#it took like. an hour or two of trial and error last night and then i said fuck it and left it alone until this morning

[naturalbornlosers]

sat down and recorded a couple of covers last night! this is my attempt at "Landslide" by Fleetwood Mac, i have some pretty fond memories of this song so i'm glad to be able to sing it. <3

[love-quinn]

— REPAYMENTS

summary — carmen accidentally loses his chance with you after you all-but ask him out. luckily for him, you're sitting two tables away from the kitchen he runs.

warnings — swearing, smoking, i think that's it?

pairing — carmen berzatto x fem!reader

pronouns — she/her, reader is explicitly mentioned to be a girl

word count — 2.2k

note — i am still finding my footing writing for carmen so this has just been trial and error, i hope you enjoy this!!! thank you for 100 followers, i appreciate it so much omg <333

It's fairly well-agreed upon that family and business should never be mixed. Whoever said that had probably never met Natalie Berzatto. His sister infuriates him, but if Carmen is being honest that’s usually because she’s just there. She doesn’t pick fights, but she will call him out on his bullshit, even if he doesn’t appreciate it in the moment. Out of all of his relatives to be closely working with, Sugar was probably his best option.

No, it was far more likely that the coiner of that phrase did meet Richie.

Carmen loved Richie deep down. He would do a lot for Richie, and he’s seen firsthand that Richie would do a lot for him. But it’s really hard to remember that when Carmen’s having to leave the kitchen to go and talk to a table because something’s gone wrong.

“‘I’ll handle it,’” he mocks Richie under his breath. “‘Calm the fuck down, Carmen, I’m Richie and I’ll handle it even though I’m fucking incompetent.’” He abandons his station to go out into the dining room, already feeling a headache brewing behind his eyes. “Handle it, my ass.”

It’s a fairly simple problem to sort out, just an old man who was bound to complain about something wanting to talk to the owner about it. Carmen smiles and nods and apologizes and makes a note to comp that part of the meal and go chain smoke about it later. 

It’s not the interaction that causes Carmen’s chest to constrict, it’s what he sees on the way in. 

Usually, Carmen is safely in the back. He stays in his section, he spends each night being hyper aware of everything that goes on in the kitchen, and he doesn’t have to worry about anything outside of the kitchen (it took a second for that last part to be true, but he does trust Richie and Natalie enough to handle things out in the dining room. 

But of course he happens to be out in the dining room on the same night that you’re there.

He almost didn’t recognise you, the room isn’t very well-lit and he only met you once. It was about two weeks ago, but he’s thought about it quite a lot since. It had been two in the morning and he didn’t even remember what he’d needed but he’d ended up at the 24-hour convenience store down the street from his place. 

The fluorescent lights had been flickering and you had been standing right in front of the refrigerator he needed. You had been browsing the fucking chips or something and Carmen was too busy controlling the tapping of his foot so you wouldn’t hear it.

“Sorry, am I in your way?”

His head snapped up, eyes locking with yours. “Yeah.”

You tried not to frown at his bluntness, just raising your eyebrows and moving out of the way. Carmen yanked open the fridge door, rubbing his face to stop his eyes from drooping closed. He’d just left the restaurant and just wanted milk before he went home. His hand dropped and he opened his eyes to look for the milk only to find the slider-shelf thing that contained his usual stuff was completely empty. “Fuck.”

You were a few feet away, still making your way down the aisle, but you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. The last bottle of yellow-capped milk is currently sitting in the basket dangling from your elbow. You finished up and decided to just make your way to the front, cutting your losses about getting more snacks.

You’re not usually up at 2am, but one of your friends was stopping by in the city for a few days and the two of you had gotten home from a late movie still wanting to spend time together so you’d ducked down to the store for some more snacks. 

You had put a few of your items on the counter for the store clerk to scan by the time he got to the front, and you pretend not to notice him. The clerk looked so exhausted you didn’t even try to make small talk, just flashing him a soft smile while he put your stuff in a plastic bag. While you were paying, the clerk turned his head to the guy behind you to see what he wanted. 

It was the guy from the fridge and he mumbled something about cigarettes. The clerk handed you back your card and your receipt before turning back to the cabinet for the cigarettes.

Carmen didn’t even care they didn’t have the usual type he liked, he just needed a smoke soon or his chest would cave in. He slapped the bills on the counter, grabbed the pack and was out the door before you had turned around. 

He smoked almost directly outside the door to the store, and you had to walk past him to get back to your building. Usually, when guys were dicks out in public to you, you’d ignore it and you’d move on. But this guy looked so defeated that you almost felt bad for him. 

He was sitting on the sidewalk, head buried between his knees. You tried not to make it obvious that you were looking at him but he looked so sad that you felt a begrudging amount of empathy for him. You dug the bottle of milk out of your bag and put it on the sidewalk next to him.

Carmen’s head shot up at the sound, looking back and forth between you and the bottle. “What?”

“You look like you need it more than I do.” If you were being honest, it did make you feel a little smug that he was slightly rude to you earlier and now you were being nice to him, but it was mostly out of concern.

Carmen’s mouth was dry, and he swiped his tongue over his bottom lip, hauling himself to his feet with the bottle in hand. “No, you don’t have to do that. Take your milk.”

“I don’t even want it,” you said. “Seriously, dude.”

Carmen looked down at the bottle of milk in his hand. “Now I feel bad for being an ass.”

You nodded. “You should.”

Carmen gave a tired laugh and you finally noticed how bright his blue eyes were, even in the dark street. “I’m usually not. An asshole, I mean. Well, no, actually. I… am making this worse.”

You watched him, amused, and Carmen felt his throat constrict at the sound of your laugh. “Way to sell yourself. You’re really making a meal out of this, aren’t you?”

“It’s what I do best,” he said absentmindedly. “I’m, uh, Carmen.” He tried to shake your hand but with the cigarette in one and the milk in the other, he couldn’t find a way to do it. Then he had the thought that nobody shakes hands anymore, and felt stupid for the whole thing. 

You weren’t in the habit of giving your name to strangers, especially not men you met outside the convenience store at two in the morning. “Just Carmen?”

Carmen hadn’t expected that to be your response, and he blacked out for a half second where he forgot his own last name, “Berzatto.” 

“Carmen Berzatto.” You nodded, knowing to give the name to your friend later, just for safety. You told him your own name, not bothering to shake his hand. 

You dug around in your purse quickly, grabbing your receipt and hoping you had a pen. You didn’t but you did find an old eyeliner in the bottom that would work. Carmen had taken a stance of leaning against the wall, smoking his cigarette and trying not to fall asleep standing up. If he was honest, he assumed you’d walk away after that, so he was surprised when he felt you press a piece of paper into his hand. “Your receipt. For the milk” Your smile was sweet and he didn’t even process that you’d scrawled your phone number on the back until you’d walked away.

That had been two weeks ago, and he hadn’t seen you since.

He bursts back through the kitchen. You’re sitting at table nine with two other women, and his number one priority is finding Richie. Or Natalie, someone who works out in the dining room and can do what he needs them to. 

Richie, as if he heard Carmen’s mental plea, is right behind him. “I need two more mushroom risotto for table fifteen and for table nine-”

“Cousin,” Carmen interrupts. “The, uh, table nine. They’re not gonna pay.”

Richie took that the wrong way, leaning down to talk right in Carmen’s ear conspiratorially. “They’re dashers? You want me to take ‘em down? I’ll go out there and fuck them up, you give me two seconds and twenty dollars and I’ll-”

“Richie!” Carmen shoved him. “No, they’re…” He’s been so pissed off with Richie lately, more so than usual. He’d gone back to the restaurant the day after meeting you, dumping his jacket in his office, receipt on the desk with every intention to at least text you during his break.

And then Richie had spit his gum into the receipt and thrown it out. 

“Listen. One of the girls, she’s… They’re just eating for free, okay?” Carmen lets himself sound desperate, maybe that will stop Richie from making fun of him.

Richie looks down at him, eyebrows raised. “You… alright, yeah. Good. Don’t make your girl pay. Good. Does she know you run this place?” 

Carmen shakes his head. “No, I kinda messed things up with her. I need everything to go good tonight, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Richie saluted. “You got it, cousin. Food’ll be good she’ll forget what a massive prick you are.”

That’s probably the best he’s gonna get, so he takes it. Then, he gets to work. He gets your order from Richie and the kitchen makes it in record time. Then, when it’s done, Carmen makes sure he’s the one to run the food.

You didn’t know what you’d been expecting when your friends had invited you out to a new restaurant, but it hadn’t been to see the guy you’d met at a convenience store in the middle of the night to be presenting you with your meal.

You’d liked Carmen, but it had been a while and you only met him for a few minutes. Once the sting of rejection had worn off, you’d almost forgotten about the encounter. He puts your dinner in front of you and practically bows. “Carmen,” you muse, mostly just taken aback. “I didn’t know you worked here.”

“I’m the owner,” he says, trying to ignore the way your friends are looking at him. “I saw you and I… I’m not really good at this shit, but I, uh. I meant to call you.” He sounds earnest, and he looks somewhat embarrassed by the amount of eyes on him. “I wanted to, I just lost your number and I didn’t know how else to talk to you but I wanted to call you.”

You watch Carmen as he speaks and the longer you’re silent, the worse he feels about it. He can’t read the expression on your face and he’s really regretting insisting that he walked your meals, he should’ve just sent Richie. But he also knew that it would seem more genuine if he did it in person. 

“So far you’re oh-for-two in terms of not looking like an asshole,” your tone is light and a bright smile is worming its way onto your face. Your lipgloss shines under the light and Carmen can’t stop looking at it. 

Carmen swallows, wiping his hands as inconspicuously on his pants. “Would it make it better if I told you that I already got your meals comped?”

“I mean,” you say, tilting your head up at him. “Yeah, that’ll do it, yeah.”

“I owe it to you,” he points out. “For the milk. Let me just go grab your receipt, enjoy your meals.” He flashes an awkward smile over at the two women you’re with, not noticing the way you’re looking up at him.

He walks away and your eyes follow him back into the kitchen. You had just assumed he didn’t really like you, so the idea that maybe he liked you so much he was willing to give you complimentary meals slightly overwhelmed you. Your friends swarm you the second he’s gone and you relay your very limited history with Carmen.

You almost forgot what it feels like to be in the earliest stages of romance. Slightly awkward flirting, fleeting glances, the butterflies in your stomach when you realize that the other person likes you just as much as you like them.

You don’t know much about Carmen aside from the fact that he’s apparently an insomniac who owns and runs a restaurant, has really pretty eyes and likes you. That was the part that got you. He likes you enough to come out and talk to you.

In fact, he likes you so much that once he goes back in the kitchen he dodges Richie’s attempts at a high five, and prints out your now-free bill. He likes you so much that he digs through his desk for the only working pen to scribble something on the bottom where the tip number would usually be. And, something that makes you positively giddy, he likes you so much that when he hands you the check with his number printed towards the bottom.

[circletrapped]

i haven’t written fanfiction in about a year and a half but the brain worms are winning so here:

Stormy Seas

Elliott/GN!Farmer

2.3k words

Fluff, no actual hurt but there is comfort

Rating: G

Description: Elliott is definitely not afraid of thunder, so there’s absolutely no reason for you to come to his cabin in the middle of the night for the purpose of comforting him. But since you’re already here, he may as well enjoy your company.

///

Crash!

The blinding flash of white light and immediate follow of close thunder jolts you from your sleep. Storms have never particularly bothered you, but the noise interrupted the perfectly fine dream you’d been having. It wasn’t anything particularly unusual or special - you were just taking eggs from your chickens and every time you thought you had finally collected them all, you’d turn around only to find more eggs. You turn over and pull the covers over your head, hoping to muffle the sound of the wind howling and the raindrops clacking incessantly against your windows.

Tick, tick-tick, tic- BANG!

It’s useless. You’re not falling back asleep anytime soon, unless by some divine intervention the storm dies down. You sit up with a sigh, giving a glance around the barely-illuminated room to check for leaks. You can’t help but feel a small amount of triumph at the fact that none of the rain has been able to seep through the roof. You’d been living on your grandfather’s farm for quite some time now, and decided you could at least teach yourself how to do some simple repairs and maintenance to save some money. Profiting from the crops you grow is anything but quick, so every little bit helps. The first time it had rained on the farm the old house was practically flooded, so you took the time to patch the roof yourself. It took quite a bit of trial and error after each storm to get it right, but it looks like the last repairs you made to your roof are holding up well.

Another loud whoosh of wind cuts through the walls of your house and you pull your blankets closer to you to combat the cold. Spring had just begun, but the winter’s chill was stubborn and holding its grasp as tightly as it could. You note that even the empty side of your bed is cold to the touch. It makes you recoil your hand back into the comfort of the heat radiating off your body.

You’d had enough of cold hands during the winter. Since it was far too cold for any worthwhile crops to grow, you’d spent most of your time fishing by the sea. It was brutal, but Willy was a kind man who always gave you a fair price for what you caught and would occasionally share a hot cup of cocoa with you on days when not even your gloves could protect your hands from the bitter chill. It made the beach your favorite place to fish.

That, and the presence of Elliott. You smile to yourself as you remember your first time meeting him.

It was a much warmer day, and you were trying to get the hang of using the rod that Willy had gifted to you as a welcome present. You were ecstatic that something had caught your hook was actually allowing you to reel it in, but the feeling quickly evaporated when a piece of trash emerged from the water. You swore, probably louder than you should have, only to have it met with a small chuckle.

You were ready to swing around and share an obscene gesture with the offender, but stopped in your tracks when you laid eyes on the tall, handsome tree of a man with inexplicably gorgeous long hair.

“At least you caught something. I’d be lucky to hook any sort of junk.”

From that point forward, you made it a point to see him every day. He was easy-going, had the soul of an artist, and took great pride in everything he did. The first time you felt brave enough to flirt with him, the bright blush on his face and the spark in his eye gave away that he was a hopeless romantic. The two of you would spend hours talking to one another on the beach until one rainy day, he wasn’t out there to meet you. You knocked on the door to his cabin and he invited you in with open arms. He told you two things that day that you stored in the back of your mind.

“I’ve never cared for storms like this. I actually feel quite foolish for moving to a house on the beach - the serenity of the water becomes an unbearable battleground in this water. I can never sleep when it rains here, and there’s no way I’d be insane enough to leave the safety of my cabin when it does. I need to watch for leaks and place something to catch the water before it reaches any of my papers.”

And,

“Of course, you’re welcome any time. Though I’d prefer you confine your visits to daylight hours. If my sleep gets interrupted, I tend to be a bit cantankerous.”

After that day, you knew wanted to learn everything about him and be the muse he’d been looking for. And after learning of his affinity for lobster, every single one you caught was gifted to him until the day you handed him a bouquet of flowers with trembling hands. What started as being the most nerve-wracking days of your life became one of the best as he accepted and reciprocated your feelings toward him.

Boom!

The thunder yanks you out of your memories. Poor Elliott, you think, he’s probably tossing and turning with this weather. Or maybe he’s running across his cabin securing his writing from any water that might invade. You look at the clock resting on your bedside table.

1:04 A.M.

He ought to be sleeping at this hour. How could he write or expect to go through the laborious process of styling his hair without getting enough rest?

You brace yourself for a moment in anticipation of the cold before you throw the blanket off yourself as if ripping off a bandage. The chill seeps straight into your bones as you slip on a pair of shoes and pull on a jacket. It offers no protection when you open the door. You hesitate for a moment, wondering if it’s really worth it to walk across the town just to cuddle with your boyfriend. Conjuring the image of his unkempt hair and puppy-dog eyes as he’s struggling to sleep is plenty of motivation.

It’s pitch black outside and the rain isn’t helping, but you could navigate the town in a blindfold at this point - especially the path to the beach. To Elliott’s cabin.

The wind nearly knocks you off your feet a couple times, but you arrive at his doorstep, albeit drenched in rainwater from head to toe. You knock on the door feebly, your hands shaking as they refuse to forgive you for forgetting a pair of gloves.

After a moment, the door opens to the exact sight that was in your mind at the start of your trek.

