#they just expected you to read a paper booklet before playing

[onthegreatsea]

yknow that ‘y cant metroid crawl’ meme?

yknow how its used often as a ‘modern gamers are bad at retro games’ thing?      

... you ever think about how the manual for metroid actually totally explains how ‘crawling’ works?

the manual states outright how to do it on the controller and that you dont have the ability from the start:

it has pictures of the chozo statues and how they function:

as well as a picture and explanation of the morph ball and how it works:

(it does this for all the items btw) in ye olden days manuals were actually a big part of the game.

most of what they used to do is now incorporated organically into games via tutorials, level progession, cutscenes etc. which is why modern ‘manuals’ are usually just a quick reference for the the control layout. you rly dont need to know more to start playing

but it means if you bring an old game like Super Metroid to a modern platform and neglect to include the manual you are cutting out a HUGE chunk of the experience!! not just basic gameplay stuff, but even advanced gameplay mechanics, the story... hell sometimes manuals had walkthroughs for chunks of the game!

people are rightfully going to be confused when half the game is locked away from them!! back on the Wii/Wii U Nintendo did actually include the manuals... but they were treated as optional things hidden in the home menu and modern gamers dont have the cultural reference to know “the manual is actually a very important part of the game”

the Switch doesnt even have manuals at all !! terrible

i honestly think any re-release of an old game should have a pop up manual be the first thing you see. cuz thats the context going into a game most ppl had back then

tho a more modern interpretation might be a manual app on yr phone you can easily reference while playing

[triscribeaucollection]

JLU plays W&W

“You can’t be serious.”

“Sure I can,” Clark grinned. “Come on, we’ve all been meaning to spend time with each other off the clock, so why not schedule a game night? At least once a month.”

“That part I understand,” Bruce rumbled, perched in the monitor station’s chair and not bothering to look over his shoulder. “But a roleplaying game?”

“I thought you of all people might enjoy that.”

“Hn.”

“At least look over the game itself before you come to a decision, alright? Most of the pre-made campaigns feature mysteries for players to investigate, and the rules are pretty quick to pick up. I had to explain tabletop RPGs to J’onn and Diana, but they’re both interested, and Wally said yes even before I finished speaking...”

His grin grew wider as Bruce let out a small, almost unnoticeable sigh. “What’s it called.”

“Wolfen and Warlocks,” Clark told him, and blinked when his friend’s fingers paused on the keyboard. “It’s based on this book series called Stories From Sarant - I picked the box up off the shelf because I remembered reading the first one when I was in middle school-”

“Wolfen’s Rage,” Bruce said softly, and then it became Clark’s turn to pause. “I’m familiar.”

Despite giving him a moment, the other man didn’t add anything else. Feeling a little more cautious, Clark went on, “Well, I still need to check with John and Shayera, but so far I’m thinking next Thursday? We can use our usual meeting room here, or get one of the smaller rec halls, or I could host at my apartment in Metropolis.”

His friend grunted, hands once more tapping across the station controls. “Watchtower would be better in case there’s an emergency. And then you wouldn’t have to cater.”

“True.” Clark let his head tip to one side, half wishing (not for the first time) that his x-ray vision would let him see the thoughts inside people’s heads, and not just their physical brain tissue. “Well, in that case, I’ll get you the introductory player’s guide to look over beforehand. I figured we could all roll up some characters together, maybe play a sample encounter to get a feel for things before we schedule a full campaign run.”

Another grunt. Slightly lighter, though, which he took to mean yes, fine, now go away and let me work.

“Alright, then. See you later, Bruce.”

---

Thursday rolled around, and Clark fully expected to need to engage in more careful cajoling to bring all six of his oldest teammates into the recreation room he’d reserved for the afternoon. Instead, he got to feel pleasantly surprised, walking through the door with J’onn to find Bruce, Diana, John and Shayera all present, Wally zipping in on his heels with an armful of snacks. 

“What?” The speedster asked, when a few eyebrows were raised in his direction. “You can’t have a game session without junk food!”

Clark started setting things up with a small smile, listening as the others teased and bickered with one another. He honestly couldn’t remember the last time all seven of them settled in the same space that wasn’t their private meeting room to discuss League matters - if the game worked out and became a regular thing, he’d have to thank his Pa again for the idea.

“Alright,” he eventually called, sliding paper and freshly sharpened pencils around the table. “You all looked over at least the intro booklet, right? Who wants to start with what they’ve got in mind for a character?”

“Goblin,” Wally immediately said. “I’m gonna call him Bert, but with a ‘y’!”

Clark dutifully wrote down Goblin, Byrt

“I think I’d like to try a minotaur,” Diana went next. “With a background in hand to hand combat.”

Minotaur went a line below Wally’s goblin, even as Clark said, “Remember this is a chance to experiment with being someone other than ourselves, guys.”

“Whoops,” Shayera said in a dry tone. When Clark raised his eyebrows, she shrugged. “I want to play a harpy.”

Wally promptly choked on his mouthful of potato chips, and John snorted. “Let me guess, with a mace and some of those Close Combat moves?”

“The level one inventory options don’t have a mace,” the Thanagarian huffed. “I picked the heavy walking staff, instead.”

“That’s still impact damage-”

“And what did you want to play, Stewart?”

For a brief moment, John looked embarrassed, before doubling down into a stubborn scowl. “Human. With elemental magic.”

Shayera immediately leaned forward, elbow braced on the table and hand tucked below her chin, smirking. “Light magic?”

“Look, the Break of Dawn and Gleaming Prison spells-”

“I have decided to create an anonian character,” J’onn cut in, thankfully before the pair of exes could really get rolling. “One of the Forest type, with an innate paralytic touch ability.”

“And also green scales, if I remember right,” Clark couldn’t help but say, even as he added to the list with a renewed grin: Harpy, Human, Anonian (Dragon-folk)

“I think I’d like to know what you’ve chosen for yourself before you throw any further stones, Clark.” Diana folded her arms with an expectant expression.

“Orc,” he promptly shot back.

“Which kind,” Bruce rumbled from his seat.

Ah. Well. “...meckle orc.”

His friend smirked. “So a farmer, then.”

“What’s your choice,” Clark asked instead of answering, ignoring how some of the others snickered. Bruce’s smirk stayed in place as he produced a short stack of index cards from his utility belt, each covered with scribbled notes. He plucked off the top one and held it out, letting Clark see- “A fairy?”

“Based off the moth species melanodes anthracitaria,” Bruce somehow said with utter sincerity, even as John coughed to hide his amusement and Wally let out an almost inhuman wheeze. A small square photograph came out of the stack of notes, paperclipped to a card with a simple sketch of a humanoid figure with wings the same shape as the real moth. Black, of course, with silver-grey markings. “His name is Thomarwyn. I’ve done some research on the novels and put together a basic background and family history in line with what the author’s written about her various cultures.”

“Size category, Tiny,” Shayera read from her copy of the intro player’s guide, lips slowly curling up into a wicked smile. “Not going to be able to punch very many bad guys when you’re only two feet tall.”

“No, but I’ll be able to get in and out of places the rest of you won’t.”

And that was when it clicked for Clark. “You’ve made him a detective, haven’t you?”

“Hn.”

On the other side of the table, Wally got enough breath back to say, “Bat-Moth!” And promptly start wheezing with laughter again.

---

(I've been giggling non-stop since coming up with this idea yesterday; first five pages are written and will probably get posted to my AO3 account sometime this week while I work on more. And yes, Wolfen & Warlocks is a real game in beta-testing mode created by yours truly - when I don't have very many people to help me try it out, I figure the next best thing is to toss it to some fictional characters to see what shenanigans they can come up with!)

[neko-naruto]

You're a fucking masterpiece, even without ink, and I'm sorry no one else can see that

Summary: Sapnaps a tattooist, George just wants to get the humiliation of losing a bet to Dream of all people over with, and well, everything kind of goes south from there, all because George gives Sapnap free range for a coverup and the latter simply falls in love with notion of a man whose okay with having 'fuck' tattooed on his neck.

Warnings: Implied abusive relationships, blood, piercings, swearing, check tags for additional warnings.

Authors Note: I physically cannot explain, I assure you, @sobredunia can confirm this, considering she got a play by play of the process, anyways, they r gay and theres qpr between Sapnap and Karl, Quackity and Wilbur make fun of Sapnap, and a bunch of other stuff happens in this fic, reblogs are worth more than likes, hope you enjoy.

The sound of the bell ringing caused him to perk up from his magazine, being greeted with someone who clearly doesn't belong here.

Sapnap couldn't help but smirk as he chewed away at the bubblegum in his mouth, resting his magazine down as the customer walked in. They looked skittish, like they didn't actually want to be here, the followup in all green explained the 'not wanting to be here' part. The artist simply waited for them to speak up, he kept his elbows propped on the front desk; he could practically smell the fear from the small one, distant buzz of his coworkers job probably not helping.

"Hello, welcome to The Techno Tattoo Parlor, what can I do ya for?" Sapnap asked, making sure to wait until the one green opened his mouth to speak, he rarely did this with customers, but, he could get away with it most times, he was far too valuable to fire.

"A chest piece, I was wondering if you would do this one I sketched out," the smaller one said, sliding over a piece of paper sketched out in pen and color, the way he enunciated the 'I's said a bit, Sapnap looked over it, his eyes widening as he scanned the piece.

"And who might this 'Dream' be, baby blue?" Sapnap asked as he gestured to the phrase on it, he got no immediate response.

"That would be me," the taller, presumably Dream, stated confidently

"I expected as much, and, I'll presume your his partner?" Sapnap asked, he got a nod before continuing, "cool, and is this a lost bet or something, because your, ahem, 'good boy' looks rather nervous?" There it was, a slight expressional twitch, a lost bet, bribery or otherwise- he smirked.

"Yeah, I lost a bet, now I have to get a tat," the smaller said, clearly uncomfortable at the idea of getting one at all, or maybe it was just having that statement permanently on him that made him look so squirmy, "my name is George by the way."

"I don't do names for lost bets boys, but, if you can do something else, I'd love to ink up another virgin," Sapnap said, both of them had visceral reactions, he was quick to reaffirm his statement, "virgins of ink, you're clearly inkless George, you look like a baby deer, shaking in your boots."

"Oh, you're not exactly wrong," George said, somewhat ashamed of himself, he had read the reviews, he had seen clips, he knew he would be in safe hands with this guy, so why was he so scared?

"It's a shame that you don't do names over bets, we'll return with a new design in a week or so, maybe a month at that," Dream said, he sounded extremely disappointed, his grip was on Georges wrist now, maybe Sapnap was reading this wrong, but their entire dynamic felt uncomfy.

"Okay, I'll book you in for the fifth of next month, 2 PM, be there or be square," Sapnap said, pulling out a small booklet and writing it down, then he slid off his stool and handed a pen to both, their eyes were transfixed on his snow white, pleated skirt, "boys, eyes up here, I need signatures."

"No you don't," Dream stated boldly, never having heard of such conduct

"You want your George to get a tattoo, don't you?" Sapnap asked, he got a nod and pushed the notebook a little closer, "then sign it, I get the skirts distracting, but trust me, when theres no AC, skirts are better."

"Fine," was what Dream spat as he signed it, so did George, they turned and left, leaving Sapnap with another appointment.

He grinned and scoffed at them, he could tell he was going to simply love marking that boy up, and given the detail, he had a gut feeling it may take more than one appointment. The notion made his heart flutter, even just thinking of the brunette, he was falling in love all over again, although, he usually gets the jitters in the first day of anticipation. Something about doing something so permanent, and so intimate to someone he may never see again got his heart racing, it just felt so amazing and he couldn't begin to explain it.

He propped himself back up on his stool, flipping open to a random page in his magazine, having read it many times before (he doesn't know why he keeps rereading it). Then an extremely familiar face walks in, his roommate, his coworker and a man of many colors, Karl, they both grin before conversation starts. Compared to most of his coworkers, Karl is the only one Sapnaps done work on, and vice versa, and they've been doing so since the beta days of this skill they've honed.

But today, Karl was simply his client.

"You're never going to believe what just happened," Sapnap said, grinning as he stepped down from his stool and pulled his friend into a hug.

"Tell me all about it," Karl simply said, always loving to hear Sapnaps stories, even the mundane ones.

"Two guys walk in right, lost bet, the usual stuff," Sapnap begins as he retrieves his necessary tools and sits Karl down at one of the two tables for waiting, he hooks the power supply to where customers normally plug in their phones, "what're we working on today?"

"I was thinking we finish up this one," Karl said, pointing to the vines running along his arm, they struck down from his elbow like lightning and blossomed into roses at his wrist, one of Sapnaps finer pieces, "please, go on."

"Right, sorry, anyways, small dudes shaking in his boots and I'm just agitating the ever living shit out of the green dude," Sapnap said, smiling as he did so, lining the needle to place and almost starting up before pausing, "and just look at what they want on the small guy." He passed over the design, Karl snickered.

"Greenies got a god complex, or they're hella into BDSM," Karl said, Sapnap agreed heavily with the statement as he pressed the needle to skin.

"I sent 'em off, obviously, they're coming back with another design sometime later, fun pissing off the green guy," Sapnap said, adding shading to thorns as Karl nodded along, "small dude was definitely an ink virgin."

"Seriously?" Karl asked, lifting his eyes from the details, Sapnap lifting the needle and looking up before nodding.

"Seriously," Sapnap said, already thinking of him again, George, excitement usually wore off by now, even without a distraction like Karl, was he actually falling in love? He couldn't be, they barely knew each other.

---

A month passed a lot faster than Sapnap thought it would, and the temperature decided to go from a predictable scalding hot to switching between wear a jacket or I'll freeze balls off and wear a skirt or I'll melt your face off. And he hated when the weather did that, working with a canvas that was shivering was garbage, and so was a sweaty canvas- yet he still shook with anticipation at the thought of seeing George again. He knew his work was being affected by it in ways so subtle only he would notice, but, he didn't really care right now.

He merely cared about getting through it until he got to ink up a chest piece, he hasn't gotten one in so long, its like hes forgotten how people react. He knows that everyone hes done a torso piece on has had sensitive ribs, and if it dips low enough, an extremely sensitive V line. He wonders if his clients are noticing he's been more absentminded lately, he knows his boss has, and he knows Karl has as well, but, everyone knows he won't be fired despite that. And in that month he even got a septum piercing, it bugs him a little bit more than he'll ever admit, but the aesthetic appeal is more than enough to keep him going.

Sapnap gives a recap of the new tattoo regimen to one of his and Karls older clients, Wilbur, who just nods along and smirks because they both know he knows it by heart. They give a prompt fist bump before Wilbur is on his way with a fresh ankle tattoo, a set of stitches to make him look frankensteined, he's getting color in two weeks to make it look bloody. He's usually one of Karls customers, but for simpler stuff he goes to Sapnap who can get it done extremely fast, they could've done color as well today if they were feeling ballsy around the time limit.

So there Sapnap sat, perched atop his stool, crossing his ankles to prevent himself from kicking against the desk out of boredom as he flipped through his magazine. The bell jingles and he's greeted with George, whose wearing a scarf in what feels like a hundred degrees heat, but windchills are a bitch which would explain that- it still perplexes Sapnap. He smiles as he steps down from his stool as George walks in, meeting him halfway to the desk, booklet out with a pen.

"Well then, George, whats the verdict? What design will I get the pleasure of inking?" Sapnap asked, his giddiness was barely contained, came as a shock even to him.

"I just need you to cover something up, any design," George said, glancing to the ground.

"A cover up? I coulda sworn you were inkless," Sapnap said, George shook his head as his fingers wandered to his scarf, it clicked in Sapnaps head, "oh, this is a fresh piece isn't it?"

"Yeah, I uh, I lost another bet," George lied, the tattooist could see right through it.

"Sure you did, wheres greenie anyways?" Sapnap said as he led George to the chair, the latter reluctant to pull off his scarf before he sat down.

"I up with him, it just, didn't work out," George said, pulling off his scarf, Sapnap winced, it was still a bit scabby on the very edges that could be avoided, and the lines were shaky, it all looked so, broken, an amateurs work, but one where he could see there was struggle.

"Oh baby," was all Sapnap could barely muster at the sight, so much pain was held there; he pushed the thought aside as he hooked up his pen.

"Will it hurt?" George asked, his tone was shaky as Sapnaps spare hand ran over the tattoo, it felt more like a wound, a scar, from Georges end.

"You already know the answer," Sapnap said, forcing his tone calm, George nods, taking a shaky breath, "is there anything you don't want me to do."

"Just get rid of it, I don't care how," George said, his breath was staggering as Sapnap drew his nail across the skin in the vague shape of a heart, then a ghost, a flower, many designs until he came to the conclusion.

"You okay if I put 'fuck' in all caps over it?" Sapnap asked, he's wanted to do so for a long time, he got a nod.

The pre-emp to actually putting the needle to skin as mere moments and the reaction was visceral, he pulled it back instantly, refusing to do any more. George gave him a questioning look, but didn't speak up at all as he simply waited.

"Who hurt you?" was what Sapnap asked, his voice quiet and full of worry, he hasn't seen reactions of such a caliber in a long time.

"He did, convinced me to let him do this, said he'd do a great job, turns out he didn't," George explained, "that's why he isn't here."

"We can take as many breaks as you need, we'll get through it, I promise you," Sapnap said, hoping his words were the reaffirmation George needed to power through this.

"Won't it go into your next appointment though?" George asked.

"Naw, Quackitys covering for me," Sapnap said, "ready to continue?"

"Yeah," George said, tone shaky, but he held still, gripping the armrests of the chair tightly.

And the pen was lowered down once again, the reaction was much less this time as the needle was delicately guided across his skin, it stung and vibrated but he held on. He merely hoped that whatever pleather the chair was made of wouldn't give under his grip, his eyes were clenched shut and his teeth gritted, just power through. He eventually gave a whine and twitched a bit on a certain spot, Sapnap pulled away and George released a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

They didn't do anything for a while and just sat there silently until George nodded, his grip on the chair easing, Sapnap offered a hand and George gratefully took it. The squeeze was almost distracting as Sapnap curled the letters along the artery, almost every time he crossed over it he had to pause for George. Tears were gathering in Georges eyes and Sapnap gently wiped them away occasionally, lots of emotions were locked into the green he was covering up. He didn't mind it though, he just paused with George until it was done, still forty five minutes left though, so he went back and made it look nicer. Then he was actually finished, still, time was left, he added a small star here and there, one or two other details, extremely small hearts and flowers until time was up.

"I hope you don't mind the other details I added, there was time to fill and it looked, well, you could still a bunch of what was underneath without them," Sapnap said as he released Georges hand and reached for a polaroid camera, a newer one, he took a picture and handed it to George, the physical copy.

"It looks amazing, thank you," George said, refraining from touching the actual tattoo until after Sapnap added the second skin, it felt weird.

"Glad to hear it, so, ground rules are, don't pull off the second skin for at least three days, fluid might gather, totally normal, when you take it off just wash it twice a day, don't tear it up though, make sure not to scratch it or take a soak in a body of water, showers are good though," Sapnap said, rattling off protocol as George nodded along to the list, "and you can always come back for another if you ever want a chest piece."

"Right, could you like, email me that list?" George asked as he sat up, tilting his head from side to side, felt weird, although, he did enjoy the way the white ink laid over top the green below.

"Obviously, just send one over and I'll give you the list," Sapnap said, rifling through his belt pockets for a business card, handing it to George.

"I don't know if I'll return but, I'll be sure to recommend The Techno Tattoo Parlor to my friends," George said, standing up and reaching for his scarf, carrying it under his arm instead, he wiped his tears away one last time.

"Ha, yeah man, hope to see you again," Sapnap said, offering a fist-bump, instead he was caught in a hug, not the first time its happened, but this was the first time its made his heart skip a bit.

"Thank you so much," George said quietly before breaking away and making his way out the door, the bell jingling on his way out, leaving Sapnap speechless.

He simply took a seat, quelling the red on his face as he sat in the silence, Karl is never gonna let him live this one down if he learns about it.

"Some Brits really got you down that bad Sap?" one of Sapnaps coworkers asked, Quackity, although only a business name, everyone called him that, he was working the counter at the moment.

"Shut the fuck up," Sapnap spat back in response, gaze never leaving the floor.

"I'm telling Karl," Quackity said bluntly, smirking as he did so.

"You wouldn't dare!" Sapnap exclaimed, snapping up to meet his friends knowing gaze, an eyebrow quirked.

"I would dare, I will dare, and I'm going to dare," Quackity said, already pulling out his phone, Sapnap only groaned.

---

"Karl!" Sapnap practically shouted as he slammed open the door, it banged against the wall, his roommate jumped and something shattered, followed by a quiet 'fuck!' before Karl walked out.

"You're in love," Karl simply said, leaving Sapnap speechless as his throat dried, "Quackity told me."

"That gossipy bitch," Sapnap muttered under his breath, Karl nodded.

"You're cleaning up the broken dishes bro," Karl said, his tone was an order not a suggestion and Sapnap went to speak, "yes I'll listen to your lovesick ramblings."

"Good, because I have a lot to say," Sapnap said as he dropped off his bag at the door, walking over to the kitchen to find a broken plate on the floor, he went to speak, "actually, maybe I don't."

"Fine by me, just get it done quick, Wilburs dropping by for a piercing," Karl said, Sapnap nodded as he picked up the chunks and placed them on the counter, leaving to search for a broom.

"Doesn't he hate piercings?" Sapnap asked.

"Despises 'em, but he says it couldn't hurt that bad," Karl said, before Sapnap could ask he answered, "yes I'm charging him only half price."

"Good, he's been one of our best clients, literally doesn't move a fucking inch," Sapnap as he swept the porcelain debris into the dustpan, pouring them into a garbage can.

"I know right? For real, he is by far the best person I've worked on," Karl said, gesturing a bit as he leaned against the counter, Sapnap nudged him aside.

"Same here, you think Quackity will ever get a tat?" Sapnap asked before yanking the faucet over, their sink having a retractable and extendable one, he had to hold his head at an awkward angle to get a decent flow without choking.

"Who knows, he's a weird one," Karl said, he shrugged his shoulders a bit as he did so, "anyways, tell me about this Brit that's got you down bad?"

"Karl he's perfect, sure, a little messed up, but I can fix him, poor boy got coerced into getting tatted by his ex," Sapnap explained, Karl smirked at the 'I can fix him' because he knew better than anyone that there was no Sapnap could fix anyone.

"Do go on, how was he under your gun?" Karl asked, Sapnap gave him a blank look.

"We call it a pen in the industry Karl, lets be professional," Sapnap said, his tone almost mocking, "but he was perfect, a little skittish, but otherwise, he was just great, we didn't do ribs today though, only a coverup."

"Think he'll come back for a rib job?" Karl asked, Sapnap shrugged his shoulders.

"No way to tell, he seemed pleased about it though, I hope so," Sapnap said, Karl placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, either way I'll be here to make sure you can never live it down no matter what happens," Karl said in a comforting manner with a smile.

"I know, no need to remind me," Sapnap said, doorbell, both of them were to to rush to answer, they weren't fast enough though, as Wilbur simply let himself in, dropping his bag by Sapnaps.

"You guys should start locking the fucking door," Wilbur said as he walked past them straight to Karls makeshift piercing shop, both Sapnap and Karl were swift to follow, the latter taking an extra moment to wash his hands.

Wilbur sat on the ground, legs crossed, Sapnap sat across from him leaned against a wall, and Karl walked in, flicking his hands dry of soapy water. He hummed to himself as he grabbed needles and a bit of everything, unsure of what Wilbur was gonna ask for, he sat down directly in front of Wilbur. Sapnap simply watched, unsure of the piercing art, it looked simply enough, but at the same time, there was a larger chance of messing it up.

"So, what'll it be, my first real customer," Karl asked as he held up the various needles, Wilbur visibly tensed.

"Just go right through the this part," Wilbur said, gesturing vaguely to the edges of his ear, a cartilage piercing right along the side.

"Perfect, now, hold still," Karl said, dotting the spot with a pen of some type, he brought up the needle, "Sapnap go get a towel in case theres excessive bleeding."

"Bleeding...?" Wilbur meekly asked as Sapnap turned to leave with a prompt 'got it' but he was out before the needle went through.

He did distantly hear a meek yelp followed by muffled sounds of agony and comforting words as he grabbed a towel. He made sure to dampen it, he grabbed a cup of water as well, just in case, his return greeted him with a sight that made him smirk. He never expected to see Wilbur nearly fainting and practically crying as Karl of all people threaded an earring through the bloody hole.

"Sapnap," Karl said, Sapnap wordlessly handing over the towel before the blood was dabbed away, then he handed over the cup of water,

"Fuck, why does it hurt?" Wilbur asked keeping his tone steady despite the desire to just sob, he's used to tattoo pains, but this? This is different and he hates it, never again.

