

Turning your head — with immense effort — you saw Spencer Reid slouched in the chair next to you, hands tied behind his back, slowly coming to.

“Spencer,” you said, voice quiet and strained. But he seemed to have heard judging by the way his eyes snapped wide open and he began to writhe in the chair.

Grunting harshly, he finally got his arms untied, jumping up and running toward the back of your chair and pulling off the rope, leaving your wrist burning slightly from the scratch.

Quickly analyzing the situation, Spencer firmly pressed against each of the four metal walls, ensuring that there was no way out. Then, when he was sure none of the walls would give, he started ramming his elbow against the metal slots in one of the walls.

“Spencer!” you had found your voice suddenly at the thought of him hurting himself. Strangely, you had just noticed that the two of you were only wearing your underwear. Even your bra had been put back on. Although he was wearing a watch you’d never seen before with a tight leather band that squeezed his wrist.

His gaze snapped to you, a determined look in his eye with a fire behind it that sent a spark through you.

“Where are we?”

It was a stupid question and you knew the answer, but you still had to ask. Spencer attempted to soften his expression but to no avail.

“I’m sorry.”

The words hurt on a whole new level. There was so much meaning behind them. They confirmed the fact that you had indeed been kidnapped and taken to some sort of torture chamber, they signified that he had failed to protect you, and they broke the pact you had to never apologize to one another.

There was a crackle and heavy breathing filled the room, the sound coming from a minuscule vent in one of the corners of the room.

Spencer stepped between you and the vent, reaching out a hand behind him to make sure you stayed behind him.

The breathing hesitated and after a moment, someone spoke.

“Hello, Y/N.”

The voice was so familiar. You knew you knew it but you didn’t know from where. The memory was just out of reach and it kept slipping through your fingers.

Spencer, however, had frozen, presumably recognizing the voice. Your hand moved to his shoulder of its own accord, finding the skin there to be freezing cold.

The voice from the vent chuckled.

“I understand that you and Spencer have become quite attached lately.”

You looked at him, unsure whether to respond or not. He glanced at you over his shoulder and nodded stiffly.

“Ye—ahem—yes, we have. Why?” To recognize the voice, you needed to keep him talking.

“Hmm. Let’s see how far you’re willing to go for each other.”

There was a whooshing noise and one of the four slots in the wall shot open, revealing a small hidden space.

“I’m sure if you can’t figure out what to do, Doctor Spencer Reid can help you.”

And then it clicked. And it all made sense. 

How he’d found your address, “Whoever accesses your card, even for something as small as a stick of gum, has the opportunity to use that information to find your name, your address, your workplace—” “Ok. I get it. People I see frequently and my credit card info. Gotta warn you, there’s not much I buy with it other than books and coffee.”

How he’d known which hotel you were at, “Whatever. Gives me more time to prepare for a cute date with a hot barista. Or . . . the other way around.”

Even how he knew you were at the cabin, “I actually had a coworker who had a cabin in the woods and he never mentioned becoming one with nature.”

All because “ . . . the waiter here, Tom, works at my regular coffee shop. Barista by day, waiter by night.”

“Tom. . . .”

Spencer looked at you sorrowfully as the voice chuckled through the vent.

“Very good . . . Honestly, I’m disappointed it took you this long to figure it out. I mean, it was pretty obvious. And so easy to get so much information about you! But! But, that's beside the point. You have a task I expect you to begin. After all, time is running out.”

Spencer reached into the hole in the wall, withdrawing a stopwatch, an electric hair clipper, and a small Exacto knife.

The stopwatch had two minutes and thirteen seconds on it, counting down slowly.

“What are we supposed to do?” you yelled at the wall, holding up the timer as if he could see it. You don’t know, there might be a camera, you thought to yourself, wrapping an arm around your bare stomach.

There wasn’t a response though, just the sound of the stopwatch clicking quietly.

“Y/N . . .” Spencer spoke from behind you. “It’s the seventh book.”

Frantically trying to remember the order of the books in your nightstand, you realized what the clippers and knife meant.

The Handmaid’s Tale, The Picture of Dorian Gray, The Telltale Heart, The Great Gatsby, 1984, A Clockwork Orange, and . . .

The seventh book was a very old and very rare edition of The Gift of The Magi.

“So we have to choose . . .”

The watchband on Spencer’s wrist was too tight to slip the knife through without cutting through his skin. And your hair would take much longer than two minutes to cut with a knife and clippers.

Without a word, Spencer took the exact-o knife and plunged it into the skin around his wrist, wincing in pain as he cut through the band.

“Spencer, no!”

But the watch fell from his hand to the floor, dripping with blood, Spencer’s wrist sliced open neatly. The wound was superficial but it looked like it hurt. He collapsed to the floor, dropping the knife and you rushed to his side.

“Are you okay?”

He nodded weakly, putting pressure on the cut.

“Very interesting . . .” Tom’s voice echoed around the room and you felt your stomach fill with rage like never before, spinning around and throwing the clippers at the wall with all of your might.

“We’re not going to play your fucking mind game!”

“Y/N,” Spencer whispered from the floor. “Don’t.”

“Why not?”

The answer to your question came in the form of an ear-splitting siren, the noise resonating around the room, forcing its way past your eardrums, giving you an abominable headache.

The noise suddenly stopped and Tom spoke again.

“It is your choice whether you play or not. But consider that a preview of the punishment for refusing to. And trust me, there’s worse punishments than that.”

The second hatch slid open.

Head darting between it and Spencer on the floor, holding his wrist, you opted to fetch the next items.

There was another stopwatch, this time with five minutes, two small slips of paper, and some kind of device transmitting footage of two people in a poorly lit room, strapped to chairs similar to how you had been moments ago.

“What the fuck is this?”

The light in the room came on, showing the people in the chairs to be a man and a woman. You didn’t recognize either of them, and, judging by his face, neither did Spencer.

“Oh no.”

You read the slips of paper.

Man and Woman, they said.

We have to choose one.

“We have to choose one.”

Spencer looked at you shaking his head, so overwhelmed by the fact that the two of you were in this situation.

You scrambled, unable to deal with the thought, “What if we—“

“—I’m sure the punishment will be worse if we don't choose one. Most likely, he’ll kill both of them. Statistically, men die younger than women and they can’t bear children. But women have a higher pain tolerance and—“

He was talking himself in circles, trying desperately to come up with a solution to an impossible problem.

“Spencer, this is something you can’t reason. We just have to pick one.”

You couldn’t believe he was only twenty-six. His eyes bore the weight of someone much older.

You forced a weak laugh that tasted terrible on your tongue, “Eenie Meenie Miney-Moe?”

He chuckled weakly. “No luck, I know you land on whichever one you didn’t start with.”

“Me too.”

“Time’s running out,” Tom reminded you.

Your face fell, all hints of a smile gone.

“The man.” You gaped at Spencer who had piped up just enough to make the decision.

There was a pause, then a dark figure walked into the room onscreen, brandishing a gun and aiming at the back of the man’s head.

The muffled sound of a gunshot rang out, making you and Spencer jump as the man went limp in the chair and the feed cut out.

Bile rose in your throat and you ran to a corner of the room to throw up.

“Very interesting,” Tom repeated, his voice sparking disgust deep in your stomach.

“Why are you doing this?” you begged, reaching out for Spencer who seemed to be doing a bit better judging by the fact he could now stand and his wrist was no longer gushing blood.

“I like watching the way you think.”

The now-familiar sound of the hatch opening brought you back to the situation at hand, trying desperately to get the image from the screen out of your mind.

Spencer reached into the hatch and pulled out two more slips of paper and another stopwatch.

The screen flicked back on, showing two more people in a dark room, another man and woman. The room was still dark so you couldn't make out much more.

You looked up at Spencer, confused, but his face had gone white as a sheet and he was staring at the pieces of paper.

“No.” Spencer ran to the vent, slamming on the wall. “No! Ahh!” shouting in pain when his wound made contact.

Tom didn’t say anything so you approached Spencer, snatching the pieces of paper to better understand why he was so angry.

The room on the screen lit up the moment you read the papers. This time it didn’t say man or woman. This time there were two names.

Steve and J.J.

Spencer’s blonde coworker and your closest friend were slumped over in the chairs on-screen, wriggling against their restraints. All breath left your body, your heart stopped in your chest.

“TOM! Please don’t do this.”

The desperation seeped into your voice pitifully. 

“Please, I’ll do anything.”

“Y/N,” Spencer stepped between you and the vent again, holding your shoulders. You suddenly felt how wet your eyes were. Strange how you hadn’t even realized you were crying.

“I . . . I can’t.”

Being forced to decide who lives and who dies was difficult enough to break anyone’s spirit. But this . . . this shattered yours to the core.

“You don’t have to,” Spencer said, “I can do it.”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Tom chided playfully, voice muffled through the speaker. “You’ve already chosen twice, Doctor. I think it’s Y/N’s turn, don’t you?”

“Look, I can make the decision. You don’t want to put her through too much, do you?” Spencer’s voice was soft, but the way he was gripping your hand suggested he felt otherwise. “You wouldn’t do that to her.”

“I suppose you’re right. Though, while I do care for her, it is her turn. But don’t fret! You can make the next decision together.”

Your eyes were locked on the screen, watching as Steve and J.J. came to, becoming rapidly aware of their situation and struggling against the bindings. Spencer gently squeezed your hand, showing you the time on the stopwatch. Fifty seconds left.

There was no right decision.

J.J. had a child, a husband, a family. Steve had no one. Steve had you. 

There was no right decision. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t a wrong one.

“Steve.” You hadn’t said it out loud, just mouthed the word letting the breath flow out of you.

Then, realizing he couldn’t hear you, you repeated yourself.

“Steve.” It was barely a whisper but it was the loudest sound in the world.

Actually, strike that, the loudest sounds were the footsteps entering the room and standing behind your friend, holding a gun to his head.

Tom’s voice came back over the intercom.

“I need you to say it.”

It took every ounce of strength not to fall to the ground and burst into tears. The only thing keeping you upright was fear. Pure terror. You couldn’t say it, but if you didn’t they’d both die.

“Kill Steve.”

You closed your eyes before the gunshot went off, knees giving out and collapsing to the ground, feeling Spencer fall with you, trying to keep you as upright as possible.

“Hey,” he grabbed your head, forcing your gaze to him, his dark brown eyes dark with rage. “We’re gonna be okay.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Tom’s voice made your stomach contort.

The fourth and final hatch slid open.

“I can’t . . . I can’t . . .” your hands were trembling harder than your voice as you shook back and forth, clutching your legs to your chest.

“Okay, it’s okay. It’s almost over,” Spencer said, standing and reaching into the last slot. 

He didn’t move for a while, back turned to you, looking down at something.

“Spencer?”

“Me, I choose me,” he said, turning towards the vent, revealing the item he was holding. A gun. His gun.

“No!”

“Very well,” Tom said, chuckling. “But that’s not quite how this works. One of you has to die, but the other has to do it.”

Spencer ran and sat next to you on the floor, forcing the gun into your hands, lightly placing your finger on the trigger.

“Spencer . . .”

“Listen to me, it’s okay. Okay? If we don’t do this, he’s gonna kill us both. I need you to understand that I am okay with this. I am choosing this, not you. This is for me to decide.”

He slowly brought the gun up to his head, resting just between his eyebrows.

That was too much and the sobs that had been building up in your chest escaped your lips, tears pouring down your cheeks and falling onto your legs. Your hands trembled harder, the gun shaking against his head.

“Y/N,” he smiled, eyes bright and twinkling. “It’s okay.” Then, he swallowed, looked away for a moment, then looked back at you with fire burning deep behind his eyes. What he said next changed your life.

“I love you, Y/N.”

You sobbed as he cocked the gun and steadied your finger on the trigger.

“I love you, Spencer.”

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. You didn’t even have to think before you did what you did next.

You removed the gun from his head, held it against your own, right on your temple, and stood, turning toward the vent.

“5 . . .”

“Wait!” Tom called out.

“4 . . .”

“Y/N, stop!” Spencer shouted at you.

“3 . . .”

“That’s not how this works!” Tom yelled furiously, voice cracking. “Stop! You have to shoot him!”

“2 . . .”

The wall under the vent slid open and a dark figure stumbled in, holding out a blunt object, approaching you threateningly, rearing back.

The instant you saw the whites of Tom’s eyes, you aimed the gun directly between his eyes and squeezed the trigger, attempting to keep your arm as still as possible. In a flash, you were brought back to the alley where you shot a gun for the first time. All you could think of were your and Spencer’s lips meeting for the first time.

You didn’t realize you’d closed your eyes until you opened them and was met with the image of Tom The Barista with a bloody hole in his head, falling backwards to the floor, crumpling like a rag doll, a blank expression on his face.

Taking one last look at Spencer to make sure he was okay, you felt your legs give out beneath you and you fell to the floor, losing consciousness. 

Again, everything went dark.

~

last chapter tomorrow. i am so sorry. bring tissues.

~

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[loves124]

Neighbor’s ch.1

Warning: language (sorry if it bothers you all but I usually sing like a sailor and tried holding back a bit more this chapter but there are still some word in here.)

Kinda fluff?

If there are any errors or mistakes please don’t hesitate to let me know :)

Also don’t hesitate to give me some fresh ideas

Thank you,

Love you,

Enjoy!

(Shouta Aizawa x fem!reader)

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

It's been a long day for you. As soon as you walked out the door this morning, anything and everything has been going wrong. You were running late and had to skip breakfast, you missed your train, you got scolded by your boss for showing up late, and you even grabbed your least favorite pair of socks. They have a little nub in the corner that always feels super weird on your foot and makes you feel uncomfortable in your body. As the day progressed, nothing got better. You just wanted to come home and cry on your couch while watching Ghibli movies and eating a pint of ice cream for dinner.

You could feel the familiar lump in your throat forming, and your eyes were stinging from holding back your tears. Today was just so frustrating, and all you wanted was for it to be over. The more you thought about it, the heavier your emotion was. Thank God that your shift was finally over with. Looking at the time, you saw that it was 7:30 and you needed to hurry to catch the last train home.

As you headed home, you could feel your feet dragging behind you, sniffling and letting some tears fall. You finally reach your complex and continue walking to your apartment door.

A man is standing by the railing near your apartment door. He has a cigarette hanging from his lips. Taking a second to lean away from the railing, he pulls a hairband from his wrist and gathers his long ebony hair pulling it back into a messy bun. He looks a little disheveled: wearing some black slacks to pair with his black V-neck shirt.

You can see some cardboard boxes packed around him as well. It takes you a second to realize that the apartment next to yours has been vacant for weeks now. Mrs. Honda, your landlady, might've finally found an occupant.

Great. Your first impression to your neighbor is going to be when you're a total mess. That's just fan-fucking-tastic.

You try to compose yourself as you make your way closer to your apartment, and it isn't working too well. The man picks up your movement and gives you a gaze as he flicks the built-up ashes of the end of his cigarette.

You give a bit of a nod and mumble a quiet hello as you make your way closer to your apartment. You fumble through your purse, trying to find your key card for your door. Huffing in frustration, you realize that you most likely locked it in your apartment. 'This day just can't get any better,' you think to yourself.