“For heaven’s sake, get inside!” Elliott gasps, grabbing your ice-cold hand and pulling you across the threshold and quickly shutting the door. His next words bounce between concern and outrage. “You’re soaking! What on Earth possessed you to walk across the town in this weather?! Oh, you’re shivering! What were you thinking? Get out of those wet clothes or you’ll freeze to death! I have some you can borrow. What are you doing here? This is so careless! Are you alright? What were you thinking?”

You hang your coat on a hook at his instruction. While it took the brunt of the rain, the rest of your clothes aren’t exactly dry. Elliott looks up from his dresser and back at you, his brow creasing further and frown deepening.

“All of it,” he demands. You can’t resist.

“Oh, Elliott, I just got here. You’re not even gonna offer me a drink before you get me undressed?”

His furious expression doesn’t change, but a bright blush quickly spreads across his face.

“Are you out of your mind? I ought to cart you off to the clinic this instant to get your brain examined!” He tosses a shirt and a pair of sleep pants to you before turning his back and resuming his fussing in a mutter. “Trudging miles to my cabin in the middle of the night during a thunderstorm and having the gall to immediately flirt with me, you are unbelievable!”

“Sweetheart, I’m joking,” you laugh as you pull off your shirt and replace it with his. You do the same with your bottoms, tugging the strings as tight as they’ll go to make sure they don’t fall off. Despite the muscle you’ve gained from farm work, he’s much taller than you so his clothes hang quite loose. They’re much warmer, though, and they smell like him. You have zero intention of returning them. “Alright, I’m dressed. You can look at me. Even though we’re dating and you could’ve watched me change. I would’ve made a little show out of it for you.”

Elliott doesn’t turn to face you. Your playful smile falls at the thought that he’s actually upset with you.

“Elliott?”

More deafening silence. And rain.

“Elliott, I’m sorry, I just.. I wanted to make sure you were alright. I know you’re afraid of-”

His head whips around and the glare on his face stops you in your tracks.

“I mean, I know you have trouble sleeping when it storms. And sleep is good. I wanted to help you sleep.”

The anger on his face crumbles at last and his shoulders fall as he releases a loud sigh. He walks toward you and brings his hand to your jaw.

“You’re lovely,” he whispers after a beat. “You’re too sweet for your own good. Do you have any idea how much the idea of you getting swept away in the storm scares me? I don’t like to worry about you.”

You let out a small laugh at him. “Swept away? I’m not that small.”

“You know what I mean. I have enough to be strung out over when it storms like this, I don’t want to have another thing to make me pace about.”

You lean forward to give him a quick peck on the lips.

“You know you don’t have to worry about me,” you insist. Elliott pouts at this.

“This is coming from the one who, on multiple occasions, has been found passed out in the mines covered in slime and bat bites? And now you’re galavanting through dangerous thunderstorms? I don’t think I worry about you as much as I ought to.”

You laugh again and take his free hand, slipping out of his grasp and leading him to his bed.

“Well, enough pacing. You need to rest. You know I worry about you not taking care of yourself when you get lost in your writing.”

Elliott gives a half-hearted chuckle as he follows your lead. You release his hand and throw yourself onto the bed. It’s much softer than the one you have at home. The only thing that would make it more comfortable is Elliott. The man is practically a space heater. Before he joins you, he hesitates.

“And for your information, I am not afraid of th-”

Crack!

The yelp escapes him before he can bring his hand to cover his mouth. Combined with the fact that he jumped nearly a foot in the air at the sound didn’t make for a convincing argument. You can’t help the maniacal laughter that escapes you.

“You’re not?” You giggle.

“Enough already,” Elliott huffs as he lays down next to you. You wrap your arm around him and guide his head to bury into your neck. You give him a tight squeeze and he lets out a breath of relief.

“Don’t worry, tough guy,” you coo, “I’ll protect you.”

He grumbles at being patronized but snuggles closer to you. With Elliott in your arms, the racket outside doesn’t sound so bad. It’s almost like music. Even the thunder quiets down, although it still makes Elliott flinch. You almost think he’s actually sleeping until a new sound joins the symphony.

Drip, drip, drip…

“Damn,” Elliott mutters. “I knew it would leak.”

He moves to investigate but you hold him tighter and shush him.

“I’ll take care of it in the morning,” you whisper. “I’ll clean it up for you and help you patch the roof.”

“You can do that?”

“I did it to mine. I figured Robin has her hands full enough, especially after storms like this. I’m happy to.”

“Didn’t know you were a farmer and a handyman.”

“And miner, and fisher, and my cooking is second to none- you’re pretty lucky to have me on your payroll.”

“Payroll? How much is this repair going to cost, then?”

You think for a moment then shuffle so you’re face-to-face with him.

“A thousand kisses.”

“One thousand, eh?”

“Afraid so. Between the materials, the labor, the expediency fee… yup, comes out to a thousand.”

You stare into Elliott’s eyes as you both sit in silence, stupid grins on both your faces.

“You won’t mind if I put down a deposit then?”

“Oh not at all, that’s actually a pretty good ide-” Elliott cuts you off with his lips on yours, peppering short kisses on your mouth, cheeks, and forehead while you giggle from the way his hair is ticking you. He finally comes to rest in the crook of your neck, sprinkling a couple kisses here and there before letting out a contented sigh.

“How’s that? Was that a thousand?”

You hum to feign consideration. “Just about. You can give me the rest if I do a good job tomorrow.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

You plant one last kiss on the crown of his head and feel his arm drape over your side. Thunder crashes outside again, but Elliott doesn’t flinch. You smile to yourself. You don’t doze off until you hear his soft snoring beneath you.

“I love you,” you whisper.

“Love you too, darling,” Elliott mumbles, half-asleep.

[spnhunter4life]

Why Not?

Happy Valentine’s Day everyone! Here’s a little Dean x reader story I threw together for the occasion. I hope everyone has a fun night, and for anyone who doesn’t have big plans, enjoy a night out with Dean on me!

Summary: Dean and Y/N are both single on Valentine’s Day and decide to have a “friend date.” With a little help from a flirty waitress, feelings are realized and confessed. 

Word Count: 5.4k

Masterlist

I stood in front of the mirror in my room, checking over my appearance one last time. I’d spent over an hour getting ready – longer than I had expected, though I’d thankfully started getting ready early just in case – and I was happy with the result of my efforts.

I kept my makeup simple, not wanting to overdo it, but also wanting to put in some effort. I put on a light layer of foundation and added a hint of blush to my cheeks. I used eyeliner and mascara, and finished off the look with some lipstick, brushed on with my finger to get a less intense color.

I was wearing a navy blue dress that went to just below my knees. The v neck was cut just low enough to still be considered modest. The sleeves were short with a bit of lace in the shoulder and the dress was well-fitted in the chest and waist, becoming looser and more flowing at the hips. I paired the dress with my favorite heels, a black pair with simple ankle straps.

My hair had taken a bit of trial and error. I’d found a style I really liked online and it was simple enough to replicate, but it took a few attempts for me to be satisfied with the result. I rarely had a reason to do anything more complicated than throwing my hair into a ponytail, so I was possibly being a bit overly picky. I had a small braid going down the left side of my head, tucked into a twisted bun in the back.

My heart was beating a little faster than normal and I had a minor case of butterflies in my stomach. I don’t know why I was nervous. It was just Dean. We spent a lot of time together and I was more comfortable around him than anyone else. And despite what my appearance might suggest, this wasn’t a real date. It was just two friends, spending Valentine’s Day together rather than being alone. A friend date. Dean had suggested it out of the blue yesterday while we were in the kitchen eating lunch.

“You and I should do something tomorrow,” he said before taking a big bite of his sandwich.

“Ok,” I agreed easily. We were in between cases and Sam had a date with Eileen, so I was happy to spend some time with the older Winchester. “What did you have in mind? Movie marathon? Meticulously go over Baby and make sure she’s spotless? Maybe hit up a bar for some karaoke?”

“First of all, Baby is already spotless. Do you think I don’t take care of my car?” He asked in mock offense.

“What was I thinking? I’m so very sorry for having the audacity to suggest your car wasn’t perfect,” I teased, eliciting a laugh out of Sam.

“I meant we should do something tomorrow night,” Dean clarified.

“Ok… and movies or a bar aren’t acceptable night time options?” I asked.

“Not on Valentine’s Day,” he said.

“Why not? It doesn’t have to be any different than any other night we hang out. It’s not like it’s a date,” I told him.

“Who says it’s not a date?” He asked seriously. Sam coughed and got up to start washing dishes.

“Um…” I started, not sure how to respond. Dean and I had been good friends for years. There’d never been any indication he might want something more. It wasn’t something I’d ever even considered. “You’re asking me out?” I finally asked.

“Yeah. Why not? It’s Valentine’s Day. There’s no rule that says you can’t spend it with a friend. I don’t want to sit around at home. Neither of us has a date, so let’s do something together. I mean, come on, even Sam has a date!” he told me, ignoring Sam’s indignant response. 

“So,” I said, wanting to make sure I understood what he was asking. “What you’re saying is, you want to go on a date. But just as friends?”

“Exactly. A friend date. It’ll be fun,” he said confidently. 

“Ok,” I agreed as I got up to help Sam finish with cleaning. “I mean, like you said, I don’t have any other plans.”

“Wow. Try to tone down the enthusiasm a little bit. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself,” he teased.

“Sorry,” I apologized, catching the hint of genuine hurt in his words. “You’re right. It will be fun. I always like hanging out with you.”

“When I say date, I mean it,” he warned me. “That means getting dressed up and going somewhere nice.”

“Noted. I’ll plan accordingly.”

Which led to now. I was sitting on the bed, just finishing putting my shoes on, when there was a knock on the door.

“Just a second,” I called, quickly grabbing my coat out of the closet before opening the door. As expected, Dean was on the other side. He was looking very handsome in a suit and tie. What I wasn’t expecting was the bouquet of roses he held out to me. 

“Dean, these are beautiful!” I exclaimed as I took them from him. He even had them in a vase already. “Thank you!” I set them on my nightstand before turning to give him a hug. 

“Why do you seem so surprised?” He teased as he hugged me back.

“Well you’re not exactly the ‘get a girl flowers’ type of guy usually,” I pointed out. “And even if you were, I still certainly wouldn’t have been expecting them.”

“I told you we’re doing tonight right. Fancy clothes, nice restaurant, flowers, the whole nine yards,” he said before leading the way to the bunker’s garage. 

“Speaking of fancy clothes,” he added, “did I mention how beautiful you look tonight?” 

“You did not,” I answered with a small smile.

“Y/N, you look very beautiful. I’m going to be the envy of every man in town,” he said with a wink.

“Thank you,” I said, genuinely flattered by the compliment. “You look very nice too. I might need to bring a gun along just to fend off the ladies.”

Dean laughed.

“Then I’d better bring along a baseball bat. Looking like that and capable of using a gun? The guys won’t be able to control themselves.” 

We’d reached the Impala and Dean opened my door for me, waiting for me to get settled before closing the door and moving around to the driver’s side.

“Where are we going?” I asked as Dean expertly maneuvered the Impala out of the garage and onto the road.

“Olive Garden,” he answered.

“Really?” I asked, surprised. It wasn’t a place I would imagine him ever picking.

“All right, so it’s not that fancy. But we’d probably have to drive for a while to find an actual fancy restaurant,” he said, defending his choice. 

“I wasn’t complaining,” I told him. “It sounds great. I just wasn’t expecting you to choose a pasta restaurant.”

“I thought you might find it to be a nice change from all the burgers we eat,” he explained.

“I’d be happy with anything. Although we might be a little overdressed for our usual places,” I answered. He looked over at me and smiled.

