#absolutely hire me for advertising i am good with words

[ryllen]

Watch 'My Daemon',

it's about a very good boy & a very good dog,

told in in very good stories.

[writingforatwistedworld]

How to NOT get screwed over when getting a new job

Ok, some of you might be “Uh... Why is this on a fanfic blog? (and where is a new fic? It's coming.)” Why I am addressing this is because I know that some of you are at that age when you search for a job.

Before I start, some background info: this was my first job. My parents were always supportive of me since one of them is an immigrant who knows how hard it is if you don't have the right papers in the right country. So they agreed on helping me financially until I had graduated. You know, so I have a good chance of getting a decent paying easy job. I am no genius so they also wanted me to focus more on studying than some sort of side thing happening in my life.

Now, I am not going to say here who my employer is since I signed a paper not to share stuff about them on social media. I am not violating my contract by not saying who they are since it can not be traced back to them. (Already messed up enough that I have to say this but ok, moving on.)

The first red flag was actually already present when I signed my contract. (Crazy, right? Bad employers doing a shady job since the beginning.) So I sit there , doe eyed, singing it. The person who was the representative of the company, in my case, more or less flew over the most important things but didn't get into details. My first advice: Nope. This is not good. First red flag.

Go into detail. Ask them specifically how many hours per week can be added with or without your consent. Some companies are a bit more relaxed and allow you to choose whether you want to work longer than you signed up for or not. Now, the guy said something along the lines of “You could”. Yeah, no. I always have the long shifts and from what I can see, everyone does. We are all overworked and are in desperate need of more hands. (I am not going to be advertising them. Don't worry. They even want to cut costs by not hiring any more than the absolutely necessary minimum of workers. And they wonder why peeps go on strikes...)

The second is, he was awfully relaxed in his way of talking to me. Not in an “I'm relaxed because today is a not-so-busy day” but in a “we are friends and this is a big family”. A bit too much like he was an old friend. This had been a bit weird for me since the beginning because, well, the guy literally decides whether I am getting hired or not. Shouldn't he be a bit more, idk, professional? But I noticed sooner than later (to be exact, one week after I started working for them) that the guy was simply trying to butter me up. Not in the typical way of companies roping in workers. No. He had to do this because otherwise there wouldn't be a single reason why you would start working there.

I talked about that point with one of my friends. They have a bit more experience with finding jobs and they explained to me that such “buddy-buddy” strategies are always a red flag for them. If a company is good in what they do they don't have the need for such a thing. They have a more professional way of recruiting and whilst a joke or two might be made they are by far not mostly made out of relaxed chit-chatter.

There might be even more factors that I don't even notice being at play here. But he made me sign a contract that 1. makes me to work even longer than I signed up for on some weeks (like, way too much but I am not allowed to speak about details here) and 2. pays me less than I was promised. Heck, I even had to call the German taxing department or however you call it in English because they even put me in the wrong tax-paying class. Now, if this was a small company then ok, not cool as well but at least you could push all of that on the fact that they are so small and might even be inexperienced that they make mistakes but (and a huge reason why I don't lose a word about who they are) such a huge company? They make at least MILLIONS. This is also why I avoid getting into a fight with them. If they were to throw me in front of a judge then I wouldn't be able to keep up with them. They have so much money that they can literally buy themselves out of a situation.

I hope this helps you if you are searching for a new job or are right now on the lookout for your first one.

Stay safe and healthy! (Pardon me if I made some spelling errors. I wrote this on my phone.)

[audio-luddite]

Audio Demi-gods and Hi-Fi.

At least one personality I check out does not like the term Audiophile. There is a definite sneer to his use of that word. He uses Hi-Fi often.

I like that term. High Fidelity means exactly that. A high degree of accuracy and precision in reproducing music signals. It avoids the conceit of being an audiophile as well as reduces the weight of opinion. Another way to think about that is it is for the "testing people".

The idea of accuracy is codified by low distortion and noise, not by liking the sound. It was that the early designers were pursuing. Not a particular voice. The voice was on the recording.

In the 1950s to 1970s the hobby was about Hi-Fi.

The early designers of Hi-Fi audio equipment were legends. They mentored a second generation that climbed even higher. But as things developed low test figures were relatively easy to get under lab conditions. Things got more complicated.

David Hafler founded the Dynaco and the Hafler brands. He designed the Tube amplifiers that still influence the hobby today by their relatively huge numbers out in the wild. Later he hired some of the second generation of brilliant designers for doing transistor designs.

Stewart Hegeman worked for many companies including Dynaco and Harman Kardon and was the designer of the still coveted Citation tube amps. He also designed speakers and tuners. His Citation II tube amp is probably the best classic (late 1950s) vacuum tube design out in the wild.

William Zane Johnson was Audio Research. He kept the Vacuum tube banner flying after it was abandoned by everyone else. His SP3 series preamps were the state of the art in the 1970s. His D76 amplifier series sealed his place in audio Olympus. He preferred the results, the voice, he got with tubes though as FET ideas became better he drifted.

Arguably it was WZJ who nurtured the culture of the audiophile. He got the hi-fi test numbers, but many people just preferred the sound he got. (Include me there)

Those guys were the big names.

The second generation was evolving. Bob Carver invented BIG transistor amps with Phase Linear by using gangs of the biggest transistors he could find. He was originally a numbers guy. Later he proved he could make one of his not expensive transistor amps sound exactly like an expensive high end amp by fiddling with components to create a voice.

James Bongiorno left his mark on the Dynaco 400, the big SAE amps, the Ampzilla, and several other products that had in common big power and amazing fidelity. Great numbers.

Nelson Pass worked for several companies and left a trail of products that some people buy just because he had a hand in it. He is still kicking around in the mountains of California doing interesting things with transistors. He became a champion of good distortion. If you like it, it is good. Numbers don't matter.

I think this maps a migration of taste from being accurate to having a voice you prefer. In the same way the job of reviewers drifted from running tests on a piece to listening and judging. Publications were founded specifically because of that. Stereophile was founded by J Gordon Holt for exactly that reason. Later "The Absolute Sound" was founded by Harry Pearson because he felt JGH was compromised by the need to advertise in his magazine. Opinions became paramount.

I do not want to simplify the Hi-Fi problem too much. Lab tests can show two devices give exactly the same results. Those two devices can then sound different. One side of the argument says this proves tests mean nothing. The other rightly claim the conditions are different. Once you know it is good choose by preference.

I am an engineer. I gotta know why.

I own two radically different amplifiers. One is a high power full complementary symmetry transistor amplifier with global negative feedback designed in the early 1970s and modified a bit. The other is a legitimate high end medium power ARC Tube amplifier with FETs and power vacuum tubes running as triodes. It too has negative feedback. It is absolutely stock. (Well except for some test point access)

They are both high end, and high fidelity. They actually sound similar in the most general sense. They are pretty accurate. But they also have subtle differences in voice and textures. I go on and on about the differences, I seldom emphasize how small these things are. That is because, yes I am an audiophile and I notice this stuff.

Audiophiles can get fooled by trickery and salesmanship. So it is not an extension or a refinement of Hi-Fi. It is not better than Hi-Fi. It is a different perspective. If it tests bad it is bad.

What was I actually trying to say?

PS***

I should note that obviously I am talking about the North American Hi-Fi world. That is what I know. Very few products came across that ocean. In the old days. Those I know about are from the UK. Quad speakers, and electronics. SME tone arms. Some turntables. Oh and that DECCA phono cartridge. All were niche items. Oh and very good.

[buchdrache]

Review: Mitternacht by Christoph Marzi

Christoph Marzi was one of my favourite authors in my youth. In recent years, however, I have had to realise that his Uralte Metropolen has unfortunately not aged well. But what about his newer works? So I grabbed Mitternacht and headed to London once again.

Nicholas lives a typical student life: Making ends meet somehow, sometimes this, sometimes that low-paid student job and generally taking a relaxed view of life. He is all the more thrown off course when he suddenly finds himself in an alternative London and then also has to learn that the ghosts of the dead linger in this London until no one in the world of the living remembers them and they fade away. Someone in hiding, however, is trying to influence the world of the living from the realm of the dead, and Nicholas, with his ability to shift between worlds, may be the only one who can turn events around for the better.

Christoph Marzi likes London as a setting and he likes a magical setting, that should be well known by now. And a nebulous London in which the dead of various times linger is pretty cool.

In this London, there are so-called Whisperers, who are ghosts hired by other ghosts to enter the stories of the deceased in their sleep from an in-between world of artists, so that their stories are not forgotten and thus the ghosts can continue to exist. The inspiration to tell certain stories does not (always) come from the authors themselves, but can sometimes be given to them.

So far, so good. I actually didn't think this was a bad idea at all and enjoyed reading about it. I am more at war with the technical aspects of the narrative. What bothered me right at the beginning was an unnecessary hetero drama when Nicholas catches his girlfriend Erica cheating and breaks up with her. Erica adds nothing to the actual plot and could have been dropped without replacement. As it was, it was just annoying and exhaustingly heteronormative.

The narrative style, too, what once fascinated me so much about Marzi, struck me as rather tiring here. I don't know if my reading habits have changed so much over the years, or if Marzi is simply weakening. But I just found it exhausting how characters sometimes repeat things several times and only reveal information in very small steps (after all, Nicholas also finds this annoying at one point, so it was probably intentional, at least in parts, for Chesterton to have everything pulled out of his nose). In general, I think the story could have been told in far fewer words, some of it drags on for a long time and takes time to get to the point.

And then there is the end of the novel. It's just a big, disappointing nothing. Marzi tells us in the epilogue how it came about: He had a severe stroke while writing, which left him paralysed on one side. This made it immensely difficult for him to write and I can absolutely understand if he then doesn't want to type tens of thousands of words when he can only manage it with great effort. Unfortunately, the novel was not yet finished at that point, and accordingly Marzi could only sketch out the ending so that the novel would come to any kind of conclusion at all. However, "any kind of conclusion" is accurate, since the last chapters are really little more than a few short sentences each, roughly telling what should have happened in these chapters. In other words, a very disappointing ending, but in this case there were simply higher powers at work, so it is actually quite remarkable that Marzi finished the novel anyway. I wish him all the best!

Those who like ghost stories can definitely give the novel a chance. For me, the narrative remained too bloated and long-winded in places (despite the fact that I read through the novel in one day) and the characters didn't leave a lasting impression either.

Potential triggers:

- Death (off page, topic)

Advertising according to §6 TMG

Series information

Author: Christoph Marzi

Title: Mitternacht

Language: German

Series: No

Pages: 314

Original price: 15,00€

Publisher: Piper

Genre: Fantasy

ISBN: 978-3-492-28090-7

Year of publication: 2019

[cafeacademia]

His Favourite Gal | Part 1

Mob!Bucky x Shy!Reader

Summary: You begin working as a waitress at Bucky Barnes’ favourite club in town. Little do you realise that working on mob territory owned by the infamous King of New York, Bucky Barnes, comes with its quirks and you’re slowly pulled into the mobster life.

Warnings: Fluff, some mentions of drunk people, mentions of crimes (though nothing happens, it’s just mentioned).

Word count: Approx 3700

Navigation

A/N: Hi loves!! This is a remaster of my own original fan fiction that I’ve decided to take from my old blog and (hopefully) improve. I’ve been slowly remastering fics that I am particularly attached to and I worked quite a lot to get this one overhauled and rewritten!! There’s actually very little of the original writing left, it was interesting to see how different my style is now compared to three years ago! This was also my first ever series I’d ever written on my old blog, so aside from the fact that I love the story, it’s special to me in that regard. Enjoy! 💕

If you’d like to join my taglist, you can do so using my taglist form HERE

It was raining when you finally finished your shift three hours later than when you were supposed to be off for the night. It was tiring working for the dingy old bar, it looked just as sad on the outside as it did on the inside, the old brick discoloured, old panelling slowly peeling off the sides of the building. It was a wreck and so was your boss too. He couldn’t have cared less if you worked yourself down to the bone, as long as he had staff doing a job, he didn’t care.

“I’m expecting you tomorrow, we’re opening early.” He had told you on your way out and it took everything in your willpower not to groan and roll your eyes and tell him so eloquently to fuck off. It was almost a relief when you heard the heavy metal door slam behind you as you stepped out of the back entrance. The air was just as bad. It was thick with smog and cigarette smoke and something pungent, an overflowing bin or perhaps an unfortunate street animal, you thought.

You were glad when it began to rain harder. At least it seemed to make most of the drunkards along the main strip try to find shelter instead of bothering you on your walk home.

Pulling your jacket hood up, you stepped down from the doorway and made your way out of the alleyway and onto the back street. It was never good to walk home alone, especially at night and especially in the part of New York you lived and worked in. It was on the edge of mobster territory and while Bucky Barnes, the King of New York owned it, it didn’t mean it was safe at all. It was quite the opposite, the district was prone to all levels of crime, from pickpocketing all the way up to armed robberies, arson and shootings.

But, you realised as you walked up the street, spotting a group of drunk men up ahead, drink men with rifles too, that never ended well, that perhaps mobster territory might not be a bad idea, especially when there were people working for Barnes along the entire street and they were known to keep the peace.

You heard the casino before you saw it, but as you rounded the corner you saw the lights, the late night rain distorting some of the huge party lights that lit up the sky above the building. Stark’s was not the most prestigious club in town, but it was the most respected and most feared. And funnily enough, for a place called Stark’s, the billionaire did not own his own named club. As far as you remembered, you’d seen it in the papers a few years ago that Barnes had won it off Stark in a game  of poker. You’d never know if that was really true, but it definitely seemed plausible.

As you passed the casino, you glanced over towards the dark tinted windows, watching as people came and went, mostly men in suits. But you noticed a sign from across the road that was taped onto one of the windows, huge bold letters making you stop in your tracks for a moment.

Waiting staff needed. And you stared at it for a moment, contemplating. You… A bar waitress, surely it was not wise for you to sign up to work in mobster territory. That would definitely land you in more dangerous places than you were already in.

But the longer you stood there and thought about it, you began to wonder if it was actually a good idea. You could at least try, what did you have to lose? And before you could even come to a full decision, it was as it was made for you, because a group of rowdy men walked towards you and you immediately took the decision to cross the road, putting you right in front of the casino.

How bad could it be? The worst that could happen was that you just had to return back around the corner to your miserable little bar job. So, with a sigh, you grabbed the flyer and walked towards the entrance.

The bouncer was huge and intimidating. Of course, you had expected as much with the club having the notoriety that it did. It wasn’t long before you were allowed to enter, the bouncer telling you, “speak to Natasha at the bar”, and as you headed through into the casino, you assumed the absolutely stunning woman behind the bar right ahead of you was Natasha.

The club was bustling with people, though it was not as stuffy and loud on the inside as you had expected it to be. There was a clear divide between people dining and drinking at tables around the bar and the casino side of the club which appeared to be behind a velvet rope and deep burgundy red curtains at either side of the bar. It was far more high end than you had expected, seeing as the outside of Stark’s resembled a kind of fancy nightclub, but you supposed the King of New York did happen to own it.

“Are you here about the job?” The woman at the bar asked as you approached her. You wondered if it was your very casual clothing in such a formal setting that gave you away or the flyer in your hand. Either way, you suddenly felt very intimidated and very underprepared. Perhaps this had been a bad idea. You were a girl dressed in the dregs of your wardrobe while trying to get a job in the most respected club in the entire city. Not likely.

