#I understand people shop around for jobs and are trying to find what they’re looking for

[koreanrage]

Sometimes I wish I could accurately predict when applicants are flakes so we can just not hire them. I’m so tired of doing orientations for people who just leave in a month.

[sainamoonshine]

Okay so I finally watched Good Omens season 2 and have tons of thoughts about it, especially how the minisodes and side-plots do so much work, thematically.

*slaps flashback segment on the roof* this bad boy contains so much subtext!!

And here’s my analysis about some of it:

The side plots are about at least three main themes that I can spot.

1. They are all, in some way, about resurrection. The children of Job. The Nazi Zombies. The resurrectionist. Miracles being rated on a scale of how many people they can bring back from the dead. Even Gabriel, in some way, arriving naked and without his memories and innocent as a babe, then finding himself again was a form of resurrection.

This, of course, has to do with foreshadowing season two, the one where the main plot point is going to be the second coming.

2. They were all about how much it’s a bad idea to mess with humans. All flashback minisodes either had someone die directly because Aziraphale and Crowley were around (Wee Morag, the guy at the magic shop), or almost die because Heaven and Hell said so (Job’s childrens). In present-day time, Aziraphale’s messing about with people during the ball is explicitely called out as creepy and wrong and Nina & Maggie have a talk with Crowley about it.

This leads to my theory that this is also going to be a major theme in the third season. We know that in the book, Adam explicitly tells heaven and hell to stop interfering. We also know that in the show, Aziraphale and to a smaller extend Crowley need to learn this lesson.

I also think that the resolution of the next season is probably going to involve Earth being marked definitely off limits to angels/demons, possibly via the same mechanism that makes the shop into a safe heaven you need to be invited in (and the same thing became true of the Bentley once Aziraphale claimed it! As pointed out here , Shax had to hitchhike to get in, instead of appearing inside as she did before). Earth needs to be claimed. I think that this will happen either by a combined miracle of incredible proportions from both Crowley and Aziraphale after they reunite, or (and this is my pet theory) by a combined miracle of incredible proportions by Adam and whoever is the new Jesus (I am a greasy Johnson truther lol). This would make Earth a place that you need to be invited in order to go there, and therefore safe haven for angels and demons who promise not to cause trouble.

3. All of the side plots and minisodes are about misdirection. Sleight of hand. Smoke and mirrors. Magic tricks. Showing one thing while something else is true.

This is shown obviously in the Job part and also in London 1941, with the party who is getting tricked being heaven and hell, respectively. Meanwhile, Gabriel and Beelzebub are trying to trick everyone. But who is tricked by the plot lines of Nina/Maggie, and Elspeth/Wee Morag?

We are. The audience is.

It has been pointed out here and here that Nina is meant to make us think she’s a parallel to Crowley when she is actually more of an Aziraphale thematically, and vice-versa.

But what about Elspeth and Wee Morag? We have one that robs graveyards, and one who tells her that is wrong and is worried about her eternal soul. That seems straightforward enough as a mirror to Crowley and Aziraphale, no? Well, let’s just look at what they’re doing and saying to each other, shall we?

“Don’t do this incredibly wrong and dangerous thing. It will have repercussions that you can’t even begin to understand right now.”

“I’m doing this for you! You deserve better than this life!”

“I don’t want the better life you’re offering. I would rather huddle with you here, homeless and poor but knowing you’re safe and that we’re together, than to know you alone out there doing horrible things you’ve convinced yourself you need to do.”

“I do need to do it. Trust me! This is going to fix everything! And if you don’t want me to be alone, then come with me. There! Problem solved!”

(Problem very much not solved.)

Doesn’t this sound, a tiny little bit, like a certain season finale to you guys? Elspeth was, in fact, Aziraphale all along. She thought she knew what was best, and she barrelled along without listening to anyone else, and then it went horribly wrong.

There is a reason why both times this season that we see Aziraphale fucking up someone else’s plan (the corpse to sell, Crowley’s contraband whiskey) because he initially reads it as a bad thing and thinks he’s doing good by destroying it, without having the full context, it backfires on him and then the situation has to be fixed. He needs to stop and understand things properly before taking actions. He needs, in short, to ask questions.

We see that the one time he did ask questions before acting was during the whole Job thing, and it worked out the best out of all the sub plots this season, right? … except that Aziraphale was convinced that he would Fall for his actions there. The way Crowley had fallen for asking questions.

And if the only person whose assessment of the situation matches Aziraphale’s is a demon, if the only one who is doing what he personally thinks is the Right Thing is a demon, then gosh… either that means that Aziraphale himself should therefore also be a demon, OR it means that Crowley shouldn’t be one, and this was all just one big misunderstanding, and maybe if I just speak to the manager…?

[hollyhomburg]

I haven’t had an idea about hybrids in a long long time but 🥺 what about pup hybrid koo who gets abandoned by his owners for being too high energy, who waits by the door every day for them to come back, doesn’t like to talk to other humans because they’re not his owner but then slowly, the volunteer who comes into his room to talk to him every day and eat his meals with him and feed him treats starts to chip away at his heart and adopts him.

only to have him wake up Literally lying on top of them, deal with him breaking out of the house and following them to work, everywhere- jk is just so worried about being left behind again but! It’s a good thing his owner is really understanding and doesn’t mind that he’s a clingy little puppy.

And of course Doberman! jk is also still covered with tattoos just like irl jk 🥺 big floppy ears hanging over his face, the breed and tattoos usually turn people off from adopting him because Dobermans you know- they’re /protection/ dogs, they don’t see jks wide terrified eyes hidden behind his big ears. They just see the tattoos and piercings and walk the other way. Im imagining the first time jk ever falls asleep on the m/c, head on her lap, her fingers rubbing against the spot on the back of them where they’re sensitive and tingly saying to herself “at least he didn’t doc your ears, I would have expected- given the other /modifications/ he made to you, that he’d have done that. At least he had the decency to leave them alone”

And she asks cuz of course she does, why jks old owner covered him with tattoo’s and maybe she should have waited until he was more awake but jk just says “liked to come with hyung to work, saved his best designs for me”

Maybe years later they have a run in with Jks old owner and it’s one of the other boys, tattoo artist yoongi maybe? but 🥺 jk finally gets his closure because he finds out yoongi didn’t abandon him he just got into an accident and was in a coma for 6 months and then had 18 months of re-learning how to walk after that. How to do art, how to tattoo again and yoongis finally back on his feet. Even when he was in a wheelchair yoongi never stopped going to different shelters to try and find Jk. Yoongi never gave up looking for his pup 🥺

Imagine tattoo artist yoongi with arms full of pretty floral tattoos in the same style as the ones on jk’s arm 🥺 and the m/c once again questions him about it and jk gives her the honest answer of “I asked for them”

Maybe jk is now faced with the horrible choice of being the one who leaves his new owner who he loves a lot and going back to the person who he once missed more than anything! Of course his little pup brain just comes up with the simple solution! They both just have to move in together to look after him! That way he gets both!! And only- the m/c and yoongi are really opposites- but they decide to try and make being roommates work if only because jk deserves it.

And maybe yoongi starts taking care of her too because he always did let jungkook depend on him lots 🥺 for cooking and brushing out his long fluffy hair and showers after boxing class. And yoongi fusses because around her work schedule she forgets to eat a bunch and he ends up going to drop off lunches because honestly- the tatto shop kinda runs it’s self since namjoon and taehyung took over during yoongis accident- they never met jk because they only bought into the business after yoongis accident when he had to sell off half of it to cover his medical bills (I’m picturing calico mini- a new addition, who took over jks job of checking people in for their appointments and answering the phone)

But anyway back to yoongi and his babying It’s natural for him to say “up!” To her (a total accident he swears) when she’s wearing a soaked shirt after coming in from the rain, blushing hard, but kinda grinning when she follows obediently. Because jk always liked it when yoongi would dress him 🥺 hyungs perfect little puppy doll all pliant and good. And it would be okay if only she didn’t slip up too! Accidentally calling yoongi a good boy on more than one occasion or going in for a “good pup kiss” cuz jk is like- kinda a kissy puppy, likes good morning kisses and thank you for putting your dishes away and “I missed you cuz you just peed kisses and I was worried a monster was gonna eat you in the bathroom” kisses. Jk has them both very well trained.

Of course he’d tease her endlessly for that. “Maybe we should get you a pair of puppy ears for Halloween if you’re gonna listen to me the way that jk does” “yeah? I’ll get you a pair of kitty ears and tatto whiskers on you in your sleep” only what if one day yoongi reveals he actually does have whisker tattoos they’re just black light 😭

Only why don’t they kiss each other the way they give him good boy kisses 🥺 why don’t they cuddle each other like they cuddle him??? Why don’t they good hands the way they hold hands with him when he goes out so that they don’t get lost! Jk has to remedy this right away 😠 he can’t loose either of them ever again so he’s gotta set them up!!!

[specialagentlokitty]

Aizawa x reader - the heart of a hero

Part 2:

You woke up to something being thrown at your head and you groaned, rolling over to the side.

“Don’t be such a bitch…”

“You need to take your tiny foods!” Venom yelled.

Reaching down, you pat the floor, trying to find the bottle and you picked them up, reading the label before looking at the symbiotesface in front of yours.

“You know these are food right?”

“The science man said you have to take them!”

You grumbled, tossing them back across your apartment, only to have venom fling them back at your head.

“That’s abusive man, what the fuck?”

“Take your tiny foods!”

You sighed, sitting up as you picked up the bottle, walking over to the sink to get a glass of water.

“Will you stop throwing them at me if I take them?”

“Maybe.”

Venom came over, studying you for a moment as you took your medication.

“I still don’t understand why we have to take the tiny food.”

“They’re antidepressants idiot, they’re supposed to make me so called normal. Anyway, I have work, so let’s go.”

You grabbed your work shirt, pulling it on over the one you were wearing, and you made your way to the quiet cafe.

You didn’t work much, you worked part time, it was the only job you could get, the pay was crap, your boss was horrible, but it paid for your medication you had to take, and let you buy a little bit of food each week.

As always, you finished late, you threw your hoodie back on and pulled your hood up as you left the kitchen of the restaurant, making your way into the dark street.

“I am hungry!”

“You’re always hungry…” you grumbled.

“I want brains!”

“You wouldn’t eat the damn chickens!” You hissed.

The creature huffed a little bit, taking control of your legs and you just sighed, letting him.

You couldn’t be bothered fighting him, and you didn’t feel like going home straight away either, so you let venom lead the way.

He jumped up on to a building, and you pulled your bandana up as you crouched down, resting your arms on your legs.

You stared at the ground below, yawning a little bit.

“This blows, can’t we just go to the shop. You’re not going to eat their heads anyways.”

“I crave violence!”

“Of course you do…”

Sighing heavily, you rested your elbow on your knee, and your chin on your hand, slowly looking over the streets.

So many people wondering about, probably having actual homes to go to, friends, families, maybe some of them felt the same way you did, you weren’t sure.

You were half asleep at that point, but when you heard a noise behind you, and the feeling of being tangled up in some sort of fabric you just sighed as you were dragged backwards.

“You’re coming with me venom.”

You recognised that voice.

Tilting your head up a little, your eyes bore into his, and you looked away again.

“Venom mask…”

Soon enough your body was gone, and he free of the scarf, and he let out a loud laugh as he pointed at the hero.

“I will eat your brain!”

“Don’t hurt him.”

“You are no fun!” He huffed.

Venom looked around, noticing a helicopter light was on him.

“Look, just try lose them if you can.”

“Fine!”

Venom ran towards the end of the building, jumping down the ledge.

He used the surrounding buildings to jump around, jumping between them, or swinging from them to get around corners.

He was fast, but you noticed that the pair of you weren’t alone in the skies, and in his attempts to escape from the heroes, you realised it was on purpose.

“It’s a trap!”

Before venom could stop, he came crashing into a clearing full of pros and police, all then them focused on the pair of you.

Venom looked around the construction site, grabbing some steel beams as he held them above his head with a roar.

“Venom don’t! They’ve got us, just sit down.”

You didn’t want to hurt any of them, so you forced him to give himself up as well, watching as they cuffed you, leading you to the back of a van.

You were taken away, taken to an isolated cell with guns in each corner, and you were strapped to the chair.

“I want food!” Venom yelled.

A police officer stood in front of the glass, arms crossed.

“Tell is who you are first. What’s your real name?”

“We are venom.”

“We know you have another form, I want to speak to that one, we believe that’s the true owner of the body, am I right?”

Venom tilted his head a little, grinning widely to show his teeth.

“I have eaten them!”

“No you haven’t. Where is the human? What is your quirk?”

Venom pushed his feet on the floor, pushing his chair backwards, and the guns followed him.

“I will stare at the ceiling!”

Half of venoms face receded to show yours.

“You dumbass, we’re going to be stuck like this now. Idiot.”

“I do not want to look at his ugly face!”

“I don’t want to lay here forever either, push us back up!”

“Fine! But you can look at his stupid face!”

Venom pushed you both back up, quickly covering you as the guns fired, and you waited for them to stop.

When they did, he fully disappeared, hiding inside of your again.

The officer couldn’t see much of you, you kept your head down, and you were still wearing your bandana.

“What’s your name?”

“His name is venom.”

“I want to know your name.”

You didn’t respond.

“What’s your quirk?”

Again you didn’t respond.

“Who do you work for? The league of villains?”

This caught your attention, and you lifted your head just enough so he could see your eyes.

“I’m not a villain.” You spat.

“Then what have you been doing?”

You refused to reply to his question, and he sighed, crossing his arms.

“Fine, I’ll try again tomorrow.”

They kept trying, day after day, you had your food delivered by robots, which venom enjoyed messing with.

You wouldn’t give the a chance to get closer to you to see your face, or try take your hood down, venom always had you covered, the mist they would flood the room with to knock you out didn’t affect the alien.

So he would keep you covered while you slept, or while they flooded the room with it.

You had broken free of your restraints a while ago, but you didn’t have the effort to try and break out of the prison, so you kept to your cell.

You were sitting in the corner playing a game with venom with some cards you had hidden in your pocket when you heard the speak activate.

“We have some heroes who are here to talk to you.”

Venom lifted his head to look up, and you smirked, swapping his cards before going back to looking at your own.

The speaker was shut down, so you couldn’t heard their conversation.

“Why aren’t they restrained?” Aizawa asked.

“They kept breaking out, they seem to have no interest in escaping.”

Aizawa nodded his head, putting his hands in his pockets as he looked through the window.

“He’s strong enough to escape, why won’t he?”

“We don’t think he’s the one in control, at least not fully. He seems to sometimes listen to what the other says. We don’t know their name, they won’t tell us, they just keep telling us they aren’t a villain, that’s it.”

Aizawa nodded his head, carefully studying the pair of you before.

Venom used your left hand to pick up his cards and he narrowed his eyes a bit before throwing them in the air.

“You cheated!”

“No I didn’t!”

He took over your body before launched you across the room, quickly uncovering you so your back slammed into the wall.

You fell on the floor with a heavy groan.

“This is why no one likes you…”

“They do this every day.” The officer sighed.

He left the room, leaning Aizawa sitting there.

“Venom the hero who found you is here to ask you a few questions.”

You and venom looked up, and you stared at Aizawa, pushing yourself to your feet.

Walking over, you stood in front of the glass with your hands in your pockets like him.

“Who do you work for?” He asked.

“I’m not a damn villain! Stop asking that!” You snapped.

“We eat villains!”

You turned to venom.

“Stop saying that shit we don’t eat them!”

Aizawa narrowed his eyes a little, then activated his quirk.

Venom decided to play along with this and hid himself inside you, and you rose a brow in confusion.

“You’re not a hero either, so what are you? Who are you?”

You sighed heavily.

“I’m a vigilante. Bringing down villains, we’ve never actually hurt somebody who didn’t deserve it.”

“That’s still a criminal offence.”

“Doesn’t make us a villain, just a criminal then.”

“What’s your name?”

You stayed quiet.

“This is the same question they refuse to answer. That and what their quirk is.” The officer said.

Aizawa released his quirky, and venom came back out, putting his face against the glass.

“We want our tiny foods!”

“You won’t tell us what your tiny foods are! What does it mean?!” An officer shouted over the speaker.

“The tiny foods that make us normal!”

“Medication? What kind of medication?” Aizawa asked.

Maybe this could narrow down their search, if they could find the matching name or description from doctors, they might be able to figure out who you are.

“The tiny foods make us normal, so we are not so sad.” Venom said.

You sighed, placing a hand on top of your hood.

“He means antidepressants. I take antidepressants.”

“What’s your name, we can get a prescription for you.” Aizawa said.

“Im not stupid.”

“We’re going to find out anyway.”

You walked over to the back of the room, sitting down, resting your arm on your knee as you began throwing the cards across the room.

“No you’re not. I’ve been out of the system for years.”

“You’ll still be somewhere, we’ll ask around.”

You scoffed.

“I don’t get why you won’t leave us alone…”

“You’re using your quirk, scaring civilians, and taking justice into your own hands.”

“Well if people just left me alone like I wanted…”

“What’s your name?” Aizawa pressed.

You pushed yourself up again, marching over to the glass and you pulled your bandanna down, letting him get a good look at your face.

“There, happy now? You know exactly who I am.” You snapped.

With that, you pulled your bandanna back up and went back to your corner.

“Just leave us alone…”

“(Y/N)…” he whispered.

“Bring us the tiny food!” Venom roared.

Aizawa narrowed his eyes a little bit.

You were you, he’d recognise you anywhere, but he couldn’t recognise you all at the same time, you looked so tired, worn down, you looked so sad and void of emotion all at the same time

[mindful-of-ideas]

A/N: Finn and Polly aren’t in the gif, but they’re there, I promise!

You couldn’t remember the last time you were here. It felt like years since you last saw Birmingham, and even longer since you set foot in the betting shop. You would’ve gone home first, but you knew you had better chances of finding your family here. As you walked down the street, the shop in sight, memories flooded in.

Ever since you were little, you knew you wouldn’t stay here. You were too different, too clever and too kind to ever be a real Peaky Blinder. And well, you were a girl. But that never stopped you from trying your best… and getting up to no good. Growing up, you and Finn, your twin brother, were ruling the neighbourhood. You would do anything to annoy people. Parents were often mad at the both of you, but you still kept doing it. But as you grew up, you started getting a lot of praise from teachers and adults for doing good at school. The only way to get further was to stay in line though. So you kept your mouth shut. Slowly, you drifted away from your family destiny, focusing on your study. With help from your aunt Polly, you managed to get into a college in London and find a safe place to stay. And you had been there ever since. You found a job working as a secretary for one of the researchers to pay for school, which meant working even when the semester was over. But the researcher had fallen ill and you had enough money on the side to allow yourself a visit to your family.

You stepped into the betting shop. And it was empty.

“Well…” you said quietly.

You were about to turn around when you heard muffled voices. That ought to be them. They were probably having a meeting in the parlour. You looked around the room, trying to find a place to sit when someone cleared their throat.

“Who are you?” asked a man, stepping out of the shadow.

“Who are you?” you asked in return.

“I’m not telling you my name until you tell me yours.”

“And I’m not telling you my name until you tell me yours.”

“You think this is funny?”

“You think this is funny?”

This was definitely funny.

“I’m not here to play games with little girls.”

“And you think I am? I was about to step out when a little girl asked me my name,” you replied, looking the man up and down.

Man was a strong word. He was more of a boy pretending to be a man. You hated that type of guys, always thinking they were above everyone when they actually knew nothing about anything.

“No one talks to me like that, you understand!” he said, suddenly walking towards you.

“And who would you be?” you asked, hoping to trick him while he was angry.

“Michael Gray”

Oh shit, was that Polly’s…

“Well, Michael, unlike what you might believe, I am not here to start a fight. So you can just take a step back and a deep breath.”

“The shop is off limits today, what kind of idiot doesn’t know that,” he said, taking a step forward.

“I don’t know, you tell me,” you said, also taking a step forward.

“Are you calling me an idiot?”

Another step.