“Olive Garden it is, then.”

~~~~~

There was a thirty minute wait to be seated once we got to the restaurant. We sat in the waiting area and passed the time by talking about past Valentine’s dates. I wasn’t sure how much of the sob stories Dean relayed to me of the heartbroken girls he’d gone for were true and how much he made up for entertainment value, but I was entertained either way.

Eventually the hostess seated us and the waitress came by shortly after to take our drink orders. I didn’t appreciate how close she stood to Dean or the way she batted her eyes at him. Dean asked for an order of fried mozzarella as an appetizer.

“What?” He asked as she walked away, noticing my slight frown. “Should I have gotten something different? It’s fried cheese. Everybody loves fried cheese.”

“It was a good choice,” I agreed.

“Then what’s that face for?” He wondered.

“It’s nothing,” I told him. I was probably misreading things. Surely she wouldn’t be flirting with a guy she believed to be on a date.

“Alright,” he said, not convinced but willing to let it go.

We spent a few minutes in silence while we looked over the menu. 

“There sure aren’t many options for meat at this place, are there?” Dean commented.

“Well what did you expect when you picked a pasta place?” I teased with a smile. 

The waitress came back with our drinks, once again standing closer to Dean than was necessary. 

“Are we ready to order?” She asked cheerfully.

“Go ahead,” Dean said, letting me order first. I looked at the menu again, reading off the name of the dish I wanted. Dean gave her his order, and she collected our menus, accidentally on purpose touching Dean’s hand as she grabbed his. 

“Okay, seriously, what’s up?” he asked when she was gone. I realized I was scowling at her retreating form.

“She’s awfully friendly,” I stated. His forehead wrinkled a little in confusion.

“Yeah, I guess so,” he said.

“A little too friendly,” I tried again. He just looked at me blankly. I sighed.

“Dean. She’s flirting with you big time.”

“Yeah?” He said, still not getting my point.

“So you noticed?” I asked.

“Yeah, I noticed. Kind of hard to miss. I still don’t see the problem.”

“You don’t?” I asked incredulously.

“Are you jealous?” He asked, surprised. Then, with a cocky smirk, he added, “You have no reason to be jealous when you know I’m going home with you tonight.”

“That’s not funny Dean. And I’m not jealous.” I told him.

“It’s a little funny,” he said, encouraging me to agree with him. When I didn’t he just sighed. “I really don’t see what the big deal is. So she’s flirting. It’s harmless. I’m not going to abandon you to go home with her if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I know that,” I told him. Dean was many things, a major flirt being one of them, but he wasn’t the type of guy to ask a friend to hang out and then leave them when something better came along.

“Then what’s the problem?” He asked again.

“You and I know that we’re just out as friends. But she doesn’t. It’s Valentine’s Day. We’re a man and a woman eating together alone, all dressed up. For all she knows we’re in a very serious, committed relationship. You don’t hit on men who are in a relationship,” I explained.

“So what you’re saying is, you don’t like her because she is knowingly trying to score with a guy who, to her knowledge, is already taken?” He asked.

“Exactly.”

“I can work with that,” he said with a smile. He scooted his chair around the table so he was sitting beside me instead of across from me and grabbed my hand just as the waitress came back with our appetizer.

“Can I get you anything else while you wait?” She asked.

“You want anything else baby?” He asked me, an amused sparkle in his eye.

“No thanks,” I told him, quickly recovering from the surprise his actions and the pet name had caused.

“We’re good for now,” he told the waitress, never even looking in her direction, keeping his eyes on mine the whole time.

“Alright. Let me know if you change your mind,” she replied, her tone slightly less cheerful than it had been. She left to go check on her other tables and Dean and I both snorted out a laugh when she was out of earshot.

“Thanks for that,” I said.

“No problem baby,” he teased. I pinched his hand, which I realized I was still holding, but smiled at him. 

He squeezed my hand once before letting it go. He picked up the plate of fried mozzarella, offering it to me before taking his own.

“So is there a particular reason her flirting bothered you so much, or is it just more of a general rule?” He asked around a bite.

“It’s a good rule,” I said a little defensively.

“Of course it is. I may have extremely limited experience with actual relationships, but everybody knows going after someone in a relationship is a line that shouldn’t be crossed. Obviously that doesn’t stop everybody. Which is why I wondered if maybe something happened in the past that made you a little extra sensitive to this particular situation,” he said.

“No, not really,” I told him. “I just really hate that kind of behavior. I mean honestly, be an adult. Realize that person is someone you can’t have, and move on with your life.”

After that we chatted about unimportant things. We talked about The Hunger Games, which I was trying to get him to watch. We talked about Lord of the Rings which Dean had just gotten me started on. We’d watched the first movie a few days ago and were talking about starting the second tonight. We talked about how Sam’s date might be going. Dean made a game out of guessing which couples seated nearby were genuinely in love and which were just out in an attempt not to be alone on this particular night.

We joked and laughed and just enjoyed our time together. But whenever the waitress came to our table, bringing our food or checking our drinks, Dean made sure to play it up, calling me baby, touching me in some way, refusing to give the waitress a second glance. 

“Are the two of you interested in some dessert, or would you like the check?” She asked when we finished our meals. 

“I’ll take the chocolate brownie lasagna,” Dean quickly answered, his gentlemanly ‘ladies first’ manners disappearing when dessert was involved.

“And,” he added, “my lovely date will take a slice of cheesecake,” he told her confidently.

She walked away to put the order in.

“What if I didn’t want cheesecake?” I asked.

“You always want cheesecake,” he answered. “You not wanting cheesecake would be like me not wanting pie.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” I laughed. 

“Can I tell you something?” I asked shyly a few minutes later after our desert had been delivered.

“Of course,” he said. “Unless you’re about to tell me you’ve got a freezer full of all your Valentine’s Day dates from over the years. I’d rather not know that.”

I rolled my eyes and gave him a pleading look. This was hard to admit, but I wanted to tell him. And if he wasn’t going to take it seriously, I wouldn’t be able to say it.

“You can tell me anything,” he said, reading the shift in my mood.

“I want to say thank you for taking me out tonight. I had a lot of fun,” I told him.

“I did too. And our night’s not over. We’ve still got a three hour long movie you agreed to watch,” he reminded me.

“Of course. How could I forget?” I joked.

“Probably just too distracted by my good looks,” he theorized.

“That must be it,” I agreed.

“So really, what did you want to tell me?” He asked.

“I was actually kind of nervous for tonight,” I confessed. “I don’t know why. I’ve actually been trying to figure it out all night.”

“No luck?”

“Not really. I guess I haven’t been on a date in a while, so it’s possible that’s why. But if I’m being honest I think the more likely answer is just that it’s you.” I told him.

“What do you mean?”

“Well… you’re one of my closest friends. And even though this isn’t a real date, I guess it was just hard not to worry this might somehow change things,” I explained.

“You’ve got to stop saying this isn’t a real date,” he instructed. “You really know how to hurt a guy’s confidence. I even brought you flowers!”

“You know what I mean, Dean.”

“Yeah, I do,” he agreed, giving up on playing offended. “Even if things did change, who says that has to be a bad thing?”

“It doesn’t have to be a bad thing, but it could be,” I countered. “I just wouldn’t want something to happen that ruined our friendship is all. You’re too important to me,” I told him. 

“We’re just eating dinner together, Y/N. What could happen that would ruin our friendship?” He asked teasingly.

“I don’t know. I never said it made any sense. It’s just the best explanation I can come up with for why I was nervous,” I said.

The waitress came back over with the check, which Dean took.

“Can I tell you something?” He asked me when she was gone.

“Of course,” I answered.

“I might have been a little bit nervous for tonight too,” he admitted. 

He didn’t wait for an answer, just opened the folder and looked at the bill. He frowned.

“What?” I asked. “Did she give us the wrong one?” 

“No,” was all he said as he fished his wallet out of his pocket. He grabbed a few bills and stuck them in the folder.

“What’s wrong then?” I asked.

“Nothing,” he assured me. He turned in his chair to fully face me and reached up, placing his hand on my cheek.

“Dean, what are you doing?” I asked. His face was inches away from mine and he was staring directly into my eyes. My heart started to race. I felt like a deer caught in the headlights. We’d never been this close and he had never looked at me like this. His gaze was magnetic. I couldn’t look away.

“Remember when you said you didn’t want things to change between us?” He asked.

“Yeah,” I said nervously.

“Just remember that this doesn’t have to change things,” he said. Then he was leaning in and pressing his lips to mine.

I responded instinctively, placing my hand on the back of his neck and kissing him back, but my mind was racing.

Why was he doing this? Had I misread things entirely? Had this really been a date? These thoughts were somewhere in the back of my mind, fighting to be heard. All I could really focus on was how his lips were such an enticing combination of soft but firm and how good of a kisser he was. The only thought I could grasp onto was that this was the best kiss I’d ever had. And it was over before it could really get started.

He broke away from me, breathing slightly uneven. I looked at him, desperately trying to regain the ability to speak when I noticed the footsteps stopping beside us. Dean handed the waitress the folder.

“Keep the change,” he said. Then he stood up, helped me put my coat on, and slung his arm around my shoulders as we walked to the exit. 

We walked in silence to the car. Once there, Dean once again opened my door for me. We sat in silence until Dean pulled onto the highway, headed back to the bunker.

“You saw the waitress coming,” I said, a statement of fact, not a question.

“Yeah.”

“Why?” I asked.

Dean clenched his jaw.

“She wrote her number on the receipt,” he told me. 

“Okay,” I said, waiting for more. That bit of information irritated me more than I cared to admit, but I didn’t see the relevance.

“I made it pretty clear that I wasn’t interested, didn’t I?” he asked rhetorically.

“You did,” I agreed anyway.

“So why was she so persistent? Why did she think giving me her number was a good plan?” he asked frustratedly.

“I figured you’d be thrilled. She was pretty. I don’t understand why you’re so upset,” I said.

“Aren’t you?” He asked incredulously.

“Of course! But I’m the one who had to watch my date get hit on all night.”

“Exactly! And I am offended on your behalf. Who does that? What gives her the right to try and get into the middle of what she can only see as a happy relationship?” he fumed.

“Well you know I’m not going to disagree with you on that,” I told him. “But it still doesn’t answer my question.”

“Doesn’t it? I think that covers it pretty well,” he disagreed.

“No. It doesn’t,” I insisted. “It explains why you’re mad but not why you kissed me.”

He looked away from the road for the first time, glancing at me with steel in his eyes.

“I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not,” he said, eyes back on the road.

“I wasn’t looking for an apology,” I said pointedly.

I could see his jaw moving back and forth, him grinding his teeth together. I waited for him to sort out his thoughts and give me an answer.

“I guess I just wanted to make a point. To really show her that I wasn’t interested,” he finally said. 

We were quiet for a while as I thought about what to say. My mind was still racing. From the kiss, yes, but also just replaying the whole night. I was going back and analyzing myself. The things I’d thought and said and done. And I was coming to a realization.

I liked Dean. I liked him in a ‘more than friends’ way. I was in love with him. How had I not realized?

I remembered the nerves I felt earlier this evening while I was getting ready, apparently a physical manifestation of the feelings I’d buried so deep, I’d hidden them even from myself. I was nervous about going on a date with the man I loved. Our first date.

I remembered the irritation I’d felt at our waitress, apparently more than just the indignant annoyance I thought it to be. It was jealousy, as Dean had joked it was.

I remembered how eagerly I had agreed to keep the night going with a three hour movie. And I remembered the giddy feeling I didn’t even realize I felt when Dean called me baby and put on an act for the waitress.

Even my dress, I realized, had been picked specifically for Dean. I knew he was partial to this color. I couldn’t believe how blind I had been to my own feelings.

Dean sighed. 

“Please tell me things aren’t going to be weird between us now,” he said anxiously.

“It’s not going to be weird,” I assured him, willing myself to make it true. I suppose now I have to look forward to a future full of unrequited love. It would suck, but I would make sure it didn’t impact our relationship.

“You sure? Because we’ve never really been the awkward silence type, but this car ride has been full of it.”

“Sorry. I wasn’t trying to ignore you. I was just thinking,” I told him.

He glanced at me again.

“About what?”

“Just… how much fun we had tonight,” I lied, hoping it would lighten the mood a little bit.

“Yeah,” he agreed, clearly not believing me but going along with it anyway. “Yeah, we did have a lot of fun.”

Dean pulled off the highway onto the gravel road that would take us to the bunker. Just a few more minutes and we’d be home.

“We’re still gonna watch Lord of the Rings, right?” I asked him.

He looked at me, a little surprised and a little relieved.

“If you still want to, then yes,” he said.

“I still want to,” I answered.

We were quiet for the rest of the short drive home. Dean parked in his usual spot in the garage and shut the Impala off, but didn’t move to get out. I sat with him, waiting. He seemed to be thinking about something, brow furrowed and thumb tapping on the steering wheel.

After a minute or two, he seemed to come to a decision. He turned to look at me, shoulders set in determination. 

“I wasn’t planning on doing this, but since I’ve already gone and made things weird, I may as well. Go big or go home, right?” He said with a rueful smile.

“I told you things aren’t weird,” I told him.

“Y/N, you’ve been looking at me differently since we left the restaurant,” he argued.

I unsuccessfully fought the blush rising to my cheeks. 

“How would you know how I’ve been looking at you? You’ve been driving,” I pointed out.

“I can still see you. Anyway, that’s not the point,” he said, steering the conversation back to where he wanted it.

“Yeah, but I don’t want you to feel like-”

“Can you just let me say this? Please?” he cut me off. I sighed, but nodded.

“First of all, I know I said earlier that I’m not sorry about the kiss. And, as far as the waitress is concerned, I’m not. But I feel like it maybe made you uncomfortable, and for that I am sorry,” he started.

I was surprised at how badly he was reading me. He thought it made me uncomfortable? He couldn’t be further from the truth. I let him continue though. I’d correct him later. Or, I’d assure him I wasn’t uncomfortable at least. He didn’t need to know how much I’d enjoyed it.

“Secondly…” he took a steadying breath before continuing. “Well, to be blunt about it, I kissed you because I wanted to. It might’ve been the waitress that pushed me to it, but I wanted to. Because I have feelings for you, Y/N. I love you. I have for a while now.”

My breath caught at his admission. I couldn't believe this. In under an hour I’d gone from having a fun night with my best friend, to realizing I was in love with him and resigning myself to a lifetime of pining, to being told he felt the same.

“And like I said,” he went on, “I wasn’t going to say anything because I didn’t want to make things weird between us, but since I’ve already done such a spectacular job of ruining that-”

I cut him off the only way I knew how, in the only way I knew would convince him he had no reason to worry. I leaned forward and kissed him.

His response was immediate, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling me closer, opening his mouth to deepen the kiss. I wrapped my arms around his neck and got lost in the feel of his lips against mine.

Eventually – seconds, minutes, hours later. I didn’t know – he pulled away. He didn’t go far, resting his forehead against mine. We were both breathing heavily. 

“You know why I’ve been looking at you differently?” I asked him. He just looked at me, waiting for my answer. “It’s because I love you. I have for a while,” I said with a smile, repeating his words from earlier. “I didn’t realize it until tonight. But I’ve been going over things in my head, mostly from tonight, and it’s the only conclusion I could come to. I don’t know how I missed it for so long,” I said a little sheepishly.

“That’s ok,” he grinned at me. “I didn’t realize at first either. Sam is actually the one who pointed it out to me a few months ago. I’ve been worried ever since that I was going to do or say something that would make it obvious and wreck our friendship.”

“So this date tonight…” I trailed off. He knew what I was asking.

“I really meant it to be a friend thing. Since neither of us had plans and we’d probably have ended up hanging out anyway, I figured why not just go out?” He explained.

“Why not?” I echoed with a smile.

“I’d be lying if I said the idea of spending the night with you, all dressed up, no guys coming up to flirt with you because they’d know you were taken wasn’t extremely appealing to me,” he admitted.

“And then when you opened your door and I saw how beautiful you looked, I couldn’t believe my luck.”

“I’m the lucky one who got to go home with the best looking guy in town,” I teased.

He smiled and leaned in for one more quick kiss before getting out of the car. He came around to my side and helped me out. We walked to my room, his arm around my shoulder.

“Why don’t you change into something more comfortable and then we’ll watch that movie,” he said once we reached my door before heading in the direction of his own room.

I stood there for a while, debating what to wear. We were technically continuing our date. I still wanted to look nice. But I didn’t really have many options that fit into the category of both nice and comfortable. 

Finally I decided I didn’t need to impress him. I’d been living in the bunker with them for three years now. Dean had seen every possible side of me. He’d seen me at my best and he’d seen me at my worst, both physically and emotionally. He knew everything there was to know about me, and he wasn’t running away. He wouldn’t care what I wore. 

I slipped on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, the outfit I would probably be sleeping in tonight. I wiped the makeup from my face, not wanting to forget to do it before bed, but left my hair up. Ready to spend another few hours with Dean, I made my way towards “The Dean Cave,” as he liked to call it.

I must have taken longer than I realized to decide on what to wear. When I got there, Dean was waiting for me. He was wearing a pair of soft, worn sweatpants and a t-shirt. He had the movie up on the screen and a big bowl of popcorn sitting in his lap. 

He smiled when he saw me and patted the seat next to him. I sat beside him, putting my feet up onto the couch and leaning into his side. He responded by putting his arm around my shoulder. I let out a happy sigh. This was everything I never realized I wanted.

~~~~~

We were about an hour into the movie when Sam came home. He stopped in the cave, probably hearing the movie on the way to his room. He raised an eyebrow when he saw us snuggled up together on the couch.

“Hey, how was your date?” Dean asked his brother cheerfully. 

“It was good,” Sam said, not giving any more detail. “How was yours?”

“Good,” Dean said.

“Uh huh. Care to share anything more?” Sam asked, clearly very curious.

“Do you?” Dean countered.

“I’m sure your date was way more interesting than mine,” Sam deflected.

“Your date with a girl you really like on Valentine’s Day was less interesting than two friends going out?” I scoffed.

“And how did that go?” Sam asked again.

“Good. Like I said,” Dean shrugged.

“Just a normal night? Nothing out of the ordinary happened?” He continued in a tone that implied he knew something he wasn’t telling us.

“Nope,” Dean and I said together. We weren’t going to keep it a secret. There was no point in even trying in such close quarters. But we both naturally responded to his knowing tone with denial, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of being right just yet.

“Okay,” Sam said nonchalantly, backing towards the door. “Hey Dean, by the way, I’d go with a different shade of lipstick next time. That’s not really your color.” With that, he left the room.

I looked at Dean. There was a little bit of lipstick smudged on his upper lip. I was surprised Sam had even noticed it. He was observant though, and if he knew about Dean’s feelings, he’d probably been actively looking for signs that things had changed between us.

“Sorry,” I said as I tried to rub it off with my thumb. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, unconcerned, taking my hand in his and pressing play.

We finished the second movie and put the third one in. It was already late, but we had nowhere to be tomorrow and were content to spend the night curled up with each other, enjoying this new closeness.

[starchaserdreams]

Erm, hello!

I am an aspiring writer. I have these stories in my head that I love and want to write about. But when I try, it's the absolute worst shit I've ever seen in my life.

Sorry, what I'm trying to ask is, any tips for younger writers who have no idea what they're doing...?

Hi! I have no idea what I'm doing ever, but I'll try to answer as best as I can. I'll start with generic advice, then say what works for me specifically. Sorry this got so long.

We're all kind of fumbling through life. The writing habits that I have have come from three sources:

a) hearing what other people do and building from them. I'm always in one writers group or another (currently I'm in a local writers group, and I'm regularly involved with two different NaNoWriMo groups in November, one locally and one virtually) and I've picked up a lot from them

b) a metric fuckton of trial and error. Because while part (a) is great some of the time, most of the things that work for other people don't work for me. I can't set a strict schedule at the same time everyday. I can't edit for a long time after I write.

c) NaNoWriMo (see link) helped me SO MUCH. I don't think everything can be written that way, but in terms of getting a handle on your own voice, preventing yourself from stopping to edit, and letting the story flow on its own, NaNo is amazing. It's a great starting point. Editing can come later, once the words are done on the page.

If you're unfamiliar, it's a (totally free) event that happens in November every year where everyone tries to write 50,000 words of a brand new novel in the span of one month. That's 1,667 words per day, so there isn't much time to stop and edit as you go. You just keep going. It's a competition against yourself rather than anyone else, to see if you can accomplish the task. It's also a community based event, so you can commiserate with other writers about the bad and celebrate with them about the good.

They have smaller events in April and July, but to really get the feel of it, November is when it's a party (or a rollercoaster, either way). I went to write-ins in cafes, bars, grocery stores, on the subway, etc. The event is a whole vibe, and now they have in person events again (they paused for covid). If you want to stay virtual, they have that too!

