#if you want to slack off do it the old-fashioned way and just half-ass assignments or skip classes

[cn-alastair-lite]

trying to keep a straight face when classmates casually mention using chat gpt as someone who a) wants to have a doctorate b) absolutely fucking hates AI

[handsoffmyfriends]

winter roulette

chapter one - entrance exam

— masterlist

WORD COUNT: 3,588

"Don't make a fool of me today, Kagami."

Not Akira, not her given name. He called her Kagami. Her own father didn't use her given name— wait, no, she reminded herself, he was only her adoptive father. She kept catching the old train of thought, kept having to correct herself that the number two hero was not, in fact, her real father, despite all her memories of childhood telling her otherwise. Who else was there?

She couldn't remember, she had lost her real parents far too young. She had vague glimpses of her mother, of a red haired, red eyed woman but Akira felt no connection to those foggy memories. If it weren't for her own red eyes, she wouldn't even believe them, wouldn't believe that Todoroki Rei wasn't her mother. That the white hair she'd inherited from her biological father wasn't actually from Rei.

Perhaps using her family name was Enji's way of reminding her that she wasn't a Todoroki? To help her remember her real parents so that their memory didn't die along with them.

No, he wasn't that kind. It was salt rubbed into a wound, a reminder that the people she lived with, her siblings that she loved dearly, were not her real family. He would be that cruel.

She had paused in swapping her shoes. "Yes, sir," she replied robotically, slipping her heel in. She didn't dare look up at the man, instead training her eyes on her shoes. She never could stand up for herself to the man, and she hated how weak it made her feel. How weak he made her feel.

Enji eyed her critically. "I expect you to perform as well as my Shouto. The world has high expectations of the both of you and you'll do well to meet them. I won't have you as a smear on my name."

"Leave her alone." Shouto appeared in the entryway, glaring daggers at Enji. "Akira will outperform everyone and she'll do it without you. You won't earn a shred of credit."

Enji flared in anger, the ever present fire roaring to life. Akira never recalled a moment when he wasn't flaunting his quirk, his raw power and prowess with it.

"You should have put her up for recommendation," Shouto continued matter-of-factly. "You know she—"

"It's fine, Shouto," Akira interrupted quietly. "It's like you said, I'll outperform everyone today." She gathered her courage and chanced a look at Enji's face. He'd been glaring at Shouto, slightly slack jawed, but had turned apathetic when Akira spoke. She swallowed thickly. "I won't fail. I will become a real hero."

--

Shouto accompanied her on the walk to the train station. Fuyumi had too much work to do with the upcoming school semester and Natsuo had already left for college, which suited Akira just fine. She didn't want to think about how she'd perform if she knew her siblings were actually going to be there. She'd probably choke and then what? Shouto was just dropping her off at the station since he'd already taken his recommendation exam a few weeks ago.

Enji had been less than impressed with his second place ranking, despite it still securing his spot at U.A High, despite the first place student not even choosing U.A in the end.. Instead, he just used it to once again drill into the boy that he would be undefeatable if he would stop being childish and use his fire.

"Do you really think I'll be that good today?" Akira broke their comfortable silence. She would need to place first in the rankings, Enji would accept nothing less from her. She wasn't his actual child, she couldn't get away with anything less than the best—

"Of course," Shouto said without hesitation. "Forget what that bastard said."

She stumbled over her thoughts, caught off guard. "But—"

"You'll do great," he insisted. "Better, even, than me. They'll all see how stupid it was that you weren't put up for recommendation and dear old dad will get called out for it."

She furrowed her brows in concern. "You really think I'll be that good with this quirk? Shouldn't I—"

Shouto glanced at her, his eyes sharp. She swallowed the rest of her words. "Please, sis, not this again." His gaze fell on her duffel bag. "Did you remember your gloves?"

Akira sighed loudly, but nodded regardless. "Yeah. Sorry, I'm just frustrated about it. I wish it could be different."

"I know." He brought up a hand to her shoulder in a comforting gesture, though his hand on her scar made it feel quite the opposite. It just reminded her of the circumstances behind it. "We'll both become the best with only half our power. I'm right here with you."

"You're right," she relented, offering him a soft smile. "We're in this together."

She decided to push back the thoughts that had been nagging at her ever since she submitted her expression of interest to U.A's hero course. The thoughts that told her she shouldn't hold herself back, that she should grow up already, it was her quirk and there was no need to be scared of it. The slight tug on her neck, of the taught scar she'd had for as long as she could remember, reminded her that it absolutely was something to be scared of. Something she had no control over.

Shouto was right, he had always been right. She could make do with her quirk as it was, she didn't need to go pushing her luck.

--

Akira was bursting with energy. After the uneventful written portion of the exam, after listening to one boring looking boy grate on her nerves by mumbling under his breath for most of the practical lecture, after having a stiff-looking boy interrupt said lecture to try and call U.A out on an error, Akira was left with nothing but barely contained anticipation. With how well prepared she had been for the written exam, she was feeling more confident now in her abilities to pass the practical than she had all morning.

She had been assigned to Battle Station A. Most of the people in her batch weren't particularly interesting, though there were a few standouts that she made sure to identify. A boy with a bird head caught her attention, as well as a boy with six arms that towered high above everyone. Mutant quirks always fascinated her in their diversity. They weren't so much of a surprise as emitter class quirks were.

One boy in particular looked angry being there and glared at anyone who got within his very large personal bubble. He looked ready to commit murder and Akira decided then and there that she'd keep her distance. She didn't know what his quirk was, but just going by the animosity he radiated she didn't like her chances if she were pitted against him. Present Mic had said fighting between participants was strictly prohibited, but this boy looked like he didn't give a shit. His feral grin did nothing to ease her and she briefly wondered what his motivations behind becoming a hero were.

Another boy looked like he was ready to pass out on the spot. He also looked like he'd been recently electrocuted, his purple hair standing on end and defying gravity in an impossible fashion. She wondered if he actually had been electrocuted and that was the only reason he was awake. He didn't look particularly threatening, though it was possible his quirk could give him an upper hand.

"Right, let's start!" the unnaturally loud voice of Present Mic boomed around the entire fake city. Akira heard him loud and clear, but he was definitely nowhere to be seen. "Get moving! There are no countdowns in real battles! Run, run, run listeners! You're wasting air time here!"

Akira immediately sprung forward, raising a wall of ice behind her. The ice towered high, caging in her fellow examinees with a shout of surprise. Without looking back, she wasn't able to focus the barricade to properly trap her competitors, but it would give her at least a few seconds advantage. That's all she needed, it would give her time to secure the early bird advantage and figure out a plan of attack. Complaints from her group fell on deaf ears as she ran down the street, taking a right turn just as she heard a loud explosion from behind her.

She had no time to pay the explosion any attention. Several one pointer robots jumped out from seemingly nowhere and locked onto her immediately. She struck out with frigid air, freezing their mechanics. She summoned more ice, blossoming crystals within their cores to tear them apart—

An explosion rang loud in her ear and suddenly Akira found herself slammed into the ground from the force. She smacked her elbows hard, jarring up along her arms painfully, as she was thrown on her ass. With her ears still ringing and her vision slightly shot from the sudden brightness, she saw her frozen robots crumpled in defective heaps on the ground, utterly destroyed. The angry boy stepped into her view, wearing a pleased, slightly feral grin at the destruction he'd wrought.

She ran her mouth faster than her brain could tell her it wasn't the wisest idea. "Hey, those were mine!"

The smile on the boy turned down instantly, a sneer on his lips and anger in his eyes directed down at her. "You pull a shifty move like that again and I'll fucking kill you, rules be damned," the boy growled at her in warning, his hands popping with small scale explosions. "Stay out of my way, extra."

By the time Akira found her feet, the angry boy was gone.

Adrenaline fueling her, Akira ran off to secure actual points this time. Anger caused her ice to be overly destructive, which was a bonus since no hot headed angry boy could come along and snatch her points. Who did that angry boy thing he was, taking her points right out from under her nose. And giving her a death threat! Just what kind of hero did this angry boy intend to be if he would so casually throw such threats? A tenacious one. Her gut dropped at the thought that he would most likely pass the exam with such ferocity.

As she rounded yet another corner, caught up in her own thoughts, she found a two pointer. She readied herself for assault instantly, but the robot paid her no attention. Weird. Another step forward and the robot reared back, revealing the tired looking boy. He was cornered against the building wall, looking utterly terrified and frozen in place.

Akira moved before she could think. It wasn't about taking the points, not this time. If it had been the angry boy, it probably would have been. But, she had no beef with this tired boy, so jumping in to destroy the robot wasn't about the points. No, it was about saving the boy, since he didn't look like he was going to make a move against the agile robot, neither to attack nor to flee. Her ice surged forward and destroyed the robot in seconds.

"You aren't going to get any points just standing there!" Akira shouted, masking the slight panic she felt at the sight with tactless humour. Her attention was yanked away from the boy as a three pointer stumbled into view, a little ways down the street. "Hey, you can take that one! Fair's fair for stealing your two pointer!"

The boy looked down the street and blanched. He nearly snapped his neck looking back to Akira. "I— I can't." He sounded so heartbroken, so frustrated, so defeated. So many emotions all wrapped in two and half words.

Akira frowned. She approached the boy, keeping an eye on the three pointer. It lumbered slowly towards them, but wouldn't be a threat for at least another thirty seconds. She had time to figure out what was troubling the tired boy. "What do you mean? Are you hurt?"

The boy scowled, turning away from her. "My quirk isn't combative like yours. I wasn't blessed with something so heroic."

She tilted her head in confusion. It wasn't uncommon for quirks to not have combative properties; in fact a vast majority of them weren't. "Why are you here then?" It came off blunt, but she couldn't help it. It wasn't a secret that the practical side of the entrance exam into the hero course was primarily combative, so why was this boy trying if his quirk couldn't be used in combat?

He didn't have any time to respond as an impossibly loud stomp shook the ground, tearing both their attention away from each other to down the street. The three pointer wasn't there anymore, instead crushed to dust by the imposing step of the zero pointer. While its movements were slow, the distance it covered was massive; it would descend upon the pair in mere seconds.

Moving before thinking, Akira grabbed the boy by the wrist and booked it. In hindsight, she was thankful he had long sleeves. Despite Shouto's reminder about her gloves, she'd forgotten to put them on.

The two ran as fast as they could, the tired boy finding his feet and not dragging behind Akira anymore, his height giving him advantage as he overtook the girl and helped her along. It became clear very quickly that they weren't going to outrun the beast of a robot as one of its heavy footfalls fell mere metres away from them. The shockwaves from the stomp interrupted their step and set them off balance and suddenly they were eating shit.

Akira took one look at the boy, trying to find his feet to continue scrambling away. She looked back up at the impossibly huge robot and made her mind up. Rolling onto her back, she threw her arms up and icy air rushed forward. In unison, ice surged along the ground, finding the robot's base and crawling up the structure. Akira put all her effort into making it cold, colder, colder than she had ever dared before, knowing it would take more ice than she'd ever created to put the robot out of commission.

It didn't even look like her ice was having an affect. The robot reared back, sights set on Akira's prone form on the ground, but she didn't back down. She felt the ice forming on her arms as she continued to lower the temperature, but she didn't stop. She barely even heard Present Mic's announcement, she didn't register how many minutes remained. All she could focus on was calling upon more ice, more than she had ever before.

Just as a tendril of hopelessness began to coil around her heart, as tears pricked at her eyes out of sheer desperation, the nagging feeling that she might actually die right there as the robot's hand began to come down on her, she felt hands grab her under the arms. The boy pulled her across the ground, just far enough away that when the robot struck the ground, she was out of harm's way.

Akira didn't even spare the boy a glance as she poured more ice into the machine, feeling her muscles lock as the cold tensed up her whole body. And then, it was working. The robot creaked and groaned as it tried to move, but its joints were jammed with ice and its inner workings were frozen solid. It broke down as its own mechanism tore itself apart from the inside out.

"I-is i-i-it—?" she stuttered, her ice tapering off as she reached her limit.

