#...on a completely different note can i just say that writing 'soccer world cup' just really hurt my soul but

[melliiaahh]

I think you’re a good writer!!

Can you do a scenario where the reader’s parents don’t approve of her blue lock boyfriend? Like no matter the blue lock boy does or say, Her parents don’t like him but she won’t break up with the boy because she loves them

Boys: Isagi, Rin, Bachira, Sae, Nagi, Barou, Shidou, Kaiser, and anyone you would want to write for!!

Thank you so much i really appreciate the support<3!!! of course ! ill try my best<3333 you're out here breaking my heart tho OH MY GODDDD

♧Blue Lock Boys and s/o with disapproving parents♧

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Word count: 3.7k

Warning: Swearing and use of feminine description.

Featuring: Bachira, Kaiser, Kunigami, Chigiri, Rin, Sae, Isagi, Barou, Shindo, Nagi and Reo 

Genre: angst, fluff towards the end of each reaction cause my heart cant take sadness </3

Notes: pls remember I’m Australian and we spell words differently LMAO, we spell mum with a U not a O OKAY I promise I’m not dumb HAHAAH

if you like my stuff have a look at my masterlist for more !

All characters are aged up!  Not proofread!

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Storyline...

“ I’m sorry guys but we just can’t approve your relationship together, he wants to becoming a pro athlete and you’re just a regular person y/n! What if he goes out into the world when he does soccer matches and finds someone he likes better? What if he goes out and cheats on you y/n while you’re here at home working all alone. I’m sorry y/n but we just can’t have you in a relationship that could end up with you heart broken, I don’t want to be the one picking you back up when this wannabe athlete star decides he’s done with regular people like us. Cmon y/n come to your senses, you guys are living two different lives here.” 

Your mother yells as you held your boyfriends hand while rushing to the front door. You can’t believe the words that have come from your mothers mouth, especially in front of your partner! you’re completely embarrassed and distraught at her words that you’ve picked dup your things and dragged your boyfriend to the front door to leave. You love them with your whole heart  and have known them since before they went into blue lock and could never see them do anything that your mother has said.

 You open the front door to leave but not before replying to your parents “ you know nothing about him or us, Mum, we will prove you wrong but until then I want nothing to do with either of you. He is an amazing guy … he works hard at what he loves and still is able to do whatever he can just to make me happy. But you would know that since you never put in the time to get to know him. But that’s too late now… Goodbye” 

You  quickly turn around with tears threatening to fall down your cheeks  and before your parents could say anything to retort you walk outside in the cold air and take a deep breath before slamming the door shut. You and your partner quickly walk to the car before slamming the door shut, as soon as getting into the car you break down and apologise profusely to your partner about the way your mother reacted……

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Reactions...

Isagi Yoichi

Isagi quickly wraps you up in a hug, whispering to you “ its okay sweetheart you have nothing to apologise for… and just like you said we will prove them wrong” He slowly moves to cup your face in his hands, gently wiping whatever tears you have on your face. 

“We will make this work. I don’t care if I’m hundreds or thousands miles away for a game. We will make it work because you are my everything y/n, I couldn’t care less what they have to say and ill spend all my life proving them wrong if I have to because I love you and not anyone else… okay?” 

You bring Isagi back into a tight hug before you cry a little more, butt his time out of relief at the words your beloved just said. After you have calmed down you let go and sit comfortably into your seat, Isagi doing the same with one hand on the steering wheel and the other gently rubbing your thigh for comfort he speaks up again 

“How about we quickly go to the store for ice cream and then head home to watch some movies okay?” He looks at you with a gentle smile before starting the car and going off towards the nearest grocery store. You nod your head at him  with a smile before watching you slowly move away from your parents house feeling confident in the love that Isagi has for you and only you<3

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Bachira Meguru

Bachira holds both of your hands in his and kisses your knuckles very gently. He knows now is not the time to play games or joke around after what just happened. He is upset and irritated that he couldn’t get your parents to approve of him but he can’t help but feel delighted that you chose to stick with him even after your parents explain their disapproval of him.

He moves your chin with his finger to get you to look at him before saying “ill forever be yours y/n, your boyfriend, your monster, whatever you want me to be I’m here… there is no one in this world that I would chose before you. You’re the one person who truely understood and stayed by me and ill always be that for you, no matter where I am in the world… I’ll always come back home to you.” 

He sees you smile and relax at his words which makes him do the same. He quickly grabs your face to give you a quick kiss on your nose, making you laugh which in turn makes him grin. Knowing you’re feeling better he sits back in the drivers seat before speaking up again  

“its also nice to know that you’ll fight for me, how such a loving partner I think ill swoooooon~” he giggles as he jokes with you which then makes you giggle before you slap his arm “ ill always fight for you my love” you respond, taking hold of his as he drives away.  

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Chigiri Hoyma 

Chigiri is shocked to say the least at your parents behaviour, he could never imagine his own mother or sister that way towards you so the fact that you have to deal with it breaks his heart. 

He knew he had to get you out of here before it caused you any more distress so he quickly grabs your hand and turns on the car, he doesn’t tell you where he is going but you’re thankful that he’s quick to get you out of there as you couldn’t bare to look at the house that’s now no longer yours to call home. 

It was not long before he found a park to stop the car at. Quickly parking he gets out of the car and comes around to open the door for you, holding his hand out to you to get you out before taking off his jacket to give to you. 

He then leads you to a park bench to sit down before saying “ I’m sorry that this happened my love. I hope what your mother said didn’t put you to have any distrust on me because I couldn’t think of anyone id rather spend my whole life with.. you’re my love and I want you to know that no matter where or what I am doing ill always come running to you if you ask. I don’t care if I’m all the way in Spain, if you asked I’ll come home at a drop of a hat because you are my world and the only thing that matters, soccer will forever come second when it comes to you, because everything I do is so I can see your pretty smile okay? So you don’t have to worry about me because my eyes are only for you<3” He finishes saying nearly out of breath which makes you laugh.

Hearing you laugh makes Chigiri smile brightly, knowing he is the one that caused the delighted sound that he loves dearly. “ Thank you Hyo, it means the world to me what you’ve said” you respond with a small smile which in turn makes chigiri engulf you in a tight embrace 

“ Anytime my dear, you know that I would give you the entire world and more if you so dare wished.. so let’s forget about what’s happened and go out for dinner hm?” He responds as he kisses your forehead gently while reminding himself how lucky he is <3

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Rensuke Kunigami 

Kunigami had to quickly calm himself down cause although they were your parents he was struggling to contain his anger and confusion as to what just conspired. But knew that you would rather leave the house and not come back so he turned the car on and went to the closest car park, as long as it was away from your parents house Kunigami didn’t care he just wanted you to be okay 

As soon as he parked and stopped the car, he turned to you and spoke “baby you have nothing to apologise for. You weren’t controlling your parents words so I hold no grudge against you but please understand this that I’m gonna be with you no matter what, you mean so much more to me than soccer and I could not care less that your parents think. You make my life so much better just by being in it and I don’t want to spend my life with anyone else, you got that?” He holds you tight to him almost like he is afraid that you’ll disappear

You reciprocated his hug and whisper thank you’s and I love you’s to each other until you’ve calmed down enough and felt better than before. Kunigami smiles before speaking up again “ now let’s not ruin this night, let’s do whatever you want. No matter what it is we will do it because I hate to see my sweet girl so down” you light up at his words which makes him grin and the sight, he loves nothing more than seeing you smile<3

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Michael Kaiser

Michael is practically seething through his teeth but he tries his best to keep his composure for your sake as well as his. You promised your mother that you’ll prove them wrong and he wasn’t about to ruin it now. 

Realistically Michael couldn’t care for your parents approval however the fact that you cared at all meant enough to him to support you, and now he’s pissed that your mother could break your heart like that.

“ You don’t need to apologise sweetheart, I don’t care what your mother said, im here for you and only you. She can think all those horrible things all she likes I couldn’t care less. Im more pissed off that she made you cry, so please stop crying sweetheart it’s okay, you’ve got nothing to worry about.” Michael says as he pulls your face into his chest, never wanting to let go.<3

“ And besides… she doest know that I’m only obsessed with you. I couldn’t give a fuck about any other low lives around us. It’s me and you against the world remember?” He continues as he puts small kisses on your head, he hums and whispers to you “ so no more of this crying and apology shit, im always gonna be by your side… now lets get out of here okay? And ill prove to you and your mother that I’m the damn best man there is for you” he grins as he starts to turn on the car and speed away

(Mans is a cocky bastard that literally takes to proving your mum wrong very seriously -_-)

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Reo Mikage 

He quickly hops into the car, telling his driver to get out of there (man is rich why tf would he drive HAHAHAHA) then puts his attention on you completely. Bringing you into a hug as you cried your heart out, still apologising for what happened. 

Reo pulls away and brings you in for a kiss, surprised by the sudden movement you stop crying and accept the kiss. He takes this time to wipe away your tears before pulling away and saying “ you’re okay, everything’s alright now prince/ss, don’t stress your pretty head I’m not going anywhere” 

You relax a bit after hearing his words, still hugging his chest you thank him by giving him another quick kiss before pulling away to sit back in your own chair which in turn makes him pull you even closer 

“What makes you think I am ever gonna let you go doll? Stay cuddling with me and I’ll prove to you, to your parents and the whole world that you’re the only wo/man I want by my side. You’re my muse and don’t you ever forget that, so let me prove it to you now” he says as he pulls you out of the car and into your new home together<3  

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Nagi Seishiro 

(Every fibre of my being is telling me that this man would be too lazy to get a license let alone a car but lets just go along with it HAHAHAH)

Nagi was left pretty much dumb founded at the whole situation, he didn’t speak much to your parents so he didn’t really know why your parents disapproved of him but nevertheless he held your hand the whole way home telling you to stop apologising. As soon as Nagi parked infant of his house he quickly gets out and opens your car door to let you out.

He brings you both inside and into his room. “Here lets forget about what they said because to be honest I don’t care about it, its really bothersome you know…” 

He guides you to the bed before smothering you with his whole body making you smile before trying to push him off so you can BREATHE “Cmon seiiii let me at least change clothessss…” you say trying you’re absolute HARDEST to get this man off you “but that’s so much work y/nnn, just come cuddle with me and play games...” He mumbles back, holding you even tighter. 

He then looks up at you before talking again “ I hope your not worried about me from what your mother said… you’re the only person I like spending all my time with.. you make everything less boring and irritating… I love you sweets.. plus you’re not a nag like Reo…”  

You smile back at his words, racipucating his cuddle before replying “ Thank you sei, I love you too” <3

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Rin Itoshi

Rin is very good at hiding his emotions around you, he never wants you to see him upset or pissed off especially right now. To make their own child cry and abandoned them makes Rin enraged to say the least, he knows the feeling of abandonment because of his brother so he at least knows a little bit as to what you’re feeling but to be your parents it was the least he expected 

Rin starts the car and drives away from the house, you know he isn’t much of a talker nor someone who’s good at consoling another person so you didn’t mind the quiet car ride, the only noise Is the radio and the rain falling onto the windshield. After what almost felt like an eternity, Rin quickly gets out the umbrella from the back seat and speed walks to your car door, opening it for you and leading you to the house before stopping at the front door step where he turns around to face you before speaking

“ I know im not great at this consoling thing but… I would never abandon you for some other lukewarm degenerate.. youre the only person that makes anything outside of soccer worth it… so youll always be my number one priority, even if I don’t show you that sometimes .. so stop crying ok?” He mumbles to you but it was enough for you to hear

You smile at him and bring him into a tight hug, which he accepts instantly. “Thank you Rin.. you’ll always be my number one too… I love you” you respond to him with a smile which causes him to be flustered and mumble back an ‘I love you too’  before opening the front door into your new shared home<3

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Sae Itoshi 

Like his younger brother he is very good and hiding his emotions from you and everyone around him as he thinks it is an annoyance however this time he can’t help looking concerned at your crying figuring trying to apologise to him that was clearly not your fault.

“ Don’t be stupid y/n you didn’t cause that argument, she did. So quit your apologising and let’s get out of here okay? I’ll treat you to some ice cream on our way back home…” he says trying to be as comforting as he can but again like his brother he isn’t that great at consoling. But you knew that and what he was doing now was more than okay cause you know he is trying by the way he looks at you with deep concern. 

You nod your head and stayed quiet as he turned on the engine and quickly sped off to the nearest ice cream store. Once he parked he quickly told you to stay in the car whilst he went to get the ice cream. While waiting you see him come out of the store with over several cups of ice cream in his hands, looking very focused to not drop a single once. Laughing yet confused at what you’re looking at you quickly jump out of the car to help him out

“ Saeeee Jesus! Why did you buy so many?” You continue to laugh as you both walk to the car, hands filled with ice cream “ I didn’t know which one you liked the best since you like all these flavours so I bought all of them! I didn’t realise that ice cream would be so expensive” he huffs in response. You smile at him before giving him a quick kiss on the cheek as a thank you, Then as you start to walk to the car you hear him drop the ice cream on the floor and spin you around, pulling you into another kiss, this time its soft yet passionate. It felt like years have gone by, by the time you two pull away he then speaks up with a soft smile on his face “I think after all this heavy lifting of ice cream I deserved a bigger kiss don’t you think?” He grins as he sees you laugh 

“ I mean sure but you did end up dropping like 5 of them just now” you respond pointing at the now melted ice cream on the car park floor. Sae’s face drops as he turns around to look at what he’s done “ AH FUCKING SHIT-“ 

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Barou Shoei (IS IS BARO OR BAROU???HELP)

Mans does not have a car he’s got a motorcycle and no one can tell me different. For Barou’s scenario just think that you walked to his bike instead of getting into a car <3)

Barou quickly shuts you up by hugging you tightly into his chest, telling you to shut up and calm down whilst he strokes you hair waiting for your breathing to slow down and thinking carefully about what to say next as he doesn’t want to upset you more than you already are. Once he feel you’re breathing has started to slow down he will slowly pull away and look down at you before speaking up 

“I don’t know what your parents problem is with me but I know damn straight they know nothing about me. You’re my partner and that’s that. Im not looking for anyone different because everyone else is a peasant compared to you, you’re mine and everyone else better fucking know it.. so don’t apologise for someone else’s behaviour, even if they are your parents. They’re fucking stupid to think id ever do something as dumb as leaving or cheating on you. All im focused on is becoming the king of soccer and making you happy, that’s all there is to care about. So quit your whining and let’s get out of this dump” he looks away from you bit flustered as to what he just said.

You know that Barou is just a softy at heart when it comes to you so you smile at his (sorta??) kind words towards you. You grab him by the collar of his shirt and pull him down to give him a kiss on the cheek before replying 

“ Thank you Sho… you always know what to say to make me feel better, let’s go home” you quickly walk towards his bike before looking back at him, seeing that he’s trying to bring himself together after the kiss. He is your big softy after all<3333

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Shidou Ryusei (AGAIN IS IT SHINDO OR SHINDOU?? this shit is confusing)

You currently crying is the only thing stopping him for going back into the house and letting your parents have an earful of Shindo’s thoughts, but of course he doesn’t because he knows that he should take care of you first and make sure you’re okay. 

He faces you whilst in the driver seat, puts his hand on your thigh to rub it for comfort which is a first since he normally does it when he what’s to do something else and he says in a serious tone 

“ Look I know I’m normally not the greatest boyfriend material to bring home to peoples parents but I know damn well fucking straight when I got a good one, AND YOURE THE BEST so obviously I’m not that stupid to let you get away from me or ruin it. I love you so fucking much baby. I only got eyes on you so there’s nothing you should worry about cause I’m only thinking about you and your fine fuckin ass” he says with a joking tone at the end which in turn makes you laugh. 

You know Ryusei knows how to make you smile and laugh even in your worst moments. You look him in the eye before replying “Thank you Ryu..youre the best” he then grins before replying “ YOU DAMN WELL KNOW IT, now lets go home so we can eat, Im STARVING… also at least now we know where you get you’re attitude from, you’re mum has a fucking MOUTH on her man” you retort by slapping his shoulder although you can help but laugh as he speeds out of the driveway towards home<3

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[armyhoned]

matt watches both soccer world cups and eurovision song contests and i will not be accepting construtive criticism on this.

[keijikunn]

Memories ─ part ii

── A @celestialarchiveshq collab “Connected by fate”

Pairing: Semi Eita x fem!reader Tags: college!au, kinda angst i guess, fluff, SLOW BURN, maybe strangers to lovers!au Summary: On the last day of the year, you dream of your soulmate’s most impactant memory that happened within the year. Each memory will be different each year. Word count: ~5.4k

Author’s note: Second part is up guys! Hope you all enjoy it, and please let me know what you're thinking so far! Reblogs are appreciated <3

WARNINGS: insecurity, mention of injury (it’s a broken arm), self-esteem issues, let me know if I forgot anything

MEMORIES’ MASTERLIST

2005 (age of 11)

The gymnasium was filled with the sound of the sneakers against the hard wooden floor, constant screams of “left!”, “right!”, “block!” and occasional cheerings when someone scored a point. Your soulmate was excited for practice as usual, the love he felt towards volleyball was huge, and the bubbling sensation on his stomach gave away he was excited for something. 

“Boys, gather up!” The coach called the team near the benches, everyone sitting on the floor in front of the man. “It’s time to announce which positions you’ll play for the next season, and possibly for the rest of your middle school years.”

A list of names got called, the younger ones assigned to variate between a couple of positions; the older ones were mostly spikers or middle blockers. With naive eyes, being able to score points for the team was euphoric, as if the weight of the world was on their shoulders. Your soulmate waited restlessly, a part of his mind wandering on his arduous training, trying his best to achieve his dream position in the team.

He called his name, eyes quickly to find his coach’s face. “You’ll be the on the start lineup as setter.”

Your soulmate gasped, his lips quickly turning upwards as he smiled in ecstasy. His close friends lightly punched his back and arms, congratulating his hard work. All the boy could think was his father’s words about how your efforts are paid back, just like his guitar classes. He thought about the countless practices he tried his best to improve, asking tips to his coaches and seniors, tossing a ball against his bedroom wall - only to hear Aime complain about it during dinner. 

It felt good, amazing even. He understood the concept of working hard perfectly, after experiencing it twice. Something inside him made himself feel unstoppable, as long as he has his determination to do better, he could achieve every and anything he ever dreamed about. Your soulmate had never felt such proudness of himself before, and he had every reason to feel like it. 

2006 (age of 12)

Semi’s relationship with his relatives was good, all his uncles and aunts were nice to him, his older cousins never really bothered him and the younger ones were funny to play tag games. However, the boy wasn’t excused of having a certain degree of dislike towards his same-age cousin Touma. Being born in the same year was great when they were little, playdates worked well and they’d always make each other’s company during boring adults reunion. 

Things started to change once they got older and started elementary school. Touma was constantly praised in his school, claimed as the best student in his year, with almost perfect scores and impeccable participation in events. Semi used to be happy for his cousin, but the feeling changed once the other started to brag about himself, belittling Semi’s achievements and efforts. 

After that, their relationship was never the same, and both of them knew it. The thing was that their mothers weren’t aware of the sudden change of affection between them, resulting in regular Sunday lunches over their place. It was uncomfortable the silence between them, the pair sitting on opposite ends of the large sofa, doing their best to ignore the other’s presence. 

“Aunt!” Touma called Semi’s mother, a too innocent smile on his face. “Did mom tell you that I’m the best student in my school? And the teachers want to subscribe me in a Math competition?”

“That’s great to hear, Touma-kun! You’re really smart!” His mother cheered way too excited, Semi noted, and the boy tried to recall every time he had big news to tell if his mom praised him like she did with his cousin. 

“Even the director talked to me about changing a few classes, saying Touma is capable of attending advanced classes.” His aunt gushed with pride. “And he’s even the best player in the soccer team!”

“Wow, Touma, you’re really amazing!” Semi was undeniably jealous at how easily his mother complimented someone who wasn’t her own son. He was furious at her, at Touma, but especially at himself for not doing better to receive the same praises. 

“I’m naturally good, aunt! I don’t have to study or practice more to improve.” His cousin stated, sending Semi and side look in a provocative way, like inciting him to fight back. “And what about Eita-kun?”

“Eita always tries his best in volleyball and guitar practices,” his mom started, fidgeting with the cloth she used to dry the washed plates. “He’s a hardworking boy, right, Eita?”

“Yeah…” he muttered in response, feeling his heart drop to his stomach. Did his mother lie to him about working hard on what you love? To earn her compliments he should be a genius, be born good at that thing and that’s that? 

The rage inside him was replaced by disappointment, even sadness. His parents lied to him just to make him happy because he was their son, it was their obligation to hype their children even if they weren’t that happy. Semi wondered if his mother would’ve lied to Touma if he was her son - and the answer came quite easily: she wouldn’t, because she had no reason to do so. 

At that moment, everything he believed started to fall apart. His concept of being good, of worth of praise and recognition. Years of proudness were thrown away in mere seconds, a mentality Semi built to face every challenge destroyed in the worst way possible: by his own mother.

I bet mom wanted a son like Touma, she’d replace me easily. 

I’m not good enough, am I?

The following days after the first rehearsal you had with the band, you and Semi met up more often to talk about your project, what you have so far and what do you wanted from him. Although Semi didn’t spare snarky comments towards you, he was cooperative and even suggested a thing or two. 

“So, what’s the lyrics?” Semi asked, both of you were in a small café near the campus. His long and slim fingers tapped the wooden table, while his left - and injured - arm rested near his body. 

“Well,” you started, offering a sheepelesly smile. “It’s your story, you should write it.”

“It’s your project, Y/n.” He tried to correct you, closing tightly his jaw in annoyance. Overall it was quite easy to read the singer’s body language, it being more expressive than his words. 

“My project is to produce a song - which I’ll do when you come up with the lyrics.” The man didn’t seem to be convinced, but either way let out a long sigh, bothered by the situation. “Whatever you want to tell the world, any suppressed feelings, I’m all ears to your ideas.”

Semi visibly was taken aback at your choice of wording, mouth slightly slacking and his brown pupils quivered as he lowered his gaze to the table. You knew it was rather dangerous to suggest something like that, giving the fact he resisted for a while before agreeing to help you. On the other hand, though, it was your only chance to get what you really wanted: a song filled with the deepest and rawest emotions. 

Much like your soulmate, the man in front of you closed himself from the others. The last 10 years, you dreamed about a very hard tempered, isolated and hurt boy and you didn’t truly understand those feelings. Semi, in your judgment (that you acknowledged could be completely wrong), gave off the impression he might understand him. Perhaps through Semi, you would be able to comfort your soulmate, because regardless of his belief or not in being destined together, you needed to do anything to sooth his doubts.

“Semi-san?” A male voice broke the silence you two fell into without noticing, lifting you head, you saw a rather tall guy standing by the side of your table. He sported a sharp and uneven haircut alongside with a tired expression, though his eyes were wide opened in surprise. 

“Oh, Shirabu.” Semi breathed out the name, also surprised by the sudden encounter. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah…” the awkwardness between them made you fidget in your seat, averting your eyes from them to look straight into your cup of coffee. “How- how are you doing?”

“Fine, actually- and you? Heard you were accepted in med school,” the singer commented. “Congratulations.”

“Thanks.” 

“Oh, uh- Y/n, this is Shirabu.” Semi introduced you two as you briefly exchanged a polite ‘hello���, a bit awkward by the situation. “We used to play in the same volleyball team during high school.”

“Oh, nice.” You reacted slightly rushed, the tension between the two previous teammates was growing as the seconds passed by. “Was Semi a good teammate? I’m playing support in his band and I can say he’s quite demanding.”

“Yes!” Shirabu exclaimed quickly, his nervousness showing off. “Semi-san was a good teammate and a respectful senpai.”

“Though you respected Wakatoshi the most, right?” Though you presumed Semi said that to joke around his underclassman, at some instance you felt bitterness hidden behind the playful comment. He laughed half-heartedly as Shirabu panicked to give him a proper answer. “I’m joking, relax.”

“I have to go, actually,” the younger man stated, offering the two of you an apologetic smile. “I have another period to attend… Anyways, it was nice to meet you, Semi-san, Y/n-san. Bye!”

“Take care!”

“Bye.” 

Semi relaxed his whole body after hearing the front door close, running his right hand through the ash locks of his hair. You observed him shift on the chair, too immersed inside his own thoughts to notice your analytical gaze on him. 

“Do you mind me asking why you look so shaken up?” Your voice was soft and lower, as if the choice of volume would prevent Semi from getting angry at you. 

“He used to play in the same position as me.” Based on the few knowledge you had about volleyball, you assumed it was possible for two players to share the same role in the team, so you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion. “We both were setters, he took my place on the start lineup.”

2011 (age of 17)

The third years arrived late at practice and the coach, even though knowing they had extra classes, screamed at them to change quickly. Unphased by the outburst, Ushijima, Tendou, Semi, Reon and Yamagata did as they were told so in order to start the warm ups. Each one of them took their position on the court, ready to practice their main abilities; however, Washijo called out Semi and Shirabu to the sidelines, a serious expression on the older’s face. 

“Semi, I’d like you to focus on your serves from now on.”

“What- why, coach?” Semi asked surprised, closing his hand into fists angrily. 

“Shirabu will be the main setter of the team.” Washijo stated, and for a moment the world has stopped moving in Semi’s perspective. “You’ll be the pinch server.”

“It’s not fair, coach! I’m-” the words died in the boy’s throat, giving up on arguing with him. Throughout the years he’s been trained by Washijo, Semi knew his decisions were made to improve the team’s strength and chances to win. Nothing would make the coach change his mind. “I understood.”

He bowed to Washijo and Shirabu before turning back to head to the end of the court, getting closer to those who were practicing their serves. Semi took a ball from the cart, smacking it to hit the floor a couple of times before tossing it into the air to serve. On the other side of the net, the ball landed near the fifth position, but the thought of scoring a service ace didn’t soothe the burning rage inside of him. 

Once again Semi was told right in front of him that he’s not good enough, he wasn’t needed on the court to articulate all the offensives against the opponent team. Of all people. He was subbed by an underclassmen. Semi Eita, a famous setter during middle school, who was accepted at Shiratorizawa through a sports scholarship. 

Angry tears stung his eyes, but he refused to let them slip through his eyelids. No, Semi was too proud to let anyone see how frustrated he was; he wouldn’t give Shirabu the satisfaction to see him break down, even though his junior could not think like that. 

Years of hard working, training every single day to improve his tosses, every time he bent his fingers during practices. All for nothing. Semi felt stupid thinking that it would be enough, he should have learned years before with Touma. Efforts don’t take you anywhere if you’re not a genius. He should have known better. 

Serve after serve landed perfectly in spots other teams’ defense would break: between the first, sixth and fifth position; so close to the sidelines some players would think it would be out, just to be surprised by the referee pointing the flag to the ground. However, it wasn’t enough, not for Semi. At that moment, no service ace would make up the thrilling sensation of setting the perfect ball that leads the team one point closer to the victory. 

It was unfair how he was subbed during his third and last year in that team, after that season he would retire from the club’s activities and solely focus on university entrance exams. Washijo should know how he feels, especially because the coach himself couldn’t play because of his height. So why has he done that? 