"Because I shoved a needle through your ear, that's why," Karl said, patting Wilbur on the shoulder, keeping the damp towel pressed to his ear, "and don't worry, you're doing much better than Sapnap when he got his septum pierced."

"Woah now, let's not get ahead of ourselves," Sapnap began to try and defend himself.

"He was crying like a bitch," Karl said, Wilbur snickered a bit at that notion.

"I was not crying like a bitch! I was crying like a dignified dude who just got a needle shoved through his nose," Sapnap said, although, it did little to help his case, it drew another moment of laughter from Wilbur though.

"Sure you were," Wilbur said, glancing up at Sapnap with a smug look on his face, the latter looked away.

"I fucking wasn't," Sapnap said.

"Then how about you sit down and get a needle through the ear too, piercing bros or some shit like that," Wilbur challenged, Sapnap quirked a brow, "any piercing."

"Fine then, be that way," Sapnap said as he sat down beside Wilbur, casting a side eyed glare to him, "Karl you know how to do tongue piercings right?"

"Of course I do, but uh, I highly doubt you want a tongue piercing, it gets really bloody, really fast," Karl said as he stood up and grabbed the supplies, Sapnap didn't say anything, only stuck his tongue out, "okay then."

Karl was there was a lot of blood, a lot of pain too, and even some sobbing and screaming garbled cusses at him. Wilbur was practically laughing the entire time, because he's never seen Sapnap so temperamental before. It took nearly an hour of agony for him to calm down and just rest his head on Karls shoulder, blood still oozing a bit, and the permanent taste of metal was something he wasn't looking forward too.

"How could you do this to me Karl?" Sapnap groaned, eyes closed and mouth hurting.

"Cause you can be an over competitive bitch and took Wilburs challenge," Karl answered, running his hand through Sapnaps hair.

"Idiot, see you in a month or two though, one of you at least," Wilbur said as he stood up, Karl nudged off Sapnap before standing up as well, leaving Sapnap on the cold, carpeted ground.

"First, you'll need these," Karl said, handing two bottles to Wilbur who seemed perplexed, "read the instructions, if you have further questions, just gimme a ring."

"Oh don't worry, I have lots of questions," Wilbur said before turning to leave.

"Karl, you're making dinner," Sapnap groaned, face pressed into the ground, it didn't hurt so much as be extremely numb now, it bothered him deeply, the sensations.

"I figured as much, and we're having soup tonight," Karl said as he lifted up Sapnap and helped ferry him off to the couch.

"What? But we literally have a steak in the fridge, waiting to be cooked," Sapnap whined as he slumped himself on the back of the couch, able to see enough of the kitchen to watch Karl cook.

"Do you really want to be chewing steak with a fresh tongue piercing Sap?" Karl asked, glancing over his shoulder as he reached for a carton of chicken broth.

"No," Sapnap said.

"Exactly, so we're having soup for a couple days," Karl said as he put on a pot, tying his jacket around his waist promptly afterwards.

"Do you think George'll like it?" Sapnap asked, piquing Karls interest.

"And who might this 'George' be?" Karl asked, Sapnaps face heated up.

"That guy I was talking about earlier, the one Quackity told you about," Sapnap said, the realizing he hadn't mentioned Georges name once dawning upon him.

"Oh! That guy, I see," Karl said, his smirk was hidden by the fact he was turned towards the stove, "I'm sure he'll love it, if you ever see him again that is."

"Don't even joke about not seeing him again," Sapnap said, groaning as he did so, was he really stuck in a spiderweb of emotions for a client he may never see again? Yeah, yeah he fucking was, and he's not going to deny that truth from himself, try not to at least.

"Eh, at least we'll have guys like Wilbur, he's reliable," Karl said, trying to get a rise out of Sapnap with his phrasing.

"No, that's not what I mean, I just want to see him again, he's so pretty, he let me put a capitalized 'fuck' in calligraphy on his neck for all to see Karl," Sapnap said, "and not to cliche, but I'm in love Karl and I cannot stress that fact enough."

"He'll send you an email eventually, then you'll basically have todays variant of 'getting a girls number,' except its a guys number, because you are queer as the ever living fuck my guy," Karl said, pausing between his statements to correct himself, trying his hardest not to stumble over his words, "ask him out if he comes back for a rib job."

"Ask him out? Karl you're insane," Sapnap said, his tone was genuine and dramatized.

"You'll have already laid your hands all over him at that point, why not, worst case scenario he rejects you," Karl said nonchalantly.

"I know," Sapnap groaned, he started on the meander over to Karl.

"So just ask him out, do it, no balls," Karl said, Sapnap only gave a dissatisfied sound in response, "do you really want Quackity making fun of you for this until you die?"

"No," Sapnap whined, slouching on Karls shoulders again.

"Then do it," Karl said, "I don't like seeing you in a funk man, and you'll be having a month long depression fest if you miss your chance, or if you get rejected, this is a challenge by the way, if you don't I get free range on all of your equipment."

"A challenge, with my equipment on the line?" Sapnap asked, Karl nodded.

"Yes, if you don't ask him out, I win, if you do, I lose," Karl said, Sapnaps mood lightening a little bit at the notion of a challenge.

"Alright then, challenge accepted," Sapnap said as he pushed himself off of Karl who smirked to himself.

"Good, and no being an emo cringefail leading up to Georges rib job, brings down the entire shop man," Karl said, laying down the final term in their little bet.

"Of course not, never know when it'll be someones first," Sapnap said, he flinched back a bit when the piercing hit his teeth, no one noticed, his dignity remains.

---

The bell jingles as Wilbur walks in, Quackity looks up and chuckles a bit, Wilbur can only roll his eyes.

"Yes, Quackity?" Wilbur asked as he meandered over to the chair he always sat at when waiting.

"Nice piercing, makes you look cringe as fuck," Quackity said, eyes trained on Wilbur.

"Yeah, what about it, I may be cringe but I'm free," Wilbur stated in his defense, "how long is it until Karl is done with his client?"

"Thirty minutes, just raring to get your first tattoo by none other than moi?" Quackity asked, getting a bit of a glare, he chuckled to himself.

"The only reason I'm settling for your inks is because Sapnap is booked up to the tits with that stupid Brit," Wilbur stated boldly even though he's been admiring Quackitys work for a while now, unable to get a single time slot until just now.

"Tell me about it, the poor boy is just obsessed, one time his client passed out and he just started going off about that guy, George, I think thats his name," Quackity said, aware that Sapnap could most likely hear them, he was currently doing work on some kid named Ranboo, just barely old enough to get one, the ID even looked a little bit false, he was passed though, "for real though, Sapnap needs to ask him out."

"Please, Sapnaps only asked someone out once and the rejection never left him, he's gonna bail last second, even if this George ends up a masochistic fuck and starts moaning like a bitch in heat," Wilbur said, drumming his fingers on his thighs.

"You're absolutely correct, and no one can deny that fact," Quackity said, nodding a bit, "but seriously though, who did that piercing man?"

"Karl," Wilbur answered.

"No, really?" Quackity asked, leaning over his desk in a way that somehow added extra emphasis to the way he quirked his brow.

"Seriously, Sap even got his tongue piercing from Karl, he cried like a bitch," Wilbur said smirking at the memory.

"I'll take your word for it," Quackity said, promptly before the bell jingled again, in walked a guy in blue, with 'fuck' tattooed on his neck, that had Wilbur invested in whatever was up with this guy.

"I'm here for the guy who wears skirts," he simply said, Wilbur and Quackity exchanged glances before the latter of the two actually did his job again.

"That would be Sapnap, and you must be George," Quackity said.

"Yeah, that would be me," George answered.

"He talks about you nonstop you know?" Quackity asked, he noticed George tense.

"Really?" George asked, Quackity nodded, even though he was not nearly half as valuable to the place as Sapnap, he could still toy with the clients sometimes.

"Nonstop, all we hear about is you," Wilbur chimed in, George turned to see a different brunette sitting by the window.

"He loves you dude," Quackity said, pointing the eraser end of a pencil in Georges direction.

"I highly doubt that," George said, clearly flustered at the notion.

"Oh, he would say otherwise if he wasn't a pussy, you can hang out with Wilbur if you want too," Quackity said, smirking as he did so, proceeding to use the same pencil to gesture to where Wilbur was patiently seated, waiting for Karl to be ready.

George reluctantly meandered over to sit across from Wilbur, hand absently reaching for the tattoo on his neck, he loved it he did, but it got him a lot of questions. He could practically feel Wilburs eyes searing his skin as they trained themselves on Sapnaps inking; a prompt sigh. He lowered his hand entirely and gave a gesture to speak which Wilbur was very, very attentive to, responding almost right away.

"So, whats the story behind the uh, the fuck on your neck?" Wilbur asked, trying to find words to phrase the question professionally, but he really couldn't.

"Coverup, bad blood, needed to forget," George explained, using as little words as possible to do so.

"Shit man, that's a mood," Wilbur said, stretching his arms a bit before pulling up his sleeve to reveal a tattoo of a similar origin on his wrist, George stared at it, a skull, "still though, keep pushing, you made it this far didn't you?"

"Yeah, I guess I did make it this far," George said, not expecting life advice from a guy looking like Wilbur.

"Exactly, whatevers coming at you, just remember, give 'em a fuck you and watch 'em turn tail and run," Wilbur said, he perked up a bit when he heard footsteps Karl stepped out first before a guy in green walked out second, Georges eyes instantly snapped themselves into staring at the table, at Wilburs hands, at anything but the guy in green.

Of course, the idea that if he acted like he wasn't there he wouldn't been seen didn't work in a mostly empty tattoo parlor.

"Hi George," Dream stated quietly once he was standing at the table where George was sitting, the Brit looking up and forcing eye contact before speaking.

"Dream, fuck you man, I'm not having a conversation with you and risking ruining a perfectly good day on a gaslighter like you," George said everything falling out of his mouth at once, Wilbur looked more shocked than Dream did, "please, just, don't talk to me."

"I just wanted to say the coverup looks better than my own work," Dream said, pivoting on his heels to leave, letting George, Wilbur, Quackity, and now Karl stand in silence.

"Was that the guy?" Wilbur asked, George nodded, "nice one dude."

"What the fuck do you mean by that, he could've jumped me, I don't know what hes like now," George explained, unaware of the fact this conversation was digging into Wilburs time slot.

"I woulda punched him if he hurt you, you're kind of whats keeping Sapnap going right now," Karl said bluntly, "and Sapnap is the last thing keeping this place afloat, also, you seem like a nice dude."

"I'm with Karl, that guy looked very, very punchable," Quackity said, completing forgetting to mention the whole 'doing it to defend you part' and mainly focusing on the 'getting to punch an asshole' part.

"Everyone in this parlor would punch that guy for you, for anyone in this parlor really," Wilbur said, that statement almost made Georges blood run cold, "we're a community, and we've been meaning to get an uptight Brit in the gang, although, how uptight of a flighty broad can you be when you have 'fuck' tattooed on your neck?"

"I'm not sure whether or not I should be scared, or comforted," was all George could say.

"I don't see any reason we should hurt a guy like you, to repeat, your the one keeping Sapnap afloat," Karl said, and as if on cue, Sapnap walked out, followed by one of his clients, he could barely see the small crown etched between his neck artery and the collarbone.

"What he said, good luck, he won't treat you wrong," Wilbur said before standing up.

"C'mon Wilbur, that conversation dug into our time slot," Quackity said as he hopped off of the stool which Karl swiftly took residence of.

"Well sorry for wanting to comfort the guy," Wilbur said in an overly dramatic tone, he finished with a smirk as he followed Quackity.

George listened as Sapnap gave the routine to his client before wishing them farewell with a fist-bump, then he noticed George and trotted over. He sat parallel to George, propping one leg over the other as he rested his elbows on the table.

"So, baby blue, what can I do ya for?" Sapnap asked as George pulled out a piece of paper, the design consisted of thorny vines and tentacles, wrapped around ribs, and somewhere behind it, a heart- Sapnaps eyes widened.

"I don't know if its too much, if it was we don't need the heart," George said, gesturing to the hyper realistic heart behind the ribs.

"No, it's fucking awesome, I just, I'm not sure if we'll be able to get color or shading done in this appointment, probably only the line art if anything more," Sapnap said before bringing his eyes back up to Georges, "and I kind of want to know the story behind it to, because this is a banger tat."

"You'll hear the story once you have me under your gun, nice piercing by the way," George said, sticking out his tongue after mentioning the piercing instead of just saying it was a tongue piercing.

"Thanks, Karl did it for me," Sapnap said before standing up, he brushed down his skirt, pleated and white as always, today's heat was sweltering to the point he even dropped his usual short cut hoodie for a sleeveless shirt instead- those contributing factors gave George an impeccable view of the ink that curled around Sapnaps arms and rested on his shoulder like a sign of regalia, a crest royalty; each design intricate and unique but all syncing up.

George couldn't help but stare at the tattoos as he followed Sapnap, eyes trained across the delicate black swirls and acute edges of reds and blues, it was intense. He could never imagine himself enduring so much pain, but here he was, coming to Sapnap with a multi appointment design. He gave a shuddering sigh, that is going to be a lot of pain, he still pulls of his shirt and takes a seat either way, leaning back relaxing as he lines up the design to give Sapnap an idea of where to put it.

Normally Sapnap free hands his art and hopes it comes out looking accurate, it almost always does, but this time he pulls out a marker and starts to etch the shapes out so he'll have something to follow. The felt tip brushes over skin with ease, one hand pressed upon on Georges chest so he has a constant sizing scale for comparison, he just hopes George doesn't notice his shaking. Sure, he's done intricate back pieces before, but this is different and he doesn't how exactly its different, his breathing is deep and slow as he tries to stay steady- that all goes to shit when he pulls back and grabs his pen, the shaking returning tenfold.

He places it upon one of the outer tentacles, outlining the sucker cups before curving the edges until they collide with thorny vines, he makes sure to add extra lines to the vines, details. He repeats the simple process with each tentacle and each vine, curving and curling, pulling away from time to time just to make sure he hasn't made any noticeable mistakes, and too his delight, he hasn't. But, it still takes much longer than he would've liked, and he still hasn't even touched the ribs or the heart below them; George asks a question, pulling his attention from the time.

"Hey Sapnap," George began, Sapnap pulled away from his canvas.

"Yeah," Sapnap said, he had to wipe the sweat from his brow and try to halt the shaking of his hands.

"Whats the story behind the heart?" George asked, tilting his head in the vague direction of said heart before Sapnap pointed to one, then another, until coming across the one.

"The half heart, I was bored, didn't have the patience to do both halves," Sapnap said, shrugging his shoulders a bit before leaning back down, he ghosted what was already engraved with his pointer finger before placing his finger atop the sketch, trying to get an accurate read on where to line up the ribs.

"Oh, that makes sense," George said, his breath caught when Sapnap hit one of his ribs, the latter didn't notice.

Sapnap continued in that fashion, running his fingers along Georges ribs one or two more times before placing down the pen and running it along the outer edges, not quite laying atop the bone. The line was harder to get straight than he'd admit due to the nature of going beside a bone, the muscle and skin acted different, pulling and pushing in different ways. But once he was working on the extremely small cracking patterns throughout the ribs themselves George tensed up entirely, sharply sucking in a breath and not moving an inch.

"Good boy..." Sapnap murmured quietly as he pulled his pen along the cracks, they were thin and intricate, but not coating the entire thing- he couldn't've ignored Geores reaction to the words if he tried, he kept talking, "I was wondering if you wanted to hang out sometime or something."

"Like what?" George asked, his voice came out swiftly and tense, nails nearly tearing the pleather because it was just a bit to much sensation.

"Me and Karl usually watch movies on Saturdays, you could tag along if you wanted too," Sapnap offered, he lifted his pen after finishing the cracks and waited for George to breath again, all that was left was the heart, then he could call it a day and schedule for a later date, if there was extra time, he could do more.

"Sounds great, I'll uh, I'll send you an email about the address later," George said, he felt like his throat was in knots, he wasn't even gonna look at his new ink until it was done.

"Sounds like a plan then, now hold still," Sapnap said before pressing down the pen again.

The heart was a bit easier than expected as most of it was obscured by the ribs, but he was still extremely careful as too not mess it up this late into the process. To say he was proud of his work would be an understatement, this was by far the best things he's ever done, although, he would have to hand it to George for the design. He didn't expect the Brit to come to him with something so intense, but, he didn't expect to get a tongue piercing either, the world is full of surprises he supposed. But when he finally lifts the pen for the last time, George heaves a breath and speaks.

"It's symbolic of my struggles, even when things seem ugly, something beautiful is still underneath," George explained abruptly, almost catching Sapnap off guard.

"Huh, that's beautiful man, you know that right?" Sapnap asked, George shook his head.

"You're the first person whose seen the design, let alone know what it means," George said as Sapnap applied the second skin, once he was done George spoke again, "I don't know if we'll have enough time, but, could you also give me a half heart?" Sapnap glanced up at the clock.

"Barely," Sapnap said before grasping Georges upper arm, "I don't usually do spontaneous shit, so considering yourself lucky."

"Please, I do everytime I'm in your grasp," George stated causing Sapnap to nearly choke on his own spit as he engraved half a heart into Georges arm, a matching design to his own.

"You really do?" Sapnap asked, keeping his eyes trained on his work, he could feel the blood pulse under his grip.

"I mean, aside from the fact you're one of thee best tattooists in the city, you're like, a fun guy to be around," George said, Sapnap was beyond flattered at the compliment coming from George of all people.

"Thanks for the compliments, and you," Sapnap said as he lifted his pen before going back down to add the other half of the arrow, "well, you're a fucking masterpiece, even without my ink."

"I know many people who would disagree with that statement," George said, Sapnap shrugged his shoulders as he finished the tattoo up, he added second skin.

"It's a shame no one else can see that then," Sapnap said as he helped up George, "try not to wear tight shirts until the healing process is over."

"Okay, I'll try," George said as he made his way to leave, halted by Sapnap.

"Wait, I just wanna say that you are by far, one of the coolest people I've worked on," Sapnap said, he was kicking the ground with one foot, "and you didn't give me a fist-bump."

"Right, almost forgot," George said before bringing Sapnap in for a hug, this was just going to be a thing now wasn't it?

"See you on Saturday I guess, or sooner if you want a piercing," Sapnap said, George gave a nod before leaving.

"See you on Saturday," George said before closing the door, the bell jingled.

Silence once again as Sapnap sat down beside the window, that quaint silence was impossibly short lived as Karl simply had to say something.

"Well I'll be damned, you asked him out," Karl said in disbelief, he got a glare from Sapnap, "I have to tell this to Quackity."

"Don't you fucking dare," Sapnap threatened, Karl shrugged his shoulders before doing it anyways.

"I'm telling Wilbur too," Karl said, his smirk was evident, Sapnap groaned.

"Fine then, be that way, but I have an adorable date and you don't, suck on that," Sapnap said, somewhat proud of himself for arranging one date with George, hoping it would become a more than one time occasion.

[prideoftheknights]

Chikage Utsuki 【Literature Impasse】 N Story Translation

Backstage story: Role Study 【Takasugi】

Card Quote:

"Ah... uuhm... well... Actually, the editor-in-chief has completely revised, or rather, rewritten..."

translation under the cut!

Tasuku: This sake is delicious.

Sakyo: Yeah, Yukishiro showed me this sake before. I like it too.

Tsumugi: Oh right, I heard from Sakuya-kun that the members of Spring Troupe are all going to read a book by a literary giant and write a book report on it.

Tasuku: Heh? Role building for the show, huh?

Chikage: Yeah, that kind of role building isn't bad. Sakuya suggested it.

I received the recommended book lineup from Tsuzuru over LIME earlier too.

Sakyo: Have you already decided on which book you're going to read?

Chikage: I have. I was thinking of this…

Sakyo: They have novels in an e-book format too, huh

Chikage: Any book is available online these days. Well, I haven't decided whether I'll read it electronically or on paper yet though.

Tsumugi: This work has a fairly eerie or peculiar atmosphere to it, doesn't it?

Tasuku: What made you decide to choose it?

Chikage: It was one in the recommended lineup that I knew the synopsis of, but had never read properly.

Tasuku: I see.

Sakyo: Nevertheless, I'm curious to see what Utsuki will write in his book report. I'm quite interested to see what he'll write. I'd love to read it.

Chikage: If the opportunity comes one day.

Chikage: ......

(I ended up buying it at a bookstore. I've been trying to read it but......)

Well, that's pretty much in accordance with the synopsis.

Itaru: YEAH! Got a rare item!

Oh, come to think of it, Senpai. I saw you finished reading your book a few days ago, but have you finished your report yet?

Chikage: I've finished it already.

Itaru: Eh? When did you finish it? I don't think I've seen you write anything......

Chikage: I didn't write it in our room. Have you finished writing your book report on "Pandora's Box"[1]?

Or rather, have you even finished reading it?

Itaru: I finished the book, but I haven't written the report yet.

Chikage: I wonder how you have so much time to play games when you're not finished yet.

Itaru: I'll finish the report by the deadline.

Besides, the game I'm playing right now is a game that features literary giants, so this is also part of my role building.

Chikage: How childish……. I won't know if you don't finish though.

Chikage: A booklet compiling everyone's impressions, huh. I didn't expect to get everyone's reports back in such a form.

Itaru: Booklets like these quite nostalgic.

Izumi: Right? As I was making it too, I couldn't help but think about how nostalgic it was.

Sakuya: Next is Chikage's report. I'm really interested in what kind of report you wrote!

Chikage: Sakyo-san said the same thing.

Citron: I'll read Chikage's report at once!

Itaru: Say, Senpai's report... Isn't it kind of short?

Tsuzuru: Yeah you're right. Let's see, this piece is about a man going to the sand dunes......

Hey, isn't this just the synopsis!?

Masumi: It's easy to understand.

Chikage: I wrote it so that even a grade schooler could understand it.

Citron: Even I can understand it! I'm excited to see how it all ends!

Masumi: He wrote, "The ending of the book was enjoyable to read."

Citron: Oh! This is an inventory count...! [2]

Sakuya: An inventory count?

Itaru: It's half finished, you mean.

Citron: Yes that!

Chikage: I took spoilers into consideration.

Tsuzuru: But, even if you consider spoilers in your book report... To begin with, you didn't even write a single word of your own feelings in your book report!

Chikage: After all, it's better to read the book and come up with your own opinions for yourself.

Itaru: Sticking to a true reader's culture...

Sakuya: Ahaha...

TL notes!

[1]: the piece of literature itaru picked is "pandora's box" by osamu dazai! an existing review of it can be found here if you're curious about it.

[2]: citron says 棚卸し (kanaoroshi) and itaru corrects him with 生殺し (namagoroshi), which can be used as a metaphor for doing something in a half way to torment someone

[aoyama-division]

“Delivery~!”

At the doorstep of the Kōkyū chef’s house, the deliveryman called for Luis to retrieve his package. Addressed from Toyama city, it wasn’t hard to guess who the box was from.

Neatly wrapped in brown packaging paper and twine, the box was a lot heavier than what would be expected. But it was easy to find out why once the outer layer was torn off.

Several pieces of metal, more specifically copper were revealed one by one. The first, appeared to be some sort of decorative bowl? With a closer look at the contraption and a small instructional booklet that was attached, it explains that the device is a bell. Tap it, push it, spin it, and it always rings out a soft little chime. A cute little cat with a heart-shaped hole tops it, spinning as the copper ornament is spun about.

The next gift turns out to be a big set of coasters all colored in a beautiful array of brown and blue hues. Cold to the touch, their simplistic design made for a sleek look. 

Attached to this all is a letter, neatly written for Luis. It read:

To Luis-san,

Happy birthday. I hope you have a good great fun celebration today. My gramma and I picked these gifts out for you, since we figured you already get so much food from us. The mawarin* was made by a craftsman just outside my city. Gramma picked out the coasters for you after pulling some strings with the maker. It’s not much, but we hope you enjoy them.

Wishing you good health,

Asato Rikiya

*I added a link to a YouTube video showing what a mawarin is and sounds like. You can also click here.

After reading the letter, Luis looked at the small bell-like decoration called a mawarin. Picking it up and setting it down on his living room table, the Hispanic chef gave it a slight push and listen as the bell inside the bowl gave a ringing sound, one that gave him pause. Tapping it again, he listen as the bell rang once more.

Truthfully, Luis had never been one for unnecessary noise. After hanging out with two teammates who didn't know how to be quiet to save their lives and working in an environment filled with constant noise, he learned to truly value and appreciate a quiet atmosphere. Still though, the noise this tiny bell was playing was fairly nice. He didn't want to just leave it somewhere and forget about it. But he very well couldn't keep it with him at all times.

Hearing the doorbell ring once more for the umpth time today, Luis groaned as he was tired of that loud, obnoxious bell.

...Bell...

Luis looked at the doorbell and at the bell in his hands before a small grin appeared on his face as his brain just hatched an idea...