You dig through your purse and grab your wallet, pulling out a dunking donuts gift card. You attempt to fiddle it in-between your door and the frame. You were struggling as you fiddled with the handle of the door. You are just about to try and kick down the door before a voice interrupts you.

"Aren't burglars supposed to be good at picking locks?"

You look over to see the man leaning back on the rail, amused at your feeble attempt to break into your own apartment.

Flustered, you stumble to find your words. "Ah well, you see... this is actually my apartment. I just locked my card inside. I was running late this morning and didn't have time for breakfast. And breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and it probably is a reason why I forgot my card. And my boss didn't make it any better by being such an asshole-" you glance at the man again and compose yourself. "I'm so sorry. You don't need to know all that. It's just been a long day," you sigh.

"Hey, I get it. It's been similar for me. I usually don't smoke, but it's been a bit of a rough day, so I thought I deserved a bit of a break," he signals to the cigarette intertwined between his fingers.

"I would offer you one, but I take you as the type who doesn't smoke."

"After the day I had, I am very tempted for any sort of relief" you sigh and drop your bag, joining him over by the railing.

Lazily putting the cigarette back in-between his lips, he extends his hand out to you. "Shouta Aizawa, I guess I'm your new neighbor."

You reciprocate and put your tiny hand in his "(F/N L/N, it's nice to meet you. Sorry, you had to see me when I'm such a mess."

"If this is you when you're a mess, I'd love to see how you are normally," he says.

Both you and Aizawa chit chat a bit before a gust of wind flows by you, making you shiver and cover your arms to receive it a bit. I guess he picks up on it because he offers you to come inside his apartment for a cup of tea.

"If that makes you uncomfortable, though, you are more than free to refuse. I won't take any offense," Aizawa says as he stubs out the remains of his cigarette into the ashtray he has sitting on a cardboard box.

"I'll take you up on your offer" you smile. "Just to let you know, though, I judge harshly when it comes to people's tea-making abilities."

"noted," he chuckles as he holds the door open for you with one arm while holding the box in the other.

You both chat for hours. Talking about anything and everything, you learned that he is a teacher at UA. Commending him at his accomplishment for having a job at such a prestigious school, but he doesn't seem to be interested in his accomplishment. Even with all of the talking, he seems like he isn't too interested in talking about his own life but more interested in finding more information about yours.

It's sweet, but you would like to know more about the man in front of you. You are surprised with how comfortable you are with him. He is a little intimidating. He's got this dark and broody sort of personality, and that's disregarding his looks. This man is the definition of sexy.

You are just admiring him and all of his details while he is sipping on the chamomile tea he made for you both. You notice the scar that's on his left cheekbone, and you're tempted to run your fingers across it. He also had some pretty prominent eye bags. You usually think eye bags are unattractive. That's ever since you developed some from working overtime at your job. Waking up and seeing the dark circles under your eye made you feel so insecure. Looking at Aizawa though, you can't help but find them beautiful. They add to his charm a bit, and you realize he most likely has them from putting in so much effort into his work. His dedication is more than admirable.

You take your time basking in him, thinking to yourself, "why is he so goddamn pretty?"

Only to realize that his expression changes, and you just said that out loud. Flustered, you try and explain yourself, "Sorry, I just- I didn't- God, this is embarrassing."

He grins. "Never would have thought I would be described as 'pretty. Usually, I get 'jaded' or 'dull.'"

"Really?" you say, shocked. "But you're so handsome?"

"With these dry eyes, thanks, but I don't need any pity compliments" you go to defend yourself but are interrupted by him.

"speaking of dry eyes," he rummages through his pockets. "Where did I put them?" he questions before picking up a box and setting it on the counter, rummaging through it.

"What are you looking for?" you question.

"Just eye drops, I get some pretty mean dry eye, so I usually have some on hand," he huffs.

"Well, I don't think you are going to find them in there," you nervously laugh.

"Why not? I'm pretty sure I put them in here."

"Do you... um usually put your eye drops in with uh- your butt plugs?" you question

"My what?" he stares incredulously, and you respond by pointing to the scribbled sharpie written on the side of the box. He flips the box around to see written in big bold letters' Aizawa's Butt Plugs FRAGILE'.

"Hizashi," he quietly sighs while pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Hey, it's totally okay. I don't kink shame here. I would just say its a little unsanitary to put your eye drops with-"

"I don't have but plugs," he quickly says. "I have never once owned but plugs; it's just my coworker is a piece of shit and doesn't know how to stay out of someone else's stuff."

"I like his humor. Seems like my kind of person," you chuckle.

"You would eat your words if you met him in person. He is kind of a loud person," he sighs as he continues to dig through the box. "Finally," he puffs as he pulls out a small little bottle. Unscrewing the top, he attempts to drop some in his eyes but misses.

Some mumbled swears later, and you offer, "Would you like some help?"

"only if you're comfortable though," you add on.

"Could you? I can usually get it first try since I do it so often" he hands you the tiny bottle. You look around and move to sit on the counter, waving him over to come in-between your legs. You cup his face as if it were a natural thing you would do on a day-to-day basis without even thinking. You have your thumb laying on his cheekbone, and you drag it over his scar, feeling some of the grooves and divots within it. He leans a bit into your hand as you caress the scar, but you realize you are getting a little carried away and continue. Dropping a couple of drops in each eye, he sighs in relief.

"Thanks," he says with a smile. You both look into each other's eyes before you cough and look over at the time to see it is already 1 am. He follows your gaze.

"Wow, have we really been talking that long?" you question. "I've probably more than overstayed my welcome" with a laugh, you hop off the counter and stand under his gaze. "Thank you so much for listening to me and being such a wonderful host. I should probably head back over though" you point to the direction of your apartment. "You might if I use your balcony to hop on over?" You ask.

"Sure," he breaks from his trance. Leading you to the balcony, you throw your bag over the railing to your side and follow in suit. He gives his hand and aids you over the railing to your side.

With a thankful smile, you give a quick thanks and goodnight. But before you go in, they capture your attention once again.

Rubbing his hand on the back of his neck, he says, "just so you know, you're welcome here anytime you get locked out again, or even if you don't get locked out."

You smile. "I'll take you up on that, but you might get tired of me pretty fast." You open the back door and make your way into your apartment, but before you close the door, you hear him say

"I doubt it."

[disneyobsessedtheatergeek]

Gonna go on a real weird rant here

I recently watched that old Justin Beiber documentary Never Say Never because it’s on Netflix and the whole thing made me really sad. 

I’ve also been watching old Hannah Montana episodes, so child stars have been on my mind. 

I don’t think fame is good for anyone, let alone children. 

There’s a whole segment in the Beiber thing about how he doesn’t want to lose his childhood so they’re working hard to make sure that doesn’t happen and it’s like no... that happened. He lost his childhood.  Regular teenage boys don’t have to go on vocal rest and go weeks without seeing thier friends. They can join school clubs and go to dances and stay up late laughing about dumb stuff.  I get that he’s rich and famous and married to a model and has done some pretty bad things. I’m not saying we have to feel bad for him right now, but I think we can feel bad for him when he was a child. All of these people in the movie kept saying oh he calls me mom, I have him in my phone as nephew, he’s like a little brother to me and it’s like ok... a little brother who you’re heavily profiting off of. You all make tons of money because of this kid. I’m sure there’s some genuine affection there too, but it’s not the unconditional love of family, not really. They’re coworkers who get along. 

Hannah Montana is weird to watch because normally in these shows the level of fame the person is written to be at is nowhere near the level they’re actually at, but Hannah Montana was an actual sensation. It’s probably the biggest show Disney Channel’s ever had, it was everywhere. And there’s a lot of irony in the fact that the show was all about how great it was that Miley got to just be a normal kid sometimes, while in real life she didn’t get that. 

It’s sort of fascinating how we put all of this pressure and attention on children, and then when they freak out or breakdown we judge them harshly, and then get mad if they don’t act greatful for their early fame.  But like, if someone gets rich because they inherit money from a dead relative we don’t tell them they should be greatful that their relative died.  It’s sad that these people lost their childhoods. I’m sure there were good parts of it. And really, it is impossible to say if they’d be happier without the fame. But it’s a depressing process. 

So now I’m like ok, who’s are current teen idol. I’m gonna go with Jojo Siwa. I know she’s basically everywhere right now. When I worked at Build a Bear last halloween season the most common answer to “what are you gonna be?” was Jojo Siwa. The thing that bothers me with her is her mother has been bleaching her hair since she was like a toddler. It super weirds me out. I’ve (unfortunately) watched Dance Moms. Jojo seems like a sweet kid, really bright, energy for days. But agaiin, I don’t think fame is good for a person. And I don’t know if kids recognise when it would be good for them to slow down or hold back. It gets to a point where you feel like you’re suppose to do something. If you’re a regular kid and you stop having fun playing soccar you just stop and do something else. What do you do if you’re a preformer? 

I also think about the Mary Kate and Ashley Olsen, who probably reached that level of fame younger than anyone else like, ever. They weren’t even a year old before the world was obsessed with them. They were acting for so long that it was just a normal part of life for them. And as they got older they both turned out to be pretty introverted, and then Mary-Kate was struggling with an eating disorder and they had to deal with awful questions about how can she still be a role model for young girls? And then people are like, SHOCKED that they didn’t want to come back to Fuller House, a show they were only like seven or something at the end of. But people talk about how the show “Did so much for them” as if the literal babies ever asked for it. 

In short, child stardom is so weird and harsh and I don’t like it. 

[highroadsteve]

no feelings (pt. two) — t.h.

pairing: tom holland x reader

warnings: angst, language

requested: Hi, I recently found you and I am a big fan of your writing! I would like to request a tom holland imagine, like a part two to No Feelings? Maybe where Y/N finds happiness with someone else and Toms reaction? Just a thought :D

summary: you and tom were friends with benefits until he meets and fall in love with someone else

masterlist

part one

It’s been over two months since you had met Tom and Mariah, the four of you becoming so close that you have them sleep over at your apartment constantly. The days you hung out always included the most fun activities, from going to lunch together to going to different states for an adventure. Mariah quickly became your best friend, the toxic feelings of jealousy that inhabited your heart were completely replaced with warmth and love for the girl.

The two of you have already had the talk about Tom, Mariah being completely understanding. ‘There was a little crush involved, but it quickly went away’ you said. It was pretty obvious you were not going to mention the nights Tom was in your bed, or the mornings where you would wake up next to each other with the sheets covering your bare bodies. You chose to hide everything that intimately happened between the two of you, especially the poems he wrote you. You decided that their relationship was better off with Mariah thinking that Tom had written his feelings on a piece of paper exclusively for her. What she doesn’t know, won’t kill her.

Besides, you’ve begun your search to find a significant other, your loneliness becoming a burden as you sat through talks of dates and admiration for the boys’ girls. Harrison found himself one recently, her name was Juli and things were getting serious as they went on a couple of dates. Since the boys had their own people to be with, you found yourself coming home to an empty, quiet apartment and spending your days binge watching some uninteresting shows. You were starting to get tired of binge-watching, which was strange because you loved doing it.

So you decided to go out and meet new people. Well, technically not new people, you just started to be around people you weren’t around with before. Like one of your coworkers at your job that you hardly had conversations with, or an old friend from school that had moved to a city or two away. It was just casual hang outs at the bar or at a party, nothing serious.

This went on for a week or two until you finally met someone who you clicked with immediately. It was your coworker’s friend and you met him at a party. He was handsome, extremely handsome, and he found you beautiful so the dates were arranged pretty quickly after that.

You talked to him as if you’ve known him for years, his conversation starters were anything but boring. He didn’t judge you, he didn’t think you were strange for speaking your thoughts. He was completely infatuated with you, and you were with him.

A couple of months into the relationship, you finally decided to take him with you to a small vacation with the boys and their girls. The trip was planned a while ago, it was just to have a nice break before Tom and Harrison had to leave for the filming of Spiderman: Far From Home. The trip was going to be in Hawaii, all of you sharing connected hotel rooms.

You had taken your boyfriend, Josh, to your hangouts a couple times before but this time he is going on vacation with you all. Everyone was so psyched to have him go because they all see him as a genuine and caring person. Well, most of your friends. Tom, for some reason, hasn’t warmed up to him.

The group all went to your apartment so you could all leave at the same time. Josh had opened the door to your friends, greeting them all with an excited smile and helped them with anything they needed. He loved your friends so much, whenever you talked about your adventures together and the fun you’ve had, it made him feel glad that you have people in your life that makes you happy. And the relationship you have with him so far has been the best one, both of you having the most trust with each other. You were even able to tell him what had happened with Tom and he was a bit hesitant at first but he understood it was the past and you had moved on. So needless to say, Josh was going to stay in your life for a long time.

The six of you finally arrived to your hotel rooms after the flight, you and Josh collapsing on the bed, sighing. It wasn’t a long flight, just a little over five hours, but being cramped up in a chair does something to your wellbeing. So here you were, laying on the bed with your legs dangling off the edge, looking at the beautiful view from your room. Josh wrapped an arm around you, kissing your cheek repeatedly, causing you to giggle. He laughed and pressed one more kiss on your cheek before there was a knock on the door that connected your room to Tom and Mariah’s. You kissed him one more time and then went to go open the door.

“Oh hey Tom, what’s up?” You answered, seeing Tom with a bag in his hand. Josh yelled out a greeting and Tom gave him a small smile, returning his attention to you.

“I think this is your makeup bag, it was accidentally mixed in our luggage.” He handed you the bag and you smiled, thanking him and started to close the door.

“Oh also we are going to dinner in a bit so I suggest you get ready. Tell Haz and Juli.” You laughed and closed the door fully after thanking him. Doing as told, you knocked on Harrison and Juli’s door and informed them to get ready.

The dinner went smoothly, everyone getting to know Josh better and vice versa. Despite not knowing anyone very well other than you, he had plenty of things to say in a way that made the conversations keep flowing one after the other. He also wasn’t afraid to show everyone his love for you, whether it would be through his arm hanging loosely on your shoulder or the soft kisses he places on your temple every now and then. Your stomach would still fill up with butterflies every single time he touched you.

What you didn’t see was Tom. You didn’t see the frequent glances he was making every time he saw you move, or the way he purposefully was doing the same thing as Josh to get you to look at him the way he’s looking at you. He wanted you to be jealous, he wanted your attention. But you didn’t give it to him anymore. And it was expected, you don’t even notice him anymore like you used to, your heart belongs to someone else. Tom’s heart belonged to someone else too, but he was starting to think maybe that meant someone else other than Mariah.

After the dinner, the whole group headed out to the beach after a quick rest at the hotel room. The moonlight was shining on the water, giving the waves an appearance of the glimmering stars in the sky. You had gone to the restroom and then came back to empty chairs and a lonely Tom. Setting down your bag on your chair, you looked at him in confusion.

“Where is everyone?” You asked, looking around and not finding anyone anywhere. Tom leaned back in his chair and faced you.

“They went to get drinks, they’ll be back.” He responded and you nodded. You sat down in your chair and the both of you sat in silence. For the first time ever, you couldn’t think of what to say to one of your best friends. It felt a little awkward, and there was some tension which was strange.

“So, how do you like Ha—“

“I need to talk to y—“

The both of you talked at the same time and stopped immediately. You snap your head pretty quickly to see him, furrowing your eyebrows. He needed to talk, and you were starting to get a little nervous.

