#i’ve also been listening to learned hands recently but they’re a bigger name i think

[visenyaism]

hey I’ve seen you had reblogged an Asoiaf podcast that seemed a little different if and more interesting than the ones I’ve previously listened to, but I can’t found it anymore neither on your blog or on Spotify. do you happen to remember the name? Thank you very much if you do. Sorry for bothering you, I am at home with covid and very bothered, I could make good use of a good Asoiaf podcast.

hear me meow meow???? @translannisters runs that one it’s delightful

[weirdthinkingdragon]

Welcome To The Family (5/???)

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / here

Had no idea how to connect with Aizawa. Hopefully, this works. Sorry about my hyperfixation on this. 

Warnings- some swearing

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

I get ready for yet another day of babysitting Eri. Thinking back on the festival yesterday, the uncomfortable feeling between the two men is something I’d rather not experience again if possible. They’re together as well, so why did Hizashi put me between them? I could have sat on the other side of him if he wanted me beside him so bad. Don’t think Aizawa was too happy about it either with the narrow look he gave me, now that I think about it. It’s best to try to avoid those situations in the future.

While in my mind, I didn’t notice my friend in front of me and bumped into them. Ryo doesn’t look too good. They have bigger eyebags than I’ve ever seen and are frowning with their arms crossed. “Glad to catch you. I stayed up all night waiting for you.”

“Ryo, whatever it is, you could have just texted or called me.”

They frown deeper. “I’ve been trying to stay happy for you, I really have. I and a few of the others really miss you hanging out with us. We’ll even blast your favorite song the whole day and night. Just… Please join us for a whole day once again.”

I knew what they were getting at. Damn it, guilt is really starting to rise in me. I desperately want to hang out with them, but that stupid dinner I’m pretty much forced to go to this Sunday… Ugh, why couldn’t they wait until next Sunday!? “I’m sorry, Ryo, but they want me to babysit the kids again this Sunday. I told them I’m not available next Sunday though! We can hang out then!”

Their frown goes deeper than ever seen by me. “Come on, Y/N! We haven’t had a day to hang out properly in like, what? Months? Every time you return you’re too tired to join us. Those damn kids can go ONE. DAY. without you taking care of them. Don’t you think you’ve done enough for them yet!? The only day we had was Sunday, but for the last few you’ve been stuck with them AGAIN. For how much you take care of them, the adults shouldn’t even HAVE them!”

I nearly snapped at them for the last thing they said. They seem angry though, so I try to not let it get to me too much, or it could end badly for both of us.

It’s easy to tell they all care for each other, and taking one of them away from their little family would be greatly unethical. What also holds me back is remembering Ryo doesn’t know the story of the kids, or that the adults are heroes and teachers. Man, I wish I could tell them. Surprised they haven’t made the connection themselves yet of at least figuring out they’re teachers. “Their jobs are highly demanding. Trust me, they’d much rather be with their kids if they could. I’ve seen how they act towards them.”

“That doesn’t mean shit. For all you know, it could just be a front!”

I shake my head. “Don’t think so. Pretty sure one of them would be incredibly bad at acting.”

They glare at me. “Whatever you think.” They then storm off, leaving more guilt to eat away at me. Ugh, I feel like crying out of frustration.

The mold-quirked male comes up to me when Ryo leaves. “Sorry about them. They’re kinda in a bad spot with the police right now. They got a little too drunk and spat at an officer yesterday.”

“Again? I thought they learned their lesson last time from me scolding them.”

“Sadly, no. I think they’re losing control since their impulse control is gone.”

Now I’m more annoyed than guilt-ridden. Ryo is a few years older than me. They shouldn’t be such a child about it and need my help when they decide to drink too much. “Thanks for informing me, uh… sorry, I don’t think you ever told me your name.”

His eyes widened in realization. “Oh! Right! Just call me by my first name, Tadao.”

First name basis off the bat is a little weird, but he says it, so sure. “Right! Tadao, Can you keep an eye on them for me still? I’m still rather busy as you might have noticed.”

He nods. “I can do that. Just do me a favor, and try to take it easy for yourself one of these days. You seem a little worn out yourself recently.”

I shrug. “It’s more of what’s happened lately, and what’s on my mind I think.”

He seems unsure about my answer if anything about his dark brown eyes is to go by. He just nods again though and goes to follow Ryo.

I push what just happened to the back of my mind and head towards their home again. After the Ferris Wheel yesterday, Hizashi gave me a key and told me to use it to enter their house from now on since they might be too busy to answer the door. They haven’t had trouble answering the door before, but I’ve learned by now to not question Hizashi’s sporadic way of mind. It doesn’t ease the discomfort that I feel like I’m intruding by randomly entering their house though.

I unlock the door and enter to see a rather concerned Eri hugging the new stuffed animal with the dog and the bunny. “Hey, Eri. What’s wrong?”

It looks like she’s torn from being happy to see me, to having great worry. “Dad’s sick.”

Aizawa’s sick? He was just fine yesterday. I think she calls Aizawa “dad” and Hizashi “daddy” if I’ve noticed correctly. Sometimes it’s really confusing having same-sex parents and trying to know which they’re referring to. “Is Aizawa okay?” I ask, just to be sure it’s the right one.

She nods.

Hitoshi comes into the living room. “He’ll be fine. It was a quirked villain from the ambush yesterday. It’s not contagious, but he’s not allowed to go to the school for twenty-four hours. The principal said he’d have the other teachers kick him out if he enters the school. Even Recovery Girl and no one wants to deal with her wrath.”

“Recovery… Girl?”

He looks like he wants to slap himself. “Right. Uh… She’s the healer after our fights basically.”

“The name makes sense then.”

He nods. “In his shape, he can’t take care of Eri though, so we didn’t tell you to not come.”

“Sounds good,” I smirk, though internally I’m cringing at the thought of being alone with the quiet man. “So, you guys want me to check in on him a few times today as well I’m guessing?”

He rubs the back of his neck. “If you wouldn’t mind, that is. It’s obviously not something you’re hired for.”

I shrug. “It should be fine. I don’t think he’ll be very demanding of me doing things for him if I know him well enough by now.”

Hitoshi smirks in reply to me. “He’s too stubborn to even take cough medicine.”

“I didn’t expect anything different.” Seems rather childish though for a full-grown man. Not like I’d ever say that to his face though.

Hizashi comes out of what must be their bedroom and sees me. “Heya, little lovesong! Did these two fill ya in already?”

Love… song? What’s with the sudden nickname? He always seems to call people “listeners” or whatever, so maybe it’s just a more friendly type of thing?

He also makes his arms go outstretched and looks at me expectantly. He wants me to hug him? Again, this is really sudden.

Screw it, it won’t hurt anything, right? It’s just a hug. I hug him.

He squeezes a little too tightly and wouldn’t let me go for an almost awkward amount of time, even when I try to pull away.

I pat his back to try to get him to let go. “That’s long enough I think. You might want to go before you and Hitoshi are late for school.”

He lets go. “Right! C’mon, little Hypno-man!”

“Little? I’m almost as tall as you.”

“But you’re not yet!” He shouts as he bolts out the door. Hitoshi quickly goes after him. It just leaves a silence between Eri and me. I shake my head at their antics and look at Eri. “Do you think they even left him a glass of water or something before taking off?”

“Daddy gave him water before. A long time ago.”

A long time ago probably means a few hours at most. I sigh. Better check on him then. I go towards the door of their bedroom and knock on it. He doesn’t answer. Oh well, he must not need anything that badly. No, I’m not just trying to stay away from him as much as possible.

I go to walk away, but Eri gently grabs my hand and leads me back to the bedroom door.

“Why do you keep staying away from dad?” she asks.

“What do you mean?” I ask, trying to play dumb. She doesn’t need to know about adult things yet, such as not everyone will like someone. That should be their job to teach her. “Toshi and daddy notice you avoid him. He’s not mean though!”

Do I really have to tell her? Her questioning eyes are begging me to answer.

“It’s just… I don’t think your dad likes me very much. There will always be people who don’t like a person for one reason or another. I don’t know why your dad doesn’t like me, but I respect his decision and want to let him keep his space.”

“But dad doesn’t hate you!” She huffs.

That's a surprise to me. “Unless he tells me otherwise, I’m going to keep believing he does. And honestly, your dad kinda scares me.”

She looks away. “He can be kinda mean sometimes,” she looks back at me. “But he really cares for people!”

A part of me doubts it, but another part can kind of see it, especially with how he acts with Eri and Hitoshi.

I decided to try changing the topic. “I’ll check him in a bit. He probably doesn’t want to be bothered right now. Let’s go play with your stuffed animals for now.” I try to walk away again.

Yet again, she grabs my hand and drags me to the door. She opens it without knocking and makes me enter as well. I noticed the rather large bed before anything. It couldn’t have been a king. Definitely something bigger than that. It has a light red and black blanket covering the whole bed, including the paler-than-usual man under it. His eyes are open and looking at us, but surprisingly, he’s not glaring. I thought he would be from an interrupted entry…

I notice the empty glass on the nightstand next to him. “I’ll get you more water.” I then grab the glass and go to the kitchen. Eri stayed in the bedroom. While filling the glass, one of the cats rubs their head against my leg. The white eyebrows make me know who it is instantly. “Hey, Oreo! Why don’t you come to help your dad?” I ask him and shut off the sink after the glass is nearly full.

I pick him up with my free arm and carry them back into the bedroom. He immediately jumps out of my arms and goes onto the bed. Aizawa almost seems to grow a weak smile at the sight of the cat. I set the glass down back on the nightstand.

“Thanks.” He rasps, catching my surprise. I really wasn’t expecting him to thank me for it. He didn’t strike me as the type. He drinks some of it.

It’s quiet between us, and I want to do nothing but leave him be before the awkwardness gets worse. Plus, he needs all the rest he can get to heal faster. Or is the quirk he was struck with a time-based thing regardless?

Eri suddenly gets up from sitting on the floor and tugs me so she could whisper in my ear. “Talk to him!”

“I don’t think he…” I lock eyes with Aizawa who is surprisingly still not asleep and sigh. I have no idea what to talk to him about. What do you talk about to someone who has hardly ever said a word to you?

I then remember the explosive kid and nearly being hit. It’s worth a shot bringing him up I guess. “Had a close call with one of your students yesterday. Don’t know his name, but he nearly blew up my face if Midoriya wasn’t there.”

Despite his state, his eyes widen a sufficient amount.

“Toshi isn’t happy with him.” Eri pipes up with her arms crossed.

“No harm was done though, right? At least he didn’t hit me,” I shiver remembering his expression. “I’d rather not be in the line of his wrath again though. It’s terrifying to the point I almost feel bad for anything he goes against.”

“Bakugou.” He’s able to hiss it with annoyance. Okay, glad he doesn’t seem annoyed with me the same way he is with that kid.

Bakugou? Isn’t that one of the kids Midoriya told me causes the most problems in his class? “So he must be one of the kids you like to call “problem children”. Midoriya told me you call him that as well. Don’t know how he’s one, but I know if you call him that, you have a really good reason, so I’m not going to comment on it.”

“You seem rather… connected with Midoriya.” He says “connected” like it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

“Oh yeah! He’s a good kid. He comes around frequently with Togata,” His eyes narrow and my fond mention of Togata. He better not be getting the wrong idea, I don’t see either of them that way for obvious reasons. “It’s so great they’re able to wear dresses so comfortably. Well, Midoriya is still a bit uncomfortable, but we’ve been working on his self-esteem with Togata. I also still have to thank him for saving me from the Bakugou kid. I don’t think that could be fixed with him though from the feral energy he gives off.”

“Still have to-” he coughs. “Work on that then. He won’t be able to get anywhere if he keeps nearly injuring innocents.”

I smile at him. “I wish you the most luck with him then. You’re definitely going to need it.”

He replies with a slight nod and closes his eyes. Oreo climbs onto Aizawa’s chest and starts purring. He brings one of his arms out of the covers and pets Oreo. The cat’s purring gets louder in appreciation.

Eri lights up. “I’ll go get Mochi and Sundae!” She bolts out of the room. No! Come ba- and she’s gone.

For one stupid reason or another, I feel like confiding with him right now.

“You know, I hate to admit it, but I’m rather envious of you,” He quirks an eye open to look at me. “You have such a lovely family and a significant other that greatly cares about you. I can only hope to have a relationship like you and Hizashi in the future. It’s going to be so strange when I leave your family.”

His other eye opens to fully look at me. His eyes flash some sort of emotion I can’t read. Maybe I overstepped a boundary or said too much about myself? Shit…

“Uh… Sorry about that, Aizawa. That’s probably something stupid to go off about or to bother you with...”

“Shouta.”

“Huh?” I question, just to be sure I was correct in hearing him.

“Shouta. It’s-” he coughs again. “illogical for me to be the only one not called by my first name,” He looks at Oreo, then back at me. “You’re a part of our family. Even Oreo likes you. Sometimes not even I can pick him up.”

“A part of?... No, you’re thinking too much into it. I’m just a sitter that likes taking care of Hitoshi and Eri.”

He slightly shakes his head. “Same thing with Hitoshi. He’s never let anyone but us call him his first name. You’re different.”

I’m having a hard time accepting I’m special in any way. They must just be slightly delusional or something from having multiple bad sitters before. “I’m sure if you got a sitter similar to me, he’d have done the same thing with them.”

“Doubtful. For one, you’re the first that’s not us to not fear Hitoshi for his-” he coughs yet again. “quirk.”

Maybe I should make him stop talking so he can rest before more damage can possibly be done to his throat.

“I found Mochi!” Eri yells from somewhere outside of the room. She enters the bedroom, waddling like she did before with Mochi in her arms. He’s nearly being dragged on the floor, but only seems uninterested in helping her move. She seems to be having a slightly easier time than before carrying him. Not sure if he’s lost some weight, or if she’s gotten stronger. Maybe even both.

I laugh and go over to her to help her carry him. He’s still rather heavy. Heavy enough to cause a rather large dip in the bed when we place him on it. We place him down by Shouta’s feet. He doesn’t even move. Just flops onto his belly where he’s placed. I go over back by Shouta’s side, since that’s closer to the exit of the bedroom. I still feel like I’m intruding in their bedroom.

She immediately takes off again out of the room.

“Eri! I don’t think-” I’m interrupted by Shouta gently grabbing my hand. His hand is rather rough- probably calloused- and rather clammy. Most likely from him being ill. Uh… This is weird.

“It’s fine. The cats are a good distraction,” He lets it go before I can try to pull away. “That’s another thing. Even Eri bonded with you rather quickly. I’ve never seen her so happy to see someone besides us or Midoriya and Togata.”

I shrug. “It’s the previous sitters’ faults for not caring for her. She’s beyond adorable, and I honestly had the thought if something were to happen to her, I’d kill everyone in the room, then myself on my first day.”

He exhales his breath, almost like a chuckle. “Zashi says the same about you.”

I have no idea what to say to that. Oh! He must mean Hizashi would do the same thing for Eri, his mind is just mixed up on his words from his illness. Sounds a lot more logical than someone admitting they really like an adult they just met back then.

Eri comes in with the last and final cat, Sundae. He seems a little more uninterested in being in here than the other two. At least until Eri places him on the bed, and he sees the other two. He jumps onto Shouta’s stomach and tries to push Oreo off to take his spot on Shouta’s chest.

I can’t help but laugh. “You need a little help there?”

He grows the tiniest smile again. “No.” He pulls out his other arm from under the blanket and uses it to pet the other cat as well. That seems to do the trick as he stops trying to push Oreo off.

He coughs yet again. I feel rather bad he has to deal with it. “Would you like some tea maybe? It’s not cough medicine, but it might help your cough a bit more than the water is.”

He turns his head back towards us. His eyes again showing that unreadable emotion. “That's another thing. You’re caring. You’ve respected us the most. You didn’t even try pushing me to tolerate your presence, just accepted it.” Okay, that’s enough talking from you, you need to rest more. I swear, if he’s the type that suddenly has the urge to clean the house when sick… I’d do absolutely nothing. I obviously can’t do much against a man with years of grueling training, even when he’s sick. Might have Eri help me scold him though.

“I’ll get the tea. And do us both a favor, stop talking for now. It’s honestly great hearing you talk more for once, but now is really not the best time.”

“No promises.”

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

The rest of the day was rather uneventful, other than checking up on him a few other times. With how frequently he talked, I started to wonder if he and Hizashi somehow swapped minds. He must be one of those odd people who seem to be more talkative when sick, as clearly found out.

Leaving their house, my body freezes at the familiar feeling of being watched. For a moment, I wonder about going back into their house and asking them to bring me to my home. No, I can’t do that to them. They've already had a long day.

… At least, that’s how I felt at first. But the farther I walked, the more I wished I did. Fuck, the feeling won’t. Leave. Taking out my phone, Hitoshi is the first one to come up in my contacts.

“Hey, Y/N! Fancy seeing you around here. Heading home, huh?” Asked a familiar voice behind me. That feeling was still around, but just knowing Tadao was with me helped. I turn to face him. His hair was… Glowing green? It made him look like a glowstick, and made me wonder how I’ve never seen his hair do this before. Never met him in the dark though.

He laughs at my expression. “Mold isn’t the only thing my body can absorb. It can also do the same with fungus. Found out years ago I can make my hair glow from the bioluminescent fungus. Cool, huh?”

I smile at him. “Definitely! But you know I now have to call you glowstick, right?”

He groans. “Man, was really hoping to escape that, but I guess it’s deserved, huh?”

“It really is your fault if you don’t naturally have it.”

Because of his glowing hair, it was easy to tell he rolls his eyes. “Anyway, wanna walk with me back to the apartments? Just got off of work myself today.”

“Well, it would make sense, wouldn’t it?”

“Yep.”

We start walking.

“How’s Ryo holding up?”

He sighs. “Not well. Really starting to question their mental state. They told me this morning they don’t even want to talk to you for a few days.”

My face quickly becomes a frown. “Seriously? They’re going to act like this now?”

He shrugs. “Try not to let it get to you. We both know they can be overdramatic at times.”

I sigh. “I hate that you’re right.”

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Tag list-

@angelicblackwolf 

here ya go. hopefully it works!

[seijch]

futakuchi kenji + gender neutral!reader (no pronouns mentioned)

superhero au, action/fluff with a bit of angst

content warning !! (nongraphic) descriptions of violence, mention of alcohol

14.2k

recommended listening

BY DAY, you attend classes and sling drinks at the campus cafe. By night, you’re known as the Harbinger, an individual with the Gift of shadow and darkness. Your two jobs have never had any reason to collide...not until the appearance of a fellow Gifted by the name of Ace, anyway.

"Your next job is an assassination," says the informant. He's tall, with blond hair going a little unruly in the wind. The real attention grabber, though, is the unblinking third eye that rests on his forehead. You feel his fingers probing at your brain, prying it open to tell you everything you need to know about your next target. This was a commonplace interaction between you; there were eyes and ears everywhere. The landscape of your mind was the safest place for secrets and information.

This time, it's some bigshot CEO allied with the Seijoh Conglomerate. He's trying to curry favor with the much smaller Johzenji Incorporated.

Negotiations are on Saturday, Three-Eyes (you'd never learned his name, not even his alias, and he'd never provided one) tells you. I've given you the location. You should know how to get there.

"Got it," you reply as his grip on your brain recedes. "Anything else?" The young man shrugs.

"The usual. Fly high. Don't fuck up. It'll look bad on all of Karasuno if you did." With that, his figure goes blurry and blips out of sight. Left standing alone at the rendezvous point, you sigh and slip into the darkness, riding the shadows all the way home.

 "Let me guess," Futakuchi says, shifting his gaze from his notepad to you, "a carbonara, extra cheese?"

"You know it." Say what you will about the simple dish, but it's been your favorite ever since the restaurant opened down the street before your first semester of university two years ago. Your eyes trace the brick walls of the small establishment, flit over Futakuchi's back as he enters the kitchen.

Due to its proximity to campus (and more recently, your apartment), you've been a regular patron since its opening. Despite this, though, it was your friendship with Futakuchi (and his employee discount) that kept a broke college student like you coming back for more.

(It started with an economics class you'd both taken in your first semester to raise your respective GPAs. You knew vaguely of each other, never having any reason to interact.

It continued the next semester with a group project for your communications class, once again shared with one Futakuchi Kenji. "Do you want to work together?" had spilled from your lips before you could think it through. You weren't friends. You were barely acquaintances. He was just the only one in the class you felt familiar enough with to ask.

"Sure," he responded. "Let's meet at the cafe close to the quad.")

"Here you go," Futakuchi says, taking you back to the present. "Without you, I'm sure this old place would've gone under months ago," he chuckles, throwing a dish towel over his shoulder. He's thanking you, in his own roundabout way.

As always, you play along. "Aw, you'd miss me if I stopped showing up, wouldn't you?" He narrows his eyes at the grin you throw his way. You're sure he's about to hurl some sort of curse your way when an elderly couple walks past.

Schooling his features into something more refined, he gives you (and them) the smile of a saint. "Oh, please," he grits under his breath, "I give you three days tops before you come running back." You're left gaping at him like a fish, scrambling for a response, but nothing comes. His grin widens: he's won this one.

(After weeks' worth of research and countless cups of coffee consumed between you, the project was complete. You'd learned a lot about him — he was an electrical engineering major, played volleyball in high school, thought that Disney's Tangled was nothing short of a cinematic masterpiece — and the easy camaraderie you two had fallen into made your heart skip a beat.

Not that you'd ever admit it to him. He didn't need his ego to grow even bigger, lest his head get too swollen to keep upright. Whenever he walked into the cafe, the very same one you had your first meeting as partners at, to order his stupid chai tea latte, you would be forced to give it to him with a bright smile and held tongue.

You might've swallowed your feelings, but they've always been there, like a flower that had not yet met the right conditions to bloom.)

Saturday comes quickly. The venue is the most opulent hotel in the city, the crown jewel of the entertainment district. The whole place reeks of cigarette smoke, a result of the casino located on the first floor. You wrinkle your nose at the smell, darting between shadows to reach the room you're looking for.

Three-Eyes needs to work on his navigational skills, you think. The penthouse suite could've been better reached by taking to the skies and landing on the roof. (Plus, you've always liked the feeling of twisting the thin, watery darkness into wings with which to take flight.) You chalk it up to needing to exercise the utmost caution, and for good reason: there are two armed guards stationed at the door. No way around it.

From around the corner, you send your shadow to strangle one of the guards, sinking incorporeal fingers into his throat. He gargles as his body falls, and you curse as it thuds on the marble floor. The other guard's on full alert now, his gun locked and loaded. He tries to move, to look for the assailant, but he can't: you've pinned his shadow where it stands.

Inky black tendrils make their way to the guard, his eyes widening. You wonder, dimly, what he must think. The thoughts people have before their lives end at your hands has always been a point of speculation for you.

Not that you ever give them much time to think; it's a small mercy, to kill someone swiftly. You may be a criminal, but you’re far from a sadist.

You crack the door open, catch a glimpse of the scene inside.

The target's running his mouth, his glass of red wine coming close to spilling with each flourish of his hands. They're decorated with gaudy rings, each outfitted with a flashy gem. A small staffing of guards watches the scene, all stone-faced and no doubt better trained than the goons you took out less than two minutes ago.

The room's nice, furnishing sleek and minimalist. It's also well-lit, bringing a frown to your face. You were at your most effective when it was dark as pitch, but the cogs turn in your head as you formulate a plan.

What intrigues you the most, however, is the young man standing behind your target. His mask covers his eyes, as though he were attending a masquerade ball and not overseeing a critical business deal. It's outfitted with...card suits. One side the spade, the other the heart, with the club and diamond in the middle. His stance is relaxed, bored, even. You're not sure who he is; Three-Eyes didn't tell you about this. He must be a new addition, you think. He's not armed. Is he Gifted, like you?

Doesn't matter. The modern chandelier above does well to light the room, but you find purchase in the shadow of a stool on the kitchen island. You leap into it, molding yourself to the darkness as you lie in wait.

"Those are the terms and conditions of our deal," the CEO from Seijoh finishes, lacing his fingers together as he leans back in his chair. "Do you have any questions?" The Johzenji representative opens his mouth, but you're only half aware of his response.

Fact: When you're assuming the form of another shadow, you can't send your own to do your bidding.

Fact: Making this quick and easy isn't possible.

Fact: Confrontation is inevitable.

Fact: You have a bad feeling about the man in the mask.

That being said, you wouldn't have gotten this far in Karasuno if you were afraid to get your hands dirty, whether you liked it or not.

In a single instant, you emerge from hiding and trap the masked man's shadow before he can spring into action. All eyes are on you, but before the CEO can sputter commands, you send an appendage of darkness to pierce his chest. He gurgles, blood spilling from his mouth, before he slumps into the chair. The red wine spills all over the plush carpet, seeping in to stain.

The guards launch into action, forming a protective circle around the Johzenji representative. They're all aiming for you.

Perfect.

Before they open fire, you lock yourself in a barrier. The shots, as you predicted, ricochet and knock out some of the lights from the chandelier. Once the roar of gunfire ceases, you force the barrier outward to skewer your attackers.

They choke, last cries strained as their bodies fall to the ground. You scan the room, all shattered glass and bleeding bodies. Well. I should clean this up a little before I leave. You don’t dwell on the thought for too long, though; there’s still one person left on the floor.

The masked man's stayed perfectly still and silent throughout this whole encounter. (Of course he would; he wouldn't be able to move, even if he tried.) "You're good," he remarks as you close in on him. "It's just a shame," he tuts, sidestepping—sidestepping?—your attack, "that I'm better." He's broken from your hold, somehow, and is out the window (when did it open?) before you can get a hold of him.

"Don't take it personally," he calls after you. "You were just unlucky." You curse under your breath; Three-Eyes is not gonna like this. You shackle the Johzenji representative to the ground, looking down at him as he quivers in fear.

"Well then," you sigh, cutting your losses, "why don't you tell me all about this deal Johzenji is making with Seijoh, hm?"

There was a young man with the Seijoh CEO, you tell Three-Eyes, though you know he's long since sifted through your memories of last night to know. I don't know if he was Gifted or not.

We have no record of him. When we meet tomorrow, I'll give you a supplement that will let you temporarily see who around you is Gifted. Take it before your next mission.

You make the mistake of letting your mind wander, and curse his stupid psychic Gift when he adds, tone bone-dry, No, not a suppository. Supplements are taken orally. He releases his hold on you and you swear you see him shake his head at your train of thought.