One week later...

"...What the?"

That was what the delivery man had to say as he read the notice at the entrance where the doorbell previously used to be. On the piece of paper, it read:

'The doorbell is sadly inoperable. To alert the resident(s) in this house, please ring the small bell above you.'

Looking upward, the deliveryman saw a golden bell that was currently being hung by a thin piece of wire, drifting in the wind. Staring at it for a bit more, he finally reached upward, tapping it, releasing a small chime. A minute or so later, the door finally opened revealing Luis, a neutral expression on his face, though it did contain a small smile.

"Yes?"

Taking a glance up at the golden bell, Luis knew he was going to have to thank Asato and his grandmother deeply for this...

[legionofpotatoes]

Yeah, games are largely digital now and, yeah, reducing the paper footprint is mass-production is always a good thing (could argue plastic too with the shift to digital), but I will say there was always something really exciting about going out to get a new game as a kid, popping open the case/box in the car, and reading through the manual on the way home

Back then, commercials were usually what introduced me to a game, but the boxes and manuals did a lot in terms of really getting me invested. It helped build anticipation for what I was about to play for the next month (or longer) and it gave me a glimpse of the characters and game worlds that I was about to meet and discover. It gave my imagination a chance to run loose and good games always delivered on that expectation and then some

I think it is fair to say we're probably well-beyond that era with so many things being digital and on-demand now, but I honestly remember being a bit sad the first time I opened a new physical game case and there was nothing inside except the game and a flimsy pamphlet for like a free month of Xbox Live and a DLC code (or whatever it was). Even Nintendo games, which were always stylized and colorful and filled with artwork of official designs, are nothing more than a tiny little cartridge in an oversized case nowadays (Switch cases still even have the little plastic prongs to hold a manual, but none of the games I own came with one)

Sure, there are literally countless ways to go online and learn about a new game nowadays (videos, streams, digital store pages, reviews, etc.) and I very much appreciate that accessibility, but I guess if you lived through that era, it kinda just feels like a small piece of the experience is missing now. A little booklet with fun pictures and story snippets wasn't much, but it added to the sense of wonder in a time before the availability of mobile devices and on-demand services reduced waiting times to effectively nothing. It'd be a novelty now, but if the environmental impact weren't a factor, I think it'd still add to the charm for those who appreciate the little things

Yeah. Yeah to all of this nonnie, thanks for taking the time to articulate it. It was exciting and it was all part of the anticipation magic, and it does feel sad to see it go. But the industry has grown too large and too complicated to accommodate that anymore, and there's simply too much money involved, too much human labor that is seldom offset. It is the most profitable and profit-driven entertainment sphere in the entire world, drowned in unethical practices and inhumane work conditions and downright predatory gambling schemes. Loving games today is very different from loving games back then. Changes how I view ownership, too. Cause given everything above, it just seems like a waste.

I'm thirty (incredibly weird to say this), I lived through the late nineties/early 2000s boom of boxed disc media, and I even have a very concrete memory of my best friend gifting me booklets from his game discs, cause I could never afford the games themselves but he wanted me to take a piece of that experience home in some way. It was always a special part of being a little guy who liked games. But now? I play a Videoed Game and 9 times out of 10 it's built on the broken backs of burnt out employees, costs half my month's pay, and maybe has a good enough sense of magic in its story that remains visible after it fights through fifteen different layers of over-engineered gameplay systems and UI. It's just a different relationship, for me personally, with the whole thing. And booklets are just not going to do anything for me anymore, except to maybe add a teeny-tiny frosting on the massive, depressing cake that is the human cost of making games.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Victor’s Business Exhibition Date

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date, 企展之约, which has not been released in EN 🍒

[ This date was released on 16 July 2021 ]

After a meal on this weekend afternoon, I’m nestled on the sofa, watching a new episode of an anime.

MC: Hahahaha!

Watching the comical antics of the main character on-screen, I can’t help but laugh out loud.

“Whoosh--”

Hearing the rustling of papers from behind, I subconsciously shut my mouth, my line of sight flitting past the sofa and landing on Victor.

He’s sitting at the dining table, a look of concentration on his face while he reads a report. The small dining table is full of documents.

I had initially planned to watch movies with Victor at my place today. I didn’t expect him to be so bogged down with work lately, and unable to relax over the weekend.

MC: Victor, am I disturbing you? Why don’t you use the study room or my bedroom instead?

Without lifting his head, he props up the spectacles on the bridge of his nose.

Victor: Who was the one who wanted to “stick” together with me over the weekend?

MC: ...that’s true, but you’re focusing on work now.

He has no intention of continuing the conversation. Rubbing my nose guiltily, I head into the kitchen quietly. After cutting some fruits, I bring them over to the dining table.

MC: In that case, I’ll apologise to CEO Victor~

Sticking a toothpick into an apple slice, I bring it to him. He tilts his head up slightly, taking a bite from the apple in my hand.

From my peripheral vision, I spot an invitation card with the words “Elementary and Middle School Students” on it. Curious, I take a closer look.

MC: “Corporate Culture Exhibition for Elementary and Middle School Students”? Is LFG participating in the Corporate Culture Exhibition?

Victor: We received the invitation and haven’t decided if we’re participating.

MC: I see... I’ve never heard of this exhibition.

Victor: The government organised it this year. 

Victor: The officials said that it’s meant to introduce elementary and middle school students to outstanding occupations and various career paths to help them establish their aspirations.

MC: This exhibition seems pretty meaningful. It’s beneficial to LFG’s business image too.

MC: Come to think of it, I wonder if little kids have an understanding of LFG, and what kind of impression they have of LFG?

MC: Oh yes! There was a news report on elementary and middle schoolers going on company tours. Does LFG want to organise a similar activity?

Ideas come one after another in my mind. I rattle on about my opinions, but Victor doesn’t express anything.

When I start making an inventory of the company tour for students, the pen in his hand pauses, and he lifts his eyes slowly.

Victor: I can consider the exhibition, but not the company tour.

MC: Why not?

His deep eyes sweep over the anime on the television screen before landing on me.

Victor: There’s already one very noisy kid in LFG.

-

In the end, Victor accepts the invitation to the Corporate Culture Exhibition. The exhibition commences as scheduled.

Out of interest, I offer my services to Victor. I become a volunteer responsible for decorations at the venue.

Seeing the detailed and vivid posters introducing various occupations  in the exhibition hall, the LFG employees next to me are slightly awed.

LFG Employee A: It’s really nice that we have the chance to understand different occupations. When I was young, I thought there were only astronauts and scientists in the world.

LFG Employee B: Even if you only knew of those careers when you were young and decided on an aspiration, it might not become reality when you grow up. I wanted to be a dancer, but I’m doing something completely unrelated to the arts now.

LFG Employee A: That’s true. If it weren’t for the excellent pay in LFG, I’d probably be at my old home opening a second-hand bookshop and retiring early. Oh yes, MC, what did you want to do when you were young?

Getting pointed out suddenly while engrossed in their discussion causes me to be stunned momentarily.

MC: When I was young...

I blink, recalling somewhat faraway memories. Before I can ponder deeply, my phone rings - it’s a call from Victor.

Victor: Come to the café near the entrance of the exhibition hall.

MC: Now? What for?

Victor: ...what else can you do in a café? Play golf, amend proposals, go horse riding, drink coffee - which one do you think is the most suitable?

MC: ...to be honest, I can’t decide between the two options of “amend proposals” and “drink coffee”.

Victor: I ordered a custard cake. If you don’t come over, I’ll take it that you’re not interested.

MC: I’ll be there immediately!

After notifying those LFG employees, I turn around and head towards the café.

MC: Is this really okay? The others are still busy.

Victor: When did you have such a high sense of awareness? Who was the person who painstakingly learnt “Slacking Hacks” on the internet a few days ago?

MC: I was reading that for fun... I wasn’t planning to put it into practice.

Lifting my phone as I squeeze into the packed café, I notice that most of the people here are parents who are preparing to accompany their kids to the exhibition.

Victor: There’s still an hour till the exhibition begins. I’ve already told Goldman to inform everyone to take a break. In short, there’s no need to feel guilty, because...

Taking two steps into the café, I spot Victor at a glance as he sits at a table near the window calmly.

Seeing that I’m walking towards him, he puts down his phone gently, lifting his head to meet my eyes.

Victor: Aside from you, there’s another person who’s “slacking”.

Taken aback for a moment, I quickly react to the meaning in his words. My brows arch upwards as I take a seat.

MC: I didn’t expect to ever “slack” together with CEO Victor.

Elated, I pick up a fork and try a bite of the dessert in front of me. The custard melts in my mouth instantly, and it’s sweet and smooth.

MC: Delicious! As expected of CEO Victor’s pick~

Victor: Even delicious food can’t stop you from being talkative.

Right after saying this, he seems to stare at me fixedly, his expression slightly strange.

Just as I’m about to ask why he’s looking at me that way, he lifts up his coffee, his lowered eyelashes covering the smile in his eyes.

...am I overthinking things? Why do I feel as if he’s making a joke out of me?

Feeling puzzled, I notice a pen and a post-it booklet at the edge of the table.

MC: This is...?

A staff who is passing by takes a step forward, smiling as he explains.

Staff: This is a small event by our shop. You can write your hopes or suggestions for the children, then hang it on the “Hope Tree” near the door of the shop.

Struck with an idea, I pick up the pen and a post-it note.

MC: Victor, shall we write a few suggestions for the children too?

I tear a post-it note and give it to him. After staring at me in silence for a while, he suddenly reaches out his hand.

Victor: Give me one more.

MC: ?

MC: Does CEO Victor want to write a mini essay?

Ignoring my joke, he writes a sentence on each of the two post-it notes. He hands one to the staff, and stuffs the other one to me.

Bewildered, I sweep a glance at the post-it note given to the staff. The words “You only have one life” are written on it.

Lowering my head, I stare at the post-it note in my own hand. In an instant, I realise why he displayed such a strange smile earlier. There’s a short sentence written on the post-it note:

“Dummy, there’s custard on your cheek.”

??: Hello, could I trouble the two of you to help me with something?

My face reddens. After wiping the custard off my cheek with a tissue, I hear an unfamiliar female voice next to me.

Turning towards the sound, I see a lady standing beside me with two small boys.

Woman: I need to use the washroom, but bringing two boys with me isn’t really convenient. Could I trouble the both of you to take care of them for a while?

I ask for Victor’s opinion with my gaze, and he responds with a slight nod. Understanding this, I nod at the mother.

MC: Of course we can.

While thanking us, she gets the two children to sit at both ends of the table before hurrying off.

The table now comprises of the four of us - two adults and two children. The air gets filled with an inexplicable, thick awkwardness.

Victor looks at me. I look at the kids. The kids look at Victor... Clearing my throat, I decide to break this strange atmosphere.

MC: Kids, how old are the both of you?

Kid A: Mommy said that we can’t give personal information to strangers!

MC: ...

I didn’t expect to be given the cold shoulder the moment I opened my mouth. I release an embarrassed laugh.

MC: Personal information... You can use such advanced terms. You’re so smart haha.

A soft and low chuckle drifts to my ears. I glance at Victor as he picks up his coffee with a blank expression, staying uninvolved in the matter.

The other boy suddenly widens his eyes and leans towards me, pointing at my volunteer name tag and reading it aloud.

Kid B: L! F! G! Do you two work in LFG?

MC: Well...

I ponder over this. LFG is the investor of my company, and Victor is the CEO of LFG. So...

MC: I guess so.

Kid B: In that case, what are the two of you doing here? Did you sneak away?

MC: ...

Although these are unintentional words from a child, I avert my eyes guiltily. At this point, the kid who behaves like an adult speaks loudly.

Kid A: That’s impossible! Mommy said that everyone who works at LFG are really incredible people! They won’t sneak away!

Victor: Cough...

Victor pauses his sampling of the coffee. As though he choked on something, he clears his throat.

Kid B: Really?

The kid blinks his eyes as he waits for our response.

Victor’s expression is a little unnatural. He picks up a newspaper from a rack near the window, immersing himself in it.

Seeing him like this, he probably recalled the earlier conversation we had on “slacking” as well.

It’s rare to see Victor being choked up by someone. A little demon with horns suddenly appears in my heart.

I can’t help but laugh inwardly while turning to the kids.

MC: You’re correct. The employees from LFG never sneak away. We were talking about work-

MC: Right, Vic?

[Note] In CN, MC calls Victor “小李” (“xiao li”, which translates directly to Little Li).

Saying this, I wink at the person opposite me.

Victor arches his brows, astonishment in his eyes. Without waiting for him to speak, I immediately do a “stop” gesture with my hands.

MC: The previous proposal for the show is too conservative. There aren’t any highlights, and it isn’t clear who the target audience is. It might be a waste to show it during prime time.

Adjusting my posture, I clasp my fingers on the table, mimicking VIctor’s tone and expression.

MC: When will you be submitting the new proposal? Tomorrow is the deadline.

Kid A and B: Wow...

Awed gasps from the kids drift to my ears. I straighten up with pride, tilting my chin towards Victor.

He stares at me with a calm gaze, his eyes gradually illuminated with an unreadable, dense light.

He lowers the newspaper slightly, blowing the coffee in his hand gently and unhurriedly.

Victor: Are you sure these are the only problems, Miss CEO? 

Victor: I've also “reflected” much on that proposal, and there are some problems I haven’t had the chance to tell you about. 

Victor: Since you brought it up, I have no choice but to do a “self-reflection” here.

Victor’s tone is composed, and there isn’t a ripple in his expression. As compared to my pretentious posture, he’s laid-back and natural.

Victor: The theme of the show is too general and lacks a segment which stirs the audience. 

Victor: The structure also has the shadow of previous shows. A change in form but not substance - it’s a little unoriginal. 

Victor: A scandal broke out yesterday involving one of the guests for the show. A replacement guest has not been decided upon.

Victor: Also...

MC: Stop! I... I get it!

He leans against the back of the chair, a teasing glint in the depths of his eyes.

Victor: When will you be submitting the new proposal? Tomorrow is the deadline.

MC Tonight, tonight! I’ll definitely submit it tonight!

I reply instantly, my voice carrying with it some alarm. The corners of his lips hook upwards, and he retracts his “overbearing” aura.

Victor: I’ll wait and see.

I heave a sigh of relief, then feel a dryness in my mouth. Lowering my head to take a sip of coffee, I see the disappointed gazes of the two kids.

My cheeks flush. Just as I’m about to say something to salvage some pride, their mother returns, thanking us while taking them away.

I glare at Victor indignantly. He chuckles softly, then clasps his fingers together on the table just like I did earlier.

Victor: I look forward to your next “challenge”.

-

After the exhibition ends, Victor and I leave work early.

The weather is really nice today. We pick a restaurant nearby, planning to head there on foot.

Dusk hangs low, and a misty pink evening mist smudges the sky.

Perhaps due to how smoothly the exhibition went, little emotions surface in my heart. 

Beneath this beautiful sky, how many young aspirations and lives took flight earlier?

Victor: Why are you just standing there in a silly daze? Aren’t you hungry?

Retracting my thoughts, I see that Victor has stopped in front of me, his body turned to the side as he looks at me.

I hurriedly catch up to him, pulling on his arm.

MC: Victor, why did you write “You only have one life” on the post-it note today?

Victor: It’s true that you only have one life. Even an elementary student knows this principle.

MC: ...that’s not what I meant. I’m asking about what’s implied in it. For instance, are you asking the kids to seize the day and work their hardest?

His gaze lands on me. Seeing how serious I look, he slows down his pace slightly.

Victor: If you were to meet your childhood self, would you tell her to work her hardest?

MC: Mm... it’s difficult to say. I might tell her what to do in order for the current me to be even happier?

Victor: And that the reason why you can’t use an overly objective and rational principle to teach others. 

Victor: It’s a desirable trait to work their hardest so that there won't be any excuses to stop in their footsteps. 

Victor: But this doesn’t mean that everyone must have the goal of working their hardest.

Victor: After all, every person expects different things from themselves. 

Victor: Not everyone wants to stand at the peak. 

Victor: As compared to looking down from a mountaintop, there are some people who wish to happily and simply appreciate the scenery along the way. 

Victor: This might sound simple, but being an ordinary person isn’t easy.

Victor: “You only have one life” - this phrase has many meanings in different contexts.

I’m stunned for a moment. I initially thought that Victor’s words were meant to be a motivational quote, and didn’t expect for him to have such thoughts.

Even when he’s faced with young children, he doesn’t wish to give a fixed answer on the basis that he’s a mature adult.

My lips curl upwards, and I can’t help but stick a little closer to him.

MC: You’re right. After all, aside from people who stand at the peak, there are even more ordinary people.

MC: Ordinary people have one life too. They need to cherish it properly, and do what they want to do.

MC: CEO Victor, I’ve learnt something from you!

Clasping my hands together, I bow in mock seriousness. An almost indiscernible smile lifts the corners of his lips.

MC: Come to think of it, I had so many aspirations when I was young. Lawyer, teacher, police officer, judge... I didn’t expect to become a producer in the end. Perhaps in a parallel universe, there’s a me who became a lawyer, teacher or judge!

The scene from the café flashes across my mind, and I burst into laughter.

MC: I might even be a CEO! What do you think?

After I say this, Victor turns his head and gives me an amused glance.

Victor: I think you do behave like a CEO.

MC: It’s because I’ve been influenced after spending such a long time by your side~ Returning to the topic - what was your aspiration when you were young? To become a powerful business tycoon?

Victor: ...have you ever heard of a child having such a pragmatic dream?

MC: In that case, tell me about it?

He doesn’t respond, and simply keeps his eyes faced front. No matter how much I probe, he doesn’t speak.

The sweet fragrance of desserts wafts into my nose. Following the scent and turning to the bakery near the roadside, I’m struck with an idea.

Since I can’t crack this difficult question in a straightforward manner, I decide to adopt the process of elimination.

MC: A baker?

Victor: ...

A signboard with the words “Watchmaker Shop” enters my vision, and I immediately look at him.

MC: A watchmaker?

MC: The boss of a lottery shop?

MC: ...director of a zoo?

Throughout the journey, I rack my brain and ask him about all sorts of occupations. However, it’s clear that none of them are correct.

Finally, we stop in front of a crosswalk, waiting for the red light.

Looks like I won’t be able to get any answers from him today. Disappointed, I let go of Victor’s arm, releasing a soft “hmph”.

MC: Aren’t you curious if there was a choice and you weren’t the CEO of LFG, and if I weren’t a producer...

MC: What would our identities be? Would we meet? And what kind of a relationship would we have?

The red man at the other end of the road suddenly turns green, signalling for us to move forward.

My hand, which had drooped to the side, is lifted up gently by someone. His broad palm conveys a comforting temperature.

Victor: There’s nothing to be curious about.

The crowd flows past in an endless stream on the crosswalk. Their footsteps are hurried, and the tips of their feet point in different directions.

I look at the person beside me. His gaze is resolute as he holds my hand, taking large strides towards the restless crowd.

He seems to sense my gaze. Lowering his head slightly, the light in his eyes is deep and scorching.

Victor: The life that I want to choose most is already in my hand.

-

[ MOMENTS ]

Victor's Post: Turns out someone could still go to work normally after staying up to watch anime last night.

MC: Could we cancel tonight’s reservation at the restaurant? I really want to go straight home to sleep...

Victor: Eating is a necessity. The location will be changed to your home.

-

Victor's Post: Turns out someone could still go to work normally after staying up to watch anime last night.

MC: As long as I’m hardworking enough, nothing’s impossible!

Victor: Working hard to make yourself even more stupid?

-

Victor's Post: Turns out someone could still go to work normally after staying up to watch anime last night.

MC: I solemnly vow not to do such things again.

Victor: This vow better count before you start on the next anime.

🍰 Call: here

[bruhlsbees]

sapphire strings || modern!andrea marowski x gn!reader

summary: andrea marowski is an exchange student from poland and reader's stand partner in their orchestra

pairing: modern!andrea marowski x female!reader

warnings: super fluffy, possibly bad polish translations, stupidly disgustingly sweet

word count: 3,588

a/n: i just watched ladies in lavender for the first time and i adore andrea so much - such a sweet sweet boy, if you can catch the poor white chicks reference in this i will love you forever.....also check out @creme-bruhlee newest andrea marowski fanfiction because they've only posted the first chapter and you can tell it's already going to be wonderful!!

The auditorium echoed with the sounds of sheet music rustling, instruments being tuned, and those who ignored the conductor and chose to continue to play their instruments, despite others needing to desperately tune their own. It was rather chaotic - but you expected nothing different as the orchestra was preparing to enter a new concert cycle, the crazed energy still among many as the conductor passed out the new piece.

Sitting in the back, all alone, you waited until the violinists in front passed your copy of the new piece back to you. For the new concert, the orchestra would be playing ‘Dvorak - New World Symphony’. Everyone was surprised to say the least when the conductor had announced it. While it wasn’t too challenging for most of those who were in the orchestra, it still gave the conductor enough room to push you all for what he knew you could achieve.

When the girl in front of you turned around, smiling as she extended her arm out above your stand to hand you your copy, you snatched it quickly from her, eyes lighting up as you set it flat on your stand, opening the booklet to scan your section. You ignored her laugh, and the rolling of her eyes, paying attention only to the set of notes - airbowing along as you hummed to yourself.

Despite being last chair in the first violin section, you were just as enthusiastic as the others - perhaps even more than some. You didn’t mind sitting in the back, alone, it meant that you had to only rely on yourself and if you screwed up it was your fault...that and you didn’t drag anyone down with you. You couldn’t lie to yourself, the idea of having a stand partner was not something that you were fond of.

Continuing to airbow, body swaying to the music that played in your head, your motions came to a slow stop as you heard the conductor tap his baton on his stand, raising his hands to gather the attention of everyone. You hadn’t realized until looking up, but there was someone new standing beside him. Someone younger who held his violin close to his chest.

This was weird, you weren’t expecting to have any new member of the orchestra.

“Everyone! Please, settle down for just a moment,” The conductor began, hushing the orchestra with his hands before smiling at the silence, “As you may know, we are transitioning from our previous concert cycle and into our new one-” The claps and whistles that erupted from the percussion section sent out an erupt of laughters from the orchestra, even a stifled one from the conductor. Shaking his head, the conductor tapped on the stand to gather everyone back in.

“Yes, glad to hear we have some enthusiasm over that...anyways, as I was saying, we are entering our new concert cycle and there will be some minor changes with our orchestra. This isn’t a bad thing, but a good thing! We will be having a new violinist joining us all the way from Poland.” Motioning towards the gentleman beside him, the conductor smiled and nudged for the gentleman to step up on the podium with him.

“This here is Andrea Marowski. He will be performing with us for this next concert cycle. Now Andrea, if I remember correctly, you said you played quite frequently back home?”

You watched as the shy boyish grin on Andrea’s face spread, cheeks going pink as he nodded, obviously not too much of a fan with the attention drawn to him. “Tak, I play for Poland orchestra.”

The heavy Polish accent slowed his words a bit, as if he were trying to make sure to annunciate what he was saying in English correctly. You caught yourself smiling ever so slightly, thinking it was cute to see him try so hard.

Your conductor, however, was not as swooned over the Polish violinist as you were. He nodded, clapping the man’s back, before turning Andrea towards your section. You watched as he pointed at you, whispering something to Andrea before returning to the podium. Your smile dropped slightly, shifting in your seat as Andrea approached your stand, hovering next to the open seat that was on the inside.

“Witaj! I was told to sit here?” The statement sounded more like a question, and perhaps that was because the expression that stained your face was not the most welcoming. You were comfortable with the routine you had for yourself - and now it seemed like things were messing up.

“Well if you were told to sit here, you probably are meant to sit here.” You mumbled after a moment of silence, watching as he tilted his head to the side, confused as he didn’t quite catch what you had said. Before he could ask you to repeat what you had said, you were already moving down towards his chair, pulling some of your folders from the chair to set under your own.

Out of the corner of your eye you noticed Andrea tentatively take a seat, as if he knew that the seat wasn’t meant for him. His back was straight, stiff, like he was already going in to play. You wondered just how big of a deal this guy was over in Poland, because the way he held himself with his violin said almost enough.

To distract yourself from your new stand partner, you vigorously went to work airbowing the song, eyes fixed only on the pages in front of you. You weren’t usually the one to get flustered so easily over something so small, but this piece was something you were looking forward to for a long time and you wanted- needed, it to be perfect.

The sudden rap of the baton hitting the stand caught your attention, pulling you from the piece and up at the conductor, smiling at everyone with his warm smile. The two of you were close, having practiced many years with him - he was almost like a father to you - perhaps if you talked with him alone, he would change the seating arrangement?

“Is everyone ready to practice sight reading?” When a few nods were shook, he raised his hands, preparing to conduct, “Remember the emphasis of sight reading. I do not expect perfection, but to see where we are all at with this piece.”