"Yeah, I think you did it," the boy replied, his voice wavering. He looked down at her with a mixed expression, both impressed and terrified of the power she possessed.

Akira sighed with relief, letting her arms fall to the ground. Her teeth were chattering and if she wasn't careful, she'd probably bite her tongue off. Despite that, she needed to get back onto her feet, to make sure the tired boy was okay. What kind of hero would she make if she couldn't recover from a desperate attack?

"--and that's it! Time's up!" came the booming voice of Present Mic, followed by a siren, calling an end to the examination. It was such a lackluster announcement, so sudden and unexpected after taking down something so impossible.

The boy hovered awkwardly over her. Akira struggled to sit up, to find her feet, but she'd severely overdone it. If she couldn't warm herself up soon, she'd probably get frostbite from how much ice that had built up on her arms and hands.  

"Uh, do you need a hand?" the boy finally asked, holding his hand out.

"N-n-no, it's f-fine. I'm just c-cold. Th-thanks though."

The boy pulled his hand back, bringing it to the back of his neck awkwardly. He looked away, to the group of students that had congregated nearby. They'd seen the entire show. "Thank you," he eventually said, not looking at Akira again. Before she could respond, before she could ask if he was okay, he began to move away, to join the crowd and await further instruction. She'd probably never see him again, and part of her was troubled by that.

Still, the exam was over. She estimated a total of thirty five points, though in all honesty she had lost count at one point. There had been other things more pressing than keeping track. Her stunt with the zero pointer would probably earn her a lot of spotlight, though, not that she'd even been thinking about it in the heat of the moment. All she could think of was saving the tired boy, she hadn't even considered her own safety in that wild, desperate attempt. Just what had possessed her to do that?

--

Akira hadn't seen Enji all week. It was both a relief and a stress, since she had no idea when the man would turn up next and rip into her for her performance. She didn't dare think that she would be praised for her efforts against the zero pointer. He'd probably tell her off for taking so long to take it down, for putting that tired boy in harm's way in the first place. Hell, he'd probably tell her off for making enemies with the angry boy from the start. Yeah, there was no way she was going to get anything other than criticism for her performance.

She guessed she'd find out after the test results were out, which... yeah, that was today, wasn't it?

That was probably why she was out in the courtyard, distracting herself and procrastinating the inevitable, sparring with Shouto. Sparring was putting it very loosely, since the pair practiced their ice more than anything. It was how Akira had managed to gain such control over her ice in the first place, training it against her brother.

They were evenly matched, though Akira's ice had more facets to it than Shouto's. She had to be careful to not freeze the air too much, since breathing in the frigid air hurt like a bitch and was actually really dangerous. She found that one out the hard way, felt the ice prick at her chest and a feeling not unlike dying washing over her. At least she knew the limit.

Fuyumi watched in awe at her siblings and their mastery of their quirks. She hadn't had the drive or passion to master her quirk to such a degree, instead choosing a more practical career. Still, she was so very proud of her younger siblings. She shouted her praise to them, calling their attention. They backed off each other immediately as Fuyumi approached them.

"You two are terrifying," Fuyumi remarked with a giggle. She waved an innocuous letter as she walked over, offering it to Akira with a warm smile. "It's for you, sis, from U.A."

Akira felt her heart hammer in her chest and she looked at the offending letter like it would combust. "Oh. Right. Yeah, that was today, huh." Stupid. So stupid.

Fuyumi just laughed at her. "Don't pretend you haven't been looking forward to it all week. Go on, open it. I can't wait to tell everyone my baby sister's going to U.A. as well!"

Akira chuckled as she took the letter. "You sound so confident that I passed."

"There's no doubt that you did," Shouto spoke up. "I'm interested to see how they scored the regular entrance exam as opposed to the recommendation one."

"Boring," Fuyumi poked her tongue out, leaning on his shoulder. "This isn't about you, mister big shot. Quit trying to steal Akira's limelight."

Shouto sputtered. "I'm not, I was just saying—"

"I'm just teasing you," Fuyumi relented. "Now, come on, Akira! Open it up already!"

Akira breathed deeply, letting out a long, drawn out sigh. "Well, it was nice living here," she deadpanned as she tore open the letter.

--

Kagami Akira ended up scoring thirty six villain points. The faculty had been impressed with her quick thinking and selflessness in saving Shinsou Hitoshi, coupled with her raw power in taking down the zero pointer, granting her an additional forty rescue points. With a total of seventy six points, she ranked second for the entrance exam, undoubtedly securing her spot in the hero course at U.A.

[reddoll123]

EXO as U.S. High School teachers (OT12 version):

Minseok--The Physical Education teacher

--He'd be that P.E. teacher who's almost always full of energy and encouragement. Practically everyone loves and respects him, even though he's actually one of the quieter teachers at this school. But even though he's quiet, when he does raise his voice to get his students' attention, everyone listens. He's very lenient and accommodating when it comes to injuries or when his students feel ill, and doesn't even punish people when they slack off without valid excuses. Everyone has their off days, is what he usually says. (None of his students have to know that he got that quote from his husband who coincidentally teaches right next door.)

Luhan--The Health teacher

--He'd be that kind of teacher that's fairly chill about everything. He lets his students call him by his first name Han or as Mr. Han. And instead of that stupid project where students have to take care of a robot baby or an egg or a sack of flour, Luhan was able to persuade the school board to let him do something more original. That is, for his students to take care of a soccer ball for a weekend. Keeping it clean, making sure the air stays inside, and bringing the soccer ball with them wherever they go. And the project was just quirky yet safe enough that it's become a set part of his curriculum. He and his husband Minseok have a good laugh about that whenever it comes time for him to assign that project again.

Yifan--The Intro to Art teacher

--He'd be that super relaxed teacher that barely teaches. He loves his students, don't get him wrong, but the things that he has to teach are pretty much just the basic fundamentals of art. There's an abundance of slideshows that do the job for him as well as the internet. And kids come in and half-ass their projects all the time to the point where he barely gives a fuck. But, he does have this one motto: Any art is good art as long as you tried. He even has a recent drawing of an alpaca that he messed up on framed on his desk to help motivate his students. Some students say that he should've been a P.E. teacher because of his height. And if he could teach only basketball for every semester, he'd definitely switch in a heartbeat.

Junmyeon--The English teacher

--He'd be that very handsome yet kind of awkward English teacher. The one that tries to get his students laughing and fails, only to succeed when he does something goofy by accident. He always has new book recommendations for anyone that asks, and loves showing the films inspired by said books. And he's not afraid to give a lot of essays too, so sometimes he gets long sighs and weary groans from his students. But, he's always full of encouragement for those that feel unconfident with their writing or analyzing skills, and that makes him one of the better English teachers at this school.

Yixing--The Guitar teacher

--He'd be that semi-strict teacher when it comes to teaching students how to play guitar. He gives song-playing tests fairly often, but also gives a lot of re-tries. He's always available during lunch time if anyone wants to practice in his classroom, or just eat their lunch and chat with him. And he really just wants the best for people, and so he tends to give off a very calm, warm aura. A lot of students, heck, even fellow teachers flock to him and his attractive dimples because of that.

Baekhyun--The Drama teacher

--He'd be the loud, gossipy drama teacher who gossips about fellow teachers and lets his students gossip to him about their classmates. Literally, he's just in it for the drama. But sometimes that aura that he gives off where his students can treat him as one of their own changes dramatically when it comes to say, him directing school plays. Some might say he's a bit of a perfectionist, but he says that everything has to be great when he's one of the main foundations for keeping the art program afloat in this school!

Jongdae--The Chorus teacher

--He'd be an equally loud, chorus teacher. Literally, when he sings in his falsetto, you can practically hear him all the way from the language department. He's very patient and caring when it comes to his students though, to the point where some come to him during lunch for advice and such. And even the students that feel like they can't sing well end up having fun as he always manages to find a part for them that just fits. Some say he has perfect pitch, some say he's just very intuitive. But either way, tears get shed every year during the school's annual choir festival when his students end up beautifully singing one of many sad, old ballads to the masses.

Chanyeol--The Music Theory teacher

--He'd be another loud teacher, completing the trifecta of loudest teachers at this school. He always announces himself as a jack of all trades during the beginning of every new semester since he plays acoustic, electric and bass guitar, the piano, the keyboard, the drums, and even the didgeridoo. He also loves to sing, and got his love of music from the womb and--okay, he's also a pretty talkative teacher. But, when it comes to teaching about intervals and chords and various scale modes and the like--the serious side of him comes out. Sometimes he stumbles over his words in his excitement to teach, but eventually his students get what he means, and leave his class with a better understanding of the language of music every time.

Kyungsoo--The FCS/Home Ec teacher

--He'd be the cute Family and Consumer Sciences/Home Economics teacher that practically everyone's crushing on. Students and teachers alike want to either date him, adopt him, let him adopt them, and other things that are better kept as fantasies. His voice is fairly quiet yet soothing, and so when he talks, all of his students listen. He'll always walk around and offer high-fives to students that follow his directions well and re-assure the ones that might mess up on a step or two with a smile. He teaches how to cook, how to clean, how to deal with family life and relationships, and even how to be financially responsible. So, safety tends to be a main theme in his lessons too. The dance teacher also likes to stop by his class a lot, and from the soft smiles and parting hugs that they give each other, a lot of students have accurately deduced that they're dating.

Zitao--The Fashion Design teacher

--He'd be the fashion design teacher with an impeccable fashion sense. He's apparently sewn clothes for himself and others since he was a kid, and now wants to bring his knowledge to other eager, future fashion moguls. Sometimes he assigns a lot of projects, with deadlines that should be longer and aspects that shouldn't be so advanced for beginners, but he's working on it. Fortunately, he was able to persuade the school board to hire him an assistant. A really cute assistant that he's been dating for a long while now.

Jongin--The Dance teacher

--He'd be that very attractive teacher that again people fantasize about a lot. Dancing's so obviously his first passion, and it shows whenever he teaches a new choreography or dance lesson. Sometimes he and his students will jog out of the class, up the nearby stairwell and out onto the track-field to really warm-up. And sometimes his choreography may seem kinda difficult for beginner dancers, and leave some people frustrated. But, with his encouraging eyes, and his award-winning smile, even the most unconfident student continues to practice and try. And that's all he could ever ask for.

Sehun--The Assistant-teacher (Zitao's)

--He'd be the attentive and always well-dressed assistant-teacher in Zitao's classes, that looks done with everything a majority of the time. But, despite his naturally bored expression, he really cares a lot about these students too. He's the one that they thank whenever a deadline gets extended, or a project gets re-graded--since he's the one that ends up convincing Zitao to lighten up some. And with him and Zitao working together, morale in Zitao's classes have really gone up.

[tayegi]

The Anti-Fan Ch. 1

Loosely based on the movie So I Married an Anti-Fan

For @btssmutgalore and the prompt “Enemies to lovers” i hate u

Word Count: 4,313

"What, really?! I get to work on the BTS article?!" You cry in excitement at the team meeting.

Your editor winces at the volume of your exclamation, "Yes, is that okay?"

"Okay?" You repeat in surprise, "It's amazing! I was such a fan of them back when I was a student! Wow, this makes me feel so nostalgic."

Minyoung, the fashion contributor, snickers at your reaction, "Careful, Miss ___. Your bias is showing."

"What?" you turn to her in confusion, "How did you know my bias was Min Yoongi?"

Seunghoon is rubbing his temples at this point, "Is it safe to give you this assignment?"

"Yes, of course!" You quickly say, fearful that the editor might change his mind, "Am I interviewing the members for their newest album last year?"

"No, that's already old news," Seunghoon says, "Let's do something a bit different."

"Oh… Maybe we can do a fashion analysis, then?" you suggest, "Their styles have been so popular amongst students these days. The Gucci glasses that V was wearing in their newest vlive was sold out in hours!"

"Yes, but they're always interviewed about their fashion tastes in a group… I think it might be more interesting to conduct a personal, in-depth interview with a single member."

"Suga just released his second mixtape…" you subtly, not-so-subtly, hint.

"What? Oh, that's nice. But I'm more interested in their maknae. How would you like to write an exposition on Jeon Jungkook?"

