#this is a sign to step back and try to AT LEAST budget before u spend thousands of dollars u dont have

[gifti3]

worried for some nikki players ngl

[officialscaramouche]

ayo feel like doing a gorou confession fic for me? pretty please with sprinkles on top (you know that fucking tiktok)

Ofc Pizzato anything for u my dear 🥰

Pairing: Gorou x gn!reader

Warnings: slight angst

Word count: 1,969

You heard a couple friendly knocks on your office door, eyes glancing to the clock to see it was a little past noon and you knew exactly who it was. “Come in,” you chime, putting down your pen and stretching upwards with a smile.

“Helloooooo!” You hear as the door swung open, Kazuha flaunting an envelope between his fingers. “Letter time!”

You sweep to your feet and give him grabby hands. “Give it to me!” He chuckles and places the thin paper into your hands. “Tell me who it is already,” you giggle as you rip it open and slide the letter out.

“No,” he sighs, rolling his eyes. “I keep my promises.”

You quirk and eyebrow before you fold open the letter. “Even if I bribe you with dango?”

Kazuha smiles. “Even if you bribe me with dango.”

You grunt and groan but it quickly stops when you unfold the letter, reading the contents.

Good afternoon, cupcake, it starts. You blush at the pet name. I hope your day is going as well as mine. I’ve just won the office lottery! I’m going to ask for more snacks in the break room. That way, everyone benefits too! Specifically though, I want more sakura mochi! The ones you made for us were delicious. Share your recipe? :3

I adore you, your secret admirer.

You squeeze the letter to your chest and squeal, your face warm from blushing and your heart pounding against your chest. “Oh, Kazuha, whoever this person is, I really wish they’d come up and confess!”

Kazuha tuts and wiggles his finger. “But then the mystery wouldn’t be there anymore.”

“Screw mystery!” You squealed, gazing down at the illegible and scratchy handwriting, the mysterious stains and fur all over the page. “I’m ready to hear these words in person.”

Just then there was a knock on your door and a quick turn of the knob, one of the top brass leaning against your door frame. “Good morning, Chatty Cathy’s,” sang a familiar voice and ear twitches.

You wave while Kazuha bows, hiding the letter behind your back. “Good morning, General Gorou.”

The tail behind his back wagged discreetly as the two men share a knowing glance. “Kazuha,” the general clears his throat. “May I speak with you?”

The samurai nods his head and gives you a little wave as he walks out the door. “Bye boys!” You sing, tucking the letter back into the envelope and putting it away.

The next day, as routine, a little past noon you heard three friendly knocks on your door. You excitedly put your pen down, closing your ledger and standing out of your chair and onto your feet. “Kazuha,” you grinned. “Come in!”

He pushed the door open with his back, lugging a big box with some plastic sticking out from the top. “I’m just a mule to you guys aren’t I?” He groaned, lifting the box up and onto your desk. “This is ridiculous.”

You stood on your tippy toes to try and peek inside the box without being obnoxious. “What is it?” You hum, getting more and more restless.

“Your letter, what else?” He kind of snapped, letting out a deep sigh and rolling his eyes. “I wish he’d confess too. That way I don’t have to carry these things.”

You pulled back the top of the box that was just out of your reach. “Here,” pushing your hands away, Kazuha tore the box apart to expose a giant basket full of goodies and flowers. “The letter.”

Kazuha snapped the taped-on letter from the plastic and handed it to you. Wasting no time at all, you rip the envelope open and unfold the letter.

Dearest [Y/N], you’ve pierced my heart like an arrow through a target and I simply cannot get you off my mind. I heard from the grapevine that you wish for my confession. …Maybe I shall do so in the near future? It’s not that I do not want to be yours, but rather that you make me quite nervous. Still, we see each other for terribly brief moments but these moments are the most precious to me. Hopefully I can muster up the courage to finally tell you how I feel. In the meantime, please accept these treats and toys imported from across the globe. My favorite are the dog-shaped biscuits.

Your shy admirer.

Looking up from the letter you find Kazuha stuffing his face with some chocolatey cookies from within a tin box labeled ‘Fontaine.’ “Are those good?” You ask, reaching in and stealing one.

“Mhm,” Kazuha hums, taking a bite out of the one in his hand. “I’ve never had Fontaine chocolate. I guess the rumors about being the best were true.”

You melt under the sweet taste and crunchy texture, thinking that if your crush’s letters had a taste, it would be like this. “This is so nice,” you sigh, eyes sparkling as they gaze upon the basket. “Do you think he’s going to confess to me?”

Kazuha stares out the windows of your office that peer into the rest of the building, watching a certain general spill water on himself and the resistance leader. He takes another bite of a cookie. “Maybe.”

You squeal in delight and spin around in joy. “My heart’s beating so fast! I hope he does it soon or I’ll explode!”

Kazuha chuckles and playfully shoves you aside. “If you explode, I’m eating all of your snacks.”

“No! They’re mine!”

Weeks— almost a month— go by with no further letters. Kazuha stopped coming by, whether at noon or otherwise. The only knocks you got were visits from Kokomi about the budget or from other soldiers carrying reports and receipts from spending. Your heart ached at the sudden lack of contact, wondering if you had done or said something wrong.

Maybe your eagerness was intimidating and this mystery man just wanted someone to flirt with without commitment. Maybe he got bored of you. Maybe he didn’t want to talk to you anymore.

Regardless, you wanted to try and spark it back up in case you’ve stepped on some toes without realizing. That night when you got home, you tossed the ingredients for sakura mochi into a bowl and got to mixing.

The office ate everything you brought before lunchtime rolled around. With such great success, you had confidence that he’d reach out to you tomorrow, if not today.

But alas you were left in silence once more, leaving your heart to crumble and ache. You were quick to recover, considering you never met the guy— let alone knew his name. But you had no time to be worrying anyway, because in a couple of days one of the squads were returning from the front lines and you needed to factor in medical costs. Apparently they took a hard hit when Sara Kujou showed up with her samurai. Kokomi was depending on you, and you didn’t want to let her down.

You spend these few days really crunching the numbers, making sure that every wounded soldier would get the basic medical necessities with some left over for any miscalculations. With every i dotted and every t crossed, you stuffed your report into a fancy envelope and handed it to Kokomi. “Thank you [Y/N] for your hard work under such a sudden timetable.” She thanked, tucking the envelope under her arm. “The team should be arriving tomorrow, so I will be submitting this for review immediately.”

You bow respectfully and offer your thanks for praise. “It’s no problem at all, Her Excellency. I was given ample time to prepare the balance sheet.” You begin to turn when you’re stopped once again by her.

“Before you go,” she smiles softly. “Would you mind helping out at the infirmary? We’re short handed right now with the sudden intake of Delusions.”

“Of course, Her Excellency. I will be there whenever you need me.”

You weren’t specialized in medics but you had helped around often enough to know the basics. And anyone could become a master at immediate medical attention after doing it so many times.

The flood of gurneys was a little disheartening to see, but you were still thankful for all that they do for the greater of the country. It must be scary being at the front lines, but everyone knew what they were signing up for.

You catch sight of Genera Gorou and Lord Kazuha chatting with Lady Kokomi before you were assigned to a batch of wounded soldiers, feeling a little bad for harboring ill feelings toward the young lord for disappearing. ‘You could’ve at least told me that you were leaving,’ you thought as you rinsed the injured area.

“I can take over from here,” the head medic stepped in, slipping on a new pair of gloves before getting a closer look at the soldier before you. With most of everyone patched up and recovering, the medic team was able to take control of the infirmary once again.

You wash your hands and check the clock. A little past noon. It’s funny how at this time you would’ve waited with bated breath for a couple of knocks. But not anymore.

You step out of the infirmary and find Kazuha and General Gorou sitting outside on the benches there. “Oh, hi boys,” you say surprised.

Kazuha grabs and shakes your hand. “Thank you for helping out our soldiers,” he says seriously.

“Oh, it’s not that big of a deal,” you mutter. “I do this all the time.”

A calloused hand pushes Kazuha’s away and shakes your hand firmer, harder. “No, [Y/N],” Gorou says with a sort of oomph behind his words. “These are my men…my family. They would be suffering if not for your help.”

You look to the side uncomfortably, a little put-off by the tension in the air. “And that’s why—!” Gorou continues, suddenly eight decibels louder. You hold eye contact with the general, his face darkening into a deep red flush, his eyes glassy and ears twitching. He squeezed your hand harder and shut his eyes. “M-My C-C-Cupcake!!! P-Please let m-me take you on a date!!!!”

Kazuha winced at the loudness of his friend, covering one of his ears but still smiling nonetheless. The people walking by stared and mumbled, but it didn’t matter as you felt your heart pound against your chest. You felt your eyes well with tears as now your face flushed red, the general cautiously opening his eyes to see your trembling lips and pathetic pout. “A-Ah! [Y/N], don’t cry!!”

You tug on his hand hard, pulling the man into your arms and squeezing him tight. You sobbed into his chest, hearing and feeling how frantic his heart was beating as well. “You idiot!” You shout into his battle-worn chest. “Don’t disappear without telling me…”

Gorou caressed the back of your head and chewed on his lip, his tail drooping with guilt but twitching with excitement for being in your arms. “Did I…scare you?” He whispered tentatively, choosing his words carefully.

You pull away and wipe your eyes, Gorou watching you closely and holding tightly onto your waist. “I thought you got tired of me…because I stopped hearing from you.” Gorou frowned and cupped your face, thumbing your cheeks gently. “I even made sakura mochi and I didn’t—”

“You made sakura mochi??!??!!! Is there any left?!?” Gorou’s jaw dropped. He let you go to turn and run to the break room, halting before running back to embrace you once more. “Heh, uh…” he chuckled nervously. “I’d actually…rather hold you like this…”

You couldn’t fight the smile that spread across your cheeks, flushing your body against his chest. “That’s okay,” you giggle. “There aren’t any left.”

You had no idea that his ears could flatten sadly like that.

[wizkiddx]

i saw that you at least used to write for harry could u do another? like maybe im just a basic bitch but 'only one bed' trope or sm

Summary: honestly just me shitty attempt at the only one bed thing ahah with Harry Holland x reader

no warnings I don’t think apart from my ramabling :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

God you were groggy. It had been a long 16 hour flight and you were well and truly completely over this day. Once you’d had some proper sleep, no doubt you will be beyond excited to explore the forest and beaches of this remote island in Indonesia. You were certain it was beautiful, even if you’d arrived in the dead of night so you couldn’t see any of the majesty yet. It was one of the joys of being Tom’s makeup artist - travelling the world and being paid for it? A literal dream. 

Except maybe the previous 24 hours. The Holland name carried a lot of weight in the world, but not enough to control typhoons across the tropics - there were some limitations to his power. And yes first class lounges were nice but none had beds to crash on during the 6 hour weather delay. The four of you (Tom, Harry, Andrew and yourself)  ended up camping out in a out-the-way corner. Tom got the long sofa; Andrew in one of those weird egg line chairs; you and Harry splayed on the floor. Why you’d had to get up at 4 am to catch a flight that was now not departing till 12 hours later actually hurt to think about - especially because you’d all gone out for a meal the night before that had inevitable went a lot later than planned. 

Two connecting flights with a very angry baby later, the four of you were checking in to the only hotel on the island - which was now almost exclusively filled with the production team for Tom’s newest movie. It wasn’t especially big-budget with massive million pound overheads, instead a smaller scale indie film (that you privately thought might earn Tom a number of accolades). But yeh, shooting on an island that received almost no tourism meant everything was different to the usual. None more so than for Tom and his team (including you) who he normally would look after very well, with the nicest hotel rooms or rental homes. 

The hotel was basic, you’d known that before you arrived but seeing is believing is it not? Most entertaining though, was seeing Tom’s face. Andrew was a well travelled older guy, he had stayed in some shitholes in his life. Equally you and Harry had both travelled when you were younger (you through inter railing and him in australia), so had stayed in hostels before. But for Hollywood star Tom Holland? The way he tilted his head to the side as if to say ‘really this place?’ did lift your spirits momentarily. 

Andrew had got his key first, bidding you all good night with a grunt, then Tom - who still seemed confused as to the whole arrangements. It left you and Harry at the small dingy reception, the warm glow of an old lantern-esque light fixing illuminating the place. The guy behind the desk was a smiley local and greeted you warmly, if incorrectly.

“Ah and finally the couple I see!” He spoke with a thick accent but still very clear English which had you questioning if this was just a translational error. Harry looked at you instantly, his eyes wide which made you scoff - him joining in, shaking his unruly curly mop emphatically.

“No no we um… we aren’t together.” All the while Harry pointed between the two of you, communicating through actions rather than just the language, given that you were both the very typical Brits abroad who hadn’t learnt the language of the place they were visiting. 

“Still under Holland name?” The guy asked in a perplexed manner, flicking through a book filled with cursive scribbles and scanning to see if he’d made a mistake. He checked one, then looked up nervously before checking the same page once again- you saw where this was going. ”We, we only have couples room down for you though? 3 double rooms is the booking for Holland.” 

It was late, you both stunk of a combination of plane and BO, you both just wanted your individual and respective beds. 

“Well can we get another room then?” Harry didn’t quite snap but there was still an impatientcy to his voice, which came out whenever he was a little agitated. Seeing the slightly worried look the mans eyes, you leaned onto the desk with a genuine smile. 

“Sorry we know its last minute and its not your fault, we’ve just had a really long flight.”

“I am terribly sorry miss but we are only small hotel and Hollywood has filled us up. I have no other rooms. I am truly sorry sir, ma’am.” The guy went from looking worried to terrified as Harrys jaw tensed up, you naturally squeezed his arm to try and ground him, instantly deciding that you’d just work it out. 

“No no it’s not your fault, don’t worry we’ll figure it out. Can I just get the key?”

Harry stepped back and let youtakeover proceedings, signing all the insurance documents etc and asking the man about the breakfast arrangements and such, though you saw him furiously typing on his phone and by the buzzing in your pocket- presumed he was messaging the group of you Tom, Andrew and himself. 

Once finished the guy pointed you on your way, up two flights of stairs and down a hall. The whole time Harry was muttering about how useless the other two were for not replying and also for making the wrong booking in the first place. If only you hadn’t been the last two to checkin, then it would’ve been someone else’s problem.

He felt especially guilty just because you were the only girl-  he didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable, hence why he was trying to locate his brother so they could share tonight till they got it figured out. The tension, combined with sleep deprivation, was palpable as you both walked in silence toward the room - Harry was trying to formulate a plan in his head as they did so. And honestly? You just couldn’t be bothered to deal with it. So, once you reached the door 57 holding the physical key (old school, rather than a key card) you just decided to address it. 

“Will you chill please?” 

“Well if my idiot broth-“

“Oh leave him be for god sake. If you’re okay with it I really don’t mind sharing with you tonight?” Not bothering to laugh at his slightly shocked expression with mouth hanging a little open, you fiddled with the key until the lock clicked open. From the entrance you had a pretty clear view of the whole room and… well, lets just say dated would be a fair expression - when compared to what you were used to? The floor was tiled and the bed was a small double, with some funky and slightly washed out prints of blue and red on the cover. The pillows looked a little limp, more like glorified pieces of cardboard than anything fluffy and comfortable. The walls were that yellowy magnolia shade that everyone in the UK had gone insane for in the 80s and there was an old school wooden wardrobe in the corner. 

Home for 5 weeks. 

With a shrug of your shoulders you entered, dumping your personal and work suitcases by the far wall carelessly - the higher priority action being to collapse on the bed. Doing so with an overdramatic huff, you let your eyes close but payed special attention to the delayed footsteps of Harry as he entered, then the slight creaking noise as he perched on the other side of the bed - no doubt looking at you, at least slightly fearfully. 

The relationship between you and Harry was complex to say the least. Well no… it should be, not on the face of it. You had met through work and made friends. And you wished it was that simple but alas, nothing ever really is. When you’d first worked with Tom you were in the tail end of a relationship you had long since forgotten about - literally meaningless, not worth the time and effort you’d put into it. From the start you’d had a feeling Harry was more interested in you than the average co-worker (even if your job and therefore co-workers were anything but normal and average) but you were in a relationship so nothing ever came. 

Then almost as if synchronised, just as you got out your relationship, Harry threw himself in the deep end with a girl he’d met through his family friends. Then the roles were somewhat reversed, you now spent a good chunk of your day just entertaining yourself with thoughts of the curly headed, slightly awkward, very-passionate-about-tea-making Holland. The cliche is so real - your always want what you cannot have. 

However, a couple months ago his relationship had fizzled and faded away leaving both of you in a sort of no mans land. The sort of not wanting to ruin the friendship situation. The subject was never broached by either you - except you assumed he was being tormented in a similar way to how you were by his big brother and Andrew. Never publicly, yet whenever you found yourself alone in a room with one of them (being Tom’s makeup artist that happened often enough) there would always be a sly dig. The chemistry was  so ‘obvious even a blind man could see it’. Somehow though, weeks of this and your were still stuck. Stuck in the middle. 

“You sure you’re alright with this?” His voice was gruffer and hoarser from the long journey but you could hear the self-consciousness and naivety in his tone, without having to peel your eyes open and look at his face. 

“I know your not a murder and plus, we shared the airport floor this morning… this is pretty much the same.” He hummed in acknowledgement so you carried on “and plus your pint sized.” That earned you a playful shove in the side as you sniggered, before pulling yourself up so you we now sitting next to him, legs hanging off the edge of the bed. His brown eyes searched deeply into yours, as if physically checking for any hint of regret or hesitation. “Don’t even dare offering to go on the floor.” 

“Okay okay okay!” Holding his hands up in surrender, you both laughed, breaking the peace of the late night of the remote Indonesian island. Once an impressive yawn interrupted you though, Harry proclaimed it was time for bed and shooed you into the bathroom to get changed and sorted. 

Honestly you were too tired and lazy to dig out your cleanser and skin stuff, instead opting to just splash a bit of water on your face before swapping into your pj shorts and an old tattered oversized tee. Once done you and Harry swapped, him coming out a couple minutes later in basketball shorts and a black loose fitting tee. 

It wasn’t awkward so to speak, more a sort of excited-tense atmosphere, which there was no doubt Harry was mainly responsible. The boy was jittery and on edge, which to put simply, you didn’t have the energy to reciprocate. 

With a quiet wish of goodnight to each other, Harry flicked off the bedside lamp and you both rolled to your respective edges of the bed, a large space of no mans land between you. In the middle. You know the first time you share a room with someone and you overthink everything? When you don’t want to move about or fidget too much in case it disturbs the other? When your listening intently to their breathing, in the hope it’ll even out and only then will you feel able to fall asleep yourself? 

Well it doesn’t work when both of you are doing it. When both of you are professional over thinkers. 

God knows how long it took till you gave up, favouring sleep over your worries and concerns. So you flipped over, no doubt rocking the whole bed, turning to face his back that was still huddled almost teetering off the edge of the bed. The only light within the whole room was that coming under the actually scarily large gap between the floor and the door to the hallway. It was just enough to see the back of Harry’s curls and you must’ve fallen asleep trying to trace all the torturous and windy routes of the strands.