Taking a deep breath, you raised your violin to your shoulder, adjusting the instrument to not slip from your shoulder before resting your chin on the rest, your back arched straight and foot tapping to the tempo from the metronome. When the conductor began, the strings shot down, moving to the director of the conductor.

At first you were dialed into the music, absorbing every note you could, not processing your surroundings too much until you finally heard Andrea playing beside you. You noticed that he liked to play rather dramatically, drawing out the notes that you wouldn’t think to, but nonetheless it sounded far better than your own. Was this jealousy? Perhaps; you had been with the orchestra for years and kept in the back - so when someone new shows up and clearly is better than you, you couldn’t help but kick yourself.

Shifting your sight from the paper and to Andrea, you began to airbow to watch him. His dark brows were furrowed, lips pursed, concentrating on doing his best for the sight reading. You thought to yourself how he looked funny - like a little kid being angry. You couldn’t help but smile, despite their own emotions feeling rage.

You didn’t know how long you were staring at him, airbowing sloppily, because when you looked up from his fingers and back to his face, his eyes were on you, and the expression on his face was not one of pleasure. With a ‘what are you doing’ expression, he motioned towards the booklet before it finally hit you that you missed the page turn.

With crimson ears, a burning sensation rose up your neck and to your face. You quickly turned and flipped the page, both of you doing your best to figure out where you were, but by the time you found it, the conductor had already stopped. This was embarrassing. How could you miss a page turn? Now he was probably thinking that you were an idiot!

Running a hand through your hair, you let out a soft exhale, listening as the conductor praised you for doing better than he had expected. Your thoughts were racing, too quickly for your brain to process anything. The only thing that you managed to process, however, was Andrea’s voice directed towards you.

“Ołówek?”

Snapping your head towards your left and at him, your frown deepened, confused as to what you had said to you, “I beg your pardon?”

He went to say the word again before his mouth snapped shut, frowning as he tried to think of the word before making a scribbling motion, hoping you would get the hint. It took you a moment, but you soon realized what he was asking of you.

“Oh, pencil. Yeah, hold on.” Dipping down, you opened your case and pulled out a pencil, handing it to him. You watched as he smiled, taking the pencil before leaning forward, putting a giant star above the fourth to last measure of the page, indicating for you to turn the page.

You knew that the gesture wasn’t meant to come off rude - but you were already embarrassed and it felt insulting to watch him draw such an obvious cue for you to remember. Andrea, innocent as always, looking over at you, cheeks pink, a smile across his face, as if he were proud of the stupid little star on the page.

Before your own annoyance burst, you were thankful to hear your conductor begin dismissing everyone for the day, saying that they should go out and enjoy the sun while it lasted. Packing your things up quickly, you all but ignored Andrea beside you, who was slowly packing up, a sad beaten puppy dog expression on his face.

When you finished packing, standing up and dragging your chair with the others to be stacked, you left the auditorium in a hurry, not saying goodbye to anyone. When you exited the auditorium, going down the hall, before finally reaching the fresh air of outside, you all but grumbled to yourself, kicking at the loose stones that passed you by.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

The rocks that you laid on were not comfortable, although they were dulled by the pain that coursed through you. The thin blanket didn’t provide much cushion, but warmth as the sun passed behind clouds, the wind picking up and pulling the waves in higher. You had your eyes closed, blocking the sun from directing into your pupils, blinding you completely.

Coming to the beach always seemed to help your consciousness nowadays, especially when you had a particularly hard day. You were beginning to sink in guilt with how you acted today in practice. The universe directed you onto a path to something new, something great, and you blew it on your own personal insecurities.

“So practice is going to be held every day. Starts at noon, ends at two. I want you to know that this might not be an easy transition for you, you understand? Your accident left you with permanent damage in your hand, you might not play the same aga-”

“So am I not supposed to try? To get back up, pick up my bow, and try until my hand falls off? Please...you were the one who told me all those years to never give up on myself, and now it seems as though you are. I want to be here, I was meant to be here. I can do this. I know I’m rusty, I do, but if I just give up now, I would never forgive myself.”

The conductor pursed his lips, nodding sadly at you before reaching his hand over the desk, taking your weaker one in his, holding it tenderly.

“You’re lucky to be able to still use your hand. I don’t want you to overdo it. You know I enjoy you in the orchestra, but you have to think about the rest of your life. What is to come of you if you lose the ability to use your hand by next spring? Then what?”

You knew the question was meant to sink in - to make you realize that it was important to think into the future...but that was just it, you didn’t think of the future, you thought about the moment, what was going on in the present.

Leaning forward, you placed your stronger hand on his, smiling at him, “And what if I don’t lose my hand by next spring? Have I given up on a whole year to grow? To one day sit back again in the first chair? This is my choice, and I will take all of your concerns to the heart, but at the end of the day, if I want to play, I’ll be damn sure that I am in one of those chairs.”

The determination was something the conductor had been fond of with you. The flicker of hope you always had in your eyes radiated onto the others which brought for a positive environment and a stronger bond within the orchestra.

And now - a year and a half later, your hand was growing stronger each day, and your skill was catching back up to where you were before the accident. You were still not where you wanted to be, nor where you wanted, but it was a start. A start in the right direction. The conductor explained that for the year coming back from your accident you would sit in the back, learn sometimes slower than the others, to make sure you didn’t strain your hand.

At first you were enraged by the decision, but as time went on, you knew it was for the better. The year off from first chair was only that - a year - a year compared to a lifetime didn’t seem too bad by the end of the day. And so when the Polish violinist waltzed into the room, showcasing the same enthusiasm you once held, it saddened you, reminded you of your own demons.

He was better than you, and you hated to admit it - because you knew that you would never be as good as him again. But that wasn’t his fault, and that’s why you were here now, on the beach, drowning in your sorrows.

Holding your hands close to you, head propped up by your violin case, you baked in the warmth of the sun, silent tears spilling down your cheeks. You took in a shaky breath and held it for a moment, listening to your rapid heartbeat as you tried to calm down, before finally exhaling slow. After three more times, you felt calmer, more at peace with your surroundings.

And then the sun went out, like someone turning off the lights.

Opening your eyes, your eyebrows furrowed as you saw none other than Andrea, standing above you, with a small smile on his face. When you processed who it was, you quickly pushed yourself up off your blanket, standing up to meet his chest, looking up to his eyes.

“Witaj!” Extending his hand out, he held a small purple flower towards you, motioning for you to take it - and you did, carefully taking the flower he gave you and smiled, mumbling a thank you.

Nodding his head, Andrea stuffed his hands in his pockets, looking around awkwardly before back at you, “Water pretty.” He commented, as if trying to fill the dead space between you two.

You turned your attention back towards the ocean and smiled, nodding before looking back at him, “Yes, I think so.” Twirling the purple flower in your fingers, you felt the heavy weight of the silence sit on you, wondering what to say next. Did he want something? Was he here to yell at you? Part of you knew that if he were to yell, he would have every right - after all, you were a complete jerk to him throughout practice.

But he didn’t, he never did.

Moving around you, Andrea took a seat on your blanket before patting the space beside him. At first you didn’t move, debating on whether you would want to share the space with him, but then your heart tugged, and the next thing you knew you were beside him on the blanket, shoulders pressed against one another as you both looked out towards the ocean.

“You play....” He paused, trying to think of the word he was looking for in English. While he thought, your stomach twisted in knots. What would he say? Was he looking for the word bad? No good? Despicable? Was this man going to destroy your entire career with just one wor-

“Me-Mez...merisi?” Looking down, your cheeks grew even hotter than they had in the auditorium. Did he just say that your playing was mesmerizing? You knew he must have heard the word on the television or radio, because it wasn’t a word you’d ever thought to describe yourself.

“Mesmerizing?” You questioned, watching as he nodded, agreeing proudly as he got the word right. You shook your head, laughing lightly, “I wouldn’t say that...but thank you.”

Clearing your throat, you felt silent, playing with the flower again before turning, opening your violin case to set the flower in, so it wouldn’t get lost or ruined, before closing the case again. You were then again met with the silence between you two.

And then, the bubbling sensation brewed in you again - the guilt that was eating away at you. You knew that you’d have to apologize here and now, or spend the entire night tossing and turning with another thing to feel guilty over. But you didn’t want his pity, you didn’t want to explain why you were upset because there was nothing to be upset over. That was just it though, right now wasn’t about you, at least not entirely.

Taking a deep breath, letting out an exhale, you turned and looked up at Andrea, who seemed fixed on the ocean, “Andrea?” You began, gaining his attention. When you stared into his honey eyes, the smile growing on his face, you smiled back, continuing on.

“I just wanted to say sorry, for earlier, how I acted,” You pointed at your weak hand, before dropping it back in your lap, “I was in an accident last year, hurt my hand, could not play well.” You tried to speak slow, making sure he was following before continuing on. “I was sad hearing you play, because you are...mezmerisi.”

Andrea let out a soft laugh, his smile growing until you could see the two rows of teeth in his mouth, your own laugh escaping, feeling ridiculous at the lame joke. But you were glad to see that he wasn’t mad, and for the most part, he seemed to understand.

“I understand.” Turning his attention from you and to the rocks and shells beside the blanket, his eyes lit up and leaned forward, pressing himself against you, disregarding your personal space, as he reached for a seashell, pulling back before holding it up for you to see.

Smiling, you nodded, “Seashell, yes. Pretty.” And it was - a beautiful shark’s eye moon shell with hues of blue, purple, and orange glazed over the white. You watched as he extended the shell to you before shaking your head, closing his hand with your own, “Keep it, Andrea.”

At first he seemed to be sad that you didn’t accept his gift, but soon tucked the shell into his coat pocket, turning back to look out at the sea. You followed in suit, turning and leaning against him once again slightly, looking out at the sea as the sun began to set.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

When you sat in your seat the next day in practice, you got your stand ready, setting your bow on the bottom shelf of the stand, a pencil ready in case you or Andrea needed it. After your talk yesterday with him, you felt better with yourself and the idea of being someone’s stand partner again. Despite your own accident, it did not make you a burden towards others. Andrea was patient and he did his best, in his poor English, to make it known that he would help you when you needed it.

So when he came in that day, a glowing smile on his face, bidding the conductor and others in your section a ‘good afternoon’, he soon came to you, sitting in his chair to your left before pulling out his things; rosin, an extra pencil, and the seashell he found yesterday.

Blushing, your attention shifted from the seashell and to him, a smirk on your face as you got him smirking back, acting nonchalant while getting his shoulder rest ready and tuning his violin.

Maybe it was a placebo effect on your mind, maybe it was the seashell, the conversation yesterday with Andrea, your conversation with the conductor a year ago, or your own realization that your own growth would make you better than you’ve ever played before - but in a different way.

Whatever it was though, that day during practice, was the best practice you’d had in a very long time.

[snek-panini]

Hi, as someone who has also dabbled in bookbinding as a hobby, I'd be super interested in any insights you have in typesetting in MS Word. You mentioned that you don't usually talk about it on here, so if you have a different blog a post along those lines would fit better, I'd appreciate being pointed in its direction

Hi! By on here I actually meant on tumblr, or online as a general thing. I talk my family's ears off about it irl but the post I made yesterday is the first time I've ever really talked about making books online.

I am far from an expert on this. I made my first book a little over a year and a half ago and have since made a grand total of five books, working on #6 right now, and a lot of what I've learned about typesetting I picked up from r/bookbinding over on reddit (I don't have an account there, I just read other people's posts). I wanted to link the tutorial I used but I can't find it in my bookmarks so I think my browser ate it.

I'm not sure how much you already know and I've never written a tutorial before, so some of this may be too detailed, but here's the parts I think are important:

-Book fold is the setting you need to make signatures. In the version of Word that I have it's under Layout, the first box that says Margins Orientation Size etc. Click the little box in the corner of that section and you'll get a popup where you can set custom margins. Set the orientation to landscape and the Pages dropdown to Book Fold. You'll need to set Sheets per Booklet (right under that dropdown) before you print because the default is "all", but I like to do this at the end when I know how many pages the text is.

-Sheets per booklet is how many actual pieces of paper are in the signature. If you tell it 4, the lowest setting, it will give you signatures of 1 piece of paper. 8 is 2 papers that nest like proper book pages, 12 is 3 papers, etc. No one told me this and my first book of like 50 pages had 12 signatures in it when I was expecting it to have 3 or 4. I got to practice stitching but it was ridiculous.

-Size 12 font is too big for most books, unless you want Large Print. I like size 11. Footnotes and page numbers should be a little smaller so I use size 10 for those.

-If you're going to trim the edges, leave extra space in the top, bottom, and outer margins. If you have page numbers or footnotes in the header or footer, you can adjust how far they are from the top and bottom of the page. Go to add the header and at the bottom of the dropdown for it is an option for "edit header". If you click this it will give you a toolbar at the top of the screen with new options; the last one on the right is "header from top" and "footer from bottom". If you leave it standard Word will put them in the space you intended to trim off, regardless of what you set your margins to.

-The tutorial I used talked about the gutter, which is the space in the middle of the book where it runs into the fold. I have not found that I needed to have a gutter, and setting the inside margins works well enough for that so your words aren't hidden in the seam. I think this comes into play more with longer books, or books that have rounded and backed spines. I haven't rounded or backed anything I've made yet so I can't speak about that.

-You can format tables of contents in Word, there are templates, but I think they look like corporate expense reports so I don't use them. I usually do the front matter (title page, contents, author's notes, etc.) in a separate document so I can add the right number of blank pages and not worry about having page numbers on the title page. For tables of contents I make a numerical list. I like 'em simple.

-If you can, Word allows you to make custom templates for anything you want. Once I had settings I liked I made a template and saved it so I don't have to reset the margins and stuff every time I make a new book. The only caveat here is remembering to hit Save As instead of Save the first time you save your work.

I hope that helps! If you'd like I would love to hear about your own tips working in MS Word, god knows mine are far from exhaustive. Or if there's something you wanted to know that I didn't mention, if I can help I'd be happy to.

[rookie-ramsey]

Curveball, Chapter 5 (Ethan X MC)

Description: Two months after the ski lodge, life throws them a big surprise.

Preview:  She felt movement in her stomach, stronger than she had before. Gasping softly, she grabbed Ethan’s hand and pressed it to her abdomen. “Wait a second. You may be able to feel them this time.”

Ethan held still. A few moments later, he could feel a little flutter against his palm. Unable to resist, his lips twisted into a smile. His eyes softened, more affectionate than she had ever seen before. Olivia grinned and rested her hand on top of his.

“If my phone wasn’t all the way over there, I’d take a picture of you right now because that’s the cutest facial expression I’ve ever seen on your face.”

Previous Chapter

At the halfway mark of her second trimester, Olivia was quite certain she doubled in size overnight.

Over time, Ethan’s spare bedroom turned into a storage space for nursery items. Once all of the furniture had been delivered, they picked out the paint for the walls. Ethan probably would have insisted on doing everything himself, but Olivia recruited help.

When there was a knock on the door, she opened it to let Bryce, Baz, and Zaid into the apartment. “Did you three carpool?”

Zaid sighed. “Unfortunately, yes. Certain occupants of the car felt the need to sing during the entire ride.”

Feigning offense, Bryce frowned. “What’s the point of driving anywhere if you’re not going to put on a concert?”

“You got a speeding ticket.”

“Which I’ll pay!” Bryce turned to Olivia. “Nursery Assistance Crew is here to help.”

“Good.” Olivia grinned and led the way to the spare room, where Ethan was opening the cans of light gray paint for the walls. Curious to see how things would play out, she leaned in the doorway to observe.

Bryce and Ethan carefully poured the paint into trays while Baz and Zaid spread drop cloths to protect the floor from spills. Once the floor was sufficiently protected, Ethan passed out paint brushes and rollers.

“If we each paint one wall, we’ll have the room painted quickly. We can paint the first layer and assemble the furniture while we wait for it to dry. It only takes a couple of hours.”

“Good delegation. Aye aye, Captain.” Bryce saluted with the paint roller, earning an eye roll in response. They each dipped their rollers in paint and started working on the walls. The first minute passed in silence before Bryce started a whistling. A moment later, Baz joined in.

Zaid let out a groan. “First the concert in the car and now this?”

Ethan rolled his eyes, focusing on painting. “If the two of you are going to whistle, could you not whistle Christmas music in August?”

“I could always whistle WAP,” Bryce suggested.

It only took a second for Ethan to shake his head. “No. Absolutely under no circumstances will you do that.”

Just as Ethan predicted, it didn’t take long for the four of them to place the first layer of paint. He wiped his hands on a towel and nodded in approval at their handiwork. “Not bad. We can put the furniture together while we wait.”

They opened the box that contained the first crib. Ethan spread the parts across the floor and eyed them, comparing them to the picture on the front of the box.

“Alright. I can handle this.”

Olivia pointed at the booklet lying on the floor. “There’s an instruction manual right there.”

“I don’t need it.”

Baz arched a brow. “Famous last words, boss.”

“You’ve read more books than the rest of us combined and you won’t read a manual? That’s a new level of stubborn.” Bryce smirked.

“The picture is guidance enough.” Ethan knelt down and sorted through the parts until he found the pieces that he presumed would compose the bottom frame. He linked them together, forming a crib-sized rectangle.

He then found the legs and attached them. So far, everything seemed to resemble the picture, so he reached for the screwdriver to tighten everything.

“And… crash.” Bryce laughed when his words timed almost perfectly with the collapse of the crib parts.

Ethan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t have the parts tight enough. Everything was correct.”

“I think this is why manuals are included in these things.”

“Those are always badly written with poor excuses of diagrams. They’re a waste of paper and time.” Ethan shook his head, picking up the fallen pieces.

“I bet you ten dollars I can build the other crib faster than you without looking at the instructions,” Bryce proposed.

“It’s a bet.”

Zaid rolled his eyes. “What are we supposed to do while you two participate in this competition? Just stand here and look pretty?”

Bryce nodded. “Got it in one, Dr. M! We need an audience.”

Ethan turned his head toward the door when the smell of warm butter permeated his senses. “When did you get popcorn?���

Olivia shrugged, scooping up a handful of the fluffy white kernels. “A few seconds after you decided not to look at the manual. I knew I was in for some entertainment.”

“It has been rather amusing.” Baz grinned, accepting a handful of popcorn when she offered him the bowl.

She sat on one of the furniture boxes and nestled the bowl on her lap. “I’m curious to see who actually builds a crib first without it collapsing.”

Bryce cracked his knuckles. “Ready?”

Olivia and Baz set timers on their phones. “Alright. The race is on in three… two… one… go!”

Rolling his eyes, Ethan started rummaging through the parts to determine which ones actually went together. After some careful matching, he successfully formed the base of the crib.

Working a little faster, Bryce fastened one of the crib legs. “I’m one move ahead of you, Ramsey. You’ll be eating my dust.”

Laughing, Olivia started dictating in her best impression of  a sports announcer's voice. “Lahela is just ahead of Ramsey, but will the fast results hold up?”

Ethan glanced up. “When did we become an Olympic sport?”

“Just now,” Olivia confirmed. “Extreme Crib Assembly is officially my favorite part of the Olympics.”

A few minutes later, Bryce stepped back from the crib and threw his hands up. “Done!”

Baz hit the button on his timer. “Thirteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds,” he confirmed just as Ethan finished.

“Thirteen minutes and twenty seconds.” Olivia rubbed her hands together. “The true test is to make sure both cribs are put together correctly. Bryce may have finished first, but if his crib has a problem, he still loses.”

“Never.” Bryce shook his head and handed her one of the instruction manuals so she could check over their finished cribs.

Olivia glanced from the booklet to the cribs, nodding as she confirmed that the parts on both cribs were in their proper places. She tried to give each one a firm shake, pleased when they remained steady.

“And it looks like both cribs are a success! This means Lahela wins by a narrow six seconds!”

“What do I win?”

“Ethan’s ten dollars and… the rest of this popcorn, because I want pizza.”

“I’ll take it.” Bryce accepted the bowl and grinned. “Looks like all those hours in the OR do help with putting furniture together.”

Sighing in defeat, Ethan reached into his wallet and surrendered a ten dollar bill to him. Once they had the cribs settled into their places, they worked on the changing table. Olivia left the room to order some pizzas, but quickly returned so she wouldn’t miss out on the banter occurring in the soon-to-be nursery.

It didn’t take the four of them long to assemble the changing table and rocking chairs.  When the pizzas arrived, they took a break and sat down at the kitchen table. Olivia bypassed the chair, opting instead to sit on Ethan’s lap. Instinctively, Ethan slipped his arm around her waist.

“How cute.” Baz grinned.

Bryce smiled mischievously. “Whipped.”

Zaid shrugged when Bryce and Baz turned to him as if they expected him to join in on the teasing. “No comment.”

“Oh, come on. Watching them is as fun as watching you and Ines.” Baz’s grin widened as his twin’s cheeks flushed.

Olivia chuckled, biting into a piece of pizza. “We are cute. I’ll accept your compliments.”

After lunch, she curled up on the couch to watch TV while everyone else finished the nursery. She dozed off, waking up when Ethan joined her on the couch.

“Hi. Did everyone go home?”

Ethan nodded and looped his arm around her. “We finished. I suppose that went faster than it would have if I’d tried to do it by myself.”

She felt movement in her stomach, stronger than she had before. Gasping softly, she grabbed Ethan’s hand and pressed it to her abdomen. “Wait a second. You may be able to feel them this time.”

Ethan held still. A few moments later, he could feel a little flutter against his palm. Unable to resist, his lips twisted into a smile. His eyes softened, more affectionate than she had ever seen before. Olivia grinned and rested her hand on top of his.

“If my phone wasn’t all the way over there, I’d take a picture of you right now because that’s the cutest facial expression I’ve ever seen on your face.”

He let out a low chuckle. “And give you a chance to put ridiculous filters on my face for the world to see? I don’t think so.”

“The world loves your face, ridiculous filters or not.”

Ethan’s hand rubbed gently against her stomach, earning another tiny motion in response. His brow knitted in thought. “It’s a little strange, how…. different this makes me feel.”

“Good different or bad different?”

“Good different,” Ethan assured her, smoothing his free hand over her hair. “It almost makes me wonder why I had worries about anything.”

“That’s good, because we’re halfway there.”

XXXXXX

Presents of every shape and size occupied their living room.

Between the balloons, streamers, and the huge banner, Olivia felt almost certain that an entire aisle of baby shower decorations had exploded in their apartment. She grinned and snagged a cookie from a platter.

“Sienna, everything looks delicious. It’s a good thing I’m eating for three, because I plan on eating at least one of everything,” she declared, licking icing from her fingers as Ethan joined them in the kitchen.

Sienna smiled as she put the finishing touches on a tower of cupcakes. “These were so much fun to make!”

“They look so cute. Every time I try to bake or cook, things go horribly wrong.”

“They really do, don’t they?” Ethan agreed, a teasing glint appearing in his eyes.

“It’s like the time she burnt Christmas cookies the day after Halloween.” Sienna grinned.

Ethan shook his head. “She beat that this year. She set off the smoke alarm making gingerbread men last week.”

Olivia feigned offense, putting her hands on her hips. “Are you two ganging up on me? Because I will get Naveen to help me taunt you, Ethan.”

“Don’t you already do that?”

“Well, yes. But I won’t hesitate.”  Shaking her head, Olivia finished her cookie and watched as their guests finished piling presents on the table. “What kind of shenanigans are we getting into today?”

“You’ll see,” Sienna promised.

Note: The rest of the baby shower takes place in the next chapter! Stay tuned!

Next Chapter

[mochiiwrites]

Ahaha! Im not dead! Just been in a writing slump... Expect to see me rise from the ashes in like...2 months maybe.

🌸✨Spring Troupe Headcanons✨🌸

There's a bit of uncensored swearing in some of these!

💖🌸Sakuya Sakuma🌸💖

Has a list of all the Mankai members and what kind of hugs they like!

Tries to make everyone smile once per day!

Makes flashcards for Citron!

Regularly reminds Itaru to drink water, eat, or take a break when he’s gaming!

*Opens door*

“I already had lunch and I just finished my water. I’ll take a break after this dungeon.”

“Oh, okay! Love you!”

“Ditto, thanks for checkin’ on me.”

Puts blankets over Masumi, Hisoka and Tsuzuru when they end up sleeping in places other than their beds!

Slips little positivity notes into peoples pockets! (They have messages like “You’re doing great!” “Drink some water!” and most commonly, “I love you so much!!”)

💜🌸Masumi Usui🌸💜

Can play guitar and has tried (and failed) to serenade Izumi on multiple occasions!

Has playlists that have songs that remind him of certain Mankai members!

On rare occasions, he chills with Itaru and vibes to game osts with him!

Kinda likes rhythm games!

Breathe in his direction and he is clingy. You just have to squint to see it.

Memorizes Izumi’s schedules and unintentionally reminds her of them.