His gaze unconsciously fell over the main court, where the spikers were practicing with Shirabu. Semi desperately searched for any fault in the setter’s tosses, in his posture and even in his movements around the other players, anything to point out to the coach as an excuse for him to change his mind about the situation. What angered the boy the most was the fact Shirabu had such clean moves and a great analytical vision - he was way more competent that Semi himself in the matter of technique.

What took the biggest toll on him, though, was seeing Ushijima and Reon hitting every toss with such ease and power. Their performance was better than when Semi was the official setter, he couldn’t recall any practice or game both spikers were surpassing their usually good performance. That made everything clear to Semi: he couldn’t bring the best of his teammates as a setter, he wasn’t skilled enough to help his team on every offensive. He had to accept it.

There will always be someone better than me, Semi thought to himself, panting from tiredness. I’ll never be the first option for anything, I should have known that.

You’re pathetic, Semi Eita.

End of October, 2017 (current time, age of 23)

To say you were nervous was a understandment, you’ve never performed in a live house before - and it definitely wasn’t like school presentations, as you tried to convince yourself. The fact that those people in front of the stage weren't there to actually see you helped a bit to calm down your nerves, though not enough to prevent your hands from shaking. 

“Don’t tell me you’re actually nervous, Y/n.” Semi teased you, earning a whine from you. The singer was relaxed - it would surprise you if he weren’t - with his arms crossed over his chest, carefully enough to put his right one over the other. He was looking good, you admitted to yourself, with black jeans, a white t-shirt and a leather black jacket. “You’re a music producer, you shouldn’t be afraid of the audience.”

“Firstly, I’m not a music producer,” you started angrily, narrowing your eyes at him. “And secondly, that’s why I chose to learn how to produce songs, because I won’t perform them.”

“You can either focus on a dot ahead of you, ignoring all eyes looking to the stage or,” he stepped closer to you, bending down a little so his mouth reached closer to your ear. “You can just look at me.”

You stepped back in surprise, feeling your cheeks heat with the exaggerated flow of blood through your veins. Semi laughed at your distressed expression, leaving you behind to search for his bandmates in order to prepare themselves to go on stage. You had no idea if the guy teased you on purpose or not, but it was effective: you were no longer anxious to be in front of people, but because you’d be next to Semi for at least 30 minutes. 

The moment you dreaded the most arrived sooner than you thought, a staff from the live-house ushered you four to the stage. Akihiko sat behind the set of drums, positioning himself comfortably to start; Takeshi plugged the bass on the amplifier, adjusting the volume as he strummed the cords. Semi stood in the middle of the stage, pulling the microphone stand in front of him up to get it closer to his mouth. Your hands worked quickly on setting up your guitar, earning you enough time to pay attention to the audience’s noise through the closed curtains. 

Before you could get lost in your own thoughts, a fixed and intense gaze on you pulled you out from overthinking. Semi’s brown eyes looked straight into yours, and somehow you felt a wave of calmness wash over you, deafening the sparse chattering around you. His lips formed a small smile, and differently from the sarcastic ones he usually offers you to mess around, it was genuine. 

“You can do it, relax.” He mouthed, you barely caught the words as the staff crew announced the band and the curtains opened. Returning the smile with a nod, eyes diverting its focus to Akihiko - who beat his drumsticks four times, starting the presentation. 

“Thank you so much for coming tonight!” Semi said on the microphone after the last song of the setlist, earning back a wave of screams and claps. “And special thanks to our support Y/n.”

The sudden attention you received startled you, but your response was to simply smile and bow to the public. You weren’t feeling shy at that moment, the adrenaline in your veins even made yourself enjoy the positive response from the public. As Akihiko came towards the stage and thanked everyone, the staff closed the curtains and Takeshi - who was closest to the exit - led the way out. 

“You did amazing, Y/n!” Akihiko beamed, throwing an arm around your shoulders. 

“I was so nervous, though!” You laughed with them at your answer. “But it was a good experience, I enjoyed myself out there.”

“Great, because you’re in the band for a couple more shows.” Semi announced with a smirk, only to that morph into a bigger smile. “I still have a few weeks with the cast and physiotherapy to attend… you better enjoy the spotlight, rockstar.”

All of you burst into laughter, heading to the backstage room you got ready before. The boys encountered their own friends in the process, and while you didn’t know any of them, you decided to organize your own stuff. Soon, your guitar was securely inside its case, a couple of makeup products were stored in the small bag you brought and your cellphone was stuffed in your backpocket. 

“Eita-nii!” A new, and loud, voice bursted into the room. The girl - who you presumed was Semi’s sister by the honorific she used - ran towards the singer, wrapping her arms around his body. The man himself reciprocates the gesture, although shyer than her. “You and the boys were great today! Oh- and who is that girl who played support? You’ve never told me it would be a girl! I thought you’d invited Kaito.”

“Hey,” Semi said louder, looking at you. The unsaid invite to come closer made you get up from your seat in the corner and walk towards them. “Aime, this is my friend Y/n. Y/n, this is my annoying younger sister, Aime.”

“Nii-chan!” Aime whined, quickly dismissing her brother as her attention focused solely on you. “You did so good on the stage! Eita has never told me he was friends with anyone new, let out a girl. I thought he was that antisocial that had only Akihiko and Takeshi-kun as friends.”

“I mean,” you giggled at Aime’s rambling, she was the complete opposite from her brother, which was endearing to see. “I didn’t know Semi considered me as his friends, once he thought I was hooking up with Akihiko.”

“What the hell, Semi?” The drummer jumped in the conversation, a grimace on his face. “I’d never do anything with Y/n- gosh I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“Should I say you’re the stalker who would leave me alone if I sang for your project, then? I can still change the status.” Semi teased you, in response, you lightly punched his left arm. “By the way, what are you doing here Aime? Don’t you have a curfew to follow? Does mom and dad know your whereabouts?”

“I’m not ten anymore, Eita!” She let out a huff in annoyance. “I’m twenty, remember that? A college student that has every right to enjoy herself on a Friday night after a tiring week.”

You let the two siblings bicker between them, taking in that new side of the singer you’ve never imagined he’d have. The usually cold, snarky boy also had a soft spot for his sister was also the common overprotective, caring older brother. You had to admit the duality in Semi’s personas suited him, and you felt like another side of his mysteries was presented to you. 

“Well, I have to get going…” you announced gathering your things up, hearing Takeshi and Akihiko’s protests. “I booked a studio early in the morning, I want to be productive, not a literal zombie going over a few samples. Not to mention the last bus will stop by soon. Thank you so much for your hard work, guys! And also, it was a pleasure to meet the better Semi, Aime.”

“I barely know you but I’m sure I’ll like you!” Aime hugged you, while Semi scoffed ironically. “Hope we meet again soon, Y/n!”

“Wait, let me grab my coat.” Semi stopped you from leaving the room after saying goodbye to both Takeshi and Akihiko. “I’ll take you to the bus stop. Who knows what could happen in the middle of the night?”

“And what will you do? Hit them with your cast?” You sassed, the man rolled his eyes, taking the small bag from your hands. 

The two of you left the live-house in silence, enjoying how the loudness gradually decreased and the city noises overtook your senses. You started to feel tired from the show just now, your eyelids were heavier than usual and your shoulder muscles ache due to the tension and nervousness you were feeling. Either way, you felt good, performing was nice - though if you had to choose, being inside a studio felt much more comfortable. 

“You did well today.” Semi spoke out of blue, with your peripheral vision you analysed him. His head was upwards looking to the sky, the corner of his mouth was tugged in a small smile and his posture gave off the feeling he was feeling satisfied. “You were so nervous before going on stage, but when we started, you looked like you’ve performed before. You have a talent.”

“It was the adrenaline.” Both of you laughed at your comment, silencing yourselves as you arrived at the bus stop. It was empty, which was expected given the fact it was almost one in the morning, so you took a seat next to each other. “I never imagined you were the protective older brother…”

“Trust me, you’re not the first one to tell me this,” he scoffed jokingly, a much softer expression adorned his face at the topic of his sister. “Aime is just… something else, you know? As her older brother, I think I have to shield her from being hurt - even if it means I get hurt”

“What, have you punched someone in the face because of her?” You joked, only to the laughter die on your throat at his positive response with a nod. “You’re kidding me, Semi!”

“I’m telling the truth!” He protested, a frown appearing on his face. “Some boy thought he could call my sister a bitch and leave unpunished. It was my very first fight, but as Aime’s brother, it was my job to teach that little shit a lesson.”

“Bet he punched you in the face, as well.”

“Yeah, but,” Semi stopped talking, inhaling deeply before turning to you. “You saw how she is, I- I can’t never let someone take it away from her. Nobody is allowed to hurt her like…”

“Like…” you tried to encourage him to speak after a few seconds, only for him to sigh tiredly and give you a meek smile. 

“Nothing… guess it’s just the cliché older brother talk,” the way he avoided finishing his original train of thought didn’t go unnoticed by you, but you let it go to not cause further embarrassment. As the two of you entered in a comfortable silence, you saw the bus turning into the main avenue. “The princess’ carriage has arrived, my lady.”

“Thank you very much for protecting me, my knight in shining… arm cast.” You giggled at your lame joke, taking the bag from his hands. “I’ll talk to you soon… regarding the project and stuff.”

“And don’t forget we have rehearsals.” Semi reminded you, getting up from his seat. The bus stopped in front of you, the two of you stared at each other not knowing what to do. Before you could turn and hop on the vehicle, the man ruffled your hair with a mischievous smile. “Good night.”

“Good night, Semi.”

1997 (age of 3)

The white corridors seemed to be longer in Semi’s perspective, his young perception didn’t allow him to estimate how long he'd been walking with his grandparents on that floor. What buzzed in his mind was the new piece of information grandma told him before leaving the house. 

“Let’s visit mommy and Aime-chan, Eita-kun.”

The boy was still confused why his mother had to go to a hospital to meet his younger sister - even though his parents had innumerous talks about this special day. Nevertheless, Semi was excited to see mom and dad after a whole day without them - and to finally see Aime. 

Grandad knocked on the door, gently pushing it open so Semi could walk in. The sight of strange wires and tubes on his mother’s skin scared him, bumping into the older’s legs. Sensing his distressed expression, his father came closer to him, scooping the little kid in his arms. Semi hid his face on the crook of his dad’s neck, avoiding eye contact with the starling objects near his beloved mom.

“Eita,” her smooth voice called him, he lifted slightly his head to meet her eyes, only to hide again. “What’s wrong, love?”

“Mommy is hurt…” he whispered, pointing to all the equipment near the bed. 

“No, buddy, mom is not hurt,” his dad denied, tapping lightly his back as an invitation for him to look around. “These things are making sure mommy is doing fine, she’s been pretty tired, remember we talked about it? How would Mommy feel tired after Aime left her tummy?”

An unknown whine filled the room, making Semi lift his head to search for the source of said sound. His eyes eventually fell on the tiny baby on his mother’s arms, opening and closing her mouth as little noises escaped through her thin lips. 

“Aime?” Semi pointed out, suddenly feeling curious. His father sat him down next to his mother, letting him have a better view of the baby. “Aime is small!”

“Yes, she is, sweetheart.” His mother agreed softly, pulling the blanket slightly downwards so her son could see Aime’s face. “But soon she’ll grow bigger, and you two can play together. Will you share your toys with her?”

“Only if she doesn’t drool on them!” His statement made everyone laugh, but Semi couldn’t care less, too entertained with his sister. “I love Aime.”

“You have to protect her as the older brother, Eita.” His father told him, coming closer to them. Semi nodded excitedly, lowering his head to leave a kiss on Aime’s forehead. 

2012 (age of 18)

All Semi could see was red as he approached Aime in front of a café. She was accompanied by her friends and some stranger boy, who was awfully close to his baby sister. The words a fellow classmate told him before they left the dorms for winter break rang through his head. 

“Hey, Semi, I heard a guy from another school has been hitting on your sister for a while. My friend told me she’s pretty bothered by him.”

“Aime!” He screamed, heavy footsteps marking his way over the thin layer of snow. The said girl turned around, a mixed expression between relief and fear on her face. Stopping in front of the boy, Semi opened a bit more his chest in order to look more intimidating. “What the fuck do you want with her?”

“None of your business, dude.” His voice was coated with anger, the short phrase said between gritted teeth. “I saw this beauty first, back off.”

“And I said I’m not interested!” Aime piped in with a squeak. 

“You heard her.” Semi stepped closer to him, locking eyes with the stranger. “Get lost.”

“This little slut is playing hard to get.” The world seemed to stop spinning, Semi took a second to process what that guy had the audacity to call his little sister. “I dare you to say this after I-”

He couldn’t finish his words as Semi threw the first punch right into his left cheek, knocking him to the floor. Kneeling next to him, the pinch server proceeded to get a firm grasp on the collar of his coat with the left hand, while his right one collided with the boy’s face repeatedly. Semi could hear at the back of his head people screaming at him, Aime calling out his name, but nothing would make him stop until that brat learned his lesson. 

The other boy managed to get a hold of himself, punching Semi on his sides - who lost his breath and received another hit on the face. On his tongue, he felt the taste of his own blood - and he wasn’t able to distinguish where it could be from: either from his lips or the inside of his cheeks. With his knee, Semi returned the blows on his ribs, quick to sit himself on the boy’s stomach. 

Every punch he gave seemed to increase its power, shifting between his nose, cheeks and mouth. Semi has never felt so enraged before, just remembering what he had called Aime made his body warm with adrenaline and wrath. 

“I dare you to call my sister,” Semi muttered between huffs of air, feeling difficulty to breathe in and out due to the intense body movement and the pain on his sides. “A slut again. I fucking dare you!”

Before he could do anything else, two men held him back, making sure to wrap their hands on his arms, and lifted him up. Semi, in his last act of anger, kicked the boy laying on the floor aimlessly. The other boy was aided by another man, refusing his care to get up and look straight into Semi’s eyes. 

“Watch out, asshole, I’m getting back to you.”

“Be ready to have a fucking broken nose.” Semi mocked him, and before he could continue his threats, Aime appeared in front of him with tears stained over his cheeks. “I was the one who got punched and you’re crying.”

“Are you insane!?” She asked distressingly, knocking on his chest - which made him lose his breath. “Why would you do that?” 

“Isn't it obvious?” He asked, gently freeing himself from the men’s grasp. “I’m your older brother.”

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Kaze ga Tsuyoku Fuiteiru Chapter 2 - The Mountains of Hakone are the Steepest in the World (Part 3)

I actually need an editor this time so...if you have a lot of free time, dm me

Translation Notes

1. Ekiden Tenma refers to the ancient system of exchanging information by going back and forth between post stations by horse, like the Pony Express in the US. An ekiden also means a long-distance relay race.

2. An inro is a traditional Japanese case used for holding small objects like identity seals and medicine. While looking up what raising your inro means I found a lot of references to the period drama Mito Komon, where the hero raises their inro to show his identity, so I think raising your inro is sort of like showing your ID to someone. 

3. Tsuburaya Koukichi was a Japanese marathon runner. He won the bronze medal in the 1964 Tokyo Olympics after being overtaken by another runner at the last minute, which he was mortified by. He also suffered a chronic back problem after the Olympics. He committed suicide in 1968 and left a note thanking his family for the food they gave him. You can read the letter on Wikipedia

4. A university-preparatory school or 進学校 (Shingaku-kou) is a school centered on preparing students into getting into university. They usually have higher rates of university acceptance. 

5. Putting this here because it took me a long time to look this up, but a 返す刀 (literally “returning (or retaliating) katana”) means attacking one thing and then immediately attacking something else after with a different kind of attack.

Previous | Next

Angry cries and confusion swirled inside the twins’ room.

Impossible. Was he insane? Why we gotta wear shorts and throw on a sash to climb mountains right after New Year’s? What is a Ha-ko-ne E-ki-den? You see, the word “Ekiden” was taken from the “Ekiden Tenma” system (1)… We don’t have any track team members here in the first place. And so on.

In the middle of all of that, Kakeru was the only one who stayed silent.

For those who did track, the “Hakone” was a tournament that had a special place in their hearts. For that reason, they knew how difficult it was to aim for Hakone. Kiyose’s proposal was nothing but a pipe dream. It wasn’t something that the residents of Chikusei-sou, who were all complete amateurs, could aim for just because they wanted to.

Kiyose stood up straight and left the room, then went down the stairs unusually loudly.

“Is he angry?” Jouji muttered uneasily.

“I’m pissed off, too.” Yuki irritably drained his cup of beer. “That asshole Haiji said a bad joke.”

Wondering what was going to happen, Kakeru watched the situation, and then the door was opened again roughly. Kiyose had returned. In his hand was the large doorplate hanging at Chikusei-sou’s entrance. Wondering if he was going to hit them with the plate, everyone reflexively ducked their heads. Kiyose stood in the center of the circle and wiped the sooty doorplate with the hem of his shirt.

“Look at this.”

Kiyose held up the cleaned doorplate like an inro (2) and did a full turn on the spot so that everyone sitting around him could see it.

“Wha, what the hell is that!”

Voices of astonishment spilled from everyone’s mouths. Kakeru also bent forward to take in the words written on the doorplate, and dumbfoundedly realized that this was what it meant to be too amazed to say anything.

“Chikusei-sou” was written in ink on the plain wood board. However, those weren’t the only words. They couldn’t be read until now because of the dirt, but there were two small rows of writing above them.

“Kansei University

Track and Field Team Training Camp”

That was certainly what was written there.

“I’ve never heard of that.”

Nico-chan, the number one old-timer, moaned. The newcomers Jouta and Jouji were looking at each other with ashen faces. By this point, it was clear that Kiyose was seriously trying to take on the Hakone Ekiden.

“In the first place, does our school even have a track and field team?”

Shindou confronted Kiyose with the pitifulness of a peasant begging the governor for a reduction in the annual tribute.

“It’s tiny, but we do. I have said we went to a meet in my first year.”

I thought you participated by yourself. Prince, who was unaware of the workings of the track and field world, muttered. Kiyose didn’t move an inch and made another bombshell announcement as he held the doorplate up.

“And all of you guys are track members too.”

“How?!”

The uproar this time was incomparable to when they were told they were aiming for Hakone. Yuki stood up and drew closer to Kiyose.

“When did that happen!”

“When you moved in.” Kiyose declared nonchalantly. “Didn’t you think it was weird? It’s obvious in this day and age that there would be a catch with a thirty-thousand yen rent and served meals.”

Ignoring the commotion made by the others, Kakeru fixed a glare on Kiyose.

“In other words, the moment we move into Aotake, the team registration form for the track team is turned in?”

“That’s right.”

“And, of course, we’re automatically registered with the Inter-University Athletic Union of Kanto?”

“That’s right.”

“’That’s right’? You really are…” Kakeru sighed. “Isn’t it dirty without the consent of the person? How many people are on the track team in total?”

“For short-distance, we have a dozen or so people, I guess. We’re very weak, though. For long-distance, there’s the ten of us here.”

“So when did we become track athletes!?”

King tried to snatch away doorplate away from Kiyose. Musa hurriedly stopped him.

“I do not understand why. Let’s talk a little about this.”

“Right we will. Let’s just all settle down. Everyone, sit.”

Kiyose calmly instructed. It’s your fault it’s so chaotic, was what everyone was thinking. However, in Chikusei-sou, Kiyose’s words routinely possessed an immense power. They all forcibly suppressed their indignation and reluctantly sat down, once again forming a circle. No one opened their mouths. There was too much, and they didn’t know what to say.

Yuki nudged Kakeru’s side with his elbow. His eyes were saying “Go.” Kakeru was bewildered and looked around at the residents who formed the circle. The twins were signalling Kakeru with their eyes, asking for help. It was already well-known throughout Chikusei-sou that Kakeru went jogging by himself in mornings and evenings. Prince, who shut himself in his room and read nothing but manga, was about the only one who didn’t know.

For Kakeru, who had lived in a hierarchical society, to push aside the more veteran residents who were all sitting in a row and fire the first shot was something to hesitate about. However, the only person who could convincingly oppose Kiyose’s sudden proposition was Kakeru, the only one who was familiar with the world of track. Apparently, he had no choice but to question Kiyose on everyone’s behalf.

Kakeru corrected his posture.

“I’m asking this just to make sure, but who’s the coach? What do they think of these ghost members who don’t even know they’re on the team?”

“Don’t worry about that. The coach is our landlord Tazaki Genichirou-shi.”

“You’re crazy!”

Cries of grief once again rose from all around the circle.

“It’s impossible for us the moment that staggering old man is our coach!”

It seemed that Jouji was so shocked that he got alcohol down his windpipe. He complained while choking loudly.

“That’s rude. Our landlord is someone who was said to be the pride of Japan’s athletics world.” Kiyose chided him.

“When was that?” Jouta asked nervously while rubbing Jouji’s back.

“Well, when Tsuburaya Koukichi (3) died after writing his food-based suicide note, our landlord was already known as a famous coach at Kansei.”

“I do not understand at all.”

Musa tilted his head miserably. Only for this time, neither Shindou nor King the trivia master had the time to answer his question. Tsuburaya Koukichi was an outstanding runner who won the bronze medal for marathon at the Tokyo Olympics, but since explaining that wouldn’t move the conversation forward, Kakeru also decided to ignore Musa’s lamentation.

“Haiji-san, you said we were aiming for Hakone, but to put it bluntly, that’s impossible.”

At Kakeru’s flat and decisive words, everyone except for Kiyose looked relieved.

“You can’t know that without even trying.”

“I do know. Schools that are powerhouses at athletics do tough practices every single day for years, but even so, only a handful of universities are able to participate in Hakone, you know?”

“I don’t want to brag, but I’ve hardly ever ran before.” Prince, who was reading the manga he brought as though none of this had anything to do with him, lifted his head for the first time in a while. “I think it will take longer for someone like me to be able to participate in the Hakone Ekiden than a paramecium evolving into a human.”

“I’m sure even Prince should be faster than a paramecium.” King consoled him poorly.

“A paramecium is a paramecium. Even if it evolved, it won’t become a human.” Yuki cut the conversation off coldly and abandoned it.

Without lending an ear to the voices on the outfield, Kiyose looked directly at Kakeru.

“I’m surprised that you’d tuck your tail between your legs without even trying. Practice is important, but it’s not just a matter of doing hard training recklessly.”

Kakeru also took on the challenge head on.

“Haiji-san, you must know since you also run. Everyone here are amateurs. What is the point of dragging them into such a dream-like story and putting them through pain on purpose?”

“It certainly will remain a dream-like story if you don’t try,” Kiyose unusually exposed his feelings and vehemently argued in an irritated tone. “However, these guys have plenty of potential. Nico-chan-senpai has track experience. In high school, the twins and King were on the soccer team, and Yuki was in the kendo club. Shindou walked the mountain paths for ten-kilometer round-trips to get to school, and the potential hidden in Musa’s physical strength is immeasurable.”

“It’s a prejudice that black people are fast,” Musa said weakly. “Just like how there are black people who hate hip-hop or are bad at dancing, I’m not particularly fast either.”

“It’s been seven years since I’ve done track,” Nico-chan smiled bitterly as he lit a new cigarette.

“It doesn’t seem that I’m being counted, but it’s true that I’m terrible at sports.” King said timidly as he flipped through his manga idly. Kiyose still only looked at Kakeru and spoke passionately.

“And then, Kakeru came to Aotake. We now have ten people all together. Hakone isn’t a mountain in a mirage. This isn’t a pipe dream. It’s a reality where we can tie on our sashes and ascend!”

There was a scattered round of indifferent applause, and it stopped after Kiyose snapped, “Stop fooling around.” Cutting Kakeru off when he still tried to argue back, Kiyose recited from memory the “Hakone Ekiden Entry Qualifications” as though to double down on it.

“‘A registered athlete of the Inter-University Athletic Union of Kanto who belongs to the participating school and applied to participate in this competition no more than four times. If one only participated in the qualifying round, that is included in the number of times.’ The residents of Aotake are members of the Kansei University track and field team, and the team members are automatically registered with the union. Including the qualifiers, there is no one here who has participated in the Hakone Ekiden even once. See, we fulfilled all of the qualifications for participation.”

“The problem is those qualifiers.” Kakeru was finally able to interject. “You can’t just suddenly appear in the Hakone Ekiden.”

“Oh, really? I didn’t know that,” Shindou muttered.

“Most people only watch the finals on New Year’s,” Kakeru nodded.

“Twenty schools can participate the Hakone Ekiden, but only the top ten schools can get seeded. Every year, about thirty schools take part in the qualifiers that open in October.”

“If it’s thirty schools from all the universities in Kanto, then it’s not that many, isn’t it?”

To Jouji’s words, Kakeru declared, “Naïve!”

“For Hakone, ten people run ten sections, but each section is more than twenty kilometers. Naturally, the qualifiers are also decided by the total times of the athletes from each university for running twenty kilometers all at once. But…first of all, that twenty kilometers is a big problem.”

Pressed by Kakeru’s gaze, Kiyose reluctantly supplemented his words.

“It’s difficult to obtain ten people who can run twenty kilos at a reasonable speed. What’s more, the speeds are getting faster and faster in recent years. There are also prerequisites for taking part in the qualifiers: You must have an official record of running five-thousand meters within seventeen minutes, or ten-thousand meters within thirty-five.”

Perhaps feeling overawed from hearing specific times, silence descended on the room for a while. This time, it was Kakeru who continued.

“The top-level universities that participate in the Hakone Ekiden have most of their athletes run five-thousand meters in the first half of the fourteen-minute range on average. And, that’s a result collected from the best all over the country. Hakone isn’t a competition that you’ll be able to reach just with lip service. A weak track team from a university that doesn’t even do sports referrals doesn’t have a chance to be able to participate.”

Prince timidly raised his hand and spoke up.

“Um, I don’t really get the greatness of that record.”

“Haven’t you done endurance running in high school?” Jouta asked him in a hoarse voice, but Prince only shook his head and said “Not at all.”

“My high school was a university-preparatory school (4), so endurance running was just three kilometers.”

“If it’s five-thousand meters within seventeen minutes, then that means that’s a faster pace than three-and-a-half minutes per kilometer,” Yuki calmly calculated in his head.

“Three-and-a-half minutes! It took me about fifteen minutes to run three kilometers, I think.”

“That’s…hopelessly slow,” Nico-chan muttered without stopping from smoking his cigarette.

“Running five-thousand meters in seventeen minutes is only the condition to participate in the qualifiers. It’s hard to go to Hakone unless everyone has the ability to run in the fourteen-minute range,” Kiyose pointed out more and more calmly.

“It’s obviously impossible for us, isn’t it,” Jouji said brightly as though dismissed from a terrible job. However, Kiyose didn’t give up.

“For long-distance, you need to have endurance and concentration. You can’t just practice lazily. If we narrow down the target to just Hakone and make adjustments, then we can do the impossible.”

“What are you basing all of this confidence on?” Kakeru was amazed.

“If you’re talking about the basis, then it’s what I said before. The residents of Aotake have hidden potential.”

Kiyose was imposing. Probably even the people who had lived with him at Chikusei-sou for several years hadn’t noticed how much passion he had within him until now.