///////////

In the morning the process of waking up didn’t come easy to you as normal for many reasons; the long day prior; the jet lag; the weird surroundings. So you stayed in this sort of blissful haze for probably longer than you should. Half aware but not really; half asleep but not quite. In the middle  of sleep and alertness. Therefore it took you longer than it should have to notice the extra weight on the dip of your waist. Not anything alarming, just a presence you were absolutely not used to. It was only when you shifted a bit to lie further on your back, that enough of a stimulus from the added pressure made you actually open your eyes blearily. And sure enough, a limp hand looked to have casually and unconsciously been thrown over your side. 

As if in slow motion, you traced the arm backwards - first with your eyes, but then having to twist your neck too. Only then could you fully see the browny ginger haired boy who was lowkey spooning you? It was certainly a way to fully wake you up, breath halted to a stand still in your lungs, in fear of disturbing him and having to confront what would almost certainly be an awkward situation. 

There was still a safe hands width distance between the two of you except for the rogue arm. Harry’s head was placed to the edge of his pillow, mouth slightly parted as his breathing slightly tickled the wispy hairs on the back of your neck. He looked so peaceful and calm - a difference to the normal Harry who, even on a good day, took great pleasure in meticulously picking things apart and being a bit cynical. It was part of his ‘charm’; but seeing him like this was a type of vulnerability he rarely chose to show. 

To be fair he was asleep, he dint realise he was exposing himself in this way.

Finding yourself a little transfixed (a bit creepy but hey) on the natural curves and definition of his face, you ever so carefully rolled over in the bed to face him. It stopped you from craning your neck and gave the sleepy boy a slight nudge, making him tense his arm a little more tightly round you. 

He settled quickly though, giving you ample opportunity to just observe what was going on . Both right in front of you… and what the hell was going on in your head. Because to be honest it was an overwhelming amount of emotion thoughts for the early morning. 

Somehow you must’ve eventually drifted off once again because the next thing you were aware of was a shuffling from immediately next to you. This time though, you were instantly aware of exactly the situation you found yourself in and chose to keep up the pretence of sleep - a little interested in how Harry would play it. 

You heard a small gasp, having to suppress a chuckle at what you imagined Harry’s sleepy and panicked face looked like. That lasted a couple of moments, before you felt him painstakingly slowly peel his hand from your waist and if you were being 100% honest… you heart sort of sank. 

What you had been expecting?- you don’t know and really there was really no reason to be disappointed. Yet, you still felt this deflated and disappointed feeling, hit your chest especially hard. Perhaps it was because of your focus on that emptyness that you forgot you were supposed to be pretending to be asleep./.

Because when he had delicately brushed the side of your face to tuck a rogue bit of hair behind your ear - your eyes flickered open.  Like a rabbit caught in headlights, Harry froze, his hand still hovering over your jaw. Equally, you didn’t know what to do. Because really… do friends tuck hair behind the others ears? And do friends look at each other with this matched expression of confusion and fear? 

It took a painfully long time (though in reality was probably only a matter of seconds) before the boy retracted his hand, suddenly sitting up from his reclined position down at you. Mirroring his actions, you both ended up sitting, facing the opposite wall, bodies closer than they needed to be in the double bed. Both still very much in the middle. 

“I er-“

“-No no don’t… was nice of you” He had been about to apologise which you didn’t want to hear. You didn’t want to hear ‘ I didn’t mean it’ - you wanted him to mean it. In response Harry nodded jerkily, and from your peripheries, noticed he was searching your face for any sign of emotion.

“Still can’t believe this all happened… I-I didn’t disturb you too much did I?” He sounded really nervous. You were never like this with each other. So static and forced. 

“No no… I slept really good actually.” Your register was quieter, waiting till you’d finished speaking before looking over at him with a self conscious smile. 

“Ah I’m glad… I um-I did too.” The silence returned and the atmosphere just felt sharp. It felt like you were quite literally walking either side of a knife edge. It made you chew on your bottom lip, playing with the slightly frayed edges of the vintage quilt. 

“Y/n- I look…” He’d bolted upright and voice was more raised than normal for the morning. “This is gonna sound so fucking weird, especially cos we’re literally in the same bed but... but I was thinking we could maybe go on a hike or something together?” What he seemed to be suggesting didn’t match the level of panic that was conveyed in his body language which confused you. And what the bed had to do with it… was yet to make sense in your head. 

“I think Andrew said we’re getting some tour of island this afternoon so-“

“ I kinda meant just you and me.” 

The penny dropped and it had you focusing all energy on processing what was happening - understandably causing Harry to only worry more with the lack of response. “I’m sorry if I’ve ruined ever-“

“No I-I….I’d really like that too.”

“Oh er… well… really?” The sheer shock made you giggle, feeling the two of you sliding back into the normal dynamic.

“Normally a boy has to buy me a drink before he gets in my bed but….” A mischevious smirk that spread across your lips gave Harry the final confirmation that just maybe you were interested too, making him scoff and quietly chuckle.

It was odd; mainly because this was the two of you being incredibly vulnerable and honest with each other - something that you hadn’t allowed yourself to be for fear of messing things up. And then one lazy morning, both with morning breath and slightly puffy eyes, it changed. For the first time when you looked at him, he really saw - and vice versa. You were still in the middle of something, yet it was completely different. 

This time you were in the middle together figuratively as well as literally. In the middle of the bed, closer than you needed to be, but not wanting to retreat - while you both just looked shyly and bashfully at each… Eventually you lips hesitantly met in the middle. 

[choco-glow]

Fall Like Rain On Sunday, Pt. 11

The route to Steph’s apartment was a little bit difficult in a truck, but with the little bit of time he had to spare, he found a decent place to park in one of the quiet parking lots provided by the city, surprised to find a spot under an awning for a change. Jason loaded up his reuseable bags; it was a bit of a walk to Steph’s place from here, but with his jacket over the bags and his hood up, he was mostly protected, and this rain was a gentle one, not one of the hurricane-force bastards from the South. Boots splashing through puddles as he walked, Jason made his way through the Narrows, checking on everyone he passed with careful glances.

Everyone’s looking good…that’s a relief. Then again, Steph and I have been working hard to get people the help they need…and having Pops foot the bill goes a long way. It was the agreement that Bruce had eagerly signed with Jason; Red Hood would stop most of his killing, and Batman would fund the repair work needed to get the Narrows and Gotham back up to where they needed to be. Not that Bruce wasn’t already doing that, but having his and Steph’s eyes and ears in the thick of things made the job easier, and he’d already admitted that even his “Lefty” persona wasn’t half as good at sussing out what needed done as Jason’s quiet questioning or Steph’s cheerful chatter.

He did try his best, but throwing money at things down here ain’t the way to fix things…he knows that now, thankfully, and hey, he is listening. And on top of that, I think he enjoys the challenge of fixing things without making it feel gentrified. That had been Jason’s worry; that commercial investors would flood the area and ruin things for the people just trying to survive…but Bruce had had other plans for them. I think his lawyers were gnawing on their desks in boredom; siccing them on the scummy landlords and assholes trying to take over was exactly what they needed. Jason grinned to himself as he waved to the local bakery shop owner, taking a break from her work and sipping a cup of coffee, flour dusting her dark hair and apron.

Instead, Bruce had quietly bought out all the landlords in the area, installed a set of vetted managers to act as landlords with a dedicated maintenance staff…and made the entirety of the Narrows rent-controlled for the next fifty years. Jason had been awestruck when Bruce had revealed his plan, and he still remembered how worried the old man looked, hands clenched together, lips pursed thin.

‘“Jason…do you think it’s a good idea? I plan on leveling out the rents so that they’re reasonable, and every place will get a renovation, with free stays at hotels while the work is done…and if there’s a dedicated staff, I figure that way we can tackle problems before they become disasters. And no one person controls the rent…it all goes into the maintenance budget and to pay the managers, and the managers work as a team.”’

‘“…if you weren’t my dad, I’d kiss you right now.”’ Jason grinned to himself at Bruce’s blush of pleasure and happiness, and hummed a little as he gently kicked a soccer ball back into a yard. I’m sure it’d grate on people’s nerves to still have someone running it all, but…well, Pops does know how to pick his managers, and so far, there’s been nothing but good reviews. Nearly every tenant he’d talked to had been ecstatic. Between rent control, utilities dropping because things were getting fixed, and quality of life improving, the Narrows had become a place of hope, rather than despair…and he chuckled as he almost walked right past Steph’s building, long legs already warmed up for a jaunt around the neighborhood.

Later, Red; your girl’s gonna be wanting those waffles. He walked up the stoop and keyed in her visitor code; usually, he went in through the roof, but well, that was…kind of a dick move during the daylight, and this kept him from being caught. With care, he shook himself free of water before stepping inside, wiped his boots on the mat, and started up the stairs, wondering if he should call in a favor to get the elevator fixed. It wasn’t like stairs were hard, but he knew this building had a lot of elders…I’ll ask around, see if anyone’s got a job for it yet. Probably, it’s one of Bruce’s buildings now, and it can be hard to find a qualified tech with the time to spare.

As he crested the third floor, he mused a little more. Though, given the enrollment numbers at GothTech, I have a feeling that we’ll have plenty of engineers and handyfolks within the next year. Giving kids and adults a free certification in whatever they want through vocational school has been a godsend for the whole city; we need qualified people doing the work, and with Wayne Industries paying them the right amounts, we’re getting the kind of numbers that Gotham U wishes they had. Sure, there’s grants and stuff, but…well, GothTech doesn’t have complicated history with the Maroni and Falcone clans.

Hell, even Steph had transferred into the nursing program at GT, and Jason was seriously considering the automotive mechanics classes, if for nothing else to fix the goddamn sputter in his motorcycle. Only so many Youtube videos I can watch…He grumbled to himself as he made it up to the eight floor, hardly even panting despite his legs burning a little, and he knocked on Steph’s door with a sigh of relief, shelving his thoughts for a later day. Digging into his bag as he heard her approach, he held up the Eevee plate with a winsome grin on his face, and when Steph opened the door, her squeal of delight was the best sound he’d heard all day.

“Eevee!”

“Saw it and thought of you, baby. Shall we waffle?” Her laughter was all Jason needed, and he scooped her up into a kiss as she pulled him inside…but the smirk on her face as she pulled away just made him grin even bigger.

“Better get to work, Hood, I’m expecting only the best golden waffles.”

“And only the best golden waffles for my lady. With sprinkles.”

“…I love you.”

“Love you too, Stephie.” She dragged him to the tiny kitchen, where apparently some cleaning had gone on this morning; dishes were freshly washed in the drainer and the counter had been cleared off of all of Steph’s normal debris, which made Jason smile fondly as he set down his finds on her tiny table. Together, they unboxed the waffle maker and wiped down the plates, and Steph pulled out a mixing bowl and spatula while Jason laid out the ingredients and got the maker warming, spraying it lightly with a bit of oil. With her direction, he started mixing up the batter while Steph surveyed the haul in front of her.

“Hmmm…”

“What sounds good first, sweetheart?”

“Well, I had berries last night…I think chocolate chips this morning!” He chuckled and set the bowl down for her to dump two heaping cupfuls of chips into the batter, stirring it expertly before stealing the half-cup to start ladling in batter, remembering what he’d looked up last night before he’d crashed. “Ohhhh those look so good.”

“Hell yeah they do, and I’m not normally a chocolate fan to that extent.” She kissed him and he melted into her kisses, the last vestiges of his nightmare from this morning finally breaking away. Something must’ve shown on his face, because she cupped his cheek, eyes worried, and he just pressed a kiss to her palm, nuzzling in close.

“You okay, Jay?”

“Mmn…just a really bad nightmare this morning.” Jason didn’t have to say what from; she knew. She knew better than anyone…it was what had made them really bond when they’d first met, when he was so angry still from…well, everything, and hadn’t been inclined to care about anyone in the Batfamily. Steph, however, had dug in under his skin, demanded that he at least talk things out…and he pulled her into a hug, rocking her close. “Thought of you, though, and that helped.” Her smile was brilliant against his skin, and he pulled back just enough to kiss her…when the stink of burned batter filled the kitchen and they both sprang apart with a yelp, flipping over the waffle maker and digging out the now charred waffle.

“Oh shit, shit shit…”

“It’s okay, babe, I shoulda paid more attention…” Steph cracked open her window, and Jason was glad for the cleansing scent of the rain outside while he tossed the lost waffle into the trash, fanning the smell out with a towel. They surveyed the wafflemaker, making sure it wasn’t toast, and with a sigh of relief, he cleaned off the crusted bits and laughed a little. “…Well, that was exciting.” Steph gave a chuckle, and they kissed again, this time with all the time in the world.

“Shall we try again?”

“Fuck yeah, we’re not quitters.”

[froppywrites]

Hey ! I was wondering if you could do a bakugou x reader imagine where it’s the first day of school and the reader is like a super famous billionaire celebrity (her parents are really high paid hero’s with amazing quirks) and when she enters school there’s lots of celebrities and fans and stuff and instead of fawning over her bakugo is real with her and they become really close and eventually start dating? xx I’m so sorry if this is long x thank u sm ! ❤️💘

STARSTRUCK

pairing: bakugou katsuki x reader

word count: 2.2k

authors note: hi!! mod cer here. i did my best to keep it gender neutral! i apologize if there’s feminine pronouns used somewhere in here. either way, i tried my best, i hope you like it!!

*༄:･ﾟ✧

It wasn’t uncommon for some kid who was the offspring of heroes to go to UA. Bakugou knew that, and he was prepared for that. It would have been stupid to not be prepared for a scenario like that. 

Though, Bakugou didn’t really care about celebrities or celebrity children in the first place. Like everyone else, they were stepping stones. They would be the most satisfying to pass. They were the most satisfying.

He was in class 2A this year, something he was glad about after everything that had happened. Maybe the new batch of preemies would take up the attention span of the villains this year. He doubted it, though. Some of those villains had something out for him, and Deku. And probably the rest of his class at this point.

Walking into UA, he expected nervous first years and second and third years who were finding their friends. He didn’t expect to find a throng of squealing girls and boys surrounding something.

Scratch that, someone.

This was the shit he was trying to avoid, really. Bakugou had some people try to come up to him; I know you from the sports festival last year! Weren’t you kidnapped by villains? I saw you do xyz– Bakugou basically shoved them away from him. Well, no, more like snarled until they finally got the memo. 

Nedzu didn’t like it when he shoved people. 

Unfortunately, the crowd of people were blocking the way he needed to go. While confrontation wasn’t exactly what he wanted in the morning, it wasn’t something he would ever pass up. 

“Get out of my fucking way, extras.” His voice was rough from the lack of use over the past twelve hours. His parents had been at work, so there wasn’t exactly yelling that morning. Bakugou was loud, but not yelling- well, at least not to him. 

His palms crackled with small explosions as the students parted like the fucking red sea once they realized who was talking. As the students parted, he got to see who was making all the fuss. 

You.

Like everyone else in the world, he knew who you were. Your parents were stupid famous in some other country that Bakugou didn’t care about, and for some reason, you were here. At UA. He scowled and stomped forward, showing no sign of slowing down. He was ready to barrel through you if you didn’t move, that much was evident.

Unfortunately, you didn’t move. That didn’t stop Bakugou from bashing your shoulder with his on the way by. 

“Hey! Watch where you’re going!”

Maybe it was the tone you had, or maybe it was because he knew you came from some sort of legacy, but Bakugou stopped in the hallway and half turned back towards you.

“You’re nothing special, princess. Stay out of my fucking way.”

–

The first encounter wasn’t the worst one. Neither was the one when he realized you were in his class. It made him angry that some bitch can just show up and get into 2A because of their name. Especially after everything his class had been through. To him, you were a fraud.

But to you, he was the only one who wasn’t fangirling over who your parents were. Bakugou wouldn’t know he was your saving grace, not for a while.

–

Living in the same dorm as you made things difficult. He didn’t like you, and he could tell the feeling was mutual. It was like every feud Bakugou had in year one all over again.

His friends were eating this shit up. 

It wouldn’t of been as funny to them if you hadn’t managed to migrate into his friendship. As much as Bakugou hated you, he was stubborn and why the hell should he give up his friends just because he hated you? It was stupid, and it was a competition now.

“C’mon man, they’re not that bad,” Kirishima had whispered in his ear. 

They were all sitting on the couches in their dorm. It was slightly nicer than last year, he wasn’t sure if it was budget related or just because they were second years.

“Shut the fuck up. I’d rather spend a day with the class pervert then sit any closer to them, “ Bakugou hissed, elbowing Kirishima to try and get the male further away from him. But, Kirishima had just laughed at his attempt.

“They’re a total catch, look at them,” Denki said from his other side, just a bit too loudly. If Bakugou looked at him, he would probably be drooling.

“Oi, they’re not a fucking object, jackass,” Bakugou barked, red face from annoyance that Denki never learned when to shut his mouth. 

Or, maybe, it from the fact that you heard the conversation over what you were saying to Mina and seemed to give him appreciative nod.

That’s when Bakugou stormed out of the common area and back up to his room.

–

The kitchen was his solace. 

Well, only when everyone was tucked away into their beds.

Bakugou still went to bed early, and still got teased for it, but more often than naught he would wake up in the night due to some stupid nightmare. They were more common after all the events of his first year. He was strong, yes, but he knew that the brain could only handle so much. His brain gave him nightmares when it was trying to digest everything, but it had been months by then, and he wondered if they would ever go away.

And that’s why he found solace in the kitchen. He would make a small meal, a little snack, if you will. Or he would just make tea and stand there. Bare feet on the cool tile, elbows resting on the counter. The steam from the teacup would billow up and hit his face. He could just stand there for hours, hunched over his cup of tea with his eyes closed. 

One night, while he was trying to wrap everything in his mind back into its messy bow, he had been disrupted.

It wasn’t uncommon. Many people in his class suffered from nightmares, and when they came into the kitchen and saw him there they just knew. They didn’t bother him. They would get water and leave, or use the rest of the boiled water to make their own cup of tea. It was quiet, and there was always this feeling of understanding.

But that night, someone had stopped at the entrance of the kitchen. Like they were shocked to find someone there. He was too tired to get riled up, so he stayed in his position, but he cracked open an eye to see who it was.

It wasn’t a surprise that it was you, standing in the kitchen with your mouth parted like there was a question begging to come out. Maybe it was how he looked, or maybe it was common fucking sense, but you closed your mouth. He closed his eye and tried to zone out. It wasn’t hard when you didn’t move from your spot, and it was even harder when you just stared.

“What?” Bakugou had tried to snap, but his voice was tired and scratchy, there was still bite to his words but not as much as he had wanted.

“I came to get a glass of water.”

“What are you waiting for, permission?”

“I- No, I didn’t want to … intrude.”

“Get your water and leave then.”

It was quiet for a minute more before he heard your slippers shuffling against the tiles, the cupboard opening and closing, and then the faucet running and turning off. But, again, you didn’t move from your spot. He straightened up, turning so his back leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. His glare was strong, but the bags under his eyes seemed to make it seem less real. Less threatening. He waited for what you were going to say.

“I’m sorry.”

“Huh?” Bakugou wasn’t a boy of many words.

“I’m sorry. For everything you and your class went through.”

“Shut up. Go back to your fuckin’ dorm.”

“I know I’m an outsider to your class, I can see that clear as day. I haven’t been through what you have, but I do know what trauma feels like. So, I might not be one of you, but I’m not stupid. Stop treating me like I’m some invasive species. I’m not leaving any time soon, so you might as well get used to me, Bakugou.”

