#plus it is really presumptuous to say that you know for a fact that somebody has x internalized bigotry

[uncanny-tranny]

The thing about internalized bigotry is that you can't effectively and ethically say, "if you don't do [x], you have [internalized bigotry]," especially unprovoked.

Internalized bigotry can be very individual, in a society that hates certain groups, we can internalize that in different ways, influenced by our own cultures and backgrounds. Internalized bigotry isn't a set of commandments we adhere by, and it is unethical to come up to somebody and essentially accuse them of certain internalized bigotries.

I have personal experience with internalized bigotry, and I can attest that people telling me that my internalized bigotry is a personal failing and that I can only "fix" myself by immediately doing x or y isn't helpful.

If you want to help people working through internalized bigotry, what I think is helpful is giving them the space to figure out what they want to do and how they want to go about those internalized bigotries. If they ask you your opinion or thoughts, be thoughtful. I understand the desire to want to provide all the answers, to be their saviour, but it very well may overwhelm somebody because they might not be ready to fully embrace that which they were told to despise in themself.

[delusion-of-negation]

top 10 (ish) ridiculous or annoying FAQs:

(click at your own discretion)

1) "kids today rely on others to do everything"

ah yes, damn those participation trophies! if it wasn't for them my hands wouldn't be fucked, and I wouldn't need people to write for me. but seriously, stop reading boomer comics, and go outside to meet some actual young people.

2) "sus that a non-american says mom"

yeah, because it's clearly the superior version, and I'm not too patriotic to concede a defeat.

3) "sweaty, the victims of abuse by catholics are real people, stop appropriating their pain just because you want to hate catholics; plus teachers abuse people just as often anyway"

so firstly, I don't hate anybody. and secondly, regarding the fact that victims really do exist, [insert "of course I know him, he's me" meme here]; although I don't often talk much about the abuse I went through or what my religious beliefs are. but, more importantly, statements like "survivors are people" can be phrased like "some people are survivors", and when you're unable to act according to the latter (like when you don't even consider that somebody might be one) then you display a failure to recognise the former - you're projecting; a survivor can't be appropriating their own pain, but you can be appropriating it to silence one. and thirdly, teachers do abuse - the problem isn't and has never been purely religion, rather that abuse is often done by somebody in a position of trust, power, and familiarity; and that the lack of a global minimum enables totally legal abuse on top of the illegal stuff. people with access and respect have more opportunity to abuse than those without, and that goes for teachers too. but, once again, you can be appropriating the pain of survivors to deflect and silence people. please remember this before you say that shit.

4) "get help/therapy"

way ahead of you - years ahead of you. but it's not magic - people who say this often act as if you'll start behaving differently overnight. not only are some things simply beyond the ability of talking therapy to completely rectify, it also takes time and has to be selective. you've got to pick your priorities, and that's definitely not whatever ship or joke you're mad at me about today. therapy is a slow, arduous process that can't guarantee results - it isn't "anti-recovery" to recognise that, it's honesty. while I've been in therapy for a long time, it is not necessarily going to change whatever you don't like about me - whether that's because it can't, because my focus now is on more important or urgent things, or because I don't want to change that.

5a) "tell your family you ship incest, see how that goes; normal people find it disgusting"

actually, some know, and they're fine with it. in fact, one prefers sibling pairings in fiction to all other dynamics because, to paraphrase, "it's a deeper level of messed up co-dependence". so unfortunately for you, my remaining family (by which I mean those not dead or cut out of my life after abuse and so forth) actually are able to distinguish between fiction and reality. plus, my reasoning for caring if they find it gross or not pertains only to recommending books and such - their opinions do not dictate my tastes.

5b) "don't sexualise/appropriate incestuous abuse" and "I bet you enjoyed being raped" and other attempts to upset me over 5a

firstly, as I've already said here, survivors can't be appropriating ourselves. in addition, you're not owed people's history or trauma - it's not okay to require people's personal information, or else you'll send anon hate and accusations of appropriation. secondly, I'm not sexualising our abuse (not just because I write horror, and so a lot of my writing is intended to be creepy, not sexy); these stories aren't about us, they're not us at all. entire dynamics/people (fictional or otherwise) aren't all going to be applicable to us or identical to us, just because they have something in common with us; they're not us and they're not accountable to us. thirdly, the fact that people send this stuff (attempting to trigger people's trauma over ships) is so much more worrying to me than somebody making our communal imaginary friends kiss. you're trying to hurt people. and finally, to the "I bet you enjoyed it" crowd (if you're at all serious): do you think you'd enjoy being in a real zombie apocalypse, alone, afraid, and really at risk of being eaten alive? a fictional scenario does not feel remotely the same as a real one. this isn't rocket science - things that look like you aren't you; fiction isn't reality; don't send anon hate. (edit: comparable "just leave me alone, I'm not hurting anyone" sentiments for yandere stuff, and anything else you decide I'm naughty for.)

6) "you'll be sent off to do manual labour once your communist revolution happens"

while I don't know why people think that I'm a communist, a dictatorial regime probably isn't going to want me to do manual labour. they're more likely to just shoot me; I'm useless and a liability. call me crazy, but something tells me that "ah yes, we shall give ze deranged cripple ze power tools" isn't the communist position.

7a) "they/them can't be singular pronouns"

yes they can, and they're used as such in both shakespeare and the bible. but you don't have to say this - I'm also okay with he/him, so you could've just used those and chilled out. also, do I look like somebody who views the rules of grammar as fully immutable and imperative?

7b) "enbies/aros/pan/etc aren't valid"

do you really think that you're going to change any hearts or minds by putting that in my ask box or under my funny maymays? chill out, it's not worth the effort - you could be planning a party (in minecraft) and having fun instead. it isn't worth my time to rant at everybody who's saying something isn't valid, updating how I'm explaining it as my opinions grow and general discourse around it evolves; I'm just who I am, somebody else is who they are - why bicker in presumptuous ways about if that's enough? it ultimately is valid, in my opinion, but that isn't an invitation to keep demanding that I debate. (edit: old posts of mine probably don't phrase things incredibly, on this or anything... I tried.)

8) "what are your politics?"

my politics are informed first and foremost by the knowledge that I'm not cut out to be some kind of leader - I don't want to be the guy who tells everyone else what to do, I just offer what seem to me like valid criticisms of how we are doing things now, and general pointers on the values and ethics that I would prefer to move towards. things like individual freedom, taking the most pacifist route where possible, trying not to give excessive power to small groups of people (governments or corporations), helping those in need even when they're not palatable, and letting me suck loads of dicks. but please refrain from decreeing me something - there's not enough information in what I said, so you'll just be filling in the blanks with assumptions. (edit: workplace democracy seems cool to me; benefits are good; fair fines and taxes; and the "sperm makes you loopy" saga: 1, 2, 3, and 4.)

9) "you're a narcissist"

no, I don't meet the diagnostic criteria. joking on the internet that you're hot doesn't make a person a narcissist. the fact that I've chosen to keep my actual self-esteem issues to myself is not proof that they don't exist - you're just not entitled to that information about me. but it's also not narcissism to really like how you look. (edit: don't throw labels around carelessly too.)

10a) "kin list?"

the fabric of the universe, a zombie, dionysus, maned wolf/arctic fox hybrid, a comedian, big gay, big rock, ambiguously partial insincerity. (edit: kin list may or may not be incomplete.)