(Really, it's not your fault the two words were so closely related; as much as you've given to this second job of yours, you weren't ready to insert anything odd into your most personal crevices.)

"Meet in the usual place tomorrow. I'll also be giving you the details of your next mission." That's all he says before teleporting away. You glance at your phone, color rushing out of your face in record time.

"Fuck!" You fling open the service door of the campus cafe, retying your apron as you rush in. Cramming the cash from Three-Eyes into your bag, you rejoin your boss on the floor. He's chewing you out, and just as well: you've extended your fifteen-minute break to something akin to a twenty-five.

You're only half listening. Instead, you're replaying the events of last night, the man in the mask the only thing on your mind.

No one’s ever broken free before. You’re staring at your hands, clenching and unclenching them in the motion to trap a shadow. How did he do it?

"You in for a long night?" you ask Futakuchi, setting his chai latte on the table. He's come during dinner hours, rendering the cafe mostly empty.

"Yeah. The professors in my department have been working us to the bone." He stops to take a sip, nodding in appreciation. "I mean, I get it. Top five engineering school and all. But shit," he huffs as you wipe down a nearby table, "I feel like I can't catch my breath." You clean the store as he rolls his shoulders, a brief break before his fingers fly over the keys of his laptop. It's companionable, the lo-fi tunes from the speakers the only real sound.

(You were no stranger to all-nighters with Futakuchi by your side. In fact, that was the only way your project could have ever reached completion.

"College is not what I expected it to be," he'd groaned one night, the two of you holed up in a corner of the library. It was getting late: you're sure the staff was going to kick you out any second now. You looked up from your laptop to see him with his head in his hands, tablet pen still between his fingers.

In truth, you'd also been hoping for more of an opportunity to let loose. This was supposed to be the time of your life, the transitory period between what remained of your youth and true adulthood. Instead, you'd spent all your time at work, in lecture, or working with Futakuchi on this damn presentation.

None of those things were inherently bad, but they certainly weren't in line with the more...entertaining college lifestyle you'd envisioned yourself leading. To sympathize, you'd told him as much, garnering a laugh as he agreed with you.

"Well,“ he’d looked at you then, eyes hooded with drowsiness, “at least we're in it together."

Your heart leaped to your throat, and you fumbled over your reply. "Who said I was going to stick around?" It sounded less like a verbal jab and more of a stab in the dark.

"And here I thought you enjoyed the mutually beneficial relationship we had," he lamented, a hand on his chest in mock hurt. "Never again will I let you use my employee discount." You'd kicked his shin under the table and told him to get back to work.

When you'd gotten home that night, those seven words had kept you awake, tossing and turning. You were brought together out of necessity, after all; who's to say that he'd stick around once the shackles of obligation were broken?)

The amount of light pollution in the city has never done your powers good, rendering the sky almost starless, but you'll be damned if it doesn't look amazing from above. You land at the top of the old clock tower, the building standing only because of its history. It's a relic in a city bustling with modernity, and you find solace in the low ticks and tocks as the seconds pass into minutes. 

You watch cars race by, blips of color moving in the cityscape. You'd met with Three-Eyes earlier to receive the supplement (he'd reminded you once more to take it orally) and the location of your next mission. Your head still buzzes when you shake it, his influence not so easily forgotten.

Your wings drip with liquid shadow; when you'd first come into your Gift, you had been surprised at the almost milky texture of the dark. You're stretching them out, practicing your control, when you're interrupted.

"Huh," he says. "I wasn't expecting to see you here." Before he finishes his sentence, you've bound him from the neck down in an uncomfortable sort of straitjacket. You tighten your hold; he's not getting away this time.

"Good evening to you too," he grins. "How rude of myself to not even properly introduce myself," he barrels on before you can get a word in edgewise. "They call me Ace." His voice is casual, like he's meeting with a friend and not tied up in front of someone who wants to kill him.

You've turned the wings at your back into razor-sharp edges that itch to skewer his poor body. One of them grazes his Adam's apple, and he tilts his head up in defiance, looking down on you. "So you're Gifted?" It's barely a question, but one you figure you should ask regardless. As much as you’d love to skip to the part where he lies motionless on the floor, the idea of never scratching that itch, never getting the answers you’ve been wanting since you first met leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

"What do you think?" he asks, placid smile pasted on his lips. In the blink of an eye, he's wriggled out of your binding—how? "Pretty good, if I do say so myself," he preens at his accomplishment. You make to end him once and for all, answers be damned, but he dodges every spike that comes his way. He clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth in disapproval, leaping out of the way of a particularly nasty advance that pierces the floor. "I introduce myself, act nothing but cordial, and this is the thanks I get?" He lets loose a long-suffering sigh that only pisses you off.

"Not like it matters. I already know who you are." You try to close the distance, but he's quick to widen the gap. "The Harbinger...did you come up with that one yourself? It's a nice name, for sure. A bit vague, if anything, but oh so frightening." He's overcome with fake emotion, the end of his sentence condescending. He has the nerve to talk down to you, and you return it by pinning his shadow before he can run away again.

You're almost there. He's within reach, but your foot gets stuck in the hole you'd made trying to get to him. You curse, the sound guttural as it comes from the back of your throat. "Darn," he simpers, throwing in a pitying snap as you yank your foot out. "You almost got me there too. Unfortunately for you," he shrugs, once again free from your grip on his shadow, "I'm getting bored. Do better.” If being such an insufferable asshole was a real Gift, you’re sure Ace would be among the first to manifest it.

"Well,” he says, voice closing the door on the interaction, “'til next time, Harbinger." Before you can even try to get to him again, he's gotten a running start. Your eyes widen as he jumps from what must be a terminal height to the nearest building—and lands it.

Ace? Three-Eyes asks, once again in your head. Do you know what his Gift is? He's rewatching your encounter with him, and you ignore his snide comments about how easily he managed to wipe the floor with you.

No clue. He didn't attack me. The admission causes Three-Eyes' eyebrows to raise as he plays the encounter over again, looking at it through a new lens. Frankly, you're getting tired of seeing your ass get kicked. Definitely a slippery bastard. He's probably working for Seijoh.

We'll send an agent to do recon on their Gifted. This could just be an independent. Seijoh was fond of attracting Gifted to their cause, promising wealth in exchange for power. Three-Eyes seems satisfied with what he's seen, and you shiver as he returns your mind to you. No matter how many times he does it, you don't think you'll ever get used to the feeling.

"At any rate," he throws over his shoulder, "don't fuck up tonight."

Seijoh is awfully fond of glitz and glamor, and it shows: the charity banquet is decorated to the nines. A part of you longs to participate, but you're here to gather information, to play the part of the fly on the wall. The waitstaff glides across the floor in a dance of service, offering champagne and hors d'oeurves alike to the chattering elite.

Take the tablet thirty minutes before you enter, Three-Eyes had told you. Once it kicks in, any Gifted should glow orange at the edges. A memory through the eyes of a stranger had entered your mind then, and in it you saw Three-Eyes outlined in neon orange, the edges softly blurred.

Sneaking in is much easier this time, a shadow creeping far enough past the door that you can slip in without a hitch. You're prepared to assess whatever shady deals Seijoh is setting up this time, but you see a man near the door stiffen. He's glowing orange at the edges, and you swallow. The man is big, with a shock of white hair. Leaning against the wall next to him is Ace, the orange outline bleeding in the space between the two Gifted.

"Harbinger," the unfamiliar face says, voice deep. You blanch, holding your breath as he turns to face you. He's fast for his size, head whipping in the direction you move to, taking the form of a different shadow. The guard detail tonight, armed to the teeth, focuses their aim where you hide.

This is bad. Gunfire claws against your ears, and you leap out of the shadow to put up a barrier before they tear you apart. Glass shatters. A lightbulb goes off in your head, feeling deja vu tug at the corners of your brain. You break into a sprint.

The security detail picks up on your plan, aiming one step ahead of you as you run to the now broken window. From the corner of your eye, you see one such bullet speeding towards you.

It feels like the world around you slows down, like you can see each detail of the dusky yellow metal as it hurtles to the point of impact. 

This is it, isn’t it?

The bullet will lodge itself (or worse, pass through) your midsection. This opulent room will be where you meet your end. They’ll clean up your body, mop up the blood. The cleaning staff is going to have their work cut out for them, you think.

You wonder if time slows for each of your victims before you take them out. You regret not being quicker about it; you thought you were doing them a service, but this? This is nothing but agony.

All you can do is keep moving. Your feet are heavy as one moves in front of the other.

The world returns to its normal pace.

Your momentum carries you forward. The bullet is off by what must be millimetres, grazing your back. You leap out of the window.

The last thing you see as you fly away is Ace's eyes on yours, heart hammering against your ribcage.

Three-Eyes has never been the most expressive nor the most emotional, so to feel the fury rolling off him in waves stuns you silent. "You failed the mission?" he asks. It's a rhetorical question, of course; he's seen your memories. Multiple times. "You had a job to do, and you...what?" His voice stays even, but the eye that rests at the center of his forehead trembles slightly.

He exhales. His third eye stills once again.

"Look," he reasons. "I know you're pretty new around here, but the higher-ups demand results. You cannot fail. Keep that in mind next time we meet."

Your informant leaves after that, phasing out of your sight. Your failure probably reflects poorly on him, too; you've never met the higher-ups, the head honchos of Karasuno, but you figure they must be forces of nature. Shame washes over you as you return home.

For the first time since you joined Karasuno, you don't return home with an envelope of cash.

“I feel like I’m seeing more of you these days.” Futakuchi sighs when you call him out, raising his hands in surrender.

“There’s a paper due at the end of the month. My GPA can’t take it if I fall behind, so I asked them to cut my hours at the restaurant.” He’s had impeccable grades since the day you met, but you figure they weren’t entirely borne of natural aptitude. You, on the other hand, have been taking on more shifts in an attempt to offset the cost of failing your last mission.

One paycheck from Karasuno was almost twice as much as you made at your day job. You close your eyes, see rent’s due date glaring at you. Three-Eyes was right. There can’t be any more fuck ups; you literally cannot afford it.

“Well,” you hand him his latte (he’d only admitted it once, but you were the one who made his order the best), “you’ve come to the right place.”

It's been getting colder recently. The chilly night air nips at your skin, sends goosebumps up your arms.

"I get it, this is a nice lookout spot," Ace says, jolting you out of your reverie. "But really? Once was bad enough. Imagine if I found you here while I was on the clock." You don't immediately move to kill him, so he stands a respectable distance away.

"On the clock? For Seijoh?"

"Who's to say?" he deflects.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It can mean whatever you want it to. Just because I'm seen with Seijoh doesn't have to mean I'm working with them." He says that, but his presence alongside some of Seijoh's bigwigs begs to differ. "At the end of the day, I'm just some guy with a mask on, right?"

"No."

He laughs, incredulous. "No? Are you denying it?" He taps his mask, the ornamentation of the spade shifting beneath his touch. "The evidence is right there, isn't it?"

"I meant that you're not just some guy." When you swallow, it's heavy. You've started having nightmares about that day, ones where you don't make it out alive. You were so sure the bullet would connect...until it didn't hit at all.

More than anything, you remember the look he gave you as you ran away. It's that gaze that makes an appearance behind your eyelids every night. You've given up on trying to piece it together by now.

"Aww." Ace tilts his head, pursing his lips in sarcastic affection. "You sure know how to make a guy feel special, don't you?" You (once again) start to wish you'd killed him where he stood.

Instead, you say, "What did you do?" He gives you yet another look you can't decipher, another thing to mull over alone in your room under cover of darkness.

"Who knows?" he shrugs, avoiding a straight answer once again. "Maybe you just got lucky. Why do you assume I had something to do with it?"

(He has a point; all you have to go off of is a look and a feeling. You hate that he's right.)

The only noise at this point is the steady tick-tock of the clock tower and the breeze passing by, a gentle tap on your shoulder, a kiss on your cheek. You don't respond, soaking in his words. He could be lying. He could also be telling the truth.

You're not sure which you'd like to hear more.

"You said you were off the clock," you say after the silence has set in long enough to change the topic. He nods, gaze focused on the few cars on the road below. "I take it whatever...arrangement you have with Seijoh isn't permanent."

"Is work all you talk about? Man, I hope you're not this much of a stick in the mud behind the mask."

That hits a nerve. "I'll have you know I am very pleasant beneath the mask," you defend. He smirks, casting a sideways glance in your direction.

"I'll believe it when I see it, Harbinger."

“Okay, be honest,” you begin, shutting the menu with a snap (as if you even read it). “Am I...uptight?”

Kenji inhales sharply, taking your menu with careful fingers. You’re well aware you’ve just dropped him in a minefield, but you watch him squirm with serious eyes. Ace’s words from the night before ring in your ears, and you’re itching to prove him wrong.

Poorly equipped to answer the question at hand, Kenji instead asks, “...You sure you want me to be honest?” He yelps when you aim to whack him with a roll of complimentary bread. “You were the one who asked!”

“You’re supposed to be a good friend!” you hiss between bites of another dinner roll.

“You asked me to be honest! What was I supposed to do?” he sputters. “Lie?” Kenji confiscates the roll of bread, uttering a mocking hum when you whine.

“Yes!” He doesn’t bother replying, muttering under his breath as he takes your order—and your makeshift weapon—to the kitchen.

You'd think that a business conglomerate with its fingers deep in the city's underbelly would do a better job at hiding confidential files. You guess Seijoh's got bigger fish to fry. Not that you're complaining, of course; this only makes your job easier.

(We've done extensive recon on this location, Three-Eyes had informed you. He was still tense with the knowledge of your last fuck-up, but you were given a mission regardless. It's where they keep their records of the Gifted in their system, hired or not.)

The job, for once, is simple. Get in. Collect the files Three-Eyes had drilled into your brain. Get the fuck out.

(Just watch out. They have this guy running point on their security. In your memory was the image of a man, hair dyed blond save for the twin black stripes running parallel lines around his head.

He...kinda looks like a bumblebee, you'd thought, hoping to draw a laugh from your informant. It didn't work. His jaw had hardened, and his eyes—unfortunately, not the third one—had rolled.

They call him the Mad Dog. If you see him, do not engage. His Gift—if you can call it that—is the ability to break bones and pop blood vessels with a single touch. Okay, yikes. You'd breathed a sigh of relief at the lack of examples Three-Eyes had given; he was often very thorough, but you were grateful he'd refrained from providing a visual this time.)

To his credit, Three-Eyes' navigation skills are getting better. Getting to the archives poses no problem, the office completely dark. If you got into a fight, you were almost certain you’d come out on top.

The only catch is the dozens of the drawers you'll have to open to find the files you're looking for. With a sigh, you fish out the small flashlight given to you by Three-Eyes the last time you were tasked with recon.

(I should also warn you, Three-Eyes said, that you might be terminated if you fail this mission. We won't kill you or anything like that, he'd assured you when you'd flinched. At least, I don't think so. But your memories of this time will be erased entirely from your mind.

His gaze was devoid of any levity, any mercy. I can put things in your head no problem, but I make no promises to be gentle if I have to take them away.)

You're thumbing through the files of the independents Seijoh has hired when you see not one, but two faces you recognize.

The first is the large man with the white hair that had managed to sniff you out from the shadows. His real name is redacted, the same as every other report, but you catch a glimpse of his designation. Bloodhound Unit 1-A. Fitting. You'd already collected the files of other members of Seijoh's bloodhounds; this was the last one on your list.

They all possessed similar enough Gifts, in the end: the ability to locate Gifted whenever they used their powers.

The second file you recognize is Ace, pictured in all his masked glory with a shit-eating grin. You stop to read this one; it’s not every day you learn the ins and outs of the biggest pain in your ass to date.

Gifted #1110 has the ability to manipulate the probability of events (moderate effect), the classification reads. This makes him uniquely suited to an escort position for negotiations with other companies.

That explains why you've only seen him around officials. You trace your encounters back to the beginning, to all his comments about luck. He'd escaped you because he'd willed it, forced the hands of fate in his favor.

This casts the events of your last mission under a different light: he let you live.

Why?

You take both reports, the last two files needed, and make your escape.

It’s midnight. The clock tower rings out behind you to welcome the new hour, but you’re not paying much attention. Bouncing around in your mind like an old computer’s screensaver is the project due at the end of the month and the need to confront Ace about what exactly happened the night of your last mission.

You're about to call it a night and leave the clock tower when he appears. "Why is it that every time I come here to think, you show up?"

"I wasn't aware you were capable of cognizant thought," you fire back.

"Wow. Okay. Low blow." You manage an indignant laugh from him. "And especially rich, might I add, considering I'm the one who's come out on top every time we've crossed paths."

You don’t bother beating around the bush; you’ve waited too long to engage in his verbal sparring matches. "You really are a lucky bastard, aren't you?" It's not a question. He grins in response, as if you’ve passed a test.

"Took you long enough to notice. I was beginning to worry I'd have to spell it out for you."

Your meetings at the clock tower become routine. Ace shows up at midnight, you notice, fond of startling you as the tower rings.

("Are you stalking me or something?" you'd asked at the start. "Is your friend with the white hair sniffing me out so you can work up the courage to ask me out on a proper date?"

He laughed at that longer than was really appropriate, long enough for you to wonder what could possibly be so bad about posing yourself as a dating prospect. Second occupation aside, you were a catch and a half, and you were about to let him know when he caught his breath enough to reply. "Don't flatter yourself, Harbinger," he wheezed. "If anything," he'd sniffed, now nonchalant, "I should be asking you that question."

"What was it you just said?" You tapped your chin, coming to a realization, "Oh. Don't flatter yourself," you replied flatly. At this point, he was standing next to you. You'd turned to look at him, then. Not to look in the way you'd done several times before, but to really look at your...enemy?

You didn't know what to call him. Live saver might have been accurate, but you would rather have taken the bullet than call him that to his face. You weren't friends, nor were you enemies—not right now, anyway.

You didn't know what to make of this in-between you've found yourselves in, this space between hate and friendship.)

To throw a wrench into things even further, you find that he looks...handsome in the low light. You add the thought to the growing list of things you'd be quicker to take to your grave than admit to him.

(There was truth to the statement, though. You couldn't make out all of his face, of course, but the slicked back hair paired with a strong jaw looked promising enough. It's not like he was spindly either, body all lean muscle. You'd been staring for much longer than was considered socially acceptable, and he'd noticed. "Like what you see?"

"Not at all," you'd lied.

The worst part had been the fact that checking Ace out—sizing him up—wasn't on your list of regrets. What it was on was your laundry list of things regarding Ace that you couldn't wrap your head around.)

You learn things about him, things you'd sooner learn about a normal person instead of someone you seek to kill half the time.

He likes dogs.

(“I had one back in junior high. When I move out of the city and into a real house, I think I’ll adopt one of the same breed.” He’d shuddered before continuing. “I could never get one of those small dogs, though. All bark and no bite.”

“I think they’re a perfect fit for you,” you told him.

“Oh, ha ha. Last time I checked, I wasn’t the one on a losing streak.”)

He spends an inordinate amount of money on candy.

("You should see my pantry," he laughed. "I used to really like those like…” he was talking with his hands, gesturing in the air, “sour gummy worms back in high school. I guess the habit of buying them never wore off."

"I’m surprised you don’t have cavities."

"Please. My dentist loves me.")

He refuses to admit to crying when Mufasa died in The Lion King.

("So what if I was five?" he'd huffed, crossing his arms. "That's no excuse.")

It's humanizing.

It's concerning.

Now, when you look at Ace, you no longer see an unexpected roadblock, the joker being put into play. You begin to agree with what he told you weeks ago: he really was just some guy in a mask.

You begin to wonder when you became so quick to agree with him.

Your fork twirls around the pasta, you and Kenji sitting cross-legged on your carpet as a Marvel movie plays.

You'd been the one to suggest a celebration, having made it out of midterms alive. He'd agreed, bringing over some of your favorites from the restaurant after his shift.

The movie is good (though Kenji's uncanny ability to chime in during emotional scenes makes your eye twitch, just a little), the food even better. Before you know it, both of you are blinking bleary eyes awake in the morning light.

"What time is it?" you mutter, hand slapping the surface of the coffee table you'd fallen asleep on in an attempt to find your phone. Kenji rolls his head around in a circle, trying to ease the crick in his neck.

"Too early. Maybe around eight," he yawns, trying to once again make himself comfortable on the couch and go back to sleep.

You, on the other hand, have never been more awake in your life. When you find your phone, you find that he's right—it's almost eight. Your shift starts at nine. At this time of day, it takes half an hour to get to work.

"Shit," you curse, forcing your half-asleep body to move and do as much damage control as you can manage. "I have work in an hour. You can leave now if you want, but you gotta be out when I am."

"Nah, I'll give you a ride. My place is in that direction anyway." There's something about the way he says it, his voice a touch deeper with the morning and the way it rolls off his tongue like he's said it a million times, that makes your heart clench. There's not enough time to dwell on it, so you let him stay while you get ready for the day.

(Somewhere, deep in the pit of your stomach, that same seed of infatuation you'd swallowed months ago threatens to sprout.)

The name Ace, as it turns out, is one he came up with himself.

"You really couldn't have come up with anything better?" you ask. "It's a nice name. A bit vague, sure," you parrot the words from your first meeting as Ace narrows his eyes at you, unimpressed, "but oh so frightening." Emboldened by his confession and greedy in the light of your victory, you tilt his chin to meet your gaze head on.

The touch is electrifying, like a spark igniting for the first time in a brilliant flame. You force it to fizzle out as quick as it came, hand drawing back in shock.

These midnight meetings have changed your dynamic with Ace. It's delicate, like a house of cards that stacks higher and higher with each encounter. You worry that the slightest deviation from what's been established might send the whole thing crashing down.

"The people at Karasuno were the ones who named me," you fumble, trying to defuse the tension. "They saw me flying when I was still learning what I was and offered to take me in."

Almost a year ago, you'd been discovered by two boys. It was embarrassing, in hindsight: you crashed into the taller one, leading to the other doubled over in laughter.

You learned that their names were Kageyama and Hinata, and they were pretty new to this whole Gifted thing, too. You haven’t seen much of them recently; once you three “graduated,” for lack of a better term, into full-time operatives, you often found yourself flying solo.

"So what?" Ace asks. "You just joined a criminal organization?"

"I didn't know it was Karasuno at first," you snap. "Not until it was too late. But I'm here now. Money is money."

"You could've just..." he lets the words hang in the air, trying to find the best response. "I don't know." Instead, he asks a different question: "Would you have joined Seijoh or done something else if not for Karasuno?"

"What difference does it make?" you ask. "When you break it down, we're the same. Our Gift manifested, so we joined the first organization willing to pay us enough in exchange for being the ones to do their dirty work. Besides," you huff, head tilted to try and find any hint of starlight in the night sky, "I'd be doing exactly what I do now if I was with Seijoh."

"...You don't sound very pleased about that."

"Yeah?" Your laugh is humorless as you chew on your bottom lip. "I wouldn't be doing this at all if I could afford it. This all started because I wanted to get in touch with my Gift and learn more about it." You bring up a web of darkness, warping it into different shapes in a show of control. "Just so happens they help me with my rent enough that I don't have to live paycheck to paycheck."

He's pensive, nodding along with your words. "You know, we should bring drinks up here sometime. I think we both need a break. You from your rent, me from my tuition deadlines. How 'bout it?"

Despite yourself, you reply, "Yeah. I'd like that." 

(Even worse is the fact that you don't think you want this to be an empty promise.)

You're at the clock tower again. The routine's stabilized into a weekly affair; it's unspoken between you two to meet on Friday nights, right as the day rolls over into Saturday morning. "Do you remember our last conversation?" Ace asks.

"About how you still owe me drinks?" Your legs are dangling over the edge of the tower, knocking against Ace's feet as the world whizzes below you.

"I thought it would be a potluck-style affair. We did establish that we're both broke, right? Why are you making me buy everything?"

"Wasn't my idea to get drunk with someone I've tried to kill," you offer. "Multiple times. I figured Seijoh's dirty money would be more than enough to afford a pack of shitty beer."

"If I'm going to drink with someone that's tried to kill me," for your benefit, he tacks on, "multiple times, I'm going to make it good. But that wasn't the part of the conversation I was talking about."

"Then what was?"

His shoulders tense, almost imperceptibly. You wouldn't catch it if you weren't sitting next to him. "Do you ever wonder..." He's reticent with his next words, as though they're better unspoken, "what would've happened if we worked together?"

"If this is some ploy to get me to join your so-called good side," you drawl, throwing up some jazz hands, "I'm afraid it won't work. We've been over this: it wouldn't make any difference."

"No," he says. He's not looking at you, but rather at the full moon that smiles at you from above. "I mean like...a world where it's always like this." He bumps his shoulder against yours, and you become hyperaware of the lack of space between you.

(When did it lessen? You could layer your hand over his, if you so pleased. Are his fingers calloused, are they warm?)

You force the thoughts back into the dark corner of your mind from which they came. "Don't go falling for me," you warn. (You're not sure who you're warning, exactly, but it's a warning nonetheless.) "You should know by now I won't be around to catch you."

His gaze is somewhere far away when he says, "I know."

There's a warm mug in your hands and a show you're barely watching on TV. You're alone, bundled in your comfiest blankets. You and Kenji had scheduled a movie night, but you had cancelled on him, citing your neverending pile of assignments as an excuse.

Somehow, seeing him hours after being with Ace feels wrong.

You take the day to unpack everything about Ace you normally save for the wee hours of the night, when your heart still races as you return home from the clock tower. Your eyes are glazed over as you analyze his every word, every action, try your best to read between the lines.

Then it hits you.

Why bother reading so much into it? Why expend so much energy into trying to figure him out?

It's not like—

Oh.

The realization of your feelings for your sort-of enemy isn't a loud affair, not at all like glass shattering or the freefall felt after leaping out of broken windows. It's quiet, almost unnervingly so.

Taking a sip of your drink, you step into this newfound truth as though it were your favorite pair of pants.

Here's the problem with this new truth: you're pretty sure that being in love with a member of Seijoh is off-limits.

"You'd think that in a city this big, we wouldn't be seeing so much of each other," he quips. Why is he always where you want to be? It had been annoying (until it wasn't), but on this fine Wednesday night, you’d wanted anything but to see him. 

"And here I was, trying to find someplace new." Instead of the clock tower you'd both made your unspoken rendezvous point, you've come across Ace atop a skyscraper.