"Jungkook?" You repeat in surprise. You know very little about the youngest member of the group, "I mean… I guess that's fine?"

"Great!" Seunghoon beams, "I'll forward you his company's contact information and you guys can setting up a meeting for this week."

"Oh… okay…"

It's been a while since you've followed BTS. They blew up in popularity in 2016, but you only really obsessed over them before 2015, when you were still a clueless, happy-go-lucky university student with lots of time to slack off and no real stresses. Adulthood has drained you of all your time and passions, and replaced them with responsibilities and taxes.

Back when you first loved them, they had just debuted as a rookie band and Min Yoongi had caught your attention at once. You had been so enthralled by the fiery rapper that you didn't have eyes for anyone else. All you knew about Jeon Jungkook was that he was the cute, talented maknae who a bit too well-loved by the other members. It's a bit perplexing why the editor chose him to be featured in a fashion magazine adhering to women in their 20's and 30's, but as a junior writer, you really can't complain. You've worked your ass off for two long years just to post columns, and you'll jump on this chance for a rare full editorial opportunity.

So you contact BigHit's publicity manager as soon as you can to set up a meeting with the young idol in the company's café that Saturday evening.

It takes you and the photographer quite some time to get through multiple rounds of security at the BigHit building. First, there's the security guard who won't let you in until you call the BigHit PR manager to fetch you. Then, you have to show multiple forms of identification, including your driver's license, which the security guard squints at for over five minutes until you recreate the same dazed expression in your photo to assure him that it's actually you. And then comes the metal detectors and the pat down that leaves you feeling very violated—especially when your snacks are confiscated.

But finally, finally you are escorted into a café in the company's front office. It's a cozy spot, unable to seat more than a handful of people, and clearly designed to just supply the idols with coffee on the go instead of any real socializing opportunities. Still, it's big enough for your photographer to set up the lights and his tripod, and it's so rare to be allowed a peek into the infamously secretive building that you really can't bring yourself to mind.

You're still helping the photographer tinker with the perfect lighting when a broad young man swings by with two coffees in hand.

"Hi, are you Reporter ___?"

You look up, surprised, but privately pleased by the name, "Yes, that is me."

"Ah, great. I didn't know what you wanted, so I ordered you an iced Americano. It's pretty hot out today and the coffee here is fresh."

You accept the coffee with a bow, then turn to assess the man for the first time. He's unbelievably good-looking with strong, masculine features and wide brown eyes. Even when dressed in a simple outfit of ripped jeans and a plain white tee, you can tell that he's ripped. His forearms bulge in the act of simply handing over your coffee. You unconsciously lick your lips, "Thank you so much." Damn. Even the managers at BigHit are ridiculously attractive. If you didn't know any better, you'd have thought him to be a celebrity of some sort. An athlete maybe? His thighs are certainly thick enough to belong to any soccer player. Maybe you'll loiter around after the interview to collect a phone number… "This is delicious," your voice drips with innuendo as you wrap your lips around the straw and take a deep draw of your drink.

His mouth curves into a blinding smile in response, "I'm glad! Is the lighting okay, Miss? Should we get started soon?"

You turn to look at your photographer, who gives you a thumb's up. Then you turn back to the manager, wreathed in smiles, "Yes, we're all ready," you purr, coyly reaching over to rest a hand on his arm, "Thank you so much for all of your work."

His brow furrows briefly before he smiles again, "Great! Then where should I sit?"

You blink, confused by the question for a second before you collect yourself, "Oh… Um… what about across the room at that booth? You can easily monitor the conversation from over there!"

A frown has completely replaced the smile on his handsome face, "Wait, what do you—?"

"Ah, there you are, Jungkook!"

Both of you turn sharply to find an enormous, hulk-like man standing in front of you, lanyard around his neck identifying him as a BigHit staff member. Bewildered as to who he could possibly be addressing, you glance over your shoulder, but there's no one else there.

The tall man stops to wipe down his smudged spectacles before continuing, "Oh, you already delivered the coffees. Great, but let the makeup-noonas touch you up first, okay?"

"Ah, it's just an interview, Sejin-hyung," the younger man complains, "No one's going to see my face."

"But there's a mini photoshoot afterwards," the tall man who must be Sejin, says, gesturing to the camera, "We can't have you looking like a slob. You're Jungkook of BTS, after all!"

Your blood freezes to ice in your veins as you slowly turn to assess the younger man you had mistaken as a BTS manager… There is no way this chiseled god of a man can possibly be Jeon Jungkook, the cute, shy little bunny you remember from your ARMY days in college. He has grown half a head and packed on so much muscle that you can't imagine how much tailoring the poor stylists had to do to fit him in his clothes. Your mouth dries.

"J-jeon Jungkook?"

He beams at you, "Sorry, I forgot to introduce myself! I'm Bangtan's youngest member, Jeon Jungkook. Nice to meet you, Reporter ___."

You stare at his outstretched hand for a second too long before you finally take it, "A-ah, hi. Nice to meet you too." His hand is large and his skin too-pleasantly warm against yours. You swallow tightly and slip your hand out of his before he can shake your hand properly, "Why don't we sit down and get started?"

It's hard to tell at first how this grown ass man who practically exudes testosterone could possibly be the scrawny, puppy-like kid who was every fangirl's ideal son? It's been over seven years since their debut, so he's now… twenty-three? Twenty-four? It's ridiculous and beyond unfair that a young man in his early twenties can look so good.

But as the minutes roll by and the two of you delve deep into his aspirations as a musician, aspects of the teenage Jeon Jungkook you used to cherish so much begin to come out. The way his face lights up when he's talking about his solo performances, and how his smile widens so much that his eyes scrunch up to familiar crescent-moon shapes. Ah, here's your precious bunny son who you love so much. His warmth and contagious positivity has you loosening up and you find yourself truly enjoying your conversation with him.

By the time you walk out of the interview an hour later, you're feeling really great about yourself. The conversation about his musical inspirations was so interesting that you're positive that the newest issue of the magazine will spike in sales. Maybe you'll be able to escape the gossip column for good. They'll have to make you a permanent writer after this!

You're humming to yourself even after you thank Jungkook and send him off, then immediately rush to email your editor the recording of the interview. You're in the process of helping the cameraman clean up when you suddenly receive a phone call from Seunghoon.

"Good evening, Mr. Park," you chime cheerfully when you pick up the call. You're still so pleased with yourself that you can't keep the syrupy sweetness out of your tone.

"What the hell was that?" Seunghoon barks back, abruptly knocking you out of your airy mood.

"Wait… what? What's wrong?"

"Your interview," he huffs, "I just took a listen to it, and it's garbage! What were you thinking?!"

"I-I," you stammer, ego instantly deflating under this abuse, "I didn't think it was that bad…"

"Why the hell were you talking about musical theory nonsense for a whole damn hour?" he spits out, "I thought I would die, I was so bored."

Your face flushes at the insult, "I… I thought it was pretty interesting, sir."

He snorts on the other end, "Are you forgetting that we're a fashion and lifestyle magazine, Miss ___? Young women don't care about Mozart or piano scales or whatever BS you were talking about. That shit doesn't sell. But do you know what does sell? Sex."

"S-sex?" you repeat in astonishment.

"That's right—sex. These boys have been so uptight with revealing any aspects of their personal lives. It's been seven years, and there hasn't been a single scandal with these kids—no dating rumors, no drunken incidents, nothing. Can you even imagine how a sex scandal with Korea's favorite maknae would blow up?!"

"I didn't think of that…" you quietly admit, "But, sir, if their image has been so spotless all these years, what makes you think that they'd slip up and admit something?"

"I don't know," he growls, "But this is one of the first times they've allowed reporters in the building. You should've tried something!"

"Like what?!" you sigh in exasperation.

"You're a moderately attractive young woman. You should've thought of something."

"What?"

"Use your womanly wiles or something," he scoffs, "Well, it's too late now. Just go home and think about what you've done."

"I—sir, you're being really unreasonable right now!" you exclaim, only to realize that Seunghoon has already hung up on you. You slam your phone on the table and bury your face in your hands with a strangled scream.

"Why are we stopping here?" the cameraman asks as you pause by a small, dingy bar on the way back to the car.

"I need a drink," is your blunt response as you grab him by the elbow and drag him in.

The older man shifts awkwardly from foot to foot as you grab a few menus and pull him into the nearest empty booth, "___, I have to get back to my family tonight. The kids need to be tucked in."

"I know, Kikhyun," you sigh as you massage your aching temples, "Let me just chug one shot and order some snacks and I'll be fine, okay?"

Still, he hesitates, "___..."

"Fine!" you exclaim as you jump to your feet, "I'll go get everything to go. Geez, you drive a hard bargain," you complain as you rush up to the counter to order.

The part-timer behind the cash register shoots you the most irritated look when you come up to him, "I'm about to leave for the night," he informs you as he pulls off his apron and slams it on the table.

"Oh, can you wait just five minutes? I just want to order one thing to go."

"Go find the owner of this place," he growls before exiting from behind the counter.

"Wait, sir!" You call after him, but he's already gone. Sighing, you have no choice but to wander around the mostly deserted little bar. There's no one wearing an identifiable employee's apron, so you venture to the second floor instead. This part of the bar is more sparsely furnished—only a handful of secluded booths in strange nooks and corners partially illuminated by bare light bulbs hanging from the ceiling. Smoke curls in the shadowed room, obscuring your vision as you frantically search for an employee.

There's a group of old men smoking and sipping soju in the booth near the staircase, and a cuddly couple in the back corner. But besides those people, you don't see anyone else. You just want your goddamn chicken so you can go home already. Why does this have to be so hard?

"Excuse me, sir, do you know where—"

But they ignore you to nosily cheer and swallow another round of shots. You bite your tongue, frustrated, and move towards the young couple in the very back instead. They're so invested in themselves, the young man whispering (probably filthy) nonsense in the woman's ear, and his hand inching up her skirt as she giggles nervously. You want to roll your eyes at the excessive PDA. Kids these days…

"Hey, you guys. Have you seen the…?" your voice trails off when you identify the young man in the booth. He's wearing a cap to shadow his face and a face mask, but you'd recognize that broad figure and those large brown eyes anywhere.

It's Jeon Jungkook… And he has his hand up some random girl's skirt.

You stand there in the middle of the hall for a few seconds, unable to do anything but gape at him with your jaw dropped to the floor. Could this possibly be the sweet, considerate musician you met with just two hours ago? The one who raved about learning to play the drums and showed you a clip of the new song he was producing? Could that really be the same person as the fuckboy feeling up the blushing girl in a dingy bar right now?

Do you know what does sell? Sex.

Knocked out of your dazed disbelief by your editor's voice in your head, you quickly scramble for the phone in your bag. Your shaky hands somehow manage to punch in the password. Your thumbs are slippery with sweat as you try to open up the camera app. One of the most beloved idols in all of South Korea, caught cozying up with an unknown female companion in a bar.

This will make Seunghoon so happy. You'll probably get a permanent position as a reporter. You'll never have to write another column about flavored lubes again!

Giddy with excitement, you zoom in with the camera until you catch a clear shot of Jungkook's face. Then you press the button to capture the shot—

Click!

Your whole body goes rigid as the sound of your camera's shutter echoes throughout the deserted restaurant. For one crippling second, you pray that Jungkook hasn't heard the click. That you can escape this situation unscathed and get showered with praise by Seunghoon in the office the next morning. You're just about to turn and run for your life when Jungkook suddenly looks up, his eyes meeting yours from across the room.

You freeze, eyes wide like a deer caught in the headlights, but there's nothing you can do. There's no mistaking the camera in your hand pointed straight at him.

"Reporter ___?"

Your face drains of all color. Then you're turning to bolt down the stairs as fast as your feet will carry you. You make it almost to the bottom rung of the staircase, so close that you can practically taste your freedom, when a strong hand abruptly shoots out to grab you by the elbow and forcibly yank you back.

You squeeze out a shriek of surprise before Jeon Jungkook spins you around to shove you against the wall, "I didn't realize you were following me from the office, Reporter ___," he murmurs in a deceptively soft voice, shoving down his face mask so he can speak more clearly.