10b) "kin isn't valid/that's just being insane"

haven't we established that I'm deranged, and that sending stuff like this on anon is simply a waste of your precious time? besides, I do not care if it's invalid or insane - it's fun, I'm happy. (edit: see 7b for my opinion on sending me yet another ask with "that's invalid" in it; I'm not in the mood to discuss the nature of validity.)

bonus: "it gets better" and "trigger list?"

as I've said before, things just don't always get better for everyone - sometimes things can't be cured or even treated, sometimes they kill you; in some cases it could get better if not for a blockade or lack of time. the world is messy. it needs to be more normalised to reassure or comfort people without relying on saying that their issue will get better or be cured. it does suck to be this ill, but it also sucks to be made out to be a lazy pessimist, just because I have the audacity to not play along. and as for the trigger list, I don't like providing people with an easily accessed list of ways to hurt my feelings or harm me - upsetting me is supposed to be challenging, and thus rewarding. if you want a cheat sheet then you're out of luck, I'm afraid.

bonus #2: "FAQ stands for frequently asked questions, it doesn't need that s at the end!"

yeah, I know, I just enjoy chaos and disarray.

bonus #3 (edit): "what are your disabilities and how exactly are they incurable and/or deadly?"

again, I don't tell the internet everything about me, especially when it poses a risk, especially not as an easily accessible list for you to refer back to whenever you feel inclined to hurt my feelings. that is understandably a sore subject. (edit: that includes physical health issues btw.)

bonus #4 (edit): "so we shouldn't be critical?"

if it wasn't clear from my answer about politics or my post in general, you can have opinions about things, and you can voice that. it's just not realistic to exist at extremes: to think that you alone should dictate what exists in fiction, or to think that people shouldn't be expressing disdain or criticism of any calibur. say how you feel about things, that's fine, but it's also fine if people find that they don't value your input. plus we're all flawed, we can all be hypocritical from time to time, we all get bitchy, and we all make mistakes, or even knowingly fuck things up. that's important to keep in mind, whether we're talking about the one being criticised or the one doing the criticising - poor choices of words, imperfect tone, or contradictory ideas are inevitably going to happen occasionally.

congrats on reaching the end! if you have, at any point, said one of these to me, you owe a hug to your nearest loved one (once it's safe).

edit: might add more links/bonus points in the future when I think of things, but it's late now. (sorry for links where prior notes in the thread have my old url, that may get a tad confusing; also, not all links are my blog or my op, since it is to illustrate points/vibes, not to self-promo.)

[nightofthemeteor]

Falconry/Bonsai

(Also here on AO3)

“Tobirama, can you come help me with something?”

“What?” came the disgruntled answer from down the hall.

Hashirama stuck his head out the door. “I need you to take a picture for my Instagram!”

He could hear his little brother stomping down the hallway, so Hashirama returned to his table and picked up a pair of pruning shears, considering the lighting in the room and the best angle to take a photo. A moment later, Tobirama walked into the room, saw Hashirama, and immediately turned around and walked out.

“Hey! Come back!”

“No way,” said Tobirama, without turning around. “I am not taking a picture of you in your underwear.”

“I’m not in only my underwear!” Hashirama protested. “I’m wearing a shirt!” Granted, it was the shortest shirt he owned, and it did leave a substantial strip of skin bare, but still.

“Can I ask,” Tobirama said witheringly, stopped in the doorway but without turning around, “Why you’re posing for a half-naked picture to put on your gardening blog? Don’t tell me you’re that desperate for exposure.” He was forced to turn around for this last part, because he had to raise his eyebrows at Hashirama to make sure he got the double entendre.

“Very funny, Tobirama. No, it’s not for more followers.” Although that could be a nice side effect, come to think of it. “It’s a…” Hashirama knew there was a word for this, if only he could remember – “Thirst trap!” he announced, proud of himself for getting the terminology right.

Tobirama wrinkled his nose. “Please never say that again, Anija. Do I know the person you’re posting this for?”

“Nah – I just met him yesterday! I ran into him on the subway as I was bringing home this very bonsai.” Hashirama affectionately patted the pot containing his newest leafy charge, a lovely boxwood tree rescued from the back shelves of a garden store on the other side of town. “I’m telling you, Tobirama, this tree is good luck!”

“Are you out of your mind, Anija? You gave your Instagram handle to some random stranger on the subway, and now you’re posting – ” Tobirama made a vague, sort of circular gesture to encompass Hashirama’s general state of undress “ – for him to see? I’m begging you to have just a shred of common sense.”

“No, this guy is fine, I promise! I have excellent judgement about this sort of thing.” Tobirama crossed his arms and gave him a flat look that said, Your judgement is terrible and we both know it. Hashirama sighed. “If you help me, I’ll buy you that expensive, iced coffee you like,” he wheedled.

“Two coffees,” Tobirama snapped. “And when you end up with some creepy stalker, I’m not going to help you.”

“Yes! Thank you!” Hashirama shoved his phone into Tobirama’s hands before he could change his mind and struck a pose next to the boxwood, shears in hand. He’d just finished pruning the tree, in fact – this picture was to show off his handiwork with the bonsai, too. The guy on the subway - Madara, he'd said his name was - had asked about it, after all. “Is the shape of the tree still good from that angle?”

“It’s fine,” Tobirama sighed in exasperation, and then, apparently resigned to his role, added: “Maybe turn it clockwise a little.”

Hashirama complied, spending a few more seconds arranging the miniature branches. “Did you get your exam marks back yet?” he asked, to keep Tobirama occupied while he fussed with the tree.

“Just got my mark for organic chem,” his brother replied, lips pressed together in an angry pout. “One point away from perfect. I swear, that TA was just trying to find some excuse to take marks away; he was a huge asshole to me all semester, just because I pointed out his synthesis problems had more than one correct solution.”

That explained why Tobirama was even grumpier than usual. “Well, you must have done an excellent job, if this TA could only find one point to take away,” Hashirama tried, in an attempt to mollify him; Tobirama’s stony expression remained unchanged. “Plus, the year is over, so you’ll never have to deal with him again!”

That got a grudging half-smile out of Tobirama. “Yeah – at least there’s that. Are you ready, Anija? I want to get this over with.”

---

The picture was…it was…different from the majority of Hashirama’s posts. Madara had been stalking his Instagram for the past half hour – was it really stalking if the guy had given him his handle and invited him to look for updates on the bonsai he’d been carrying? Probably not, right? – Madara had been looking at his Instagram for the past half hour, and it was all innocent pictures of trees, flowers, and houseplants, meticulously cared for and clearly thriving. Occasionally, Hashirama’s smiling face appeared in the background of a photo, or his hand showed up in a close-up to showcase some clippings, but there was nothing like…that. Broad shoulders in a loosely draped shirt; smooth skin over taut muscle at his stomach; sharp hipbones leading down to –

“What are you looking at, Nii-san?”

Madara jumped, fumbled his phone, and dropped it onto his chest. “Izuna! How many times do I have to tell you to knock?”

“Oh, it was porn? Sorry,” said Izuna, sticking his face obnoxiously through the crack between Madara’s bedroom door and the wall.

“It wasn’t porn,” Madara replied reflexively, before realizing that not only was he now going to have to provide an explanation, but he sort of had been looking at porn. Almost. “It’s this guy I met yesterday,” Madara mumbled at his phone. “I'm on his Instagram.”