“Don’t go to that meeting, today. Stay with me.”

“Oh! I almost forgot about that! Thanks for reminding me, Masumi!”

“...fuck.”

💚🌸Tsuzuru Minagi🌸💚

Has called some Mankai members by one of his brother’s names!

“Hey Mitsuru, can you-”

“Huh? Who's that?”

“...What?”

“You called me Mitsuru?”

...Shi-shoot! My bad, uh...”

If he’s not too busy with work or scripts, he gives headpats to the younger Mankai members after rehearsals, but only if they're cool with it!

Calls one of his brothers once a week!

If Muku reads a manga with an...undesirable ending, Tsuzuru will rewrite the ending so that it's happier to cheer him up!

Sometimes he reviews books and movies he’s read and seen with Sakyo!

He also has a blog and does character analysis!

💛🌸Citron🌸💛

Keeps a booklet of certain slangs Itaru and Kazunari say, their meanings, and how much they have said it!

“Yo, that’s poggers.”

“And that is the 17th time you’ve said that today!”

“Wait, really? Ron-ron, that’s some fan behaviour, haha!”

Has made the other Mankai members in the style of Citron Junior!

Sometimes he calls the others using Zafran terms of endearment!

Twirls his lil ponytail around his finger when he does a big think™️

When Sakuya can’t sleep he sings Zafran lullabies for him!

Quotes a lot of comedians!

“Citron, do you know if we still have milk?”

“Then, I said, ‘No,’ you know, like a liar.”

“...So you do know?”

❤️🌸Itaru Chigasaki🌸❤️

Frequently uses the word ‘speedrun’ even though he isn’t a speedrunner. (Though he definitely has the skills to be one!)Especially if he’s late for something.

“Itaru why are you eating so fast? You’re gonna choke.”

“I’m speedrunning this bitch...I’ve never spedran a bitch, that would be disrespectful.”

If hes not saying speedrun, he’s frantically humming the Dream running music

“duduDUDU! duduDUdu!”

“What’s Itaru late for this time?”

Will ask Banri, or other Spring Troupe members to entertain his stream if he needs a break!

Usually eats candy instead of chips when gaming, candy won’t get dust on his equipment.

Has been trying to have Yuki make a cosplay for him but Yuki won’t let him.

“As much as I’d love to, I’m trying to preserve the little sliver of a respectable adult in you.”

“...that’s not poggers.”

Has made game avatars based on characters he’s played before!

💙🌸Chikage Ustuki🌸💙

Convinced Taichi that he wasn’t real, once.

“Chikage, stoooooop!! Why would you do this!?!?”

“Taichi, look at all those drivers. They think you’re crazy because you are yelling in a parked car, by yourself.”

“Wait, am I?? No! You’re-”

“I’m not real, I already told you.”

“aaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAA-”

Really good at whistling, also knows how to do birdcalls and shit.

Knows so many languages and is currently learning more so that he can swear around minors!

Likes the moon and constellations!

Has actually caught a fly with chopsticks before, but no one ever believes him.

Has forged adoption papers so he can adopt Sakuya, but was found out by Sakyo.

[lupinlongbottom]

Practically a Weasley pt. 1.5

Charlie Weasley x Reader

Summary: Writers block gets the better of (Y/N). Her loving boyfriend, Charlie, now on the brink of baking genius, plans to get her out of her funk. With a war looming above the world, it seemed only fitting the path that lay before the couple. This path also happens to rhyme with ‘hoping’. 

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: A few swears, nothing major. 

A/N:  AH! Eloping! Feelings! Charlie! To say I got sappy in this one is an understatement my dudes. I haven’t had this rush of inspiration for a fic in forever. Seemed fitting Dragon Boi once again pulled me from it’s clutches.

Part 1 ... Part 2 ... Part 3 ... Epilogue

__

The sweeping hills and dipping valleys of the reserve went on seemingly for miles. Patches of greenery freckled with the fairest pinks and yellows of the wildflowers surrounded the dragon sanctuary, enveloping the tiny village of wizards and dragons alike. Various cottages were sprinkled along the dirt paths, the gentle sloping of their roofs matched that of the hills in the distance. Upon one of the quaintest cottages, an open window allowed the aroma of a freshly baked pie to escape.

“Cherry?” (Y/N) groaned, stretching her arms above her head. She had been cooped up in the study, feverishly working on her next book.

“Nope,” Charlie hummed, rubbing the light dusting of flour off his apron, watching the white powder sprinkle to the floor. “Apple.”

“Damn. Here I thought coming out of my dungeon would allow me to reap the benefits of my favorite pie,” said (Y/N), wistfully looking at the pie, now sitting on the windowsill. “But I guess not.”

“We were out of cherries, flower,” Charlie laughed. “Maureen’s wife had some extra apples from her tree, brought them into work yesterday. I figured a pie is a step in the right direction to get you out of your creative funk. Besides, you know I love to bake.” 

“Creative funk?” laughed (Y/N), weaving through the counters to reside closer to the pie. And perhaps her boyfriend.  

“You said so yourself,” the clatter of dishes hitting the sink rattled throughout the kitchen. “You’ve been trying to write that book of yours for months now.” 

“I never said creative funk!” (Y/N) exclaimed, more laughter trailing the end of her words. “I just can’t figure out where to take the story next. My mind has been preoccupied—”

“I know,” Charlie motioned to his maroon smock, tied just above his hips. “You really can’t get enough of me in this apron, can you?” His brown eyes flickered mischievously.

“Preoccupied with the war, Charlie,” (Y/N) cocked her eyebrow. “I thought that after the move, being closer to the dragons and you, of course would’ve helped my writers block…” 

“My poor princess, locked away in her tower, day in and day out, plagued with a terrible curse,” Charlie sighed, hand clutching his chest. “If only her valiant and ruggedly handsome prince could help… perhaps, with a pie, made with the love of a thousand men!” Now on one knee, Charlie motioned to the pie, resting still on its perch in the window.

“But will a pie slay the dragon along the way? Or will the prince do the dirty work himself?” (Y/N) mused, playing along with Charlie’s fantasy.

“Flower, you know how misrepresented dragons are in the media,” He mumbled. “I could never slay the dragon protecting you, after all,” He rose to his feet, inches away from his girlfriend. “They only protect the finest of treasure,” He leaned in for a kiss, capturing (Y/N)’s lips with his. The crisp taste of apples danced between the two, as Charlie couldn’t resist a mid-baking snack. (Y/N) laced her hands around his neck, feeling his hands do the same to her waist. “Well,” He paused. “That and the eggs.”

“You’re an egg.” She rolled her eyes, continuing their kiss. This was truly the domestic bliss they’d dreamed of.

“I’m sorry that you’re having a rough time with your work,” Charlie whispered. “The Order is doing all they can at a time like this. I’ve been working non-stop, recruiting other members for our cause, protecting the dragons. No one expected it would escalate the way it has.”

“I know you’ve been working hard,” (Y/N) mumbled, releasing herself from Charlie’s grip. “Hell, this is your first day off in about a month,” She motioned to the pie. “And you spent it baking for me, when you could’ve—should’ve been resting.”

“I can rest when I’m dead,” He felt the icy look (Y/N) had shot him in that very instant. “Which I’m not planning on doing anytime soon, don’t worry.”

“All I can do is worry, Charlie. You and your family are apart of something great, something that can help end this war. What am I doing? Writing children’s stories? Living in my own little world and pretending the world isn’t going to shit?” 

“You know how I feel about you joining The Order,” Charlie’s hand moved to the back of his neck, as if holding his head upright, the tension growing. “I want to keep you safe.”

“I’m not going to argue about this again. You know I’m a more than capable witch,” This time, it was (Y/N)’s hand flying to her chest, making a point. “I want to help. I want to support you.” The air in the kitchen was growing thicker, the words lingering around them. 

“I’m not saying you’re not capable, love. Don’t you think I know that more than anyone? I just want to protect you!” Charlie blurted, not intending to raise his voice.

“Then protect me!” She huffed, voice cracking. "Let me be by your side! You can’t protect me if you are hundreds of cities away, can you?!”

Charlie was silent. The gravity of his girlfriend’s words hitting him square in the chest. “You’re right,” He mumbled, voice low. “You always are.” 

“Glad you could come to your senses,” (Y/N) crossed her arms. “I hate fighting you on this, but you need to know how important it is for me to be by your side. Through all of this.”

“You’re right,” His eyes flicked upward, meeting (Y/N)’s. “I want—no—need you standing by my side.”

“I’m very persuasive, I know that I can help recruiting new members! I can pack my bag in two ticks if you can tell me where your next meeting is!” said (Y/N) excitedly, clasping her hands together.

“No, not just that,” He shook his head. “I need you standing by my side forever. Especially after this war.”

“Well of course I will. I’m your girlfriend, Charlie.” (Y/N) giggled airily, slightly confused at her love’s sudden seriousness.

“You need to be more than that,” Charlie shook his head again. “Let’s go to the courthouse, right now! Change our titles.” He laced his fingers through (Y/N)’s, tugging her towards the front door. 

“I’m not following?” She glanced at Charlie, fumbling to put on his brown leather boots.

“You want to stand by my side forever, yeah?” (Y/N) nodded. “Let’s go get bloody married, then.” 

“Married? Right now!?” (Y/N)’s eyes widened, shifting between both of her boyfriend’s own rapidly.

“Right now.” He nodded, only ever so slightly.

“Are you mad? Do you have a fever?” The back of her hand reached Charlie’s forehead. He pushed it away in jest, sitting upon the last few steps of the stairs.

“I’m not mad! What’s stopping us?” Charlie grinned, finally lacing up his boots successfully. 

“For one, a lack of a proposal?” 

“Alright, then,” Charlie moved from the stairs to his knee, grabbing (Y/N)’s hand. “Will you marry me?”

“Well of course, but—”

“Consider yourself proposed!” He laughed, the sound echoing throughout the cottage. “Put on some shoes, let’s go get married!”

“I’m hardly dressed for a wedding,” (Y/N) motioned to her pajamas, a   green top and light pink sleep shorts. “As a matter of fact, neither are you!”

“You look ravishing as always, flower,” He sprang to his feet. “Besides, you love the apron.” 

“I do,” (Y/N) sighed, momentarily distracted. “This is all happening much quicker than I could’ve imagined.” She laughed, a hand running through her hair. 

“But you’ve imagined it before, yeah? Let’s go and do it,” Charlie clasped his hands around hers, looking (Y/N) dead in the eyes. “You mean more to me than anything in this world. I don’t know what I would do if something were to happen to either of us and I didn’t make you an official Weasley.”

“If you died I could’ve married Fred or George,” (Y/N) chuckled, merely teasing. “But you’re right. I suppose tomorrow isn’t promised. Let’s get married.” The two share a kiss. Softer than their kitchen escapade earlier, somehow sweeter than the apples before. “But please give me five minutes to change.”

__

The trip to the courthouse was quick, thanks to their Apparition. Hardly any wait to fill out a marriage license, not many couples were getting married on a Monday afternoon. Charlie rapidly filled out his portion of the license, almost letting the ink flow directly from his heart into the quill. (Y/N) filled it out just as fast, freezing only at the place where she needed to sign. In a beat, she let her name hit the tip of the quill, tracing itself onto the paper.

(Y/N) Weasley

“Alright you two, let’s make this quick,” said the judge. He was a short man, round in every sense of the word. “As much as I love doing these… ‘end-of-the-world’ weddings, I have some chocolate frogs to attend to.”

“Jim, we’ll repay you in plenty of chocolate frogs, I assure you,” Charlie laughed. “Thanks for doing this on such short notice.”

“In my few years of knowing you, Charlie, short notice is the normal amount of notice,” Jim chuckled heartily. “But I’ll take you up on those frogs.”

“As you should,” (Y/N) nodded. “Charlie may need a reminder, though.”

“Well, with a beautiful wife like you, Charlie won’t have much to worry about,” Jim smiled. “Alright. Stand together and listen to me…”

The judge began to speak, reading from a small booklet about the size of a deck of cards. The words flowed into the air, though neither the bride or groom cared to pay attention. Their focus was solely on one another. Charlie granted (Y/N) the five minutes she had requested before, allowing her to change into something more bridal. Close enough to it, anyway. An off-white dress, glittering with small pink roses, growing larger near the hem. She looked ethereal, the very definition of a bride.

Charlie’s bride.

“…and I suppose the two of you have vows?” Jim huffed, glancing up from his book. “Or did you not get that far?”

“Well, I suppose we didn’t have time to write anything down,” Charlie motioned to his apron and chuckled. “But I reckon I could come up with something now.”

“I could too. I’ve drafted mine a few times before,” (Y/N) flushed, glancing down. “Only to help with writers block, of course.”

“I’ll start,” Charlie grinned, gently grabbing (Y/N)’s hands. “(Y/N). My gorgeous, courageous flower. I never thought, nor did I ever dream I could find someone as witty or as tenacious as yourself to love. Blimey, I hardly imagined loving anyone more than dragons if I’m being honest.” (Y/N) chuckled, rubbing her thumb across the back of Charlie’s hand. “Honestly, when I learned that you were best mates with my twin brothers, I thought perhaps you were a bit deranged. But I learned that of the three of you, you’re the one that carries their shared braincell.”

“Hey…” (Y/N) muttered, taken aback slightly.

“I’m only half joking, love,” Charlie beamed. “But, besides your amazing good looks, I love you for your heart and soul. I promise to always take care of you, to prepare your favorite tea when you’re cold. I promise to cuddle you when you’re sick, even when you say you don’t look cute. I’ll even promise to indulge your wildest fantasies, putting this apron on whenever you ask. Even if it’s the only thing I’m wearing,” Another chuckle. “I love you, (Y/N). I can’t wait to spend the rest of my days with you.”

(Y/N) could hardly keep the tears from falling. A gentle droplet rolled down her right cheek, hanging delicately on her chin. How could she ever top the sap that flew from his lips? Surely her drafts of her vows were written in a dream-like state, normally jesting to herself a reality that wouldn’t come to fruition until much later. Hardly could she imagine standing in the quaint shack—the reserve’s excuse of a courthouse—sharing these feelings with Charlie. But, she had to try.

“Charles Septimus Weasley,” (Y/N) croaked, barely able to recite his full name. He flinched at the mention of his title. “No amount of divination could’ve predicted I would end up becoming a Weasley. I admire the little things about you. Your beautiful brown eyes, warm as the morning sun, ready to accept me at any moment. The never ending list of scars and burns that litter your skin in different patterns, stories of your bravery and kindness,” Her thumb stroked against a seemingly simple scar on the edge of his finger, relaying her point. “Your dedication to your family is the strongest sense of truth that comes from you, Charlie. Hell, how many people would willingly break into a school to rescue a dragon, all to help their younger brother?”

“Not many.” Charlie boasted, puffing his chest slightly.

“Your sense of humility is solid too,” (Y/N) quipped, smirking lightly. “I promise to always be your shoulder to cry on, especially when the dragons ignore you more than usual. I promise to never let you fall too deeply asleep on the couch, always welcoming you back to our bed, even if your feet are colder than the Dementor’s breath,” Another chuckle. “But, above all, I promise to love you, Charles Weasley. I’m dedicating my life to stand by you, through this war and beyond. I love you.”

It was Charlie’s turn to weep. How long had he been crying? Surely (Y/N) crying had been the stepping stone to get to his current emotional state. A sniffle was heard between them, causing the couple to whip their heads towards the noise.

“In all my years,” Jim sneezed, filling his handkerchief with snot. “I have never seen more beautiful vows. Normally it’s the same, rushed shtick. But you two,” he sneezed again. “You two are perfectly in love and I just—”

“Jim...” Charlie started.

“Let me do my job, Charlie!” Jim cautioned, holding a single finger up. “Now, the answers seem obvious, but for legality reasons I need you to answer after me,” Charlie’s ears perked up. “Do you, Charles Septimus Weasley take (Y/N) to be your lawfully wedded wife? Through sickness and—”

“I do,” Charlie professed, eyes not leaving (Y/N)’s for a second. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have said all that sap before, no?”

“Right,” Jim scoffed, a bit annoyed. He turned to (Y/N). “Do you, (Y/N) (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N) take Charlie to be your—”

“I do!” (Y/N) chanted, too eager to allow the judge to continue.

“Where was that sense of urgency when reciting your vows?” Jim mumbled, flipping through his book. “Seriously, the one part I get to do…” He took a deep breath. “Well, by the power vested in me by the Wizarding Council, I now pronounce you man and wife. You can, uh, kiss the bride.”

Charlie wasted no time kissing his blushing bride. It was the moment he had dreamed about since laying eyes on (Y/N) in that coffee shop only a few years prior. The promises of their love were overflowing between the two in their shared moment of pure bliss. Never had a kiss felt like this, like a growing spark begging for release. Neither of the newlyweds wanted to part, remove themselves from this moment.

“Mr. and Mrs. Weasley,” a woman sang, momentarily stunning the couple out of their bliss. “Congratulations.”

“Ah,” Charlie faltered, face surely shining with the brilliance of roses. “Thank you, Maureen, for being a witness on such short notice.”

“It’s not a problem,” She cooed, waving her hand. “I’m honored you thought of me, Weasley. I’m also glad my lunch break lined up for your happy day,” She laughed. “When the two of you have an official ceremony, make sure to keep Lauren and I on your list, yeah?” Maureen clicked, quickly signing the marriage certificate before exiting the small courtroom.

The certificate was handed to the receptionist, who didn’t seem jaded by the quick marriage that had taken place moments prior. She smiled up at the couple. “I’ve seen plenty of weddings here, but you two,” She paused. “You two give me hope in these dark days.”

“Thank you,” (Y/N) stammered, touched by the stranger’s words. “Thank you, to both of you,” She motioned to Jim. “I assure your payment in chocolate frogs will be arranged promptly.”

“A woman of her word,” Jim cackled. “Shame she’s taken.”

“Taken she is.” Charlie responded, placing a gentle kiss to his wife’s knuckles, his fingers still interwoven with hers.

__

The couple decided to take the long way home, enjoying the purple sunset that blanketed the valley. In almost no time at all, before the sun dipped beneath the earth, the newlyweds entered their cottage. The aroma of pie not yet left the quaint building.

“Shoot,” Charlie mumbled. “I was supposed to carry you across the threshold!”

“It’s fine, Charlie,” His wife laughed. “We’ve been going against tradition anyway. What’s one less thing?”

“I just want to make our wedding day memorable, flower,” Charlie stroked (Y/N)’s hair. “But I suppose I could just carry you to our bed?”

“Oh?” She cocked an eyebrow.

“We have to consummate it at some point.” Charlie grinned, eyes slanted down towards his wife.

“I’ll take you up on that, my husband,” The new title rolling off her tongue almost mockingly. “But we should have some of your pie first, no?”

“I suppose so,” He hummed. “We should have a proper dinner, I wouldn’t want to spoil dessert.” Charlie’s hands trailed down to (Y/N)’s sides, quickly grabbing a handful of her backside.

“Charlie!” (Y/N) gasped, watching her husband retrieve the pie from the windowsill, acting as if nothing had happened. Before he could shut the window, an owl flew through the crack, landing on the counter.

“This doesn’t look like a letter from The Order…” said Charlie, grabbing the purple envelope from the owl’s beak. In an instant, the owl flew off, back to where it had come from.

“What does it say?” (Y/N) asked, drawing closer to the counter, curiosity growing stronger.

“It’s a wedding invitation. For my brother, Bill,” Charlie laughed, continuing to read. “Blimey! Set for the first of August!” 

“I guess this war is causing everyone to jump the gun and get married, huh?” (Y/N) smiled.

“At least we did it before Bill,” Charlie mirrored the grin. “That’s something I can hang over his head until the day I die.” He lifted (Y/N) up onto the counter, sealing her lips with his.

“But,” (Y/N) fought the kiss. “The pie?”

“Consider my appetite spoiled,” Charlie mumbled against her lips. He sucked lightly on her bottom lip before continuing. “I’ve decided that I want dessert first.”

“Charlie…” (Y/N) moaned, deepening the kiss, hands pulling at Charlie’s hair tie, letting his unruly locks fall into her fingers. She tugged lightly.

“(Y/N),” Charlie groaned, enjoying the sensation. “We should move this to the bedroom. Have to tire you out for a good night’s rest if we’re to travel to France tomorrow.”

“France?” (Y/N) panted, pulling away slightly.

“For The Order recruitment.”

“But I thought you said—”  

“—and I was stupid for saying anything of the sort,” Charlie agreed, placing hot kisses down her neck. “You had said so yourself, my family is apart of something great,” More kisses. “You’re part of that family now, yeah?”

(Y/N)’s eyes glistened with tears, threatening to fall. She shook her head, determined to not cry any more that evening. She held her breath, a realization struck her. “My stars! Your family!”

“Not exactly a good way to keep the mood going, love…” Charlie continued, working his way across her collar.   

“What are we going to tell your family?” (Y/N) gasped. “My family! They hardly know we’re living together, let alone eloped!”

“That’s the excitement of eloping, isn’t it? Not telling our families?” Charlie paused his ministrations, looking at his wife. “But I suppose our families didn’t know about our relationship until a few months in anyway, what’s the harm in keeping this our little secret for a bit?”

“I suppose…” (Y/N) trailed, recalling the passionate feelings their past secrecy had given them. “I suppose it could be a bit of cheeky fun.”

“Now you’re getting it,” Charlie beamed, planting a wet kiss to (Y/N)’s lips, lingering for a moment longer. “Come on, indulge your husband.”

“I just might,” (Y/N) wrapped her arms around Charlie’s neck, allowing him to pick her up like he had previously lamented about missing out on. Bridal style. “My dear husband…” Her voice fell to a whisper, leaning in to sing sweet nothings only Charlie could hear.

“Keep the apron on.”

__

General Tag List: @maralisa124 , @leighxlover , @hey-its-me-rai , @missihart123 , @biatheintrovert , @luna-xxxxx , @chocolaterumble, @why-am-i-sad-and-sleepy , @missmulti

Charlie Weasley Tag List: @sungoddessra​ , @crescent-ia , @phantom-pheonix​ , @dccomicnerd-world​ , @marveltrash99 , @graymountaingal​, @storiesbycaroline, @mytinybaguette , @garbdump​

want to be added to a tag list? hmu in the replies or ask box with what characters you’d like to be tagged with!

[hold-my-hand-kuroo]

four seasons with akaashi

wow i think i’m starting to see a pattern of not knowing what i’m writing???

pairing: akaashi x reader

genre: fluff

i.

Spring comes with many firsts: the first year of high school, first cherry blossoms, and first love.

Akaashi is quiet, but not opposed to interaction. You realize this when you join Fukurodani’s volleyball club as the manager and watch in awe as the silent setter dealt with Boktuo in such a calm manner. You momentarily forget that the two of you are the same age. He’s calm, composed, and quick to put a stop to Bokuto’s antics; you’ve even heard him go through the wing spiker’s long list of weaknesses in passing. In short, you think Akaashi is amazing.

In fact, he’s so amazing that you find it hard to get closer to him although the two of you were in the same class. It’s not that you feel that he’s cold toward you, but it’s difficult to strike a conversation up with someone who seemed to dislike the loudness of Bokuto so much. You’d hate to disturb him, especially since he already has his hands full, but you can’t help catching your eyes landing on his figure from time to time.

Sometimes during classes, your eyes wander toward your right where Akaashi sits studiously, writing down careful notes from each and every lecture. You notice the light pen callus on the side of his ring finger and how he miraculously keeps his paper straight on his desk when he’s writing. He’ll never openly volunteer to answer or read, but whenever the teacher calls on him, his answers are correct, and you can’t help but feel soothed by his voice.

When you’re not looking at him, you don’t catch the stray glances that Akaashi also sends toward your way. He doesn’t understand why but opts to justify it with the fact that the two of you had volleyball in common, and that the volleyball jacket you wore frequently stood out specifically from the rest of the uniforms. Sometimes he’ll break into a smile when he sees that your papers end up shifting, tilted at a ridiculous angle when you’re concentrated on writing or when your brows furrow at a particularly tricky problem. He thinks it’s secretly amusing, endearing almost.

“I’ll help,” Akaashi offers quietly one day, reaching toward the basket carrying the bottles that you had just filled. It’s the first thing he has said to you ever, aside from the casual ‘hellos’ and ‘thanks’ he spared whenever you managed to make eye contact with him. It’s so foreign that you think you’ve done something wrong, but the fact that he’s merely a few inches apart from you makes your thoughts stop.

“Sorry if I was being slow,” you murmur finally, a little embarrassed, and hang your head low. Akaashi lets out a rather affronted noise that startles the both of you, and you turn to look at him, confused.

“No, I just thought it looked heavy,” he tries again, seeming to struggle with his words. Rather than following up, he lets the topic drop and takes a water bottle, not noticing Bokuto smiling rather smugly behind him.