“I saw the advertisement outside, I hope that’s alright.” You said as you lifted the flyer in your hand and she held out her hand to take it from you. “Are you sure? We haven’t had many applicants because of certain activities.” She told you, but you knew what she meant, it was obvious. This part of town, even outside of mobster territory was swimming in crime. “I’ve got nothing to lose.” You replied. And it was true, you did have nothing to lose. No family, no responsibilities outside of your current job, which this would replace, no children, no pets, no side hustles. Nothing. And that probably made you a good candidate.

The woman smiled at you, her lips curving up into a smirk as she took a moment to look you over before she extended her hand across the counter. “Natasha.” She introduced herself, smiling as you shook her hand. “Nice to meet you.” You mirrored her smile and gave her your name before she let go of you. “Let me just get someone on the bar and we’ll talk.” She told you.

And moments later, you were following Natasha through the casino, passing by all of the business men, mafia family members and rich men and women who were chancing it at gambling games. Suffice to say, you felt even more out of place than you had done just moments beforehand.

“Where do you work right now?” Natasha asked as she let you pass her into an office near the back of the building. “I work in an old bar just around the corner called The Rabid Dog.” It was not a pleasant name, it always made you cringe whenever you had to tell people where you worked and you didn’t fail to notice the way that Natasha seemed amused by the name of the bar too.

“So you’ve done bar work? What about waitressing?” She asked as she gestured for you to sit down on one of the chairs in front of the desk. Natasha didn’t sit behind the desk, instead she just dropped down into the chair next to yours and rested one leg over the other as if she was having a casual conversation with a friend. “My bar serves food, so I do it on a regular basis and I also used to work in a restaurant a few years ago.” You explained, but before either of you could say anything else, the door swung open and you nearly fell out of your chair.

“Who’s this?” Bucky Barnes, the King of New York himself asked as he walked through the doorway. What had you walked into? You knew he owned the club, but you’d never expected to actually meet Barnes. “This is our new waitress.” Natasha said proudly as she stood. You knew better than to interrupt, but you gathered that someone must have noticed the look of confusion on your face because just as a second man entered the room, he said, “Does our new waitress know she’s the new waitress?” The second man asked. He was blonde, just as tall and muscular as Barnes, though he looked at you with less of a poker face and more of an amused smirk.

“Really? You just hired her like that?” Mr Barnes asked as he approached you. “I like her.” Natasha countered, both men giving her pointed looks, though Mr Barnes raised his brows and nodded before turning back towards you. “She likes you.” He repeated what Natasha had said. You couldn’t help but send Natasha a questioning glance. She had just met you minutes ago and she’d already analysed you enough to know that she liked you and you wondered if Natasha was much more than just a bar girl.

“Have you done waitressing before?” Barnes asked. “I just asked her that.” Natasha huffed. “Yes sir, waitressing and bar work.” You responded. “And do you have any family?” He asked next. “No sir, none at all.” You replied. “And you know this isn’t the type of job cut out for ordinary people, right? This club sees a lot of things.” Mr Barnes went on. “I do, sir.” You nodded.

“Buck, maybe we should consider-.” But Mr Barnes casually held up his hand to silence his friend. “You’re hired.” He announced, the entire room falling silent and all you could do was stare at Barnes for a moment, stunned that he had just hired you right there on the spot. “I am?” It came out a little more hushed than you had intended, Bucky nodding as he smirked at you. “Whatever your pay is at your old job, I’ll pay at least double, more if it’s not enough. Natasha will contact your old boss and get you ready for your first day.” And with that, Bucky Barnes and his friend left the room and Natasha looked over at you, watching as the astonishment slowly dissipated.

“I’ll let you know when you start work.” Natasha broke the silence and you glanced over at her. “Just like that?” You asked, still surprised. “Just like that.” She responded. “Don’t worry, Barnes wouldn’t keep me around if I wasn’t a good judge of character.” She winked at you and you wondered again if she was something more than just a bar girl.

The job, you realised after your first couple of days working at the club, was far more interesting and a lot more rewarding than your previous job at the old bar. The club was a scene for all kinds of happenings and while nothing nefarious really went on, especially under Bucky Barnes’ nose, you did overhear an awful lot of conversation.

You learned as well in those first few days, that while this was not where Mr Barnes resided, he used the club as a place to carry out some of his business meetings and discussions as well as a place to relax.

Barely a week into your new job, you were getting ready for your shift in the little back room. Lockers lined the walls with a mirror at the side of the door and comfortable benches in the middle of the room. Dressed in a simple, but pretty black dress, you tied the strings of your little demi apron at the back, though you paused, a little startled when the door was abruptly pushed open and Natasha stepped in.

“Barnes needs you.” Nat announced with urgency and you frowned at her. “He does?” You asked. “He needs someone to waitress him and the family tonight, he’s asking for you.” She informed you. “I thought-.” “Yes, I know normally we have security taking orders to the waitresses, but he’s personally asking for you to waitress them tonight.” Nat told you and you paused with a slight air of confusion about you. “Alright, I’ll waitress Mr Barnes then.” You nodded, quickly fumbling with the ties of your apron before you shoved your jacket a bit more firmly into the back of the locker and shut it properly, letting Natasha walk you through the club towards the private dining space they were occupying.

Nat rushed you into the room and closed the door behind you, leaving you to stand rather flustered in front of a cosy looking dining room with a round table in the middle. Bucky was sat at the furthest end of the room, his chair seeming to have a higher back than all of the others. At his left was Steve, who you’d been properly introduced to on your first day at work and on his right was Sam Wilson, who you understood was a very close friend of his.

“Sugar, you made it.” Bucky enthusiastically greeted you as you approached the table. You hoped that you didn’t appear too flustered and intimidated, but you were aware that there was only so much you could play off with smiles when you knew your eyes might give you away. “Good evening Mr Barnes, gentleman.” You nodded, finally taking a step into the room and approaching the table, receiving polite hellos and smiles from all of them. “Are you looking after us tonight?” Steve asked, sitting forward in his seat and casually leaning his elbows on the table. “I am, Mr Rogers.” You nodded, lifting your notepad and pen as if it were proof. “Allow me to introduce you to everyone.” Bucky waved you over to him and you took a few steps towards him as he went around the table naming everyone. It was quite easy to distinguish that the people sitting closest to Bucky were of more importance to him as he listed Clint and Scott, who seemed to be his security and Pietro who appeared at first glance to be a mentee as well as the rest of the group.

“C’mere sweetheart.” Bucky motioned you to come and stand next to him once they were all done ordering food and drink. You stood where he’d pointed to and he turned in his seat to face you. You felt your cheeks warm intensely as Bucky smiled up at you, his eyes so soft and sweet and you questioned for a moment how exactly this man was the King of New York. He was incredibly sweet looking and for a moment you found yourself melting on the spot. “Is that everything, Mr Barnes?” You asked. “Not quite, sugar. Add whatever you’re having to the list, it’s on me.” He grinned at you. “I – uh, sorry?” You asked, a little confused. “Are you sure, Mr Barnes?” You hesitantly met his eyes though you immediately broke eye contact. “Absolutely, please eat with us, doll.” Bucky’s voice went soft as he tilted his head back a little to see you better, his lips pouting ever so slightly. “As you wish, Mr Barnes. Thank you.” You smiled at him, speaking softly before jotting your meal on the notepad and rushing out of the room.

You nearly bumped into Natasha as you made your way towards the kitchen. “He wants me to eat with them.” You blurted out before even making your presence known. “He what?” Nat frowned. “Mr Barnes wants me to order my food and drink and eat with them.” You repeated, more calmly this time. “Really?” She looked at you wide eyed. “Does he not do that with other waitresses?” You questioned, ripping the order out of the notepad and handing it to the kitchen staff. “No, he’s never done that before, never requested it either.” Nat shook her head. “Are you sure?” You surely couldn’t be the only one he’s ever asked. “I’ve worked here every night for three years and not once has he ever requested that.” Nat said with a single raised brow. It was definitely unusual. “I’ll get someone to call for you when the food’s ready. Let me get their drinks together.” She told you, waving you away before she went to look at the order you’d brought in.

You waltzed into the private dining room with a large round tray balanced expertly on one hand. The glasses on top gently clinked together as you walked. Handing out their orders, you took your drink last. You noticed quickly that all the men around the table had shifted and there was now an empty seat next to Bucky. “Come and sit with me, doll.” He patted the empty chair. Steve hopped up to pull it out for you and you obliged, gently sitting yourself down in the chair and turning slightly to face him. You didn’t want to assume you could speak unless spoken to, so you politely kept quiet while Bucky noticeably studied your face. “Tell us about yourself, sweetheart.” He smiled, sitting back in his chair as he picked up his drink and took a sip.

“I’ve been around and lived in a few different places. My parents passed several years ago and it’s just been me ever since, so I moved back to Brooklyn.” You did appreciate the soft look on Bucky’s face as he listened to what you said, almost like he felt sorry for you. Before you could continue though, Bucky rested his hand over yours and squeezed gently. “I’m sorry about your parents, truly I am.” He spoke just above a whisper. “Thank you, Mr Barnes.” You gave him a tight lipped smile. “Call me Bucky. We’re with family, which means we’re all on a first name basis, alright?” Bucky gripped your hand gently. “Alright, Bucky.” You nodded, mirroring his smile.

You told him more about yourself and for a moment, Bucky seemed anything but a mobster. He asked you about the books you liked to read and talked to you about the subjects that seemed to make your eyes light up and your smile a little wider. As the evening drew on, you became comfortable enough to share a few timid little jokes, which elicited chuckles and laughs from even some of the most scary looking men around the table. One of them, Drax, who was terrifyingly huge and angry looking, clapped his hand over his chest and roared with laughter the first time you told a joke, which completely took you by surprise. What surprised you more was how easy it was to make Bucky laugh and how down to earth and sweet he was.

By the time everyone had eaten and spent some time drinking and chatting and enjoying themselves, you had warmed up to all of them, especially Steve, Sam and Bucky. All of them though, were soft and charming on the inside, showing you a side to them you were unsure anyone else in the club was ever going to see. They were intimidating on the outside, exuding a terrifying confidence, but on the inside they were all sweet and gentle and caring and it absolutely melted you.

And after you had said goodbye to all of them and made your way back to the locker room, Clint, one of Bucky’s closer family members, followed you in. “Barnes wants me and Scott to make sure you get home safe.” He told you. “He’s requesting we give you a lift back in his SUV.” Clint added, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed over his middle. It definitely seemed unusual, especially to be personally driven home. As far as you were aware, not even Natasha, who seemed very close to the family was ever given a lift home. But then again, judging by her reaction to Bucky wanting you to dine with them earlier, you supposed this was all rather new for them, just as much as it was for you. “Alright.” You nodded as you opened your locker, pulling off your apron and putting it away before you took out your jacket and bag, quickly getting them both on before letting Clint escort your towards the back exit.

“Hey doll, hope you don’t mind the spontaneous ride home.” Bucky grinned, far too pleased with himself that he was having his men not only drive him, Steve and Sam home, but also you. Of course it meant he had a longer way home, but Bucky didn’t care. Seeing you all off to your houses was important to him and why seeing you off specifically was important, Bucky was starting to wonder why.

After sliding into the SUV and getting comfortable on the soft, plush seats, you were driven home with gentle, quiet chatter between Bucky and Sam, Steve joining in occasionally until you arrived at your apartment building.

“See you the day after tomorrow, sugar.” Bucky smiled, leaning towards the open door to speak to you as you got out of the car. “Thanks for the ride home.” You waved at all of the men in the car, Scott getting out to escort you up to the front door of the building, the car waiting until they had seen you safely into the building and the door shut behind you.

Sitting down in your bedroom, safely back in your apartment you laid down in the soft blankets, replaying the evening in your head, realising you were smiling to yourself when you remembered that Nat had said no one had ever been asked to dine with Bucky and his family before. It brought warmth to your cheeks as you settled in for the night, looking forward to your next shift at Stark’s.

Bucky Taglist (OPEN):

@losers-official @barneswidow​ @megantje123​ @anchoeritic​ @struggling-bee​​

[the-fiction-witch]

Secretary

TV SHOWS PISTOL COUPLE MALCOLM X READER RATING SMUT

I sat in my apartment flicking through the job section of the paper trying desperately to find something after the whole disaster. 

Circling office jobs and such like doing my best not to undersell myself or oversell even if I think I'm certainly worth more than what they're paying, many of the jobs once I read the small print got crossed out and after a while I had my short list of options, I made notes of when each of them were open for interviews writing them all in my little planner and I noticed something that made me have a heart attack 

Glitterbest Productions -

Required typist, receptionist with accountancy skills

Interviewing Tuesday 24th Three - Five 

and then the address for the office 

Ohh god it's half three now!

I ran and got myself an intense shower scrubbing up and down my body as much as I could, I rolled my hair and even blow-dried it while in the rollers and did my make-up while my hair was still curling, I got myself my little blue and white square dress and white heels grabbing my paperwork and my handbag I ran down and got into my car rushing over to the address, as soon as I parked up I noticed the strange building for a moment I double checked the address but I did indeed in a window see the words 'Glitterbest Productions' so I sighed checking the time I quickly took my rollers outputting them in my car giving it a quick comb before I climbed out with my paperwork, the door wasn't even locked so I headed up following the stairs and signs until I reached a small almost empty office with a table, a sofa, a couple of desks and only one person inside he was a thin man shuffling paperwork with a cigarette between his lips.

I knocked on the slightly open door, making him glance up for a moment. He did a double take before glancing at me from toe to top curl.

"Afternoon" he smirked, "it is technically five O two."

"Ohh I'm sorry" I went to leave but 

"No, no come on in," he says "I've got time for one more"

"Thank you" I smiled hurrying inside and sitting across from 

"Malcolm Mclaren" he smiled offering his hand 

"Y/n y/ln" I smiled at him offering my hand which he happily took and gave a sweet kiss I blushed a little handing over my paperwork he looked through it all and seemed interested ashing his cigarette a moment 

"This is impressive," he says. "Amazing typing score which Is good. I tend to rattle off information, a lot of experience. you interested?"

"Very much" I smiled 

"Happy with the pay advertised?"

"Yes"

"How do you feel about chaos?"

"chaos?" I asked at the strange question 

"Yeah"

"Life is chaos. you got to learn to swim or you drown" 

"Good answer" he smirked "How do you feel about punk?"

"Punk. the music? the fashion?"

"Both"

"It's... interesting. it has a strange but interesting sound and style I think it's something that could be very impactful"

"Perfect" he smirked putting out his cigarette "You're hired"

"Really?"

"Absolutely, tomorrow nine o'clock and not a moment later"

"I won't be I promise" I smiled 

I hurried over to the building and up to the office where Malcolm already sat at his desk doing something 

"Good morning" I smiled going to the other desk and setting my bag down 

"Morning" He smiled at me lighting himself a cigarette "you've got a pile on there of work that needs doing"

"No problem" I smiled getting the paperwork mostly handwritten notes that needed typing up so I would just sit and type it all up on my little typewriter 

"You smoke?" He asks after a little while of my work

"Oh no. Thank you though" I smiled returning to my work

"I fancy a coffee." He says more to himself

"Would you like me to make you one?"