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

Another step.

“What even is your name?”

Another step.

“I don’t know, you tell me.”

Another step.

“Not this again! You better shut up before things get bad,” he said.

He was close, too close now. Yes, you were a Shelby but if this man was Polly’s son, then chances are he could match you in a fight. He looked you straight in the eyes and with a single finger lifted your chin.

“Are you scared yet, little girl?”

You smiled. The voices in the other room had stopped.

“Are you scared yet, little girl?” you finally replied.

“That’s it!”

He pulled back his fist, ready to punch you and the face. Before he could even reconsider, Tommy grabbed his arm from behind. You dashed between the two and jumped into Finn’s arms.

“Finny!” you said, hugging him tightly.

“Y/N, how did you… when did you…” he tried to ask, hugging you back.

“Well, if it isn’t the child wonder,” said Arthur, putting his hand on your head.

You flashed him a smile before hugging him too.

“Hi,” you mumbled, your face buried in his shoulder.

“What, how… who is that?” asked Michael, his expression a mix of disbelief and disgust.

“Michael, meet Y/N Shelby,” Tommy said, as you made your way over to John.

You hugged him too, but he quickly pushed you back. You and John had always gotten along well, sometimes even more than you and Finn. You knew he was worried that seeing you here meant you had to quit college.

“I’m on break and my boss is ill,” you whispered to him.

“That’s amazing then,” he said, pulling you in for a second hug.

Your aunt then made her way to you hugging you and kissing the top of your head. She knew you were coming, so this wasn’t really a surprise for her.

“How was your trip?” she asked.

“Great, it was him that was the worst part,” you said, pointing at Michael, “No offence.”

“None taken,” she said, smiling at you, “In the future, Michael, don’t hit people.”

“She started it,” he replied.

“He started it,” you said back.

“Alright, stop it!” said Tommy.

All you wanted to do was walk up to him and hug him. It was his turn after all. But his eyes were so cold. He didn’t even smile when he saw you. It’s been so long since you last saw him, how much could he have changed?

“Where’s Ada?” you asked.

“Home,” Tommy replied, looking straight at you.

“Oh…”

“I’m glad to see you Y/N.”

“Are you? You should tell it to your face.”

You gasped, putting both hands on your mouth. You had fucked up. Michael had gotten you all riled up. Being on a break surely didn’t help either. You had fallen back into old habits of pushing people’s buttons until they snapped. But this wasn’t someone you wanted to snap.

“Sorry…” you said, lowering your hands.

Tommy didn’t say anything then suddenly started laughing.

“It’s good to see you Y/N. Seems like things don’t really change, um?” he said, opening his arms to you.

You went in for the hug, still shocked by his reaction.

“It’s good to be home,” you finally said.

[moonlight0934]

Bleeding Through Bandages

“I’m not so sure about this job. Why is no one here?” Gray asks as he peeks into another empty shop.

Erza frowns too. The town where the job listing said they needed to go is completely empty.

“It’s odd, but maybe the monsters they mentioned ran everyone off,” Lucy suggests.

“It’s possible,” Erza says though she doesn’t sound sure.

Gray just hums, entirely unconvinced. Lucy still seems anxious, but Natsu and Happy are running around like they’re on crack. Erza walks over to one of the houses, peeking through the window.

“No sign of anyone here either. Everything is clean though so they couldn’t have left that long ago.”

Gray nods.

“There’s no signs of blood, so that’s good. It supports Lucy’s theory.”

Erza steps away from the window only a second before it explodes outward. Erza flinches, pulling away as glass punctures her face. Only a second later, the window is completely intact, and Erza’s face is bleeding more cause the glass pieces are gone. Gray just stares for a few seconds, fully processing what just happened.

“Are you alright?”

Erza presses a finger gently against her cheek.

“Yeah, I think so. What just happened? Natsu!”

“What?” Natsu asks, coming back into view.

“Woah, what happened to your face?” Lucy asks.

“That window exploded.”

“It’s not broken though.”

“I know.”

“Do you think some kind of spell was put on the town?” Gray asks, his arms folded loosely against his chest.

“Yes, but what kind is still unclear. Just try not to touch too much stuff. I didn’t even have to touch it, but it still triggered when I put my face close to the glass. We should split up, and look for any people still in the town. Try not to trigger anything. Do you understand, Natsu?”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t touch stuff. I got it.”

Natsu races off with Happy flying behind him.

“I’m heading forward. Gray, you head left, and Lucy, you head right.”

Gray nods, and starts in the direction that Erza directed him towards. There’s no sign of anyone, and he has to try not to touch anything in fear of it exploding. He doesn’t get far though, because it’s only a few minutes before he hears something explode in the distance. His head jerks up, but the explosions don’t stop there.

It seems like the first one set off a domino effect, and the explosions are heading out from the first one. Some of them are getting closer, and some are getting further away. Gray tries to build an ice wall to block this area of the town off and stop the explosions, but nothing happens. He tries again as the building directly to his right explodes. Still nothing, and he passes out as he flies into the opposite building from the shockwave.

Erza is on the edge of the city when the whole thing explodes. She quickly changes her armor to keep herself safe from debris and aftershocks. As soon as those pass, and the debris settles, she races through the rubble to find the others. None of it is putting itself back together like the window did earlier.

It must have been a failsafe in case an animal or something set off a small explosion. Anything too big won’t fix itself. Anything that could have not been a person does so there’s no evidence of the spell. The question is, which one of those idiots caused this, and where are they?

She runs through the wreckage, jumping between larger pieces to move quicker. She finds Lucy first, and she’s got a very large cut on her arm, but looks otherwise unharmed.

“Are you alright?” Erza asks, stopping right before she runs into Lucy.

“I think so. Do you know what happened?”

“No, but you need that stitched as soon as possible. We’re going to do that really quick, and then we’ll keep looking for the others.”

“No, we have to keep moving.”

“That’s not going to be helpful if you pass out from blood loss.”

Lucy holds out her arm though she’s clearly still unhappy. Erza requips her armor to one that has a first aid kit built into it. She quickly stitches Lucy’s arm.

“Ok, that isn’t great, but it should hold just fine if you’re careful. Now let’s go find the others.”

They keep moving though not quite as fast now that Lucy is there. Natsu is the next one that they find, and he’s mostly buried under the debris. Lucy screams his name as they run over to him. Erza gets there first, and just lifts the debris off of Natsu like it weighs nothing. He’s still unconscious, and Happy was practically squished underneath him.

“Can you get him to the edge of town closest to here? He doesn’t seem to be in any imminent danger, but it would be better to get him out of such an unstable situation since he is injured. I still have to find Gray.”

Lucy nods, and gently takes Natsu from her.

“Jeez, have you gained weight recently?” she grumbles.

Erza just drapes Happy on her shoulder, then readjusts her armor strap to pin him there as she runs in the direction that Gray was supposed to be heading in. It takes longer to find him since she’s now across the city from him. He’s half buried with a giant hole in his leg. Erza crouches down, and taps Gray’s face, but he doesn’t respond.

“Gray?”

She rips a piece off of her skirt, and ties it around the top of his leg as tight as she can before quickly bandaging the actual wound.

“Ok, we have to get out of here.”

She picks him up, trying to keep his back and neck as straight as possible in case the impact caused a spinal injury. She takes him out of the city, and keeps going until she finds Natsu and Lucy. Natsu is awake, and weakly trying to fight Lucy off. He freezes upon seeing them.

“That’s not good.”

Erza sets Gray down, then slips Happy over to Lucy. The bandages that she wrapped around Gray’s leg are already soaked. Though the blood flow does seem slower than it did earlier.

“Lucy, you need to take the carriage, and get help from the village nearby,” Erza commands, but when she looks up, blood is dripping down Lucy’s arm again.

“Damn it. You ripped your stitches.”

She restitches Lucy’s arm as quickly as she can before turning back to Gray.

“Hurry up, and be more careful.”

Lucy nods, and takes off though she does look a little unsteady.

“She lost too much blood to be doing this,” Natsu says, sounding concerned and angry.

His eyes are fixed on Gray’s whose complexion is quickly turning ghost white.

“We don’t have time to argue that. If Gray doesn’t get some kind of medical attention soon he’s going to die. We can’t stop that.”

She continues trying to slow or stop the bleeding before making a better tourniquet from bandages instead of the stray cloth. Natsu sniffles, wrapping his arms tightly around himself. He’s obviously more emotional due to the head injury, and he looks terrified, which isn’t something that Erza thought she would see on him. She pushes her weight onto Gray’s leg, trying to staunch the bleeding. Gray’s wheezing now even though it’s barely loud enough for Erza to hear it.

“I don’t think magic works in the city. It was like Fried put up one of his spells. Do you think the same thing happened to Gray?” Natsu asks, scooting closer.

Erza hums.

“I’m not sure, but it would explain how it got this bad.”

Gray’s eyes flutter open, and he jerks back away from Erza. The bandages slip out of her hands, and Natsu grabs Gray’s face in his hands.

“Gray, it’s ok. We’re here, and you’re going to be ok. You have to stay still, and let Erza take care of you.” He’s talking quickly, but Gray seems to be following.

He at least stops moving so much, and settles his head back against Natsu’s hands. Erza quickly reapplies pressure to his leg. He whines, his face twisting up.

“I know, you’re ok. You’ll be alright,” Natsu says, near tears.

Gray gasps, his eyes starting to fall closed again. Natsu taps his face while Erza averts her eyes from the scene in front of her. She keeps her eyes on the wound on Gray’s leg, her eyes starting to fill with tears. She can faintly hear Natsu crying, and Gray’s wheezing, but she’s blocking most of it out.

It’s not that long before Lucy drops to her knees beside Erza, and Erza pulls herself out of her stupor. A few healers come up after that, and Erza rushes to back up. Lucy grabs Natsu, and pulls him back too even though he’s aggressively protesting. They all just stand off to the side for a while, waiting in tense silence. Eventually one of the healers turns around.

“He’s stable, but he needs to be transported to the nearest hospital immediately. You’re free to follow behind us, and wait there.” That’s all she says before they take Gray.

Erza ends up driving them there, and getting Lucy and Natsu into the emergency room. Then she sits alone for a few hours before a nurse comes up to talk to her.

“You were the one with Ms. Heartfilia, Mr. Dragneel, and Mr. Fullbuster, correct?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, Ms. Heartfilia and Mr. Dragneel are both being released right now. Mr. Fullbuster does have to stay at least overnight, but he is going to be fine.”

Erza nods, letting out a breath that she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

“Thank you.”

She nods, and gives Erza a smile.

“Mr. Fullbuster is in room three oh four. The other two already have the room number, and are probably going to meet you there.”

Erza nods, and immediately goes to find Gray’s room. He’s awake, and sitting up when she comes in. His leg is still wrapped up, but he looks worlds better than he did earlier.

“Hey, Erza.”

“Don’t do that. You scared us.”

Gray smiles sadly.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

Erza laughs, sounding a little hysterical even to her own ears.

“I’m just glad that you’re ok.”

[kittensharl]

your asks about this kika/pierre situation made its way to my dash and i have so many thoughts about it (not that many as i don’t think about it that much, of course) but just like. IT IS such a weird relationship and i think i just need to rant about this all a bit if you don’t mind, bc i don’t think it would be a welcome topic on the environments i’m in (it’s not even a topic to be fair)

i don’t think the age gap itself is the problem, people have relationships with a 10 year gap and it works just fine (my parents have it, for example, married for 25 years) but i just think they’re in different stages in their lives. it’s one thing when it’s 30-37 or something like that, but 19-27??

and i’m not gonna say i don’t understand what either of them is looking for, i just don’t think, like i’ve seen around, that this is COMPLETELY his fault. i think she knows what she’s doing, she’s aware of the consequences this will have for her even when it ends. she’s in the spotlight and she might get her account deleted and posts reported a few times, yes, but she’s being seen, and that’s what she wants.

i also agree, i think he always looks more invested than her, like, 90% of the time. she posts him a lot because she needs the spotlight but he posts her including her in his daily life, like, not making a big deal out of it but making sure she’s there. and i’m pretty sure every photo of them both that wasn’t taken by them personally or like, they are posing in vacation or whatever, she never looks like, genuinely happy to be there. (ie. you see the cannes photos, the beach photos, she’s just there, looking completely bored and as if she would rather be at the coffee shop near her house than there). like come on, charles looks at pierre with more emotion than her!

and like, this doesn’t come from a place of jealousy like ‘i want to date him and i’m the only one for him’, it really is not (i’m not even his type, meaning, i am not a starved model-like body who’s “perfect” iykwim, and i am conscious).

i just find it so odd for your whole life to spin around being someone’s girlfriend? bc that’s all she is, no career no job no nothing, just ‘pierre gasly’s girlfriend’ and that’s just completely ????????? for me. if you search for her name anywhere, everything will be linking her to him, not a single thing about her as a person, only this persona, which would be fine if she was a “normal person” but she is allegedly a model, actress, tv host (i actually went to google her just for curiosity) so why doesn’t she have her own image? she’s following him EVERYWHERE, she’s in EVERY SINGLE RACE this year and i get that she’s the girlfriend and she’ll want to be with him as much as possible but just like, don’t you have ANYTHING ELSE going on? don’t you have something else to do instead of just follow him around like a puppy? not even A SINGLE WEEKEND?

i see people saying sometimes ‘they are so in love’ ‘they are perfect together’ of course they are in love, it’s a new relationship with a person so far from your age that everything is even more new and exciting than it already is. ‘she said he’s the love of her life’ OF COURSE SHE DID SHE’S 19!!!!! HE’S NOT THE LOVE OF HER LIFE, SHE’S JUST SO YOUNG AND LIKELY UNEXPERIENCED THAT SHE’LL THINK THAT A GUY WHO (apparently) TREATS HER RIGHTS AND SPOILS HER IS THE LOVE OF HER LIFE!!!!!!

also she lowkey looks like sid from ice age and kelly piquet together

so yeah, like, i won’t go online and report her account or even as much as look for her account to be fair, but i feel a bit of uneasiness when i see them together (fortunately, that’s rarely ever)

i don’t know, i don’t even know either of them like irl but pierre is a little cringe but he does seem like a nice guy, and i don’t even know her enough even from social media to say something about her, but yeah, i don’t know, i try to avoid this whole relationship in general because it icks me too much.

i don’t even do wags in general honestly, i don’t know why i get so bothered by her specifically. anyways you don’t even need to answer this, i stumbled upon your few asks and i agreed with all of them so much.

Thank SO MUCH FOR this raaaant!! I enjoyed reading it and agreed agreed A.G.R.E.E.D, yes - oh yes - she resembles Sid and Kelly, you are so right. And so true it is that Charles drowns in Pierre's eyes, he drowns and they flirt and they joke, nothing of the likes that Kika ever did in a picture/video with Pierre so far. In a better universe Piarles had been the real thing, am I right?

Over to the beach picture situation. It was… strange at best, aye. I found myself wondering if that’s her default going-into-the-ocean face or is she genuinely as bored as she looks? I’m a firm speculator in the speculation department of Kika Speculations that at some stage her patience for his antics, shenanigans, playfulness will dwindle because of how she has shown to squirm uncomfortably and such in the face of it (tumblr provided the evidence). But as these overly exciting and erotic hormones she is infected by right now starts to fade, she will naturally start to get annoyed by certain things Pierre does or says regardless—this is a critical phase that many couples go through as they head out of the rosy honeymoon phase fog that felt so dreamy and magical. The younger you are the less likely will you be able to confront that in a healthy way and more likely will it result in breakups. So, looking at Kika’s age only: she is in a higher risk of leaving Pierre. It can be that she will leech herself onto him harder to suck up more fame in his radius while simultaneously feeling bored and frustrated with him tho, resulting in Pierre breaking up with her, really.

The people complaining that the age gap is too big and accusing Pierre for being a predator and preying on Kika like a creep deserves to only ever eat burnt bacon with this cursed creature:

[datura-meloxia]

This is so wonderfully kind, thank you so much!! I’d love to talk a little more about my cosplay (this ended up being very long, sorry in advance haha!) ☺️

So in total honesty, I still very much consider myself a cosplay newbie - Wylan was my first cosplay that I put together back in October for comic con!! It was something I always knew I wanted to try out and have a little bit of fun with, and I think I’ve definitely found a new passion!

Given I’m so new to everything, I haven’t had much time to develop many new skills just yet - I’m also a uni student, and so my budgets are pretty small, and things like craft supplies or even a sewing machine can seem quite intimidating and a bit out of reach! That being said, one of the brilliant things I’ve learned about cosplay is how you can still create something really wonderful from things you find or already own, and I’m such an advocate for things like casual or closet cosplay!!

Most of the base pieces of the costume are things I found in charity shops or online marketplaces like Vinted - even the tie! Not everything is completely screen accurate of course. This was kind of a push back for me at first being such a perfectionist - I really wanted to get every little detail to match how it was in the show until I realised that it was really taking the fun out of things for me. So I honestly just went for vibes!! Still trying to get the general look and silhouette for Wylan, the colour palette etc. but being a little more relaxed about the details.

I think the waistcoat and jacket are both great examples of this - whilst they’re not totally show accurate, they still *feel* very Wylan and look like something he would wear, and once I saw it all put together, I realised how much I actually liked the look of it all and how recognisable i actually was as him!

Anyone who knows me knows how much I love the little details, and so for me this is what really pulled my Wylan cosplay together. Again, although these aren’t necessarily things he had on him in the show, the bunches of flowers and the chemical bottles I had attached to my belt all felt very Wylan-esque. He’s our demolitions man, so of course he’d have some explosives ready at hand! The little vials of powder are just old crushed up eye shadows I had laying around - I wanted red and white to represent the Red Phosphorus and Potassium Chlorate that Wylan buys in Shu Han, and the other two are just there for a bit of fun! The flute also felt like a must have - that was one or the few things I found online, it was very cheap but did the job perfectly!

The flowers are of course a reference to the Datura Meloxia flowers from season 2 of the show, and I knew I wanted to include Cyan Morpho butterflies somehow but worried they’d be too overwhelming. So, I managed to find these teeny little butterfly hair clips that I attached to my waistcoat, goggles and the flowers in my bag! I think they work just perfectly, they don’t overpower anything, but are still a cute little detail for anyone who gets the reference!

(Edit to original post because I just completely forgot!): Another very small detail to this cosplay that no one has actually seen yet is one of my favourites - in the little pocket of my waistcoat, I keep a small bronze key. This may seem quite random, but the key is meant to be the one that Jesper gives to Wylan in the deleted scene from Season 2. The key represents so much about their dynamic, and the ways in which they've both had to navigate their worlds up until that point, and it's a truly special moment for me that I wanted to make sure I could represent. So, that little key is always in my pocket, right by my heart, just as I think it would be for Wylan.

I think something I always worried about with cosplaying Wylan was that I wouldn’t do him justice. That I wouldn’t portray him the right way or people wouldn’t understand who it was meant to be. But once I let loose and just enjoyed myself with it, I knew I had nothing to worry about!

All of the feedback I’ve had on my Wylan has truly meant the world - never would I have expected people to like my rendition so much, let alone the cast voting on it as their second place winner in a competition?! Having everyone tell me afterwards just how happy Jack looked, how much he was cheering and up on his feet for me was the most heartwarming thing. Hearing from Freddy just how much Jack had paid attention to all of my little details and mannerisms and poses, and how enthusiastic and excited he’d been to see it was just the most surreal experience. Even Archie telling me he’d wanted me to win the whole thing felt like a fever dream!

It’s been such a wild journey, and I think Wylan will always be my favourite cosplay to do. I’m sure I’ll be wearing him again very very soon.

Much love from your favourite demolitions expert ;) 🧪💣

Into The Fold this last weekend was so unbelievably incredible - I had the most amazing time, met some truly wonderful people, and managed to come away from it all winning second prize for my Wylan cosplay??

Hearing everyone say how much they loved the cosplay was already magical enough, but to hear it directly from the cast - from Jack!!- took my gratitude to a whole new level. I had so many people tell me afterwards just how wild their reactions had been, and I’m just so happy that I could do Wylan justice!