"Aww, I thought we were friends." Is that what he thinks? You're not sure if that's a testament to the change in your relationship or a confession just shy of what you really want.

(But is this what you want? A life of secrecy and hidden eyes?)

Ace pats the space next to him, motioning for you to come sit. You don't move. You worry that if you do, all the things you’re keeping hidden will come tumbling out unbidden.

(Would it be so bad if it did?)

"I'm fine here," you squeak. Your voice is meek, only serving to raise suspicion.

"...Are you okay?"

(What are you supposed to say to that? That you think you're in love with him when you barely know him, don't even know what he looks like? Are you supposed to tell him that even though you're on opposing sides, his eyes are the ones that haunt your dreams? How do you convey that all you could ever want is for things to stay like this, the city cloaked in perpetual night with Ace at your side and in your heart?)

There aren't any words in the English language that could get the point across.

He draws closer, as if magnetized to you. If words can't do it, maybe actions can.

You don’t think. You don’t speak.

All you do is yank the collar of his shirt towards you, crashing your lips against his. The house of cards you two had so delicately put together is lit aflame, but in this single selfish moment, you have no regrets.

You pour gasoline all over everything you know, tilting your head to take as much of Ace as he's willing to give.

(He pulls you flush against him, and later on you'll try to puzzle out how much of his reaction was instinct and how much of him was wanting for this, for you. For now, you're more than content to burn against him, with him. You take his bottom lip between your teeth and pull.)

“I think I did something stupid,” you groan, head in your hands as Kenji scrawls your order onto his notepad. You’re his last customer, but he doesn’t bother pulling out his finest Food Service Voice for you, not when you’re like this.

“What happened this time?” His question only elicits another drawn-out groan as you drag your hands down the sides of your face. “Yikes. That bad?” Returning to his notepad, he mumbles, “Extra cheese,” adding it to your order.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” Kenji, to his credit, doesn’t push the issue.

The food is good, as always. It distracts you a bit from the crippling weight of what you’d done not even twenty-four hours ago. You even find it in yourself to give a heftier tip than usual.

And somehow, that’s enough.

For now.

Your next meeting with Ace is awkward, to say the least. 

The haze of desire that plagued your mind that night has cleared, and you're left to face the consequences of your actions. The stars above twinkle and titter in equal parts at your embarrassment.

He's waiting for you at the clock tower. A change of pace, considering midnight is a ways off.

"Fancy seeing you here." You're trying for normalcy, but it comes out forced.

"What can I say?" There's no wind tonight, and that only serves to charge the energy between you further. "I guess we're just drawn to each other." The accuracy of that statement sinks in, and you gnaw at the inside of your cheek as you roll it around in your head.

"About last night—" comes out of your mouth at the same time as "Listen, what happened—" comes out of his.

Nobody speaks. You're reminded of one of the first nights you spent with him here, the silence almost companionable. Tonight, it's oppressive, suffocating you with its iron grip.

"So...are you okay?"

"Am I?"

"I mean, I guess not. You didn't answer the question last time."

"I did answer it," you defend hotly, stiffening as the words spill from your mouth. Way to go, you grimace. You've done a bang-up job bringing up the one thing you were trying to avoid. Ace shifts his weight from one foot to the other.

"Do we...wanna talk about it?" he asks, giving a tentative poke at the elephant in the room.

"Good question." You're looking at the ground, eyes catching against the hole from your very first meeting here. "You seem to be full of those lately."

"Thank you," he replies, on autopilot. For a moment, it's like nothing's changed, the house of cards still standing. "I try my best." There’s another lull in the conversation. You’re not even looking at him anymore, instead finding much to observe about the hole you’d made a month ago.

Fuck it. You've already dug yourself six feet under—you might as well force yourself all the way to rock bottom. "You know that this," you gesture between you, "can't happen, right? You don't even know who I am."

"You seem to neglect the fact that I might want to." Not for the first time, you curse his ability to parry even your worst remarks. Right. Your heart flutters, a betrayal of the highest order.

"You seem to neglect the fact that when you're on the clock, we're at each other's throats."

He grins. "Maybe."

"Are you always this irritating underneath the mask?"

At some point in the conversation, he's come to stand one breath away. "Why don't you find out?" he whispers against your lips as he closes the distance once more.

You're seething, knuckles gone white as you clench your fists at your sides. You're not the only one pissed: Three-Eyes is about to pop a blood vessel, a vein bulging on his forehead. Whatever you think you're doing needs to stop. He plays your exchanges with Ace over, sneers when he sees you kiss like it were gum caught beneath his shoe. There are more important things than...this. 

You might have the worst informant in all of Karasuno, forced to watch as he skims through the month of private memories you'd tried to keep under lock and key. This was supposed to be a quick meeting to receive the details of your next job, but it seems he had caught wind of what you had been so eager to hide.

What you're doing endangers not only Karasuno, but you especially. There are fates worse than termination and much worse than death, he reminds you. There’s an undercurrent to his words, both a warning and a threat. See to it that you change your behavior before your next job.

"For the record," he says, quick to leave your mind, disgusted by what he's seen, "I kinda liked you. Shame you won't remember that if I have to wipe your memory clean."

He's gone before you can respond.

"You look like you just got broken up with," Kenji remarks as you shovel pasta in your mouth. When your only response is a withering glare, his voice softens. "Alright, what's going on? 

"It's nothing," you lie. You're at the restaurant to eat your sorrows away, but the reason why is a can of worms you can't exactly afford to be forthcoming about. Explaining exactly what mess landed you halfway to sobbing with each bite you take to Kenji of all people would only end with you behind bars for all you've done. "I'll be okay, I just...really needed some pasta."

He doesn't look like he buys it, but he backs off. It's a half victory you're more than willing to take. "If you do need help, you know who to call." You nod, unable to respond with your mouth full.

When it's time for you to pay, Kenji emerges from the kitchen to tell you that just this once, your meal is on him.

Kenji's taking his break, sitting right across from you as if he hadn't been waiting your table less than five minutes ago. (His manager had shouted for him to take his break in the back, but Kenji, it seems, has long since mastered the art of selective hearing.) He doesn't say much, scrolling through his Instagram feed while you eat. You continue in relative silence, the only real noise being the sound of your fork against your plate. 

You're more than halfway done with your meal when he pipes up. "Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did."

He rolls his eyes at you, locking his phone and putting it down. "Ha ha. Very funny. I'll be in the front row of all your stand-up comedy shows," he says, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Thank you," you reply with a smile. "Anything for my number one fan." He pulls a face. "What did you want to talk about?"

Despite being the one to start the conversation, he's clamming up. "Forget it," he says, eyes focused on the people passing by outside rather than on you. "It's not important, anyway. Just some relationship troubles," he lets slip.

"Oh?" you ask. You're in much of the same boat, though you suspect that Kenji, at least, has met someone that he can reasonably be with. "What's wrong?"

"I'm with someone right now," he blurts before he can think it through. "Or I mean...sorta with someone."

"What does 'sorta with someone' mean?"

"I mean...we see each other every now and again, but our relationship's never been clearly defined. I know the feeling is mutual, but there are some," he gestures with his hands, "obstacles stopping us from being together."

"Like?" Kenji's never come to you with anything like this before, but he's being rather secretive about this whole affair.

"We're not...meant to be together?" He doesn't sound sure of that answer himself, considering his wince. "That's not right. There are just...a lot of factors stopping us from being together, that's all."

You twist your straw between your fingers before you take a sip. "Sometimes, timing is a big factor," you tell him. "Maybe you're not meant to be together right now? In that case, it might be better to end things before they go too far." Kenji nods, soaking your words in. 

"At the end of the day, Romeo,” you remind, "the only person you have to please is yourself. What do you want?"

"The only person you have to please is yourself," he repeats. Louder, he says, "I know what I want. Don’t really know what I’m gonna do about it, but..." he rises, his break over, "you know. Thanks, I guess.”

You do, in fact, know. "Anytime."

Pocketing his phone, Kenji whisks away your empty dishes and returns to the kitchen.

Solving his relationship problems had been so easy. You only wish untangling the mess that was your own was that simple.

>> (11:08 AM) kenji: are you free after your shift today

>> (11:13 AM) you: yeah

>> (11:13 AM) you: why?

>> (11:14 AM) kenji: no reason 

Sure enough, when the bell fixed to the door signals a customer's entrance towards the end of your shift, it's Kenji you come face to face with. "The usual."

"No please?" you ask, typing in his final total.

"Sorry, we haven't reached that level of friendship yet.” He pays with his phone, the screen displaying a blue check before he pockets it. "Ask me again in a few months."

"My bad. I seem to have mistaken our months of companionship and movie nights for something other than close friendship," you say, scribbling the name Coochie-kins on the side of his cup. "How will I ever make it up to you?" Your voice is monotone as you pass his order to your coworker. A quick glance to your watch tells you that Kenji is your last customer. Untying your apron with practiced ease, you clock out.

When you emerge from the back, now dressed in casual clothes, you approach Kenji. "Well? Not studying today?"

"Nah. I needed a break. Mind joining me?"

Before you know it, you're at an arcade. It's one of those modern ones, revamped for all ages and teeming with all sorts of bells and whistles. You stop at the entrance, peering into the glass where a large stuffed turtle calls to you. "You want it?" Kenji asks.

Right now, you're not sure if you've ever wanted anything more. After a quick stop to load up a card with enough credits to make your wallet ache, you return to the crane game. "Hit me," you tell him, and he swipes the card for you, looking amused.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

You're a fucking supervilain working for one of the most prolific criminal organizations in the city. This stupid crane game doesn't stand a chance.

...is what you told yourself three attempts ago. The turtle slides out of the crane's grip once more, taunting you. You resist the primal urge to bash your head against the glass, instead opting for a drawn-out groan. "Is it even worth it?" you mumble.

"Let me try," Kenji says, hip bumping against yours as he nudges you to the side. "Watch and learn." He cracks his knuckles as he grips the joystick, fingers feather-light as they rest on the buttons to engage the crane. The setup looks exactly the same as your previous tries, and you scoff as he presses the button.

The turtle goes up. Big deal, you think. It'll come down before it goes through the chute. The game is rigged, anyway.

Or not.

The turtle lands neatly in the pickup zone.

"What'd I tell you?" he asks, like it was nothing. "Sometimes it just needs that magic touch." He wiggles his fingers for good measure.

"Wh-" you sputter. "How?"

"It's like that episode of Spongebob," he explains, handing you the turtle. "Be the crane."

You resolve to beat him at something, the competitive side of you flaring up.

(It's the start of a losing battle. Kenji hands your ass to you in every game, be it skeeball or basketball or even those awful ones that demand a button pressed at just the right time. The arcade staff double, triple check the amount of points your card's accumulated.

It's kind of ridiculous, really, but you leave with a Nintendo Switch you claim joint custody over, so it's not like you're complaining.)

"Why did you call me out, anyway?" you ask, the turtle you've named Chichi (after the Dragon Ball character and not Kenji, thank you very much) in your lap. He glances at you before returning his eyes to the road, fingers drumming on the steering wheel.

"I said it earlier, didn’t I? We needed a break. I also wanted to thank you for last time." It’s been a couple of weeks since that day; you don’t think you would’ve remembered if not for how out of the blue it’d been. You’re kind of surprised he’d been thinking about it, really.

"What did you do about it?"

"Turns out, I didn't have to do anything," he exhales. His voice is bitter when he says, "I got ghosted."

You wince, sucking in a sharp breath through your mouth. "Ouch. Sorry to hear that.”

"Don't worry," he says. "Not like you had anything to do with it."

Your next job goes off without issue 

You don't see Ace at all.

It's been almost a month since that night. Does he still shows up at the old clock tower at midnight in search of your silhouette? You would’ve done more, would’ve said a proper goodbye, but you’ve got bills to pay. Drawing Three-Eyes’ ire is the last thing on your to-do list.

You count the cash given to you by Three-Eyes, toss it onto your nightstand. Unfortunately, this isn’t some fairy tale where you can have your cake and eat it too.

(But was it so bad to long for that bit of fantasy?)

You trade your view of the city at the dead of night for pasta and movie nights on Mondays.

Weeks bleed into months, and you draw closer and closer to Kenji. When he asks if he can kiss you, fumbles with the words a bit before you leave his car, you let him.

He leans over the center console, one breath away, giving you one last out if you need it. You let him close the gap.

You like Kenji, you do. 

But when your lips meet his for the first time, it's not the same. Ace might not be dead, but you're chasing after his ghost all the same, seeking him out in everything and everyone. What was once explosive, electrifying, even, barely manages to simmer in the pit of your stomach. It's not enough to boil over.

You'll take it.

(With your eyes closed and fingers tangled in his hair, you can almost taste the night winds on your tongue, hear the clock tower tick with each passing second. You tell yourself that maybe this is good for you, that the day will come where you see Kenji instead of longing for Ace.)

In the end, being with Kenji isn't at all what you expected. It's not at all what you wanted, either.

It's like coming home and finding out the hard way that all the furniture's moved three inches to the left: not immediately apparent...until you stop to wonder why you keep stubbing your toe on the coffee table.

"Kenji," you pant, pulling away. This is how your movie nights tend to end as of late, your hands in his hair and you situated on his lap. "What-" He's not in the mood to talk tonight, it seems, instead peppering kisses along the junction between your shoulder and collarbone. "What are we doing?”

For a minute, you think he hasn't heard you. "What do you want it to be?" He's leaning back on your shitty couch, eyes hooded and hazy. His face is framed by the low light of the action movie behind you, his chest rising and falling. You know that if you pull him back in now, you can safely bury the topic, cover it completely with your lips on his. 

They say ignorance is bliss, after all.

But your toe's been stubbed to the point of bleeding; there's no ignoring that.

You've spent countless nights examining your feelings. You've held them up to the light, ghosted your fingers along the hairline cracks that run down the sides. And despite all your introspection, the best you can come up with is "I don't know." Even as the words come out of your mouth, they feel like the wrong answer.

The three words hang in the air between you, cruel fingers of guilt and indecision digging into your skin, kissing invisible bruises that bloom purple. For once, Kenji is at a loss for words. The clarity's returning to him, you think, bloodflow returning to his brain. He goes through several emotions you can't place nor process in a matter of seconds.

It's then that you ask yourself the question: What is this to him? Some part, selfish as selfish can be, hopes that you're just as much of a distraction to him as he is to you. It's much better than the alternative; better to set each other alight instead of stoking a fire for someone else.

"Right." The word comes out in a single, stunned breath. "Well," he says, moving enough to force you onto the couch, "call me when you think you've figured it out."

You don't get a chance to reply before he's out the door. The movie you hadn't been watching seems louder now, brought to the foreground of your misery.

You tune it out.

If Three-Eyes is put off by the look in your eyes, the anger that's taken root, he doesn't show it. A tactful move on his part, really; you're just about ready to tear someone's head off if they so much as breathe the wrong way 

He has no reason to stick around. "You know what to do. Good luck." he says, waving a hand around in noncommittance before vanishing.

He's here. Of course he'd be; Three-Eyes had told you as much. Under the darkness of the new moon, you set out to strike a decisive blow to Seijoh's throat.

Tonight, you're aiming for Seijoh's headquarters, where their current leader—a man known only as the Grand King—happens to be holding a very important meeting.

Security here is no joke, and you find yourself creeping around above the shadows rather than within them. The Grand King's spared no expense, his bloodhounds roaming the halls. If you slip up, even a little, you're sure to meet your untimely demise.

The Grand King himself is younger than you expected. He's maybe a year or two older than you; much too young to be running a business conglomerate rife with seedy dealings and the law enforcement on its payroll. (He's also kind of cute, but this is neither the time nor place to dwell on that thought. You shiver when you remember Three-Eyes will no doubt catch this remark when he reviews your performance.)

Standing to his right is another man you've only heard about: the Grand King's most faithful Knight, at his side at all times. Nobody that's ever learned his power has come out alive. Not even Three-Eyes had any clue. His file wasn't with the others when you'd been sent to their archives, leaving you completely in the dark.

To the Grand King's left is Ace; you guess even the mightiest king needs a trick or two up his sleeve. You’re slinking at the doorway, body pressed against the wall, when a voice calls out.

"Welcome, Harbinger," the Grand King greets, a cheerful smile on his face. "We've been expecting you."

Shit. How did he know? You're about to make a break for it, to cut your losses, when strong arms hold yours in place. When you wriggle around enough to see who's got you pinned, you see the same bloodhound from last time, white hair and all.

"You're here to kill me, aren't you?" the Grand King asks, though there's no question about it. You grit your teeth, reach out for his shadow with your own. Your shadow wraps its fingers around his throat without remorse.

Then the Grand King snaps his fingers, and you're forced to squeeze your eyes shut.

It's bright, like he's turned the intensity of the sun itself on you and then some. You barely have anything to work with, light at all angles doing well to chase away the darkness. The Grand King walks toward you, and your mouth curls in a snarl.

He takes two fingers and tips your chin up to meet his gaze. "You're all they sent?" His brow furrows. "I was expecting more of a fight." Whatever he sees in your eyes causes him to lose interest rather quickly, his fingers dropping. He wipes them on the fabric of his pants as though you were a speck of dirt. "You're just a rookie. I was hoping Karasuno would send their biggest and baddest after me," he sighs, palm pressed to his forehead in woe. 

The Grand King has mastered the art of dramatic timing, whether he knows it or not.

There's a deafening boom that rattles your being at an atomic level. It's from the ground floor, but you can feel it shake the furniture at the penthouse all the same. You exhale, shaky and suppressing a grin.

The plan is going off without a hitch.

You've never worked with the other Gifted in Karasuno, so when Three-Eyes told you you'd be joined by two familiar faces, you knew you couldn't pass up the opportunity.

Hinata bounds in, a smile on his face. Between the taller, more intimidating men in the room, he doesn't look like much—until he bends the white-haired bloodhound to his will. The larger man's grip loosens until he lets you go, eyes unable to leave Hinata's.

The temperature drops, goosebumps snaking up your skin. Not far behind Hinata is Kageyama, eyes dark with purpose as he walks towards the Grand King. A swirling storm of snow and hail orbits him, and you feel your fingers go numb when he passes you by.

"Oikawa," he says. The Grand King's Knight moves to stop the Karasuno operative, but Oikawa holds up a hand, orders him to stand down. Despite the fact that the Grand King isn't much taller than Kageyama, he manages to look down on him nonetheless.

"Tobio." Wait, what? 

You don't get to see what happens next, your attention stolen away by Ace right as Kageyama attacks. His hailstorm takes out much of the lights with it, giving you the opening you need.

"Remember me?" he asks, smile mirthless. "I was wondering where you went. So much for getting drinks together, huh?" His jaw is clenched as he dodges the spears of shadow you fling his way. You try to catch him, to lock him in place, but he evades you every time.

"Bastard," you spit, growing more frenzied with each second that passes.

“Oh, I just got lucky," he says with a thin smile, taking off. You know he's trying to distract you, to stop you from joining the fray. You know that he knows you're drawn to him, even now.

He's running out onto the roof of the building, but you finally get a hold of his shadow. Yanking it harshly in your direction, you force him to the ground.

Your feet hit the concrete, each step inching closer and closer to the decisive ending. Ace has done nothing but hopelessly entangle you in an impossible knot; the only way out, you think, elongating your fingers into sharp points, is to cut through.

Fact: When Ace makes contact with the ground, his mask clatters, having fallen from his face.

Fact: Your eyes are wide, so wide they feel like they might fall out of their sockets.

"Well?" Ace asks, only it's not Ace.

Fact: Ace is Kenji.

It's Kenji, and he's spitting blood, rubbing the spot where his jaw connected with the floor.

It's Kenji, with nothing but malice in his glare.

"What are you waiting for, Harbinger?"

It would be so easy. One move, performed with surgical precision. You've done it countless times before. You know how to make it quick. You know how to make it painless.

But Kenji is the one behind the mask. And slowly, all the pieces begin to fall into place.

("Read it and weep," he teased, showing off his grades. "How does it feel, knowing that you're talking to the future Albert Einstein?" You knew he was baiting you into either a battle you wouldn’t win or compliments he’d refuse to let you live down. You played into it all the same.

"What the fuck," you exhaled. "Have you ever gotten a borderline grade?"

"Nope." He pops the p sound, grin on his face growing wider. "Guess I'm just that lucky.")

("Tell me about yourself," you told him, yawning with the late hour. Classes had been taking their toll on you, so you’d flown up to the clock tower to take a break. What you hadn’t expected was to see Ace there, wind displacing his hair ever so slightly. 

"What, so you can rat me out to your murder of crows? No, thank you."

"What's your favorite color?" you asked, as though he hadn't spoken at all.

He’d given you a look, but responded anyway, seeing no harm in such an innocent question. At the time, you hadn’t, either. "...Believe it or not, it's actually pine green.”

"Really?" You turned your head to look at him. You were expecting maybe black or navy blue, but green? "Why?"

"I don't know. They were my high school's colors. I guess I saw enough of it around and on me all the time that I ended up liking it.")

(Sometimes, in the right light, you always thought Kenji looked like Ace. You dismissed it whenever it came up. You thought you just had a type. In a way, you suppose you do.)

You swallow in a poor attempt to rid yourself of the lump in your throat. Your mouth opens to respond, but no words come out. What is there to say? There's no way you can unmask yourself right now, reveal to him that his enemy and almost-lover (two different times, to boot) are one and the same.

So you don't.

Your mouth closes, sets itself into a hard line.

And you run.

Your hold on his shadow fades before vanishing entirely once you get far enough, but you don't care. You take a leap of faith off the roof, relying on your wings to come together before you hit the ground.

You're at the clock tower for the first time in what feels like forever. It hasn't changed. You’d flown here on instinct after fleeing Seijoh’s HQ. That’s not surprising, of course; you’ve been longing to feel the wind from up here for almost two months now.

"Why did you let me go?" Ace—Kenji—asks. You don't turn around, and you don't run away. In retrospect, you're not surprised to see him here, either. He must have known that this would be the first place you'd go. "You've never been the type to hold back. Why now?" You turn your head just enough to see his folded arms, his sharp glare.

"I'm just returning the favor from last time. We're even now."

"Last time, I wasn't the one trying to kill you."

"Does it matter?" You can't do this right now. Knowing who's behind the mask is too much for you to take, and you haven't even thought about the implications yet. "Leave me alone."

"Leave you alone?" Kenji's raising his voice, but you can't look at him. You watch the hands of the clock above move instead, counting the seconds in your head. "Like you left me alone the second things got too real for you? Was this all just some twisted game you tried to play to get in my head?" He's accusatory, poison dripping from each word. Beneath it, the question he's too scared to ask: You threw me away so easily. Did I mean nothing to you?

"I did what I had to do." He's about to lash out with some scathing retort, but you cut him off. "It wasn't my choice.

"Oh, like Karasuno wasn't your choice? It's always about what you have to do," he growls, coming so close that you berate yourself for never knowing that Kenji and Ace were one and the same. "Maybe you should start living based on what you want instead." It’s a cruel echo of the advice you’d given to Kenji, your own words twisted and thrown back into your face.

But that's the thing, isn't it? "I don't know what I want." You’re lying.

You’re lying, and he knows it.

He's reaching out for you, meaning to come closer as you aim to pull away, his hand colliding with the edge of your mask. The momentum of two opposing forces end with your mask caught between his fingers as it lifts off your face.

(You know what they say: an eye for an eye makes the world go blind.)

Kenji—Ace—goes still. His shoulders slump, anger leaving him instantly. Behind you, the clock ticks and tocks, steady despite the metaphorical rug being pulled from underneath you both. He's incredulous, whispering your name as he struggles to process the same realization you'd only come to hours before.

The fire in his eyes has gone ice cold. You barely catch your mask when he tosses it to you.

And then he's gone.

>> (12:08 AM) you: kenji i'm sorry

>> (12:08 AM) you: ididn't know i swear

>> (12:11 AM) you: can we please talk about this

>> (12:12 AM) you: please say something

>> (1:29 AM) you: i'll be here

>> (2:17 AM) you: good night

The next few nights are sleepless. You've (once again) done a bang-up job cutting both (can you call it that?) Ace and Kenji from your life. The first thing you do when you wake up in the morning is roll over, unlock your phone in the hopes that the ache that's settled in your chest can find relief.

It never does. What greets you each morning, after each good night sent, is a one-sided conversation with two little words tucked at the bottom: Read yesterday.

After almost a full week of this, of mornings on your phone and midnights hanging around the tower, your phone vibrates.

>> (2:32 PM) kenji: meet me at the clock tower tonight

He's already there when you touch down, wings disappearing as soon as your feet kiss solid ground. He's staring up at the clock: ten minutes til midnight. "How long did you know? 

"I didn't. Not until your mask came off."

"I see." Then: "Did you like Ace more?"

"No." He scoffs, but you barrel on. You might as well show your hand, lay the cards on the table. "You remember back in our second semester, when we had that project? Believe it or not, I..." It’s hard to admit, even if it had been years ago. “I liked you, back then. Kenji you, not-” you’re fumbling with your words, but he gets the hint. The truth of it is enough to bring him to face you.

This isn’t a conversation between Ace and the Harbinger, this is a conversation between you and Kenji, masks nowhere in sight. The sight of Kenji set against the clock tower makes your stomach flip, his eyes boring into your own.

"Did you?"

"Yeah. Took me a while to get over it. But then Ace came, and I liked him too. I guess I have a type." You're trying for humor, a shot in the dark. To your surprise, it works, drawing a chuckle from him. "And uh," you add, "sorry for...ghosting you." Kenji quirks an eyebrow. "They threatened to wipe my memories if I didn't stop. Maybe worse. I didn't wanna find out. Sorry," you tack on.

"Yeah. I get it. You did what you have to do," he says, and this time, there is no malice to be found.

There's one thing left to apologize for, but your attempts at it layer over each other.

"What are you apologizing for?" you ask.

"What are you apologizing for?" he fires back.

"I, uh." You're at your most eloquent tonight, it seems. "About the past couple of months..."

"Yeah. I have to ask...were you using me to get over," he pauses, realizes how absurd the question sounds, "me?"

"Will you be mad if I say yes?"

"No. I was," he gestures with both palms, "doing the same thing. Trying to get over getting ghosted...with the person who dropped me in the first place. Just my luck, huh?" You snort. 

"Sounds like the plot of a bad romcom."