And as for what works for me:

1.

This most certainly wouldn't work for everyone, but it's my current strategy:

I think best when I'm in motion. By far. So most of my storyboarding I do while walking or driving, and I dictate into the notes app on my phone.

I do most of my dialogue this way too, because speaking it out loud makes it feel more like a conversation and more natural. I won't dictate the narration, but I'll include action tags. So it comes out like "Anthony: *flings door open, eyes wide* what in blazes are you doing??" (I add punctuation later)

Then when I get home, I often have several thousand words of notes to work from. My notes file for my last fic was 30k words, almost all of which had been dictated. It's a lot. It might sound daunting.

But it was done while out for a walk or drive, so it felt easy and effortless. And then when it came time to actually write, I got 48,000 words of a first draft done in 8 days (about 15k of which was just copy pasted from the outline. The whole time it felt like cheating and using guidelines to write the actual story, but it was all my original work, just done at different times.

2.

Keep writing as an exciting treat rather than a chore.

I've started to create little writers retreats for myself. My friends and I rented an AirBnB for two nights this winter, where the entire goal was reading and writing. Sure there was sitting around the fire talking and eating good food, but we built it up so that the writing was the exciting part. It worked SO WELL. We did writing activities together too, not just staring at a word doc. We did character studies and made little AUs to imagine our characters in.

A friend and I took a six hour road trip for another writers retreat too. We spent the 12 hours (RT) in the car talking about our stories and characters. We'd started with dozens of prompts so we'd have enough material, and we never ran out. Then we took rest stops at gas stations and restaurants and did little 15 minute writing sprints. It really got me fired up. I wrote 6,000 words over the two days of that retreat!

Keeping writing fun can be big things (my sister and I did a writers retreat like that in Hawaii) or little things (I always treat myself to a donut and a coffee on Sunday mornings and then have a leisurely morning in the cafe writing).

I can't say if any of this will work for you, because I can't even say whether it'll still work for *me* in a few years. But I hope it's food for thought!

Anyway this is like one million words long so sorry about that, hope it was interesting.

[itsmearia]

New to Arknights and did my first CC!

This is the first time I’ve experienced CC and my goal was to get the medal for clearing rank 18. I spent 2-3 hours off and on for about 4-5 days trying over and over to make it work without much to show for it.

I took my A-team in and they got beat pretty easily. Tried all sorts of different deployment orders/placements/directions to no avail. Borrowed different operators to see if they could carry me and still wasn’t making it half way. Tried different combinations of contracts to see if some were easier than others. Realized pretty quickly block removal was going to be a hard pass because I couldn’t kill the trucks fast enough and that Horse Uncle (I do not remember his actual name, my friend calls him Horse Uncle and it’s suck with me!) was definitely the operator I should borrow because his skill was an AOE destruction of anything in his path. Didn’t matter if they were unblockable, the sailors, the robot, or the truck. It died under the glare of Horse Uncle.

Note: I am positive this is what the enemies saw as they approached Horse Uncle

After those realizations I ended up getting a bit over half way last night and felt like I made progress as the first chunk of the map was doable. I was able to deploy operators in a way to hold the line until Horse Uncle could pop off but was failing at the double boat coming through during his cool down. So that was the first thing I tried to solve today.

After some trial and error I realized that if I deploy Hoshi + drop Texas Alt with the right timing then I can kill the first 4 unblockable enemies without activating Horse Uncle, allowing me to save his skill for the first truck and tail end of the sailors/casters. This deployment was a nice bonus as Hoshi/Ptilo could also hold the line against the first of two trucks until the second one started coming. Then I popped Horse Uncles skill and kill both trucks together and all of the unblockable enemies inside. I was getting close!

I just couldn’t close it out though. No matter what I did there was one unblockable enemy that snuck through.  I droped Ch’en down at the goal to try and kill it. Not enough. I used Tex Alter to kill two other ones right before so she was on cooldown. I tried Kroos poking at it. It had too much health. I was so close but just couldn’t quite get there and I wasn’t even really close to killing it. I needed a lot more damage.

Enter Ifrit. Let me rephrase. Enter 99 DP Ifrit because I was using the triple DP cost for casters contract.Some of you may remember my love for Ifrit from an earlier post (https://www.tumblr.com/itsmearia/714611965966860288/new-arknights-player-update-one-of-the-first?source=share) but glad to say she was BACK. I thought maybe with her S3 I could kill the unblockable enemies as they went towards her. So I hop in, grind all the DP I can get, and boom drop down Iffy my love. Skill pops, things start dying and...

It still leaks through. It still has a little bit of health but no worries I think. I’ll drop Ch’en in front of it at the end and kill it. Get back to the same spot. Iffy sets the ground ablaze. The enemy walks towards the goal. Ch’en hits it and..

This thing has the tiniest sliver of health still and leaks. I’m distraught now because I’m so close and yet so far away. I’ve tried everything with this combination of operators and I’m just a taaad short. Ch’en is my best damage dealer for melee that will be available. I have almost no DP for any snipers or casters because I need to use it all for 99cost Iffy. And then it hit me. If I can’t deal more damage myself can I let the level deal more damage for me? Enter our savior and one of my absolutely favorite operators now who will forever mean a lot to me. Enter: thebestfirefightyouveeverseen.

  Only e1lvl30. Her attack isn’t very good and she doesn’t really do much for me normally except knock enemies into holes - of which there are none on this map. What there is however is water that deals damage over time to enemies that are in it. So the squad gets set up again. Horse Uncle is casting his disapproving glare at anything that dares interrupt his reading. Texas Alter is dropping mass aoe damage on enemies as much as she can. Hoshi is blocking enemies the best she can. Ifrit is setting the ground on fire. And Shaw is waiting patiently at the right goal having not swung her axe all round yet. That unblockable bane of my existence walks through the fire, wades through the water, and gets up to shaw with a teensy tiny bit of health left. And Shaw knocks it back into the water with her skill where the damage + water dot combines for it to die as it walks back towards her.

The final wave comes with a bunch of heavies but Hoshi has played Mass Effect before and remembers her job

And that’s that! For the first time since I’ve started playing I was able to try and complete a CC event and let me tell you, the dopamine rush I got was incredible. I love my little mobile tower defense game. I love my little operators trying their best as I work through every possible configuration I can think of. Most importantly I love Shaw, who with a lil knock back gave me the sweet sweet victory I had been working so hard for.

[indigolover97]

We Started It

Chapter 3: Dream, Reality

Taehyung awoke in a cold sweat, he jerked up tossing the pillow he had been holding across the room. He pants as he tries to banish the memories of screaming and dripping blood from the back of his eyelids. He clutches his hair in both hands as he takes slow, steady breaths, tears slipping down his cheeks onto the mattress. He sniffs and scrubs his face as he gets out of the bed to wash the tears off in the sink.

Taehyung lets the cold water soothe his aching head as he pours it over his face. He pats his face dry, pulls a loose t-shirt from his suitcase, and leaves the room. It’s still dark when he enters the kitchen, the clock on the stovetop blinks 4:37AM in red when he glances at it. So he got five hours of sleep, more than the usual three.

The Bulletproof Company must have a better mattress than the Hwarang Boys, he reasoned as he opened the fridge.

He pulled out a bottle of water and sat down at the barstool behind the sinks. His bare feet dangle from the chair as he stares at the ticking clock and sipped on the cold water.

“Ah fuck,” a voice gasps, making Taehyung jolt in his seat and spin around to see Yoongi standing in the doorway clutching his chest. “Why are you sitting in the dark? You scared the hell out of me!”

“Sorry,” Taehyung whispers, he blinks as Yoongi turns on the light of the kitchen and shuffles over the coffee machine. The sweatshirt on the man’s body completely swallows him as he starts the coffee machine.

“Coffee?” Yoongi asks, looking over his shoulder at Taehyung.

“Sorry, I don’t drink it. Too bitter.” Taehyung says, shaking his head and smacking his mouth at the lingering memory of the taste.

Yoongi blinks at him, “You drink tea?”

Taehyung hums an affirmative and watches as Yoongi shuffles over to a cupboard and pulls out a kettle. He fills it at the sink, not even glancing up at Taehyung before shuffling over to the stove and setting it down to heat up. He pulls two mugs out of a top cupboard, stretching up to reach them, and sets them down on the counter.

“Do you have a particular flavor you like? Hobi went through a tea phase last month and Namjoon likes to drink it at night.” Yoongi explains as he opens a cupboard full of different boxes of flavored tea.

“Wow,” Taehyung whispers, taking in the sight of the various flavors. Some he’s never heard of before. “Ah Golden Yunnan Tea, if you have it.”

Yoongi hums and pulls out a tall white tin, he scooped a spoon full of the loose leaves and placed them into a metal infuser before placing it into one of the mugs. He sets his own mug underneath the warmed coffee machine and starts it, the warm smell of fresh coffee beans fills the room.

Taehyung says a quiet ‘thank you’ as Yoongi passes his warm cup of tea before he sits down next to him with his steaming cup of coffee. The first sip of the earthy, sweet liquid eases the hidden tension in Taehyung’s shoulders. He sighs as his hands wrap around the warm ceramic.

“I should be getting a report on those fifty men you gave us this afternoon, do you think our guy will be among them?” Yoongi asks, taking a long sip of his steaming mug.

Taehyung shakes his head, “No, I don’t think he will. I’m never lucky enough to find the guy on the first try, all this will do is tell me what I got wrong. I’ll be able to reconfigure the algorithm to find different features. Unfortunately the process of trial and error will have to guide us here.”

Yoongi hummed in understanding, “Is there any information that we can get to speed up the processes?”

Taehyung snorted and took another sip of his tea, “Yeah, get me a bit of that man’s DNA, or a relative of his, I could find him in three hours.”

Yoongi chuckled, “Fuck, we probably could too, even without you, if we had that.”

“Any dummy with a DNA analysis program could, that's true.” Taehyung mused, chuckling alongside Yoongi at his own joke. “What is Seokjin-ssi’s deal anyway? I get that the bastard killed his father, but you guys are helping him. How does being so hostile help?”

Yoongi rolled his eyes, “That man has been a pain since he came to our doorstep. If Joon wasn’t so insistent on letting him stay, I would’ve had him in a ditch by lunch.”

“Why is he letting him stay then? He’s not exactly helpful, as far as I can tell.” Taehyung asked, looking over at the blonde haired man as he scoffed.

“He’s dead fucking useless, he came to us a week after his father was killed while we were cleaning up the mess Joon had left in that warehouse.” Yoongi looked over at him and started to explain after seeing the confused look on his face.

“After the assassin shot Seokjin’s father, Namjoon went a little, well, crazy. I don’t know how the bastard escaped but no one else in that warehouse did, it was a complete mess to clean up. We don’t know how Seokjin found out because he showed up on our doorstep absolutely clueless about our world. He had no training, no smarts, and no common sense. Still lacks that last one to this day, honestly. We were frankly surprised to see the man at all because as far as we knew, Jang-ssi wasn’t married or had any kids.”

Taehyung scrunches his brow, “I still don’t understand why Namjoon-ssi is keeping here then, letting him ‘help’, and clearly training him.”

Yoongi gave a longsuffering sound, “That’s because the Rap Monster of Ilsan is a complete and utter softie, he has a weak spot for sob stories. He feels like the death of Seokjin’s father is his fault, that he needs to make up for it by letting the infuriating man help.”

Taehyung tilts his head. “Accidents happen, people die and get killed on your watch. That’s just a fact of this life.”

Yoongi nods in agreement and looks Taehyung in the eye. “Namjoon knows that, but Jang-ssi jumped in front of the bullet meant for him. He’s taking this a bit more personally than he usually does.”

“Ah, that explains it.” Taehyung says with a nod, returning his gaze to his mug of tea. Yoongi huffs gruffly as he tries to muffle a chuckle behind a sip of his coffee.

They sit in easy silence as they finish their drinks. The morning sun begins to peek over the horizon through the windows, spilling its light into the kitchen. Yoongi rose from his chair and took both of their empty mugs to the sink just as Namjoon walked in. Even for it being 7AM in the morning, he’s dressed to the nines and heads straight to the coffee machine.

“Morning,” he greets after placing a mug on the coffee tray. Yoongi nods to him and mutters ‘damn morning people’ under his breath as he makes his way out of the kitchen. Namjoon chuckles as he leaves and looks over at Taehyung, “Hyung hates mornings, can’t get a word out of him till 9AM.”

Taehyung hums at Namjoon’s chuckle trying to hide the pleased smile on his face after having spoken to the man mere minutes ago. “Is there anything else you’d like me to work on while I’m here? I can’t return to the manhunt until Yoongi-ssi brings me back the data.”

Namjoon hums in thought as he picks up his mug of coffee and takes a sip, “We’re still in the process of taking control of my father’s assets and placing them under my command. I can have Hobi-hyung show you what we’re working with and see if you can be of any help there.”

Taehyung blinked, internally shocked to be given such a task, and nods. “I’m sure it won’t be too complicated.”

“Who the fuck did you have in control of these files?” Taehyung gaps, looking over the tablet that Hobi hands him with wide eyes. “It’s an absolute mess!”

Hobi nods solemnly as he pats Taehyung’s shoulder, “You haven’t even seen the physical copies, we’re still in the process of digitizing them.”

Taehyung groans, “Forget the manhunt, this will take me months.”

Hobi chuckles and sets to work telling Taehyung how they were working on organizing the mismatched paperworks and contacting the holders of contracts they’ve found buried among the mess. Taehyung gets to work the minute he understands what Namjoon and Hobi are wanting, adding in a few suggestions as he works. Hobi approves of all of them with such enthusiasm it makes Taehyung blush.

Taehyung feels a bit overwhelmed by how much praise he receives by making the work go faster and executes the digitalizing of the physical papers at lightning pace. Hobi is practically vibrating from joy when Yoongi comes into the room, he raises an eyebrow at the pair.

“What’s got you jumping off the roof? Did you have too much caffeine again?” Yoongi asks, handing Taehyung a file over the top of the piles of file boxes on the floor as he takes in Hobi’s vibrating form.

“Taehyungie has saved us so much time hyung!” Hobi practically shouts, grinning from ear to ear. “He’s done more in the past three hours than we’ve done in the past month. Are you sure it’ll take you months to get this organized? I feel like we’re half through already.”

Taehyung shrugs, fighting to keep his blush down, his ears feel like they’re burning as he looks over the pages inside the file. “I still have to program a system that’ll allow you to search for any of these files at a given time. We don’t need you to be missing a hit on a rival company just because you don’t know the file number.”

“He should stay with us hyung,” Hobi says seriously, still smiling widely. “He’s too good to go back to Daegu.”

“I’m sure the Hwarang Boys would love that,” Yoongi scoffed with an eye roll. “We don’t need to piss off a contracted company at the moment.”

“He’s worth it though,” Hobi mutters, turning to monitor the papers flying through the digital scanner.

Yoongi huffed and skirted around the piles of boxes to stand next to Taehyung at the computer screen. “Three of those men ended up being undercover operatives for the Seoul Empire, does that help in any way?”

Taehyung looks over the three men in question with a frown, “I’m not sure yet, it could be that they’re relatives with how similar their features are. Or the Seoul Empire has a kink for large noses and double lidded eyes.”

Yoongi snorts and covers his mouth to muffle his laughter, Taehyung smiles widely at him as his shoulders shake. “Pretty sure it’s not going to be that last one, should we bring them in?”

Taehyung shakes his head, “If you can get DNA samples from them without alerting them that would be better. I can see if they’re even related, then work from there.”

Yoongi nods and pulls out his phone, as he’s typing away at it Seokjin comes marching into the room and promptly trips over a file box, falling to his face. The three men stare down at his groaning body with equal looks of exasperation.

“You’re like a baby deer that hasn’t learned to walk yet.” Taehyung muses as Seokjin stands up and rubs his head in pain. Hobi snorts in delighted laughter as Seokjin glares at Taehyung.

“What progress have you made?” Seokjin demands, rubbing his forehead as he stalks forward this time being careful to avoid the file boxes on the floor.