“You met someone?!” Izuna exclaimed in delight. Madara sighed – there was no keeping his little brother out of his business now. Sure enough, Izuna threw open his door the rest of the way and bounded over to sit next to Madara on the bed. “How did this miracle occur?”

“It was…kind of accidental.” Madara wasn’t exactly the sociable type, and he certainly didn’t strike up conversations with strangers on public transit – in fact, he usually did his best to maintain a menacing aura so that people didn’t talk to him. But yesterday, after staring for probably a solid five minutes at the impressively muscled forearms of the guy standing in front of him, Madara had realized even those muscles might get tired of holding an entire bonsai tree, and he should probably offer the guy his seat. The man had accepted the offer with a very genuine-sounding thanks, and then had proceeded to flash Madara an implausibly sunny grin, gesture to the bonsai in his lap, and say, “Trees-ed to meet you!”. The line was so terrible Madara hadn't been able to let it go without comment, and before he knew what was happening, he’d been talking to the guy for twenty minutes and had acquired his Instagram handle.

“Well, can I see a picture?” Izuna demanded.

Madara winced, rapidly weighed his options, and reluctantly unlocked his phone to show Izuna the picture he’d been looking at. Izuna, shockingly, didn’t comment on the nature of the photo, but squinted down at it and said, “Hm…I think I know that guy.”

“You do?”

“I’m pretty sure I met him on campus one time, when I was waiting for your lab to finish. He was waiting for someone too, so we chatted for a few minutes. Nice guy.”

With sudden, dawning horror, Madara asked, “Was he hitting on you?”

“No, no! Nothing like that. I think he’s just a friendly type of person.”

Well, a man who flirted with anything that moved – or worse, Izuna – would have been a crushing disappointment, but a ‘friendly type of person’ was nearly as bad. Hashirama had given him his Instagram handle and told him to watch for a post with an update on ‘his’ bonsai, and said bonsai update had included a half-naked Hashirama. Madara had nearly dared to interpret that as interest…but if Hashirama was just a ‘friendly type of person,’ Madara could have been reading the cues entirely wrong. Perhaps their conversation yesterday had just been a fun way to pass the time, and the photo was intended for somebody else.

As if reading his mind, Izuna said, “You should ask him out for drinks or something.”

“I followed his Instagram,” Madara announced, “And that is exactly the number of moves I am willing to make. I’m busy, you know – I can’t go chasing all the time like you.” Just one of many excellent reasons to save that picture for his fantasies and never meet the real person ever again.

“You just finished marking all your exams,” Izuna countered. “I know you’re not that busy. Come on, Nii-san, be reasonable: when are you ever going to get another chance like this again?”

“Thanks for that, Izuna,” Madara muttered. Who said he was even interested in dating, anyways? Relationships were messy, confusing, and time-consuming; not at all worth the hassle –

Madara’s phone buzzed. Instagram message from Hashirama: Hey, sorry if this is presumptuous, but do you want to meet up for drinks sometime?

Madara stared at his screen. Then, disbelieving, he held out the phone for Izuna to read. A stunned moment of silence, and then Izuna shrieked, “You have to go!”

Well, maybe this wasn’t quite as complicated as Madara had feared. Izuna was right; he wasn’t that busy. Pursing his lips in concentration, Madara typed out a reply.

---

Tobirama had been completely wrong, as it turned out: Madara was neither a creep nor a stalker. He was a grad student with an acerbic tongue, passionate opinions, and a lovely embarrassed blush. Hashirama had become so absorbed in the conversation he’d completely forgotten to order more drinks, which was seriously unlike him – although, since he’d made up his mind to pay for the date, it was probably for the best.

“I can’t believe I’m here,” Madara remarked abruptly, somewhere around hour three or four.

“You mean existentially?”

“Literally here, in a bar, having drinks with you,” Madara clarified. “I mean – my younger brother is convinced I’m incapable of socializing. He was probably planning to set me up with one of his friends from…art school…” He leveled a suspicious glare at Hashirama as he said these last few words. “He didn’t put you up to this, did he? What’s he paying you?”

“It wasn’t your brother,” said Hashirama seriously. “It was the bonsai.”

“The bonsai paid you to take me out for drinks?”

“The bonsai brought us together.” Hashirama raised his glass; Madara followed suit, looking a little bemused but playing along, nonetheless. “To the bonsai!” Hashirama announced. He drained his glass, surreptitiously watched the way Madara’s throat moved as he drank, and thought. Tobirama would definitely judge him for thinking it, but though Hashirama barely knew Madara, he felt an immediate connection to him. He didn’t want to lose this opportunity.

“Madara,” he said. Madara looked at him with his dark, expressive eyes, shadows from his hair falling across his face, and Hashirama bit his lip. Careful, he thought. “I really am glad you’re here, in this bar, having drinks with me.”

Madara flushed again, his cheeks and the tips of his ears turning red; Hashirama wondered if he could make Madara flush anywhere else. “I’m glad, too,” he said, low and a little shaky, as though he was unused to saying things like that.

Hashirama immediately abandoned his caution of just a moment before and said, “Do you want to get out of here? We can go to my place – my brother won’t be home.”

“Yes,” said Madara. “Yes, definitely.”

---

Hashirama had the bonsai – Madara’s bonsai, the one he’d toasted that evening – set up in pride of place in his bedroom. That should have prompted Madara to suspect Hashirama had planned for this to happen, and make him annoyed at Hashirama’s confidence. He should also have been a lot more panicked when he looked at Hashirama’s face, sleepy and content, with his previously immaculate hair tangled on the pillow, and felt a tug somewhere under his sternum. Instead, he looked at that bonsai on his way out of the room and thought, Thanks.

Hashirama’s apartment wasn’t very large, considering it housed two people, but it was still annoying to search for the bathroom in an unfamiliar place. Madara had been sure Hashirama had told him it was down the hall on the left, but now he was in the entranceway. He was about to retrace his steps and try again when he heard a key jingling in the door.

“Hey, Anija, I just came back for – ” The man in the doorway spotted Madara and froze. Madara, too, had frozen in horror, because even in the dim light he’d immediately recognized Hashirama’s brother.

“You!” yelped Senju Tobirama.

“No,” Madara said, backing up a step. “Absolutely not.”

Tobirama pointed an accusing finger at him. “I was supposed to be done with you!” he hissed. “You took off that one mark on purpose, didn’t you?”

“Oh, because you think all your solutions are perfect, do you?” He’d certainly acted that way all through that torturous organic chemistry class.

“Tobirama?” came Hashirama’s concerned voice from the hallway.

“Tell me you’re not sleeping with my TA, Anija!” Tobirama practically wailed, and suddenly, Madara’s annoyance at the appearance of his least favourite student was replaced with pure schadenfreude.

“I’m afraid he very much is,” he said, before Hashirama could reply. “So you’d better get used to seeing a lot of me.” And to his great satisfaction, he watched Hashirama’s face brighten in delight, and Tobirama’s drop in utter horror.

[lovemesomerafael]

Best That You Can Do               Chapter 2:  The Surprise

Not-dead Mike Dodds x Original female character (Of course there’s smut, he deserves it)

Read Chapter 1    Read it on AO3

Mike Dodds.  Mike fucking Dodds.  Kaitlyn can’t get him out of her mind.  She has to give it to the Chief; his kid is everything he said he was. He’s also a cheating piece of shit. Kaitlyn hates everything about what happened that night.  She hates that she was so blown away by him the second they met, she hates that she came on like a thirsty ho, she hates that every moment they spent together had been electric, and she hates that it all ended because his damned girlfriend called while he was still in her bed.  But more than all of that, she hates that she absolutely cannot stop thinking about him.