"That would be very nice" he smirked so I nodded getting up and making him a coffee as well as myself a cup of tea he happily took the small white mug and gave my tea a clink before he had the first sip I giggled and returned to my work only stopping for small tea sips "your a very pretty girl" he says 

"I am?" I blushed 

"You are." He smirked "a very pretty girl indeed"

"Thank you" I blushed fixing my hair a little returning to my work

"Y/n?"

"Yes Malcolm?"

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"Ohh. Uhhh no I don't" I blushed "do you have a girlfriend?' I asked trying to make conversation

"I do" he nods "but it's… complicated"

"How so?"

"Let's just say neither of us opposite the other…. doing what they want with someone else" 

"Ohh I see" I nodded, one of those relationships I don't understand how anyone makes those work but it's not my business to pry into such things.

I sat at my desk typing up the formal contract given the recent deal with the record label, I know I was being hovered over he was passing back and forth the sound of his shoes on the stone floor and of the way his leather pants creaked and shifted with each step, a trail of smoke following his little passing circle as he had barely smoked his cigarette yet kept it between his fingers as he passed often giving me things to add into the contract I felt his presence over my shoulder as he often read over my work as I was doing it, and I could feel this strange tension, of the two of us so often alone in this little office his looks and brushes against me getting far more noticeable and less explainable as accidental. It could be said he had been nice to me, sweet and somewhat flattering. And I admit I had… thought of him in my spare moment's but I didn't want to get involved. I had often picked up calls from the woman he lived with and she almost always sounded angry about something I didn't want to be on the receiving end of it. 

I sat at my desk having just finished some paperwork for the boys payroll when I spotted Malcolm at his desk across the room a bit of paper in hand… he smirked a little As he saw me picking himself up from the chair and stepping over to my desk throwing the paper on it

"Explain this" he says showing he had made some red circles on the paperwork I looked it over and noticed a spelling mistake in each red circle

"Ohh goodness my mistake I'm sorry -" I began

"You're retyping this. And I want it done correctly"

"Yes Malcolm" I nodded loading a fresh bit of paper into my typewriter

"But. Before you rewrite it." He smirked "stand up hands on your desk"

"Uhhh why?"

"You'll find out" he smirked so I did as he asked getting up and putting my hands on my desk leaving me slightly bent over he smirked and moved behind me so I couldn't see him and I jumped in shock at the feeling of his hand making sharp contact with my ass thought my dress of course but it still hurt. He spanked me! And again and again each one hard and it really stung my skin. No doubt I would be bright red under my skirt a total of four times the same as the amount of errors in the letter I typed. I had to admit it was shocking and slightly degrading but… I kinda liked it. It couldn't be denied after all this time I did find him attractive and his harsh spanks only wound me up more "make sure it doesn't happen again pet. Because if it does you'll get it much harder" he smirked, giving me another Spank before he returned to his desk so I sat down even if it hurt a little to do so and got back to work. 

I did my best to remain focused even if the threat still lingered over me, he sat at his desk making various phone calls for booking the tour dates often times he could catch my glances at him and whenever I glanced up he was always already looking at me with dark eyes often times when he caught me looking at him, he'd wink at me or even make kissy faces at me as I worked I purposely put an obvious spelling error on my work as an attempt to see if he would do it again. Once I finished the paperwork he smirked and summoned me over with his finger so I blushed and went over paperwork in hand he took the papers from my hand setting them on his desk and taking my hand and giving it a sweet little kiss I expected to just go back to my desk but he smirked at me still deep in his phone conversation tapping the corner of his desk invitingly I blushed hard but perched myself on his desk much to his enjoyment he smirked and set his spare hand on my right knee at times giving it a soft squeeze but as he call continued his hand slowly moved up until it was high on my thigh his fingers under my skirt often gently stroking and squeezing my leg until he finished the call and hung up the phone

"Hum. Maybe I should move your typewriter over here. You look so very beautiful sat here" he smirked "go on. Or I won't get any work done" he says 

"Yes Malcolm" I nodded jumping off the desk and going back to my own 

"Y/n?"

"Yes?"

"Your skirt has risen up"

"Ohh!" I said in shock quickly fixing it "thank you"

"Damn. Maybe I shouldn't have said anything" he chuckled "just gonna throw this out there extra pound per month if you start coming to work without underwear?" He offered

"No thank you Malcolm" I giggled sitting at my desk 

"How about…. I will restock the tea and biscuits daily. If you start coming to work without a bra?" He suggested

"No Malcolm" I replied trying not to giggle

"I'll give you your own expenses card… if you'll agree to wear a sheer dress just once a week. And maybe give me a little sugar as a deposit?"

"No Malcolm. I don't not want or need an expenses card I'm just fine"

"What do you want then?"

"Nothing I'm very happy"

"A pound extra a week if you start coming to work without underwear?" He suggested 

"No" I giggled "an hour and I'd think about it" 

"Ohh? Now we're getting somewhere" be smirked "that is ridiculous, you might be sexy pet your not that good"

"Aren't I?"

"Well you might be but I won't find that out till you start doing it. Too much of a chance" he smirked "an extra pound per two weeks but I want no bra and no panties" 

"No." 

"Your really making this difficult" he sighed "alright, a pound extra an hour on the condition you come to work without a bra or panties every day except in very exceptional circumstances"

"And if I stop?"

"Your extra goes away" he shrugs 

"Anything else?"

"And. You do what I say"

"I already -"

"Whatever I say, pet." He smirked "So if I said to you to bend over your desk for a spanking you would, if I told you you only deliver me paperwork on your knees, if I told you that you now work topless you'd do it." He smirked 

"What do you think I am Malcolm?"

"Aww pet we've established what you are now we're merely negotiating" he smirked 

"Seems like you'd be getting a lot out of that and I would barely be getting anything"

"Trust me you'll be compensated." He smirked 

"How?"

"Well. You'd get a lot more of that spanking you loved so much"

"I didn't like it"

"Didn't you?" He smirked 

"Then why is there a smelling error in this?" He smirked showing the paperwork I dropped off moment's ago "and I know it's on purpose because you misspelled compensation which I know you can spell and you even got correct four Lines down the next paragraph. So… somebody liked her spanking didn't she and was trying to make me do it again"

"It was merely an experiment"

"An experiment? To see if I'd do it again?" He smirked "it's supposed to be a punishment pet not a reward, but I suppose it can be both if you like it that much" he smirked "and if course other things"

"Such as?"

"Such as. Us having sex when we get the time or other such pleasurable acts. And a week off in June to come away on a little smutty holiday?"

"For an extra pound an hour?"

"And your other compensation. Plus you may get the odd present if your very good pet"

"Deal" I blushed.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO, “Take Me to Your Leader.”

I hope you guys are all having a great week, and I hope you enjoy the read.

Captain Kell sat in his room's boots up on the small desk space as he watched the news report filtering in from over the feed.

“Early this morning the chairwoman of the UN has announced a state of emergency and launched a formal investigation into the attempted assassination of the GA’s Admiral Vir. This all comes in response to the announcement by UN president late last night  that they were unable to identify connections to any internal terrorist organizations after a woman was caught attempting to assassinate the Admiral during one of his speeches two months ago. The failed assassination was thanks to 25 year old marine Angle Ramirez who dove in front of the bullet for his commanding officer, and is now (as his family claims) fully healed and back to work. Since the incident, GA and UNSC leaders alike have encouraged Admiral Vir to stay away from earth as much as possible and remain on his ship until further notice.  At a request from one of our journalists yesterday morning, he agreed to a statement from his ship the Omen.”

There was a flickering on the screen as a face appeared  on the news feed. It was, somewhat from a distance, and the lens seems grainy from radiation interference, but the man seen was tall and blond and had one green eye though he was wearing an eyepatch. Captain kell thought he looked a little more lean than the admiral, but it was hard to tell with all the distortion.

When the man began to speak there was something missing in the voice as well, but it would hardly be noticeable.

There was a knock at his door and he quickly threw his feet down from the desk walking over to throw the door open and step outside into the hall. Angelo was waiting for him there and without saying a word the two of them walked down the long hallway and to the planning room.

Mace was still discussing with some of the other men and women there., and Geea and Beatrice were still loitering at the back.

Captain Kell couldn’t keep the distaste from his thoughts as he looked at the two of them. There was a prime example of toxic love if he had ever seen it. The two were clearly partnered or, at the very least, dating, but he had never seen two people who enjoyed pissing each other off as much as they did. WIth them there was plenty of jealousy and mistrust to go around. And as for Geea’s views on Drev religion, well they were backwards to say the least.

He had seem the same sort of fanaticism in certain shamed drev generals after the war, radical, and suicidal almost in nature.

She had no real idea what the meaning of the new law was.

As soon as he walked in the two women turned to look up at him, their arms crossed over their chests. Beatrice was playing with some big ass knives like that was likely to impress anyone, but really all he saw was some crazy asshole whose parents probably didn’t give her enough attention when she was a kid.

He sad down at the table.

Geea leaned forward expectantly.

“Setting course/”

He turned his head to look up at her, “Yes, setting course to whatever cesspit of corruption spawned you.”

Geea pulled back, “Excuse me, but we hired you for a job, not for insults.” One of her hands reached for the weapons on her belt, but Noble stepped forward spear at the ready. He was a good foot taller than she was, and he knew for a fact he was probably a better warrior. He had a natural talent for it.

He leaned back in his seat, “You hired me for a job and now expect me to fling my dead corpse at the Omen like my ship is going to be able to handle that.” he shook his head, “You hired me which means we are going to do this MY way, which means we are going to do it quiet, and we are going to do it proper. That means NONE of this comes back on me. If we show up at the omen right now and bust down their doors, we are going to get atomized by two platoons of marines and an entire clan of Drev. LEts not also forget that the Admiral Isn’t exactly going to be easy to just kill.” Captain Kell waved a hand wildly, “He has a fucking Drev SAINT on his crew, that is hardly something I think I want to deal with.” he shook his head, “No no, this is going to take me a lot longer to plan, and it is going to require a lot more material that I don’t already have.”

Geea bristled in impatience and indignation.

“I am not going to throw my life away for this mission, and if you want to push that, than I will throw you out of the airlock faster than you can say, “please captain, please I was just being a whiny little bitch.” The room was silent around Geaa’s seething, but he paid her no mind. She didn’t exactly scare him.

She was a minor player in the black market at best, and the way she moved told him she was no great shakes as a warrior either. Probably used to fighting humans so developed a habit of using brute force to overcome them with her height. As for Beatrice, he had a feeling that she made up for skill mostly in unpredictability and sheer fury.

Anyone can look scary if they scream real loud and flail their knives at you.

The way their crew behaved was enough to tell him as  much. No one on the ship really respected them, and Geea ruled mostly out of ear, her men were not as loyal to her as she thought they might be, and he had a feeling that, for the right price, he could buy them off if he wanted.

He rested his palms flat against the table before him, “You understand if I am going to do this I am going to need all the right equipment. You want the man gone but I want it to look like some freak disappearance The last thing my crew needs is the long arm of the GA down on our heads.” he shook his head, “No we need to do this strategically, and we need to do this quietly, and we are going to start by getting the tech we need to pull this off without being seen.”

He turned to look at the two of them, “I am assuming that you two know where I can get those sorts of things…. Under the radar.”

Geea crossed her arms over her chest, “And YOU don’t. You are a pirate after all.”

“Yeah, I generally tend to STEAL from other people and sell it to middle men. I don’t generally tend to buy any of the goods.”

Geea  stood, waiting for a long moment before finally uncurling her hands in annoyance, “Fine, Fine, but we make this quick.”

He nodded his head once and motioned her to continue on following her up and to the bridge where he watched her set a course.

He tried to make it look like he wasn’t watching her, but in the back of his mind he was quickly memorizing the coordinates that he saw appearing on screen. Granted he did have a bot installed that should copy it for him, but you can never trust technology to do exactly what you expect it to do.

When she was done, he moved forward and slid into the Captain’s chair, familiar with the machine as he prepared it for a warp sequence.

Despite him being very familiar with this ship, more than one time he found himself accidentally reaching for controls that weren’t there. He cursed his muscle memory, though he forced the ship into doing what he wanted, alerting the crew to the imminent warp before he could accidentally kill one of them by sheer freak accident.

Geea watched him from behind.

He knew she didn’t much like him.

That was fine by him. She wasn’t exactly the kind of person that he would want to be liked by.

They came out of warp a few moments later with a hard lurch through the internal dampeners were doing their job to avoid smearing him across the front windscreen like window pizza.

She walked up to stand beside him and rested her hand of the chair, the gesture reminded him of someone else, and it felt wrong to have her do it, though he tried not to show his discomfort.

“Just beyond that asteroid.”

Captain Kell raised an eyebrow. This was all very interesting. Here he was thinking they would end up back on Noctopolis, for he had been sure that that was the hub of all pirate activity in the universe, but he guessed not. As they came around another asteroid, his eyes fell on a large chunk of rock that must have been over ten miles wide in his shi[s estimation, and from here he could already see the hive of docking ports and extending protrusions built into the rock.

He blinked in awe at the glittering blue lights and the hive of activity surrounding the massive asteroid.

Ships flew in and out through open docking bays landing here and there on extending arms. Good were moved by silent crane arms through space as add ons were constantly being made by men in space suits scurrying over the rock. The palace was…. Amazing at the same time it was an absolute disaster of engineering. You would never see something like tat made by the GA or UNSC, but from here he could see plenty of influence from all parties.

As they flew closer, they were absolutely dwarfed by the massive rock, and it’s protruding arms. All around him he saw human building techniques, and Tesraki logos stamped on almost everything as they moved forward. Massive viewing screens were all around them doing advertisements on things would would never have seen on a location run by UNSC or GA interference.

The one to his right was some sort of bootleg pill for weightloss, while, on the other side, someone was advertising some kind of flamethrower. The screen above that was giving the specs for the newest design in railgun technology.

His eyes were wide as he stared at all of it, and his heart began to race fast inside his chest.

Now THIS was awesome.

Being a space pirate sure did have its perks.

Over the radio feed static rolled in and out as the broadcasts from the different advertisements tried to pick up his frequency.

But one voice came in clear and crisp above all others, “Unknown aircraft. Identify yourself.”

“This is the Infinity requesting docking.”

There was a momentary pause over the other end of the line, as their ship was likely scanned before, “Docking permission granted, please proceed to hanger E docking space 6.”

He did as ordered, flying his ship down to the entrance of the docking bay, where he was ordered to slow, and then a large mechanical hand grabbed them around the hull and pulled them further into the asteroid.

They were dragged inside a ways, though he could definitely have flown in himself, and eventually sat down on E6. 

There was a sharp jolt as they made connection with the airlock, and he stood rom his spot, turning and walking past Geea and towards the cargo bay where his men were waiting. He looked at them each in turn, making slow eye contact with them.

“You know what to do?”

There was a nod as they recognized the true words behind his eye contact, and they quickly moved into pairs of two discussing which piece of “equipment” they were looking for.  It likely wouldn’t take them long, but he didn’t expect that part of their mission to take that long anyway.

Following after them, he was accompanied by Geea, Beatrice and Noble as they walked out into the tube and finally, into the absolutely massive atrium of the hidden Pirate city.