"I-I swear I wasn't," you hurriedly rush to defend yourself, "I just wanted to grab a snack—I had no idea you'd be here!"

"Mmm, is that so? Then how come you were so rudely snapping a picture of me without my permission? You weren't thinking of posting it, were you?"

You hesitate at that, unwilling to lie to his face, but also fearful of the strange aggression that has overtaken the seemingly docile younger man, "Can you please let go of me?" you politely ask, "It's rather uncomfortable to have this conversation in this environment."

Jungkook smiles at that, making his teeth flash in the darkness of stairwell. But to your surprise, he suddenly jerks his hips forward, effectively pinning you against the wall by your connected pelvises, "I'd hate to make you uncomfortable," he purrs, the hand that slowly travels up the length of your bare arm contradicting his words, "But I'm afraid you might try to run off before we finish our conversation."

You try your best not to show any signs of weakness as you hold your ground, "I'm not deleting the picture, Mr. Jeon."

Jungkook sighs deeply, his face laden with faux disappointment, "I thought you'd say that, Reporter ___. It must be important to your career, hmm?"

You eye him warily as you try to assess his strategy, "Sex sells, Mr. Jeon. I hate to put you in this position… But maybe you shouldn't be sneaking around with girls in the first place."

"I'm just a human man," he says, lips forming a cute pout of protest, "Asking me to be celibate and chaste for the rest of my life to keep the fangirls happy… Isn't that too much?"

"Yes, of course," you cautiously agree, "Idols are human too, they have their needs. But maybe you should come clean to your fans instead of pretending to be chaste while sneaking around behind their backs."

"Do you really think the fans would understand?" he snorts, "I don't think you understand how petty and jealous some of them can be. No, it's better for both parties if no one finds out."

"But it wasn't difficult for me to catch you in the act," you point out, "Wouldn't it be worse if it was a fan who caught you instead? Maybe this is a better way of revealing your secret to the public."

"If it was a girlfriend, I would understand. But being caught in a scandal with a random girl… That would be mean to report, don't you think?"

His face is so close to yours, warm breath fanning the side of your sensitive neck and lips mere inches from yours, that your brain feels fuzzy from his intoxicating proximity. You blink several times to try to collect your wits and prevent your descent into mindless lust. "I… I just… you should've been more careful," you stutter, trying to ignore how nice his lithe body feels pressed against yours. This is every fangirl's ultimate fantasy to be pressed up against the wall by BTS like this. It feels like you're dreaming.

"You don't know how hard it is," he says, his voice dripping with innuendo as he slowly presses a hand against the wall next to your head to cage you in further, "I've been expected to be on my best behavior since I was fifteen years old," he sighs, "No girls, no dates, nothing. And after seven whole years of hard work, don't you think I deserve a break?"

"O-of course you do," you stammer, shakily wiping at your sweaty brow, "You're all young men with hormones and needs. But—"

"But what?" he interrupts, "Do all my years of hard work deserve to go down the drain just because I was taking care of a physical need? You don't know what it's like," he whispers, his voice suddenly so soft that you have to crane your head to hear him, "You don't understand… you don't understand how frustrating it is. I get so hard that it physically hurts and I feel like I might explode. And all I can think about is a female companion to ease my pain… Just an hour is enough… Especially if she's as pretty as you, noona."

All the blood in your body shoots to your face at the unexpected honorific that slips past his slick lips. You're vaguely aware that you're gaping at him, eyes as wide as saucers and jaw hanging, but you can't control your shock. Never in a million years would you have expected such filthy shit to be coming from BTS's precious golden maknae… Especially not with his hand sliding up your shoulder to caress your collarbones and the length of your neck in such a hungry, predatory fashion that you almost expect him to choke you.

At this point, you can't tell if you'd like that or not.

"Mr. Jeon, I—"

"Jungkook," he corrects in a husky voice that sends heat straight to your core, "Please call me Jungkook, noona."

"I…" you swallow the excess saliva in your mouth and reluctantly agree, doing everything you can to appease him so that you can escape from this situation, "Ok… ok, Jungkook."

He brightens at this, mouth curling into a self-satisfied smirk, "That sounds so good coming from your pretty little lips." He leans in at that moment, making you flinch in shock, hand darting up to press protectively against your mouth, but to your relief, he's only reaching for the phone gripped tightly in your hand. "Can you please unlock this for me, noona?"

You wordlessly obey, thumb punching in the passcode before you can catch your mistake, "Jungkook... what are you doing?"

"Putting in my number of course," he laughs, showing you the screen where he's entering in his information, "So you can contact me whenever you like… Oh, and I'm going to delete this picture, by the way," he says, scrolling to your gallery next to select the stalkerish photo of him feeling up the girl in the booth, "It'll just save us both a headache," he says with a wink.

You should stop him. You really should. This is straight up coercion and you shouldn't let him manipulate you this way. But it's hard to think, much less act, when his strong chest is pressed against yours, squeezing all the oxygen from your lungs.

"Jungkook!" You exclaim, eyes bulging in shock when you feel his hand dart from the curve of your neck down to your backside.

He simply laughs, "I'm just returning your phone, that's all, noona."

You swallow tightly as you feel him slip the slender device into your back pocket. Then, with one last swat to your ass that makes you squeak, he pulls back. As soon as there is space between your bodies, you slump against the wall, suddenly winded and gasping for air.

Amused by your disheveled appearance, Jungkook teasingly ruffles your hair before stepping away, "I'll see you around, Reporter ___."

By the time you get back to the cameraman, he's worried beyond belief, "What took you so long, ___?"

You numbly shrug your shoulders as you walk past him, "Just a run in with someone I knew…"

Kikyun's confused as he jogs after you, "Wait, what about your snacks?"

You shake your head, "Suddenly, I'm not so hungry…"

Bewildered by your strange behavior, your colleague has no choice but to follow you back to the car.

Later that night, after the longest, hottest shower of your life, you sit in a fluffy bathrobe on top of your bed, laptop opened in front of you as you ponder the strange occurrences of the day.

Jeon Jungkook, the beloved maknae of BTS, just hustled you. He seduced you, overwhelming you with his sheer presence, then manipulated you. All it took were a few words dripped in honey, and he had you eating out of the palm of his hand like a dog.

Your blood boils with indignation. How could you have been so easily exploited? You're a grown ass woman with a college degree, not some silly love-struck teenager who thinks her "oppas" can't do no wrong.

And so you shift your gaze back to the image blown up across your computer screen. It's a bit blurry, but Jungkook's face under his cap is as clear as day. And no one could mistaken the hand up his female companion's skirt as anything virtuous.

That silly little maknae hustler. Does he not realize how iCloud works in this day and age? A slow smile spreads across your face as you contemplate what to do with your new discovery. It's like the winning ticket to a powerball jackpot. And only you can cash it in.

Author’s Note: I wrote this for my follow forever drabble game. 

Please be understanding and stop asking me about updates :) 

[skipzujinskip]

goals for july 2020

In order for me to be on a roll, and get usual indecisive and messy ass together. I am gonna just set some goals and try to be a better person than I was yesterday. Aye it’s never too late to start a new beginning and its never too late to start on these goals and work hard for the results. In a perfect time to occupy myself in a lot of things and keep myself busy due to the COVID-19 situation, it’s time to be properly committed. 

JULY 2020 GOALS

Get my STUDYING ON A ROLL

NO MORE LEAVING SHIT LAST MINUTE!!!!! Being a Fashion Marketing Uni student is NO FUN AND GAMES! 😭There is a whole lotta madness and elements to it all and let me just say, I WAS NOT PREPARED THIS YEAR TO EXPECT ALL OF THIS. So far I am lucky this trimester after the first set of assignment, the weight of all the assignments are a lot lighter since the first of assignments were kinda hectic but you know, you gotta channel that inner phoenix rising from the fire. The current set of assignments are more group-based and more creative and fun:

Fashion Blog - The most creative yet challenging assignment for the Fashion Influencers class. I am still yet to decide what platform to really but this blog through, we already have a name though 🤪, ‘CrazySweetSavage’. I still need to decide what to post and what kind of direction I am heading with the blog. I just believe this fashion blog can be more than just an assignment for me, it can be something I can really air out my creativity without feeling any pressure. Instagram is great but I feel so iffy for some reason and I don’t know why. Maybe with this fashion blog it can get me outta my comfort zone and I can really gain more confidence in showing off my creativity cause I am still timid about it I guess?! 🤨

Marketing Plan - Aye, we just finished the first assignment for the Marketing class. I am yet to expect what there is to this but WE WILL BE ON A ROLL FOR THIS ASSIGNMENT. I swear on my knees I will slay it. 😊

Group Projects - The last two classes which are Critical Survey and Business Strategy and Design Thinking are both group efforts. I am happy to work with two of my closest friends in uni for both assignments but I am questioning if I am making enough effort 😔. In both assignments, we are exploring the topic of size inclusiveness and innovations we can come up with to meet problems of the topic. 

Hopefully I CAN ALSO GET MY NOTES DONE! 🤬I have been slacking off it so we better get a move on. I got my whiteboard so I can organise what days and the time to do it all. Even with the second lockdown in Melbourne, I got less shifts at work and there is NO EXCUSE not to do it all. 😤

Getting my BODY ON A ROLL

I have been slacking off of Chloe Ting’s workouts after a while... Well 2 weeks and a half to be exact 😳! Ever since I lost my last pair of contact lenses I have not been able to do my workouts. I know, I know!! EXCUSES, EXCUSES. Really, I cannot workout when I am blind and I rely my workouts on my flatscreen with Chloe Ting on there. I should memorise the workouts after a while of doing them but I have a pint sized brain and memory 🙈. 

Along with the absence of working out, my eating habits have become worse. It became Maccas, HSPs and a whole lotta pure junk. I also HAVEN’T BEEN DRINKING THAT MUCH WATER, which is UNBELIEVABLE 😑.  Back then, I was eating good, I needed at least some veggies every meal along with a protein, and on mornings I would enjoy a nice warm sweet bowl of oatmeal, honey and sliced bananas 😔. 

Here are the fitness/body/lifestyle(?) goals I need to keep up with in order to achieve my body goals before this year ends:

WORKING OUT -  I am giving my self an hour a day or at least three days a week depending how intense the workouts I follow by Chloe Ting are. I trust Chloe Ting cause it seems like I can actually see results since other people has done them. I had seen a difference til those tragic last 2 weeks happened 😤.

EATING HEALTHY - I need to go back to my diet of having protein with veggies and portion off some carbs. I also need to aim for a least a day or 2 for cheat meals. 😩MY HABITS WERE TERRIBLE THOSE 2 WEEKS. Also, I am going to need a list of fruits and other stuff to satisfy my deadly sweet tooth 😁. I also need to get my water consumption ON A ROLL. 2L a day, let’s get that bladder moving per usual. 

I need to also remember that - IT IS NOT A RACE, IT IS A MARATHON 😉!! Nothing comes overnight and that I need to earn it just like what I did with my job at work. 

Have my room/home-life ON A ROLL

I live in a pigsty 😕... I come home to mess and shit all around my room and it is seriously and unbearable. Happy home = happy mood. I don’t know how I can get my lazy ass to get up and clean around. However with all this goal setting, hopefully I can pick myself up and get to it. Even after cleaning, I NEED TO MAINTAIN HOW NEAT IT IS 😩!! Not to worry, I just gotta channel my inner Monica Gellar and we will get there. 

The To-Do list for my room:

Re-do closet: I have a lot of clothes that are just lying there and have not been worn once this year and yet I still keep buying and buying 🤡! I might create a sack of of unwanted clothes and ship it off my relatives to the Philippines or to a charity store. Even with my retail job, hopefully I can rearrange my closet nicely. 

Clean up my desk: Arguably the easily messiest part of my room. I am not really satisfied with my desk and every time I clean it, I still feel just BLEH about it. I might revamp it and just order some desk decor so hopefully that is better. 