It’s been three days now, and she can still feel the way he kissed.  Still gets aftershocks thinking about his body and the way he made her feel. It’s not helping that she works with his father, whom he looks an awful lot like, and who has about a hundred pictures of him all over his office.  The Chief actually jokingly asked her if she was avoiding him, because she has been avoiding his office, and all those damn pictures.  But she’s got a job to do, and she’s old enough to be able to get over a mistaken one-night stand.  She needs to pull it together.  

The Chief had asked her about him the next morning, and she’d almost jumped out of her skin.

“How’d you like Mike?” He’d asked.

“What?”  She’d practically shrieked.

“I didn’t realize you two hadn’t met before.  But now that you have, you seemed to hit it off.  What did you think?  Did I lie?”

“No, Sir, you didn’t lie. Here are the talking points for our meeting-“

“What, you didn’t like him?”

“No, I thought he was nice. Tall.  So, talking points?”

He’d given her a look then. Chief Dodds isn’t stupid.  “You don’t like him.”

“Sir, you’re freaking me out a little here.  What is it I’m supposed to say?”  OK, maybe that was a little snippier than she’d meant to be.  But damn.  

“Oh, I don’t know, I just thought you looked like you hit it off.  You’re both important to me.  I’d like it if you got along.”

“We did, Sir.  We mostly complained about you.  There might have even been a little mocking.”

“All right, all right.”

“Well, you asked. Repeatedly.”

“You’re right.  I did.  So, you did like him?”

“Yes, Sir, I can honestly say I liked him.  Now can we please get to work?  This meeting is going to be delicate.”

“OK, Boss.”  The Chief had given Kaitlyn that smile that means he’s pleased with her.  She’d felt a flash of irrational annoyance.  Why the fuck did he have to be so obsessed with his perfect son, who is actually a sleazy creep?  

Now, sitting at her desk staring uselessly out the window, Kaitlyn wonders what the Chief would say if he knew she’d fucked his perfect son’s brains out a few hours after they met because he conveniently forgot to mention he had a fucking girlfriend. Ugh.  Her phone rings.  It’s Eleanor.

“You have a visitor.”

Kaitlyn blinks.  “I don’t have an appointment this morning.”

“She says she’s a friend.”

“Oh.  OK.  I’ll be right out.”

The woman in the outer office is pretty, and her outfit looks expensive.  Her reddish-blonde hair is shoulder-length and shiny.  But Kaitlyn’s never seen her before in her life.  

“I… uh…”  She says as she crosses the outer office to where the woman is standing glancing out the window.

“Are you Kaitlyn?” The woman asks, a note of superiority in her voice.  She’s speaking too quietly for Eleanor to hear.

“Yes.  And you are…?”

“My name is Susan Eisenberg,” she hisses.  “I’m Mike Dodds’s girlfriend.  And you aren’t.  So I would ask you to please stay the hell away from him.”

Kaitlyn feels a cold brick form in her gut.  What the actual fuck.  “That won’t be a problem.”

For a moment, the women just look at one another, Susan giving Kaitlyn the once-over with a barely-controlled sneer, Kaitlyn resisting the urge to punch her in the nose on general principle.

“Is there anything else?” Kaitlyn asks, trying hard for a neutral tone.

“Don’t make me tell you again.”

Susan turns to leave, but at that moment, Chief Dodds returns to the office from his breakfast meeting.  He’s obviously surprised to see Susan here, and Kaitlyn doesn’t think it looks like a good surprise.  Hmmm. Interesting.

“Susan!  What are you doing here?”  He asks, missing a beat before his pleasant politician’s mask takes over his features.  

It doesn’t even occur to Kaitlyn to go back to her office.  It’s like watching a reality show.  Although Kaitlyn doesn’t notice, Eleanor’s glued to the scene, too.

Susan steps up and hugs the Chief, who does not look like that’s something he welcomes.  

“Hi, Will.  I just stopped by to tell Kaitlyn something.  I’m in a hurry, though, so I need to get going. It’s lovely to see you, though.  ‘Bye!”  Susan glides gracefully but quickly out the door.  

The Chief looks at Kaitlyn with raised eyebrows.  “You know Susan?  I didn’t know that.”

Kaitlyn has to resort to the cheesy tactic of faking a cough to give herself a second to think.  She has absolutely no idea what to say.  But she knows Eleanor didn’t hear the conversation and her generous nature takes over.  She covers for Mike, the scumbag.  “I don’t, actually.  She’s, um, a friend of a friend.  She just came in to give me a message.  Never met her before.”

The Chief looks relieved. “Oh.  She used to date Mike, you know.”

Kaitlyn can’t help it. It comes out before she can stop it. “Used to?”

“I don’t think it was very serious.  I’m glad, actually.  She’s a little spoiled.  Not somebody I’d want for him.”  

“Did it…  end recently?  She seemed happy to see you.”

“Oh, that’s kind of what she’s like.  Presumptuous, if you ask me.  Anyway,” he says vaguely, and heads back toward his office.  

Kaitlyn realizes he hasn’t answered her question, but she can’t really ask again.  

 That afternoon, Kaitlyn is supposed to be polishing a speech the Chief has to give that night. Instead, she’s thinking about Mike Dodds’s abs.  Again. She hears her phone ping softly to let her know she has a text.

Mike Dodds: Dad says Susan came to see you today. I can imagine why.  I’m SO sorry.  Please let me explain.  I swear it’s not as bad as it looks.

Kaitlyn sighs at the surge of adrenaline she feels when she sees it’s from him.  But fool me once…  She texts him back.

Kaitlyn Myers: Don’t care.  Your problem.  

She hates that she’s disappointed he doesn’t try to text her back.

Part of Kaitlyn’s job is to staff the Chief when he’s at events, like the banquet where he’s giving a speech tonight.  She’d really like to be able to just go home, but she puts on the black dress she brought for the event.  It’s not a formal event, but it is an evening banquet, so her work suit isn’t really appropriate.  She does like her dress, though.  It’s fairly simple, which is appropriate for her background role here, but it has off-the-shoulder three-quarter sleeves and a heart-shaped neckline she really likes, plus the skirt is puffy and short, which makes her legs look great.  Bare, as it turns out, but great.

She’s not in the mood for nylons any more than she is for the banquet itself, and she swears a blue streak when she puts two fingernails through trying to get them on, making a huge hole that immediately becomes a three-inch run in the fabric.  She doesn’t have a backup pair.  Great.  One more wonderful aspect of this glorious day.  She angrily tosses the brand-new nylons in the trash and gets out some lotion to rub on her legs.  It’s going to have to do.

When she’s dressed, she leaves her office to see if the Chief’s ready yet.  He’s already waiting in the outer office, looking amused.  

“You all right?  I thought I heard some colorful language in there.”

“Nylons.  ‘Nuff said.”

“I’m starting to think I should add a line item in the budget for hosiery for you.  You don’t have very good luck with those things.”

“Tell you what.  Stop making me go to these blasted events and you’ll save the Department a lot of money.”