“To put it in concrete numbers, Kakeru can run five-thousand meters in thirteen minutes. Even among the athletes who take part in Hakone, it’s an incredible record that only a small number of people hold. By the way, at the track meet I was at right before I got injured, my record was fourteen minutes and ten seconds. I’ve fully recovered it from it recently, so I’m fully prepared for my legs to break after finishing the Hakone and strengthen that record.”

“Uh, no, you don’t have to go that far.” Yuki, who did not seem to like hot-bloodedness, murmured. “While we’re at it, I want you to stop dragging me into this.”

Kiyose ignored his objection.

“Furthermore, Musa can probably run it in just under fourteen minutes too. All the foreign athletes who take part in Hakone are in the thirteen-minute range.”

“I think it is because those people are overseas students who are expected to be fast.” Musa desperately explained while looking to Shindou for help. “It’s impossible for me. I’m a government-sponsored foreign student in the faculty of science and engineering, after all. More specifically, a car picks me up and drops me off at school in my country.”

“If you had that much money, why did you come to a place like Aotake?” Jouji raised a reasonable question.

“It is so that I can gain life experience. I did not see this happening…” Musa said, looking like a wilted morning glory. Without minding any of that, Kiyose summed everything up.

“Anyways, for the rest of it, if you could just turn a bit of your passion for mahjong or clubbing to running, we will definitely get good results. After all, you guys have more than enough physical strength, at the very least.”

Fueled by Kiyose’s ardor, some of them were gradually becoming more and more enthusiasm. Kakeru sensed that in the mood. As if it was something that easy. He roughly filled up his cup with sake.

A group of only amateurs aiming for the Hakone Ekiden. And what’s more, there was only half a year until the qualifiers in October. If someone who did track seriously heard that, they would think it was recklessness to the point of laughing it off as sleep-talking. What on earth did Kiyose thought running was?

Was inviting me to Chikusei-sou also because he had this kind of ulterior motive? In the end, Haiji-san is the same as those guys from high school who would make a huge deal over only my speed.

However, he couldn’t storm out of the room. Don’t go along with this absurd conversation, just go back to your room. Even as he thought that, for some reason he couldn’t move his body. From somewhere in his heart, a voice whispered, Doesn’t this seem interesting? Are you going to continue to run by himself in a place away from the track and field world forever? If you are, it’s better to launch an attack on the Hakone Ekiden with the residents of Chikusei-sou. It’s not a bad idea to try.

The whisper became a spark that ignited Kakeru.

Kiyose had said it. Kakeru’s running was free and looked fun. That was why he called out to him. Until now, there was no one around Kakeru who had said something like that to him.

There was no need for fun or anything like that in running. You should only aim to improve your speed, and put off leisure, romance, and hanging out with friends. He had heard those words so many times from managers, coaches, and upperclassmen that he was tired of it. Kakeru had only ever been asked to run like a machine. Kakeru’s value was only the numbers engraved on the stopwatch. He should have had enough of those days.

The other residents also seemed to be deep in thought about something in silence. While not knowing what to do with the uncertain and pent-up feelings within him, Kakeru gazed at the room where no one moved an inch,

Eventually, Shindou raised his head.

“I’m willing to give it a shot.”

Surprise-filled gazes concentrated on Shindou. Nobody thought that he, who was quiet and reliable, would be the first to decide.

“In the sticks, I walked many kilometers of mountain paths everyday, so I’m confident in my endurance. Plus, if we make it to the Hakone Ekiden, we’ll be on TV, right? I think my parents would be thrilled about that.”

“If Shindou is doing it, I shall take it on as well,” Musa said. “But I am telling you this in advance, I truly am not fast. Are you fine with that regardless?”

“Everything will turn out fine as soon as our practice starts,” Kiyose said warmly, as though everything hinged on that.

Oi oi, Nico-chan frowned, and Yuki gazed out the window, pretending to be indifferent. Prince was inching towards the door little by little.

The rest of the residents on the second floor, who easily got into the mood and were up for anything, became lively with Shindou’s and Musa’s declarations of participation.

“Hey, hey, Haiji-san. We’ll be popular with girls, right?”

“We definitely will, right?”

“Will this really guarantee me a job?”

The twins and King energetically asked for confirmation in rapid succession. “Of course,” Kiyose assured them.

Kakeru wanted to shout, He’s playing you! However, he knew that it was no use no matter what he said. The twins and King only wanted to escape from the harsh reality facing them briefly. That was why they jumped at the bait called “Hakone Ekiden” that was dangling in front of them. They were like horses that had sweet candy made from crystallized dreams hanging in front of their noses.

King was in high spirits and said, “Alright. Let’s help with Haiji’s ambitions!”

“Now,” Kiyose said, and alternately mowed down Nico-chan, Yuki, Prince, and Kakeru, who still hadn’t confirmed their participation yet, with his gaze.

“By majority decision, it is already decided that we will be aiming for the Hakone Ekiden. But, I don’t think that’s going to convince you guys either.”

Wondering what was going to be said, Kakeru refrained from even breathing and prepared himself for Kiyose’s attack. Kiyose continued to calmly intimidate them.

“Therefore, I am going to use force. You guys have no veto power.”

“This is tyranny!”

“Is this kind of thing allowed in a country where the rule of law prevails?”

Kiyose laughed off Nico-chan’s and Yuki’s desperate protests right in front of them.

“Nico-chan-senpai. Who was the one who, when you were crying ‘I absolutely cannot fail this exam,’ dragged you out of bed on time with the kindness and strictness of a mother? Who was the one who helped you repaper your walls that get sticky with nicotine every year? Who was the one who repaired the floorboards you stepped through in the hallway without telling the landlord on you?”

Like a convict who reformed right before his execution, Nico-chan suddenly became quiet and docile. Kiyose changed the aim of his attack to Yuki.

“You haven’t forgotten about it either, Yuki, the taste of my osechi cooking, right? Last year, you couldn’t get a job because of your bar exam, so you bummed off of me for lunch for the whole year because you said you didn’t have any money. To think that you’ve forgotten about that…”

Yuki could only nod his head like a broken doll. Kiyose turned his blade immediately yet again and slashed at Prince’s back as he was opened the door and was about to escape from the room. (5)

“Prince. Because of your book hoard, Chikusei-sou is at the brink of collapse. Which will you choose: Throwing away your manga, or aiming for the Hakone Ekiden?”

Prince sank down to the floor, but showed a resolute attitude to fight back.

“I hate both of them! Both choices are like telling me to die.”

Prince’s grief-filled lamentations reverberated in the room. Kiyose crossed his arms with a “Hmm” and turned towards Kakeru again. Kakeru lightly raised his arms.

“I get it. ‘Who introduced you to Chikusei-sou? If you don’t like it, you can leave.’ Is that what you’re going to say?”

“I’m not going to say that to someone’s who broke,” Kiyose uncrossed his arms. “All right, then. Kakeru and Prince, I’ll give you a few more days. If you change your mind, tell me.”

Prince stopped lamenting, and approached Kiyose, standing in the middle of the room, a little bit.

“And if it doesn’t change?”

“Are you going to declare a state of emergency next time?” Yuki interrupted sarcastically.

“No,” Kiyose smiled gently. “I will persistently continue to call for your surrender.”

Kakeru’s and Prince’s shoulders slumped in unison.

Previous | Next

[carelessgraces]

GENERAL STATISTICS

FULL NAME Astoria Ileana Grim. NICKNAMES Stori. ALIASES Elena Hawke, Elizabeth Vane.

DATE OF BIRTH 22 August 1993. PLACE OF BIRTH Venice, Italy. ASTROLOGICAL SIGNS Leo sun, Libra moon, Leo rising. GENDER Cisgender woman. PRONOUNS She/her/hers. SEXUALITY Bisexual. HEIGHT 5'3". HAIR COLOR Red. EYE COLOR Brown. TATTOOS Several (found here). SCARS Several (found here).

ETHNICITY Italian, Swedish, Irish. RELIGION Stregoneria / stregheria. (notes here)

POSITIVE TRAITS Adaptable, ambitious, clever, perceptive. NEGATIVE TRAITS Capricious, hedonistic, manipulative, selfish.

PHOBIAS None. MENTAL HEALTH Healthy (situational, trauma-related symptoms).

SKILLS & ABILITIES

EDUCATION Hargrove Academy (1997-2008), St. Colman Catholic Academy (2008-2011), Harvard University (2011-2015), University of California at Berkeley (2015-2016). CAREER Collector, co-owner of Belladonna Apothecary. SPOKEN LANGUAGES Fluent in Italian, Veneto, and English, reading fluency in Latin and Irish, conversational skill in Irish, Spanish, Swedish.

MAGICAL SKILL Thaumaturgy, elemental magic ( esp. water ), household magic, divination. PHYSICAL SKILL Self-defense ( krav maga ). Lock-picking, pick-pocketing.

TIMELINE

22 AUGUST 1993 Astoria is born in Venice, Italy, to Seraphina Greengrass and Kasper Grim.

30 JUNE 2008 Astoria is formally removed from Hargrove Academy and moves in with Evander and Elyssa Vetri, who begin to teach her death magic, specifically expression.

1 MAY 2009 Evander and Elyssa bring Astoria with them to Paris, where they attempt to steal a heavily guarded grimoire. In the process, both Evander and Elyssa are killed, and Astoria is found, frightened and injured but otherwise safe, two days later.

1 SEPTEMBER 2009 Astoria moves in with her mother’s sister in Boston, MA, where she enrolls in St. Colman’s Catholic Academy to complete her education.

17 JUNE 2011 Graduation from St. Colman’s. She is valedictorian, cheer captain, and a member of the school’s girl’s soccer team. She is, also, a very active member of a community of local witches who meet in Salem.

6 SEPTEMBER 2011 The start of Astoria’s education at Harvard University, where she completes a double major in history ( focused in early modern Europe ) and folklore and mythology ( focused in witchcraft, magic, and demonology ).

20 MAY 2015 Graduation from Harvard University.

19 AUGUST 2015 Astoria begins an intensive course of study at Berkley for a master’s degree in folklore.

18 DECEMBER 2016 Graduation from University of California, Berkeley.

22 DECEMBER 2016 Astoria relocates to Dublin, Ireland, where she buys a building and opens a shop, Belladonna Apothecary, with her brother Damon. She splits her time moving forward between Dublin and Boston, when she isn’t traveling for work.

HISTORY (tw: abuse, torture, death, murder via poison, suicide attempt)

** Please note – this history is developed through extensive plotting with potterstillstinks, who writes Seraphina, Daphne, and Damon Greengrass.

This verse will be adapted as necessary to fit various other timelines and fandoms. You can see a breakdown of how I approach magic here. This is how I’ll write Astoria’s magic in this verse; any different approaches to be magic will be for verses based in specific fandoms.

The Greengrasses became titans: a family line of barons, the title bought in the sixteenth century and often more expense than it was worth, struck gold in the early days of Victoria’s reign. Generations of work as merchants and a bone-deep ambition left them well suited to fulfill the growing spiritualist interest in seances, divination, and summonings. They sold books written by folklorists and anthropoligists alongside tarot decks, candles alongside herbs, bezoars and adder stones alongside broomsticks and wands. For the more discerning clientele, they sold hands of glory, notes and diaries belonging to court sorcerers and alchemists, grimoires from medieval witches, cloaks and caps of invisibility.

    It didn’t matter much whether or not the Greengrasses believed; elevated from a barony to a dukedom, they cared more for the development of their earthly power than anything of other worlds. Their wealth and influence grew, and while the majority of the Greengrasses were skeptics, some were more open to the evidence presented to them. Among them was Seraphina Greengrass, heir to the Greengrass fortune, and when she went looking for a highly-desired grimoire she found witches, real witches, practicing their craft in Venice. With them she found Kasper Grim.

    When she suggested marriage he said yes; when she asked him to take her name he said yes; he adored her ambition and her power and wanted nothing more than to support her in it. Together they had four children: Camilla, five years after their marriage; Daphne and Damon, twins, three years later; and finally, two years after the twins, Astoria. All four of the children inherited Kasper’s gift and Seraphina’s drive. The family split their time between Venice, visiting Kasper’s parents, and Dublin, where they lived normal lives, cut off from their magic except in theory.

    As Astoria grew, she began to recognize apparently ever-increasing depths of power. She had an instinct for creating spells, often producing magic far beyond her years, and a particular knack for manipulating water. Kasper’s cousins, the Vetri siblings — also Astoria’s godparents — offered to help teach her better control, so as to keep her from causing unnecessary damage, and, trusting their family to look after their youngest, Kasper and Seraphina agreed to allow Evander and Elyssa to educate her.

    At first, it was everything Astoria had dreamed — at fourteen she left the mundane academy in Dublin to travel and study throughout Europe instead, crawling through ruins, poring over old books, copying out spells and practicing creating her own. The farther she got into her education, the stranger things became: her guardians were vehemently opposed to allowing her to study anything besides what they found useful, and often emphasized the kinds of magic that made her skin crawl. It wasn’t enough to manipulate water; they taught her instead to locate water in the body to heal, to harm. It wasn’t enough to invent spells; they taught her to push her boundaries, to create spells that had no business existing.

    The magic made her more powerful, but more volatile as well, producing frequent and excruciating headaches, often uncontrollable shaking, dehydration, and nosebleeds. As her physical health deteriorated, her attention to detail grew sharper: she realized that Evander and Elyssa would push her far beyond her limits so that they could direct her magic without her interference when she was in pain, and that without her, they were significantly less powerful than she’d imagined. They needed her, but she wasn’t sure why; when she began to ask questions, or refused to follow their orders, they began to punish her, often violently.

    Knowing that she couldn’t destroy them using only magic, she turned to logic, using Evander’s wrath and Elyssa’s pride against them. The weaker-willed they imagined her, the more they let their guard down. She first realized that they intended to use her as a human shield when she was fifteen: the Vetris brought her with them to hunt down a grimoire said to possess the means of prolonging human life, with far greater success than anything else they had encountered. The book was heavily guarded, and Astoria took the worst of the protective spells’ effects; she woke days later with no memory of the venture’s end, and only her godparents’ word that it had been a success. It became clear then that if Astoria was going to survive, her godparents could not.

    She picked a fight, knowing how it would end. The following night, her injuries treated only enough to keep her from something worse, she begged forgiveness, and she watched in silence as her tormentors choked on their own bile, the cups of coffee she’d brought them as a peace offering crashing to the floor. It had been easy enough. Just a little bit of poison. Something mundane, something they never saw coming. She used her magic to dispose of the bodies, to speed up the decomposition until they were nothing but dust. And she waited alone in that house for days until she called the police, sobbing, saying that she didn’t know where her godparents were, begging for help.

    The police who contacted her parents that night explained that the Vetris were missing. Their daughter was in shock. The x-rays taken at the local hospital showed several healed fractures indicative of abuse. What she needed most was to go home.

    Astoria wouldn’t speak until they were back in Dublin; her first day back she tried, and failed, to kill herself, and the day after she called her aunt overseas and told her that she couldn’t, wouldn’t stay in Europe. It took some convincing before her parents agreed that she would move to Boston, where she lived with her aunt as she completed her secondary education. She pursued a bachelor’s degree in history and folklore, spending her graduate education focused on history — specifically, the Italian Renaissance. After completing a doctoral degree, she and her siblings gathered together to take up the family business. Astoria, Camilla, and Damon came together, opening small occult shops in various cities; expanding, they said in magazine interviews and on the shop’s website, building off the foundation of our aunt’s store in Boston.

    They served upscale clientele, providing them with high quality magical goods and everything from spells to exorcisms to potions, and while Camilla and Damon took on major roles in sales, Astoria followed in her mother’s footsteps, and began to collect ( sometimes illegally ) artifacts for more discerning collectors. ( Occasionally, she was asked to take more than just a few artifacts — and, more and more, Astoria found herself in the business of selling secrets. )

IN A WORLD WITHOUT MAGIC

NAME Grim, Astoria Ileana ( born Greengrass ). DATE OF BIRTH 22 August 1993. CURRENT LOCATION Boston, MA. OCCUPATION Sale and authentication of antiques ( 10th - 16th century ).

CHILDHOOD Born 22 AUG 1993 to Kasper Grim and Seraphina Greengrass in Venice, Italy. Educated in Dublin, Ireland until 2007. Withdrawn from Hargrove Academy before beginning of Fall 2008 semester. Missing, unreported, from 30 JUNE 2008 until 11 MAY 2009; presumed living with godparents, Elyssa and Evander Vetri, in London, UK. Filed missing persons report, stating that ten days prior, her godparents left her home to run errands and did not return. Medical examination showed evidence of several healed fractures ( ribs, clavicle, nose ) and active injuries ( fracture in left wrist, poorly treated compound fracture in arm recent dislocation of left shoulder ), as well as severe trauma likely due to abuse and neglect. After several interviews, and only with parents and paternal grandfather ( Aleksi Grim, also acting as her legal representation ) present, admitted that she had been abused during the eleven months she was missing. No bodies were discovered, and no evidence of foul play was found. Relocated to Boston, MA to live with maternal aunt ( Astoria M. Townsend ); changed name to Grim to avoid confusion with her aunt.

EDUCATION Completed high school education at St. Coleman’s Catholic Academy, graduated with honors ( Spring 2011 ). Attended Harvard University to double major in history and folklore & mythology ( Fall 2011 - Spring 2015 ), before attending University of California at Berkley for an intensive master’s degree in folklore ( Fall 2015 - Summer 2016 ) and Columbia University to earn a PhD in history with a focus in the Italian Renaissance ( Fall 2016 - Spring 2021 ).

CRIMINAL HISTORY Any criminal activity is suspected, not confirmed. While Grim’s godparents were heavily involved with several criminal syndicates across Europe, Grim herself seems to have escaped relative unscathed, and without much attachment in Europe. In the United States, however, Grim is linked primarily to corporate and political espionage of questionable legality, usually in the employ of Senator Adam Vega ( D-NY ). Suspected in the theft and illegal sale of several medieval artifacts, but could not be definitively tied to any.

KNOWN ALIASES None. KNOWN ASSOCIATES Elyssa Vetri ( paternal first cousin once removed, godmother. Deceased. ); Evander Vetri ( paternal first cousin once removed, godfather. Deceased. ); Senator Adam Vega, D-NY ( business associate ).

SUSPECTED ALIASES Elena Hawke, Elizabeth Vane. SUSPECTED ASSOCIATES Raymond Reddington, unconfirmed.

NOTES Criminal record consists solely of two parking tickets and two speeding tickets. Despite her godparents’ connections, Grim does not appear to pose any physical threat. Noted as charming and persuasive, but believed to be acting within the bounds of legality.

Several deaths, seemingly unconnected, all without any evidence of foul play. All victims seen with a woman, blonde hair, late twenties to early thirties, in the 48 hours prior to their deaths. No evidence found that this is the same woman.

SOCIAL CONNECTIONS Involved with Iain Blackwood from Spring 2010 - Fall 2016; engaged from Fall 2014 - Fall 2016. A handful of alleged romantic connections, none of which have been publicly acknowledged, though she was linked to Vega from Summer 2017 to Winter 2018. Have remained close friends since apparent breakup. Tends to frequent theaters; especially fond of opera, little interest in most art. Not taken particularly seriously outside of her work due to reports of a hedonistic lifestyle, though this does work to her advantage when it comes to making new social connections.

PROFESSIONAL CONNECTIONS Travels often for work. Works closely with several universities, despite preferring to sell to individual collectors ( themselves often academics associated with these universities ). Well known for her skill in negotiations and her patience, as well as her willingness to lose customers if she finds them personally unpleasant.

Her staff is varied but she travels regularly with a handful of personal guards, led by Lorenzo Vescovi, also considered a close friend. Has been trained in self-defense, but prefers not to engage physically. Some have joked that even if she did need to get violent with anyone, it’s unlikely she’d ever have to do it herself. Will only pick up a gun herself if she feels the need to make a point.

Loyal to her allies, though she has yet to be linked to any criminal activity, even when those allies are arrested. Could suggest a willingness to step back and extricate herself from any danger? If she has done so, she’s done it effectively. No one seems to have a grudge against her.

Relationship with Vega seeming to cool, though there have been no indications of a falling-out.

[blu-joons]

History Of Love ~ Jeon Jungkook

Every morning when you walked into the classroom, his eyes would fall on you. You sat right at the front, paying your full attention to the lecture, scribbling notes down in your red writing pad, highlighting around it, making sure it stood out.

You didn’t even know his name, he was just the troublemaker at the back of the room, who paid little attention. He was cheeky, sarcastic, but for some reason, the teachers loved him.

Your layout was set out at your desk in time for the teacher’s arrival. The room fell silent, except for the snigger in the background, knowing exactly where it was coming from. You ignored, as you always did, not wanting to give him any satisfaction.

“You’ll be pleased to know, that for this week you will be paired up to make a project. I’ve taken the liberty of pairing you up based on your abilities, and to provide you all with a new challenge.”

One by one the pairs were reeled off, the room started separating off into different directions. You looked back, only five people were left, one of your closest friends, two boys from the soccer team, a girl from the drama society, and him.

“Next, will be Jungkook and Y/N.”

His arm went up in the air; you sunk in your seat. He gathered his stuff, skipping to the front of the classroom, sitting down beside you. Your pad and pen were brushed aside making room for his belongings, his long legs stretching out underneath the desk leaving little room for yours anymore.

Your teacher gave you the task at hand, with the deadline to be met in just six days. You wouldn’t have minded too much if it had been in class, but unfortunately, it was to be done in your own time.

“Let me make one thing clear,” you whispered across to him, “there is no way I am doing this project alone. You work your ass off, and I’ll work mine off. Got it?”

He smirked, you had attitude, and he loved it. It was the first time he’d ever heard you speak, as his nose scrunched, impressed by you.

“I’m all yours,” he teased.

Your eyes rolled, looking back to the front of the classroom, ignoring him beside you. Leaflets and instruction booklets were passed around the room in rows. You took yours from the pairing next to you, only for Jungkook to snatch them away.

“This will be easy, we’ve got nothing to worry about Y/N,” he proclaimed.

“Yeah, we’ll see about that.”

The two of you arranged to meet at his house that night and try and get some work done as he wanted to be at his place. You arrived at six, just like he’d asked, carrying all the books you could find from the library earlier in the afternoon.

You were terrified, no one wanted to work with the class clown. This project was important to you, you didn’t have a failure to your name, and that wasn’t something you wanted to give up now. His house was huge, as you walked up, knocking three times on the front door.

“You’re here come in,” he soon smiled, opening the door for you.

“Yeah, h-hi,” you whispered.

It was daunting walking in for the first time, it was much bigger than your house, it was fancy, and well decorated, unlike anything you could have imagined.

He took you up into his bedroom, offering you the workspace at the desk whilst he sat on his bed, pulling out his notepad and pen.

“Look, I know this project means a lot to you, so I promise I will work hard for you. Just be patient with me.”

You nodded, staring down at your laptop. He loved how shy you were, you were vulnerable to him, and he knew that, but that wasn’t something he wanted to exploit. If anything, he admired you. You were intelligent, and kind, two qualities that he adored in you.

“Alright, where do we begin? I remembered to pick up the information book from earlier so that we can look over it.”

He pulled out from his school bag the pink coloured instruction book he’d so cruelly taken from you earlier. “I flicked through it before you came, and I quite like the topic on the history of language, but it’s up to you too?”

“I’m happy with whichever,” you smiled.

It was settled, the two of you had chosen your topic, step one was done, and it was nowhere near as hard as you thought.

“Next I think we devise a plan,” continued, “maybe divide the workload, find some sources, decide how we want to lay this out. My dad’s got some old canvases we could use; I can find them if you like?”

“Y-yeah, sure.”

You sat, completely stunned as he jogged out of the room, into his father’s office next door. Whilst you waited for your laptop to open, you couldn’t help but look at his open pad of paper. Inside, he’d already scribbled several notes, along with page numbers of books he’d read.

“They aren’t perfect, but I think they will be effective in making ours stand out,” he spoke, re-entering the room, holding two canvases up, nearly as big as him.

“No, they’re perfect.” You smiled.

The rest of the evening the two of you spent searching endlessly through as many books as you could, finding sources and evidence to help support your points. It was nearing midnight when the two of you finally decided to call it a day.

“Allow me to take you home, it’s not safe for you to walk back when it’s so dark. My car is parked just outside,” he offered.

You smiled but shook your head. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. I only live a few roads down.”

“Even more of a reason for you to let me take you, it will only take two minutes.”

You didn’t argue any further, too tired to fight back. He took your bag, whilst you took your books, walking you downstairs, before driving you home.

The following day at school, it felt like you were strangers once more, except for when you walked into the room, you couldn’t help but look over at him. Your eyes met; a subtle wink was sent your way as you took your seat at the front of the room.

Every night for the next six nights was spent at his house, chatting away, creating the perfect project together. It was just what you’d hoped for, as the final piece was stuck to the canvas, job done.

“I have to say, I’ve enjoyed doing this project.”

“Me too,” you giggled, “I thought I’d end up doing it all alone when I got partnered with you, but you’ve surprised me. It’s been good fun getting to do this together and see a new side of you.”

Spending time with Jungkook had helped bring you out of your shell. He was dedicated to helping you achieve what you wanted to, and if he was honest, he enjoyed working so hard and seeing such a good outcome tomorrow.

“I think our project will definitely be the best tomorrow,” he proudly smiled, taking your bag, handing you your laptop.

“Are you sure you’re happy to take it in? I don’t mind meeting you in the morning.”

“It’s all good, I’ll drive my car, so they don’t get damaged, and I’ll see you there.”

The morning of the project presentation had you a nervous wreck. You had great confidence in what you and Jungkook had achieved, but you were still petrified to talk amongst all your classmates.

Jungkook met you in the corridor, holding two canvases, one in either hand, exactly how you’d left them tonight. “Morning, how are you feeling?”

“I’m nervous,” you confessed.

“It’ll be okay,” he smiled, resting them down on a table, wrapping his arm around you. “We’ve worked so hard on these; everyone will love them.”

You looked up, shaking your head, cowering into his bulky frame. “It’s not that, these canvases are amazing, it’s just the thought of speaking in front of everyone makes me feel ill. The thought of standing up at the front of the classroom, having all those eyes looking at me, I just want to run away and turn in nothing.”

“You can’t do that,” he spoke, turning you so you faced him.

He searched your eyes, your body shook in his hold, you were terrified. There was only one thing he could do, you’d worked tirelessly on the project with him, he owed you the world for helping him get his first reasonable success at school.

“How about this? I do all the talking, because if we’re going to present these, we do it together. We’re a team Y/N, you’ve done so much on this, so let me do this for you.”

“Jungkook, I can’t.”

“You can,” he assured you, cupping either side of your face. “You have to let me do this. This week has meant a lot to me, I was worried too when I got partnered with you. The shy, smart girl who would probably think I was some dumb idiot, but you’ve taught me a lot this week. You’ve taught me kindness, humility, respect, and most of all, that it’s okay to accept anybody, just because you aren’t the loudest in the room, doesn’t make you any less special.”

You didn’t know what to say as a lump ran down your throat, tears welling in your eyes. You reached out, intertwining your hand with his, reaching up on your tiptoes, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

“What was that for?” He blushed, wiping the mark where your lips had been.