[absurdthirst]

Halloween Home Intruder {Dave York x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: Murder for hire, assassins, flirting, death threats, coercion, oral sex (male receiving), vaginal sex, protected sex, gun play, mentions of pregnancy

Comments: Being a congressman's daughter is sometimes dangerous. Especially when your name is given to Dave York to eliminate as a message to your father. Ironic thing is, Dave is your neighbor and Halloween night is the perfect night to take you out, or maybe you'll convince him to let you live.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

|| MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

The name comes to him through a secure text. Obviously a burner phone. He doesn’t recognize the number but he does recognize the name. He makes a point of learning who was going to be living next to him and his children. Couldn’t be too careful these days. He recognizes it as the pretty neighbor next door. He hasn’t introduced himself. Wanted to let her settle in before engaging in more than awkward waves while he’s taking the trash out. Now that he has to kill her, he might as well say hello. 

You’re frowning to yourself, as you look down at your schedule, making note of where you need to be and when. Rolling your eyes when you see the fundraiser dinner your father has practically demanded you attend. Other than pulling you out into the spotlight when it comes to campaign donations or to remind people that he is a ‘loving family man’, you rarely hear from him. Too busy working on Capitol Hill, or so he claims. Jumping slightly when the doorbell rings, you put down your phone and pad through the hallway towards the front door, bare feet slapping lightly against the heart pine the builder had insisted on to open the door. Finding your neighbor on your doorstep. 

Dave plasters a friendly smile on his face when you open the door, the fresh baked cookies in his hand would be a great way to kill you but that’s too easy. Also, it’s not a guarantee. He likes to be sure. Two shots in the heart, one in the head. It’s messy but it gets the job done and he knows there will be no mistakes, no chance of someone finding you and rescuing you. “Hey. My name’s Dave, I just wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

“Hi! Yeah I’ve seen you around.” You introduce yourself and open the door wider. “Why don’t you come in? I have a pot of coffee to go with those cookies, if they’re for me.” You smile at him, finding him much more attractive up close than the from a distance impression has given you.

Dave smirks a little. Good, it’s so much easier to kill you if you think he’s attractive and he sees the look in your eyes. He can see that you are attracted to him, your pupils dilating and he knows you’re going to be easy to manipulate. “That sounds good sweetheart.” He says with all the charm he can muster, acting like a perfect gentleman when his eyes don’t dip down to your ass in those tight leggings.

You try to ignore the small little flip of your tummy when he calls you sweetheart. He’s married. You know that. You’ve seen the ring on his finger and the kids coming and going with the nanny. Or maybe she’s his wife. You aren’t certain. But you know that he’s unavailable and you wonder why that makes him more attractive. Leading him into the kitchen, you motion to the table in the little nook right next to it. “Please sit, what do you take in your coffee?” You ask, trying to be a good host and get a hold of yourself.

“Black please.” He tells you, taking a seat at your kitchen table and he watches as you make your way over to your fancy coffee machine. “Nice machine.” He quips, finally letting his eyes drop down to your ass and he admires it openly.

“Thank you. I like having fancy coffee. Saved the trips to Starbucks or some other shop.” You brew a cup for him and smile as you bring it over with a plate for the cookies. You hadn’t missed the way his eyes were on your ass as you had faced him.

Dave thanks you, taking the cup and he groans when he has a sip. “Definitely worth the investment. Might have to put that on my Christmas list.” He chuckles, watching you sit down. He grabs a cookie, taking a bite. “My wife makes the best cookies.” He groans, “you gotta have one. You’re lucky I brought them over here. I was gonna eat them all the way.”

“That good, huh?” You make your own coffee, adding some white chocolate syrup and some Carmel drizzle as well as your creamer before you come and sit down to take your own cookie. Moaning loudly when you bite into it. “Oh wow, these are good.” You tell him, covering your mouth so you can speak around the cookie.

“Told you.” He chuckles, finishing off the cookie. He appraises you for a moment, a little sad to have to kill you. He doesn’t relish killing beautiful women. Men…he couldn’t give a shit. Most of them have done something heinous and deserving death but most of the women he kills are for revenge or coercion. Money mostly. You are the daughter of a congressman so clearly someone is taking a risk having you killed. He doesn’t give a fuck. It’s good money. He just needs to play the game. “So…how are you settling in? You meet the neighbors.”

“Everyone’s been really nice.” You gush slightly, and like the appraising look in his eyes. It’s always nice to be appreciated. “It’s a lovely neighborhood and I swear that I can’t remember the last time I’ve had so many people tell me about the bi-annual block party.” You had fallen in love with the idea of that kind of community when you were searching for home.

“Yeah. It’s real suburbia.” He snorts, always finding it a bit too Stepford Wives for his taste but a happy wife equals a happy life so he bought the house that makes his wife happy. He sets his coffee cup down, “I’m sure your husband enjoys the quiet life too.” He tests, wondering if you have a boyfriend or girlfriend or a life partner. Complications is what he’d call them.

You huff and shake your head. “Does it look like I have a husband?” You ask, fully aware that he would have seen someone coming and going from your house. “My father would be thrilled, but I have to disappoint him somehow.”

Dave snorts, “surely your daddy would be proud of you regardless. You’re a beautiful, successful young woman.” He compliments you, “any lucky bastard to capture you would have to be a damn good man.” Dave isn’t sure how this became the conversation but he wants to draw you to him. Sexual attraction always helps him get his kill. The lure of sex always helps him get what he wants.

You snort and roll your eyes. “I’ll make sure to tell the ex’s who decided to cheat on me that they were dumbasses for letting me go.” It’s nice to be complimented and you take a sip of your coffee and look over at him. “What about you? You have the perfect life. Beautiful wife, two gorgeous little girls.”

Dave shrugs, “suburbia haze settles in after a while. I get bored. Easily bored and I always like to find a new challenge.” He fixes his dark gaze on you. He might have to kill you but that doesn’t mean he can’t flirt beforehand. He has to have a bit of fun now and then and you look like the kind of fun he likes.

“Hmmmm I’m sure you do.” You hum playfully, picking up another cookie. They are warm, still slightly gooey in the center like they had just come from the oven. “Maybe your new challenge will be to learn to make these cookies so you can bring them to me anytime.” You take a sip of your coffee and groan as the flavors mix together. “Suburbia life is pretty damn good from where I’m sitting right now.” 

Dave chuckles, “just you wait until Sally from 1023 asks about you being married and then proceeds to get your entire life story. I swear she works for the CIA.” He offers you an easy grin, “I could make cookies but I’m better at eating them.” He winks, picking up another one. Fuck, they are really good.

You’re sure he’s good at eating a lot of things. You feel your pulse pick up when he winks at you and you sip at your coffee. “Maybe she does.” You arch a brow playfully. “We could be living next door to spies and assassins and not even know it.” You smirk slightly. “The cover is perfect. Boring suburbia covering sins.”

Dave chortles at that, nodding his head. “True.” He rubs his clean shaven jaw, staring at you for a moment. “Who knows who lives in these perfect houses with their white picket fences. You need to be careful, sweetheart. You never know who’s lurking. Do you have a security system?”

You tilt your head at him curiously, wondering if it’s a simple question or if there’s something behind it. “I have a fantastic security system.” You promise with a small smile.

Dave hums, "that's good. Never know who would target a beautiful home like this with you in it. Can't be too careful. Well, I gotta get back. My wife wanted to come over but she's been busy with the girls and she deserved a break from all of us while the kids are at a sleepover. Thanks for the coffee." He says as he sets the cup down.

You are a little disappointed that he didn’t stay long but you set down your own coffee cup and stand when he does. “Well, thank you for the cookies, and for the warm greeting.” You smile at him taken in by how handsome his warm brown eyes are. “I will see you around, neighbor.” You joke as the two of you walk towards the front door.

“You got your candy ready for the trick or treaters?” Dave asks and you gesture to the bowl all ready at your front door. “Ready to go.” You smile and Dave nods, “see you around, sweetheart.” He coos and walks out of your front door after you open it. He’s disappointed to go honestly but he knows he has to play the game. Get you to trust him before he comes back to kill you and get paid. He offers you one last smile and makes his way down the street to prepare for tonight. It’s Halloween. The girls are at their friend’s house to go trick or treating and he knows that most emergency services will be slammed with calls. It’s the perfect night to commit a murder. He just has to be patient and wait until nightfall.

****

You grin at the masked superheroes and goblins that are crowding your doorstep. “Trick or treat!” They cry out and you giggle. 

“You all look so good!” You tell them as you put handfuls of candy into their bags or buckets. “Happy Halloween!” You call out, waving to the parents that are standing at the end of the driveway. It’s getting late, the last few trick or treaters can grab whatever they want from the candy bowl as you set it on the porch and turn around to go back inside. It’s been a good Halloween. Lots of kids out and about, making you slightly disappointed when you didn’t see Dave and his kids.

Dave pulls on his leather gloves. Night has fallen and the children are mainly home, leaving the adults to their treats and the monsters to their tricks. He pulls the ski mask down when he sneaks into your backyard. Dave locates your security system outside and pulls the toolkit from his pocket, working fast to disarm the system. He also checked the perimeter for any secret service and he knows you’re all alone. After expertly disarming your system, he makes his way towards the back door. He works fast, years of experience on his side as he opens your door and quietly makes his way inside, listening for you while he pulls his gun out of his holster.

Humming to yourself, you listen to the TV announce some new vacuum cleaner while you dump your popcorn into a bowl. There’s a horror movie marathon and now that you are done answering the door for trick or treaters, you want to sit down and just relax, watch a couple of scary movies and wish you had someone to cuddle up to. Extra Halloween candy you hadn’t set out is in another bowl and you pick both of them up to carry out into your living room.

Dave stalks through your hallway, passing the kitchen that you just left and he cuts through to the office, preparing himself for a moment and letting you settle down on the sofa. He strides into the living room, eagerly awaiting your screams.

You yelp when you see your neighbor in your living room, dressed in all black and wearing gloves. The gun in his hand is made even more sinister by the smirk on his face. Jumping up, the popcorn spills to the ground as you stumble back. “What do you want?” You demand icy dread running down your spine. 

Dave chuckles at the look in your eyes. He’s a sick bastard, he always likes that tinge of fear. “Some people aren’t happy with your daddy, sweetheart. He made some bad votes that lost them a lot of money so they want blood. Yours.” He chuckles darkly, “so be a good girl and kneel down so we can get this over with. I can make it quick.”

You tremble slightly, trying to think of something to get you out of this. “I can pay you.” You offer but Dave just shakes his head. 

“Not what they are, sweetheart. Come on, I promise it will be as painless as possible.” He sends you a small mocking pout. “But you will have to have a closed casket, I’m afraid.” 

You swallow and shake your head. “No, I- I saw the way you look at me. Will- will you let me live if you can fuck me?”

Dave is shocked, not expecting that bargaining chip from you but desperate people make desperate offers. “Mmm.” He chuckles and he strides over to you, stopping a couple of steps away. “Sweetheart. You couldn’t handle me fucking you. Besides, it’s not very becoming of a congressman’s daughter. What would you daddy think? Offering your pussy in exchange for your life? Shameful.” Dave tuts playfully, stepping closer and he places the barrel of the gun under your chin to tilt your head up to look at him. “Is your pussy good enough to save your life?”

You don’t know, but you would rather risk getting fucked by him than just getting shot right now. “It’s been a long time since anyones fucked me, but I think so.” You respond breathlessly. It’s shameful but you can’t help the way your core heats up, your pussy starting to flood itself. “Nice and tight, ready for you to shove your cock in. I saw you looking at my ass, you wanted to touch me.”

“Yeah? You getting turned on sweetheart? You’re wet, aren’t you? The thought of me fucking you has you soaked. I know you wanted me earlier. I wanted you too. Gotta wear a condom though if we do this. Wife promised me a Halloween BJ since the kids are at a sleepover. Strip. Show me everything and then I’ll decide what to do. If I shoot you, the police will be able to see those pretty tits.”

It’s humiliating to think about how quickly you reach for the hem of your shirt. The threat of him killing you still hangs over your head and you pull it off and toss it aside, thankful you weren’t wearing a bra. Your leggings are next, no panties underneath and you are quickly bare in front of a man with a gun, hoping he finds you sexy enough.

Dave bites his lip, watching as you stand bare in front of him, trying not to shake since your life is on the line. “Mmmm.” He steps closer, trailing the barrel of his gun along your skin, just above your tits. You inhale sharply when the muzzle brushes your nipple. “I guess you’ll do. Kneel and take my cock out. No teeth otherwise you’ll die.” He promises, “I want you to take my cock down your throat. Suck my cock like your life depends on it…because it does.”

That shouldn’t turn you on, but it does. You kneel down and unzip his black utility pants, wondering if he’s killed anyone in them. Your hand brushes his cock inside his boxer briefs and he’s already hard. “Do you get hard killing people or is that because I’m naked?” You ask, pulling his cock out and looking at the flushed tip.

Dave snorts, watching you wrap your fingers around his girth. “A little of both. You are a beautiful woman and am I wrong if I get a little turned on by the adrenaline of killing someone? Nothing like it. Especially when you get away with it.” He tells you candidly, “it’s a turn on and right now, you are sucking cock to save your life so might wanna get to it.”

You shiver slightly, your eyes sliding over to the pistol still in his grip and you lean forward to take him into your mouth. Closing your eyes when the tip of his cock hits your tongue and you taste the salty flesh. Unable to stop yourself from moaning slightly while your greedy tongue laps at the swollen head.

Dave watches you as you take his cock into your mouth, your lips wrapped around the head and your eyes look up at him. “Damn.” He hisses, “I imagined earlier how that pretty mouth would feel. Fucking perfect. Shame it’s gonna be ice cold until you make me change my mind.” He tuts, pressing the muzzle of the gun to your head. “Suck harder princess.”

You gasp slightly and shove more of his cock in your mouth, terror and excitement swirling together and confusing you but all you can be concerned with is making this good for him. You choke, sputter around him but you don’t pull away. Leaning into him and pushing past the gag reflex so you can swallow.

Dave’s eyes flutter for a moment until he recovers, a grin appearing on his face. “Fuck. You are good at this. You like sucking cock? Are you wet just being my little slut? Begging for your life with your throat.”

You agree, the sound muffled by his cock and vibrating around him. Dave groans so you keep making noises while you bob on his cock, wanting to prove that you are worth not killing. You don’t want to die tonight. You reach up slowly, freezing when his gun is shoved a little harder against your temple, but you just wrap your fingers around the last inch you can’t take into your mouth and pump him while you suck his cock. 

Dave groans, watching you, the combination of his pre-cum and your saliva drip down your chin and he reaches out to scoop it up. He doesn’t need DNA on the floor. He wipes his free gloved hand on his pants and he uses it to grab the back of your head, forcing you to take him deeper. “Fuck. It’s good. Your mouth is good.” He gives you, gun still pressed against your temple.

You hollow your mouth, letting him force you deeper and you pull back just enough to let him force you down again. Letting him control how deep you take him. Letting him fuck your mouth. You’re trembling but you can’t deny that your pussy is aching, leaking enough that you are dripping onto the floor under you. Wanting to reach down and touch yourself while the man who is here to kill you fucks your throat. It says something about you, but you aren’t exactly sure you want to analyze that. 

“Fuck. Taking me so deep down your throat.” His hand slides from your head to your throat, feeling how his cock bulges, and he’s tempted to cum down your throat but he also wants to feel how tight and wet your cunt is. He drags you off of his cock by your throat, his length bouncing and dripping with saliva. “Stand up.” He orders, “hands on the table and spread your legs.” He commands, “any sudden movements and you’re dead.” He promises, keeping the gun in his hand.

Standing up, you shakily move over to the table and spread yourself out like he ordered you to. Face burning with shame and excitement when you feel how wet you’ve gotten from sucking this killer’s cock and you throb with anticipation of him sliding inside you. Anything to save your life. Whimpering slightly when you feel the barrel of the gun slide down your spine. 

Dave chuckles when you shiver as he slides the muzzle between your cheeks, dragging the weapon between your legs and he hums when your arousal coats the barrel. The muzzle hitting your clit makes you cry out and he smirks, “you are enjoying this, aren’t you? You sick little whore. You want to ride the gun that’s gonna kill you if you don’t do a good enough job?”

Your whimper is shameful, slightly desperate but you shake your head. You need to prove to him that you are worth keeping alive. You don’t think that he will get enjoyment from a gun touching you. “Fuck me.” You beg, looking over your shoulder but his hand pushes your face forward again. “I want- I - let me prove I’ll do a good job.” 

Dave chuckles at the desperate tone in your voice. It’s pathetic but he knows you’ll do whatever you need to do to save your life. He pulls his gun away, reaching down to pull the condom out of his pocket that he keeps there for emergencies like this and he shoves the condom into your hand. “Put this one.” He orders, pointing the gun at you again.

You don’t want to question why he has a condom in his pocket. Instead, you rip the packet open as you turn around to face him. His eyes are dark on you as you pinch the tip and roll it down his thick length. Biting your lip in concentration so you don’t make a wrong move that could cost you your life. 

He groans at your grip and he taps your thigh, “spin around.” He demands now that you’ve put the rubber on his cock. He reaches down to grip his length, positioning it at your dripping entrance. “Damn. Someone got turned on sucking my cock.” He chuckles darkly before he pushes inside of you without warning and no preparation but you’re so wet, it’s slick and easy for Dave to penetrate deep in one thrust.

Your cry is loud, hands grabbing for the arm that Dave has wrapped around your stomach to hold you against him. Gasping when he doesn’t give you a moment to adjust, just starting to hammer into you relentlessly. Stealing your breath every time his cock drills into you deep, punching against your cervix with no mercy. His gun pressed back against your side as he rocks into you. 

He’s relentless, thrusting into you like his life depends on it despite it being your life that hangs in the balance. He hisses at how tight you are gripping him, your pants making him groan and he hammers into you without mercy. “Take it baby. Take it all.” He demands, gun still aimed towards you.

You whimper, clenching down around him. Feeling the desperate way he’s shredding up into you. “D-Daaa-ve.” You stutter out, the slapping of his hips loud while he rocks into you. You feel the way the gun digs into your side and your eyes slide closed, embarrassed that you are enjoying this.

Dave hisses, his fingers shifting to wrap around your neck, pulling you further into his chest and arching your back so he can push even deeper inside of you. “Fuck baby. So good. Such a tight cunt.” He growls, “you love it, don’t you? Dirty little whore. Daddy doesn’t know you get wet like this, does he? He doesn’t know how much you like to be fucked.”

A shiver races down your spine, body shuddering under his rough treatment and hard fucking. “N-noooooo.” You whine, leaning back and it feels like your nipples are as hard as iron, making you cry out when the gun scraps across one peak. Your pussy is pulsing, fluttering as you race towards your orgasm as every thrust pushes him against something wonderful inside you. “Fuck.” 

Dave groans when your walls grip him, making it harder to thrust so hard but he persists, desperate for his own release. “Shit baby. Pussy like a goddamn vice. No wonder - fuck - no wonder you agreed to let me fuck you. Want you to cum. Cum for the last time.” He orders, pressing the barrel of his gun against your bundle of nerves.

You practically wail when you cum. Shuddering and locking down around him while you soak his condom covered cock in waves of hot cum. Your body heaves under the force of the pleasure washing over you and you push up to your toes, thighs shaking at the feeling of the gun pressed against your clit. 

Dave grunts when you grip his cock in your walls, so tight around him, and he struggles to continue pushing into you to seek his own orgasm. He pants, hips slamming against your ass until he lets out a choked moan, his cum filling the condom as he buries his cock deep inside of you.

Panting, you lean forward to press your body to the table, breasts flattened against the wood. Feeling him pulse inside you and honestly sad that you don’t feel the warm flood of his cum filling you. You close your eyes and hum. “Good?” You ask, limp and unable to do more than lay there. 