“Yeah dude, is everything okay?” You asked, sitting upright and shifting so you looked at him. He groaned, putting his face in his hands and rubbing his eyes harshly. He looked over at your figure and sighed.

“I think I have feelings for you.” You blinked three times, not thinking you heard him right. Is this Tom? Is this your best friend Tom, who you used to sleep with in order to get rid of your frustrations? Is this the Tom that ended things himself?

“I-um, what?” You stuttered, still not believing what he’s saying. There’s no way that he’s sober, he’s probably acting and trying to get a rise out of you. This can’t be real.

“I don’t know! I just...I can’t stand seeing you with him. Every time I do, I just feel jealous and hurt and I hate it.” He started rambling on, the blush on his face getting warmer by the minute, making him instantly regret what he was saying. You started to get a little angry, only because he’s acting selfish.

“Oh no Tom you can’t do that. You can’t just sit there and talk about how my relationship hurt your feelings. You can’t just talk about having feelings for me when you’re the one who ended things. You’re the one that found someone and left me there with my heart broken. I finally found someone who I like, and he likes me just as much. So just drop this bullshit.” Tom quickly looked up at you, his eyebrows furrowing a bit.

“You had feelings for me?” He asked and you rolled your eyes.

“I did.” You stated blankly, laying down on the chair and hugged your chest.

“I didn’t know.”

“I didn’t either.”

[hana1379]

Free Love vol.2

Summary:  fic loosely based on song “Free love” by Depeche Mode. I’ve heard this song on radio and idea popped in my head

Pairing: AU!Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: SMUT, oral sex (m receiving), thigh riding, language, slight angst

Words: 3,5k 

Notes: Finally managed to write it, let me know if tags don’t work, I’m still trying to figure out how it all works :) and again I’m not native english speaker so if you’ll see mistakes please tell me about it. Feedback is more than welcome.

!If you want to be tagged in anything please massage me cause I can’t keep up with requests in comments!

July 2017

“Hello?” your voice was tired, you were probably falling asleep when he called. He imagined you had your Minnie Mouse pajama on, the one with long sleeves and cute pink shorts. You sometimes wore fuzzy socks to bed, he remembered one time when you had them on and you slipped on bathroom’s floor landing on your ass with a loud thud, he was laughing so hard, he almost pissed himself while you were whining on the floor. He smiled at the memory, memory when he was happy because he had you.

“Hello??” you repeated getting annoyed

“Y/N! Hi! Sorry if I wake you but I was thinking about you right now and I thought to myself…” he heard you sigh, you clearly didn’t want to speak with him. He knew that.

“Bucky… I told you not to call me ever again. Look, it’s late and I have to get up early tomorrow”

“I miss you” he blurted out and it was true. He missed your smile, your scent, your stupid jokes and the way you were looking in the morning with messy hair and smile on your face. God he really missed you.

“Are you drunk?” Y/N asked and that was also true, in fact only after alcohol he could build up the courage to call you, he didn’t want to meet you, not after last time.

He told his girlfriend about you and she confronted you calling you a slut. He wanted to do what you told him to, make things right between you two, become something more but his girlfriend misunderstood. She thought he was cheating on her and she wanted to humiliate you in front of your coworkers. It worked. You stormed out of your work with tears in your eyes and you met with him. You made clear it was over and you didn’t want to see him again. It was three months ago. Three long months without you.

“I really miss you Y/N”

“You miss me or you miss fucking me? Guess your BAE is not as good as I huh?” he could imagine the look on your face. You probably raised your left brow, your words were bitter but he knew he was hurting you again. He shouldn’t have called you. Bucky wanted to say something but you spoke again

“I don’t really wanna know if she’s better than me or not. I don’t care. But you know what? You are a fucking gem Bucky. You have a fucking nerve to call me after three months and you’re telling me you miss me. You think I’ll run to you and we’ll live happily ever after? Play the victim somewhere else Barnes cause I’m not buying it”

Bucky’s heart dropped. He had lost you. He screwed this up and he had lost you.

“Oh and say hi to your girl, I still have a scar on my cheek from her claws” you ended the call and Bucky was speechless. He could see his reflection in the window. His drunken face. His messy hair and red eyes. A single tear dropped from his right eye, he reached his hand and wiped it harshly.

Bucky turned away from the window and went toward coffee table he grabbed vodka he was currently drinking, he collapsed on the couch and drunk with one draft sizable proportion of what was left. He didn’t mind the taste anymore and burn in his throat was barely recognizable. His eyelids became heavier and he knew he will pass out soon but then an idea popped in his head.

He still had his charm. He will go to your house and woo you. He knew where you lived, you won’t be able to resist him. He will win you back.

Bucky got up from his couch and struggled with tripping over his own feet. He was too wasted to drive, he decided to walk long enough to clear his head and then call a taxi. He grabbed his wallet, his phone, walked out the door and headed towards the elevator. As soon as he was on the first floor his head was spinning and he had to hold on to the wall otherwise he would fall on his face.

The concierge at front desk ran up to him and wrapped Bucky’s arm around his own neck.

“Mr. Barnes you should sit down. I’ll give you something to drink” the concierge said and placed Bucky on the armchair. Bucky wasn’t sure he will be able to drink anything soon. He was fighting with the urge to throw up and he started to swallow every spit his mouths’ produced.

“Oh dear! I think we should go outside” concierge managed to lift Bucky from his place and he dragged him outside

“Thank you, Bob” was the only thing Bucky could say before bending down and barfing everything he had drunk an hour ago.

“My god! Have you eat something today?”

“I was drinking since afternoon. I’m pretty impressed I didn’t pass out” Bucky looked at his shoes, they were covered in vomit just like his trousers. He didn’t want to go to your place like that. Covered in puke and he thought his breath must be deadly. So he decided to take shower and change his clothes. After thanking Bob and apologizing for the mess he headed to his apartment and once more he thought about you.

He remembered like once you had been drinking with him almost all day. That day Bucky told you, you were the most beautiful person he had ever laid eyes on. Of course, you didn’t believe him You’re only telling me that cause you want to strip me out of my clothes, you made your grumpy face and he had to plead you to even look at him. You were always stubborn.

Once again in his apartment Bucky headed towards his bathroom and he took off his shoes and clothes, he considered throwing away his covered in vomit belongings but he decided to deal with it in the morning.

It’s amazing how cold water can work wonders. He was now as sober as judge. He looked decent, smelled decent and most importantly he still got a courage to talk to you. Bucky ones more took an elevator and he did his walk of shame avoiding Bob’s gaze.

The further he got from his home the more he was getting nervous. It was almost one in the morning and he didn’t know how you will react seeing him at your door. Taxi driver annoyed Bucky, he was talking about his job and whining about his wife. Bucky only nodded to him thinking about you all the way to your place.

Speaking of which Bucky thought your house was fucking ugly. Made of red bricks, with two entrances it looked like two houses were melted together. You rented it and above you was living family with two kids, you were always complaining about the  noise but didn’t do anything with it. He couldn’t understand why haven’t you move out.

He paid the driver and got out from taxi. He took in the sight of your home. Fucking ugly. In the night some may say creepy. There was a light in your kitchen’s window, that’s a good start. He went to the door and looked at the intercom, your name was still there that’s even better means you still lived here. He knew it was broken so why bother calling? He just entered the building.

The light blinded him for a moment and he ran up the stairs onto the second floor. Three. Number three on the door. You were close to him, only the wall was between you two. He knocked three times on the wooden door.

June 2012 

He knocked three times on the wooden door. Bucky waited, he heard hustle on the other side of the door. He couldn’t ignore passing people gaze, they probably thought he was some kind of a hustler and honestly, he was but he didn’t get paid for what he was doing, neither did Y/N of course.

The door opened and he saw you wearing a red tank top shoved in your shorts. Your hair was tied in a messy bun. You smiled wide when you saw him

“You’re here!” you jumped over to him and straddled his waist. His hands immediately went to your ass supporting you. You kissed him as he entered the room and he closed the door with his foot still carrying you in his arms. Your hands were cupping his face. You felt he was smiling against your lips. You pulled back and looked into his eyes.

“Sorry for bringing you here. I just wanted to get away from the city” you pecked his lips

“That’s ok doll, I know you’ve always wanted to stay in a place like this” you grinned and kissed him fiercely

The place where you were staying was far from the city and it looked like any other motel across the country. It was cheap and with your broken ass and Bucky’s debt, it was a perfect place for staying for the weekend.

Bucky placed you on your feet and you headed towards the mini bar

“What did you say to your parents?” Bucky asked and you shrugged, beers in both your hand you handed him one

“I told them I’m with friends. They weren’t happy with that but they can’t keep me on a leash” you handed Bucky your bottle for him to open it.

“How're your finals?” he opened bottles and handed you yours

“I passed everything” you took a sip of beer “That’s good” Bucky said and suddenly you jumped

“I have a gift for you!” Bucky’s brow raised. Gift? For him? You were now searching for something in your bag. You apparently found it as you straightened and you placed your hands behind your back, hiding something.

“It’s kinda our first anniversary and I know we’re not together, no strings attached and all but I thought you could make good use of it and of course I could benefit from that too” your hand made its way from behind you and you handed Bucky package. A box of condoms with a silver bow on top of it. Bucky couldn’t help but laugh

“These are not normal condoms, they have little dots on and it can make your partner come sooner” you declared with a serious face, Bucky frowned

“So you’re saying that I don’t make you come? That you faked most of your orgasms?” Bucky wasn’t sure if he wanted to know your answer

“No, of course not. I saw them in a shop and my friend recommended it and I just wanted to try them” you looked at him and you were kicking yourself for making him doubt in his skills.

“You’re crazy” he gently covered  your lips with his own “But I don’t think it’s enough in the box, you know with your libido…”

You slapped his arm and shoved him onto the couch. He was smirking, he knew what was coming.

You dropped to your knees and hands. Crawling towards him you kept eye contact and smirked. Bucky shifted on the couch spreading his legs further.

“I’ll show you how high my libido is” you were now between his legs. You rested your hands on his thighs and you began to rub them up and down. Bucky’s breath hitched as your head lowered, still keeping an eye contact you stopped, your face only inches from his visible bulge.

“Someone’s got excited” you teased and pecked him through his jeans. Bucky groaned and he reached his hand to your hair

“Hands on the couch! Don’t you dare touch my hair, do you know how long it takes to make this hairdo?” you ordered and Bucky narrowed his eyes in annoyance but he obeyed and placed his arms on the back of the couch.

“Good boy” you got up from your place and kissed him on the cheek, near his lips. You were kissing him slowly making your way from his lips to his jaw and his neck. You nipped at his skin and you palmed him through his jeans squeezing lightly.

You heard him murmur a simple “Fuck” and you giggled enjoying your control over him. Once again you were on your knees between his thighs and you reached out to unzip his pants.

“Your going commando often?” you kissed his swollen head and his cock twitched

“Y/N stop teasing” Bucky moaned and you decided not to torture him more. You placed your hand on his shaft and began to stroke him slowly before wrapping your lips around his tip. You started sucking hard and swirling your tongue on his cock.

“Holy fuck Y/N!” he bucked his hips and fought with the urge to grab your hair. You moaned sending vibrations through his now full erection.  

Pre-cum was leaking from his tip and you willingly collected it. You started to move your head, taking as much as you could in your mouth. God, he was huge. He twitched in your mouth and you felt his thick veins rubbing up against your throat.

“Someone’s been practicing” he smirked and you felt your pants were getting more and more soaked. The thought about taking his dick in your cunt and him fucking you till you can’t breath aroused you. Even more than giving him a head.

You pulled back and started to stroke him with your hand in rapid motion “I haven’t. I just want to take as much as my throat allows, that’s all” you smirked at him and again you took his cock into your mouth sucking hard. He started to pant heavily, his chest raising up and down. He was close.

“Ok, I think that’s enough, Y/N” Bucky said but you didn’t stop your movements, you wanted him to end in your mouth. Bucky groaned and his head fell back onto the back of the couch. Your hand reached to his balls and you began massaging, you squeezed tightly and he bucked his hips once more.

“Fuckk… Y/N! I’m gonna cum… Shit!” his gaze again shoot to your eyes and he spilled inside you. Ribbon after ribbon of his semen filled your mouth. You swallowed as much you could but some of it managed to escape in corner of your mouth. You pulled him from your mouth and you dragged your finger on a string of his come from your chin up against your mouth, sucking on your digit.

Bucky was panting, his eyes locked at yous as you banded over once more and you started to lick him clean.

“Your sure that you haven’t been practicing?” Bucky asked and you got up from your knees, your face now inches from his

“You jealous?” you asked looking into his lustful eyes

“I’m not jealous, just curious” he said and he leaned towards you even more

“I must brush my teeth. Your sperm cells got stuck between them” Bucky laughed as you straightened and headed towards bathroom swaying your hips. Bucky looked at you, admiring the way your body moved. He got up from the couch and made his way to the bathroom. The night was still young after all.

July 2017

He knocked three times on the wooden door. To say that he was nervous would be an understatement. Bucky was fucking terrified but he was telling himself it will work, everything will be alright. Maybe it wasn’t too late to turn and run. No. He has to sacrifice his pride and let you yell at him and then he will tell he loves you and everything will be alright.

“Who is it?” your voice was muflfed and Bucky was pulled from his thoughts by it.

“It’s me doll. I need to talk to you” he heard you cursing but you opened your door.

And he was right, you had your Minnie Mouse pj’s on. He saw you were still wearing your “D” necklace, that was a good sign. You had murderous look on your face and you clenched door handle tightly, your knuckles were turning white.

“The fuck you want to talk about Barnes?”

“Can we come inside? I don’t want to talk in a hallway” Bucky rubbed the back of his neck. Suddenly all his courage left him. He felt so small in front of you, like a child waiting to get scolded.

“You have five minutes and then you can get the fuck out” you turned and walked away, Bucky closed the door behind him and followed you to your living room. Your place was small and cozy, it looked like his previous flat but he wasn’t sure he would like to live here even with you, he was used to his lavish life and enormous penthouse. Bucky noted to himself to make you move in with him. But first things first.

“I broke up with her” he said and you were sitting on your armchair next to the couch with folded arms and your legs crossed.

“Great. You wanna medal? I can give a card with congratulations as well”

“Y/N please let me talk” you scoffed and he took it as a permission to continue “I know I should’ve told you about her but it happened so fast… she was nice and you were away at your brother’s and, and I’ve missed you so much, and she took the opportunity and she asked me out and before I realized we started dating and I wanted to tell you but I was afraid I’ll lose you but I was also afraid to tell you how I feel, I was afraid you won’t have me, reject me and we’ll never see each other again”

You looked at the clock and slightly yawned stretching yourself

“Well, that’s a great story, you should sell it or write it down, you can get rich, but unfortunately your time is up so…” you got up from your place and now you were standing in front of him

“Y/N, I love you” Bucky said and your heart stopped. Maybe you didn’t hear correctly. You looked at him with disbelief on your face he must have seen that because he repeated I love you and you in an instant rushed to him and grabbed him by his collar pressing your lips to his. Your head was spinning and you began melting in his embrace. His arms wrapped around your waist bringing you closer to him.