Maybe it was the way that you didn’t leave room for argument, or maybe it was the way you were straight up with him, but something had him biting his tongue as you turned and walked away. Something prevented him from shouting at you.

He’ll blame it on lack of sleep.

–

Like a bunch of teenagers, class 3A held one last party in the dorm before graduation. It was fast approaching, and even though Bakugou already had things aligned for next year, he was sad to say goodbye to UA. Not that he would admit that to anyone.

A lot of things had happened from day one up until now. Villain attacks were by far the most common, obviously, so it wasn’t really shocking anymore. 

What was shocking, then?

The fact that Bakugou Katsuki had become close with you. Someone he swore he would’ve hated until the end of time.

When it wasn’t class, or training, you were glued to his hip. It wasn’t a bad thing, not anymore, but he did get annoyed when his friends would tease him for it. But, wasn’t that what friends were for?

It was loud, and there was music playing on top of that, so Bakugou stayed away from all the commotion. For him to be calling it loud was saying something. He had hearing loss from his quirk, so if he said it was loud, it was loud. Aizawa had given up on telling everyone to be quiet, or maybe he was just letting them have one last fun time together before graduating. 

All the graduates were smushed together in his dorm building. It was annoying. He wanted to kick them all out, but for some reason his friends were friends with people from the other classes. He was pretty sure that the building couldn’t accommodate everyone, but so far it had. 

Bakugou was in the kitchen, away from everyone. His place of solace, which he would lose soon. 

Oh, you were in the kitchen too.

But, you were glued to his hip, so it wasn’t surprising for him to turn and find you standing there beside him with a smile that was too happy on your face.

He put the kettle on the stove.

“So, we’re graduating on Monday.”

“What about it?” 

“Well, don’t you feel like it’s a bit too soon?” There was hesitance in your voice.

“Don’t think you prepared yourself? You had three years,” Bakugou said. His tone was sharp, but it held no real malice. You knew that by now.

“No, I know I prepared myself. Thank you for having no faith in me,” you said sarcastically. Bakugou rolled his eyes. “I just mean, I feel like there’s something left that needs to be done. Something’s missing.”

“Well, better find it before Monday then, princess.”

You rolled your eyes, swatting a hand at his arm. He watched you carefully, wondering what was on your mind. He always knew or, at least, could always figure it out. But this time, you were on guard. About something. He wasn’t sure what it was though. 

He watched as you shuffled closer to him, moving to stand in front of him. Bakugou raised an eyebrow. He really had no idea where your head was at this time.

“I think I found it,” you murmured.

Thank god he could read lips or else he would have asked you to repeat yourself.

“Yeah?” he asked, and his voice dropped down low to match how quiet yours was.

Crimson eyes watched as you moved even closer, and your hands placed themselves on the counter beside him. He watched the way you stretched upwards, trying to get your face closer to his. Bakugou decided to help and dipped his head downward. His nose brushed against yours, and for the first time in his life, Bakugou didn’t want to flee from intimate contact.

“It’s you.” Your breath fanned across his face, warm and gentle. 

“Me?”

“You’re here, but you’re not. I want to be where you are. I want to follow you where you go. You’re my missing piece. You’ll complete the puzzle,” you had whispered and bumped your nose against his. 

Bakugou bit back a grin.

“I didn’t realize my best friend was a fucking poet.”

“Katsuki, shut up.” 

You had closed the gap between them. Bakugou had been too nervous to, not that he would admit that. So, he would play it off as being cocky if asked about it later. 

His hands grabbed your waist and pulled you flush against him. You two were close, especially during his third year of schooling, but being close like this satisfied some part of his brain he didn’t realize existed.

It didn’t become apparent until now, but you were also a puzzle piece that was missing from his own puzzle. You were something his brain so desperately craved, but he hadn’t realized it until you two were kissing and it finally felt like he was getting fresh air for the first time in forever.

Bakugou Katsuki wasn’t starstruck by you when he first saw you, but god was he starstruck by you now.

[kpopinesss]

Y U N H O ⇨ office au

THE ONE WHERE HE’S YOUR EX AND SAN’S A PAIN IN THE ASS

could also be considered ‘the break up’ but eh.

a/n(@atinybitofau): had to post this on my main bc tumblr was being a b i t c h. been having bad writers block so this may be some mediocre content sorry in advance guys 😭

• it’s hard as it is working with your ex

• but it’s harder when your ex?

• is your goddamn boss.

• “Y/n, have you signed off the P&L reports yet?”

• he’s been working you to the bone.

• you’re losing sleep out of work and you don’t get paid enough to be doing this shit.

• two years after the break up, you’d think he’d be over it.

• and he was doing relatively well.

• up until only a couple weeks ago.

• “I still have those budget requests to do, Yunho. I haven’t even—“

• “Gotten up your ass to finish the work I put on your desk?”

• you mentally shoot him brain dead.

• but smile instead.

• “I’m sorry.” you force it out knowing losing your job considering your financial complications as of late was in no option. “I’ll get to it. I promise.”

• “You’ve never been good in the promise department. So just do your job, y/n. Then we won’t have any problems, yeah?”

• there was a reason you decided to end things with Yunho.

• it wasn’t because you fell out of love with him.

• It’s just...

• things at work got bad with coworkers.

• thinking you were sucking his dick and shit to get your way.

• having too much privelage— even if you didn’t.

• jealous?

• yeah women were jealous.

• too jealous.

• you went through lengths to keep things stable.

• but you couldn’t anymore.

• your social stand was not near as strong as Yunho’s

• and you still loved him which kind of sucks.

• considering now that he hates your guts.

• “What do you mean you can’t make it tonight? Who does that asshole think he is?”

• you sighed, head spinning out of tire wanting nothing but to lay in San’s arms so he could make the pain go away.

• “My boss.” you rub at your temples. “And your best friend, San. You shouldn’t talk about him like that.”

• “For Christ’s sake, y/n, he’s killing you!”

• “I’m not losing my job, San.”

• “Then work for me.”

• No.

• you can’t..

• “I can’t.”

• and your body’s only saying so because—

• “Because you’re still in fucking love with Yunho.”

• San was angry.

• angry because you can’t move on

• you refuse to move on even if it kills you.

• “God, y/n, it’s been years. Get over it.”

• you roll your eyes. “San, why does it even matter to you?”

• “Because who else is going to come with me to hot pot if you’re stuck at work doing dumb and menial reports that he could finish in 5 minutes. Don’t forget that I do his job. Work his role and know when he’s abusing it. And he’s abusing you.”

• your heart hurts to hear it.

• yeah I mean,

• you already know that.

• but you still had hope for Yunho.

• even if you didn’t tell him why you broke up,

• you’d want him to figure out that you’re still bloody in love with him.

• “I’m tired of keeping your secret.” San whispers this time through the phone and your eyes scan the room. “Y/n, if you won’t tell him. I will.”

• “San, I love you and all but for the love of god, don’t do that.”

• “I KNEW IT!”

• you hide your phone into your lap, face cherry red when your fuming tall boss hits his head against the top of the door frame.

• you look in horror.

• hearing echoes of San’s voice before stumbling back in your rolly chair.

• “Yunho?”

• “I knew it.” He shakily points a finger at you. “I fucking knew it you lying snake of a bitch.”

• “Bitch excuse me?”

• your eyebrows cock up and your heart is either pounding from shock.

• or pounding cause of him in general.

• “BITCH?!”

• please San, shut up, you mentally curse while holding the speaker against your palm.

• “You think I wouldn’t have noticed? Your little affair with my best friend no less— you’ve been pining him since we were dating. I fucking knew it.”

• wait.

• wait just a second.

• “What the fuck are you talking about?”

• your tone was crude

• pure venom laced.

• and angry was the least of your emotions right now.

• “Oh my god, is this what the torture has been about Yunho? You’ve been stressing me day by day because you think I’m messing around with San?”

• in tiny font, you can hear San ask,

• aren’t you?

• “Don’t pin this shit on me!”

• you stand up.

• stand up because you can’t fucking believe it sitting down.

• “Yunho, you can’t be serious.” you throw papers at him. the papers he’d been throwing at you for the past weeks. “Be my ex out of work. Don’t act like it in it. God— how can I be so dense? And to think you were just fucking me over because you didn’t love me anymore.”

• Yunho was confused.

• angry nonetheless.

• but wondering why you sounded distraught.

• why you were making it his fault?

• why it sounded like you still loved him when he was sure you didn’t.

• “I’m your ex any place you go, honey. Think about that the next time you’re fucking San.”

• you were speechless.

• breathless when you watch him to try to leave after starting this up.

• “Yunho, don’t you dare walk out on me. We’re not done talking.”

• he stops, back facing you.

• and you swear you can even hear his heart beating over yours.

• “You have a call waiting.”

• “Yunho please.” Your voice breaks.

• tired.

• you were tired loving him.

• cause though you suffered being with him,

• you were starting to think you’re suffering more without him.

• “Please talk to me.”

• Yunho turns, whips around like a hunter ready to prey. “You can’t ask me that.”

• “Why? Cause you’re my boss or because you’re my ex?”

• “Y/n, don’t fucking— don’t make this me. Stop trying to make this me.”

• you feel nailed down.

• as if the devil were holding your head in place to stare at not just your boss, but your ex.

• “It’s always been you though.”

• your tummy churns and your eyes start to water.

• your heart hurts and so does your knees from holding you up.

• Yunho’s no different.

• staring at you.

• loving from far away.

• being your boss?

• he didn’t want it anymore.

• but he couldn’t fire you even if he wanted to.

• “Always been you. The LAST person I’ve fucked, the reason I’m overworked, the person I’m still in love with— yes, Yunho, it’s always you.”

• “Don’t. Y/n, don’t lie to me.”

• “I’m not lying. I’m tired of hiding the truth. And so be it if I have to file a fucking resignation letter tonight but I’m not going to hide this shit anymore.”

• his eyes wide in horror, places his hands on your waist when you force yourself on him.

• your lips targeted on his in perfect aim.

• landing the perfect kiss.

• and Yunho knows you’ve never lacked at a job.

• especially if it’s out of work.

• you frown against the lips feeling hesitation and you kiss him until he kisses back.

• but he doesn’t.

• now you’re a crying mess.

• “San was right. I waited too long. Waited too long to—“

• “Tell me that you still love me?”

• Yunho’s never been bad at being Yunho.

• always brass.

• always warm.

• so warm.

• “The people.. people that work for you abused me. Abused me for being with you. I couldn’t love you properly even though I wanted to. San told me. Told me to tell you but I didn’t want you to worry about me. Worry about us so I ended it. Ended up loving you from far away. How it should be.”

• you slowly retract looking up at him,

• realizing yes this may be your boss.

• but he was still your ex.

• “Why didn’t you tell me?”

• Yunho was pained.

• felt guilty for being a dick

• but felt even worse because he’s the real reason the relationship failed.

• because he was more your boss than he was your boyfriend.

• “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

• “Because by the time I realized I should’ve, you stopped loving me.”

• he sighs, momentarily numb in your eyes.

• before lightly brushing a thumb against your tears and pressing the kiss in return onto your lips.

• you start to forget he’s much less your boss than your ex.

• “Never stopped. You never talked to me enough to find out.” he mumbles. “Didn’t ask how I felt.”

• you inhale sharply before asking, “And how did you feel?”

• “Ready to keep you for the rest of your life was probably about right during the time, yeah, keep you working for me till you die. But now I’m going to sign a transfer to San’s company for you.”

• you tear back, eyes wide in horror.

• but Yunho holds you still.

• “Listen. Listen first. Don’t make the same mistake again and let’s talk before you run, baby.”

• alright.

• you’re gonna pretend you didn’t jump over the moon at that one.

• “I’m signing you there because it’s closer to home.”

• “But I live in—“

• “My home?” his eyebrow cocks up, lips curving and palms cupping. “Our home where you’re going to move back to in a couple of days. And you won’t have to worry about not making rent anymore.”

• though your lips are frowning,

• your heart is smiling.

• “Yunho, I cant just pack my bags and live with you again..”

• “Yes you can.” His soft chuckle gives you endless amounts of uwu. “And I’m assigning you to San because I don’t want to be your stupid and useless boss anymore. Too toxic for us. Want us to last this time. Don’t fuck this up for me, y/n. Just say yes.”

• oh.

• OH.

• OHHHHH.

• “Is this your way of asking me to be your girlfriend again?”

• “How about we skip that step?”

• Yunho’s soft.

• always been soft.

• but he’s learned a little bit since you two broke up considering...

• the new glare in his eyes.

• maybe he’s spending way too much time with San, you think.

• “That’s not a proper proposal.”

• “Proposal?” Yunho snickers, nose curved to yours. “I was thinking more of the lines of demand rather than a request, baby. You know, I’m still your boss till tomorrow.”

• “And my fiancé apparently starting today.”

• you giggle against his loving kiss.

• “Cause boss and ex were so overrated.”

@atinybitofau

[prorevenge]

How a management consultant fired himself...

I am not exactly sure if its the right section to post in as its a revenge story but not a planned revenge.

​

It all started when I made the decision to work independently after school. Me and my still best friend came up with a project idea, unfortunately I cant tell too much about as its still ongoing but not yet finished.

Anyway, it is a project with the potential to throw off a lot of profit and became somehow known in our local investor scene, thats why we had serious offers very quick and were both happy to sign a contract with a fairly big company securing us 250k to work with. (I know it sounds like a lot but it was barely enough to cover our costs the first 6 months)

After the 6 months we had to present our progress in front of the comittee of said company, we all knew them except one guy. He was a management consultant and constantly interrupted us with bullshit, ok some of his questions were ''good'', but it was mostly just bad mouthing us. Because this presentation played a huge part in keeping this project alive and financed for another 6 month, we got more and more insecure up to the point where we both thought its over. We took a short break and argued about wether or not we should even continue this presentation, we came to the point that we should continue but our hopes were crushed. (Pls keep in mind we are both young and never dealt with people that demanding, the buisness world is rough)

Right at the moment we wanted to go back into the room the branch manager came to us and told us how we shouldnt mind said consultant too much as he is the son of big boss sister and is just here cause big boss decided that they needed to be checked through. This gave us a little of our lost hope back, and we went through the second part more confident kinda ignoring C (C is consultant now I shouldve given him a nickname earlier)

After the whole event was over we had to wait 3 days until we knew if we can continue working or had to search for a new sponsor AND pay a fine for not delivering what we promised.

3 Days went by fast and we got told that they wont finance the project again and that our contract was expired. FUCK!

Well fast-forward a lot of begging other sponsors going on events and trying to get someone to support us again. We found an even bigger company who was more than happy to help us out, they immediately paid the fine (gladly our old donor didnt take us to court cause we were within the time frame) and almost doubled our old budget (I cant talk in numbers its part of the contract).

fast-forward another 2 months.

We were on an expo, where people with ongoing projects in a specific field are able to present their stuff to investors behind closed doors. It was on this event we met the CEO's of the company we worked with at first and they were interested to say the least. You might guess that C was there as well, being dragged from table to table like a little kid always nodding to everything big boss said but never getting any approval from his side. As they approached our table and we started explaining their eyes lid up. Big boss offered us 300k for a 30% share, it was at this moment Mark (a consultant from our current donor) stepped in and talked with big boss for almost an hour just far enough away so we couldnt hear it. This left us alone with C and 3 other dudes. C went on about how we just talking big but wont be able to deliver and how he already analyzed us blah blah blah, always making sure big boss wont hear him. After big boss and Mark came back they presented us a payment plan, but we declined before they finished. Mark didnt understand but he was about to. We told big boss how we think that they arent the right donor as we already worked with them (He didnt know anything about it as the branch managers of each individual office are responsible for handling the financing of projects independently). We explained how C already analyzed us and that we think we dont fit into their business model. Big boss looked angrier and angrier with every second, eventually interupting us by asking C if we tell the truth. He tried to deny some allegations, but we kept on going, talking about how he disrespected our ideas and us as persons. This left big boss raging, basically screaming....

​

Big Boss: WHAT POSITION DO YOU THINK YOU HAVE TO MAKE SUCH IMPORTANT DECISIONS

C: I..... ehm...... ugh.... but they didnt even have a diploma and this guy (pointing at me) didnt even go to university.

Big Boss: WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT? THEIR PROJECT COULDVE BEEN OUR FLAGSHIP, WE NEED THEM ON BOARD

C: I thought you wanted me to......

Big Boss: I WANTED MY SISTER TO STOP WHINING IN MY EARS ABOUT HOW YOU COULDNT FIND A JOB

C: But I.....

Big Boss: NO I AM TALKING NOW YOU JUST SHUT UP, YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS AND YOU CAN BE DAMN SURE THAT YOU DONT HAVE A JOB TOMORROW. YOU LIED TO ME ABOUT (insert location of the office) FINANCING A DEAD END PROJECT. YOU TOLD ME THAT THEY WILL GO BANCRUPT IF I DONT STEP IN.

C: I thought......

Big Boss: NO NOT AT ALL, NOT EVEN A SECOND, THATS THE PROBLEM. NOW GET OUTTA HERE BEFORE I LOOSE MY SHIT.

​

After that 2 minutes of complete outrage he took a deep breath facing us and said double the first 2 months and 5% less share we just looked at Mark who laughed and said deal. We all gave each other hands C awkwardly standing a few metres away from us. Big boss faced him a last time telling him to finally get lost. C responded with how they carpooled which big boss ignored as he rang his mum and told her how she should pick up her idiot son. There he was a man in his late twenties getting picked up by his mum. We laughed at this incident as they walked away Big boss still talking with her mum on the phone explaining what her son did while completely ignoring C's begging. We felt GREAT. We knew that we didnt need to get another donor on board so we just packed and went out for a great dinner.

(source) story by (/u/ninasocean)

[split-n-splice]

Broke 50k! :0 Also, gracias again to @gogofordrakgo Such a blessed bad influence. ;B

[Chapter Guide]

10. Distance – 3

Much to her disappointment, a henchman had been pre-assigned to haul Shego into town that morning. She never even saw Drakken leave his room. She knew he was awake in there though, as she heard him stub his toe and howl childishly creative expletives while she helped herself to his kitchen.

She’d been up for an hour and had downed two mugs of coffee already as she climbed into the red Beetle, but every fiber of her being begged her to crawl back to bed instead, even as the dread of facing the henchman’s illicit in-law kept her on edge. He assured her the woman was an absolute doll compared to his tiny fierce sister, and Shego didn’t comment that she was glad his sister was in prison if it meant she didn’t have to encounter her too today to make the comparison herself.

Over the ride, she couldn’t help asking a couple questions and getting answers. She learned from the chatty Lux that Joanne Buckley had catered to some party commemorating the “grand opening” of Drakken’s lair last year. Drakken had made the grave mistake of criticizing her coconut cookies. She’d dared him to make better. He couldn’t. Not on the spot, anyway. He showed up at Buckley’s Brew a few days later to present fresh cookies and laugh arrogantly in the stone-cold baker’s face.

Which had gotten him and his cookies ejected from the shop.

There had been no official verdict from Buckley, but Lux assured Shego that Drakken’s cookies were superior. Somehow, Shego could believe it, even after she spent a solid eight hours in Buckley’s café having too many samples shoved at her by the proud baker who barley fit behind the counter.