“Don’t mind him, Y/N!” the owl-like boy laughs. “That’s just ‘Kaashi trying to be friends with you! He’s been mulling over it for days now! Whenever we’re in the changing rooms, he’s always like, ‘I wonder if Y/N dislikes me. We’re in the same class and club, but we don’t talk often’—“

“Bokuto, please shut up,” Akaashi says pointedly, trying to cover the taller boy’s mouth. He’s uncharacteristically flustered, and if you squinted, you could see the pink rising on his cheeks along with his frustrated furrowed brows. You almost laugh too; even the stoic setter could have his feathers ruffled sometimes, and in full honesty, it was such a refreshing sight to see.

“Actually,” you start shyly, chuckling slightly, “I was under the impression that I was disliked by you. I guess we both misunderstood.”

Akaashi shifts his attention from Bokuto to you, looking rather surprised. He’s sure that greeting you frequently would do well to break the ice, but he can’t believe that he gave you such a cold impression. It wasn’t lost on him that his silence usually came off unwelcoming, but he decides then and there that he should try harder. For what, he doesn’t really know.

“Isn’t that nice, ‘Kaashi? You made a friend!”

And so, Akaashi returns to scolding Bokuto about interrupting conversations and saying too much while, as promised, helping you hand out the bottles. The banter is lively and nice, the most emotion you’ve seen the setter express, and you think that you could get used to the chaos that is the volleyball club.

Spring is when the first seeds of love are planted, waiting to bloom.

ii.

Summer is hot with the buzzing of cicadas and the smell of sweat mixed with freshly-cut grass. It’s a little nauseating.

Hosting training camps were literal hell; in between making sure that there are enough clean towels, extra bottles, and an abundance of food, you find most of your summer dedicated to manager work. It’s torturous under the beating heat of the sun, and it makes you think about leaving the club forever. Of course, you don’t and never would, but the thought’s there.

Bokuto’s practically bouncing off the gym walls during the days leading up to the big event. For days on end, he’s talking about Nekoma-this or Nekoma-that, and by the time the team of stray cats actually arrives, you’re sure that you already know their names. You note that he’s the closest to the one with messy hair and a cackle louder than Bokuto’s yells. It’s overwhelming, especially for Akaashi who has to be there to calm Bokuto down, but also keep his spirits up for three days straight.

“Tired?” you ask during one of the breaks, handing him a bottle filled with chilled water and a plate of sliced watermelon. He accepts it graciously with a simple nod.

“With the way Bokuto keeps playing, we’re bound to be doing more diving drills,” he sighs. You giggle a little at the exasperation in his voice, but you still feel a little bad. Running around with towels was already tiring enough, so you can’t imagine working up a harder sweat under this relentless heat. “Are you busy?”

“Yeah,” you respond, stretching out your arms. “I thought setting up the sleeping area was bad, but cooking for a thousand volleyball players is absolutely the worst.”

He nods sympathetically and slides over on the stair step that he’s been sitting on, a silent invitation for you to take the spot next to him. You’re touched at his kindness and want nothing more than to accept the offer and just talk for hours on end to Akaashi, but you shake your head. There were things that needed to be done, and you’d hate for Yukie and Kaori to be the ones doing your share of the work. Akaashi seems to understand.

It’s a little disappointing to see so little of each other during the day even though the two of you were at the same location for the same reasons. To Akaashi, you’re a nice and fresh breeze that counters the loud arguments between Bokuto, Kuroo, and the delinquent-looking guy from Nekoma; you’re calm and can read him like an open book. With you around, he doesn’t feel the need to struggle over finding the proper words, and even when he does speak, it’s not a scolding. He’s at ease when you’re there with him.

Much to Akaashi’s luck and yours too, nighttime is when things calm down. You find him sitting quietly at the sidelines of the gym, making sure that Bokuto doesn’t break anything out of sheer excitement as he works on blocking with Kuroo. He’s working on his summer assignments, and it’s expected from him, but you’re quite amused at how even after a grueling day’s practice, he still finds it in himself to study. This time, you’re free and take the spot on the floor next to him.

“Mind if I join?” you ask, waving your math assignments around. He’s more than happy to have you there and nods not once, but twice. “Aren’t you tired?”

“If I don’t do a little bit every night, it piles up,” he mumbles, writing numbers neatly into his notebook. “It helps me go to sleep better, too.”

“I’m usually the night-before kind of person,” you laugh, opening up your booklet as well. “This is the first time in my life that I’ve done my summer work early.”

He hums, which is how he reacts when he’s surprised, you’ve learned. The two of you sit in silence, exchanging words once in a while for help. Akaashi’s way ahead of you, but you’re glad that he doesn’t find you too annoying when you ask to compare answers for the first few exercises that you’ve done. The yelling and crooning of Bokuto and Kuroo become white noise; you’re only fully aware of Akaashi right now and the fact that your shoulders are so close to touching. Five centimeters. Maybe six, but nothing more than that.

Even now, after months of getting to know him, you find your eyes glancing at him from time to time. You’re distracted, and you want to beat yourself up for it, but it’s almost instinctive. His side profile and his concentration are mesmerizing, his silence giving him an air of elegance. You’re so tempted to move closer, to fill those few centimeters and come into physical contact with the boy next to you, but you get flustered at the exact thought. The two of you were friends. Setter and manager. Classmates. Nothing more.

Unsurprisingly, your progress is poor, and you’re a little ashamed to say it’s because you were distracted by Akaashi. Even when the training camp is over, you still haven’t managed to make a large dent into your math work, and you’re ten times less motivated to continue it once you’re home and without Akaashi. It’s a blessing that the boy is an angel and is at your door during the last weekend of your well-deserved summer break.

“I was wondering if you needed help,” he says simply with a bag filled with cold drinks and ice cream in hand. He’s an angel. “I mean, it’s fine if you don’t-“

“No I do!” you answer quickly, heart beating fast. “I still have three more subjects to do, so I’m in a little trouble.”

Akaashi blinks at your outburst, and then breaks into one of his rare smiles. He lets out a laugh, a genuine, hearty laugh that you’ve never heard before, and you think you’ve finally discovered what angels singing sound like. You’re so mesmerized by Akaashi himself that it doesn’t exactly hit you that you’ve invited him into your room until much, much later, when he’s again, five or six centimeters away from you. Leaning on his elbow, he reaches over to your paper to point out errors or little tips, but they’re just noises to you. Lovely noises, but you don’t register a thing he’s saying. His mouth is moving, and you’re aware that you should be paying attention, but whether it’s this cursed heat or own nervousness that’s making you heat up and your heart throb like crazy, you’re mind is anywhere but on your work.

“Is something wrong, Y/N?” Akaashi asks, looking toward you.

“No,” you play off cooly, or as cooly as you could. “It’s just a little hot, don’t you think?”

“I have ice cream if you want,” he offers kindly, moving away from you and rustling through his bag. You let out a breath.

Summer is hot, and it’s when you realize that your little interest with the team’s setter is something a lot more than a small crush. It terrifies you.

iii.

Autumn brings in a refreshing chill that replaces summer, and before you know it, the leaves have turned into beautiful reds, oranges, and yellows.

Days have grown shorter, and by the time you leave the school, juggling between manager duties and the cultural festival, the sky outside is practically pitch-black. Walking home alone is a problem, which is why Akaashi takes it upon himself to walk you back home. Him and Bokuto, that is. Akaashi’s aware that he isn’t the scariest or strongest guy around, so he figures that with Bokuto’s large build and even larger voice would provide extra security.

The first time the two walk you home, Bokuto’s talking a mile a minute about how cool his class’s haunted house is coming out and making every effort to invite both you and Akaashi to check it out. Akaashi only comments about how he’ll be busy with his own class, even though you know well that he has free time in the afternoon. You stifle a giggle and nod, encouraging Bokuto to continue and hyping him up out of kindness.

It bothers Akaashi more than he thinks it would, and he almost feels silly for feeling so sour whenever Bokuto had your attention. It’s becoming a more and more frequent thing, he realizes that night. Even during practices, he preferred it when you were talking to just him rather than the other players, and it makes him disgusted with himself for being so selfish. He’s typically not the type of person to tape his fingers, but whenever you walk toward him and offer to help with tape in hand, he never turns you down.

There’s just something about the way your hand radiates a comforting warmth. When your fingers brush against his digits, carefully wrapping the white material around his damaged fingers, he finds it too quick, almost to the point of teasing. There are days where you’ll be so focused on the bandaging that you don’t notice the fondness in his eyes, scanning over your figure and wishing that your fingers would just intertwine with his. Akaashi wants something permanent, something longer than just brief encounters, and he secretly wishes that you’d give him all your attention.

But of course, he can’t say that to you. He find his wishes ugly. You’re Fukorodani’s manager, not his, and it was wrong of him to think otherwise. Still, he can’t help but feel a little bit bothered whenever Bokuto leaned a little too close to you whenever he spoke, shaking your shoulders or patting you on the back out of enthusiasm. Akaashi figures that he wouldn’t be bothered if you weren’t bothered, but it eats away at him when he doesn’t see you rejecting any of Bokuto’s energy.

“Let’s go,” Akaashi says to you one night. You look at him, tilting your head.

“But what about Bokuto?”

“Coach wanted to talk to him,” Akaashi informs before turning toward the door. He makes a motion, so you shrug and follow. The coach part isn’t a lie, but Akaashi leaves out the part about Bokuto nudging him in the ribs and telling him to spend some “quality alone-time” with you, since it’s too embarrassing.

The two of you walk home with you chatting about the day and how busy it is. Akaashi listens to your lovely voice, and he thinks it’s the most beautiful thing sound there is; it’s a stark contrast to Bokuto’s yelling, and he swears that he could listen to you talk about anything and still be emotionally invested. That being said, he’s not exactly paying that much attention, because as you continue rambling about how making the costumes for your class play is just too difficult, Akaashi becomes increasingly aware of the space between the two of you. Or rather, the lack thereof.

He estimates a few centimeters. Maybe three or four. He’s not sure, but he’s so tempted to reach for the same fingers that had danced around his countless of times during practice. He wants to feel your hand in his, and instinctively, he moves his hand closer to yours. He wonders if you’ve noticed too, if you’re just as aware of him, as he was of you. Maybe then, he’d feel more confident about his feelings.

Akaashi’s no fool. He knows that he’s in too deep when it came to you, but he also knows that those feelings were already there long before autumn started. Even during the summer, he’s curious to know if you noticed how he was sweating bullets when he entered your well-cooled room, or if you saw how often he found himself looking for you during the training camp. He wants to know if he catches your eye in any sort of way, and he needs the reassurance that in some sort of miraculous way, he makes a stronger impression on you than Bokuto does.

Autumn is when the leaves begin to wither and die, much like Akaashi’s self-confidence. He retracts his hand.

iv.

Winter is when the first snow falls.

Akaashi’s still walking you home, much to your pleasure, and although you’re not entirely sure why Bokuto has to stay after to see the coach so often now, you can’t really complain. It’s a little mean, and you do like Bokuto platonically, but you’re grateful for every second alone that you spend with Akaashi. You’re even more delighted when he becomes more involved with your conversations, speaking more and more. It’s like he finally opened up to you, and you’re ecstatic that you’ve become his confidant.

“It’s getting colder and colder, huh?” you say, bracing yourself as a particularly strong gust of wind blows. You grasp at the hood of your jacket to keep it from blowing off, but you’re still freezing nonetheless.

“Should we stop for hot tea?” Akaashi asks, frowning. “The convenience store is just around the corner.”

“Last one there has to treat!” you declare and break into a dash for the store. He follows behind, jogging rather slowly. You knew that in any circumstance, even if given a thirty minute handicap, Akaashi would probably be able to outrun you, so you know that he’s letting you win when he isn’t instantly right past you.

“I guess I’m treating,” he says, walking toward you when you reach the destination, and you roll your eyes. “Not happy?”

“You didn’t have to let me win, you know?” you chuckle as he opens the door for you. “I can well afford two teas instead of one.”

“But I wanted to treat you,” he answers simply. He grabs two bottles of lukewarm tea, his preferred brand and your favorite brand that he has committed to memory.

Even with the tea in your hand, you still find yourself freezing again the moment you step outside the shop. You try to hide it, but your shiver gives you away, and Akaashi is immediately back to frowning.

“We should get you home quickly,” he decides, picking up his pace. Now it’s your turn to frown; it’d only get colder from here, and if that meant rushed walks every night, you’re devastated that your time with Akaashi would be shortened. It’s silly, and you know that you should put your health first, but you wish that there could be another way. You lag a few steps behind him, hoping that he’d notice, and of course, he does.

He takes a peek behind his shoulder, and while still frowning, matches your pace. The two of you walk in the same comfortable silence that you’ve enjoyed for the past months, and you aren’t thinking about anything particular until you feel something warm against your hand that isn’t the tea. You almost stop breathing but choose to keep quiet as Akaashi’s hand maneuvers itself slowly around yours. He’s painfully deliberate about the entire thing, hesitating at each action and stopping every so often as if fighting with himself. Gently, he rests his finger in between yours, and the grip is so loose that you think your hand might slip out. He braces himself for you to fling your hand away, but when you don’t and instead look at him in shock and confusion, he’s out of words for a proper explanation.

“I thought your hands looked cold,” is the best he can manage, because even if you asked him what he thought he was doing, he doesn’t have a good answer. He’s not thinking straight; if he was, he would’ve asked for permission. “Sorry-“

“Yeah, they are,” you answer quietly, looking at the pavement and coming to a full stop. “Thanks.”

When Akaashi feels your fingers wrap around his hand, he almost thanks the weather for being the way it is, so that he can blame his reddening face on the cold. He gives you a light squeeze, which you return along with a smile from ear to ear and a flush just as severe as his. He feels a little dumb now for being jealous over Boktuo.

“Now we can walk slower, right?” you ask, looking shyly toward him, but are dismayed when he shakes his head.

“We still have to get you home, so you won’t catch a cold.” Always ever so responsible. “But I wouldn’t mind giving you a call after.”

“A really long call?”

“Yeah,” is all he says, smiling too. He’s not sure if he can put what love feels like into proper words, but he supposes that it’d be similar to the feeling of your hand wrapped around his, swinging happily as the two of you walk under the light snowfall.

Winter is cold, really cold, but you’ve found the perfect person to keep you warm.

[mazzy-moon]

A Lone Butterfly - Chapter 12

Title of Chapter: Turning Point

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings/Tags: Mentions of Sex Trafficking, Allusions to torture, Mentions of survivor’s guilt, Mentions of sexual activity, Age Difference, Fluff, Angst, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn

Pairing: Javier Peña (Narcos) x Isabel Cotrille (OFC)

Summary:  Javier uses his own methods to get information out of Matías. Isabel realizes her time in Columbia is far from up.

Notes: No notes, happy reading. x

Read this chapter on ao3

The tone in Javier's voice as he affirms his plan to get the truth out of Matías sends a chill down my spine. Once he and Santiago finishing talking, he turns back to me. He makes an effort to soften his temper, though it's still there.

"Will you be okay while I go take care of this?"

I nod. "I'll be fine."

"Okay," he mutters before yelling over his shoulder. "Hey Sanz!"

She walks over to us.

"Yeah, Peña?"

"Take care of her, while I'm gone." I roll my eyes.

"She'll be fine," Sanz insists.

"Like I said," I mutter under my breath. Javier catches it.

"It's not that I don't trust you," he tips my chin up, "I just don't want you to be on your own. I'll be gone awhile." His eyes darken. Turning to retrieve his jacket from where he draped it over a chair, he faces me one last time, touching my arm. "I'll catch up with you later."

I swallow and nod. He looks me over a moment and then walks out.

I spend most of the day bored out of my mind. Once lunch time comes around, I convince Sanz to go with me to a little café around the corner. We sit at an outdoor table, and I'm so hungry I nearly inhale my tacos. I don't bother making much of an effort at conversation, knowing Sanz isn't really one for chit chat.

"So... what's up with you and Peña, huh?"

Almost choking on my food, I force it down before answering her. "What do you mean?"

She rolls her eyes at me. "Please. Don't play dumb with me. The tension between you two is so intense you could play the violin on it. Anyone with eyes in their head can see it."

"Well, you're wrong. There isn't anything going on."

Besides that thing he did with his hand last night.

She scoffs so I continue. "Javier is just... helping me with everything."

Squinting her eyes she nods her head mockingly. "Yeah, I'm sure he is."

"It's true. I honestly don't know how I would've gotten through any of this with out him," I trail off, lost in thought.

"Well, either way, I'm happy for you. Peña's one of the good ones, despite being a hopeless womanizer."

I jerk my head up at her. "Oh yeah?" I try my best to sound casual.

She takes a swallow of her drink before answering me.

"It's not like it's a secret. Peña has a way of getting  information out of...let's just say...female informants. It's one of the reasons he has such a good reputation in the field. Not all of us are willing to go that route, but he's never seemed to have a problem with it."

This information isn't a total shock. I seem to remember my father joking about Javier's tendencies once or twice.

"The way you say it makes him sound so awful. Like he's using people."

She shrugs. "From what I hear they are more than willing to give him any information he asks for."

I don't why I feel uneasy but I do. I don't like picturing him with anyone else. Distracted by my sudden melancholy, I forget to hide my reaction.

"Don't be upset, Isabel," she looks at me sympathetically, "it's not as if he has any information to get from you."

I'm reassured for the moment.

She continues, "But it doesn't matter, right? Because nothing's going on between you two."

I smile at her teasing tone. "Right."

We head back after lunch and I hang out with Sanz at her desk a while. Busy with her work, she hands me a crossword and gestures to a seat at the edge of the room. I know she's just trying to give me something to do but it doesn't make me feel any less like a child. I hand the booklet back to her.

"I'm gonna walk around a little," I announce.

"Okay, just promise me you won't leave the building by yourself. Peña will have my head if he finds out I let you wander off."

"I promise."

I make my way out of the main area and into the hallways beyond. Each one looks almost identical. I stroll along until I find what I'm looking for. Javier's office. It's empty and dark. I step inside. I'm surprised by how clean he keeps everything. Every other room I passed had papers scattered everywhere, where as his are piled in neat stacks. I sit down in his chair and grab the leather jacket that's hanging on the back of it. I clutch it to my chest, and inhale the scent. It smells like him, just as I expected. The woodsy fragrance makes me sleepy. I close my eyes and imagine the owner of the jacket here with me.

Forcing myself out the daze, I place everything back where it was and push out of the chair. Something catches my eye.

I open the folder without thinking and examine the sheets that were peeking out. At least a dozen photos of girls all about my age line the pages. I read their names. It doesn't take me long to figure out these are the girls that have been taken hostage by Matías's group. My heart sinks down to my toes. I remember the girl I heard crying the night I was rescued. Is she somewhere on these pages? What happened to her? I should've gone back for her. Why didn't I? The guilt I feel threatens to consume me.

Wiping my eyes, I return to Sanz's station and ask her to take me back to the hotel. It's late at this point so she agrees.

Once we get there, Sanz insists on waiting out in her car until Javier gets back. I pace back and forth across the floor of my room. Seeing all those faces has given me a new sense of urgency. I realize I can't leave Columbia until this whole thing is over. No matter how hard it gets, I'm going to see it through until every last one of them is freed.

Heart broken and completely exhausted, I slip into my pajamas and collapse under the sheets.

Sometime during the night, I hear the door to my room open. I'm not startled, I know who it is. He passes by me, aiming for the bathroom. I hear the shower turn on. Once he's done, he slips out quietly. He walks towards my bed and slumps down onto it. It gives way beneath his weight. He sighs heavily, worn and exhausted.

I roll over, facing him. "Did it work?" I whisper.

In the pale light, I see his eyes are fixed on the ceiling. "Maybe," is all he says.

I don't push him any further. He closes his eyes and turns to face me. His arms pull me in.

"I can't sleep alone tonight, Isabel." His words are laced with weariness. The heat of his bare chest is pressed warm against my cheek.

Both of us are quiet after that. The weight of his arm is comforting across me, and one of his legs is draped over both of mine. Even if I could move I wouldn't want to. I relax into his body and let the sound of Javier's breathing lull me into a deep sleep.

[shinsousbedroom]

Stars and their Distance

Daiya no Ace misawa FWB AU, 1/10 chapters

Miyuki Kazuya, a depressed, workaholic catcher in the NPB, and Sawamura Eijun, a frustrated influencer who just got dumped, are both looking for temporary distraction. The casual, no-strings-attached friends with benefits thing they stumble into is exactly that.

Well, it would be if either of them knew how to do casual.

[Read on AO3.]

Chapter 1: Spinning

Excerpt from “Ace of Hearts: a blog about when love comes outta left field!; Q&A: Bad Break-Up Blues”

“[…] Think of relationships like this. You’re a pitcher on the mound and there’s a line up of batters waiting to knock your ball outta the park. These are your dating prospects. When you’ve gotten hurt pitching before—tore a tendon, drilled the batter, balked, whatever it was—you might not wanna pitch again, right? But the only surefire way to lose the game is to not throw the ball at all. 

“You might be thinking, ‘But Eijun, if the batter hits a home run off your pitch, aren’t you losing the game?’ Well, if you think the point of the game is to win, sure. But to me, the point of baseball isn’t victory. It’s playing the best game you can with the best players you can. The same can be said for love. Some batters will foul out early, and some runners will never make it all the way home. But when you make that connection, when that bat slams the ball out of the park and the whole field feels the electric rush of a phenomenal play that you helped make—isn’t that a beautiful moment to chase after? Isn’t that feeling worth the risk that comes with love?

“So no matter how unlikely a batter steps up to your plate—and there will be batters you didn’t anticipate—throw the pitch! I promise, every strikeout and home run just makes you a better pitcher and brings you a step closer to a beautiful game. […]”

***

“Did you have to move right after the end of the season?” Kuramochi wiped off the sweat from his face with the bottom of his blue shirt. The whole thing was already drenched dark, consistently doused with water the whole day through as Kuramochi drained bottles over his head to beat back the unseasonably hot September day. “Take a fucking break first, Miyuki.”

Kazuya spat out a handful of screws. The bitter, metallic aftertaste clung to his mouth. “Why delay?” he said, tossing the instruction manual for his shelf to the side in frustration. It skittered across the hardwood floor and into Chris’ calf. 

Chris plucked the booklet up and thumbed through the pages of mildly helpful pictograms, eyeing them warily against Kazuya’s clear lack of progress. “Yeah, Miyuki. Why delay?”

Kazuya shot Chris a sour look and flopped back onto the ground with a groan, defeated. “Not like we’re busy during postseason this year.” 

They sighed in unison, united in the bitterness of loss. 

At least Chris’ team had been only one out from the Climax Series. The Swallows hadn’t come close, and even though it was expected from a rebuild year, the loss still rankled. Small mercies, though: Kazuya could rub in the fact that the Swallows hadn’t been last place in their league unlike the Mariners. 

Suck it, Kuramochi. He’d take his victories where he could.

Kazuya stuck his hand into the air, spreading his fingers wide as the overhead lights filtered between them. “Anyway. Moving is work, and you all banned me from working for the next four months. So really, I’m being responsible here.” His hand flopped down next to him with a hard thunk. 

Kuramochi trudged over, heavy steps echoing through the empty apartment, until his head popped into Kazuya’s vision, arms crossed and scowl fierce. “If you wanna try to fight this again, just give me a fucking reason to pin you into a headlock until you’re crying for mercy.”

Kazuya grabbed at his ankle, rolling onto his stomach for a second swipe as Kuramochi danced out of reach. 

“You can’t pull a fast one on the cheet—AH!” 

His ankles caught the edge of the shelf boards, knocking Kuramochi onto his ass. The wooden slats scraped across each other as they slid out of their neat stacks, thumping and scratching the floor until they were criss-crossed between Kazuya cackling into the floor on his stomach and Kuramochi, shocked and sprawled across the debris.

“Fucking build your furniture, Miyuki!” He cradled his foot in his hands, holding it up to inspect as he twisted it every which way. “We’re not doing the same thing as last time, when it took you a full year to finally put all your shit together.”

The weight of apathy slid back into Kazuya’s limbs, edging out the laughter that had given him a moment of relief. “What if I just didn’t?”

“Is that what you want?” Chris replied evenly.

He lolled his head towards Chris. Despite the heat, Chris had spent all day in a black turtleneck, never once hinting he was even mildly uncomfortable even at the peak of the day’s heat, lugging in heavy boxes from the sun-warmed streets. Now sitting on the floor among bubble wrap and crumpled paper, legs kicked out in front of him and waves of brown bangs framing his face, he still looked as wholly put together as ever. 

Even when Kazuya knew beyond a doubt Chris was the epitome of keeping a stone face even when he was going through the worst of it, he still couldn’t help but be jealous. 

Kazuya went back to staring at the unfamiliar gray tiles on his new ceiling. “It would be pretty funny to leave my apartment unfurnished to spite Kuramochi.”