“Not on your life.  I rely on you for about ten thousand things. You know that.  Anyway, tonight you’ll be glad you came with me.”  Chief Dodds opens the door to the hallway for Kaitlyn and they head for the elevator.

“Why’s that?”

“I have a surprise for you.”

“I’ve worked for you for over three years, Sir.  You know I hate surprises.”

“You’ll like this one.”

“That’s what you said about that Estonian restaurant.  Remember?”

“Will you ever let me forget?  Anyway, this is a sure thing.  You’ll see.”

“Sir-“

“Shut up and enjoy your surprise.  That’s an order.”

“You’re not paying me enough,” she grouses.

The banquet is a snooze, as most of them are.  The best that can be said for it is that the Chief’s speech goes well and there are, in fact, no surprises.  Kaitlyn’s a little confused by that, but relieved.  As the evening winds down, she begins to see the telltale signs that the Chief is, at last, ready to leave.  Thank God.  She can’t wait to take a long, hot shower and collapse into bed.  

Except that, when they leave the hotel’s banquet room, the Chief leads her into the bar instead of out the door.  “Come on. It’s time for your surprise.”

“The surprise I don’t want? That surprise?”

“The surprise I ordered you to like,” he smiles.  His eyes are twinkling alarmingly.  “C’mon. I’ll buy you a drink.”

Kaitlyn doesn’t want to stay, but she does want a stiff drink, so she agrees.  Plus, she can’t help but be a little curious about what kind of surprise he could be planning to give her in a bar.

And, as if this day couldn’t get any longer or more exhausting, the Chief leads her to a booth where his supposedly perfect but actually really fucking flawed son is sitting expectantly.  It is unequivocally not a good surprise.  In fact, it takes every ounce of energy Kaitlyn has not to turn around and stomp out, or scream any of the angry, bitter things that go rocketing through her mind.  She tries to sit next to the Chief on his side of the booth, but he insists she sit with Mike.  Of course he does.  Oh, fuck, she realizes, he’s matchmaking.  Kill me now.  She doesn’t know what the hell Mike’s doing, but she really, really should have known this is what the Chief was up to.

A waiter comes immediately to the booth and asks what they’d like to drink.  Kaitlyn orders a double Dewar’s, because Mike looks like a fucking snack.  He’s still wearing his work clothes.  He also looks really anxious.  Good. You should be, you snake.  I could out you to your father anytime I want. She knows she won’t, but he doesn’t.

“So, surprise,” the Chief says.  “Mike agreed to join us for a drink.”

“I was kind of hoping it was a raise,” Kaitlyn says, and the Chief laughs as if it’s funny.  Mike smiles dutifully, but he doesn’t laugh.  He hears her message loud and clear.

“How’d the speech go?” Mike asks his dad, and for a minute the Chief goes on about the evening, and the crowd’s reaction.  

It gives Kaitlyn a second to think, and what she thinks is that she’s been had.  The Chief’s just a romantic sap with a soft spot for his son, which is why he’s trying to set them up.  She doesn’t appreciate the blindside, and she thinks he should know her better than to think she would.  But she gets it.  Mike, though, gets no similar consideration.  Mike has deliberately tricked her.  Again.  He’s trying to force her to listen to whatever sorry-ass explanation he has for cheating on his girlfriend, as though Kaitlyn gives a rat’s ass why.  Cheating, for her, is an absolute, permanent dealbreaker.  Nothing he could possibly say will make the slightest bit of difference.

“Kait, you’re not saying anything.  Why don’t you tell Mike the story of how you got Channel Four to kill the hatchet-job piece they were going to run on the Millar case?”

“Mike doesn’t want to hear that story.”

“Of course I do.  What happened?”  

The look Kaitlyn gives Mike is, she hopes, enough to freeze his blood.  “Nothing.  They called me for a quote, and I happened to know the woman who called.  Simple as that.”

“Oh, it was nowhere near as simple as that, and you know it.”  The Chief thinks she’s being bashful.  God bless him, he’s a brilliant politician, but he’s got a total blind spot when it comes to his son.  It would never occur to him that Kaitlyn is refusing to play because she loathes him. So the Chief tells the story, in charming, humorous detail that is far more flattering to Kaitlyn than the real facts deserve.  Mike’s making all the appropriate noises, but he keeps trying to catch Kaitlyn’s eye and she keeps resolutely refusing even to look at him.  Meanwhile, the Chief goes on with the conversation he’s having, while the silent argument simmers between Mike and Kaitlyn.

It goes on like that, until they’ve finished their drinks and the Chief pays the bill.  “Keep a tab open,” he tells the waiter.  “Bring them each another drink, and whatever else they want, just put it all on that card.”

“No, Chief, it’s late. I really need to get home. Besides, you’re my ride-“

“Nonsense.  Mike will get you home.  You two stay here, get to know each other.  On me.”

He says goodnight with a self-satisfied smile, fully confident in each of them to charm the other. Kaitlyn wants to scream.  Still, she just doesn’t have it in her to tell her boss that his beloved son is a bottom-feeder, so she doesn’t push it. She’ll just wait until he leaves, then tell Mike to leave her the fuck alone, and get a cab home.  She does, however, get up and switch sides of the booth. It’s been entirely too pleasant to feel Mike’s warmth along her side while she’s been sitting next to him.

“Don’t do that again,” she growls to Mike when the Chief’s gone.

“I’m sorry.  I know I put you in an awkward position, but I need to explain.”  Mike looks adorably earnest, the asshole.

“That may be what you need. What I need is for you to understand that I do not want to see you.  Or talk to you.  Your girlfriend has to deal with your cheating.  I don’t.”

The waiter arrives with their fresh drinks, so they have to be quiet for a moment.  Kaitlyn can see that Mike’s dying to say whatever it is he has to say, and he starts in immediately as soon as the waiter takes the first step from the table.

“She’s not my girlfriend-“

“Stop.  I don’t care.  As far as I’m concerned, you’re scuzz.  There is nothing you can say to me that will change that.  I get that your dad wants us to be friends, and he’s important to both of us, so I’ll be polite to you when I have to.  But don’t kid yourself.  I am not, nor will I ever be, interested in you, or any explanations you might think you have for sleeping with me when you have a girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend!”

“Well, she thinks she is, and that means you gave her reason to.  I don’t care.”  Kaitlyn tosses off half her drink and starts to slide out of the booth.

Mike puts a hand out and lays it on her arm.  She hates that the feeling of him touching her derails her completely and she stops moving.

“At least finish your drink. Let me get you home safely.  If you don’t want to hear it, I’ll respect that.”

Kaitlyn has no control over the way she scoots back to her seated position and picks up her drink, taking another fairly healthy swallow.  She’s scowling at the table as she fights not to hear her mind saying that she’s playing with fire.  

“Can I at least apologize for you having to deal with Susan coming to your office?  That, at least, won’t be happening again.”

Kaitlyn shrugs.  “She’s got spunk.  I like her.”

“She’s psychotic.”

“Don’t care.  If you must speak, let’s talk about something else. Tell me about the time you got shot in the arm.”

“Yeah,” he grins, and Kaitlyn’s guts twist in a way that would be pleasant if he wasn’t a troll.  “Makes sense you’d want to hear about me getting shot right about now.”