Taehyung raises a brow at him and looks over at Yoongi, the blonde gives him a shrug and an eye roll at the silent question. He shrugs as he looks back at Seokjin’s glaring face. “Still narrowing down the 4.5 million male residents that live in Seoul down to one man, so you know it takes time.”

Seokjin rolls his eyes, “They told me you were good at your job, not that you were a sarcastic little shit.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m taller than you,” Taehyung responds, spinning his chair away from Seokjin’s huffing face. “The door is that way, don’t knock yourself out while leaving. Some of us have some real work to get done.”

“Listen here you…” Seokjin started to say, reaching forward to grab onto Taehyung’s chair, only to be stopped by Yoongi shoving him back.

“That’s enough Seokjin,” He orders, pressing a hand against the other man’s chest. “Taehyung-ssi is here to help us and you’re just slowing us down, I don’t care what Namjoon has to say about it. I can have you locked up in your room until we find this son of a bitch if you continue to throw your fits.”

Seokjin huffs and backs away, “You guys need to stop messing around and get to work, before I head out on my own and go find this guy.”

“Good luck with that!” Taehyung calls to his retreating back, Seokjin doesn’t even turn at his parting words as he leaves the office. Taehyung chuckles as he turns back to his screens.

“Could you not keep trying to piss him off?” Yoongi pleads, returning to his leaning position next to Taehyung’s keyboard.

Taehyung sends him a smirk, “If he stops making it so easy, I’ll stop.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes but there’s a smile in the corner of his mouth that betrays his amusement.

[physalian]

The Woes of Formatting

I am… 22 hours into formatting ENNS for print (now ebook) and am making this post for posterity’s sake to say: Formatting is so. Tedious. I had to start over thanks to Amazon going “ha you didn’t set your margins properly,” and also some last-minute changes to the text. Yesterday (7/24/24) after a full day of work, I worked on Book from 2:30pm to 11:30pm. Today is probably going to be about the same.

My neck hurts from staring at my monitor, my pinkie hurts from the strain of holding a computer mouse in one position since 6am. I have forgotten to cook lunch and dinner, but I did have breakfast.

It doesn’t even feel real yet. I am exhausted. But you know what feels great? Eliminating widows and orphans on the pages to erase the page count only by one. If you don’t know, those are the little hanging words on the bottom line of a paragraph or the top of a page that can be resized to fit on the line above it.

Getting to the last page of the chapter and realizing there’s only 3 or 4 lines of text left eating up an entire piece of paper, and then scrolling back through the chapter like a madwoman to nudge other paragraphs around to eliminate that extra page… I was literally cheering in my room in satisfaction.

For the record it shouldn’t take you this long, but I wanted it to be pretty, and Amazon is incredibly precise with their formatting requirements down to 0.001inches. So I had to reformat the cover art, which took a while. Then I had to fix the margins at least 3 times until no more errors showed up. Then I had to reread the entire book for last-minute changes. Then I had to format the chapter header pages.

Before that, though, I had to make the art for the chapter header pages. And re-learn how to do all of the formatting on InDesign.

So here I am, 22 hours in, finally onto the ebook that will be done tonight goddamn. And I just want to say, if it’s within your power to do as much of the work yourself as you can, fucking do it.

I’d be losing my mind with stress if I was waiting for a cover artist to make adjustments whenever they deigned to find my order a priority. Or the person I’d be paying to format this book. Losing. My. Mind. Maybe after the ridiculous goose chase I have been on with editors for this book has completely murdered my faith in paid beta readers to do shit in a timely manner (ENNS' first draft was written in 31 days, it took from 2/25/24 to 6/10 for my tiny army of betas and the AWOL failed betas to deliver, then 6 weeks for the professional copy edit). Anyway.

Yeah it’s taken me a long ass time, on top of two full corporate-nonsense workdays, but the satisfaction I have felt hammering this project out isn’t comparable to paying someone to do it for me. I got the manuscript back from my copy editor and I wasn’t excited, I was like “I needed this 10 days ago thanks” (in my head) and then got right back to work. Copy editor is necessary, don’t get me wrong, it’s absolutely necessary, but the catharsis that I have now was definitely absent then.

So. Yeah. This is rambly and I’m not sorry. Even after the ebook is up for preorder there’s still work to be done and money to be spent. But I’m forcing myself to take a break, pause, breathe, appreciate the work I have already done.

I am hours away from launching my first published novel. Hours.

It doesn’t feel real. August 25th, 2024, Eternal Night of the Northern Sky's official release date. Gahhhhhhh.

—

For anyone curious:

Cover was done in Photoshop (I have the Lightroom student package for $9.99/mo)

Formatting was done in InDesign (%#&%# $35.99/mo after 7 day trial choke on rocks, Adobe)

Formatting did not need to be done in ID, but other one-time fees were either more expensive when I can cancel my subscription after the month is up, or the free versions were too limited and constricting in their capabilities.

I’m far too nitpicky to not have complete creative freedom and control over my work, with all the hours I have put in. So Adobe it is.

Back to work!

[bosskie]

Molluck in Leather

Man, I don't know how long I have been thinking about drawing Molluck in leather but it's probably been over a year... And I just had to draw it now. I started this at night and ruined my sleep rhythm, again... Just had to force myself stop drawing and I finished this later today. It was that leather jacket that took me so many hours... I have no idea how to draw leather, so it was like 'trial and error' like stuff... I wish to draw a proper version of this in colour, so this was a practice sketch thing. I got new colour pencils now since I didn't have proper ones for black paper. I haven't tested them yet but I got plenty of drawing ideas inside my head.

I do call pretty much everything a sketch that ain't rendered in a detailed and 'proper' way. A sketch can take me 5 hours but if I did a full piece out of it, it could take 10-20 hours more, so it probably makes sense why it's a sketch for me. Man, I used to do so detailed line art, shade with doing those little dots, do patterns... I kinda just couldn't stand my line art without much details, though it's still like that... I could give that style a try with fineliners. I wish that I had more time to draw since I kinda don't have time to draw but I wanna draw so badly and it makes me feel better. I basically started to draw this to calm down, gather my thoughts; drawing helps me to clear my mind.

But yes, I have just been thinking that black leather would suit Molluck. I'm not sure about his necklace but I wanted to try it out. I also thought that he could have his chest visible since he got nothing to hide there! I know that there are some flaws still but I tried my best. It felt like I l still earned new thing about Molluck's shapes while drawing this... His head is full of fine details! His expression is pretty random, didn't feel like redoing it. Oh, and now thinking this more, a leather jacket could make sense since maybe there could be some use for the skins of the animals/creatures butchered at his farm.

I don't know if there is more to say. I have been just having so many doubts related to myself and my stuff... I kinda also started drawing this to check if I can (still) really draw... Sometimes, it can just feel like maybe my skills have disappeared, maybe I have forgotten everything, because I don't really trust my own skills, don't even feel like I draw well... Man, mind can be so odd and twist things into so absurd thoughts... But they still feel real, even if I knew that it was just my mind's trick again...

And yeah, I don't feel like submitting anything to that OWI's 'fan celebration' thing since I feel like I got nothing proper to submit, been just doing mainly sketches and I'm not a fan of my 'proper' pieces... My whole blog is 'an Oddworld creation' I could submit but well, just too much stuff for them to check out. I wouldn't also feel good if they did a video about my stuff... I would just love to hear Lorne talking about Molluck but everything else... It just gives me anxiety and my impostor syndrome would bloom...

I just tend to feel embarrassed of my own skills... I have so much to learn, been drawing too little... I drew much more about a decade ago. Only if I had more time but this is a good start already since I barely drew anything last year; I have already drawn more this year! It has been also a big step to finally start using those unused art supplies I have had for so many years... Still got some more recently, like an eraser pencil. It's been very useful, something I really wanted to find! I should try to use some proper graphite pencils and stuff too since I have been doing these pencil sketches with a mechanical pencil and erasers. Just so much stuff to try out, man... I got like two packs of graphite stuff; yeah, should put them in use too...

Oh, and I'm sorry for the quality of these traditional things. Sometimes, I get a better picture but sometimes, it's just terrible... But I try to edit these as well as I can, and yes, sometimes I also like to add some colours digitally or do some fixes.

[thetravellingvagrant]

Day 13: In Which I Get Sunburned In December

Today was the only full day in Alicante that my schedule would afford me and, it being the last real location of the trip and a bit shit to boot, I decided to make it a nice, easy one. I was to have a bit of a bibble around a nice beach, then get a souvenir or two and a bit of food, then go home to enjoy my prison cell for the night

Pictured: El Porridge

I was excited to not be grinding myself into a thin paste by walking loads and loads and loads, to be honest, and so I set off into the city with a spring in my step. Metaphorically, not literally, I had neither the requisite energy, nor joy to skip.

As I left the hostel, it struck me that it was really fucking hot, today. Mid-20s hot. And bright. It's a good thing I managed to forget my shades but remember my incredibly heavy winter jacket. Absolutely nailed it.

Regardless, I pressed on with my day, blind and sweating and realized as I traversed Alicante by day that it wasn't *that* bad, here. Yes, it had a sort of…stupid vibe to it, as places often do when populated exclusively by English ex-pats named Sharon, but away from the more jubilant touristy areas, in the (frankly blinding) light of day and without even an inkling to visit a burger king, in which it looked like a dirty bomb has been detonated, the city was alright! Not brilliant or anything; there was still irritations like the absolute blight of leather faced old men, dresses like off duty sailors, walking around narrow, crowded streets at .3 miles an hour, clasping both hands in one another behind their backs

Hurry. UPPPPP.

But a far cry from the place I had experienced last night where I genuinely worried I was going to get robbed, headbutted or coerced into going to a nightclub in the ten minutes I was outside my accommodation.

I made my way through the…slightly unremarkable city and eventually managed to locate one of it's many beaches. It was busy. Perhaps not as busy as, say, a shit aquarium, but definitely enough to make me curl my lip and be slightly surprised, given that it was December. 

Scowling, however, I angrily removed my shoes and had an absolutely furious walk across the warm sand which I seathingly enjoyed very, very much.

I then found a nice tree which I say under for ages and ages, listening to a good podcast and nonchalantly burying both my feet in the sand 

...Two weeks 'til Christmas!

And then having a bit of a paddle 

You're welcome.

As I have no doubt you can tell, I was thoroughly revelling in my easy day, enjoying, more than most things I have experienced and likely will ever experience, the opportunity to have a stress free sit down and a splash. I was having an easy day and no one - not you, not god, not my mum, was going to stop me.

Anyway, then I saw this big cunt and had to climb it immediately

...Well, shit.

Excited to just enough of a degree for it to be a reasonable replacement for actual energy, I began my ascent up the big boi hill, the route up which varied wildly and seemingly at will between tarmacked road, cobbled path and incredibly dangerous crumbling cliff edge, having an excellent time trying - and failing - to attract the routes manky, scabby cats to have a good old rub around my legs or sit on my lap.

This was as close as they let me get.

Eventually, after - it must be said - a *lot* of trial and error, I found myself on the main road up to the top of the hill and the castle which lay upon it. It was then a car pulled up along side me. A man leaned out his window, which is usually always a preamble to a genuinely dreadful thing happening.

“Ello mate, can I take my car up there?”

I took my headphones out of my ears. 

“Oh, I have no idea.”

“Ohh, you speak English yeh?”

I told him I did

“Are you from the UK, yeh?” He asked, in a thick Mancunian roadman drawl

“Yeah.”

“You from Manchester, too?”

I told him I was from Glasgow

“Yeh? You don't speak Scottish tho, innit.”

I chuckled, out of awkwardness more than amusement

“...so can I take my car up there, yeh?”

I told him again that I had no idea. I did note that there was a car park right next to where he had stopped which seemed to point to him not being able to. He surveyed the hill.

“...fuck man, that's a lot of walking tho, innit.”

It wasn't. We were very near the top of the hill. Five minutes to the castle, tops. I told him the view would probably be worth it 

“Hmm…” he pondered. “Nah, I'll leave it” and with that turned his car around and sped back down the hill, his beats blaring into the distance, leaving me absolutely bewildered to my very core at the whole experience.

Anyway *I* made the effort to walk at a comparatively shallow incline for five minutes and was duly rewarded with some absolutely stonking views for my exertion.

...To be fair, it *was* a lot of walking

I wandered around the pleasingly sparse hilltop - most likely due to there needing to be the slightest bit of effort made to actually reach the place - taking pictures and fighting off the intrusive thoughts demanding to know if I'd survive if I jumped off the ramparts 

...Probably not.

But before long had exhausted my interest in being up really high like an eagle or a lost kite and descended down the opposing side of the mound.

The descent was almost as good as the ascent, despite the creeping presence of touristy shit edging in more and more, the further down I went, and offered comparably lovely vistas to enjoy

And soon deposited me back in the city, proper where I limped first to a souvenir shop and then to a big supermarket where I bought some kind of microwavable potato and onion omelette which I actually really enjoyed despite it looking like a fried sick patty and having the texture of a flu sneeze. 

Finally, I managed to get back to my apartment - my easy day having turned into a close-to six hour excursion which turned my pedometer red, again - where I ate my sicky dinner and enjoyed the customary nap and nibble before turning in, on preparation for the last day of the trip on which I wasn't just going to be eating nice pizza and tolerating okay friendship in a smelly room with all it's blinds pulled down.

[clownstho]

Enemy Script Overhaul: Done!

I did it. I fucking did it. Last night, I finished de-tangling my enemy AI script.

Here are a couple of before pictures of the script and my reflective thoughts.

I was so taken with madness fixing this thing. I didn't bother to preserve the old script. These pictures are all that's left of the first version of my enemy. RIP but it won't be missed <3

231 lines all piled into one script. This poor man's state machine was just an enum and a MATCH statement executing all the functions it was crammed in with.

To emphasize the scope of the problem, I also took a picture of what I was calling "Timers' Alley". I named a section of his script because it was 5 timers all running at all. It lived above where all the animations happened.

I think once you're at the point you're naming the different neighborhoods of your goddamn script, you might want to Learn A Better Way.

I've attempted state machines in the past, but I don't think I had the confidence or skill to debug anything if there was a problem. Or the understanding of structuring my code. This time around, I could grasp Heartbeast's finite state machine explanation. So I set it up and then spent about 5 hours debugging.

God. It was so much trial and error. There were a lot of little changes made that were reversed. A lot of print statements. And even more comments written! I rooted out a lot of code that I didn't need. Now it all works and now the state machine is also fully commented. My script is sooo organized, and works like I want it to. Not to mention that I feel like I understand it completely now. That was not always the case in the old script!

100 fewer lines in the main script, and that's with the addition of updated descriptive comments. Now timers' alley no longer exists, replaced instead with the two-function Animation Alley. The timers now connect directly into the relevant state scripts using signals. All together the state scripts make up 442 lines across 5 states. So it was a lot more coding and commenting to get 100 fewer lines, but i think it was worth it. Now I can feel at peace, and modifications to behavior later will be easier later.

Now that I know how to do this, I could theoretically do this to the player too. I won't right now. But I could.

Okay I guess it's time to consult my notes and see what else is on my to-do list.