“Finish the shelf.” Chris tossed the manual back. 

“Kominato’s the one who left the task half-done,” Kazuya said, closing his eyes, overwhelmed in a sudden wash of fury and helplessness. 

He opened his eyes to see Kuramochi and Chris hovering above him again. Both their brows were furrowed, Kuramochi’s fist clenched at his collar, Chris frowning mildly. 

“I’m fine,” Kazuya said brusquely.

They glanced at each other, then back at Kazuya. 

He sat up, forcing the other two to reel back to avoid knocking their heads together. “I’m 27, not 7,” he said, testily. “I don’t need to be put under a watch, I’m a grown ass adult.”

“We aren’t gonna—we can’t sit to the side and watch you nearly kill yourself from overwork again this off-season.” 

“Don’t exaggerate—“

“You said you had it together last year, but you didn’t. So you’re getting strict rules this year,” Kuramochi tugged at his hair, a frustrated sneer on his face. “The Swallows and your agent both know not to let you pile on more than your bare minimum until preseason. And the rest of us are going to check on you regularly because we care about your health, even when you don’t. Got it?”

“It’s not overwork,” he said, falling into the same argument that had been chipping away at him for a year now. 

“Then what is it?”

The only coping mechanism that works. The only way I can pretend to feel anything off the diamond. The only thing that makes me tired enough to sleep at night without baseball 24/7.

He settled on: “It’s just work. Making a living, some might say.”

“Hard to do that when you’re stuck in a hospital bed.”

“That won’t happen again. I was just stressed and tired and a bad day caught me off guard.”

“Yeah, it won’t again because we’re gonna help make sure the off-season doesn’t wreck you again after a long history of hiding your fucking problems until they explode.”

“At least you can’t take conditioning away from me.”

“Follow the plan your trainers set for you.” Chris’ voice cut into Kazuya’s stubbornness. “Please don’t joke about this with me.”

After a moment, Kazuya nodded his head, brusque.

Kuramochi rubbed the back of his neck, trying to break the awkward air that had sprung up between them. “Isn’t exercise supposed to help depressed people? Boost your serotonin up or some shit like that?”

“Just my luck it doesn’t,” Kazuya muttered. He cleared his throat. “Can we go back to harassing me about how bad I am at unpacking?”

“We wouldn’t harass you if you just did it.” Kuramochi stood back up and kicked at a box as he went back to sweeping the floors. “Unpack before the season starts up again. You have nearly five months. If you’re feeling feisty, try decorating your apartment, too.”

“My entire personality is baseball. I don’t care about interior design. Or anything else, for that matter.”

“You used to. Pick up your old hobbies. Bring out that telescope you had at back at Waseda. Read a memoir. All the shit you can’t do during the season, drag ‘em out into the open again.”

The wrong answer, he knew, was to reiterate that he didn’t care about any of that anymore. Seriously. “You two are busy-bodies.”

Chris handed him the power drill then returned to the pile of securely wrapped glass kitchenware. “It’s called friendship,” he said, bubble wrap crinkling.

“This is ridiculous.”

“Just try, Miyuki. Please.”

“Sure,” he said, flippantly, knowing the lie didn’t pass unnoticed from the sag in Kuramochi’s shoulders. He thumbed through the instructions, pushing aside the guilt welling into his throat. Kazuya needed this conversation to be over. “Chris-senpai, where’d you put the drill bits?”

***

“Hjnhbgfgvbhnjmknjbhgvfdbghnjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj” wasn’t the most eloquent start to Eijun’s next blog post. Of course, Eijun normally didn’t start his articles by rolling his face across the keyboard in frustration, but considering how little he’d written in the past week, this was as good a draft as any.

Eijun’s eyes flung open as the laptop shifted from under his face, tipping his head off to thunk into the table. He rubbed at his forehead, and blinked up to find Harucchi tapping delicately at the keyboard while the other hand balanced the device in the air. “Eijun-kun,” said Harucchi, peering from around the screen, “not your finest work.”

Eijun sat up and scowled, the lines of his face scrunching against the keyboard indents on his skin. “What would you know about it?” 

“I’ve been editing your posts for years,” Harucchi said. He settled the laptop in front of Eijun, then settled into the chair across from him. “If you’d like me to stop now, I can happily use that time in other ways.”

The dishes rattled when Eijun slammed his palm onto the table. “You’re not allowed to ditch me like that!” 

Harucchi raised his eyebrows. “Says the man who’s been avoiding me.”

A double blow of panic and then confusion struck him. He frowned and swiveled his head around. Snaking line at the counter, coffee scenting the air, a low hum of incomprehensible chatter: this was definitely the coffee shop he’d just discovered this morning and came to by himself and didn’t tell Harucchi about. “How’d you find me?”

“You should stop posting your location on Instagram if you don’t want to be found,” he offered with a gentle smile.

“You don’t live anywhere near here.”

“A teammate just moved to the neighborhood. It was pure luck I happened to be there while you happened to be here.” He ran his fingers against the edge of a plate by Eijun’s elbow, empty of all but crumbs. “It’s a cute shop. New haunt for you?” he asked, a touch too casual.

Eijun averted his eyes, lips pinching. He knew what Harucchi was really asking. “I’m fine.”

“I didn’t ask that.”

“I’m doing fine,” Eijun insisted. “Really.”

“I’m glad you stopped feeling obligated to go to the other cafe.” His voice was barely loud enough to reach Eijun, covered by the clatter and call of employees, and a particularly rowdy group of seven students packed at a four person table next to his little corner.

“The old place got too many baristas who sucked,” Eijun lied. As if Harucchi didn’t already know that he’d only just shoved his pride aside enough to accept he’d lost his favorite coffee shop to the break-up. “Had to find a new one.”

Harucchi pried open the plastic lid to his coffee, blowing at the steam rising from the cup. He drew in a long, slow slip of his drink. “Maybe a fresh start here means a fresh start with the blog. Talk about grinding new beans, or something…?” Eijun blanched, well aware that Harucchi’s innocent reputation was a front. 

“If you think I am going to subject my loyal followers to love advice using bean grinding as the topic—”

“You’ll have to excuse me if you had an idea in mind already. I’d thought from the keysmashing that you hadn’t.” Eijun aimed a kick at his shin under the table. Without looking, Harucchi crossed his legs, as if he’d planned on it for that exact moment all along instead of the attempt to dodge Eijun’s ire that it really was. “Is there a reason you can’t find an appropriate topic for your next post?”

Eijun cheeks puffed out, determined for two whole seconds not to tell Harucchi the truth, before blurting out, “I promised Wakana we’d wait a few months before officially announcing we broke up.” And yep—there it was, that classic Kominato passively skeptical look that circled past nonjudgmental so thoroughly that it ended up aggressively intimidating. The one that meant Harucchi was seconds away from bulldozing through all the nonsense he was seeing ahead of him. Eijun lived in terror of it. “She wanted to give us a chance to recuperate in private first,” he muttered, defensive. 

“Eijun-kun.”

“I know, I know! A smart idea for people like Wakana, but I don’t…like wallowing like this. I can’t keep sitting here thinking about how much she doesn’t want me, and it’s all I want to write about. But I can’t post any of it. It’s been nearly two months, and I haven’t moved on. I’ve just gotten madder.”

“You two didn’t consider posting a small announcement saying you were over but you needed time? Space?”

“I couldn’t ask her.” Eijun subsided, spinning his teacup in its saucer with a single finger hooked through its tiny handle. “I owe her, Harucchi. The only reason I started lifestyle and romance blogging was because Wakana got me into it. I made my start on her profiles with her followers. Talking about her now? Why we broke up? Even if I want to, it sounds like betraying her. I don’t want anyone thinking I’m trying to talk shit about her, when we’re both in the same influencer circles.”

Harucchi tilted his head, and when Eijun didn't continue on after several seconds, he prompted, “There’s more.”

So much for the dumb jock stereotype.

“If I write it, then I feel like I’m giving up on her. On us ever being something together, again.” He crossed his arms onto the table, elbows shoving the dishes and laptop uncomfortably close to the edge of the small table, and laid his head on his forearms. He closed his eyes, and said quietly into his chest, “I still love her, Harucchi.”

“I know, Eijun-kun.” A warm hand squeezed his elbow. Between their silence, the monstrous table of college students packed up and left, and suddenly the shop settled into a calm Eijun needed. 

He poked his head up from the comfort of his arms to stare at Harucchi. He was steadily sipping his coffee, one hand resting on Eijun’s elbow. His pink hair had pulled out of the bun at his nape and fell into windswept wisps framing his face and neck. He’d long since stopped wearing Ryou-san’s hand-me-downs in favor of softer, luxe sweaters and slacks, the only true expense he indulged in despite his lucrative status as a rising star for the Swallows.

Altogether, he looked gentle, dangerously so. On the diamond or off, it was easy to be lulled into a sense of security right before he whacked an unpleasant truth out of the park. 

Harucchi pulled his hand back and apologized with a glance. Eijun wasn’t sure why…until he started speaking. “You make a living off of posting about your life—and romance, in particular. You’ve never hidden your past relationship troubles from your followers, however difficult it was to express. It’s part of your brand at this point.”

Eijun’s mouth twisted as he sat up. “Wakana isn’t a branding tool.”

“No one is saying that,” Harucchi said patiently. “What I am saying: you underestimate how much of your own work goes into your success. Aotsuki was certainly helpful—but your personality and your words are why people stay. People trust you.

“You’re good at what you do, Eijun-kun. You’re honest and kind in your observations, to yourself, to your partners, to strangers, despite how difficult and personal love is. When the time comes, whatever you post about Aotsuki will be the same.” Harucchi shrugged. “Also, I’ll edit out anything that makes you sound insensitive.”

Eijun let out a heavy sigh, stretching his arms into the air and shaking off the melancholy. “Thanks for not letting me fall on my own sword.”

“What are friends for?”

For all that he felt better, though, Eijun was still stuck staring at a blinking cursor at the end of a line of drivel. “That still doesn’t solve my problem. I don’t have a clue what to post next. The schedule I followed is trash now without personal updates of me and Wakana. I haven’t been able to binge any of the manga or shows I wanted to review, either. All I got left is the advice column, but if I keep that up with nothing else, I might as well change the blog name to Dear Eijun instead of Ace of Hearts.”

Harucchi stared at him, calculating out something as he took in Sawamura’s restlessness. “You don’t have to keep writing about romance.”

“That’s what I started the blog for.”

“But that’s not why you started writing and recording back at Seidou. You’ve had success with your baseball analysis and tutorials on YouTube and Instagram. You could even say you’ve been neglecting them to chase after romance.”

Eijun groaned, loud and theatrical enough to make the meek businessman behind him jump in shock. “Maybe if I got as much engagement talking about how stupid the idea of celebrity athletes are when it’s a team sport—”

“See?” he cut in, tilting his cup toward Eijun. “You already have a topic to post about.”

“Baseball is my hobby, not my job,” he said mulishly, jaw jutting out. “My dad wrecked his love of music that way! I’m not gonna risk hating baseball after he spent my whole life yelling at me not to ‘monetize my interests’ while holding me in a headlock. That’s asking for the biggest lecture of my life!”

“You can always stop if it’s not the direction you want to go. You’re not getting married to the idea.”

“Don’t bring up marriage, I just got dumped!”

Harucchi pressed his lips together in a thin line. “Fine, don’t think of it as a marriage,” he said. From Harucchi, the sliver of impatience he let free was the equivalent of hauling Eijun by the collar and shaking him down. “Flirt with baseball. Go on a few dates. Get a benefit or two out of it. Does the metaphor suffice now?”

Eijun gasped. “Harucchi! You’re too innocent for that sort of talk!”

“My brother is Kominato Ryousuke, and my best friend writes a blog about romance and sex that I edit,” he said, even as his quiet voice went squeaky and his face mottled bright red from embarrassment. 

“Maybe I should change my blog to save you the embarrassment.”

“I also admit I have a request of you,” Harucchi said sheepishly, pressing a hand to his cheek. “The Swallows want me to get more heavily involved in PR this offseason, and I could use your help figuring out what I’d actually like to do instead of going along with every idea they propose. I’ve seen what they make the other players do, and I’m not interested in doing the exact type of promo they’ve done the past few seasons.”

Eijun crossed his arms and leaned back, chin tilting up defensively. “If you’re trying to convince me by pretending you need help—”

Harucchi shook his head, bangs bouncing across his forehead. “I hope you’ll find value or inspiration in it, too, but I was going to ask, regardless.” He grimaced into his cup. “The players who carry most of the strain of Swallows marketing are…otherwise occupied this offseason. I was volunteered to step in; management’s been wanting me to raise my profile for a while. I can’t really say no, so I may as well make the most of it.”

“I don’t want a pity job.”

“Please, be reasonable.” Harucchi smiled the shy, dreamy, polished smile the Swallows had been trying to splash across their advertising since he joined the team. “It’s a pity favor.”

Eijun snorted, relaxing into his chair again. “Fine,” he said, pulling open a clean document on his laptop. “Let’s brainstorm.”

[enigma-im]

He Was a Satyr Boy

 Rating: Explicit Relationship: Satyr X Female!Human Warning: Fluff, Respecting boundaries, Penetration, Satyr and human relationship, Critical Role mentioned, timid or shy characters

Word Count: 8604

A shy Satyr catches the interest of the cute comic book store girl

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Today is slower than usual. Generally, comic book stores aren't super busy on a workday but today was especially boring. I've gotten all my work done around noon leaving several more hours of my shift left to fuck about. I lean against the glass counter near the register and look over the empty store. I huff and try to entertain myself by reading the posters around the room for the hundredth time.

Reading the green lantern motto for the 6th time I'm ecstatic to hear the chime of the front door. Looking over I see a satyr walk in. I immediately notice his antlers protruding from his curly brown hair. He is a skinny man, not particularly tall. Might be the same height as me if I were to guess. An inch or two taller. He is sort of cute, not my normal type but still eye candy. Especially wearing a fitted hoodie and loose pants. He has a softness to him, a gentle aura.

I don't call out to him, welcoming him to the store. I just watch as he shoves his hands into his pouch then looks around way too much. As he walks further inside he catches my eye. He gives a curt nod then walks around with his head down. I watch as he paces through each aisle before stopping at the books. He skims through them and picks out two. He cradles them close to his side then makes his way to the register. Only briefly glancing at me he sets the items on the counter.

"This all," I ask. He glances up and nods.

"Yes, this is all. I don't have money for more, your stuff is expensive," he sort of rambles. Edge of my lips quirks at him. I scan his items and wait on him to either pull out a card or cash. He fumbles with his pockets to his loose pants and pulls out a wallet. He produces a card and swipes it to the machine.

He pays and a receipt prints. I push the books to him and hand him the paper. He doesn't say anything as I pass him his things. He takes them quietly and nods before heading to the door.

"Have a nice day," I surprise myself by calling out. It seems to have startled him too. He looks over and gives a nervous smile.

"You too." With that, he leaves. I watch till the door closes, a little captivated by his departure. When I finally look away to the now empty store I hardly notice to half-smile gracing my face.

I'm a little confused to see him the next day around the same time. The store is a little more full, normal for a Tuesday since there is a sale going on for comic books. Perhaps that's why he is back? I try not to pay him any mind as I ring up people but I can't stop glancing at him curiously. He wonders around the store, catching eyes with me a few times. This piques my interest even more.

I barely listen to the man rambling on and on about god knows what. I give him a few nods but couldn't care less. I keep glancing over his shoulder at the nervous satyr browsing the store. I'm not sure why I'm so inquisitive but he is keeping my attention. Perhaps its why he is back after saying he had no money. Or the fact he isn't even looking at the comics that are on sale. What could he possibly need?

I lose focus on him when someone comes up with a question.

"Do you guys have any captain marvel comics," a stout woman asks.

"Far-right wall, under the popular section," I point behind her. I hope this is the end of the conversation but sadly it isn't.

"Oh. Can you show me, I didn't see it over there," she gives an apologetic smile. I look over at the satyr, then back at her.

"Yea, come on," I walk from around the counter. I lead her to the right wall. She keeps asking questions even when I found the box for her. She draws on so long my coworker works the register and checks out the satyr. I see he bought another DnD book, Just the one. He leaves before I even get back to the counter.

I don't see him the next day, hardly surprised. I actually don't think about him, having no reason to. My fascination is but a product of boredom mixed with seeing someone so cute. I've never seen him before, knowing most of the people around the town. It's rare to see someone new and even more rare to see them two days in a row. Still, it seems he is gone now.

I think as such till I see him Thursday. I don't notice anyone walked in as I clean the glass countertop. It isn't until he sets his item down beside me that I acknowledge him. I give him a confused look for a second, wondering what he is doing back here.

"Hi," he curtly smiles, "I forgot the monster guide." I look from him to the book, another DnD guide.

I look back up at him," so you did." He nods as I grab the book. I scan it and prepare the machine for him to pay. I watch him pull out his wallet, I felt the need to fill the silence.

"You know we hold campaigns here every Thursday night," I cock a brow at him. He seems to startle before staring back.

"Oh," he tilts his head. His hair brushes over his forehead and the corners of my mouth quirk.

"They are run by Steven who set it all up, anyone is welcome. Starts tonight around 7, if your interested," I inform.

"Oh, thanks but I don't think that would be good for me. I'm busy around then but thank you. I appreciate you telling me. I guess you figure from all the books I've bought that id be playing this but it's just to read. I don't actually play, I've just been watching a campaign online. I wanted to follow along, you know," he rambles. I don't feel like interrupting, just resting my elbow on the counter. "It's a good show, very funny. I don't know if you have heard of it, but you might have. Its a bunch of voice actors playing DnD, so they get to use their acting skills to bring the characters to life. It's super neat," he continues.

"Critical role?" I cock a brow.

He grins widely, "yea, do you watch it?"

I tilt my head and regard him," not really." He deflates, it almost makes me wanna lie just to get him to ramble some more.

"Well, it's worth a listen. Even if it's super long," he collects his book off the counter," well ill see you around. Bye." I wave then he turns and walks out. I watch him the entire time, huffing in amusement when his antlers scratch against the door.

I stand back up with a little smile, "what an adorable man."

I stay a bit after, organizing some of the figurines in the displays. I know I'm sticking around just to see if he shows up, I'm not going to convince myself otherwise. I'm also not surprised to see he doesn't show up. Which is fine, it was a bit last minute so I can't expect him to not have plans.

It is a surprise when he shows up next week.

The week was slow and I hardly thought of the cute satyr. I noticed he hasn't been back since last Thursday but that was the extent of my thoughts. By Wednesday I've forgotten him, mostly.

Thursday night comes and I'm sorting through the comics for ones that don’t belong. I hear the gang setting up near the back. Getting the table together and their items out. I finger through the thin booklets, pulling out any that wasn’t Batman. I lose focus when I hear the bell at the front door. I look up and chuckle when I see the satyr. I stop what I'm doing and head over. Noticing immediately that he was fidgeting. He was looking around a lot and bouncing from leg to leg. He stops when he catches my eye.

"Hey, I'm sorry, I was a little confused about where the campaign takes place. I looked on the website and it said that it happens in the store, which is what you said, but I don’t know where in here it is and I didn’t want to just walk on in and wander around," he nervously laughs," it is tonight right?"

 my lips quirk," Yes." I won't elaborate, seeing if he will talk some more.

"Oh, good," he looks behind me then back at me," I've been looking through the books. Good reads, it's so elaborate. Still, it’s a lot to learn. I tried to do a crash course on them last Thursday but I was too worried id make a fool of myself. So that’s why I didn’t show up, I didn’t want to be the one asking all the questions. It would take away from the fun of everyone else. I mean I still might ask questions, there is a lot to learn. I hope that no one minds a newbie joining. I really studied, which sounds weird to study for a hobby, but I was nervous. You know, I might actually just watch, or come back later. I don’t want to take the fun from everyone else." I listen to his ramblings, cocking a brow as he tries to talk himself into leaving. Deciding to help him out I step beside him so we are both facing the room. I notice that he is just an inch or so taller than me.

"Come on," I nudge his shoulder then walk ahead. He startles but follows along, keeping his hands in his hoodie pockets. I smirk to myself as I lead him to the back. Once we turn the corner the patrons perk up. All of them looking towards us curious. I glance over at the satyr and see he is hiding in himself. Bunching his shoulders and ducking his head into his jacket. I nearly coo at the sight.

"Who's this," Steve asks with a friendly smile. I don’t answer but nudge the Satyr to speak up. He jumps, staring over at me shocked before looking back at the group.

"Uh, I'm Jensen," he nods in greeting," hello." I quirk a smile at the greeting. Jensen.

"Well, howdy there Jensen. What brings you to our little hobble," Carley asks before anyone else could. Jensen looks from her then back to me. I nod towards the group as encouragement.

"I'm here for the, uh, campaign," he nearly stutters. I find myself taking a step closer to the poor lad. Matt notices and passes me a glance, raising a brow. I pay him no mind and wait for Jensen to join the group.

"Well that’s great, we always have room for another traveler," Steven shouts jovially," please come sit." I look from the gang to Jensen, content with his wide grin. He walks forward and takes a seat between Matt and Steven. I take one more look at the lads before turning to leave.

"Would you like to join," Carley calls. I turn to face them, the words 'no' ready on my lips. I'm a bit surprised to see Jensen practically begging me with his eyes. Watching me with bated breath for my answer. I'm still ready with the 'no' but looking at him makes me want to change my mind.

I have never played with the group, having been invited nearly every night. I generally have things to do and rather get home quickly once they finish up. It's not like I have anything pressing at home, I just rather be there. I begin to doubt my choice, near caving just to get to spend time with the nervous Jensen.

"Ok," I answer shortly. I nearly smile when I see Jensen's little grin. He has a cute smile.

"Really," Matt tilts his head. I don’t answer but walk towards the table. I grab a chair from the wall and sit on the opposite end of Steve. I look at the three's suspicious faces, knowing they are probably trying to figure out any reason why I'd choose now to join. Of course, the genius bunch looks towards Jensen and piece together their own theories. I'm not above admitting it, I want to hang out with him. He is cute and I find his rambling adorable. Depending on how tonight goes I may develop a crush.

The night goes alright, everyone was boisterous and engaged. Everyone seemed to have fun, including me. Jensen was shy at the start but grew into his own as everyone kept him included. I appreciated that. I didn’t want to be the only one trying to keep him out of his shell. Id hates to look over and see him cave into himself with nerves.

Around two hours later the gang packs up and says their goodbyes. I walk away before they could start interrogating me, getting started on the work I put off. Once I hear the chime of the bell I head back over to the table, startling when I see Jensen still packing up. I grin to myself and head over, sitting across from him.

He looks up and smiles," Hey." I nod in greeting," man those guys are so nice. The woman, Carley was it, she gave me some of her dice. They look so cool, got a holo look to it. Reminds me of opals, it's so cool." he holds the 20-sided die up and rotates it back and forth. Showing off the rainbow reflection on it.

"So ill take it you had fun," I cross my arms and lean back in the chair. I smile at him, feeling his own grin to be contagious. He looks from the die back to me, his toothy grin making me feel gushy.

"Yea, it was so grand. Steven has such an imagination on him, this wasn’t what I expected at all," he leans onto the table with his elbows," I can't wait to come back and partake in whatever the next adventure will be. I might try being a sorcerer next time. That is if we are allowed to change our characters. I like mine right now but I do wanna experience the other classes. Does he do different campaigns every time?" 

"Yes," I nod.

"That’s great! I'm so glad I came, I was so nervous that I paced around my apartment before coming here. I figured since I just moved here it wouldn’t hurt to make some friends but I was nervous mostly for that reason, not knowing anyone. It helped that I know you, I was really banking on you being here. If you weren't I would have probably walked out," he nervous laughs, looking at the table," also thanks for joining, I could tell it isn't something you usually do."

"No problem, it was fun," I answer honestly.

We chat for a little longer before I have to shut down the store. He leaves shortly before, promising he will be back next week. I find myself getting a little giddy at the idea of seeing him again. Tonight went well, I think I can confidently say I have a crush on him.

He visits twice before Thursday, one of the days I heard from Matt when he was the one working. The day I got to see him was nice, we chatted a bit before it got busy and he left. Along with his two visits, I've been getting the 2nd degree from Matt.

"So you like him," he cocks a brow as he lounges against the counter. I shrug noncommittedly, knowing it's going to rowel him up. He drops his head back and groans at my non-answer," Don’t give me that. I don’t know the last time you were interested in someone, I've only heard stories of your past boyfriends. The tall hunky lads with more muscles than sense. So excuse me for wanting to boy talk with you." I pass him a glance, debating on being a prude with my thoughts. It was none of matt's business on who I liked and didn’t like. Still, I'd admit that the idea of gossiping is tempting.

"Yes, I have a thing for him," I bite my cheek to stop from smiling. I don’t need him poking fun just yet. He startles at my words, perhaps shocked I even said anything.