It all connects then, ridiculousness and all. When two sets of unhidden eyes meet, they crinkle into crescents, you and Kenji breaking into laughter. When your stomach hurts and you wipe tears from your eyes, you ask, "Do you...want to start over?" It's hesitant. You two aren't perfect. There's a good chance you're going to fuck up somehow.

But you know what you want, and it's Kenji—with the mask and without.

Kenji holds out his hand. "Hi. I'm Kenji. When I need to pay for tuition, I'm Ace. What's your name?"

The clock chimes then, twelve times with the coming of midnight. You take his hand.

The nights are better with Kenji at your side, leaned against his shoulder. The clock tower's pleasant as always, city alight below. It's been a long time since you've felt the need to wear a mask up here. You find that you see more of the view nowadays, anyway. "Whatever happened to getting drinks and coming up here?"

"We're both still broke," Kenji replies. "We could go and get some, but..." he wraps an arm around your shoulder, bringing you closer, "I'm not in the mood to move."

"You and me both."

"Next time?"

"Next time."

("I hate to say it," you mused, "but I guess you can be kinda charming when you want to be." Before his ego got too swollen, you added, "Sometimes."

"You're not so bad yourself," he murmured. There was a smile playing at your lips as you drew closer and closer to him, now a breath away. "Tell me, Harbinger," and this time, when your name came from his lips, there was no trace of anger or pain underneath, "am I going to get lucky tonight?"

"Why don't we find out?")

Three-Eyes stops your memory of that night rather early, and you're not sure if you're imagining it, but the tips of his ears are distinctly red. "All's well that ends well, right?" you ask with a cheerful clap of your hands. The corners of your mouth are curved in a smirk that your informant only responds to with a stern glare.

"I'll let it slide, but in the future, I'd recommend not...fraternizing with the enemy." His tone is clipped, which only serves to widen your grin.

"Oh, but he's not the enemy anymore, is he?"

Your informant—you've since learned that his name is Tsukishima, but you’ve grown fond of the moniker—can only sigh. "I guess not."

(After you'd left to pursue Ace, you'd only narrowly managed to avoid the wrath of Tsukishima and Karasuno's admins. Kageyama and Hinata had done such a good job without you that it didn't even matter, and for that you were grateful, even if it had meant acting as a decoy. With Oikawa under Karasuno's thumb, Kenji had come to work under Karasuno, drawn to the money—and you.

And so, you'd gained a partner—in both senses of the word—in Kenji. The once treacherous seed of infatuation had been nurtured with the soil of communication, watered with care until it blossomed into what you might even be ready to call love.)

Kenji’s waiting for you, hands in his pockets and a look that mirrors your own in his eyes. “Did he get mad again?”

“No,” you reply, holding your hand out until he interlaces his fingers with yours, “just embarrassed. It’s kinda cute.”

“First, you try to kill me, and now you’re calling other guys cute?” he asks, shaking his head. “I think it’s high time I get back on Tinder.” Your shadow, lingering behind you both, yanks at the collar of Kenji’s button-up. He chokes, a strangled noise as you grip his hand a bit tighter in response. “And you’re trying to kill me again.”

“What are you gonna do about it?” Your question is answered as you trip over your own feet, almost landing face first on the pavement. When you right your balance, Kenji is laughing openly. It’s contagious, pure joy blooming in your chest.

(Out of a million outcomes, you've found yourself in one of the best ones; maybe, you think, this is what they call the luck of the draw.)

dedicated, ultimately, to @wackatoshi​: winter, i know at the time this goes up, you’re currently ia but it was your kenji fics that really kickstarted the love i have for him........

[cloveroctobers]

• TALIA NASCIMENTO•

IG info/bio: @/callmetalia333 | 524k followers | Journalist | TALIA. but u may have formerly known me as user: brdf0rdsvasquiff—rip!!!1! so don’t even think about it 😌

(23) 25 going on (26) years of age

I’ve read a canon that her name is just Talia and not short for anything & I agree with that + she’s always quick to correct someone if they get it wrong too

Her hometown is Watford, England

but she was originally born in Maidenhead in the backseat of a car during a severe rainstorm

Nonetheless watford taught her all she needed to know when it came to music

She found her first love when she heard the sound of music soundtrack for the v first time as a young girl but is often nervous to admit that?

her father is Brazilian and is a firefighter

her mother is Bulgarian and works as a secretary in a elementary school

her mother is more traditional than her father when it comes to their cultures

I originally felt like she gave only child vibes but I can deff see her giving off big sis energy since she did mention she has a younger brother

V protective over her little brother

there’s a three year age difference

her parents have separated multiple times before which caused a riff in the family dynamic

The constant coming and going from her dad became quite irritating

And Talia was the most vocal by wanting them to figure it out and NOT get a divorce

Which led to talia’s commitment issues when it came to relationships herself

was born with blue eyes yet they shifted to brown once she grew

“Tom-boy” growing up & still is

netball was her sport and man was it something to see her play?! She was quick on her feet and can definitely shoot far-range with ease

Always down for contact sports too

She lost count how many bruises and scrapes she would come home with much to her mother’s horror but she would always brush it off—it was never that big of a deal to her

yet she takes time in healing her scars with homemade treatments or purchases from beauty stores when she wants to show her legs off

she didn’t get into “girly” wear until recently, she never thought too much of her body or when she started to get curves...she always hid that behind big tee’s, fitted jeans, and kicks—that’s what she was used to

she’s got broad shoulders and toned arms

had thick bushy brows that almost formed a uni brow growing up

her mother used to have her hair always plaited since she is very superstitious, believing that “the devil lives in the woman’s hair”

yet talia’s hair texture was much different than her mother’s, maybe due to the fact that her mother always had her hair up and out of the way? Talia’s hair is much bigger, heavier, and naturally curly

+ her mother used to say some harsh things in Bulgarian about her hair — that says a lot when you’re taught to hate your hair trust!!!

when she got a little older and able to manage her own hair + afford it, She learned how to love it herself and that’s all that mattered. Her hair became v important to her, it was her source of comfort

that’s the only thing she’s high maintenance about tbh

she spends a lot of money on her hair but devacurl can still piss off

diffusing is one of her fav things to do to her hair—besides washing it, and deep conditioning, after a night of letting her hair air-dry

loves rose jam

has a embroidery machine, along with a collection of her work but only one piece is showcased in her flat. She didn’t want her place to look completely like her bába’s (Bulgarian: grandmother)

her closet is filled with many Havaianas, they’re all piled up in a wicker basket and ready to tumble over on her top shelf... if she moves one of the ceramic pots her mother left in her flat for luck, that whole shelf might come crashing down

Swears drinking guaraná the next morning cures any hangover you may have

commonly sleeps in big t-shirts and panties or not or booty shorts depending on her time of the month—it’s freeing to her

Has torn her achilles due to whatever contact sport she decided to join in on during a beach vacation with her mates

has a touch of arthritis in her shoulder

this is where her love for massages came from due to injuries she’s faced

+ It’s always a good sign when you can make someone else feel better ya know?

She’s been told she’s great with her hands ;) it all takes practice

bi mami *cringe* but she likes what she likes, and feels what she feels

she kinda has a type but doesn’t want to admit that

her mother doesn’t understand this but her father easily accepted her preference/orientation

her little brother was the first she came out to, “alright!...you still suck”

always wants to fix situations WHEN it comes to HER friends but is oblivious when it’s come to her own issues whether its in relationships/friendships +

was called out by one of her friends who she often argues/butts heads with from time to time “you’re always sticking your nose in people’s business but can’t solve your own shit!”

maybe it’s the journalist in her? she’s not afraid to ask questions or look at things from a outside perspective

her group of friends are all from different ethnic backgrounds to Indian to Ethiopian

has been in and out of relationships...maybe had one stable relationship? Outside of mc but that relationship failed after a year and she feels it has something to do with her parents and how she watched their relationship unfold but won’t openly admit that

Doesn’t like to argue in relationships and often is a little undermining with how she responses to her partner’s feelings...she’s trying to be better at being understanding and listening, her mother is like this with her father

Aquarius girl + Scorpio moon + Taurus rising

loves the water + watching water sports rather than playing them since she almost drowned once by letting her confidence get the best of her

used to be a directioner and isn’t ashamed to admit that!

take me home album stan 100% bitch there’s no point in arguing!!! Buh bye!!!

She is ashamed however to admit that she used to write for them, mostly ziam fics with a touch of Harry thrown in the mix as well...take that how u will

has a few merch pieces as well, they’re mostly loungewear + that powdery perfume they dropped. YES she still has it, no she won’t sell it to u

still supports them on the low since you know, she’s a music journalist and reviewing songs is what she makes a living for so why the hell not? They will always hold a special place in her heart. She grew with those boys

she’s not in denial like Hannah that they’re get back together

If someone wants her to film a reaction vid to zayn’s new album or release a written review? She WILL. Her top 3? 1. When loves around ft Syd 2. Outside 3. Unfuckwitable

If someone wants to hear her thoughts on Harry’s mv’s + breaking down his lyrics, she’ll tell you what you NEED to know whether U agree or not she don’t give a damn lol

Can throw hands and stomp a bitch out if she needs too. Has gotten kicked out of clubs/bars for defending her friends mainly not because someone chatted shit to her, that’s whatever but once you cross her friends? It’s on

Allegra got lucky 🦶🏼☕️ and Lucy

remained super close with jake and tim as expected...Rohan’s cool too ofc! but she’s not here for their rapping shit sorry. She’ll hit them both with a quick side eye and snarl if they start or if jake wants to recite some poetry. She’s outta here

Talia hardly had issues making friends easily with the boys it was always harder with the girls :/

they hang out all the time!

she actually became close with sammi as well, which was nice to have another girl friend around even tho they weren’t together in the house long like the others. She’s spontaneous, cute, resourceful, and kind so talia had no issue reaching out to her first to see what she was about outside of the show

don’t even ask her about what she thinks of the new seasons, she’s not here to chat shit and have her words twisted like she’s watched many of the cast deal with. If you want to talk about the over kill use of pop as the soundtrack for each season, then yeah she’ll talk to you about that

doesn’t use social media much, she finds it funny how whenever she does pop back in people are begging her to post SOMETHING so that they know that she’s alive

Pretty private

she also can’t grasp why they want her to do the bussit challenge? Lmao like hey don’t get her wrong, some of them were pretty great but she’s barely got a bum to bounce and little booties matter ofc!!! but she can’t see herself doing it unless she’s drunk off her arse!!!

maybe mc can convince her...for the fans duh!!! “Give the ppl what they want! Talia! It’s not like you won’t be around music!” “I’ll think about it...nah.”

she’s been busier since the show, able to tour more and WRITE which is what she loves to do

Her secret pleasure is watching those nurse shows and firefighting shows in her free time and those singing shows you already know that’s a given

Wanted to be some form of a nurse growing up but knew she could help people in another way

*inserts* “music Is The best Medicine” overused but true quote here!!

I feel like she’s a r&b lover

listens to those hour long rain sounds on YouTube to help herself fall asleep

she‘s not the best cook but she’s a foodie and she’s down to try new food always

occasionally her and Tim are jake’s Guinea pigs when he’s whipping something up for his menu 

and hates eating the same things all the time unless it’s breakfast! There’s not too much more you can do with that

that’s also her specialty, making breakfast for u in bed

Morning afters with her are intimate but humorous. She’ll poke fun if you’re both looking crazy, always joking and in the best mood whether things got physical or not she’s just happy to have you here 🥲

I think her love language is quality time

if you’re playing her route and Lucy is the ex, and you’ve decided to fully commit to each other I deff see Lucy still trying to pull some shit outside of the show just because she feels like she can but once Talia see’s that it’s really starting to get to you despite how much you try to brush it off or snap at Lucy or even Talia!!! Talia is on Lucy’s ass in seconds! She doesn’t need a ex to ruin her possible future , “you’re not gonna fuck up this good thing I’ve got just cause you’re flimsy at relationships babe, so go be a cunt somewhere else or you’ll be sorry. I promise.”

anthem: Snow Tha Product — Shut up

[theritualofourexistence]

Clarity in the Cancellation Crusade

After posting multi-paragraph comments on a couple different things that have popped up in my feed recently, it seemed like I should probably just sit down and write this out.

“Cancel culture.” Crazy shit, right?

The recent onslaught of cancellations includes Mr. Potato Head, Pepe Le Pew, a handful of Disney movies (Peter Pan, Dumbo, The Aristocats), and *audible gasp* Dr. Seuss. The Muppets also got a newfangled Disney+ content warning, though I’ve seen significantly fewer headlines about that.

The thing that inevitably happens when the news media decides to publish a headline about a children’s toy or book being “canceled” is a veritable parade of social media complaints about how sensitive people have become. I saw this particular post over 10 times in the period of a couple hours one day last week…

The question I’ve been asking recently when I see posts like that is this: “Who do you think cancel culture is?”

Because “cancel culture” isn’t real. In the majority of the cases currently making headlines, the choice to remove a character from a movie or stop publishing a book has been made by the company responsible for that character or book… and that is very much a normal thing companies can choose to do.

No one I’ve posed the above question to has overtly mentioned “Libtards,” but it’s certainly implied. People who haven’t read a Dr. Seuss book in 20 years are now suddenly all up in arms (literally?) because “the Liberals” are coming for “And to Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street.”

The Liberals are not coming for Dr. Seuss. They do not care about a potato toy. Also, nothing is happening to the Cat in the Hat. I repeat: NOTHING is happening to the Cat in the Hat.

The choices to stop publishing that book and to market a vegetable toy in a less gendered way were made by the companies responsible for producing those products… not the Liberal “cancel culture” ghoul. In fact, it’s really, really hard to find public outcry about any of the things that have been recently “canceled.” There was a single NYT article that recently discussed the problematic nature of the Pepe Le Pew cartoons… that said, Warner Bros hasn’t aired that show in decades and it is not clear whether that article had anything to do with the skunk’s scene being removed from the new Space Jam movie.

Even growing up I remember things like political correctness needlessly becoming a partisan issue. When we fall into that media trap, all we’re doing is watering the plant of an already poisonous and ineffective two-party system. Be bigger than that temptation. Push back against media intended to further divide Americans. If something stinks, it’s probably rotten. Sure, there are certain topics that fall under the umbrella of political correctness that sound alarm bells for censorship issues… but didn’t everyone’s mom tell them that if they didn’t have anything nice to say, they shouldn’t say anything at all?

Again, though, the most important thing to remember about this recent wave of “canceling” is that censorship concerns are moot. A person who owns a thing is legally allowed to do all the censoring they want. It’s not the government that has decided to stop publishing 6 books written by Dr. Seuss… if it were, we could have the censorship conversation. These changes aren’t happening because there is a Democrat in the White House. They’re happening because the company who makes these products, has for whatever reason, decided to take a different approach.

In the case of the Dr. Seuss books, Dr. Seuss Enterprises re-evaluated their choice to publish 6 books based on racist themes and images. I have only heard of two of those six. The image below is, in my opinion, objectively problematic:

The fact that a major company behind such a well-known name has seen that something is problematic and has decided to stop publishing the books containing overt racist images is awesome. It sets a great example that we can all learn from. Humans have an amazing capacity to learn… that’s one of the only reasons we are in charge here on Earth. If we fall on ice once, we are often more careful on ice the next time. When we see that something is racially problematic, it’s a good thing if we can take action to get that thing out of rotation. More on that later.

Fundamentally, what is happening right now in Media Land is gross sensationalism.

“Cancel culture” isn’t real. Should people face consequences if they say or do racist things? Yes. We should all agree on that. Should we stop publishing books that perpetuate racist stereotypes? Yes. There are plenty of non-racist books that provide an education about racial differences without the added (exceedingly inappropriate) zing of Asian characters being painted yellow and African characters being given monkey features.

If you’re not convinced that some of Dr. Seuss’s material is racially problematic, I encourage you to pop on over to Google to check out the series of ads he did for FLIT in the 1930s. Yes, it was the 1930s. In the last 90 years, we’ve learned that images like that are not okay… let’s use that knowledge to let old racist graphics die.

Still can’t accept that “cancel culture” isn’t real? Still feeling like there’s something in the air now that is different and worse than before?

Okay, then, let’s consider it further.

Things have been “canceled” by people for millennia… this isn’t new. Being all for cancel culture when Colin Kaepernick kneels for the anthem (a perfectly legal form of peaceful protest considered respectful by many veterans) but opposing cancel culture when it’s threatening to eliminate an obviously racist thing is not exactly a moral stance. Burning your Nikes in the street but then turning around and spending $400 on a copy of “If I Ran the Zoo” on eBay after Dr. Seuss’s own family has pulled it from publication due to racist imagery is… silly.

The same people who seem to be so vocal about “cancel culture” now are part of the same communities who tried to cancel plenty of things in my lifetime. Things like trick-or-treating, Harry Potter, school dances, books and movies with LGBT+ characters and themes…

History absolutely bubbles over with things that have been canceled… often for good reason! Some examples that come to mind: 

DDT

the Catholic Church (see the 16th century Protestant Reformation)

doing our everyday poopin’ in outdoor holes

polio

hoop skirts

phrenology (new science cancels old science like every damn day)

Ford Pintos (not to mention cars without seatbelts)

telegrams and rotary phones (replaced by easier and better ways to communicate)

lead paint

asbestos

Four Loco

Y’all remember when we all did the ice bucket challenge to cancel Alzheimer’s?

Learning that something is problematic and moving past it is LEARNING… not cancel culture.  Learning and growth are good things. We all benefit from them.

Another thing worth commenting on from that Cat in the Hat post that circulated in my Facebook feed: why do we consistently demonize sensitivity? Racism feels like something we should all be sensitive about. If being sensitive about something results in meaningful change and a less hateful country, isn’t that… good? Why do so many Americans seem to place so much value on their “freedom�� to hurt others?

And don’t get me started on comparing this stuff to Cardi B. It boggles my mind that that’s happening at all. Why is there suddenly so much outcry about one song that features female genitals in a literal ocean of songs that feature male genitals. I grew up knowing every word to songs about sex well before I even knew what sex was. Your kids are only desperate to listen to WAP because they know it makes you squeamish. And take a second to think about why it makes you squeamish. Genitals are human and scientific and we literally all have them. If you have more of a problem with WAP than with any of the other 10,000 songs about dicks and sex, you need to spend some time examining why that is.

Here’s another post I’ve seen bouncing around the social media feeds:

Something about this is just plain hilarious to me. Like what are racism and rape culture if not THE REALEST issues? This country’s problem with systemic racism runs so, so deep and is reflected very plainly in centuries of cold, hard numbers. It’s not that I *think* systemic racism is a problem. The data very clearly shows that regardless of what white people think about race in this country, systemic racism absolutely IS a problem. Racism and rape culture, arguably at the root of the most recent canceling spree, are not just real issues, they’re real American issues. They’re cultural issues. And solving cultural issues is not easy. We know that these issues have been passed down through the generations so maybe changing children’s toys and books and shows isn’t such a bad thing to try. There is SO much work to do to address racism and rape culture in the United States, but small steps are still progress.

If choosing to stop airing a show that blatantly perpetuates rape culture means one less young person is stalked or assaulted or raped, that’s worth it, no? What if that one young person who doesn’t become a victim is your daughter?

If choosing to stop publishing a book with racist themes and images leads to even one kid understanding more about the nuance of race in America and the breath-taking extent of white privilege, that’s worth it too.

Would I rather the media spend time and money to bring American attention to bigger issues associated with this nation’s racism and rape culture? 100%. There are ENORMOUS fish to fry. Dr. Seuss is not an enormous fish. Potato head toys are not enormous fish. Pepe Le Pew is not an enormous fish. They’re not even big fish. They’re small. They’re tiny fish. They’re anchovies. But frying some fish is better than frying no fish.

Canceling Pepe Le Pew is not hurting anyone. Warner Brothers owns Pepe Le Pew. Warner Brothers owns nearly everything; they are not hurting for money. And canceling Pepe certainly isn’t hurting American kids. There are plenty of other kids’ shows to watch that are significantly less problematic. Just because you watched Pepe Le Pew and went on to be a properly respectful adult doesn’t mean there aren’t other kids out there who did internalize a harmful disrespect for consent. No, Pepe Le Pew probably isn’t single-handedly responsible for anyone’s decision to stalk or rape anyone else. But could a show reinforce the groundwork that ultimately leads a kid down a path where he is unable or unwilling to respect the boundaries of others? I mean, it’s not the craziest thing I’ve heard this week.

Canceling six total Dr. Seuss books that are already pretty obscure is not hurting anyone.

Changing the name of an already genderless potato toy to reflect that genderless-ness is not hurting anyone.

A brief recap: racism and rape culture are very real, very American issues.

If the decision to stop doing a thing doesn’t hurt anyone and may even save someone some hurt, why does that decision bother you?

Also, in all your frantic Facebook posting, make sure you are differentiating between “cancel culture” and consequences. When the media tosses around the phrase “cancel culture” it has this tone of finality that is, plainly, not realistic. Fads and trends move so quickly in the internet age that the idea that a group of people could “cancel” something permanently is just not possible. People who do or say racist things, though, should face consequences. People who do or say transphobic or homophobic things should face consequences. Consequences are one of the only ways we learn to do better. And again, that’s not my opinion, it’s science.

One of the consequences that can have the most impact is, you guessed it, losing money! In this capitalist hellscape, money talks. Boycotting and choosing how we spend our money are some of the most engaging ways to combat racist and homophobic garbage. When you have your temper tantrum because the company who owns a book with overtly racist imagery decides to stop publishing that book, that speaks volumes about your priorities. If you respond to that company’s decision by buying the book in question on eBay for $400, that speaks even louder volumes. What are you doing? WHY are you doing it? I’m guessing you don’t even know, and you should probably spend some time thinking about it before you flush away a chunk of your stimmy on a freaking RACIST KIDS’ BOOK.

All actions have consequences. All of our choices never affect just us. How we vote affects other people. How we spend our money affects other people. Spending our money on things that are problematic perpetuates the problem… whether it be racism, rape culture, homophobia, or transphobia… or so many other things this country desperately needs to address.

It’s human to not like change. Change is going to happen, though, regardless of whether or not we’re comfortable with it. In the information age, we have a remarkable opportunity to steer that change. Leaving behind racist relics is change, so it may be inherently uncomfortable. But change that moves our country away from racism and rape culture is GOOD change.

I am begging you. Use critical thinking… if you’re seeing a headline about something being canceled, look up WHY. Some of these headlines are absolute bunk… they’re shared just to get people all riled up and create American division. However, just like we *should* cancel lead paint, a children’s book with overtly racist images shouldn’t be published anymore and it’s weird if you disagree with that. Disagreeing with that decision, as silly as it may seem, perpetuates racism. I know how triggered y’all can get when someone suggests you might be perpetuating racism, but it is what it is. Do your research. Don’t spend your money on racist garbage. Be better.

I feel like this post is me just barking the exact same thing in different ways, but I also feel like there is so much more I could say.

I’ll leave you with this:

What will it take for Americans to weigh the threats of racism and homophobia the same way we weight the threat of lead paint? If it’s a matter of costing lives, well, the numbers speak for themselves.

[purplesurveys]

1240

Are you better at cooking dinners or making cakes/biscuits/sweets?  I can’t make any dish. I wonder when I’ll get my ass up and start learning...

Have you ever cut someone else’s hair?  I wouldn’t dare; I have no skills in that department at all.

Who was the last guest in your house and what were they staying for?  Angela and Hans came over so we can watch Sowoozoo. 

How many long term relationships have you been in?  One.

Do you sleep with all the lights out, or do you leave a lamp or even the television on?  My default is lights out, but sometimes I’ll fall asleep with my night lamp still on and that’s fine too.

Who is one person you have forgiven, but still have not “forgotten” what they have done?  I don’t really do forgiving.

Are you a fan of Lana Del Rey?  No. I’ve tried listening to her songs but I find them too slow for my liking.

Do you know your blood type?  It’s O but I keep forgetting what specific type.

Do you know your mother’s birthday?  Yes.

Have you got your period at the moment?  It’s on its last few days.

Have you ever been pregnant?  Nopes.

How old were you when you first went on a plane?  I was around 10 or 11, can’t remember exactly. But it was in 2009 and we headed to Boracay.

Have you ever had to take out a loan for anything?  No. OMG, adult activity I don’t quite understand just yet hfdhfkdjfhdf.

Are both of your blood parents still in your life?  Yeah they’re both grumbling right now just outside of my room because the power went out lmfao.

When was the last time you went apple picking?  I’ve never done this. Apples don’t grow here.

Someone asked you what you wanted, what would you say?  My pay for the last two weeks haha, but that’s not coming until Friday.

Have you ever been drunk at school or work?  No, I wouldn’t dare. I’m pretty unpredictable when I get drunk, so I’d rather stay safe haha. I’ve worked while tipsy, but it had been outside of work hours.

How many bedrooms are in your house?  4. One for each kid, then my parents’.

Are you smart about computers?  Nah.

Have you ever played Just Dance for Wii?  We didn’t have the game on our Wii, but I’ve played Just Dance before, just at other peoples’ houses.

Do you own a Xbox 360?  We were a Playstation household.

Would you ever do a sex tape for a million dollars?  Erm, sure, whatever.

So, do you need a nap?  I think I should be taking one for the sake of my health, but I won’t.

What would you rather be doing?  I stumbled upon a Facebook post of this newly-opened store in Greenhills that exclusively sells photocards and I wanna head the fuck over there rn with Angela. That store concept is practically unheard of so it’s a big deal and I wanna go there as I’m 100% sure the BTS ones would sell out pretty fast. But they heightened the stupid COVID protocols yet again and we have to stay at home, so there’s that.

What sport are you the best at?  Table tennis.

Do you have a little sister? What’s her name?  Yeah but she’s turning 21 this year, so little wouldn’t be accurate anymore. We call her Nina at home but everyone else calls her by her full first name, Janina.

Do you complain a lot?  I do complain a lot but I also do the thing that is causing the complaint right after so I can shut myself up lmao.

Would you rather go to an authentic haunted house or an ancient temple?  Both sound fun but I’ll probably take the temple. Yay for learning something new about culture!!

Do you like fruity or minty gum?  I don’t mind flavor when it comes to gum because they fade out anyway.

Are you looking forward to any day of this month?  My company set another mental health break day this upcoming August 27th, so I’ll be thinking about that day throughout the month.

Have you ever gotten detention?  We don’t have detention.

Is there a traumatic event that you’ve experienced that’s changed your life?  Sure.