Find some storage for OLD UNNECESSARY SHIT: They may be unnecessary but these things can at least help someone or just be put away or burnt. I have no idea. I got old school books under my bed and in my closet and that shit needs to go!! 

As I said before with LOCKDOWN 2.0 being around, there are no excuses not to clean! 👺

WORK & MONEY ON A ROLL (🤔)

I don’t know LOL 😂!! Like I said before, I don’t have much shifts due to the current situation. Therefore, I see less $$$ going into my account. However, once again, MY LAZY ASS needs to apply for youth allowance. The whole application takes ages and I understand! Ever since I have gotten this new Macbook AKA my beautiful Ramona, I have became so broke like I NEED TO GET THIS stuff outta the way.

The priorities right now:

GET THAT DAMN APPLICATION DONE. 

However I need to check if the place is still open cause the documentation that I need to supply, I cannot provide proof for some reason so I gotta get there myself. 😫THE STRUGGLES ARGHHHHH!!

Me needs to be ON A ROLL. period. 🤭

In order to get myself on a roll, thus this far, the goal setting and this blog will hopefully put me on a right track. I have been doing really shitty things to cope with it all, I don’t wanna go in depth cause I am gonna get all these things coming on to me like:

“WTF DON’T DO THAT”

“THAT IS STUPID”

“WOW SO DRAMATIC, IT ISN’T THAT DEEP” 

Honestly, my mental health has been all over the place this year. I mean last year was when I was on my lowest of all lows. With so many things arriving to me, it gets too much sometimes. I mean, I would have never expected the things that happened this year to occur. Was I prepared for this new chapter of life? Absolutely not!! I have gotten new friends, a new job and new perspective in life. Life is a complete 180 compared to the messy year previously. 2019 was NO JOKE. I am grateful for 2020 and the new blessings I was offered. 

Somehow I feel like I have gotten it all in this life right now and it seems like I got myself together. That is not really the case though 🧐. Just like that song that Britney Spears sang, “Lucky”:

“If there is nothing, missing in my life then why do these tears come at night?...”

It’s obvious that I am not satisfied just yet. I still have a lot to go. There are so many things I need to work on and that is on my self esteem, my confidence and really trusting myself and being able to forgive myself from past experiences. Most of these are due to because I do not have a significant other or nobody “hitting me up”. I know, why the fuck do I honestly need someone to satisfy myself? I just feel the pressure of being that 19 year old that has not really fell in love with anyone yet. I mean my lucky 13-15 year old self had experienced what it was like to fall in love for the first time. In all seriousness, being in love in your early teens is way different to falling in love in your late teens to young adult ages. In that late teens to young adult stage - love is strived for a long term. Maybe I strive for a longterm relationship and that is why I am very careful with who I fall for and let in. 

Nowadays love has no limits in terms of everything for me. Let it be a guy or a girl. Maybe I am not in a relationship yet because I am not ready for it and I just need time to really focus on myself and really heal whatever is hurting. I have all these amazing opportunities that the universe has provided me, maybe love is not what I need right now and I need to understand that. The thought of not having anyone hitting me up or not being in a relationship has really made me insecure. I always thought I was either too fat, too ugly or too “out there”. At the end of the day, that person would love me for who I am and the way I am, that person would not want me to change a damn thing about myself. It’s all a matter of just waiting. The universe is really taking its time for the person that will soon reach out to me and who I will reach out for. 

I often put myself down because of this but at the end of day, this is my life and that I cannot keep putting myself down. I need to be more kinder to myself and really give myself credit. I am progressing myself through just accepting the past for what it is and really becoming a person that i’ve always wanted to be. I want to be someone that is caring, someone you can rely on, that is there for a fun time. I am reaching the path of wanting to become someone that is passionate and committed for what they wanna do for the future and really pave a way for people. I am so much different from the past but there are still things I cannot accept but I will get there hopefully. 

I also need to trust the universe and its magic. However, those pick-a-card readings and horoscope readings have given me more of an understanding why I am feeling this way and to understand myself better. So to simplify, patience and trust is what I need to build on and equip and just believing in myself and what the universe has to offer. I believe the universe is crafting something for me that impactful and hopefully just beautiful. 

Basically I need to work on:

Being more kinder to myself

Being more patient with myself and the universe

Believing and trusting the universe and what it is doing

Forgive yourself from past mistakes

Be grateful what 2020 has given you. 

I also need to work on stuff that will make me less lonely when I have those days or those moments. I feel like my worst enemy when I am by myself. So I need think of ways that will uplift and brighten me up and can improve in taking care of myself better. 

Watching more anime - Let’s try and get through Sailor Moon and all of those Netflix animes and other people’s recommendations 🤩🤩🤩

Being committed to my daily and night skin routine - Just because I feel depressed or sad does not mean I cannot do pamper up!! GOD DAMN ZU! 🤨Since we are not able to go to the city which where I get all my skincare goodies from, we are going to need to research and choose wisely products that are accessible around me and MAYBE find something online. I don’t trust online stuff but whatever. 

It’s gonna take a lot of time and there is a lot of things on my plate clearly. All of these goals will hopefully get me on a roll to a more HAPPY, POSITIVE AND BRIGHT direction in life. I always have to remember to be grateful for the blessings that have been provided for me and to really work hard for more blessings. I never deserved what I have, I always had to earn through working hard for what I always want in this life that is the way of the knight. 

This is the knight signing off, heading to getting myself and my “all over the place” ass on a roll ✌️!!

- Zujin De Torres

[ruffsficstuffplace]

And The AWRD Goes To... (Part 12)

Like many other things about them, Nick’s office was similar to, but still distinctly different from Freya’s own.

The floor space was also crowded and sectioned off, but this time, by furniture—tables, comfortable sofas, even a small wooden platform that was attached to the storage nook in the ceiling, provided a place to cram more people in at once than was probably recommended by the fire department. Papers, books, and random items filled his bookshelves and racks, but they were constantly changing arrangements or here today and gone tomorrow, Nick never leaving a crafting project, a book, or a stack of paperwork unattended for very long, if it wasn’t just the belongings of a harried student using his office as a more convenient storage area than their dorm. All throughout, specially wired and powered lamps beamed sunlight or a very good imitation of it in even the most out of the way nook or cranny, always casting the room in a friendly, warm glow.

And of course, there was the snack bar in the corner, always well-stocked with alcohol, coffee, food, and its crown jewel: Nick’s own personal slushie machine, great expense and effort invested in it to make it take Mistral spring water and produce ice that tasted exactly like fresh snow from Atlas, the kind you could have picked up anywhere in the continent.

Jasminka, Ruby, Constanze, Sucy (plus two armed guards), Jaune, Yang, and Amanda were crowded around it, the first two marveling at the multitude of exotic flavours Nick mail-ordered from all across Remnant, the next two eyeing the machine and the visible mechanisms with great interest, the last three crying out in agony as they suffered brain freeze.

“Oh my fucking, fucking, fuckity-fuck, shit, argh!” Amanda cried as sat on a nearby chair, her head nearly touching her knees from how far she was bent over.

“My skull is cracking open like an egg!” Yang screamed as she writhed on the floor.

Jaune just whimpered and cried as he sat on the floor with his back to the base of the machine.

“Told you an Atlesian brain freeze is a whole different beast,” Nick said as he sat behind his desk, nearly hidden by the stacks of paperwork he was working on.

From where she sat with Diana and Lotte, Blake sighed, her ears twitching with annoyance. She tried to focus her attention back on their books and notebooks spread out on the coffee table in front of them, before she heard someone knocking on the door.

“Professor Schnee?”

“I got it, Belladonna,” Nick said as he pressed a button on his desk. “They replaced my inner ear canals too when they were turning me into a rip-off Dustman, don’t worry.”

The double doors swung open, and in came Weiss in a wheelchair, Akko pushing her while a nurse followed shortly behind. Everyone stopped and looked up, even the stabbing, rapidly expanding pain of an Atlesian brain freeze forgotten as they saw them.

“Hey Weiss!” Ruby said, waving with one hand while her other held a strawberry/firemelon slushie. “Wow, you recovered fast!”

“She didn’t actually,” the nurse said. “She just insisted she wouldn’t leave her room with any of the tubes still attached. So if we could all make this quick, that’d be much appreciated.”

“Don’t worry, this won’t take more than half-an-hour, tops,” Nick said as he put his pen down, earmarked the paper he was working on before he got up from his desk. “Everyone from batch 7, line up in front of me, enough space to step up when I call your names specifically.”

In short time, they all were, even if Yang had to have a hand on the back of a chair, and Amanda and Jaune were helping keep each other up.

“Normally, we’d have done the whole team assigning ceremony yesterday in the Great Hall, with Lionheart, a big-ass screen with your names and faces on it, and the good ole initiation buffet afterward, but these aren’t normal times, so I guess you’re all going to have to be content with me, my office, and everything I have in the snack bar.

“So without further ado, let’s get right to it, kiddos:

“For the next four years, barring death, crippling injury, dropping out, or getting any of your asses expelled for whatever reason, the other members of your team are going to be the people you do EVERYTHING with here in Haven.

“You will share the same dorm as them, you will train with them, you will go to the same classes as them, you will learn to act as one fighting force on the battlefield, you will work together to keep your collective grade point average up, and you will sure as shit have to learn how live together peacefully, or at the very least not kill each other until you get your hunting licenses.

“From here on out, it won’t matter to me if you were the top student in combat school, you were the one that just barely passed the grade, you got in here through your personal achievements out there in the real world, or anywhere in-between—what matters now is what you’re going to be here, in Haven, today, tomorrow, and for however long you’ll be in this school.

“You will all pass together, or you will all fail apart. You will all stand together, or you will all fall apart. You will either prove to us that you’ve got what it takes to be a real huntsman or a huntress together, or you will all start looking for different careers apart.

“Do you all understand? ‘Sir, yes, sir!’ is the only answer I want to hear, or else you can just go walk back out that door, and don’t even bother asking for a slushie to go.”

“Sir, yes, sir!” they all said with varying levels of enthusiasm.

Nick scowled. “You know, I’m getting the feeling not all of you do—I SAID, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!”

“SIR, YES, SIR!” they thundered.

Nick smiled. “Now THAT’S what I like to hear.” His expression turned serious. “Antonenko, Yanson, Belladonna, von Braunschbank-Albrechtsberger, step up!”

They all did,  Lotte twiddling her thumbs, Jasminka pausing her slushie drinking, Blake looking wide-eyed and nervous, and Constanze looking as grumpy as ever.

“From here on out, you are Team BLJC, lead by Blake Belladonna!”

Blake blinked, her mouth falling open. “S-Sir…?!”

“You got any complaints or questions about who I chose as a leader or put you in a team with, you do it later when we’re done. Now, BLJC: step aside! Xiao Long, Manbavaran, O’Neill, Arc, step up!”

Jaune’s eyes widened. “Professor Schnee…?”

Nick glared at him. “Later, Arc.” He turned back to the others. “From here on out, you are Team JAYS, lead by Jaune Arc!”

Jaune blinked, before he stared at Nick like an alpha beowulf plus pack had mysteriously appeared right before his eyes.

“Hey, would you look at that!” Amanda said as she clapped the stunned Jaune on the back. “Congratulations, Johnny Boy!”

“Save it for later, O’Neill,” Nick said coolly. “JAYS: step aside! Now: someone wheel my granddaughter up to me, and Cavendish, Kagari, and Rose, step up!”

The nurse took over for Akko as they all stood together in a line. Ruby looked from side-to-side, wondering who was going to become their leader, Akko and Weiss just shot each other knowing looks, while Diana stood stock straight, her face impassive and serious.

“From here on out, you are Team AWRD, lead by Atsuko ‘Akko’ Kagari!”

Save for Ruby, it was as if you had just struck the newly formed team in their chests, thundering blows that stunned them and rendered them slack.

“N-Nani?!” Akko blurted. “Seriously, Uncle Nick…?!”

“Yes, seriously.” Nick replied. “Now, all of you: back here with your teams!”

AWRD scrambled to make room for the others as they all formed a semi-circle around Nick. He put his hands to his hips as he gazed at them all, some faces excited, some nervous, some disappointed, some confounded, some completely and utterly terrified.