She was relieved to escape the sweet confections that afternoon. She’d expected the pudgy henchman Lux to pick her up, but instead it was Dr. Drakken, waiting at the mouth of the back alley with van idling. She offered him a half-smile in greeting, but he just gave her a frown.

“I bet she’s already selling them, isn’t she?” he grumbled.

“The muffins? Yeah. They’re a hit,” Shego chirped, and didn’t miss his whimper of regret. She reached across to backhand his shoulder lightly. “I’m kidding. I think she’s been busy trying to add her own twist to it.”

“It doesn’t need a twist,” Drakken complained. “It was perfect as it was.”

“It’s just cupcakes.”

“Muffins, Shego,” he growled back at her, and made a disgruntled noise as he sputtered over a few words, threw his hands up in frustration, and irritably grabbed the wheel again. “You know what – forget it. I don’t care. Muffins, cupcakes, cookies – it’s beneath me. What kind of villain goes around baking anyway?”

“Being a villain doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy life’s simple pleasures,” said Shego airily.

She sat back and kicked up her feet onto the dash. They were a little sore, but a day standing behind a counter learning the ropes and taking orders wasn’t the hardest work she’d done, not by a long shot. It was a good thing she’d had experience feigning smiles in her hero career though. She’d have a later start tomorrow, but the very idea she’d have to show up again made her groan.

She couldn’t deny the fact her blue boss had certain activities he needed to keep under wraps, but taking a job at an evil café seemed a little pointless if the goal was to get her brothers off her back. The one thing Buckley’s Brew had going for it though was the friendly front it put on. Shego tried to reason with herself that the gals there might not be the most welcoming, but they didn’t scream suspicious. With luck, Hego would take the café at face value and wouldn’t go looking into the employees’ backgrounds.

At least the studio should be safe from investigation. Drakken’s name was in no way attached to it, nor did it have any secret dark sides. Even if the building wasn’t perfectly up to code, her brother wasn’t so heartless as to bust Mrs. Landlady over it.

No sooner had she remembered about her new shabby apartment did Drakken clear his throat and ask, “Should I drop you off?”

“Drop me off where?” Shego scoffed, feigning ignorance. He made a noise as if biting back a retort, and she rolled her eyes. She didn’t have her things, so she’d need to go back to his lair anyway.

Instead of answering his question though, she let out a thoughtful hum to change the subject, lying through her teeth, “Buckley said she’d bring me coconut cookies as a housewarming gift soon. You ever try them?”

By how abruptly Drakken slammed on the breaks, Shego might have assumed they’d nearly hit jaywalking wildlife. “Have I ever tried them?” he parroted scathingly as they idled in the middle of the road. “They are dry, and too crumbly, and—and—and you wouldn’t taste any coconut at all if she didn’t heap it on top!”

“You think you can do better?” she goaded, smirking wryly. Earlier she’d been just about sure she’d never want to see baked goods again, but the opportunity to strip the alleged mad scientist from rogue doctor to petty baker was too good.

A switch must have tripped in that head of his judging by the sudden set of his jaw and the swell of his chest as he took a deep breath. He blurted out an unarticulated exclamation then, which she was learning was a sort of tic of his, and cut the wheel to pull a U-turn the van was barely capable of. Glad no one had come barreling around the corner into them in the process, Shego breathed easy once they were turned around and chugging back towards town.

“What are we doing now?” she wondered, sitting on the edge of her seat as she peered over to Dr. Drakken. She tried not to sound too eager.

“I need some, um. Ingredients,” he admitted reluctantly with an unhappy glance her way.

“For?” she pressed. She wanted to hear the villain admit it.

“Coconut cookies, of course,” grunted Drakken, and Shego had to smother a grin at the confession. She sat back, shaking her head, and dug into her pocket for her pack of cigarettes, but he reached across to pluck it from her hand. “Ah-ah-ah,” he chided. “Not if you want any of my famous coconutties.”

“Seriously?” she whined.

“Yes, seriously,” he griped back, though he set her pack of smokes on the dash as if to let her decide. “I’m still trying to quit myself.”

Surprised as she was, she made no comment. However annoying and mildly inconveniencing it was, it explained his rule about smoking around him, which she’d just about forgotten about. More surprisingly was her next impulse being to swipe the pack off the dash, stuffing it out of sight and out of mind back in her pocket before the frowning man could glance woefully at it again. She just didn’t want to have to share, so she told herself, ignoring the driver relaxing slightly now that the temptation was out of his sight.

She was undermining him enough for one day, she decided. She didn’t have to tempt him into breaking whatever health resolutions he may have too. She considered waiting outside the Smarty Mart so she could indulge in her bad habits alone while he ran inside, but found herself on his heels instead.

On the way in, Drakken yanked a cart out with a glower shot at her, and Shego had the funny feeling he was trying to make some point. She remembered the last time they’d been here, and scoffed to herself with a halfhearted eye roll at the man trying to maintain his position in control of the grocery cart. Just to tweak him a little, she skipped a few paces ahead to grab the front of the basket to guide it.

She flicked a wry smirk to the man frowning at her back, but he dropped his eyes and tugged at the hems of his gloves, as if it weren’t enough he wore a jacket with his suit on another 90 degree day.

When she idly wondered if he had a grocery list, he tapped his noggin and swore he had his coconutties recipe memorized, even if admitting so made his ears tinge purple a little bit. Shego chuckled lightly and fell back to fall into step with him, if only to elbow him in the ribs and commend him on the ability to memorize useless trivia, though she did make a point to add, “Just hope there’s more in that big head of yours than recipes and karaoke.”

Drakken snorted at her and veered the cart sharply down an aisle. “You haven’t seen anything yet,” he bitterly assured her.

Though she hoped she would soon, she didn’t comment.

She was distracted anyway, trying to pull the cart along to keep him moving as he cast a glance to freezers of TV dinners. As if it were a game of tug-o-war, he jerked the cart back to hold it steady, and he couldn’t ignore her look as he stopped to throw a few ready-made meals in the cart.

“What?” he barked at her. “I don’t always have time to cook.”

“Yet you have time to bake,” she criticized, and gestured to the freezers. “This stuff is garbage and you know it. And you’re not saving anything by it. Trust me, I had to budget and shop for my whole family, and they always wanted this junk. You can do without dinosaur chicken nuggets.”

The man yanked the cart back from her once again and he slumped heavily on it, tapping his chin. “Remind me, what was that you said, Shego?” he shot. “About life’s simple pleasures?”

At the sound of her name – alias – whatever – she tensed, and he didn’t seem to know what was coming in the two strides it took her to reach for his ear and yank him down. “Do not call me that in public,” she warned tersely.

Drakken whined through grit teeth as he reached to pry her fingers from his ear, hissing, “Ow, ow, ow! Stop it, Sheg—gah!” She did let go, but gave him a rough shove for good measure that nearly sent him falling into the freezer. He stumbled, caught himself, and rubbed his sore ear as he fixed her in a heated scowl. “You realize you’ve never given me your name, don’t you?”

She hadn’t? She couldn’t be sure. She knew she’d signed it on the contract a while ago, and she’d written it in plain print in front of him on Buckley’s form yesterday, which he might not have actually noticed as she didn’t think he’d even looked at it – but – surely he’d at least heard someone call her by name.

After all this time despising secret identities, it had never occurred to her to correct him before. There was something pleasantly devious about hearing the alias from the mouth of a villain ally anyway. But right now, she really didn’t need someone overhearing Shego and recognizing her when it was her stage name being broadcasted with a monetary reward.

Yet when she tried to give him her name, it came out in a grumble under her breath.

“Didn’t catch that,” he informed, pushing the cart along and leaving her standing with nervous heat in her palms.

She stuffed her hands in the back pockets of her jeans as she followed along. She’d shake his hand and introduce herself in a witty formal way, but she might burn his glove doing so. “Shilo Gough,” she said curtly after a moment of matching his pace.

“That can’t be your real name.”

“I don’t really take you for an Andrew,” she noted.

Andrew Lipsky, also known as Dr. Drakken, shot her a frown. “Rightfully so, because no one calls me that,” he informed.

“Whatever, Andy.”

“Getting warmer.”

“Drew?”

His glaring cracked with the barest hint of a smile, but he didn’t aim it at her. “Very good, apprentice,” he quipped with mock praise. Quick to dodge her retort, ear pinch, or glower, he took three hasty steps ahead to lean on the cart to coast, only to nearly flip it on himself and resign to walking it instead.

Drakken cleared his throat as Shilo caught up to him again. “How much time do you plan to spend back at the – my – uhm,” he stuttered, and wiped a hand over his mouth before starting over. “You have afternoons and weekends off, don’t you?” he wondered as if to make idle chitchat.

“Unless I have to cover for someone,” she confirmed with a grimace.

He nodded and hummed thoughtfully before turning down an aisle of baking goods. Shilo crossed her arms while he hem-hawed over the scarce selection of shredded coconut, and she shifted her weight, becoming more aware by the moment how achy her feet really were by now. Finding new shoes should have been priority – she could wander off with the promise of finding him in a few minutes – but instead the cart drew her eye.

She found herself fidgeting, stacking and moving aside his week’s allotment of microwaveable junk food. Rarely had she been shopping herself without carting around two little kids, so in her humble opinion, the cart was just a little too empty. As she leaned over the edge, temptation luring her in, she cast a glance up to the blue man comparing two baggies of shredded coconut with a critical eye.

Her mind was made when she decided a tortoise could shop faster than him.

Drakken spun, alerted by the metallic clamor as Shilo settled herself in the cart, and he gave her a stink eye as she reached over to pluck both bags of coconut from him. He grabbed one back and returned it to the shelf in the wrong spot.

“We draw enough attention as it is,” he carped, flicking an uneasy glance both directions down the otherwise unoccupied aisle. “Get out.”

“Nah,” she dismissed, leaning back and kicking the child seat closed to rest her heels on the handlebar. “You’re taking too long and I’ve been on my feet since six, no thanks to you.”

“So? Don’t mistake me for a compassionate man, She-Shi—eugh.” He shook his head and flailed his hands as he came around to push, shoving her feet off the handle only for her to pop them back up. He ground out irritation through his teeth. “You’re acting childish. Grow up.”

“Get the stick out of your ass, would you?” she retorted. “I don’t have to stick with you.”

“And I don’t have to bake you cookies!” he snipped back.

As soon as the words left his mouth, his face flushed purple. He looked about ready to shove the cart and leave, but he stood gripping the handle, conflict written on his face. If Shilo had to guess, the conceited man was torn between maintaining his hardened villain ego and showing off his skill to show up a professional, even if that professional was a baker and that skill was something as non-evil as baking. Defending his talent must have won out, because he grunted and shoved on, ignoring her presence in the cart beyond a bitter grumble that she was heavier than she looked.

He wasted no time in filling the cart if it meant getting her out of it, but five gallons of milk was ridiculous.

When they returned to the lair, Shego had every intention of watching the show from the comfort of the couch, but the grouchy blue man took the bags she’d helped carry and shooed her back out into the lab, making a point to lock her out.

“Hey!” Shego complained in reflex as she heard the click. She scoffed and stamped a foot, fists balled up as she considered blowing the door off its hinges.

“Go play with the henchmen if you get bored,” he barked back through the door.

After a moment of glowering and debating picking the lock as a less-destructive means of entry, she shook her head and turned on her heel. The so-called villain had surely been degraded enough for one day, and defending this particular skill set had to be pushing his tolerance. So she left him to it.

Maybe go play with the henchmen had been a joke, but she took it as a suggestion. Changed back into her uniform for the evening, she popped downstairs and cast a quick look to the CCTV to find the boys. The ropy one and the chubby one were in the rec room, of course, and the biggest brute was in the gym lifting weights to keep up his henchman physique.

It was a tossup, but ultimately she decided on the subpar buffoons, if only because the rec room was half the distance. Interrupting a game of pool, she called winner and pulled up a chair at a card table to wait and light up a smoke. She knew from past experience not to sit on the sofa in front of the TV if she didn’t want the odor to stick to her or get something sticky on her, as the former henchmen hadn’t been easy on the secondhand furniture. She’d tried last week to rally the boys into stealing a new one, but none of them wanted to take the unpaid risk.

She didn’t regret getting them sacked. They’d been a bunch of slackers, not that the three remaining were much better. Still, it had to be easier on Dr. Drakken’s wallet, she decided. She’d done him a favor by spurring it on. Keeping a dozen or so men on standby when she’d yet to see him utilize them was surely excessive. Three was fine. She didn’t mind these three anyway, since they had a healthy fear of her.

Shego bent over the pool table, just about to beat Bobby’s winning streak, when the door swished open behind her and a highly familiar and highly uncalled for wolf whistle caused her to scratch. She whipped around, face heating, and brandished a cue she itched to break over someone’s head.

The offending interloper was already being reprimanded by Drakken’s largest henchman before she could. Lars knocked the man back into the wall with a heavy thump to the chest, curtly warning, “Don’t mess with the boss’s girl.”

Her hands felt as warm as her face now, but she couldn’t pry her mouth open to correct the senior henchman.

Although it was standard for all of Drakken’s goons to wear red jumpsuits and masks, most of the time, and at a glance they might all look alike, Shego was positive she’d never seen this new one’s mug around before. As the eldest henchman made brief introductions, it became clear this was a new recruit – one who’d arrived early for tryouts, according to Lars. As she left, he whispered his doubts of the newbie lasting the week.

She didn’t care to linger and socialize anymore.

She didn’t particularly want to be in the lair at all now for that matter – not when rumors like that were going around. Boss’s girl rang in her ears as she dressed down quickly into civilian wear and folded up her uniform tightly to stuff in her bag along the rest of her personal belongings. It was getting late anyway, she assured herself as she mentally prepared herself to hoof it to some apartment in some unfamiliar end of town.

Preoccupied with praying she wouldn’t get lost in the dark on the way, she didn’t notice the door to Dr. Drakken’s quarters open up, though the sweet buttery aroma of coconutties wafting into the lab made her hasten her pace as she cut through.

[artificialqueens]

In Retrograde : Chapter Three (branjie) - Ephemerals

Synopsis: After spending months uninspired, Vanessa, a local reporter, becomes infatuated with writing a story surrounding the downfall of a police officer discharged after killing an innocent man.

When Brooke Lynn returns to her hometown after her life begins to fall apart, she doesn’t expect to find solace in the charismatic brunette who seems just a little too invested in uncovering all the secrets of her past.

It was just like any regular Tuesday night patrolling the streets of Toronto for Sergeant Hytes. In the passenger seat sat her partner, Constable Oddly, bored out of her mind. The pair made quite a duo, on and off the field. Over the years, Yvie had proven herself as Brooke’s only decent friend in Toronto. It did involve brazen nights out fuelled by binge drinking and drugs, but it was a nice change for her to be authenticity herself around someone. And honestly Yvie was unlike anyone she had ever met.

“Look, can’t we just ditch this and go back to my place and get stoned,” Yvie pleaded, Brooke shooting her a stern look in response. She impatiently tapped her fingers on the wheel as they aimless drove around.

“That seems like a one-way ticket to getting fired,” Her attention diverted back onto the road.

“The old Brooke would have done it,” groaned Yvie, playfully punching Brooke’s arm, “I miss that bitch.”

“That bitch had to clean up her act, remember.”

Brooke missed the old version of her too. Spontaneous and fun, she didn’t care what people think of her. Now, things were much different. She went to rehab (under the radar, of course), received a promotion and she was just months away from getting married. Brooke couldn’t be a party girl anymore. It was time to grow up. Luckily, Yvie understood what she had to do, but it didn’t mean she had to be happy with it.

“Yeah, you had to clean up your act for that fiancé of yours,” Yvie stated, “Who you don’t even like.”

Yvie was right and she knew it. The couple was doomed from the start. Brooke was much too independent and mostly unfazed by their relationship. During the time they had been friends, Yvie had seen Brooke engage in very brief affairs but she wasn’t one to stick around for long. It might be commitment issues, but Yvie honestly thought it ran deeper than that. So, the fact that Brooke has been with Luke for so long really was a surprise.

“He’s a good guy, Yves.”

“That’s not usually how people talk about their significant others,” Yvie smirked. Brooke just shrugged the comment off. It wasn’t the first time Yvie would make a comment like that, and it wouldn’t be the last time.

“So, are we getting stoned or what, Bee?”

“Shuga would kill us if she found out. Especially if something happens and we don’t report back.”

“That’s not a no,” Yvie playfully added. Brooke shook her head, “It’s a no.”

“I hate when you’re serious, bitch. Let’s hope there is some dumb crimes tonight to keep us busy.”

So, they drive. And just like any regular Tuesday, it’s uneventful. As time dragged on, both girls were awaiting some action. The streets were completely still, not a single soul embarking out into the nightlife.

Then, the radio goes off.

“Requiring backup for a domestic dispute at Wexford. Victim dead on arrival. Suspect armed and on the run. Caucasian, 6’2, slim build. Last seen wearing a burgundy t-shirt and grey sweatpants.”

Yvie beamed in anticipation, “Heading towards Wexford, over.”

…

Brooke is awoken by a violent pounding in her head. Instantly groaning at it’s appearance, too hungover to actually do something about it. It’s beating through her skull like a drum. Unsure how long she was out for, she glances at her phone. 10:27.Her mind wanders, memories of the night before foggy in her brain. That girl. What in the world was up with her?

After futilely trying to go back to sleep, Brooke eventually prys herself away from her bed in search of painkillers. She pads into the en-suite, disheartened by the completely empty medicine cabinet. While there, she washes last nights makeup and grime from her skin. She stares at her reflection for just a moment too long, before treading downstairs to scour the guest bathroom for drugs. Brooke passes her mother in the kitchen without a word, retrieves two ibuprofen capsules and swallows them down with a swig of tap water. Heading back towards her bedroom, she’s stopped in her tracks by her mother.

“Where were you last night?”

“I didn’t know I had to report to you,” Brooke wanders into the kitchen, her mother on her tail. It was easier to rip the bandage off, endure the conversation now rather than actively avoid her. She props herself up against a cupboard awaiting her mother’s scolding.

“While you live under my roof you do as I say,” her mother’s stare is icy cold. Arms folded, stern. For a second, Brooke is taken back to her teenage years, where she could do no right in her mother’s eyes. Her walls are up in preparation for a fight.

“I’m thirty-three, I’m sorry that I assumed I was allowed to be independent.”

“Well, you lost that privilege when you almost died during a cocaine binge, remember?” There’s a beat, Brooke’s mouth agape, “Someone has to babysit you since you constantly fail at taking care of yourself. I’ve booked you an appointment with your old therapist, no discussion.”

Brooke had to admit, she should have seen it coming. Her father wouldn’t have hinted at the idea unless her mother was devising a plan. Yesterday was a warning.

“What if I just don’t-“

“No discussion. The appointments at three.”

Brooke huffs as she storms off like an upset child. She marches up the stairs and climbs back under the covers of her bed. Her head continues throbbing despite the medication but she does her best to doze off, praying she sleeps through that three o’clock appointment.