“Just to say thank you, for everything.”

He smiled down at you, brushing his hand through your hair, before picking up both the canvases. He’d never been proud of anything at school, teachers always told him he’d never amount to much, but looking at what the two of you achieved, he was proud. Not only of himself, or his work, but of you.

Your nerves calmed, as Jungkook opened the classroom door for you. All eyes were on what you’d done, there had been whispers about you both all week. The childish boy who didn’t care about school teaming with the know-it-all girl who never said a word. It sounded like a car crash waiting to happen.

“Ignore them,” Jungkook whispered into your ear, sitting down at your usual spot at the front of the class. “We’ll show them wrong.”

“We will,” you replied, resting your head on his shoulder.

The teacher walked in, unable to hide her shock when she saw the two of you had produced a piece together. A small gasp escaped, which her hand quickly covered, standing at the front of the class.

“Well, welcome to you all, I’m excited to see what you’ve all come up with. Do we have any volunteers who would like to go first?”

You sunk back in your seat, if there was one thing you’d learnt, it was to never hold eye contact with the teacher in the hope they’d forget about you in the room.

Only beside you, Jungkook proudly raised his arm, jolting you off his shoulder. “Y/N and I will.”

You glared coldly across at him, watching as he turned to face you, a confident smile plastered across his face. On the inside you were seething, no way could you go first. You always waited until the end in the hope that the lesson would run out of time and you’d get away with doing nothing.

His hand came down, resting over yours, “trust me, I know what I’m doing. We’ll have these idiots terrified to present when they see what we’ve done.”

“Alright, well a round of applause for our willing volunteers, Y/N and Jungkook.”

The teacher stepped aside, whilst the two of you stepped up, holding a canvas each. Your heart was pounding, but Jungkook’s spare hand on the small of your back was the assurance that you needed. You looked over at him, he nodded his head, clearing his throat.

“I first want to give credit to Y/N, who has worked tirelessly on this project. She’s terrified about presenting this, but I hope us going first will prove to her today that she needs to have a bit more faith in herself.”

The whole classroom was locked on the two of you, unable to recognise who Jungkook had become.

“We chose to study the history of the language, because it’s something we both have found we have a great interest in. I’m going to do all the talking today, so sorry if you get sick of my voice, whilst Y/N stands beside me looking pretty.”

A deep shade of red quickly shone on your cheeks, highlighted by the bright lights of the classroom. You didn’t know where to look as Jungkook began, unaware of the flustered state you were in.

He presented it perfectly, in the right order, using the right quotes and stating all your points. It was so good; it even generated a voluntary round of applause from your classmates. Once it was done, you sighed in relief, feeling Jungkook pull you close.

“I have to say, I’m very impressed. You two have certainly exceeded all my expectations, I hope you all take note of what a proper project looks like. Take a seat guys, well done, that is two definite passes.”

Jungkook couldn’t hide the smile on his face, his first pass, after all these years. He guided you back to your seat, slipping the two canvases under the table, out of the way.

Under the table, once you were seated, he took your hand, moving your chair so there was no distance between you both.

“You have no idea how thankful I am to you, and how proud I am of everything the two of us have achieved. You got me my first pass Y/N, thank you so much.”

“No, you got yourself a pass. I hope you’ve proven to yourself how if you put your mind to something, you can achieve anything. Maybe you’re not Jungkook who just sits at the back not giving a damn after all, maybe you can start paying attention and working your ass of and getting the passes you want.”

The two of you were ignorant of the next presentation, most of the room was, it didn’t compare at all to yours.

“I have to admit, there was one thing I left off the project, I didn’t know how you’d feel about it.”

“What was it?” You asked.

He reached into his back pocket, sliding a piece of paper across the table to you. It was crumpled where it had been folded so many times, but you soon recognised his handwriting as you unfolded it. Your eyes read over it, turning to him in confusion as you read it.

Y/N

     We may have studied the history of language, but there’s something else I want to call history too. You’ve made me realise that being the shy, intelligent girl isn’t so bad. You’ve always been pretty to me but getting to know you has made me see you in a different way. I want to change, for the better because of you. And if you’d like, I’d love for you to be my girlfriend too.

You stared over at him, noticing his light blush. He’d lost all control, he was weak and vulnerable for you, just how you’d been for him seven days ago. “What do you say? I meant what I said, you’ve opened up a whole new world to me.”

“Is this why you called me pretty up there?”

His head nodded. “I was going to ask you up there, but I got all shy. I guess I’m not so dissimilar to you after all.”

You chuckled, reaching across, cupping the side of his face. The two of you were lost in the room, it felt like no one else was around, your eyes were focused solely on the dark-haired boy before you. “Jungkook, I’d love to be your girlfriend,” you whispered, softly pressing a kiss to his lips.

It was brief, but it was magical, as his head pressed against yours. “I never thought I’d be thankful to have been set up with you on a project, but I’m so glad I was. From now on, I’m going to pay attention, and learn, and be more like you.”

“And I’ll be more like you. I’ll be more confident, and self-assured, because I shouldn’t be afraid of who I am and the things I do.”

“Exactly. Together we are going to make quite the team. Your beauty and brains, and my- “

“-beauty and brains.”

“I didn’t want to say it, but yes, maybe.”

You shook your head, poking the dimple on his cheek from his wide smile. “You’re too cute Jeon Jungkook, thank you for reluctantly being my partner through it all.”

“You’re welcome, thank you for being the best partner in the world, you’ve made me feel ways I never have before.”

“And you I.”

You were interrupted by a round of applause, looking up to see the next presentation had finished. Both of you glanced at each other, falling back in your chairs, sniggering as you paid no attention at all to what had just happened.

“You’re a bad influence on me,” you whispered, nudging his bicep with your elbow.

“It’s a good job you’re such a good one on me.”

---

Masterlist

[artificialqueens]

gold coloured prisms of light, chapter one (branjie) - holtzmanns

His older sisters talk about soulmates with hearts in their eyes, about the boys at school whose arms they keep checking for matching Sharpie marks. Because, they say to him, it runs in families. Not everyone finds their soulmate, not everyone can write and have it show up on their soulmate’s skin.

(read on ao3) | (tumblr: plastiquetiaras) | word count: 5059

AN: This fic wouldn’t let me go until I wrote it. Hope you enjoy! Only thing to note is that their age difference is two years, rather than five, but other than that nothing is different. Aside from the soulmates part, that is. Writ is the best beta and cheerleader and I love them <3

Brock learns about soulmates when he’s four.

His mother shows him a scribble on her arm, matching the one that his father has just drawn on his own forearm with a marker.

Brock doesn’t understand how it works, how drawing on his own arm doesn’t make anything appear on anyone else’s. He doesn’t get the idea of a soulmate - two people that are made for each other.  

Brock supposes his parents must be soulmates, from the way that they often turn towards each other, having conversations without words with just a glance, just a slight touch.

He wonders what it would be like.

His older sisters talk about soulmates with hearts in their eyes, about the boys at school whose arms they keep checking for matching Sharpie marks. Because, they say to him, it runs in families. Not everyone finds their soulmate, not everyone can write and have it show up on their soulmate’s skin.

But some people have some extra help in finding theirs.

There’s the librarian in his school, Mrs. Chen, who always wears long sleeves whenever Brock goes at lunchtime to read there to be away from the other kids because they’re too loud, noisy. She always grabs the books from the top shelves for him, hands them to him with kind eyes as if she knows a lot of things about the world and wants to share them. But even when he sees the ink peeking out from her sleeve by her wrist, the ever so changing marks, he never has the courage to ask.

Maybe Brock doesn’t even have one. It’s okay, because he likes being by himself. He can’t imagine having someone else to spend time with forever, like his parents.

Brock is five and lying on his bed when scribbles appear on his arms.

They’re haphazard, no recognizable letters or numbers, or even pictures. They’re drawn with an unsteady hand, ink bleeding along the surface of his skin in a multitude of colours that grow and grow and grow.

He pulls on a sweater because he doesn’t know what else to do.

His sister tugs on his sleeve when he comes down for lunch and is about to eat a bite of Mac and cheese. “What are those?”

“What?” Brock is defensive as he scarfs down another bite, because he himself doesn’t know what is happening and how is he going to wash it off and-

“Did you draw those?” His sister doesn’t give him a chance to answer, pulling him up from his seat and rubbing her fingers on his ink stained skin and looking to see if the colour transfers. She lets out a gasp when she sees that it doesn’t.

“Mom! Dad!”

Brock shrinks from their gaze when they come bounding down the stairs, along with his other sister. He crosses his arms, tucking his hands underneath so that they can’t see but then his mother points at his neck.

“There, look.”

Brock runs to the bathroom, and gasps when the scribbles have seemed to grow even more.

“Must be a toddler, or another kid, from these scribbles.” Brock’s mother’s voice is soft as she comes up behind him with his dad, looking at Brock in the mirror.

“I don’t want a baby.” Brock is five. He’s not a little kid anymore.

“She’s not going to stay a baby forever. Nor will she always have free range with a bunch of markers to draw on herself like this.” Brock’s mother flips his hand over, looks at the purple webs drawn on there. “She’s quite the little artist.”

“Why does it have to be a girl?” Brock grumbles. The girls in his school are weird, and one told him that he was too tall.

“That’s the way things are.”

Brock doesn’t get it, but he supposes it’ll make sense later.

The marks start to fade while he’s getting ready for bed, brushing his teeth. They disappear fast, as if someone is scrubbing at them, before his skin is completely ink free as he climbs into bed.

He wonders if his soulmate’s mother was angry about all of the scribbles.

Brock is seven before another drawing appears on his arm.

It makes him gasp, pull down the sleeve of his sweater. Part of him had started to believe that the scribbles had been a dream, made up by his subconscious after hearing so many stories about his parents and the tales woven by his sisters.

He had started wearing t shirts again, no longer fearing that a wayward scribble would appear on his skin, not after it had been two years since his arms and neck and chest had lit up in rainbows. He’d supposed that his soulmate’s parents had stopped letting them near any markers.

Until now, because he’s pulled up his sleeve and now there’s a smiley face on his wrist and a messy star beside it, and it doesn’t hurt, but he feels like he’s electrified, his heart beating faster and faster while his teacher, Mrs. Paul, is trying to teach them about what photosynthesis is.

He still doesn’t know, and it doesn’t matter, because the drawings have stopped, and now he’s staring at them under his desk and seeing how his soulmate’s drawings have changed. They’re no longer scribbles - now, the small doodles are drawn with an unsteady hand like one would expect from a kid like him, or maybe younger. Brock wonders how old they are now.

He rifles through his desk, a wave of disappointment washing over him when he realizes that he’d leant his markers to his friend Sean at lunchtime, who still has them in his desk. He pulls out a gel pen that his sister had given him earlier in the year, wonders if it’ll work.

It’s worth a shot.

He draws a smiley face next to the one already on his arm.

Waits.

Another one appears, right beneath his elbow.

Then one by his palm.

Then Brock’s teacher calls on him and he stutters because he didn’t hear the question, then his classmates are laughing at him and he’s turning red and sinking in his seat, wishing to disappear.

But when he looks down, he sees a flower. One by his wrist.

It makes Brock feel better, somehow.

It’s another six months before there’s more than just drawings that show up on Brock’s arms.

He’s doing his homework at the kitchen table with his sisters, ignoring the way that his parents are arguing in the den (the door is closed, but he can still hear them, and he’s sure that his sisters can too). He pulls up his sleeves like he’s become used to doing in the past few months, looking for more art upon his skin.

This time, there’s a star, and four letters. Four haphazardly drawn letters that Brock can make out if he squints.

J o s e

They’re messily written, with shaky hands. Brock’s not quite sure if it says ‘Tose’ instead, but ‘Jose’ sounds like a name and he’s sure that there’s someone named Jose in the class above him, so it must be a name.

The words show up again on his skin, underneath the original letters. Then again, until his wrist is covered and all Brock can see is the name Jose Jose Jose.

Is that his soulmates name? Brock wonders if he’s practicing writing it.

He interrupts the writing, grabbing the Sharpie from the cup of pens on the table and writes down Brock.

The writing stops.

Then, in shaky letters-

B r o c k

- and a smiley face.

He wonders what his soulmate thinks of his name.

Brock’s arms become a mosaic of letters from A to Z, interspersed with the stars and smiley faces and flowers that are ever changing. There’s words sometimes, words like cat and sat and mat and hat, but most importantly, Jose and Brock.

The writing becomes more self assured over time, neater, less shaky. Then, eventually, he sees-

Hi

Brock nearly scrambles off of his bed to grab the Sharpie that’s taken up permanent residence on his desk to write a response back.

Hi

Brock has barely dropped his Sharpie onto his bed when more words start to appear.

My nam is Jose

I know

My name is Brock

I know

Jose. His soulmate’s name, his actual name, is Jose.

At least, Brock thinks that Jose is a boy. He’s never met a girl named Jose before.

His mother is wrong, maybe he does have a boy soulmate.

It makes him feel better than it should.

Brock becomes great at deciphering Jose’s handwriting. The letters that would look like scribbles to anyone else trying to read them are like a lifeline to him.

Brock’s lying in bed, having just woken up and he needs to get ready for school, by the way his father has already slammed the door, already left for work, and the way his mom is yelling up the stairs to his sisters to get out of the bathroom.

He pulls on a sweater, ready to cover up the marks like he does at school, after a classmate of his had pointed at them and asked what they were in second grade. He doesn’t want anyone else to see them, because they’re just his and Jose’s, just theirs.

Playing soccar todai :)

He wonders where Jose lives. Right now, as he looks out the window, it’s December and it’s snowing and he knows he’s going to have to wear his winter boots and his snowpants and his giant jacket if he doesn’t want to freeze.

That sounds fun

Ya I’m relli good

I want to play soccer too

It’s not true, not exactly. He doesn’t really like gym class, or when soccer balls or basketballs come his way, because he’d rather duck instead of having them hit him. He doesn’t want to get hurt, even if it makes his gym teacher yell at him every single time.

But maybe it would be fun with Jose.

Wat are you doing todai?

School then dance

He’d begged and begged and begged his mom to let him take dance classes the way his sisters do, and his mom had relented, letting him take some jazz classes. Except he still wants to take ballet, like his sisters do in their pink leotards and the buns in their hair.

Brock is nervous about mentioning dance to Jose, because the boys in his class had teased him for it, even though some of the girls from his class are at the studio, too. Would Jose make fun of him, too?

I like dance too

Brock gasps, his heart filling with something akin to hope, lightness.

You take dance classes too?? What kind? I do jazz

I dunno I just dance

Brock lets out a little laugh. He wonders what it would be like to meet Jose in person, if everything he said would delight Brock the way his words always do.

Brock’s mother sees the words on his arms one night when he’s nine, as he rolls his sleeves up to wash his hands before dinner.

“Is she finally writing to you now?”

Brock yelps, pulling down his sleeves because what if she sees Jose’s name and their conversations? He catches his breath once his arms are covered, safe.

“Yeah.”

It bothers Brock, the way his mom says ‘she’. The way she can’t possibly fathom that he could have a soulmate who is also a boy. What’s wrong with it?

He doesn’t know, because they don’t mention soulmates at church. Nor does he know why his mom muttered under her breath when they passed two guys on the street holding hands, even though Brock had thought it looked quite nice to do. He had wondered whether Jose would hold his hand like that.

“Can I see?” His mother reaches out for his arm and Brock dodges her grasp, crossing his arms.

“No.” His voice comes out more panicked than he wants it to, but he doesn’t want her to see and be mad at him for it.

He’s afraid that she would be.

Brock pulls his sleeves up past his palms as they eat dinner, and it’s good, really, that his mom and dad are arguing again because now it means that his mom won’t want to look at the writing on his arms anymore. Even though the yelling is loud, and his sisters are both texting underneath the table, tuning it out. Brock doesn’t have a phone, so he can’t do that, but he does have-

Jose.

Brock draws a smiley face on his arm. His and Jose’s way of alerting each other when they want to talk.

It’s two, three minutes before Jose draws one back, with its tongue sticking out.

Brock smiles, despite the way his dad slams his fist on the table, making his fork clatter against his plate. It startles him, just for a second, because Jose starts to write.

I’m eating pizza 4 dinner

Wat about you

Casserole

Ew what’s that it sounds gross

Brock has to stifle a laugh as he writes back.

It IS gross

Yuck

How are you doing????

I’m ok

Brock doesn’t want to talk about how his dad has stormed off to his study, how his mom is eating in silence, how his sisters are too. How this has become the norm, more often than not.

Brock had previously thought that soulmates never fight. Now, he guesses that it’s not true.

He wonders what would happen if his father drew on his arm again, if anything would actually show up on his mother’s skin the way that it used to.

Brock

Brock

Brock

Brock’s eye catches on his wrist when he sees the words appear, tossing the pencil he was using to do homework to the side in favour of his Sharpie.

He’s twelve and middle school is a place that he does not want to be, because the other kids in his class are mean, teasing him about stupid things and he wishes that he didn’t have to go.

He wishes that Jose went to his school, because at least he would have a friend there.

Yeah?

My abuela

She’s in the hospital

We’re in a waiting room

My mom is crying

Brock can feel his stomach turn. Jose talks about his abuela all the time, about how she always whispers in Jose’s ear that he’s her favourite grandson, that he’s going to be a star when he grows up. About how her hugs feel the softest.

Oh no

I’m sorry Jose

He wishes he could teleport to wherever Jose is now, hug him in real life, because he feels useless right now, so far away and unable to do anything or make anything better.

I dunno what to do

How can I help

Can you tell me a story

Ok

And so Brock does. He weaves a story about two friends who live far away but are penpals, talking all the time and it’s soft and familiar, covers him like a warm blanket. Jose draws smiley faces and hearts around the words that Brock writes, and it feels like he’s holding his hand.

Brock does the same thing a week later during Jose’s abuela’s funeral.

Brock is fifteen and has gotten into the National Ballet School, something he knows will surprise his mother and his father and his sisters when he tells them, but most of all, it surprises himself. It makes him giddy, makes him feel like maybe he’s good at something.

He writes to Jose in the bathroom after the audition, after his name has been called and he’s gotten a place at the school for the upcoming fall, because he wants to tell Jose first. He shuts himself in a stall, drawing a smiley face and then a star until Jose draws them back to him.

Hi hi hi

I DID IT

AHHH

YOU GOT IN

I TOLD YOU

YOU DID

YOU WERE SCARED

But you’re the BEST at dancing

You’ve never even seen me dance

Don’t need to

Brock smiles to himself, tracing over Jose’s words with his finger. He pauses, realizing something.

I’m going to have to wear short sleeves when I start ballet school

Because of the uniform for dance

Oh

Brock pauses, because he doesn’t want Jose to think that this means that he wants them to stop talking, and he’s about to write more when-

Look at your chest

Brock wrinkles his nose before writing back.

What?

Just do it

So he does, pulling his shirt up because he’s still in the stall and he gasps, because Jose’s starting to write along his ribs all delicate and he can see goosebumps rising up on his skin beside them.

This better? More sneaky

Brock’s not sure that he’s imagining the shiver that runs down his spine as the words appear, because this feels different from the writing on his arm. He feels more exposed even though he knows that Jose can’t see him, that Jose’s just looking down at his own chest and writing on himself.

He wonders, for a second, what Jose looks like right now, before pushing the thought from his head, away to the corner of his brain where he pushes most thoughts like that these days.

Yeah. Better. For school.

The Sharpie tickles on his ribs as he writes and it feels so novel, so new, as if they haven’t been doing this for years and years and years already.

Jose always manages to surprise him somehow.

Brock doesn’t start at ballet school for a few more months, but Jose keeps writing to him on his chest, along his ribs, above his hip bone, and it makes him shiver every time. Like it’s his secret, his secret that he shares with Jose and no one else, and he wonders if first kisses feel like this, enough to make his head want to spin.

He doesn’t even know what Jose looks like, where Jose lives. He knows that Jose is two years younger than him and also likes science and dance like him but really likes soccer, which Brock doesn’t. He knows that Jose loves his mom more than anyone in the world, and that his brother is older than him and that he doesn’t have sisters like Brock, but he wishes he that he did.

He wants to know more. He wants to see how Jose laughs in person, if he’s as loud like Brock expects him to be, from the way he loves to write in big capital letters when he’s excited.

Jose writes to him one evening, their customary smiley face scribbled on his hand, and Brock shovels his dinner so that he can go write back.

Hi

Hi

I kissed someone today

The words are etched onto Brock’s shoulder in black ink, bleeding into his skin and Brock draws in a breath, not quite sure why his heart feels like it’s going to fall out of his chest.

Because it doesn’t matter, right? Just because they’re soulmates doesn’t have to mean-

It was a girl

It was weird

Brock’s never mentioned that he likes boys because he hasn’t wanted to ask Jose himself, but he’d thought that if his soulmate was another boy that it would mean-

But it doesn’t matter. Soulmates don’t always get together, in the end.

It’s not like Brock has been thinking about it, letting himself hope that one day, one day, he’ll find Jose in real life and they don’t have to write to each other anymore and that things will suddenly be perfect.

But that’s not how things work.

So it’s okay, really, because Jose can kiss girls if he wants to.

Brock realizes that he hasn’t written back and so he pulls his Sharpie out from his bedside table, scrawls with shaky hands.

Okay

What else can he say, really?

For the first time he wants to scrub Jose’s words off of his body, wishing that he didn’t have to see them anymore because Jose kissed someone else and why is it making him feel upset for no reason?

He pulls on a sweater on top of his t-shirt so that he doesn’t have to look at his shoulder anymore, doesn’t have to see what Jose responds with.

Brock is getting out of the shower the week when he sees Jose’s writing on his side in the mirror.

He’s been trying not to look, trying to give himself some space because thinking about Jose is making his heart flip in his chest and he doesn’t like the way it makes him feel even more out of control than he already is.

But the words that show up now make him pause.

Brock

Brock

Brock

I think I like boys

Brock looks down, trying to crane his neck to see if it really says what he thinks it’s says and it draws all the air out of his lungs when he realizes that it does.

His Sharpie is on his desk, as always, the ink blurring slightly on his wet skin.

You do?

I don’t like kissing girls that much

I don’t wanna kiss them

So why did you?

It was spin the bottle, everyone did

And then that girl tried to kiss me again later and I was like ew

Brock cracks up, despite himself. He doesn’t even know what Jose looks like but he can picture a look of disgust that mirrors his words easily.

How do you know you like boys?

Brock’s heart is beating faster and faster, and he’s not sure how long it can go on for before it gives out, trying to pump oxygen when he feels so out of breath.

Because I wanna kiss boys

The next words that appear on Brock’s skin make him gasp.

I wanna kiss you

He’s frozen, his towel around his waist and his skin is starting to dry off from the shower and Jose wants to kiss him.

Brock?

Sorry I shouldn’t have said that

Brock scrambles to write back because Jose needs to know-

I want to kiss you too

It’s true, when Brock thinks about it, so true because he’s never even met Jose in real life but he feels like he knows him better than anyone else in the world, because Jose is his best friend and he really really is-

His soulmate.

Jose draws a heart below his ribs and Brock wonders what it’s like to fall in love.

Brock is eating breakfast at the kitchen table when he’s seventeen and his mother turns to him. He can see they way she’s peeking down at his arms, even while trying to be discreet.

Jose only writes to him on his shoulders and chest when he’s at home now, just in case. Brock didn’t have to explain himself, because Jose got it without him having to.

“Brock.”

He doesn’t want to look up, because he can’t tell anything from his mother’s tone of voice. He’s not sure if he really wants to know.

“Yeah?”

“Look at me.”

So he does, reluctantly looking up from his cereal and his mother looks tired, worn down.

“Is there anything you want to tell me?”

Words bubble up in his chest but he can’t say them, he can’t make things worse and he knows that his mom probably knows and wants him to say it too, but he can’t-

“No, there isn’t.”

“Brock, your soulmate-”

He escapes from the table and goes up to his room (‘gotta go, I have homework’) as his mom sighs, and he realizes as he climbs the stairs and passes their old family pictures on the walk that his dad hasn’t been home in awhile.

He doodles a small smiley face on his wrist, enough for Jose to notice, then continues above his hip bone.

Does your mom know?

Know what?

You know

He doesn’t want to say it, because he hasn’t even said the words to himself, and if he does then it means that it’s all real and that his mom will hate him and-

She knew since I was a kid and kept stealing her dresses and makeup

Brock laughs a little, trying to picture a five year old strutting around in his mother’s heels.

Me too, I did that too

And she doesn’t know??

I think she does

She asked me if I had anything to tell her

Today

Yikes

You think she’ll be mad?

Yeah

I don’t want to tell her

No one says you have to

If you don’t wanna right now

Okay

If you end up doing so, I’ll be here to cheer you on

Jose draws a stick figure that’s grinning above his belly button and Brock can’t help but feel just a little bit lighter.

Brock is eighteen and drunk at a party and kisses his friend Kyle and all he can think about is Jose.

He doodles on his thigh when he gets back to his room, after his friends drop him off and he flops onto his bed and thinks about what Jose’s lips would taste like.

It’s like 3 am

I’m trying to sleep

Brock squints as he fumbles with the Sharpie, trying to write clearly.

I wanna kiss you

I missssss you

He draws little stars all over his leg while he waits for Jose to write back.

You’ve never met me

But I wannaaaaaa

Why do you live in Alska

Alaksa

Alaska

Brock tilts his head. He can never tell if things are quite spelled right when he’s drunk.

That’s a weird way to spell Florida

So you don’t live with polar bears :(

Definitely not

:(

We have gators, though

No that’s scary

How drunk are you

Soooooooooooooooo drnk

I want a polar bear

You should sleep

Wanna cuddle with you

Jose doesn’t respond and Brock’s drunk brain pauses for a second, wondering if he’s said too much but what does it even matter, when Jose’s his soulmate and he love love loves him, even if he doesn’t have a polar bear?

Maybe we can do that. In the future

YES

Drunk you is bananas

You better not wash these off I want you to see this when you’re sober

Sober Brock can eat it

Let’s see what you say about that tomorrow

A thought comes to Brock’s mind, one that sober him has been pushing down, down, down, because it’s felt too much to ask, too personal, but fuck it, he’s gonna do it because why the heck not?

I wanna see you

Your face

I wanna see

It’s kept him up at night, distracted him during dance class. Wondering what Jose is like, what he looks like, and Brock isn’t shallow, per se, he’s just curious. Curious as to what his other half looks like.

Bold

Pleaseeeeee

There’s a pause, and then-

Write down your phone number

Brock does so, breathlessly, waiting for his cellphone to buzz as he flips it over in his hands, when a picture pops up from an unknown number.

Jose is the most beautiful boy he’s ever seen. He has a backwards cap on and he’s raising his eyebrows at the camera with a facial expression that’s saying really?

Brock grabs his pen to reply but keeps his phone in his hand, open on the picture because wow Jose is perfect and he can’t stop staring.

Wow

You never told me you were HOT

Omg

Sure, sober Brock is going to hate him but Brock can’t help it, who cares about inhibitions or self control when his soulmate is absolutely perfect? His dimples and his jawline and his eyebrows and Brock gets how easy it is to fawn over someone, because he’s head over heels for Jose.