“Why haven’t you tell me this sooner?” you asked him as you pulled away, your eyes hooded, locked on his blue ones

“Have you not heard what I just said?” Bucky asked, his brow frowned. He thought it was obvious.

“What normal person would understand your gibberish?” he chuckled and leaned to kiss you gently. You whimpered and you dragged your hands to his neck, holding him in place. Bucky moaned when he felt your tongue brushing along his bottom lip. You took the opportunity and you slid your tongue into his mouth, fighting for dominance with his, of course, his tongue winning, he always wanted to be in charge.

Bucky collapsed on your couch dragging you along and he placed you on his thigh that you were straddling it. Still kissing him feverishly you started to grind your pussy on his thigh automatically. He placed his hands on your hips encouraging you to move, his lips found their way to the sweet spot on your neck. You moaned loudly.

“Come on baby, move your pretty little pussy on my thigh. I want to feel you get off”

You started to move faster and you placed your forehead on his. You couldn’t hold back your moans and your back arched, your head falling back. You heard him cursing under his breath and you came to your previous position to look at him. Bucky was looking straight into your eyes making you shiver. You saw something strange in his eyes. It wasn’t lust, you were used to seeing lust in his eyes. It was adoration. Pure passion.

He saw you were holding back “Come on Y/N come for me. You’re fucking gorgeous. I love you so much” and with this word you cried out, Bucky crashed your lips together swallowing your moans and cries. He was saying how you are perfect to him as you were coming down from your high. Your hands reached to his belt, wanting him deep inside in you in a few minutes but he stopped you.

“No baby, not tonight. It’s late and you said you have to get up early” he took your hand and intertwined your fingers “Besides, we have all the time in the world for this later” he smirked and he brought your hand to his lips. Bucky kissed your knuckles sweetly maintaining eye contact. You almost came again from the sight of him.

You nodded and you led him to your bedroom. Bucky began undressing as you were lying on the bed watching him

“You know, I’d like to suck your dick right now” you said smirking when he was climbing on your bed “I know you would doll” he replied and kissed your forehead.

Bucky laid down and you place your head on his chest. Like for the first time, his heartbeat was steady and it lulled you. He wrapped you tightly bringing you closer to him.

“I love you Bucky” you said, your eyes closed, you looked peaceful. Bucky smiled and finally, he was he was full. He was happy.

“I love you too doll. Always”

The sun was shinning brutally and Bucky couldn’t manage to open his eyes, he had hungover and it was a big one. He couldn’t feel you beside him so he assumed you probably left to your job or wherever you had to be without waking him.

Bucky opened his eyes and he was looking at the ceiling but something was odd. Something was not right. He straightened to look around and what he saw made his heart drop and stomach clench.

Bucky was lying on his couch in his penthouse. He couldn’t believe it. It was just a dream, he dreamed of you. In fact, he didn’t even leave his place at all, he was wearing clothes from yesterday. Bucky couldn’t stop tears from falling and second, later he was crying like a baby.

He dreamed you. It was just a dream.

My first tags ever: @thessaswea @lovely-geek @usernamesarelies @stanskarsgard

[dilfhakyeon-moved]

coffee shop au 4 (the one with the different names written on the coffee on different days) with ralbert? :)

disclaimer: don’t give me shit for their names i am TERRIBLE at names

but yea here are the sappho de lesbos stans

Once again, the ‘mystery customer’ was striking.

That sounding pretty ominous, it was nothing that serious. It was just that every week, always on a different day, they’d get that girl coming in. And she’d come at times it was pretty dead, most likely to get the same barista. There she always went, leaning on the counter, giving these soft eyes and these sweet words, and she’d leave with her order. It was never the same order either, she just… drank of everything, apparently. Your fave could never.

Somehow, she was indeed having an effect on that barista she was messing with, but that didn’t make her any less frustrating to deal with. Yeah, the flirting was nice, but if she had a set name it’d just be so much easier, wouldn’t it ? Because giving a different name every week was getting a little old.

Of course, the barista would get quite frustrated after some time, how couldn’t she ? It’d been going on long enough. And the list of names… were similar, for some. Sometimes just complete unrealistic jokes. She could remember them all - Race, Racer, Racetrack, Antonio, Anthony, Tony, even Edmund and Ed,… Pretty Girl, too. Maybe this one was fitting, but Berta absolutely refused to believe any of these other names were that “pretty girl’s” name. For one, some of these weren’t names, and well… the others were masculine, and judging by that last nickname, she wasn’t a guy.

Either way, the redhead had a hard time staying calm as the blonde began babbling, her oddly squeaky voice fitting so well with her messy accent and pronunciation, her tripping over words and her obnoxious giggle sounding somewhat endearing… Okay, maybe she totally wasn’t paying attention to what she was being told and she got too busy getting lost in thought, but who could blame her ?

… Right, herself.

Once she woke from this kind of weird daydreaming phase, she tried to harden her expression a little. “Okay, yeah. And the order ?” She said, maybe a little harshly. But it didn’t bother her customer, whose grin widened despite her cheeks perhaps darkened a tad.

Quad venti blonde breve latte, extra hot, no foam, four pumps vanilla, three pumps cinnamon dolce, two white mocha, stirred, light whip, extra cinnamon topping.

This was ridiculous. Once again, the girl’s order had to be ridiculous. Maybe that was one time too much, and that “one time too much” the barista didn’t bother waiting for the girl to give her a name. No, she was choosing it herself. It was obvious to see on the blonde’s face that she wasn’t exactly expecting that, but did she really have a choice ? No.

“Look at it once you’re outside,” Berta muttered, groaning quietly when the girl smiled again and poked her cheek before making her way out, whistling pretty loud - and getting looks from other customers, although admittedly there really weren’t that many. It still grabbed some of them’s attention, enough for them to notice the  barista quickly yet quietly following after her, letting her coworkers take care of the place if even just for a few minutes.

Keeping sight of the blonde wasn’t the hardest task. She hadn’t gone far, just walked a few metres away and was now reading the name written on her cup with some sort of surprise.

Endearing, the shorter girl would tell you.

Casually enough, she made a few steps until she was close enough to the girl, before pausing and more or less working up the courage to talk. She wasn’t all that good at communication all the time, but she still tried. “So, Foxy,” she called out, causing the other to jump and turn around. Her gaze was always as captivating, perhaps due to how obviously emotional it was - reading her mind was impossible, but her state of mind was all too obvious at all times. What really got Berta though, it surely was how evident the blush on her face was. Striking, such a contrast with her blue eyes and her blond curls, that pink really fit well. Made her look softer, and maybe a little less insufferable.

Her lips moved incoherently for a few seconds before she frowned, and pointed at the cup. “Y'ain’t wrote that, it’s ‘Vixen’ on it,” she protested, getting the other to raise an eyebrow. Maybe it’d been easy to guess making that flirty girl flustered wasn’t hard at all, but it still gave her some satisfaction. Oh, and also it was cute.

“I know what I wrote and I know vixens are foxes.” That sure wasn’t the answer that girl had hoped for. Berta could see her bite down on her lip as she thought of a reply.

“… Yea, but– still. Why’s that anyways, I 'on’t look like a fox !”

“Reminded me of one.”

Could the girl make it any more obvious that she clearly wasn’t used to being teased ? Or, flirted with, depending on how she took it. Either way, just one more endearing, sweet thing about that cute fellow, and it kind of made the former more confident.

This time though, maybe she actually put some thought into what she was about to say. Nothing crazy, but she’d always worked on that “speaking before thinking” basis, pretty much ; having to really work out some sort of appropriate response, or even question for the situation. Because in the end, that barista had ended up following her outside, there must’ve been a reason. Yes, that’d be her question.

“So… What’s ya doin’ here ? Ain’t ya workin’ ?” She uttered, her accent somewhat worsened. Oh, maybe because she was chewing on the… the cup. Was that a stress reliever ? Whatever.

“I wanna get your name.”

“What, I gave–”

“Your real name, so I don’t sob to my friends about a cute girl named Anthony,” Berta insisted, almost mockingly - although that was all light-hearted. The poor girl seemed to whimper after “cute girl”. Haha, she found her cute, she could die happy was what the whimper meant.

“Well… 'f ya want my name, then I bet you should invite me for a sleepover some time !” The blonde tried. It probably came off as silly, even if Berta just thought it adorable.

“A… sleepover ?”

“Yea, like… the best kind'a date.” She continued, managing to sound genuine about it. “It ain’t too fast if I’ been comin’ to your shop for two months. We can totally have a sleepover.”

“But I could be a murderer an’ kill you in your sleep.”

“Bitch, wha’s the issue here ? I’d die a happy death.” She retorted - maybe a little too quickly. A chance she hadn’t pulled out the whole “oh, crush me with your arms” or any sort of stupid stuff she looked like she would totally say. And the redhead clearly wasn’t wrong about that, that kind of answer had definitely come out of that girl’s mouth a few times… Maybe she shouldn’t be thinking about it.

“So, name ?”

She seemed embarrassed to say it. “Anya.”

“That’s a real pretty name.”

“Yea, shut ya’ trap, spare me the compliments.” Anya groaned, her gaze wandering elsewhere. “ ’S just a name.”

“Sure, Anya,” Berta answered with a chuckle, shaking her head. “So you said a sleepover ?”

“Yea.”

“Then gi'mme your phone number or something.”

“Ya wrote yours on the cup.”

“… Ah, I did that.”

“Yea.”

It was her time to be embarrassed again, it seemed. Had she really forgotten so easily ? That was a shame for sure, but Anya wouldn’t be too bothered by it, she could tell.

“Anyway, I’m… I’m gonna need to go back to work. Maybe come more often. Oh, and you don’t have to run away everytime, you can drink it at the shop,” the shorter girl offered. But she was met with a head shake, and that bright, quite shit-eating grin the blonde always wore. Back to normal, huh ? Couldn’t stay away too long.

“Nah, I’m a busy gal ! Gotta get goin’ as well. I’ll catch ya later.”

“Oh, well…” Was that sadness ? Yes, maybe she’d have liked to talk to her some time, at the shop. But if she was busy, then… “Talk to you soon.”

Anya waved, blew her a kiss and then… ran away. And Berta watched her, frankly smitten. What a goddamn rowdy… cutie.

|Text| to: she alt deleted my ovaries

> hey> pretty girl here

|Text| to: pretty girl

> oh hey.> how do you spell yr name ?

|Text| to: she alt deleted my ovaries

> howevs u want idc> yknow if i didnt have no decency id have said such bs> like huge

|Text| to: pretty girl

> like ?

|Text| to: she alt deleted my ovaries

> crush me w ur arms

|Text| to: pretty girl

> oh my god> shut up> or i will

|Text| to: she alt deleted my ovaries

> pls do> >:3c

|Text| to: pretty girl

> you’re impossible

|Text | to: she alt deleted my ovaries

> ur used to it now suck it up> im even funnier thru text> i send memes> n shit> hey?> also> cats have three lips

|Text| to: pretty girl

> hey you know wht maybe u should sleep !

|Text| to: she alt deleted my ovaries and my heart

> lol maybe!!!!> wish me gn

|Text| to: pretty girl

> goodnight. dont dream of people crushing you

|Text| to: she alt deleted my ovaries and my heart

> hdskjdghsdh> ill update u on that

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[forever-rogue]

Words and Paper - Part IV

Summary: Y/N is a brilliant young lawyer who was hired by Tony Stark himself. She didn’t expect half of the things that would happened, but she was sure glad Bucky happened.

A/N: Thanks for all your continued support! I hope you enjoy! Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in this!

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: None

MASTERLIST

PART I | PART II | PART III | PART V | PART VI | PART VII | PART VIII | PART IX | PART X | PART XI | PART XII | PART XIII

Y/N had been eager to get started working since her big move to New York. Now that the day was finally upon her, she wasn’t feeling so sure. Her nerves were getting the better of her, and she was suddenly rethinking her decisions. The only decision she wasn’t rethinking was Bucky. Ever since he had finally kissed her, the two of them had been as giddy as two teenagers experiencing their first crushes.

She let out a sigh of exasperation as threw the dress in her hands onto the her bed, making it join the other ones she had already rejected. She didn’t want to be over dressed, but most definitely did not want to be under dressed. Nothing was calling out to her. She reached back and settled on a mid length dark blue dress with a lace overall that she could easily pair with a blazer. She deemed it professional, but still showed off her personality.

She glanced at her phone and saw that she had wasted more time than she had wanted on picking an outfit. She quickly pinned back the sides of her hair and threw on some makeup. Her phone lit up as she slippe on her shoes and grabbed her jacket. She picked it up without looking at who it was, “Hello?”

“Good Morning, Princess,” Bucky’s warm voice brought an instant smile to her face.

“Hiya Buckaroo,” she grabbed her saddle back and headed into the kitchen, “I’m so not ready for today! I think I’m going to have a nervous breakdown.”

“Hey, you’re going to be fine. They wanted you for a reason after all,” he reassured and hear her taking  a few deep breaths, “have you had coffee or breakfast yet?”

“No, I’ve been trying to figure out what to wear,” she sheepishly admitted.

“Open the door,” her brows knitted together for a moment as she realized he was going to be waiting for. She hung up the phone and swung the door open to reveal Bucky standing there, two coffees in his hand and some breakfast tucked under his arm.

“Oh yes! You are the best,” she stepped aside and let him. He set the items down on the counter. He gave her a smile in return and kissed her cheek.

“I figured you’d be nervous, so I tried to help a little bit. Were you planning on walking to work or taking a cab?” He sat down at the bar and pulled out a bagel he had gotten for himself.  She grabbed her coffee and took a sip - it was just the way she liked it, with plenty of milk and a hint of sugar.

“I was planning on walking, it’s not too far. Would you like to accompany me?” She gave him a small wink.

“I would love to,”

“I just, ugh,” she started and stopped herself, trying to choose her words carefully. She didn’t want to hurt Bucky’s feelings or anything.

“What’s up?”

“I think we maybe shouldn’t go in together. Not yet anyway,” she avoided meeting his gaze but could feel his eyes on her.

“Oh?” He didn’t sound upset, just surprised.

“I just thinking with starting a completely new job, I don’t know how good it would look to come in with your coworker, that you’ve started dating,” she shrugged her shoulders lightly.  She knew all about conflicts of interest and how much harshly people judged dating in the workplace, and it could lead down a path she didn’t necessarily want.

“That’s what you’re worried about?” He chuckled a little bit, “but don’t worry, we don’t have to tell anyone yet. It’ll be okay eventually, but you’re probably right.”

“It’s not you, Bucky, really. I just don’t want to start anything,” she keep rambling, relieved he wasn’t upset with her.

“It’ll be fine, Y/N,” he reached over and grabbed her hand kissed it gently. She felt a blush creep up in her cheeks at the small, intimate gesture. They were interrupted by the Y/N’s phone vibrating. She picked it up and saw that it was a text from Tony wishing her a good first day.

“I guess we’d better get going,” she said softly. She exhaled and slipped on her jacket, grabbing her bags and the rest of the coffee and bagel. Bucky followed suit and went ahead and opened the door for her.

The two of them walked hand in hand towards the Avengers Tower where they would both be working. It was a chilly New York morning, where the leaves had suck started changing color. Y/N tried to take everything in as she fought off her nerves.