“I know it might feel like we just randomly lumped you all together based on who’d make the nicest sounding team names, but believe me, unlike one of the other hunstman academies, we don’t leave your team compositions up to chance. Know that to the best of all of your professors abilities, we debated and carefully chose who’ll be working with who for the next four years, and who’ll be leading it.

“It may not seem to many of you that we made the best choice in team compositions, and you’d be right—because it’s up to all of you, not just your leaders, to do the rest of the work from here on out, become what we hope to high hell you can all become at the end of your time here in Haven.

“That’s all I needed to say, and you needed to hear: DISMISSED!”

Diana, Akko, Jaune, and Blake all tried to step up at once, Nick held up both his hands and stopped them. “One at a time, and in private. First up, does anyone else here have any questions?” No takers. “Good, then get your stuff, make one last trip to the snack bar if you’d like, then get out, your new dorms are waiting. For the rest of you...” he looked back at the four.

“I’ll go last,” Blake said.

“Kind of you, Belladonna. The rest of you, we going to start volunteering, too, or do we do this the old-fashioned way?”

“The old-fashioned way…?” Jaune asked.

“Boulder, Icicle, Blizzard,” Nick said, making a fist, and a V with first two fingers, before opening his hand flat. “Also known as three of the leading causes of death to Atlesians, behind Grimm and each other.”

“Oh!” Jaune said. “You mean Rock Paper Scissors. Sure, I can do that!”

“All three of you at once then,” Nick said. “If you all cancel each other out, try again.”

Akko, Diana, and Jaune formed a triangle, their hands held out, eyeing each other with varying emotions on their faces.

“Boulder, Icicle, Blizzard, go!”

Jaune won, Diana groaned as she and Akko faced each other while he stepped to the side.

“Boulder, Icicle, Blizzard, go!”

Diana lost, fuming, before she forced herself to relax, turned around, and left the room.

“Diana...?” Akko asked as she followed after her, but she didn’t respond.

Nick eyed them with concern, before headed behind his desk, pressed the button again and locked his door behind Akko. “Come with me, Arc, have a seat,” he said as he walked to the snack bar. “Want a hot cocoa? Good stuff for killing brain freezes, if you don’t know the tongue trick.”

“There was a tongue trick…?” Jaune said.

“Yeah, works like a charm, but that’s not important right now,” Nick said as he poured himself a mug of hot chocolate from a steaming vacuum flask, into a giant, well-worn red mug. “So, cocoa?”

“I could use one, thank you...” Jaune mumbled.

Nick poured him out a smaller mug, one with a friendly cartoon Atlesian bear on it. “Careful, I can only ever make it blazing hot—you won’t completely dissolve the flavour rocks otherwise,” he said as he handed it over.

Jaune thanked him, warmed his hands on the mug, blew on it gently, then took a tiny sip. “AGH!” he screamed as he burned his tongue, accidentally spilled the rest of it all over his lap.

Nick sighed as Jaune started screaming even louder, setting his mug down on the coffee table, picking Jaune’s mug from his lap with his robotic hand, before touching his shoulder with his organic hand. His screaming wavered to a stop as red-gold energy suddenly surged from Nick into him; the burning, searing pain of the cocoa didn’t disappear entirely, but it was suddenly much more bearable, like it had been sitting out for ten minutes or so before he spilled it.

“How’d you do that…?” Jaune asked.

“My semblance,” Nick said as he pulled away. “Got more than enough to help me survive whatever the hell Remnant decides to throw at me next, only makes sense that my special power is sharing the surplus with others.”

“That’s pretty cool.”

“Indeed it is, but we’re not here to discuss semblances, are we?” Nick said as he settled into the seat across him, the cushions flattening, the sturdy wood creaking from his weight. “So what’s bugging you, Arc?”

Jaune looked down at his cocoa-soaked pants. “It’s just, well… everything about this whole team: who I’m with, and especially that you put me in charge of it...”

“Can you please get more specific?”

“Well, there’s Sucy, and I don’t think I really need to elaborate on that, and I mean, Amanda saved me back in the Hills, but then she started dragging me straight into all those Grimm, and she refused to do or go anywhere safer because it’d be ‘boring,’ and Yang just scares the crap out of me—did you know she literally explodes into fire when she’s angry? That’s her semblance, she explodes, and--”

Jaune groaned. “I just don’t think I’m cut out to lead them!” he said to Nick, before he stared down at his pants once more. “… Or, you know, be in a team with them, in general.”

“On the contrary, Arc, I think you’re the best guy I could have chosen to lead these three.”

“But just—why…?” Jaune asked.

“Well, I can’t let you read the entirety of your old professor’s entire recommendation letter for confidentiality reasons, but among other things, she mentioned that you got along well with others, whoever they are; are very adaptable even under intense pressure and imminent danger to life and limb; and you’re a pretty selfless, honourable, and honest sort of guy in general.

“Now, does this sound like the kind of leader that sounds like he’d be great for pulling together three different students, with three very different personalities, with three completely different backgrounds, with three different exceptional aptitudes, but all with a reputation for bad behaviour, abrasive attitudes, and getting into so much trouble all of them have been arrested at least once?”

“...”

“I asked you a question, Arc, and I’d really appreciate an answer.”

“… Yes, sir.” Jaune said.

“And do you think that, based on your old professor’s recommendation, you’d be a fit leader? Or do I have to call her and ask her to give me a new assessment, without all the fluff and the exaggeration to help get you into Haven?”

Jaune’s eyes widened, before he shook his head. “Ah, no sir! I mean, the calling my old professor—I can be a leader, I’ll be a great leader, I’ll--”

“Arc.”

Jaune stopped, sighed, looked at Nick with shame all over his face.

Nick’s eyes softened. “Look, Arc, I know it’s terrifying—the transition from combat school to huntsman academy, going from training simulations to fighting actual Grimm in the wilderness, being chosen to be the leader, whether you want to or not.

“You don’t feel ready. You don’t feel like you should be here. You don’t think it’s time to say goodbye to being a teenager and hello to being an adult, with all the crap and responsibility that entails.

“But the thing is, Arc: I believe you’re ready for this. I believe you should be here, and so did Frosty, Ursula, and Lionheart himself. And I’m ready to help you figure out how to deal with life, whether that be in class, on the battlefield, or anything else you might need help with—Haven believes in a very holistic education, after all.

“Now… can you believe you can do this, Arc? Work with these three, be their leader, and become one hell of a hunting party together?”

Jaune looked up, before he looked back down at his pants, and shook his head. “No, sir.”

Nick frowned. “You free to talk tomorrow around five PM after class, Arc?”

Jaune nodded. “Yes, Professor Schnee.”

“Five PM tomorrow it is—feel free to reschedule, but know I’ll have people coming in and out of this office 24/7 soon enough,” Nick said as he stood up. “You want another cocoa for the road, Arc? It’ll screw up the flavour, but I can put in just enough ice so you won’t fuck up your tastebuds again.”

“No thank, you Professor Schnee,” Jaune said as he stood up. “Oh, and sir?”

“Yeah, Arc?” Nick asked as he picked the mugs up.

Jaune smiled a little. “Thanks… for believing in me.”

Nick smiled. “No problem, Arc. Come on, I’ll see you to the door.”

As the double doors opened and Jaune stepped out, Nick peered at the two waiting benches on either side of him. Diana and Blake quietly studying on one, Akko sitting restlessly on the other, an invisible wall between them. “Your turn, Kagari,” he said.

“Okay, Uncle—I mean, Professor Nick,” Akko said as she got up, cast an uneasy look at Diana as she stepped into Nick’s office.

Diana didn’t even bother to look up, her attention entirely focused on her notes.

“Something happen?” Nick asked after the doors were closed behind them.

“Nothing, Uncle Nick,” Akko said. “We just kinda, looked at each other earlier, before Diana sat down with Blake and started comparing notes again.”

Nick frowned. “Silence is never ‘Nothing,’ Akko—believe me, Frosty has taught me that the very hard way.”

Note:

BLJC – Blackjack

AWRD – Award

[regrettablewritings]

All the Write Words, Pt.V (Library AU!Vladimir Ranskahov x Reader)

Prologue Part I Part II Part III Part IV

Since his humiliating secret had nearly been caught by his brother, Vladimir made it a goal to work on his assignments once he was in the privacy of his room in the apartment he shared (read: took up residency as it was under Anatoly’s name alone). The problem with this could mostly be traced back to the fact that he and Anatoly tended to work late often or wind up heading out for drinks with the rest of the men at the end of a particularly uneventful or sometimes stressful shift. Either way, Vladimir’s pre-homework ritual would include him scrambling to do his work or mentally groaning that he had waited until last minute to do it. It reminded him way too much of his school days and he wished he could avoid those as often as possible but alas, no prevail. To be honest, the only thing keeping him from giving up altogether was his pride: the pride he managed to grasp and maintain as a man who was never afraid to back away from a fight. He especially refused to back away from the fight currently being presented by some 5′2″ poofy-haired pipsqueak who willingly dressed like a bum.

To be perfectly honest, however, there was another reason Vladimir kept doing the work even when he was often too tired or feeling too drunk to really want to try. And he discovered it the very next day he was due to work at the library, right after the occurrence with Anatoly in the office.

“ – like so,” (Y/N) chirped. Vladimir gave an obligatory hum of understanding when in reality he couldn’t care less. (Y/N) was showing him how to set up the Kid’s Corner for whenever the library was hosting a storyteller’s visit. The storyteller wasn’t scheduled for another week but today had been particularly slow enough for (Y/N) to decide that Vladimir needed to know the very minor ropes. Personally, Vladimir couldn’t comprehend why it mattered which way he did it: preparations for storyteller time just meant dragging a large, worn velvet seat (the kind you saw in old movies where an old man would blabber on from), placing it by the large tree-shaped bookshelf (“Atmosphere,” was all [Y/N] explained), and surrounded it with numerous seats and beanbag chairs for the snot-nosed little brats to plop their asses in.

Then you had to set up a table nearby and fill it with some juice boxes and granola bars but the rest of its contents were totally up to the idiotic soccer moms who thought their kid should only ingest organic snickerdoodles or some crap. This last part, of course, was seen through Vladimir’s point of view but (Y/N) more or less hinted that that was what was to be expected. But then, every thought of Vladimir’s seemed to go in a similar fashion: filled with boredom, disgust, anything and everything exhibited by a king forced to interact with such squalor. It was for this that hearing (Y/N) suggest they look over his first workbook assignment came as a split-second blessing; emphasis on the split-second.

A small grim feeling bubbled in the man’s gut as they reached their usual spot in the faculty lounge. Vladimir had never been a good student. Even when he was surrounded by his more approval-seeking classmates as a small child, the blond’s mind would wander elsewhere – any elsewhere, really, so long as it wasn’t in school. He had the potential, or so he had been told. But it just never set in well with him. Maybe he found it too boring, maybe the teaching methods didn’t suit him? Whatever it was, nobody ever found out and soon enough, nobody cared to. Not when they had Anatoly to depend upon.

“Oh, my little Tolya,” their mother would coo. “Such wonderful marks”, “Such lovely diction”, “My son could write the next opera if he so wished it”, blahblahblah. Anatoly never was forced to sit in a dusty old library and learn how to read like a stupid child. Anatoly never had to hand to any of his teachers a colorful workbook made for small children because that was the easiest he could read. Anatoly ‘s teachers didn’t look at his work the way (Y/N) looked at his. Anatoly’s teachers never hummed like that, grabbed a red pen, and made that many check marks alongside circles –

Wait. Vladimir’s brows furrowed, for once out of confusion rather than dismay. Did he see that right. A small smile grew between (Y/N)’s cheeks and it made Vladimir’s stomach unsure of what to do; his teachers never smiled at him whether he failed or he did decently on his work but then (Y/N) could’ve been more openly sadistic. When she turned the quickly-graded sheet towards him, he tried to make sense of what was making the little demon smile. With her red pen, (Y/N) had made five checkmarks, coupled with a few choice circles. The circles were always on letters that looked alike (facing a certain direction or tails in the wrong place). Was that a good thing?