Now send me a picture of you

Let’s make it even

Brock fumbles with his phone and grins into the camera and it’s probably blurry and he’s a bit stubbly because he didn’t shave today and he’s still in his clothes from the party and looks like a mess, but he sends it anyway.

A minute ticks by, then another, and Brock’s wondering if he’s made a grave mistake, maybe Jose’s changed his mind-

You never told me you were hot, either

:)

Dork

Brock wakes up with a massive headache and a dry mouth. His thighs are covered in his own scribbles and he groans, because it’s almost 11 a.m. but he feels like he’s been hit by a truck.

He grabs his phone, opens his texts and freezes when he sees an unknown number, a picture of himself and then-

Jose.

It all comes rushing back to him, flooding his memories and oh god he had texted Jose.

He writes on his stomach because it feels like the most right thing to do.

Oh god I’m sorry I’m sorry

I shouldn’t have done that

Shouldn’t have made you send a pic

I’m sorry

Please don’t hate me

Brock feels like he’s going to cry, because shit shit shit, he’s probably gone and ruined everything between them and he’s never, ever going to drink again.  

It’s okay

Wanted to see your face for awhile anyway

You did?

Tell me you weren’t curious too

I clearly was

My drunk self took over and did that

I’m glad it did because I was too scared to

Me too

Brock lets out a breath. Maybe Jose isn’t mad at him, and things aren’t falling apart just yet, and they’ll be okay.

Now I can imagine your cute ass face when we write

Brock lights up, because Jose actually thinks he’s cute. Jose’s seen a picture of him, and instead of being uninterested, Jose thinks he’s cute.

You’re cute

Real cute

He wishes he could say more without sounding too pushy, too forward, too expectant. He wants to tell Jose that his eyes are brighter than the stars and the photo he sent is still making him smile, even now. He only as of last night knows what Jose looks like, but he feels like he’s known his entire life.

Brock’s phone buzzes again and it’s another picture, and this time Jose’s blowing a kiss to the camera and Brock finally knows what all the movies mean when they talk about love at first sight.

[prettywordsyouleft]

The Sex Contract - Chapter 9

Genre: friends to lovers au / friends with benefits / mature content / romance / angst

Characters: Shim Changmin x Kaia Ashton (OC)

A/N: Due to the overwhelming request I have followed your encouragement to bring back one of my older stories. This was back in a time where OCs were everything and writing one chapter in each main’s point of view was the trend. I hope that even though I have edited this drastically, that you can appreciate this story comes from my older style of writing. I definitely still read this often and find it enjoyable so I hope you will too.

Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 - FINAL

Chapter 9 – Changmin’s POV.

Changmin let Kaia into the apartment and frowned instantly, the scolding he was going to give her for wasting so much time left his mind as soon as he saw her expression. Instead, he grabbed her and led her over to the couch, helping her sit down.

“Is everything okay?”

She nodded distantly but otherwise didn’t reply.

“You don’t seem okay, in fact you look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” he pointed out, poking her arm gently. She didn’t even flinch and Changmin became concerned. Getting up from the couch, he went over to the kitchen and turned on the jug to boil some hot water. Collecting two cups from inside the cupboard he prepared the hot chocolates, in hopes the sugar would brighten her up without the effect of caffeine. He brought the drinks back over to where Kaia sat and placed them down on the coffee table.

The sound seemed to bring her out of her thoughts. “What did you say?”

“Nothing, but I made you a hot chocolate. You should drink it,” Changmin urged and the girl nodded, reaching forward for the cup and just held it. She fell back out of awareness and he wondered what she was overanalysing. He was somewhat an impatient person, and he wanted to help Kaia with her problem instead of wait for her to figure it out.

“Changmin, is it very easy for a person who doesn’t work for an Entertainment company to date an idol?” she eventually asked and he blinked a couple times at her question before shaking his head.

“You should know by now Kai, given you work in Entertainment news that it’s quite hard. It’s why most idols have relationships with each other or the people they work with.” Changmin placed his mug down and scooted closer to the caramel haired girl. “Why, what have you discovered?”

“N-nothing, I just wondered if a relationship like the one I just pointed out could stay off the radar well.”

He contemplated her statement. “Depends on the fame of the star. For someone in a less known position, it could be quite possible. But for someone such as myself, it’s barely possible to have a female friend, let alone date a girl without the whole world knowing. I’m just thankful no one has seen you as a potential partner or this entire agreement would become the most lethal operation in destroying my career.”

“Couldn’t that happen if news comes out about it?” she asked and then stared down at the beverage in her hand. “Could I end your career?”

“Hey,” he said softly, leaning closer to the girl and lightly bumping her so he didn’t spill her drink. “Why are you thinking so seriously, hm? What got you like this? Do you know someone who is dating a famous person now?”

She shook her head. “It mustn’t have been who I thought it was, because like you said, that would be nearly impossible.”

“You’ve sparked my curiosity now. Who exactly did you think you saw?”

“Junsu,” she mentioned and Changmin froze. “I uh, mean the Junsu from two pm of course ha-ha!”

He glanced at the girl who diverted her gaze, taking a gulp of her drink and then squealing because she had burnt her tongue. Changmin couldn’t help but chuckle at the awkward move and pulled Kaia’s head around so he could examine the damage. It didn’t look that bad. He smirked. “You’re so clumsy at times.”

“I didn’t think that through very well,” she agreed and then smiled, seeming to be stepping out of her thoughts. “So uh, I’m guessing you have to get back to work soon. Sorry, I wasted the time.”

“I’m not worried, I kind of miss just hanging out,” he told her honestly and she nodded her head. “I like where we’re at though too, I feel I’ve learnt a lot about you lately.”

“Like?” she wondered and Changmin chuckled again. “Hey, don’t you start teasing me. I came here on my lunch break and haven’t even eaten yet. I even gave up sushi for you.”

“So let’s order sushi then,” he proposed, glancing at his watch and faltering when he saw the time. She was right; Changmin was expected back at work in less than half an hour. He cringed lightly. “Can I order sushi for you?”

“Don’t worry; I’ll just get something on the way back to the office. Though if I’m honest, I don’t feel all that good. Do you have any medication I could take Min?” she asked, rubbing her neck and he eyed the girl with fresh concern, nodding his head and got up.

“Just wait here, I’ll get you some.” He headed into his bedroom and to the en-suite, looking in the cabinet for some medicine. Finding the box he required, Changmin went back out to the living room but frowned when she was nowhere in sight. “Kaia?”

There was no response, and he noticed her bag was still on the counter where she left it. Going over to where he left the girl, Changmin found her sound asleep on the couch. Smiling at her, he looked around before deciding to hoist the girl up. Changmin knew how uncomfortable it was to fall asleep on that couch. She surprisingly didn’t stir awake as he carried her down to his room, gently placing her on the bed and pulling the blankets up over her.

“You must be truly exhausted,” he murmured and stood back to his full height, glancing at his friend and then put the box of medicine on the bedside table. Jotting Kaia a quick note telling her to let herself out when she woke up, Changmin quietly stepped out of the room and headed out back to work.

“And so Minho said to me about some soccer match that he and Donghae, with a few trainees, have planned in two days. I was completely annoyed, of course, they plan things when we’re not in Korea,” Yunho mentioned as they both entered the apartment later that evening, exhausted from practice.

“Why are you complaining, Minho will be coming to Japan whilst we’re there. I’m sure if you time it well you could meet up for something.”

Yunho nodded and then stopped after turning on the lights. “Did Kaia come over today?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Did she forget her bag?” he continued to enquire and Changmin frowned, noting the handbag still in the same place it had been earlier. He stepped around Yunho and headed down to his bedroom, opening the door and stopped in his tracks. Kaia was still in the bed and seemed to be asleep. His breath was caught in his chest as he went over to her side and reached to feel her head. The action was enough to stir her and she opened her eyes, blinking a few times.

“How come you’re still here?” Changmin asked softly, crouching down as Kaia sat up in the bed. She looked around herself and coughed. “Are you ill?”

“My throat hurts a little.”

“Just wait here,” he told her and went down to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water. Yunho was in there and looked at Changmin with concern. “She mustn’t have woken up when I left her here. She’s been asleep for at least nine hours now.”

“Sounds like she needed to sleep. Do you need a hand?”

He shook my head and smiled at the man before heading back down to the bedroom. Passing the bottle to Kaia, she drank some of it before coughing again. Changmin offered her the medication and she took it before slumping back down on the bed.

“Changmin-ah,” she said and he glanced at her. “I don’t think I have the energy to move. What time is it?”

“Eleven.”

“Ugh, okay.” She hung her head and then tried to heave herself to the side of the bed. Changmin gently stopped her.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

She looked at him tiredly. “Home. I don’t want to make you sick.”

“Well, you’ve already slept in my bed so I’m pretty sure I’ll catch it regardless. Though I am really fit so don’t worry about me, I’m more concerned about you. Which means you’re not leaving.”

“But-”

He shook his head firmly. “I have to wake up at three anyway to fly to Japan early. So don’t worry too much. Do you need me to help you to the bathroom?”

“Yes please,” she said and resigned herself to his aid. Changmin helped her in so she could use the room and then took her back to bed, assisting her in removing her jacket and pants so she was more comfortable. He then took off his own unneeded layers and flicked off the light, climbing onto the bed and snuggling into his pillows.

Everything was silent for a moment and he glanced over his shoulder at Kaia, the girl staring up at the ceiling. He chuckled and turned to face her. “Problem?”

“We haven’t exactly shared a bed on purpose yet,” she announced and he laughed again at her worries. “Don’t laugh at me!”

“We fell asleep after playing Fifa that one time at five in the morning, how is this any different? Besides, I’ve had more than enough sex with you now to not need to make a move. Sleep well Kai, I’ll see you if you wake up when I do.”

“I guess you’re right, night Min.” She sighed and then nestled into the pillow, closing her eyes and instantly drifting off.

Changmin found himself cat napping like he usually did when he knew the alarm was set for an odd time, and every time he woke up, he looked over at Kaia sleeping to make sure she was okay. It was a different experience and he enjoyed it, wondering if he would have felt any more satisfied than he did now, had they enjoyed some intimacy together before his trip to Japan. It made him realise that whilst he liked the arrangement a great deal, there definitely needed to be some changes when he got back home.

But for now, Changmin enjoyed the idea of sharing his bed with his best friend. Though he couldn’t put his finger on the reason, he knew he would miss her a great deal whilst in Japan this time.

_________________

Part 10

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[jays-study]

I DON’T EVEN LIKE HONEY THAT MUCH

a kacchako one shot

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

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

Word count: 6.549

AO3 link: (x)

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

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

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

Uraraka could word herself better than most.

Would she call herself a good writer? Not necessarily.

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

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

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

Yes, Uraraka could word herself better than most.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I knew exactly what this was leading to.

Sex, obviously.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yeah.

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

Which is honestly the best you could wish for."  

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

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

Bakugou had been editing for Uraraka for a year now.

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

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

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

"Interesting views," she laughed.

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

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

And it had already proven to be difficult.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Crap!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Uraraka felt her face grow hot at the thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He had to be kidding.

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

What a kind of question…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Uraraka's eyes widened. "They are?"

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

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

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

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

"Thank you so much."

Luckily the women could laugh at her flustered response.

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

"Oh me too, me too!"

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

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

Uraraka perked up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Alright, this was happening.

This was really happening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What gave it away?"

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

"Text messages from…Bakugou?"

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

Katsuki Bakugou, 18:15 PM: Never mind.

Uraraka scratched her head.

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

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

"H-Hello?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So you did forget," Bakugou scoffed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Would the anonymous critic have replied?

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

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

Uraraka swallowed before opening another e-mail to reply.

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

Send.

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

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

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

There was really no reply from them.

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

Immediately Uraraka jolted and rushed to the door.

That had to be Bakugou.

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

"You didn't have to come u-"

"I promise."

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

"You what?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wait, are you serious?

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

"Oh…Now if you could excuse me…"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As he leaned in Uraraka held her breath.

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

Bakugou opened his eyes and glared at her.

"Sorry."

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

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

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

"But seriously, what do you like?"

"Syrup over honey, any fucking day."

[imagineaworlds]

01 //Brakebills

summary: Olivia Grace is a motherfucking Magician. Yeah, she’s British. Yeah, she’s got a LOT of secrets-- but doesn’t everyone? And she’s totally fucked up.

pairing: margo hanson x female!oc

word count: 2,446

warnings (for entire series): cursing. drug and alcohol use. drug and alcohol abuse. sex.

(1) - (2) - (3) - (4)

Grace couldn’t tell you where she was even if she wanted to. She stood in a tree line, bushes scratching at her bare knees through the ripped skinny jeans, and leaves fell from the trees above her. The warm weather gave her the odd reaction of sweat, something she had never experienced in either England nor New York.

It was a school that much she knew. From the students smoking weed on the lawn to jocks playing soccer on the field in front of her, it was a college campus, but one she was not familiar with. She was discerned by someone across the lawn, a boy sprawled across a stone slab with the words “Brakebills” and “University” engraved on it. Grace stepped out from the woods and neared the sideline of the soccer field. Everyone stopped what they were doing. Nerds looked up from their textbooks, junkies stopped smoking and instead let their buds waste while they stared at her, and the soccer players stopped passing the ball and yelling at one another. It was an uncomfortable, almost a fictional quiet, one you only see in the movies. Grace wasn’t the pretty prom queen or the psychotic manic on the loose like in such movies. She was just Grace, a simple girl from Manchester, and a loner like all the cliches you see and read about.

Grace saw some of the boys on the field whispering about her to their fellow teammates, while others waited for someone to move or say something. “Who are you?” the boy who trapped the soccer ball with his feet, had asked.

Grace took a second to respond, “Olivia Grace. Who…” Grace struggled to find words. She was lost and confused, alone and surrounded by strangers. She only assumed that acting calm was better than spewing questions left and right. “Where am I?”

The boy, who had been sunbathing on the Brakebills University sign, sped to the soccer field and pushed past some of the players, sporadically checking them out as he did so. When he stood precisely before Grace, he spoke. “Mm… Fresh meat. Well, sorry to break it to you, hun, but you’re two months late for the Entry Exam.”

“En— Entry Exam?” she questioned.

The boy sighed and rolled his eyes, “My name’s Eliot, but I can assume that you will not remember that by this time tomorrow, so…” Eliot was a tall, slim boy in his early twenties. His hair had black curls that bounced with each step he took and fell in his face, deliberately covering his eyes until he moved it. His eyes were a light brown, borderline hazel color. Eliot was a preppy guy, but the cigarette in his hand ruined the illusion, and the flask in his belt never helped either. He smoked repeatedly, as if addicted, and occasionally drank whatever concoction he had created earlier that morning. He wasn’t a poster student, but he wasn’t a lonely druggie like Grace was. Despite the addictions, he was still a bubbly type, perfect for greetings and first impressions.

Then abruptly, out of thin air, a tall man appeared. He was well dressed with a black suit, white shirt, and black tie. Fashioning dark circles around his eyes as though he were wearing glasses or goggles for a long period. No hair, and as he adjusted his tie, Grace lastly noted that his hands had burn scars on them. “Ah, Ms. Grace,” the man smiled. “My name is Henry Fogg, but you can address me as Dean. I run this establishment of education for magic. If you would please follow me and Eliot.”

Eliot looked surprised, “You want me to come as well?” he laughed, “I have classes.”

“Mr. Waugh, the last time you attended class was the first class of the year. I’m sure you won’t be missed,” Dean Fogg told him calmly, “Ms. Grace,” he swung his arm out to the side and moved his body, inviting her to walk. She struggled to keep up with the Dean and Eliot because they knew the area better than she did, and she was too afraid to leave them in a place she didn’t know.

“Where am I?” Grace asked.

“Up state New York,” Eliot responded.

“Up state New York? And the weather looks like this?” Grace looked up at the sky and admired the clear air and bright blue atmosphere. The clouds were big, white, and fluffy. On the ground, the trees were a vibrant green and the grass was neatly cut evenly. The sun beat down on them, lightly burning Grace through her black clothes.

Eliot sighed, but continued to walk. “What’s your name?”

“Olivia. But I hate that name.”

“So what do you prefer?” Dean Fogg questioned.

“Grace.”

It began a few days ago with her brother. They were out for lunch and coffee at the Yonder Wander Coffee Shop,  just as every Wednesday at 11 o’clock. He stood to buy her another cup, but then everyone and everything froze. The image burned into her brain, it was something no one could forget. A man and his husband were arguing profusely, and she could remember their acrimonious tones. One lady, who was drinking a cup of coffee alone, had her cup too close to the edge of the table that it was about to fall down on the floor, which would spill everywhere. However, that cup, too, was frozen. Much to Grace’s surprise, she could stand and walk about, different from the rest of the shop. She walked to her brother and popped out to scare him so he moved. But instead he continued to stand like a statue, frozen in time. It was after she waved her hand and snapped her fingers in front of his face when everything went back to normal. There was a loud scream on the other side of the room from the lady who had knocked her drink when she finally noticed it once it spilled all over the floor and herself. The husbands who argued, paused to looked at the woman, and then looked over at Grace to see she had magically teleported.

“Woah.” Liam, Grace’s brother, stumbled back. “How’d you do that?” he asked.

“How did I do what exactly?” she became distracted by figuring out what had just happened. “I’ve been standing here the entire time.” Liam scanned his sister, seeing right through her lies. “What?” she widened her eyes and flailed her arms around, “Am I some kind of stranger to you?”

“Are you high again?” Liam questioned, before realizing he didn’t actually want an answer. “Never mind.”

After that, everything kept freezing when she waved her hand for a taxi, waved up at the camera to her apartment hoping her landlord would let her in, because she forgot her key at lunch. It was like a switch turning on and off, and she was the one flipping it up and down.

Grace looked between Dean Fogg and Eliot, confused. She didn’t know if she should laugh or call the cops. The two men showed her to a giant building that lead into a ballroom, which was temporarily being used for an exam room. Dean Fogg showed her to a front table and pulled the chair out for her. She watched as he moved to the front of the room and took a seat, and then she looked behind her to see that Eliot was lounging on a few chairs in the back of the room, his sunglasses on. She wondered what or who they were waiting for, but she continued to sit silently. After a long time, the dean was checking his watch impatiently.

“Well, I suppose you can start without him,” Dean Fogg spoke up, startling Grace after the lull of quiet. He moved his right hand gently across his arm and then quickly trapped his fingers in an oddly shaped triangle and then pulled his fingers together. A blue notebook and a #3 pencil appeared and both had engraved on them: Olivia Grace. She gripped the pencil and opened the notebook to the first page. It was calculus. Easy enough, Grace thought to herself.

Just as she was about to write answers, the door to the ballroom flung open and Grace caught a glimpse of a proud and beautiful girl standing there. She was smiling at the dean and then at Eliot. She wore a tight red shirt, a size too small; ripped black skinny jeans, and Doc Martens red velvet boots. Jewelry covered her neck and upper chest, just above her shirt collar. Bangle bracelets stacked up her lower arm, and one had a chain which led from her wrist to her index finger where there was a ring. Her straightened brown hair rested softly against her shoulders, parted directly even with her nose.

“Margo, if you would please show the boy to his seat next to Ms. Grace,” Dean Fogg’s voice echoed. Margo smiled more widely than before and pulled someone in by their jacket sleeve. A boy with blonde hair came stumbling in, struggling to catch his footing. He stood up and Grace immediately recognized him.

“Liam?” Grace inquired.

Liam ran to her as she stood, and soon after embraced her. “What are you doing here?” He was completely bewildered by the fact that she was there with him, and not that magic was real.

Their conversation was interjected by Dean Fogg clearing his throat, and the siblings looked at him. He gestured for them to take their seats, which they unwillingly did, and Grace could hear Margo whispering to Eliot, impressed that Grace and Liam were twins. Grace reopened her exam and completed it over two to three hours later; however, Liam finished it in less than an hour. Grace thought it might be all the drugs that were finally working, but she wondered why her imagination would make an entirely new world just for a hallucination. When they finished, Eliot led Grace from the exam room and down a hallway to a small office, while Margo took Liam somewhere unknown to her. A professor with strawberry blonde hair, bright red lipstick, and a tight black dress walked into the office, a file in one hand and Grace’s exam in another.

“Well, Olivia—” the professor began.

“Grace,” she interrupted in a rude fashion. “I go by Grace.”

“Well, Grace… My name is Professor Sunderland. And your exam is most impressive, truly. I'm sure Dean Fogg wishes he could be here, but he’s speaking with your brother,” she said as she took a seat behind the desk in front of Grace. “So tell me about yourself, Grace. When did you discover magic? Was it your parents who told you?” Sunderland interrogated.

“My parents?” Grace laughed, “No, my mum and stepdad had no clue what this is, I can assure you. And besides, they’re dead… so what does it matter?”

Sunderland raised an eyebrow and tilted her head. She quietly opened the file with Grace’s name on it, and slowly flipped through the pages, humming as she did so. Grace rolled her eyes then tapped her foot impatiently. The short professor had reached the end of the file and looked disappointed, so she started over, wasting time. Grace oddly enough did not recognize the toon she was humming, which made her wonder who this woman really was beneath the smile she was so clearly faking.

“Ah!” Sunderland cheered, “Found it. See?” she asked, turning the file to Grace. She pointed to a line and said, “Your parents were alumni here. They both attended Brakebills, long before my class, of course, but still. Your mother is well known on this campus.”

Grace laughed again, suddenly figuring that this woman was insane, “Sure.”

“I have a question for you, Olivia… Why do you think you just now appeared at Brakebills? The official entry exams were two months ago, so what makes you so different?”

Grace was silent. She wanted to respond, and she wanted the luxury of knowing that there was some kind of answer buried in her brain, but there was nothing. Her brain ran a blank, and she couldn't think of a single reason her parents never told her about Brakebills University, why Liam seemed so comfortable on campus, and why some strange professor was bombarding her with questions when they had only met a few minutes prior. But no matter the case, Sunderland sat quietly, waiting for any kind of response, but there was none. Grace just shrugged her shoulders and gave the small and gracious woman an attitude which she surely didn’t deserve.

“Please, try some magic. Any kind of magic.”

“I don’t know magic,” Grace retorted, her voice as sharp as knives. Well the drugs, which she thought were finally kicking in, were only just subsiding, making Grace easily agitated.

Sunderland sighed and stood. She walked around the desk and began circling the room. “Your insolence is what will get you in trouble here at Brakebills. We encourage cooperation, and not recklessness. Eliot is not a great example of that, I suppose, but we make do. Now, do some magic.” She stopped circling the room once she was behind Grace. “Come on, Olivia, do something.”

Grace’s blood boiled, “I don’t like being called Olivia…”

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you. You know, mumbling is a bad thing, Olivia.”

“Stop it!” she demanded, throwing her hands on the desk and then turning around. Out of anger, she instinctively snapped her fingers in Professor Sunderland’s face, causing her to freeze. Grace was breathing heavily, ashamed that she had let that get out of hand. She quickly reached into her boot and grabbed some of the pills she snuck to lunch with her brother but forgot to take out. Frantically, and with a brief struggle, Grace got the bottle open, but the pills flew everywhere. Grabbing what she could, she popped two in her mouth and drank a cup of water that had been sitting on Professor Sunderland’s desk. She sighed, and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to recover from the situation that had made her legs weak and her head hurt. Grace felt like shit.

Disturbed, Grace looked to the door as it slowly opened and creaked like in a horror movie. She looked over at it, past the frozen Sunderland, and saw Dean Fogg standing there. He didn’t look frightened, horrified, confused, or disappointed; instead, he looked pleased. Did this mean that Grace was no longer eligible to study at the university? No. Of course not, right? Grace was nervous until the Dean spoke.

“Well, Grace, I am truly impressed. Welcome to Brakebills University.”

[poweredbydietcoke]

Favorite books of 2019

A *very* late continuation of my annual tradition … finally got a push to finish this in case you’re looking for book ideas while we find ourselves with plenty of extra time during quarantine. I read a little less in 2019, maybe because I’m working on something new (and have a new kid) or maybe just because I’m getting lazy as I get older? 48 books total, of which 4 were tree books and 23 were audiobooks—I did spend more time in transit last year (yes, it’s possible to listen to audiobooks and talk to ATC at the same time!), but it felt more productive. 

Without further ado, my favorite books. (affiliate links get donated to charity at the end of the year). I’ve included some highlights from Kindle books, but many of my favorites this year were audiobooks, where I haven’t found a great solution to highlighting (especially those I get from the library on a variety of crappy - but free! - services).

Destiny Disrupted, by Tamim Ansary - this was probably my favorite book of the year. I liked it so much I cold-emailed the author and invited him over for dinner, and we had a wonderful time with he & his wife and a bunch of friends. Fundamentally, the book is a history of the world told from the point of view of Islam; the point he makes, quite compellingly, was that there are really two (and probably more) different histories of the world, with the same facts, that just depend on your narrative. This is starting to play on a lot of things I’ve been trying to understand recently, including Ben Hunt’s Epsilon Theory and specifically, his idea of the Narrative Machine, and all of the theory of Common Knowledge that includes. And he does all this with an easy-to-read but well-researched writing style. If you like this one, I’m still working my way through his next one, The Invention of Yesterday, and so far so good.

A ruler can never trust a popular man with soldiers of his own. One day, Mansur invited Abu Muslim to come visit him and share a hearty meal. What happened next illustrates the maxim that when an Abbasid ruler invites you to dinner, you should arrange to be busy that night.

On the Sunni side, four slightly different versions of this code took shape, and the Shi’i developed yet another one of their own, similar to the Sunni ones in spirit and equally vast in scope. These various codes differ in details, but I doubt that one Muslim in a thousand can name even five such details.

Let me emphasize that the ulama were not (and are not) appointed by anyone. Islam has no pope and no official clerical apparatus. How, then, did someone get to be a member of the ulama? By gaining the respect of people who were already established ulama. It was a gradual process. There was no license, no certificate, no “shingle” to hang up to prove that one was an alim. The ulama were (and are) a self-selecting, self-regulating class, bound entirely by the river of established doctrine. No single alim could modify this current or change its course. It was too old, too powerful, too established, and besides, no one could become a member of the ulama until he had absorbed the doctrine so thoroughly that it had become a part of him. By the time a person acquired the status to question the doctrine, he would have no inclination to do so. Incorrigible dissenters who simply would not stop questioning the doctrine probably wouldn’t make it through the process.

If a man commits a grave sin, is he a non-Muslim, or is he (just) a bad Muslim? The question might seem like a semantic game, except that in the Muslim world, as a point of law, the religious scholars divided the world between the community and the nonbelievers. One set of rules applied among believers, another set for interactions between believers and nonbelievers. It was important, therefore, to know if any particular person was in the community or outside it.

Range, by David Epstein. Thomas Layton recommended this to me (he was reading a derivative work on how to coach basketball while applying this theory), and it was fun. The fundamental thesis is that you can split environments into “nice” and “wicked” learning environments. In nice environments, feedback is quick and accurate, and rewards specialization early (eg golf ... you can practice every possible shot by yourself). In wicked environments, feedback is delayed (if available at all), and the rules — let alone the situation — are fluid. This rewards “range”, or a variety of experiences (Epstein uses tennis as an example, but much of life is even more obvious). The return of the Renaissance Man (or Woman) — yay!