“Tell me something about yourself,” Bucky suddenly said as he pulled on her hand and got her to stop about a block away from the tower. She loved that he always remembered to ask her for a fact and then tell her one in turn.

“Another day, another fact,” she chuckled as she tried to think of something interesting, “let’s see. My first job in law school was working as a clerk at a family law firm , and on my first day I accidentally deleted half of the stuff on the company server.”

Bucky let out a hearty laugh. She had confessed to him she was a bit unlucky, mixed in with some clumsiness, but this was hilarious to him, “how? How do you even manage to do that?”

“I leaned on my keyboard and apparently had a bunch of stuff selected and deleted it. Luckily, the server was backed up everyday, so it wasn’t a huge deal. Needles to say, I didn’t last long there, “ she cringed a little bit at the memory of having to tell her boss what she had done, “your turn.”

“Back before the War, I thought I was pretty smooth with the ladies,” Y/N raised her eyebrows at him and tried to imagine being suave, “and one night Steve and I were at a pool hall and I was trying to impress the girls. Long story short, I tried to play some pool and ended up giving a girl a black eye with the back of the cue stick.”

“Wow, Buck. Real smooth. I’m guessing she didn’t give you her number?” She smirked at him as he stuck out his tongue at her. She placed her hands on his shoulders and observed him, “I would still have given my number.”

“Ha ha. Isn’t it time for you to go?” He joked and it was her turn to stick out her tongue at him. She stood up on her tiptoes and gave him a quick kiss.

“I’ll see you later. Wish me luck?”

“You don’t need it, but of course. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Sounds perfect,” she pulled away from him, turned on her heel and cast him one last glance before making her way down the block.

‘I can do this’ she repeatedly mentally to herself over and over.

She walked into the tower and headed for the front desk where a young woman sat at the receptionist's desk.

“Good morning, may I help you?” She gave Y/N a pleasant smile.

“Yes, I’m Dr. Y/L//N. I’m here for my first day,”

“Oh yes! It’s nice to meet you, there’s been a lot of buzz about you coming! The legal department is on third floor. This is your access badge. The team is there waiting for you,” she handed Y/N a few papers and a key card and pointed in the direction of the elevator.

“Thank you so much,” she put the papers in her bag and headed for the elevator. She gave the receptionist a small wave as the doors closed.  She clutched her bag tightly and leaned against the wall of the elevator with closed eyes as she waited for the ding.

When the doors opened they revealed a large, spacious and open suite. There was natural light filtering in through the many windows, which gave it a homey feel. Y/N smiled a little to herself. She walked over to the front desk and was about to introduce herself just as she was interrupted.

“Dr. Y/L/N?”

“Yes?” She turned around saw a middle aged woman with a stern expression on her face. Y/N was not getting good initial vibes from her.

“You’re late,” she said simply. Y/N glanced down at her watch and saw that the time displayed 9:01.

“A minute is considered late?” She said it almost without thinking, “I had to get my papers and key card, it took a few minutes.”

“I suggest you come earlier tomorrow then,” she had a wicked grin on her face, “if you’d like to follow me, I can show you to your office.”

“May I ask who you are?” She wasn’t about to let this woman break her on her first day.

“Mary Greene,” she stopped for a moment, “senior associate here and head of the legal department for Stark Industries.”

“Oh,”

“Make no mistake, Dr. Y/L/N, you may have been picked out by Mr. Stark himself, but you are still a child. You have much learn , and your place is one you should learn quickly. You will work here but you will answer to the me. Is that clear?”

Y/N trudged after Mary down the long hallway, past other offices. This wasn’t exactly how she imagined any of this would go. She was also not one to let things go. She paused for a moment,  “Mary? May I just ask you a question?”

“Go on,” she stopped in front of Y/N’s office and narrowed her eyes.

“I was just wondering who died and made you the queen?” Y/N  knew she would probably regret this later, but she wasn’t about to be bullied around, “I have worked hard to get where I am, just like I’m sure you did. Make no mistake, but my age makes me no less competent than you. If you expected me to just be some kid you could bully into doing your bidding, then you were wrong, Now, I believe this is my office?”

Mary’s mouth was hanging open as Y/N swiped her key card and opened the door. She let herself in and swiftly shut the door behind her. Her heart was racing; she half expected Mary to bust down the door and drag her out. One thing she had learned very early on in her legal career was that you had to stand your ground, otherwise people would just walk all over and use you.

Y/N took a look around her spacious office. It was almost exactly like her old one, she realized Tony must have gotten her and desk and furniture sent over. She walked over to antique globe she had by the side of her desk and have it a small spin. She would get used to this. People would learn to accept her, hopefully they wouldn’t all be as bad as Mary.  

She sat down in the familiar chair and sighed. So much for a first impression. She noticed she had a brand new top of the line computer and looked at it in awe, but of course Tony would only have the best. There was a bright sticky note on the corner of it, Y/N picked it up and saw that it said there was a meeting at noon. She sighed and laid her head down on  the desk. She jumped a bit at the sound of knocking on her door,. She gathered herself for a moment before going to answer it. To her surprise, there as Tony waiting for her.

“Mr. Stark-”

“Please, Tony. Mr. Stark is my father,” he stepped without her saying anything, “I just came by to wish you good luck and I must say, apparently you’ve made quite the first impression.”

“I’m sorry, sir, Mary was just so…”

“Awful? Yeah, she’s not the best people person. But she’s a talented lawyer and that’s why I keep her. You’re smart not to let her push you around. Just like I hand picked her, I hand picked you for a reason. Make sure they know that,” he set some flowers he had been holding down on her desk.

“I will try,” she with a small grin.

“After the department meeting where you’ll introduce yourself and they’ll explain procedures and blah blah blah, take the rest of the day  to settle in. Tomorrow morning, come see me when you get here, and I’ve got a case for you to start working on,” he didn’t let her get a word in edgewise but gave her a mock bow and left her office.

Y/N’s head was spinning with everything thrown at her. But to already be working on a new project was exciting enough. She spent the rest of the morning put away her supplies and making sure everything was just the way she liked.  But when the clock struck noon, she got up, held her head high and went to the meeting.

She wasn’t expecting to walk into a room so full of lawyers, a very varied group of lawyers to be fair. She looked for an empty seat but couldn’t spot one. She was about to go into panic mode when Mary’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

“Dr. Y/L/N, why don’t go to the front and introduce yourself. The whole department is here and exciting to get to know you,” the whole room fell into a hush and she could feel a nervous flush rise in her cheeks.

“I’d love to,” she lied as she walked up to the podium at the front. She set her notebook de and took a moment to gather her thoughts, “my name is Y/N Y/L/N. I work as a civil and human rights attorney, and I’m from San Francisco. I spent part of my time in law school working for the attorney general, dealing with criminal matters, as well as working for a family law firm, and have my doctorate in law and political science. I’ve been practicing since I passed the bar early last year, and I look forward to working here with all of you. I know everyone has different backgrounds and I think that beneficial so we can all learn from and help each other.”

“Y/N? If I may be so bold, how old are you?” She cringed for a moment at the question from one of the older men.

“I am 25, if you must know. But, let me make this very clear,” she paused for a moment for dramatic effect, “if you have a problem with my age or experience level, please say so now. I am an as competent and capable as you. Let me put it this way, young attorneys are needed because we bring a new perspective onto things: times are changing and we must adapt. We can’t handle things the way we did fifty years ago. I don’t want there to be any issues with any of us, but I will not tolerate being bullied or treated less because of my age. Now, are there any questions?”

No in the room moved or made any objections. She allowed herself a small smile as she backed away from the podium. That had shut them right up.

Maybe she did have a place there after all.

Taglist:  @sebstanwassup @ladyabby-1996 @bookaddic @jems8241

[preservedbylight]

Graduation

I lay here in my bed after a warm, summer nap, Balmorhea playing over the simple speakers of my Macbook, feeling like it’s a good a time as any to write.

It’s been a while since I’ve sat down and reflected. I’ve mostly felt the desire to write when I felt sick, disoriented, frustrated with myself. Needed to organize my thoughts in an articulate fashion in order to console myself. Writing is good for that. It doesn’t end with pain--at least not for me.

This journey of the last nine almost ten months has been profound, to say the least. I’ve been through a handful of versions of myself, one for every few months. I saw a gloomy season on my own, and I came out of it on my own. I left a relationship where I was loved dearly, because I knew it wasn’t the last time I would be, and I didn’t want it to be.

“I think you’re curious. And curiosity usually leads to exploration. And exploration requires uncertainty.”

I’ve been brave. I stepped out on my own. I took my life back into my own hands, and decided which way I was going to go. I acted boldly, and I followed my heart, genuinely. I learned that people won’t believe in you until you believe in yourself. You don’t really find that anywhere but inside of you. Though you can certainly look, and you will certainly find a version of it--it will expire. Eventually, you’ll realize that hole still gapes, waiting to be lit up by the light of your own perseverance. 

My heart feels heavy, and full. My throat feels the pressure of vulnerable tears that I haven’t shed in too many weeks. I’ve been tough. I’ve spent the majority of my energy addressing my own self-judgment, and I’ve succeeded there, for now. I crossed the threshold from pain to peace, and that is a tremendous relief. But I’ve been afraid to be vulnerable. Crying alone feels good, but there remains a fear of being caught. I know it’s the bravest thing, which is why I know it’s the most challenging. Feeling is power.

I know what power is and means. I know what it feels like. It feels like patience--pure, utter, uninterrupted patience. Letting things fall as they will, pausing, breathing, and carrying on. Listening. Letting go of the desire to shout everything you think and feel, in order to contribute, in order to show what you know. It doesn’t matter what you know. Ever. It only matters what kind of person you are to yourself, and therefore to others. Power comes when you learn this--when you stop trying to prove yourself as worthy and accept that you simply are. 

I remind myself each day that I’m lucky, that I’m grateful. That this perfect falcon, for no reason, has landed on my shoulder. I remember that though I am excited for the future, my life is now, and always will be. If I’m preoccupied with postponed happiness, that is an indication that I am not living present. The more I focus on today, right now, the clearer the future becomes, and the less anxious I feel about controlling it. We cannot control it. It is silly to try. 

Where will you go, then? Won’t you be aimless? Maybe. But probably not.

When you live for right now, you learn about who you actually are. What your values are, what kinds of activities and experiences bring you true joy and peace, and which bring about anxiety and discomfort. You come to find which things challenge you, and which things bore you. You learn this because for once, you’re actually there to experience it, to witness it. You are present for your life as it really is, and from there, it becomes pretty simple to recognize which one is your best foot and where to put it first. 

This urgency I feel, to make it known that I’m doing well, that I’m smart, that I’m accomplishing things, that I’m moving forward--it is there, and it will pass upon recognition. I’ve learned that to let it pass takes great humility, and acceptance of my own flaws. That is the hardest part. In being with yourself, you find a lot of ugly, human stuff. In western culture, we’ve been taught from an early age to be perfect--have good manners, work hard, be kind to others. We judge ourselves harshly when we feel we’ve wronged ourselves or others in some way. We look inward with fire, and try to burn everything we find unworthy. We pretend we didn’t just think or feel that, that couldn’t have been me, I’m nicer/better/smarter/more confident than that. We shove it away, we reject that part of ourselves--the ego. 

It’s okay to have an ego. The ego is a lousy neighbor that is never moving. It is part of what distinguishes us as human. The duck doesn’t swim around, rehashing the experience he had yesterday with his coworker, and fitting the experience into who he believes himself to be, who was right, and what he’ll do next time. He just swims. 

“The ego is nothing other than the focus of conscious attention. It’s like a radar on a ship. The radar on a ship is a troubleshooter--is there anything in the way? Conscious attention is a designed function of the brain to scan the environment, like a radar does, and look for any troublemaking changes. If you identify yourself with your troubleshooter, then naturally you define yourself as being in a perpetual state of anxiety.”

Everything is a miracle. My life, all by itself, is a miracle. I look around my room and I see shelves of dusty books, some new, some old. I see a painting I made in one of my classes this year, a master copy of a Manet that I wrestled with for almost two months until I finally came out on top. I see a blanket that’s accompanied me through three or four moves. I see scarves, belts, bags and memories strung over anything that will hold them. Cards, pictures, quotes, rippings of this and that book, tacked up all over the wall. This is the work of my human life. I exist, and I am curious--for whatever reason. 

It’s easy to forget everything that matters. It’s easy to get caught up in this and that drama, this and that fear. I’m learning to trust myself, to forgive myself for getting caught. Whatever I’m experiencing, I evidently need to experience, even if it seems like I’ve been there before. Consider a mathematical theory. Would you know it perfectly, backwards and forwards, all the ways in which you could mix yourself up along the way to the solution, if you only learned it once? Some theories are harder than others. The more you forgive yourself for stumbling, the less you will stumble. 

Throughout everything I’ve studied, and more importantly, every experience I’ve lived, the common thread was always human behavior. I always could see that we hurt and where it showed. I always wanted to understand why. I feel I have more of a grasp on it now than I ever have, and the funny thing is, it came when I started really looking at myself. I have the same potential for every “flaw” anyone else does. The flaws I have were triggered by my set of circumstances, and you yours, and so on. In understanding my own, I see that they run deep. I see where they come from, and I can see then where similar things have manifested in others, and in what way. And that is fascinating to me--the differences between us. We all come from the same beginnings, and yet we find ourselves in extraordinarily different worlds. 

That’s life, I guess. Endless fodder for connections. 

I am grateful for every moment so far.

[letspretendfictionpressworks]

body language 18

I don’t know what I’m doing.

 My coworkers wanted to treat me today. Usually, I cover for them as they slack off. They told me they wanted to show their thanks and let me leave a little early today, to “start my weekend plans early” since it’s Friday.

 My only weekend plans only ever involve Trevor. And so here I am. At his work, thirty minutes before he gets off. I was eager at first, excited to surprise him. But now I’m here and my enthusiasm has fizzled out, a fire that couldn’t hold itself together under a deluge of an unexpected drizzle of anxiety

 I feel oddly shy. I don’t know where he is in this store—I just know that he works here somewhere—and I can’t bring myself to actively look for him. Somehow, it feels like I’m chasing him when I was never given permission to do so. I’d rather he somehow stumble over me by accident and pretend it a happy coincidence than admit I spent the better part of an hour trying to figure out where he is in this store so we can start our “weekend plans” together.

 This is me, a person who would rather get caught in a half-truth than admit the full story, because nobody in their right mind would believe that I “just happened” into a store like this and “just happened” to stick around long enough to run into the exact person I was looking for. And the explanation requires a wordcount I do not possess.

 “Need help finding anything?” an associate asks me as he wanders past me. I’m sure I look lost. I’ve been standing in the same spot at the end of an aisle of merchandise, my eyes glazed over in thought as I stare at the floor.

 I startle and look up the young man who has a small pile of patterned button up shirts in his hands.

 I have no idea what to say. Admitting that I’m waiting for Trevor to Trevor is one thing, saying as much to a complete and utter stranger is quite another. I have this strange paranoia that this guy will assume I’m some sort of stalker if I just blurt out something like, “Do you know where Trevor is—I think he works here.”