His muddled mental state translated to his physical state undoubtedly. It made (Y/N) smile even more.

“The checks are good, circles are things that need work,” she explained. That was all Vladimir needed for his brows to become unknitted and raise ever so slightly. There were no bones about it: There were slightly more checkmarks than there were scribbled circles. He . . . did okay?

“You did great, especially for your first time!” (Y/N) beamed. She got up from her chair at the circular table and stood by the taller being. Vladimir felt a small hand give him gentle, pleased pats on his back. “I’m proud of you!” And that did it.

Immediately Vladimir tensed up. “Proud”? But . . . But that term was for Anatoly. “I’m proud of you” was never directed at Vladimir. Usually, it was Anatoly raking in the praise and approval. Even during their rougher years when the eldest Ranskahov brother accompanied the younger on heists and trades, Anatoly seemed to get somewhat less of a scolding than Vladimir himself. It felt wrong, it felt strange, it felt completely misplaced, it felt . . . good. And it felt completely different than the feeling of being proud of oneself as he had become accustomed to.

Like a tickling in the heart. Or soul. Somewhere inside that Vladimir hadn’t acknowledged or brought up the existence of in ages if ever. It was during the slight daze of slight shock from the words that Vladimir began to recognize another feeling pride came with: his face felt like it was burning. It felt tightened, like the skin was being both tugged and squished together all at once.

“Uh . . . You okay there, Vlad? You’ve been awfully sil – Oh! You’re blush – You know what? You want a cold cup of water?” And just like that, the small, warm presence of a hand that Vladimir forgot was even there vanished. It was replaced with a small coldness near the small of his back.

He glanced up at (Y/N) to see her pulling a dixie cup from a dispenser on the cooler. Surely she had some idea of what she’d just done? But judging by the coy, closed-mouthed smile she wore when she handed him the cool-down cup, she had no idea. And for once, Vladimir trusted that that’s what one of her smiles actually meant.

It had been about a week or so since Vladimir’s first fix of approval. Seven days or so that had gained some peculiar hybrid existence as both agonizing yet brief. Not quite schoolesque, not quite relieving. His eagerness for the approval-fix had become quite a motivator, if he would allow himself one moment away from the denial of just how much he was working for it. He still certainly made more of an effort to do his assignments at home. And while he groaned at the workload (Y/N) would assign him four times a week, he found himself more surprised at how often he waited for that moment where (Y/N) would pull a pen out of her pocket (or curls), give the occasional hum, make a mark or circle here and there, and say those words: “Good job!” or “I’m proud!”

The assignments where he had fewer checkmarks than circles would be initially met with disdain and slight, licking flames of anger. At any other point in his life, he would have probably thrown a temper tantrum worthy of the five year-old that may or may not have inhabited his mind and body. But by the time Vladimir would reach home and the sanctity of his bed, the flames would give way to tamed fire, ready to fuel his determination to do better and prove himself capable. It was a rush in all kinds of ways.

It had become slightly easier to get Vladimir to do things as well, such as sitting him down to read. Which, to the staff of the S. Lee Library, was a trickle of a blessing at this point – it was storytelling day and the last thing anyone needed was for a bunch of nervous mothers to take one good look at the 6’, scarred Russian with the mug of a hellhound and immediately yank their child out of the building, calling off books that didn’t come from her tablet. Really, (Y/N) had confidence that Vladimir wouldn’t even care about people coming in enough to want to interact with them. But to be safe, she shoved a small pile of books into the man’s arms. Each one was rather thin and bore a seal with a funky-looking cat wearing a tall, striped hat. He was instructed to spend the next hour and a half reading them as (Y/N) manned the front desk (of course, he was to sit behind the desk so that she could assure he was actually reading and not slacking).

It was about an hour and a half, maybe two hours later and Vladimir was still slumped on the floor, book in hand, back against the counter. He had managed to finish three books already: one about the same cat with the striped hat making a mess of two children’s house; one about the ABCs; and one about a man who could make cow noises. That last one had a few words that puzzled Vladimir and he found himself surprised at feeling guilt for deciding to move on but for the most part, he felt accomplished.

He was just starting to read a story titled Hop on Pop when he heard that all too familiar giggle of (Y/N)’s, yanking him back to reality. But upon arriving back, Vladimir noticed that (Y/N) was no longer beside him. And the giggle came from somewhere else in the library. He faintly recalled (Y/N) saying something about going over to clean up after the storytelling hour.

As strange as (Y/N) was in his eyes, however, Vladimir highly doubted there was anything humorous to be found as one cleaned up empty dixie cups and sticky granola bar wrappers. And indeed, the Russian was right – because (Y/N) wasn’t laughing at cleaning, and she certainly wasn’t laughing alone. Upon rounding the corner, Vladimir found his mentor in the Kid’s Corner, sitting a small chair made for children, positioned next to a young man about her age who was sitting in the storyteller’s chair.

He had brownish-red hair combed in a lax manner that still managed to portray an air of certainty. It didn’t matter that his eyes were shielded behind a pair of strange, red, round-framed glasses; they were probably just as warm and welcoming as the smile he wore. Basically, he was everything Vladimir wasn’t: closer in age to (Y/N), warm, and smiling. Vladimir had to seriously consider whether or not to throw up in order to catch (Y/N)’s attention.

Fortunately for the carpet, he didn’t have to; the brunette stopped laughing and turned to his general direction.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he apologized. “Were we being too loud? I understand that it’s a library, quite unprofessional . . .” Vladimir’s eye twitched slightly. His voice was low and warm. Like hot cider. Was every person who stepped into this goddamn place so pleasant and gushy? It was at this point that (Y/N) finally managed to stop laughing and turned her attention to her protégé.

“Oh, hey, Vladimir! I was wondering if you’d ever drop by,” (Y/N) smiled. “Hey, look, most of the kids’ mothers wouldn’t let them eat too much sugar or whatever so we got tons of leftover sugar cookies and chocolate chip granola – help yourself!” But Vladimir’s eyes remained fixed on the shades-wearing man before him. He wasn’t sure how to feel about him: part of him wanted to give his usual glare. “Oh, sorry, uh – Vlad, this is –”

“Matthew Murdock. Er, Matt. I’m not so much a formal person,” Matt said, offering his hand in Vladimir’s direction. However, it wasn’t as direct as it should have been. Vladimir wasn’t certain what to do besides inch closer to hesitantly take it. He did it only out of obligation and the knowledge that not doing so would summon a lecture from (Y/N) on rudeness. But that didn’t stop him from thinking: Maybe if this idiot would take off those stupid glasses, he could see. Must all Americans be so arrogant? Hell, why do peasants feel the need to be unnecessarily flashy?!

“Uh, I’m blind . . .” Matt threw in, as if he were reading Vladimir’s mind. It was only after he said that and when he pulled back that Vladimir noticed the white and red stick by the man’s side. Oh. Well.

“He’s real philanthropic, comes to read to the kids every so often. You know, when he isn’t abandoning us for that ‘big lawyer student life,’” (Y/N) beamed. But Vladimir was hearing none of what she was saying, only how she said it: That tone she used; it was shining, bright. That same gold-colored tone she used whenever she told Vladimir she was pleased with his work. Subconsciously, his fists balled and his jaw clenched. He didn’t like sharing golden things; no king should ever have to worry about sharing with a goddamn peasant.

“—and we specially order books in braille just for him and he reads, like, Harry Potter and all that good stuff in braille! It’s a great way to introduce diversity to the kids and teach them that anything is possible no matter what comes their way. Isn’t that great!” (Y/N) affectionately nudged Matt’s shoulder, earning a bashful, crooked smile from the man.

“Well, I wouldn’t say that. I just like giving back to the community,” Matt insisted. “Hell’s Kitchen is a shit place but that doesn’t mean it always has to be. Besides,” he shrugged, “the kids seem to like the fact that their storyteller can’t see them and tell them to stop wiping their boogers on the carpet.” The snide comment earned yet another shared laugh. Just the two of them, of course. Vladimir shifted uncomfortably, fist flexing on and off. He didn’t like this. Shit was too weird and somewhat invasive somehow.

“Oh, hush, Matty, and just lemme praise you a bit,” (Y/N) cooed. It was that sentence that made Vladimir sharply inhale and tense. His mind began to fill with familiar sentences, all of which came in the form of his mother’s voice: “Hush, Anatoly, I must brag about your marks to Mrs. Romanova, she will be so jealous!” It was in Russian, of course, but pride knew no language barriers.

“And guess what!” (Y/N) almost seemed to vibrate in her chair, the excitement rolling off in waves. “Matt’s even offered to teach me some braille – for the heck of it! I mean, he ought to teach me for free . . .”

Matt waved his hand as if to ward off the indications. “Just think of it as a something from friend to friend.”

“So sweet,” the woman gushed. If her curls could project her emotions, they would have curled and bounced ecstatically. It unnerved Vladimir to hell and back.

“But man, Vlad, his fingers just move along the bumps so quickly! I doubt I’ll ever catch up, y’know?”

Matt’s crooked smile returned. If Vladimir were a different kind of person, he would have allowed himself to admit that it was a lovely smile. How fitting that a lovely smile would belong to a lovely-looking young man. “It just needs time and you need practice. Don’t feel bad about it. Hey, if it makes you feel any better, at least you’re not stuck with Punjabi like a certain someone we all know.”

The last part of the sentence was delivered slightly louder than at first and was quickly followed by a “Screw you, Matt!” being whisper-yelled by Foggy from a few aisles down. Matt and (Y/N) shared yet another laugh; Vladimir just clenched his teeth.  

“Seriously, though, it’s not too hard. For example . . .” Vladimir watched in silence as he saw Matt take (Y/N)’s small, brown hand into his own larger one. He guided it to a bump-riddled page in the book on his lap. “There’s six potential dots per grid, so every letter is just a combination of those six dots. When I was a kid, I told myself that it’s just as important to feel for what isn’t there as it is for what isn’t.” (Y/N) nodded as she hung on to every word even though she knew Matt wouldn’t see it. Vladimir’s eyes narrowed, however. (Y/N) was a good student: comprehending, focused. A little too focused in his own opinion, though.

To get a better feel for it, (Y/N) closed her eyes. She allowed herself to become vulnerable and left completely at the mercy of her teacher. Matt appeared to appreciate and take the opportunity to guide her hand about the page, inspecting letters with every progression. Matt guided her hand upwards, Vladimir couldn’t help but notice that the gesture inherently made the woman inch closer. Their shoulders rubbed together. The further her hand was guided, the more she leaned in. And the more she leaned in, the more the underside of her breasts came close to brushing against Matt’s left hand, which was still sitting on his lap. Oh, hell no.

“So this dot in this corner? That means it’s an ‘M.’ And this one . . .” Once again, the blind man guided (Y/N)’s hand only this time they ventured downward. Under Vladimir’s unnerved and growing eyes, the woman’s little hand came too close for comfort to Matt’s groin.

“Judging by the positions, this is most definitely a ‘D.’” Oh, fuck that.          

“And how long have you been learning?” Vladimir coughed. Matt and (Y/N) simultaneously stopped their little lesson and looked up at the Russian. (Y/N) could see him shuffling and thought nothing of it; she simply assumed that his presumed social awkwardness was the cause of his apparent discomfort. But Matt could hear the shifting; could hear the heartbeat behind it. There was something else and he knew it.

“Uh . . . We’ve had only had about two other lessons . . . Matt doesn’t come in too often, what with schooling and all. Well, they’re not lessons so much as him giving me pointers; it’s a work in progress sort of deal,” (Y/N) answered.

“Yes,” Matt pressed. He wanted to see where this would go. “And with further lessons, she’ll be just as good as me.” He threw in as innocent of a smirk as he could give. He could hear the grit of skin rubbing against each other in Vladimir’s balling fist.

“Well, she cannot,” Vladimir’s thick accent uttered. Matt’s smile faltered slightly but his eyebrows cocked in an almost taunting manner.

“I’m sorry. May I inquire why?”