So he tells her the story while they finish their drinks.  She can see he’s nursing his to prolong this, but she’s going to leave the second hers is gone, so it doesn’t matter.  It’s a very interesting story, and pretty soon he’s telling her the whole, long saga of Greg Yates.  She’s drawn in despite herself.  She’s only reminded that she hates Mike when the waiter returns to ask if they’d like another drink.

“No, thank you, I’m leaving,” Kaitlyn announces.  Mike gets up, too.  

“I’ll take you home.”

“I can get a cab.”

“Don’t do yourself a disservice just to spite me.  My car’s right here, you’ll get home faster, and it won’t cost you anything.”

That makes sense, actually. She’s a tired and she’s fairly buzzed. What the hell.

“Fine,” she sighs.

In the confines of the car, she realizes just how damn good he smells.  She doesn’t know if he’s wearing cologne, but there’s some kind of scent there, on top of the delicious smell of his skin, which is giving her a body memory that’s not helping the situation.  They’re silent on the short drive to her apartment building. Miraculously, there’s a car just pulling out from a space right in front.  Mike pulls in.  

“Kaitlyn, I wish you’d let me talk to you about this.”

She sighs and opens the door.  Stepping onto the sidewalk, she thanks him brusquely for the ride and closes it again. She’s a tangle of feelings as she fumbles in her purse for her keys.  She finds them quickly enough, and opens the heavy front door, but not before he’s standing just behind her.

“Mike, what the hell?” She moans tiredly, noticing in the back of her mind that she keeps going into the foyer and up the stairs.

He doesn’t answer, just follows her.  She lets him.

As soon as the door to her apartment is open, his arms are around her and she’s turning toward him. They tear at clothes, shedding the bare minimum because, when Mike tries to move them toward her bedroom, she growls into his mouth, “Fuck you.  You’re not getting back in my bed.”

He groans at that, which she thinks might be a combination of lust and disappointment, but she loses that train of thought because, since she’s already torn off her panties, he turns them and moves into her until her back is against the wall of the little hallway through her apartment.  There’s moaning and panting, but no talking.  Mike tries once to say something, but Kaitlyn cuts him off.

“Just shut up and fuck me.” With that, she pulls his mouth back to hers, pushes his pants and briefs down around his knees, and wraps a leg around his waist.  

He picks her up easily, moving their hips so that he’s lined up, and shoves his huge cock into her. She’s not complaining.  In fact, she’s pulling him into her with her arms and legs, and she’s gasping with what is obviously pleasure.  

“Fuck…” Mike hisses, beginning a hard, fast rhythm.  She’s pinned between him and the wall, which means he’s in control.  She wonders where his “thing” about consent went, although she’s making it very obvious that this is what she wants.  

“Dammit… Mike… you… shit…” she pants, in rhythm with his thrusting.

“Fuck, Kaitlyn…”

“I’m… throwing you… out… soon as I… come…”

She can feel his deep chuckle through the shirt he’s still wearing.  

It doesn’t take long. She feels a deep, pulling, tingling begin and lays her head back against the wall, concentrating on rubbing her engorged clit against his pubic bone with every stroke.  Later, she’ll regret the fact that she begins to cry his name, and keeps it up as she crests the wave of her orgasm and feels him speed his thrusts as his shouts join hers.

They stay like that, him leaning against her with his hands under her thighs, her with her back against the wall and her head thrown back, clinging to him with all her limbs, as they try to catch their breath.  It’s minutes later when he finally lets her down.  

She huffs in annoyance as she smooths her dress back down her body to try to regain a little of her dignity.  “Go home,” she says as she picks up her panties and shoes, and begins to walk down the hall to her bedroom.

She hears him chuckle as he’s re-doing his pants, which irritates her further and she turns around. She notices then that he was wearing his coat and tie through that entire event.  But what really pisses her off is that he’s grinning at her smugly.

“You like me,” he drawls.

“I like sex,” she retorts. “Get over yourself.”

“Uh-huh.”  

She turns back around and goes into her bedroom.  She’s reaching back to unzip her dress when she hears him let himself out.  Muttering to herself as she pads down the hall to engage the locks, she doesn’t realize she’s wearing a big, involuntary smile that’s entirely inconsistent with the things she’s telling herself she thinks about Mike Dodds.  

[im-abanana]

-The Demon and The Angel- ch.4

Wrote the fourth chapter of this Alice x Bendy (Benlice) One-Shot collection, too. Hope you’ll like it, folks. 

AO3 link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12736851/chapters/29045748

Oh, thank you a lot for the 800 followers, you’re all sweeties! 

Summary: Her ivory horns were what made Alice a fallen angel, and were her best natural weapon, too. But when you crash your head against a wall and get stuck, you could use some unwanted “help” from your dance partner. 

-Stuck-

Alright, maybe she hadn’t had the greatest idea ever this time.

“Dammit…” Alice weakly whined and panted to regain her precious breath, pressing her pale palms against the hard wall in front of her face and pushing against it with all her might, but nothing changed: she barely moved a single muscle, plus she failed to extract her ivory horns from the fragile plasterboard. Oh, and Bendy’s coarse laughing wasn’t helping her at all, obviously. “Shut your mouth, Bendy! This is all your fault!”.

“My fault, really? Yeah, that’s a good one, toots.” the arrogant dancer proudly smirked and lazily leaned against a wooden chair, watching the satisfying scene with interested eyes and his usual wide, smug grin. “Let me remind you what exactly happened just a minute ago, babe: you’re the one who ran towards me like a crazy bull, swinging those giant horns of yours like a weapon just because you can’t take a joke and, most important, you’re the one who got those so-called antlers deeply stuck into the wall when I dodged the attack.” the presumptuous star explained and gently rubbed his chin, sticking out his forked tongue in a funny way: revenge, sweet revenge. “Fair enough sweetheart, our dad Joey and our uncle Henry told you a long time ago to stop using those pointy things on your skull to threaten other people, because you could badly injure someone… or yourself, in this case. See what happens? Good job, Angel Cake!” he finally concluded, clapping sarcastically.

“Just wait until I free myself, I’ll tear that little cunt mouth of yours to tiny pieces.” the beautiful angel angrily swore and squirmed with more energy, perceiving a stinging sensation around her narrow shoulders and her dance partner’s laughter increasing as she pitifully dropped down on her knees for the umpteenth time, standing on all-fours and grunting in defeat. “And I can’t fucking take a joke, you say? You call throwing hot coffee at me a joke? How stupid can you be? You jackass, disgusting, foolish, retard son of a b-”.

“Woah, watch your language Alice, you’re the angel here.” Bendy shushed the irritated angelic cartoon and slyly winked, removing his white gloves and placing them aside, on the nearby table. “What would your beloved fans think about it? Those poor, innocent children…”.

“Bendy, for the last time, I’m definitely not in the best mood to joke around with you right now. My neck, head and back hurt, and I just can’t get my horns out! I’m stuck!” Alice angrily yelled and squirmed wildly, trying to back up and possibly break free from that awkward position, her ivory horns still deeply lodged in the plasterboard wall. Grunting furiously and knowing that she needed to change her strategy if she wanted to resolve the situation by herself, the fallen angel watched the short demon, who was standing (now silently) right behind her with his arms crossed, immediately noticing his naughty expression and realizing what he was looking at. “Could you please stop staring at my ass for a moment and help me, you stupid little cretin!? Or call the others, at least!”.