Dave doesn’t say a word as he pulls out of you carefully, not wanting the condom to spill and he expertly ties it off before shoving it into his pocket. “I’m sorry sweetheart. It wasn’t good enough. Gotta provide for my family and the money is too good to turn down, I hope you enjoyed your last orgasm.” He offers, pressing the gun to your forehead and wastes no time pulling the trigger.

You flinch a shiver of fear running down your spine as he pulls the trigger.  You hear the click and snort quietly as you open your eyes and twist your head to look back at Dave. “Really?” You roll your eyes at him as you straighten up and turn around to look at him with a smirk on your face. “Oops, looks like the big, bad assassin forgot to load his gun.” 

Dave chuckles, “as if I’d actually load the fucking thing, honey.” He huffs, tossing the gun aside after flicking on the safety just in case and he grabs your hips to pull you close, pressing his lips to yours. “Did you enjoy it?” He hums, pulling back for a second.

Smirking, you wind your arms around Dave’s neck and kiss him again. “I loved it. It was thrilling. And the condom bit, perfect.” You pull back and lift a brow at your husband. “Did you actually do anything like this when you were taking contracts?” You ask, knowing he won’t lie to you about that. Not when he was out of the business before you got married and he doesn’t hide things from you. 

Dave shakes his head, “no. No one could convince me to save them. It was money. I didn’t give a fuck who they were or what they could offer. If they knew who I was or that I was there, I’d be dead so I didn’t take any risks leaving evidence…including someone alive. It was…clean cut.” He tells you honestly, knowing he could never lie about it to you. You accept all of him…even the dark past he used to conceal. He kisses your lips again, “Nancy texted me before I came in here. The girls are all asleep. Apparently hyped up on candy but she got the sleepover crew to bed.” Dave chuckles, talking about the suburban mother whose child is hosting the sleepover.

You hum happily, knowing the girls are in good hands. “Good.” Your fingers curl up into the hair at the base of his neck and play with it. “Dad wants us at the fundraiser early tomorrow night.” You roll your eyes slightly and send him a small pout, knowing he understands how much you hate those types of things. “Of course he would ‘love’ for the girls to come too.” 

“No.” Dave shakes his head, “I don’t want them on stage or exposed. I want to keep them safe just in case my shit comes back to haunt me. Bad enough how much I worry about you.” It’s ironic really, Dave was always so low key but now he’s married to a Congressman’s daughter and in the spotlight but that’s honestly the best place for him. If anyone brought up his past, it would be dismissed as propaganda. Easy to get a free pass and you know what he did and still love him which is the most important thing.

“I know, I already drafted the email back to him reminding him that your children are not his campaign platform.” You love his daughters, you have from the moment that you had met them. Their safety and happiness was the most important thing for you as their stepmother. “Although, you know….” you smirk and pull him closer for another kiss. “I’ve been thinking about something. I was wondering if you wanted to see about having another kid to protect from the congressman’s ambitions?” 

Dave leans back to look at you in surprise. You discussed possibly having a baby together before you even got married but between your work and the girls, it never seemed the right time. Now though, the girls are settled, they love you, and your work is stable. Dave has a good job as a security consultant that he can provide if you want to give up work. “You want a baby?” He asks, reaching up to caress your cheek.

You nod, grinning at him and giving a small shrug. “I want to have your baby. A big, bad former assassin’s baby. The man who loves playing with his daughters, I want to carry his baby.” You bite your lip. “If you want another one now?” He might have changed his mind since you last talked about it and that would be okay too. 

Dave grins, shaking his head as he reaches down to grab your ass. “No. No. I haven’t changed my mind. I want you to - shit - your IUD. Wish I could start trying now.” He sighs, “but I do want a child with you. I want to see you pregnant.”

“Hmmm.” You lean in and kiss him again. “I’ll make a doctor’s appointment tomorrow.” You promise, excited at the idea of trying for a baby with your husband. “But for now…” You smirk. “Why don’t we go upstairs and shower?” You suggest, sliding your hand down to cup his cock. “We can pretend you came home from a job all beat up and blood, just needing a good blow job to feel better.” 

Dave reaches for your hand, “mmm I think I would rather come home from a job needing to bury my tongue in my wife’s pussy, taste her and remind myself that I am a lucky son of a bitch.” He pecks your lips and steps back. “Lemme just set the alarm.” He tells you, knowing he needs to ensure your safety before he indulges in you again.

“I have the best security in the world.” You watch as Dave double checks the door and sets the alarm before he walks back towards you and picks up the gun that he discarded. It will be reloaded and put back into the safe by his side of the bed. “Someone who knows exactly how to keep me safe because he thinks like someone who needs to get inside.” Dave’s past doesn’t bother you, you’ve proven that by your interest in roleplaying different aspects of his former profession. He was no longer the man who took out names on a list, but it was sexy to see how he would look doing it.

[i-arch-my-backula]

Slashers with a trans masc s/o who asks for help cutting their hair

I am a trans man and for awhile I have had shorter hair and I know many other trans mascs find comfort and gender euphoria in shorter hair. I remember getting my hair cut short for the first time and just falling in love with it. While obviously not all trans masc want short hair I thought this would be kind of cute to do. It is kind of implied that y/n doesn’t have a hair type past 3c. I am a white person so I don’t know much about cutting very tightly curled hair and I don’t want to mess it up. If it is wanted I will do some research and make another one of these but for people with tight curls. Also the slashers know their s/o is trans masc in this case their hair has just really grown out and they need it cut. Sorry for the rant. 

Includes: The Sinclair Brothers, Billy Loomis and Otis Driftwood

Lester Sinclair

This man cuts his own hair and he does a pretty good job at it. He helps Bo with keeping his hair short so helping you won’t be a problem. 

He has a ton of magazines to help you chose a style for your hair. Granted they’re from the 80′s and 90′s mostly but you can still find a good style in them. 

He has the kind of scissors made for cutting hair and like one of those thinner brushes to help cut it. 

He will do a great job and make the cut look almost exactly like the one in the magazine. 

Bo Sinclair

He’s gonna be surprised you’re asking him for help. He’s not really good with cutting hair but he does know how to style it well. 

If you just need him to help trim it up in the back he’ll be so relived and will happily help you with it. 

“Ya know you’ve got great hair darlin. I get jealous sometimes of how nice it looks.” 

After he helps you cut it he’ll want to try and get you to style it in different ways. He can only do so much with his hair and having someone else to do different styles on is gonna be so exciting for him. 

Vincent Sinclair

He’s never really cut his hair before. He hasn’t gotten it cut in like so many years he won’t really know where to start. 

I feel like he has cut some hair on the sculptures before but he really doesn’t wanna mess it up on you. 

He’ll do better with a reference picture to go off of for what you want. 

To be honest he might save some of your hair for future works of his. 

Billy Loomis

He’ll ask why you don’t just go to a barbers shop or something like that and after you explain to him the struggle of getting the stylist to understand you know the hair cut will be masculine and make you look like a boy and that’s the entire point he’ll understand a bit more. 

He’ll call Stu for help because Billy is an idiot when it comes to trying to help anyone else with their hair and Stu is well a bit more of a general idiot so hopefully putting two brains together will help it turn out alright. 

You’ll have to do most of it yourself or as much as you can. He’ll be super nervous to mess up the back so Stu will do the thing where you hold up a mirror that you can see in another mirror to make sure Billy doesn’t mess up. 

But over all he’ll do pretty good on your hair and be so happy you like how it turned out. 

Otis Driftwood

Like Vincent he hasn’t cut his hair in years and he rarely does like genuine hair cuts. He’ll be kinda confused about why you asked him to help but he’ll go along with it. 

You’ll have to scrounge around to find anything to help give you a reference for what you want. 

Like with most of the guys here you’ll have to do as much as you can yourself before he steps in. 

He’ll joke about always being able to shave your head if it turns out shit so you pray it doesn’t. 

But it’ll be an ok hair cut. Nothing ground breaking but still nice. 

[specialagentlokitty]

Lestrade x Male!reader - the crime lover -

Hey! could I please get a first date with Lestrade x Reader follow up of part 1 ‘The Crime Lover’? Thanks so much!! - @the-imitation-blog 💜

Part two:

Lestrade thought about what he had said over and over again, but he never actually did give you a call or a message.

He couldn’t, he was on a case, he would be risking his job if he ever did that, and that wasn’t something he wanted to do.

So when two moths went by, and the case finally ended, he found himself a little conflicted.

Did he call you? Did he text? Did he just go see you in person?

He had no idea.

Standing in line at a coffee shop, he sighed to himself as he tried to figure out what he should do.

When he heard his name called out, he walked over to get his coffee and made his way towards the door, staring at his cup, nearly bumping into someone.

“Sorry!”

He quickly looked up and locked eyes with you, and the smile on your face turned into a little grin when you recognised him.

“We’ll look who it is, Mr Police officer who never gave me a call.”

“I’m so sorry!” He rushed out.

You laughed a little, waving your hand in the air as you brushed past him heading towards the counter.

“Don’t worry about it Lestrade, I understand, you’re a busy man, and I’m pretty sure you don’t swing this way.”

Lestrade turned around, waiting to the side while you ordered your own coffee.

“It’s not that. I mean, I am busy… I’m also not sure if I am inclined in that way… if you know what I mean? I just couldn’t risk my job.”

You nodded your head, folding your arms over your chest, adjusting your black tie a little bit.

Lestrade couldn’t help but look you up and down, ripped black jeans, a pair of combat boots, a purple shirt that was tight around your arms and shoulders, but baggy everywhere else, a black tie only half done up.

You made him question things about himself.

“It’s fine, I understand. As for not know if you’re inclined this way, that’s alright as well. Not everybody is, some people don’t know, others find out later on in life. It’s all perfectly valid.”

Lestrade smiled a little, letting out a small sigh.

“Thank you for understanding.”

“No problem, how did it all go?”

“Case solved and closed, the murderer was found and currently in prison waiting for his trail next week.”

You nodded your head, going to collect your drink so you could leave with him, both of you aimlessly wondering around the streets.

“What’re you doing anyway?” You asked.

“Not much, I was actually just debating on getting in contact with you if I’m being honest…”

You smiled a little, glancing at him.

“Well, if you’re not busy, I’ve got a few errands to run, then we can get something for lunch if you want.”

“That sounds good.”

While doing your errands, you and Lestrade got to know each other a little better, just talking to asking questions about one another.

It was nice.

So when it came to getting lunch, you found yourself a little lost as to where to go.

“What about that place?” Lestrade asked.

“That’s more of a romantic restaurant.”

“You’ve been?”

You grinned a little.

“I am a man who knows how to treat his dates Greg Lestrade. I’ve been there a few times, fancy but not real fancy, more causal smart fancy.”

He nodded a little.

“Well, is it any good?”

“Want to try?”

Lestrade looked at your grinning face.

“Is this a date?”

“It can be whatever you want it to be.”

Lestrade looked at you.

“A date.”

You gestured for him to go ahead before you.

“A date it is my fine man. Let’s go.”

Lestrade chuckled and you grinned from ear to ear.

You did everything he usually would for a woman, hold the door, pull out his chair for him, hand him his menu.

“I would stay away from the curries if you can’t handle spicy foods. They’re extremely spicy.”

“Right, I’ll remember that.”

Placing your order, you looked at him, a little smile on your face.

“What? What’s is it?” He asked.

“Just wondering why you wanted this to be a date.”

Lestrade mumbled something under his breath, and you laughed slightly.

“What was that?”

He glanced at you before quickly looking away, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I.. just things you’re really… good looking…” he mumbled a little louder.

You beamed a little.

“Well I think you’re pretty good looking too.”

Lestrade picked up the drinks menu, hiding himself behind it which made you laugh a little louder.

“Come on, don’t hide yourself. It’s a good thing really!”

“You can’t just say stuff like that…”

“Well you did.”

He grumbled a little.

Reaching over, you plucked the menu from his hands, folding it back up. You tapped his head with it before setting it back on the table.

“Look, I understand, you’re confused right? It’s okay.”

“I just… you make me feel what I would feel for a woman…”

“I have that affect, people fall head over heels for me all the time.”

“You’ve got a massive ego don’t you?”

“Just a little.” You beamed.

Lestrade laughed a little and you smiled softly at him.

“Just take at your own speed, if it’s not your thing that’s alright, we can still be friends.”

“Thank you.”

You two held light conversation over dinner, and when it came to paying you insisted on paying.

“I could pay.”

“Take it this way, if you want to have another date it’s your turn to pay, if not then you didn’t loose out on any money.”

“So if there’s another date I pay?”

“Yup.”

He nodded his head.

“That sounds fair.”

You held the door for him so he could leave the building and stopped next to him.

“Want to go to the shopping centre? I could do with some clothes and shoes.” You said.

“Is this just an excuse to spend time with me?”

“Absolutely.”

Lestrade chocked on his drink and you gave his back a few pats.

“Get going.” He said.

You grinned, beginning the walk and he trailed alongside of you.

“I can feel you staring at me.”

“Shut up…”

Lestrade looked away.

While he wasn’t looking you stole a glance at him before looking at the path.

Lestrade sipped his drink again, glancing at you, then to your hand.

“Is this still a date?” He asked.

“Can be.”

He nodded, and you held your hand out to him.

“It’s not safe to cross the road without holding hands.”

“It definitely isn’t.”

He was a little unsure, but he took your hand regardless, and you curled your fingers around his.

While crossing the road, Lestrade looked at your conjoined hands.

Your hand was a little smaller than his, but stronger, and more calloused than he was used too.

But it was soft, you gave him the opportunity to let go if he wanted too, even after you crossed the road and carried on down the street.

Your grip was strong, but soft, gentle.

It made a flurry of emotions go around him he couldn’t quite place, but he kept his hand in yours, enjoying how it felt.

When he looked at you, you were already looking at him with a gentle smile, and he quickly turned away, trying to hide the fact he had just been caught starring.

You made him feeling like a young man again, crushing on someone who was so different from him, but was so irritable all at the same time

[legendreign-archived]

tsukuharuko:

Haruko blushed at Kagami’s correct guess. She lowered her look with an awkward smile, fidgeting with the edges of her scarf as they headed to the till.

“I... Was kinda busy working, yes,” she admitted, shoulders stiffening. “I would like to see more of our basketball team playing, but it’s tough since matches are often during my shifts. My family recently moved into town, and since everything is more expensive here and I also have a younger brother, I felt I had to find a couple of part-time jobs to earn something without weighting on my parents’ income. So I can go to fun places and pay for good food on my own, you know?” She grinned. “I don’t mind it though, they’re nice jobs and I work with nice people. It’s just a matter of unfortunate schedules. Maybe someday...”

She really hoped she will have a chance to see a match at some point. According to her classmates’ stories, they really were spectacular.

“Sounds like a plan,” she smiled as she echoed Kagami. “I guess Otonashi-sama was a lucky presence for us both as newbies in this city, then -- she gave me a job and you a nice place to have good foor and meet nice people. Maybe she’s a good witch or something,” she mused, intrigued by her sudden new theory.

She paid for the food for her mom, quick to put everything in a shopping bag as she waited for Kagami to do the same with his groceries.