He had to stop, he just couldn’t help it, it was like nothing he had ever seen before, and his mind just couldn’t wrap itself around the massive room full of people and billboards and holograms. There were railed transports on the floor, and there were vendors selling strange food at every turn. It might have been any normal metropolitan area if it weren’t for the sort of advertisements for weapons, and strange illegal creams.

There was one place that was advertising body modifications….. With a ten percent discount if you got the limb removed with them as well.

On another wall someone was advertising a new mechanical eye. The technology hadn’t been released to the public yet, but the features…. Well the features were amazing. He found himself dragged in and rendered mostly stunned. They had him hooked by the first demonstration.

He wanted a cool new mechanical eye.

But Geea grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him, “Aren’t we supposed to be doing something.”

Angrily he frowned and held up a hand turning on her with his eyes narrowed.

He prodded her in the chest in a show of dominance towards her. Letting her know that he wasn’t afraid of being insulted or intimidated by someone  like her. To him she was nothing.

“Look, I’m not stupid. I know that this genius little assasination attempt wasn’t your idea, so right here and right now, you better take me to the asshole who set you up for this is you can color me gone. I don’t work through third parties.” He prodded her in the chest again with one finer, “I don’t trust them.”

The Drev stared down at him with absolute rage and consternation.

“Don’t touch me.” She hissed.

He prodded her again, “Just try and stop me.”

She reached for his hand, but he caught her by the wrist and twisted it. He knew the way Drev joints worked, so he knew exactly what NOT to do. She howled in pain and Beatrice moved forward to help, but a spear to her throat by Noble was enough to stop her in her tracks.

“Show me your boss, or your girlfriend becomes a kabob, your choice.”

There was a sharp growl and finally Geea agreed, taking her hand back with some measure of pain and annoyance, “Fine, fine…. Follow me.”

She stalked away grumpily and Noble kept an eye on beatrice as the were led further into the station.

The captain kept his head turning this way and that distracted by the bright and colorful ads, advertising things that he wanted, and some things that he didn’t.

To his surprise, more than once he saw advertisements for Iron eye Knockoffs. He would have dared get a procedure done on this back alley asteroid, but it was still quite shocking. This air of shock continued along with him as he was led down through the darkness and into the tight passages and tunnels of the Asteroid.

Eventually Geea stopped in front of a door and knocked once.

The camera above the door whirred and looked down at them. Geea waved to it and with a hiss it finally opened.

They were led into a small waiting room with pristine little couches as if he was expecting to see a doctor at any moment, but after a few minutes of sitting another door opened and they were allowed through into the next room.

Geea told him to stay put as she was led behind yet another door.

Not to be left Behind, Beatrice followed after, giving him the opportunity to slip over to the door and quickly deploy a small circular camera which used technology unknown to him to see through the door. 

It streamed directly into his fake eye as he closed the real one, and glanced around the room.

He could hear voices, and enhanced the sound of his implants.

“Did you get the assassin.”

“Yes, but there have been some, hiccups.”

“What might that be?”

“He is insisting on meeting his employers.”

The voice seemed almost bored with the idiot pirates, “Then let him meet someone, he doesn’t have to know. Jerah over there will do just fine.”

He turned his fake eye towards the source of the voice falling on some sort of hologram. He quickly looked up just as Geea was turning back towards the door.

He managed to make it up to the person’s face, a Rundi, how str-

Then he froze in shock and disbelief.

Geea reached towards the door, and it was only with a swift movement he was able to pull his camera away in time an leap from the door as she stepped from the room.

He tried to keep the horror and shock on his face in check as he was led into the room to meet his “employer.”

He didn’t care though.

He knew the truth.

There was plenty of evidence on that camera. Evidence that the chairwoman of the GA had ordered his assassination.

[alolowrites]

Everyone’s Got a Sweet Tooth!

Summary: Bakugou hates sweets. You don’t think this is true and begin a mission to discover his favorite candy. After all, you are the brilliant Candy Master who won’t stop until Bakugou’s sweet tooth is satisfied.

Author’s Note: Hello everyone! I’m so glad I was finally able to write a full fic for Bakugou; it’s been so long. Originally, this was supposed to be for the bingo event, but had trouble fleshing out the story’s direction. I really wanted to write this story since the plot was hilarious to me, idk why. 

Please enjoy!

10.30.21 UPDATE: HI!!!!! I went back and edited the heck out of this baby since it’s my favorite Bakugou story I’ve written. I hope it is now decent lmao. Happy Halloween!! 

Word Count: 2.4K+

“Katsuki, what is the meaning of all this?!”

“The hell are you talkin’ bout?”

“This!” 

You marched with purpose and plopped down on the couch where he sat. Bakugou remained unfazed, clicking on the remote control. He mindlessly surfed through the channels with an attention span of an HR recruiter combing through a mountain pile of resumes. Stupid sitcoms, fake ass “reality” tv shows, QVC advertising their products like it's Black Friday all day, every day. Bakugou frowned—why does he pay so much for these useless channels? 

His eyes teared away from the screen as the phone waved frantically on his left. 

You huffed. “According to Maximus Heroes, you—and I quote—‘bleeping hate sweets!’”

Bakugou clicked his tongue. “Damn idiots censored my words.”

“That’s not the point!”

“Then what is?”

“That you hate sweets!” 

You viciously smacked a pillow at him, ignoring his yells. Bakugou snatched the weapon with a growl. For a soft pillow, it felt like a firm foam roller. You stood up and paced around, arms flailing in the air. 

“How can my boyfriend say such a thing?!” You pointed at your signature black top hat. “Do you know who I am? I’m the lovable Candy Master, CEO of the Candy Basket Factory!” 

Bakugou shrugged. “So?”

“So, you can’t say you hate sweets!” You gripped your chest, sniffling a bit. “I feel as though I’ve been betrayed.”

“Would you sit your ass down?” 

Bakugou tossed the pillow at you and crossed his arm; he was too tired to deal with this nonsense. Somehow the QVC channel looked more appealing now. You begrudgingly plopped on the couch, a small pout growing on your face. Bakugou snuck a glance and sighed, tossing the remote aside. 

“Are you seriously so upset about this?” Instant regret flooded through his mind as he remembered that ridiculous day. “It was a freakin’ answer to a stupid question in a stupid celebrity article.” 

“…maybe…”

Bakugou rolled his eyes. You took off your signature hat and examined it; the hat was firm yet soft and had three peppermint candies artistically attached like a beautiful brooch. You moped silently for an eternity until an exciting idea rushed into your mind. Bakugou jumped as you squealed, his mouth ready for snarl, but you beat him to the punch. 

“I got it!” Two hands eagerly cupped his sharp cheeks, your whimsical eyes meeting his feral ones. They did nothing to damper your beaming smile. “You don’t hate sweets; you just haven’t found your favorite candy!”

Bakugou grabbed your wrist yet didn’t pull them away. Another giggle rang throughout the living room as you shot up from the sofa. A specific look crossed your face—one that both irked and frightened Bakugou to no end; he was through dealing with your shenanigans. 

“Whatever you’re thinkin’ about, the answer is no!”

“Too late! The mind is churning,” you piped, taking a cheerful step toward the doorway. Spinning on your heel, you gave a hat tip to Bakugou and declared, “I won’t rest until that sweet tooth of yours is satisfied!” 

Yup, it was too late. Bakugou had no choice but to go along with this dumb idea. Closing his eyes, he slammed a pillow over his face and screamed.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Ground Zero’s hero agency was buzzing with life. Phones rang off the hook, yet all were answered to avoid the voicemail machine. Interns carried endless stacks of papers, their dying arms begging for relief and fingers stinging from brutal paper cuts. The afternoon shift sidekicks clocked in their arrival while the morning ones yawned out the door.

Everything ran like a well-oiled machine, just how Bakugou liked it. He took great pride in this, hiring only the best and brightest. However, none of them held a candle against him—the number two pro hero. Unfortunately, being a prominent hero brought lots of reports he needed to sign.

And he was not excited about this.

“Um, sir?”

“Damnit, Small Head,” Bakugou growled, halting his pen’s movement. Fiery eyes glared at the man peeking around the ajar door. “If you bring me another paper to sign, I will stab this pen in your damn eye!”

“I-I assure you that I bring no reports, sir!” Kioshi, Bakugou’s personal assistant, waddled inside the office, fixing the tie that was strangling his neck. He slid a peculiar package toward his boss and bowed his head. “You have a special delivery from the Candy Master.”  

Bakugou scrunched his eyebrows. On his desk was a white box with an orange ribbon wrapped neatly in the upper left corner. A tiny card sat underneath it, and with closer inspection, had his first name written across in gold letters. Bakugou shooed Kioshi away, waiting to hear the door close to ensure absolute privacy.

At first, Bakugou had a mini stare-down with the gift. When it didn’t burst into flames, he sucked his breath and snatched the card. Bakugou turned it around to read the following message:

Everyone knows you got a sour attitude, but only I get to see that sweet side of yours. Figured these treats might do the trick. I made them just for you!

Enjoy,

C.M

P.S. These are an ~exclusive~ batch from my top-secret collection! So hush-hush!

Bakugou snorted at your writing, tossing the card aside and opening the box. His eyes narrowed at the vibrant gumdrops nestled above the black tissue paper. White sugar lightly coated the green and orange candies, each twinkling under the natural light that shined through his large window. A smirk curled on his lips; the whole package reflected his hero costume.

“Let’s see how good these are.”

Bakugou ate the green gumdrop. It was chewy and sour, the lime flavor making him twitch a bit. The sweetness kicked in ten seconds later. Bakugou tried the orange gumdrop next, and the acid was strong too but enjoyable. He soon devoured the entire box in one sitting.

Once that was done, he marched out of the office to start his daily patrol. It didn’t take long for a stupid thug to cross his path. Bakugou slammed him against the concrete wall, hauling him up with just one hand. The man trembled in fear but stopped squirming and cocked his head to the side, dumbfounded. 

Bakugou growled. “What the hell are you looking at?”

“Your tongue...it got weird colors, man.”

“Eh? The fuck are you talking ‘bout?” 

Bakugou peeked at his reflection on the store’s window. He recoiled when he saw the horrible swirls of green and orange covering his tongue. A vicious scowl crossed Bakugou’s face, his iron grip tightening around the thug’s collar. The guy’s high-pitched yelps fell on deaf ears. 

“Fuckin’ gumdrops!”

They were crossed off the list.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

“I don’t want it.”

“But, sir, the gift—”

“I know who it’s from, and I’m telling you no.”

“Sir,” Kioshi gripped the massive, cherry red treat in his hand. A black ribbon with long strings almost reached the floor. The assistant sighed. “It’s just a lollipop.”

“Do I look like a fuckin’ baby to ya?” Bakugou crossed his arms, refusing to budge on his childish decision. The irony made Kioshi roll his eyes mentally. “Give it away or something. Now get out.”

“Yes, sir…”

Lollipops were crossed off the list.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Another day, another gift Bakugou received from you.

They came sporadically and kept the hero on his toes. He never understood why you sent the gifts directly to his office; you both lived in the same apartment for crying out loud! Worst of all, he could never get a single hint on what candy he would receive next. Every time he asked—or more accurately, demanded—you shot him a coy smile and purred, “Ah, ah, ah! It’s a surprise!”

Bakugou wanted to rip his eyeballs out.

However, he reluctantly played along with your stupid game. Whenever Kioshi entered his office, Bakugou masked his slight interest with the usual scowl. If the assistant didn’t bring candy, then Bakugou blamed him for interrupting his private time. The anger was worse if Kioshi brought more reports for him to sign.

Kioshi was thankful for the days when a new candy gift arrived.

Unfortunately, the last three gifts were complete failures. The first was the strawberry licorice, which dangled in Bakugou’s hand. He took a few bites and complained that he was eating a rubber wheel. Next was a bag of colorful gummy worms. Bakugou shoved a couple in his mouth and swore he felt one of them move on its own. Finally, there was the lemon green jawbreaker; it was the size of a baseball. One look and Bakugou shouted over the phone: “You tryna give me dentures?!”

All three candies were crossed off the list. Still, you didn’t give up and sent another gift to Bakugou. He read the simple message on the card:

Chew and blow to your heart’s content, babe!

Love,

C.M

P.S. I promise this won’t change the color on your tongue, haha!

Bakugou opened the sleek, rectangular box and found a bubble gum packet inside; there were three thin pieces. He slipped one in his mouth, surprisingly pleased with the bold raspberry flavor hitting his taste buds. Bakugou skimmed the card again and did as instructed—he chewed.

Typically, an ordinary bubble gum would lose its flavor after five minutes. But the flavor in your gum only got juicier; it encouraged Bakugou to continue chewing. He then blew a tiny bubble before popping it in his mouth. Not bad, he thought as another bubble expanded in front of him. His chews became more aggressive, and the bubbles more prominent than the previous ones. Stupidly, he puffed out a massive bubble, and it grew…

…and grew…and grew until there was a loud pop.

Bakugou’s roars shook the entire building, spilling cold tea all over Kioshi’s shirt. 

Bubble gum was crossed off the list.

༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛

Everything was going well down at the Candy Basket Factory. People lined up outside for the magical tours that ran every hour. Kids bounced off the walls as if they were on a sugar rush while their parents felt a migraine pounding on their heads. Inside the factory, the ceilings were high, and the walls were vibrant like the sun. Laughter rang from every corner as employees chit-chatted about their daily lives; they were relaxed yet efficiently worked to the same drumbeat.

A soft smile crept on your face. You were glad everyone was happy; it was the driving force behind your factory’s joyful spirit. Eventually, that spirit would leave these doors and touch billions of people’s hearts with your precious candies.

Just as you closed your eyes, someone barged into your office and barked your name. You chuckled, spinning the leather chair around to meet a furious Bakugou. His nostrils flared like a bull, and his menacing eyes looked ready to kill. However, the gum’s blobs stuck on his porcupine blonde hair squashed the pro hero’s intimidating aura.

“You—”

“—I’m so sorry, boss!” Nozomi panted into the room, hands on her knees as she caught her breath. “I tried stopping him, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“It’s quite alright, Zomi!” You chirped without breaking Bakugou’s intense eye contact. “I can handle him. Please let everyone know I’ll be busy with an important meeting.”

Nozomi bowed and closed the door behind her. Bakugou wasted no time complaining, his hands slamming on your desk. 

“Quit sending me your cavity-infested garbage! I’ve had it with this fuckin’ game.”

“Oh, come on, babe!” You rolled forward and rested your chin on your gloved hand palm. “Can’t I just send my dashing boyfriend some sweet gifts? Get it!” You jokingly slapped his forearm. “Because candies are sweet? Man, I crack myself up at times…”

“You’re insufferable.”  

You winked at him. “But that’s what you love about me!”

Bakugou gritted his teeth and looked away. A light blush tainted his cheeks; he hated how right you were. You walked around the desk and stood beside him, wiping off the fairy sugar dust on his shirt. He probably barged through the sample stand near the entrance, scaring off the poor intern. 

“Alright, alright.” You gave a gentle pat. “Sorry for going a little overboard with the gifts. I was just excited about finding your favorite candy! I don’t want you hating them.”

Bakugou’s anger subsided. “Why is this so damn important to you?”

“Because I love spreading endless joy through sweets.” 

The answer was simple and innocent. Bakugou blinked and was taken aback by the gentleness in your eyes. 

“Candy makes everyone happy,” you chirped. “Knowing someone’s favorite candy helps me bring their smile back whenever they’re upset or lost. Can’t have the world be all mopey now, can we?”