 So instead, I compromise. And by “compromise,” I mean I stare at the guy like I’m a deer caught in headlights, eyes wide and looking ready to bolt in a random direction at any second.

 The guy peers closer at me, and I feel my fight or flight instincts kick in. For obvious reasons, it’s unwise to throat-punch this guy, so my legs tense, ready to help me flee far and fast, and I’m ready to pretend this whole experience never happened.

 So I’m surprised when the guy says, “Wait, you’re Mark, right?”

 My confusion is strong and poignant, and temporarily sets my flight instinct into a state of chaotic bafflement. “Um.”

 “No, yeah, yeah, yeah,” the guy says quickly, waving a hand at me. “You are. I saw you. Yeah. Mark, yeah.”

 I’m… not sure what to do. I don’t know what to say. I can only default to again staring like a deer caught in headlights, unable to even compute the proper response to this situation.

 “Well, if you’re looking for ‘im, I can get ‘im. Bit busy, though—you know Fridays. Retail is always busy as a bee on Fridays,” the guy chatters on.

 I have no idea what he’s saying.

 “It’s nice, though. Glad the guy got himself out of that terrible relationship—anyway. Trevor, right? You’re looking for Trevor?”

 I am still so confused and have no idea what to say, but “Trevor”—yes. That I can nod at and not be agreeing to something I don’t understand or know.

 The guy dumps the shirts onto a nearby rack and fumbles off really quick. I’m not sure if I’m supposed to follow, but the pace he sets is pretty break-neck, so I decide to occupy my time. And by “occupy my time,” I mean I notice that the shirts the guy dopped haven’t been folded very nicely. I fold them slowly, taking my time to make them look neat and tidy.

 What else am I supposed to do?

 Then, I notice that the random associate didn’t place the shirts in the appropriate area for them. They’re a mix of several patterns and I can only assume they’re either returns or someone changed their mind and didn’t want to buy them. So, I find the slot with a matching pattern and tuck them all neatly into their appropriate home. Then, I see that a lot of the shirts have a tousled look to them, like customers were careless as they rifled through for the size that best fit them. And so, I begin the process of pulling out the worst of the bunch and refolding them because I am nervous energy and it feels better to do something than to stand still.

 “My new coworker is sexy as hell.”

 I jump and whirl, clutching the shirt I was folding to my chest like I’m a naked maiden who is trying to protect her modesty.

 “Trevor,” I yelp, unsure what else to say.

 He smiles at me, one side of his mouth curling.

 I realize I’m still clutching the shirt and make a conscious effort to pull it away from me, fold it, and place it on a shelf.

 “When did you start here?” he teases.

 I mutter an embarrassed rush of nonsensical syllables, not even sure what I’m trying to say.

 “You work harder than the employee of the month,” he jokes, coming up behind me. He snakes an arm around me and gently tugs me close, my back pressed in to align with his torso, his resting on my head.

 I like this. I like this a lot. I like this so much. Somehow, it helps to ease my anxiety and I feel myself relax against him.

 “I can wait if you can’t clock out yet,” I mumble.

 He chuckles. “You did enough work to cover the last ten minutes of my shift. ‘Sides, my coworker thought it was adorable my boyfriend came to pick me up. I get to head out early because of you.”

 I frown as I remember. “How did he know who I was?”

 “Hmm? Oh. That picture I took, remember? He’s the one who wanted to see you.”

 Oh.

 “He thinks my name is Mark,” I tell him, wrinkling my nose.

 “Somehow, he managed to call me ‘Travis’ my first year working here,” Trevor tells me, huffing out a laugh. “Don’t judge him too harshly.”

 I can’t keep myself from smiling at the thought.

 “Hungry?” Trevor asks as he releases me. “I know this good—”

 “Take out place?” I say drily, finishing his sentence.

 He smiles sheepishly. “Unless you’d prefer something nicer.”

 I almost roll my eyes. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

 He takes my hand and guides me away, out of the store and into the heart of the mall.

 ***

 “You look disappointed,” Trevor says as I pick up a fry and examine it.

 “Mm,” I mutter-hum. “I guess I… wasn’t expecting it.”

 “Something wrong with it?” Trevor asks, instantly on alert.

 “Nothing, um, ‘wrong,’” I quickly assure him. “I guess when you said that you ‘knew a great take out place,’ I just wasn’t expecting”—my gaze goes back to the fry—“a burger chain.”

 “You don’t like burger chains?”

 “Didn’t say that,” I say quickly. “Just… who hasn’t been here? Not sure it’s, um, well especially note-worthy.”

 I can see Trevor trying not to look bummed. “Every couple needs a cheap, famous, chain restaurant date.”

 I dunk my fry in a small tub of ketchup and eat it. “Yeah, won’t see me actually complaining. Just thought you had something more unique—I guess?—in mind.”

 Trevor ponders this. Then, he picks up a fry, examines it as though he thought it may tell him the secrets of the universe, nods once.

 And throws it at me.

 I am disbelief personified. “Did you just…?”

 He munches on a fry in one hand while using the other to chuck another at me.

 “You’re wasting food,” I protest, exasperated.

 “You said ‘unique,’” Trevor points out. “I’m giving you unique.”

 “Not quite what I meant,” I comment drily, picking up the fry he tossed that landed on the table near me and chucking it back in his direction. “I meant, like, I dunno—a family owned place, or some foreign cuisine?”

 Honestly, I’m not even sure what I meant. The most go-to fast food chain was not what I thought he meant, though.

 Trevor picks up the fry that’s been tossed between us and ponders. I can see the moment the lightbulb lights up over his head. His expression brightens and he picks up the fry, places it on his top lip, curls it to hold it in place, and says in a very serious tone, “Dees ees what you think of my per-feect deener?”

 I pause sipping my chocolate milkshake to gaze at him. “Was that supposed to be a German accent?”

 Trevor frowns, and the fry falls from his face as he forgets to dramatically curl his lip to hold it in place.

 “French,” he says, wounded.

 I honestly don’t know if it’s my geographical skills that are lacking or his.

 He tosses the fry back at me. I think he’s still pouting.

 That single fry winds up being tossed back and forth between us dozens of times before we finally clean up and head for his apartment.

 ***

 “Throw it away,” I demand, exasperated, as we walk to the bus stop.

 “Somehow, it’s a souvenir.”

 “It’s a souvenir until it rots. It’s just a fried potato.”

 “Maybe it’ll ossify,” Trevor suggests.

 “That’s just another form of rotting,” I press.

 “Hmm.”

 “Throw it away,” I say, once more exasperated.

 Trevor turns towards me to say something more, trips, and tosses his hands out in a quick flail to keep his balance. Somehow, it works.

 “Oh, no,” he breathe, examining the ground.

 “What?”

 “I dropped it.”

 “Dropped what?”

 “The souvenir!” he cries, still searching the ground. “Our French fry!”

 “It’s… just a fry.”

 “You do not understand the importance of a souvenir.”

 Apparently not.

 I see the long form of the bus slowing at the curb’s end.

 “C’mon,” I tell him. “We’ll miss our bus.”

 He wavers. “But…”

 “It’s just a fry,” I say, trying not to sound irritated.

 With a weary sigh, he follows me as I jog to catch the bus. He’s clearly hurt at my lack of concern, but I can’t fathom why. As the bus maneuvers through the roads to his apartment, I try to build up the courage to ask him something—to move the thoughts in his mind away from the lost “souvenir,” to distract him, to cheer him.

 But I have never been good with words.

 I stay quiet.

 Trevor continues to mope.

 ***

 I have one distraction at my disposal. I use it when necessary. I do not enjoy it, but I manage to get through it okay every time. I kiss Trevor in the privacy of his apartment, lure him to his bed, let myself be stripped of my clothes and himself of his, let him kiss me, kiss him in turn, and then let him pleasure himself with my body.

 He holds me close afterwards and I let him. I do not know what the unspoken agreement is in a relationship that it titled “boyfriends,” but I like this part, and I relish in it.

 But eventually I pull away to shower and wash my body of the mess he’s left on me. When I emerge, he once more has his questionnaire in hand. I am too exasperated and tired to do anything more than point at one of the emos—emojis, excuse me—at random. This time, I manage to pick an upside-down smiley face.

 I have no idea what it means.

 “That’s better than before,” he tells me, encouraged by this fact.

 I don’t know what to say. I say nothing.

 He opens his arms for me. This part, I like. This part, I enjoy. I crawl into the bed and let him wrap himself around me.

 “I think we have a good thing going with us,” he mumbles, half asleep, in my ear.

 I sink deeper into his arms, buoyed somehow by his words.

 “Move in with me,” he mutters, groggily.

 I am suddenly wide awake. “Whuh- what?”

 This is not a conversation I ever thought to have half-asleep, and so I pull myself from his arms to sit up and look at him. His expression is serious as he looks at me.

 “It’s lonely during the week without you,” he tells me earnestly when I say nothing me. “Would you—I mean—consider moving in with me?”

 There are countless thoughts rolling over and over in my mind, like the clothes in a washing machine tumbling time and time again over one another. They move too fast for me to make too much sense of.

 But I do remember the nightmare I have to go home to. I remember Kay, his wife, his daughter, and how I constantly feel like a stranger in their home. I remember the fact that the home I return to is not mine to call my own. I remember Kay’s continual insistence to pry into my life; his constant “concern.”

 Trevor’s face clouds. “I mean, I don’t want make you feel like you have to say yes—”

 “Okay,” I breathe.

 He cuts himself off to blink at me. “What?”

 I nod, whispering, “Yes.”

 A smile of pure exhilaration tugs at his lips. He pulls me close, presses his mouth to mine.

 “You won’t regret this,” he murmurs against my lips, and I close my eyes and let his cheerful affection wash over me.

 In this moment, I think I am happy.

 ***

 I find that while I don’t enjoy partaking in Trevor’s daily routine, I like watching him as he goes about it. He returns from his daily run sometime between five-thirty and six. He goes through a daily regime of exercises and often I wake to catch him in the middle of them. He often coaxes me to lie on his back as he tries to muscle through one thousand pushups in an hour.

 He claims it’s a form of strength training.

 I think he is insane.

 “I’m just saying,” he grunts the next morning as I stare up at the ceiling, our backs curved against one another, “why flex your modesty muscle when you could be flexing your biceps?”

 I snort, too tired to protest, and my mind too distracted to come up with a retort.

 In a few weeks, I will no longer need to live with Kay. In a few weeks, I will no longer need to report back to Kay, with him pressing me with questions to wheedle out every detail he can about my personal lives. In a few weeks, it will just be Trevor and me. In a few weeks, I will be free of Kay. I will be free of Kay. I will be free of Kay. I will be free of Kay.

 I cannot say that enough. I cannot think it enough. It is a broken record in my mind.

 It leaves me feeling almost dizzy with relief.

 “Time?” Trevor huffs.

 I yawn and check the clock. “Forty minutes.”

 He grunts. “At seven hundred. I think I can make it this time.”

 I still think he is insane.

 But as he continues his odd morning exercise, I can’t keep my lips from curling in a smile.

 For now, I am still happy.

[gezinus]

5 Powerful Mindset Shifts to Stop Worrying About What Other People Think

“Care about what other people think and you will always be their prisoner.” ~Lao Tzu

We carefully pick out what we wear to the gym to make sure we look good in the eyes of the other gym goers.

We beat ourselves up after meetings running through everything we said (or didn’t say), worried that coworkers will think we aren’t smart or talented enough.

We post only the best picture out of the twenty-seven selfies we took and add a flattering filter to get the most likes to prove to ourselves that we are pretty and likable.

We live in other people’s heads.

And all it does is make us judge ourselves more harshly. It makes us uncomfortable in our own bodies. It makes us feel apologetic for being ourselves. It makes us live according to our perception of other people’s standards.

It makes us feel inauthentic. Anxious. Judgmental. Not good enough. Not likable enough. Not smart enough. Not pretty enough.

F that sh*t.

The truth is, other people’s opinions of us are none of our business. Their opinions have nothing to do with us and everything to do with them, their past, their judgments, their expectations, their likes, and their dislikes.

I could stand in front of twenty strangers and speak on any topic. Some of them will hate what I’m wearing, some will love it. Some will think I’m a fool, and others will love what I have to say. Some will forget me as soon as they leave, others will remember me for years.

Some will hate me because I remind them of their annoying sister-in-law. Others will feel compassionate toward me because I remind them of their daughter. Some will completely understand what I have to say, and others will misinterpret my words.

Each of them will get the exact same me. I will do my best and be the best I can be in that moment. But their opinions of me will vary. And that has nothing to do with me and everything to do with them.

No matter what I do some people will never like me. No matter what I do some people will always like me. Either way, it has nothing to do with me. And it’s none of my business.

Ok, “that’s all well and good” you may be thinking. “But how do I stop caring what other people think of me?”

1. Know your values.

Knowing your top core values is like having a brighter flashlight to get you through the woods. A duller light may still get you where you need to go, but you’ll stumble more or be led astray.

With a brighter light the decisions you make—left or right, up or down, yes or no—become clearer and easier to make.

For years I had no idea what I truly valued, and I felt lost in life as a result. I never felt confident in my decisions, and I questioned everything I said and did.

Doing core values work on myself has made a huge impact on my life. I came to realize that “compassion” is my top core value. Now when I find myself questioning my career decisions because I’m worried about disappointing my parents (a huge trigger for me), I remind myself that “compassion” also means “self-compassion,” and I’m able to cut myself some slack.

If you value courage and perseverance and you show up at the gym even though you are nervous and have “lame” gym clothes, you don’t have to dwell on what the other gym goers think about you.

If you value inner peace and you need to say “no” to someone who is asking for your time, and your plate is already full to the max, you can do so without feeling like they will judge you for being a selfish person.

If you value authenticity and you share your opinion in a crowd, you can do so with confidence knowing that you are living your values and being yourself.

Know your core values, and which ones you value the most. Your flashlight will be brighter for it.

2. Know to stay in your own business.

Another way to stop caring about what other people think is to understand that there are three types of business in the world. This is a lesson I learned from Byron Katie, and I love it.

The first is God’s business. If the word “God” isn’t to your liking, you can use another word here that works for you, like the Universe or “nature.” I think I like “nature” better, so I’ll use that.

The weather is nature’s business. Who dies and who is born is nature’s business. The body and genes you were given are nature’s business. You have no place in nature’s business. You can’t control it.

The second type of business is other people’s business. What they do is their business. What your neighbor thinks of you is his business. What time your coworker comes into work is her business. If the driver in the other car doesn’t go when the light turns green, it’s their business.

The third type of business is your business.

If you get angry with the other driver because you now have to wait at another red light, that’s your business.

If you get irritated because your coworker is late again, that’s your business.

If you are worried about what your neighbor thinks of you that’s your business.

What they think is their business. What you think (and in turn, feel) is your business.

Whose business are you in when you’re worried about what you’re wearing? Whose business are you in when you dwell on how your joke was received at the party?

You only have one business to concern yourself with—yours. What you think and what you do are the only things you can control in life. That’s it.

3. Know that you have full ownership over your feelings.

When we base our feelings on other people’s opinions, we are allowing them to control our lives. We’re basically allowing them to be our puppet master, and when they pull the strings just right, we either feel good or bad.