Do you buy a majority of your clothes from a certain store, or do you just pick out items of clothing you could see yourself wearing, not caring about the store it came from? The latter. < Same. I can be brand-conscious sometimes, but generally if I find something cute, regardless from where I found it, I’d grab it.

Have any of the artists you’re fond of released new albums recently?  Technically yeah. It was a single album. 

Would you ever keep your favorite animal as a pet?  I already have two of them.

Ever cried so much you threw up?  Possibly.

Who is your best guy friend? Hans.

What do you two do when you hang out?  We usually eat out and have a drink or two.

What is a movie that you thought you would hate but you ended up loving?  Spotlight, just because it looked boring at first glance. It turned out to be very riveting and the screenplay was fascinating as well.

Do you even like horror movies?  Yes, but they’re best watched with other people.

Do you live in the country?  Nopes.

What is your favorite accent?  I don’t have one.

Have you ever had a boyfriend your parents didn’t like?  No.

Do you drink Pepsi or Coke?  I had the chance to try out Pepsi when we went to Taco Bell two weeks ago - it was my first time to have it and it was...actually pretty good??? The soda-hater in me was scandalized HAHAHA but it was good!!! I think I prefer Pepsi now.

What do you plan to do on your 21st birthday?  My 21st birthday started out terribly because Gabie’s family didn’t want her to hang out with me on a Sunday (the day my birthday fell on), so we were in an argument the whole day. Angela saved the day when she planned out an impromptu dinner + arcade date for me, and that was the only good part of the day, really. I’d rather forget the rest of it.

Do you have any person in your family with an addiction to beer?  I don’t think so.

Do you take a lot of pictures?  I’m starting to, now.

What kind of face wash do you use?  Good ol’ water.

Does drama always seem to follow you?  Not these days.

Does anybody in your family race?  Nope.

Are you closer to your mom or dad?  Dad, I guess. But I wouldn’t particularly call myself ‘close’ with either.

How much money did you used to get from the ”tooth fairy?”  I never received money from them.

How long do you want to live with your parents?  Maybe up until my mid-20s? Late-20s at the latest. I’m not exactly in the position to move out yet. The money I make at the moment would probably just be enough to cover rent, and just rent. I’d end up starving to death hahaha.

Do you have a laptop or desktop?  Laptop.

Do you like your parents?  Sure.

Do you secretly like someone?  I don’t.

Would you ever date your best male friend?  No. I also wouldn’t do that to Angela.

What are you currently listening to?  Moon by Jin! Such a comfort song.

Do you want to be single?  Yes.

Did you go out or stay in last night?  I stayed in and was knocked out pretty early since I had been up since 1 AM.

Have you pretended to like someone?  No. I don’t see why I would have to that.

How is your heart lately?  Just filled with nothing but Bangtan at this point haha. It’s doing well!

Are you wearing socks?  No. Socks bother me for the most part; they make my feet feel a bit suffocated.

What do people call you?  Robyn.

Do you get stressed out easily?  Yeah, I’m quite the overthinker.

Have you ever been taken to the emergency room in an ambulance?  No, I’ve never actually been inside an ambulance, whether it came for me or for another person.

What is wrong with you right now?  I should probably cut back on the vaping, for one.

Do you own something from Hot Topic?  No.

Would you rather sleep with someone else or alone?  It’s hard for me to sleep with someone else. Even when I had been in a relationship, I usually only got to fall asleep an hour or so after my partner already dozed off.

Do you still talk to the person you last made out with?  No, I cut ties at the start of the year and have been substantially better since then.

Have you ever seen your best friend cry?  I honestly don’t think so. I’m the bigger crybaby between us.

Did you get any compliments today?  My mom thanked me for covering for Cooper’s shots today since they ended up being quite costly.

Have you ever gone to a beach?  Yes, it’s one of my absolute favorite places to be.

What would you say if someone asked you to get high right now?  Pass up on the offer.

Do you believe that everything happens for a reason?  Yes.

Have you ever done volunteer work just because you wanted to?  I’ve never had the ample time to, so no. I’ve always wanted to volunteer at an animal shelter, though.

Do you have long nails?  They’re not dramatically long, but they have started to grow out.

Do you like the gender you are? I don't like or dislike it, honestly. I'm just neutral. < Same.

Do you generally look nice in photos?  I think this is the case these days, yeah. I’ve started feeling more confident and I think it’s able to translate in photos.

Have you ever had a stick insect as a pet?  No.

What colour are your father’s eyes?  Dark brown.

If I handed you a concert ticket right now, who would you want to be the performer?  BTS DUH

Name three facts about your family?  I come from a family of lawyers; many of us are big history buffs; and many are also fantastic cooks so I don’t know where that talent could have possibly gone when it come to my generation hah.

Would you ever get into a long distance relationship?  If I’ve reached a certain level of investment in the relationship, I could probably handle it. 

What’s the most thoughtful present you’ve ever received?  A Punk shirt and Petals For Armor physical CD from Andi this last Christmas.

What’s your favorite hot beverage? Hot chocolate. < Yessssss!

Did you ever play an instrument? If so what?  I don’t.

Would you rather carve pumpkins or wrap presents?  Carving pumpkins sounds fun, especially since I haven’t tried it before.

Do you think you’re important?  Idk. I don’t really like drawing attention to myself though, so that could probably answer your question.

What’s the best compliment you’ve ever received?  Andi wrote a letter for me to accompany the aforementioned Christmas gifts they gave, and it remains to be my favorite letter I’ve received. They essentially reminded and affirmed me that I’m stronger than I think I am, and that I’ve been through a lot and have grown a lot, and that that growth is seen by people around me.

Have you been diagnosed with any mental disorders?  No.

Have you ever moved to another state or country? If so, how did it feel to be new?  Just to different cities, but considering how tiny my country is, the move is quite insignificant lol.

Do you know how to properly eat food with chopsticks?  I’m 100% sure I don’t know how to properly hold chopsticks, but I have my own way and it works lol. Fake it til you make it.

Are you more of a leader or a follower? Definitely a follower, but I can step up in certain situations. < Same. I don’t mind leading, especially considering the control freak I can be lolol.

What was the first thing you ate today?  I haven’t eaten anything today. I skipped breakfast since I brought Cooper to the vet, and by the time I got back the dining table had already been cleared. It’s fine though, I don’t feel too hungry.

If you could spend the day, doing absolutely anything, with anyone, anywhere, what would it be like?  I’d be with Angela, Reena, and Hans at that insane new photocard store I talked about earlier. IDEALLY, we’d probably pick up a photocard or two if the ones we want aren’t sold out yet (lol a rarity), then we’d have some nachos and stuff right after and just talk about all things Bangtan lol with Hans cracking us up the whole time since he is just naturally hilarious.

If I were to ask you how you are doing, and you were only able to answer completely honestly, what would come out?  Content. Happy. I feel warm and loved and surrounded by the best people.

What is the one thing that you have been avoiding that you should do?  Learning how to cook is one.

Is there anything that you wish you could take back?  Not really.

What, in your mind, could make you truly happy?  Being in the purple ocean with my best friends.

If you could change one conversation in your life, what would you say differently? Would it have REALLY made any difference?  A part of me wishes my final face-to-face conversation with Gabie had been a more solid closure, just so we could finally put a hard stop to that chapter. But at that time I thought we would continue talking, so there had still been some stuff lingering in the air when we called it a day and parted ways. So in a sense we never really got closure when I finally cut ties, which the ESTJ in me remains to be nagged by, but I try not to be bothered by it anymore considering how much better I am doing right now. We didn’t know the future at the time, so it’s okay the way things turned out, ultimately.

When is the next time you’ll change your hairstyle? Will you color it?  I have no clue. It’s not really a priority.

Do people normally say you’re a fast typist, or are you rather slow?  I’m fast.

Have you ever been considered the ‘smartest person in school?’  Nah.

How many drugs are in your system?  Just caffeine.

What’s on your schedule for tomorrow? Werkwerkwerkwerk.

Do you currently have any bite marks/hickeys on your body?  Nopes.

Do you call anyone baby?  I don’t.

What’s your current mood?  I’m prety neutral. I wish I could be out right now, but stupid Covid and stupid quarantine. But I don’t really mind staying at home, either, so. I’m just so-so.

Do you think you are a good person?  I hope so.

What were you doing before filling out this survey?  I watched Sunday mass with my family.

How late did you stay up last night?  Around midnight.

When was the last time you cried really hard?  I cried just a few days ago because period hormones, but the last time I cried hard? I’m not sure. April maybe?

Is your hair longer than your shoulders?  LOL yes it’s soooooooo long already.

[captainkappa]

Fanfic :: Icebreakers

Me? Publishing writing? It’s more likely than you think.

But yeah, holy crap, I finished something! That hasn’t happened in a long time, so please enjoy this zukka modern au fic where they’re both attending college now!

While taking online classes, Sokka and Zuko are paired up for icebreakers.

Preslash Sokka/Zuko, college AU

AO3 link

-=-=-=-

Sitting down in front of his laptop, wearing the sweatpants and tank top he slept in, this was not how Sokka expected to start his third year of college.

Well, he didn’t expect be forced online for the spring semester of his sophomore year as well, so technically that was a bigger surprise. At least this time, he was better prepared and built his schedule with distance learning in mind; a film course for his last elective, two engineering courses that weren’t reliant on lab, and two math courses. He tried not to think about all the labs he would have to take in the next year and a half, but for now, it was worth it to have a manageable schedule during a pandemic. For now, he was content to live off campus with Aang. He could’ve stayed home with his dad and Katara, but because Aang didn’t have any family to speak of, the executive decision was made for Sokka to keep his lease on the apartment with Aang and video call with his family at least once a week to make up for it.

It wasn’t that bad. They got one of the few places near campus that allowed dogs, so Aang’s shepherd dog, Appa, made the whole situation less dreary. Plus, his elective was right after his thermodynamics course, which gave his more of a reason to get up for the 9 o’clock engineering course.

So, here he was, not listening to the professor go on about “unprecedented times” and “academic honesty,” the same things he’d heard in his earlier class. Glancing at his own camera, he saw Aang not so sneakily open his door. He quickly muted and took out one of his earbuds.

"I'm ordering groceries,” Aang said quietly, “need anything else?"

"No, just whatever I put on the list."

"Got it!"

Aang closed the door and Sooka turned back to the computer, unmuting himself. The professor was about to move on to syllabus, when Sokka noticed a white blur out of the corner of his eye. He barely had time to think about the fact that Aang hadn’t fully closed the door, when he was knocked out of his chair with a crash.

"No, Appa, no! Down boy!" He said, fruitlessly trying to get Appa down off him. Appa paid no attention, continuously licking at him.

From the one earbud still in his ear, he registered his classmates laughing and the professor asking, "Are you alright?"

Appa was still not letting up so he just threw up a thumbs up in what he hoped was in frame of the webcam. "Yeah, sorry about that. My roommate’s dog hasn't seen me since March. Let me just-" with a flourish, he muted himself.

“Now Appa,” he said, gently holding the dog’s face in his hands, “if this incident haunts me all semester, I’m only getting you kitty treats for a month.”

Appa’s tongue lolled out of his mouth, completely oblivious.

“Alright now, up! Up!”

That seemed to do the trick, or it was the whistle from Aang in the other room. Either way, Appa graciously got off Sokka, trotting out the bedroom door much more slowly than he’d entered.

Sokka righted his chair and settled down and saw that even though the professor had moved on, everyone was still giggling at him. He took it in stride, taking a bit of a stretch.

The professor soldiered on, explaining how she found PDFs of all articles needed for the course (sweet), how she got them all copies of the movies on her website, and the schedule for the semester.

"Ok, now that the housekeeping is over, I'll put you all into breakout rooms for ice breakers. You’ll be in a room with one or two other students. Tell each other your name, major, why you're taking the class, and a fun fact about yourself. You'll introduce each other to the rest of the class in 5 minutes."

Sokka sighed, having hoped that at least one professor would forgo icebreakers considering the online format for the class. No dice. He clicked on the breakout room pop-up and anxiously waited for the other person to join the group, looking at his camera in the meantime. It was only then did he realize he’d been sitting in class for half an hour with his ponytail all askew. He tugged out the ponytail holder, shaking his hair out and pulling it back up so the sides he’d shaven himself were on display.

He looked up and a second person had silently joined the breakout room. Sokka immediately recognized him as one of the students who initially caught his eye. He wasn't conventionally attractive, with the massive scar covering the left side of his face, but he was certainly striking, with his floppy black hair and short-sleeve button-up shirt. It must’ve been a trick of the light in his room, but it looked like he was blushing.

“Oh, sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

“I-It’s okay,” the other guy said, seeming a little bit distracted.

Sokka could guess he wasn’t a fan of being online, so he continued, "Ok, then I'll start. I'm Sokka, junior mechanical engineering major. This is the last elective I need, but really it was the only one available that wasn't too advanced. My fun fact is I invented submarines."

That seemed to snap the other guy out of his reverie. "I... what?"

"Well I thought I did. I had these whole schematics for underwater cars with telescopes sticking out from the top to look for ships, but then my uncle Bato brought me a book about submarines for Christmas and I cried for two days."

The other guy was silent.

Sokka grinned, "I was 4."

"Oh! I thought you were just weird." He said, before clapping a hand over his mouth. "No wait! I mean-"

"Nah, don't sweat it dude, that's why I tell that story the way I do, for the punchline! Don’t worry about it.

“Oh, okay.”

“Your turn!"

"Uh, well my name is Zuko Sozin, I'm a senior English major with creative writing and theater minors. I’m also taking this for an elective and my fun fact is… I hate fun facts"

He snorted, "Fair, but come on, you gotta give me more than that."

"Um... I’ve trained with swords?”

Sokka gasped. “Do you have them with you?”

“Yes?”

“Show me!”

Zuko’s camera shuddered as he moved his laptop to point at to another wall of the room to show two swords with curved blades leaning against the wall.

“That’s so cool!”

“Thanks, they’re dao swords.”

And then Sokka leaned back and watched Zuko go into the history of dao swords, how they were traditionally used, and how long he’d been learning them. It was like any awkwardness had left Zuko’s body and was replaced with this confidence as he went on about this topic that he clearly loved. It was endearing. As someone who frequently would break out into an enthusiastic TedTalk about what he was doing in his engineering classes, Sokka loved hearing about other people’s passions.

Then, as Zuko was explaining how dual-wielding was much harder than using a single sword, the pop up informing them they would be put back in the main Zoom call in a minute appeared.

“Oh, wow,” Sokka said, “time sure does fly, huh?”

Zuko blinked, “What-? Oh, sorry, I totally took up all of the time.”

“It’s fine! It was really interesting!”

A small smile appeared on Zuko’s face, “Really?”

“Yeah, I only recently started training with a sword.”

That spar returned to Zuko’s eyes, “Oh really? What-”

But then the video cut out and was replaced with a loading screen. Sokka cursed under his breath as he was put back into the larger Zoom call with all the other students in it.

The professor’s video lit up, “Okay, settle down everyone. Now, which group wants to go first?”

While the first group went, Sokka made the split-second decision to start typing in the chat. After double and then triple checking that he was only messaging Zuko, he hit enter.

hey, i know this is kind of forward, but I can talk more about my sword training after class, if you want? here’s my number xxx-xxx-xxxx

Sokka tried to focus on the icebreakers after, but his eyes kept straying to the chat. He and Zuko got through their ice breakers just fine, and Sokka’s fun fact got equal amounts of confused faces and laughs, which was his intention.

And then he was caught up in taking notes on the professor’s explanation of the homework for the next class and then the Zoom call was over. It was only afterwards, as he was replacing the piece of tape over the camera, did he realize he never got a response from Zuko.

He tried to tamp down his disappointment. He had come off pretty strong, he shouldn’t take it personally.

He had a couple of hours until his next class, so he pulled his phone out of his pocket and unlocked it. He learned the hard way last semester to keep it on silent, and so he scrolled through Aang’s frantic apology texts over letting Appa get in the room, Hakoda wishing him luck for the semester, and Suki confirming their movie night after her afternoon class. He surprised that in between those texts, there was an unknown number from a couple of minutes ago.

Hey, Zuko here.

Sokka felt his heart stutter and a grin spread across his face as he typed out his reply.

hey! my last class of the day ends at 2, if you want to talk then?

He barely made it into the kitchen before he got a reply.

Sounds good.

Sokka couldn’t get rid of his grin as he typed out Zuko’s name into his contact.

Maybe there were some upsides to online classes.

[blooms-of-ice]

RP Log: Some time in the past, Wyda welcomes Sven to the company! 

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn has spent the afternoon tending to the front yard. ‘Gardening’ (if you could call basically drowning plants in water that) and keeping everything tidy! With a broom gripped between her hands, she sweeps the stepping stones leading to the company building with a hum and a tune.

Sven Anovsch walks up slowly, seeing the person 'tending' to the lawn and stepping stones.  This unsocialized Hrothgar walks just enough to not step on the stones before clearing his throat and speaking. "Ahem, you are employed here?"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn stops sweeping and gives Sven a beaming smile. “Hello! Oh, yes! I’m employed.” A beat. She clears her throat. “I’m one of the officers of Heartwood. What can I help you with?”

Sven Anovsch blinks and forces his head back at the sudden almost excited and quick response. "A-ah. Well good then." He takes a few steps forward. "I have been loitering around that tavern? Hall?" He shrugs before continuing. "In Ul'dah.  I saw a few fliers of other companies but figured I'd see if this was a proper one for me...." He realizes he is just talking to much. "I'm just looking for a position is all, what can I do to start that?"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn steps to the left for a moment to lean her broom against the wall, and returns with her hands empty. She then presents an open hand to Sven and waits for him to shake it. “A recruit then? Welcome! All you have to do is shake on it.”

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “...Okay, there’s a bit more to it. I can walk you through what you can expect to do here, if you decide to join. Ahem. But we can get into the nitty gritty stuff inside over a cup of tea.”

Sven Anovsch cants his head looking down to her hand. "That...Is it? Ah, what of questions o- I see, I see.  I will agree to that so far." He extends his hand to take hers for a shake.  If it was just a normal shake, and no funny business, it would just be a normal but firm shake.  Expected of an average Hrothgar.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “Let’s head on in. If we stay out too long, then we might get a nasty sunburn.” She eyes Sven curiously, and is about to ask him if Hrothgar can even get a sunburn...but she holds her tongue. Wouldn’t be polite. Wyda steps away and pushes the building doors open, ushering the recruit inside.

Sven Anovsch just perks a brow, but nodding as he follows her lead. "Thanks." He says as he is ushered through the door.

Sven Anovsch takes a decent look around. "Interesting floor." He just stares at the ground now.  Obviously completely confused on it and how it is even maintained here inside, though he focuses his attention back on Ais. "A nice building though.  A lot better than some dingy building that some companies have." He gives a quick chuckle.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn grins, suddenly feeling a little bashful even though it’s the house being complimented. “We take good care of the place...and we take good care of the members. One sec.”

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn grabs a folder of documents from the front table and then dashes over to the cafe. Bam, the papers go on the table. Bam, she brings over a pot of tea and a couple of sweets from the bakery. And then bam, she sits herself down and gestures for Sven to join her.

Sven Anovsch gives a nod. "It seems your company does take good care of the place." He follows along and sits down across from Ais. "Do you treat all recruits like this? Or is it a ploy to persuade anyone who wishes to join?" He smirks lightly.  Is this a joke? Who knows, but now his eyes lay on the papers.  A sigh and nothing further said as he stares.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “All genuine! Nothing fake about this.” She grins, and then pulls out a pencil with the intent of filling out the form in front of her. She stops the moment she tries to fill the first square. “Shoot! What’s your name...what’s my name! I’m Wyda. Ahhh, I was so excited that I forgot the first step in talking with people.”

Sven Anovsch widens his eyes as he forgot himself as well. That's it...He blew it...Another awkward social interaction. He shakes his head before finally speaking. "Sven, it's Sven.  Apologies." He sighs, shaking his head.  He is better suited for working rather than talking most definitely.  Stupid hermit Hroth.

(Sven Anovsch) Love it xD ) (Sven Anovsch) Sven just literally hasn't talked to anyone since he was like 14 or 15 and he is in his early 30's now haha ) (Aiswyda Nuthalwyn) he's pretty good at talkin for someone who hasn't talked for 15 years! O_O )) (Sven Anovsch) Lmfao well he's been here for like a few months aaand I don't feel like typing like that xD ) (Sven Anovsch) May seem awkward, but he's smartish.  He tried suuuper hard to learn the language.  We will go with that lmfao )

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “Sven! That’s a nice name. S-v-e-n...Sven.” Wyda fills in the first box. “So, we’re a group of adventurers from all sorts of places. Limsa Lominsa, Ul’dah, Coerthas...you name it. Why don’t you tell me a bit about yourself?”

Sven Anovsch is obviously not too excited to talk about himself, though he knows he must. "Thank you. Ah, well I am a warrior, of course.  I have only recently came down from way up beyond Ishgard.  You can imagine why I am sure.  Though, I am not opposed to groundskeeping, brewing or stilling.  But I still flourish with fighting, as it seems typical around here to be anyways." He wonders if that suffices.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn nods as she listens and jots down notes based on what he’s telling her. Ishgard. Warrior. Groundskeeping. Brewing. “Quite a journey if you made it on foot. Now, we’ve got a gardener already, but I’m sure she won’t mind a helping hand now and again. But brewing...now that’s interesting! Erm..” Her eyes light up as her inner alcoholic tries to make itself known. Wyda scrunches her face for a second and forces it back down.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn:  “Ahem. ‘Fighting’ is generally how we pay the bills. Guard jobs, hunts, you name it. It’s dangerous, but everyone here is someone you can trust your life with. And if you -do- get hurt, we’ve got a clinic in house.”

Sven Anovsch actually smiles and nods. "Yes, was mainly on foot until I got a bit of coin to be able to afford going down to Ul'dah.  A fellow Hrothgar told me it is friendliest to travelers there? Or at least to him.  But...I've been stilling a few things for many summers, I've tried a bit at brewing.  Not as tasty as like stilling mead or just the stuff that makes you pass out, but good regardless." He chuckles for a moment before continuing. "Seems with at least fighting, I fit in, yes?"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn leans back in her chair. Ah, Ul’dah...the city of opportunity, but also the city of shady deals. “Before I found Heartwood, I went to Ul’dah too. Nice enough place, but I’m glad to be where I am now. And I think you’ll fit right in - you’ll find we’re all weird in our own way.”

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “Do you think you could show me how to brew alcohol sometime? I’m a bit of a...” Her mind searches for the right word. Drunk? Accurate, but no. “I’m a connessier.”

Sven Anovsch smiles warmly at that. "It's a bit barren down in Ul'dah.  Opposite of what I am used to, but I suppose it does have good food." He chuckles before continuing. "I'd be happy to show you though.  It takes a while, but if you do it right, it comes out quite good.  By my standards at least."

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn fills a cup of tea for herself and Sven. “I’m sure I’ll enjoy it! When you make something with love, then it will always taste good.” Wyda says this with absolute seriousness, completely unaware of how cheesy she’s being. God, the cheese.

Sven Anovsch blinks at that.  Feta cheese. "Yes...Or just the good quality hops." He chuckles looking down to the cup of tea she poured for him.  He reaches to pick it up, giving it a sniff before continuing. "How many members are working here?"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn similarly picks up her teacup and wraps her hands around it, appreciating its warmth. “Hm...60 to 70. But some folk are the type to return home in a blue moon while they’re doing their own thing. Certainly, there are regulars like myself. And if you hang around the bar, you’re sure to see the same faces quite a bit.”

Sven Anovsch gives a nod. "Then perhaps I will linger around here more often.  I'm assuming this company also partakes in contracts that require bigger groups?" He sips at his tea which leads to an odd reaction.  Not a displeased one, but one of just curiosity as he sniffs the tea again? why? He takes another sip and just holds it under his face a bit as he waits for her response.

(Aiswyda Nuthalwyn) lmao what is this strange hot leaf juice xD )) (Sven Anovsch) Lmfao, he's used to his shitty teas he learned to make which are essentially just random shit mixed together.  Comes to Eorzea and holy shit there's good tasting tea? Not just 'medicinal' kinds? haha )) (Aiswyda Nuthalwyn) now he's in the lap of luxury, comparatively ))

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “Yeah, maybe...once or twice a month. Depends on whether Eorzeas on fire or not.” She shrugs her shoulders with a lighthearted chuckle. “We’ve fought all sorts of things. Amal’jaa, robot spiders, an aether sucking auracite...It can get pretty dangerous, not gonna lie. I much prefer the time between jobs where we can just kick back and relax.”

Sven Anovsch cants his head. "Robot spiders...?" That's a new one to him.  Robot?  He shrugs. "Complacency can kill someone, so don't let yourself get too comfortable and relaxed." There it is, the boneheaded Hrothgar attitude. "So, you have me convinced.  I'd like to join.  What all must I do?"

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn sighs. How she wishes she could relax forever...but she can’t. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she was slacking around while others risked life and limb for the good of Eorzea. “Not much. Just sign here, and here.” Wyda points to two spots on the forms. They’re the usual stuff found on free company applications. The company isn’t responsible for any untimely deaths, a promise to represent the company in a positive light, etc...

Sven Anovsch can't read...What does he do...He looks over where she pointed but somehow already lost his place on where he is supposed to sign...Sign..? What does that exactly mean. "Uhm..." Is all he says.

(Aiswyda Nuthalwyn) oh noo )) (Sven Anovsch) Lmao BUT HOW DID HE FIND THIS PLACE?!?! wonder of the universe lmfao lots of awkward interactions in asking for help lmfao )) (Aiswyda Nuthalwyn) the universe is a magical and mysterious place............... )) (Aiswyda Nuthalwyn) wyda isn't much sharper tbh ))

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn looks up at Sven, then down at the paper, and then back up. You can practically hear the gears move in her head. “Oh! Umm, just. Just do this. Please hold still.” Wyda tries to blacken the Sven’s fingertip with the end of her pen, in an attempt to use his fingerprints in lieu of a signature.

Sven Anovsch just lets her do what she is doing. "I think I understand..." He then takes his freshly inked fingertip and just makes a smudge with it.  Not a fingerprint...A smudge... He looks up smiling. "There! It all works, yes? I must admit, I am quite excited to see where this company can take me.  It smells positive here, which is a good thing before going out and fighting or something like that, yes?"