Your fingers hovered above Bakugou’s head. The gum moved under your command and floated in the air. You flicked it into the trash bin with ease, and Bakugou murmured a quick ‘thanks’ under his breath. After ruffling his hair, you suddenly remembered something sitting on your shelf. Bakugou stared at the small pyramid of chocolate truffles coming toward him.

“I made these babies a few minutes ago,” you said, eying the plate with a proud grin. “Normally, I do a taste test and then send the gift if it satisfies my expectations. But, I got a feeling you’ll love them.”  

Bakugou’s face was unreadable. You gave him a gentle nudge and encouraged him to take one. He sighed before picking a chocolate truffle; it was warm and soft, the cocoa powder dusting his fingertips. After suspiciously staring at the truffle, he ate the entire thing in one go. His eyes widened as all the flavors exploded at once. The crushed red pepper flakes, the hints of rich cinnamon and orange zest, and the bittersweet dark chocolate made from the finest quality found on Earth all danced perfectly together with every bite. 

“So…” You placed the plate on the desk, watching Bakugou swallow the truffle down. “What do you think? Give me your honest opinion! Don’t sugarcoat it, haha! I’m on fire today!”

Bakugou turned away. “I’m leaving.”

“No, wait!” You hugged his bicep with a pout. “I’m sorry, I’ll stop. Just tell me if you liked the chocolate truffles.”  

“They’re good.”

Your smile grew. “Good enough to be your favorite?”

“Sure,” he smirked, shoving another truffle into his mouth. You cheered on the spot after weeks of constant failures. Of course, some of the complaints were nonsense which didn’t surprise you. Bakugou was a picky bastard; the lollipop fiasco served as a great example. You were glad he thoroughly enjoyed the chocolate truffles.

Before you walked away, Bakugou pulled you close to him and crushed his lips on yours. He caught you off guard, but the surprise was certainly welcomed. You soon melted into the kiss after tasting the rich dark chocolate and spices on his lips. Bakugou’s arms snaked around your waist as your hands gripped his broad shoulders.

“You know,” Bakugou’s hot breath tickled your right ear, sending shivers down your spine. “I think I got a new favorite candy.”

“Is that so?” You hummed, a coy smile plastered on your face. 

“Let’s hope it satisfies your sweet tooth then, Ground Zero.”

“Oh, it will.”

After all, you were the one and only Candy Master.

As always, thanks for reading!

10.18.20 UPDATE: Story’s sequel, Gold Coins and a Gold Heart now uploaded. 

[writingletterstothefire]

She Loves Me

Chapter 1

A/N: Hi guys. It’s been a minute. Here is the long awaited (by no one) She Loves Me AU. I’m putting chapter 1 out here in the hopes that people waiting for updates will spark some creativity in me again. I’m sorry it’s short. If you enjoy, let me know

Word Count: 1703

Warnings: not proof read.

The sun was blazing down on you as you scurried down the busy New York sidewalk. The summer had decided to be blazing hot this wonderful morning, and you had decided to be extraordinarily late for work. Well, perhaps ‘decided’ isn’t the right word— you’d overslept on account of staying up extra late to finish a letter to your Special Friend.

There was no shame in using a dating service, you knew that, yet for some reason the very thought of joining one was something that you had scoffed at for so many years. “I want to meet someone organically,” you’d complain to your friends, “those services are full of strangers who have the weirdest quirks.” To be fair, that had been true in your brief experience using a dating service in college. It was definitely an odd time, figuring out exactly what ‘watersports’ meant. Needless to say, it had taken one single date for you to decide to withdraw your application and swear off dating services.

But you were getting older. And men seemed to just get more and more picky, the older they got. So, when you stumbled across an advertisement in your Sunday newspaper for a matchmaking service called ‘Special Friends’, you jumped at the opportunity. The directions were simple; you filled out the survey in the paper, mailed it to the listed address, and then your answers were compared with other submissions to find the best match for you. Once you received your match, you were to write a letter to them introducing yourself and signing off under the title of ‘Special Friend’. The two of you were given a specific P.O. box to drop your letters off to, provided by the matchmaking service. The only real rules were that the letter had to be handwritten, and you were only allowed to give real names if both parties agreed on it.

Your Special Friend was a true kindred spirit. It had been six months of trading letters back and forth, and the two of you spoke about everything, from your childhoods to your favorite books, from dream destinations to worst fears. About three months into this correspondence, you knew that, whoever this Special Friend was, you loved them. You stayed up until all hours of the night writing draft after draft until you formed the perfect letter. Because of this, you were often late for work in the morning.

Late. That’s right. You were very late. You willed your feet to move you as fast as they possibly could, cursing yourself for choosing this morning to wear heels. Finally, you managed to burst through the door just minutes before opening, scurrying to the back to drop off your bag. You made a mental note to yourself to start carrying flats in your purse, in case of emergency.

You’d just finished touching up your makeup in the small staff room mirror, when you felt someone sidle up beside you. You didn’t have to turn your head to know who it was. The smug energy emanating from his every pore was enough to confirm your suspicions of who was next to you. Santiago Garcia. Your worst nightmare in human form.

“Can I help you with something, Mr. Garcia?” You didn’t even spare him a glance as you finger-combed your hair, which was now windswept from your impromptu jog.

“Not at all, Miss Y/L/N,” Santiago flashed you a smile that, in any other circumstance, would have been charming. You, however, knew that pure contempt lurked behind those pearly white teeth. “I was just marveling at the rare sight of you, here, on time!”

“And why would that be something to marvel at, Mr. Garcia?” you scowled.

“Well, simply because it’s never happened before!” Santiago leaned against the wall, charming smile morphing into the smirk that often adorned his chiseled face. “You know, Miss Y/L/N, you may want to stop frowning so adamantly. At your age, those frown lines tend to stick around.”

“At my age?!” you nearly shrieked at him. “Mr. Garcia, need I remind you that you are older than I am!”

His smirk only widened. “Yes, but you seem to forget that one of us is ageing with grace, Miss Y/L/N.”

Your scowl deepened, and you shoved past him, making your way to the front of the store. You never did understand why Santiago didn’t like you. From the first moment you stepped into the department store, it seemed like he was trying to usher you out. Sure, when he thought you were a customer, he was the most charming man you’d ever spoken to. But once he had realized that you were trying to apply for the new salesperson position, he wanted nothing to do with you. He had insisted that there were no positions available, but Frankie Morales, his friend and co-worker, was quick to usher you to the owner’s office. Mr. Bailey had been a hard man to charm, but when you made your first sale to a woman who was insistent that she was just browsing, he hired you on the spot. After all, you’d gotten her to buy not one, not two, but five jars of various creams and lotions. None of Mr. Bailey’s workers had ever managed to sell that much in one go, not even his prized Mr. Garcia.

Making your way to the front of the store, you said hello and gave a kiss on the cheek to Frankie and each of the Miller brothers, Will and Benny. All three of the boys were quick to welcome you, despite Santi being the unspoken leader of the pack. They quickly became your protective band of brothers, something you’d long wished for as a young child.

“Good morning Frankie! How’s Elisa doing this morning?” You asked Frankie, your tone surprisingly chipper after dealing with Santi in the staff room.

“Round as ever!” Frankie exclaimed, a wide grin on his face. “The doctors estimate that the baby will be here in about a month, and Mr. Bailey’s been so kind as to let me have a month off after the baby arrives. I know it’s going to take a toll on Elisa, and I want to be there for her as much as I can.”

Sometimes, Frankie just melted your heart. It was so plain to see how much he loved his wife and their incoming baby. Their little family was everything you wanted. You only hoped that one day someone would love you just as much as Frankie and Elisa loved each other.

It was beginning to seem as though your Special Friend was never going to reveal himself to you. You had offered to meet for dinner on a few occasions, and each time he insisted that he had prior appointments. You didn’t want to assume anything, of course, but you were getting worried. Surely he wouldn’t lie to you about having a prior engagement, would he? But then, if he was so eager to meet you, as he claimed to be, then why did he never offer an alternative date?

On your way home from work, you stopped at the P.O. box. Your Special Friend had forgotten— or, well, neglected, you supposed— to write you the past two days, but you were adamant about writing at least every other day. You knew how much the letters meant to you, and if they brought him even half as much joy, you wanted to be sure he got it. Perhaps, if you hadn’t been so caught up in your own head, you would have looked up and seen the figure walking away from the wall of P.O. boxes.

To your surprise and delight, there was a letter waiting for you in the box when you finally opened it. If you hadn’t been so excited to read it, perhaps you’d have noticed the flash of a coat turning the corner as they walked away from the wall of boxes.

You hurried to open the letter.

Dear Friend,

I am so sorry to have not been able to write these past few days. Work has been an absolute train wreck, what with the most irritating co-worker constantly fumbling about. Somehow, the boss claims it’s my fault. Could you believe it? My fault that my imbecile of a co-worker is incapable of doing the simplest task that doesn’t involve talking a mile per minute?

But enough about that mess. I am supposed to be apologizing to you, my dear, sweet friend.

I know that you have been wanting to meet me. I am so sorry that I haven’t been able to make any of our appointments. As I’ve told you before, I was once in the army. An experience in war is one that I don’t wish on anyone. It takes a toll on you, emotionally, mentally, and physically. Because of my experience, I’ve decided to counsel other veterans and help them through their traumatic memories. On the nights you had wished to meet me, I’d had previously arranged counseling sessions, as well as one doctors appointment, a check up to see how I am recovering after all of my surgeries that I’ve told you about.

All of this to say, dear friend, that I’ve cleared my schedule for the night of the 27th. If you are available, I would love to meet you at the Ambrosia Garden down on the corner of 12th Avenue. I’ve made a reservation for two under the name Elizabeth Bennett, after you expressed how much you loved Jane Austen’s ‘Pride & Prejudice’. If you show, I will be wearing a purple rose on my lapel. I will look for you, where you will be holding a copy of ‘Pride & Prejudice’, with a purple rose tucked between the pages.

I sincerely hope to see you on the 27the, dear friend. I’ve been longing to meet you since we first exchanged letters, so many months ago.

Sincerely,

Your Special Friend

You had to meet him. You would get to the Ambrosia Garden on the 27th, no matter the cost. You’d find out who your Special Friend was if it was the last thing you did.

[miramei]

Following the Monster Generation Interview 1.2: Kuroo

INDEX || PREVIOUS || NEXT

INTERVIEW 1: FROM PLANNING TO COVERING

Japan Volleyball Association, Sports Promotion Division, Kuroo Tetsuroo

In a café in Shibuya, Tokyo

“It’s been a while, Cheer Captain.”

Kuroo Tetsuroo had arrived at the cafe on the first floor of the building that the Volleyball Association was in, which was crowded with afternoon traffic. Akane stood up and greeted Kuroo, who was holding a tray with a coffee cup placed on it.

“It’s been a while! Thank you very much for taking the time to meet me today.”

“It’s good to be innocent isn’t it*?” Kuroo squinted at the figure with the deeply lowered head. “Well then, I wonder what you need today,” he said, and picked up his coffee cup.

“Um, actually, I have a favor to ask of Kuroo-kun.”

“If I can do it, I’d be happy to,” the coffee-drinking Kuroo says to Akane.

“I want to interview the Monster Generation!”

“If that’s the case, did you get an appointment through the editorial department?”

She knew that he would say that. Akane responded with her prepared words: “Because it’s not for work, I came to ask Kuroo-kun for this favor.”

“What? Is it something like a graduation thesis?”

“I’m still a freshman, so a graduation thesis is… I have to think about it but…”

“Then, what do you mean?”

Akane hummed as she thought.

It’s not for work. It’s also not a graduation thesis. Even though Enaga-san had said that, “If it’s Kuroo-san, wouldn’t he be able to give you help?” Akane wondered if it was a good thing for her, who was only the little sister of a former teammate, to bother him with a personal request… but nothing will begin if she worried. She just has to ask and see what happens!

“I thought that I would like to do my personal life’s work! No, I want to make a book for work in the future, and the editorial department said that they would give their support this time if it looked like it would take shape*.”

“Life’s work, huh… you’re really shooting for the moon*.”

“I want to interview everyone in the Monster Generation! Even Russia’s Yaku-kun. And not just the players, but also the staff and related people. For that, I want to borrow Kuroo-kun’s help!”

And then she took out a proposal from a document case. “Please read this!” she said, and handed it over.

“I’ll take a look,” Kuroo said, and flipped through the important proposal. Then, after reading for a while, he raised his head.

“...This, did you make this yourself?”

“Yes. Ah, no, Enaga-san and everyone at the editorial department helped.”

“They have high expectations of you*, huh.”

At the unexpected words, Akane shakes her head.

“No, I’m not like that at all!”

“What the heck, not like that at all? Then, this conversation is over.” Surprised by Kuroo, who stands up, Akane hurriedly appealed to him.

“No! Um! I… am inadequate but I will do my best.”

Seeing Akane’s face flush bright red, Kuroo chuckled and smiled, and sat back down and nodded.

“Alright. If that’s the case, I will cooperate with you to the best of my ability.”

“Thank you very much!”

“And in return,” so saying, Kuroo showed a meaningful* smile.

“W-what could it be?”

“I’d be happy if you could find a way to give me an advertising slot. And, right now, we’re looking for sponsors for the Junior Tournament. I wonder if the editorial department can pitch in and help...”

“Eh!? I, uh, I’m still just an intern…”

Thrown off by suddenly being offered bargaining conditions, she immediately stared at Kuroo. “But, I will definitely return the favor. Absolutely!”

“Yes, I’ll look forward to it.” Kuroo replied with a straight face, drank the remaining coffee, and got out of his seat for real this time. It seems he’s going back to work. Then he looked slightly over his shoulder, and with a small wave of his hand, added:

“Ah, for the time being, submit a news coverage application. You can download it from the internet.”

Translation notes:

* 初々しい — innocent, pure, fresh, naive

* I took some liberties with the word order, but I think the gist of it is that, if Akane does the leg work for her project, and it seems like it’ll be successful , then the editorial company told her that they’d be willing to support her (in Chapter 1, Enaga said that she’d be willing to support Akane because her project seemed interesting, so this is probably where that comes from). Feel free to correct me if I’m wrong.

* The return of 大きく出た, which I interpret as the similar English idioms “biting off more than you can chew” or “shooting for the moon.” I used a different one from Chapter 1 just because of the context Akane uses here (her life’s work)

* 期待のホープ — literally “hope of expectation,” but according to Sanseido Kokogu Dictionary, ホープ means “a person who has expectations; a star of hope.” Since both terms here essentially mean “expectations” and this is an expression often used to describe new hires/rising athletes/etc., I chose “to have high expectations” as an English equivalent.

*  意味深 — with profound (often hidden) meaning, meaningful, suggestive

NOTICE:

※ I’m doing this mostly as an exercise to practice my Japanese reading comprehension ※ Some translations are adjusted to flow better in English because we play fast and loose with the power of language comprehension ※ I am only one person and I am doing this for fun ※ PLEASE DO NOT RE-POST any of my translations ※ If you like these please consider buying the physical book. I bought my copy from Kinokuniya.

[lovelyirony]

fic title: I’m falling and the sun is blinding me to your faults

i wanted to do an au of this one, so presenting: tony and rhodey, but make it villainous. i think it’d be fun! 