“You lead the way then,” she said, holding the bag with both hands. “I’m curious to see how your apartment looks like!”

~~~~

"You even work during the evenings too? ...That must be tough. I see."

Although Taiga was somewhat lonely growing up, at least he had a sworn brother and that put things into perspective. He was aware of how hard his dad worked to make sure they had a good life no matter where they would be living and sent money back to him from the States but if he had an actual blood sibling, maybe his old man would have to work harder than he did now and that made him feel somewhat sad.

Of course, as a kid growing up, he couldn't really understand why his dad was often away and why work seemed to be more important than him but after he ran away, he saw how angry and upset his old man was at his action and he ranted that he was working hard to make sure they could have everything they needed and after that incident, he didn't try to run away again. If his dad wasn't working as hard as he did, Taiga would probably be working hard to pay for his expenses, and he couldn't really manage all that with basketball practice.

Although a part of him did wish his father was around more, after hearing what Tsukishima was going through just to have spare cash for things she wanted, he appreciated his dad more and he would have to thank him during one of their FaceTime calls.

He smiled. "I hope you get a chance to one day though, playing a member of the Generation of Miracles is definitely worth it, seeing it is probably just as good!"

"Never heard of a good witch before but villains only exist in fiction. I guess she also counts as a fairy godmother type?"

After he paid for his groceries, he put the straps of his two heavy duty tote-bags and lifted the rice bag over his head as he started walking to his apartment. "To be honest, this is the first time I invited anyone over to my home."

[anime-grimmy-art]

What do you do when there’s not much to an AU? You make up your own stuff, ofc. And as is per usual when I make Character Designs, I make up a shit ton of lore too.

The ramblings under the cut, but what I’m really interested in, is what you guys think. Do you guys have any headcanons/ideas for this AU? Let me hear them! Also, if you don’t wanna read on tumblr, here’s the Google Docs link: https://drive.google.com/file/d/151yshHxnb_--P6eMKkwkI2dee9xC_Llb/view?usp=sharing

Before I get into the characters’ roles, here’s some general facts and backstory of their town:

- Basically, it’s Undertale meets Harvest Moon / Stardew Valley. Well, kinda. I at least used that approach for coming up for the jobs for the characters. You know, how there’s always a general store, a doctor, a smithy, etc.

- The usual story of a HM game is that you come to a town that’s way past its glory days and you, as the player/farmer, help them get back to that. The “backstory” of the town is that that already kinda happened. I’ll get into it more in the character description, but basically when Asgore was still mayor, the town got really popular. Then yadda yadda, a certain tragedy happened, two kids died, and the town suddenly got very bad publicity. There was a lot of stuff going on back then, bad reputation being spread and also a lot of law stuff, cos, you know, supposed child murder ‘n all, so Asgore made the decision to shut off the town to ppl from outside. This was in the interest of most monsters living there, because as fun as it is to have a lot of people coming there, most just wanted to live a quiet life. Not everyone was happy with that though, so many moved away from town and some others are trying to get the town back on its feet. But more on that later.

On to the characters:

I’m just gonna start with the skelebros, cos it’s their fault in the first place I got so invested.

Basically, they are what the player is in hm/sdv. They just showed up one day, took over the abandoned farmhouse and began their life there. The two came to town way after it was “closed” and since then a new mayor has opened the possibility for new residents to move in. Their farm helps the economy of the town a lot and the mayor, like usually in hm games, is trying to use that to make the town more known again. The skelebros aren’t really working towards that goal however.

So, now a bit more detail on them individually.

Papyrus:

- The design is mostly based on what’s “canon” in this au.

- He works mostly on the fields and is in charge of the crops. Their fields aren’t spectacularly big, but still big enough to plant a few dozen rows of veggies. 

- Paps also helps out a lot in town when he has the time. He helps Asgore with his plants, he goes fishing with Undyne, helps Toriel carry crates around and so on. This is inspired by the part-time job mechanic in HM ToT.

- Unbelievably, in this AU Pap is not an absolutely awful cook. Since he helps out at Muffet’s and Grillby’s a lot, they tend to show him some tricks to cooking. Even though Pap’s not a big fan of the greasy or overly sweet cooking those two do, he picks up a lot.

Sans:

- Again, design mostly based on the “canon” look. Maybe a bit more baggy.

- This is finally an AU this dude gets to rest. Since there are no resets and he doesn’t have to see his bro die again and again, for once in his life, he’s not a sad ball of depression. He’s just a chill and lazy dude that loves to make puns. Though, since he’s not too experienced with the feelings of loss, helplessness or grieving, he still tends to hide behind puns and fakes smiles if he does feel bad.

- Sans is in charge of the animals on the farm. Papyrus begrudgingly gave him that role since Pap’s loud demeanour and hectic movements usually scare the animals. Sans’ relaxed attitude draws the animals to him naturally and even if Pap mostly finds him sleep against a tree, in a stack of hay or on one of the sheep, the animals are always fed, healthy and relaxed, so Sans seems to be doing his job.

- Sans always has a small chic sit inside his hoodie or hat. Is it always the same one? Who knows, maybe.

- Sans also, somehow, can produce eggs out of thin air. Grab into his hoodie pocket, in his pants pocket, in his hat, in his slipper, there’s suddenly always an egg there. On good days he can even make butter or cheese appear. 

Gaster:

- He’s literally just a scarecrow in this. Though, if you ask any of the bros why they designed their scarecrow that way, they won’t have an answer.

Frisk&Toriel:

- Frisk is mostly based on what I wore myself as a kid in summer. Just a loose shirt with a cappy. Toriel basically has her ut gown, just with an apron on top.

- Frisk just appeared outside the “magical” forest one day. Napstablook and his cousin found them and brought them to Toriel, who has been taking care of them since.

- Toriel runs the general store in town, but also often takes care of the few kids that still live there.

- Frisk usually helps out in Toriels store, plays with the other kids or sits around at Asgore’s. They’re notorious for nabbing small snacks, mostly from Asgore’s plants. You’ll always find them munching on something. 

- Frisk was in town before the skelebros. Since they’d moved in, Frisk often went to spy on their farm. After a small incident with angry chicken, Frisk got to know the two better and now they see them as something between brothers and uncles.

- But Frisk honestly gets along with everyone. Just like in UT, they’ve not only been adopted by Toriel but literally everyone.

- Toriel and Asgore’s relationship is not as bad as in the main game, since, you know, Asgore didn’t kill literal children, but there’s still tension between them. Back when Asriel and Chara died and the whole thing with the bad rep for the town began, Toriel felt betrayed by Asgore focusing more on the town than giving their deceased kids the grieving they deserved. They’re not divorced, but Toriel still moved out and said needed space to think. Now that Frisk is in the picture though, the both of them are slowly coming to even ground and may even be able to talk things out and clear up the uncertainty of their decisions.

Asgore:

-Asgore has his UT Ending / Deltarune clothes, just with a gardener’s belt.

- He’s the previous mayor of the town, but after all the crap that happened, he stepped down from the position. Now he has his own little shop and sells seeds, saplings, homegrown veggies and fertilizer. So, basically what e.g. the Marimba Farm is in HM AP

- His main customer is Papyrus and they’re on friendly terms. Asgore is worried about how much and how hard Pap works, so he often gives him a discount. 

- Since his family’s past tragedy, Asgore is kind of nervous around kids. So, when he first met Frisk, he hoped they’d not visit him too often. But to his chagrin, Frisk took an instant liking to him and spends a lot of time at his shop (and steals eats the fresh grown veggies). Now, he’s really grateful for that, because for one, he loves Frisk as dearly as he had his own children, and also because now the tension and mistrust between him and Toriel seem to grow smaller day by day.

Undyne&Alphys:

- I gave Undyne a pretty basic fisher’s outfit. Alphys basically has Elli from HM’s outfit, just a bit more doctory stuff added. She still has her canon lab coat too.

- In essence, Undyne and Alphys have 2 completely different jobs. Alphys is the resident doctor and Undyne runs the fish market.

Two things. Yes, I know Alphys is more a mechanic than a doctor, she fits the aesthetic though, so she’s the doc now. And no, Undyne being a fisherwoman is not cannibalism, think of it more as a shark hunting smaller fish.

- The reason I lump them together is because they act as the local “smithy”. Alphys is still really tech savvy in this (I mean, Mettaton is still part of this AU), so she takes on most problems with electronics and stuff. For Undyne, I didn’t want to lose her Royal Guard’s Captain image, so she’s really good at handling tools (and weapons, but Al doesn’t let her make them anymore). So basically, if there’s a broken tool, you can be sure that either Undyne or Alphys can fix it.

- As for relationships, those two are still an item. Alphys is still really shy and a shut-off, but since Undyne and Pap become best friends, she gets to know the skelebros better. She and Sans especially get along well, since most of the time Undyne and Papyrus are let loose, they sit back and talk about science-y stuff. (no, Sans doesn’t have a background in science but he’s still into sci-fi)

- Alphys has a bit of a strained relationship with both Asgore and Mettaton.

Back when Chara and Asriel died, it was because of “illness” (maybe poisoning?). Alphys feels awful because with her back then limited knowledge on medicine she couldn’t help the two. Asgore doesn’t hold anything against her but Alphys can’t help but feel guilty.

Alphys still built Mettaton’s body in this one. The two had a really big disagreement, because Mettaton hated the fact the town was going to close, and he couldn’t understand how Alphys could feel otherwise, even more so endorse the idea.

Mettaton, Napstablook, Mad Dummy/Mew Mew:

- Napsta and Dummy are pretty self-explanatory, they got straw hats. Mettaton’s outfit is a bit of a joke cos it’s a play on “work at the top and party at the bottom”. The tie has two different sides, one with the yellow red pattern, the other completely red. His “top part” is the business part, because when he’s on tv or in the mayors’ office, you don’t usually see his feet. The bottom is his party/dance part, cos his dancing/entertainment channels mostly feature his legs. 

- Mettaton, still a robot, Napstablook and Mad Dummy are all still cousins in this AU.

- Originally, they all lived and worked at the Blook Farm, the Animal Farm of this AU. Mettaton, however, despised that simple live and after befriending Alphys and her building him a body, he left the Farm to pursue bigger things. 

- Mettaton runs the local tv network. From weather to game shows, he does it all. He also runs the tailor shop in town that sells his designer clothes and merchandise. After Asgore stepped down, Mettaton also took over the role of town’s mayor and now works towards making the place more known again. Not everybody is happy with him doing that though.

- One of those people is the Mad Dummy. He can’t stand people anyways and he always claims that history would just repeat itself.

- Since the whole family is made of ghosts, they have different dummies and scarecrows they can use to take care of the animals. To mock Mettaton and kinda get back at Alphys for giving MTT such an opportunity, Mad Dummy found the blueprints for the Mew Mew robot and now modelled one of their scarecrows after it. 

- Napstablook isn’t fond of taking over obejcts like his cousins do, so he mostly takes care of the snails. Somehow, he can interact with them even when incorporeal. 

Muffet&Grillby:

- The two of them run the Inn together. Muffet cooks in the daytime and makes desserts, Grillby manages the bar in the evening. 

- The two still can’t really stand each other but working together like this benefits them both because their rivalry just spurs them on more.

- Even though Grillby is a patient person, somehow Muffet is the only person who riles him up enough to retaliate. (Well, maybe except for Sans, he’s a strong second).

So, basically everything between those two is a challenge in some way. Even if Papyrus doesn’t notice, even his cooking lessons are a challenge for them. 

- Even though they’re constantly bickering, after working together for so many years, there’s a strange level of respect and trust between them. Even if back when they first started this business, they’d pour salt into an already open wound, nowadays they’d know better and just take a step back from the other or even comfort the other (on very rare occasions only). 

Asriel&Chara:

- They be dead. Kinda.

Some Characters that’d live in that town too but that I haven’t made designs for:

- Gerson is the original smithy of the town. He’d grown up in a family of smiths, but he’d always had an appreciation for the sea. That’s why, when the town became more deserted and Undyne had a good enough skill level as smith, he took up the Captains hat and now mostly spends his days out on sea. He also ferries people to places if they need him to. Oh, and just like in canon, Undyne learned most of her skills from him.

- Burgerpants is a poor dude Mettaton basically kidnapped when he was trying to get fame in the city. Now Burgerpants works wherever MTT needs him to, be that as cameraman for the tv shows, cashier in his tailor shop or his slave secretary in the mayor’s office.

- MK is Frisk’s best kid friend. MK’s parents are in charge of shipping the goods out of town and paying the individual people. MK’s the one that usually collects the goods at the end of the day.

- Other than that, there are only a few people in town. I’d imagine the older folks or the really young families stayed in town after it was closed. I think the librarby dude would still run the library. Some Snowdin residents like the stone family or the dogs also might still live there. 

[finelinevogue]

he’s so vogue

Description - you are the journalist for the new Harry Styles December Vogue Issue

A/N - how is everyone doing? hope you enjoy! if you have any requests please feel free to ask. love you all and have a lovely rest of the week!

warnings: swearing

[masterlist]

Being a journalist for Vogue was probably the biggest flex you could ever make.

After 3 years of studying English Literature at Surrey University, you never thought, only a year after, you'd be working as an apprentice at Vogue UK. If it weren't for your Aunty, who worked in the fashion design section at Vogue HQ, then you'd no doubt still be a broke-ass, single, lonely student. Ok, lonely you still were but your job was so full-on that you didn't have time for a relationship.

Two years into your apprenticeship you were promoted to an official member of the team, and then another two years later you got promoted to team leader in your department of journalism, and editing; The Media - or as you like to call it - "The Celeb Goss". You were beyond happy with your job and found such passion in every article your wrote. Whether it be about a new celebrity romance or the collapse of one, you found a way to story-tell in such a meditated way that everyone loved your pieces.

That's why the Harry Styles had requested you to be the one to interview him.

Of course you'd written about A-list celebrities in the past, producing articles on pregnancy rumours, or engagements, or breakups, but you'd never met them before authoring an article. You'd met plenty of D-list celebrities who thought they were mega famous, but if you mentioned their names people would turn around and ask "who?".

This is why interviewing Harry Styles was a massive thing for you.

Not very often did you get to do work out in the field, especially in these covid infested days, but nevertheless it was your favourite part of the job. Getting to meet the people you were writing about was completely refreshing, allowing you to obtain a clearer outlook on which direction to take on your journal piece.

You were asked to go to Stonehenge, where the photoshoot was being filmed, as your office of interview. Even though you'd lived in the UK all your life, you'd never actually been to Stonehenge. It wasn't really on your bucket-list, but it was a pleasure to get to see it all the same.

Being the prepared interviewer you were, you'd prepared an array of questions that you were set on asking Harry. You'd never met him before, but after much googling and youtubing of him prior to meeting him today you would already be confident in saying he's the most brilliant man to ever exist. You were really nervous that you were going to screw this interview up and make a terrible mess in front of Harry Styles.

"Lisa! What if I accidentally say something I shouldn't?" You ran your stressed hands through your hair.

This whole morning had been frantic. It had started off by you waking up late, no thanks to Lisa, your best-friend and co-worker, pressing snooze on the alarm. You wanted to look professional today so you'd put on your best shirt - only to spill coffee down it ten minutes later. So now, you smelt of coffee and were wearing what was left in your wardrobe - and it wasn't much. The only things left clean were a pair of pink corduroy flares and some, pastel coloured, graphic t-shirt to go with it.    

"You won't. Stop being so negative." Lisa rolled her eyes, probably fed up with the amount of winging she'd heard from you this morning - and you'd only been awake an hour.

"My outfit is hardly professional either." You huffed, pouring the rest of your, second, coffee down the drain.

"Well I think you look gorgeous." Lisa stated, whilst putting her breakfast bar wrapper in the bin.

You and Lisa were back and forth about you stressing, and such, for about half an hour before you had to leave. You had a great panic about losing your glasses too. You could see without them up close, but for long distance viewing and reading you were practically blind. You were taking Lisa's car, since she didn't think you were emotionally stable enough to drive. Lisa was the creative director on the set, and thank goodness she was so you could at least ramble to someone.

After a two hour drive up from London, you arrived at Stonehenge and it was freezing. Although the sun was out, it did nothing to keep your body heated. The journey up had been nice because you sat in your nicely heated car, chatting away with Lisa and blasting some Harry Styles out of the speaker. You'd made it through the first album, and the second one up to Canyon Moon before reaching your destination.

Upon arriving you could just about, without glasses, make out about 15 other cars, arranged at the bottom of a hill. There was an array of Audis and BMWs, a few Range Rovers, which you placed your bets on one was Harrys, and a green, vintage, Jaguar which was most likely belonging to the fashion editor or something. There was also a modern barn, perched at the foot of the hill, which was where Harry would be getting changed in to his various different outfits.

It took you a moment to register that Lisa had parked and was already clambering out of the car, making you look a little idiotic still blankly staring at the beautiful scenes in front, and around, of you.

But it was still bloody freezing.

You jogged a little to the boot and whipped out your white cardigan. Originally you'd thought that this would've been enough to keep you warm, but now you were starting to think otherwise.

The atmosphere here was amazing. People were rushing around left, right and centre loading, and unloading, various pieces of equipment and clothes. You caught sight of brightly coloured fabrics being carried to and from various places. There were the camera crew, and presumably director, all chatting amongst themselves. The smell of the very fresh air was so lush that you'd forgotten what it smelt like - especially after years in London.

You grabbed your bag from the boot, which had your notes, recording kit and laptop stuffed inside, before locking the car and following Lisa in to the barn.

It was lovely and warm inside - a completely different climate to than the outside. It was as if it was Bali inside and Antarctica outside. Better Bali than Antarctica though.

"Ok. Let's put our stuff down over here and then go find people we need to meet and such." Lisa instructed, you still too in awe of the place to fully comprehend what was going on.

You followed Lisa and you two ended up dropping off your stuff next to some other bags. You took a liking to the purse next to your stuff. Next to your bag, it made yours seem ancient - like it was worth nothing more than a penny. It was luscious and a beautiful baby blue colour. You softly ran your hands over it, finding satisfaction in how smooth and subtle it was.

"Hope you're not planning on stealing that, love." A manly voice appeared from behind you. You whipped around to see who's bag you'd been messing with, and it was just your luck that it was to be Harry Styles'. Of all the people's it could've been it had to be his. 

Perfect.

He looked dashing. He was in black flares and his iconic 'But daddy i love him', t-shirt, along with a huge green anorak. His hair was prettily clipped back with a pink clip, presumably placed there to gave his curls greater volume. In his hand he had a pink toothbrush and you guessed he'd come back over to put it away in his bag - only to find you caressing it instead.

"Oh - no, no. Not at all. I - uh - I just thought it was beautiful." You stammered over your words, choosing them carefully to try and make you look less like an active criminal.

"Mhm." Harry nodded whilst looking you up and down, most likely judging why a peasant like you, in comparison to him, was touching his expensive property. "Well, I love your flares darlin'." Harry looked down at your trousers, his compliment making you blush a little.

"Thank you. That wasn't professional, and neither is my outfit, I know, and I apologise." You added, because you knew that if your boss knew you turned up today the way you did she would give you a right bollocking - and potentially even fire you.

"Never apologise for flares. You look amazing." Gemma perked up, making you feel more self conscious surrounded by all these other beautiful women. Gemma was in a slouchy, knitted, jumper and basic jeans - no doubt all from shops beyond your budget - and yet she looked like a model fit for the runway for Vogue.

"Okay, sorry." You apologised again, to which you, creepily, got the exact same, stern, look from the Styles siblings at the same time.

"My stylist, Harry, introduced me to big pants. He offered whether I wanted to try a pair of flares, and I was like, 'Flares? That's fucking crazy'!" Harry laughed as he told his story, earning a laugh out of you too. "Now they're my favourite item of clothing. Have a whole wardrobe dedicated to them."

"I wish he was joking." Gemma laughed at her brother and his flare obsession.

"Well you do look handsome in them, so I understand why." Your words rolls off your tongue before you could even comprehend what you were saying. Only after you finished your sentence did you completely intake what you'd just said.

"Good start." Lisa giggled to you, before turning to walk over to the coffee station. It was a help-yourself coffee bar and you knew that you were going to bed at least five cups to get over the last five minutes alone. You'd probably drain the station before letting anyone else have any.

"Oh god." You awkwardly mumbled, not daring to see how weirdly Harry would be looking at you, before walking off outside.

You had spent less than 10 minutes here and yet you'd never felt like a bigger clown. Joining the circus had never been so easy.

The outside wind hit you like a powerful leaf blower, and your hair blew around like crazy - most likely compiling into a birds nest on the top of your head.

Today was supposed to be the start of something great. Your hopes were set on a promotion from your written masterpiece, whilst enjoying the company of one of the most handsome, most lovely, most talented men of this century. Those hopes seemed a little too distant now. They seemed to mock you, as if to laugh at how you ever thought you were going to be any more successful. You'd completely, in more ways than one, made a fool of yourself in front of your interviewee, you were so underdressed, you were caught fondling his Gucci purse and you were still bloody cold.

It all felt too unprofessional for a job where professional was practically the driving force of the company.