(Sven Anovsch) I try to fill in logic holes as I go lmfao. )) (Aiswyda Nuthalwyn) fdsf this is cracking me up ))

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn picks up the paper and holds it against the light. The smudge is immediately noticeable, like a bowling ball in a field of snow. “Hm.”

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “Perfect!” She practically glows with positive energy.

Aiswyda Nuthalwyn: “And I’m excited to welcome you to Heartwood! So I’ll say it again...welcome, friend!”

Sven Anovsch perks up even more. "Great! I shall eventually bring all my brewing stuff over.  I'll even let you use it as you wish.  Best way to learn is just experiment." He chuckles. "But, I look forward to working with the people here." And a confident nod at the end there.

[shadowthrone-ammanas]

Music

“I think you should learn to play the piano.”

Lukas turned his head to see that Vanessa had walked into the music room. “Why?” he asked, lowering his bow and violin.

“Because I can play the piano and I want you to play with me. Plus, piano music goes better with my singing voice. So, I want you to learn to play the piano instead of that.” She pointed to his violin as if it had offended her somehow.

Lukas frowned down at it himself. His playing didn’t sound that bad, did it? He’d only been practicing for a few weeks now but is instructor said he was doing well. And he’d known how to play cello for years now so he didn’t have to go through the hurdle of learning the basics of playing a stringed instrument. So his playing, though definitely not the best was nowhere near being as offensively awful as Vanessa’s tone suggested it was.

He didn’t want to learn to play the piano. Not that he had anything against pianos or the way they sounded but… he preferred string instruments played with a bow. He liked the way they looked and sounded and he felt fancy when he played them. And piano was the most commonly played instrument in this part of the world, he liked playing something different. Besides…

“You already know how to play the piano,” he said, looking back up at Vanessa. “So why do I need to learn it?”

“Because I want you to. We can sit next to each other and play together. We’ll be super cute and everyone will be jealous. So put that silly thing away or heck go ahead and get rid of it. I’ll teach you how to play piano instead, okay?”

Lukas looked back down at his violin. He didn’t want to get rid of it, he wanted to keep at it until he was good at it. He didn’t have any dreams or really the talent or dedication to become a professional musician but it was a nice way to relax sometimes. Vanessa wanted him to play the piano though so… piano it was. Perhaps learning to play an instrument that was so different from the instrument he’d already mastered would be good for him. He could pick up the violin again later.

[Many, many years later]

Snatcher frowned down at the violin in his hand, stolen from an unfortunate contractor who’d thought taking a shortcut through Subcon Forest was a good idea. Or maybe it was a viola or a fiddle. It had been a long time since Snatcher had held one and his large size made it seem rather small no matter what.

He never had gotten back to learning the violin. Vanessa hadn’t let him. In fact, she hadn’t even let him play his cello anymore once she’d finally gotten him on the piano. She’d complained anytime he’d tried to play it until eventually he’d given up and only played the piano with her just like she’d wanted him to. … He hated the piano now.

He was free of her now though and anything she didn’t want him to do he had to do just to spite her. So he teleported to his giant reading hollow and shrunk down to be closer to the size of a normal person. But… he didn’t have a chin anymore so how was he supposed to hold it? And would his less than normal arms make a difference in how he held it too? What about fingers? … Ah, whatever, he’d figure it out eventually by just messing around with it.

[Less than an hour later]

“That sounds like a dying cat.”

Snatcher almost flinched as he looked up to see Hat Kid in his hollow. He frowned at her, annoyed that he’d been too focused to see or even notice her approach. “What do you want kid?” he said, lowering the violin.

“I want to ask why you’re playing the guitar so bad.”

“It’s not a guitar, it’s a violin. What kind of idiot doesn’t know the difference?”

Hat Kid frowned and shrugged. “Mu has a stringed instrument that she calls a guitar, specifically an electric guitar implying there might be non-electric guitars somewhere. I thought that that might be one. I’ve never seen one before though or one of those so how was I supposed to know what it was? I’m an alien, remember? We don’t have those things where I’m from.”

Well, that did make sense. “What kind of instruments do your people play?”

“I don’t know. I’ve spent my whole life learning how to fly and repair a spaceship. I barely had time to listen to music on the radio, let alone anything else. But anyway, is the violin supposed to sound like that or are you just bad?”

Snatcher scowled. “It’s been a long time since I last played, okay? Like since before I died. I just need a bit of time to get a feel for it again. Also, I would like to add that it’s a right-handed violin, I like to play with my left hand.” He was ambidextrous these days but back then he’d been a lefty, meaning he was inclined to hold it wrong on top of the already awkward position not having a chin forced him to hold it in. “And how about you try playing a stringed instrument when your hands don’t like to form proper fingers and see how well you do.” Making round fingers was much harder when his hands wanted to make claws which would’ve probably cut the strings so he had to fight against that. “And to top it all off I’m pretty sure it’s out of tune.” And he didn’t remember how exactly each string was supposed to sound while in tune so he’d just been fiddling with the knobs every now and then, hoping the information would come back to him eventually and/or he’d somehow get it right on accident. “So, shut up.”

Hat Kid smiled up at him. “Okay, I guess that makes sense. I didn’t know you played instruments though. But I guess that explains that giant violin that’s frozen or whatever in the ruins part of the forest.”

“That’s not a violin, it’s a cello.” And Snatcher should probably get back into playing that too. It’d probably be easier because of how long he’d played the cello before Vanessa had taken it away from him.

“But… it looks a lot like the violin just bigger. Why not just call it a big violin?”

“Because it’s a cello. It’s an entirely different instrument kid, it sounds different and you hold it differently, meaning you play it differently too.” Though as large as Snatcher could make himself, he could possibly get away with playing a cello like a violin. … He’d have to try it one day for sure because it sounded like fun.

“Hmmm… fine I guess, whatever. But are those the only two instruments you can play?”

“No, I can play the piano too. And since I can sort of sometimes play the violin, I should be able to play the viola too because they’re very similar. I also played the trumpet as a kid but that was a very long time ago so I doubt I still can.”

“You’re like a musical genius.”

Snatcher opened his mouth to contradict her because he wasn’t anywhere even close to being a musical genius but stopped himself. “Yep, I sure am kiddo,” he said instead because admitting to his flaws wasn’t his thing.

Hat Kid thought for a few moments before her expression brightened as if she’d just thought of something which he probably wasn’t going to like. “Oh, I know. Let’s start a band.”

Yep, Snatcher didn’t like it. “Why?”

“Because you can play a bunch of instruments, Mu can play the guitar and Bow is learning how to play what’s called a keyboard from one of the moon penguins, I think she’s pretty good. And I recently also learned that the Conductor can play drums and of course DJ Grooves has a nice singing voice. That’s enough for a band. Though we could maybe use one or two more people, we’ll have to ask around.”

“Uh… what will you do?”

“I’ll be the person who leads with the wand thingy. I did it with the marching band in one of Grooves’ movies, he showed me how. It was a lot of fun. So how ‘bout it? Want to do it?”

Snatcher had much better things to do than start a band. Especially one led by Hat Kid of all people. She didn’t even know the names of most instruments or what a music conductor and baton were. But…

“Pretty please with lots of cherries on top,” she said, her expression far too cute for its own good. “It’ll be fun. And since you’ll be the first official member, you’ll get to help me make decisions and stuff. And with Grooves’ and the Conductor’s help we can get on the big screen and then we’ll be famous. And I can tell you from experience that being famous is pretty fun. And it’ll be…

“Fine,” Snatcher cut in. “I’ll join your stupid band mostly just to get you to shut up about it.”

“Yes!” She literally jumped for joy. “Thank you!”

“Yeah, whatever.” Snatcher would let her have her happiness for now because there was no way it could last. The others she’s mentioned probably wouldn’t want to join, except for Bow and maybe Mu. So really, he wasn’t agreeing to anything too bad which was why it was okay for him to do so. When her dumb bad idea inevitably failed, he’d have a good laugh at her. If it succeeded then he might be stuck. It wouldn’t succeed though… probably.

[krisroley]

February 9th, 2021

One Small Moment

Today I want to talk to some specific friends who I won't name, but I'm fairly sure that this will apply to way more of just them.

First things first, I'm not going to insult your intelligence by giving you a bunch of platitudes. In my experience, they're nothing but empty calories. Filler and no substance, they're designed to make the person giving them feel better, not the person who needs help. In some cases, people who need help end up feeling worse. I'm one of those people, so I absolutely understand the feeling. So, no bullshit from me. Cool? Moving on.

Let me describe my lack of bona fides right upfront. I'm a guy with a high school education and one year of college because I let my dick do the thinking up to the point that I ended up homeless and friendless. I tried to follow in my Dad's footsteps and join the military and washed right out after six months because I have a mouth bigger than my brain. I come from a family that describing as dysfunctional is exceedingly generous. My dad had anger issues, my mother was a narcissist manipulator, as is my brother. He's got a criminal record and is probably on his way back to prison for at least 12 years as I write this. I'm the voice of reason in my family, and as I have said repeatedly, this should scare the fuck out of you. I got married at 24, and I had three kids by the age of 30. I've been dirt poor most of that time. At this stage of my life, I believe that I am an undiagnosed case of autism from the 1970s because my kids--all of them--are on the spectrum. I didn't have a bad childhood if you looked at it from one angle, but I had a horrible one if you looked at it from the inside out. I inherited my Dad's anger issues and my mother's narcissism. I was a horrible husband for years until my wife walked out on me in 2005. It made me face myself in a way I had not seen before, and I couldn't take it. I had a nervous breakdown. My wife thought I was worth saving, and I am forever grateful for it. I promised I would work on my issues, and I have. Three times in my life, I thought I was at the end of my rope. Not from a thought of suicide ideation, just that there was nowhere else to turn. No one else to ask for help. No one else I could lean on. Just Roley.

That moment right there is the point. The entire lesson. One small moment when your brain says, "Well, you're really fucked now, aren't you?" There is only one answer to that question, and that answer is yes because if you answer no, you ain't there yet. Trust me on this. You have to answer yes. This is the moment where you're accountable to no one but you, and you cannot lie to yourself. You can TRY. It ain't gonna work. Not for long.

Let's not bullshit ourselves. There is a lot of work in repairing a life that you fucked up on your own. You climb up out of a hole for years before you ever see daylight. I was a shut-in for two years because I thought it better that the world forgets about me. I tried to make a living from home in 2006-2007, but this world we live in hadn't come to pass yet, and I was living a fantasy. It made me feel worse that I couldn't provide for my family, but I could barely function as a human at that point. So I decided to do the only work I was capable of: Working on myself. I read every self-help book and mental health book I could lay my hands on. I dug deep into myself to try to figure out why I was the person I was, how I became that way, and the answer was straightforward. First, I thought I was absolutely normal. My behavior, though abhorrent, was how I was raised. My parents treated each other and us kids horribly, but it wasn't physically abusive save for a couple of times I'll keep to myself. I grew up in the same environment I perpetuated. I was continuing a cycle. Secondly, to accept that fact and to change meant work I wasn't ready to take on. But human psychology is a lot like a car in that regard; you can do the work now, or you can do it later, but it's going to cost you a lot more. In my case, it almost cost me everything. It was the third of those three times that I faced myself in the mirror and heard that voice, and this was the time I said yes.

For two-thirds of my life, my story is a story of failure, of self-hatred, of being a bad example. But from the age of 35 to 50, it's a story of repair and redemption. I'll put my humble path to today up against anyone's and dare them to do the work I've done to heal myself and come out who I am today. I'm still married to the same woman for over 25 years now. I've got three amazing kids who I adore. Up until May of this year, I had what I consider to be a dream job until COVID ate it, but I'm still with the same company, and I'm going to bust whatever amount of ass it takes to get my job back or demonstrate the skills I learned there to someone else who's willing to take me. I have a sense of self-worth and purpose that I've never had before, and I'm not taking being a call center tech support agent for the rest of my life. It is a means to an end, and it is not my life's work. I know what that is. It's helping you in the best way I know how: By being not the example of how to fix it, but from showing you by my example, it CAN BE FIXED that you can go from being a person full of anger and self-loathing and cruel behavior to being a person of kindness and compassion and love for people. That you can go from being a person who has no prospects to a person who can go to a job every day that fulfills them personally and professionally. That you can go from being a person who hasn't got their shit together at all to a person that can get morning to night without falling apart at the seams. This is my road, and my lane, but it's big enough for you, and I want you on this road with me. Some of you are gifted and talented beyond description, but the world doesn't know it yet because you have these problems. I know. I get it. I also see who you are, and the world deserves to see you as well. I had no one else to turn to at that last moment, so I did what I had to do. Myself. I'm asking you to take a walk with me because I don't want you to have to do it on your own. I may not know your way home, but I can get you as far as Anchorhead. You can get transport there to Mos Eisley or wherever you're going.

I had to get one joke in there somehow.

Did Joe Know About This?

On the heels of the news of Joe Budden maybe-kinda-sorta-moving his show to Patreon (which is weird since it looks like it’s being hosted on Libsyn now), Spotify has announced plans for multiple business models for podcasts, possibly to include ad-supported subscriptions and a la carte options. These may be discussed at a live stream event later in February.

Asked if Spotify thought customers would be willing to pay for podcasts, Ek on the earnings call responded that he believed there were several new models that could be explored.

“I think we’re in the early days of seeing the long-term evolvement of how we can monetize audio on the internet. I’ve said this before, but I don’t believe that it’s a one-size-fits-all,” he said. “I believe, in fact, that we will have all business models, and that’s the future for all media companies — that you will have ad-supported subscriptions and à la carte sort of in the same space, of all media companies in the future.”

“And you should definitely expect Spotify to follow that strategy and that pattern,” Ek added, more definitively.

The answer seemed to indicate that Spotify is considering some of the ideas in that recent survey — of getting consumers to pay for some podcasts, instead of accessing them all for free or having them bundled into their music subscription.

I wonder if Budden was aware of this and balked. Would there be a revenue split between Spotify and the creators, and what’s the ratio? Now that I think of it, isn’t that what they’ve been crying about re: Apple?

For more than a year, Spotify has been making noise about Apple’s unchecked power over the App Store, and in March 2019, it filed a complaint against Apple with the European Commission. Spotify claims Apple’s practice of taking 30 percent of an app’s revenue is unjustified, and says the company operates as a monopoly on iOS.

Suddenly, I find this Budden/Spotify deal more intriguing.

Wait, You Can Make Money Doing That?

Julie Miller from Vanity Fair writes about Hollywood coming over to the Pod Side for ‘fun and profit’:

…entertainment types began orbiting the audio space about two years ago in earnest, as the number of Americans listening to podcasts every month headed toward the 100 million it is today. It was also around 2018 that agencies like CAA began incorporating audio deals into their development packages. One insider estimates that many celebrities could get a six-figure guarantee per year, with the biggest actors receiving between $1 million and $3 million to launch an unscripted podcast. Scripted projects offer less up-front money but can be adapted into TV shows, films, books, and so on.

For the record, I am Steve Jobs, “Podcasts are Amateur Hour" Years Old. For years, podcasting was seen as less-than, so when I see stories like this, the little imp of the perverse in the back of my head tosses a bone at every true media elitist who, strangely, has a podcast now..

How About Not Doing That?

Chris Curran over at PES has a question about your thin mouth:

When I’m doing my fine-tuned editing on a podcast episode I use TwistedWave or Sound Forge because they allow me to VERY QUICKLY zoom in, highlight very small things like single mouthclicks, and delete them. 

When I try to make the same kind of edit in a DAW (Reaper and others) it takes forever. 

What say you?

For the most part, my workflow tends to remove mouth clicks, or at the very least minimize them. If they still show up through my noise gate, I highlight and remove them. I can’t say this happens often because I like to make sure I keep some water near me while I’m recording. The single biggest thing you can do to prevent mouth clicks is to keep hydrated. Remember, you can’t fix it in Post if it never happens in the first place.

Shot Of The Day

[rkjinwook]

• • •  STARTING LIVE!

       02AUG2020  |   🐥 JINWOOK’S HAPPY BIRTHDAY 🥳 🥳        DURATION   |   1:02:22

it’s a cute set, albeit typical for this kind of broadcast. the staff have provided jinwook with a fixed camera framing his mini birthday table, complete with multicolored balloons decorating the back wall. there’s a small tablet to monitor the stream and comment feed, which jinwook fiddles with as he waits. in retrospect, he thinks it would’ve been nicer to hold a more casual conversation with fans for his first solo live, but that might just be the nerves talking.

he fills the silence with music, his guitar in his lap. it’s an everyday sight, but jinwook realizes most fans won’t have heard him play much, so he takes care to warm up cleanly, and warm up his vocals too. he only alternates between a few simple chords, though. it’s the sort of background music he used to hear when he’d occasionally attend church services with eve. as jinwook plays he imagines an audience quietly filing in, taking their seats at his birthday party as they each receive the live notification. finally the staff motions for jinwook that the actual video is starting, and he rests the instrument in his lap, out of view for now.

“hello! i’m convex’s sunshine, jinwook.” the greeting is bright and familiar as he dips his head toward the camera. it’s unlikely that the viewers, who arrived so early from a notification, don’t know his name, but it can’t hurt to start off formally. “today is my birthday! yay!!” also evident from the title and the backdrop. jinwook gives himself a round of applause anyway. then he picks up a party hat from the table and slips the cone over his head. “tada~” 

“since we can’t meet in person, i wanted to greet you all with a live today to celebrate.” there’s a pause as jinwook adjusts the thin elastic of the party hat. he takes a breath. “last year, hmm...” he taps a finger to his cheek as he thinks back. “oh, last year i made cupcakes! i was helping our team sphere on the mgas.. so i couldn’t meet consta that time, either.” jinwook hums in thought, suddenly a bit nostalgic about his time as a coach. he shakes his head. “so i’m excited to try this out now.”

“let’s see...” he says, quickly moving on, “is everyone settling in here alright?” he peers over the tablet and rests a finger over the chat to pause its scrolling speed. the amount of viewers is staggering and the number only keeps rising, but jinwook focuses on the individual users sending messages instead. it’s a relief to see the majority in his native language. “hello and hello and hello,” he says, reading off a string of usernames and greeting each one individually, “and thank you for coming, and thank you for coming, and thank you for coming~!”

when jinwook releases his finger from the screen, the chat jumps back to life, shifting too quickly to read. he frowns and tries to pause it again. it takes some concentration to read off the unusual username combinations, but he does his best.

💬  :  happy bday 🥳 🥳 🥳 💬  :  you look handsome!!! 💬  :  happy birthday oppa~ 💬  :  thank you for being born 💖🎁🎁 💬  :  bare faced jinwook is the best!

“ah, thank you~ hello!! thank you too~ thank you for being by my side! oh! this one...” jinwook is startled into a laugh at the last comment, bringing a hand over his mouth. when he drops his hand he shows his full face to the camera, grinning. “this is definitely not bare faced jinwook, but, still i appreciate you thinking so~”

as he tries to keep reading, he tilts his head and squints. many of the messages are just full of celebrating emoji or animated emotes. it’s less to parse, but more noise to sort through. “ah, so much emoji in chat, you all must’ve learned from me, huh...” he muses.

after another minute he leans back again, his nerves settled. well, jinwook’s never had much trouble even talking to himself, so it shouldn’t surprise him that speaking to a bustling chat window comes naturally, too.

💬  :  did you have a good day so far?

“i’m happy today!” jinwook answers confidently. “my grandmother always wakes up early on sunday mornings, so i called her on the way to practice! and later tonight i’m going to video call with my family. actually i told my sister what time i was going live, so she might be listening too?” jinwook squints back down at the tablet and bites his lower lip. “ah, the chat is going way too fast to tell...”

💬  :  where are the other members!!

“hmm, training?” jinwook grins. “i’m taking a break to talk for right now~ but we are all working very hard otherwise!” he shares another smile, proud of himself for not mentioning anything further - although if his eyes sparkle, he can’t be held responsible. “they might stop by at the end!”

“that reminds me!” jinwook reaches below the table for his bag, pulling out a fresh journal that jaehyun had gifted him in the morning. he holds it up for the camera, proudly showing off the nice foil accents and the fold-out attachment. “my roommate, haru, got me this really pretty notebook. it’s supposed to work as a real midi keyboard.” jinwook’s runs his fingers over the cover. “he has good timing since i am almost out of pages in my old notebook... i’m excited to use it.”

💬  :  oppa’s hair is cool today!

“my hair, ah..” jinwook reaches absently to touch it, pleased. “it grew!” it’s worn longer than it was for pretty u era, freshly dyed and parted down the middle. he’s lucky he’s even allowed to have it showing for the live right now, since it’s a similar shade to his old cut. “i’m kind of happy, since it feels healthy recently...” he chuckles a little, the compliment leading him to another train of thought.

“speaking of cool, consta, did you guys see our call me baby special stage last week?” jinwook looks up to the camera and leans in, curious. “the concept was slightly darker for us, since unit black is so, you know... cool.” jinwook gestures vaguely but laughs at the understatement. it’s not a big enough word to describe some of the biggest superstars in the industry. “we have songs like rock but it’s different from convex‘s usual image, maybe,” he adds thoughtfully, knowing full well that their next comeback is inching in that direction. “do you think we suited it well?”

💬  :  convex is cool too!

jinwook nods, pleased by the positive responses in the chat. “so it was okay, then?” he laughs a little because of course, they’re all biased fans and he asked for it on his birthday, but it’s still reaffirming. “mmm, it still felt a bit refreshing and funky like convex, too. so i think there can be a middle ground,” he says, as if simply imagining how things could evolve in the future. “something smooth like that stage?”

something smooth. jinwook’s thinking of crazy in love, specifically, but the title song itself is an even bigger departure from their pretty u sound and aesthetic. “ah..” he shakes his head with a sheepish grin, “i think i’m rambling a lot.” jinwook takes a dramatic deep breath and collects his thoughts.

then he shifts away from the tablet to pull up the guitar in his lap. “i wanted to answer a lot of messages, but i actually prepared a song for you, too.” he strums a bright chord for emphasis. “it’s nothing fancy but i thought consta would maybe enjoy something like this. so i don’t have to sing happy birthday to myself, or anything,” he jokes.

🎵  :  heartz / minhee&luda — i’ll be there

“this is one of my favorite songs recently! i thought it would be nice for our fans, too.” it’d been an easy choice when jinwook was preparing for this stream. it’s a recent sphere release, plus he’s been listening to and singing the song since it came out, so he already knew most of the words. still, jinwook pulls up the lyrics on the tablet just in case. since he frames it as a fan song, there’s no need to change the gendered parts, although he doesn’t think he would have bothered, either way. 

jinwook only slows the tempo and lowers the key slightly to fit his guitar and his voice. the song has a different energy with an acoustic guitar instead of the bouncy synths, but it’s just as sweet and upbeat. he takes his time, singing all the way through both verses and two choruses. 

just before the bridge, jinwook trails off with a little smile. “ah, i just practiced up until here so far...” he keeps strumming idly as he leans over the tablet again. the comments flood with cheers that jinwook only can read some pieces of. it feels good, though, and jinwook feels confident about the vibe.

he watches several prying questions about heartz fly by in response, and carefully doesn’t acknowledge any of them. “of course i’ve been cheering for heartz,” is all he says. “i really liked around you and vivid also! and i’m excited for the next singles released this week, too.”

💬  :  please a convex song next!!

“oh,” he says, “a convex song?” jinwook takes a break, first, to roll out his wrists. then he hums in thought, searching for something he could play on the spot. “do you remember this one?”

🎵  :  convex — 20

he transitions into a familiar guitar intro. long-time fans might recognize it as the vocal unit song from convex’s debut album, but jinwook is pleased to introduce it to anyone else who’s unfamiliar. personally, he thinks it has held up pretty well over the past two years. “shh—” he mimics the sharp first line, then smiles as he continues strumming and begins to sing.

the song proves difficult to solo, and jinwook wishes he’d thought to prepare more material ahead of time. a medley could’ve been nice, but with all of the comeback preparations going on..... instead jinwook giggles as he trips over the lyrics, attempting the first verse’s backing and lead vocals both together. “hm..” he mumbles, glancing up at the camera. he casually redoes the section to make a decent recovery, and the chorus soars as intended. 

“ah...” says jinwook wistfully after he eases to a stop, “i’ll have to come back to that one someday. that one is nice to sing to consta, too. i always liked the lyrics a lot. you’re my twenties~”

he taps his fingers against the body of the guitar and is reminded of the special day. “but today my twenties are officially half-over, aren’t they? wah... scary....”

twenty-five. he stares blankly toward the tablet, thinking he should follow up: then i’ll just spend the second half of my twenties with consta!

these days, though, it feels like an unfair promise to make.

💬  :  like a gorilla like a gorilla!

his eye catches on one of the suggestions breezing down the chat window, and it interrupts his brooding with a burst of laughter. “gorilla? de:code’s gorilla?” he repeats. he tries a few chords but they’re not in the right key, and jinwook grins as he puts away his guitar on its stand. “i don’t know, that one would be an interesting acoustic cover.” he sings a little phrase of it anyway, a random adlib from the ending: “girl you make me feel~!”

“but!” he points a finger at the camera, not wanting his opinions to be twisted. “maybe one day i could cover their song beautiful, or i’m fine from predebut!”

💬  :  what are you listening to recently?

“hmm... what is new?” jinwook absently adjusts his elastic party hat elastic and pulls out his phone. “i like lee hi’s holo! per_se have a nice summer album.. with o sole mio, and of course...” jinwook hits a pretty falsetto as he opens the music app: “this is how i feel about you, twilight~”

“it’s like twilight, yeah~” he flicks through his playlist and wonders if he should just share screenshots of the whole thing on fancafe. “ah, and eclipse’s comeback!” he adds. “look, isn’t the album cover pretty?” his screen is probably illegible, when he holds it up close to show the camera, but at least his enthusiasm is clear. “i like their night side the best, with that unique rock sound...” jinwook pauses, and reconsiders. “actually, navillera was totally my style, too.” he shakes his head and grins. “eclipse is definitely cool no matter what.”

💬  :  it is already 4 in the morning here why 😭

english. jinwook has glazed over every message in foreign languages but he laughs at this one. he trips over a stilted reading of the comment, and quickly switches back to korean to answer. “i’m sorry ahh, next time i have to think of different timezones, right?” he tilts his head. “mm, it seems impossible to find a good time for everyone all around the world? but i’m happy you could visit with me for even a little bit. please make sure to rest well~” as an afterthought, he finishes in english: “and goodnight~”

💬  :  can you show a rap verse? 