[malevolententity]

WOE PROJECT 6 BE UPON YE

every day my patience with pattern markers grows thin. i can and will write essays about this franken pattern project that i Am calling done for now but i might do some more work on in the future. SO this is two patterns of the same concept that ive put together because i was not going to fully reset because the first pattern was absolute ass. i truly do not know if the issue was with me or the pattern as they would call for stitches and then tell you how to do the stitch and it was a different stitch! and i made sure it wasnt a uk vs us terms issue but i still had issues! the dud coaster is the darker blue one my mug is pictured on i like how after a lot of trial and error i got the flowers to look flowerish but idk not a big fan of it waaaay to much effort trying to make the stitches work that ill never work it up again. the basket is very pretty honestly but to actually hold the coasters ive had to stuff it with all my yarn scraps that m hoping to one day maybe turn into my own cobbled together yarn? because without the stuffing it just collapses from the weight of the coasters which is why! this project may not be done as there is another basket tutorial m looking at (that goes with the other 2 coasters i made) that based on how it looks is flatter and might hold the coasters much better. but that is definitely a thing ill work up down the road and Probably not tomorrow as i do adore the little basket i have now. AND SPEAKING OF THE TWO OTHER COASTERS i love the flower pattern the whole coaster was a time sink because of how the leaves must be worked but it was so very worth it. from project 3 (tarot sleeve) i still have a skein and a half of that red and purple that if i ever work up more of this specific flower pattern i might see what that yarn gives me! although most likely ill just find another flower pattern to try (theres a tulip one m interested in) so that every coaster is a different flower and looks the most like a bouquet as i can get. unfortunately i used acrylic yarn so i am loathe to use these with hot mugs but time shall tell with the shit coaster if i can use it with hot mugs long term!

also this project took roughly 6 hours with all the frogging trying to make the original pattern work and in generally learning 3 new patterns! (last hour and a half from episode 5 all the way to an hour into episode 7)

season 2 thoughts so far

dude can the lil guys just get a break? joui almost died AGAIN BUT LIKE A DEATH SAVE HAD TO HAPPEN LIKE BRUH LEAVE HIM ALONE FSDJKHFS arthur has had the worst fucking time and honestly i would not be surprised if towards the end of the season he does a suicide run because hes lost everything and everyone but ivete and idk if thats enough to keep him from going insane. i just. i dont know how to put episode 6 into words besides that i am soooo glad to have made it out of that episode because it was Heavy. episode 7 has been chill for the most part. they kept talking about sucking hoses. they kept saying various party members needed to strip to prove they were gonna start trying to shoot each other again. pretty normal table top hijinks and a good place to end for the night/the project.

i honestly have no idea what m making next. part of me Wants to try making a cardigan but all i have is acrylic which is itchy. and i def dont have the skeins for a whole cardigan plus cardigans i feel like would take minimum 22 hours? and i dont really. wanna have a 20+ hour single project. i like my current insanity of having done like 40ish hours of projects this past month and none of them going over 10 hours (besides the wretched bag). time to go through my ravelry in a few days time and see if anything jumps as being interesting or if m gonna have to spin a wheel to pick a project.

[skookumsupine]

Years ago, [Xanthius] experienced an intense bout of insomnia. From early October 2013 until late February 2018, he found it impossible to get more than two hours of sleep consecutively. Each night, he would lay twisted in his bed, finding every new way he lay just as forced and uncomfortable as the last. He felt like he had forgotten the precise contortion needed to slip through the cracks of the waking world and fall asleep, like he was a mass of protruding limbs trying to fit through a square hole.

Waves of fear and regret crashed down on him in towering sets with no break between poundings long enough to catch his breath. Eventually, gradually, his nocturnal anxieties became a more or less normal part of his everyday routine. He would lay on his back some short summer nights and watch the light fade out of the western window until it rolled back in with the morning in the Eastern corner of his room. It was oddly peaceful and utterly unbearable.

Then, when he was completely desensitized to his own cortisol, he found a way to let himself be carried away by the rip currents in his mind and be swept under into oblivion. He discovered how not to try to not try too hard to sleep. Life in general took a turn for the better after this. He felt in his bones that the seasons of his life had taken a sharp turn towards sweeter times.

His record in all those years had been about 72 hours awake consecutively. Any amount of time beyond this and his body would hard reset on its own. This morning as he watched the brazen sun spill into his room, he realized he was approaching hour one hundred and sixty. He realized bitterly that his seasons were changing again.

Floaters and black dots swam giddily around the edges of his vision. He closed his eyes and counted his breaths, trying to detach his mind. After a few cycles he could feel the fuzzy hood of sleep slip over him. Then the bird slurred its song again “Chooka Wiillaa Widowww!” and his chance at sleep was ripped away from him, again. Rage boiled over in his guts. He coiled like a drunken snake and launched himself to his feet with sudden furious energy. Glaring out of the window by his bed, he focused on the lumpy brown bird swaying in the wind with the branches of the Chickasaw Plum, like a bloated tick swaying on the back of a panting dog. The Nightjar slouched slovenly in its nest. His vision narrowed into a tunnel as narrow as the barrel of a gun. The black floaters in his peripheral vision swarmed and multiplied. Their edges took on the technicolor sheen of a bubble on an oil slick. A fat vein popped out on his neck and with every pulse of blood the rainbow edges of the floaters flared with gemstone brilliance. “Chuuok-au-Weehee-Wippou!!” cried the drunken Nightjar. His body tremored with electric spasms that shot up his spine, forked across his bony shoulders, and wound a circuit around his solar plexus.

About two months back, a local beekeeper dumped the Sheriff’s son. Every morning for a week, Walker County deputies sprayed all the neonicotinoids pesticides they could economically get their hands on, to demonstrate the weight of his scorn. Every easily accessible flower in the county had been laced and not an invertebrate was safe. As of this week there were no more moths for tens of miles in any direction, and the grasshoppers rotted in the soy fields. The sidewalks were littered with shuddering horseflies. The beekeeper moved to New Caledonia and married someone that sells Swiss Watches. The Nightjar that lived in the Chickasaw Plum lost its primary nutrition source and was forced to branch out its eating habits by trial and error. Was the discovery that its shockingly wide mouth could gobble down several gooey, sickly sweet-smelling, maroon colored fruit in a single swallow a mistake? Yes, very much so, but the Nightjar wouldn’t discover this until too late. For the moment it was caught deep in the undertow of its Dionysian death spiral, blissfully unaware it was poisoning itself.

[Xanthius] was aware of the situation and the plight of the hungry bird, but that only made him angrier. The injustice of his wrath ate at his belly and created a positive feedback loop of destructive negativity. The black dots in his eyes crept in from the edges and one by one evacuated the peripherals for the center of his view. The murmuration of brilliant floaters coalesced into a single mass in his eye like a wizard's cataract, completely obscuring the bird. His righteous fury had fully soured and he wanted only to hurt something defenseless. To flex his power. To do harm to the innocent. To get this expel this evil energy that had possessed his being to such totality, and to project it onto a sacrifice. The multicolored rim of his black cataract flared with a searing light and smoke billowed from its circumference. His blood pounded deafeningly through his ears and his teeth felt electric. He shivered once and the floaters began to drip away from the central shape in rapid succession. In seconds his vision had cleared and he saw shriveled, scorched corpse of the bird that had lived in his backyard for so many years now. The bird whose song he used to wake up to at 4am and marvel at despite himself. He felt a tingling below the skull of his forehead and a sensation like an outflow of snow melt into a stagnant pool. He felt refreshed. His pulse felt gentle, as if he had slept for twelve glorious hours.

[mimi-ya]

delicious ~ sanj x reader

2,600 words | she/her reader | fluff

summary: sanji just wanted to make sure your birthday dinner was delicious as can be

a/n: happy late birthday @useless-potatho !! i offer soft sanji as a gift and apology 😘

masterlist | birthday celebrations

“Sanji, I’m worried about you.”

The chef in question pops his head up from the dozens of recipe books he has spread out on the table, “Oh, Nami-swan! I didn’t hear you come in. Would you like me to prepare you something?”

Nami crosses her arms with an annoyed look on her face, “Don’t you think it’s a little late to be doing all this?” She gestures to the counter where just as many pots and pans litter the space. Flour, sugar, eggs, and endless other ingredients brought out.

Sanji brushes her off with a laugh, “No need to worry, Nami-swan.” He stands from his spot, walking to the counter where he begins to measure out a few cups of flour, “This is when I do my best thinking.”

Nami chews on her lip in worry, “Robin mentioned you were up this late last night too.”

Sanji cracks a few eggs, whisking the ingredients, “Don’t tell me you two are sacrificing your beauty rest for me.”

“Sanji, I’m serious!” Ever since the incidents that took place at Whole Cake Island, Nami had been a little more perspective of Sanji. Not that she didn’t think he could take care of himself, but still wanting to look out for one of her nakama, “Why can’t you do this during the day?”

“Some things need to be a secret, Nami-swan.” He smiles while pour the batter into a pan, “But you’re more than welcome to stay and taste test.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Nami rolls her eyes, throwing her arms into the air, “Don’t come crying to me when you fall asleep at breakfast!” And then storms out of the kitchen.

Sanji smiles to himself at his nakama’s concern, but sleep is the least of his concern with your birthday coming up. It was going to be perfect, had to be perfect.

And if that meant losing a few hours of sleep here and there, then so be it.

He had spent days researching native dishes and recipes local to the West Blue where you were born and raised. Worked tirelessly to test and perfect the dishes he had overheard you mentioning from your childhood. And with your birthday just on the horizon the last hurdle was to piece together a menu the blended perfectly.

The only hitch in the plan seemed to be his nakama who appeared to make it her life’s mission to interrupt him each night.

“Again?” Nami asks from the doorway for the fourth night in a row, watching as Sanji piped out flowers from a buttercream frosting.

“Nami-swan.” Sanji countered, “With your concern over my sleep, it seems you’re losing just as much.”

“Just tell me what you’re doing every night!” She stomped her foot, always peeved to be out of the know on anything, “You had plenty of time to do all of this earlier today, but you just fooled around with the others!”

Sanji grits his teeth when one of the flower’s petals was a slightly bigger than the other. Anything less than perfect won’t do.

“Hello!?” Nami storms up to the counter and flicks Sanji on the forehead, “Are you even listening to me!”

Now Sanji would never raise his voice at a lady, but he’s coming damn close when he tosses his pipping bag on the counter, “It’s for (Y/N)-chan!”

“(Y/N)?” Nami cocks her head, “What are you talking about?”

Sanji groans, not totally wanting to explain all the effort he was putting into your birthday. He was perfecting the recipes on night to only hide them from you, but partly from the rest of the crew.

“(Y/N)-chan’s birthday is next week and I wanted to have everything prepared.”

Nami places her hands on her hips, “I don’t remember you going all out like this for my birthday.”

“I made you that sweet tangerine cake your mom used to bake.” He shoots back.

Nami flushes slightly. The cake had tasted just as she remembered, and surely took hours of trial and error to perfect. “Well still!” Nami argues, “Don’t you think this is a little excessive?”

Sanji picks up the pipping bag, returning to his work, “It needs to be perfect for (Y/N).” He pipes out a flower before softly adding, “She deserves it.”

A moment of silence passes before Nami’s eyes widen.

“Oh.” She gasps, a devious smile forming on her face, “Oh, I see.”

“What?” Sanji asks, not truly giving her his attention.

“You know.” Nami says breezily, “I always wondered what you’d be like when you’re actually in love. It’s a little sickening, not gonna lie.”

Sanji’s sputters, eyes flitting up to Namis, “What- what are you talking about!”

“Don’t worry.” She pats his cheek, “Your secret is safe with me. And I’ve just decided I’ll help you!”

“Nami, wait! You’ve got the wrong idea. I don’t, I wouldn’t-”

“It’s alright!” She cuts him off, “You can just repay me a hundred million berries when it all works out.” And then turns on her heel, skipping towards the door with glee now that she’s got her answer.

“Nami! What are you planning!”

.

The last few days on the ship have seemed… strange.

Sanji would barely meet your stare, seeming to find anything else to do when you walked into his vicinity. And Nami was always looking at you with some sort of gloating smile, like she knew a secret you didn’t.

It wouldn’t concern you too much if the others were off too, but it only seemed to be those two.

“What did he do?” You ask Nami one night as it’s just the two of you in your cabin.

“Hmm?” She meets your eyes in her vanity mirror.

“Sanji has been acting off, and so have you.”

But Nami just shrugs, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

You scoff, crawling into your bed, “Right.”

“Hey.” Nami begins, spinning in her seat, “Isn’t your birthday tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” You answer cautiously, “Why are you asking?”

“Just wanted to make sure.” She smiles and climbs into her own bed, “Anything special you want?”

“Not really.” You look up at the ceiling, “Although I am excited to eat whatever cake Sanji makes.”

“Oh?” Nami asks, a little too interested for your tastes.

“What?” You shoot back.

“Nothing!” She flips onto her side, turning off her light and submerging the room into darkness, “Well, goodnight!”

“Yeah.” You mumble, burrowing into your covers, “Night.”

.

“Gooood morning (Y/N)!”

You nearly jump out of your skin when a scream in your ear pulls you from you sleep.

“Shi shi shi! You look funny in the morning!”

“Luffy!” You shout back, lobbing a pillow at his head, “What’s your deal!”

“It’s your birthday!” He exclaims, easily dodging your attack, “And I wanted to be the first to say, happy birthday!”

“Well, you did it.” You groan, falling back into your bed. You notice both Robin and Nami are out of the room. Which is lucky for Luffy, unsure how the other two would react to his wake up call, “Now go away.”

“Alright, but promise you’ll be out soon for your birthday, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” You wave him off, knowing that no one loves to celebrate more than Luffy does for his nakama.

“Ten minutes!” He shouts, running out the door.

You roll over in bed with a smile on your face. Even with the abrasive start to the day, you knew it was going be a good one.

And good one it was.

From the celebrations on the deck with lively music and dance to the sweet gift your nakama showered you with. You had never felt so loved in your entire life.

And to top it off, Sanji had been running back and forth to the kitchen all afternoon. A sweet aroma spilling out each time he opened the door.

“(Y/N)!” Nami calls, “I think Sanji said he needed you in the kitchen.”

“Me?” You ask, unsure since Sanji always seemed secretive about any big feast he was making, “You sure?” You glance around the group you’re sitting with, Robin nodding in agreement while Usopp and Franky avert their eyes, Brook whistling an innocent tune, “Alright.” You mumble to yourself.

The scent of dinner gets stronger and more mouth watering the closer you get, hitting you all at once when peek in.

“Sanji?” You call out, standing halfway in the doorway, “Did you need me for somethi- ahh!”

“(Y/N)?” Sanji spins around to see you tumble through the door, “Are you alright? What are you doing in here?” He rushes to your side, helping you to your feet.

You swear you see a disembodied hand slam the door behind you, but are more overwhelmed with the hand on the small of you back, “Uh, Nami said you needed me?”

His face darkens for a moment that’s so quick you almost miss it, “Did she now?” He clears his throat, “I mean, no, no. It’s fine in here. Please, return to your party.”

“Alright.” You say, even more confused with everything going on. But you pause before Sanji can open the door for, “It smells really good in here.”

“Thank you, (Y/N)-chan.” Sanji smiles, “But let’s try to keep it a surprise…” He trails off, tugging at the door again.

“Sanji?”

“It’s stuck.”

“Huh?” You reach out to tug on the handle, “It wasn’t stuck when I just came in.”

Sanji growls something under his breath before banging on the door, “Nami! Open this damn door!”

“Sanji!” You hear her voice call back, a little too quick in Sanji’s opinion, “Everything alright in there?”

“The door’s stuck!” You call through, hoping your muffled words are understood.

“Stuck!” She gasps, “Oh no! Hold on, I’ll get Franky!”

Sanji balls his hands into fist, “How about I just kick it down!” He yells back in anger.

“Hey now, bro!” Franky’s voice carries through, “Don’t treat the Sunny like that! I’ll have you out in a jiffy!”

“Oh, what’s the Franky?” Robin’s voice appears, “This might take a few hours?”

A moment passes, “Oh right! Could be awhile!”

“You just said it would be quick!” Sanji screams.

“I guess you two will just have to enjoy dinner with out us.” Nami says, an overdramatic reluctance in her voice.

“What!” Your captain’s far off voice cries, followed by quick steps “No! Please! Franky, I can open the door!”

“Shut up!” You can hear Nami’s hushed voice demand, and the sound of one of Nami’s famous knocks over the head she reserves for Luffy, “Well, don’t worry about us! We’ll be okay.”

There’s more scuffling and whining from your captain before silence.

“Maybe they went to get some tools?” You offer.

“Right.” Sanji scoffs, stomping back to the stove. His anger is clear, and you feel a little bad the door’s been trapped. Now all of his hard work for dinner might have gone to waste.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, looking at the floor and missing the way Sanji’s head snaps up, “I’m sure everyone will still enjoy your cooking even if it’s a little cold.”

“What? (Y/N), no!” He runs up to you and grabs your hands, “Don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault. Besides, I only really care if you enjoy the food.” He grins when you roll your eyes, “Now c’mon.”

You let Sanji lead you to the table in the corner, pulling out your chair. He quickly brings out silverware to set your place.

“What about yours?” You ask, seeing he hasn’t set the place across from you.