James Rhodes is two things, first and foremost being that he is a businessman. 

People call him a villain. He doesn’t really think he’s that villainous. 

After all, he only took over New York. He left all the other states alone, so that has to mean something. He was gracious! 

He also wouldn’t consider himself a villain because everyone who works under him gets health insurance. They don’t complain that much, although he’s gotten some about the quality of the buffet on Fridays. 

Catering companies. Hit-or-miss, you know? 

There have been a couple of companies who try to stop him. Rivals that hate that his products are better and employees are happier, for one. Those are easy to dismiss. 

SHIELD is one company who tries, and fails. Repeatedly. It would be embarrassing, but Rhodes has respect for Agents Romanov and Hill, who have been the closest to breaking into his personal office. 

- 

The player that isn’t registering on the field is Tony Stark. Perhaps because he isn’t so much of a player on the field as an existing person who just happens to be on a field. Or a building. However you would like to imagine it. 

In other universes, he walks like he owns the world because he could buy up everything and still have money left over to get ice cream at the end of the day. 

In this universe, his father kicked him out of his house for various things, the most prominent being that Tony is rather partial to kissing guys and ladies, and that just simply won’t do. 

(Tony also stole enough money out of his bank account to buy a house and also start his own business without his knowledge, but in the grand scheme of things, that’s just a small drop in the ocean.) 

Tony made his own tech start-up business. He’s invented a few new things that hit the market discreetly, and he’s building up more and more clientele. He’s about to open another shop, and in all honesty he’s not worried about getting noticed. 

This is until Rhodes comes across an employee bragging about a new repair guy who makes computers run twice as fast, charges less than most repair shops, and looks mighty fine in a tank top.

The last reason is reason enough to visit. 

But also, to see who’s been fixing up Rhodes tech and can make it faster. He doesn’t know why he wouldn’t have just applied for a job. 

Tony is not expecting Rhodes to enter into his building. He has people who are walk-ins, but usually you would expect a villain to make an appointment. Or not, they are villains. 

“I heard that you’ve been improving my phones,” James says. He leans into Tony’s space. He smells quite nice, has a well-tailored suit, and Tony is trying very hard not to find him attractive. That’s not the sort of thing you could be focusing on. 

“You gonna sue me or something?” 

“No, I want to hire you.” 

Tony blinks. 

“Oh. No thank you.” 

Rhodes pulls back. 

“Why ‘no’?” 

“I like my shop just fine. And you have things well-handled.” 

“Could I consult you?” 

“You can’t afford me.” 

Rhodes grins. 

“Are you sure about that?” 

“Of course I am. Can I get anything for you today, or did you just want to beg me to come work for you?” 

“Most people would never be this bold.” 

"What would they be? Terrified in your presence?” 

“More or less, yes. It’s what I prefer.” 

"I don’t cater to people’s preferences, it’s a character flaw and strength,” Tony quips. 

Rhodes smiles. 

It’s terrifyingly beautiful, really. Tony is at a loss for words. 

“I think I’m liking you, Stark.” 

“Tony. You don’t call me Stark. I don’t do the last name dynamic.” 

“Sweetheart, then. Not your last name.” 

“Pet names, seriously?” 

“Oh you got it, honey.” 

“Then go on, platypus,” Tony throws back. 

“Platypus? Really?” 

"Pet names are on the menu, honey bunch. Just try me.” 

Rhodes smiles, turning to exit. 

“I’ll be in touch, darling.” 

Tony leans against his desk, legs shaking underneath. 

There are two problems that he’s not sure how to solve. Here they are: 

1.) Rhodes now has Tony on his radar, which is probably bad because Tony will absolutely be used for world domination or whatever. 

2.) Tony doesn’t really mind as long as he gets to see Rhodes because goddamn. That man could get so many things, and he probably has. And Tony wouldn’t mind being one of those things if he played his cards right. 

But for now, Tony just wants to fix computers and maybe just buy a new brand of tea, but he’s honestly not sure. 

- 

Rhodes makes an appointment to meet. 

Of Fucking Course. 

Tony is not impressed, and is also not impressed that he comes in with a very expensive custom-made designer suit, whereas Tony is not sure the last time his pair of jeans got washed, and an old t-shirt that’s advertising an ice cream shop that is closed now. 

“You love to make an entrance all the time?” Tony asks. “What can I legally do for you?” 

“You’re assuming I’m making you do illegal things, babe?” 

“Yes, Rhodey.” 

“It’s Rhodes.” 

“Hm, maybe. But not to me. Rhodey. I wanna ruin your business impression.” 

Pepper snorts besides Rhodes, who is suitably impressed that Tony doesn’t give one flying fuck about the fact that he could destroy him at any point. 

“I’m ordering that on your next business card deal.” 

“I’ll fire you.” 

“You can’t find someone as competent as me, don’t even joke.” 

“I came here for an opportunity for you. You’ve managed to get some people’s computers to speed up so much. And I want you to do it with all of my employee’s computers.” 

“What, you couldn’t reverse-engineer it? See what I did for yourself?” 

Rhodey grins. 

“I never question a handsome man’s work, darling.” 

Tony turns red. 

“You’re really bad with professionalism, honeysop.” 

“What the hell is that?” 

“What, never heard about romance in the fifteenth century? Boring.” 

“Will you do the job or not?” 

“What are the terms, the conditions, and how much are you paying?” 

Pepper steps forward, a sizable stack of paperwork in her hands. 

The work would pay off the building. It would pay off his mortgage on his house. Hell, it would help a lot. He’d have extra to mess around and maybe go on a vacation. 

The downside is that he’s helping a villain get faster speed and better battery life with laptops. This could also mean he’d die, but honestly he was kind of expecting an early death. 

Rhodey assures him that he won’t die. 

“If anyone touches you, then they feel my wrath,” he says. His teeth glint underneath the lights. “And honey, no one ever likes feeling that.” 

“What, it isn’t all feather-light tickles?” 

“Touches a bit more than that.” 

There’s an unspoken story there. Rhodey’s grin goes from tight and eyes empty to refocusing on Tony and turning soft, genuine. 

“We can discuss the official plans over dinner.” 

“Dinner won’t work for me, I got plans tonight.” 

“A hot date?” 

"A special movie screening,” Tony says. “Can’t miss it. Maybe next time, or the next three times.” 

Rhodey smiles. 

“Maybe sometime.” 

“Maybe.” 

- 

Holy fuck.

Rhodes International has a local coffee shop on the lobby. A barista is a cheerful girl who has neon yellow hair greets him and asks if he wants a complimentary drink. 

“You...know who I am?” 

“Not in the slightest!” she says cheerily. “I have a memory thing where I remember everyone I ever meet and who I don’t meet. What kind of coffee guy are you?” 

“Um...you guys have mint syrup?” 

“Yup!” 

“Then I guess a peppermint latte?” 

“Coming right up!” 

So here is this girl humming what sounds suspiciously like the Winnie the Pooh song as she makes a drink, and that drink is amazing. 

Also, people are wearing, it seems, whatever outfit they want. There are some people talking, and two look to be dressed in professional business clothing, but the third guy they’re talking to is wearing ripped jeans and a tank top has the phrase of “I’m Just Existing on a Manifestation of Reality” emblazoned. 

It’s odd. 

“So glad you could make it, Tones,” Rhodey says. 

“Tones?” 

“What, too much?” 

“Tones sounds like you know me.” 

“And I don’t?” 

“What’s my favorite jam?” 

“Why jam?” 

“If you know someone well, you know their favorite type of jam.” 

“Orange marmalade?” 

“What the fuck do I look like, Paddington?” 

“You’re right, Paddington’s not near as sexy.” 

“This counts as harassment, right? This counts as harassment.” 

“Don’t have him sue us already, he’ll win,” Pepper says, breezing to their sides. God, she’s gorgeous. Casually dressed in a pencil skirt and a blouse and acting like she doesn’t look like a goddess. Must be exhausting. “Tony, great to have you. Let me show you who you’re working with.” 

He has his own fancy office, a team that knows what they’re doing, and catered lunch. 

Catered lunch. It’s not even a Friday. 

“Friday’s are questionable,” Rhodey says. “Weird selection.” 

“You don’t wanna know,” says Intern Joe. 

That’s literally on his ID card. 

- 

Tony starts work. It’s not bad, not at all. He works in the mornings on the weekends and Mondays as well as Thursdays, and then sometimes does work from his own office. 

Rhodey is...nice. 

This is a bit unsettling, because Rhodey literally just threatened the president over an environmental bill not being accepted and currently all employees are only slightly scared. 

“This is just like three months ago,” says Janice The Badass. (Also on her ID card.) “Don’t worry, the government can’t do anything. They rely on us too heavily.” 

“For what?” 

“For safety.” 

“Not asking.” 

“Good, I’m not going to answer.” 

“Okay?” 

- 

It’s also weird that Rhodey checks in on him. He brings him coffee how he likes it, and he makes him sit down and try new foods with him. 

He’s not bad at conversational topics either. Tony’s used to talking, and he’s used to bad-talking on dates. This doesn’t come close. 

No, they talk about the differences of Star Trek and how much Tony hates specific brands of pens, and how Rhodey is a disaster when it comes to coordination of ties. 

“I don’t like ties,” he scowls. 

“Then why wear one?” 

“Pepper says they look nice.” 

“Why do you need to look nice?” 

“Most things are all about presentation.” 

“Ah, need to be taken seriously.” 

“Only at times when I’m facing government officials or weird corporate bosses.” 

“Aren’t you a corporate boss?” 

“I’m a corporate boss who is also an enemy of fellow corporate bosses. Weird thing.” 

“That’s...intriguing.” 

“How so?” 

“Well, how does that work?” Tony asks, popping a couple blueberries into his mouth. “How are you both the same and an enemy?” 

“Watch and learn, sugar. Watch and learn.” 

Tony is allowed on the next business meeting. Which, coincidentally, his old Uncle Obadiah is part of. 

This leads to rather undesired complications. 

-

“You’re working for a supervillain?” Obie practically yells. 

“Well, it’s a bit more complicated than that,” Tony says. “I just work with computers.” 

“Besides if he wanted to work for a real supervillain, wouldn’t he be working for you?” Rhodey asks. 

He’s sitting in one of those rolling-chairs, and despite that, he made it his throne. He’s relaxed in it, perfectly at peace with the situation. All eyes are on him. 

“I’m not the one that the government is after.” 

“And yet I’m the one who’s successfully paid taxes. Where have yours gone, hm? Strip club in Vegas? Weapon sales in Afghanistan?” 

Obie freezes. 

Tony knows that when you freeze, it is your worst tell. 

“Does dad know?” 

This time, Rhodey turns towards him. He’s surprised. 

“We’ll discuss that later. But does Howard know, Obadiah?” 

“Howard is none of your concern.” 

“Oh my god, he is,” Rhodey says grinning. “You haven’t told him about your little back-door escapades. I wonder what would happen if I told him.” 

“You don’t want me as an enemy,” Obadiah says, shaking. He looks at Tony. “And you, boy, you just earned yourself a death sentence.” 

“Funny, Howard said the same thing when he kicked me out of the house,” Tony says as he’s checking his nails. Rhodey thinks he is in love. 

“Go ahead and try to get me as an enemy, see how well it works for you,” Rhodey says, pearly whites on display. “I took over the entire state of New York, leaving everyone in power allied with me. Plus, Tony hasn’t pushed his legacy from what I’ve seen, but what would happen if I just...let him talk? At the next press conference, perhaps.” 

Tony grins, and it’s dangerous. 

“Yeah Obie, what if I talked? I’m sure Howard’s disastrous attempt at fatherhood would be a real uptick in stock points.” 

“You wouldn’t.” 

“Just watch. Just fucking watch,” Tony says. “I still know how to smile for the press, and I still remember all of my lessons for how to make sure anything is believable.” 

He shakes. 

Rhodey gets security. 

Tony visibly relaxes as Stane is led out of the building, and Rhodey smiles over at him. 

“What?” 

“You wanna grab dinner with me?” 

“Like as a casual dinner, or a date-dinner?” 

“How about both?” 

“Thank god, I can’t remember where my nice shoes are.” 

- 

Tony supposes it is odd to be out to dinner with one of the most-feared men in all of New York. 

But it was hard to fear him when he was currently trying to lick ice cream off the tip of his nose with no such luck. 

Or when Rhodey kisses him senseless on his doorstep and makes fun of the little gnome that he’s put outside, and Tony giggles and watches him leave in his fancy car, still leaning on his door. 

Oh, he’s got it bad. 

But he doesn’t mind. 

[chayacat]

Devil’s Sweet Star (37)

Fandom: Dead by Daylight

Ghostface x Female Reader  

Rated M for Violence, Language and Smut  

***

Time passes so quickly when you have things to do... You have not even seen the days pass, that you have 2 days left before the Roseville festival. Time flies fast... too fast for your liking. And you have the surprising impression that if you close your eyes or blink just for a moment, these 2 days will have passed. The first banners for the festival begin to hang throughout Roseville. Flyers are distributed to all residents to remind them of this tradition that dates back to the creation of the city. So many generations attended, as a family, as a couple, young and old, tourists and inhabitants of neighbouring cities. And you who are, in a way, a foreigner because remember, you have been living here for only a few months, going not only to attend, but also to participate for the first time.

It was a busy morning for you. Mayor Tallis gave you an appointment to see the final preparations as well as to know the appearance and taste of the future cake. To which you replied that the appearance will be a surprise until the festival, but that on the other hand you could make him taste a part. Luckily you still had the pieces of the test cake that you had done with Corey and Amy. And we can say that the result was what you expected. The mayor was delighted to the point of not leaving a single crumb of it. He congratulated you and showed you the layout for the festival. You will therefore find yourself on the right, at the stand closest to the desk where the mayor will make his traditional speech.

“So, you will be here and next to you there will be Mrs. Parson the florist. We have a total of 7/8 stands in all. We usually start with my speech, and then once it's over, the festivities can begin. This will last practically the whole day. Is it right for you? Are you sure you can hold out all day?” He asks with a smile.  

“If I can hold my coffee from opening to closing, then I can hold an entire festival! And then I would have my employees with me!  you can count on us Mr. Mayor! and thank you again for calling on me.” you respond cheerfully.  

“Very well! I will not retain you any longer in this case. I wish you a very good day miss!”

7/8 stands... it's a lot of people! But you can bet that many people will come to see you! This is a good opportunity to make a little extra in addition to coffee sales! And that can only be beneficial. Fortunately, Corey and Amy will be there to support you! Otherwise only you would have a hard time. After a while in the day, you will let them go, so that they can enjoy the festival too. If only you could enjoy it too with Jed. At least it will be to cover the event. And not only him for that matter! other newspapers will be there as well! and it can make a good advertisement for coffee!

You clean your worktop after preparing a batch of Brownies, chocolate lightning, March cakes and Neptune's pie. Amy and Corey began to greet the first customers, with a smile on their faces, ready to work. Quite a few of them greeted you with a smile, others were eager to be at the festival day to see the cake. And then there were those who were talking about the police investigation of Hoggins. Besides, you don't stop thinking about what Jed told you last night... His words looped through your head throughout the night.