…

“I don’t think I’m able to write this story, Ms Visage,” Vanessa meekly admits, standing before her editor. Deadlines fast approaching, Michelle sitting emotionless, scribbling on another reporter’s draft. The office is outdated, with wooden sliding and retro styled furnishing. If the budget allowed for it, the first thing Michelle would do is redesign the place but the reality of working for the local newspaper meant money was tight.

“And why is that?” Her gaze doesn’t wander from her work. Vanessa gulps, billions of excuses flying through her head. I’m unsure how to get close enough to her to get the story. She seems like a nice girl and I misjudged her. I almost knocked her over and she was super pretty and nice to me. I couldn’t even speak to her properly.

She could have had her story, but Vanessa ran straight in the opposite direction.

“I was too ambitious,” it’s a lie.

It peaks Michelle’s interest. She glances up above her glasses, unconvinced.

“Too ambitious? Go on.”

“I wanted to write an exposè, y’know. Deep dive into her life, find out how someone ends up killin’ a kid. Talk to her friends, family maybe.”

“That doesn’t sound ambitious, it sounds like journalism,” Michelle is absolutely unimpressed. She drops the pen from her hand and reclines in her chair. Vanessa stands still, waiting to be reprimanded for wasting her time.

“Miss Mateo, you are a very talented journalist. Much too talented to be writing for this newspaper all your life. You have a rare opportunity here to establish yourself as a reporter. I want you to write this story. Forget the deadline, hand in some shitty pieces about local events in the meantime. Don’t be afraid to pursue this. It’s the first interesting idea that has come my way in years.”

The response was the exact opposite of what Vanessa expected. She was ready for a slap on the wrist, to forget about the whole ordeal. Write an article about the local nursing home for the hundredth time. Stay content in her slump for a little longer.

There’s a story here begging to be shared to the world. A story like nothing Vanessa has written before. She’s not going to give up this time.

“Okay,” Vanessa is strangely inspired by the challenge, “I accept the challenge, Ms Visage.”

There’s a skip in her step as Vanessa leaves her editor’s office. Maybe this was her big break.

…

As three o’clock rolls around, Brooke nervously awaits her appointment with her phone glued to her hand. Her frantic texts to Nina receiving instant worried replies. Rightfully so, there was a pattern of Brooke’s self-destructive behaviour increasing after her visits with therapists over the years. Nina didn’t understand why exactly, since the point was to help improve her mental state. But having Brooke confront her feelings head on? It was a risky decision to say the least. A string of texts from Nina come through rapidly one after another.

n: you’ll be fine, b it’s only an hour of ur life i’m going out tonight w work girls u should come x

As much as Brooke would like to go out for another consecutive night, she couldn’t subject Nina to the consequences of her joining them. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if Nina was ostracised by her colleagues for being friends with a murderer. Nina deserved the entire world. Brooke had come to the conclusion that their friendship was one better off kept secret. For Nina’s sake.

b: don’t think i’ll be welcome

Almost immediately there’s a response:

n: they will love u besides u can’t turn down a drink x

Regardless if she was accompanied by Nina or not, both girls were aware of Brooke’s intentions for the night. As soon as she could possibly leave this building, she will, heading directly towards the closest alcohol vendor. It would be nice if she wasn’t alone while she did it.

b: fine, u have convinced me x

“Miss Hytes? Doctor Envy is ready to see you now.”

…

Tires skid on wet asphalt, blue and red lights flashing, sirens blaring through the city streets. A quarter of an hour had passed of their manhunt, the novelty was finally wearing thin. News gushes through the radio, reported sightings, updates, anything. Eyes glued to signs of movement, Yvie’s soaking up every miniscule detail of the city. Jobs like this one were the exact reason she joined the force. The adrenaline courses through her veins like a drug. Brooke’s extra few years on Yvie had caused her to become jaded. She was just waiting for the excitement to die down so she can clock off and indulge in a glass of wine at home. Of course she wanted the perpetrator to be caught and justice to be served, but pursuits like this were plain exhausting.

A call comes through and Brooke has her fingers crossed it’s home time. Her heart sank as Superintendent Cain’s voice bellowed through the speaks, “Any sightings yet girls?”

“It looks like the apocalypse has hit Toronto,” joked Yvie, “There’s not a single person out.”

“The guy’s Damon Carmichael. Been causing trouble for years,” Brooke recognised the name. She’d never dealt with him herself, but he had been a headache of her colleagues. There was a series of charges scattered all over the county in his name.

“There’s a dead woman rotting in his apartment. I don’t care if you bring back his corpse, I want him caught.”

The phone clicked off abruptly, the orders loud and clear. Brooke let out a sigh as drove down the same street for the umpteenth time. Streetlights dull, barely illuminating the empty road. She’s sure the neighbours are annoyed by them at this point. It was just another night on the job, keeping the country safe.

Out of the corner of her eye, Yvie swore she spotted something. Wound up on anticipation, Brooke just assumed paranoia had finally set in. However, Yvie’s adamant someone’s hiding by the church. Bringing the car to a halt, they decided to investigate. Gun firmly in hand, Yvie exited the car rushing directly into the darkness. Blood pumping, Brooke followed suit hand clutching the gun attached to her waist.

“Police!”

As Yvie announced their presence, something dashed away from them. It’s far too dim for them to work out what they can see. The younger girl is quick on her feet, Brooke in tow. A man emerged onto the dimly lit street. Burgundy sweatshirt, slim, young. A picture perfect match. Both women raised their guns in response.

“Freeze!” Brooke called. The man glanced back as he sprinted ahead. They picked up speed, trailing behind him. Yvie was just in reach, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. An attempt to tackle him is thwarted as he shoves the younger girl backwards, toppling onto the pavement. He keeps running.

“I said freeze!”

Brooke knew what she had to do. In front, he’s losing traction. Panting heavily, feet battering the concrete. She’s caught up. So has Yvie, who had dusted herself off with more motivation than ever before. With Yvie ahead, Brooke comes to a stop.

I don’t care if you bring back his corpse, I want him caught.

Yvie grappled him around his neck, the man writhing in her grip. His fist flies up, the impact straight to the jaw. He continued to thrash around, Yvie unable to secure her restraint. Hands shaking, Brooke raised her gun. If Yvie tightens her grasp, she’d have a clear shot.

“Fucking bitches!” It’s spat straight onto Yvie’s face. Agitated, she raises her knee into his stomach. He brought his free hand to strike Yvie again.

“Didn’t you ever learn not to hit women,” she hissed directly into his ear. The arm around his neck constricts him just for a moment. He’s still flailing in her grasp, but he’s still enough for Brooke to fire. Finger to the trigger.

Bang.

Bang.

The echoing of the gunshots ring as blood pools at Yvie’s feet. She has let go, but he’s wailing, still squirming on the sidewalk. Two shots straight to the chest. Yvie fell to her knees, drenched in his blood. Streets of Toronto painted red. Everything’s blurry in Brooke’s head. The gun is still raised towards him. She’s frozen.

…

“It wasn’t your fault, Brooke Lynn. You were just doing your job,” Doctor Envy shifts in her seat uncomfortably. The last time Brooke was here, she was just a destructive addict. Miles away from her usual cases in this small town, but things were different now. Years of psychology classes couldn’t have prepared her to be face to face with a murder.

“I wish people would stop telling me that,” Brooke slumps into her chair, sulking. The conversation had run in circles for the first half of the session. Doctor Envy prying into the very few facts she had learnt from the past. Addiction. Self-Injury. Relapse. Usually after years of knowing a client, some walls have been broken down. But everything Doctor Envy knew about Brooke was from medical files and newspaper reports. The most significant information shared was about her relationship with Luke starting and ending. She hated predicting the future of her clients, but it was inevitable. Unless Brooke started opening up about her feelings, she was a lost cause.

Doctor Envy scrawls meaningless notes down on her clipboard, each stroke filling the empty silence. Brooke isn’t going to crack. Not today, not ever. Brooke intently watches the hands on the clock get closer to the moment she can leave.

“You aren’t evil, Brooke.” She says it out loud, her voice shaking slightly. She says because she thinks it’s what Brooke wants to hear. Needs to hear. Brooke acts like it is white noise. Unconvinced by her words, Doctor Envy repeats herself.

“You’re not evil.”

“You don’t know that,” Brooke interjects. Her stare is cold and uninviting. She adjusts her posture, leans forward, spits, “You don’t know anything about me.”

She’s tired of waiting for confessions to pour out. The truth is only going to reveal itself if she rips it out with her own hands. Tough love.

“I know enough. Sometimes, it’s what you don’t say that matters most. Everyone in your life can see that you are struggling and they want to help you. But only you can start that journey to recovery.”

Frustrated, Brooke stands up, “Thank you for your time.”

“Stop running from yourself, Brooke,” Doctor Envy adds. A bookend to a bad conversation.

The door slams shut.

…

Vanessa is dressed to the nines. She’s in a leather ensemble: tight skirt, sandals laced to her thighs, braids flowing down from the crown of her head. Silky is ecstatic with her handy work. Sitting on the floor of her apartment, the girls took swigs from a bottle of vodka. Everyone was ready on time (for once), their cab moments away.

When A’keria had invited them all out, Silky had insisted to makeover Vanessa. It wasn’t a new thing, the girls often took turns dolling each other up. But it was Silky and at times she could be violently enthusiastic. Especially since Vanessa had accidentally ignored them all week, devoted on this story. A story which she was avoiding telling them about, knowing how unimpressed they will be.

They head out to a club the next town over. Nightlife in their small town was lifeless, full of drunks and rowdy men. They preyed on the presence of a female. Vanessa had seen it the night before. She had been around enough that the locals left her alone, but they flocked towards the first sight of fresh meat. It was a more balanced playing field when the numbers were equal. And from what A’keria had said, their group tonight was larger than normal.

“I have something to tell you,” Vanessa shares as they step out of the car. Silky tosses the taxi driver a wad of cash, tells him to keep the change. As he drives off, the girls ask what it is.

“I’m writing a story, somethin’ interesting for a change.” The girls walk towards the end of the line. Vanessa rustles through her purse, pulls out her ID from her wallet. Patiently, A’keria and Silky wait for details.

“It’s about Brooke Lynn.”

Silky and A’keria burst into laughter. The line inches closer towards the door, but they haven’t yet realised. Vanessa raises her eyebrow in confusion.

“Told ya so,” Silky howls, “Knew you were keeping something from us, bitch.”

“Can’t stay away from those bad girls, huh?” A’keria smirks.

A bouncer checks their identification, lazily flipping the card over. He points for them to go past, Vanessa last in formation. A’keria’s on the lookout for her friends as they enter the crowd. Hoards of dancing girls surround them, unknowingly sloshing vodka sodas on the floor with each movement. Gesturing forward, A’keria pushes ahead. Strobe lights pulsate from the ceiling. Their group collides with the other. Vanessa recognises a few of the women. Nina. Honey. Brooke.

Even in the erratic lighting of the club, Vanessa could tell the blonde was staring right at her. Their eyes meet, gaze lingering as Nina tries to introduce them over the blaring music. Brooke pulls away first, coyly smiling. A layer of sweat coats Vanessa’s palms. This was the last thing she was expecting tonight.

[immcterial-blog]

( harry styles. twenty-three. cis male. he/him. ) ❛ avriel sinclair, a capricorn from new york, new york, moved into holloway one month ago. they are a ballroom dancer that lives in apartment 1e and their neighbors don’t particularly mind them. some say they can be -Machiavellian and -disarming but others say they’re +opportunistic and +debonair. anyways, one thing is for sure: you hear death of a bachelor by panic at the disco, it’s avi blasting it. ( penned by celia, 24, cst. )

this gif... perfectly describes avi -- i don’t even have to write this intro just look at that gif and you’ll know what a (well dressed) piece of shit he is!!! but i suppose for the sake of matching my past intros i should actually.... try.

BACKSTORY !!! 

this is avriel. he’s probably like avriel sinclair the third but his family and him are fighting right now so he wouldn’t want to mention that part and associate himself with the sinclair name.

which, speaking of... the sinclairs are new york natives and the kind of socialite famous that have a ton of money but not much notoriety for anything besides just being rich

he’s got an older half brother (auguste) that his mom had before she married into money and he’s the only one in his family that he’s never had problems with which is amazing for avi.

the thing is though none of his family are bad people. his mom’s a total sweetheart and his father, although really stinking wealthy, is like legit a good person and probably gives tons to charity and stuff. they’re wholesome and married for love which is saying a lot considering the financial sitch

no, the only one causing problems for avriel is... avriel

it’s kind of an ‘idle mind is the devil's playground’ sort of deal

avi has always been bright. like extraordinarily clever. to the point where he’s constantly just bored. he’d play tricks on auguste and on the care providers they had as children. he’d sabotage board meetings of his fathers and make sly jabs at important family members at galas and things. it was never anything outright -- never anything that could be traced back to him unless you knew where to look

auguste, bless him, knew how his little bro worked and also knew that avi needed a hobby or else the kid was going to overturn the whole upper east side before he was even in high school. he tried him at a whole heap of skills and talents but ended up finding a passion for two things: classical piano and ballroom dance. 

some part of it appealed to avi’s natural knack for sophistication. it’s a very classy and pristine past time. there was also an element to learning -- memorizing sequences and step combos and exploring different things with different partners. 

that soothed him for a few years. from like 9 - 13 years old he was a baby learning ballroom dance and he loved it. then puberty hit and a whole slew of new trouble-making ways opened themselves up to him. 

it was somewhere after he got his private tutor to quit because he convinced her she was in love with him and it was compromising her employment that they decided a change of scenery might do him good. 

avi was sent to some pretentious french school in paris and enrolled in a vigorous after school dance programme to try and keep him busy. instead, he managed to find a boyfriend. it was a very passionate and all encompassing relationship with avi focusing all his intensity on this one person. that ended up (unsurprisingly) not being too healthy for poor max.

while it was technically avi’s first real relationship, he had practice with people in general. he was able to smooth talk his way squarely into his beau’s heart, lodging himself there with a permanence he didn’t intend to make a reality.

avi is the type of boyfriend who like makes you feel like the most important person in the whole world when you're with him but then makes you wonder what he's up to when he's away

he acts on impulses and gets bored easily and so schemes and manipulates to keep his own life entertaining. he’ll start spreading lies about himself to upturn all his friendships and relationships, just to see what happens! it’s annoyingly unpredictable. 

anyways, this is already long so we’re shortening but the last few months of his relationship & his time in france he cheated and basically ghosted his poor lil beau maxxie and then slid back to the states at like 19 like nothing happened. 

RECENT & PERSONALITY ( READ THIS IF NOTHING ELSE )

once home, he was on his same old shit and though he did take school a bit more seriously & definitely excelled at his dance (thanks france), that was about the only thing he gained from that whole experience. oh and he started dating around in earnest. never for more than a few months at a time (so max was special that way) and always ending messily. its more fun that way! 

he started entering ballroom expos and circuits. he was known never to have the same partner for more than a season but he still took top tier prizes. all the girls were clamoring to be on the arm of avi sinclair and he was thriving

his penchant for scandal was also thriving. he had pregnancy scares, lascivious relationships with important business heads, caused at least one divorce and there were whisperings that he was going to start taking down his father’s company from the inside, just for the hell of it (it wasn’t true -- avi started that rumor tho)

when the headlines just wouldn’t stop... his parents really didn’t have a choice but send him out on his own, out of the sinclair penthouse. they set him on a strict allowance but he’s facing the threat of being disowned. auguste may be in line to inherit the company but there’s still a lot at stake

so ! that’s how avi has found himself at hoelloway. he’s a rich boy living a budget lifestyle. any winnings his ballroom dance is making him he counts as his spending money and he uses it frivolously and recklessly. 

personality wise, he’s just here for a good time not a long time. he’ll worm his way into your good graces with bad intentions. people wouldn’t be outright distrustful of him. in fact, it’d be the opposite. he’s all ‘classy dressed ballroom boy with a glittering grin’ but we know he’s a SNAKE AND SHOULD BE AVOIDED

he’d like to sign up to join the hoe squad so gimme hookup plots i’ll pay u in harry gifs

also if ur character is close enough to max to hear about his bad ex.... hmu for angst

i’ll get myself some plots pages eventually AND add him to my actual blog but for now.... avi is loosed on the world i’m so sorry

[cyb-by-lang]

Shell Game (10/?)

Kei’s week ends on a couple of high notes.

Saturday’s four class periods were entirely mundane after the ridiculous first week, because Kei didn’t get pulled out and wasn’t being shouted at by anyone but Isobu, who knew multiplication better than she did. He was also picking up Modern Literature coursework faster, which Kei figured said more about her than him. Even a week into the term, she was not the best student. Senioritus set in early and didn’t let go.

Honestly, if not for the utter havoc of the first three days, Kei probably would have said it was a nice way to end the week. As things stood now, though, she was a little antsy and rather eager to get out of UA. Everything going wrong seemed tied to the school. Lying to Midoriya and saying she’d had a run-in with a mugger didn’t make it less true.

It seemed like it was going well until she was about to walk out the front door of UA, at which point a voice more accustomed to booming tried to whisper, “Young Gekkō, if I could have a word?”

Kei turned on her heel and stared down the…emaciated dude in an oversized yellow pinstripe suit. Kei blinked twice, surprised. While she’d seen the guy around, in the same vague way as she knew the school had other class years and people who weren’t involved in almost dying a lot, she couldn’t put a name to the face. If she had to make a comparison, especially with the way his baritone didn’t seem to suit his body, she’d call him Skinny Steve.

“Fine,” Kei said, and followed back into the thrice-damned school building. “I’m assuming you’re a teacher here?”

“You’d be right,” he said. “Heroics only, however.”

Huh. “Makes sense. I don’t recognize you.”

This could be a trap.

At this point in the week, I’m about ready to push somebody out a window for that kind of crap. Let me have this.

Once again, Kei made her way to the all-too-familiar staff room. Ambling along after the unidentified teacher, she spotted Mummy-Aizawa snoozing under a desk. Or maybe his yellow sleeping bag had just developed sapience and its owner’s personality. It was hard to tell.

Nonetheless, the pair of them settled on the couch (skinny dude) and the opposite chair (Kei). There was tea already there, but it’d long gone cold.

“Did you need to speak to me about something…?” Kei trailed off, unsure what to call him. She didn’t have the civilian names of most of the teachers memorized anyway, and it was at least plausible that this guy had been a hero in the past.

“I wanted to apologize,” the guy said, drawing a blank look from Kei.

“Okay…?” Kei paused. This was already awkward enough. “Look, what do I call you?”

There was a pause on his end, too. Then, much akin to Tsunade’s youthful facade stitching together after she used her regeneration a little too much, the bony guy filled out right in front of Kei’s eyes. It went fast enough that the air actually popped, and the guy’s hair shot upright like gel was some universal law unto All Might.

…Is All Might secretly a muscly balloon animal? Kei mentally whacked Isobu’s shell. Did you see that?!

I am using your eyes to see. I certainly saw that.

“Uh,” said Kei, once Isobu whacked her in retaliation. “That’s a…neat trick?”

The conservation of mass is a lie.

It may just be on vacation.

As though Kei hadn’t said anything or made a deer-in-headlights face at him, All Might bowed about as far as he could while sitting. “Young Gekkō, I most humbly apologize for the strike I dealt you during the USJ incident! Had I taken thorough stock of the situation, I would not have made such a heinous miscalculation! My apologies!”