“(Y/N)-chan, you know the chef eats last.”

“C’mon.” You plead, “Who knows how long it’ll take those idiots to open the door. I really don’t want to eat alone.” You pout, batting your eyes that Sanji are weak to, “Especially on my birthday.”

“Fine.” Sanji grumbles, knowing he’s been beat, and brings out a second set of silverware.

“It smells so good.” You smile, shifting excitedly in your seat as he plates the dishes.

“Bon appetite.” He sets the food down in front of you and immediately a wave of nostilga hits you.

Gasping, you look at the meal he’s prepared. The bread smelling like the bakery down the road from the house you grew up in. Your island’s native vegetables steamed and covered in sauce, beside the fish that was abundant in the cove off its shore.

“Sanji.” You feel speechless, “How, how did you do all of this?”

“I read a few recipes.” He shrugs, as if the dozen books on your island’s ecology he borrowed from Robin were nothing. That the tracking down citizens from the West Blue along the Grand Line over the last few months was an easy feat. That scouring markets up and down for these ingredients wasn’t the hardest shopping he’s ever done.

But it was nothing. Not when it came to you.

“Oh my…” You moan, taking a generous bite, “It’s better than I remember!” You dig in for more, glad there isn’t Luffy to fend off for once, “I really don’t deserve you.” You groan, happily enjoying the delicious taste.

“I’d do anything for you.” He says seriously, his tone cutting through your thoughts. Your eyes widen, meeting his in surprise, “I mean.” Sanji stutters with flushed cheeks, “For any of you, of course, I’d do-”

“I’d do anything for you, too.” You repeat, just as clearly and strong as he did.

“Oh.” Sanji whispers, mouth hanging open just a bit.

You can’t even explain why you eyes flash to his lips. Just for a moment, but he doesn’t miss it because then his do the same.

It’s a back and forth, looking at each other’s mouth and thinking of pressing your lips to his. That maybe he’d be able to taste the delectable meal he put together for you. Cleary with an enormous amount of love and effort.

“Sanji.” You grab for his hand.

“(Y/N), oh.” He glances down at where your fingers are laced, “You can go.”

“No, you.” You say at the same time.

You both laugh at the repeat of phrases before the moment returns.

“(Y/N),” He clears his throat, “You’re unlike any other women I’ve ever met. And I wanted to show you that with this.” He nods at the food, “You deserve the world, and I want to try to give it to you.”

“Sanji.” You breath, tightening your hold on his hand and pulling him almost over the table. You rise out of your own seat, leaning in close to his face. So close that you can feel his breath on your lips, see the speckles in his eyes as they’re fluttering closed, and just close enough to-

“Fixed it!” A voice shouts as the door slams open.

You both jump back, almost knocking the table over had it not been for Sanji’s quick reflexes.

“Yay!” Luffy screams, running into the kitchen and making a bee line for the stove, “Let’s eat!”

“Hey!” Sanji yells, immediately dashing to spot Luffy from eating everything he prepared, “Don’t touch that!”

“Hope we didn’t interrupt your intimate dinner.” Nami calls from the doorway, a smirk on her face while Robin giggles behind her.

You really want to slap the smug look off her face but instead take it in stride, “No worries.” You say easily, glancing over at Sanji who’s managed to hold Luffy back with his foot, “I think I’m more looking forward to dessertanyway.”

And if the way butterflies erupt in your stomach at the sight of Sanji’s ears burning bright are anything to go by, it’s sure to be just as delicious as dinner.

[seriouslysnape]

could u do a fluff library date w/ Percy Weasley (if u write for him)?

“Percy, I can’t do this.” You whined, your forehead falling to the cool material of the study table in the middle of the quiet library.

“You’re being dramatic.” He returned plainly, not looking up from the textbook laid out in front of him. 

When you had suggested a “library date” to Percy, you didn’t really expect to do any actual studying. You should’ve known better, since you knew how seriously Percy took his studies. You had envisioned this setting to be a little more...romantic. 

To be completely fair, the library was practically empty. Most of the large study crowds had already dispersed back to their dormitories for the night, any more of their work was to be done in the comfort of their room. Percy had insisted that the two of you stay until the last possible minute, and the two of you being alone in the library while you studied was just as much of a date as anything else.

You had entertained Percy’s intentions for about half an hour. You opened your Potions book to prepare for the next exam that was about a week away. You skimmed over the chapters and took note of some key terms. Eventually, though, your focus shifted to your boyfriend sitting across from you.

He hadn’t said much other than the occasional small talk, and you were a bit miffed that he was treating your date night as nothing more than a usual study session.

“You are the only person I know who would consider this a date.” You sneered, your forehead still pressed against the table, eyes set on your feet below the table.

Percy’s motions paused at that, his eyes flickered up from his Herbology book. His expression was blank, but his eyes had a certain innocence shining behind them.

“Is this not what you wanted?” He asked, a twinge of guilt and surprise filtering through his chest.

“Not exactly.” You admitted, closing your Potions book with a heavy exhale of air.

Percy hadn’t intended to make you upset. He liked you a lot, and being your boyfriend was the highlight of his life. Despite the fact that he struggled sometimes when it came to affection, he always wanted to be as attentive and pleasing as possible. He closed the cover of his book as well, sliding it off to the side. 

“I’m sorry, [Y/N]. I didn’t mean to make you unhappy.” He confessed, “I’m still new at this.” He added, referring to the whole boyfriend thing.

That brought a gentle smile to your face. His meek reminder in turn had reminded you to be patient with him. He really was trying his best, and a lot of his learning had been through trial and error. His foot found yours, nudging it playfully from under the table. A dust of a blush had appeared on his face, his complexion nearly matching his hair.

“It’s alright. I shouldn’t have said anything.” You responded with a light chuckle, reaching for his hand across the table.

You fiddled with his fingers, tracing your index finger over the tops of his knuckles. 

“No, no. I want you to tell me these things. I mean it.” He insisted.

Your head lolled up and down with a nod of understanding. Percy’s tense shoulders relaxed, making a mental note that studying didn’t equal a date. He’d remember that for next time for sure.

“So...what do you want to do?” Percy asked, flipping your hand and bringing it to his lips.

Your shoulders lifted and dropped in a shrug, your own cheeks heating at the sudden sweet gesture of his kiss on the back of your hand.

“I’m content like we are now. Just the two of us being together, you know?” You told him, your heart melting at the way his eyes brightened with reassurance.

“Now that I know how to do.”

[soranihimawari]

Click-Clack Heels

Upon my searches for prompts, this work is based on this list.

Kitten Heels makes Kuroo Tetsuro a very turned on man.

Timeskip!Officeboss Kuroo x Secretary! YN

🔞mdni: mentions of face riding, multiple orgasms, non-overly descriptive showersex, confessions post sexscapade

The heels. You knew better to wear those red pumps when your boss was around. You knew he would have made a pass at you, seeing as you’re coming in the same work clothes as yesterday. Your boss knew you were running later. After all, your hoarse voice was all he heard when he picked you to be his official secretary at his department level office suite. He knew his name was the one you cried out for in the middle of the night, your pencil skirt had many creases where there was none. Your tight work blouse, which he feigns not being upset about, is from his spare closet he uses when he works overnight. It does little to hide the remnants of last night’s hellish sexcapade. This all started when he kissed you drunk at the year end holidays party for his second term at the office. The voicemail he left you was quite cryptic, but endearing in an odd way:

“Our friends have been waiting for this to happen,”the goof was smiling through the receiver and you kept that on repeat when you had a series of bad dates down the new year.

“What a cheeky bastard,” you softly say, tracing your lips with the pads of your fingers.

Speaking of tight, did you see or even know how much tighter his pants have gotten when he heard you walking around your desk? Click-clack, click clack. It drove him up the wall considering how in one fatal swoop, all his photos and file folders for recruiting players for the JVA V league wound up on the floor? Maddening to even think it took you exactly one day to reorganize his social and official digital calendars, insane to think under a two week trial period you were able to impress the board pointing out a crucial error in the roster for the Olympic trials (a service ace to kill ratio at the time of review), and the final nail in the coffin?

Your affinity to wear any sort of kitten or pump style heels (encouraged, not required) when you are stepping into the office. Honestly you’re thankful you still have a job, after all, with you being a hit brash and bratty around your boss lately, you’re grateful no one else has yet to pick up on you being the one Kuroo Tetsuro has on his side: you look like an innocent lamb outside, but on any flat surface you’re a panther in the sack. In a stunning turn of events though, casual sex in the office turned into rough sex after a deal fell through and it became a habit to have each other on speed dial. Especially if one or both were particularly feeling needy.

To the outside world, you’re just the smoking hot, straight talking secretary who doesn’t flirt for free, but to your boss you’re so much more than that. So, when he comes up for air after you sit on his face to make a mess for him, his breath fans your well bitten and marked thighs reminding you of how much he loves the physicality of your commaderie.

You don’t ask him for much else, not tonight since it’s the anniversary of when his last conquest in the dating arena went up in flames about ninety days before an engagement party. You don’t ask if you remind him of her; you rather not find out. It’s the third time this week he has fucked you in his office after hours. Nor does he tell you anything else until after he drives to your side of town and you invite him inside.

The clocks read well past three in the morning when he holds you up against the cool tile of the shower and as he’s buried deep in you, you hear him whisper your name and the echoes of the words “mine, always and forever,” are the softest his voice has ever been to you, makes you weak. You hold him closer and you allow him to use you one last time before you ask him if means it. The water drips over his shoulder and he aggressively groans with your name on his lips along with confirming he meant it regardless of whether you’re conjoined or not. Your collective by product of bodily fluids are washed down the drain and you hiss when you’re separated.

He reminds you when he is drying himself off in front of your toilet, “to take a leak” before and after he makes you cum in the shower. Again. For the fourth time that month. You’re thankful for the IUD and other methods you’re cleared to use because to be fair, no one likes a pregnancy scare at this strange time of your life. Though, the thought of you being plump with child is an occurring dream his obaa-san tells him about.

If it’s causal sex, then he chooses to not bring it up, but when he saw Ling Nozomi, his office rival in terms of their shared (synonymous with the word rival) division, flirting with you, Kuroo chooses to literally see red, or was it green? It’s why he’s there with you now because he finally had a chance to be honest with himself. The answer was so simple and of course you might have to work in another division, but that’s ok because the JVA doesn’t have a clause against couples working together, but the only amendment was that they would have to be in different departments since it’s a conflict of interest if they were in the same one. So for now, you are instructed to keep up appearances as strictly professional until stated other wise. What you don’t know is how much paperwork has already been filled out on your behalf by your boss who watches you towel dry your hair after the toilet is heard being flushed. You sport a pair of sleep shorts with peaches patterned on them and a cut off midriff shirt from your days as a tumbling instructor for a youth gymnastics gym.

Minutes later, when you are nothing more than a tangle of limbs, you brought up the email you received:

“Seems like my transfer was approved boss,” you tack on the title with a teasing lilt in your voice. Kuroo reminds you of the latest miscalculation where your relationship was almost found out by the office gossip less than two days ago.

“Oh shit,” you mumble. An epiphany lights up behind your eyes. “Then I suppose you’re doing this to protect me?”

“Always gotta keep you safe, you’re my first priority,” Kuroo begins.

You hum.

“Look,” you do as you’re told.

Has he always been this innocent? Nah. Sickeningly sweet? Oh fuck Yes.

“Lovely heart of mine, you’re not ‘some rebound’, you never were,” he confesses just as you were about to fall asleep semi sky clad beneath the sheets. “Do you know how hard it was to convince my old teammates from Nekoma you were mine?”

That made you snort laugh recalling how in three hours, at a buffet his best friend rents for you all, you manage to work your way into the hearts of everyone. Hell, even you were able to exchange Nintendo friend codes with his best friend and you have been a rotating guest in his “Ken & friend play” streams. Lev, Yaku, and even Alisa when they can, send you birthday greetings or even shout you out on their social feeds when it’s your birth month.

Of course there have been occasions where you’ve come to V League games and sit court side wearing your favorite teams’ ICS jackets. Then what makes Kuroo’s heart do the doki-doki thing in real time, he witnesses how much Bokuto adores you for being uniquely you and you speak with words from your heart always after a well fought (and sometimes lost) set, just as much as Akaashi appreciates you being the second official keeper of brain cells between them. Kuroo stays up late one night video chatting with his three close friends with Tsukki who has had night shift duty (and his audio was on, not necessarily his camera). Kuroo’s compatriots and confidants advise him to be careful mixing his love life with business.

“But I have a good feeling about this one boys,” he retorts. And it dawned on the men on the other side of the phones. Kuroo must have had a softer, love-sick expression, when he was thinking about you. Sighing, Tsukki is the first one to tell him to make sure he means everything he just said about your taking the good with the bad, ‘red deviled heels and all.’ Kuroo knew what the blond meant in his own way: best be sure you’re over your ex because this game he started with you was not fair at all if he can’t devote himself so freely. Akaashi, who makes his living writing about young love, puts his two cents in: show you how much you helped mend his ‘unworthy’ self. Well that and how your presence seems to ebb away the tension in his shoulders nowadays since contracts were being renewed all the time. Regardless, Bokuto was the last ti voice his opinion: after growing up with two older sister, you would think he has the most to say, yet he reaffirms what his best friend ought to do….“tell her how you feel. You’ve already done those couples-things™️ for almost ten months. Shouldn’t you move from casual dates to official ones?”

Perspective is why he is here now in bed with you. You’re curled into him, although you’re being supported by a little stack of decorative pillows at the moment. You kiss him here and there, and in the false light of this room, the silence doesn’t scare either of you.

Surely Kuroo knows quality time is your love language, it’s why you ask him to stay in bed with you after third at home visit. Explaining how you’re human and have emotions and you’re not one to be treated as an escort makes him want to destroy that notion in your head. Once, in the earlier days before you accepted the job, he treats you to lunch since the interview portion was completely done. Over a slice of tiramisu, you decide to talk about your personal life after he does. You open up about previous partners who treated you like a random hookup toward the tail ends of your relationships, about the one who used to mock your style of dress in the early days of you finding a job post-grad.

“Your taste is-sorry-was shit,” he hides behind his espresso cup.

“Excuse me?”

He was honestly still sore about his latest private life blunder, but hearing you defend yourself makes him no call out your name after you angrily slam down a couple of yen to pay for your dessert, he realizes you take no one’s bullshit. You don’t have time to play, he realizes. Not when you thank him for lunch and wasting his time with you because “quite frankly sir, mind if I call you sir? No of course not (a frustrated sigh escapes your natural tinted lips), because if you bothered to read my application I was head manager for my college team. And just because I need this Z job to keep the lights on in my damn apartment my loving ex left me and-and…”

“You’re not a charity case,” he nods.

You finally, let the anger dissipate for a moment; just as a formality for the first ounce of sincerity to be exchanged here.

Then Kuroo recalls how you answered his questions. Your lax attire is the best suit you could afford at a thrift shop on such short notice, and you apologized for your less than professional appearance because you stayed up all night repairing a tear on the suit which was much more intensive than necessary especially since you tailored it by hand.

You impress him by doing the mental math of percentages when given a stack of a few years’ reports and your genius with numbers makes him wonder if this just a thing you developed or do all girls who like STEM let alone the sports maths ones are built like brick houses. Yet, your application for his personal secretary seemed an insult to your presence. Hell, when you were asked why he should hire you, you shoot back with a teasing grin: “because I just pointed out six crucial players who were underpaid for playing a winning match in the V League? Oh, and today’s your friend’s birthday. You should call…(your eyes squint at his sloppy handwriting) Tsukki-chan?”

From his side of the desk, Kuroo knew you were the right fit for the JVA. You ask if that’s all and your sugary voice sends shivers down his spine. So, perhaps having a handsome guy chase you down half the block after yelling over his shoulder, “to keep the change!,” and he jogs far enough to reach out to grasp your hand.

“Wait,” his voice cracks. “Please.”

“Let go,” you warn. Maybe being left alone in a pretty dress is a bit dramatic, yet when you are reminded of kindness of a stranger, you recognize your steel resolve melts when he gently strengthened his hold on your wrist.

He encourages you turn around when he addresses you again this time around with a much more gentler approach.