“rapping?” jinwook’s eyes light up at the suggestion, and he laughs out loud. “can i tell a secret?” it’s not the right question to ask, judging by the staff’s reaction. but jinwook leans in sneakily, and continues despite their concerned looks. “we tried to switch parts for adore u once, so i learned seungcheol’s rap! that choi seungcheol,” he says with a grin, “has pretty good expressions on stage these days... his parts are fun! i like practicing his pretty u verse, too.”

he tells the story casually, although that part switch was not just boredom in the practice rooms, but an official planned anniversary release. that weekend in incheon is still a fond memory despite the disappointment of never getting to see the final edit.

he rolls his shoulders. “anyway, i don’t have the nice low voice for it, but there is a little melody to his parts a lot of the time...” jinwook postures up for full effect and puts on his best rapper expression. “how can you dazzle so much? you’re so pretty it’s—”

it’s probably for the best that he is interrupted by a loud knock and a rowdy chorus of happy birthday starting right outside the door.

➡️  :  continued in part two...

[zhydoesart]

Letters

Warnings: none

Fandom/Ship: Phan

AO3

Summary: Somehow, Phil always knows when Dan's feeling down, and he always knows what to say to make Dan feel better.

Taglist: I don’t currently have one for this fandom, this is my first Phanfic ^^ I hope you enjoy

Somehow, he always knew.

Whenever Dan was having a bad day—maybe he’d dropped his ice cream, or maybe he was having his fifth existential crisis this month—Phil sent a text. It was never anything elaborate or too long-winded, it was something simple like, “I miss you <3,” or, “I heard a song that made me think of you and I smiled.” Whatever it ended up being, it always managed to turn Dan’s day around.

But Phil had taken a trip to the next city over, without Dan. It had only been two days so far, but Dan was already starting to feel the effects.

Dan had been lying on his bed, face buried in his pillow, for about 20 minutes now. Every three or so minutes, he’d check his phone, perking up hopefully, only to see that he hadn’t gotten a text from Phil, at which point he’d deflate again.

Phil had always been there when Dan needed him, he thought, unable to fight off a hint of bitterness. Part of him still resented Phil for leaving him and Dan hated that part of himself. It wasn’t Phil’s job to make Dan feel better; what was he, a child? Dan had never properly learned how to cheer himself up. Whatever he tried never worked.

Dan groaned, the sound muffled by his pillow, and rolled over onto his back with a sigh. His eyes sightlessly traced the little bumps on the ceiling, mind somewhere else. He pondered calling Phil for a moment, but no. That would be far too disruptive; what if Phil was doing something important that required concentration and Dan distracted him?

Instead, he dragged himself out of bed, trudging into the bathroom. He blinked blearily at himself in the mirror, running a hand through his hobbit hair, which was still messy from last night’s sleep, trying to force his hair into a little more order.

The bags under his eyes were dark today, and Dan thought absentmindedly that if Phil had been there, he probably would’ve slept better last night. As it was, last night he’d tossed and turned for hours.

On the bright side, Phil couldn’t eat cereal that wasn’t for him to eat, Dan thought dully as he poured himself a bowl. Maybe he should be enjoying having the place to himself, but somehow he isn’t having fun as he eats his slightly mushy cereal for brunch.

Dan left the bowl in the sink, plopping himself lazily down on the sofa. Fumbling for the remote, he turned on the TV, resigning himself to watching whatever was on. After a few minutes, his eyes glazed over as he stopped listening.

An engine stopped outside. Pausing the TV, Dan peeked out the blinds as the mailman—in this case, a woman, so maybe mailperson?—dropped an envelope into the mailbox. He waited the normal minute-and-a-half duration for the truck to drive away before bolting to the mailbox.

Dan hadn’t been corresponding with anyone via letters recently, so it was probably just the standard spam from the corporate entities that seemed to target him and Phil, but he never liked staying outside for very long. It wasn’t a very sunny day—in fact, it was gray today, clouds obscuring the sun—but the sentiment still stood, so as soon as he’d unlocked the mailbox and grabbed the envelope, he hurried back inside.

Dan slammed the wooden front door shut, standing with his back to said door as he faced his living room. Panting slightly, he stared down at the envelope in his hand as though he thought it would come to life and start trying to bite him. He shook his head—that was as unlikely to happen as it was for Phil’s potted plants to uproot themselves and do a little dance—forcing his other hand to move the distance necessary to rip open the envelope.

The way Dan unfolded the piece of paper inside the envelope was a sharp contrast with the way he’d opened the letter. Dan always opened envelopes with force, not bothering with any sort of neatness; unlike Phil, who was one of those people who needed to painstakingly peel open the flap. His hands seemed to be shaking as he read the first words printed on the page in front of him in a handwriting that was very, very familiar to him.

My darling Dan, the letter began in a slightly loopy, messy font that Dan instantly recognized as Phil’s. How are you? I’m sure you must be worrying about me. While the thought is very flattering, we are not conjoined, despite the baking video we made for Halloween in 2017, and Dan Howell should get himself a life that doesn’t involve spending ALL of his time with me. (I know, I know, hypocritical, right?)

Dan scoffed, migrating over to the sofa to read the rest of the letter.

(To be honest, he was relieved to hear from Phil. It wasn’t as though it had been very long since Phil had left, and Phil wasn’t bad at remembering to contact Dan, per se, but a part of Dan always carried the irrational fear that something bad had, or would, happen to Phil.)

Now you’re wondering why I sent you a letter, which is perfectly reasonable, as I don’t send many these days. I don’t really have a reason to. But, truth be told, I’ve always wanted to send one like this. I romanticize letters in my head, and, well, who better to be romantic with than you?

So I wrote this letter, assuming that you’d start pacing and/or passive-aggressively trying to suffocate yourself with a pillow if I left for longer than one day. While we’ve always been satisfied with texting, I feel like letters hold a bigger part of a person than a text. They’re more personal. Like, I held this letter and I wrote on it in my own handwriting, and I like you enough to write more than a paragraph. I wanted to let you know I was thinking about you. And letters are sort of a place for you to ramble about things you think the other person would want to hear about.

Letters are also a physical thing. There’s something cool about the way you can hold them in your hand. Sure, you could always send an email, and the other person could print it out, but then you wouldn’t have their handwriting, would you?

Handwriting tells a lot about a person. If it’s neat, then they’re methodical and think things through. If it’s big, then they have a lot of self-confidence, or at least want to make it look like they do.

Dan supposed that was true. Phil’s handwriting tended to be large, which represented the pure amount of energy he always had (at least around Dan).

Your handwriting is always small and messy, the opposite of the two examples I gave. I think you rush because you’re a procrastinator, and in your avoidance of doing things, it gives you less time to actually do the things you want to do because you waited so long.

Sometimes Dan wasn’t sure how beneficial it was for him and Phil to know literally everything about one another, but he had to admit that what Phil had said in the letter was true.

Dan scanned the letter. It seemed like the rest of the letter was just Phil rambling about a dog he’d seen from the window of the room where he was staying, and Dan smiled, imagining Phil with his face pressed to the window to stare out at the dog.

At the bottom, it was signed, Missing you too, Phil, but contrary to the signature, in smaller text it then read, P.S. Dan, I want a dog :/ I would name it Meatball, and then, P.P.S. Is having a great name for a dog enough justification to get a dog?

Dan sighed, though not unhappily, stretching as he stood. As usual, Phil had improved his day significantly, although that didn't stop Dan from missing him, just a little bit.

Dan had thought the letter would be a one-time occurrence, but the next day, another envelope was in his mailbox. In this letter, Phil attempted some poetry (it went very badly, but Dan still appreciated it) and scribbled in the margin the lyrics to a song he'd had stuck in his head while writing (Toxic by Britney Spears, of course).

Every day, Phil sent Dan a letter in the mail, and after a week, Dan now had a small pile accumulating on the table next to their bed. Each one contained words of reassurance and confidence that Dan could seize the day, and each time Dan opened an envelope, his heart swelled. He really didn't deserve someone like Phil, who, while not having his life together much more than Dan, seemed happier in his decisions and in himself than Dan felt.

He couldn't remember how long Phil had said the little trip was going to be, and so couldn't estimate the number of letters he'd be receiving, but on the eighth day, no letter came. Despite how much Phil had reminded him not to jump to the worst possible conclusion, Dan assumed Phil had stopped sending letters and that he'd gotten too busy for Dan anymore.

Dan had been lying in bed for an hour when he heard someone fumbling with the doorknob on the front door. Heart pounding, he glanced at the time (9:02). He crept to the end of the hallway, watching the door with a mix of trepidation and adrenaline.

Dan could hear the jingle of keys as the person on the other side of the door failed to unlock it several times. He realized that his palms were sweaty as he peered around the corner at the door. Anyone who failed to open the door that many times was either breaking in, or…

A muffled yet triumphant “Aha!” came from the other side of the door, becoming clearer as the door actually opened. Dan blinked what must’ve been ten times, so it couldn’t have been a hallucination conjured by his sleep-deprived brain. It was really Phil.

Phil glanced up, catching sight of Dan watching and breaking into a grin. Dan barreled into Phil’s arms, very nearly knocking Phil over as he caught Dan in an embrace.

Dan buried his face in Phil’s hair, inhaling the familiar scent, that pleasant smell of Phil’s shampoo currently mixed with the smell of wherever he’d been staying. “I missed you,” he said softly.

“You got my letters, right?” asked Phil, arms wrapped almost as tightly around Dan as Dan’s were wrapped around him.

“Yeah.” Dan pulled back after a moment to gaze into Phil’s “blue-green-yellow” eyes, one hand on Phil’s cheek. Phil’s eyes were filled with warmth, and his smile, that beautiful smile, was almost too much for Dan to handle in his tired state, but he narrowly prevented himself from crying.

“Why don’t we get out of the doorway?” Phil suggested, gently removing Dan’s hand from his face.

“Oh, yeah.” Dan stepped back to allow Phil room to enter with the luggage, closing the door behind him like a gentleman.

“How are you?” Phil asked. “Your eye bags look dark.” He raised an eyebrow at Dan, who felt sheepish and rushed to explain himself.

“I know you said to get to bed early because you know that I don’t sleep much unless I’m forced to, and I did!” justified Dan. “But… I couldn’t sleep much without you. It gets cold at night.” He pouted slightly, arms crossed, avoiding Phil’s eyes.

Phil looked at Dan, the look in his eyes soft. “You get off the hook this time,” he sighed, but he still had a small smile. “Come here.” He swept Dan into his arms again. While Phil had been the one away from home, and Dan had never left, Dan hadn’t felt as at home without Phil as he did now, enveloped in Phil’s embrace.

[smoljoelito]

obra de arte || joel pimentel

word count: 2,499

requested by/request: my own idea I threw into my queue lmfao

description: you draw joel pimentel per request, but you don’t expect him to see it.

warnings: fluff

masterlist

tags: @quierick @mepuserojito @ericks-mala-actitud @woowoodaaboo @ella-se-vuelve-loca @joelsaww @honeyzhong @sarswilltakeyouout @pimentelssmile @whippedforcnco @notsoteenagegirl @richukisbb @besosdecnco @emsy55 @cloudfiveclub @erickspretend1 @hardtoadore

———————————————————————————————————--

Everyone has their outlet in life, as you like to call it.

An outlet, to you, any activity you do that brings you a happiness high or gives you a sense of calamity. For some, it’s working out. The intensity and achievement of small goals gives a lot of people a shot of dopamine that becomes an addiction. For others, a creative outlet suits them best. Some people sew, draw, sing, do DIYs, and/or dance and use it as their escape from the stressors of life. Then there’s the rare few, that their outlet is their job.

For you, you’re lucky to say that you have been able to take your favorite thing in the entire world, art, and make a living off it. Never in your life did you think you’d be able to do such a thing, but after beginning to innocently post a few artworks on your art Instagram account your friends encouraged you to make, you began to grow.

It was a snowball effect, starting slow, but as soon as the bigger art accounts began to repost your drawings, it grew faster then you could ever imagine. Whimsical art was never your forte, but realism for you came naturally. You could draw anything; humans, nature, dogs, cats, buildings, etc, as easily as breathing air. Some people even began to call you an art prodigy, which you never truly believed.

Your favored medium? Anything that you can make art with. You go through phases, sometimes loving markers for quick art, topping them with colored pencils for details. Sometimes, especially for nature, you enjoy pastels, oil, and chalk, to get the beautiful blending of colors needed to successfully make the picture come alive. Your favorite, however, seems to be painting, specifically watercolor. As much as you love oil paints, there’s nothing like layering watercolors together, giving a gentle and soft finish, but also an imperfect look that seems to draw the whole piece together as one.

Most say you have the ability to make anything come alive; from highlights to lowlights, from perfecting skin colors and providing the correct background to make it all tie together. It’s a special gift of yours; being able to find whatever makes people’s eyes sparkle, and this is how you have your success as an artist. You have the ability to make your models look alive by putting them in a situation where they automatically feel the most lively, where you can see the natural glow coming off their skin. The sparkle in their eyes isn’t painted on, and the flush in their cheeks isn’t just the paint, but it’s the model, and artist, in the prime. People look better when you decide to paint them, it’s like magic, how everything comes together so perfectly on the canvas. It’s like you have an innate ability to make absolutely anything, beautiful. 

Now on a full-ride scholarship to your favored art school in LA, you’re living a dream. Most of your artworks for school, you sell for money, but in the summer, you take commissions and requests to keep your talent and extra money up. So, at the moment, you’re working on a gouache watercolor painting of Joel Pimentel, a request you recently got. You know the band he’s from, since you’ve been listening to them for quite a while, but never so much into it to learn their names.

When you got the request, you decided to do it out of other’s you’d received since, for some reason, you had an incredibly good feeling about it. Your intuition is usually fairly good and right, so you decided to paint the curly-haired boy, whose name you just learned. 

Finding the right picture seemed to take you longer than the drawing, but after searching his Instagram account, photographer’s accounts, and google images, you found the most candid photo you could find of him smiling, seeming to be in his element, and he is.

The picture was taken inside of what appears to be a recording studio, but that’s not going to matter anyway since you’re making the background a single color; blue ombré, light blue at the top to accentuate his hair, and then dark blue at the bottom. Painting him, however, would be done in black and white. You enjoy messing with colors in such a way, just to experiment and keep creativity flow up.

With the picture in front of you, you begin your sketch. For some reason, once you get the basic shapes of his face and body down, you always start with the eyes. Eyes are your favorite thing to sketch because they are so versatile. With a few highlights, you can make them look alive and glowy, and with a few more highlights and some shadings, tear-filled and irritated. To perfect them, that’s where you always start. Then you move up to the hair, and then down the rest of the body. 

When the basic outline is done, you already have pride in the drawing, excited to finish it. Painting it is your favorite part, and once you get a basic grey wash across the entire drawing, you start with, surprise, his eyes. Once you get down the basic color blocking, you begin to add details; small white highlights around the inner corner to make his eyes look extra radiant. From there, you work outwards, building shadows in his face and hair, then letting it dry while you start on the bottom half of his body. 

This is how you work, layer by layer, until the clock reads 3:11 A.M. and your eyes are shutting every few seconds, requiring you to jolt yourself awake. After cleaning up your art hands, which is what you call your hands after they’ve been covered with whatever medium(s) you’ve been using for the day (A/N: this is what I call my hands after I’ve made some art since they’re trashed lol) and you wash your face, you practically collapse in bed. 

Upon waking up the next morning with the brilliant sunlight of the morning lighting up your room, you groan at the light pounding of your head. It’s your own curse, you’re a perfectionist, and you absolutely cannot stop doing anything you’ve started until it’s completed. 

You pop a few Advil that you leave by your bed, gulping them down with some water before pulling back the covers, exposing your body to the AC. A hiss escapes your lips as the cold meets your body rather gently, brushing over your skin like a light kiss, yet leaving behind shivers and goosebumps in its wake. Quickly, you snatch your favorite hoodie you wear around the house, pulling it on your body, before letting your toes greet the chilly floor. 

After you freshen up in the bathroom, your feet pad against the floor towards the kitchen to get yourself a cup of coffee. While it brews, you head back to your art desk you keep by the window of your apartment, finding the painting of Joel staring back up at you. A gasp escapes your lips as you hold it up, heart-swelling at how good it turned out. Just as you take out your camera to take a photo of it, you can hear your Keurig spit out the last bit of your fresh cup of coffee.

Once you have mixed in enough cream and sweetener, you head back into the living room, setting the cup down on a coaster on your desk. From there, you pick up the painting, signing it quickly, before hanging it on the white wall of your apartment. After you set up some white lights, you snap a picture of it with your camera. 

While you work at your desk, you leave the painting on the wall for fear of spilling your coffee on it, yet you have no fear of it spilling on your computer. The realization of your art life makes you chuckle as you plug in your camera to your computer.

After a few quick edits, you send the photo to your phone before uploading it to Instagram and your story, making sure to tag Joel and CNCO to help with exposure. From there, you set down your phone and put away your computer, sipping on your coffee as you think about your next possible artwork. 

Once you’ve downed your first cup of coffee, you stand up, putting all your lights away and placing the painting of Joel in a portfolio case, before picking up your phone.

A gasp escapes your lips as you find your phone blowing up with notifications from Instagram, a few specific ones catching your eye.

cncomusic has uploaded your post to their story.

cncomusic has tagged you in a post.

cncomusic has mentioned you in a post.

joelpimentel has uploaded your post to their story.

joelpimentel  has tagged you in a post.

joelpimentel has mentioned you in a post.

joelpimentel wants to send you a message. 

Quickly, you open Instagram, reposting the notifications to your story as you squeal with excitement. Then, you head to your direct messages, accepting the request to allow him to message you.

joelpimentel: Hey! You’re drawing is so good, I love it so much and so does my mom. We were wondering if we can buy it off you if you’d be willing to sell it to us. Thanks so much! You’re really talented :)

Your jaw practically hits the floor as you stare bug-eyed at the message. Before your brain can even process it, your thumbs are typing.

artbyy/n: Hey! Thank you so much! I really appreciate it. Unfortunately, I won’t sell it to you, but I will send it free of charge :)

Almost immediately, you see he begins typing back.

joelpimentel: You’re welcome, anytime :). No, there’s no way I’m not paying for it! That had to take forever. My mom says she’s going to pay you.

artbyy/n: LOL it didn’t take me that long. The medium I used wasn’t my most expensive medium and it was a request, not a commission, so I don’t really mind. I mean you already reposted my art and tagged me in it on your account and on CNCO’s account, that’s payment enough. My follower count is skyrocking lol thank you!

joelpimentel: Fine, okay. You’re welcome lol. Do you want to ship it to me?

artbyy/n: Sure! I can get it in the mail today if you send me your address right now.

joelpimentel: Alright, here it is! Thanks again :)) My mom is really excited.

artbyy/n: LOL well, tell her I said thanks! And you’re welcome, anytime!

Quickly, you take one of those long yellow envelopes and write the address on it with a brush pen to add to the artsy vibe. Calligraphy is also something you do in your free time, just to take a break from art sometimes. Then, you take the artwork and slide it in between two pieces of cardboard inside the yellow envelope before sealing it off with a rubber stamp with your initials on it. 

After putting on a stamp and paying for shipping, you take your keys and slide on some shoes, before walking outside to find your mailbox. Unfortunately, all the mailboxes are on the first floor of your apartment building, so you hop on an elevator and take the ride all the way down.

Around ten minutes later, you find your way back into the apartment, locking the door and kicking off your shoes. You head back over to your phone, finding many new notifications from Instagram.

joelpimentel liked your photo.

joelpimentel liked your photo.

joelpimentel liked your photo.

joelpimentel liked your photo.

It goes on and on for many notifications making you giggle, and then you see there’s a new message from him.

joelpimentel: Your art is amazing holy crap is there anything you can’t draw? Sorry for bombing your phone my mom and I were looking LOL.

artbyy/n: LOL I tend to draw the same things over and over again, so probably haha. It’s totally okay! A celebrity is liking all of my pictures and you think I’M complaining? Also, hi mom lol.

joelpimentel: I think you’re wrong you could probably draw blind. LOL you still have a right to complain. She said hi and wants to know if you speak Spanish cause she saw some of your captions are in Spanish.

artbyy/n: I actually have drawn blind before! It’s a form of art called the blind contour line drawing! Lol yeah I do! I love speaking Spanish so much I would speak it over English if I could. I took classes in high school and now I’m getting a minor in it! Last year I went to Ecuador to study abroad and I just got back a few weeks ago. It feels weird to speak English lol.

joelpimentel: I know the feeling. When I travel with my band and speak Spanish all the time then flip languages it feels unnatural. That’s so awesome you learned it though! Not a lot of people speak it that weren’t raised in a Latin family. My mom says that’s really cool and wants to know how you liked Ecuador.

artbyy/n: Thanks! I know right. I love the language and culture. I just love languages and cultures in general though. Really I could sit and listen to someone tell me about their culture for hours. In my free time last year I started teaching myself Italian too just because languages are cool. 

artbyy/n: Ecuador is the most beautiful country I have ever been too. I cried like a baby when I left. Everyone was so nice there, including my host family. I miss my host mom so much :( she’s the light of my life lol.

joelpimentel: I love languages too! I try to learn a few words from every country I visit. The world is an incredibly cool place haha. I’m interested just like you are :). 

joelpimentel: Ecuador is amazing. One of my bandmates, Chris, is from Ecuador! He’d be so happy to hear you loved it. Aw, I’m sorry :( hopefully, you can visit soon.

The conversation goes on for hours like this, and you only realize when your stomach starts rumbling from lack of food. Really, you’re never on your phone, so it’s odd for you to sit, staring at a screen all day long. A smile has been plastered across your face the entirety of the conversation, and you can’t help but hope he keeps talking to you for a while. It seems you both have the same likes and dislikes, so the flow of conversation is some of the easiest you’ve ever had. 

The smile on your face lasts the rest of the day as you two happily text until it is time to go to bed. When he wishes you goodnight, you swoon, phone dropping onto your chest as you stare up at the ceiling grinning.

Oh boy, you’re in for some trouble.

———————————————————————————————————--

do we want a part two?

[awkwardnessandbaseball]

So, now that we’re here, at the second to last chapter, I thought it might be time to let you know that there will be a companion piece! I’ve written a few key scenes from Killian’s POV to be posted after this story is complete! YAY!!!!!!

Once again, so many thanks to: @cspupstravaganza, @sherlockianwhovian, @lassluna

Tag list: @quirkykayleetam, @squidvisious, @carpedzem, @kmomof4, @revanmeetra87, @capnjay21

AO3 if that’s your jam: Prologue | Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7

I’d Pick You (and Your Little Dog, Too)

A Captain Swan Pupstravaganza Story

Summary: According to everyone in the known universe, Emma Nolan’s dog is supposed to lead her to her soulmate. But she’s not even sure if she wants that. Soulmates are pretty idealistic, don’t you think?

Chapter Six:

Emma isn’t surprised when David walks into the station starry-eyed on a Thursday in the spring. She knows he proposed to Mary Margaret the night before, and Emma knows -- knew before David even bought the ring -- the answer was yes.

There’s never been any question for the two of them. David knew before Mary Margaret even adopted Charming. He knew that the fourth grade teacher at Storybrooke Elementary with the big eyes and the bigger heart was it for him. She made his heart stutter and his mouth run dry before she even said a single word to him.

Emma’s happy for David, truly. She’s long since forgotten her fears about heartbreak when it comes to her brother and his soulmate. She is not, however, excited about what comes out of his mouth after he tells her the news.

“She wants you to be her maid of honor.”

“What?!” Emma winces at the high pitch of her voice. “I’m… I barely… why?”

David smirks at her. It’s the same face he made when he had to spell out the fact that Killian should move in with her. Smug bastard.

“Mary Margaret doesn’t know a lot of people here, you know. And you’re also her brother’s soulmate. And her soulmate’s sister.” He’s started ticking off reasons on his fingers. He raises a fourth finger, opening his mouth, but Emma stops him.

“Okay, okay, fine. I get it. It’s just… maid of honor?” Emma drops her head into her hands. “That means planning stuff like a bridal shower and a bachelorette party, doesn’t it? That’s a lot. I barely know the woman myself, I don’t even--”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about any of that.” David’s smirk morphs into a full-on smile. “We’re getting married in two weeks.”

“What?!” Emma screeches again.

“We don’t want to wait anymore! We just want to… be married.” David’s gone wistful now, surely imagining lots of little Nolan babies running around their little loft apartment.

“How are you planning to put together an entire ceremony in two weeks?” Emma crosses her arms over her chest, eyebrows nearly into her hairline now.

“We’re going to City Hall,” David says with a shrug.

Emma’s still skeptical.

“I don’t know her very well, but Mary Margaret seems the type to want a big wedding, with all of her family, and lots and lots of flowers.”

David rolls his eyes.

“Yes, you’re right. But we just want to be married now. We can have another ceremony later with all of that stuff.”

“So now I have to be Maid of Honor twice?”

“Yes.” David’s firm answer leaves no more room for complaints. This is important to him, clearly. He doesn’t ask Emma for much, and really, this isn’t even an imposition. She loves Mary Margaret, loves her for David especially. She’s just never really had a friend close enough to warrant a bridesmaid conversation, nevermind Maid of Honor.

Besides, most of her friends haven’t even bothered to tie the knot. They’re just… together.

"If it helps," David adds, "Killian's my best man."

“Fine,” Emma agrees with an eyeroll, but there’s a smile on her face, too.

****

For only having two weeks to plan what Emma has begun thinking of as The Wedding of the Century, David and Mary Margaret have done a lovely job. Mary Margaret found a beautiful, if simple, white dress that also came in light blue, so she bought the matching one for Emma to wear. She’s got a small bouquet of silk hydrangeas, the color almost identical to Emma’s dress. There’s a matching flower tucked into David’s tux.

Charming and Rascal wear collars of the same blue, and they’ve somehow finagled flower crowns onto Princess and Procella. It’s all very cute, and it makes Emma just a little bit sick, but also warms her heart just a tad.

And Killian.

Emma had suspected that her boyfriend would clean up nicely. She’d asked him not to shave -- loves his scruff too much -- and he’s listened. His own boutonnière brings out the color in his eyes, making them shine even more brightly than normal. And when they meet Emma’s from across the makeshift aisle at City Hall, they darken just a bit.