It’s said that the world is small, that great minds meet and follow each other, that only the mountains don’t meet. But seriously... what were the chances that Hoggins and Jed would be "linked" by this sad story of which Hoggins is the author? Because it’s because of him everything that happened to this poor Carla... And what were the chances that, 4/5 years later, they would find themselves in the same city? Unless God worships gambling and is lucky, it’s impossible. Is Hoggins only aware that through his own fault, Jed's life has been completely destroyed? Maybe not... Or maybe yes and he doesn't care. Apart from his own person and his reputation, this bastard doesn’t care about anything.

You know what would be funny? To learn one day that it was him who killed your parents... it would be the icing on the cake, the bride's bouquet, the cross on the grave. Fortunately, this is not the case. But soon he will no longer be there. Even if it means spending an entire evening with Ghostface in exchange, Hoggins will soon die. Until now you refused to commit or even think about such a horrible thing, but for him, that's all you wish for him. And Ghostface will do the dirty work for you. Against a night... and a name.

“Excuse me miss... Could I have a cup of tea again? It is so delicious.” ask an old woman.  

“Of course, Mrs Nolrich! It's very nice, it's a tea that I had imported directly from England!” You answer with a smile before serving her.  

“It's nice to have such a nice person like you here. You know a lot of shops opened before you and they ended up closing. The secret of success is kindness and honesty and you are the only one who knows this secret. I hope you would stay here as long as possible.”

“Haha thank you but you know, if I have to open other cafes one day or move, I'm sure Corey and Amy will be very good bosses! They have a future for both of them.” you replied.  

You return to prepare cakes in the back shop when suddenly Hoggins enters in the café. Although Amy informed him that he was not allowed to go behind the counter, Hoggins ignored the ban and entered the back room. That charming smile... you had only one desire, which was to slap him to make him lose. Enjoy the time you have left asshole. You ignored him completely focusing on your work, but his insistent throat scraping forced you to stop to face him.

“Mr Hoggins, I am sorry but normally customers are not allowed to enter the back shop.” you said with a fake smile.  

“But I'm not here as a simple client, miss. I really wanted to see again... this magnificent bird of paradise. I learned that your charming café had been attacked, I fell from above! you really have to be silly or crazy to attack a creature as charming as you.” he responds.  

“You know I'm in a relationship Mr Hoggins. And I don't intend to leave Jed for you.”

“I could offer you much more than this wretched insect will ever be able to offer you. So let him go! You could explore the world as you wish! you truly believe that a poor journalist like him might be able to do that???”

“Yes. We don't know what the future holds for you, Jed has a brilliant career as a journalist and a future that reaches out to him. He will surely travel the world to bring out the truth. As he did on you. And I want and always would be at his side to support him. As he will always be there for me.”

“Hmph. You don't know anything about him. Do you really believe that he told you EVERYTHING about him? I know much more about him than you do. You should be wary of him my dear. And be careful... An accident happened so quickly. Have a nice day.” replied Hoggins before leaving angry.  

A lot of concern came to mind. What if Jed hid things from you? But what could he hide from you? No... he would not dare to lie to you or hide things from you... or if he does it is to protect you? But of what? or from whom? Did he get into trouble? It's possible! Journalists don't just have friends, unfortunately. Above all, they have a lot of enemies. People who are willing to do anything to silence them.

After, jealous as he is, Hoggins could very well lie to you. And surely it is. But better tell Jed about it. To make sure everything is fine. The rest of the day went quietly, despite your worries about Jed. And Amy and Corey understood that. They reassured you as best they could, they were so adorable these two. You were really glad you hired them. They helped you clean the coffee before going home greeting you with a smile on your face. Today was still a busy day and finally closing your café is a real relief. Jed was waiting for you as usual in the parking lot, his usual angel smile on his lips. You hug him and kiss him before getting into his van.

“I hope your day went well. Otherwise, I know a good way to rest: a good movie after a good meal.” said Jed, looking at you noticing that you’re worried. “What’s wrong? You can tell me you know...”

“Jed, I... you... you'll never lie to me huh? you... you'll always tell me things, won't you?” you ask worried.  

Jed parked in front of the building before looking at you surprised by your words. He had that look that cats have when they see something new in the house.

“What? Honey... you know that I could never lie to you... I told you everything, absolutely everything. Why this kind of question?”

“I... I don't know. I tell myself that... as a journalist you surely have enemies and... that you must have often been threatened... and that you may still be so then...”

“Tell me the truth. Who said that? Hoggins? Did he come to the café?  What did he tell you? He threatened you?!”

You tell Jed the whole conversation. Absolutely everything. He listened quietly, his gaze moving from surprise to anger. Instantly you thought he was angry against you, but when you hear him call Hoggins a bastard, you sigh with relief.

“How dare he...how dare he have the nerve to come to see you, to talk about me, and in addition to threatening you??? I swear to you that I'm going to kill him... he took Carla away from me, I won't let him take you! I... Damn it!” he said before looking at you. “Sorry...Listen. don't listen to him, okay? This guy is just a rotten one. He is jealous. But don't worry... he loses nothing to wait. The prison will seem like hell to him. He doesn't know what's going to happen to him.”

If he is still alive when the police will come to arrest him. Soon... Soon deliverance. It’s only a matter of time, of days, even. Let's hope that after that, it's over. No more trouble, no more problems, no more dirty guys trying to harm you. And let’s hope that Jed will never be aware of your deal with Ghostface. And for the rest. You go back to your apartment, take clean clothes and head to the bathroom to shower. Jed was preparing food and even from the bathroom you could smell a delicious smell of salmon and white butter sauce emanating from the kitchen. Once changed, you head to the kitchen, the table being set Jed finishing preparing the meal. You stick against his back, taking a little laugh from him. Looking at the pan containing the sauce, your curiosity and your desire to taste took over, slightly dipping your finger in the sauce to bring it to your mouth.  

“Watch out...it’s hot.” Said Jed smiling

“Maybe but in the meantime it's good. And quite caloric. Not really surprising coming from a white butter sauce... You know I was thinking that... rather than watching a movie... we could... do something else more... amusing.” you respond by passing a hand over his ass.

“I thought you'd be hungry but...not in that sense.”

“Let's say both.” you replied with an seducing smile.

He turned around and kissed you lovingly. And little by little he lowered his hands. You let go of a little moan between your kisses which made him laugh slightly. He lifted you up and carried you to the room where he dropped you off on the bed. The meal will wait. For the moment we will relax ... in a completely different way than in front of a movie. one way more... fun and wilder. Even though Ghostface was more... enterprising as Jed, you must admit it to yourself. But Jed is not a murderer at least.

What will happen once you know who Ghostface is? Denouncing him is not the right solution, it will kill you before you even do anything. but keeping quiet isn't really better either. It's an endless tunnel for you at the moment, or two doors come yours. But which one will you open? And where will it take you? Who will support you? Only God knows.

But one thing is certain.

You are not ready for what will happen to you.

***

(Well, it wasn't pie! especially that on the other side I'm seeing for the RE8 fanfic! Found a name is already complicated, but when you have several ideas and you only have to keep one... it's a real nightmare! As I told you there will first be a prologue a kind of chapter 0 compared to DSS! I hope you’ll like this chapter like the others ones! Well, it's time for my brain to rest! Have a great weekend to you all!  See ya!)

[docholligay]

SM rewrite: any of haruka's first times meeting the inners

EPisode 92! 1960 words, I hope you enjoy, I AM HAVING FUN TODAY

“He’s SO HOT, Mina.” 

Usagi was off on yet another one of her larks, talking about some guy she’d seen at the arcade. She’d thought, at first, that she was talking about Motoki, who Mina took to be her current obsession who was not Mamoru of the moment, but maybe that had been several moments ago. It was hard to tell with Usagi. 

People always took her and Usagi to be alike, and if that gave Mina the benefit of being underestimated, that was fine with her. And it was true, that they both liked attractive people, in a way, but Mina was more of a freelancer, moving from this flower to that like a brilliant butterfly with no particular link to any one person, while Usagi fell in love with every man she ever met. 

That too. Usagi was still under the impression that she was straight, and the delusion might yet follow her all the way to the wedding altar. That, in particular, was none of Mina’s business, who had realized since the age of 12 that attractive was attractive in her eyes, which became the fact that a bedroom was a bedroom, as she got older, and what it might say on someone’s driver’s license or facebook held little notice for her when it was time to go home. 

Dating, on the other hand--well, she wasn’t bold enough to tell Usagi to never date a man, if she had other options, not while she was still enamored of Mamoru, but she certainly thought it hard enough. Mina had learned that lesson quickly. Men were like riding a roller coaster, exhilarating and fun, for a quick ride, but eventually you just get sick. 

Usagi had not yet learned this, and it was in this that Minako allowed her to keep your youthful naivete. She had time yet to learn. 

“His name is HARUKA,” she swung her bag around, “I heard the cashier say it. Isn’t that dreamy?” 

Mina chuckled, “It’s one of the most popular names in Japan, Usagi. I go to school with like, 4 Harukas.” 

“Well, it seems different on him!” She gave a little scowl and a stomp of her foot, but then smiled brightly and whipped around, “Come to the arcade with me and see him!” She narrowed her eyes playfully, “We can compete to see who he’ll fall in love with.” 

This was the point at which Rei would have chimed in that Usaig had a boyfriend, if she had denied to leave off from her shrine duties and hang out with them after school, but she hadn’t, and Mina didn’t see why something like a boyfriend should get in the way of a good time. 

“Amazing. I hope you like losing.” Mina cackled as she swanned toward The Crown. She hadn’t been in a while, not for any particular reason, other than she was doing a bunch of back work for a hostess club, which she hoped would hire her as a hostess the absolute second she turned 18. Unfortunately, they were too above-board to hire her for anything at the front right now. It was less than a year. She’d live. 

Usagi rushed into the Crown, ever with the perfect idea of how to act casual, and gazed immediately over to the racing game in the corner, hand under her chin as she leaned against an old copy of Pacman. 

“There he is!!!” she stage whispered, hissing as she grabbed Mina’s hand. 

She sighed and turned to tell Usagi that he was going to hear them, but he didn’t look over even at all, and Mina’s brow twitched as she noticed it. His hearing must not be anything to write home about. He was wearing a blazer over the top of a sweater, over the top of a collared shirt, which seemed a bit like overkill to Mina, but hey, maybe he was cold. 

MIna walked over to him, Usagi half-tiptoeing behind in a way that Haruka would find either cute or incredibly unsettling, and based on that, Mina would change her strategy. It was all a sort of chess game, flirting and seduction, and with men maybe it wasn’t even chess. Checkers, or something.

“Hi!” Usagi popped up, “Good afternoon! We saw that you were playing alone here, and were wondering, you know!” 

Mina looped her arm across the back of the car seat, and leaned against it. “Care for a friendly game?” 

Haruka ruffled his hair, and looked up at her, and Mina nearly burst out laughing. She hadn’t noticed, with the bulkiness of the blazer and other entrappings, and she hadn’t looked hard enough when she’d been standing with Usagi, but looking now, there was no mistake. Haruka wasn’t a man at all. Oh, she was tall, and gangly, and even given the sweater probably fairly flat-chested, but there was the unmistakable fullness of her lip, the softness of her brow, the way she looked at Usagi and Mina. Mina was a bit of an expert, in these matters. 

She looked over to Usagi. No reason not to let this play out. Why not, she’d earned some fun. Maybe Usagi would have a moment of realization--Mina doubted she’d ever seen a butch lesbian outside of Takarazuka, and those women were made up to the high heavens, more drag than the genuine article. 

So she smiled. 

“Just a race or two.” 

Usagi started to stammer, and step in front of her, but Mina dodged it effortlessly. Why have one bit of fun, when she could have two? Besides, Usagi may have been wrong about Haruka being a boy, but she wasn’t wrong about a certain quality of rough handsomeness that she carried, that sort of young, gentlemanly way, with a touch of insecurity, that Mina sometimes found very winning about the younger butch set. She could have a worse time. 

“Sure,” Haruka smiled, and nodded, then added, “I always like to play with a pretty girl.” 

Her voice was deep, but not overly so, and Mina found the feminine lilt at the end of her sentences quite charming. She rather liked butches, when it came down to it. They had a habit of picking up the charming parts of masculinity while letting the rest rot where it belonged. 

MIna slid in next to her. She smelled good, like sandalwood and maybe a touch of motor oil, which Mina wouldn’t have thought would be charming. Usagi was salivating as they put their coins into the slot, but she stood and watched Mina. She’d played this game plenty of times, and beaten Usagi at it nearly every time, save when Motoki accidentally spilled a drink on her in the middle of a race. This wouldn’t be too hard, but she would be careful not to humiliate Haruka, and maybe even let her win in the last stretch--

She looked over to the map. Haruka was already out in front, her car on full manual and effortlessly gliding through it, swinging the wheel and tapping on the brake and gas at perfect intervals. 

Minako, for a moment, became just a little enraged. She hadn’t even wanted to win before this moment, but for her to be beaten so easily, by whatever putz of a nerd was too old to be hanging out in an arcade but clearly WAS hanging out in an arcade, on an afternoon, and didn’t she have a job or college or something to go to? 

She slammed down on the gas, trying desperately to catch up, to make a better showin, but Haruka just kept going and going, hitting checkpoints without a second thought, not even the slightest amount of wrinkle to her forehead. 

Besides all that, Usagi was laughing and clapping her hands like the damn fool she was. 

Mina tried to weave around the fake traffic in her way, but ended up broadsiding a bus full of fake schoolchildren, and she imagined their fake screams echoing her own as the Game Over flashed across the screen. She quite forgot her seduction, in the moment, as she slapped the middle of the steering wheel and laid her head down on it. 

“I can’t believe I lost that bad!” 

Haruka chuckled, “No, you actually did pretty good.” 

Mina straightened up, smoothed her hair, and tried to regain herself. 

“Sorry, it’s just,” she giggled, “I get so competitive. The uh….heat of the moment, you know what I mean?” 

Haruka looked at her with a slightly confused sideways grin. “Sure.” 

“Oh but I am sorry, Haruka, mother was forever at lunch, sometimes I swear she asks for things only to see the human limit of what a waiter will bear before smoke begins to run from his ears. It was never my intention to keep you waiting.” 

“Oh, that’s okay.” 

Mina saw Game Over flash across the screen a second time as Haruka looked at the woman who had just entered. 

She was unquestionably beautiful, with a delicately rounded face that suggested a touch of foreignness at the eyes, eyes in green or blue but also somehow both, shifting a bit as the tides. Her hair was elegantly curled to her shoulders, and her carriage was straight and practiced, a show dog out for the afternoon with all the regular mutts. She wore a finely tailored blouse of silk with a demurely pleated skirt, round toe leather on that fit her perfectly on her feet, a bag at her side that was the sort of designer you wore if you were too polished for garishness of advertising that you wore designer. The whole of her felt wrong in the crown, like placing Italian marble in a kid’s playplace, and she smelled of rose and jasmine. 

But none of that was what stopped Mina in her tracks, no, wealth and polish was not enough to frighten her off. It was the look Haruka gave her, that wide-eyed gaze like a tourist standing in front of some great masterwork, and the softness with which she had responded. Mina didn’t know if they were together, or if they weren’t but she knew one thing for sure: 

Haruka was desperately smitten. She could have competed with Usagi for stupid in love, at that point. She and Usagi were getting nowhere with this one. 