“What should I do? Joey, Boris and Henry left, so I can’t do anything for you, Angel Cake. Nice view from here, by the way.” Bendy smugly chuckled and lifted an eyebrow as he admired her currently defenseless body, a mischievous idea making him grin and approach the wary singer carefully. “But now that I think about it, I guess I could make our waiting a little more enjoyable, toots~” the devil maliciously licked his dry lips and two of his fingers, his other hand grabbing the soft edge of her black dress and quickly lifting the refined fabric without asking permission. “It’s the least I could do, right? Relax, baby girl~”.

Guessing his not-so-chaste intentions and gasping loudly in realization, the angelic cartoon growled and frowned, staring at the discolored wall in front of her visage and perceiving her co-worker’s wet fingers caressing her pale thighs, slowly traveling up to stimulate her off-limits areas. “Bendy, I swear to God: touch me again and I’ll murder you. As I said, I’m not in the right mood for-! M-mngh~” Alice blushed and bit back an instinctive moan, her spine arching elegantly as her partner boldly brushed a sensitive spot, ignoring the threats and snickering in satisfaction. “G-get your filthy hands off me, now!”.

“Com’on Angel Cake, don’t tell me you’re shy! We did this plenty of times backstage, after our performances, remember?” the arrogant black-haired dancer cooed and looked at her beautiful form with a pretty dumb face, hungrily drooling on the ground and sticking his forked tongue out, the temptation simply too strong for him to overcome. “And you totally loved it, right?” Bendy shamelessly added, but when his sneaky hand cupped a particular area he shouldn’t have touched, the killer look on the fallen angel’s face, and especially the frightening, dark noise that escaped from her throat, made him understand that he maybe fucked things up.

“Holy fucking Trinity, Bendy! I SAID GET OFF!” Alice literally screamed at that point and used all her strength to strike Bendy in the face with her left leg, hitting his nose and causing it to bleed copiously, black ink dripping everywhere. In the powerful process, the singer’s entire body managed to violently jerk backwards, her sharp horns destroying the remains of the wall and pulverizing that plasterboard prison: she was free, she was finally free! Oh, but not pleased at all. In fact, the young and majestic singer looked a lot more like a demon than like a flawless angel, actually.

Getting up ponderously and shaking off the grayish powder, the angelic cartoon lowly growled and walked decisively towards the poor Bendy, her pitch black orbs turning reddish for a moment as she met the terrified gaze of the tiny devil. “Bendy, my dearest.” Alice gave him a fake smile and swung her dangerous white horns, chasing after the dancing demon as he immediately ran off, screaming in pure fear and knowing he’d better retreat. “If I catch you, you’re a dead man! Get back here, you coward! I said come back!” the infuriated young woman promised, rushing in the empty corridors to catch her co-worker and preferably beat the living shit out of him. “No, listen up, I have a better idea! I’ll return the favor! I won’t kill you, I’ll simply shove my own, dry fingers up your ass! Let’s see if you like it!”.

“DAD JOEY! UNCLE HENRY! BORIS! SOMEBODY HELP MEEEE!” Bendy desperately shouted for help and literally threw himself inside his private room, rapidly locking the thick door on the inside and breathing a liberating sigh of relief as he believed it was finally over. Or so he thought: after just a moment of complete silence, the solid layer of wood that separated the scared demon from the pissed angel broke down because of a brute kick of hers, and the last thing Bendy saw before letting out a girlish scream and crashing down was Alice jumping on him with an aggressive yell. 

In the meantime, inside the nearby room, Barley let out a resigned sound as he heard those high-pitched noises coming from the changing room of the star of the show, guessing what was probably going on: troubles, blood, kicks and punches, nothing new after all. He picked a random card from stock, playing poker with his boss Charley and with his buddy Edgar, sipping his beer and rolling his concentrated eyes as another irritating scream reached his ears. “Do ya guys think he’s already dead?”.

“Pff, maybe, judging by the sound of it. Actually, I sure hope so. I can’t stand that arrogant little shit.” Charley coldly replied with poor interest and lit a cigar, not really caring about the other two characters’ conditions and focusing on the complicated game while smoking. “Not that I give a freakin’ damn about that foolish devil, that cunt girlfriend of his or that pathetic excuse of a dog.”. 

“I don’t really understand Bendy and Alice, gang. I mean, one minute they’re beating each other to death, just like now, the next they’re all cuddly and making out in a shady corner.” Edgar shrugged it off and slightly grimaced as he recalled the number of times the unaware crew caught the devil and the fallen angel kissing, scratching the smooth top of his stylized head and huffing out, giving up and putting a card on the messy table. “Oh, well. Like Joey always says: <Don’t meddle in a quarrel between a husband and his wife>, I guess.”.

“Well said, Edgar.” the other two members of The Butcher Gang nodded promptly and agreed to those wise terms, trying to ignore the desperate, muffled whines that were echoing in the whole studio and probably even outside. “Well said indeed.”.

[akaiitokoibito]

Hello! Id like a, Ouran and Mystic Messenger Matchup,please. Im a 5'10 virgo,hufflepuff,with short brown curly hair and blue eyes, i enjoy writing and drawing i have a love for aquatic animals, and the ocean and cats, im a very timid and nervous person wjen you first meet me but after a while i can get noisey, i dont quite like noisey people but i can warm up to them pretty fast.

Hello hello! Mod Camellia, here~ After careful consideration, we’ve pinned your soulmates to be Hitachiin Kaoru from OHSHC and Zen from Mysme!

“I can’t believe you actually accepted…”

You didn’t particularly like Kaoru at first; in fact, you sort of found him and his brother slightly annoying for constantly interrupting class with their jokes.

But, with the eye of an artist, you began observing them a little closer. You couldn’t help but notice the bittersweet smiles that one twin would wear as his brother teased Fujioka Haruhi.

Eventually, you agreed to your friends’ insistent pleas and finally came to the Host Club. You claimed it was to gain inspiration for drawing: pretty boys did tend to make great models, after all.

Kaoru didn’t really notice you until one day, when he had lingered a bit behind Hikaru (wondering how much longer their pumpkin carriage would last), you approached him and asked if he was alright.

He could tell by the way that you stared at his feet that you were probably nervous, so he didn’t try the usual “flirty host” approach and shot you a smile. “Don’t worry about me.”

To his surprise, you frowned. “Why shouldn’t I?”

He paused, then gave you a half-smile. “Thanks for your concern. I’ll…I will be alright.”

Ever since then, he couldn’t help but notice you sketching during class (he resisted the urge to call you out on it: the teacher still hadn’t caught on to the fact that you doodled over your notes and he didn’t want to bring unnecessary attention to you).

The professor, an unknowing catalyst to your relationship, paired you two together for an assignment. Well, technically he paired you and Hikaru, but Kaoru had generously agreed to switch with his twin so that Hikaru would spend time with Haruhi. (”Don’t tell anyone, though,” Kaoru whispered to you, grinning sheepishly. “I promise I’ll do my best for the project. It’ll probably be better than what Hikaru can do, anyways.” You couldn’t help but laugh, but acquiesced.)

Thanks to the project, you two grew closer and you began opening up to him.

You two started talking to each other more, sharing interests. During club hours, you’d always be watching him; whenever there was a special event, you’d make sure that Kaoru would never be alone. (He appreciated your company a lot, even though he never could vocalize his gratitude. His more genuine smiles said everything, though.)