If someone ignores you, you feel bad. You may think “she made me feel this way by ignoring me.” But the truth is, she has no control over how you feel.

She ignored you and you assigned meaning to that action. To you, that meant that you are not worth her time, or you are not likable enough, smart enough, or cool enough.

Then you felt sad or mad because of the meaning you applied. You had an emotional reaction to your own thought.

When we give ownership of our feelings over to others, we give up control over our emotions. The fact of the matter is, the only person that can hurt your feelings is you.

To change how other people’s actions make you feel, you only need to change a thought. This step sometimes takes a bit of work because our thoughts are usually automatic or even on the unconscious level, so it may take some digging to figure out what thought is causing your emotion.

But once you do, challenge it, question it, or accept it. Your emotions will follow.

4. Know that you are doing your best.

One of the annoying things my mom would say growing up (and she still says) is “You did the best you could with what you had at the time.”

I hated that saying.

I had high standards of myself and I always thought that I could have done better. So when I didn’t meet those expectations my inner bully would come out and beat the crap out of me.

How much of your life have you spent kicking yourself because you thought you said something dumb? Or because you showed up late? Or that you looked weird?

Every time, you did the best you could. Every. Single. Time.

That’s because everything we do has a positive intent. It may not be obvious, but it’s there.

Literally as I’m writing this post sitting in a tea shop in Portland, Maine, another patron went to the counter and asked what types of tea he could blend with his smoky Lapsang Souchong tea (a favorite of mine as well).

He hadn’t asked me, but I chimed in that maybe chaga mushroom would go well because of its earthy flavor. He seemed unimpressed with the unsolicited advice and turned back to the counter.

The old me would have taken that response to heart and felt terrible the rest of the afternoon thinking how this guy must think I’m a dope and annoying for jumping into the conversation uninvited.

But let’s take a look at what I had in that moment:

I had an urge to try to be helpful and a core value of kindness and compassion

I had an interest in the conversation

I had an impression that my feedback might be well received

I had a desire to connect with a new person on a shared interest

I did the best I could with what I had.

Because I know that, I have no regrets. I also know that his opinion of me is none of my business and I was living in tune with my values trying to be helpful!

Though, I could also see how from another perspective that forcing my way into a conversation and pushing my ideas on someone who did not ask may have been preserved as rude. And rudeness goes against my core value of compassion.

That leads me to the next lesson.

5. Know that everyone makes mistakes.

We live in a culture where we don’t often talk about how we feel. It turns out we all experience the same feelings, and we all make mistakes. Go figure!

Even if you are living in tune with your values, even if you are staying in your own business, even if you are doing your best, you will make mistakes. Without question.

So what? We all do. We all have. Having compassion for yourself comes easier when you understand that everyone has felt that way. Everyone has gone through it.

The only productive thing you can do with your mistakes is to learn from them. Once you figure out the lesson you can take from the experience, rumination is not at all necessary and it’s time to move on.

In the case of tea patron-interjection-debacle, I could have done a better job of reading his body language and noticed that he wanted to connect with the tea sommelier and not a random stranger.

Lesson learned. No self-bullying required.

At my last company I accidentally caused a company-wide upset. A friend and coworker of mine, who had been at the company for a few years, had been asking to get a better parking spot. One came available as someone left the company, but he still was passed over.

He’s such a nice guy, and as my department was full of sarcastics, I thought it would be funny to create a pun-filled petition for him to get the better spot.

I had no idea that it was going to be taken so poorly by some people. It went up the chain of command and looked like our department was full of unappreciative, needy whiners.

And our boss thought it looked like I used my position to coerce people into signing it. He brought the whole department together and painfully and uncomfortably called out the whole terrible situation and demanded it never happen again.

I. Was. MORTIFIED.

He hadn’t named me, but most people knew I created it. I was so embarrassed and ashamed.

But here’s what I did:

I reminded myself of my values. I value compassion and humor. I thought I was doing a kind but funny act for a friend.

When I found myself worrying what other people must now think of me, I told myself that if they thought poorly of me (of which I had no evidence) all I could do wass to continue to be my best me.

When flashbacks of that awful meeting came back to mind, flushing my face full of heat and shame, I remembered to take ownership over how I felt and not let the memory of the event or what other people think dictate how I feel now.

I reminded myself that I did the best I could with what I had at the time. I had a desire to help a friend and an idea I thought was funny and assumed would go over well.

I realized that I made a mistake. The lesson I learned was to be more considerate of how others may receive my sense of humor. Not everyone finds me as funny as my husband does. I can make better decisions now because of it.

And after a short time the whole incident was forgotten.

Stop worrying about what other people think. It will change your life.

About Sandy Woznicki

Sandy is a stress and anxiety coach and mindfulness teacher helping women let go of worry, feel confident, gain control, overcome fear, and sleep better. Her coaching and free resources like the Stress Detox Course help women to live more fully and freely. She’s happily married to her goofy husband and loves connecting with nature in beautiful Maine.

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[bagofgroceries]

Alice’s Tips For Calling Tech Support

As a sidenote I have never seen this gif before and it is delightful.

Hello everyone! Here are some tips on making your experience calling tech support less stressful for all parties! My resume for this comes from working in several call centers with different types of customer bases, my father doing the same, and questioning my fellow call center employees about their experiences. Spread this post! Make people’s lives easier! You may think some of these are obvious but they are not to everyone.

1. Be Prepared

         - If you are calling about a device it should have some sort of serial number, please have this ready. If you have called in before you should have a ticket number, this is also useful to have. My coworkers and I have a specific look of frustration for when someone says “Oh let me grab that for you.”. Usually we also have a narrow list of things we can find you with! I have worked for both computer manufacturing companies and cell phone service companies, and neither can search by your first and last name, or rather, they can but it’s pointless. Your name will bring up dozens with the same name or slight variants. Specific is best.

2. Have A Basic Grasp of The Phonetic Alphabet

        - Cell phone audio quality can be terribad, add background noise in and I am going to have trouble understanding you. Many serial numbers for products have letters mixed in (alpha numeric), giving these to me phonetically will cut down on your frustration and mine.  I’ll also ask for your email phonetically as well! That’s Alpha Bravo Charlie by the way, not A as in Alpha, B as in Bravo. Other words work as well of course, U as in United, A as in Apple, and C as in Cat are pretty common. X for Xmas is pretty funny though.

3. Before You Try and Bond With Me

     - I understand some people are very friendly, extroverted and naturally curious when talking to strangers. I am happy for you. Really. But please be aware for a lot of call center employees their are harshly judged on the time of their calls, as in that could make or break what schedule they can get, raises, or even keeping their job. So before you launch into  how you spent one semester at a college I don’t care about in my state, keep that in mind. Also, you are not clever, nor unique for asking about your tech support person’s accent.

4. My Name Doesn’t Matter To You.

     - Alright, so to be honest, this is probably just me. So my real name is slightly odd in it’s pronunciation. It’s not spelled the way it sounds, an there are a dozen ways to spell it. Nightmare growing up.  Most people who try and repeat my name back to me get it wrong and you know I rarely correct them. Because this is customer service and it doesn’t matter. You can’t call back and ask for me personally, with any luck I’ll fix your ____ so I never have to talk to you again, and spending two minutes guiding you through my name and hearing you exclaim the same things everyone else does serves no purpose. So when people go “Did you say your name was ____?” I agree. They could call me anything that’s not a curse word and I would agree with “Sure”. A customer thought my name was a beer brand once and I agreed. Just don’t bother.

5. Don’t Be Using The Broken Thing

       - This primarily applies to cell phones. Oh, and cars I guess. Don’t call me on your broken cell phone please, and if you do be prepared with a notebook for me to give you instructions  without us.

6. Be Aware Of Your Warranty

      - If you buy a computer from Best Buy (etc) it will usually come with a very limited one year manufacturers warranty. Again, very limited. You can often call and upgrade it. I suggest calling pretty quickly to find out what that warranty covers.  Your Basic warranties like that are also usually hardware based, software is more of a fancy warranty thing or the other manufacturer, such as Adobe, Microsoft, etc. Sometimes your Cell Phone Service Company (Sprint, AT&T, Cricket, Verizon, etc) will send you to the manufacturer such as Samsung or Apple. At the end of the day those companies only provide/are liable for service of your phone.

7. Being A Bully Is Often Fruitless.

       - At the Cell Phone Service Company I worked for people constantly demanded credit on their bill, or free stuff. Some of them yelled, some of them cursed, some of them said really mean things like how do you sleep at night (very well, thank you), or even threats. Some of them made people cry to get what they wanted. When you do this, or when you ask for a supervisor, this is what we call an escalation. I was promoted and I was basically paid to take these, to get abused. So none of that phased me, and if you went above me I would find a Manager who I knew would say no (because some of them did say yes out of laziness). You know what will often work in getting you compensation of some sort? Facts. Keep a record. My computer Blue Screened on these dates this month or  I had 20 dropped calls on these dates because those things are often (though not always) verifiable. I can take those to a manger and often get you something. Again. Not always.

Lastly....

8. Ask If You’re In The Right Department

     - There are often dozens of departments for different things in big companies. Before you give a ten minute explanation about what is going on ask if you are talking to the right person! 

- I have questions about my recent healthcare claim, am I in the right place?

- I need tech support for my internet, rather than my home security, am I in the right place?

- I need help with my desktop, am I in the right place?

Don’t assume the Automated System did you right buddy. Also, when you do get to the right place, ask if they have a direct number for next time!

Thank you for reading, have a good one!

[satorisa]

Lift the Veil - Chapter 3

Lift the Veil - Chapter 3: What is a Youth?

Rating: T

Summary: After living in Tokyo for the past six years, she decides to head back to Azumano to escape the big city. However, she now has to face everything that she tried to flee from all those years ago. How exactly will she fare when the pages of a long forgotten book start turning once more?

Read On: FanFiction.Net, Archive of Our Own

Warning: Risa curses twice and this is, somehow, still a SatoRisa fic. Because I need to constantly remind myself that it is. 

What Is a Youth?

A rose will bloom. It then will fade…so does a youth.

I found myself sitting on a bench under the cherry blossoms, wholly disconnected from the hubbub surrounding me. With my diploma resting on my lap, I watched my peers say their farewells at this branching point towards our own futures.

Later that day, I had a one-way train ticket to Tokyo without the comforting presence of family and friends. I already had my living arrangement and furnishing set up in advance, so all I had to bring were suitcases stuffed with clothes and other miscellaneous necessities.

Behind a crowd of crying girls, I spotted the Niwa family laughing and chatting with my parents as they watched Riku and Daisuke interact in their little microcosm. Hiwatari stood in the midst of the elderly fray, with his light-blue hair standing out amongst the peppered-blacks and varying shades of red and brown, looking upon the blushing duo with that serious expression of his. He then stared through me—not at me, through me—before returning to the scene in front of him.

If the last month didn’t unravel as horribly as it did, I would’ve been with the group, most likely standing next Hiwatari and still living in blissful denial. But reality ruined that ignorance, leaving me in that same, pathetic state I was after Dark disappeared four years ago.

Knowing that my parents and their company would stay under the cherry blossoms a little longer before heading out to eat somewhere, I left, disgusted with the happiness that unfolded before me. Once home, I turned off my phone and grabbed my luggage before marching towards the train station, finally escaping this stifling town.

I walked into the police station the next morning, greeted by Hiwatari and Saehara chatting about…society’s odd fascination with romance, and the difficult quest to find our soulmates and other halves? Seeing me enter, Saehara shot up a hand in greeting. Hiwatari, on the other hand, grabbed his coffee and slightly bowed to me before disappearing into his office 

“What’s in the tote?” Saehara asked, eyeing the bag hanging off the crook of my arm.

“Patience, my young grasshopper.”

He frowned, leaving his spot to roam around the station. I grabbed a protein shake out of my bag, sipping on it as I read through the stories for today’s broadcasts.

The morning went by quickly, characterized by Saehara’s coming and going with food, drinks, or his trusty steno pad. Sometimes, Hiwatari would emerge from his burrow, passing by with his trademark expression before slinking back to his office looking slightly fatigued and irritated. The lengthy social interactions he had with his force probably bogged him down. Pair that with Saehara’s constant pestering, and the Commissioner, who needed alone time to recover his energy just as much as he needed caffeine to ward off his chronic migraines, had more than enough stress piling on his already overflowing plate.

After spending so many hours studying with Hiwatari as he worked on his case reports, I became acquainted with his habits fairly quickly.

When lunch came around, and Saehara returned with a renewed interest in my tote bag, I pulled out a bento and handed it to him. “In thanks for yesterday,” I said, opening the lid to my own.

“Harada-imouto, I don’t want to die prematurely.”

“You wound me, Saehara. I’ve become a pretty good cook after living alone for a couple of years.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” He took a bite, slowly nodding his head. “Not as delicious as my honey’s, but it’s better that anything you could’ve ever attempted in high school.”

“Thanks for the biased compliment,” I muttered, eliciting a laugh from him.

We talked about Akane, saying that I had to try her food at least once in my life. He called her up right there, luckily during her lunch break, and he promised me a homemade bento courtesy of his lovely honey tomorrow. Once Saehara finished his bento, he jumped up from the sofa and rushed over to Hiwatari’s office to squeeze whatever stories he could.    

I returned to my laptop, passing the afternoon by skimming through stories and snacking. Eventually, Saehara left for the day and I, deciding not to risk having another encounter with Hiwatari, packed up and followed suit.

The cool evening, accompanied by a light breeze, was a nice change from the stuffy, air-conditioned inside of the police station. The setting sun dyed everything around me a subtle orange, and the tension I had unconsciously bottled up slowly dissipated with each passing step.

When I reached the news station, I expected the pre-broadcast rush that stressed me out so much back at NHK. However, the station still held the lazy atmosphere from yesterday morning even with the encroaching deadline.

I settled into my cubicle, half-focused on my work and half-listening to my coworkers whispering about me. Some of them wondered why someone as accomplished as me would work in some uneventful small town on Hokkaido’s northern shores. Others wondered if a pretty lady like me really was as “accomplished” as I claimed to be or why I exerted so much effort into such menial work.

Back in Tokyo, it took me a while to overcome by shock at how shamelessly ruthless people could be in front of the people they were gossiping about. After leaving my sheltered life in Azumano, reality slapped me until I could no longer feel my face and, as a result, I had to whip myself into shape just to cope with the cruelty of the competitive, working world.

Once I finished, stretching my legs and arms after another productive day, Riku texted me saying that we had company over for dinner. I wished she told me who exactly they were so I could present myself accordingly, but I decided not to ruin the evening-after-work and bought a small cake from a bakery on the way home. If no one dug into it, I would just have more to enjoy whenever I had a sleepless night or wanted to gorge on sweets to brighten up my day.

After work shaped my life into a relatively monotonous routine, I finally came to appreciate the small things here and there.

When I got home, I headed towards the kitchen, seeing Daisuke talking to Riku with flutes of white wine in their hands. Next to them, unfortunately, stood Hiwatari, current bane of my existence, shuffling around with his hands in his pockets.