You leaned against the barn, taking a deep breath to try and calm yourself. You were a master in over-thinking, but unfortunately that wasn't something you could add to your resumé. You let your eyes close and the other senses come alive for a few moments. The sounds of distant sheep and the smell of the cold wind were just two of the senses that allowed you to take a step back for a minute, and breathe.

"Thank you." A voice interrupted you from your attempt of quick meditation. You looked to your left and noticed Harry standing there, still in the same outfit as before.

"I'm sorry?" You asked confused, taking a step away from the barn to considerately pay more attention to him.

"Thank you - for saying I look handsome in flares." He repeated, smirking when he added the second part.

"Oh." Was all you could respond, feeling too embarrassed to take the conversation any further. "I should—" You pointed back to the barn, using it as an excuse to leave before yet screwed up anymore.

"Lisa told me you're the interviewer." Harry added, and it only occurred to you that you'd never actually introduced yourself. "So it's lovely to finally meet you Y/N." He stuck out his hand for your to shake, which you did willingly. His hands were a lot softer than you'd expected.

"Ho... You know my name?" You asked surprised.

"Of course. I also know you're the best writer in Vogue right now." He flattered you, which made you blush. You had a feeling he'd make you do that a lot today.

"Sure." You rolled your eyes as you spoke sarcastically.

"Well I chose you for a reason, didn't I?" He rhetorically asked.

"I mean.. I, well.. I don't know?" You stumbled over your words, making yourself look like a larger fool than you did already. Today was just turning out to be exactly what you didn't want it to be. "Sorry."

"Stop apologising. You do it too often." He told you, nearly making you apologise again but he gave you a jokingly stern look, as if he knew what you were going to say, and so you decided otherwise.

"Harry!" You both turned to see there was a man waving towards you both, but specifically to Harry. "Come get changed!" The same man shouted. Harry lifted his thumbs up, as if to signal he'd be there shortly.

Harry turned back to you and noticed you shiver a little.

"I'll start the interview after I come back from the dressing rooms, yeah?" Harry asked, taking off his, khaki green, trench-coat in the process. He handed it to you before you could oblige against it.

"Wait what?" You confusedly looked down at the coat and back up to Harry.

"Gives me a piece of mind knowing my interviewer isn't going to die of hypothermia before actually interviewing me." He smiled, obviously attempting to crack a joke and you have to admit you did laugh.

"Thank you." You say, before he runs off to where he's being called to.

                                                            ••••

You'd been sat inside for a little while, waiting for Harry to come back. It gave you time to perfect your questions though.

Thinking up questions to ask Harry had been a challenging task, but one that you'd been fully invested in. You loved creating questions to ask him that were going to get to understand him on a deeper level. He was a very private man, and you completely respected that. If you crossed any boundaries, with the questions you'd ask, you would write them out of the interview. You liked to think you hadn't thought up a question that would make him feel uncomfortable though.

Pissing off Harry would be on another level of shame.

"Coat kept you warm?" Harrys voice disengaged you from your notebook.

"Hm?" You asked then replayed what he'd just asked in your mind. "Oh, yes. Thank you very much." You stood up, from where you'd been perched on the floor, picking up your nearly finished green tea as you did so.

Only when you stood up did it come to your realisation that Harry was now in costume. He was dressed in luxury. Each item looked like it cost more than your rent, and that was saddening. He looked rich and luxurious. To be quite honest, you were finding it rather difficult to take your eyes off him.

"You think the outfit is Vogue enough?" Harry asked, striking a few poses, which made you laugh. It was refreshing to see him act so relaxed and carefree, rather than a stuck-up-prick you knew some celebrities to be.

"Completely. I love it!" You exclaimed, appreciating the twirl he did for you.

He was wearing a kilt-like skirt and he looked beyond beautiful in it. Fuck toxic masculinity. Fuck being a manly man - like what does that even mean? Harry was embracing gender fluidity and experimenting the ways in which there was no definitive line between men and women's clothes anymore, and you thought it was marvellous. Revolutionary, for times as politically and socially troubled as these.

You started removing the coat in attempt to give it back to him, but he refrained you from doing so by holding on to your forearm.

"Keep it. I thought we could go outside to start the interview, so you'll be needing that." Harry told you, and you agreed - however reluctantly that was. You couldn't really complain though, because the coat did kept you warm and, what's better, it smelt divine - just like you'd imagine Harry to smell.

"Okay. Thank you. Do you want to go now?" You asked hesitantly, not knowing whether he was busy for someone else right now.

"Whenever you're ready, love." He answered, making you feel more relaxed. He was going at your pace and was making you feel settled - he was even more of a gentleman than people described him to be.

The two of you had walked around the backside of the barn in silence, enjoying the comfort of each other's presence. Well, at least you were. It was a blessing no one was back here. It was just you, Harry and the scenery that surrounded Stonehenge.

You approached a bench and you plopped yourself down on one end, whilst Harry sat on the other. He respected the fact that there was a pandemic going on, and didn't want to make you uncomfortable in any way. You still had your mask on, so Harry had taken that as you were very conscious about the virus - which he admired.

You pulled out your glasses, from the depths of one of the coat pockets, and placed them on your face, probably making yourself look even geekier than you already felt. Today was just one of those days you wished you had good eyes...

You opened your spent notebook, musty pages practically falling apart, and turned to the section of questions you needed for that interview. You were so nervous already and you hadn't even asked anything yet, all because of the previous interactions with Harry today. Your shaky hands shuffled through the pages and you cursed under your breath when you struggled to find what you needed.

"Shoot. Come on." You mumbled quietly under your breath, hoping it would make this terrible situation end faster. You mustn't have been as quiet as you thought though.

"Y/N." Harry's name broke through your clouded mind of self-disappointment.

You looked up at him to see him softly smiling at you, blowing all worries away from you away with the wind. "Yes?" You timidly asked, pushing your wind-swept hair out of glasses - where it'd gotten caught.

"You’re alright, love. You don't have to be professional around me, alright? We're just two strangers having a conversation, to get to know each other, okay?" If his words didn't calm you enough, the soothing sound of his husky voice certainly did.

"But that would mean you asking me stuff too?" You replied, confused at his implications of the phrasing 'getting to know each other'.

"Mhm." Harry nodded his head.

"Oh I don't know Mr Styles, i'm not a very interesting person." You answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, pushing your glasses back up the bridge of your nose from where they'd fallen.

"I refuse to believe that." Harry chuckled, making a quick smile appear on your face. "And please call me Harry. Just Harry." He begged, obviously finding it weird you calling him by his professional title. All you wanted, ever, was for your interviewee's to feel comfortable and safe, so if Harry wanted you to call him Harry then so be it.

"Ok, Harry," you sarcastically said, earning a shake of the head on his behalf, "you can ask me a few questions throughout the day." You told him, but you knew he'd struggle to find even two questions when he realises how bland you are.

"Does that mean you only get to ask me a few as well?" Harry smirked, already knowing the answer to that question. Unlike Harry, you had to write an article about today when you got home and so he knew that you'd have to dig as much dirt as possible from him.

"No, sorry. I don't particularly want to lose my job." You paused to look down at your notes, squinting a little as you did to see better. "Okay. Tell me your experience with corona virus."

"Sorry I didn't quite catch that, love." Harry apologised, leaning in slightly to see if he could hear you a second time around.

"Sorry." You looked down to fiddle with your fingers - a habit you'd undertaken when you're embarrassed. "Um..," you cleared your throat, "would you mind if I took off my mask?"

Your timid voice sent tingle down Harrys spine. He didn't think anyone could ever be this sweet. "Not at all, ‘course you can." He replied, again, wanting to make you feel as comfortable as possible.

You hesitantly took off your face mask, feeling like you were in some dramatic movie where they face revealed someone. You kind of liked having the mask on, because, for one, it kept you warm, and for two, you were a little self conscious with how you looked compared to all the other women here today. You shoved the mask in your pocket, with trembling fingers, before looking back down to your notes.

"Woah." You heard Harrys voice being mumbled under the wind. You eyes shot up to his and you noticed him staring right back at you.

"W-what? Is my acne playing up? I knew I should've—" You self-consciously run your hands over the areas you know you got acne. The masks really didn't help when it came to skin care.

"Hey, stop. No. You just... You look beautiful." Harry complimented you, and a roaring blush arose on to your cheeks. You'd never been called beautiful before, and so you were taking the compliment like such a 13-year old.

"Oh, uh, thank you." You awkwardly answered, not really having any other words come to mind in that moment. Harry chuckled under his breath, still keeping eyes on you for some reason.

"Would you mind repeating your last question, I didn't quite catch it?" Harry asked politely.

"Sure. Um, tell me how you've experienced corona virus." You repeated for him, gripping ahold of your pen to start copying what he says and pressing start on your recording device in case you needed it later.

"Well, it's been tedious that's for sure. However, I just want people to be safe and for life to return back to normal, so therefore i've been very MIA for a lot of the time. Keeping to myself mostly. I only went out for hikes or bike rides. All my meetings were online, so it's been very lonely." Harry kept eye contact with your figure the entire time, and if it weren't for you concentrating on writing what he was saying then you'd probably melt away under his gaze.

For such soft eyes he sure was intimidating.

"I presume the loneliness sent you crazy at times." You laughed, because you sure felt that way through lockdown. Curse being single.

"You have no idea." Harry laughed along with you, making you, slowly, feel more at ease.

"Actually, you'd be surprised." You looked at him unsure, before returning down to your notebook.

"Okay then, first question from me," Harrys words made your head shoot up, "How can someone as amazing as yourself be lonely?" He asked and you made a mental tally of how many questions he'd asked.

"Could ask you the very same question, Harry." You slyly replied, avoiding the question by answering with another question. It was a tactic you'd learnt, throughout your years of journalism, when you wanted to dismiss something .

"That's cheating." Harry pointed at you and raised his eyebrows, but you couldn't take your eyes off the big, cheeky, smile perched on his face. You shrugged you're shoulders in defence and returned to your questions. "But you did just call me amazing, so I think i'll let it slide this one time." You blushed, again, when you understood what he meant.

He was amazing though - that was the truth.

"You were in L.A. for the majority of quarantine, am I right to say?" You already knew the answer but your manager had just wanted confirmation.

"Yeah, but L.A. feels like holiday, whereas London feels like home." He answered, which you appreciated. He hasn't got lost in the way that Hollywood could let people. He'd stayed grounded.

"So what did you entertain yourself with during quarantine?" You asked curiously, slightly side-tracking from your pre-written questions - just because you were intrigued (nosey).

"Not much, not to be boring. I ate a lot of bread. I worked out pretty much every day. I wrote quite a bit actually." He used his fingers to pinch his bottom lip, something you'd noticed he did in interviews.

"Does that mean a new album on the way?" Your inner fangirl was screaming at the thought of HS3.

"Can neither confirm nor deny." Harry smirked to himself, like the cheeky bugger he is.

"That's a yes then." You joked, pretending to write it down in your notes.

"You're impossible, you." Harry laughed and shook his head. It made you feel all funny the way you could make him smile like that. You were the source of his happiness for just that moment, and that was enough to make you feel happy for a lifetime - not that he felt the same.

"Next question," you stated, moving swiftly on because you knew you had limited time, "How's your experience with Vogue been so far?"

"Wonderful. Everyone has been so welcoming and that makes it so much easier for me to have fun. It's daunting going at things alone, but i'm getting slowly used to it now." Harry sniffled a little, probably due to the freezing cold weather here.

"Must be strange, not having four best friends around you, all the time, anymore." You stated rather than asked him, sure that he was missing his bandmates. I mean, you were - so he definitely would be.

"Brothers." Harry replied, making you look up at him confused.

"I'm sorry?" You asked, giving him your full attention.

"You said four best friends. Well, actually they're my brothers." His words actually caused a rift in your heart. You could feel it being pulled apart and torn in to two. If you wrote this in to the magazine the fans would have a worldwide passing-away-party.

"Harry." You said softly, slightly tearing up at his words. "God, I swear i'm not normally this emotional." You chest your throat and try to establish your dignity - however there wasn't that much left anymore.

"Oh shut up." Harry looked away obviously trying to hide the fact that he was tearing up too. You laughed at him but didn't draw any more attention to it than you guessed he would've wanted.

"They mean a lot to you then?" You asked, hopefully not treading on any unwanted territories.

"Much more than a lot, yeah." Harry nodded his head, turning it back to face you. He could tell this conversation was now off-the-record because of your closed notebook, your undivided attention towards him and the fact you’d turned off the recording device. He liked being able to look at you, rather than the top of your head. He swore you were the prettiest girl he'd ever seen.

"You still see them often?" 

"Not as often as i'd like. Niall did come around the other week to drop off some old guitars he didn't want anymore, and then we ended up playing around with some music for a bit." He admitted, which stitched your heart back together.

"So does that mean a Narry collab?" You teased, biting your bottom lip in anticipation.

"Narry? You so are a directioner." He laughed along with you.

"And you just avoided my question, therefore there is a song out there written only by you and Niall." You concluded, which shut him up.

This conversation was going a lot better than expected. Certainly a lot better than earlier. You will be permanently scarred by the way you spoke to him and handled his belongings. It was going to haunt you forever - and yet he'd forget about it by tomorrow. Or maybe he wouldn't, which is why you felt the need to apologise.

"Harry?" You asked, clearly indicating this was still a conversation away from the interview.

"Yes Y/N?" He watched you intently, listening to your every word.

"I, um, just wanted to apologise for my behaviour earlier. I was just really nervous to meet you, and to be honest still am. I didn't mean to touch your stuff without your consent and I certainly didn't mean to make you uncomfortable with any of my comments. So, i'm sorry. I can only imagine the awful, yet true, things you must think of me." You rambled really quickly, that you were uncertain whether Harry even caught one word of what you'd says.

"Do you know why I asked for you to interview me Y/N?" Harry asked, which wasn't the first thing you expected him to say after your apology.

"No. I...well Lisa told me it was because I can write well or something." You suggested, not wanting to sound egotistical.

"I mean you do write perfectly, but no." You were intrigued now. "I asked for you because I, and this is not for your magazine, have a secret - but not-so-secret - crush on you." This time it was Harrys turn to blush.

"Harry... you don't have to say that to—"

"I'm not saying it for anything. I sincerely think you are the most delightful, most prettiest, most fucking sweetest person i've ever met." Harry exclaimed, which you were taken aback by. Never, ever, did you think that Harry Styles would proclaim his likeness towards you. Ever.

"Harry don't mess with me, please." You shyly spoke, tilting your head down in disbelief that the Harry Styles was smitten about you.

He shuffled along the bench, stopping a little way from you but close enough to reach out for you. Your heartbeat increased when you noticed his hand move closer towards you. It didn't stop till he reached your face. He took his time, courteously, pushing your hair behind your ear before removing you of your glasses. He held the right-eye frame and slowly pulled the glasses off your face.

Once he'd successfully taken them off he folded them up and placed them alongside your closed notebook.

"Can see those pretty eyes now." He whispered quietly, but loud enough for you to hear.

"Don't lie. They're so dull." You mumbled, lifting your head up slightly. His face was still away from you.

"Not to me they're not." He retaliated, looking deep into your eyes as you did his. "I hate this corona virus."

"Why?" His words were so out of the blue sometimes, it gave you whiplash.

"Because I can't be as near to you as I want to be." Harry told you. And yeah, you hated corona too. It was getting a little laborious now.

"Smooth, Styles." You chuckled. You wondered how many new and weird pick-up lines could be made from covid. 

"I know." He winked, which honestly would have made you throw up if it were any other man on the planet. Somehow, though, Harry just made it seem attractive - along with every other thing that man ever did. "After this, would you like to come back to my house for a cuppa tea?" He asked sweetly, like a five year old asking whether you wanted to play together.

"Okay. Lisa was my ride though." You said more to yourself than anything else, debating on how you'd even get to Harrys. Uber? Taxi? Lisa? Walk?

"I'll drive us, it's fine. I have to drop Gem off, but i'd be more than happy to chauffeur you." Harry kindly offered, to which you were internally screaming about. You were literally, and metaphorically, having a field-day with all this Harry content and interview.

"Are you sure? I don't want to be a burden." You question politely, not wanting to overstep any boundaries - especially in these covid infested times.

"Of course. I wouldn't have offered otherwise." He protested, waving his hand at if to say it was no bother. You were already trying to work out, in your head, how much petrol money you were going to owe him.

"Then i'd be honoured to have a brew with you Harry." You giggled at how cringe you were being, even if this was just your normal self speaking.

"Great." Harry genuinely smiled, teeth and all. "My shoot should take a couple of hours, but feel free to continue to write and journal. I'm looking forward to reading this particular article." He winked at you before standing up.

"Wonder why?" You sarcastically asked, knowing full-well it was due to his exposure of his own feelings towards you. Even though you'd never says anything back you were quite in agreement on how you felt about him, like he did you. He would be a narcissist to say he knew you liked him the same, out loud, but he knew. And you knew that he knew.

"Wonder why indeed." He gave you one last smile before he'd disappeared for the rest of the afternoon, leaving you to digest and relive the past half an hour or so.

Being Harry Styles' crush was probably the biggest flex you could ever make.

                                                          ••••

After Harry had finished up his shoot he was quick to come find you again.

You'd watched parts of his shoot and he looked magnificent. There wasn't a good enough word to describe how amazing he looked. Harry, his stylist, was probably the best stylist out there. His fashion choices were unmatched and you wanted him to be yours. You were not rich enough nor fashionable enough, ironic for working in a a fashion company, to hire a stylist, but you would if you could.

You were so proud to see what he was achieving now as the person that he was. Harry was just being Harry, without the devilish control of shitty managements or ridiculous amounts of PR stunts. Harry was more free than ever, and it definitely showed just how much he was enjoying it.

You were certain that this Vogue magazine would break the internet - his fans were good at doing that. This could be a turning point for many people, with their outdated and ignorant views. There was no room for people with racist or homophobic or transphobic or xenophobic - and the list does go on - views anymore.

You were waiting by the front door of the barn, to catch Harry as he walked past. You caught sight of him in a white robe, presumably to get changed back into his everyday clothes. He looked really pretty in the robe - very domestic actually.

Today had been a good day.

Harry asked you to send over the more specific Vogue questions to him via email, so he could devote more time in to answering them in a lot more depth. You thought he meant you'd be sending them to some PA in his team, but you were shocked to understand he'd given you his personal email.

People were walking back to their cars and packing away the filming kit. You saw Lisa and the director talking to one another, no doubt discussing some in-work gossip.

"You ready?" Harrys voice reminded you that you'd been waiting for him. You looked to see he was back in the same clothes as this morning, only this time without his coat.

"Here?" You offered, having him over the coat once again but he declined.

"Looks better on you anyways." He winked at you, before walking through the car park and to his car. You were very surprised when you found out Harry was the one to own the green Jaguar. You assumed all celebrities drove the Range Rover, but no. The vintage car added to Harrys immaculate vibe and just made him that little bit more hot.

Harry properly introduced you to Gemma, who was equally as lovely as Harry. They were both amazing people and they were crazily alike. From the way they looked, down to the way they phrased their words, they were mistakingly twins. Gemma explained how Anne, their mum, didn't know they were doing this photoshoot and that it was going to be a surprise, which you thought was so cute.

Gemma spilt a lot of gossip on Harry, to which he got very embarrassed over. You learnt that Harrys first word was Cat. You learnt that Harry is godfather to multiple children, which you found heartwarming. You learnt Harry used to be a baker - which was something he elaborated on for a good half an hour. Harry was just a fountain of memories and Gemma was the one sharing them all with you.

The drive back to London was relaxed. You sat in the back, listening to Harry and Gemma pointlessly argue whilst an Arctic Monkeys album played in the background. You forgot that people like Harry drove, and listened to music, just like other regular people. You often misplaced celebrities in society, thinking they had everything done for them but in reality that (often) wasn't the case - at least not for Harry.

Gemma was dropped off quickly before Harry drove to his. It was no surprise that the Styles siblings didn't live too far away from each other. Harrys house was beautiful. Bigger than anything you could ever dream of buying. It was a palace compared to your cupboard-sized house. You were unbelievably jealous. He gave you the tour of the house, showing you where the toilets were, and even his panic room if necessary.

You migrated to the kitchen for a bit, talking about anything and everything. Getting to know the minuscule pieces of information that no-one else was trusted with, made you feel special. Harry made you feel special - even if he weren't meaning to.

Every moment held a spark. Every touch set off a firework. Every laugh was an electric burst. He made you feel so alive.

"We can go to the living room after this has boiled." Harry said, pointing towards the streaming kettle. He wanted to show off his fancy tea collection he had, and let you have a try if you wanted to. Harry was boring and chose the basic green tea, but, after much deliberation, you chose the cranberry green tea. It intrigued you and it sounded delicious.