When I began to write about these studies, I was met with thoughtful criticism, but also denial. “Maybe in some other sport,” fans often said, “but that’s not true of our sport.” The community of the world’s most popular sport, soccer, was the loudest. And then, as if on cue, in late 2014 a team of German scientists published a study showing that members of their national team, which had just won the World Cup, were typically late specializers who didn’t play more organized soccer than amateur-league players until age twenty-two or later.

A recent study found that cardiac patients were actually less likely to die if they were admitted during a national cardiology meeting, when thousands of cardiologists were away; the researchers suggested it could be because common treatments of dubious effect were less likely to be performed.

Whether or not experience inevitably led to expertise, they agreed, depended entirely on the domain in question. Narrow experience made for better chess and poker players and firefighters, but not for better predictors of financial or political trends, or of how employees or patients would perform. The domains Klein studied, in which instinctive pattern recognition worked powerfully, are what psychologist Robin Hogarth termed “kind” learning environments. Patterns repeat over and over, and feedback is extremely accurate and usually very rapid.

...

In wicked domains, the rules of the game are often unclear or incomplete, there may or may not be repetitive patterns and they may not be obvious, and feedback is often delayed, inaccurate, or both.

When younger students bring home problems that force them to make connections, Richland told me, “parents are like, ‘Lemme show you, there’s a faster, easier way.’” If the teacher didn’t already turn the work into using-procedures practice, well-meaning parents will. They aren’t comfortable with bewildered kids, and they want understanding to come quickly and easily. But for learning that is both durable (it sticks) and flexible (it can be applied broadly), fast and easy is precisely the problem.

Programs like Head Start did give a head start, but academically that was about it. The researchers found a pervasive “fadeout” effect, where a temporary academic advantage quickly diminished and often completely vanished. On a graph, it looks eerily like the kind that show future elite athletes catching up to their peers who got a head start in deliberate practice.

Hilariously, predictors were willing to pay an average of $129 a ticket for a show ten years away by their current favorite band, while reflectors would only pay $80 to see a show today by their favorite band from ten years ago.

In the spring of 2001, Bingham collected twenty-one problems that had stymied Eli Lilly scientists and asked a top executive if he could post them on a website for anyone to see. The executive would only consider it if the consulting firm McKinsey thought it was a good idea. “McKinsey’s opinion,” Bingham recalled, “was, ‘Who knows? Why don’t you launch it and tell us the answer.’”

There was also a “perverse inverse relationship” between fame and accuracy. The more likely an expert was to have his or her predictions featured on op-ed pages and television, the more likely they were always wrong. Or, not always wrong. Rather, as Tetlock and his coauthor succinctly put it in their book Superforecasting, “roughly as accurate as a dart-throwing chimpanzee.”

Deep Work by Cal Newport - this was an easy listen while on a couple of long runs in Palm Springs during Indian Wells weekend, and definitely worth it. Like classics such as How to Win Friends And Influence People, there’s not a lot fundamentally groundbreaking here, but he articulates some really fundamental principles well enough that you stop and take notice and ask, “I know that ... why am I not doing that?” Now I just need to review my notes...

Age of Ambition, Chasing Fortune in China - Evan Osnos. I think Scott Cannon originally recommended this book to me, and it was fascinating. It’s a bit of a long, slow read but a lot of insight into China’s evolution over the last few decades. I’m not sure what I’ll do with this knowledge (or the many other China books I’ve read recently) but it feels important for the coming decades. If only I could learn Mandarin like Matt MacInnis 

Every country has corruption, but China’s was approaching a level of its own. For those at the top, the scale of temptation had reached a level unlike anything ever encountered in the West. It was not always easy to say which Bare-Handed Fortunes were legitimate and which were not, but political office was a reliable pathway to wealth on a scale of its own. By 2012 the richest seventy members of China’s national legislature had a net worth of almost ninety billion dollars—more than ten times the combined net worth of the entire U.S. Congress.

But unlike Zaire, China punished many people for it; in a five-year stretch, China punished 668,000 Party members for bribery, graft, and embezzlement; it handed down 350 death sentences for corruption, and Wedeman concluded, “At a very basic level, it appears to have prevented corruption from spiraling out of control.”

The Central Propaganda Department let it be known that reports that suggested a shortage of happiness were not to receive attention. In April 2012 my phone buzzed: All websites are not to repost the news headlined, “UN Releases World Happiness Report, and China Ranks No. 112.”

Over the years, the risk of being blamed for helping someone was a scenario that appeared over and over in the headlines. In November 2006 an elderly woman in Nanjing fell at a bus stop, and a young man named Peng Yu stopped to help her get to the hospital. In recovery, she accused Peng of causing her fall, and a local judge agreed, ordering him to pay more than seven thousand dollars—a judgment based not on evidence, but on what the verdict called “logical thinking”: that Peng would never have helped if he hadn’t been motivated by guilt.

At one point, Chinese programmers were barred from updating a popular software system called Node.js because the version number, 0.6.4, corresponded with June 4, the date of the Tiananmen Square crackdown.

he vowed to punish not only low-ranking “flies” but also powerful “tigers.” He called on his comrades to be “diligent and thrifty,” and when Xi took his first official trip, state television reported that he checked into a “normal suite” and dined not at a banquet, but at a buffet—a revelation so radical in Chinese political culture that the word buffet took on metaphysical significance. The state news service ran a banner headline: XI JINPING VISITS POOR FAMILIES IN HEBEI: DINNER IS JUST FOUR DISHES AND ONE SOUP, NO ALCOHOL.

...

It didn’t take long for the abrupt drop-off in gluttony to affect the economy: sales of shark fin (de rigueur for banquets) sank more than 70 percent; casinos in Macau recorded a drop in VIPs, and Swiss watch exports dropped by a quarter from the year before. Luxury goods makers mourned.

Economists point to a historic correlation between “world’s tallest” debuts and economic slowdowns. There is no cause and effect, but such projects are a sign of easy credit, excessive optimism, and inflated land prices—a pattern that dates to the world’s first skyscraper, the Equitable Life Building. Built in New York at the height of the Gilded Age, it was completed in 1873, the start of a five-year slump that became known as the Long Depression, and the pattern repeated in decades to follow. Skyscraper magazine, a Shanghai publication that treated tall buildings like celebrities, reported in 2012 that China would finish a new skyscraper every five days for the next three years; China was home to 40 percent of the skyscrapers under construction in the world.

Billion Dollar Whale by Tom Wright & Bradley Hope - Mike Vernal told me to drop most things to read this, and he wasn’t wrong. A well-written account of the 1MDB scandal that I’d only vaguely followed, and tries to put it into context when it basically can’t … something like $5.XB stolen over the course of a few years.

Heads in Beds by Jacob Tomsky & Kitchen Confidential by Anthony Bourdain - I put these two together, both recommended by Robert MacCloy, because they’re quick and fun. I listened to both on audio and they were both “mindless” but interesting…sort of the inside baseball of both the hospitality and restaurant industries. Don’t use a UV light...anywhere.

Smokejumpers by Jason Ramos - recommended by one of our fire captain neighbors at Oxbow and figured it would be good to understand a little more about wildland firefighting … this took me down a long digression of firefighting books that were interesting but if you want one, this one’s fun.

American icon by Bryce Hoffman - great audiobook that Scott Cannon recommended about Alan Mulaly’s turnaround of the Ford. The single most memorable part — after a couple of years working on turning the company around, a reporter asked him what his priorities for the next year were, and he responded with the same three things he’d said from the beginning. The reporter said something to the affect of “I can’t write about that again, it’s boring, you need something new!” And Mulaly responded “when we’ve got these three things done right, then we’ll have something new. We haven’t finished them yet."

Bad Blood by John Carreyrou - my wife raved about this book after she listened to it, and it was all the rage, so I did too…and it lived up to the hype! Fascinating but managed not to be a tabloid-y gossip-y tale of excess so much as a “yeah, each individual step was only a little over the line, and look where it lead them.” A surprisingly poignant reminder about how “fake it til you make it” in Silicon Valley can be idealized until it’s not. This is the next generation in a line started by Barbarians at the Gate and continued by Smartest Guys In The Room.

[shslshortie]

Okay I'm going to make a post because I can't deal with everything that got asked/shat out my way

I am sorry for this rant, but I am legit ready to leave tumblr again. Like I forgot why I hated it so much, but lord is this an unhealthy environment for so many reasons. Mainly, because of discourse/call out culture. And I'm obviously not talking about being "PC" or anything, but just being an all around mean spirited person if anyone says anything that either 1) doesn't agree with you/your views/your fandom, 2) if anything is even slightly false or not entirely fact-checked, or 3) goes against most popular opinions without writing an entire graduate-level thesis about why you believe your opinion/view/observation is valid. Like if you want to complain or voice an opinion about anything, or even joke about something that you think is funny, you could very likely almost immediately be called out or even be sent WAVES of hate that usually is completely undeserved. Especially since people are hiding behind a screen of anonymity or at least behind an online persona, they don't think about the person on the receiving end of it. They don't think how their mean spirited comments or backlash could effect them mentally, and they don't even stop to think what else could be going on in their lives. Yesterday, (was it yesterday? I think it was yesterday, but GOD was it a long fucking day if it was) I made some posts after recapping through the Rost. Cup after I watched each medalist's short and long, as well as all the US skaters, big names, and for the men and ladies, almost all 11 skaters honestly. I love figure skating, and NO, unlike a lot of people wrongfully assumed, am not a part of the "fandom" and did not get into it because of YOI. Was a passion reignited from like a barbeque level flame to a bonfire with YOI's help? Yes. But would it probably have gone to a similar level with the Olympic season going into full swing? Highly likely. But anyways, I made some posts because I wanted to voice some observations, complaints, and things I thought were funny because tumblr is the only place I ever really rant/voice theories/talk about a lot of my interests, since I don't have any irl friends who are interested in almost half of the things I am. So, tumblr is usually the place that I dump these feelings/thoughts. Sure, one of them was a little off-color, and posted without thinking, but after about an hour (and like 3-4 replies I think), I looked back on it, and realized it didn't need to be posted out there, even if I didn't mean it to be mean. Does this mean I owed every single person who "called me out" for being uninformed, or for being mean, or for being whatever the hell I am a reply? No. Did I know that some things were answered over Twitter, or weibo (sp?) or Reddit, or whatever other gd social media that I don't use? No. Does that man I am uniformed and spreading lies or whatever? I don't think so, and that doesn't make me a fucking villain. I also deleted it, because I realized I was wrong. End of story, part 1. But then, the figure skating fandom found some of my posts/commentary/rants. (god forbid they somehow find this and attack me ALL OVER AGAIN, except for y'all that were part of this whole issue. I hope y'all see this, because it's not like I blocked you. Except for one tumblr user who blocked me because of my post? Like you do you, except don't reblog my post and block me so I can't see what you said, presumably about how I am a terrible person). And apparently 1) if you insult/don't like/say Y***** H**** didn't do his best/were disappointed in him, or if you like the person who won over him more... Then you deserve to die. And 2) if you even make a post about YOI or other anime, you are a fake fan who knows nothing. And 3) even mirroring almost the exact words of sports (specifically figure skating) commentators in your posts means nothing? Like it OBVIOUSLY means that you are making up bullshit to hate on skaters that are popular and are misinformed, right??? Or if you say one thing that was similar to an APPARENTLY problematic broadcast group, that nothing (including any commentary from official other broadcasts, because GUESS WHAT: it's hard to find recordings of all of the programs and exhibitions with English commentary, and there are usually 3-4 networks that have it, and SO MANY people upload different ones to YouTube) else you say matters or has any merit. I haven't even read all of the hate mail and submissions I received from this debacle. My mental health can't take it. I literally woke up for school the next morning, saw my notifications and couldn't get myself to stop crying from the anger/upsetness/trauma/depressed thoughts that bubbled up with all of it, and I couldn't even get myself to go to class because I was so shaken. Like visibly, physically shaken, to the point where I couldn't think straight and I literally had tremors from how upset and unstable it made me feel. Tumblr should be a place where I can voice my opinion on something I am passionate about without all this hate. I literally have no other place. Right now, irl, I got dragged into drama (not mine, I swear, I was just a witness and got pulled into the mess) with my honor society, and the girl who started it all is trying to pit the entire organization against me. I can't post anything on my finsta, and God forbid I even tried to post anything in Facebook. (Not like I would). I am already in a very dark place mentally and emotionally because of the trauma this is putting me through, and how unwanted, useless and disgusting everybody is making me feel. I shouldn't be getting that from strangers who just decided to make my life even more miserable on top of it. Legitimately, out of the 30-40 comments/asks/replies/submissions I recieved, only one person even tried to realize where I was coming from or to educate me on what I had done wrong or missed in my analysis. But some of their wording just mirrored all the hate l had recieved, or even other things I had been told in real life that just made me cry even harder and I still can't bring myself to reply to even the person who was civil. My one big point to anyone who sees this is (besides don't be a dick/cyber bully/create and stir up unnecessary discourse) is don't assume that people don't know what they're talking about? Or don't assume that they are fake fans? And don't make people spell every letter of their opinion out for you in a 12 page thesis if it doesn't comply with the tumblr norm. Cuz here are some fun facts about me that I don't normally publicize / post about on tumblr: Yes, I am an anime fan, but Jesus Christ I love/am a huge fan of WAY more than I am in the fandom for. I am honestly only in like 4-5 anime fandoms. Same thing goes for other things I like, such as Harry Potter or marvel. I can like things, A LOT, and be passionate about them without being in the fandom. That doesn't mean I don't like it or I'm not knowledgable on the subject. That doesn't mean that I am an idiot for not knowing a fact/opinion/theory that has made its way around the fandom, that I'm not a part of. YES, I am a HUGE SPORTS FAN. It was legitimately also my fucking career (as a sports reporter/journalist/broadcaster). Do I post on tumblr about Baseball or Football or Hockey? Almost never. Does that make me any less of a fan, or does that make me any less knowledgeable about teams and rules? No. Does that mean that I didn't play/participate in almost every sport growing up? (baseball for 6 years, I still play Intermural football, tennis for 3 years, volleyball for 4, soccer for 1, swimming for like 5 years, I tried track, even karate and some other random stuff.) YES, I AM FUCKING KNOWLEDGABLE ABOUT PERFORMANCE SPORTS. I have participated/competed/trained/still watch almost every kind of performance sport. Of course color guard and marching band has been the longest, and the thing I was best at (7 years), but I grew up doing all kinds of dance and I still do lots of dance, as well as TONS of my own choreography. I've done baton and cheer for about 1-2 years each too. I did gymnastics for 4 years — was I very good? hell no. But do I know about it and appreciate it? Yes. SAME THING GOES FOR FIGURE SKATING. I only had like half a years worth of lessons, and like 3 routines that I ever finished and performed with figure skating, but that is because it is an expensive af sport, and I had way more activities and sports that I was better at, more passionate about learning, and were more accessible. BUT did I grow up going to figure skating shows like Disney on Ice or Stars on ice? Did that stop me from waiting in line for hours to get Michelle Kwan and other famous figure skaters autographs? No. Did that stop me from watching almost every single minute of the 2014 and 2010 Olympics? No. Do I still remember watching parts of the 2006 Olympics with my parents and absolutely being ENTHRALLED and wanting to do that too? YES. I still remember watching the 2014 Olympics from my aunt's house when I was staying on a cot in her living room because my mother was in the hospital and CRYING when I saw Y* H* perform, break world records, and win the gold. It was a sense of normalcy and awe because everything else going wrong in my life didn't matter while I was watching these amazing athletes perform. And GUESS WHAT, since I'm not really a part of the Figure Skating fandom (just like I'm not in the musical theatre fandom, or in anything regards to hair or makeup) I don't post about my own hype or plans regarding how excited I am for things to come out. So nobody here on tumblr, or almost ANYONE knew how excited I was for this upcoming Grand Prix season for the first actual competition of the Olympic season. I watched almost every challenger series video, as well as the autumn winter classic and competitions of the like. Even the JGPF events in anticipation. But guess what: I literally have a note on my phone that has all of Team USA's competition schedules, and their scores that they have gotten so far (like at the COR), along with a list of my favorite international skaters, and other new skaters to watch. I was so hype, so excited, and I thought that maybe, since figure skating had boomed in popularity, thanks in part to YOI (but also, helped people be more vocal and open about how much they love the sport even if ex already did) I would be able to discuss the excitement with other people. But no. Instead of being able to say "omg I'm so excited for blah blah blah, I hope they make the Olympic team. But I also love this show concept and this other persons costume, and you also can't count out blah blah blah" and being civil with conversation among other fans... They instead will say " wow you like blah blah blah? But you said this about them, and that offends me so you're wrong, and you forgot this tiny detail from 3 years ago, and you like anime so you OBVIOUSLY only care about figure skating because of YOI. Take your bandwagon fan bullshit away from me and go kill yourself". So now, I am staying the fuck away from the figure skating fandom, I've literally left half of my choreography untouched for almost 2-3 months, don't want to read/finish any of my YOI fanfics, and will probably even have a hard time watching Skate Can this weekend (even though like 6 of my favorite skaters are competing, and I was so excited before). Guess I'll just have to annoy my snapchat friends with videos of skating and me screaming because of skating. Fuck you tumblr, and I doubt I'll make any more original posts outside of APO planning and reblogs in the foreseeable future,

[faucetdouble51-blog]

72 Hours in Seattle

Hi, it’s Abby. My mom asked me to write an introduction for this post about our last-minute trip to Seattle a few weeks ago. I was invited to play in a soccer tournament there and this one was different than most because there was only one game a day, which means there was plenty of down time to explore a city. (That is how I convinced my mom to go.)  We flew out the morning after my last final and stayed with her college roommate, Jenn for three nights and three days. Mom already told you that the culinary highlight of our trip was eating a Dutch Baby with backyard raspberries in Jenn’s kitchen nook, but that doesn’t mean we didn’t pound some pavement in search of great food around town. Here, Mom and I take turns giving you a run-down of our packed 72 hours.

DAY 1: THURSDAY

1:00 [Jenny] I am forever in search of counter-service spots when I travel, especially for lunch, when you don’t want to spend an hour-plus lounging around while the sun shines on a brand new city that is calling for you. That’s why we dropped our bags at my friend Jenn’s house (in Ballard) at 12:45, then headed straight to The Fat Hen, a sweet, bright fast-casual spot that served avocado toasts, ricotta toasts, freshly squeezed juices, and good coffee. It killed us to forgo Frankie & Jo’s, the vegan ice cream shop sensation right across the street (they have multiple locations around the city) but we were saving room for dinner. FYI: Delancey — remember Delancey? — was right there, too. [Photo credit: Seattle Magazine]

2:30  [Abby] We walked from Fat Hen down 15th Street to Ballard Avenue, the main drag in Ballard, a neighborhood that reminded me of Brooklyn. There was a ton of stuff to do and a lot of fun shopping including a cool second-hand furniture store called Ballard Consignment, an aesthetically pleasing succulent store (I can’t remember the name, can someone help me?), and a trendy clothing place called Prism where my mom tried on a thousand dresses but ended up just buying my sister an iron-on patch for her jean jacket that said “Stay Wild Child.”

4:00 [Abby] We met up with my mom’s friend Jenn, who got out of work early for us, and headed to Golden Gardens Park for a walk. It was so beautiful! I got a virgin pina colada at Miri’s, a new cafe right on the beach. Also, even though everyone says Seattle weather is not so great, look at our sky! It was like that for most of the time we were there. (Here’s a tip to future travelers: Go there in late June, early July.)

5:30 [Jenny] I think the only reason why I agreed to take Abby to Seattle was so I could try to snag a table at The Walrus and the Carpenter, the original Renee Erickson French-style raw bar in Ballard that opened almost ten years ago and that I tried to get into during my last visit, only to be turned away by the long wait every time. This time I wasn’t messing around. At the very un-glamourous hour of 5:30, I dragged Abby, Jenn, and Jenn’s 15-year-old daughter Stella to dine on fried oysters and small plates in their bright happy space. FYI: Erickson has opened a bunch of other places in Capitol Hill, including a steakhouse Bateau, another oyster bar with the greatest electric mint color scheme (Bar Melusine), and stuffed doughnut mecca General Porpoise, which, for Abby, might’ve been more of a reason to go to Seattle than her soccer tournament. (More on that below.)

7:30 After dinner, we walked back up Ballard Avenue to get ice cream at Salt & Straw, the Portland-based makers who have won over legions of fans with their artisanal concoctions…think Fresh Sheep’s Cheese and Strawberries or Oregon Wasabi and Raspberry Sorbet. But the line was too long, and even though it was still early, we were on East Coast time, so we headed home to bed. (For those of you interested, here’s an interview with Salt & Straw founder Tyler Malek on the always awesome Bon Appetit’s Foodcast.)

DAY 2: FRIDAY

10:00 [Abby] I had a soccer game in Redmond (we won 4-0!) where the most exciting food moment of the morning was a pretzel that came with that fakey nacho cheese that is so delicious. We didn’t get to start exploring again until lunchtime and decided we wanted to spend the afternoon checking out Capitol Hill. First stop…

12:30…Rocket Taco for lunch, where we ate some of the best carnitas tacos I can remember.

1:45 It was Pride Month! We loved the rainbow crosswalks which made for especially good instagram posts. (That’s me with our friend Maylie. And this was at the intersection of East Pine and 10th Ave.)

2:30 [Abby] And of course, we had to hit Elliott Bay Books. My mom bought me a paperback copy of The Handmaid’s Tale — I’ve been watching the TV show and it’s very disturbing, but she said I’d like the book. (She wants me to tell you that for school I also had to read Hiroshima and Take the Cannoli)

3:01 [Abby] Then the funniest thing happened. I had been looking forward to going to the iconic General Porpoise Doughnuts from the moment we booked our flights — we practically planned our entire Capitol Hill outing around it — but when we got there at 3:01, we tried to open the door and it was locked. It closed at 3:00! For about ten seconds we were all super disappointed but then, out of nowhere, an employee walks outside and asked “Does anyone want a dozen free doughnuts?” I guess they like everything to be fresh, so at the end of the day, they give away what hasn’t sold instead of selling them the next day. That might’ve been the highlight of the trip. And those doughnuts were some of the best I’ve ever had– the vanilla stuffed ones especially!!

4:00 [Jenny] We hadn’t planned on it, but we decided to hit Pike Place Market (because: of course!) on our way home to Ballard from Capitol Hill. We bought fruit and a lovely flower arrangement for our lovely hosts, but for the most part we just walked up and down the long hallways and gaped at the offerings. Maybe the most amazing part was that I got a parking spot on Pike Place right in the middle of everything (across from the flagship Starbucks.) I kept looking at the spot and looking at the sign saying This is too good to be true (once a New Yorker always a New Yorker, I guess) but it was actually true. Over a month later, I’m still on a high from it.

6:30 [Jenny] I know this is hard to believe, but we still had more to eat. I’ve written about this before, but the way Abby and I go about planning where we want to eat in a new city is completely different. I go to tried-and-true sources like Bon Appetit City Guides or Eater’s Heat Maps. She goes right to instagram, searches by locations, then studies the grid until a particularly inspiring pastry or bowl of ramen shows up. That is how she landed on Fremont Bowl where we went with Jenn’s family. Abby’s review: “Crazy good Japanese bowls, with fish, chicken teriyaki, and so much more. I’m not really a tofu fan, but according to my mom she had the best tofu she’d ever had in her life at this place. Fremont’s a fun area to walk around, too.” She’s totally right, the fried house-made tofu that our friend Maylie ordered was off-the-hook delicious. I was psyched because right next door was Book Larder, a store that specializes in cookbooks and community culinary events, but sadly they were closed for a private event. I guess that’s as good an excuse as any to return to Seattle in the very near future.

DAY 3: SATURDAY 9:00 [Abby] Mom, Jenn, and Jenn’s husband, Ben went for an early run around Green Lake Park (about a 3-mile loop she says) then we all gorged on Jenn’s now legendary Dutch Babies and plotted the day. Ben pointed us in the direction of the giant Asian Market Uwajimaya which was awesome (Oh, before that, Mom stopped for another cup of coffee at Anchored Ship in Ballard) but we ended up eating around the corner at at Dough Zone due to some intense soup dumpling cravings, aka the best food in the world.  It’s a good thing my next soccer game wasn’t until 4:00 that afternoon. We pretty much rolled out of there. Those dumplings were amazing.

6:00 [Abby] After my soccer game (lost 2-1) we drove to Mulkiteo and caught a ferry to Whidbey Island, about 25 miles north of Seattle across the Puget Sound, where Jenn and Ben have the sweetest cabin. The ferry was only about 25 minutes, but involved spectacular views of islands and huge mountains in the distance.

7:30 We only had about 12 hours to hang on Whidbey, but we got a good taste of it, snacking on their porch (above), chilling out by the campfire for an epic sunset; Ben grilled some local salmon and hot dogs for dinner. The house only had two bedrooms so my mom and I got to sleep in a tent listening to the crackling campfire. 

. Side Note [Jenny] Those of you who follow me on instagram might remember this photo. Jenn and Ben were torturing themselves trying to decide what color to paint the cabin — they were going for a dark Scandinavian cottage look — so I conducted an insta poll asking which combo you all liked. Most of you were in favor of the navy/white palette, the third one down. Last week, she sent me this pic:

How beautiful is that?!?!?! They went with Sherwin Williams Inkwell for the house and Benjamin Moore Oxford White for the trim.

DAY 4 SUNDAY

8:30 [Abby] We had an early afternoon plane to catch, so didn’t have a ton of time to explore, but we did manage to squeeze in a walk on the beach and a quick trip to Langley, where we ate eggs and cinnamon rolls at Useless Bay Coffee, then took a walk to a dramatic sandbar called Seawall Park. The town was so charming! From there was a convenient shuttle from Whidbey to the Seattle Airport, and we were on our way home.

Boy you fed us well, Seattle. We miss you so much!

Related: 36 Hours in Austin; 36 Hours in Portland, Maine; 48 Hours in Montreal.

Source: http://www.dinneralovestory.com/72-hours-in-seattle/

[benjikarofsky]

Just the Three of Us || Para

WHO: Benji Karofsky (@benjikarofsky), Franco Del Rio (@southsidefranco), and Topher Pierce (@topherxpierce​).

WHERE: Benji’s apartment

WHEN: 8th June 2019 (backdated)

NOTES: In need of a way to finally cope with all the tragedies that had been bestowed on him in the last couple of weeks, Benji decides to recover in the best way he knows: getting wine drunk with his fiancé and his boyfriend. However, in true Tophjico fashion, a few drinking games quickly dissolves into something more dramatic.

TRIGGERS: Polygamous themes

BOLD: Benji

ITALIC: Topher

NORMAL: Franco

WORD COUNT: 8692

Benji came back into the house, a few bottles of wine in a reusable grocery bag. He had really been trying to pick more creative ways of dealing with this giant tragedy that had been bestowed upon him, but after his fight with Kurt and his argument with Marley added more fuel to the fire, he had run out of other ways to cope. He needed to get a little drunk. And he needed to do it with the two people he loved. 