The sapient sleeping bag grumbled a general affirmative. Sounded like Aizawa-sensei had probably said more when he had more energy. That was about as close to approval Kei had ever gotten from him.

“I mean,” Kei said after a second, “if I hadn’t known I wasn’t going to hurt anyone besides the villains, I would’ve probably punched me too.”

“You should never make excuses for the poor actions of pro heroes, Young Gekkō!” All Might insisted, while Kei tried to subtly reel back from the volume he was using. “As a symbol of my trust, I have revealed my true form. It is a poor apology for my actions at the USJ, but I hope it is one step toward forgiveness, Young Gekkō!”

“Well, then I can do this?” Kei waved a hand in front of her face just as All Might looked up. Between her hand cutting off his view and no longer doing so, she’d let Isobu’s chakra leak into her coils. Her eyes itched a little, as they always did when they took on Isobu’s traits. “The, uh, the thing I do? This is the most basic stage. Can’t do the other one indoors without breaking things.”

The two of them regarded each other—a man with pitch-black where white ought to be in his eyes, and a girl with utterly inhuman eyes from another being entirely.

“Just accept the apology already,” Aizawa-sensei griped from the corner. “I’m trying to sleep.”

But he had a point. “I accept your apology, All Might-sensei. Please don’t do it again.”

Just as Kei dropped the usage of Isobu’s chakra, All Might poofed back into his skinny shape. Once the smoke cleared, he scratched at the back of his now-limp head of hair. “You’re pretty easygoing…”

“Did you expect something different?” Kei asked, gently challenging.

“I did, but now I see I was wrong.” All Might settled back onto the couch, but he did bow one last time. Just a bit. “Go on, Young Gekkō. Enjoy your weekend.”

“Thanks, All Might-sensei.”

“When I look like this, please call me Yagi-sensei.”

Kei waited just long enough to make sure she wasn’t going to be scolded for using the title even for his incognito form, but nothing was forthcoming after Kei bowed to show her agreement. On her way out of the room, she leapt neatly over Aizawa-sensei and ducked out into the hall.

It was time to leave the freaking campus behind for the week.

She checked her phone once she was on the train, ignoring news updates for the moment.

GreenThumb: u get hayate for sat-sun

GreenThumb: hes been buggin me for 2 days

GreenThumb: and u need more marble things

TMNT-TNT: Hand the phone to him

GreenThumb: r u on ur way back?

TMNT-TNT: Yeah but he doesn’t have a phone

TMNT-TNT: Have him call me

Not four seconds later, Kei’s phone started ringing. “Yeah?”

“I get to stay over the weekend!” Hayate’s grin was audible. “And you have to let me see the city this time. I got the Hokage to sign off for a ‘cultural project.’”

Kei didn’t want to know how much wheedling it would’ve taken Sensei to cave to Hayate’s demands, because there was a chance it’d be used against her. “Okay, but the first thing we need to do is get you clothes to blend in better.”

“Seriously?” But before Kei could argue her point, Hayate gave in. “Fine, fine. I’ve been looking out the window and nobody dresses like Obito.”

There was a muffled “Hey!” in the background.

“These phone things are pretty cool,” Hayate managed to say, while apparently fighting Obito off one-handed. There was a thud and the sound of struggling stopped.

“They are,” Kei agreed.

“Come back soon, okay?” Hayate paused, thinking over what he’d just said and finding it a bit too heartfelt, then added in a brighter tone, “Or else we’ll both starve to death.”

Teenagers. “Got it.”

Well, it was like All Might said. Kei fully expected to enjoy her first weekend of the school year.

By the time she got back to the apartment, Obito looked like he was perfectly ready to leave for a week. Instead, though, he jokingly saluted Kei and only said he had one more delivery to go, at which point he disappeared into thin air with a message scroll.

Kei, who could recognize Sensei’s calligraphy on the outside wrapping at a glance, let him get on with it. She had a kid brother to look after instead.

“Please don’t make me wear one of those,” Hayate said, indicating Kei’s school uniform. To Hayate’s shinobi-trained sensibilities, it probably looked pretty ridiculous. Kei didn’t disagree.

“I won’t,” Kei promised, and once she had a chance to change, they were off.

Kei, who had quite the discretionary budget and little to spend it on besides food and train fare, found that her little brother’s presence had a way of punching a hole in her established bottom line. It wasn’t because he was hard to provide for, but rather that he had a list and was checking it twice. Hayate wouldn’t have minded going to tourist hotspots or trying junk food that didn’t exist in Konoha, but people back home had tacked on things like university-level medical textbooks (Rin), ludicrously specific novelty kitchen gadgets (Kushina), and omamori from every shrine they could find (Genma). As such, Kei spent most of Saturday afternoon running errands with her kid brother in tow.

Shinobi weren’t above making a conveniently traveling friend buy souvenirs.

Hayate, for his part, had plenty of fun flitting from place to place like a kid at a theme park once Kei got him a replacement for his haori-style coat. There was no way to fully hide his starstruck behavior, but Kei found that his constant rubbernecking and the barrage of questions actually revealed how much she’d been learning about Tokyo. And, underneath her constant griping, her appreciation for the city and all it offered. Even with the occasional superpowered fight.

“This kind of stuff is so unnecessary,” Hayate muttered while they waited for a train. The second ride of the day, in fact.

“Mass transportation?” Kei asked, still half-listening to the station announcements. Between the various circuits they’d made and Kei’s lingering unfamiliarity with the system, it’d be easy to get lost. Again.

“Yeah. I mean, can’t we just…run?” Hayate kept his voice down, at least. “I mean, so many of us can go so fast…”

“Turning to technology means that more people can benefit, though,” Kei explained distractedly. “I mean, it’s not just about people with powers, you know?”

Though the shinobi world sure pretended it was. Half the roads even in Konoha weren’t paved. Kei probably ought to tell Sensei to rethink that policy, but it was difficult to explain without vehicles to reference.

Hayate frowned. “I guess?”

And though Kei hadn’t been a student at UA for long, or managed to be particularly good at it, she could say, “There’s also the fact that even heroes with really wild powers tend to use support items. Endeavor can’t exactly go around wearing normal clothes with his face on fire.”

Though she did kind of question why All Might couldn’t find clothes that fit both of his forms.

“So…” Hayate leaned back a little, hands loaded down by shopping bags. “Is it like fūinjutsu?”

“A bit,” Kei agreed. “But instead of spending years mastering the art alone—”

“You can have a lot of people benefit because anybody can use it,” Hayate concluded, which was a bit of a forty-five degree turn. But it was okay. Not a great analogy, but not the worst ever made.

Kei shrugged. “Sure.”

They made it through a few more stops before Hayate really started to flag. It had little to do with actual endurance, and a lot more to do with mental fatigue. Any person could only process so much in a day, and shoving Hayate into an urban environment even with a tour guide was a bit over the top.

“I’ve never seen so many buildings or people in my entire life,” Hayate said, once they were on the last train of the day. His shopping bags had ballooned a bit, making it difficult for others to find places to sit. “How can you stand it?”

“I got used to it,” Kei replied, rearranging the bags to give other people a few more spaces to sit. This was absolutely silly. “You holding up okay?”

“Mostly?” Hayate managed to keep a straight face for a while, then couldn’t hide a jaw-cracking yawn though he ducked his head. “Sorry, it’s a lot.” He scrubbed at his eyes with the heel of his free hand, like he’d been trying not to do all day. The city air didn’t agree with him. They’d already had to pick up cough medicine just in case.

“Good thing we’re headed back, then,” Kei was feeling the day drag on, too. “I’ll cook. You take a nap and we’ll have a slower day tomorrow.”

Hayate, after managing a tired, “Sounds good,” ended up dozing on a still-wrapped All Might hoodie. He wasn’t much more awake on the walk back.

While Hayate napped on the spare futon and Kei reheated stewed pumpkin, Isobu decided to check in.

What are the chances your Hokage only sent an itemized expense report for damages? Isobu didn’t sound like he cared about the answer.

It’s more likely that Sensei just bit Nezu’s head off in writing. Kei leaned against the counter and sighed. I was really more focused on how All Might, of all people, has an actual secret identity. Everyone else has their names listed and works with an agency.

Does the mutual unmasking have to mean anything? I am content to stew in resentment.

Then I won’t stop you. But the mission on our end doesn’t change much. Kei scratched the lowest corner of her scar. Today’s been all right. I don’t want to ruin it now.

Fine, Isobu huffed.

It was just a quiet night in, but it meant a lot even in this strange place.

[swyllh]

[seokmin] occupational hazard

title: occupational hazard

pairing: seokmin x reader, side verkwan

word count: 3814

genre: miscommunication, fluff, angst

notes: im sorry it took so long omf + also i just realised the route i took this was very uh. without frills. ALSO THANK YOU !!! i’m just glad u enjoy reading ;;u;;

from: leeseokmin.pledisdaily.co

to: you

subject: astronomy special draft

dear ms [l/n],

would you mind helping me check this draft so i can file it in the archives and ………….

cookies in the rooftop greenhouse? :D

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

-

from: you

to: leeseokmin.pledisdaily.co

subject: re: astronomy special draft

chill no one’s going to bother reading the preview of our mails

double choc?

-

from: leeseokmin.pledisdaily.co

to: you

subject: re: re: astronomy special draft

!!! >O<

with macademia!!!

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo

-

from: you

to: leeseokmin.pledisdaily.co

subject: re: re: re: astronomy special draft

macadamia*** silly

see you

-

from: leeseokmin.pledisdaily.co

to: you

subject: re: re: re: re: astronomy special draft

!!!!!!!!! :DD

“that’s a long astronomy special,” seungkwan remarks blandly over your shoulder.

you accidentally close a tab. “yeah, mercury’s in gatorade.”

“retrograde,” seungkwan says, sipping his caramelised ginger tea, “and anyway, aren’t you in charge of world news?”

leaning over to pinch his side, you say, “yes, but he sent it to the wrong [y/n]. and besides, all that developmental belt thing is tiring.”

“i thought you’re the only [y/n] in our company,” seungkwan swats your hand, and shuffles back into his cubicle.

when his head is safely out of sight, you quickly shut the email tab and open a new word document. a sulky, unnerving thrill runs down your spine – did he see what you were typing? did he see what seokmin was typing? the last message hadn’t been as incriminating as you thought – he’d left out the ‘x’s and ‘o’s, and you’re pretty sure seokmin types like that to everyone anyway.

still, you wheel your chair back a little, only to see seungkwan headbanging to what looks like beyonce on spotify. the red headphones cupping his ears seem secure enough, so you heave a sigh of relief and wheel yourself back into place again. the quiet of the office chants itself into a rhythm of unsuspecting sounds: a squeak of an office chair, the tapping of a disgruntled pen, an incoherent flush of coffee from the new machine…

your fingers pace uneasily across your keyboard in an attempt at competence; you’re pretty sure “hong kong  – amidst  rising concerns regarding housing estate prices and default banking credit” is completely unrelated to your actual piece on venezuela.

after what feels like an eternity, and maybe a suitable length of time, you put your computer to sleep, and wheel yourself out of the cubicle. seungkwan’s still steadily nodding his head, chasing after the beats of a pop legend. you slowly wheel yourself out.

the getaway goes smoothly, and you’re almost at the frosted glass gates before

“hey, [y/n], where’re you going?” chan calls.

you’re sure it’s revenge for getting to be seatmates with seungkwan. “just out for lunch.”

he squints. “it’s not yet lunch.”

sighing, you tap at the pink subterfuge folder in your lap. “i’m dropping these off at home news first, by the time i get back it will be lunch.”

“oh!” he says, and then beams, “then you won’t mind helping me drop these?”

it’ll be a trip – home news is stuck in the tiniest, furthest corner of the building. but you know that this is a small price to pay for seeing seokmin and enjoying his company in peace.

“sure,” you sigh, “all aboard the [y/n] express!”

“did anyone find out?” seokmin asks, fingers giddily folded over the lid of his tupperware.

you shake your head. “no. or at least, i don’t think so.”

“…right-o!” seokmin fumbles with the lid for a moment, before unleashing a thick, heavenly scent of chocolate and crisp nuts.

“it smells good.” your stomach grunts in agreement. “you could be a baker.”

seokmin nods enthusiastically, before holding up a cookie to your mouth. you flinch slightly, before taking a quick bite and pulling the cookie out of his hands. it’s good. it’s better than anything you’ve had. he’s still smiling that same sweet way he does, eyes squinting and teeth bright.

“how’s it?”

“good! very, very good,” you say.

he laughs. “i made it with all my love!”

the statement makes you flush – it’s too loud and cheerful in the otherwise quiet of the afternoon break.

“don’t shout cheesy things like that,” you chide. “anyway, i’ve got to deliver these files to home news later because chan almost found me out.”

“i’ll walk you there,” seokmin says in between bites. “chan?”

“yeah, you know, that guy who’s got a michael jackson shrine and it caught on fire last week?”

“oh,” seokmin frowns. “yeah, that’s bad.”

you lean over for another snack. “well, he managed to get it up and twice as big – human resource’s going to have a tough time talking to him.”

“oh,” seokmin jolts. “oh, i wasn’t - ah.”

you raise an eyebrow, but seokmin only smiles again – peach lips stretched wide and willing. the midday sunlight dances off his cheekbones, light and easy. he’s so close now, you think you might engineer a brush of your hands, or mastermind some heist on his smile. instead, you bite down on a cookie, and continue bemoaning your day.

“also i heard someone at lifestyle was caught hooking up with home news in a closet,” you say. “turns out it’s the boss’s ex, and if not for his crazy good editing skills, i think they’d both have been blacklisted by the industry.”

he shrugs, “jeonghan-hyung?”

“you know who it is,” you gasp. “how’d you know?”

“the jihancheol-bermuda triangle is an open secret,” seokmin says, unperturbed. thoughtfully, he supplies, “soonyoung coined the term.”

his indifference makes you shiver. “so everyone knows about it.”

“jeonghan-hyung is very loud about it,” seokmin says with a cringe.  

you laugh, choking on bits of chocolate. “that’s why it’s better if no one knows about us.”

seokmin gazes at a light behind you. “yeah.”

“really,” you say, suddenly moved to place your hand on his knee. “imagine if something happened, like if we got into a fight, and then – we’d never hear the end of it, or-”

seokmin cups your hand in his. “but what if we never fought?”

“that’s impossible,” you scoff.

seokmin’s smiling again, a thumb lazily tracing your knuckles. “but we haven’t.”

he’s right – it’s been at least six months dating, and yet the two of you are still eerily comfortable with each other. any form of dispute or argument bows low to seokmin’s winning smile and your rational compartmentalisation. no matching couple outfits? sure, most of them are tacky and inconvenient for you anyway. no idea where to go for dinner? it’s cool, you’re usually too hungry to care.

but the thought of showing yourselves off, like jeonghan and seungcheol, sends bile rising up your throat. you swallow it, and move your hands away from seokmin’s warm, sweaty ones.

“lunch is almost over,” you say. “i’ll go to home news.”

“i’ll walk you!” seokmin jumps up.

you shake your head. “it’s fine, i’ll do it myself.”

“it’s on the way,” seokmin insists.

“no,” you say, perhaps a little too loudly. seokmin startles, and you quickly say, “i just meant, home news is really far away.”

he doesn’t seem to believe it as much as you do. but then seokmin smiles the world alright, and bends over to peck your forehead. you try to grin back at him, but it doesn’t reach your eyes.

from: leeseokmin.pledisdaily.co

to: you

subject: re: re: re: re: re: astronomy special draft

tumbl.cat.download_223.jpg

^^ have you seen this!!

-

from: leeseokmin.pledisdaily.co

to: you

subject: re: re: re: re: re: astronomy special draft

utube.co/watch?=oi292nfhlkp !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!11

-

from: leeseokmin.pledisdaily.co

to: you

subject: re: re: re: re: re: astronomy special draft

im so boooooooooooooooored

-

from: leeseokmin.pledisdaily.co

to: you

subject: re: re: re: re: re: astronomy special draft

magikquiz.co/quizzes/which_shakespearean_confession_are_you

you got: beatrice from much ado about nothing!

you're wise, you're funny, you're willing to risk everything, and at times you're genuinely a character to be feared. the audience loves you!

wht did u get!!!

-

from: you

to: leeseokmin.pledisdaily.co

subject: re: re: re: re: re: astronomy special draft

you got: rosalind from as you like it!

you’re kind hearted, you’re independent, you’re fiery, and you’re not afraid to step out and conquer. the hero gotham deserves!

> wow that’s a lie

-

from: leeseokmin.pledisdaily.co

to: you

subject: re: re: re: re: re: astronomy special draft

no!!!! i think it suits u a lot!!!! ure very very strong!!!!!!!111! mighty!!!!

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxooxoxoxoxox

business has you rolling into lifestyle and advisory columns – something about china’s new social credit ranking system accounting for horoscopes. one place now definitely excluded from your retirement plans.

lifestyle and advisory is a little more unrestricted than the rest of the company. for one, their front door is dripping in neon and decked in last year’s christmas lights; the piñata from someone’s birthday three years ago is still lying untouched beside the chalkboard sign. you squint. it’s a very specific horoscope reading: “all leos with black moppy hair and big doe eyes, if you’re 177cm tall, watch out! you’ll walk into three poles and be on your worst luck!”

the door swings open prematurely. “oh! [y/n]!”

you barely reel back – there’s a metal clatter. “ah, seokmin.”

“are you here to see me?” his face lights up.

you shake your head, ignoring the way his shoulders slump a little. “world news thought we should check out astrology.”

seokmin pauses, and then smiles brighter. “i can help you!”

“sure,” you say, compelled.

he steps aside for you to enter the office. it’s completely different from when you visited two months ago – the once pink walls are now a deep navy, with glittering starfishes as adornments. you think they broke budget again to buy another beanbag.

“seokminnie?” a voice calls out. “aren’t you going to meet seolhyun?”

seokmin flushes pink. “not now, hyung.”

jeonghan peeks out from behind his partitioned cubicle. he’s gone for a frothy lavender.

“oh, you’ve got company,” jeonghan says. “hey, [y/n].”

“nice hair,” you say.

he scrunches up his nose playfully. “i’m dying it black later.”

“maybe a bob cut,” you say.

seokmin hurriedly pushes you into a meeting room. or a break room. or a nursery. you’re not really sure why, but there’s an animated dragon head on one of the windows.

“so, seolhyun,” you say, trying to discern if the beanbags are pink or red.

he nods vaguely. “yeah, jeonghan-hyung said she wanted to speak to me about something.”

“and you’re keeping her waiting,” you say stiffly.

seokmin jerks up. “no! i mean, yes, but i want to help you.”

he’s earnest, at least. you say, “it’s fine, i can always ask, um, yoojung.”

“it’s okay,” he says, smiling. “is this about china’s social credit-”

you snatch your files out of his hands. “just go, seokmin.”

“[y/n].” his face falls. “hey, it’s fine, seolhyun can wait-”

“just go,” you urge, but you’re pretty sure your teeth aren’t supposed to be grinding right now.

seokmin looks like he wants to say something – the hover of his agape mouth has you hooked, waiting for a line. you watch him, tensed and fretting and shocked. it’s almost morbid, the way you’re pining for a catastrophe.

but nothing.