Haruka rose to her feet, taking her bag and tossing it over her shoulder in one motion. MIchiru turned to leave the arcade, and Haruka gave a nod back to Usagi. 

“Hey, uh, you with the buns,” She smiled and tossed her hair, “We should play next time.” 

Usagi’s eyes damn near became hearts, but Mina just gave a half-hearted wave and a nod. There were fights you could win, and fights you couldn’t win, and Minako Aino didn’t ever throw effort straight into a fire. She had more of a sense of self-preservation than that. 

Haruka turned to walk next to her companion, who gave her the smallest closed-mouth smile. 

“Well, aren’t we making friends so quickly today?” 

Haruka chuckled. “You jealous or something?” She looked at the woman with what Mina noted was a mix of hope and fear. 

“Oh, terribly.” she answered. This woman knew exactly what Mina knew.

Haruka shook her head, unable to keep up the ruse. “They’re high school girls,” she shrugged, “ They seem like such little kids. But they’re cute, right?” 

“As kittens.” Noted the elegant woman, as they breezed out the door. 

There was a pause for a moment as even Motoki stood beside them to watch them leave, the perfume still hanging in the air as if the entire place were surrounded by petals. Usagi put her hands on her hips. 

“Is it just me, or were they both ridiculously good-looking?”

[omoi-no-hoka]

I read your post on how you got started in the translation industry and I was wondering if it is possible to get an entry/basic level translation gigs in Japan with N3-level proficiency or if even those want at least N2 proficiency. Also since you've been living and working in Japan for a long time, what advice would you give those wanting to work in Japan in regards to avoiding black companies?

Finding Translation Work in Japan

Hi there! Thank you for your ask. 

To be honest, “translation” is so very broad that I can’t give you a simple “yes” or “no” as an answer. My answer is “Maybe” with the following caveats. For the sake of this post, I’m going to assume that your native language is English, or that you have native-level proficiency, and you plan to do English↔Japanese translation in a Japanese workplace.

Field of Translation

This is perhaps the biggest factor. I understand that in order to translate legal or medical things, there is a particular certification that you must obtain. This requires N1/native level proficiency in both languages. I have thought of attempting to obtain the medical one, but I’m not ready for it. I would need to study a LOT of terminology in both English and Japanese.

As for other fields, I think it really depends on the company and how much they are willing to teach you on the job. Also, depending on the field, many field-specific terminology may be katakana words derived from English, meaning that while they will be new Japanese words for you, they will not be entirely new words.

But if I were to work in, say, the banking industry doing translation, I would certainly have a hard time learning all the words, especially if I didn’t already have some sort of background in banking in English.

For example, I specifically work as a translator for a company that provides services to other very big companies that you have heard of. Technically, I work for an anti-malware software company and the technical support aspect of it. When a product is updated, I will translate internal manuals and things like that. I also translate the Big Wig conversations, which are done in English since the client and our company’s HQs are in America, so that our local guys know what’s going on. I also create/translate/edit/take minutes for presentations given to Big Wigs. I also handle all IT issues in our project, because our IT ticketing system is 100% in English. ANYTHING English-related is funneled to me.

Contractually-speaking, I do not work for any other clients. But since I’m the only translator in our company in Hokkaido capable of interpretation as well, I am often asked to assist under the table. (Translation and interpretation are two entirely different beasts, btw.) 

While I don’t have a background in IT or computers or anything like that, since most of the terminology is in katakana and I’m not absolutely clueless about computers, my learning curve wasn’t too sharp. I struggled more with bullshit corporate acronyms and the formalities of Business Japanese (sonkeigo and kenjougo). 

A person holding an N2 is considered capable of Business Japanese. Even if you have extensive knowledge in the field of translation, you will have a VERY difficult time adjusting to the Japanese-language workplace if you are not good with Business Japanese. From that standpoint, I cannot recommend someone at N3 to enter a Japanese company to do translation. It will be grueling. I was N1 when I joined the company, and I still had difficulty composing emails and other workplace-related words I hadn’t come across. 

Start with Freelance Translation/Proofreading

There was a year or so where I had N1 but was still teaching English. I found freelance English-Japanese translation jobs online. Lots of them were one-shot things, like “translate this brochure about our little tiny town” or “I am a researcher who has written a paper on Persian-French relations during the 16th century, and I need someone to proofread my English.” Lol that one was pretty specific and paid very handsomely. By doing well on a job, I established a relationship with that client and I would get more work either from them or someone they knew. Prices are fixed before translation. 

The average price for translation is 3-7 yen per character (if the original text is in Japanese) or per word (if the original text is in English). The price increases depending on the complexity of the material. The brochure about the little town was 4 yen per character, but the research paper was 9 yen word (despite the fact I was only proofreading instead of translating because it was incredibly complex). 

Proofreading goes alongside translation. I didn’t really do much of that, but you can see a price range of 1-5 yen per character/word. If you are N3, proofreading is great way to get your feet wet!

NOTE: Do not take on proofreading or translation jobs for a language that is not your native language. No matter how good you think your Japanese is, it will not be good enough to proofread. Even if you have an N1, you will miss things. Even I, as a translator with almost 3 years experience in my field, always have a Japanese coworker proofread everything I translate into Japanese, and 9 times out of 10 they fix at least one thing. 

How to Avoid Black Companies

In Japan, some companies are labeled ブラック企業 “black kigyou,” which means that they violate labor laws in some heinous fashion. Denying pay, benefits, or leave, forcing employees to do grueling amounts of overtime that can lead to 過労死 karoushi (death by overwork), etc. These companies will rob you of your sanity at best and your life at worst, and are to be avoided at all costs. 

When I was searching for a position teaching English, I googled reviews of each big Eikaiwa school, like AEON or whatever else there is. Many previous teachers air their grievances on places like glassdoor.com. It was easy to learn which schools I should avoid.

Also, I applied online to many different big Eikaiwas. Three of them (sorry, I can’t remember which) immediately emailed me back and said I was hired, without an interview or anything. That should be a HUGE red flag to you right there. Why are they so desperate to hire that they’ll take you without even giving you an interview? And even if they do later say, “Your hiring is dependent upon an interview,” that means that their initial contact email was fraudulent. 

Research the company as best you can. See if you can find someone who has worked for them. Beware of smaller, private companies. They tend to fly under the radar and are prone to be even shittier. Then again, there was a woman who died of death by over work a few years ago and she worked for the biggest advertising firm in Japan.

Here’s an article from Business Insider about karoushi and black companies.

A 2016 report examining karoshi cases and their cause of death found that more than 20% of people in a survey of 10,000 Japanese workers said they worked at least 80 hours of overtime a month.

The Health, Labor and Welfare Ministry defines the threshold for karoushi as greater than 80 hours of overtime a month. Since this article was posted in 2018, a new law regarding overtime has been implemented by the Japanese government. Now there is a legal cap on overtime of 100 hours per month (and 720/year) for busier months, with the general upper limit set at 45 hours per month (360 hours/year). 

Even if a company isn’t black, be prepared for overtime. My company makes sure that every employee adheres to the 45 hours per month limit...as best they can. If you follow this blog you know that I have done 60 and 70 hours of overtime in certain months, because I am our only translator and when shit hits the fan I’m the only one who can handle it. 

However, my company is very good about making sure that I receive all of my overtime pay. Every single minute of overtime I do is properly reimbursed. Sometimes this means that if I work 60 hours one month, I will only report 45 that month, and then report 15 extra hours the next month. Or I will take a couple days off but claim that I worked (with my bosses’ approval, of course). 

I can’t speak for other companies for sure, but I fear that when this law was introduced in 2019, many companies did not change their business models and instead forbid employees from reporting overtime that exceeded legal limits, meaning they would be going without compensation. 

So be aware that if you are going to work in a Japanese company, you are likely to have overtime. Some people don’t, and congratulations to them! But it is an extremely real possibility. Make sure that you can handle it physically and mentally, and that you are being properly compensated. After my first month of Big Overtime, my boss told me, “I’m surprised that you managed to do all that. I thought that Americans had a poor work ethic compared to Japanese people, but now I see that’s not true.”

kinda racist, but thx

If you have an interview and it goes well and you receive a contract, ask to take the contract and have time to think about it. Then, have a Japanese person you trust read the contract and make sure there is nothing shady hidden in there. Contracts and legalese are difficult enough in my own native language--I don’t trust myself to catch something in Japanese. 

If your friend thinks that the contract is fair as well, and if you feel like the company has a good atmosphere, take the job. That is what I did, and I am glad I did.

Translation and Interpretation

A lot of people don’t know the difference between “translation” and “interpretation” and use them interchangeably, but they are actually entirely different tasks that require different skills. 

Translation: the conversion of written text from one language to another.

Interpretation: the conversion of spoken word from one language to another.

You will most likely be hired as a translator, because translation is much cheaper than interpretation. However, if your company is like mine, you will have interpretation work to do as well. You may be asked to take part in meetings and facilitate communication between the English-speaking and Japanese-speaking people, or act as a guide to a client from American headquarters, for example.

With translation, you usually have the blessing of time. You can look up a word you don’t know, you can think about the grammar, you can think about tone. 

But with interpretation, you need to be:

Listening to Speaker A’s English and mentally summarizing their words

Starting to say Speaker A’s words in Japanese while holding on to the bits that will come later because English and Japanese word order is so different

Continuing to listen to added speech from Speaker A as you concurrently are relaying their previous speech in to Japanese and retaining the parts that you can’t say yet because of word order.

Then do it all for again for Speaker B’s reply, and repeat. 

Basically, your mind has to be doing three things at once. Does your head hurt? Mine does. If I have to do simultaneous interpretation like that for more than a couple hours I literally develop a headache. 

I will NEVER recommend an N3 person attempt interpretation in a business setting. Nor N2 for that matter. It is hard and you do not have the benefit of time to think and double-check things.

Also, many people don’t understand exactly how difficult it is to do interpretation. I have to sometimes just say “Sorry, pause” to the speaker because my head can’t retain any more, especially if figures and data and dates are referred to. Thankfully my coworkers have come to understand my method and are just happy that I can facilitate communication for them. 

If you have any other questions regarding job hunting, please let me know and I’d be more than happy to offer what advice I have! 💖

[whump-tr0pes]

I heard your novel is self published (I'm pretty sure correct me if I'm wrong) which is pretty cool and I'm actually considering that myself! What made you choose that?

It is self published!

There were a few things that went into that decision. First, the statistics. In order to submit a book to a publisher, you need an agent. Only about 0.1% of books submitted to an agent actually get an agent. And once you get one, only about 5% books get accepted to big publishers. And even if it does get published, the average time between your book being finished, and your book being published, is 11 years. Even if you write a book and it gets picked up immediately, you’re looking at a 2-year timeline, easy. (That almost never happens, though. The only reason we hear about debut novelists getting these huge signing deals is because it is so rare.) The beauty of self-publishing is that it’s fast. You could go to Amazon right now and upload a word doc and a picture of your dog as the cover, and viola, you have a book. And, so much of the time, a book gets selected for publishing because people think it will sell, not because it’s actually good. 

I wasn’t really interested in any of that. Don’t get me wrong, traditional publishing isn’t wrong, it just wasn’t right for me. I wanted to get my book out there on my timeline, on my terms, without all the politics and gatekeeping that goes on in the publishing world. I wanted control of my product. I got to hire my own cover designer, choose my cover design, choose my editor, choose my formatting, choose my marketer, everything. I also keep much more royalties per book than I would with self-publishing. We’re talking dollars instead of cents per book.

I also didn’t want to have to drastically alter the content. I write whump, and whump isn’t a huge genre that sells. (So many mainstream books are whumpy as hell, but you start to focus on the actual whump and people get weird about it. Indeed, the first professional review for Honor Bound I got essentially said “I loved it but there was too much torture.”) When publishing, I didn’t want to cut out the parts of the book that I enjoyed, and that you guys enjoyed. I wanted to keep my book a whump book, without adding marketable things that I don’t like, or taking out things that I like. And, as my editor @kyliebean-editing pointed out when I came to her upset about that review, the torture scenes need to be in there to set up the depth of hatred Isaac has for Gavin in the next book, and the background of their relationship. But I digress. I get protective of my whump.

Something that I should point out is that it can be a high financial burden. With self-publishing, you are paying for everything. Everything I mentioned ^ up there (editor, cover design, formatting, marketing, etc.) as well as copyright fees, uploading fees, author copies, etc. are things that I paid for myself. You absolutely can have a self-published book without paying for things like an editor or a cover artist, but I personally wanted them because I wanted my work to be presented as the best I could make it. I have also submitted it for awards, professional reviews, and online advertisements. I am very fortunate that I have some extra money to put towards this hobby (because this is a hobby, just like any hobby you might spend money on) and I am not even close to making that money up yet. Someday, maybe? Hopefully? But unlike traditional publishing, this financial burden falls on you.

If self-publishing is the right path for you, I absolutely recommend it. Even if you do self-publish, you can still end up on bookstores’ shelves if you publish through the right manufacturers and know who to contact. You can find success in self-publishing. I can’t recommend my editor enough, if you are looking for one. If you have questions, I can answer them as best I can, keeping in mind that I am a dumbass who came across most of my answers because of mistakes I made. I can also recommend this YouTube channel, which is where I got so much of my information the first time around. 

You can find Honor Bound 1 and Honor Bound 2 on Amazon, with Honor Bound 3 coming next spring.

Good luck! Please let me know if you decide to go this route, so I can buy it!

[adrenalinesaint]

🖊️

Edward “The Riddler” Nygma ! Batman Comics / Mostly HC (previously written)

Gotham has, itself, a bit of a mockery of Times Square. On main in uptown, the screens that display alternating billboard advertisements hang overhead, and the neon lights from ritzy boutiques illuminates the flanks of either side of the street, creating the illusion of a tunnel of light and sound and movement that only big cities can accomplish. When he was a boy, Edward would stare up at the screens and imagine one day he’d be on them. Maybe he’d be one of those people they hire for ad campaigns. Maybe he’d be a politician. Maybe he’d be king of the world, someday.

It was a stupid dream, really. Moronic, actually.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and those who know better! Citizens of Gotham!” Twenty years later, those same screens display the face of a man clad in a bright green suit -- face hidden behind a domino mask and punctuated by a haughty smirk. “Do you feel yourselves melting from the hum-drum of daily life? Does your brain turn to goo when you turn on the telly? Is the world falling to absolute shit all around you? All the morons in the world got you down?”

The screens flash, a glitchy quality to the broadcast betrays it to be illegal -- unintentional. Somewhere, someone is losing their job for letting the company’s internet security be breached. Good.

“Well, good news! You don’t have to go to Walmart to buy a new toy that will make everything better! No, no, my beautiful, ignorant sheeple! All you have to do...”

The screens quickly cycle through a series of images: metallic cages, robotic constructs spray-painted green, cogs and wheels grinding bone into nothing. And then, the final image: a timer, counting down.

“Is die!”

Pulsating in the background behind the timer is a stylized green question mark on a fuschia background, and as the laughter peters out, the audio is replaced by a loop of that same voice repeating the phrase, “Too bad, so sad!” as the screen cycles through a column of text again and again.

With potent, flowery words speak I of something common, vulgar, dry; I weave webs of pedantic prose in effort to befuddle those who think I while time away in lofty things above all day, the common kind that linger where Monadic beings live and fare.

Practical I may not be, But life it seems is full of me!

What Am I?