 “Guys? I’m back from the store,” he called, sitting down on the sofa slowly in an attempt not to hurt his bruised stomach further. “Can someone grab cups and someone else pick a show?”

"I call picking a show!" Topher answered from his room as he finished writing up a short story and made way for the living room. "I know you specified shit TV in the text, but does Brooklyn Nine-Nine sound alright? If not, then I imagine that we can find some ridiculous reality show to make fun of or just have as background noise. Whatever we want to call it," he rattled off once he'd gotten close to the coffee table and picked up the remote. 

 The former Serpent took a seat in his favorite chair and allowed himself a few moments to completely relax. Hopefully, things would go well or as well as they could go with everything considered. "All in favor of Brooklyn Nine-Nine, say aye. Those opposed, say nay and list the show of your choice."

Franco had been sitting in his bedroom thinking about the last few days. In a perfect world, the three of them could live in harmony. In his perfect world, he would have used the heroin hidden in one of his drawers and gone and pretended it was OK but that's not how this was going to work and he knew it. 

He sighed as he was called, grabbed the beer he'd been drinking, and walked to the lounge, "Brooklyn 99 is fine" he said, taking a seat in an armchair and swinging his legs over the side, "I'll watch whatever. I'm mainly here for the drinks anyway" he said, a little bit quieter then normal. This was the first time he'd be spending a night in with whatever this relationship was, and he was concerned.

"Aye," Benji responded, "I know you're the odd man out, Toph, so B99 definitely works for me." He got one bottle of wine out of the bag and set it on the coffee table, then got up to grab cups and a wine opener. "Franc, since you didn't pick a show, cups were technically your job, Baby," he teased as he sat back down, his mind a bit too preoccupied to notice how his fiancé was feeling. 

He poured himself a glass of wine, then poured one for Franco as well. He downed his glass and started to refill it as he turned to his best friend. "Toph, you sure you don't want any? I definitely bought enough."

"Thank you both," Topher simply responded as he got the show started up. His gaze flicked between Benji and Franco for a few moments as uneasiness settled in once more. Sure, he'd been in relationships before, but those had been in attempts to play straight. Plus, he may have been on board with the idea from the get go, yet that did nothing to eliminate the feeling that he was on uncharted territory. So, the 18 year old let his attention drift to the TV and Brooklyn 99. 

Then Benji's voice brought him right back and he gave a light wave of dismissal. "Thank you very much Ben, but I'm fine. Besides, I'd rather not discover what effect wine has on me. If beer turns me into a flirty drunk, who knows what the hell wine will do?"

Franco took the glass of wine of the table and drank it in two quick gulps, bringing the glass back down and pushing it over to Benji, "Then  drink beer" he said, raising an eyebrow at Topher, "Being sober is going to get boring real quick" he said. He fidgeted with his hands and stared at the television, "Maybe if we call play a drinking game or something, get to know each other better?"

"You can do whatever you want, Toph. Don't feel pressured," Benji stressed, refilling Franco's glass and sliding back over to him. He downed one more glass himself, refilled it, then leaned back, content that that was enough for him to get a buzz. With two glasses down, he was ready to take smaller sips throughout the night just to keep himself tipsy--he had already promised Topher that he wouldn't get too sloppy. "Drinking game sounds fun, what do you say, Toph? You can drink water or soda or something but still play?"

"Yeah, let me get a Pepsi and we can get the fun started," Topher answered as he stood up in order to head for the kitchen. On one hand, maybe Franco had a point about how being sober would end up boring? On the other, he had more than enough combined first and second hand experience with drinking to immediately put him off of it. "Maybe later in the night, I don't know," he remarked over his shoulder as he grabbed a bottle of Pepsi from the fridge then opened it as he headed back for the living room. "But what drinking game shall we be playing tonight, gents? There's a whole wide world of them."

Franco laughed and shook his head, "Well, I'm not going to get to know you playing Ring of Fire am I?" he said. His mood was confusing for even him but he knew he had to bite his tongue and try this, "Never have I ever.... We get to find out some real interesting things about each other".

Benji fake gagged at the word 'Pepsi'. "You're lucky I love you, otherwise I wouldn't even let you keep that in the house, Toph," he said casually, stretching out on the sofa since everyone else had opted for chairs. At the mention of 'Never Have I Ever', he clapped his hands. "Hell yeah! If you've done it, one sip. If you're the only one who's done it, three sips. That's how we play on campus." He paused to think, then continued, "I'll go first: Never Have I Ever kissed a girl."

Topher jokingly flipped Benji off as he fired back, "You and I both know I don't have the fanciest palate around. But you're right, I'm so damn lucky to have your love in my life." Then when the question hit his ears, he opened the Pepsi and took a sip of it. "Real quick disclaimer, it was back in high school and I was trying to play straight back then."

Franco rolled his eyes and took a sip of his wine, "Of course I have kissed a girl.... Not the first party I've been at guys" he said looking to the floor and clearing his throat, "Never have I ever had sex with a girl" and he smiled, he'd been close with an old friend  but it just never happened.

Benji laughed, giving a small smile. "Platinum Star Gay, thank you. Not even close." He set his cup down on the table, then turned to Toph, both to see his reaction and to hear what his first 'Never Have I Ever' would be.

"Yeah, no." Topher tapped the armrest of his chair as he considered his question for a few moments then a Cheshire Cat grin crossed his features. "Never have I ever given a stranger a fake phone number," and with that, he took a sip of Pepsi.

Franco watched Topher drink and raised an eyebrow, "Better not have been me" he warned, a half joke to his tone before he drunk his own drink and nodded, "Some girls can be crazy".

Benji took a large gulp of his drink, then laughed. "That one I've definitely done a million times. The joys of being the 'type' of every creepy gay from here to Greendale." He took another sip for good measure, then gave his next prompt. "Never Have I Ever played a sport. A traditional one, I guess. Dance, Krav, and Free-Running aren't like... sports your whole team goes to championships for. Well, you kinda do for dance. But it's different." He could tell by the rambling that he was already getting tipsy. Maybe two cups to start was a little too much. ...Had he eaten today?

"I don't recall giving you a fake phone number. But I've definitely given one to around five girls and three guys," Topher addressed Franco then gave his Pepsi another sip when Benji's question got his attention. "Soccer and ice hockey. Dance too. Band if you count that," he rattled off then took a moment to set his Pepsi down and lightly stretch. He didn't want to fall asleep too soon and bring the night to an early end, plus he just generally wanted to move around a bit.

Franco drank his drink and nodded, "Boxing. Always has been. Used to box all the time" he explained. He thought for a moment about his next one, so many good ones bringing back memories he'd rather forget, "Never have I ever smoked weed" he asked, downing the rest of his drink and watching the other two.

Benji hesitated, but then took a gulp of wine, already a little too tipsy to better pace himself. "I've never smoked weed, but I've definitely... y'know, partook," he started to laugh at himself and his odd wording, then took a sip again, not remembering if he already had. "But only once. And never again."

Topher gave a light chuckle as he shook his head. "Never have and never will," he answered then gave his next question a few moments of consideration. "Okay, here's a zinger. Never have I ever snuck into a party. Just for the sake of it, school dances from back in the day also count."

Franco raised an eyebrow, "You really think that's a zinger? Sneaking into a party?" he asked. If they thought that was a zinger, then they were very wrong, "I don't even need to drink cause I never needed to sneak anywhere".

Benji gave a confused look as well. "I mean, I've definitely needed to sneak places, but a party? Like, you weren't invited but came anyway type thing? I've never actually wanted to go to parties in high school. Being one of the only Southsiders going to Riverdale High... those guys were dicks." He waved off the thoughts of high school and leaned back as he thought of another question. "...Never have I ever gotten a lap dance?"

"What can I say? Don't really get out much and I don't mind forking over money for a ticket or as an entry fee," the former Serpent fired back as he gave a shrug then shook his head once again. "Again, I don't really get out much and have never had that sort of opportunity pop up, if that makes any sense whatso-fucking-ever. C'est la vie, guys, c'est la vie."

Franco smirked and bit his lip, drinking a large amount of his drink and looking back up, "I would have done you all the favour of lying about it but you know, Benji would have known if I was" he said. He couldn't believe he'd said it and he dipped his head, not wanting to the looks on the boys faces as they cottoned on to what he said. He thought about his question, "Never have I ever, had sex in a car" he asked, before drinking more drink

"Baby, shut up!" Benji replied quickly, lightly swatting at Franco. "It was one time. I had just come back from a party and I was a little tipsy. ...For someone who hates being in charge, you sure liked it. That's all I have to say," he added, taking a sip of his wine before he realized what he had let loose. "Errr, I meant--...I'm kinda drunk already," he slurred.

"And that is my cue to leave," Topher remarked in a semi-joking tone as he pushed himself out of his chair once again. "By the way, not actually walking out of the house. Just going to the kitchen because I'm hungry." Not a complete lie, he'd been feeling rather peckish for the last few minutes. "Never have I ever lied about myself in order to get a date," he called then took a drink. Again, trying to play straight during high school.

Franco laughed and bit his lip, "Hey, you were asking for it" he said once Topher was out the room, "I only insinuated what happened, you went for it big style". He heard the question called back and took a drink, "I lied to you by saying I wanted to wind up".

Benji laughed harder--if he wasn't already laying down on the sofa, he probably would've fallen over--"I didn't mean to! I'm drunk! You know how ramble-y I get when I'm drunk." When Franco spoke again, he shrugged. "That's barely a lie. You came clean as soon as I tried to go on a Tinder date with someone else. ...Doesn't matter anyway, the stupid app kept deleting itself from my phone. Glitchy piece of crap," he murmured, sipping his wine.

As Topher walked back into the living room with a container that held some of his grandma's chocolate chip mini muffins, the Tinder comment caught him off guard and he had to stifle some chuckles. He'd forgotten all about his multiple covert operations of deleting the app in question from Benji's phone. "But hey, do you guys want to take a tiny break to snack or do you want to keep the game going?"

Franco shrugged his shoulders, "I'm not all that hungry if I'm honest" he admitted, his appetite had been lacking recently, "I think I'll just drink and watch some TV". He still hadn't felt comfortable, the game not really relaxing him at all.

"Muffins!" Benji shouted, sitting up from the couch to grab a handful out the tin. He started to eat them, far too gone to notice any of the tension in the room. Still chewing, he leaned back onto the sofa, a smile plastered on his face. "We can just talk if you want!" He grinned, "I love you guys... you both drive me wild. I'm glad we're trying this whole thing out, but if it doesn't work, just tell me, okay? I don't want anyone unhappy."

Topher gave another light laugh as he sat back down in his chair and answered, "Love you too Ben. I think we're off to an alright start so far, but I'll keep you posted if anything changes. Don't want either of you to be unhappy either." As he took a few moments to eat a muffin, then a second one, his thought process started to drift. 

"But I do believe that I promised you guys some apologies and the first one is sorry that I couldn't have picked a better time. But I do want to make a blanket one from the bottom of my heart. I'm incredibly sorry for my past dickish behavior. I wish I could explain away what happened, but the truth is I honestly don't know and you guys might have differing opinions for why I did it. All the same though, I do mean what I'm saying right here and right now. I want the best for you both and even though I'm far from it, I'll do my best to bring something to the table with this whole poly deal."

Franco tried to ignore the 'I love yous' from the other boys but he had to take a deep breath as he did, "I said I would try didn't I? Give me a chance to try" he said, a grumpy tone to his voice. Franco scoffed at the apology, "Pretty sure the thing you were meant to apologise for was punching me in the face? You know, when you gave me a bloody nose". 

He paused before adding, "You want to know something Topher, it isn't easy being with me. I'm an ex addict, I get mood swings and cravings and I can be nasty when I do. I have night terrors from the time I was kidnapped, which you know all too well about cause you were there when it all went down... You can't react by punching me in the face every time".

Topher rubbed the back of his neck as he listened to Franco then took a deep breath as he started to choose his words very carefully. "And I'm sorry for that, I'll forever be sorry for that. We're all learning here in different ways and at different paces. But I'm more than willing to put in the work to help us all come together. I'm more than willing to have your back, continue setting aside past differences, and adjusting to the present." 

"I'm a real rat bastard when I want to be, that punch was more than enough proof of that. I can't turn it off completely, but it can be focused elsewhere so I can work on making things better between us. I do want to make things right, starting here and now. So you have my word that I'll learn better ways to handle things and once again, I'm sorry for punching you."

Benji was still drunkenly eating the last of his muffins during Franco outburst, but by the time Topher had responded, he had finally finished, swallowed, and started to sit up so he could look both of his roommates in the eye. "This is good," he said, trying his best to be a mediator, but the slur in his voice made it difficult. 

"If we wanna move forward, we need to air all of this out. It's the only way we can discuss ways to address everything that's happened, grow from it, and make sure not to do it again. ...Does anyone wanna air anything out about me? We're not gonna move on together until it's all out in the open, y'know."

Franco scoffed, "No, I don't have anything to say about you babe, cause you are the one who's dealt with my shit for too long now". He turned his focus back to Topher, "You knew what I'd been through Toph, you knew the hell I endured when I went missing. You know I've never fully recovered. Physically I'm fine but mentally, I'm fucked. Punching me in the face, cause I was freaking out... Not cool dude. You know the nightmares I had over that shit?". He paused and pushed himself upwards, "I can't do this right now" he said, tears filling his eyes, "I need a cigarette and five minutes to myself" and he headed to the front door.

"I also don't have anything bad to say about you Ben," Topher responded in his usual calm tone then managed to nod in understanding way as he listened once again. A few thousand more reassurances loaded themselves on the tip of his tongue, but he could barely muster up the courage. Finally though, in a low tone, he added, "Again, I'm willing to learn from my mistakes so I can handle things better down the road. It won't happen again." "And you can hold me to that. Both of you," he remarked as he pulled his sweatshirt hood up over his face.

Benji frowned--he wasn't expecting their first interaction as a trio to end up like this--especially with him too drunk to properly mediate. However, what's done was done now. At this point, the best thing the three of them could do was recover from this bump as smoothly as they could manage--in Ben's mind, they was they moved from this moment would be a great indicator of whether they were all wasting their time trying to get this relationship to work. 

 "Okay, Baby. Take a quick smoke break. We'll be here to talk more when you get back. Don't take too long," he said softly, turning to face Topher. "Don't cover your face," Benji reprimanded lightly. He already had a plan on how to try to give Topher a crash course on how to deal with Franco when he gets like this.

"Why shouldn't I?" Topher simply inquired, yet he pulled the hood down just a hint all the same. He was torn between remorse for past actions and annoyance that apparently, he couldn't do anything right. "I'm in territory that I shouldn't be in," he muttered under his breath as his blue eyed gaze trained itself on Brooklyn 99 once more. His mental gears were already turning and it was taking all of his resolve to take off for his room like a little kid.

Benji sighed, sitting up so he could look in Topher's eyes as well as possible given how off-balance all the drinking had made him. "Listen... Franc is a really tough egg to crack, but once you do, he's just the sweetest little cuddlebug you've ever met with just the perfect amount of sass mixed in," he waved off that comment--he was getting off topic. "He's been through a lot. Parts of it I know, parts of it I'm still finding out. And it makes him act out and hold grudges. But you've also caught him at a weird time because he's just started therapy a few weeks ago, so he's learning how to use different coping things, just not in the... 'most ideal' order. Like what just happened. A month ago, he would've never spoken so clearly about what was upsetting him. Before, he'd either just shut down or purposely try to rile you up. So it looks and feels harsh to you, but it's actually a good thing. And I promise that if he didn't want to actually give this relationship the try it deserves, he wouldn't've addressed what was making him angry so eloquently. I've only ever seen him do that with me as of now, so keep that in mind. You're not nearly as far in the shit as you think you are." 

He leaned back as he continued, "Secondly, Franc keeps grudges. For what feels like forever. And when he reverts back, he brings them up. You saw it with the handcuff thing that got you into your mess. It's how he copes. Is it the most ideal thing in the world? Of course not, but everyone has flaws. The best thing you can do is be aware that he does that and if/when it happens, instead of getting upset, just remind him that you've already apologized and that what he's doing isn't fair. Eventually it'll work. And lastly, the best thing you can do for Franc is to just be there as much as possible and constantly remind him that you're there for him.Acknowledging that you wanna improve and learn from your mistakes is nice, but that's more my Love Language than it is Franc's. Franc wants attention, Franc wants affection, and Franc wants to know that people aren't going to leave him. He's... kinda like a kid that way--" he shrugged. He felt bad using the comparison, but with as drunk as he was, he couldn't formulate a better one--"In fact, sometimes I swear he brings things up and picks fights like that because they're subconscious tests he does to make sure we're not gonna decide he's too much and leave him one day. ...Or maybe not. I'm about 3/4ths through a bottle of wine at this point, so who fucking knows." 

He sighed, then stared down at the cup in his hand for a second. He probably shouldn't drink the rest of that, right? He shrugged, gulped it down, then continued: "My main point is this: shower him with love and affection whenever you can. Start with verbal until he's ready for something deeper, then know that the first time you cuddle him, he's never gonna want you to let him go. Do that, work through the hiccups and the tests as calmly as you can, and you'll be surprised at how much love he gives you back once he's ready to. He's my little muscle lovebug. I wouldn't change one thing about him."

Topher nodded along as he listened to what Benji said and did his best to save those mental notes about Franco for later. After all, this was a learning experience, like he'd said. The former Serpent was all about learning new things, absorbing information and always trying to get it from all sides of the story when the moment called for it. But at the same time, his fucked up self esteem just had to crawl out from the back of his mind and twist everything around. 

That Franco and Benji were better off without him among many other similar, colorful remarks. Instead, he just took another deep breath then pulled his hood back up again as he responded, "Thank you for the info. I'll be sure to keep it in mind for the future. Don't know if I've said this before, but if I have then fuck it, I'm going to repeat myself. You are one of the sweetest people I know, Benji Karofsky, and I hope you never lose that quality because it's something that I will always love about you."

"I love you too," Benji whispered, leaning in and cupping Topher's cheek, pulling him into a kiss.

Topher returned the kiss and for a just a few moments, allowed his mind to drift to much better things.

After a few moments, Benji pulled back, looking lovingly into Topher's eyes. "I can't believe I actually get the best of both worlds. I've got to be one of the luckiest guys alive," he whispered, giving Topher another soft kiss.

"I do declare that we both some of the luckiest guys alive," Topher answered before he gave a soft kiss of his own. "Don't know what I'd do without you and all that related, sappier than maple syrup business."

Benji playfully rolled his eyes. "You're so cheesy. But I love it." He kept his hand cupped around Topher's cheek for a second or two longer, then let his hand finally fall, laying back down on the sofa. "I think this relationship is gonna be great once it really starts going. I can just feel it."

Topher plopped back in his chair and gave a light smile of gratitude. "Love you too and I couldn't agree more. I do have a touch more hope for the near future than I did at the start of the night, I'll be the first to admit that. Fingers crossed that once things are on the fast track to getting better, great things will start happening."

Franco had sat on the steps outside, smoked 3 ciggerettes to calm himself. His hands were a little shaky but he knew it was his bodies way of coping with things. He didn't know how to be a little adult about this? How do you watch someone you love, love someone else. 

 He re entered the apartment and gulped, "Look. I ain't saying that I'm gunna jump into this and throw myself into a heap of upset and hurt, cause that's just not me. I want to make this work. I can't change who or what I am or what happened to me in the past and I can't help how I cope with that shit either". He turned to Topher and walked towards him, "You gotta understand, you saw me after what happened. You came to the hospital when I was laying there with broken bones and didn't look a thing like I do today. You watched me recover and then watched me fall to pieces, so you gotta give me time yeah? My life seem to give up" he said with a pause, addressing both men in the room, "First I'm kidnapped and left for dead, then I'm saving Dares life when I was still injured, then I'm a junkie who has to go through withdrawal and now this... it's a lot to take in a few months. So give me time yeah". 

 But it didn't matter, his speech didn't stop his body reacting and within seconds, he was at Tophers side, smashing there lips together.

Topher had started to formulate a response after a new round of attention-confirming nodding, but the kiss from Franco totally caught him off guard. It was fine though, more than fine because he'd honestly run out of things to say without repeating himself. Plus, this was part of the whole poly thing that they were trying out. Twice the amount of kisses, twice the amount of just about everything. Although the latter part was just a theory that remained to be confirmed or denied. Everything aside though, he returned the kiss.

"Wooo!" Benji shouted, giving the boys a round of applause. Obviously his alcohol consumption had made his reaction more comedic than normal, but this didn't change the fact that this happening was exciting for me. At the end of the day, he wanted the three of them to be together and happy; this was a great start, albeit a little out of nowhere.

Franco pulled away from the kiss and nodded, feeling pretty damn proud he'd tried. He stepped backwards and took a deep breath, "I told you I would try" he said to Benji, "And I'm trying to be a man of my word babe".

"And like I said, I'm more than willing to do my part as well. After all, team work makes the dream work," Topher chimed in. He held a hand out to Franco then the other was offered to Benji as he added, "I've got both of your backs, no matter what."

"Alright. You guys are having too much fun without me. I'm coming in," Benji teased, taking Topher's hand and pulling himself into the middle of Topher and Franco, wrapping his arms around both of them and pulling them into a close circle. He gave them each a dramatic kiss on the cheek, smiling brightly.

Franco took Tophers hand, and then turned to kiss Benji as he joined them, "It's the closet thing your gunna get right now to working on it" he said, "You might wanna warn him about me though babe".

"Don't worry," Topher started then trailed off in order to return Benji's kiss. "And you both should know that no warnings will stop me and whatever lessons there are to be learned, I'll take them into account."

"It's gonna be a bumpy ride, but we'll work through it." Benji said with a smile, still holding them both close. "I love you, Franc. I love you, Toph."

Franco stiffened slightly when Benji said he loved Topher but he took a breath and loosened his shoulders, "I love you too Benji and I like you Toph" he said, trying to show his changes, "Excuse me boys, I just need to..." But he slid out of the hold and started walking to the bedroom.

"Love you too Ben and like you too Franco," Topher answered then watched as the latter slipped out. He cast a slightly confused glance at Benji before he whispered in the lowest tone possible, "I know you probably just covered this, but do we follow or what?"

Benji looked at Topher for a second, then at the doorway Franco had just left through, then back to Topher. "I'm... gonna be honest," he answered, equally as quiet, "he definitely wants someone to go after him. And I'm, like... spacing out-levels of drunk. So, want your first real test?" he offered.

"In that case, off I go," Topher replied then leaned over to press a kiss to Benji's forehead. He pushed himself out of his chair one more time and headed off after Franco. "Yo, Franco, wait up."

Franco had climbed onto the bed when Topher caught up to him, "Sorry man but he said I love you and that is just, a little too far" be breathed out. His hands were shaking and he knew drinking and his past was the cause, "I wanna love you Toph but I just can't".

"It's alright," Topher responded as he took a few more steps into the room and sat down on the bed. "I know that I sure as hell haven't made it easy to love me recently, but you've got nothing to worry about in that department. Whatever happens, I will respect your decision and I mean it."

Franco sighed as Topher sat on the bed, "Toph, you know being with me is a rough ride. I'm not easy to handle, I act out and I can be horrible when I'm not getting what I need. Drugs are in my past, but I have urges and desires and if I'm caught wrong, I'll do whatever I can to get out to get them... Can you even handle that".

"You underestimate how much I'm willing to walk though what might be basically hell for the people who matter most to me or those affiliated with said people," Topher fired back, although his tone lacked any evidence of a real desire to start an argument. "I've got your back just like Benji's got your back, simple as that. Through the good, the bad, and in between." He held an arm out in an unspoken invitation for a side hug.

Franco shook his head, "You don't get it do you" he breathed out, "I'm not a good person. Benji deserves so much better and now he's got it, what hope do I fucking have" he spat. He knew he was being harsh but he couldn't handle this, "I might as well give up"

"Franco, dude, please try to slow your roll. You and Benji have been together longer, okay? You have more romantic history with him and you two are fucking engaged. Logic dictates that if it came down to it, you have a better chance than I do," Topher stated in his usual even tone. "You're a far better man than I am in a variety of other ways. I'm not walking away and I'm not backing down from this stance."

Franco raised an eyebrow, "Says the man I actively encouraged him to keep away from by convincing him you were straight when I knew different. He was majorly in love with you and I fooled him into believing you were off limits".

"And I'm willing to move past that. Hell, I've already moved past that," Topher started as he changed tactics and held a hand out to Franco instead. "I'm not asking you to love me right off the bat, okay? I understand that I've made more than my fair share of dick moves recently and it might take some time to move past it. All I want is to work on building trust with you again, building a friendship. Your lead is the one I will follow, just like Benji's. I will listen to you guys and won't walk away just because things hit a bump in the road. I've already said I've got your backs, so please give me a chance to follow through on it." "You won't regret it," he simply added a few beats later.

Franco moved forward and took Tophers hand, "OK so you gotta not say you love him in front of me right now, I can't handle it and it's like I'm watching him fall out of love with me". He took a breath and sighed, "Toph, one day I'll love you but there is so much you don't know about me".

Those few words felt like someone tossed a few darts into his heart in rapid fire style, yet Topher gave a light nod of agreement. "Alright and it's okay. I'm willing to wait, willing to learn, willing to do all that. However long it takes," he answered. With that, he gave Franco's hand a light squeeze along with a small smile.

Franco nodded, "You can say it when I'm not there, cause I know you love him but it's just super hard for me to hear it" he breathed out. He bit his lip and nodded, "Look dude, go back and have fun yeah, I'm just gunna chill for a minute".

"Yeah, gotcha," Topher responded as he stood up. "I mean, if you'd prefer me heading back then that's cool. But before I go, are we cool? Like, we're on the path to making things better between us and all that slash you won't be upset if I go back to the living room?"

Franco nodded, "Dude we are fine I just want five minutes to chill out before I come back. Why don't you go give him a kiss or something? Whatever it is you guys do".

"Alright, I'll go do that or something similar. Think I'll just chill and watch a bit more of B99," he remarked then gave a light yawn. "Then after that, it is off to bed for me."

Franco nodded, and waited for Topher to leave before jumping up and darted over to his chest of drawers, rummaging for his supply and clutching it in his hand. He didn't need to use it, just needed to feel it was there.

As luck would have it, Topher had just reentered the living room when he realized that he'd carried his Pepsi back into the bedroom. So he made his way back, only to stop right in his tracks when he spotted Franco. "I'm kinda frozen to the floor here, can you hand me my Pepsi please?"

Franco's eyes widened and he shook his head, "No...It's.... Shit Toph, it's not what you think it is" he said, quickly hiding it in his jacket. This was not going to go well for him, "Toph, please do not... Just... Fuck, pretend this didn't happen".

"Not what I think it is, huh?" Topher inquired once he finally found his voice again. He leaned against the doorframe as he crossed his arms and arched an eyebrow at Franco. "Look, I imagine that we're all tired here so I'll just drop it and grab my Pepsi then walk out like everything is normal. But I do want to talk to you about this as soon as possible, okay?"

Franco took a deep breath and nodded, walking over to the bed and grabbing the drink, handing it to Topher and leaning in a little close to him, "You gotta not fuck this up for me Toph, I can't handle this right now" he breathed out, fear coursing through his body, "Please Toph" he begged.