“okay,” he says, smiling. “i’ll get yoojung to come in.”

you press a fist against your thigh. “sure.”

when he leaves, you try to think of the wheelchair-equivalent of stomping out of the department. yoojung rushes into the break room, flustered and giddy before you can do anything.

and so you spend the rest of the day tapping a pen against your desk, itching to turn back time.

seungkwan passes you your coffee order on his way back. he’s managed to conveniently forget chan’s soy-latte, and instead making a beeline towards you.

“you know the angel of clickbaits,” seungkwan squeals. “and that seokmin guy you were emailing?”

“jeonghan?”

“no,” seungkwan flicks you on the forehead. “seolhyun. kim seolhyun!”

you shrug. “what about her?”

“what about them,” seungkwan says, wagging a finger. “i. saw. them. together! can you imagine! in the coffeeshop everyone was charmed out of their pants. my god, don’t you want to know what they were talking about?”

“mmhmm,” you say – it’s not your first time working with the radio on.

“[y/n],” seungkwan says, snapping his fingers in front of your face. “seokmin. seolhyun. keep up!”

the name catches your attention. “seolhyun?”

it’s the right thing to say apparently, because seungkwan launches right into another explanation about the ‘angel of clickbait’. it takes him three carefully rationed sips of his frappe and at least five tuts before he gets to the main point:

“-so like, i’m just there, right, and i happen to hear,” seungkwan shoots you a look, “i happen to hear them talking about date places!”

you want to laugh. “sure. did you go up and suggest the observatory?”

“no!” seungkwan exclaims, scandalised, “the observatory is mine!”

you shrug, watching seungkwan continue to fawn and swoon over a perfect ‘sunshine’ couple. as you take a sip of your own coffee, you can’t help but feel victorious at how you’ve finally gained the upperhand on seungkwan after so many torturous years of living under a rock.

the triumph in your chest simmers a little as seungkwan says, “-so like, what’s a good ship name? seolmin? seokhyun?”

you shrug. “does it matter?”

seungkwan fixes you with an eagle’s glare. “of course it does! seokmin’s been rejecting every single girl and guy for the past few years. this is big news.”

“i didn’t know you cared about seokmin,” you say.

“i care about news,” seungkwan waves your statement away. “seokmin’s fine, anyhow.”

to be fair, the seolhyun-seokmin hype works out in your favour. you were wheeling yourself into the staff lounge for some tea when you overheard taelyn, jimin and mingyu chattering about it. the news spreads like a virus – potent, unrelenting, and all the way to radio broadcast already.

when you’re cuddling up with seokmin one night, you say, “mingyu from home news was saying that you and seolhyun were planning to elope.”

seokmin fakes a gasp, “are we? i didn’t get a packing list!”

you swat him on the arm playfully. “real funny.”

he sinks into your touch, shuffling up next to you. the television continues to murmur in strange, foreign incantations.

“are you jealous?” he says, huffing into your hair.

“no.”

“you’re jealous, aren’t you?” his glee pokes you in the arm. “you’re jealous!”

you roll your eyes, nudging him in the ribs. “i’m not.”

“we should tell them i’m yours,” seokmin says giddily.

“no!” you’re quickly turning to face him. “the seolhyun thing is good.”

“it is?” he frowns, tangling a finger in your hair.

“it is,” you say. “no one will ever think we’re together.”

“oh.”

there’s something unrecognisable on his face, so you say, “of course, you’re okay with that right? us staying low?”

his gaze shifts to your hair.

“i mean, we’re just taking it slow,” you rush to say, “keeping things casual. nothing serious.”

seokmin is quiet for the longest time. your arm is stiff from lying at a crooked angle in between the both of you, but you don’t dare to move. you train your eyes on his adam’s apple instead, unmoving.

and then seokmin breaks into a half-smile, reassuring and pliant. it’s something you’ve been seeing a lot of recently. for a moment you wonder if it’s too dim in the room.

“sure,” he says. “it’s getting late now. i should go.”

you spend the rest of the week battling an extraordinary workload: there’s the social credit system update, the venezuela inflation, as well as asean’s latest meeting. on top of that, seungkwan’s still busy blathering about seolmin and seokmin’s sending you more emails about cat videos and irrelevant photos.

(they’re cute, though.)

you press your chin into the heel of your hand, disgruntled at the remarks your editor has made on your third draft. there’re only two more hours till it becomes old news, and you’re not sure what else is synonymous with ‘transient’.

“you brought work home?” seokmin says.

he’s becoming something of a permanent fixture in your apartment; there’s a spare toothbrush for him in the washroom, and you’re pretty sure the record playing in the radio is his.

“yeah,” you say, taking your reading glasses off. “two hours more.”

“oh! inflation, yikes,” he says, reading over your shoulder. “can’t you take a break for a bit?”

you sniffle. “i don’t know…”

“come on, let’s cuddle for a bit,” he says, tugging on your arm.

you smile, shaking your head. “if we cuddle i’m gonna fall asleep.”

his palms work their way to your shoulders, coaxing, “please? i missed you a lot.”

you sigh as he kneads into the knots of your shoulders, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure.

“okay, sure,” you say, and let him lead you to the bed.

“did you miss me too?”

“seokmin,” you say, shuffling on the duvet. “i’m here.”

he smiles into your hair. “but i can never love you like this at the office.”

“you can love me now,” you say, the word slipping through a careless smile.

“i do,” he says.

you can’t shake off the feeling that he’s got something more to say. “and?”

seokmin pulls back to smile at you. the effect is kind of dizzying, like it’s the first time you’ve ever met.

“and… that’s enough.”

from: booseungkwan.pledisdaily.co

to: you

subject: sbux

coffee run now

moch frapp tall

chai late tall hot

cheesecake 2

grande americano 1 sugar

sent from my iphone

“why are you emailing me,” you say, peering over seungkwan’s partition.

he smiles. “let’s go.”

you roll your eyes, “it’s not a long list.”

“yeah,” he says, “but i need a wingwoman and possibly a sympathy card.”

“just because i’m in a wheelchair, doesn’t mean i need sympathy,” you say, but you’re already wheeling yourself out of the cubicle.

seungkwan swats at your complaints like imaginary flies. “do i look nice today?”

seungkwan’s wearing something more street-smart today. it’s not a bad look, and the change is pretty refreshing. it’s probably got to do with that barista he keeps moaning about.

“you do,” you say sincerely. “is it that vernon guy?”

he flushes cutely. “you know it is.”

“how far have you two gone? first date? second date?”

seungkwan rolls his eyes again and threaten to take your wheelchair for a spin. “i called you here because i needed to get his number.”

“so you’re serious then.”

“a little. maybe. if he stops being dense.”

you laugh. “at least he doesn’t work for the paper.”

“oh no,” seungkwan says, activating an immaculate performance of sarcasm, “he’d be so good at asking questions and being an active reporter.”

“i meant a relationship in the workplace,” you clarify.

seungkwan scoffs. “the no-dating policy is just a jihancheol triangle thing. no one cares.”

“maybe,” you say quickly. “hey, he’s in.”

seungkwan immediately tenses up. you wheel yourself forward, alerting the sensors. tinted doors part in front of you, and you’re about to cross the threshold when seungkwan pulls you back ungracefully. with a yelp, you’re drawn back into the streets.

“i can’t do this,” seungkwan says. and then, “oh, seokhyun’s in there too.”

“seokmin?”

“and seolhyun,” seungkwan adds. “but oh my god, he looks even hotter today. what do i do?”

you don’t reply. instead, with renewed vigour, you wheel yourself into the café, and head straight for seokmin. he’s laughing with vigour at something. before you know it, you’re right by their table. seungkwan’s rushed in to accompany you.

“-and, like, oh! [y/n]!” seokmin sounds genuinely surprised. “hey, what are you doing here?”

“hey, seokmin from lifestyle, right?” seungkwan exclaims. “oh, and seolhyun from web news! what a coincidence!”

seolhyun giggles. “you’re seungkwan from world news, right? i always see you doing coffee runs.”

“yeah, you’re always with seokmin,” seungkwan says fondly.

“oh, who’s this?” seolhyun asks, looking at you kindly.

“i’m [y/n] from world news too.”

seolhyun starts. but before she can say anything, seungkwan cuts in, “are you two on a date?”

seolhyun immediately says to you. “no! we’re not, we’re just talking!”

“yeah,” you say. and then, to seokmin, “hello.”

a part of you stills, perched on the edge of cruelty. you can’t wait to see what he’ll do – you don’t know what exactly it is he’ll do. his eyes, searching, find no hint in your expression. seolhyun glances at him, then you, worrying her lip. for a moment you wonder if he’ll let up. as the seconds stretch into awkward tautness, the flush on his face intensifies.

seokmin nods politely.  “hey, [y/n].”

he quickly averts his gaze, fingers toying with the straws on the table instead. and then, looking up at seungkwan and seolhyun, he smiles wide.

“you hated it.”

“hm?”

“at the café.”

“hated what?”

“you don’t like pretending we’re not together.”

“…that’s not-” a smile. “you like it better like that, right, like we’re undercover-”

“i hate it when you smile like that.”

“like what?”

“like everything’s okay.”

a beat.

“it’s getting late.”

welcome back! you have no new mail.

seungkwan offers you a cookie. you bite it out of his hand.

“ah! you’re being a monster today too,” seungkwan says, cradling his hand. “what’s wrong with you?”

you shake your head. “nothing.”

it’s not nothing; you woke up to find only one toothbrush hanging precariously over your sink. the sight of that felt like an omen then, and still simmers hotly in your chest now.

“you look like you’re heartbroken,” seungkwan continues to comment. “did you break up?”

did you? “i don’t know.”

seungkwan rolls his chair over next to yours. “i worked in advisory for a bit. you can tell me anything!”

there’s a tilted jacket pin on his pullover. you think it might be from vernon.

“um, well, i’m – was? – seeing someone from this company,” you whisper.

seungkwan nods solemnly, albeit a little confused. “and?”

“and we were keeping it secret,” you say. “but i don’t think he wanted it to be a secret.”

“that’s all?”

“what do you mean ‘that’s all’?”

seungkwan sighs. “you looked like he cheated on you, and then stole all your belongings. was there a fight?”

was there? “kind of.”

seungkwan pouts. “c’mon, you don’t even know if you had a fight? that’s not very good.”

“he’s… very agreeable. it’s,” you sigh, “i feel like i’m setting little trials and –”

“woah, woah, trials?” seungkwan narrows his eyes. “that doesn’t sound good.”

“i don’t know how to-” your fingers arch out in a quick succession of strained, grabbing gestures. “it’s so hard to-”

“to talk?”

you nod numbly. “what do i do?”

seungkwan softens, running his hand through your hair. “maybe you should talk to him. properly. ask him what he thinks.”

from: you

to: leeseokmin.pledisdaily.co

subject: -

can we meet for a bit? nothing bad.

i miss you.

xo

[ollyarchive]

Olly Alexander on harnessing the power of sexual fantasy in pop

The Years & Years frontman talks about owning his queer sexuality in the mainstream and writing a twisted disco album about ‘holy wood’

Owen Myers

9 March 2018

“It’s like my Rihanna Loud era,” declares Olly Alexander, before breaking into a laugh. The Years & Yearsfrontman is referring to his cropped curly hair, which is freshly coloured to the hue of a nice Merlot. It’s a cold February evening, and he’s puffing on a roll-up while huddled in the fire exit doorway of a Camden venue. His new dye job has to be kept under wraps, he explains, until its official unveiling in the band’s new video. “It’s so stupid,” Olly says with an eye roll. He then flashes me a grin, suggesting that this moment of starry subterfuge is not entirely unwelcome.

Olly Alexander really likes being a pop star. He says that it’s full of “fairytale” moments, like when his Years & Years earnings enabled him to buy his mum a house, or when he and his ex-boyfriend, Neil Milan (formerly of Clean Bandit), became embraced as British pop’s new golden couple. After winning the BBC Sound poll in 2015, Years & Years’ earworm synth pop was everywhere. They had an inescapable number one single, “King”, and their album Communion was the fastest selling debut that year from a signed British band. Olly says that there are downsides to the tabloid headlines and Twitter trolls that come along with being “a public gay man” – a phrase that he puts in self-deprecating air quotes. But right now, those pressures feel far away, as he prepares to change into a bright pink boiler suit and play to a boozed-up Saturday night crowd, at an Annie Mac-curated showcase. Or, as he put it on Twitter earlier today: bring his “gay agenda” to The Roundhouse.

Years & Years’ great new single, “Sanctify”, contrasts lurking vocals with an ecstatic synth-fuelled chorus, and is as unapologetic as any of Olly’s pithy social media posts. He was newly single when he wrote the song, and reading Andrew Holleran’s 1978 chronologue of gay desire, Dancer From the Dance, had got him thinking about a couple of hookups he’d had with straight-identifying men. “It would always be under darkness,” he says. “It had this added layer of eroticism because it was somewhat forbidden. But (being with me) was a window where they could be themselves, and I felt responsible not to fuck them up.” Those conflicting feelings come through in evocative lyrics about obscuring masks and sinful confessions, with a climax that’s about as on-the-nose as chart pop gets. “I sanctify my sins when I pray,” says Olly, quoting the chorus’s payoff. “What do you do what you pray? You get on your knees. So is it a sexual baptism?” He laughs. “I was just like, ‘There’s a lot to work with here.’”

Years & Years are a three-piece, but the other two members, Mikey Goldsworthy and Emre Türkmen, tend to hunker down behind synths and let Olly take centre stage. His soul-searching lyrics give the band’s maximalist pop its heart, with a singing voice that pierces through a constellation of synths. Their videos bring acts which are often shrouded in darkness into the light, showing the singer cruising in a dank car park, or at a pansexual orgy. The new “Sanctify” visual riffs on dom/sub culture, with an elaborate sci-fi plot that is a device for Olly to perform “Slave 4 U”-inspired dance moves to an audience of androids. When he was commissioned to write a song for the Bridget Jones franchise, he made it about bottoming. “I have sex, I enjoy sex,” he says flatly. He’s sitting in his cosy dressing room the Roundhouse, which rumbles with bass as Disclosure and Mabel soundcheck next door. “In the past, I think gay men (in pop) have often shied away from being overtly sexual, or being commanding of their sexuality. But I believe that our sexual fantasies are a big drive for us all. Exploring that side of yourself is super empowering.”

In the past year or so, many well-known LGBTQ artists have begun to bring queerness into their music in sex-positive ways. Pop’s boy-next-door Troye Sivan strapped on Tom Of Finland leathers for a back alley moment with well-fluffed trade, Janelle Monáe caressed women’s bare thighs, Fever Ray returned with a concept album about queer kink. For better or worse, Sam Smith is now calling himself a “dick monster”on primetime telly. “Sometimes seeing a man express themselves in an overtly sexual way, especially a gay man, makes certain conservative people feel a bit uncomfortable,” Olly says. “I always wanna keep people a little uncomfortable.”

“I believe that our sexual fantasies are a big drive for us all. Exploring that side of yourself is super empowering” – Olly Alexander

Years & Years are far from the first mainstream British pop act to proudly put gay sexuality at the centre of their music – that’s a lineage that runs from Will Young to George Michael, Pet Shop Boys to Bronski Beat, and beyond. But Olly’s performances are a reminder that mainstream pop can be open to explicit queerness (at least, when it’s embodied in a handsome white cis man). Olly has faith that you don’t have to be “generic to be palatable,” and that “straight guys can hear a song that I’ve written about being fucked by another guy, but still relate.” LGBTQ+ people like me grew up seeing straight culture pretty much everywhere; seeing more of our community thrive is crucial.

Growing up in the Forest of Dean, Gloucestershire, Olly was a flamboyant kid. That got him bullied at school, called a “batty boy” before he was even aware that he was gay, and meant that he retreated into drama lessons. While acting, he felt it was okay – a good thing, even – to be expressive. He always nurtured a passion for music, too; he taught himself how to play Joni Mitchell songs on piano, and obsessed over “Dirrty”-era Christina Aguilera. An early performance at a year six assembly blended intimate songwriting and outré entertainment: Olly played piano and sang lyrics about lost love, while two of his friends did a dance routine.

In his late teens and early 20s, Olly cropped up in whimsical micro-budget indie films like 2011’s The Dish And The Spoon, alongside Greta Gerwig, as well as Gaspar Noé’s Enter The Void, and Skins. But his early experiences at school stayed with him. “Your first encounter with your sexuality is often from people bullying you and calling you the thing that you just pray to god that you won’t be – but deep down suspect you might be,” Olly says. “Well, no wonder we have an incredibly conflicting relationship with our bodies and our sexualities, because we’ve had to experience all of that.”

Reflecting on these difficult early years in his dressing room, Olly speaks openly about his own decade-long experience with depression, and the inadequate NHS provisions for those who are struggling with mental health. LGBTQ+ folks disproportionately struggle with depression and substance abuse, he recognises, and there’s only one UK organisation, London Friend, that caters directly to the specific needs of the queer community. “I’ve been there,” says Olly. “They’re amazing, but they are over-subscribed, with a tiny office, old chairs, and not a lot of money. When you’re seeing that people aren’t getting the help they should be, there’s an issue there.” That’s something he knows from first-hand experience. Last year, Olly fronted a BBC documentary, Growing Up Gay, about young LGBTQ+ people struggling with their mental health. His openness around the subject made him a kind of ambassador for those struggles, and he’s trying to work out how to deal with the “almost daily” DMs he gets from people at their lowest moments. “I feel very privileged that someone is wanting to share that with me, but it’s frightening,” he says. “We’re all in fucking pain, and I don’t know if we’re communicating with each other that well.”

“What do we expect a male pop star to do? As a society, how do we want them to behave or present themselves?” – Olly Alexander

Years & Years’ second album, out later this year, mixes gliding pop melodies with churning bass and twisted disco. The new songs feel more varied and exploratory than Communion, thanks in part to new collaborators like current pop’s minimalist masterminds Julia Michaels and Justin Tranter, as well as Greg Kurstin, who co-wrote “Shine”, Years & Years’ best song to date. The album’s centred around a motif of Palo Santo, a healing incense-like wood that you burn and waft around a room. (Olly dramatises this with hand motions as if he’s conducting an invisible orchestra.) Perhaps Palo Santo, with its power to expel evil spirits, could be a metaphor for the songwriting process? Maybe, Olly says. “But (when writing the album) I was angry about loads of things, particularly men. Palo Santo literally means ‘holy wood’ and I was like, ‘This is fucking perfect.’ Like, thinking that your dick is holy? I’ve known guys like that.”

Years & Years’ renewed vision also extends to creating a futuristic universe for their new music to exist in. That’s an idea that Olly’s idols – “Bowie, Prince, and Gaga” – have embraced, and “Sanctify” is the first part of an interconnected series of “weird, wonderful” videos. It marks the next step for a band aiming to join British pop’s pantheon, at a time when Olly, too, has been reflecting on his place in music. “What do we expect a male pop star to do?” he questions. “As a society, how do we want them to behave or present themselves? If I was asking myself, it would be like, ‘Well actually, I’ve always loved this kind of popstar. Maybe I should just be the pop star I want to see in the world.”