The appetite I worked up on the way home, especially after forcing myself to refrain from buying some freshly-baked bread, disappeared, and I could feel the fatigue from the long workday settle in too quickly for my tastes. All I had to do was place the cake in fridge. After that, I could excuse myself by saying that I wasn’t feeling well, avoiding the added stress from interacting with Hiwatari and getting some well-deserved rest.

“Hey, Risa,” Daisuke greeted. “How was work?”

“Tiring,” I briefly replied, leaving the bag of empty bento boxes next to the sink before putting the cake in the fridge. “What about you? How’s work at the museum?”

“Interesting.” He laughed. “It reminds me of the good old days.”

“Ready for dinner?” Riku asked.

“Not really,” I told her. “I’m not feeling well, so I was planning on getting some rest. I’ll probably eat later.”

“And miss the lovely meal I prepared for you with wine? And your dessert with tea?”

“At least eat a little to put something in your stomach,” Hiwatari advised with his lips pursed in concern.

“I’m fine,” I grumbled harshly, leaving the trio in the kitchen.

Slamming my bedroom door closed, I collapsed on my bed, blankly staring at the photos plastered on my way, illuminated by the slivers of streetlight filtering through the lights.

Damn bastard.

I spent the past couple of hours in the dark, browsing available apartments near work. They were relatively cheap and not too far from both the news and police stations, but their layouts were boring, and I could care less about the view of rectangular, concrete buildings. I wanted a nice place, maybe close to that café, with a wonderful view of the ocean and the sunlight constantly filtering in throughout the day. It’d be worth the commute to work, but the price…

I heard a knock on my door and before I could even react, it swung open. My body tensed up, afraid that Hiwatari would come in, but the lights turned on, and Riku stood at the doorway holding a tray of food.

“You’re going to go blind doing that,” she scolded.

I shrugged. “Didn’t stop me throughout college.”

She placed the tray in front of me, playfully shoving me before sitting down on my bed. “What were you doing?”

“Looking for apartments to move into ASAP.”

Riku gasped. “I didn’t realize you hated me that much!”

I laughed before eating a forkful of her lemon-buttered fish complemented with a squash medley. Basking in my sister’s cooking, I downed the bite with some white wine, feeling my energy slowly coming back to me.

“I don’t know. I guess I feel out of place living here.”

“How could you?”

I shook my head. “You wouldn’t understand since you spent college with Daisuke practically by your side. And Hiwatari-san, Mom, and Dad were less than an hour away.”

Riku raised an eyebrow, slowly leaning towards me with a mischievous smile. Shit, what’s she going to ask me about?

“Hiwatari-san? What happened to those nicknames you guys called each other? What were they again…oh yeah! S—”

“Don’t you dare!” I interrupted, lightly slapping her shoulder for bringing that up. She grinned. “But you’ve just make my point: things have changed since I left.”

“Of course they have! Did you think everything would be the same when you’ve been gone for six years?”

“Of course not! I’m not that dumb.” I pouted from Riku’s lack of faith in me, but she just laughed. I waited for the jovial mood to die down before continuing, staring at my hands that lightly grasped the silverware. “But I can’t stay in this house, in this room: it’s dysphoric. It feels like I’ve come back to that life I shed when I headed off to college, picking up exactly where I left off. God, Riku, it’s sickening.”

I finished my food in silence, not bothering to stare at Riku. I didn’t want to see the pity on her face or the pain from trying to understand a sister that had literally dropped off the face of her world six years ago without even a simple goodbye. The photos in my room haunted me with happy memories that only worsened my return; it was a stark reminder of what I no longer had.

“Is this why you left for Tokyo as soon as you could?” she asked, with an uncanny shakiness in her tone. “So that you could run away from that life?

“Sure. We can go with that.”

“Risa, what exactly happened during that last month of school? You— ”

“Please, let’s keep the past in the past, okay?”

It was hypocritical for me to say that considering the past still had me in its vice grip to this day, but I couldn’t bear to talk to Riku about it. I looked at her, remembering that this was the exact same expression she had when she found me in the shower, curled up in fetal position while trying to wail the pain away. If she kept that on her face for any longer, I knew I would’ve started crying. Riku looked like she was on the verge of tears too and, somehow pulling through for both of us, shot me a smile before rubbing my arm in comfort.

“Well, whenever you want to tackle that past, remember that you don’t have to do it alone, okay? We’re all here for you.” She hugged me before leaving my room with my empty tray.

Feeling a tug at my heart, I knew that she was crying downstairs. Just the image of her, with tears silently running down her face while washing the dishes, hurt so much. Despite the six years away from Azumano, I found solace in knowing that not much has changed between me and Riku, but that familiarity was too weak to keep me sane in this mansion.

Trying to get my mind off that and keep the creeping sadness at bay, I returned to my phone, browsing to find what would be my new home.

2 AM.

I had work in a couple of hours, yet I found myself wide awake. I even tried reading some tanka, trying to calm my mind with the succinct poems filled with descriptions of nature that lent to their usually romantic tone but even that didn’t work.

Leaving my room, I headed to the kitchen in hopes of leftover cake in the fridge. Not that I should be snacking this late/early, but maybe the cold dessert could lull me into lethargy.

Back in high school, while I struggled to study for tests or entrance exams through the dead hours of night, I always found myself on the kitchen floor, snacking while I stayed on the phone. I would weave in and out of periods of conversational chatter and silence accompanied by the background noise of my study music playlist of instrumental music that somehow helped me stay awake instead of putting me to sleep.

Sometimes, Riku would find me in the morning, cradling my phone in the middle of a mess of snacks and paper. Other times, usually on weekends, my parents would find me at the dining table, pulling an all-nighter after spending so much time chatting with the person on the other end of the line. They thought I was crazy; looking back on it now, I regretted the amount of sleep I sacrificed for something so pointless, but I was a stupid teenager who didn’t know any better.

Six years later, I still think that I really didn’t know any better coming back here.

Opening the fridge, I saw a slice of cake cradled in its bubble of saran wrap and settled onto the dining table ready to dig in. After one spoonful, I was convinced that this was a worthwhile decision.

For a second, I imagined it: eating my cake at 2 AM with three other conspirers, sneaking out of our respective rooms to chat the night away. My parents let Hiwatari and Daisuke sleep here, but rules were rules, and after lights out, the boys and girls were to retreat into their own rooms. Yet, being young and rebellious, we’d wreck quiet havoc in the wee hours of the night.

Finishing my cake, and knowing that there was no way I would be able to get back to sleep, I cleaned up after myself, sat on the floor, and turned on that same study playlist, daydreaming the night away until the sun peaked over the clouds, greeting me with a good morning.

[brentrogers]

5 Powerful Ways to Stop Worrying About What Others Think

“Care about what other people think and you will always be their prisoner.” ~ Lao Tzu

We carefully pick out what we wear to the gym to make sure we look good in the eyes of the other gym goers.

We beat ourselves up after meetings running through everything we said (or didn’t say), worried that coworkers will think we aren’t smart or talented enough.

We post only the best picture out of the twenty-seven selfies we took and add a flattering filter to get the most likes to prove to ourselves that we are pretty and likable.

We live in other people’s heads.

And all it does is make us judge ourselves more harshly. It makes us uncomfortable in our own bodies. It makes us feel apologetic for being ourselves. It makes us live according to our perception of other people’s standards.

It makes us feel inauthentic. Anxious. Judgmental. Not good enough. Not likable enough. Not smart enough. Not pretty enough.

F that sh*t.

The truth is, other people’s opinions of us are none of our business. Their opinions have nothing to do with us and everything to do with them, their past, their judgments, their expectations, their likes, and their dislikes.

I could stand in front of twenty strangers and speak on any topic. Some of them will hate what I’m wearing, some will love it. Some will think I’m a fool, and others will love what I have to say. Some will forget me as soon as they leave, others will remember me for years.

Some will hate me because I remind them of their annoying sister-in-law. Others will feel compassionate toward me because I remind them of their daughter. Some will completely understand what I have to say, and others will misinterpret my words.

Each of them will get the exact same me. I will do my best and be the best I can be in that moment. But their opinions of me will vary. And that has nothing to do with me and everything to do with them.

No matter what I do some people will never like me. No matter what I do some people will always like me. Either way, it has nothing to do with me. And it’s none of my business.

Ok, “that’s all well and good” you may be thinking. “But how do I stop caring what other people think of me?”

1. Know your values.

Knowing your top core values is like having a brighter flashlight to get you through the woods. A duller light may still get you where you need to go, but you’ll stumble more or be led astray.

With a brighter light the decisions you make—left or right, up or down, yes or no—become clearer and easier to make.

For years I had no idea what I truly valued, and I felt lost in life as a result. I never felt confident in my decisions, and I questioned everything I said and did.

Doing core values work on myself has made a huge impact on my life. I came to realize that “compassion” is my top core value. Now when I find myself questioning my career decisions because I’m worried about disappointing my parents (a huge trigger for me), I remind myself that “compassion” also means “self-compassion,” and I’m able to cut myself some slack.

If you value courage and perseverance and you show up at the gym even though you are nervous and have “lame” gym clothes, you don’t have to dwell on what the other gym goers think about you.

If you value inner peace and you need to say “no” to someone who is asking for your time, and your plate is already full to the max, you can do so without feeling like they will judge you for being a selfish person.

If you value authenticity and you share your opinion in a crowd, you can do so with confidence knowing that you are living your values and being yourself.

Know your core values, and which ones you value the most. Your flashlight will be brighter for it.

2. Know to stay in your own business.

Another way to stop caring about what other people think is to understand that there are three types of business in the world. This is a lesson I learned from Byron Katie, and I love it.

The first is God’s business. If the word “God” isn’t to your liking, you can use another word here that works for you, like the Universe or “nature.” I think I like “nature” better, so I’ll use that.

The weather is nature’s business. Who dies and who is born is nature’s business. The body and genes you were given are nature’s business. You have no place in nature’s business. You can’t control it.

The second type of business is other people’s business. What they do is their business. What your neighbor thinks of you is his business. What time your coworker comes into work is her business. If the driver in the other car doesn’t go when the light turns green, it’s their business.

The third type of business is your business.

If you get angry with the other driver because you now have to wait at another red light, that’s your business.

If you get irritated because your coworker is late again, that’s your business.

If you are worried about what your neighbor thinks of you that’s your business.

What they think is their business. What you think (and in turn, feel) is your business.

Whose business are you in when you’re worried about what you’re wearing? Whose business are you in when you dwell on how your joke was received at the party?

You only have one business to concern yourself with—yours. What you think and what you do are the only things you can control in life. That’s it.

3. Know that you have full ownership over your feelings.

When we base our feelings on other people’s opinions, we are allowing them to control our lives. We’re basically allowing them to be our puppet master, and when they pull the strings just right, we either feel good or bad.

If someone ignores you, you feel bad. You may think “she made me feel this way by ignoring me.” But the truth is, she has no control over how you feel.

She ignored you and you assigned meaning to that action. To you, that meant that you are not worth her time, or you are not likable enough, smart enough, or cool enough.

Then you felt sad or mad because of the meaning you applied. You had an emotional reaction to your own thought.

When we give ownership of our feelings over to others, we give up control over our emotions. The fact of the matter is, the only person that can hurt your feelings is you.

To change how other people’s actions make you feel, you only need to change a thought. This step sometimes takes a bit of work because our thoughts are usually automatic or even on the unconscious level, so it may take some digging to figure out what thought is causing your emotion.

But once you do, challenge it, question it, or accept it. Your emotions will follow.

4. Know that you are doing your best.

One of the annoying things my mom would say growing up (and she still says) is “You did the best you could with what you had at the time.”

I hated that saying.

I had high standards of myself and I always thought that I could have done better. So when I didn’t meet those expectations my inner bully would come out and beat the crap out of me.

How much of your life have you spent kicking yourself because you thought you said something dumb? Or because you showed up late? Or that you looked weird?

Every time, you did the best you could. Every. Single. Time.

That’s because everything we do has a positive intent. It may not be obvious, but it’s there.

Literally as I’m writing this post sitting in a tea shop in Portland, Maine, another patron went to the counter and asked what types of tea he could blend with his smoky Lapsang Souchong tea (a favorite of mine as well).

He hadn’t asked me, but I chimed in that maybe chaga mushroom would go well because of its earthy flavor. He seemed unimpressed with the unsolicited advice and turned back to the counter.

The old me would have taken that response to heart and felt terrible the rest of the afternoon thinking how this guy must think I’m a dope and annoying for jumping into the conversation uninvited.

But let’s take a look at what I had in that moment:

I had an urge to try to be helpful and a core value of kindness and compassion

I had an interest in the conversation

I had an impression that my feedback might be well received

I had a desire to connect with a new person on a shared interest

I did the best I could with what I had.

Because I know that, I have no regrets. I also know that his opinion of me is none of my business and I was living in tune with my values trying to be helpful!

Though, I could also see how from another perspective that forcing my way into a conversation and pushing my ideas on someone who did not ask may have been perceived as rude. And rudeness goes against my core value of compassion.

That leads me to the next lesson.

5. Know that everyone makes mistakes.

We live in a culture where we don’t often talk about how we feel. It turns out we all experience the same feelings, and we all make mistakes. Go figure!

Even if you are living in tune with your values, even if you are staying in your own business, even if you are doing your best, you will make mistakes. Without question.

So what? We all do. We all have. Having compassion for yourself comes easier when you understand that everyone has felt that way. Everyone has gone through it.

The only productive thing you can do with your mistakes is to learn from them. Once you figure out the lesson you can take from the experience, rumination is not at all necessary and it’s time to move on.

In the case of tea patron-interjection-debacle, I could have done a better job of reading his body language and noticed that he wanted to connect with the tea sommelier and not a random stranger.

Lesson learned. No self-bullying required.

At my last company I accidentally caused a company-wide upset. A friend and coworker of mine, who had been at the company for a few years, had been asking to get a better parking spot. One came available as someone left the company, but he still was passed over.

He’s such a nice guy, and as my department was full of sarcastics, I thought it would be funny to create a pun-filled petition for him to get the better spot.

I had no idea that it was going to be taken so poorly by some people. It went up the chain of command and looked like our department was full of unappreciative, needy whiners.

And our boss thought it looked like I used my position to coerce people into signing it. He brought the whole department together and painfully and uncomfortably called out the whole terrible situation and demanded it never happen again.

I. Was. MORTIFIED.

He hadn’t named me, but most people knew I created it. I was so embarrassed and ashamed.

But here’s what I did:

I reminded myself of my values. I value compassion and humor. I thought I was doing a kind but funny act for a friend.

When I found myself worrying what other people must now think of me, I told myself that if they thought poorly of me (of which I had no evidence) all I could do was to continue to be my best me.

When flashbacks of that awful meeting came back to mind, flushing my face full of heat and shame, I remembered to take ownership over how I felt and not let the memory of the event or what other people think dictate how I feel now.

I reminded myself that I did the best I could with what I had at the time. I had a desire to help a friend and an idea I thought was funny and assumed would go over well.

I realized that I made a mistake. The lesson I learned was to be more considerate of how others may receive my sense of humor. Not everyone finds me as funny as my husband does. I can make better decisions now because of it.

And after a short time the whole incident was forgotten.

Stop worrying about what other people think. It will change your life.

This post courtesy of Tiny Buddha.

5 Powerful Ways to Stop Worrying About What Others Think syndicated from