"First, thank you," Topher stated as he accepted the Pepsi then listened and his features softened just a hint. "Second, please don't make me regret giving you the benefit of the doubt. Ben's got enough on his plate right now and I want to make things work with you, that's why I'm not screeching like a banshee. But I want to talk to you about this later and I want to help you get past this whole using drugs thing." He started to leave, but then decided against it. "On second thought, do you mind if I stay here?"

Franco took a breath, "I'm not using drugs, I just have them" he explained quickly, "And I'm not stupid, I know you want to stay here so you can go through my stuff. All I have is what's on me right now" he breathed out, "Nothing more, nothing less".

"I'm not going to go through your stuff," Topher promised as he held up the hand that held his Pepsi bottle. "Got no free hands for that and even if I did have one, I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt, remember? Besides, I hate it whenever people go through my stuff and that risk is what makes me jumpy when someone asks to borrow my phone or laptop. Long story short, I get it."

Franco raised an eyebrow, "Then what the hell do you wanna stay in mine and Benji's room for?" he asked, confusion on his face. He shrugged his shoulders, "Fine, you know, do whatever you want. Not like I got anything to hide in here any more" he said simply, turning on his heel and leaving the room.

"Mostly to keep an eye -," he trailed off when he noticed that Franco had walked out. Topher gave a sigh as he followed him out then headed for the living room. "And there goes progress," he remarked under his breath as he plopped back into his favorite chair and proceeded to tap his fingers against the armrest in order to expel some nervous energy.

By the time Topher had made his way back into the room, Benji, in all his drunken glory, had managed to fall asleep. However, his best friend plopping down next to him managed to shake him awake. "Huh?" he questioned groggily, slowly sitting up as he started to rub his eyes. "Toph? Where... where's Franc?" He yawned. "Did you guys make up?"

"Yeah, we made up and we're hopefully on the fast track to making things better. But I'm pretty sure I just set progress back either a bit or to square one," Topher answered. "Franco? You still in the house?" Then as he carded a hand through his hair, he addressed Benji once again, "I promise you that I'm trying to go with what you told and learn as I go. I'm just a chronic idiot when it comes to stuff that isn't book smarts."

Franco walked back into the lounge and smiled a fake ass smile, sitting in his previous seat and looking at the floor. He did not trust Topher right now and gulped, "Yeah just needed a moment. Thought I could handle it.... couldn't" he said playing with his hand.

"But hey, now I know what to do in order to ensure smooth sailing," Topher replied with a soft smile. He had no intention of making things worse and planned on keeping his mouth shut. But after a good night's rest, there were more problems to be tackled, which was what he definitely wanted to do as soon as possible.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Toph. I'm sure things are fine," Benji replied sleepily, curling back into a ball on the sofa. He stayed silent for a moment, then finally processed what Franco said. "...couldn't handle what?"

Franco narrowed his eyes at Topher and shook his head, "Just you two babe. I kissed him so I'm trying but I couldn't handle seeing it. You know me, a big old pathetic let down" and he stared directly at Topher as he said those last words.

Topher had been the middle of yanking his hood up once again because there was no way he was moving from this chair, even if his bed was much more comfy. But Franco's words caught his attention and the hood fell right back down. "Franco, that couldn't be further from the truth. Neither of you are a let down and even if it takes me a thousand encouraging words to convince you of that, I've got all the time to say them," he responded in a meaningful tone.

"Franc, if you don't want to do this, you can say no. I don't know how many times I can stress that, Baby." Benji sighed. "Maybe I integrated things a little too fast. We'll be a little more private about the affection for a while. But the same's gonna go for you and me, y'know. It's only fair," he explained, hoping that would be a good compromise. As he re-closed his eyes, he couldn't help but smile lightly at Topher, happy he was trying to kill Franc with kindness like he suggested.

"Whatever you guys think will work best," Topher remarked before he yawned and stretched in the chair a little as he did so. "Sorry guys, but I'm going to call it a night. But I believe tonight was an alright first step and things can only get better from here as long as we keep hashing things out, making progress, all that." Another yawn escaped then he murmured, "Night Benji, night Franco. Stay cool, but not cold."

Franco scoffed at Topher and stood up, "I think I'm gunna head outside for a bit and have a smoke" he said, almost testing the other man, "I'll see you in the morning... Where are you staying tonight Benj?"

"Night, Topher. Good job tonight. Hit the showers," Benji teased, starting to sit up when Franco spoke again. "Uh. No you're not. You just had a smoke. Come on, we're going to bed too." At Franco's question, Benji couldn't help but make a face in reaction. "...I'm staying in my bed. Just like every night. So c'mon."

Franco sighed and shook his head, "I wanna smoke babe" he said, clenching his jaw a little. He saw the look on Ben's face and nodded, "OK, you'll stay with me tonight... But soon you won't? How am I meant to handle that? I'm trying Ben, I even kissed him but it's just... It doesn't matter"

"Franc, don't you get it? I know you need me to fall asleep. I'm not sleeping anywhere but my bed with you." Benji rolled his eyes, then sighed. "Maybe we should just call this off, huh? You're not handling it well and it feels like it's putting a strain on us. There's no point in doing a relationship this complicated if it's not healthy, Baby."

Franco nodded, "I don't need you... I just wouldn't sleep" he tried to defend himself. He rushed over to Benji and shook his head, "No baby, I don't want to call this off, I'm just scared and worried and I don't know how else to deal with his other then acting out babe"

"Not being able to sleep is exactly why you need--" Benji started, cutting himself off in surprise when Franco rushed towards him. "What is there to be scared and worried about? Our relationship hasn't changed. We've talked about this over and over." He sighed, "Franc, If we're gonna keep this arrangement, it needs to be healthy--which means we need to be able to talk things through openly and rationally. You don't get to act out every time you get negative feelings. It's not fair to Toph. And it's not fair to me either, although it's my fault for humoring it as much as I have been."

Franco shrugged his shoulders, "It's just in my head babe that I might lose you or something and it freaks me out cause I'm just getting shit back on track". Franco sighed, "I know babe but I'm really trying. People who are in recovery shouldn't even have relationships and here I am trying to juggle two of them... It's hard and I need space to breathe every once in a while"

Benji couldn't help but rub his temples in annoyance. He loved Franco, but dealing with this over and over was getting tiring. "I don't know how else to say this: this poly relationship is not something that would make you lose me. For the millionth time." 

 He turned to look at Franco, "Yes, it's hard. I understand. But I give you space to breathe every time you need it, multiple times a day. Do you think this is easy for Topher either? Of course not. But he doesn't have a temper tantrum every time you and I interact with each other." He sighed. He really didn't want to open up this can of worms, but playing nice was showing to be ineffective. He tried to choose his words carefully as he continued, "I understand that there will be bumps, but there's a difference between a road having bumps and acting like the road's made of gravel."

Franco shook his head at the words, "I don't think it's easy for him but he's used to it. He wasn't in this relationship the whole time we have been" he breathed out. He took a deep breath and shrugged his shoulders, "I'm trying. I kissed him. I spoke with him. I'm sorry that my brain struggles to comprehend everything that is going on".

Benji pinched the bridge of his nose, struggling to keep his annoyance from being too obvious. "Let's just... go to bed, okay? We've done enough tonight."

Franco sighed, "You go and I'll meet you in there" he spoke out, "I just really need a cigarette right now"

Benji threw his hands up in defeat and stood up. "...Fine," he murmured, turning and starting to head for his bedroom.

Franco sighed and went down to smoke. He needed to hide his drugs again and somewhere different. He finished up and went back upstairs, nudging Topher, "Hey, you gunna come to bed" he asked, knowing he needed to play nice, "You can come with us but I get the middle" he offered.

One of Topher's eyes opened then both when he heard Franco and felt the nudge. His sleep addled mind didn't want him to move anymore from his favorite chair, but he also knew that he'd regret it if he didn't. Plus he wanted to help make this work, didn't he? So Topher gave an understanding sort of nod as he pushed himself out of the chair and headed off for the bedroom.

By this time, Benji was facing his dresser, changing into a pair of pajamas. "Hey, Baby." he said to the sound of footsteps, not bothering to turn around. In the back of his mind, he knew he needed to stop babying Franco at some point, but he also knew that that day wasn't going to be today. "Cuddle time?"

Franco had walked through to the bedroom with Topher and pushed him in the direction of Benji, "Cuddle him" he'd breathed as he'd made his way to the bed, laying down in the middle, shurugging of his clothes and dropping them on the floor until he was only in his boxer shorts

Topher lightly stumbled, but managed to recover his footing then started to rest his head on Benji's shoulder before he second guessed himself and just leaned against the dresser. "Fair warning to you both, I talk in my sleep," he remarked in between yawns. "Feel free to roast me for what I say or don't. Whatever."

"Toph?" Benji questioned, turning around when the head on his shoulder felt different than what he was expecting. "You're sleeping with us? Awe, this is perfect," he said happily, wrapping one arm around Topher and starting to drag him towards the bed. "Franco in the middle," he stated, clamoring onto the bed and opening his arms for both Topher and Franco to climb into.

Franco was already in the middle of the bed, "Yeah I thought he might not wanna sleep on his own tonight so invited him in with us" he said and then gave a small laugh, "Of course I'm in the middle and, if this works out, then I'm always in the middle".

Topher's tired mind almost made him jump when Benji started to lead him toward the bed and he almost started to voice the obnoxious amount of potential concerns, yet his mouth remained closed. He shuffled over to the empty side then climbed into it. "This might sound weird, but hell with it. Thank you both."

Benji smiled softly, moving the boys so Franco was cuddled into him and his arm was wrapped around Topher’s back. “I’m sleeping well tonight,” he whispered, squeezing them both close.

Franco felt a little out of place but kept himself wrapped into Benji, "Clean slate" was all he breathed.

"The cleanest slate possible," Topher sleepily mused before he drifted back to sleep once more.

[andrewuttaro]

Is the Stanley Cup worthless?

Let’s start out with some disclaimers. For one, the Stanley Cup certainly isn’t worthless to the hundreds of players who fight through two months of grueling hockey for it. Those guys often play through injury and sacrifice their long-term health just for the chance to lift the Stanley Cup. Their meaning vested in the Stanley Cup is thoroughly established and that is almost an entirely different topic. Another disclaimer: this is not about my team’s inability to accomplish the feat of winning a Stanley Cup. I am not here to complain about the Playoff format, the seeding or even the Sabres inability to make the playoffs the last eight years. This question has nothing to do with any of those problems. No, this question is actually remarkably difficult to answer because it’s a question about the fundamental makeup of the highest-skill hockey league in the world.

I openly asked this question on twitter as the first round of the 2019 edition of the Stanley Cup Playoffs drew to a close. I got the answers you’d expect. You’re a cry baby, it’s about grit, its tradition, and my personal favorite: It’s the randomness that makes it worthwhile! There were actually some decent answers toward the end, but I’ll admit there was some venting going on about my bracket getting absolutely demolished by the postseason of upsets in the first round. The root of this is simple: We all venerate and remember who wins the Stanley Cup. That’s where the lore and honor of the NHL game comes from: but why? If it is a tournament of randomness and chance then the team that survives is just the luckiest survivor, no? Twitter was tough on me, but I guess one expects that from social media. Lucky for us, real experts have addressed the question and tried to come up with answers of their own.

Sean McIndoe (Down Goes Brown) at The Athletic wrote a smart piece on it. It’s called “The 2019 playoffs are total chaos. Is that good? It depends on your door.” You should absolutely go read this article. The paywall for The Athletic is a pretty short wall if you have any kind of income and I’m not going to spoil their paid content in my free content. The basic idea however is that we generally look at the Stanley Cup Playoffs two ways: Door One and Door Two. Door One is the best team always wins the Stanley Cup no matter what. Door Two is the best team may not win the Stanley Cup but its fun and that’s all that really matters. Read the article for the full breath of McIndoe’s analysis. It’s very good. These two doors are the convenient and most common ways we look at the Stanley Cup Playoffs.

Before we go on here we have to note that many NHL professional writers, those who make a living off of analyzing this league, don’t even want to bother with the middle question here: Is the playoff chaos, particularly in this 2019 go-around, good for hockey? The why there I think is pretty straight forward: its nonsense. Individual things are good or bad for hockey. Whether this incredible Tampa team wins a Cup before it is blown up is ultimately secondary to real stuff like… I don’t know… is the league going to get real about long term head trauma and damage to its players or any number of actually meaningful problems that will be touched on in the next collective bargaining agreement? Those are the real problems and phrasing what we’re talking about today as a big issue is ultimately unhelpful for those dealing with the real problems with this league. There are many. Knowing NHL writers don’t care for the middle question answers part of my question: the way we judge the worthwhileness of the Stanley Cup for fans and Front Offices is more a theoretical question about what we want out of our sport than what actually matters in the politics of the league. Until we have that conversation the folks selling us the NHL product will continue to tell us the same thing about the playoffs.

The NHL says the Stanley Cup is the hardest trophy to win in sports for a few reasons: for one, its great marketing. Two, a cursory look over the playoff format compared to the other major North American Sports will seem to reveal with some degree of objectivity that it is in fact very hard to win. Once again, I’m not diminishing the players or coaches’ sacrifices; that stuff is very real indeed. But even if the Stanley Cup is the hardest trophy to win by the playoff structure, does that mean it goes to the best team when it is finally hoisted in the air? In the McIndoe visual of two doors I took Door Two. In my opinion the Stanley Cup simply does not go to the most skilled, complete NHL team at the end of the postseason. If it doesn’t go to the best team than is it actually worth anything to us Cup-hungry fans? If its not worth anything, why are fans and front offices judging teams, historically and present, based on winning it?

The answer to the first question is that it’s worth approximately 20K purely by its silver content if the market is booming. That was a joke, don’t @ me. Let it be clear that I love the Stanley Cup. I have some of my fondest memories with my father watching the Stanley Cup playoffs back in High School. I was not born and bred into hockey, I’m not a good olde Canadian boy, I’m not even Canadian; but the last decade of my life has been very enriched for having had it in my life. I care about NHL Hockey and the survival and growth of the sport if for no other reason than entertainment and sentiment. The reality is the affection is deep. I write fan fiction about that hunk of metal. I’m not kidding. I would love for there to be some secret history of the Stanley Cup connecting it to the Last Supper so I could venerate it like a religious relic and call it the Holy Grail with a seriously face. That trophy is my jam.

Then again, what about the Vancouver Canucks? I’m not a Canucks fan but that 2011 Stanley Cup Final is seared into my memory. The Canucks of that season and the one after were the best team in the league and yet that organization and all those fans will remain relegated to the ranks of teams without Stanley Cups just because the Final didn’t bounce their way. The unfairness there is palpable. They did get their trophy, the President’s Trophy for the best regular season team. The Lightning got it this year before getting swept in round one by a wild card team. However, the point remains those guys don’t deserve to be thought of as less than just because they weren’t lucky enough between April and June. How many other clubs are similarly cheated out of the status in the hockey history books they deserve? There is a whole rabbit hole I can go into about deserving. The good-old-boy culture of hockey will always respond to this “deserving” argument with the old adage: “The Stanley Cup is earned, not deserved.” God bless you, but the deeper question remains: why are fans judging teams, historically and present, being on winning it?

“Well, what do you prefer instead, Mr. Hockey-Philosopher who never even played the game?” I hear you. I don’t want the NBA postseason. I cannot imagine cheering on a basketball team in a league that has so little variance in who takes home titles. The higher seeded teams in that league are far more likely to win it all and upsets are far rarer. Let me be clear: I don’t want the Stanley Cup title to be a forgone conclusion in April. I am also not advocating for the Soccer world’s solution of not having playoffs at all. The answer to the problem I’m posing is not one we’ll find anywhere else in sports right now. The answer, again, is more about what we want as hockey fans.

The President’s Trophy is essentially the soccer solution. You get that trophy for being the best team of the regular season. Nowadays we talk about the trophy being a curse. In recent years the winner of that trophy fails to obtain the Stanley Cup far more often than not. It was however, instituted in the mid-1980s. If you know anything about hockey in the 1980s you know it was time dominated by high-scoring dynasties. Two teams won 70% of the Stanley Cup titles that decade. The league had to reward all the folks who weren’t the Edmonton Oilers or the New York Islanders who were relative Nuclear Superpowers compared to the rest of the league. Hockey of the NHL variety is not like it was in the 1980s in many ways; most notably there is enough parity in this league that, while there are still dynasties (probably), the variation of teams winning the Stanley Cup or getting close is a lot wider. So, what’s your problem then, you ask? If Stanley Cup titles are more equally distributed than ever and you even have a President’s Trophy to reward regular season greats, what’s the problem? Well outside of the President’s Trophy being viewed as a cursed object you don’t want to win, my problem is really with how we judge the clubs and players in our sport based on luck between April and June.

Before Alexander Ovechkin won the Stanley Cup in 2018 he was on track to be viewed as the greatest player ever to not win the Cup. He was getting gray in the beard and the media was beginning to roast him for it like the memes had been doing for over a decade. The articles written on him read like think pieces on what a trade would look like. Winning trophies is the prime focus of any real sports franchise. If you don’t do that, well maybe we should trade you! You can’t trade fans and the endless merry-go-round of front office ineptitude in Edmonton these days leads one to believe its fairly hard to successfully organize a winning Front Office as well. If you look at teams with the highest salary cap commitments it was all the lower ranked teams winning playoff series this year. The rich aren’t getting richer, it’s more like everyone is poor. And yet, we as fans demand our clubs bring us pride in the form of Stanley Cup banners! We value the Stanley Cup so much in an environment where no matter how much money our team’s decision makers throw at the roster problems we’re no more likely to get one of those oh so valuable Stanley Cup titles than had we done nothing and lucked into a few wins and fortuitous bounces in the Spring.

Clearly the Stanley Cup isn’t worthless. I’ll admit click-bait when I do it. But the reality is us NHL fans need to chill the F out about the Stanley Cup if we want to have any semblance of peace-of-mind. It’s not easy to win and its not supposed to be but its also not a measure of the overall quality of your franchise in the big picture. It isn’t the end-all-be-all of franchise success, it’s a measure of playoff success and that’s really it. Winning is what matters in this league and it should stay that way; but us fans need to reset the way we look at the Stanley Cup if this postseason chaos is going to become the new norm. We’re not prepared for this chaos now but we can be if we start thinking reasonably about what the Stanley Cup is worth.

[coffeelevel8-blog]

72 Hours in Seattle

Hi, it’s Abby. My mom asked me to write an introduction for this post about our last-minute trip to Seattle a few weeks ago. I was invited to play in a soccer tournament there and this one was different than most because there was only one game a day, which means there was plenty of down time to explore a city. (That is how I convinced my mom to go.)  We flew out the morning after my last final and stayed with her college roommate, Jenn for three nights and three days. Mom already told you that the culinary highlight of our trip was eating a Dutch Baby with backyard raspberries in Jenn’s kitchen nook, but that doesn’t mean we didn’t pound some pavement in search of great food around town. Here, Mom and I take turns giving you a run-down of our packed 72 hours.

DAY 1: THURSDAY

1:00 [Jenny] I am forever in search of counter-service spots when I travel, especially for lunch, when you don’t want to spend an hour-plus lounging around while the sun shines on a brand new city that is calling for you. That’s why we dropped our bags at my friend Jenn’s house (in Ballard) at 12:45, then headed straight to The Fat Hen, a sweet, bright fast-casual spot that served avocado toasts, ricotta toasts, freshly squeezed juices, and good coffee. It killed us to forgo Frankie & Jo’s, the vegan ice cream shop sensation right across the street (they have multiple locations around the city) but we were saving room for dinner. FYI: Delancey — remember Delancey? — was right there, too. [Photo credit: Seattle Magazine]

2:30  [Abby] We walked from Fat Hen down 15th Street to Ballard Avenue, the main drag in Ballard, a neighborhood that reminded me of Brooklyn. There was a ton of stuff to do and a lot of fun shopping including a cool second-hand furniture store called Ballard Consignment, an aesthetically pleasing succulent store (I can’t remember the name, can someone help me?), and a trendy clothing place called Prism where my mom tried on a thousand dresses but ended up just buying my sister an iron-on patch for her jean jacket that said “Stay Wild Child.”

4:00 [Abby] We met up with my mom’s friend Jenn, who got out of work early for us, and headed to Golden Gardens Park for a walk. It was so beautiful! I got a virgin pina colada at Miri’s, a new cafe right on the beach. Also, even though everyone says Seattle weather is not so great, look at our sky! It was like that for most of the time we were there. (Here’s a tip to future travelers: Go there in late June, early July.)

5:30 [Jenny] I think the only reason why I agreed to take Abby to Seattle was so I could try to snag a table at The Walrus and the Carpenter, the original Renee Erickson French-style raw bar in Ballard that opened almost ten years ago and that I tried to get into during my last visit, only to be turned away by the long wait every time. This time I wasn’t messing around. At the very un-glamourous hour of 5:30, I dragged Abby, Jenn, and Jenn’s 15-year-old daughter Stella to dine on fried oysters and small plates in their bright happy space. FYI: Erickson has opened a bunch of other places in Capitol Hill, including a steakhouse Bateau, another oyster bar with the greatest electric mint color scheme (Bar Melusine), and stuffed doughnut mecca General Porpoise, which, for Abby, might’ve been more of a reason to go to Seattle than her soccer tournament. (More on that below.)

7:30 After dinner, we walked back up Ballard Avenue to get ice cream at Salt & Straw, the Portland-based makers who have won over legions of fans with their artisanal concoctions…think Fresh Sheep’s Cheese and Strawberries or Oregon Wasabi and Raspberry Sorbet. But the line was too long, and even though it was still early, we were on East Coast time, so we headed home to bed. (For those of you interested, here’s an interview with Salt & Straw founder Tyler Malek on the always awesome Bon Appetit’s Foodcast.)

DAY 2: FRIDAY

10:00 [Abby] I had a soccer game in Redmond (we won 4-0!) where the most exciting food moment of the morning was a pretzel that came with that fakey nacho cheese that is so delicious. We didn’t get to start exploring again until lunchtime and decided we wanted to spend the afternoon checking out Capitol Hill. First stop…

12:30…Rocket Taco for lunch, where we ate some of the best carnitas tacos I can remember.

1:45 It was Pride Month! We loved the rainbow crosswalks which made for especially good instagram posts. (That’s me with our friend Maylie. And this was at the intersection of East Pine and 10th Ave.)

2:30 [Abby] And of course, we had to hit Elliott Bay Books. My mom bought me a paperback copy of The Handmaid’s Tale — I’ve been watching the TV show and it’s very disturbing, but she said I’d like the book. (She wants me to tell you that for school I also had to read Hiroshima and Take the Cannoli)

3:01 [Abby] Then the funniest thing happened. I had been looking forward to going to the iconic General Porpoise Doughnuts from the moment we booked our flights — we practically planned our entire Capitol Hill outing around it — but when we got there at 3:01, we tried to open the door and it was locked. It closed at 3:00! For about ten seconds we were all super disappointed but then, out of nowhere, an employee walks outside and asked “Does anyone want a dozen free doughnuts?” I guess they like everything to be fresh, so at the end of the day, they give away what hasn’t sold instead of selling them the next day. That might’ve been the highlight of the trip. And those doughnuts were some of the best I’ve ever had– the vanilla stuffed ones especially!!

4:00 [Jenny] We hadn’t planned on it, but we decided to hit Pike Place Market (because: of course!) on our way home to Ballard from Capitol Hill. We bought fruit and a lovely flower arrangement for our lovely hosts, but for the most part we just walked up and down the long hallways and gaped at the offerings. Maybe the most amazing part was that I got a parking spot on Pike Place right in the middle of everything (across from the flagship Starbucks.) I kept looking at the spot and looking at the sign saying This is too good to be true (once a New Yorker always a New Yorker, I guess) but it was actually true. Over a month later, I’m still on a high from it.

6:30 [Jenny] I know this is hard to believe, but we still had more to eat. I’ve written about this before, but the way Abby and I go about planning where we want to eat in a new city is completely different. I go to tried-and-true sources like Bon Appetit City Guides or Eater’s Heat Maps. She goes right to instagram, searches by locations, then studies the grid until a particularly inspiring pastry or bowl of ramen shows up. That is how she landed on Fremont Bowl where we went with Jenn’s family. Abby’s review: “Crazy good Japanese bowls, with fish, chicken teriyaki, and so much more. I’m not really a tofu fan, but according to my mom she had the best tofu she’d ever had in her life at this place. Fremont’s a fun area to walk around, too.” She’s totally right, the fried house-made tofu that our friend Maylie ordered was off-the-hook delicious. I was psyched because right next door was Book Larder, a store that specializes in cookbooks and community culinary events, but sadly they were closed for a private event. I guess that’s as good an excuse as any to return to Seattle in the very near future.

DAY 3: SATURDAY 9:00 [Abby] Mom, Jenn, and Jenn’s husband, Ben went for an early run around Green Lake Park (about a 3-mile loop she says) then we all gorged on Jenn’s now legendary Dutch Babies and plotted the day. Ben pointed us in the direction of the giant Asian Market Uwajimaya which was awesome (Oh, before that, Mom stopped for another cup of coffee at Anchored Ship in Ballard) but we ended up eating around the corner at at Dough Zone due to some intense soup dumpling cravings, aka the best food in the world.  It’s a good thing my next soccer game wasn’t until 4:00 that afternoon. We pretty much rolled out of there. Those dumplings were amazing.

6:00 [Abby] After my soccer game (lost 2-1) we drove to Mulkiteo and caught a ferry to Whidbey Island, about 25 miles north of Seattle across the Puget Sound, where Jenn and Ben have the sweetest cabin. The ferry was only about 25 minutes, but involved spectacular views of islands and huge mountains in the distance.

7:30 We only had about 12 hours to hang on Whidbey, but we got a good taste of it, snacking on their porch (above), chilling out by the campfire for an epic sunset; Ben grilled some local salmon and hot dogs for dinner. The house only had two bedrooms so my mom and I got to sleep in a tent listening to the crackling campfire. 

. Side Note [Jenny] Those of you who follow me on instagram might remember this photo. Jenn and Ben were torturing themselves trying to decide what color to paint the cabin — they were going for a dark Scandinavian cottage look — so I conducted an insta poll asking which combo you all liked. Most of you were in favor of the navy/white palette, the third one down. Last week, she sent me this pic:

How beautiful is that?!?!?! They went with Sherwin Williams Inkwell for the house and Benjamin Moore Oxford White for the trim.

DAY 4 SUNDAY

8:30 [Abby] We had an early afternoon plane to catch, so didn’t have a ton of time to explore, but we did manage to squeeze in a walk on the beach and a quick trip to Langley, where we ate eggs and cinnamon rolls at Useless Bay Coffee, then took a walk to a dramatic sandbar called Seawall Park. The town was so charming! From there was a convenient shuttle from Whidbey to the Seattle Airport, and we were on our way home.

Boy you fed us well, Seattle. We miss you so much!

Related: 36 Hours in Austin; 36 Hours in Portland, Maine; 48 Hours in Montreal.

Source: http://www.dinneralovestory.com/72-hours-in-seattle/