[newstfionline]

Wednesday, March 10, 2021

Many in US still face COVID-19 financial loss (AP) Roughly 4 in 10 Americans say they’re still feeling the financial impact of the loss of a job or income within their household as the economic recovery remains uneven one year into the coronavirus pandemic. A new poll by The Associated Press-NORC Center for Public Affairs Research provides further evidence that the pandemic has been devastating for some Americans, while leaving others virtually unscathed or even in better shape, at least when it comes to their finances. The outcome often depended on the type of job a person had and their income level before the pandemic. The pandemic has particularly hurt Black and Latino households, as well as younger Americans, some of whom are now going through the second major economic crisis of their adult lives. The poll shows that about half of Americans say they have experienced at least one form of household income loss during the pandemic, including 25% who have experienced a household layoff and 31% who say someone in the household was scheduled for fewer hours. Overall, 44% said their household experienced income loss from the pandemic that is still having an impact on their finances. The poll’s findings reflect what some economists have called a “K-shaped recovery,” where there have been divergent fortunes among Americans. Those with office jobs were able to transition to working from home while those who worked in hard-hit industries such as entertainment, dining, travel and other industries have continued to struggle.

Los Angeles Schools Remain Closed and Families Wonder: How Much Longer? (NYT) It has been almost a year since the coronavirus pandemic virtually emptied public schools in Los Angeles and sent students home to take classes from their bedrooms. Families in the Los Angeles Unified School District are coming to terms with a bittersweet truth: With the spring term scheduled to end on June 11, only a sliver of their pandemic school year is likely to take place face-to-face. District officials say a deal with its powerful teachers’ union to resume in-person learning seems close, and might happen this week. But the superintendent, Austin Beutner, has estimated that, even with an agreement in place, it will take at least until mid-April just to welcome back elementary and special needs students. Older students would be phased in over the next couple of weeks. Of the nation’s 10 largest school systems, Los Angeles is the only one that has yet to resume in-person teaching for significant numbers of students.

US offers residency to Venezuelans and will review sanctions (AP) The Biden administration said Monday it is offering temporary legal residency to several hundred thousand Venezuelans who fled their country’s economic collapse and will review U.S. sanctions intended to isolate the South American nation. President Joe Biden’s administration announced it would grant temporary protected status to Venezuelans already in the United States, allowing an estimated 320,000 people to apply to legally live and work in the country for 18 months. Trump resisted repeated calls from Republican and Democratic lawmakers, primarily from South Florida, to grant temporary protected status to Venezuelans though he issued an order deferring deportation for a smaller number on his final day in office. The Trump administration also significantly tightened U.S. economic sanctions on Venezuela, most notably on its crucial oil sector, to try and force President Nicolas Maduro to give up power after an election in 2018 that the United States and other countries believe was fraudulent. A senior Biden administration official portrayed that as a failed strategy. “The United States is in no rush to lift sanctions,” the official said, speaking to reporters on condition of anonymity to discuss the policy. “But we need to recognize here that unilateral sanctions over the last four years have not succeeded in achieving an electoral outcome in the country.”

Brazil justice annuls Lula’s sentences, enabling 2022 run (AP) A Supreme Court justice on Monday annulled all convictions against former Brazilian President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva, a ruling that potentially would allow him to run again for the presidency next year. The decision also laid bare the country’s political divisions, with leftists celebrating their 75-year-old leader’s return to the political arena as conservatives said the rulings were tantamount to impunity. Da Silva’s lawyers issued a statement welcoming the decision, saying it “is aligned with everything we have said for more than five years in these suits.” But Brazilian media reported that the country’s prosecutor-general Augusto Aras, an ally of conservative President Jair Bolsonaro, is preparing to appeal the decision.

Indian activist’s arrest spotlights crackdown on dissent (AP) To her friends, Disha Ravi, a 22-year-old Indian climate activist, was most concerned about her future in a world of rising temperatures. But her life changed last month when she became a household name in India, dominating headlines after police charged her with sedition, a colonial-era law that carries a sentence up to life in prison. Her alleged crime: sharing an online handbook meant to raise support for months-long farmer protests on Twitter. “If highlighting farmers’ protest globally is sedition, I am better (off) in jail,” she said in court two weeks ago. Going after activists isn’t new in India, but Ravi’s saga has stoked fear and anxiety. Observers say what happened to Ravi—a young, middle class, urban woman—hit home for a lot of Indians, who suddenly feared they could be jailed for sharing something on social media. The incident has raised questions over India’s democracy, with critics decrying it as the latest attempt by Prime Minister Narendra Modi’s Hindu nationalist government to mute dissent and criminalize it. “They targeted someone not usually targeted by the Hindu right-wing—a young girl from South India, who doesn’t have a Muslim name and is not linked to left-wing student politics,” said prominent historian Ramachandra Guha. “The message they wanted to send is that they can go after anyone.”

Victims of Myanmar’s Army Speak (NYT) The soldiers from Myanmar’s army knocked on U Thein Aung’s door one morning last April as he was having tea with friends, and demanded that all of them accompany the platoon to another village. When they reached a dangerous stretch in the mountains of Rakhine State, the men were ordered to walk 100 feet ahead. One stepped on a land mine and was blown to pieces. Metal fragments struck Mr. Thein Aung in his arm and his left eye. “They threatened to kill us if we refused to go with them,” said Mr. Thein Aung, 65, who lost the eye. “It is very clear that they used us as human land mine detectors.” The military and its brutal practices are an omnipresent fear in Myanmar, one that has intensified since the generals seized full power in a coup last month. As security forces gun down peaceful protesters on city streets, the violence that is commonplace in the countryside serves as a grisly reminder of the military’s long legacy of atrocities. During decades of military rule, an army dominated by the Bamar majority operated with impunity against ethnic minorities, killing civilians and torching villages.

New option for quarantine in Thailand (Foreign Policy) Wealthy visitors to Thailand now have the option of spending their 14-day mandatory quarantine on a yacht as part of a new program to boost tourism to the country. Prospective seafarers will be equipped with an electronic wristband that will track the wearer’s vital signs as well as GPS coordinates—even when at sea. Thailand’s tourism minister proposed a separate plan last week to allow tourists to spend their quarantine period in the country’s beach resorts. The need for unique approaches is particularly acute in the southeast Asian nation: Only 6.7 million foreign tourists visited Thailand in 2020, following a record 39.8 million tourists in 2019.

China launches COVID-19 vaccination certificates for cross-border travel (Reuters) China has launched a digital COVID-19 vaccination certificate for its citizens planning cross-border travels, joining other countries issuing similar documents as they seek ways to reopen their economies. As vaccines are globally being rolled out, a few countries, including Bahrain, have already introduced certificates identifying vaccinated people and the European Union agreed to develop vaccine passports under pressure from tourism-dependent southern countries. The certificate issued by China would have details about the holder’s COVID-19 vaccination information and coronavirus test results, the Department of Consular Affairs under China’s foreign ministry said on its website.

Lebanon’s collapse piles strain on army, security forces (Reuters) Discontent is brewing in the ranks of Lebanon’s security forces over a currency crash wiping out most of the value of their salaries as unrest and crime surge. In unusually outspoken comments, army chief General Joseph Aoun said his warnings that the pressure on soldiers’ earnings and morale could lead to an “implosion” had fallen on deaf ears. Lebanon’s pound has crashed 85 percent since late 2019 in a financial meltdown that poses the biggest threat to stability since the 1975-1990 civil war. “Soldiers are going hungry like the people,” he said on Monday, berating politicians without naming names. The basic monthly salary of a soldier or policeman, which used to amount to around $800, is worth under $120 today. Budget cuts pushed the military to cut meat from its meals last year. In what was seen as a sign of the times, the French embassy donated food parcels last month to the Lebanese army, which has long been backed by Western nations.

Barred from marrying by the rabbis, Israelis find a pandemic workaround—in Utah (Washington Post) For generations, the iron grip of Orthodox rabbis on Israeli family law has meant that mixed couples, gay couples or even couples in which one partner is not deemed Jewish enough have been denied the right to marry within the country’s borders. To circumvent the rabbis, thousands of Israelis jetted off each year to nearby countries like Cyprus or Greece for weddings that the government later recognized as civil unions. But when the pandemic closed even that window, it also opened another: Zoom weddings, administered 7,000 miles away—in Utah. At least 150 Israeli couples have already tied the virtual knot through this technological loophole, spurring a new battle in a national culture war that has long pitted Israel’s non-Orthodox Jewish majority against the politically entrenched Orthodox Jewish minority. Aware of the threat to their outsize influence, ultra-Orthodox politicians who control the Interior Ministry have already moved to dismiss the Zoom weddings, which both sides agree have the potential to forge a legacy that would far outlive the pandemic. Under an Ottoman-era law extended by Israel’s first prime minister, David Ben-Gurion, marriage in Israel is governed by the state’s religious authorities. For Jews, it is the chief rabbinate that is tasked with validating the bride and groom as Jewish, meaning that they must prove descent from an uninterrupted line of Jewish mothers. “This is a revolutionary and historical step,” said Uri Regev, a rabbi, lawyer and president of Hiddush, a religious equality organization based in Jerusalem. “For the first time, there will be access, for a minimal cost for Israelis, who won’t need to travel overseas, who can legally and quickly get married or at least obtain a registration of marriage through this new avenue.”

Death toll from explosions in Equatorial Guinea rises to 98 (Reuters) The death toll from a series of explosions at a military barracks in Equatorial Guinea rose by dozens to at least 98 killed after more bodies were recovered, the government said Tuesday. The blasts on Sunday in the Mondong Nkuantoma neighborhood of the coastal city of Bata also wounded at least 615 people, authorities said. The government said that 316 of the injured have been discharged and 299 remain in care in various hospitals in the city. Investigations have shown the fire may have begun when a farmer set fire to his plot to prepare it for food production and a breeze spread the flames to the nearby barracks where the high-caliber ammunition was stored.

From a prolonged pandemic, a rethink of life’s milestones? (AP) Wedding anniversaries for Elizabeth O’Connor Cole and her husband, Michael, usually involve a dinner reservation for two at a fancy restaurant. Not this time around. As the pandemic raged last May, the Chicago mom of four unearthed her boxed wedding gown, recreated their reception menu, and pulled out her wedding china and silver after enlisting another of her kids to DJ their first-dance song, “At Last,” for a romantic turn around the living room. And the priest who married them offered a special blessing on Zoom with friends and family joining in. “Spontaneous and a bit chaotic,” O’Connor Cole pronounced the celebration. “Still, it was probably the most meaningful and fun anniversary we’ve had.” When the crisis finally resolves, will our new ways of marking births and deaths, weddings and anniversaries have any lasting impact? Or will freshly felt sentiments born of pandemic invention be fleeting? Some predict their pandemic celebrations have set a new course. Others still mourn the way their traditions used to be.

[toxoiddiamond]

T H E B A S I C S Given Name: Nam Jihun Nicknames: Julian, Jules Age: 32 Birthday: June 7th Zodiac Sign: Gemini Birthplace: Aurora, Colorado Current Location: Grand Island, Nebraska Speaks: English, Korean (he is fluent in Korean and always spoke it at home with his parents, but he doesn't speak it much anymore) Dominant Hand: Right Education: He has his Associates Degree in Automotive Technology. Occupation: Before his life got turned upside-down, he was a mechanic, a job he genuinely liked. Now that he's in a new city and planning on staying for a while, he is hoping to find a job in another garage. Vehicle: He doesn't have a car anymore, but has enough money saved up that he could get one off of Craigslist or something if he really needed to. But for now, taking buses and trains has been working out fine for him. Worldly Possessions: He left most of his possessions behind when he went on the run. Now he just has a couple changes of clothes, along with a few other necessities. Pet(s): He has never had a pet before, but always wanted one.

A P P E A R A N C E Height: 5'9" Hair: Slightly wavy and unruly, just long enough that it gets in his eyes/face if he doesn't push it back. Facial Hair: Usually has at least some facial hair, though he occasionally shaves it all off. Eye Colour: A lovely shade of brown. Skin Tone: His skin tone tends to change slightly with the seasons-- darker in the summer, paler in the winter, though he is never pasty or anything. Clothing: At the moment, he doesn't have much. A couple of t-shirts, a couple of flannels, and two pairs of jeans. He has a worn-out pair of combat boots that he wears most of the time, and a pair of even more worn-out tennis shoes in his bag as a "just in case" sort of thing. He also has a sherpa-lined denim jacket, though he doesn't often need it. Distinguishing Marks: A bunch of scars here and there on his body, most of them fairly recent, because for some mysterious reason he has found himself in a lot of fights lately~ Face Claim: Steven Yeun

H E A L T H Physical Health: He's always been in good health, but since he became a werewolf, it's been excellent. He has seemingly endless endurance and stamina, never really gets sick, and is twice as strong as he used to be. The only downside is that he doesn't sleep as well now, though he at least seems to need less sleep than before. Still, he hasn't felt fully rested since his transformation. He's also noticed that his appetite has increased, which doesn't help his food budget, but isn't too much of a problem. Physical Abilities/Limitations: Thanks to his werewolf blood, Julian is almost always warm, and does well even in very cold weather. He is also surprisingly strong, and is fast with good reflexes. However, in hot weather, he tends to slow down and be very lethargic. Addictions: He smoked as a teenager, but had managed to quit in his twenties. Of course, now that he has all these stressful things going on in his life, he has taken it up again. Allergies: No allergies, lucky for him. Mental Health: He's definitely going through some shit right now, what with being recently turned into a werewolf and dealing with all the ramifications of that. He misses his old life, and feels very isolated and lonely.

H I S T O R Y Job History: His first job was working at his dad's used car lot, helping to fix up cars and get them ready for sale, and also helping with some of the office work. After becoming a certified mechanic, he took a job in a small but reputable auto repair shop/garage. Fondest Memories: A family trip to Korea when he was a teenager. A spring break trip he went on with his friends in his freshman year of college. Various memories with his two best friends. Worst Experiences: Being attacked by a werewolf. His first transformation into a werewolf-- he doesn't remember much of it, but he remembers it was painful and he was terrified. And after his transformation, realizing that he had put everyone in his town in danger, and that he had actually killed someone.

C O M M U N I C A T I O N Speech Pace/Style: He's usually a bit soft-spoken, unless the situation calls for him to speak up. He's not exactly a smooth talker, but he doesn't stutter or stumble over his words much either. Accent: American. Even when he speaks Korean, he has a little bit of an American accent. Usual Curse Words: He doesn't curse a whole lot, but he does have a fondness for saying "Jesus Christ" or "fucking Christ" if he's frustrated.

P E R S O N A L I T Y, M I N D S E T, A N D B E L I E F S Personality Type: INFP-T Sense of Humor: Julian is pretty easily entertained. Chances are, if someone tells a joke, even if it's really bad, Julian will at least crack a smile. Habits: Laughs when he's nervous or uncomfortable. Has a hard time making eye contact, so he usually just looks at the floor or off to the side when he talks to someone, or he might focus on the other person's chin/mouth so it at least seems like he's looking at them. Quirks: He has a tendency to arrange things in order of color, or in alphabetical order. Also, there is a certain spot on the back of his neck that he has always really liked to have touched/stroked/massaged, and that has only intensified since he became a werewolf. That is definitely the best way to calm him down or help him relax~ Fears/Phobias: Public speaking-- he freezes up if he has to speak in front of more than a few people, and he absolutely hates being the center of attention. He also hates crowds/being in a crowd, and gets really tense and anxious anytime he's forced to be somewhere crowded. Strengths: Although Julian is usually a bit of a loner, he is very loyal and protective over anyone he does get close to. He would do anything for his friends and family (and let's be real here, he would do anything for Cybil as well). Julian is very level-headed, and often acts as a voice of reason. He is able to take a step back and look at things from a logical standpoint most of the time, and because of that, he gives excellent advice (though he doesn't always make the wisest decisions himself). He's a very honest person, and he wears his heart on his sleeve. Though that is sometimes a weakness for him, it can also work in his favor-- he doesn't lie, and he doesn't play games or try to hide how he feels about anyone. Flaws: Julian tends to freeze up when he's in stressful situations, or if he has to make any difficult decisions. He does not do well under pressure, and always prefers having more time to think through any decisions he may have to make. If he gets really stressed out or anxious for whatever reason, he may completely shut down, not really hearing/responding to anyone, sort of having a deer in the headlights look. It didn't used to happen much, but now that he has significantly more stress in his life, it's been happening more often. Julian kind of has a tendency to blame himself for a lot of things, even if they're not really his fault. This also leads to him being quite a pushover, and forgiving other people way more easily than he should, even if they really hurt him. He's ended up in more than one relationship where he kept getting hurt, but still kept coming back for more. Hopes/Desires: He used to have really simple hopes and desires. Like, he wanted to have his own garage someday, get married, maybe raise a couple of kids. Now, he has no idea what he wants, and is having a hard time accepting that a lot of what he wanted may not be possible anymore. Self-Esteem: At the moment, not so great. He accidentally killed a person, so he doesn't like himself much. It's pretty much all he can think about. Religion: He was raised Christian, but stopped going to church as soon as he moved out of his parent's place. The only time he goes now is on Christmas, just for nostalgic reasons.

R A N D O M Sleeping Position: He hasn't been sleeping well lately, so he kind of tosses and turns, trying to sleep in various positions and get comfortable. Boxers or Briefs?: Boxer-briefs. Day or Night?: He's kind of torn. He used to like nighttime the best, but now he always feels uneasy at night, like someone-- or something-- is watching him. Top or Bottom?: Usually bottom. Partying or Relaxing?: Parties freak him out, so he'd take relaxing anytime.

R E L A T I O N S H I P S Closest Friend: Julian had a wide circle of friends back home, and his closest friends were a couple of his coworkers at the garage, Allan and Isabelle (Izzy). He left without much of a goodbye to either of them, and doesn't plan on ever talking to them again, even though he misses them. Relationship History: His relationships have all been on-again-off-again sort of things, for various reasons. He was taken advantage of a lot and put up with a lot of shit he shouldn't have, because he's a sucker and gives out infinite second chances. One of his boyfriends cheated on him, and Julian still took him back when he came begging, even though he swore to himself he wouldn't do it. So, yeah. Not the best relationship history. Sexual Partners: He's had three boyfriends over the years that he's slept with, and one very awkward one night stand when he was lonely after a break-up. Thoughts About Sex: He loves it, and has kind of a high sex drive. He's usually been the one initiating sex in all his relationships-- not that any of his partners have minded that.

P A R E N T S Name(s): Nam Jinho and Nam Minji Age(s): 60 and 57 Occupation(s): His father owned a used car lot for a long time, but is now retired. His mother buys beat-up furniture and refurbishes it, mostly as a hobby, but she actually makes quite a bit of money from selling her pieces. Religion: Christian Quality of Relationship With Their Child: It was kind of rough for a while after Julian came out-- they told him what he was doing was wrong, that it was a sin, etc. But they've somewhat changed their minds. It still makes them uncomfortable that Julian is gay, but they've done their best to accept him for who he is, and have even asked him about his boyfriends although it's very awkward for them. But they love him, and just want him to be happy, whatever that means for him. Living/Deceased: Both alive~

D A I L Y L I F E Living Arrangements: Julian recently went on the run, and is now trying to settle down and live a low-key life in Grand Island. He's managed to find a small studio apartment for himself, fully furnished, but hasn't yet left any sort of personal mark on the place-- it's very plain.