"Why the extensive tea collection?" Not even you, a certified caffeine addict, had this much tea in your house. Coffee was a different story and one in which you didn't want to talk about.

"They help me with my meditation." He took the teabags and placed them in his glass mugs. They had a delicate Gucci stamp on them, and you just imagined that they probably worth the same amount as your daily salary.

"You meditate?" You were slightly surprised that he did.

"I try to yeah." Harry nodded, focusing on pouring in the boiling water into the mugs. "I've got very tight hamstrings and so it helps if I meditate twice a day."

Harry finished making the tea, in the light-filled kitchen, before showing you around to the open-lounge area. Everything was modern and chic. It was exactly how you imagined it, but better. The open, red-brick, wall was a beautiful feature and one that you were a whore for! It reminded you of New York and the memories you'd made there one summer.

The sofa was a beautiful velvet, green, sofa. It was soft and gentle, a lot like Harry when you thought about it. The whole house was an architectural masterpiece and you'd be lying if you said you weren't jealous. You sat on one end and Harry went to go and sit on the other end.

"I don't bite you know?" You joked, self-consciously wondering whether he didn't want to be sat near you.

"I know, I just don't want to step on any of your covid boundaries - which is perfectly fine by the way." He added, apprehensively taking the spot next to you.

"No, not at all." You ushered him to sit next to you, as you took a sip from your steaming hot cup of fruity tea. "If I smell though, do tell me!"

"Yeah, you smell bloody awful!" Harry sarcastically remarked, but laughing afterwards to assure you he was joking. The atmosphere went quiet for a minute, only the sounds of passing cars and deep breaths being heard.

"Y/N can I ask you something?" Harry turned the tone of the conversation. It sounded like he wanted to be more serious than you two were being beforehand.

"Anything." You encouraged him to continue. You placed the cup of tea down on the table, deciding it was too hot to drink right now, and gave him your full attention.

"Do you believe in love at first sight?" Harry questioned. You didn't think you'd be having a conversation this intense - especially if you had different opinions - on your first day of knowing each other, but here you were.

"I believe you can love someone at first sight. I don't believe you can be in love with someone at first sight. Why?" You were curious as to how his brain had journeyed to this particular topic. You'd never really had this conversation with anyone before, mainly because you were unaware of the true power, and meaning, of love.

"It uh... It doesn't matter." Harry shook his head and you could tell by his body language that he was shutting you out. Maybe you'd made him uncomfortable.

"Sorry I didn't mean to—"

"No, no. Please don't apologise. It's just - I like you a lot more than you may think." Harry shyly told you, which made you all soft inside. He was being vulnerable and that was something you admired in a partner. You didn't just need love, affection and trust in a relationship. No. You needed vulnerability and heartbreak too, and Harry was revealing that part of him to you.

"I like you a lot more than you think too." You repeated, not because you felt bad for him but because you truly did like him a whole lot. Love was a weird yet wonderful thing, and if you were to hazard a guess you'd say you loved Harry. 

You couldn't wait to be in love with him.

"Does that mean I get to crown you my girlfriend?" Harry excitedly asked. Harry happy was something that should be made a constant, and you were more than happy to be in control of that.

"At least take me out first." You bargained, wishing for nothing more than to go on a date with Harry. Where you'd go, you had no idea. Everything was closed right now and there was still the chance of becoming sick with corona, but no doubt Harry would think of something not only clever, but special.

Of course you'd love to be Harrys girlfriend. However, you wanted one more, official, opportunity to really get to know him - unprofessionally. You wanted to make sure that you knew, and he knew, that you wanted to be with him because he was the charming Harry you've come to love, not because he was Harry Styles.

"So you're allowing me to take you on a date?" Harry smirked like a little child, your heart fluttering at how excited he was to be able to treat you to dinner.

"Yes, Harry. Yes I am." You answered sweetly, offering him the cutest smile you could.

You can't believe what a turn of events today has been. You've gone from nearly writing yourself on Harrys enemy list to writing yourself on to his 'people he's dated' list. Who knows what the future would offer you. At the start of the day you had wished this whole day to end and for the ground to just swallow you up, now you never wanted it to end. It was too perfect to be true and yet it was.

Harry was the most wonderful human to exist and you were beyond surprised to be the one to catch his attention. You didn't understand why you were so special, but it was nice to feel like this for a change. It was nice to feel wanted.

                                                             ••••

A few months later and you were officially Harrys girlfriend.

It had been such a crazy few months. Harry religiously took you out on dates every week. Whether it be to grab a hotdog at a local diner, a coffee from a quaint cafe, a walk in Hyde Park or a late-night drive around London - which normally ended up with you falling asleep before you could make it back to yours. On sleepless jet-lagged nights he'll still drive through London's quiet streets, seeing neighborhoods in a new way, just as an excuse to spend time with you.

Harry often stayed over at yours. Even though you looked like you lived in a shoebox compared to Harry, he liked it. He liked the subtly and normality of it all. He wanted your life to remain as normal as possible and, apart from the occasional paparazzi incident, it did. You never had anything to complain about. Of course the online bullying created emotional wounds, at the start of your relationship, but it was nothing that Harry couldn't repair with a bit of love.

Lisa has nominated herself to be maid-of-honour when the day comes - if the day comes. Harry has already pinky sworn that you are it for him. The one, as some may say. You were utterly flattered, but you certainly unsure of what the future help for you both.

You loved Harry, you do love Harry and you will forever always love Harry.

It was ridiculous to think that all this stemmed from you working at Vogue. From you studying English Literature in a city away from London. From you dedicating you extra hours gaining work experience and money to be able get in and afford university. So many moments in life have you stopped and said 'i wish i hadn't have done that', but now you were convinced that they were the best things to have happened to you - because they lead you, all, to Harry.

And, being Harry Styles girlfriend was probably the biggest flex you could ever make.

[duckprintspress]

Ten Things We Hate About Trad Pub

Often when I say “I’ve started a small press; we publish the works of those who have trouble breaking into traditional publishing!” what people seem to hear is “me and a bunch of sad saps couldn’t sell our books in the Real World so we’ve made our own place with lower standards.” For those with minimal understanding of traditional publishing (trad pub), this reaction is perhaps understandable? But, truly, there are many things to hate about traditional publishing (and, don’t get me wrong - there are things to love about trad pub, too, but that’s not what this list is about) and it’s entirely reasonable for even highly accomplished authors to have no interest in running the gauntlet of genre restrictions, editorial control, hazing, long waits, and more, that make trad pub at best, um, challenging, and at worst, utterly inaccessible to many authors - even excellent ones.

Written in collaboration with @jhoomwrites, with input from @ramblingandpie, here is a list of ten things that we at Duck Prints Press detest about trad pub, why we hate it, and why/how we think things should be different!

(Needless to say, part of why we created Duck Prints Press was to...not do any of these things... so if you’re a writer looking for a publishing home, and you hate these things, too, and want to write with a Press that doesn’t do them...maybe come say hi?)

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1. Work lengths dictated by genre and/or author experience.

Romance novels can’t be longer than 90,000 words or they won’t sell! New authors shouldn’t try to market a novel longer than 100,000 words!

A good story is a good story is a good story. Longer genre works give authors the chance to explore their themes and develop their plots. How often an author has been published shouldn’t put a cap on the length of their work.

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2. Editors assert control of story events...except when they don’t.

If you don’t change this plot point, the book won’t market well. Oh, you’re a ten-time bestseller? Write whatever you want, even if it doesn’t make sense we know people will buy it.

Sometimes, a beta or an editor will point out that an aspect of a story doesn’t work - because it’s nonsensical, illogical, Deus ex Machina, etc. - and in those cases it’s of course reasonable for an editor to say, “This doesn’t work and we recommend changing it, for these reasons…” However, when that list of reasons begins and ends with, “...because it won’t sell…” that’s a problem, especially because this is so often applied as a double standard. We’ve all read bestsellers with major plot issues, but those authors get a “bye” because editors don’t want to exert to heavy a hand and risk a proven seller, but with a new, less experienced, or worse-selling author, the gloves come off (even though evidence suggests time and again that publishers’ ability to predict what will sell well is at best low and at worst nonexistent.)

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3. A billion rejection letters as a required rite of passage (especially when the letters aren't helpful in pinpointing why a work has been rejected or how the author can improve).

Well, my first book was rejected by a hundred Presses before it was accepted! How many rejection letters did you get before you got a bite? What, only one or two? Oh…

How often one succeeds or fails to get published shouldn’t be treated as a form of hazing, and we all know that how often someone gets rejected or accepted has essentially no bearing on how good a writer they are. Plenty of schlock goes out into the world after being accepted on the first or second try...and so does plenty of good stuff! Likewise, plenty of schlock will get rejected 100 times but due to persistence, luck, circumstances, whatever, finally find a home, and plenty of good stuff will also get rejected 100 times before being publishing. Rejections (or lack there of) as a point of pride or as a means of judging others needs to die as a rite of passage among authors.

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4. Query letters, for so many reasons.

Summarize all your hard work in a single page! Tell us who you’re like as an author and what books your story is like, so we can gauge how well it’ll sell based on two sentences about it! Format it exactly the way we say or we won’t even consider you!

For publishers, agents, and editors who have slush piles as tall as Mount Everest...we get it. There has to be a way to differentiate. We don’t blame you. Every creative writing class, NaNoWriMo pep talk, and college lit department combine to send out hundreds of thousands of people who think all they need to do to become the next Ernest Hemingway is string a sentence together. There has to be some way to sort through that pile...but God, can’t there be a better way than query letters? Especially since even with query letters being used it often takes months or years to hear back, and...

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5. "Simultaneous submissions prohibited.”

No, we don’t know when we’ll get to your query, but we’ll throw it out instantly if you have the audacity to shop around while you wait for us.

The combination of “no simultaneous submissions” with the query letter bottleneck makes success slow and arduous. It disadvantages everyone who aims to write full-time but doesn’t have another income source (their own, or a parents’, or a spouse’s, or, or or). The result is that entire classes of people are edged out of publishing solely because the process, especially for writers early in their career, moves so glacially that people have to earn a living while they wait, and it’s so hard to, for example, work two jobs and raise a family and also somehow find the time to write. Especially considering that the standard advice for dealing with “no simultaneous submissions” is “just write something else while you wait!” ...the whole system screams privilege.

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6. Genres are boxes that must be fit into and adhered to.

Your protagonist is 18? Then obviously your book is Young Adult. It doesn’t matter how smutty your book is, erotica books must have sex within the first three chapters, ideally in the first chapter. Sorry, we’re a fantasy publisher, if you have a technological element you don’t belong here…

While some genre boxes have been becoming more like mesh cages of late, with some flow of content allowed in and out, many remain stiff prisons that constrict the kinds of stories people can tell. Even basic cross-genre works often struggle to find a place, and there’s no reason for it beyond “if we can’t pigeon-hole a story, it’s harder to sell.” This edges out many innovative, creative works. It also disadvantages people who aren’t as familiar with genre rules. And don’t get me wrong - this isn’t an argument that, for example, the romance genre would be improved by opening up to stories that don’t have “happily ever afters.” Instead, it’s pointing out - there should also be a home for, say, a space opera with a side romance, an erotica scene, and a happily-for-now ending. Occasionally, works breakthrough, but for the most part stories that don’t conform never see the light of day (or, they do, but only after Point 2 - trad pub editors insist that the elements most “outside” the box be removed or revised).

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7. The lines between romance and erotica are arbitrary, random, and hetero- and cis-normative.

This modern romance novel won’t sell if it doesn’t have an explicit sex scene, but God forbid you call a penis a penis. Oh, no, this is far too explicit, even though the book only has one mlm sex scene, this is erotica.

The difference between “romance” and “erotica” might not matter so much if not for the stigmas attached to erotica and the huge difference in marketability and audience. The difference between “romance” and “erotica” also might not matter so much if not for the fact that, so often, even incredibly raunchy stories that feature cis straight male/cis straight female sex scenes are shelved as romance, but the moment the sex is between people of the same gender, and/or a trans or genderqueer person is involved, and/or the relationship is polyamorous, and/or the characters involved are literally anything other than a cis straight male pleasuring a cis straight female in a “standard” way (cunnilingus welcome, pegging need not apply)...then the story is erotica. Two identical stories will get assigned different genres based on who the people having sex are, and also based on the “skill” of the author to use ludicrous euphemisms (instead of just...calling body parts what they’re called…), and it’s insane. Non-con can be a “romance” novel, even if it’s graphically described. “50 Shades of Gray” can sell millions of copies, even containing BDSM. But the word “vagina” gets used once...bam, erotica. (Seriously, the only standard that should matter is the Envelope Analogy).

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8. Authors are expected to do a lot of their own legwork (eg advertising) but then don't reap the benefits.

Okay, so, you’re going to get an advance of $2,500 on this, your first novel, and a royalty rate of 5% if and only if your advance sells out...so you’d better get out there and market! Wait, what do you mean you don’t have a following? Guess you’re never selling out your advance…

Trad pub can generally be relied on to do some marketing - so this item is perhaps better seen as an indictment of more mid-sized Presses - but, basically, if an author has to do the majority of the work themselves, then why aren’t they getting paid more? What’s the actual benefit to going the large press/trad pub route if it’s not going to get the book into more hands? It’s especially strange that this continues to be a major issue when self-publishing (which also requires doing one’s own marketing) garners 60%+ royalty rates. Yes, the author doesn’t get an advance, and they don’t get the cache of ~well I was published by…~, but considering some Presses require parts of advances to get paid back if the initial run doesn’t sell out, and cache doesn’t put food on the table...pay models have really, really got to change.

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9. Fanfiction writing doesn't count as writing experience

Hey there Basic White Dude, we see you’ve graduated summa cum laude from A Big Fancy Expensive School. Of course we’ll set you up to publish your first novel you haven’t actually quite finished writing yet. Oh, Fanperson, you’ve written 15 novels for your favorite fandom in the last 4 years? Get to the back of the line!

Do I really need to explain this? The only way to get better at writing is to write. Placing fanfiction on official trad pub “do not interact” lists is idiotic, especially considering many of the other items on this list. (They know how to engage readers! They have existing followings! They understand genre and tropes!) Being a fanfiction writer should absolutely be a marketable “I am a writer” skill. Nuff said. (To be clear, I’m not saying publishers should publish fanfiction, I’m saying that being a fanfiction writer is relevant and important experience that should be given weight when considering an author’s qualifications, similar to, say, publishing in a university’s quarterly.)

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10. Tagging conventions (read: lack thereof).

Oh, did I trigger you? Hahahaha. Good luck with that.

We rate movies so that people can avoid content they don’t like. Same with TV shows and video games. Increasingly, those ratings aren’t just “R - adult audiences,” either; they contain information about the nature of the story elements that have led to the rating (“blood and gore,” “alcohol reference,” “cartoon violence,” “drug reference,” “sexual violence,” “use of tobacco,” and many, many more). So why is it that I can read a book and, without warning, be surprised by incest, rape, graphic violence, explicit language, glorification of drug and alcohol use, and so so much more? That it’s left to readers to look up spoilers to ensure that they’re not exposed to content that could be upsetting or inappropriate for their children or, or, or, is insane. So often, too, authors cling to “but we don’t want to give away our story,” as if video game makes and other media makers do want to give away their stories. This shouldn’t be about author egos or ~originality~ (as if that’s even a thing)...it should be about helping readers make informed purchasing decisions. It’s way, way past time that major market books include content warnings.

Thank you for joining us, this has been our extended rant about how frustrated we are with traditional publishing. Helpful? No. Cathartic? Most definitely yes. 🤣

*

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[luvnami]

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - wahh it’s here! can’t believe my brainrot of osamu teaching a cooking class turned into this long fic lol... i hope you enjoy it!! it was fun crafting the story with my beta readers and i put a lot of effort into it!!! itadakimasu <3

𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐚 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐬 - @forgetou​ @amjustagirl​ (muacks 2x) + tq to everyone who helped me with the banner!!

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 - you’re suna’s younger sibling, food, heartbreak, angst but happy ending, mentions of stabbing (joke), kita dances to ‘ice cream’ by selena gomez and blackpink, mentions of alcohol, mentions of blood (brief), suna beats (redacted) up

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 - miya osamu x gn!reader

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 - you fall in love with miya osamu once more, but you’re afraid of getting hurt again.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 5535

𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 | 𝐤𝐨-𝐟𝐢

1. Cook the rice according to your rice cooker, then transfer the cooked rice to a separate bowl to cool it down.

“What ya want t’do is scorch the soy sauce.”

The class presses themselves against Osamu’s workbench as they scribble down notes on their recipe printouts. Their lips purse to ooh and aah at his cooking skills, though you’re pretty sure that they’re more interested in how his biceps flex when he flips the wok with a trained flick of the wrist. 

You stand at the very edge of the group. It’s better than getting close with a group of hungry housewives, really. If grocery store and department mall sales have ever told you anything, it’s to never get in the way of what a seasoned housewife wants. Unfortunately for you, you haven’t learnt the way of being a homemaker just yet. 

You’re unemployed, right in the middle of a month and a half-ish long transfer between jobs. You currently stay at your brother Suna’s place — which is really just an apartment filled with dirty laundry overflowing from its seams.

Turns out Suna himself is a bit of a gossip.  He told Kita who told Atsumu who told Osamu that you’re stuck at his place 24/7 with no friends or entertainment in the lovely city of Nagano. It’s just mountains and trees as far as the eye can see all around — and there’s only so many hikes you can take each week. 

“Why don’t you take a cookin’ class?” 

“Cookin’?” Your face screwed up in confusion. “ What for?”

“So that you can actually pull your weight around the house and make me something to eat.”

You chucked a pillow at his head and began to list all the things you did while staying at his apartment. Laundry, cleaning the floor, doing grocery shopping (even if it was only instant noodles and snacks), finding his disgustingly sweaty socks under the sofa and many other important chores, thank you very much.

Besides, you weren’t as eager when you saw who was the one that would be holding the classes. With his picture plastered across the front of a pamphlet, your heart dropped into the pit of your stomach. Years of chasing his dreams and training in a kitchen had done Osamu wonders. 

You had half a mind to smack Suna in the head with the yellow, glossy paper, but instead you quietly tucked it into a corner of the guest room to look at later. You were sure Suna hadn’t forgotten your history with Osamu just yet — but perhaps he assumed that enough time had passed to heal your wounds.

Either way, there’s no going back now. That’s how you ended up at Osamu’s ‘Cooking class for homemakers — you can do it too!’, except you aren’t a homemaker. You shift your weight from one foot to the other as the sound of sizzling soy sauce fills the air. Osamu pauses for a while before beginning to mix the rice with the sauce, wielding his spatula and wok expertly like weapons.

“Miya-san, you’re amazing!” someone gushes.

He lets out a bashful laugh. “This is nothing. I’m sure everyone will be able to do this by the end of class today!”

You wonder if he’s ever considered being a teacher. The demonstration on how to make shrimp fried rice is soon over and everyone returns to their benches, eager to try out the recipe. You are no different. Scurrying to your bench at the very back of the classroom, you exchange glances between the printed recipe handout and your tray of ingredients.

“Need any help?” 

Osamu’s voice and looming presence makes you jump.

“Woah! Careful there,” he chuckles, his fingers gently prying a knife out of your hands.

Unconsciously, you had raised it in shock when Osamu snuck up on you. The knife now lays safely on the tabletop and you feel the eyes of the entire class boring into you.

“Sorry, Miya-san. I didn’t see you,” you apologise meekly.

“Don’t worry about it, I shouldn't have scared ya like that. And no need for the formalities! You’re my friend’s sister, afta’ all.”

Oh goodness. You half expect the class to pick up their pots and pans and run at you right this moment. You swallow back the half hearted ‘Osamu-san’ that rises in your throat. Your heart trembles in your chest and for a second, the silence that weighs heavily between the both of you turns awkward. 

“Miya-san! Could you help me with this please?” 

You’ve never been so glad to hear Tachibana’s sickly shrill voice before. Osamu is quick to wave goodbye to you before hurrying over to her bench, a smile still on his face. You breathe a sigh of relief. 