“Now, correct me if I’m wrong here bunny,” his voice drops an octave at the nickname. You hesitate to face him just yet until he gives you a reason to:

“But I don’t think you’re supposed to walk from a business meeting, especially with your new boss. We haven’t discussed your salary yet.”

The moment Kuroo, now your boss, let’s go of your hand, you turn around a smile on your face. It’s not forced, and here on the busy street, strangers think your lover earned his redemption arc for this part of your tumultuous (sex-charged?) relationship.

“Meet at the office at 7:30 Tuesday, I should have a copy of the keycard of my office made by then. Well, see you later Madame secretary-san,” he hugs you so as to dismiss the awkward stares from the bystanders.

The memory from last November fades, yet lately it’s been on the forefront of both your collective minds. If you knew then what you knew now, then perhaps opening up little by little is what makes you fall hook, line, and sinker. You stare back into those ambitious eyes of his and he nods.

“. . . Huh?”

“7:30 a.m., I usually take my coffee with a pinch of salt,” his voice soothes your baffled kink in your brow. He flicks your forehead for his own amusement, and you chortle. “If you’ve got a number in mind, just tell me then, ok?”

You gulp, and agree to his request. What an odd way to land a job which, by the way, pays you double what you need to get through the end of the lease. You renew in a new building, update your wardrobe, and are finally adjusting to being perpetually single come the Tanabata Festival the first year. You decide on payday, to splurge and see if you could…spruce up your footwear line up come Monday, since you wanted to wear red for luck. A big merger was happening and it was all banking on your boss’ silver tongue to guiding the latest transfer from Brazil’s contract negotiations for the MSBY-team. You adorn your office threads with a little bit of red embellishments, but your legs looked even better when you walked into the office bright and early that morning with a cup of coffee in one hand, and files in the other. Kuroo was on the phone and he was so animated in selling his deal that when you walked in initially, he paid no mind to your presence. I mean, could you blame him for being stressed out? No, not really. You place the cup down in front of his nose and he hangs up moments later before he calls your name.

“Yes?”

Click-clack, swipe. You spun around to face his desk. There is a an unspoken hunger emanating from the way he eyes your figure. Sure, the wardrobe update was nice; what was it with him and color red you’d never figure out. Until you realize the combination made Kuroo’s face turn a delightful shade of hot pink from the tips of his ears to the sides of his neck. Then it strikes you: black nylons, ‘neko-chan’ red blazer, kitten/sensible high heels, button up white satin ivory shaded blouse: you looked like a PTA-wine aunt who needed to teach someone a lesson. Preferably in her boss’ office no less. Why did your mind go to the red lights district ever since you caught him checking you out at the coffee station on the third floor cafeteria? Oh, oh no. He’s walking toward you now, and you figure two can play at this game.

“Stop right there,” he warns. His smirk is now filled with a curious hint because you listen so well, it’s a compliment.

“Is-is this for me?”

The fabric is way to expensive, it feels foreign and rough against the former captain’s hands. However, the pout he wears makes him suddenly shy and awkward, just as you figured he might have been in the past. Suddenly you think he’s hot for teacher, when in actuality, he just was burning for you. You who made sure his work-life-balance was even; you who had a weird way of short-handing him notes from yesterday’s budget meeting; you even crack a smile from him when you put an old man in his place saying how much faith you have in the young man in the room. Gods above, if he were a hero in his next life, he hopes he finds you because red truly is his lucky color when you ask him if he likes the new threads.

“You dressed up for me?”

“Ah…” you’re fishing for an answer and before you know it, your back presses against a wall next to the blind spot in the three-fourth open-windowed office. Kuroo is tall, much taller than you when he stands in front of you, far enough to touch your clothes; but close enough to kabedon you like he had wanted to since the fancy Halloween party. You confide in him you’re his until the current song ends; fancy parties means fancier clothes and as a networking opportunity, he asks you to dance once when he hears you turn down the intern in the advertisement department.

“How long do we have until my first meeting secretary-chan?”

“As long as you need, Tetsuro,” you reply.

“First name basis already?”

His smile grows smaller, is-is he blushing? Wait a minute. You heard about the office gossip, and you don’t believe it until you truly look at your boss in the face.

“Oh my god, you’re such an idiot,” you roll your eyes when you hold his chin and pull him forward toward you until your lips meet for the first time. You keep him there for a few seconds longer than necessary. All the bells in your collective heads are quiet when he leans back to break the kiss.

“I’m sorry—”

He knows he’s an idiot, right? He ought to have thought this was where you saw him once you came to terms with finally, finally being in a better mindset physically, mentally, emotionally. However, you thought it was a straight rejection and you apologize by ducking under the arm he used to hide your frightened nervous stare. The pupils constrict and dilate when you breathe against his lips, ghosting over his own when you apologize again.

“I shouldn’t have—”

Regaining your composure and smoothing out the fabric of your shirt, you make a note of buying sesame balls for lunch at the dim sum place on Fifth Avenue later on. You hold your personal iPad to your chest and reach for the door knob. You don’t have a dejected aura around you anymore now that you awkwardly fix your hair behind your ears. You wore rose gold paw print earrings that day and you should have heard how Kuroo’s brain told him to get ready for work but now his heart is lodged in his throat. It’s trapped in the vocal chords.

“Meeting’s at 7:50 sir.”

The door clicks close behind you. You open the door and leave. You don’t see nor bump into Kuroo when you take the secret shortcut to the vending machines he showed you during your first week in the office. Kuroo, young city slicker, has fallen under the spell you spin when you wear your favorite pair of shoes.

“What the fuck was that?”

Kuroo clicks his tongue and whets his bottom lip. You’re wearing the vanilla lip stain again. You only wear it when you feel lucky. And the epiphany hits him like a dream sequence in a theatre soliloquy about love: how you complain m&ms and popcorn are sold separately when you score tickets to ‘Film Noir in the Park’ and ask him to join you (he self invited his ass, but you didn’t mind), when you got him friendship muffins when he got chewed out about missing an important deadline before you came in to work officially, the tanabata festival where you try on different masks and he still has yet to give you the ‘JVA’s best secretary’ mug in his drawer for secretary appreciation days, and finally the way you trusted him to lead you in a slow jam dance where you’re completely his until the final note blends back into the house-styled music pouring through the speakers—Kuroo Tetsuro is a goner, but he pulls himself together long enough to arrange an old friend’s flight back home to literally jump start their v league career.

Hours later, with your current punch out logged, you end your day where you began. In his office, but this time? The air changed the moment he asks you if you meant it. He taps his lips, coy though he played, he gauges your reaction.

“I’m not apologizing,” you cross your arms over your chest. God damn buttons struggling to stay clasped.

“I wasn’t asking you to cherie,” he says. He pushes himself off the desk he was leaning against and walks around to his chair and sits down. He beckons you to join him in one, two, beckoning motions with his hands. You take a small step forward, then another, until you’re right next to where he stood earlier.

“I like the view from here,” you lean over the paper calendar with his handwriting.

“Funny,” he stands up to meet you halfway. “So do I.”

This second kiss was the kind to leave you gasping. Hands were dangerously roaming yours and his egregious zones. Making you burn hotter until you hear him breathe against your temple, he’s so noisy, you’ve come to admire that. You, you’re stronger than you look, but regardless he lets you climb his desk until you’re kneeling in front of him to be at eye level.

“I wonder what other sounds you make,” you whisper against his cheek, adjusting his tie to be a little more snug around his neck. He groans.

“Madame, you’re playing with fire,” he warns, nipping the plump flesh of your cheek.

“So. Are. You.” A kiss for every punctuation you said.

It’s way after hours and between the semi-public half-dressed make out session, you realize one of two things: one, Kuroo Tetsuro of the JVA is smoother than melted butter on westernized pancakes; and two, your body has been going through a drought and subsequently if he knew how your fingers and toys at home don’t compare to his, you’re fucked. Well, not yet anyways. It starts here, the tensions the desire to feel loved and wanted, and the obsession with the very idea of you in dressed up heels in his office makes the work-life-sex-trifecta balance whole.

Casual sex was what it was and now it ushered in a no-strings attached silent clause of its own if only you and him were brave enough to have the conversation about placing a label on whatever situation-ship this was. Does it help that your auntie visits you one morning in the city? Absolutely not because now you’re at your favorite hole-in-the-wall ramen shop with her and your boss who, thankfully was enjoying his own solo dinner at the singles bar down the road. You texted him and he immediately bails is Bokuto-bro’s birthday party and greets you.

“He’s your boss? Aya-girl, reintroduce me when he your boyfrien’,” she winks at him and you notice how flushed his cheeks get.

“Auntie,” you growl. She pours more sake in your glass and then his.

“What? He’s much better than the old one,” she continues. “You know. The one who left you at the altar for the slut next door?”

Kuroo chokes on his sip of water and you wish the earth would swallow you whole. Your auntie though, was three sheets to the wind drunk you explain as you pushed her gently into her cab and gave the driver extra tip money to send her to the hotel she stays at.

Kuroo escorts you to his building. It’s been three months into this adventure with you and the occasional fucking, ok ok, maybe not in the office anymore, just hot make out sessions in the roof top bathroom/janitor supply closet. You never came over his house, only a handful of times to wake him up for conference calls and you were typically by the company car.

“Is it true?” His voice cracks, he knows why he’s nervous again.

“It was a long time ago,” you sigh. You pout looking hip at the halo around the moon.

“I’ve got time if you want to come up.”

You take him up on the offer not noticing you had already arrived at his place. Over a cup of earl gray tea with cream, you pour out your Hallmark/Lifetime tear jerker movie about how first loves after a whirlwind romance was just a facade to keep parents in an arranged marriage happy. The split was coming and you forgo noticing all the signs, not like you cared anyway.

“And you’ve never been in love with love since?”

“Mmhm. I’ve had my share of one night stands, and trust me I might not be a virgin, but I’m clean,” you show him a prominent scar where a student nurse drew blood for a monthy sexual health screening on campus once upon a time. Kuroo holds your hand and gives it a polite yet empathetic squeeze. You don’t realize you’re anger slips down from your eyes until he swipes them away with his thumb.

“Kuroo—”

“Tetsuro, it sounds better when you say it,” he greets you to chortle.

“Ok, then,” your grip tightens around his hand from earlier. “Go slow.”

He kisses your forehead. “I was planning on going at your place tonight.”

His lips past over your brow, down your jaw, and when he noticed your eyes are closed, he tilts your chin up and slots his lips against yours. It’s strong, like a reaffirming hug from an old friend, and filled with a resolute kindness. His hands move from your face to the hair clip pining back your cotton candy-conditioned styled hair, the other makes quick work of undoing your buttons. You work just as quickly matching the pace he sets you on. Before you two get too carried away, you cup his face and ask him if he’s really ok with this.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” His smug grin kisses your cheek. “I have this smoking hot baddie of a secretary in my arms right now and you hear your aunt.”

You laugh and it sends his soul to the ozone layer.

“If you were to ask me your chances of reintroducing you as my boss, turned boyfriend, I’d say your chances are 30/70. Gotta make you earn it pretty boy.”

For the first time in a long time, your dry period ends with you chanting his name on the tips of your tongue until you finally break in the post glow. His kitchen smells like foreplay and his room where you are tangled in the throes of unfiltered passion has you match his tenacity on the mattress. His hands are everywhere and nowhere until you feel him scratch your back saying he’ll pull you up off the sheets.

“D-damn it,” your voice is raw with wonton loved confessions. Mostly you say his name between affirming you’re fine and you have an IUD since you were entering more adult relationships as tumultuous as this one. Thankfully, you help heel each other the best way you know how, even if it means you heal yourself tangled with a kindred soul. Where an ex caused damage, he heals you with a smile. Without fail and when you have to call in sick, he’s the first one to text you whining about where you put his itinerary, but honestly it was just because you were still adjusting to the dynamic working for the sports association.

Here, in his bed where he was finally able to claim you as his body and soul, he needs your warning. Of course, this changes nothing-no-just two people figuring out how to heal the other without causing more damage.

You’re breathing like you ran a marathon. He wraps the thinner blanket around where you two are still joined at the hips and you feel the twitch of his member from within. Then you pull the ruffled heap of the duvet around your rib cage.

“You-fucking hell love- like it,” he kisses your clavicle. He rolls his hips and you almost see the stars. Kuroo’s ragged breathing against your neck when he hides from your all seeing eyes made you swallow a laugh; your arms comfort him. His back tenses from the gentle hold you have. And you buck against his hips to catch his attention. You play with the dampened locks of his hair; the room reeks of sex and maybe a few hints of pine.

“Mm, can-can’t argue,” you force yourself to say. “Tetsuro-cocky bastard… ‘mmf!-yeah, actually I like that.”

There is a want there fueled by the need to be consumed by the other like a moth to the flame.

“I got you gorgeous,” his hands support you when you trust fall back in his arms, encouraging you ride out your high. You feel the taut coil within draw closer to being snapped by him and it’s a wonder why his sincerity of good composure cracks when you’re so statuesque to him.

“Let go for me, yeah?” Kuroo swallows one of your moans in a heated kiss. You grip his shoulder in order to use your legs to draw him closer to you again. His breathing is more steady now and you both are dying for a release until he calls your name and your eyes snap open, pupils dilated in ecstatic when you hear him say, “Got one more in ya, I know you do darl…”

In the present, with you holding him close like this in your bed this time, he remembers why you’re worth the trouble. You’ve come a long way and your mug he gives you joins the vase he gifts you on white day saying you were the office sweetheart and you needed a vase for all those flower deliveries on your birthday and coincidentally any special occasion your team seems to deem worthy of including you in.

Your desk soon becomes a memorabilia timeline from your first day on the job to the latest photo of you wearing a Nekoma VBC track jacket one Halloween when you wore sneakers and amber contacts to the pub crawl party with his university friends. Kuroo has to thank Akaashi for sending him the photo of you buying shots and almost winning against Iwa-chan in an arm wrestling match. Slowly but surely you were infiltrating and changing his life and now when your auntie calls, you can say you’re seeing someone. Sometimes you don’t bring up Kuroo’s name at all because you don’t want to jeopardize what you have even if it’s sex under the guise of friendship at the time.

On the other hand, this changes things. They start with small acts of service: picking you up in the company car, followed by an extra hot espresso, and frequent lunch dates whether for business/networking or between two colleagues. In exchange, he picks up on the love language you know: you lift his mood when you leave behind kit-kats and a nerf gun for senior retirement day. You’re playful and usually there is a photo of Nozomi on a dart board you custom ordered for a secret gift exchange. Even now, slowly but surely a few people in the office notice the change in attitude from the seemingly sleeping tigress who is sharply dressed in better fitting clothes. It all comes to a head when work became too much and overtime was approved like cray; the distance taught you both how to look forward to the weekends you often spend together away from prying eyes.

One day, while balancing a pen under his nose, Your boss notices the way he yearns is different now too. His mind was once thinking for himself, but now? Now it’s “where shall we eat” and “do you think secretary-chan would like this pen?”...

This kind of love is messy, but to fall for you, it’s worth it, so Kuroo chooses to follow his friends’ collective advice roughly seven long months after the lunar new year:

Kuroo’s hands have remained softer through the current years since he didn’t really continue playing volleyball, but the amount of paperwork he filled out by pen everyday made his calloused return. You love how kind they felt on your body as they run through the top of your towel dried hair. You glance up at him, a curious stare is all your tired eyes give him. Behind that well earned stare is the echoes of love he proves.

“Is that right sir?”

Kuroo sheepishly bites his lips. Then, he mirthfully laughs, pressing kisses everywhere he can reach.

“C’meer bunny.”

“Ack! Too sweet kisses!”

You playfully say before you’re pulled into the comfort of his embrace. Elsewhere in your loft, the washer is heard rumbling and the red pumps you wore are right next to your closet. His kiss-attack is paused a moment or so when he notices your diluted in post sex-glow eyes stare back at his own, a warmth radiates from you he was never quite akin to.

The fire he feels against his finger tips is the similar to the one he knows manifests when he headed to the court for the first time as captain. And there was absolutely nothing stopping Kuroo Tetsuro, your good-looking in a three piece wearing suit, young lad of a boss, from diving head first (literally and figuratively) into your love.