He watches her, intently, throughout the entire ceremony. And she watches him watching her. She’s overly self-conscious, but not enough to control her surprisingly emotional reactions. She bites her lip while David says his vows, a mixture of pride and something else she can’t quite name. And when the officiant instructs David and Mary Margaret to kiss for the first time as a couple, a couple of tears fall.

She’ll deny it later, but they’d hired a photographer, so she knows there’s proof.

Damn.

They invite all of their friends to a small reception at Granny’s. She’s cleared out all of the center tables and given them full control of the jukebox. David plays about fifteen slow songs in a row, and normally Emma would be griping, but… it’s so hard to complain about anything when Killian’s holding her with one arm around her waist, his prosthetic hand lingering at the small of her back. She glances towards her brother, who hasn’t stopped staring at his wife since the officiant announced her as such. Killian squeezes her hand, bringing her attention back to his face.

“I wanted to give you something,” he says, looking unsure for the first time all day. “Can we step outside?”

Emma worries for a moment, unsure of what he could possibly have to give her and why he looks so concerned, but she follows him regardless. It’s chilly outside, now that night has fallen, and he drapes his leather jacket around her shoulders.

“Emma, I don’t think it’s any secret that we’re meant to be, right?” He glances at her, still wary, even after all this time, that she’ll deny the fact that they’re soulmates. She nods, unsure where this is going. “It’s just… we never talk about it, and that’s fine. But today, watching David and Mary Margaret get married and take that next step, it sort of got me thinking.” There’s the ear scratch Emma has been waiting for. He reaches into his pocket, and her eyes bug out of her head.

“Killian, I don’t--”

“Calm down, Swan, I’m not proposing.”

The nickname calms her down more than the words. Ever since he’d learned her mother’s maiden name, Swan, he’s taken to referring to her as such, claiming it ‘suits her’ more than Nolan, and that it has more of a ring to it. She doesn’t care why he uses the name, but she does love the way it rolls off his tongue.

Love.

She’s been thinking the word more frequently recently, in relation to Killian. It’s never I love you, but rather that she loves some part of him, some habit of his. She doesn’t love him, not yet.

Does she?

Does he?

“This was my brother’s ring,” he’s saying now, pulling a large ring out of his pocket. It’s on a chain, one that’s clearly well-worn, far from the shiny silver she suspects it once was. “And I’d like you to have it.” He finally meets her eyes.

“Your brother… are you sure?” Emma reaches out hesitantly, touching the worn edges of the ring. It feels heavy, but not in weight.

“Aye, I am. I… I love you, Emma. And this is the best way I can think to express that.”

“I love you, too.”

She does. She’s sure of it as soon as the words leave her lips. Of course, then Killian is kissing her and they’re both laughing because it’s such a simple thing -- just a few words, really -- but it’s as though they’ve been dancing on eggshells without realizing it, and as soon as they admit the truth about their feelings, the floor turns back into concrete and they’ve found their footing again.

She loves Killian Jones, and she’s going to wear his brother’s ring around her neck for the rest of her God damned life if that makes him happy.

A low whine comes from near their feet, where Rascal and Procella would apparently like some attention, please.

“Ah, I almost forgot,” Killian says as he reaches into his pocket again. Instead of another ring, he pulls out a plastic bag with two cookies. One is shaped like a ship, the other a hook. He hands the ship to Procella and the hook to Rascal. Both dogs run to lay together under a table. They share both cookies.

Killian wraps an arm around Emma’s shoulders and they watch their dogs together. It’s strange to Emma, still, that Rascal knew Procella was meant to be a part of their lives even before that beautiful little stray golden retriever chose Killian. The order of events is all sorts of backwards, but it doesn’t matter, not really. Because they’re here now. She reaches up and holds the ring steady against her chest.

******

“Hey, where have you been?” Emma asks Killian a few weeks later. He’s punctual by design, always arriving home between 5:15 and 5:30, but it’s nearly 7.

“Hmm?” He looks up at her, as though he hadn’t expected her to be home. “Oh. Work ran late. Nothing to fret over.” He finishes untying and removing his boots before stepping into the kitchen and kissing her on the cheek.

“I ordered pizza, it’s in the fridge,” she tells him. He’s acting nervous, or secretive, or some other adjective that has a negative connotation when using it to describe your normally open and honest boyfriend.

“Thanks, Swan.” He reaches in and grabs a couple of slices and gets to work wrapping them in foil and heating up the oven.

“What’s wrong with you?” Emma asks.

He finally stops moving, turns to face her.

“What do you mean?” He tries to keep his face even, she can tell, but his jaw twitches and a blush rises from his chest up to his neck. His eyes are staring just past her head, as though he thinks she won't notice.

“You’re keeping something from me, Killian. You never get home late, especially without calling. And now you won’t even look at me.”

Rascal has joined her, sitting just behind her feet and staring at Killian, matching Emma’s intensity. Killian glances between the two of them, tension obvious in the set of his shoulders. Finally, he rolls his eyes.

“You two are impossible. Come on, then.” He reaches over to turn the oven off and then slides his sneakers onto his feet. Emma stays glued to her spot in the kitchen, entirely unsure of what’s happening. “Are you coming or not?”

“Coming where?” Emma asks, but she moves towards the door and pulls her sneakers onto her feet as well.

“Can you just… trust me? Please?” He holds his hand out to her, one eyebrow raised.

She takes it, and he leads her out the door, Rascal and Procella right behind them as they climb into the car.

--

“Why are we here?” Emma asks, slowly extracting herself from the passenger’s seat. They’re at the docks. She comes here sometimes, though not as much in the last year or so, when she needs to think or clear her head. Ever since she’d run away as a kid and ended up here, the water has tended to calm her down when she needs it most.

Killian doesn’t answer right away. He’s watching her face, like he’s memorizing it. It’s nearly dark out, the summer sun setting behind them as they face the open water.

“I came here a lot, when I first moved to Storybrooke,” he says finally. This is news to Emma, although she’s never shared her feelings about the water with anyone but David, so she can’t fault him for keeping this to himself. That said, it still doesn’t explain his strange behavior, or what they’re doing here together right now. “The water calms me down when my mind won’t stop moving. So I came here. The very first time, I saw you.”

This gets Emma’s attention. She’d thought, all this time, that the first time they’d seen each other had been at Granny’s Diner. But apparently that was a lie.

“Oh don’t get all narrow-eyed on me, Swan. I didn’t know it was you. It was dark out, so I couldn’t tell what Rascal looked like, especially from a distance. I only figured it out recently.” He clears his throat, then reaches out for her hand. She offers it to him more out of habit than desire, but she doesn’t take it back either. “I was talking to David--”

Emma groans at that. She hates when David meddles in her life with Killian. David’s a romantic, and he wants Emma to constantly be swept off her feet, but Emma just wants things to continue as they’ve been going.

“Listen, David wanted me to propose here, but I’m not doing that, so give me a little credit here, okay?”

For the first time since Killian came home late, Emma laughs.

“Continue,” she tells him.

“I was talking to David, and he mentioned that you came here a lot after what happened with your parents. That the water seemed to do something for your nerves that he couldn’t, and then that even Rascal couldn’t.” Killian looks at her again, waiting for confirmation. Emma nods. “So that got me thinking, and that’s when I realized I saw you on my very first night in Storybrooke, out here at the docks.”

“You’re a wonderful storyteller, Killian, but I’d love for you to get to the point.” She’s smiling.

“I bought you something,” he tells her as he starts walking, finally. They reach the water and he points to a boat. “It’s just… I wasn’t sure if you’d like it. But it’s large enough to hold the two of us, plus Rascal and Procella.” He’s speaking quickly now, rambling. “I just thought that, instead of this being a sad place for us where we go when we’re feeling lonely, we could… together, I mean, come out here when we both need to get away from everything else.”

“You bought me a boat?” Emma asks quietly.

“Aye, I did.”

“How do you… how did… Dammit, Killian, you know me better than I know myself and it’s driving me insane.” She’s laughing again as she hugs him, arms thrown around his neck.

It’s a fucking boat.

“But why all the secrecy?” She releases him and eyes him skeptically. “This is an incredible surprise. Why would you want to hide it?”

“Ah, I’m renaming her.” Then, the ear scratch Emma loves so much. “I didn’t want you to see her until she was done. I just bought her today. Signed the papers and all.”

The Jewel of the Realm is painted in beautiful, if faded, lettering along the side of the boat.

“What’s wrong with the name it has?” Emma asks, but she knows it doesn’t feel right. It’s so regal and dramatic -- really better suited for people like her brother and Mary Margaret. Killian raises an eyebrow at her. “Yeah, you’re right. So, what’s the new name?”

“I was thinking about The Jolly Roger,” he says with a grin.

She loves it.

“Sounds like a pirate ship.” She bites her lip.

“Oh, I plan to do loads of pillaging and plundering while aboard this ship, my love,” he says with a kiss against her hair. A shudder goes down her spine.

“When do we set sail, Captain?”

“Not yet, I’m afraid. This,” he gestures vaguely around the docks and towards the general direction of the boat, “is why I didn’t want to tell you yet.” He looks down at her, exasperated but also with a sparkle in his eye.

“There’s something else,” she says, pointing at his chest. “There’s more to this that you’re not telling me.” It’s not accusatory. Whatever else he’s hiding isn’t a bad thing, she can tell, but there’s still something there.

“Can you let me have one thing, Swan? My God,” he groans. “It was Liam’s boat. Okay?”

Emma stops smiling.

“Liam? Your brother?”

“Aye. She ended up passing through a few hands, as he didn’t exactly have a living will or anything, but I finally tracked her down. It wasn’t cheap, but I got her here.” His ears are bright red, and he won’t look at her.

“You never talk about Liam, you know,” she says as she takes his hand hand guides it to the ring hanging from her neck. “Not even when you gave me this.”

“It was… it was a long time ago.” He swallows a thick lump in his throat.

“You don’t have to talk about it, Killian.” She reaches up and cups his cheek. “But I’m here if you want to.”

“He… it was a car accident,” Killian looks at her, gauging her reaction, as always. She gasps, realizing not for the first time how alike their lives have been at the most unexpected moments. “Same one I lost my hand in.” He holds up his left hand, as if proving something. Emma grabs it and places it on her own waist. “He’d been talking to me, trying to tell me something, I can’t remember what. I know we were fighting. It all happened so fast. He looked at me and I remember the anger in his eyes, and then someone ran the light and it was over. I woke up in the hospital.” He shrugs, trying to pretend he’s okay.

“Let’s get on the boat,” Emma whispers after a moment of silence.

“What?”

“We don’t have to go anywhere. But it’s yours, right? Have you been on it yet since it got here?”

“I did an inspection, but that’s all,” he admits.

“So let’s get on.”

They climb on, Killian’s footing much surer than Emma’s, but he guides her. Rascal and Procella have no qualms at all, hopping aboard like they’ve been on boats their entire lives. There are two seats, but once Killian settles into one, Emma perches herself in his lap. It wouldn’t be safe if they were out on the water, but they’re still tied to the docks, sitting still as the water laps around them. They all sit in silence, even the dogs.

“I love you, Emma,” Killian whispers into her shoulder.

“I love you, too.” She turns and kisses him. It’s slow at first, and then it’s not.

Emma supposes they’ll have to christen it again once it gets its new name. When she tells Killian what she’s thinking, he growls into her mouth and they don’t leave the boat until after midnight.

[geekygee01]

And suddenly, you were my everything

Month Two

This was definitely not how your day was meant to go, your day was meant to be straightforward. 

1. Arrive at Boone, Colorado

2. Split up, tackle the Sheriff’s department, coroners office and victims families all at once

3. Meet up at the local bar or diner and discuss your findings

4. Rent a motel room

5. Layout maps and plans and hopefully discover where the werewolves were

6. Suit up, get your weapons, drive to the den, wipe out the werewolves

7. Get some grub, maybe get shitfaced, grab a shower and hit the hay

8. Drive out in the morning, back to the bunker or another case

 Pretty simple, something you have done a thousand times over without fail or complication. And yet your day was somehow more like this;

 Arrive late at Boone, Colorado

Split up, you somehow ended up with the Sheriff’s department, where they were all a bunch of sexist pigs who gave you no information, Just a couple of gross remarks and an ass slapping before you were on your way

You went to the diner across the road, but Dean went to a bar three streets away and Sam went to another bar even further away

 You called and set up a meeting place at your diner

 You spent your time waiting for them chewing on ice and resisting the urge to throw some guys bacon out the window (which in itself was weird, you love bacon)

The boys arrived, you ordered lunch, discussed what you learned (which for you was nothing)

Rented a motel room, two beds, mould, not the best place you’ve stayed but also not the worst

Somebody (dean) forgot to grab or pack any maps 

You had to go to the library and get one

(made a pit stop to a public bathroom when your stomach rolled, that damn second burger probably wasn’t the best choice)

Came back to the motel and set up the maps

 Spent the next few hours trying to find the werewolves

Finally discovered where they were

Suited up, got weapons, (raided the vending machine for snacks) drove to the den, did not wipe out the werewolves. You got ambushed and tied up.

You were tied to a chair in a basement with no clue where the boys were and some werewolves leering at you

One of which was a Sheriffs deputy, the same one that slapped your ass

 So your day wasn’t really going according to plan, but that’s fine, it’s happened before, you can handle it. What you can’t handle is having no idea where your boys are or if they’re okay. You also can’t handle the slightly spinning room and the fact that your belly can’t decide whether you’re really hungry or if you’ve been recently poisoned. And you definitely cannot handle these werewolves and their need to sniff and pet you, talking about fresh blood and fertility.

 “If any of you people eaters try and breed me I will rip off your dick and fuck you with it,” you try and wriggle away from the hands rubbing your sides and belly.

 The three wolves in the basement with you laugh, the one rubbing you pulls something from his pocket and forces it over your head.

 “And how exactly are you going to do that with a gag on?” the smarmy blonde asks. 

 The one who gagged you pats your head condescendingly his brown eyes alight with amusement. The final one, a big oaf with no hair is pacing the room, occasionally pausing and tilting his head towards the roof. Listening to whatever is going on above, maybe it’s your boys. 

 You try to yell for them, but it just comes out as muffled moans. You throw yourself forward, tilting the chair but brown eyes catches it and pushed you upright. 

 “Careful now my little moon goddess, don’t want to hurt the baby.”

 You want to say “Moon Goddess? What the fuck, and what baby you smelly asshole?” but instead all you say is “Moom, mrrs, waa huh, ehhh ot mhm oo hehe ahuh”

 Not exactly the angry words you were looking for, but you’re sure they get the gist of it anyway. You continue struggling and call out for Dean or Sam in spite of your inability to talk or move. 

 “Hush, lovely. Too much stress is bad for the baby,” smarmy blonde caresses your face “not to worry, Joshua has just the thing for you.”

 The big oaf lumbers towards you with a needle in hand, your struggles start again, desperate to get away from whatever it is they have in the needle. Smarmy blonde continues to stroke you and whisper soothing words whilst ‘Joshua’ places the needle at your neck and presses the plunger. 

 Later…

“Y/n!” your eyes shoot open and meet the lovely green eyes you fell in love with. So sparkly and green, like Rapunzel, or a fresh apple. 

 “Dean?” you mumble, your head hurts and everything except Dean’s eyes are fuzzy.

 You haven’t felt like this since that wild party at the end of finals at college. Though this feels worse, much worse. Probably the whole age thing, losing the ability to handle hard liquor and drugs. 

 “Yeah it’s me, are you alright?” he looks worried, he should never look worried. His cute face should be smiling all the time. You clumsily reach a hand up and try to move his mouth into some semblance of a smile. But you ultimately fail, making a weird smushed grimace that only freaks you out.

 “M’fine,” you slump forward and he catches you in his arms “they made me go sleepy-byes.”

 You can hear Sam’s soft chuckle. Good, he should be happy too, why isn’t Dean laughing? You try to tickle him but your arms are uncooperative, they just flop around slightly, whacking him in the stomach. You wished you were whacking the wolves in the stomach instead, wait, where are the wolves?

 “Where are they?” you ask, eyes trying to make out their fuzzy forms.  

 “Dead,” Sam kicks at a body on the floor. That’s a bit rude. Although they did drug you, maybe you should kick them too. You try to thrust your leg out but all you manage to do is knee yourself in the chin. 

 “All of them?” they nod “the smarmy blonde?” Sam points at a blonde halfway up the stairs “and brown-eyes?” 

 “Didn’t really stop to look into their eyes,” Dean rubs your back “but I think he might be the one in the corner.” 

 You turn your head to look in the corner, but the room spins and your stomach flips. Maybe moving is something you shouldn’t be doing right now. But that’s only two of the wolves, what about the tree-man?

 “Joshua?” you ask.

 “Joshua?” Dean raises his eyebrows at you, ha, they’re like itchy grubs. 

 “That’s what they called him, he’s an oaf, like Sam. But he has no hair so he’s not Sam.”

 This time it’s Dean’s beautiful laugh, finally. That’s the only noise you want to hear ever. It’s probably what plays as you enter the pearly gates to heaven.

 “Well, now that we’ve cleared all that up, how about we head home?” Sam grumbles. Heading for the stairs without even waiting for an answer. 

 “Home sounds nice,” you snuggle into Dean and close your eyes.

 At the Bunker…

 You squish your face into your pillow, trying to get away from the pesky bright light that just turned on. Someone is calling your name softly, trying to wake you but you’re comfortable and warm and really don’t want to get up.

 Something flops onto the bed, causing you to bounce up slightly and lose your pillow. You open your eyes and glare at the perpetrator.

 “Don’t look at me like that, you’ve been asleep for hours,” Jess pouts, you continue glaring “and I haven’t seen you for like a week, I missed you.”

 “Oh don’t give me that, how am I meant to stay mad when you give me the sad eyes and sweet words?” 

 “You’re not meant to stay mad, that’s the point,” Jess grins “now get up, Dean’s making breakfast.” She sits up on the bed and moves to get off of it, you reach out and clasp her wrist. 

 “Wait!” 

 “What is it?”

 “It’s probably nothing, just something those werewolves said. They kept talking about a baby, and touching my belly and it made me think. I can’t remember the last time I took my pills, or when I last got my period.”

 Jess gasps as you speak, eventually her shocked face morphs into a grin that gets bigger the longer you speak. “You’re pregnant?”

 “Maybe? I don’t know. I’d have to take a test, just don’t tell anyone till I know.” You sigh, your head dropping into your hands. Jess crawls over and wraps her arms around you.

 “I know you’re worried because of the hunting life. But I’ve been just fine, living in the bunker while you guys go killing things. What’s to say your baby can’t too? You don’t even have to give up hunting, I can look after the little one if you ever want to go on a case.” Jess rubs your back as you lean into her, trying to soothe you. 

 “Thanks, Jess, I just need to think about it all. I just need time.”

“Well, you’ve got a few months before you…” she gestures a big stomach “and I think you should tell Dean sooner rather than later.”

…

That night finds you lying in bed while Dean is in the shower, tracing shapes along your flat stomach. 

“What am I going to do?” but of course, you get no response. Not from your baby, or your inner voice, or even some divine intervention. 

“Guess this is something I’ll have to figure out on my own,” you pull your hands away as the shower shuts off and Dean comes to bed.

You’ll figure this out. You have to.

[purplesurveys]

694

What song are you listening to right now? I’m not listening to anything but the last song I played was Violet by Daniel Caesar; I don’t actually know the song but it was part of a playlist on Spotify. Admit it -- you want a Snuggie. What design/color? I don’t even know what that is, but if it came in pink I’d want one. Do you prefer movies at home or movies at the theatre? Home is cozier and costs much less, haha. How many songs does your iTunes have? Ooh, I haven’t used my iTunes in like half a decade buuuut I think it peaked with around 400-500 songs? Idk, I didn’t explore much as a kid and I liked to stick with my favorite singers/bands. Do you take a shower in the morning or the night before? When I’m off school I like to shower at night - much more comfy that way, and I fall asleep faster. But when I have to leave the house whether to go to school, the mall, to crash at someone’s place, etc. I always bathe a few hours before. Always. I hateeeeee not feeling fresh when I go outside.

What's your academic niche? (History, math, science, etc.) History for sure, but there are some science topics I’m also okay in. Who's your youngest teacher? They’re all already pretty seasoned lol I can’t actually tell. I think it’s Ma’am Cai; welp, at least among my current professors, she’s the one that acts the youngest. Have you ever had the samples people offer you at Costco? I’ve never been in a Costco but I typically don’t get samples from our local groceries because idk, they just look nasty :/ The only samples I get are the free ones they hand over at Starbucks and Coffee Bean, haha. If you had to name your kid after a food, what would his/her name be? I’d take olives and turn it to Olivia, which was always my choice for a girl anyway. But if it really had to be food-inspired I’d go with... Brie for a girl, or Sage for a boy. Miley Cyrus: Inspirational role model or a ho? Get with the times, 2009 survey. This question won’t get away with that word today. Anyway, Miley is a badass. I never changed my mind about her, maybe except for that time she did that performance with Robin Thicke. Are you stressed about anything? Right now no. I’m on a six-week break, I wanna enjoy it without thinking about the stuff that would typically stress me out. When's the last time you had a rock, paper, scissors match? It’s been a few months. What's your favorite anime? I don’t watch anime... the only show I got into was Pokemon. Did you cry when Ash let his Butterfree go with the other Butterfrees? I vaguely remember that but I probably got sad over it when I was younger. Don't you hate it when Facebook auto-corrects your smiley faces and hearts? I don’t mind it. Skinny, flared, ripped, or faded jeans? Ugh I hate all of these. I have a lot of skinny jeans in my closet but they’re always a last resort - my go-to these days is mom jeans. What are you excited for? Meh, nothing in particular. I wanna say my birthday? but who knows what the world is gonna come to be by then. Are you part of the Farmville cult? No I never played. I wasn’t allowed to make a Facebook account at the time when games like that and Petville and Plants vs. Zombies were big. What were you for Halloween? Last year I went as Dora. AND IT WAS SO ANNOYING because the party we were invited to prohibited shorts??? And 1) Dora wore shorts and 2) I searched far and wide for a pair of orange shorts? It was the first time I heard of a dress code that strict for a college party lmao I couldn’t believe it. Thankfully Rita had just bought a pair of orange jeans so she let me borrow those. Have you ever had braces? Back in high school. What year of high school are you in? I am not. What's your favorite flower? Peonies. Would you ever bleach your hair? Probably not. My hair has faced enough damage. Have you ever stood on a frozen solid body of water? No. That sounds scary though. I’ve heard and watched people fall through ice :/ Would you ever take up smoking or drinking? I’m already doing both. Thanks, college and peer pressure! Do those girls with 1,000 friends on Facebook REALLY have that many? I dunno, who knows? It’s always possible. I have a bigger problem with the fact that this question just singled out girls lmao. What holiday is your birthday closest to? Uhh Earth Hour, if it counts? If not, we have Araw ng Kagitingan on April 9 which commemorates the Fall of Bataan during WWII. Are you cyberdyslexic? Is this even a thing? I’ve never heard of this until today. Are you regular dyslexic? No. Is there irregular dyslexia? :((( What would your name be if you were a boy? I don’t know. My parents didn’t think about this either I think. Which person from way back when would you love to hang out with? My great grandpa. Either him or his cousin who wrote a book on history. What color are your eyes? Dark brownnnnnnn ugh this will FOREVER be in surveys won’t it. The forever on-going question: Is Twilight stupid or actually brilliant? It’s so stupid. BUT I LOVE IT ok.  Did you carve pumpkins for Halloween this year? No. We don’t do that here. Does your family use a real pine tree or a plastic one for Christmas? I think most households here use artificial trees. I was already a little old when I found out other countries would use real trees. Do you know anyone with a play-on name? (Chris P. Bacon, Justin Case, etc.) Not personally but super recently someone named their kid COVID BRYANT and it was all over social media for a few days. Covid Bryant. Let that shit sink in. Only Filipinos, man. Do you have any foreign exchange students at your school? Yeah, mostly Koreans and Japanese people. If you had a week to live, what would you do? I don’t have much of a choice, do I... I’m gonna be stuck at home and do the stuff I’ve already been doing in the last three weeks, and just hope I had fun.

Are you good at brain teasers? Some, but I don’t enjoy doing them in general. Is your handwriting nice? I can handle a pen pretty well, if I do say so myself. I have a neater penmanship than most people I know. What's your second language? English.  Is it uncomfortable for you to take showers in glass stalls w/out curtains? Not really but the door has to be locked. Finish the sentence: Remember, remember... The fifth of November? I dunno why I know about that though. Did you understand Shakespeare? No. I always bought the No Fear Shakespeare editions cos I had absolutely no patience to try and understand the original text. What do you want to be when you're older? Rich. What's your favorite dog breed? Golden retriever or pitbull. Are you one of those people who take like, 50 Facebook quizzes at a time? I’ve never taken a Facebook quiz. What was the last shot you got? It was at the roof of my mouth, back when I had a tooth extraction. Ever gotten cavities? A few times. Can you differentiate between the words "your" and "you're?" Yes. Do you use hair ties as bracelets? Lmao always. Don’t most girls do this? What was the last school project you did that you couldn't wait to turn in? My book report for my business journalism class. After I proofread it like 6 times and triple-checked the word count, I couldn’t waitttt to get rid of it. Have you ever graded papers? Sure. I’ve said it in past surveys, but my org hosts journalism workshops to interested schools, whether they’re in elementary, high school, or college. At the end of the day they have to come up with their own articles, and then we check each of them, correct the mistakes, grade them, and give it back to them with our comments. What was your favorite year of school up to this point? Third year of high school. I don’t really have a favorite year of college... I had lows in each of them. What's the latest you've ever woken up? 11 AM. Can you recite the alphabet backwards? For a time I did cos Angela taught me. Then I just never sang it again so I ended up forgetting. If you could master one language in thirty minutes, what would it be? Korean. Are you a sucker for foreign accents? No. Sometimes I find it hard to understand. Where were you born? Is it the same place you live currently? I was born somewhere in Manila, and I live faaar away from there now. How often do you remember your dreams? What did you last dream about? Only if I note them down on my phone. The last dream I remember having was too lengthy for me to want to type it all down, but it involved me and Gabie being exes, and she had her own kid hahaha. When did you learn the ninja turtles were named after Renaissance artists? Pretty early, I guess. I’ve never seen the show though. Do you do yoga? Nope.