Your first date was to the aquarium. Sort of. In actuality, the Host Club had dragged their customers to another outing and you decided to accompany Kaoru to see the dolphins. He was supposed to go around helping the other customers, but it wasn’t his fault that you smiled so cutely while pressed against the glass in an attempt to get a closer look. He bought you a stuffed dolphin. The clerk mistook you two as a couple and dang, you didn’t realize that you were head-over-heels for Kaoru until after the man pointed out how sweet he was to you.

Kaoru realized, the next day, that his heart didn’t hurt as much whenever his unknowingly enamored brother went off with Haruhi; it was because of your constant company.

So, to the surprise of everyone, he asked you out at the end of the day after club activities. (Ouran fangirls, being chill for the most part, squealed and took pictures. Hikaru later accosted them so they’d send him the pictures for blackmail.) It was really cheesy, too. (You later learn that Kaoru is a highkey romantic.) His entire monologue about how kind, sweet, and genuinely amazing you are was lost amidst the loud thumping of your heart.

Hikaru wholeheartedly approves of your relationship. Eventually. He didn’t really notice how close you two were before Kaoru asked you out, but he can tell you make his brother happy and that’s enough for him.

The rest of the Host Club, after Kaoru’s confession, accept you as part of the family and basically treat you two as if you’ve married already.

Your first official date is to a fancy restaurant. It’s usually not your style, but Kaoru had been planning the date for ages and you’d do anything to make him happy. He had everything planned down to the last detail, but the plan went down the drain once a waiter spilled a drink on you.

You two exited the restaurant. It was raining. Kaoru was highkey freaking out about all of the unlucky things that occurred, so he called Hikaru. Unusually enough, his twin had pretty good advice: “just yolo, bro, she’ll like anything as long as she does it with you.”

Kaoru turned to you, asked if you just wanted to ditch the plan completely, and grinned as you kicked your heels off and grabbed your much more comfortable shoes out of your purse. (They were killing you. Also, with them, you were three inches taller than Kaoru and he had been trying to figure out a way to kiss you without seeming awkward.)

You two rain through the rain (in retrospect, probably not the best idea: you got sick, but Kaoru dropped by with a large basket of items ranging from high-class cuisine soup to fancy thermometers gathered by himself and the Host Club so that was a plus) and stumbled upon a small pet shop.

Your smile while adoring the kittens seemed to light up the room, in Kaoru’s eyes.

“Your drawings are beautiful, you know that?”

You two met at one of the RFA’s parties. You had been talking with Jumin about cats, exuding their many virtues, when the CEO needed to take a call.

You happened to spot Zen standing to the side of the ballroom, a small smile on his face as he watched all the guests interact with one another. One of your friends was a huge fan of him, which is why you approached him to ask for his autograph.

He couldn’t understand your request at first, since you were sort of nervous and blurted it out too quickly. He noticed you were feeling nervous, though, and smiled at you (making you more nervous, in all honesty: talking to gorgeous models isn’t really something you do everyday). “Say, you were talking with that Jumin Han, right? Are you his business associate?”

“Ah, no,” you refuted, ducking under your bangs. “I just found out he likes cats like I do. That’s all.”

You noted that Zen twitched and his smile seemed a bit more strained. “Ah, cool. So, an autograph for your friend, you said? How generous~ here, I’ll even throw in one of my selfies.”

“Uh, you don’t have to–”

“I insist!”

You left the party thinking that your friend’s adored idol was…weird, but an alright person. Just out of curiosity, you checked his social media account (was it his? or a bot?) and couldn’t help but note that he wasn’t just a pretty face…but a hard worker, if the pile of scripts strewn across the floor in the background of some of his pictures was any indication. When you gave your friend his autograph, she squealed and immediately deigned herself the duty of introducing you to Zen’s many wonders.

You actually liked his acting a lot: you could tell he put a lot of effort into creating his role. When you were invited to the party again, you couldn’t help but look for him.

“I really liked your role in that one film!” you blurt out as soon as you see him. This makes Zen pause: he’s met a lot of fangirls at RFA parties, to be honest, but it’s rare to meet somebody who appreciates his acting…especially for such an obscure film like that. “How much time did you put into it?”

Zen laughs, rubbing the back of his neck almost sheepishly. “Three hours a day, to be honest. I’m not a great actor yet, so I need to work harder.”

You leave the party thinking: yeah, he’s definitely not just a pretty face.

Each party afterwards, you two begin talking more and more. At first, it was just about his roles, but then he started asking about you. Once he found out about your passion for writing, he couldn’t help but ask to see some of your work.

You were nervous as you handed him a script you wrote just the other day with his acting in mind. Somewhere down the line, you grew to value his opinion a lot. Finally, he looked up, his gaze piercing as he said slowly, “Darling, I’d love it if I could act out one of your scripts someday.”

That’s the needle that breaks the camel’s back. You muster enough courage to ask for his number, and you two exchange contact information. He sends you selfies everyday, with just the little things. (”Working hard for that play!” “Thanks for cheering me up, last night.”) You send him little doodles back, which is how he finds out about your passion for drawing. (He loves your drawings, and won’t hesitate to compliment them. “Babe, they’re amazing.”)

One day, you receive a drunk call from him. “[Y/N], I can’t do this anymore,” he complains, the usage of your name shocking you. “I like talking to you too much.”

“I…like talking with you, too, Zen. Is there a problem?”

“I wanna talk to you everyday.”

“We do talk to you everyday.” 

“Every. Day,” Zen insists. There’s some unintelligible murmuring, then one of the RFA members come on the phone.

“Uh, is this [Y/N]? Hi, I’m Yoosung…uh, sorry about that…usually I’m the one drunk calling people ahaha, but I guess he’s a bit off today. Listen…I don’t want to sound presumptuous or rude…but…Zen really likes you, you know.” (In fact, you don’t know. But regardless, your heart beats faster.) “I just don’t want to see him being led on…”

“I’m not,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. There’s silence on the other line, then Yoosung snickers and thanks you.

Zen calls you the next day, completely mortified. He apologizes, and you…well, you suddenly lose all of your social grace and composure. “Do you like me?”

There’s silence on the other side of the line, then Zen lets out the cutest laugh you’ve ever heard. “Heh, was I that obvious?” His voice is strangled.

“Sort of,” you laughed.

“Then…do you like me?” There’s hope lining his voice.

“Did you think I didn’t?” you ask, because you know that you’ve been pretty obvious.

You two get together after that.

Although he called you plenty of pet-names before, mostly as a joke (”babe” and “darling” being two of them), Zen’s actually somewhat shy to call you such now, which is cute.

Zen wants to take you to the aquarium for your first date, but you learn of his love for the stars and instead insist on going to the planetarium. It’s an enjoyable night, nonetheless; Zen says a cheesy pick-up line that makes you laugh (he immediately flushes in mortification, but you just lean in closer to him and tell him he’s cute).

The RFA, after lengthy background checks to make sure you weren’t trying to con Zen (Yoosung was your staunch defender; after that one phonecall, he could tell that you both were enamored with each other and made one another happy), invited you to their chat.

Although Zen doesn’t like cats, he puts up with the pictures you and Jumin exchange for you. (You’re considerate enough not to beg for a pet cat when you move in with him, though, and instead you two raise a blue Paradise Beta you name “Crystal” -- Zen insisted on the name because he said the fish’s color reminded him of your crystal-blue eyes.)

Hope you enjoyed it, @matchups-and-stuff!

~ Mod Camellia