He twists around and leans his elbows on the table," I was just teasing before, I didn’t think you actually wanted him. He is so not part of your portfolio, he is so timid and lithe. Hard contrast to your previous interest." I pass him a cheeky grin while pretending to read the magazine in front of me.

"He is cute, and I think his ramblings are adorable," I answer. Matt deadpans at me, not really getting what I'm saying.

"You like his ramblings? What happened to the woman who dated big bulky men, hell the last dude I heard you dated was an orc. Like how would you go from something that big to someone like Jensen," he tilts his head trying to catch my eye. I glance at him but continue to look at the pages.

"I just like him, not everything has to be dissected and viewed from every angle. I think he is cute and I enjoy his company," I answer bluntly. Not everything has to be over analyzed to its basic form. I don’t have to uproot my childhood to figure out why I find Jensen so attractive. I just do, and that’s ok.

Matt doesn’t like my answers but he leaves me alone after another five minutes of arguing.

Thursday comes quickly to my joy. The gang sets up and Jensen shows up shortly after they do. I watch him walk from the door straight to the back, resting his bag on the table as he too sets up. I stay in the corner, finishing up my work. I'm content on just sitting this one out, but of course, if he asks I can't say no.

"Where is she," Jensen asks as he looks around.

Steven looks up at him," she is working. She generally doesn’t contribute to these things."

"Oh," Jensen looks dejected. I actually feel bad for having to work. I guess if I rush I could come over for a little. I bite my cheek as I try to figure out anything I could close early.

Around an hour later I make some time, skipping out on stocking for the night. I can just do it tomorrow anyway. I step around the bookshelf and watch the table from the sidelines. Listening to Steven paint the picture, then the gang reacting. I watch Jensen for a bit, smiling a little as I see the enjoyment on his face.

I startle when Carley calls outs," You just going to stand there or you going to sit down?" Everyone turns to me, only Steven turns back to the table.

"Oh hey," Jensen grins," Come, sit." he pulls out the chair next to him. I walk over and take the offered seat, not missing Matt's big smile.

I spend the next hour listening to and watching their game. Keeping quiet on the sidelines just enjoying their jovial behaviors. The mission comes to an end, leaving on a happy note. I stretch and get up before the others could begin packing. I wave to the group and go back to closing.

I count out the register as Jensen stops by the counter," Hi." I finish off the set of ones and give him a friendly smile.

"Hi," I say back.

"Watcha doing," he rests his elbows on the counter.

"Counting out the drawer, make sure I'm not missing anything," I answer as I count out the twenties.

"Are you the manager here or owner," he asks. I get what he is doing, trying to start up a conversation. I appreciate the company, so I answer.

"I'm technically a manager, but it feels like I'm the owner most of the time," I shuffled up all the money and places them back in the drawer.

"Why is that," he watches as I close out the register.

"I do everything here. I make the calls, stock the store, fix the store, advertise for the store. I think the owner just wanted to own a comic book store but not actually run one," I walk around the counter and to the backroom. Jensen follows, staying at the door when we get to the office. He keeps me company as I deal with the paperwork of the day. Dealing with return receipts and new stock.

The night feels like it goes by quickly, probably Jensen to blame for that. He is nice to talk to. Once he comes out of his shell he is funny. Still rambles but it's with fewer nerves and more just enjoyment of the topic. I finished up my work about twenty minutes ago but I didn’t want to send him away just yet. I'm content listening to him talk about his job as a Graphic Designer. He seems to be very passionate about it, grinning widely as he talks.

The conversation starts to die down as we both begin to yawn. I look over at the clock and see we are forty-minute past close. We both decide its time to leave. I walk him to the door and he waits for me as I lock up. I turn back to him and prepare for goodbye.

"Well, today was nice. Thanks for chatting with me, I didn’t mean to make you stay so late. I know I tend to talk too much, I get it can be a little annoying so don’t be scared to tell me to shut up," he tries to laugh but it’s a little self-deprecating. I watch him for a minute, probably making him feel uncomfortable.

I find myself sputtering out the first thing that came to mind," Do you wanna go out sometime?"

He startles, "What?"

"Do you," I point to him," Want to go out with me," I point to myself. He still seems lost.

"Uh," he short circuits, not really getting what I'm saying. He looks uncomfortable and I can't lie, it hurts a little.

"Hey, you don’t have to. It's ok if you don’t," I try to give him an out.

He shakes from his stupor, "No, I want to. I'm just a bit shocked."

 I regard him curious," Shocked? Why?"

"well," he rubs the back of his neck," its just-because- you know."

I smile," No I don't think I do know."

"Its cause- because," he huffs," Because you are you. The super hot comic store girl. I didn’t think you would like me." I can't stop my chuckle. I've never had a guy assume I wasn’t into them, especially when I feel I've been obvious.

"Well, I do. So would you like to see a movie this weekend," I try again since he never really answered.

"yea," he grins widely," I'd love to."

I give Jensen my number and tell him to write. We depart with dorky grins on our faces, leaving for our respective homes.

The weekend comes quick and I meet Jensen at the store. We walk together in a bit of awkward silence. I can basically feel his tension rolling off him. I can't help but try to think of ways to relax him, make him feel comfortable. So I ask him about his job and he takes the in. This seems to work until we make it to the theater. when we go to sit his tension rise again. I try to keep the conversation going but when the movie starts its harder to keep him calm.

I watch him out the corner of my eye the entire film. He fidgets his hand in his lap, not really focusing on the movie. I feel bad he cant enjoy this. I'm running out of things to try, so I go for broke and grab his hand. I interlock my fingers with his and rest them on the armrest. His grip is a bit tight so I rub my thumb to his skin in an attempt to calm him down. Surprisingly it works, he loosens his grip with a sigh. He gives me a quick squeeze then leans back in his seat. I go for broke again when I lay my head on his shoulder. He jumps but doesn’t do anything to push me away. I will take the win.

The movie ends and it wasn’t that great. Probably should have picked a better one. Still, I had fun, only because it was with Jensen. After we got up he grabs my hand again and we walked out together. It was sweet, which is something I never had with my exes. They were a bunch of dumb jocks looking for their next nut. It was fine at the time because I wasn’t expecting much but it was unfulfilling. This, with Jensen, feels good.

We walk back to the store where we chat under the awning. With a brief hug, we part ways, making plans on the phone for another date. I sit in bed that night smiling like an idiot, not wanting to put the phone down till I nearly pass out on my own.

We go on a few more dates after that, nothing getting too intimate besides a kiss on the cheek. We see movies, go out for dinner or go to one of our places to cook. Then every Thursday we talk for hours, even texting once we got home. I like him a lot.

One day while talking at the store he kisses me. I'm startled when it happens, he gets embarrassed and tries to back away. I don’t let him get far and kiss him. Since then the relationship has gotten more intimate. Spending dates snobbing anywhere private like a pair of teenagers. He shocked the gang one night when he kisses me hello. They all had their guesses but we never gave them answers. Since then they have taken to picking fun of us, trying their best to get us to blush. Of course, I was a little harder to crack than Jensen. Still, it was cute to see him get all flustered. Sometimes I joined in on the teasing and give a big kiss to his cheek.

As much touching as we have done we never have gotten around to discussing sex. It was becoming more prominent as some make out sessions left us both a bit bothered. He never initiated anything so I didn’t push, it was fine. But one night while we are sitting on my bed talking he surprises me.

We lounge on my bed looking through his phone at videos he saved. One thing leads to another and we start making out. I have my fingers buried in his soft curly hair, my other hand petting over his chest. I want to badly run it under his shirt, feel his skin on mine. I don’t try to push my luck, wanting him to take the leap.

His fingers clench at my hips making my insides burn. He hesitates in the kiss, but not stopping as his hands play with the hem of my shirt. He slides them under my shirt, gliding them over my hips up to my waist. I find myself gasping and leaning back. Our breath mingles together as I wait for his next move. I can feel his finger shake as he tries to move up but he can't bring himself to do it. I resume petting over his chest, leaning up and kissing his cheek. Telling him in actions that it's ok to go on.

He gains some of his nerves and smooths his hand over my skin. Petting and groping up to my bra. His breath stutters as his thumb timidly traces over the fabric. His breathing stops when he hooks a finger underneath, sliding over till his index touches my boob. He sucks in a gasp, pausing his hand as he catches his breath. I continue kissing his neck and petting his hair. Giving him all the time he needs.

Jensen rests his head against mine before moving to cup my chest. He sighs, tickling my head with his breath. His palms are warm against me, if not a little sweaty. He gropes softly, rubbing his thumb over my hardening nipple.

"so soft," he mumbles to himself. I peck his neck in answer. He continues to grope and squeeze, content in just this for the time being.

Soon he leans back and tugs at my shirt. Asking with his eyes if I could take it off. I don’t even hesitate, I lean back and pull the clothing off. I throw it onto the floor. When I look back at Jensen I nearly laugh, he is captivated by my nearly bare torso. I grin at him as I lead his hands back to me, hinting at him to take my bra off on his own. He catches on and fumbles to unhook the back. He manages well and helps pry the straps off my arms. He tosses the bra off the bed and doesn’t take his eyes off me. He reaches for my chest, watching as his fingers rub my nipples. I leave him to go at his own pace, sighing at the sensations of his hands. He surprises me by leaning down and taking me into his mouth. I choke on my words as his tongue swirls over my bud. I pet along his head, tugging softly on his hair when he sucks on me.

He laves attention on both sides, taking his time to both enjoy and make sure I enjoy it. I feel the all too familiar weight in my stomach, my crotch throbbing with need. I know better than to force anything but its starting to get hard too. I'm happy when he takes another step, pushing me back and crawling over me. He leans down and captures my lips, giving a rather fierce kiss. He continues to cup my chest with one hand, seeming to not be able to get enough. I press my luck and slide one of my hands down his chest, sliding under his shirt and feeling his warm stomach. He gasps into the kiss but doesn’t react. I continue moving up, pulling up his shirt as I go. He lets me, even leaning back to take the clothing off himself.

Once the article is removed he smiles down at me before kissing me again. I return the kiss but turn away so I can get a good look at his newly revealed torso. He pecks down my neck as I pet along his chest. I go up to his shoulders then going slowly down over his pecks, rubbing his nipples as I go past. He licks over my neck before sucking on my skin. I gasp with a grin then trace my nails over his stomach. I chuckle when he sucks in a breath, his stomach clenching as I near his pants.

He stops his assault on my neck, waiting patiently for my next move. I reach over his hips, sliding into his pants as I do. I feel his soft fur, raking my fingers through it as I pet his hips. He rests his head against my neck, watching my hand between us. His antlers rake against the headboard but neither of us pays it any mind. I cautiously run my hands towards his front, keeping my pace deliberately slow in case he wants me to stop. He doesn’t react, perhaps not even breathing as I reach towards his cock.

When my fingers are finally touching him we both jump. His antlers thud against the wood startling me. I pause my hands near his dick. He takes a minute to catch his breath before leaning down and pecking my shoulder. I take that as a sign to continue. I reach down and wrap my fingers around him. I hold him then wait for any signs he wants to stop. His breathing is shallow and rushed, his posture tense. Still, he kisses my shoulder, nuzzling his face to my neck.

I stroke him in a loose grip, enjoying the feeling of his hard cock. He is a well-hung satyr, staying on par with a lot of my exes. He is thick but perhaps averagely long. He is warm and I can feel something wet running down from his tip. I'm curious what he would taste like.

Getting too caught up in the feel of him I don’t notice his whimpers. For a moment I think they are good till he lifts his head away from me. I look at him from the corner of my eye, stopping my motions on him. His eyes are clenched and his breath is still shallow. It doesn’t come out even but in ragged, scared patterns. He looks more than a little nervous.

Without much thought, I retract my hands from his pants. Petting up his stomach and chest to his neck. I tilt his head towards me and give him a peck on the lips. He squints open his eyes, I finally get to see the fear in them. That decides it.

I roll him off me and lay him on his back. He follows without a fight, looking at me curiously and worried. I give him a smile before reaching for my blanket and throwing it over us. I lean over to my nightstand and grab the tv remote. I lay down beside Jensen, laying my head on his chest. I rest my hand on his stomach then turn the tv on.

He doesn’t say anything as I boot up YouTube. He is still breathing hard but he has rested his hand on my naked back. I pull up my unfinished video then fully rest against Jensen. The video plays and I can feel him perk up when he realizes what we are watching. I've been watching Critical Role so we had more to talk about, its not a bad show but its so long.

Soon Jensen relaxes and watches the show. At some point, he started petting my back and holding my hand on his stomach.

"Thank you," he mumbles. I turn my head and look up at him. He adjusts and looks down at me. He looks calmer now, if not a little content. I hum in acknowledgment and kiss his chest. He hums too with a relaxed smile on his face. We turn back and watch the show.

We never say anything about what happened, it being pretty self-explanatory. He wasn’t ready, and that’s fine. We soon fall asleep half-naked in each other's arms. It’s a peaceful rest, best night sleep I've had in a while. 

I wake up the next morning to the feeling of something repeatedly touching my face. I squint my eyes open as I feel something wet against my nose. I first see Jensen smiling at me. He leans down and places another kiss to my cheek then to my chin.

"Morning," he mumbles as he kisses my lips. I hum into the kiss, happy to return it full. I sit up and cup his face as we make out. It’s a bit sloppy for a morning kiss but ill take it. He reaches over and pets over my back, his cold hand causing chills over my spine. I gasp into the kiss making him smile.

He surprises me by sitting up and pulling me over his lap. I balance myself by holding his shoulders. The coldness of the room makes me shiver as I remember my lack of a top. Of course, Jensen doesn’t seem to mind as he slides his hands up my thighs, over my hips, on my stomach to my chest. He watches his hands as they cup me. He pinches at my nipples, smiling when I suck in a breath. He leans forward and begins kissing up my collar. Trailing licks and nibbles over to my neck then jaw. He drops his hands to my hips and grinds me down onto his hard cock. I startle at the suddenness, curious if not pleased with the turn of events. What a way to wake up.

Using whatever bravado he has gotten this morning he grabs my ass and squeezes. He huffs against my neck as he bucks up to my crotch.

"You seem excitable this morning," I gasp near his ear.

"I have a wonderful woman in my arms, what's there not to be excited about," he chuckles. I laugh with him before grinding my hips to his, relishing his groans. We go back to making out but this time he reaches between us and cups my crotch. I startle, sucking in a breath as he fingers me through my pants. He pets me a few times but decides it isn't enough. He slides his hand into my pants and touches me directly. Petting along my slit then diving his fingers inside.

"Very excitable," I gasp. He leans back against the headboard and watches me. Having a pleased grin on his face. A better look than last night. I can't help but lazily smile back, happy that he is comfortable.

His fingers pump and curl inside me, testing out every bump and crevice to see which makes me groan and gasp. I enjoy this different side of him, his smirk is all the more arousing. He adjusts his hold and gets his thumb to rest over my clit, giving timid circles. I try not to grind with him, not wanting this to end so soon. Just enjoying the soft strokes and pumping fingers. His other hand pets over my thigh, everything moving slow. He takes his time, just looking pleased to watch me.

I look down at his chest, my hands following my gaze. I feel his chest rising and falling quickly, his heart pounding at his chest. His face is calm despite his rushing blood and hard cock poking my ass. My fingers trace over his stomach and down to his pants. I feel the tufts of fur poking up, the happy trail disappearing behind his bottoms. As I play with his pants he slows his motions then removing his hand altogether. His face is focused but still calm. He rests both of his hands on my thighs, not moving or giving any indication of what he is feeling.

I hook my finger on his pants while keeping eye contact. I cock a brow in question. His lips quirk slightly, his emotions very different than last night. He nods his head while petting up my thighs a bit, fingers twitching with hidden nerves.

I sit up off him and pull his pants down to his knees, keeping his boxers on. I can't help but smirk at the tent in his underwear, feeling a little confident because of it. I reach for his bottoms but look up at him again, just making sure.

"I trust you," he mumbles while giving a nod. I grin like an idiot, feeling butterflies in my stomach. I hook my fingers to his boxers, brushing my nails against his skin. I pull them down just enough for his cock to spring out, slapping back against his stomach. I suck in a gasp, feeling a wave of arousal flow over my cunt.

"Oh," I gasp. I stare at his swollen member, appreciating its girth. His tip is red and wet, his shaft presenting a lovely prominent vein. I can barely see his balls, just seeing the curly hair flowing under his underwear. Using a finger I push his bottoms down more, brushing against his sack. He jumps at the contact, making me snap my eyes to him. He is chewing on his cheek, seeming a bit nervous. Not nervous like before but a little self-conscious.

He catches my worried look," I'm fine, just… you are staring."  he looks away still chewing his cheek, his fingers fidgeting at his sides. I want to coo but I know it will embarrass him. Instead, I lean forward, my stomach brushing against his cock, and kiss his cheek.

I whisper near his ear," you just look so good, I kind of want a taste." his shoulders drop as his head thumps against the headboard. He clenches his eyes and groans.

"God," he drops his head to his shoulders," maybe later." I lean back to look him in the eyes but he is still tilted away from me. So I grab his antlers, guiding his head back to me.

I cock a brow," later?" he stares at me a bit wide-eyed, worried he said the wrong thing. To ease his tension I lean forward a peck him on the lips," I like the sound of that." he smiles. I take his lips for mine again, introducing my tongue to his mouth. He meets mine as his hands grab my hips. As our tongues mingle I reach between us and timidly grab his cock, worried he will reject me again. Not that I'm bitter about last night, I understand. It's just going to hurt the second time.

He gasps into the kiss, his fingers holding me a bit harder, but he doesn’t stop me. I grip him a little tighter and pump. Feeling the bumps and grooves of his cock, squeezing a bit at the tip. I feel his pre coat my palm, smearing it over his head then the top of his shaft. He bucks into my grip while forcing his tongue into my mouth. His hand reaches to the hem of my pants, reaching in and fingering my clit.

We touch each other, grinding into the other's hand as our tongues intertwine. Our gasps and groans feed each other's wants and desires. I feel on the cusp, my finish nearing because of his fingers. Yet I don’t want him to do it just yet, I want to cum on his cock.

I lean back from the kiss, stopping my hands. His fingers curiously stop, he watches me for my next move. I remove his hand from my pants, nearly whimpering at the loss. I sit up and shimmy out of my pants. He catches on and helps me remove the clothing before tossing them to the side. I rest back on his lap, my cunt sitting at the bottom of his dick. He looks at me with wonder and eagerness.

Curious, I grind my pussy over him, spreading my slick over his shaft. His head drops back as he groans. I watch him with a smile as I repeat. Grinding over him, feeling his warmth partially part my folds. His back arcs as he pushes his chest out.

"Please," he whimpers," let me be inside." I look at his hooded eyes, them begging me along with his words. I nod before sitting up and hovering over him. I look between us, grabbing his cock. I stroke him once or twice then positioning his tip to my entrance. I let just his tip slip in, my insides practically burning with the need. Still, before I can give in to my greed I check to make sure he is ok. I refuse to use him, he means too much for me to do to him what I did to my exes. He isn't just a body to me.

Our eyes meet, his hooded gaze is locked onto mine. He looks like he is in divine torture, biting his lips just waiting with bated breath. He passes a quick glance to where we are about to meet then looks back up at me. He nods once, telling me what I needed to know. Without preamble I drop down on him, taking his cock quickly.

We both cry out as we meet, sitting flush on his lap. I take a second to enjoy the stuffed feeling, resting my palms on his stomach. I watch as his head drops to his shoulder, his eyes clenching as he bares his teeth. I pet over his stomach, giving him a moment to catch his breath.

"Tight," he whimpers as he looks at me. I huff with a big smile. He grins at me as well, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

We sit there for a second as he catches his breath, I wait for his cue. It doesn’t take long for him to raise his hands and cup my hips. He grabs me and grinds me into him. We both suck in a breath, then he does it again. I get the idea and circle him, listening to his sharp breaths and tiny whimpers. I introduce a few short thrusts, using my thighs to lift myself. I watch as his eyes flutter close, his lips parting in a sigh. I ride him, using my hands to balance myself as I lift higher.

I set a fair pace, bouncing on him while gyrating my hips. I stroke over his stomach to his chest, feeling his racing heart. Watching his face contort in pleasure, each fall causing his mouth to part just a little more. I soon lean forward and kiss his cheek. Giving soft kisses under his eye then near his nose. He startles me when he wraps his arms around me. He sits up and begins to give shallow thrust upwards.

My breathing starts to get harder, panting near his ear as our bodies meet. I grind myself into his stomach, my clit stroking over his fur. I groan at the image of his fur flattening from my slick. I start to whimper against him as I feel my pleasure begin to peak. I rest my cheek against him, petting up his chest to his neck. I card my fingers through his hair, just barely touching his antlers. I squeeze my eyes shut as his cries increase my own. His noises spurring me on more.

"God, you feel too good," he pants. I can’t speak now, I just nod. I focus on the feel of his cock sliding in and out of me. Stroking my walls and reaching deep inside. I cry out louder on his next thrust, tugging his hair as I follow my peak.

I don’t have time to warn him before I'm clenching around him. I stop my falls as my legs give out. He chokes on a gasp, grunting into my neck. I feel some drool drip onto my shoulder as he bucks into my convulsing cunt. I slide my fingers up and grasp at his antlers, clenching them in a white grip. I cry with each thrust, falling apart over him. I barely notice when he stills suddenly, feeling something warm and hot inside myself. He lets out a long groan, bucking once or twice more.

He takes a moment to catch his breath, as do I. he holds me close, adjusting to relax his head to my chest. I still grip his horn tightly but I pet his back as I try to even out my breathing.

"Thank you," he still huffs.

"Don’t thank me for that," I laugh," I had fun too." he kisses my sternum as he too chuckles.

"Not that, but thank you for that too," he sits up, not before nuzzling one more time to my boob. He rests his head against the backboard and looks up at me with a fulfilled smile. "Thank you for giving me time," he clarifies. His hands slide down to my waist and keep me close. I stare down at him feeling happy. There is no other way to say it, I'm just happy.

"of course," I pet some hair out of his face," I wanted our first time to be comfortable."

"Most people wouldn’t have stopped," he nuzzles against my hand. Pressing a kiss to my palm.

"Then most people are awful," I joke," I couldn’t use you like that."

"And that why you are so wonderful. Even when it looked like my body wanted it you knew me well enough to see I wasn’t ready and for that I thank you," he leans up and kisses me. It's slow and wet, if not a little lazy. It's nice.

"I love you, Jensen," I find myself mumbling to his lips. He sits back abruptly with eyes wide. I watch him cautiously, feeling the heavyweight of panic in my stomach. Before I could say anything he buries his face to my neck, grinning widely against my skin.

"Aw," he coos," you don’t understand how terrific it is to hear you say that." the panic evaporates quickly and is replaced with a gushy feeling. I rub my cheek to his head, my forehead hitting his antlers. I can't stop smiling or blushing as he rubs his nose and continues to coo. "You beautiful woman, I love you so much," he kisses my cheek," Love you when you joined me in my first campaign. Love you when you held my hand at the movies, relaxing me when I was a nervous wreck. And I love you most when you didn’t force me last night, I will love you forever because you are just too wonderful." I hide my face to his shoulder as he peppers my face with kisses.

"stop," I laugh," my face is going to catch on fire at this rate."

"How can I stop? The cute girl from the comic book store loves me! I never thought id even get the guts to talk to you let alone have sex with you," he rubs his nose near my eye. His grin is wide and his heart still beats wild. I try to fight my smile but it comes out anyway. My teeth showing as my lips curl from ear to ear.

"I thought you were cute when I first saw you too, I wanted you then and now," I kiss his cheek. He shutters and slumps on me.

"You are going to make my heart burst," he mumbles near my ear," first you are kind to me last night, then you are watching Critical Role for me. Next you get me to trust you so much that we make love. And you tell me that you like my stupid awkwardness! God, you are too much." I nearly get teary-eyed at his words, making me feel like a saint when all I did was care about him. I definitely love this timid satyr.

"Do you work today," I wrap my arms around his shoulder. He slides his hands around my waist and hugs me close.

"No. Do you?"

"No," I kiss his neck," would you like to spend the day in bed?"

"I'd love nothing more," he quickly flips us over. I laugh as he settles above me with a big smile. He looks down between us and kicks off his bottoms. Quickly he catches my eye again and cocks a brow in question. I can't help but laugh before grabbing his face and kissing him again.

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PSA: you can withdraw consent at anytime. This is for both genders. just because a girl is wet, doesnt mean she is ready or willing. Just because a boy is hard, doesnt mean he is ready or willing. communication is important and No means No.

On that note, I really wanted to write a story where the guy wasnt ready. its always the girl not ready to take the leap but it happens to guys too. they arent always the cumbrains we mistake them for. sometimes they need time to trust and open up to a person.

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