“Because . . .” Vladimir’s mind frantically grabbed at air, grabbing at all the floating ideas and hoping for a winner. He found one. Unfortunately, it was only when he delivered the excuse that he realized his most grievous error: “Am going to teach Russian. And is time-consuming.”

Both (Y/N) and Matt wore surprised expressions. (Y/N)’s was because she was excited. She was finally breaking through, he was becoming more comfortable with her, and he was going to teach her Russian – triple whammy!

But Matt’s was out of something completely different: the fact that judging by Vladimir’s palpitations, this claim was the truth.

[jakallx]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Overwatch (Video Game) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison/Reaper | Gabriel Reyes Characters: Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison, Hana "D.Va" Song, Junkrat | Jamison Fawkes, Roadhog | Mako Rutledge Additional Tags: Beach Holidays, Speedos, everyone drags Jack, Gabe still loves him though, Post-Recall

Gabriel Reyes just wants to lie on the beach and relax after a mission. Too bad for him he has an embarrassing husband who has a new-found love for Speedos. 

Reaper76 Week Day 4: On Holiday

Overwatch was a Mistake

The scream cut through the air, slicing the world in two and throwing Gabriel Reyes out of his blissful nap and into high alert. Instincts and years of training kicked in as he leapt up off the sand, turning to face the threat—

Well… he tried to. Something in his back went ‘crick’, and he found himself clutching his spine in excruciating pain, and wishing he wasn’t so damn old.

Blinking away the tears in his eyes, he finally managed to see what had caused the scream.

It was Hana, her youthful face twisted in horror as she pointed at a man who had his hands on his hips and a thoroughly unimpressed look on his face.

A pasty white man.

An old pasty white man.

An old pasty white man in speedos.

That left absolutely nothing up to the imagination.

Gabriel almost added his own scream to the terrifying scene unfolding on the popular Australian beach. Instead, he channeled his intense embarrassment of his husband into something more constructive and laughed in Jack’s face.

“Oh come on. Not you too,” Jack’s gravelly voice seemed unsuited to anything except barking orders, but he hadn’t done much of that in the last couple of years. Neither of them had.

After Gabriel had been brought …back, and those who had caused Overwatch’s downfall had paid for their crimes, they had both decided to stay on and help the transition of the new Overwatch. But it was no longer their Overwatch. Sure, they occasionally tagged along on a mission, but most of the time Gabriel guarded his semi-retired status like a rabid dog. He only accepted missions that came with perks like this particular one. He and Hana had conspired to have it completed several days earlier than expected and of course, Hana had simply neglected to inform Winston of this fact. And so the team found themselves lazing on the beach and soaking up the Australian sun.

And of course, he only took missions that Jack was also assigned to. He had vowed to never let that man out of his sight again.

He wholeheartedly regretted this decision as Jack gave him the finger and stalked over to where their towels were laid out on the beach (though Gabriel had to admit that the speedos showed off his ass quite nicely). Jack grumpily sat down on his towel, wiggling his butt in the sand to get comfortable.

Gabriel was still caught off-guard by how much Jack didn’t act his age sometimes. The grouchy old man visage would slip off and underneath was the beautiful, youthful and socially-awkward butterfly he had fallen in love with all those years ago. Gabriel shrugged at Hana and grinned as he sat down next to his husband. Old man Jack wasn’t all that bad, but he was painfully embarrassing sometimes. Not like Gabriel. Out of the pair of them, he was definitely still the cool one.

“I did not sign up for this,” said Hana, averting her eyes.

��No, you signed up to be a hero,” Gabriel replied in a serious voice. He caught Jack nodding along in agreement. “And sometimes, being a hero means suffering through other people’s fashion choices.”

Jack’s face goes slack and he slowly turned to Gabriel. “I will not take a fashion insult,” he said, voice deadly quiet, “from a man who spent six years wearing Hot Topic’s clearance rack.”

Gabriel stared down at Jack for a moment before letting the smile creep onto his face again. He shrugged and lay back down on his own towel, stretching out in the sunlight, feeling it infuse his cold bones, the last side-effect left over from the resurrection. He’d made peace with that part of himself. And besides, Reaper had looked fucking awesome, and Jack was a fool for thinking otherwise.

“How come Roadhog gets to wear speedos and nobody says anything?” Jack was sulkily watching Junkrat and Roadhog as they built a sandcastle down by the shoreline.

Gabriel sat up again and gave Jack a look that said, do you really want to be the one to question Roadhog about his love of speedos?

Jack pouted his lips at that. Fair point. He popped open a tube of SPF50+ sunscreen to begin rubbing it onto his arms.

Gabriel snorted and glanced back down to the shoreline about to lie back down on his towel, finally able to relax. The skinny arsonist was decorating his sandcastle towers with what looked like fireworks…

—fireworks?! Gabriel bolted upright again and squinted down at the two Australians in dismay. They really did have fireworks. Well, Junkrat did—Roadhog was using delicate seashells to decorate his half of the castle. Godamnit. Gabriel had no idea how the little fucker managed to get a hold of illegal explosives at literally every opportunity he was left unsupervised, but somehow he did. He sighed and rubbed a hand down his reconstructed face, feeling his scars stretch and pull under his fingertips. He couldn’t have a moment of peace, could he? Just one minute to lie down in the sun without dealing with embarrassing husbands or letting insane pyromaniacs blow up half the beach.

Hana was still hovering about, clearly torn between the desire to drag Jack some more, and the need to never look in his direction again. She was the leader on this mission anyway. And you know what—Gabriel was suddenly struck with the realisation—she could do her job. Take responsibility for her subordinates and the safety of the civilians with which they were sharing the beach with.

“Hana,” Gabriel got her attention and then gestured down to the shoreline where Junkrat was crowning the top of his castle with a particularly big rocket.

Hana’s eyes bugged out and she cursed. She turned back to Gabriel and Jack but managed to get a particularly horrific eyeful of Jack’s speedos since he was rubbing sunscreen into his thighs.

“Oh my god. Why?” she dragged her hands down either side of her face in despair, while trying to look anywhere but at Jack. It was a look Gabriel was familiar with, having made it many times himself over the years.

Then she put steel in her eyes and hunched her shoulders forward. “Overwatch was a mistake,” she gritted out before she marched off down the beach to deal with Junkrat.

“I’ll have to warn the others before they accidentally gouge out their own eyes by looking this way.” Her parted mutterings were just loud enough for Jack to hear.

Jack sighed and looked down at his legs. “You don’t think I’m embarrassing, do you?”

He sounded so defeated that Gabriel’s heart broke just a tiny bit. Oh god, he had to patch this up, so he patted Jack on one of his blindingly white thighs and said, “Babe, you make having eyes again worth it.”

Jack’s face went a little red than it already was.

Honestly, Jack was such a dork. Gabriel shook his head at his husband, feeling the tug of the smile at his lips.

Jack noticed and raised an eyebrow at him. “What?”

He shrugged, almost not willing to answer, but at the same time he was curious. “Just thought you would have been the first one to be down there, sorting that out.” He vaguely gestured to where Hana was now in a loud argument with Junkrat, both of them shouting and gesturing wildly at the fireworks on the sandcastle. Junkrat was losing fast in this particular match-up, his composure withering as Hana gave him a thorough dressing down.

Jack snorted, fixing him with his piercing blue gaze. “Like you can talk. You were ready to jump up and go down there to deal with it yourself.”

Gabriel looked away, caught out. He was almost surprised with how much they had both changed. And also how much they hadn’t. It wasn’t the same as it was before, they could never go back to that, but both of them had never been that good at moving on from each other. Or from the job.

Gabriel watched the scene down at the shoreline come to an abrupt conclusion when a particularly aggressive wave on the incoming tide completely wiped out the sandcastle and all the fireworks atop it. Junkrat dropped to his knees with a wail, shaking his fists at the sky while Hana loomed over him with her hands on her hips. Roadhog quietly began picking his seashells out of the ruined castle.

Gabriel couldn’t have stopped the grin from creeping onto his face if he had tried. He picked up his pair of sunglasses and slid them on. “You know,” he turned back to Jack who was watching him with his own little smile, his scarred lips quirking up. “I would have once. But then I remembered.”

“Remembered what?”

Gabriel lay back down on his towel and finally let the sunlight soak into his old bones.

“That I’m semi-retired and it ain’t my fucking problem anymore. I’m on holiday.”

[nutsandlightningbolts]

blastingxff:

Jessie found herself conflicted. On one hand, this was a subject she was more than versed on. In fact, her knowledge of how society could screw people over and beat them until they no longer breathed was wide and deep. It was personal. But it wasn’t her speaking as her, and so her inhibitions of keeping knowledge from the twerp was slacked. If she wanted to- if she really wanted to- she could make sure he had no idea it was her. 

Even this little idea he was getting. She could scheme a way out so that she would leave without him ever getting confirmation or denial on her. But on the other hand… if she did slip up. If nerd twerp was smarter than she thought (not that she thought he was unintelligent by any means) then that amount of reveal could be devastating. If he had those cards on her… what would he tell the other twerps? 

Though part of her believed them better, a bigger part believed them smart. They could use any talk of her mother or the like against her. And they’d have every reason to. Nah, making sure the cards were in her hands and closely guarded would be the plan. She could still have fun, though, of course. 

So she listened to him carefully as he spoke. So the twerp seemed to… well, for lack of a better word- get it. She had little knowledge about how a proper gym operated, sure she and James had had some fun with the Boss’ but… well, that was hardly a job job. It was an assignment. Still, pay sucked and they got no honor out of it so. 

“The old fashioned way of thinking seems to-” she frowned, wanting to say what Jessie would normally say but fixing her words to Musashi. “Really cause trouble and heartache… you’re too young to have to do adult stuff like work, being an adult sucks,” she sighed, “But backwards ways… my mother… well, she was a single mom. You can imagine how easy that life is. Worked herself to death, literally,” she leaned back on the bench, “A single mother doing work to support her child. Hard not to feel such a sacrifice is in vain, considering she was amazing and I’ve only got a temp job at a market at this point. Not convinced it was a fair trade.” 

She found herself lost in a moment of thought. There was so much uncertainty around her disappearance anyway. Was she even dead? “Maybe if I had a price to get her back I’d be a better worker.” It wasn’t really to him. More to the sky, a half-ass attempt at a plead and bargain. 

There was a stretch of her arms, “That’s way too heavy.” She tilted her head, “You gonna check out the booths? There’s some pretty neat stuff.”

The way Musashi spoke about her struggles, her family’s struggles, and the very idea of how her poverty and society made life difficult for her, resonated with Clemont. He stared to the far-off edge of the market, but he took in every one of her words, the sights in front of him blending into a blur that showcased how deep in thought he was.

It was her question at the end of it all that seemed to pull him back into the real world, or at least, the one he was currently present in.

The inventor suddenly looked to Musashi, shaking his head in the negative to her inquiry. He plucked the bag he had sitting next to him, holding it up demonstratively, “I should really be getting back soon. I came out here for some fresh veggies so I could make a nice dinner for my friends. The only reason I stayed out here was because I saw her.” He motioned his head towards the market stall where he’d seen the woman he thought was Jessie, but had since vanished.

He set the bag back down, even as he stood, regarding her with a kind smile, “Though I suppose our conversation has been a nice addition to my experience here today. Thank you.”

He gave a light bow, before his smile faded somewhat as he took back his full height, eyes meeting her own in a direct gaze, “But… what you said. All that about the work… both you and your mother – er, single mother,” he paused awkwardly, “I… well… I just want to say. I understand where you’re coming from. Or at least, based on what you’ve said, I think I do.”

He let out an exasperated sigh, “I had to grow up pretty fast after…” he hesitated to say it, not just from the fact that he would be burdening a stranger with the information, but because it was painful to talk about, “Well… let’s just say that my Dad had a lot to do to take care of us. Which is why I was compelled to try and help contribute. Even if those ways were small.”

Clemont looked down into his bag, a look of concern washing over his features, “I’ve left these out in the sun too long, I need to get them into a fridge!” He gave an awkward laugh, looking to her apologetically, “Plus, I imagine your break is coming to an end soon, and I’ve already taken up so much of it.”