You make a mental note to tell Suna that Osamu should just stick to placating those housewives and leave you the hell alone. The last thing you want is to have blackmail spread around the neighbourhood by these gossipy housewives, or worse, have their daughters hunt you down and chop you up into pieces.

Whatever. You’re just here to learn how to make shrimp fried rice and then go home to your annoying older brother. Besides, it’s not like you’ll be here for long. Miya Osamu just happens to be the local heartthrob, the handsome and eligible bachelor chased by anyone single and ready to mingle. You have absolutely nothing to do with someone so popular and good-looking. And for goodness sake, he’s your brother’s high school friend and your… Well, you know. 

Your face burns and you pick up the knife again, grip tightening on its handle. You begin chopping at the onions with renewed determination.

(Later on, when you bring back a tupperware of fried rice for Suna, he looks you in the eye and asks “Shrimp fried this rice?”.

You shoot him a glare.

“I fried this rice.”)

2. Prepare all the fillings that you are going to use and set aside, such as pickled plums or tuna mayo. Prepare your seaweed sheets.

What you don’t expect is for Miya Osamu to show up at your doorstep the next day with boxes of food, cartons of drinks and a very noisy brother of his in tow. 

“Rin, where can I leave the drinks?” Osamu yells.

“Rin, can I play your PS5?” Atsumu shouts.

You think that they are very different, the Miya twins. Suna takes a minute to finish putting on some clothes (you had answered the door, thankfully. No one wants to see Suna Rintarou in Pikachu boxers) before bursting out of his room.

He’s quick to smack Atsumu’s ‘dirty little setter hands’ away from his precious Playstation, directing Osamu to what constitutes the apartment’s kitchen — a second-hand fridge and the building-installed gas stove that works only if you hit it hard enough. You’re surprised that neither you or Suna haven't died of a house fire or gas poisoning by now.

It doesn’t take long for the other Inarizaki alumni to arrive at Suna’s apartment in a series of doorbell rings. Kita even brings along a large bottle of sake, to which everyone cheers loudly. You don’t understand why they had chosen Suna’s place to have a reunion party. Seriously, wouldn't Onigiri Miya or some other izakaya have been a better choice?

However, there’s free flow of drinks and lots of yummy snacks, so you decide to let the noise wash over you and stand by the food table to pick at the trays of pizza, fried chicken and other finger food. Aran even offers you a drink, smiling sweetly before going off to wrangle Atsumu from trying to initiate a beer chugging competition. Some things just never change, you suppose.

“Having fun?”

You jump and nearly drop the plate of food that you hold.

“You have a horrible habit of scaring people, Miya- Osamu.”

His first name comes out awkward, tumbling off of your tongue as you use a pair of chopsticks to carefully pile back some mentaiko mayonnaise onto a slice of tamagoyaki. Osamu settles into the crook of the kitchen counter next to you with a playful grin on his face.

“Do I really?”

“Don’t forget that the first time you did that, someone nearly got stabbed.”

You pop the tamagoyaki into your mouth. It’s delicious — the egg’s sweetness balances out the salty sauce. You wonder if there’s enough left on the tray for seconds. 

“How’s the reunion going?” you ask nonchalantly, and shuffle a few centimetres away from him.

You hope Osamu doesn’t notice that. He does, however, but chooses not to comment on it. He brings up a hand to scratch at his neck, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly. He’s close enough for you to get a whiff of whatever cologne he’s wearing. Your head spins for a second. 

“Oh, none of us have gotten drunk just yet. I’m pretty sure we’ll be playing beer pong or something later on.”

You steel yourself against the urge to look at what Osamu is wearing. Don’t look, don’t look, definitely don’t look. Miya Osamu is, has been, a dangerous man to fall in love with. You can’t afford to- 

Perhaps gouging your eyes out would have been a better choice in theory. Even a glance from where you stand beside him is enough to see that not only is he wearing a tight, black T-shirt, Osamu also has a pair of sweatpants on. Is it a sin to wear sweatpants? Probably so, especially with the way it makes your throat run dry. 

“Beer pong, huh?” You try your best to mumble somewhat nonchalantly. “Who won the last time?”

“Kita.”

“Kita?!” you gasp. 

Even that’s enough to make you forget about Osamu and his stupid (and very sexy) sweatpants. 

“Yeah, right? That was the first time he participated. All of us got left drunk in the street, so we decided to do it at someone’s place this year.”

You let out a soft laugh at the thought of a bunch of grown men piled over each other on the road. You don’t particularly like the thought of cleaning up after them tonight, though. 

The lack of words between you and Osamu descends into snorts of laughter that trickle in from the tiny living room. Aran throws his head back, drink nearly spilling out of his cup. Ginjima laughs so loud you see Omiomi cover his ears and Suna holds his phone up, filming every second of Atsumu’s defeat. 

Osamu opens his mouth as if to ask you something.

“C’mon! Yer killin’ me, Kita-san!” Atsumu yells, socked feet and waving arms trying to match the onscreen character’s movements.

Kita, on the other hand, is scoring perfect marks without as much effort wasted. You giggle to yourself as he moves his hips, shaking them here and there. A small smile quirks his lips upwards as he finishes with a flawless ending move on ‘Ice Cream’, the Just Dance characters fading into oblivion on the screen. Atsumu crumbles to the floor in defeat. 

Osamu’s lips form a straight line as he watches you laugh along, raising a hand to cover your mouth. He curses Atsumu’s birth and swallows back his embarrassment.

“Did ya see that, Osamu? Oh- Kita-san is so good at everything!” you gush.

“Atsumu just sucks.”

When you laugh, Osamu thinks something in his chest lurches. Regret makes his head go foggy and leaves a sour taste in his mouth.

3. Place cling wrap over a rice bowl. Place some of the cooked rice over the centre of the cling wrap and make a well.

“No way ya got a love letter!” Atsumu yelled.

“Ya get yer fair share. We share t’same face, why shouldn’t I get some?” Osamu retorted, rolling his eyes. 

Suna watched as the twins began to gripe and argue about who was the better looking sibling again. Nothing unusual, really, given how this occurred every odd day of the week.

“S’gotta be a prank. No way someone likes a loser like you,” Suna mused.

In retaliation, Osamu threw him a stink eye. “You two are just jealous,” he sniffed.

The letter had been written on pretty pink paper, all hearts and cute handwriting as his secret admirer asked him to meet them on the roof after school. Not that Osamu wasn’t affected by it, of course. It always rubbed his ego the right way to know that someone preferred him over Atsumu. Though, it wasn’t like he was interested in anyone then. It only took a second before Osamu ripped the letter in half.

“Woah woah woah! Yer crazy! Whatcha gonna do if some pretty girl gave that to ya?” 

Atsumu’s eyes widened in shock, almost reaching forward to grab the shreds of letter that Osamu had torn up. 

“Does it matter? S’not like I’m interested in datin’ right now,” he replied.

“Seriously? What if she’s like, super duper hot!”

Osamu’s face screwed up. “Are ya a horndog?”

Just as Atsumu was about to shout at his dear brother again, you opened the door to their classroom and hurried in. You had a bento box in hand and a cute pout on your face as you placed it on Suna’s table.

“Rin! You forgot your bento at home again!” 

“Oh.” Suna blinked. “Thanks.”

“Seriously, you gotta stop forgetting your things! I can’t be bringing them to you all the time-”

“Hey, Suna.” Atsumu perked up, referring to you. “Would ya go on a date with Samu or me? Me, right? Definitely me!”

Your face flushed with heat. “Huh? What are you talking about?”

“‘Samu got a love letter in his shoe locker this morning. Cliche, huh?” your brother said between bites of his lunch. 

“Mm, yeah. Cliche,” you mumbled. 

You looked around anxiously for any sign of the love letter. Was it in Osamu’s bag? 

“Can ya believe he tore it up?” Atsumu laughed.

“What?”

Your heart felt like a stone in your chest as you froze, your blood running cold. 

“Yeah! This dumbass doesn’t know how t’appreciate anythin’,” he replied, smacking Osamu on the back of his head.

His twin responded with a muffled growl as he continued to scarf down his absurdly large bento. You fiddled with the cuffs of your sleeves, staring down at your feet. You were quick to bid the third years goodbye as you fled their classroom as an inexplicable ache spread through your chest. 

You didn’t focus on your classes for the rest of the day. The fact that Osamu had torn your love letter, written with all your heart and soul as you crumpled draft after draft last night, tipped you over the edge of your fantasies and had you plummeting straight into reality. 

“Oi.”

You looked up from your feet, glancing up at Suna. The both of you were swapping your indoor shoes for outdoor ones, but you had absentmindedly stopped in the middle of slipping your right foot into a shoe. It was nearing the time where they closed the school gates, so there weren’t many students around save for the odd volleyball club member.

“What’re you doing? Put your shoes on properly,” he huffed.

“Sorry,” you said quietly, and slammed the locker door shut once you were done.

You walked a few feet ahead of Suna as you approached the school gate. Your head drooped with each step, tears beginning to mist your eyes. You willed yourself to hold it in till you got home, till you were in the safety of your bedroom to start sobbing your little heart out. Suna tugged on your wrist.

“Are you crying?” he questioned.  

You shook your head quickly, rubbing your eyes with the back of your sleeve.

“Oi. Answer me.”

This time, his voice was a little softer, yet held a mixture of irritation and anger behind a crumbling wall of apathy. Who had been the one to make you cry? 

“It’s nothin’,” you choked out. “Let’s just go home.”

You turned your face to the side as tears continued to roll down your cheeks, muffled cries turning into heartbroken sobs. Something inside of Suna’s head clicked. 

“It’s Miya Osamu, isn’t it?” 

You had to bite on your lower lip to stop it from trembling.

“That bastard tore up your letter, didn’t he?”

You gave Suna the tiniest of nods. He let go of your wrist and whipped around, eyebrows furrowed together. Not wanting to date was one thing, but treating your confession like dog shit was something else. Fortunately for him, the Miya twins were changing their shoes in the getabako.

“‘Samu!” Suna yelled.

The gray haired male looked up with a face of confusion.

“Suna? Whaddya want-” Osamu wasn’t able to say anything more as Suna’s fist collided with his face.

Atsumu jumped back with a yelp as the both of them crashed to the ground. Your hands flew to cover your mouth.

“Rin! Stop it!” you cried out.

You dashed over, tripping over your own feet as you tried to pull Suna away from Osamu as they traded blows. It took the work of you, Atsumu and Ginjima (who had been unlucky enough to pass by) to tear the two apart, and even then Osamu was still struggling in his brother’s arms to be let go.

“What t’hell, man!” he snarled. 

Suna wiped his nose, glancing briefly at the crimson that stained his school uniform. The adrenaline was beginning to run low and pain began to settle into his fists and ribs. His shoulders heaved with each breath, and your hands clutched his shirt.

“Rin. No more, please,” you begged, pressing your forehead against his back. “No more.”

Suna hated the way your voice trembled as you spoke. He didn’t think it was fair for you to bear the burden of pain while Osamu got to walk away unscathed, leaving you broken in pieces. His fist curled up again.

“It’s not worth it, Rin.”

Suna took in a shaky, deep breath.

You were right.

Miya Osamu wasn’t worth it. 

4. Put about 1tbsp of the filling of your choice on the centre of the rice and cover it with rice.

A week comes and goes after the annual Inarizaki reunion. You’re still finding sticky stains on the floor, as well as food wrappers tossed behind the sofa. Suna sends the group chat a video of you yelling at all of them while wielding a mop with so much fervour Aran asks if you broke it. Atsumu actually apologises and Osamu offers to come over and help clean up. The entire group chat flames him immediately.

As per last week, you walk into Osamu’s cooking class at 2p.m. on a Wednesday afternoon. It’s hot outside, droplets of perspiration rolling down your nape. The cool air-conditioning of the classroom is much appreciated and you don your apron behind the gaggle of housewives. You catch snippets of their conversation as they put their items in the cubbies provided. 

“Tanaka-san, did you see the mushrooms that were on sale this Monday?”

“My son is attending this cram school this summer. Here’s the address!”

“My father-in-law keeps complaining about the heat…”

“Good afternoon, everyone.”

“Miya-san!”

Everyone perks up when Osamu walks through the door. They’re quick to surround him, asking how his day had been. You look tired, take this ginseng drink! It really revitalises your spirits! Did you get a girlfriend yet, Miya-san? My daughter is single, you know! 

You watch as Osamu walks behind his bench, all smiles and “Is that so, Shigeru-san?”. Polite enough to please them, but not enough to make them think that he actually wants to go on a date with their 34 year-old daughter who’s a tired office worker looking out for potential husbands like a hawk. He lets out a heavy exhale, using his cap with the Onigiri Miya logo on it to fan himself.

“Hot today, isn’t it?” he chuckles.

You think that maybe he’s the one that’s making this summer so warm, especially with the way that his shirt clings to his figure and his flushed cheeks that make him look adorable. 

Wait.

You do a double take. Ah, adorable. You must have meant that heart-print apron that Tanaka is wearing today. It is pretty cute, and you wonder if you should ask her where she got it from later on. Definitely not Osamu with his perfect smile that would make anyone’s heart skip a beat, and definitely not when it’s directed at you.

“Gather around everyone! We’re going to be making gyoza today!”

The demonstration goes as usual — Osamu impresses the housewives, they gasp and someone even touches his forearm and asks “How did you get so strong, Miya-san?”. Not that you care, of course. You certainly don’t. What you’re more concerned about is how Osamu manages to make wrapping the fragile gyoza seem so easy. 

Your fingers pinch at the thick dough, eyebrows furrowed together. No matter what you do, your filling keeps spilling out of the wrapper and so you’ve opted to try out for a thicker piece this time. Not that it really matters — Suna will be the one suffering from food poisoning if it turns out bad, anyways.

“Ah, yer made it too thick,” Osamu says as he strolls over. 

You tense up as he leans over your shoulder, peeking at the chubby gyoza in your hands. You pretend not be affected by how close he is and continue pinching the wings of the dumpling shut.

“They keep bursting,” you sniff. 

“Maybe ya put t’much filling?” Osamu suggests. “Here, lemme show ya. Put tha’ one down and grab a new wrapper. Yeah, just like that.”

You stiffen as Osamu flours his hands and cradles your hands in his. 

“Here ya go. That’s t’much, scoop out some more. That’s it. Now gently…”

Blood rushes to your face as you feel the warmth of his skin seep into yours, his hands rough from years of training and cooking. Scars adorn the tips of his thick fingers and knuckles. You suddenly feel the urge to gently trace them with your thumb, to ask him how he got each one of them. 

Would he let you? Let you so close, that perhaps you would be the one to know every single thing about him?

“You did it!” Osamu says cheerfully. 

He suddenly pulls away, making you plummet back to reality. A perfectly made gyoza sits in your hands.

“I’m looking forward to tasting your gyoza later on. Now keep trying!” 

You’re left dumbfounded as Osamu walks away to help out the other housewives. They stammer and blush when they get too close, but he never holds their hands in his own, never smiles as gently as he does with you.

You place the gyoza on a pan and put the lid on with a little bit more force than what is necessary.

5. Wrap the cling wrap over the rice and squeeze and mould it into a triangle shape with your hands.

You try not to make contact with Osamu after that. Attending his cooking classes becomes a game of cat-and-mouse, where you try to tell him ‘I don’t need any help, Miya-san’ and watch him crawl away in defeat. In fact, you decide to skip the lesson on making hamburgs and instead spend the afternoon watching television.

After all, from what you’ve learnt in the past, Osamu is nothing more than trouble. You think it’s worth the sacrifice now to put some space between the both of you so that you don’t end up heartbroken a second time. 

Though, you do feel a little bad. Just a little bit. One day when Suna’s out at training, you hear the doorbell ring and Osamu’s voice ring through the genkan. You hear his feet shuffle by the door and a heavy thump outside before he leaves. You only open the door when you hear his car pull out of the apartment building’s carpark, and find a packed bento lunch for you in front.

You try to pretend that the bunny cut apples and sakura shaped carrot slices don’t mean anything.

“Ah, Suna-san! Where were you last week?” Tachibana titters as you step into class for the final lesson.

“I wasn’t feeling very well,” you lie. “I think I caught a summer cold.”

“Oh dear, that sounds terrible!” the ladies chorus together. 

You think they’re probably just glad that you didn’t get in the way of their beloved Miya-san. You tug your apron over your head, and ignore Osamu when he greets everyone. His eyes linger on you for a little too long during the demonstration — to the point that he actually burns the skin side of his salmon fillet.

Osamu skirts around your bench like a nervous puppy when the demonstration is over. You don’t seem particularly keen about talking to him, though the tips of your finger tremble when he finally plucks up the courage to stand next to you. It’s not close enough for your elbows to touch, but close enough that he can whisper to you without anyone else hearing him.

“Hey,” he begins, uncertain. His voice wavers slightly.

“Hey,” you reply, wary of what he might say. 

“Are you okay?”

You take a moment to think, tipping the sake bottle carefully to measure out an exact tablespoon of it. He wonders when your hands have seemed so delicate, so small. He aches to hold them in his own again. 

“I’m okay.”

“That’s good.”

It’s quiet, again. Just like that night in Suna’s apartment, with all the noise of the reunion going on around you, except this time it's the clanging of pans and utensils, paired with the chatter of many ladies. 

“I was thinking…” Osamu stares down at your hands, turning the measuring spoon over so that sake splashes onto the hot pan with a sizzle. “Maybe we could get a drink together after this?”

You cover the pan and watch its surface cloud up with condensation. You hide your shaking hands by digging them into the pockets of your apron. 

Osamu swallows. Perhaps he had been too direct with you; scared you off with how quickly he was advancing. Or did Suna tell you to be careful of him? That he didn’t want you falling in love with him a second time? There’s no lie about it, that Osamu had been a grade A asshole back in high school.

But he loves you now; has loved you since then. Would you be willing to give him a second chance?

“Osamu,” you breathe.

His shoulders relax slightly when you don’t call him by his last name. 

“I don’t know what to do.” 

Your voice comes out timid, scared. Osamu’s heart crumbles at the edges. He wonders if you would hate him if he reached out and took your hands in his once more. You’re both adults, perfectly capable of rational thinking if only your hearts hadn’t gotten in the way. Love hurts, they said. You want to agree. 

“We can start it out slow,” Osamu suggests.

“I’m supposed to start my new job next month. I won't be in Nagano for much longer.”

“I’m opening a branch in Tokyo.”

“I’ll be busy settling down. We might not get to see each other often enough.”

“A little is better than nothin’.”

“You’re my brother’s friend.”

“Now, yer just picking at nothing, babe. Didn’t you have a crush on me back in high school, too? That didn’t stop ya, did it?”

Your heart wrestles with your brain, insisting on comfort and that love will always come in the form of someone that isn’t Miya Osamu. You’ll find someone, but will they be better? Will they send food to your doorstep, or send you stupid photos of dogs he saw on the street? Will they chase after you relentlessly for years, will they be Osamu?

A lump forms in your throat and you wonder if this, has been, is love. You tear your heart out from within you and let it cling to your sleeve, as pathetic and scared it is. You don’t mind if it hurts. To never hurt is to never have lived, to never have loved. 

By this point, your eyes have misted up with tears and it hits you- You’re about to cry about your crush in the middle of a cooking class attended by middle-aged ladies. You’ve never been more embarrassed. 

“Really?” you whisper, looking up at Osamu with glittering eyes. 

He ignores the “Miya-san! I need your help!” that rings out in the background. He smiles gently.

“Yeah, really.”

A tear slips down your face. Osamu lets out a breathy chuckle as he swipes it away with his thumb, giving your shoulder a squeeze.

“We’ll talk properly after this, alright?” 

You nod numbly. You watch as he hurries off to Shigeru, gasping when he sees how she had completely butchered her fillet. He turns back to you, trying to hold in a snigger. 

You giggle.

Osamu thinks he wants to hear that laugh forever.

6. Remove the cling wrap and cover the bottom of the rice triangle with a nori sheet and set aside.

“One extra large bonito onigiri with spring onions!” you cry out from the counter.

Back in the kitchen, Osamu and another part-time worker scoop steaming rice out of large vats and use their hands to mould them into perfectly shaped triangles. A scoop of filling goes in and a strip of seaweed is wrapped hastily around the onigiri before it's sent to you to package. You place the onigiri carefully into a box and slip it into a paper bag with the shop’s logo on the front for a take-away order. 

The shop is filled with customers even on a Wednesday afternoon. The clock shows 2p.m., past lunch time, yet you can see a queue that snakes out of the shop and down the alleyway. 

Another long day ahead, you think to yourself. 

“It’s our turn!” a little girl squeals as she takes the bag from you, opening it up to peer at the huge onigiri inside. “Mama! ‘giri!” 

Her mother laughs and pats her head. “Don’t forget to say thank you, Haru.”

The girl turns to you, eyes sparkling. “‘Fank you, Miya-shan!” 

A cheery grin almost splits your face in half. Miya-san. Four years on and it still makes your stomach flip whenever you hear that Osamu’s last name has become yours. It was an easy decision for the both of you to get married, really. You had loved each other for years and all you wanted to do in the end was to spend the rest of your lives together.

You quit your office job just before you got married to help Osamu out with the new Onigiri Miya branches. It took some getting used to, but the familiar customers and bright smiles that you see just by serving onigiri each day makes it worth it. It’s tough work, no doubt. But doing what you enjoy with the man you love is more rewarding than it ever could be.

Though, it’s not like your relationship has always been smooth sailing. There are days when you bicker over something stupid (like how you always forget to close the lid of the rice cooker), or when Osamu insists that he isn’t overworking himself (although his eyebags tell otherwise). But love’s a recipe with a few secret ingredients, and you’ve come to master it over the years. 

“Come back soon!”

The shop is filled with the fragrant scent of freshly cooked rice and bonito flakes being stir-fried into furikake. Customers perch on tiny stools as they scarf down onigiri of different shapes and sizes, licking their fingers clean. A plush toy of Onigiri Miya’s mascot sits on the counter next to a potted plant that Atsumu bought (which is surprisingly still alive).

A photograph of the third Tokyo branch’s grand opening hangs on the wall. You and Osamu hold up a bouquet of flowers, smiling toothily at the camera, your wedding rings glinting in the sunlight. 

“One medium onigiri with tuna mayo, coming right up!”

You jump as Osamu shouts out the order suddenly and you nearly drop the onigiri that he hands to you.

“Woah, careful there,” he chuckles, a hand ghosting the small of your back.

“You have ‘ta stop scaring me, ‘Samu,” you huff and roll your eyes playfully.

Osamu grins at you and the edges of his eyes crinkle up. You place the onigiri safely into its packaging and place it on the counter for a customer to collect, before turning back to plant a kiss on his cheek. Osamu’s face flushes pink and he hurries away, mumbling something about bonito flakes.

Your heart soars in your chest.

Yeah, it has been, will be, worth it. 

7. Repeat the same steps as above to use the rest of the rice with other fillings that you prepared.